The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #344a] Twisted Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It

Karak leaned his shoulder heavily against the wall and sighed wearily into his beard.

"I second that," Lela told him. Landing on the rumpled bed she began working magic to call on some healing while Morier checked the mage's body for any sign of life.

"Well, he won't be troubling us anymore," the eldritch warrior announced rising from the body. He reached over for some of the opulent bedding to wipe Ravager clean of blood and jumped at once into a fighting stance. He'd uncovered a foot amidst the blankets - dainty and female with red lacquered nails. He hissed a warning to the others and Lela flitted off the bed as Karak lumbered forward. With the blade of his bastard sword, Morier tossed back the covers.

"Gods!" Karak cursed, his face screwing up in disgust.



Shamalin approached Ayremac as the latter knelt in the hall with his head nearly touching the stone floor. Great heaving spasms continued to wrack his body although he'd already expelled everything his stomach had to offer. Laying a reassuring hand on the man's armored back she channeled a healing spell into him, completely repairing the damage done to his weapon hand.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his gauntlet and looked up at her. His eyes seemed to glow like jewels in the weird light of the place. "You shouldn't have bothered with that," he told her. "I have some healing at my disposal. Another might have more need of your gifts than I."

"Clearly you offer more strength offensively to this party. Save your energy and efforts for the like. Let me do the healing - at least until my swordsmanship improves," she said sardonically, adding, "which may be a while." Ayremac started to say something more but Huzair's disembodied voice interrupted out of the dimness nearby.

"Yeah. I guess magic is pretty powerful," he said, whistling appreciatively. "I hate when enemies use it against us."

"I trust that you are well?" Shamalin called out, inadvertently shouting directly into the invisible mage's face.

"I'll live," he said. "Of course the smell isn't doing anything for me. Here, let me clean that up a bit." They heard him mutter a brief incantation and the flecks of vomit that still clung to Ayremac dropped off leaving the holy warrior pristine.

"Thank you," the Officer sighed, getting to his feet and looking around for some sign of the wizard.

"No problem," Huzair's voice told him. "Ah, right on time!" The misty remnants of the Stinking Cloud faded away into the ether, leaving behind an unpleasant but hardly overpowering odor. It took Shamalin and Ayremac a few moments to realize that Huzair had entered the room, leaving them alone in the hallway.



Being elven, it was difficult to tell her age with any certainty. But she looked young and that made what had been done to her all the more horrific. She was dead, and had been for a while; the blood had settled darkly into the lowest parts of her body giving those areas a sickening bruised look that contrasted harshly with the rest of her pallid flesh. Still, for all that, she was in remarkably good condition and there was no smell of putrification from the body.

Her head was clean shaven and covered over with a haphazard cluster of dark sigils that had been tattooed into her flesh. The tattoos continued down her neck and shoulders and part way down her left arm before petering out. None of them could discern the meaning of the symbols, but neither did they occupy anyone's attention when juxtaposed with what had been done to her face. Grotesque crimson stitches - like lines of blood - sealed shut her eyes and nose and mouth. The work was amateurish, chaotic and messy, and judging from the way that the flesh around those stitches was pulled and puckered, the work had been completed while the woman yet lived.

What the fat wizard had been doing to the body was disturbingly clear and Lela shuddered at the unnaturalness of it. Karak swore a venomous oath and spat viciously onto the dead mage's ashen face. Morier quickly covered the body again and backed up a step, colliding with Huzair and disrupting the mage's invisibility.

"Hey! Watch it!" the wizard protested, catching himself on the wall. Seeing the look on the faces of the other three, he scowled. "What?!"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #345] A Message from Beyond the Grave

"There's a body," Lela said, gesturing at the bed. "A woman." She looked sick but Huzair just stepped forward and pulled back the sheet to reveal the monstrous corpse.

"Shararizod's beard!" Karak swore upon seeing the defaced body once more. The dwarf lowered his had and muttered into his beard, "May this little one rest in your arms, me Queen."

"Who is she?" Huzair asked. He was less disturbed by what he saw than were the others. During his youth in Freeport he'd seen many men with unsavory tastes and the wealth to feed those desires. None of the debaucheries he'd seen equalled this level of madness, but a few had come close, and Huzair was not one to be surprised by men's capacity for depravity.

