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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Risen Goddess (Updated 3.10.08)
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83—Friends in High Places, part II
The day after their meeting with Mother Talendiira, the brothers Tar-Ilou welcome Elgin Trezler back into their company. It is immediately obvious that Elgin is in no mood to celebrate. He arrives with a stern, grim expression, and tells the brothers that Lathander’s great temple in Suzail has been sacked.
“It was religious rioting,” Elgin says, tears of frustration, anger and grief in his eyes. “I spoke with the light of the Morning, and he told me that he would not sully his hands with the blood of the people. He told me that when his death came, he intended to go into the pasoun with his conscience clear.” Elgin looks at the brothers Tar-Ilou almost pleadingly. “He ordered his temple guards away, and the rioters tore the building down.”
Taran’s mouth pulls down in a hard scowl as the light in his eyes slowly dims and then disappears. “Well, that’s an admirable sentiment, but it’s not gonna happen,” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll sully my hands. That’s my f-cking job.”
Within moments, the trio has teleported to Suzail, outside of Lathander’s temple. In Suzail it is night, and before the group can get within the building, they are hailed by a passing guard.
“What’re you lot doing out after curfew?” the lead spearman asks, his tone gruff and disrespectful.
“Waitin’ on you,” Taran says, his voice cold and clear. “We want to be taken to the Steel Regent, and you’re going to do it right now.” Taran’s tone does not brook any disobedience, and the guard, a man who has spent a lifetime responding to such commands, reacts accordingly. The three adventurers are escorted through the deserted city streets to the Palace, and asked to wait within the regent’s chambers.
Taran spots the guards watching them through concealed doors and hidden spy-holes, and passes this on to Thelbar through the permanent telepathic bond that connects the brothers. An hour passes, but neither Taran nor Thelbar show any sign of fatigue, and for the benefit of the hidden watchers, remain perfectly still and silent, communicating only through their [i[bond[/i]. At the end of the wait, Caledni enters the room, and the regent’s advisor seems intent on picking up her last conversation with Thelbar in the same acrimonious way she left it.
“We meet again,” she says to Thelbar, in a parody of the popular melodramatic street-plays.
“Yet you have slipped a notch since I left you,” Thelbar replies. “Your city rebels beneath your thumb, and you lack either the wit or the willingness to stop them.”
Caledni’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps you can explain to me, from your enlightened position, great mage, why the faiths of Tempus, Illmater, Tyr and Torm have declared you Lathanderites blasphemers? Perhaps you can explain to me why they have encouraged their followers to drive your kind out of our city?”
“I will answer both the question you asked, as well as the question you should have asked,” Thelbar replies cooly. “These other faiths are threatened by the pasoun. While most of their leaders lack vision, be assured that the deities in question realize that the freedom we offer all sentience undermines and subverts the order of things; an order upon which the likes of Tempus, Torm and Tyr have grown fat. They will cast aside their ‘principles’ as easily as any glutton might, should his next meal be threatened.
Thelbar pauses a moment to gauge her reaction, then says, “you have not acted because you fear their power. Or rather, you doubt mine.” Thelbar finishes his speech by fixing Caledni with an even gaze, all the more terrible for its calmly implied threat.
“I am not interested in your profanity,” Caledni says flatly. “I have been preached to enough this week.”
Thelbar scoffs. “You cover your eyes in the hopes that the smoke will not smell so bad.”
Taran steps forward, near enough to Caledni that he can feel the tension from the guards positioned behind the walls. “Let me cut to the chase,” he says. “I’m holding . . . you . . . accountable.” Taran punctuates his words with finger-tip jabs into Caledni’s chest. “Do your job so I don’t have to.” Taran glares at her, mentally daring the regent’s closest advisor to say another word.
She does not.
Satisfied, Taran thinks, “let’s get out of here.”
-----
“Well, I don’t know exactly what it is,” Thelbar thinks on his way out of the audience chamber, “but that woman exasperates me. ”
“Yeah, she’s awful good looking,” Taran thinks.
“I didn’t say ‘excites’.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
-----
As the three adventurers step out into the Cormyrian night, intending to walk away from their audience in as dignified a manner as they marched toward it, they hear a strangely familiar voice.
“Well, aren’t you a trio of fetching fellows.” Emerging from the shadows is Gulthais, the ancient cleric of Iiam last encountered as Elminster and Khelbin Blackstaff’s kidnapper. Standing next to Gulthais are a disrespectable-looking pair; a hideously pock-marked old beggar woman and a filthy stable-boy.
Gulthais looks about himself exaggeratedly. “A real squad of dandies out on the town.” The vampiric priest is pale skinned and wears his hair cut short at the temples, every lock of it pitch-black. “Don’t look so shocked,” he coos. “The mother is not the only one with many hands.” Gulthais smiles broadly at Thelbar. “Now what brings you to Cormyr?”
“We came here for the festivities,” the beggar woman says with a gap-toothed smile. While outwardly she looks and dresses much like any of Suzail’s street women, Taran’s trained eye spots her nimble agility and ready strength in an instant.
“Beautiful time of year,” Gulthais agrees. The thin, dark-haired vampire is dressed in antique courtly clothing, as if he is mocking his own undead status. “And what do you intend to do with this deity of death you’ve dug up? Wasn’t she the plague of our dear sister?”
Taran looks at the three calmly. “Life is strange,” he says. “Just a minute ago, I was threatening the rulers of Cormyr, and now I’m wasting time with scum like you.”
“Perhaps that is why you are so universally disliked,” Gulthais suggests with an ingratiating smile. “Too much threatening, and not enough time-wasting.”
Taran rolls his eyes, then looks at his brother.
“I hear our poor Mother’s Prime has gone bad,” Gulthais continues. “Do you think there’s anything salvageable? Or should we just seal the gates?” The vampire’s cloying sneer is nauseating.
At this point, the beggar woman has shambled over to Elgin Trezler, and whispers to him, “I watched your church get sacked last night.” She leans in close, in an impersonation of a love-struck schoolgirl. “It was beautiful.”
“I have something for you!” Elgin shouts as he removes his mace and lashes the woman with a backhand blow. The beggar rolls with the strike, and uses her momentum to carry her into the legs of Thelbar, where she palms a hidden blade, and slices at the backs of his knees.
Thelbar cries out and jumps away from her, and just as Taran is freeing Arunshee’s Kiss from its scabbard, Thelbar freezes time.
Things flicker, and Thelbar disappears, as a prismatic spray sweeps over his foes, burning and blasting them. The spray is instantly followed by a bright blue chain lighting arc that dances between Gulthais, the beggar and the stable-boy, and then a green ray appears from the spot where the mage was standing and strikes the hag in the chest, disintegrating her. By the time the demonic woman collapses into a pile of dust, Thelbar is seen to be twenty feet away, protected by a shield spell.
The stable boy shakes his head against the smoke rising from his incinerated clothing, and reaches out to strikes at Taran with what appears to be a thin, provincial walking stick. Taran is knocked backwards by what feels to be a half-ton sledgehammer, and he is sure that ribs have been broken by the blow.
Gulthais moves away from the melee, and sends a lightning bolt towards Thelbar, knocking the wizard to a half-crouch in the dirt of the street. Taran staggers away from the demonic child, lights flashing before his eyes. He swings wildly with both Arunshee’s Kiss and Little Sister as he tries to focus his vision, but the child has skipped away from him. Elgin, noting both his companion’s wounds, arcs a mass heal between them, instantly restoring to Taran his eyesight, and to Thelbar his clarity of thought. In addition, Elgin includes Gulthais within the spell, guessing correctly about the creature’s undead status. Gulthais reels backwards, his skin wrinkling and smoking before the party’s eyes.
