The Unusual Heroes Enter The City of the Spider Queen!
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Ziona
First Post
Cries of a Drow
The companions climbed the wispy web ladder up, making their way into a cold, darkened room. Tark, whose mace was glowing bright with Daylight, looked about uneasily.
“The stench of death is thick,” he spoke solemnly.
Traps shivered slightly as he walked wide-eyed through the room.
“Well, this isn’t what I expected at all,” he said with disappointment. “You think it’d be much more interesting since it has such an interesting entrance.”
As they looked around them, the allies noticed bloodstains and weapons mingled with cushions and pillows all around the room, although no corpses remained. Belasco and Varr stood looking upon an altar that was stained red with the blood of countless sacrifices. They wrinkled their noses at the scent and were just getting ready to turn away when they heard it…the shrieking cries of the undead.
As Belasco and Varr caught up to their companions, they found them defending against a ghostly figure that resembled a drow woman. The cries of the drow brought unearthly terror and pain upon those within earshot. As the dwarf and drow approached, they watched both Traps and Arden slump to the ground from the unbearable sound of the shrieking.
Meanwhile, Tark charged the ghostly drow and slammed his mace into her form before stepping back out of the witch’s reach.
“You dare disturb the altar of Alisannara, High Priestess of Szith Morcane? Your death shall be slow and painful!” screeched the stern drow woman.
Before she could wail again, Varr’s Frostbite connected with her midsection, and Tark cast upon her. By the time Belasco sliced the glowing form of the drow spirit, she began to evaporate. Her face contorted and her fists were clenched. As she disappeared, she moaned “The house Morcane ends here!”
“Good riddance,” spat Belasco.
He then made his way over to Arden, who was still strewn about the floor like a doll. Traps lay a few feet away from her, unmoving. Tark followed the drow over, and they began attempts to revive their friends.
“I’m no cleric,” said Belasco bitterly, “but I think she’s dead.”
“Dead?” asked Varr. “But the witch didn’t touch her!”
“We’ve lost Traps as well,” said Tark.
“What’re we to do?” asked Varr.
“Let me pray,” Tark said. “Perhaps I can restore them to life.”
“And if not?”
“Then we cannot leave them here,” said Tark sadly. “Their bodies will not be safe from defilement here in the Underdark.”
“So we bring them back to town,” said Belasco. “Someone who knows them better than we do will be able to decide what they would want.”
“But what of the heroes? We cannot leave them to the vicious drow,” said Rossal with frustration.
“We cannot fight leagues of drow on our own, either,” said Tark. “Let us return to the surface as Belasco said. With any luck, we’ll find others who can join our cause.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The trio brought Arden and Traps back to the surface, and tried in vain to find others to assist them in searching for The Unusual Heroes of Waterdeep. It seemed there was a shortage of adventurers that wished to venture into the Underdark, especially with skin-flaying drow on the rampage.
“And so we return alone,” said Tark. “Yet I feel that luck is on our side.”
“You would say that,” smirked Belasco in jest. “If we were lucky, then we would have reinforcements.”
“Luck is on our side,” smiled Tark. “You’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so, Lad,” said Varr seriously. “Let’s hope so.”
The Adventure Continues…
The companions climbed the wispy web ladder up, making their way into a cold, darkened room. Tark, whose mace was glowing bright with Daylight, looked about uneasily.
“The stench of death is thick,” he spoke solemnly.
Traps shivered slightly as he walked wide-eyed through the room.
“Well, this isn’t what I expected at all,” he said with disappointment. “You think it’d be much more interesting since it has such an interesting entrance.”
As they looked around them, the allies noticed bloodstains and weapons mingled with cushions and pillows all around the room, although no corpses remained. Belasco and Varr stood looking upon an altar that was stained red with the blood of countless sacrifices. They wrinkled their noses at the scent and were just getting ready to turn away when they heard it…the shrieking cries of the undead.
As Belasco and Varr caught up to their companions, they found them defending against a ghostly figure that resembled a drow woman. The cries of the drow brought unearthly terror and pain upon those within earshot. As the dwarf and drow approached, they watched both Traps and Arden slump to the ground from the unbearable sound of the shrieking.
Meanwhile, Tark charged the ghostly drow and slammed his mace into her form before stepping back out of the witch’s reach.
“You dare disturb the altar of Alisannara, High Priestess of Szith Morcane? Your death shall be slow and painful!” screeched the stern drow woman.
Before she could wail again, Varr’s Frostbite connected with her midsection, and Tark cast upon her. By the time Belasco sliced the glowing form of the drow spirit, she began to evaporate. Her face contorted and her fists were clenched. As she disappeared, she moaned “The house Morcane ends here!”
“Good riddance,” spat Belasco.
He then made his way over to Arden, who was still strewn about the floor like a doll. Traps lay a few feet away from her, unmoving. Tark followed the drow over, and they began attempts to revive their friends.