"I think she was a local girl stolen an' transformed into the dark wizard's plaything by the looks o' it," Karak grumbled, casting another withering glance at the dead man slumped against the wall.

"Flor have mercy!" Shamalin cried upon entering the alcove. The blood seemed to drain from her face as she stared at the ravaged corpse. At her side, Ayremac's demeanor was one of shocked silence. His face was a grim mask, his lips pressed in a tight white line.

"What's with the stitches?" the mage went on, examining the work with clinical detachment. "Really weird..."

"Where have we seen that stichin' before?" Karak asked. "What do you all think it means?" At first, no answers were forthcoming, but then Lela spoke up.

"It seems clear that the red thread is significant," she said, softly at first, but her voice growing in volume and conviction as she went on. "Red makes me think of blood. The fact that the eyes and mouth are stiched shut makes me think of not being able to see or speak. So they are taking away people's abilities to see and speak. Why would Aphyx want that?"

"I don't know," Morier admitted.

"Ayremac, have you ever seen this before in your travels?" Karak asked the newest member of their group. The Officer shook his head without uttering a word.

Lela took a deep breath and fluttered down to stan beside the woman's shaved head. "I can't stand the thoguht of leaving this body so defiled," she told them as she began to undo the stiches around the woman's eyes and mouth. "Someone, please help me wrap her in this sheet."

"Wow, I wonder if this would have happened to you if we had not come along," Huzair asked Shamalin in a conversational tone, rubbing his hand over his own bald head to indicate the similarity between this woman and the state that the cleric had been in when they'd found her in Miller's Pond.

Shamalin's response was low and certain. "I'm sure it would have," she said and then went about the business of helping Lela.

Karak scowled at Huzair and poked him in the ribs with the haft of his waraxe. When the mage turned angrily around the dwarf lit into him in a harsh whisper. "For a wizard ye ain't very smart!" he told the dark-skinned man. "Only a great fool'd say a thing like tha' to the lass!"

"You really do not look so tough right now, dwarf, after what the wizard did to you," Huzair sneered pushing the waraxe away from himself with relative ease. "So mind your tongue."

"Mind my-?" Karak sputtered. "Why I've a good mind to-" But Huzair cut him off with a dismissive wave.

"Now would not be the best time to settle our petty squabbles, especially for you," Huzair said looking disdainfully at the way Karak was sagging under the very weight of his own armor. "I do not see why at every possible chance you seek to belittle my abilities. I recall our introduction; You pointed your blade in my face, even though I was with Morier. You are a bully and a racist. I have been a victim of that most of my life and I will not continue to tolerate it... Let's focus on the task at hand."

"Now that be the raven calling the crow black, wizard," Karak sighed and shook his great head. "You insight dissention with your offhand comments and yet complain about settling squabbles. Alas, I have nae belittled your abilities, but have merely noted the boastin' of your abilities all the while, yet, when it's time to use them abilities, ye disappear."

"I do not boast, dwarf, I only state facts and comment on possible improvement," Huzair replied hautily. "My buffing does last for hours and with an Endurance spell, so does my loving."

Karak harrumphed and stepped slowly forward. "Now you callin' me a racist and a bully... why that I take exception to. If'n I be a racist then why would I be traveling in this merry band, I ask ye? An' if'n I be a bully then why was it me that pulled you off a helpless, bound prisoner, I ask ye?" Huzair had no answer and Karak thumped a thick finger into the wizard's chest, peering into Huzair's face with one angry eye.

"Now I do agree with one thing ye said though: to focus on the task at hand," Karak sighed, "To start you could stop barkin' up everyone's boulder and help out with these abilities of yours. Like searcing the wizards belongings and tellin' us of anything useful and magical."

"What a good idea, Karak. Using your brain instead of your brawn. Impressive." The wizard smirked and punched the dwarf on the arm. The sound of knuckles on dwarven plate echoed painfully and Huzair grimaced. To Morier and Ayremac he said, "Search the room and watch the doors. Who knows what lurks under the bed..."