Taran takes advantage of his reprieve to dash within the reach of the stable boy, cutting him three times in rapid succession across his chest. A most un-stableboy-like vapor emerges from the wounds, a sulfuric scent betraying his lower planar origin.
Thelbar sucks the moisture from his enemies with a horrid wiliting, which destroys Gulthais outright, and provokes an Abyssal curse from the stableboy. Elgin sends a searing light into the snarling child, just as he sends Taran reeling with a power word, stun. Thelbar quickly dispels the stunning effect, but as he does so, the boy stuns Taran a second time.
“I can do this all day,” the creature sneers.
Elgin presents his holy symbol and attempts to banish the creature back to its home plane, but his attempt is not strong enough, and the fiendish boy mocks the effort. “Iiam is greater than . . .,” it begins, but the rest of its boast is lost beneath a feeblemind from Thelbar. Elgin engages the stupid and feral creature with an exchange of blows, and after a moment, Thelbar is able to dispel the stunning effect on Taran for a second time, and with Taran’s attacks added to the equation, the creature falls away into a sulfurous mist and is gone.
The party looks about them, but with the city-wide curfew in effect, there are no witnesses to their street brawl. Thelbar says a word, and teleports the trio back to New Ithor.
-----
That night, as he is preparing for his evening studies, Thelbar finds this note within one of his pockets.
It is a blessing of the Powers that no good deed goes unnoticed in our perfect world. I had happened upon some old friends of yours who were very eager to pay a visit. I was happy to oblige, and tell them your whereabouts. Sleep tight.
Your dear friend,
Gulthais
Disturbingly, the note is written in Infernal, the language of the Nine Hells and its Baatezu masters.
”F-ck the Baatezu,” Taran says.
The day after their meeting with Mother Talendiira, the brothers Tar-Ilou welcome Elgin Trezler back into their company. It is immediately obvious that Elgin is in no mood to celebrate. He arrives with a stern, grim expression, and tells the brothers that Lathander’s great temple in Suzail has been sacked.
“It was religious rioting,” Elgin says, tears of frustration, anger and grief in his eyes. “I spoke with the light of the Morning, and he told me that he would not sully his hands with the blood of the people. He told me that when his death came, he intended to go into the pasoun with his conscience clear.” Elgin looks at the brothers Tar-Ilou almost pleadingly. “He ordered his temple guards away, and the rioters tore the building down.”
Taran’s mouth pulls down in a hard scowl as the light in his eyes slowly dims and then disappears. “Well, that’s an admirable sentiment, but it’s not gonna happen,” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll sully my hands. That’s my f-cking job.”
Within moments, the trio has teleported to Suzail, outside of Lathander’s temple. In Suzail it is night, and before the group can get within the building, they are hailed by a passing guard.
“What’re you lot doing out after curfew?” the lead spearman asks, his tone gruff and disrespectful.
“Waitin’ on you,” Taran says, his voice cold and clear. “We want to be taken to the Steel Regent, and you’re going to do it right now.” Taran’s tone does not brook any disobedience, and the guard, a man who has spent a lifetime responding to such commands, reacts accordingly. The three adventurers are escorted through the deserted city streets to the Palace, and asked to wait within the regent’s chambers.
Taran spots the guards watching them through concealed doors and hidden spy-holes, and passes this on to Thelbar through the permanent telepathic bond that connects the brothers. An hour passes, but neither Taran nor Thelbar show any sign of fatigue, and for the benefit of the hidden watchers, remain perfectly still and silent, communicating only through their [i[bond[/i]. At the end of the wait, Caledni enters the room, and the regent’s advisor seems intent on picking up her last conversation with Thelbar in the same acrimonious way she left it.
“We meet again,” she says to Thelbar, in a parody of the popular melodramatic street-plays.
“Yet you have slipped a notch since I left you,” Thelbar replies. “Your city rebels beneath your thumb, and you lack either the wit or the willingness to stop them.”
Caledni’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps you can explain to me, from your enlightened position, great mage, why the faiths of Tempus, Illmater, Tyr and Torm have declared you Lathanderites blasphemers? Perhaps you can explain to me why they have encouraged their followers to drive your kind out of our city?”
“I will answer both the question you asked, as well as the question you should have asked,” Thelbar replies cooly. “These other faiths are threatened by the pasoun. While most of their leaders lack vision, be assured that the deities in question realize that the freedom we offer all sentience undermines and subverts the order of things; an order upon which the likes of Tempus, Torm and Tyr have grown fat. They will cast aside their ‘principles’ as easily as any glutton might, should his next meal be threatened.
Thelbar pauses a moment to gauge her reaction, then says, “you have not acted because you fear their power. Or rather, you doubt mine.” Thelbar finishes his speech by fixing Caledni with an even gaze, all the more terrible for its calmly implied threat.
“I am not interested in your profanity,” Caledni says flatly. “I have been preached to enough this week.”
Thelbar scoffs. “You cover your eyes in the hopes that the smoke will not smell so bad.”
Taran steps forward, near enough to Caledni that he can feel the tension from the guards positioned behind the walls. “Let me cut to the chase,” he says. “I’m holding . . . you . . . accountable.” Taran punctuates his words with finger-tip jabs into Caledni’s chest. “Do your job so I don’t have to.” Taran glares at her, mentally daring the regent’s closest advisor to say another word.
She does not.
Satisfied, Taran thinks, “let’s get out of here.”
-----
“Well, I don’t know exactly what it is,” Thelbar thinks on his way out of the audience chamber, “but that woman exasperates me. ”
“Yeah, she’s awful good looking,” Taran thinks.
“I didn’t say ‘excites’.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
-----
As the three adventurers step out into the Cormyrian night, intending to walk away from their audience in as dignified a manner as they marched toward it, they hear a strangely familiar voice.
“Well, aren’t you a trio of fetching fellows.” Emerging from the shadows is Gulthais, the ancient cleric of Iiam last encountered as Elminster and Khelbin Blackstaff’s kidnapper. Standing next to Gulthais are a disrespectable-looking pair; a hideously pock-marked old beggar woman and a filthy stable-boy.
Gulthais looks about himself exaggeratedly. “A real squad of dandies out on the town.” The vampiric priest is pale skinned and wears his hair cut short at the temples, every lock of it pitch-black. “Don’t look so shocked,” he coos. “The mother is not the only one with many hands.” Gulthais smiles broadly at Thelbar. “Now what brings you to Cormyr?”
“We came here for the festivities,” the beggar woman says with a gap-toothed smile. While outwardly she looks and dresses much like any of Suzail’s street women, Taran’s trained eye spots her nimble agility and ready strength in an instant.
“Beautiful time of year,” Gulthais agrees. The thin, dark-haired vampire is dressed in antique courtly clothing, as if he is mocking his own undead status. “And what do you intend to do with this deity of death you’ve dug up? Wasn’t she the plague of our dear sister?”
Taran looks at the three calmly. “Life is strange,” he says. “Just a minute ago, I was threatening the rulers of Cormyr, and now I’m wasting time with scum like you.”
“Perhaps that is why you are so universally disliked,” Gulthais suggests with an ingratiating smile. “Too much threatening, and not enough time-wasting.”
Taran rolls his eyes, then looks at his brother.
