The Unusual Heroes Enter The City of the Spider Queen!
- Thread starter Ziona
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Ziona
First Post
Strangers
As the companions traveled through the Deep Wastes, Dent and Belasco discussed days of the past when they journeyed together as The Mask of Shadows. They talked about Venus Xyzx and the castle which serves as his namesake, and the maze where they met.
“Didn’t you leave with that strange woman?” asked Dent.
“Ah, yes…the weretigress…that’s a long and boring story,” said Belasco changing the subject. “She was quite a beast. But what about this Ziona?”
“She is one of the most true and decent people I have journeyed with,” said Dent. “She has saved me many times.”
“I warn you, our funds are non-existent,” said Belasco. “We may not be able to purchase her back, or even barter, as we did with you.”
“I don’t think it will be a matter of money,” said Dent darkly. “This time it will come to battle.”
“My favorite form of negotiations,” said Belasco with a smirk. “It will be good to have another cleric of Tymora around, though there will be much banter of luck.”
“Actually, Ziona worships Eilistraee,” said Dent.
To this Belasco stopped in his tracks, a dumbfounded look displayed upon his face.
“She is a drow?”
“Well, half-drow actually, she…”
“Female drow are a plague!” spat Belasco angrily.
Tark and Varr, who had been lost in their own conversation, now stopped and turned to look at the two.
“Not this female,” said Dent.
“Every one of them,” growled Belasco. “They are all deceitful, and full of vengeance.”
“I have heard of the torture that males endure at the hands of female drow in the Underdark, Belasco, but that’s not Ziona,” explained Dent. “She is true and good.”
“Listen to him, my friend,” said Varr. “She is a drow of a different color, if you get my meaning.”
Belasco looked at them, his eyes ablaze with anger and frustration. He, Belasco Banrae, was here in the Underdark risking his life to save a female drow? The thought of it turned his stomach. Images of snake-headed whips and the sound of villainous, female laughter filled his mind. How could he risk life and limb for this?
“We have not met this Ziona,” Tark was saying. “Belasco, be reasonable. Do you think they would have traveled along side her if she were as you fear? We must give her a chance.”
Belasco slowly regained his composure and spoke again.
“I will fight alongside you to rescue your friends,” he said coolly. “But do not assume I will befriend this cleric of Eilistraee.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Several hours had passed since Belasco had found out about Ziona’s heritage, which he spent in silence while leading the group. Varr and Tark continued their conversation, and Dent followed behind them, lost in thoughts of his own. Dent looked up when he noticed Tark’s pack moving as though it were alive. He was rather surprised to see the head of a pseudodragon pop out of the top of the sack and look dreamily around.
“Rossal?”
Rossal perked up when he saw Dent, and flew from the pack to land on his shoulder.
“You didn’t tell me Rossal was here,” exclaimed Dent.
“He’s been sleeping for hours,” said Varr. “Kinda forgot the little lad was with us.”
“What news of Ziona?” asked Rossal telepathically.
Dent frowned. “I have not seen Ziona. I was taken away before I found out what they did with everyone.”
“But you’re okay,” said Rossal with hope. “She will be okay, too.”
Dent nodded in agreement, though he felt differently in his heart. He knew that the drow would do horrible things to someone who was of their heritage, but worshipped Eilistraee. He hoped that she would be okay, but realized that she may not be.
Belasco looked back at the pseudodragon. He knew that Rossal was a dear friend to Ziona, and he suddenly felt angered again. Could she be trusted? In each of his experiences, the female drow had always been the most fierce and vengeful beings, and could never be considered allies. He could not believe that Ziona would be any different.
Lost in his thoughts, Belasco barely noticed when a man in dark grey armor appeared before him.
“Looking for something?”
In one swift movement, Belasco drew his longswords and stopped just short of the man, who resembled a drow, but had features that looked very much like a dragon. The creature wore armor the color of charcoal, carried a great sword on his hip and a bow on his back. The smirk on his face told Belasco that the creature was overly confident.
“You’re either very powerful, or very foolhardy,” Belasco said in Undercommon.
“I could say the same for you, drow. Who are you to travel through the Deep Wastes with such company?”
“Let us speak the language of the surface dwellers, if you know it,” replied Belasco in common.
“I see no point in speaking the language of your slaves,” replied the half-dragon.
“My slaves have a sharp bite,” said Belasco.
“Most animals do.”