While Huzair cast his spells, Karak sidled up to Shamalin. She and Lela had just about removed the stitching from the dead woman's eyes and mouth. The Sprite glanced up as Karak approached and muttered, "I believe being in this foul place is causing dissention among us. I mean more than usual! Let us focus."

"Aye, wee one. Ye speak true," Karak admitted with a nod. Turning to Shamalin he asked, "Lass, how does the sight of this room take ye? I bet this is the likes of what you saw and went through, eh lass? Do you know why they stich the faces like that?" Shamalin said nothing, didn't even look away from her work with the crimson thread. She just shook her head, no.

"It disturbs me," Karak sighed into his beard, looking reluctantly at the dead elf's marred beauty. "Do nae worry, though. You lived through it then, and you'll live through it now. You are a brave one. I did nae see your back in this one. Just remember, not swinging a sword does nae mean you aren't effective in a battle. There are others ways to help the fight. Me brother was a full blown Cleric, and I never seen a braver soul. And, if'n you really want to use that long poker, I'll show you some dwarven techniques instead of those airy-faery elven ones." He winked at her and she smiled back.

"I'll hold you to your offer, if we ever make it out of this place," She told him, but, despite her smiling mouth, her eyes were dark and fearful.



Huzair had collected the few items of magic in the room - the naked man's bracelets, the amulet, and his earrings - and done his best to determine what they were without actually trying any of the items on. The earrings radiated feint Abjuration and Transmutation magic, the bracelets were enchanted with a moderate Conjuration effect, and the amulet was powered by a moderate Transmutation spell. He could guess that the wide bracelets were probably Bracers of Armor, but the other two items were beyond him.

He stepped up to Ayremac and whispered, "I know this sounds really nasty, but I wonder if this was some sort of attempt to impregnate a dead body in some way?" The holy warrior blanched at the suggestion and Huzair could see the muscles bunching in his jaw as he considered this affront to the dead.

"Nasty doesn't quite cover it," he hissed and the wizard nodded.

"I know," he said. "I wonder if we should pierce her womb to kill anything growing in there? I hate to say that to the others for of obvious reasons, but you may understand or have a better idea." Ayremac looked stricken.

"That's an abhorrent idea," he snapped but reconsidered after a moment. "But none the less, I have always felt that the gods guide our thoughts so maybe whomever you pray to is trying to tell us something."

"We will NOT be piercing this dead woman's womb," Shamalin said behind them and they turned to see her regarding them both coldly. "Flor will allow me the power to Speak With Dead. Perhaps in death the woman may help undo her captors' evil."

"That's a great idea, Shamalin!" Lela chirped brightly.

"Aye," Karak nodded. "That is a fine idea. Speak with her; anything she can tell us would help, I figure."

"The rest of the junk in here isn't telling us anything!" Morier cursed, yanking down one of the obscene tapestries with a single violent motion.



Shamalin prepared herself and the body and the others gathered around her as she chanted and gestured and traced divine symbols invisibly over the woman's brow. The invocation seemed to go on for a very long time, but the room grew silent at once as the corpse's mutilated eyes snapped open. The left eye had evidently been pierced by the needle during the stitching process - it was a sightless orb of blood - but the other glittered like a sapphire as it stared up at Shamalin.

The cleric almost jumped out of her skin as the dead woman stared at her expectantly, but she maintained her concentration and asked in elvish, "What are they protecting here and where can it be found?"

"Vectors," the woman answered, her mangled lips making even the musical notes of the elven speech sound gutteral and harsh. "Vectors in the pit."

Shamalin blinked back a tear and asked her second question, "Can you tell us anything else which might aid us in the fight against Aphyx?" The corpse turned away for a moment as if it were thinking and when it turned back its eye was awash with fear.

"The lord of this place is strong in both limb and magic," she said. "Do not let him take you alive." And then the body shuddered and lay still.

"It is over now, little one. Your spirit is free," Shamalin said over the body. "May Flor's mercy guide you home."

In response to the dead woman's comments Lela looked sardonically at Huzair and said, "Huzair, don't worry. If they capture you, I will kill you." He looked dubious.