“I hear our poor Mother’s Prime has gone bad,” Gulthais continues. “Do you think there’s anything salvageable? Or should we just seal the gates?” The vampire’s cloying sneer is nauseating.
At this point, the beggar woman has shambled over to Elgin Trezler, and whispers to him, “I watched your church get sacked last night.” She leans in close, in an impersonation of a love-struck schoolgirl. “It was beautiful.”
“I have something for you!” Elgin shouts as he removes his mace and lashes the woman with a backhand blow. The beggar rolls with the strike, and uses her momentum to carry her into the legs of Thelbar, where she palms a hidden blade, and slices at the backs of his knees.
Thelbar cries out and jumps away from her, and just as Taran is freeing Arunshee’s Kiss from its scabbard, Thelbar freezes time.
Things flicker, and Thelbar disappears, as a prismatic spray sweeps over his foes, burning and blasting them. The spray is instantly followed by a bright blue chain lighting arc that dances between Gulthais, the beggar and the stable-boy, and then a green ray appears from the spot where the mage was standing and strikes the hag in the chest, disintegrating her. By the time the demonic woman collapses into a pile of dust, Thelbar is seen to be twenty feet away, protected by a shield spell.
The stable boy shakes his head against the smoke rising from his incinerated clothing, and reaches out to strikes at Taran with what appears to be a thin, provincial walking stick. Taran is knocked backwards by what feels to be a half-ton sledgehammer, and he is sure that ribs have been broken by the blow.
Gulthais moves away from the melee, and sends a lightning bolt towards Thelbar, knocking the wizard to a half-crouch in the dirt of the street. Taran staggers away from the demonic child, lights flashing before his eyes. He swings wildly with both Arunshee’s Kiss and Little Sister as he tries to focus his vision, but the child has skipped away from him. Elgin, noting both his companion’s wounds, arcs a mass heal between them, instantly restoring to Taran his eyesight, and to Thelbar his clarity of thought. In addition, Elgin includes Gulthais within the spell, guessing correctly about the creature’s undead status. Gulthais reels backwards, his skin wrinkling and smoking before the party’s eyes.
Taran takes advantage of his reprieve to dash within the reach of the stable boy, cutting him three times in rapid succession across his chest. A most un-stableboy-like vapor emerges from the wounds, a sulfuric scent betraying his lower planar origin.
Thelbar sucks the moisture from his enemies with a horrid wiliting, which destroys Gulthais outright, and provokes an Abyssal curse from the stableboy. Elgin sends a searing light into the snarling child, just as he sends Taran reeling with a power word, stun. Thelbar quickly dispels the stunning effect, but as he does so, the boy stuns Taran a second time.
“I can do this all day,” the creature sneers.
Elgin presents his holy symbol and attempts to banish the creature back to its home plane, but his attempt is not strong enough, and the fiendish boy mocks the effort. “Iiam is greater than . . .,” it begins, but the rest of its boast is lost beneath a feeblemind from Thelbar. Elgin engages the stupid and feral creature with an exchange of blows, and after a moment, Thelbar is able to dispel the stunning effect on Taran for a second time, and with Taran’s attacks added to the equation, the creature falls away into a sulfurous mist and is gone.
The party looks about them, but with the city-wide curfew in effect, there are no witnesses to their street brawl. Thelbar says a word, and teleports the trio back to New Ithor.
-----
That night, as he is preparing for his evening studies, Thelbar finds this note within one of his pockets.
It is a blessing of the Powers that no good deed goes unnoticed in our perfect world. I had happened upon some old friends of yours who were very eager to pay a visit. I was happy to oblige, and tell them your whereabouts. Sleep tight.
Your dear friend,
Gulthais
Disturbingly, the note is written in Infernal, the language of the Nine Hells and its Baatezu masters.
”F-ck the Baatezu,” Taran says.
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Explorer
A double update for the hell of it, and one in which Taran doesn't even curse.
-----
84— The Anvil and the Hard Place
Upon their return from Cormyr, Merkatha approaches the Tar-Ilou brothers during the evening meal about going after the mind-flayer complex within the Delve, but is rebuffed.
“Who cares?” Taran asks, his mouth full. He gulps from a jug of wine. “Illithid are small fry. We’re going after Ceredain.”
Enraged, Merkatha sputters and curses, but Thelbar puts his foot down. “Frankly, we feel that it will be too dangerous for you, Merkatha. Winterbeard gave you good advice—you should have no further truck with Ceredain or her Delve. We are compelled by goodwill and by our faith to return, but you have clamed no such service. We will honor all promises made, and return your friend to life if he is willing, but we can take you with us no further. Should you wish to remain amongst the drow here, you are welcome, but of course you are a free woman and may do as you see fit;” Thelbar regards her keenly. “Save for returning to Kor’En Eamor.”
-----
Storm’s Rise in the summertime is a serene and ghostly place. The air is thin enough to provoke a slight light-headedness upon arrival, and the mountain air is pleasantly crisp, despite the warm sun. The Southern side of town has an unrivaled view of the downward slope, and Taran fancies that he can see as far as Eveningstar. Dawn in the mountains is a glorious time, as the warm pink glow strikes the mountainside and washes a reflection across the town. The sight inspires the hearts of all three of the adventurers, and Elgin Trezler says, “this is why we love Lathander.” The town is so quiet, it is difficult to believe that a gate to the dwarven Hell is no more than one mile distant.
The brothers arrive with a portable hole filled with the arms and armor taken from the fallen duergar city. At least the guard, feeble though it may be, will be well-equipped. Taran is able to find the old man tasked with watching the bridge and giving a first warning against goblin raiders, or prowling hippogriffs-- he shows the man what he has brought, selecting a lavishly enameled and carved helmet for the fellow.
The elderly guardsman tells Taran that since the party’s last visit, Winterbeard has had a visitor. Another dwarf, he says, and they’ve been locked up in Old Winterbeard’s place for days now. Taran describes Alvodar, Ceredain’s Ukerak, but the old man says, “No, no. This was a plain-lookin’ feller. A working dwarf—I could tell by his hands.”
The party immediately travels to Winterbeard’s home, and they find that there is a strange dwarf sitting in Winterbeard’s parlor, but Winterbeard himself is not present. Thelbar begins to introduce himself, but the dwarf cuts him off. “I am Veldegan, and I am here about Moradin’s business. I know who you are, and I’ve been waiting for you.”
“This dwarf is not of this world,” Thelbar thinks to Taran, regarding Veldegan with his arcane sight. “He is a divine creature, and a powerful one.”
“At last,” Taran says. “Somebody who knows what the hell he’s talking about. We have more questions than answers about Ceredain, and we need some advice.”
“I don’t have any ‘advice’ for you,” Veldegan says. “In lives past, you have served my god, and been counted as friends to the dwarves. In memory of this, I have been sent to ask you to leave this place and never return.”
“I see,” Thelbar says. “And where is Sonora, now?” Thelbar asks, referring to Winterbeard by his ancient name.
“He rests with Moradin,” Veldegan says firmly. “The soul-forger smiles upon your deeds. He has worked with your mother, and co-existed with her for a long time. Her doctrines do not threaten Him, nor do they threaten His people.” The dwarf leans forward in his seat, and assumes an attitude of grandfatherly patronage. “There are considerations beyond your faith at work here, and this is a family affair. Your goddess has made many enemies, and she will need allies in the coming days, and Moradin is prepared to stand by her in this time of trouble. He will forgive past slights, and will seal the gate to this world, but you must agree to leave Ceredain be.”