Belasco decided it may be wise to try to get information from the half-dragon instead of merely trying to kill it. Before he had a chance to ask any questions, however, the half-dragon asked a question first.
“What news from Szith Morcane?”
“That depends,” said Belasco. “What news will you have for me?”
The half-dragon exhaled impatiently. “I will answer one of your questions for every two you answer of mine.”
“That hardly seems right,” said Belasco. “If you provide me with the information I desire, then I will answer your questions in turn.”
“Very well,” hissed the creature.
“What do you know about a half-drow female, a worshipper of Eilistraee?”
“I have seen her,” he said, licking his lips evilly. “She was escorted through this area more than a tenday ago, surrounded by minions of Kiaransalee. Doubtful that the half-breed lives.”
“What do you know about her death?”
The half-dragon smiled. “You will answer my question now. What news of Szith Morcane?”
“The drow post of Szith Morcane has fallen. The temple has been destroyed,” said Belasco without emotion.
The half-dragon looked at Belasco for a moment, as though trying to determine whether he thought Belasco was telling the truth. “Interesting…very interesting indeed.”
“What of the half-drow? Does she live?”
“I know not,” said the creature. “As I said, she was escorted through here weeks ago. I can only assume she is a slave or has been slaughtered.”
“What is the creature telling you?” asked Dent impatiently.
Belasco turned and translated what the half-dragon told him.
“I see you are concerned about the well-being of this female,” said the creature.
“Only as concerned as one should be about a slave,” said Belasco. As the words rolled off his lips, an idea popped into the drow’s mind. “One can never be too concerned with his belongings.”
“It depends on the belongings,” said the half-dragon.
“What about your belongings?” asked Belasco. “The bow on your back, for instance.”
“What would you ask about it?”
“Well, I want my slaves to be well equipped, should I find myself in a tight spot,” explained Belasco. “My half-elf slave is skilled with a bow, though I find he is without one. Perhaps we can make a wager?”
“I can easily defeat your slave,” said the half-dragon. “Then you will be without a slave and I will have gained nothing.”
“I carry various enchanted items that may be of interest to a warrior like yourself,” bluffed Belasco. “I’m sure you would find any one of them worth the effort.”
The half-dragon looked Belasco over, and saw the fine quality of his blades, and thought that any drow with three slaves, (and looking for a fourth), is sure to have magically enchanted items, or at least something of value.
“I accept your wager,” said the half-dragon. “I hope you will not miss your slave.”
Belasco turned to his companions.
“He wants to duel you, Dent,” said Belasco.
“What? For what reason? What did he say?”
“He said that he won’t let us pass until you have defeated him in a duel to the death, but think of his equipment. You certainly could use a bow,” said Belasco persuasively.
“He’s wants death,” said Dent, “I’ll give it to him.”
Seeing that the ranger had taken a defensive stance, the half-dragon began to casting. As the spidery, arcane words leapt from his lips, Belasco looked in surprise to the half-dragon.
“He’s cast a spell to hasten himself,” warned Tark.
The half-dragon grinned and said in Undercommon, “I never said I was a warrior!”
“And I never said I wouldn’t participate!” roared Belasco.
Dent and Belasco charged the half-dragon, whose haste spell did not help him in the end. The duo had cut him down before Varr had made his way into the melee.
“Yer coulda saved a chop for me!” he grumbled.
“There, there, Varr. There will be many a melee before our journey is through,” said Tark.
“With any luck,” said Varr with a chuckle.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Days passed and the companions found rest where they could. Dent was content with the bow, though it had very few arrows, and the rest of the half-dragon’s equipment was split among the others to carry. After wandering another day without incident, the companions decided it was again time to sit and rest. Varr had just started to tell them about the time he had spent in Icewind Dale, when Belasco and Dent jumped to their feet.
“What is it, laddies?”
“Someone is coming,” said Dent. “Sounds like they’re lame, or dragging something.”
“Ready yourselves,” said Belasco.
They found refuge behind some stalagmites and waited for the traveler to come. As he approached, they saw that he was heavily cloaked, with a sash wrapped about his face. He seemed rather bulbous and hunched over, and dragged a sort of sled along behind him. They saw no weapons, though they knew he could have them beneath his cloak, or upon the sled.
Belasco stepped out, impeding the traveler’s way.
“Halt,” he called. “Do you speak the language of the surface dwellers?”
“I see that you do,” said the man in a muffled voice.
“We are searching the area for someone,” said Dent stepping from behind another stalagmite. “A half-drow woman. Would you know anything about her?”