"Thanks," he replied. "That's very comforting."

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Wow, while reading the first part of the update, I thought you had inherited my group.

But, then I finished reading and saw the folly of that statement (a useful casting of speak with dead)

Is this the first time Huzair's background in Freeport has been mentioned? How much of a bad ass is he really?

 

[Jon Potter]

Is this the first time Huzair's background in Freeport has been mentioned?

I'm not sure if it's come up before. And it's not exactly the Freeport you might know. Its full name is actually the Freeport of Farmin. It's not set up as an island, but otherwise is pretty much as GR wrote it, minus a cult or two.

How much of a bad ass is he really?

Well, I'll leave that answer up to his player since he posts here ocassionally. I will say that he's repeatedly lamented a couple of choices he made when generating Huzair: taking a level of Rogue and taking a level-adjusted race.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #346] Moving Swiftly on

While Ayremac and Shamalin did what they could to speed the soul of the elf woman on to final judgment, Karak leaned heavily against the wall while Morier paced back and forth like a caged lion.

"Sit down, lad," Karak protested. "Watchin' ye pace is makin' me a bit seasick." The albino turned, his face a mask of anger. But as he beheld the dwarf he let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head.

"I've been living with this pull in my head for weeks," the eldritch warrior growled. "And now that I really need it - now that we're finally here and the keys are within our grasp - it's abandoned me."

"You do not feel the pull because, we are where we need to be!" Huzair said as he worked on the wizard's bracelets.

"Well, at least we know it's here," Lela offered, casting an annoyed glance at the mage. "We're in the right place."

"Yes, but they're not necessarily keys like we'd use for a door.," Morier cursed. "The keys to freeing Dridana's heart could be anything."

"Maybe that's what these do then," Huzair suggested, displaying the earrings he'd taken off the corpulent wizard and slipped into one of the numerous holes in his own black ears. "The bracelets are definitely Bracers of Armor, but I can't tell what these earrings do. Same goes for this." He held up the dead wizard's necklace. "Anybody want it? I'm sticking with my Amulet of Natural Armor."

"What, Huzair?" Morier asked, raising one pale eyebrow. "Not going to tell us who'd benefit most from the amulet? I thought you always knew what was best!" Karak snorted laughter at the elf.

"I'm sure that he'll try bullyin' one of us into wearin' the thing 'fore long," the dwarf said. "Mark me words." Huzair gave both Morier and Karak a dubious look.

"Karak you must understand I am not a bully. I have a fiery personality," Huzair stated with a wry smile, obviously very pleased with himself. "I am an emotional person and do not tell me after knowing what that crew in the castle did to the Speckled Hand that you did not want to take vengeance. They deserved worse than what they got."

Shamalin, overhearing the wizard's words looked up from where she was standing in prayer and glared witheringly at Huzair. "If there is vengeance to be had on account of the Speckled Band, it is mine! And I will dispense it at my choosing!" Narrowing her eyes at him she hissed, "I know your thoughts, Huzair. Do not pretend that your interests run any deeper than the enjoyment you'd find being the one to dispense such 'justice'." To the others she added, " This incessant bickering is starting to grate on my nerves!"

"You are not the only one who lost comrades to these bastards. The only two I even liked are dead," Huzair told the cleric, unmindful of how his words would sound to the other members of the party. "Heck, Shamalin, you did not seem too much for meting out justice to those who killed Feln." He seemed ready to say more, but instead held his tongue, shaking his head in resignation. "Ah nevermind, I am not going to piss you off too."

As the truth of the wizards words sank in, Shamalin gave him a troubled look, her mouth set in a tight scowl. There was an awkward silence for a moment until the cleric turned away and Karak cleared his throat.

"Well, me strength seems to have returned," he said, giving his waraxe a few test swings.

"Then let's press on," Morier said eagerly. "I am anxious to be about our business."

"This whole place is foul with the necromantic arts," Ayremac added with a nod. "It's taint must be cleansed."

They lined up and began filing through the door, but Huzair briefly forestalled Shamalin by taking her hand in his. "Do not feel guilty for your outburst. Your kindness is your strength," he told her. "Not many have the stomach to do such dirty work as killing helpless prisoners. I, unfortunately, do... and actually would have taken some joy in it. I am very twisted... be thankful you are not like me."