Taran frowns. “We have some unfinished business. We need to retrieve a teifling’s soul to fulfill a promise, and we want the Ukerak.”
“You may not have the Ukerak. Alvodar Bluebeard works in the forge he has built, and has earned his fate.”
“Well, we don’t see things that way,” Taran says.
“There are things that are beyond mortal understanding, and Kor’En Eamor is one of them,” the dwarf replies. “You may not have the Ukerak. Moradin has spoken.”
“You are succinct,” Thelbar says slowly. “I am, of course, aware that you are bound by the taboos your god has put upon the dwarven first-home, but without violating those boundaries; what can you tell us about Kor-En Eamor?”
“I can tell you that Ceredain conspired against the Soul-Forger and committed adultery and treason. She warped heavenly law for a mortal’s ambition, and such a slight may never be forgiven or forgotten. I am here to offer you an alliance between our faiths, but the other side of the hammer is this: defy Moradin’s judgment, and your goddess will have an enemy as eternal as a mountain and implacable as true steel.” The dwarf pauses while the magnitude of his threat settles in. “A decision has been given into your hands. You are your goddesses’ representatives in this, and what actions you take will have profound and long-lasting consequences. Think deeply, and think well. I will await your answer here.”
-----
“Who is Alvodar to us, really?” Taran asks as the three adventurers convene in the town’s inn. “I don’t like the idea that we abandon a former companion to this hell, no matter what he has done. We protect our own.”
“The mistakes of a lifetime seem a poor excuse for eternal torment,” Elgin says, “but we are not certain that he would even accept the pasoun, should we be able to wrest his phylactery away from Ceredain.”
“He could be an enemy, for all we know,” Thelbar says. “We knew him, and may have adventured with him, but that alone does not make him a true companion.”
“And the aid of the dwarves could be crucial for us, if it is to be war,” Elgin says.
“What would Ishlok do?” Taran wonders. “Hell, what would Kyreel say?”
Elgin regards both of his companions, and places an arm on each of their shoulders. “I am prepared to ask Lathander for a miracle, that the Memory Charm might be lifted from you. I have thought for some time that if you are to understand the role you play, you must have full knowledge of your past. Will you agree?”
“I do not know, Elgin,” Thelbar says. “Perhaps some things are best left unknown.”
“But we can’t make a smart choice without all the facts,” Taran says. “And this isn’t about us anymore. It’s about the gods-damned dwarves, and the faithful, and maybe it’s about our friends who have fallen by the wayside.” Taran looks beseechingly at his brother, showing for the first time in Elgin’s experience a pleading glance. “We need this. Please. We need to know.”
That night, as the brothers Tar-Ilou prepare for sleep, Elgin Trezler calls upon Lathander for a miracle.
-----
84— The Anvil and the Hard Place
Upon their return from Cormyr, Merkatha approaches the Tar-Ilou brothers during the evening meal about going after the mind-flayer complex within the Delve, but is rebuffed.
“Who cares?” Taran asks, his mouth full. He gulps from a jug of wine. “Illithid are small fry. We’re going after Ceredain.”
Enraged, Merkatha sputters and curses, but Thelbar puts his foot down. “Frankly, we feel that it will be too dangerous for you, Merkatha. Winterbeard gave you good advice—you should have no further truck with Ceredain or her Delve. We are compelled by goodwill and by our faith to return, but you have clamed no such service. We will honor all promises made, and return your friend to life if he is willing, but we can take you with us no further. Should you wish to remain amongst the drow here, you are welcome, but of course you are a free woman and may do as you see fit;” Thelbar regards her keenly. “Save for returning to Kor’En Eamor.”
-----
Storm’s Rise in the summertime is a serene and ghostly place. The air is thin enough to provoke a slight light-headedness upon arrival, and the mountain air is pleasantly crisp, despite the warm sun. The Southern side of town has an unrivaled view of the downward slope, and Taran fancies that he can see as far as Eveningstar. Dawn in the mountains is a glorious time, as the warm pink glow strikes the mountainside and washes a reflection across the town. The sight inspires the hearts of all three of the adventurers, and Elgin Trezler says, “this is why we love Lathander.” The town is so quiet, it is difficult to believe that a gate to the dwarven Hell is no more than one mile distant.
The brothers arrive with a portable hole filled with the arms and armor taken from the fallen duergar city. At least the guard, feeble though it may be, will be well-equipped. Taran is able to find the old man tasked with watching the bridge and giving a first warning against goblin raiders, or prowling hippogriffs-- he shows the man what he has brought, selecting a lavishly enameled and carved helmet for the fellow.
The elderly guardsman tells Taran that since the party’s last visit, Winterbeard has had a visitor. Another dwarf, he says, and they’ve been locked up in Old Winterbeard’s place for days now. Taran describes Alvodar, Ceredain’s Ukerak, but the old man says, “No, no. This was a plain-lookin’ feller. A working dwarf—I could tell by his hands.”
The party immediately travels to Winterbeard’s home, and they find that there is a strange dwarf sitting in Winterbeard’s parlor, but Winterbeard himself is not present. Thelbar begins to introduce himself, but the dwarf cuts him off. “I am Veldegan, and I am here about Moradin’s business. I know who you are, and I’ve been waiting for you.”
“This dwarf is not of this world,” Thelbar thinks to Taran, regarding Veldegan with his arcane sight. “He is a divine creature, and a powerful one.”
“At last,” Taran says. “Somebody who knows what the hell he’s talking about. We have more questions than answers about Ceredain, and we need some advice.”
“I don’t have any ‘advice’ for you,” Veldegan says. “In lives past, you have served my god, and been counted as friends to the dwarves. In memory of this, I have been sent to ask you to leave this place and never return.”
“I see,” Thelbar says. “And where is Sonora, now?” Thelbar asks, referring to Winterbeard by his ancient name.
“He rests with Moradin,” Veldegan says firmly. “The soul-forger smiles upon your deeds. He has worked with your mother, and co-existed with her for a long time. Her doctrines do not threaten Him, nor do they threaten His people.” The dwarf leans forward in his seat, and assumes an attitude of grandfatherly patronage. “There are considerations beyond your faith at work here, and this is a family affair. Your goddess has made many enemies, and she will need allies in the coming days, and Moradin is prepared to stand by her in this time of trouble. He will forgive past slights, and will seal the gate to this world, but you must agree to leave Ceredain be.”
Taran frowns. “We have some unfinished business. We need to retrieve a teifling’s soul to fulfill a promise, and we want the Ukerak.”
“You may not have the Ukerak. Alvodar Bluebeard works in the forge he has built, and has earned his fate.”
“Well, we don’t see things that way,” Taran says.
“There are things that are beyond mortal understanding, and Kor’En Eamor is one of them,” the dwarf replies. “You may not have the Ukerak. Moradin has spoken.”
“You are succinct,” Thelbar says slowly. “I am, of course, aware that you are bound by the taboos your god has put upon the dwarven first-home, but without violating those boundaries; what can you tell us about Kor-En Eamor?”
“I can tell you that Ceredain conspired against the Soul-Forger and committed adultery and treason. She warped heavenly law for a mortal’s ambition, and such a slight may never be forgiven or forgotten. I am here to offer you an alliance between our faiths, but the other side of the hammer is this: defy Moradin’s judgment, and your goddess will have an enemy as eternal as a mountain and implacable as true steel.” The dwarf pauses while the magnitude of his threat settles in. “A decision has been given into your hands. You are your goddesses’ representatives in this, and what actions you take will have profound and long-lasting consequences. Think deeply, and think well. I will await your answer here.”