“I’m no cleric,” said Belasco bitterly, “but I think she’s dead.”
“Dead?” asked Varr. “But the witch didn’t touch her!”
“We’ve lost Traps as well,” said Tark.
“What’re we to do?” asked Varr.
“Let me pray,” Tark said. “Perhaps I can restore them to life.”
“And if not?”
“Then we cannot leave them here,” said Tark sadly. “Their bodies will not be safe from defilement here in the Underdark.”
“So we bring them back to town,” said Belasco. “Someone who knows them better than we do will be able to decide what they would want.”
“But what of the heroes? We cannot leave them to the vicious drow,” said Rossal with frustration.
“We cannot fight leagues of drow on our own, either,” said Tark. “Let us return to the surface as Belasco said. With any luck, we’ll find others who can join our cause.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The trio brought Arden and Traps back to the surface, and tried in vain to find others to assist them in searching for The Unusual Heroes of Waterdeep. It seemed there was a shortage of adventurers that wished to venture into the Underdark, especially with skin-flaying drow on the rampage.
“And so we return alone,” said Tark. “Yet I feel that luck is on our side.”
“You would say that,” smirked Belasco in jest. “If we were lucky, then we would have reinforcements.”
“Luck is on our side,” smiled Tark. “You’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so, Lad,” said Varr seriously. “Let’s hope so.”
The Adventure Continues…
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Ziona
First Post
Belasco - I'm getting there...only three more sessions to go & we're up-to-date!
Dartan - Thanks!
If I have time tonight (before or after our new campaign) I'll work on the story some more. It's difficult to work in the writing when we game on Thursday, Saturday, and now we've picked up Wednesdays, but I'm trying, so we should be caught up before long.
Dartan - Thanks!
If I have time tonight (before or after our new campaign) I'll work on the story some more. It's difficult to work in the writing when we game on Thursday, Saturday, and now we've picked up Wednesdays, but I'm trying, so we should be caught up before long.
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Ziona said:If I have time tonight (before or after our new campaign) I'll work on the story some more. It's difficult to work in the writing when we game on Thursday, Saturday, and now we've picked up Wednesdays, but I'm trying, so we should be caught up before long.
Woo hoo! More SH from Ziona!
Re
I hope the death slows down. I liked Arden and Traps.
When I read this, I feel like Xaltar sits at the table with a fly swatter and a huge grin on his face. Then when someone dies, he grabs his fly swatter up and swats the players piece of paper.
"SWAT!!!" You're dead. Hehehehe.
I hope the death slows down. I liked Arden and Traps.
When I read this, I feel like Xaltar sits at the table with a fly swatter and a huge grin on his face. Then when someone dies, he grabs his fly swatter up and swats the players piece of paper.
"SWAT!!!" You're dead. Hehehehe.
PaynAndispare
First Post
Heh, Xaltar does not have a fly swatter, though that is not a bad idea Celtavian, but you can usually tell by the smirk on his (Xaltar's) face that someone is about to be unhappy with a die roll.
This particular battle, none of us really knew that they were dead until the end, and I was thinking they were merely asleep or under some other type of spell ... was a bit of a shock.
Great write up Z, nice to see the story almost up to where we are The readers are in for a treat!
This particular battle, none of us really knew that they were dead until the end, and I was thinking they were merely asleep or under some other type of spell ... was a bit of a shock.
Great write up Z, nice to see the story almost up to where we are
The readers are in for a treat!
Ziona
First Post
Master-son
Days and nights had passed since the trio had lost Arden and Traps, and they were now back in the dreary blackness of the Underdark. Varr grumbled while Belasco was usually silent. Tark was the only one of them who seemed to believe their chances of finding the heroes was a good one.
“We are making very good time,” said the cleric, “with very little interruptions. I tell you, the luck of the gods walks with us.”
To this Belasco would roll his eyes in silence, while Varr would huff and puff about wanting something to hack down, just to break up the monotony of their travel.
Eventually, the companions came to the place where Traps and Arden had fallen. They passed without comment, and with heavy hearts, exited Szith Morcane and continued their search for Dent Masterson.
“We are entering the Deep Wastes, gentleman,” said Belasco. “There are many evils lurking here, so be on your guard.”
“We’re in the Underdark,” grunted Varr, “there are evils all over.”
“Indeed,” said Belasco. “though I would not be surprised if we ran into a beholder or cloaker here in the Wastelands, not to mention more drow. The terrain is long and treacherous here as well. Let us hope we find Masterson in one piece.”
The area was riddled with dark caverns, long, winding tunnels and the occasional icy-cold stream. The walls were dark and stony, as were the ceilings, while the uneven floors were often scattered with stalagmites.