Shamalin studied him for a beat then withdrew her hand and remarked, "I don't know where it comes from these days, Huziar, but I can say for certain that what strength I possess does not draw from kindness."



Disdaining the two doors on the left of the corridor as they proceeded in favor of the time-tested dwarven "always go right" method of dungeon-crawling, they came at last to the room that Huzair had seen earlier - a sort of study or office. There was no door connecting the room to the hallway, and the entire area was easily visible from without. A plain wooden desk and a tall chair faced the leftmost wall; a twisted, single candlestick of thorn-iron held an unlit candle, pale but red-veined. On the table were scattered several pieces of blank parchment, and a black quill pen in a jar with a block of ink set next to it. A single iron-bound door was set into the right-hand wall.

A quick search revealed nothing of interest and so they fell to examining the door. Huzair discovered no traps with his search and stepped close to the door, activated his Ring of Invisibility and a moment later his Ring of Blinking. He stepped out of reality for a fraction of a second, shunting his mass to the Ethereal Plane before reappearing on the other side of the door - which was, he saw, a laboratory of some sort lined with racks of vials and bubbling glasswork.

That was all the more he had time to see, however, because his momentary jaunt to the Ethereal Plane had attracted the attention of one of the guardian creatures bound to the complex. The air shimmered beside Huzair and something slipped through from beyond. Reeking of decay, the gaunt six foot tall humanoid was covered in black, leathery skin. Behind its sharply pointed ears, a large curved horn rose out of the back of its skull like the stingered tail of a scorpion. A mouth of jagged teeth took up more than half of the foul creature's head.

Its eyes - two orbs black as pitch - leered at the invisible wizard as it took a step toward him. Before Huzair could do anything, the thing's insanely-long talons ripped into him, seeking - but not finding - his vitals. Even so, the pain was excrutiating and he was spared from death simply by the fact that the thing's teeth clamped down on his throat at just the moment when he blinked back to the ethereal plane and so they damaged him not at all.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #347] The Bound Guardian

"Did that sound like a scream to you?" Lela asked, and even as the words were leaving her mouth she was fluttering toward the door. Before she could reach it, however, Huzair flickered back through the door.

"Holy *! There * a *-mon * some-* ov-* there * hid-*-ous * I * ev-* seen!" he stuttered, flicking back and forth between this reality and the ethereal plane. "I * I * a *-ner."

"Eh?" Karak asked, screwing up his face in puzzlement.

"A *-mon! * de-*!" he shouted, pointing frantically at the door with one hand even as he pressed the other against the bloody rents in his torso. No one could understand what he was saying, but the gist of the message was clear: there was something bad on the other side of the door.

"Umba, and all the dieties that oppose the rise of Aphyx, come to our aid now!" Ayremac prayed, invoking the gods to Protect himself from Evil while Karak entreated on his own goddess to let his axe Strike True. Shamalin cast Bull's Strength and bestowed the power on Ayremac with a light tough to his back.

And then it was there. It teleported right beside Huzair and raked its claws savagely across the back of his head. The mage screamed a strange stuttering scream as he continued to Blink and everyone turned to see this horror that had appeared suddenly in their midst.

Ayremac was first to react and he whirled on the thing, stepping up beside Huzair and striking his attacker's head solidly. It was a good hit, and with his newly augmented strength behind the blow it should have resulted in an explosion of teeth and blood. As it was the morningstar merely made the creature grunt and fix the holy warrior with its own unholy gaze.

Karak aimed to do better and he stepped to Huzair's other side with his waraxe gripped in two fists. The frost-covered blade cut a glittering arc through the hellishly-lit air connecting mightily with the creature's torso just beneath its left arm. The blade bit deeply - though not so deep as the dwarf thought it should have. He'd put everything he had behind that blow and had fully expected the foul-smelling creature to drop like a stuck gobbo. Instead it simply staggered a bit, cursing in some dark language that he didn't understand.