-----
“Who is Alvodar to us, really?” Taran asks as the three adventurers convene in the town’s inn. “I don’t like the idea that we abandon a former companion to this hell, no matter what he has done. We protect our own.”
“The mistakes of a lifetime seem a poor excuse for eternal torment,” Elgin says, “but we are not certain that he would even accept the pasoun, should we be able to wrest his phylactery away from Ceredain.”
“He could be an enemy, for all we know,” Thelbar says. “We knew him, and may have adventured with him, but that alone does not make him a true companion.”
“And the aid of the dwarves could be crucial for us, if it is to be war,” Elgin says.
“What would Ishlok do?” Taran wonders. “Hell, what would Kyreel say?”
Elgin regards both of his companions, and places an arm on each of their shoulders. “I am prepared to ask Lathander for a miracle, that the Memory Charm might be lifted from you. I have thought for some time that if you are to understand the role you play, you must have full knowledge of your past. Will you agree?”
“I do not know, Elgin,” Thelbar says. “Perhaps some things are best left unknown.”
“But we can’t make a smart choice without all the facts,” Taran says. “And this isn’t about us anymore. It’s about the gods-damned dwarves, and the faithful, and maybe it’s about our friends who have fallen by the wayside.” Taran looks beseechingly at his brother, showing for the first time in Elgin’s experience a pleading glance. “We need this. Please. We need to know.”
That night, as the brothers Tar-Ilou prepare for sleep, Elgin Trezler calls upon Lathander for a miracle.
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Explorer
85— The Memory Charm, part II
One night, when half my life behind me lay,
I wandered from the straight lost path afar.
Through the great dark was no releasing way;
Above that dark was no relieving star.
If yet that terrored night I think or say,
As death's cold hands its fears resuming are.
--Dante Alleghri, Inferno
Taran
Taran and Thelbar would keep the names they were born with through all of their incarnations. The title “Tar-Ilou” would come later—in their first lives, their family was neither wealthy nor important enough to keep a familial name, and the village they were born into was too small to require them.
In his first life, Taran was born a robust and healthy child in a small Prime world insular enough to have no proper name. As he grew, he became known for his unusual size, and fierce disposition. He came of age under the watchful eye and instruction of his older brother; a child who possessed a deep cunning beyond his years, and an affinity for learning that eventually brought him to the attention of wizardly tutors.
Thelbar ruled Taran then—the younger sibling, while physically powerful and possessed of a formidable courage, buckled time and time again under his brother’s will. Given instruction in the arts of war by a drunken and gregarious friend of the family, a retired mercenary, Taran learned quickly that real men fought for their lving, and took from the cold world what they could. Taran idolized his “uncle”, and aspired someday to take up his mantle and prove his manhood in the dangerous and fickle world beyond civilization.
As the brothers reached young adulthood, they began to adventure, shunning the company of others and growing steadily more skilled. Pragmatism and ambition were the cornerstones of their morality, and their growing power served only those ends. The scheming and bestial gods of this world spurred them on to ever greater heights, testing their will and ability time and time again. Friend and foe alike were forced to yield to the brother’s purposes, and in a world of city-states and isolated communities the duo began to forge a cult of personality devoted to the adventurer’s credo: If you take it, it is yours.
Thelbar left the outward trappings of leadership to his brother, but controlled the younger fighter completely, managing all non-military affairs, and applying new uses for his growing magical power within the political sphere. The cult soon became a bandit-lordship, then a kingdom. The kingdom grew hungry and became an empire absorbing or conquering all dissenters, be they monstrous, human or deific.
But the empire was not to last—an economic and political structure built entirely for the purposes of military victory fears only two things: running out of enemies, or bumping into a greater power. Taran’s empire did the latter, and as it became clear that he had overextended himself and underestimated both the numbers and the capabilities of his enemies, Thelbar came to him with an escape route: flight from the world. In his studies, Thelbar had learned the existence of places unimagined by the folk of their world, and unmentioned within their religious and wisdom teachings—places where no enemy could follow. Taran and Thelbar abandoned their empire then, left their armies to slavery or death, and never looked back.
The multiverse was their playground.
Thelbar
It chafed Thelbar that there should be any authority greater than his own will. That things outside of himself could compel him was repugnant to him, even as a very small child. He could perceive, and perceive clearly, that the adults around him were far his inferior. Those he could not manipulate, and these were few in number, he could avoid, intimidate, or blackmail. In this fashion, he became adept at having his way while ever seeming the beneficiary of charity. Within his brother, he found a willing and uniquely useful tool. In his own way, Thelbar loved his brother, but he loved his ambition more.
The empire he built satisfied him for a time, but only briefly. He supported the endless war of conquest, looking, he would later admit, for some vaguely sensed achievement that might sate his ambition, and grant him release. When his studies broke through the limitations of his world’s scholarly understanding, he realized that what he required was a larger stage—the largest stage—the only stage that mattered to Thelbar. Once he realized his intention, it was only a matter of time before a rock sufficiently large to crush his current empire could be found, and dashed against. With the empire tottering on the verge of collapse, it was a simple matter to convince his brother to follow him into the unknown.
The Maker and Destroyer
Taran was surprised and Thelbar was relieved to discover that while the fullness of reality was far larger than they had ever expected, they were still among the top powers in it. The dragons and godlings of their world were on par with the demon princes and celestial dukes that ruled the wider multiverse. The de-facto carte blanche that they had grown comfortable with would remain the same—they had little to fear, and there was no authority with the power to enforce their mandates in the face of Taran and Thelbar’s wrath.
For a while, they went their separate ways. Taran founded a mercenary band, composed primarily of other humans who, like himself, had seen the worst their prime-material worlds could offer, and had come to the planes looking for bigger fights, louder arguments and more passionate love. In a quest for the latter, Taran fell into the company of a coven that worshipped an unnamed goddess—a temptress who offered her worshippers their heart’s desire. While Taran had a falling-out with the coven’s leader shortly after the beginning of their ill-fated affair and eventually sacked their temple in the Outlands, the goddess herself paid a call upon Thelbar.
A prime world had fallen from its maker’s graces, and the pantheon of gods and goddesses that ruled it wished for it to be destroyed. Prevented by ancient covenant from doing so themselves, they had prepared a series of enchantments that would unravel the very fabric of the world’s reality and destroy every sentient being within it. All they needed was a wizard sufficiently advanced in his understanding to complete the task and sufficiently foolish to accept it.
They found Thelbar.
Hell
The seeds of madness were planted within the mage as these invocations were made complete. The world was gone, and Thelbar had wielded power well beyond the mortal norm. He had been privy to the councils of these gods, had tasted the power and majesty due a god, but he had also glimpsed the inherent fragility and currency of godhood—indebtedness to mortal worshippers. This compelling need for ever greater power, combined with Thelbar’s life-long affinity for domination and control led him to an unusual conclusion: There were god-like entities who did not require worshippers the way the gods did—the devil princes known as the Lords of the Nine. By all measurements, they were as powerful as the gods, but owed allegiance to no one. Within their layer, their will was supreme.
Thelbar set out then to steal a layer of Hell. To make himself a Lord would be to seize what he wished, and put himself in a position to truly be counted a player on the largest stage there was. His target was Belial, Lord of the Fourth. It was not an overt coup, but rather a subtly and deftly played transfer of power and betrayal that left Belial alive, humiliated, and displaced. Thelbar had succeeded, but with his greatest accomplishment, he had finally overreached. This was Hell, after all, and Hell is the place where all grand dreams turn to ash.