The companions were slowed somewhat by the rough terrain, and found themselves looking over their shoulders more often than not. This turned out to be a good habit, since the trio came upon patrols of goblins and orc scouts from time to time. But after several days travel, Belasco, Tark and Varr came upon a mushroom-like cottage with a herd of rothe fenced in beside it. The rothe were squat, hairy creatures that resembled the musk oxen that lived in the surface world. They had great, curving horns and large cloven hooves.
Kneeling beside the penned beasts was a green-skinned half-elf. Before the companions could say anything, the half-elf got quickly to his feet and turned to face them.
“At ease, slave,” hissed a voice from the shadows. “I’ll see to our ‘visitors.’”
Dent Masterson stood calmly next to the rothe pen, wearing torn clothes and his Torc of Animal Speech, which the drow only allowed him to keep because it was useful in the herding of the rothe. He listened carefully and watched as the drow approached the trio.
“Why have you come lurking through the Deep Wastes?”
“I have come for the bastard elf, who has been known as an attacker of the followers of Kiaransalee,” bluffed Belasco.
“If he attacked your followers in the past, it is no concern of mine,” snapped the drow. “He is my slave now, and has been herding and working, not attacking!”
“He must be brought back to my superiors, whether he is your slave or not,” said Belasco confidently. “Perhaps we can barter for him?”
The shady drow, who must have been Yazston Hune, eyed Belasco curiously. It was obvious that he was considering what sort of deal he could make, but still seemed hesitant.
“You could not afford such a slave,” he said.
“I do not travel to the Deep Wastes for a slave,” growled Belasco. “I am here on orders. Name your price.”
“Seven thousand gold,” purred the drow. “Take the half breed if you have it.”
Belasco said nothing for a moment, then raised one eyebrow.
“Perhaps you would consider a trade. I have chain armor of fine elven make, and a magical amulet which protects the wearer from harm,” said Belasco. “They will no doubt be of use to someone who resides in the Wastelands.”
Yazston Hune hesitated still. Dent had proven to be a most useful slave, yet he could always find another slave at the bazaar…where he could no doubt trade the armor and amulet as well…
“Wait here,” said Yazston smirking.
The drow strode into his mushroom cottage. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dent looked to the companions. Belasco held up his hand however, not wanting Yazston to overhear anything he needn’t know.
A moment later, Yazston returned and handed Belasco a tube with some parchment rolled within.
“It’s your note of sale,” said the drow. “Now let me see my merchandise.”
The exchange was made, and the drow snickered at Dent as he left.
“May Kiaransalee flay you alive, half-breed.”
The foursome now traveled in silence away from the cottage and the rothe. It was a long while before Varr broke the quiet by saying, “How’d you go and make yerself green, lad?”
To this, Dent sighed.
“It’s a long story, involving a Rod of Wonder and a very nasty Archmage.”
“A very nasty, dead Archmage,” corrected Tark.
“Ned’razak is dead?”
“He and his clone,” said Belasco.
As they traveled, they informed Dent on everything that had happened, including the deaths of Traps and Arden, and the note of sale for The Unusual Heroes of Waterdeep.
“Speaking of notes of sale,” said Dent. “Would you mind handing over the one Hune gave you?”
To this Belasco laughed.
“It is but a shred of paper, Masterson. You need not worry about such things. You must, however, be equipped for our journey.”
Between Varr, Tark and Belasco, Dent had been given a bit of armor and a weapon. He was more equipped than he had been, yet he still felt odd, and somewhat naked. There he stood in the Underdark…there was no bow, no Masterson Axe…there was no Haley, or Ziona, or even Rossal. Gnettles was gone, and Avangel was not there to keep Lox in line, and now Traps and Arden were dead. If he ever made it back to Xyzx Keep, it’s halls would be rather empty.
“Dent?”
The ranger was pulled from his thoughts by Tark’s voice.
“I know you are grieving for the loss of your friends,” said the cleric, “but you must carry on knowing that, with any luck, we will find your companions.”
“Come along, ‘slave,’” called Belasco with a chuckle. “We haven’t time to waste.”
Dent looked to Tark and Varr and shook his head with a laugh.
“To the Abyss with him if he thinks I’m calling him ‘Master!’”
The Adventure Continues…
Days and nights had passed since the trio had lost Arden and Traps, and they were now back in the dreary blackness of the Underdark. Varr grumbled while Belasco was usually silent. Tark was the only one of them who seemed to believe their chances of finding the heroes was a good one.
“We are making very good time,” said the cleric, “with very little interruptions. I tell you, the luck of the gods walks with us.”
To this Belasco would roll his eyes in silence, while Varr would huff and puff about wanting something to hack down, just to break up the monotony of their travel.
Eventually, the companions came to the place where Traps and Arden had fallen. They passed without comment, and with heavy hearts, exited Szith Morcane and continued their search for Dent Masterson.