Lela wheeled in from the side and tossed a pinch of Pixie Dust at the thing - her friends were packed too tightly for her to risk using more - and managed to strike it full in the face. The creature seemed to shake off the effect, however as if its very nature had somehow resisted the magic.

Huzair reactivated the Ring of Invisibility (for the magical effect had been disrupted by creature's initial attacks) and stepped back from the front rank. That left an opening for Morier to insinuate himself and he did just that, leading his advance with Ravager's jagged blade. The sword eagerly sought the creature's gut, but despite the full force of Morier's steely thews, the blade did little more than leave a scratch on the thing's belly.

Shamalin lent Huzair some healing, bringing him quickly back to a semblance of his former self.

The creature, however, had a new target on which to vent its wrath and it laid into Ayremac for all it was worth. Its claws found gaps in his fearsome spiked plate, digging painfully into the man's flesh. The Holy Warrior managed to interpose his morningstar between the thing's jaws and his face, deflecting that blow at least. To his horror, however, he saw that his weapon had been reduced to a misshapen and pitted lump of smoking metal on the end of a stick. Contact with the protective slime covering the creature's body had corroded it severely, but it still glowed like a torch in his hand. He swung the weapon but it seemed to have no effect on the thing whatsoever.

Given the precious nature of Karak's axe, if the dwarf had seen what the acidic slime had done to Ayremac's morningstar he might have taken measures to protect the weapon. But as it was Karak stepped onto the monster's flank and swung his waraxe at it oblivious to the danger. The weapon carved two bloody gashes into the monster's back, marking its frame with a ghastly red "X" that crossed it from shoulder to hip. The thing reared up howling in pain at this attack and turned, unmindful as Lela dropped a Flaming Sphere at its feet.

Huzair had readied his Wand of Scorch, but his allies were crowded too closely around the thing for him to make use of it. "Get out of the way!" he shouted. What his companions heard was a stuttering: "* out * the *!" He cast Magic Missile, sending two bolts of force into the creature's neck.

Morier struck with his sword, and Ravager's teeth bit hungrily into the flesh along the thing's left arm, but seemed to leave no visible wound on the limb as the blade withdrew.

Shamalin reached out her hand and sent divine magic into Ayremac, healing most of the wounds he'd just received.

For its part, the creature glared fiercely at Karak... and vanished, leaving the hallway suddenly silent apart from the creak of leather and the the panting breaths of The Order.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #347a] Reinforcements

Ayremac took the momentary pause to swipe his weapon through the air once, then again quickly, scrutinizing it and testing its weight. The surface of the spiked ball at the end of the weapon was pitted and scarred. Most of the points had been reduced to misshapen nubs. Regardless, it continued to stubbornly shed pale light, the magical enchantment on the weapon undaunted by the acid damage.

"My morningstar is almost useless... if it takes any more damage it will be ruined." the holy warrior said with a discouraging tone.

"Ravager hasn't fared very well either," Morier complained. He stuck the bastard sword into Lela's Flaming Sphere to burn away the remnants of corrosive slime on the blade and then examined it critically. It was in much better shape than Ayremac's little morningstar being both more solidly constructed and more heavily enchanted. He quickly cast Mending on the weapon and frowned; it was going to take a number of castings to bring the bastard sword back to prime condition.*

"Oy! My axe has a smudge on it!" Karak bellowed, regarding the nearly-pristine blade with concern. Both Morier and Ayremac gave him a disapproving look.

"I might be able to call on Flor's blessing to Make your weapon Whole," Shamalin suggested and without waiting for consent she reached out and touched the holy warrior's weapon. It's glow flared at her touch, growing briefly bright enough to make them all squint. When it had faded, the weapon was in perfect condition.

"Thank you," Ayremac said, his spirits quickly rallied. "I think this is the time to forge ahead. We need to take this demon down while it is wounded."

"Is * what * think * thing *? A *-mon?" Huzair stuttered, blinking in and out of reality.

"Before we rush off to find this thing we have to address the fact that our most powerful weapons and even Lela's spells did almost nothing to the creature," Shamalin cautioned. "Plus, couldn't it see Huzair even when he was invisible?"