Taran, meanwhile, had found contentment. His true loves were the physical things—carousing, fighting, wine, women and song. His mercenaries loved him, and he discovered in his brother’s absence, a genuine aptitude for winning and holding the loyalty of fighting men. If he tended to overspend, well, more treasure could be won. If his strategies left him in a poor position, his own sword-arm could extricate himself.
But this rough-and-tumble idyll was interrupted when a young human paladin calling himself Kyreel Silverstone found Taran and told him what his brother had done. Kyreel meant to throw down this new Lord of hell, and could he count on Taran’s support?
Trapped by his own maneuvering, Thelbar found himself unable to fully understand the Baatezu mind—he could nudge but not control, and in a place where the only currency of any value is fear, he simply could not force these immortals to obey. He was a ruler in Hell for a day, and its victim thereafter.
When Taran and Kyreel hacked their way into Hell, blood in their eyes, and an adventurer’s fire in their hearts, they discovered that Belial was back on his throne, and he had made of Thelbar a broken and fragile plaything. Taran killed Belial’s strongest lieutenants, and meant to kill Belial himself-- but the Lord of the Third did not stay to fight. Taran and Kyreel gathered Thelbar up, and fled for the celestial planes, where they were able to rest and assess the magnitude of what they had done.
The Baatezu were eternal creatures, and they had long memories. Thelbar had doomed the duo—doomed them to a damnation that no amount of prayer or “old adventurer’s piety” could forestall. While they still lived, at least they would be able to defend themselves. Once they died, the Baatezu would spare no expense to attain their souls, and drag them to the lowest places to be kept in torment for all eternity.
Thelbar’s escapade had soured even the more beatific gods on his cause. He had shown the expanse of his ambition, and there were no masters willing to take the brothers under their wing. They were to be left alone until they died, and they could find no patron.
But again, Kyreel came to the rescue. He had a goddess, he told them, unlike any other.
One night, when half my life behind me lay,
I wandered from the straight lost path afar.
Through the great dark was no releasing way;
Above that dark was no relieving star.
If yet that terrored night I think or say,
As death's cold hands its fears resuming are.
--Dante Alleghri, Inferno
Taran
Taran and Thelbar would keep the names they were born with through all of their incarnations. The title “Tar-Ilou” would come later—in their first lives, their family was neither wealthy nor important enough to keep a familial name, and the village they were born into was too small to require them.
In his first life, Taran was born a robust and healthy child in a small Prime world insular enough to have no proper name. As he grew, he became known for his unusual size, and fierce disposition. He came of age under the watchful eye and instruction of his older brother; a child who possessed a deep cunning beyond his years, and an affinity for learning that eventually brought him to the attention of wizardly tutors.
Thelbar ruled Taran then—the younger sibling, while physically powerful and possessed of a formidable courage, buckled time and time again under his brother’s will. Given instruction in the arts of war by a drunken and gregarious friend of the family, a retired mercenary, Taran learned quickly that real men fought for their lving, and took from the cold world what they could. Taran idolized his “uncle”, and aspired someday to take up his mantle and prove his manhood in the dangerous and fickle world beyond civilization.
As the brothers reached young adulthood, they began to adventure, shunning the company of others and growing steadily more skilled. Pragmatism and ambition were the cornerstones of their morality, and their growing power served only those ends. The scheming and bestial gods of this world spurred them on to ever greater heights, testing their will and ability time and time again. Friend and foe alike were forced to yield to the brother’s purposes, and in a world of city-states and isolated communities the duo began to forge a cult of personality devoted to the adventurer’s credo: If you take it, it is yours.
Thelbar left the outward trappings of leadership to his brother, but controlled the younger fighter completely, managing all non-military affairs, and applying new uses for his growing magical power within the political sphere. The cult soon became a bandit-lordship, then a kingdom. The kingdom grew hungry and became an empire absorbing or conquering all dissenters, be they monstrous, human or deific.
But the empire was not to last—an economic and political structure built entirely for the purposes of military victory fears only two things: running out of enemies, or bumping into a greater power. Taran’s empire did the latter, and as it became clear that he had overextended himself and underestimated both the numbers and the capabilities of his enemies, Thelbar came to him with an escape route: flight from the world. In his studies, Thelbar had learned the existence of places unimagined by the folk of their world, and unmentioned within their religious and wisdom teachings—places where no enemy could follow. Taran and Thelbar abandoned their empire then, left their armies to slavery or death, and never looked back.
The multiverse was their playground.
Thelbar
It chafed Thelbar that there should be any authority greater than his own will. That things outside of himself could compel him was repugnant to him, even as a very small child. He could perceive, and perceive clearly, that the adults around him were far his inferior. Those he could not manipulate, and these were few in number, he could avoid, intimidate, or blackmail. In this fashion, he became adept at having his way while ever seeming the beneficiary of charity. Within his brother, he found a willing and uniquely useful tool. In his own way, Thelbar loved his brother, but he loved his ambition more.
The empire he built satisfied him for a time, but only briefly. He supported the endless war of conquest, looking, he would later admit, for some vaguely sensed achievement that might sate his ambition, and grant him release. When his studies broke through the limitations of his world’s scholarly understanding, he realized that what he required was a larger stage—the largest stage—the only stage that mattered to Thelbar. Once he realized his intention, it was only a matter of time before a rock sufficiently large to crush his current empire could be found, and dashed against. With the empire tottering on the verge of collapse, it was a simple matter to convince his brother to follow him into the unknown.
The Maker and Destroyer
Taran was surprised and Thelbar was relieved to discover that while the fullness of reality was far larger than they had ever expected, they were still among the top powers in it. The dragons and godlings of their world were on par with the demon princes and celestial dukes that ruled the wider multiverse. The de-facto carte blanche that they had grown comfortable with would remain the same—they had little to fear, and there was no authority with the power to enforce their mandates in the face of Taran and Thelbar’s wrath.
For a while, they went their separate ways. Taran founded a mercenary band, composed primarily of other humans who, like himself, had seen the worst their prime-material worlds could offer, and had come to the planes looking for bigger fights, louder arguments and more passionate love. In a quest for the latter, Taran fell into the company of a coven that worshipped an unnamed goddess—a temptress who offered her worshippers their heart’s desire. While Taran had a falling-out with the coven’s leader shortly after the beginning of their ill-fated affair and eventually sacked their temple in the Outlands, the goddess herself paid a call upon Thelbar.
A prime world had fallen from its maker’s graces, and the pantheon of gods and goddesses that ruled it wished for it to be destroyed. Prevented by ancient covenant from doing so themselves, they had prepared a series of enchantments that would unravel the very fabric of the world’s reality and destroy every sentient being within it. All they needed was a wizard sufficiently advanced in his understanding to complete the task and sufficiently foolish to accept it.
They found Thelbar.
Hell
The seeds of madness were planted within the mage as these invocations were made complete. The world was gone, and Thelbar had wielded power well beyond the mortal norm. He had been privy to the councils of these gods, had tasted the power and majesty due a god, but he had also glimpsed the inherent fragility and currency of godhood—indebtedness to mortal worshippers. This compelling need for ever greater power, combined with Thelbar’s life-long affinity for domination and control led him to an unusual conclusion: There were god-like entities who did not require worshippers the way the gods did—the devil princes known as the Lords of the Nine. By all measurements, they were as powerful as the gods, but owed allegiance to no one. Within their layer, their will was supreme.