“We are entering the Deep Wastes, gentleman,” said Belasco. “There are many evils lurking here, so be on your guard.”
“We’re in the Underdark,” grunted Varr, “there are evils all over.”
“Indeed,” said Belasco. “though I would not be surprised if we ran into a beholder or cloaker here in the Wastelands, not to mention more drow. The terrain is long and treacherous here as well. Let us hope we find Masterson in one piece.”
The area was riddled with dark caverns, long, winding tunnels and the occasional icy-cold stream. The walls were dark and stony, as were the ceilings, while the uneven floors were often scattered with stalagmites.
The companions were slowed somewhat by the rough terrain, and found themselves looking over their shoulders more often than not. This turned out to be a good habit, since the trio came upon patrols of goblins and orc scouts from time to time. But after several days travel, Belasco, Tark and Varr came upon a mushroom-like cottage with a herd of rothe fenced in beside it. The rothe were squat, hairy creatures that resembled the musk oxen that lived in the surface world. They had great, curving horns and large cloven hooves.
Kneeling beside the penned beasts was a green-skinned half-elf. Before the companions could say anything, the half-elf got quickly to his feet and turned to face them.
“At ease, slave,” hissed a voice from the shadows. “I’ll see to our ‘visitors.’”
Dent Masterson stood calmly next to the rothe pen, wearing torn clothes and his Torc of Animal Speech, which the drow only allowed him to keep because it was useful in the herding of the rothe. He listened carefully and watched as the drow approached the trio.
“Why have you come lurking through the Deep Wastes?”
“I have come for the bastard elf, who has been known as an attacker of the followers of Kiaransalee,” bluffed Belasco.
“If he attacked your followers in the past, it is no concern of mine,” snapped the drow. “He is my slave now, and has been herding and working, not attacking!”
“He must be brought back to my superiors, whether he is your slave or not,” said Belasco confidently. “Perhaps we can barter for him?”
The shady drow, who must have been Yazston Hune, eyed Belasco curiously. It was obvious that he was considering what sort of deal he could make, but still seemed hesitant.
“You could not afford such a slave,” he said.
“I do not travel to the Deep Wastes for a slave,” growled Belasco. “I am here on orders. Name your price.”
“Seven thousand gold,” purred the drow. “Take the half breed if you have it.”
Belasco said nothing for a moment, then raised one eyebrow.
“Perhaps you would consider a trade. I have chain armor of fine elven make, and a magical amulet which protects the wearer from harm,” said Belasco. “They will no doubt be of use to someone who resides in the Wastelands.”
Yazston Hune hesitated still. Dent had proven to be a most useful slave, yet he could always find another slave at the bazaar…where he could no doubt trade the armor and amulet as well…
“Wait here,” said Yazston smirking.
The drow strode into his mushroom cottage. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dent looked to the companions. Belasco held up his hand however, not wanting Yazston to overhear anything he needn’t know.
A moment later, Yazston returned and handed Belasco a tube with some parchment rolled within.
“It’s your note of sale,” said the drow. “Now let me see my merchandise.”
The exchange was made, and the drow snickered at Dent as he left.
“May Kiaransalee flay you alive, half-breed.”
The foursome now traveled in silence away from the cottage and the rothe. It was a long while before Varr broke the quiet by saying, “How’d you go and make yerself green, lad?”
To this, Dent sighed.
“It’s a long story, involving a Rod of Wonder and a very nasty Archmage.”
“A very nasty, dead Archmage,” corrected Tark.
“Ned’razak is dead?”
“He and his clone,” said Belasco.
As they traveled, they informed Dent on everything that had happened, including the deaths of Traps and Arden, and the note of sale for The Unusual Heroes of Waterdeep.
“Speaking of notes of sale,” said Dent. “Would you mind handing over the one Hune gave you?”
To this Belasco laughed.
“It is but a shred of paper, Masterson. You need not worry about such things. You must, however, be equipped for our journey.”
Between Varr, Tark and Belasco, Dent had been given a bit of armor and a weapon. He was more equipped than he had been, yet he still felt odd, and somewhat naked. There he stood in the Underdark…there was no bow, no Masterson Axe…there was no Haley, or Ziona, or even Rossal. Gnettles was gone, and Avangel was not there to keep Lox in line, and now Traps and Arden were dead. If he ever made it back to Xyzx Keep, it’s halls would be rather empty.
“Dent?”
The ranger was pulled from his thoughts by Tark’s voice.
“I know you are grieving for the loss of your friends,” said the cleric, “but you must carry on knowing that, with any luck, we will find your companions.”
“Come along, ‘slave,’” called Belasco with a chuckle. “We haven’t time to waste.”
Dent looked to Tark and Varr and shook his head with a laugh.
“To the Abyss with him if he thinks I’m calling him ‘Master!’”
The Adventure Continues…
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