"But why else would it retreat unless it felt in danger? Ayremac countered. "It is either going for reinforcements or to heal. Let us move in to the room and see what we find. If we are overwhelmed we retreat to the hallway and reassess. But whatever we decide we should move quickly. We're wasting our advantage."

"We * hurt *," Huzair sputtered. "If * is * sum-* creat-*, then-"

"Huzair!" Lela cried out, annoyed with the mage's unintelligible speech. "We can't understand you when you're flickering like that! It didn't save you from getting hurt it just impedes our ability to communicate with you during battle."

Of course Huzair heard something closer to: "Hu-*! We * un-*-stand * when * fli-*-ing * that!" And anyway, he was a bit distracted by what he kept glimpsing every time he went ethereal and wasn't really paying attention to the sprite's words.



The mage knew that the Ethereal Plane was coexistant with the Prime. Every wizard who'd ever become intangible had shunted his mass to this other realm which was the home of ghosts and other beings both invisible and immaterial to those on the Prime. Prior to acquiring the Ring of Blinking back in Miller's Pond, Huzair's experience with the Plane had been purely academic; he'd studied it, but hadn't really ever expected to visit it. All that had changed now, and every time he Blinked he saw that portion of the Ethereal that overlaid this place. It was very disconcerting, especially to one unused to the experience.

The solid things that he was familiar with on the Prime - his companions, the walls and floor of the corridor - were all rendered wraithlike, silent and insubstantial when he jaunted to the Ethereal. More disturbing were the things that seemed solid on the other plane but that he couldn't see at all on the Material and it took him much longer than he thought it should to suss out the flickering slices of visual input. There was a gaunt shadowy form that might have been the demon creature they'd fought, but it was some distance away, only dimly visible through the hazy fog of intervening walls. He couldn't see it at all when he wasn't briefly ethereal since those same walls were solid rock on the Prime.

As distracting as all of that was, it couldn't hold his attention when the pair of small, distorted figures appeared, fluttering through the air of the phantom Ethereal hallway. He'd never seen their like before although their general form - equipped with horns and tails and wings and spines - screamed: DEMON!. They were disturbingly asymmetrical as if some insane creator had randomly taken limbs and features from a dozen disparate creatures and pressed them into a new shape to make these particular monstrosities. They were small - little bigger than a halfling in size - but that did nothing to make them seem any less threatening.

The lead creature, whose head resembled a flattened disk of brown wax, opened its jaw wide like a snake eager to swallow a mouse, and vomited a glob of acid at the mage. The blob struck Huzair full in the chest despite his Blinking and drew forth a stuttering cry of pain as it burned through his warcaster's armor and into the flesh beneath.

An instant later both things shifted from the Ethereal Plane to the Prime appearing less than a dozen paces from The Order.

----------------------------

*I've house-ruled Mending to repair one point of damage per casting to any weapon or armor provided it's still in one piece. Sort of the Object equivalent of Cure Minor Wounds.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

An instant later both things shifted from the Ethereal Plane to the Prime appearing less than a dozen paces from The Order.

Ha! Surprise! I hope you gave them both levels in rogue.

 

[Jon Potter]

Ha! Surprise!

As I mentioned before the board wipe, this whole exchange was "inspired" by this bit from The Tomb of Horrors:

PCs are discouraged from bypassing the material walls of the world via the Ethereal Plane by a host of demonic guardians. PCs become aware of the demonic host only if they attempt an ethereal jaunt while within the hill or tomb. One or more demons arrive and attack, according to the following table (roll randomly) every 1d4 rounds that the characters maintain a presence on the Ethereal Plane while within the tomb.

It wasn't much later, after the unexpected appearance of a Vrock, that Huzair's player realized it was his Blinking that was prompting the demaonic attacks.

I hope you gave them both levels in rogue.

Not yet! The average party level at this point was 6 (I think) so adding class levels would have spelled disaster in three little letters: TPK. I wasn't quite into that.

Hidden by Spoiler tags below is a glimpse of things to come, though.

Spoiler

One of the PCs does die in the Elemental Earth Node later on.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Re: Spolier

Really? I found that part to be easier or at least easily avoidable encounter-wise. I eagerly await this part to see what went wrong for the party.