Thelbar set out then to steal a layer of Hell. To make himself a Lord would be to seize what he wished, and put himself in a position to truly be counted a player on the largest stage there was. His target was Belial, Lord of the Fourth. It was not an overt coup, but rather a subtly and deftly played transfer of power and betrayal that left Belial alive, humiliated, and displaced. Thelbar had succeeded, but with his greatest accomplishment, he had finally overreached. This was Hell, after all, and Hell is the place where all grand dreams turn to ash.
Taran, meanwhile, had found contentment. His true loves were the physical things—carousing, fighting, wine, women and song. His mercenaries loved him, and he discovered in his brother’s absence, a genuine aptitude for winning and holding the loyalty of fighting men. If he tended to overspend, well, more treasure could be won. If his strategies left him in a poor position, his own sword-arm could extricate himself.
But this rough-and-tumble idyll was interrupted when a young human paladin calling himself Kyreel Silverstone found Taran and told him what his brother had done. Kyreel meant to throw down this new Lord of hell, and could he count on Taran’s support?
Trapped by his own maneuvering, Thelbar found himself unable to fully understand the Baatezu mind—he could nudge but not control, and in a place where the only currency of any value is fear, he simply could not force these immortals to obey. He was a ruler in Hell for a day, and its victim thereafter.
When Taran and Kyreel hacked their way into Hell, blood in their eyes, and an adventurer’s fire in their hearts, they discovered that Belial was back on his throne, and he had made of Thelbar a broken and fragile plaything. Taran killed Belial’s strongest lieutenants, and meant to kill Belial himself-- but the Lord of the Third did not stay to fight. Taran and Kyreel gathered Thelbar up, and fled for the celestial planes, where they were able to rest and assess the magnitude of what they had done.
The Baatezu were eternal creatures, and they had long memories. Thelbar had doomed the duo—doomed them to a damnation that no amount of prayer or “old adventurer’s piety” could forestall. While they still lived, at least they would be able to defend themselves. Once they died, the Baatezu would spare no expense to attain their souls, and drag them to the lowest places to be kept in torment for all eternity.
Thelbar’s escapade had soured even the more beatific gods on his cause. He had shown the expanse of his ambition, and there were no masters willing to take the brothers under their wing. They were to be left alone until they died, and they could find no patron.
But again, Kyreel came to the rescue. He had a goddess, he told them, unlike any other.
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Explorer
We generally keep alignments on the record sheets for purposes of spell-effects only. In other words, if alignment can be targeted by spells and smiting in D&D, then it is an actual physical (or metaphysical) component of a person, observable (with the right magic) and concrete.
So we use alignment in the literal sense of the word-- "What side are you on?" as opposed to a description of personality/behavior/morals.
Because is Taran really good? Is it good to just go put your sword through the head of whoever pushes your friends around?
So we use alignment in the literal sense of the word-- "What side are you on?" as opposed to a description of personality/behavior/morals.
Because is Taran really good? Is it good to just go put your sword through the head of whoever pushes your friends around?
(contact)
Explorer
86—The Memory Charm, part III
Ishlok
She was a deity with no following in the planes, one of the rare creatures who kept her realm within the prime material plane—a world called Isk. She explained that she had no need for followers, but those souls under her care were placed within a cycle of life-and-rebirth culminating in an enlightened state. This deity contended that Good was the inevitable result of freedom, and her pasoun had been built to prove it. But more to the point, Ishlok would hide the brothers—change them enough to render them immune to divination and location. The souls who usurped a Lord of the Nine and embarrassed the entire Baatezu race would, as a point of technicality, be gone. After all, the Baatezu had been using technicalities against the mortals for so long, it seemed only fair that their own weapon be turned against them.
In this way, Taran and Thelbar submitted to Ishlok’s protection, and came into the service of the Mother.
Isk
The duo did not see much of Kyreel once they were established in his home world. He had his duties, and they had their own. Ishlok’s pantheon consisted of herself and her three children: Isk, the world itself, Hustaiir, a goddess of magic and neutrality, and Iiam, the last-born and most wicked of the three.
The brothers settled in the grand city of Isenthal, a complex of small islands connected to a larger mass on a pennensula. Thelbar became enamored with the place, and began to put his intellect and magical capabilities to work building the city into a military and trade power. Despising autocracy (a reaction from his recent experiences in the Lower Planes), he put forward a new form of government—a system whereby influential guilds and merchant houses could form a parliamentary body that would both advise, and if necessary, overrule the hereditary King. To ensure that his new system would last, he saw to it that the monarch was a like-thinking half-elf. This new king could be expected to rule long enough for several human generations to be born and die. By the time a more willful king might ascend to the throne, this new government would be firmly established and well-rooted in precedent.
Taran used his new-found sanctuary to chase after the simple pleasures of his recent past. But in the wake of his adventures in Hell, and the toll their terrors took on his psyche, he was unable to find contentment. He fell into a cycle of drunken debauchery, and grew ever more debased. His prized mercenary company was usurped from his control by his trusted second, and Taran was gradually removed from day-to-day operations. Eventually, the mercenary band left Isk altogether, and left their founder behind.
Occasionally, Taran would emerge from his stupor and make loud noises about “taking up the adventuring life,” but the local tavern (built with his fortunes, and owned by him) always proved closer than the nearest rampaging dragon, and the one enemy Taran could not defeat was himself. Reduced to an ineffectual state by his own willfulness, but granted an unnaturally long life-span through Thelbar’s magic, Taran faded from the halls of the powerful, and found his own personal Hell—a hell from which no crusading paladin might rescue him. He fathered many children, but raised none of them. He was as useless a family man as he had been effective as an adventurer.
Thelbar came into the direct service of the goddess Hustaire, and took the title of “Balancer.” He used his other-worldly knowledge to place himself above the other wizards of Isk, and organize them into a grand council at the goddess’ disposal. With no formal priesthood, Hustaire had previously had no active role in the lives of the Mother’s Children. Isk was a magic-poor world, and by submitting to Thelbar’s divinely-sanctioned “guidance,” these other wizards were able to plumb the secrets of what the multiverse at large knew as the heights of spell-casting. Thelbar built for himself a wizard’s tower that floated on a cloud above the Ishlokain peninsula—it soon became a symbol of the city as well as of the power of its primary protector.
At this time, Isenthal‘s rise brought the city-state into conflict with the Empire of Ishlok—the continent’s great sea-faring imperial power. The Holy Ishlokian Empire was a theocracy devoted to the goddess in name only; its rulers had long since fallen from grace, and declared all forms of magic “demonic,” as well as removing through state-sponsored genocidal pogroms and purges all demi-human inhabitants of their expansive realm. The Ishlokians had maintained their hegemony through military force, and responded to the Isenthanian upstarts in a predicatble fashion. What no one could predict, however, was the effect that Thelbar’s outworld knowledge would have on the face of armed conflict for the world.
Isk had always been an isolated place—its magic was only one facet of its larger culture that was to prove ineffective in the face of Thelbar’s imported thinking. The smaller Isenthanian army was able to use unconventional tactics to win victory after victory, seizing shipping lanes and severely restricting the Ishlokain’s control over the more far-flung elements of their empire.
This was all well and good, but despite his lofty title, Thelbar the Balancer could not leave well enough alone. Believing himself divinely-inspired, and perhaps still a little mad, he once again overstepped himself by moving against the machinations of the world’s sole deity of Evil. Iiam did not take favorably to this challenge, and as a jealous sibling, he resented Hustaire’s new proxy and her increasing power within the mortal sphere. Iiam confronted Thelbar, and mocking him, stripped from Thelbar the one thing that had always put him above other mortals—his spell-casting abilities. Iiam personally tore from Thelbar’s mind all knowledge of wizard-craft, and cruelly, left the former mage to live the rest of his natural life without any extra-normal gift.
What transpired then is unclear, but Thelbar found himself entirely unable to live a commoner’s life. Ashamed of his weakness, he fled from civilization, eventually finding solace (and perhaps a bit of wisdom) in the hermit’s life.
Deprived of Thelbar’s longevity magics, Taran also grew old and weak. He put his drinking behind him, but the damage had been done—his health destroyed, his fame nonexistent, the bullish fighter found that he too had outlived his bravado. None remained who remembered the man he was, and few could respect the man he had become.
At this point, Ishlok herself intervened. Their mortal lives had played to their ends, she told the brothers, and should they wish to remain within her protective graces, they must enter fully into her pasoun and become true natives of her realm. Faced with unimaginable torment, the brothers had no real choice. They submitted to a ritual death, and were reborn as true Children of Isk.
Ishlok
She was a deity with no following in the planes, one of the rare creatures who kept her realm within the prime material plane—a world called Isk. She explained that she had no need for followers, but those souls under her care were placed within a cycle of life-and-rebirth culminating in an enlightened state. This deity contended that Good was the inevitable result of freedom, and her pasoun had been built to prove it. But more to the point, Ishlok would hide the brothers—change them enough to render them immune to divination and location. The souls who usurped a Lord of the Nine and embarrassed the entire Baatezu race would, as a point of technicality, be gone. After all, the Baatezu had been using technicalities against the mortals for so long, it seemed only fair that their own weapon be turned against them.
In this way, Taran and Thelbar submitted to Ishlok’s protection, and came into the service of the Mother.
Isk
The duo did not see much of Kyreel once they were established in his home world. He had his duties, and they had their own. Ishlok’s pantheon consisted of herself and her three children: Isk, the world itself, Hustaiir, a goddess of magic and neutrality, and Iiam, the last-born and most wicked of the three.
The brothers settled in the grand city of Isenthal, a complex of small islands connected to a larger mass on a pennensula. Thelbar became enamored with the place, and began to put his intellect and magical capabilities to work building the city into a military and trade power. Despising autocracy (a reaction from his recent experiences in the Lower Planes), he put forward a new form of government—a system whereby influential guilds and merchant houses could form a parliamentary body that would both advise, and if necessary, overrule the hereditary King. To ensure that his new system would last, he saw to it that the monarch was a like-thinking half-elf. This new king could be expected to rule long enough for several human generations to be born and die. By the time a more willful king might ascend to the throne, this new government would be firmly established and well-rooted in precedent.
Taran used his new-found sanctuary to chase after the simple pleasures of his recent past. But in the wake of his adventures in Hell, and the toll their terrors took on his psyche, he was unable to find contentment. He fell into a cycle of drunken debauchery, and grew ever more debased. His prized mercenary company was usurped from his control by his trusted second, and Taran was gradually removed from day-to-day operations. Eventually, the mercenary band left Isk altogether, and left their founder behind.
Occasionally, Taran would emerge from his stupor and make loud noises about “taking up the adventuring life,” but the local tavern (built with his fortunes, and owned by him) always proved closer than the nearest rampaging dragon, and the one enemy Taran could not defeat was himself. Reduced to an ineffectual state by his own willfulness, but granted an unnaturally long life-span through Thelbar’s magic, Taran faded from the halls of the powerful, and found his own personal Hell—a hell from which no crusading paladin might rescue him. He fathered many children, but raised none of them. He was as useless a family man as he had been effective as an adventurer.
Thelbar came into the direct service of the goddess Hustaire, and took the title of “Balancer.” He used his other-worldly knowledge to place himself above the other wizards of Isk, and organize them into a grand council at the goddess’ disposal. With no formal priesthood, Hustaire had previously had no active role in the lives of the Mother’s Children. Isk was a magic-poor world, and by submitting to Thelbar’s divinely-sanctioned “guidance,” these other wizards were able to plumb the secrets of what the multiverse at large knew as the heights of spell-casting. Thelbar built for himself a wizard’s tower that floated on a cloud above the Ishlokain peninsula—it soon became a symbol of the city as well as of the power of its primary protector.
At this time, Isenthal‘s rise brought the city-state into conflict with the Empire of Ishlok—the continent’s great sea-faring imperial power. The Holy Ishlokian Empire was a theocracy devoted to the goddess in name only; its rulers had long since fallen from grace, and declared all forms of magic “demonic,” as well as removing through state-sponsored genocidal pogroms and purges all demi-human inhabitants of their expansive realm. The Ishlokians had maintained their hegemony through military force, and responded to the Isenthanian upstarts in a predicatble fashion. What no one could predict, however, was the effect that Thelbar’s outworld knowledge would have on the face of armed conflict for the world.
Isk had always been an isolated place—its magic was only one facet of its larger culture that was to prove ineffective in the face of Thelbar’s imported thinking. The smaller Isenthanian army was able to use unconventional tactics to win victory after victory, seizing shipping lanes and severely restricting the Ishlokain’s control over the more far-flung elements of their empire.
This was all well and good, but despite his lofty title, Thelbar the Balancer could not leave well enough alone. Believing himself divinely-inspired, and perhaps still a little mad, he once again overstepped himself by moving against the machinations of the world’s sole deity of Evil. Iiam did not take favorably to this challenge, and as a jealous sibling, he resented Hustaire’s new proxy and her increasing power within the mortal sphere. Iiam confronted Thelbar, and mocking him, stripped from Thelbar the one thing that had always put him above other mortals—his spell-casting abilities. Iiam personally tore from Thelbar’s mind all knowledge of wizard-craft, and cruelly, left the former mage to live the rest of his natural life without any extra-normal gift.
What transpired then is unclear, but Thelbar found himself entirely unable to live a commoner’s life. Ashamed of his weakness, he fled from civilization, eventually finding solace (and perhaps a bit of wisdom) in the hermit’s life.
Deprived of Thelbar’s longevity magics, Taran also grew old and weak. He put his drinking behind him, but the damage had been done—his health destroyed, his fame nonexistent, the bullish fighter found that he too had outlived his bravado. None remained who remembered the man he was, and few could respect the man he had become.
At this point, Ishlok herself intervened. Their mortal lives had played to their ends, she told the brothers, and should they wish to remain within her protective graces, they must enter fully into her pasoun and become true natives of her realm. Faced with unimaginable torment, the brothers had no real choice. They submitted to a ritual death, and were reborn as true Children of Isk.
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Joshua Randall
Legend
Holy crap, (contact), this is great stuff. It's like reading years and years of D&D playing condensed into legendary history. This is what players (and DMs) dream of: to have their stories be remembered, to have had an influence on entire worlds.
Two thumbs way, way up.
Two thumbs way, way up.
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Joshua Randall said:Holy crap, (contact), this is great stuff. It's like reading years and years of D&D playing condensed into legendary history. This is what players (and DMs) dream of: to have their stories be remembered, to have had an influence on entire worlds.
Two thumbs way, way up.
Aye, this tall tale be sending shivers down me spine. It's a hard thing to make history gleam like gold, but you be doin' it.
-zaaaaaarrrrrrruthustran
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