“I know nothing,” said the man. “I must get to the surface.”
“She was captive,” continued Dent. “She may have been with a halfling and a gnome. Have you seen any of them? We were told at least she was brought this way.”
“I know nothing,” repeated the man. “You must allow me passage.”
“What is it you carry?” asked Belasco.
“That is not your concern,” said the man more sternly.
“All we want is information,” said Tark. “If you could tell us anything you’ve heard about the half-drow…”
“The half-drow is dead,” said the man matter-of-factly. “You’ll not find her now.”
“What do you know? Tell us!” demanded Dent.
“I must get to the surface. I cannot dwell here,” said the man urgently.
“Make it easy on yourself,” warned Varr. “Tell us what you know about the half-drow and you can be on yer way.”
“She’s dead now,” said the man.
“She’s not dead,” shouted Dent, “but you’re gonna be!”
Dent charged the stranger and struck him twice with the sword that Belasco had given him. Behind him, Tark began to cast, and a brilliant, fiery light shone down and bathed the traveler and his sled with holy flames.
“I’ve killed many drow,” groaned the stranger, “a few more will make little difference to me!”
Behind him, however, the bundle on the sled began to scream and shriek in pain. As the blankets surrounding it were tossed aside from it’s fitful movement, the companions could see that it was a quth-maren the man was carrying.
The stranger pulled forth a shining sword and plunged it into Dent’s abdomen. The ranger was surprised, not only by the attack, but by what he saw beneath the stranger’s cloak. Dent dropped his weapon and held out his hands.
“Stand down!” he shouted.
“What? Are you mad?” called Belasco.
“Stand down!” repeated Dent.
“If you stand down now,” bellowed the man, “I’ll take my cargo and leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve answered our questions,” hissed Belasco.
“Very well,” said the stranger. “You have been proven yourself an enemy, and you will be destroyed!”
“You must stand down! All of you!” called Dent. “You know who I am! Why are you doing this?”
“I do know you,” said the stranger, “your kind are evil and wicked.”
Varr was just getting close enough to enter the melee when Tark stepped in his way. The cleric held his holy symbol of Tymora forward and attempted to turn the man and his ‘cargo.’
“Enough of this!” shouted the man. He dropped his sword and pulled forth a spear, which he hefted and thrust into Belasco. The motion of his attack caused his cloak to fall from his shoulders, exposing a set of wings that looked scabbed and featherless.
“What about Lathander?” called Dent. “Avangel, I am your friend!”
“What would a drow know of the Morning Lord?” called Avangel bitterly. “My friends abandoned me, like my God! I’ll not fall for your wicked tricks!”
As the sash began to fall from his face, Dent could see that Avangel’s shining blonde hair was mottled and unkempt. His nails were long and dirty and his face was scarred. His stunning eyes were now cloudy from the damage they had endured at being clawed and scratched at.
“We have fought many battles together, you and I,” said Dent pleadingly. “Castle Xyzx, Avangel! Do you remember? Avangel, please! We are looking for Ziona! Do you remember?”
Avangel halted and Belasco backed away.
“Ziona?”
“Yes,” said Dent. “We must find her.”
“Dent…Dent Masterson…Ziona? Can you help Ziona?”
“Where is she?” asked Rossal. “You have to tell us where she is!”
Avangel bit his lip as he remembered the telepathic voice of the pseudodragon.
“Yes…you must help her…but if you hurt her, if this is a wicked trick, I will destroy you all.”
“Just tell us where she is Avangel,” said Dent anxiously.
“She’s here,” said the celestial elf kneeling beside the sled. “They have tortured her…made her quth-maren...we must help her, get her to the surface…”
It was then that the companions realized…the skinless, undead drow on the sled was Ziona.
The Adventure Continues…
As the companions traveled through the Deep Wastes, Dent and Belasco discussed days of the past when they journeyed together as The Mask of Shadows. They talked about Venus Xyzx and the castle which serves as his namesake, and the maze where they met.
“Didn’t you leave with that strange woman?” asked Dent.
“Ah, yes…the weretigress…that’s a long and boring story,” said Belasco changing the subject. “She was quite a beast. But what about this Ziona?”
“She is one of the most true and decent people I have journeyed with,” said Dent. “She has saved me many times.”
“I warn you, our funds are non-existent,” said Belasco. “We may not be able to purchase her back, or even barter, as we did with you.”
“I don’t think it will be a matter of money,” said Dent darkly. “This time it will come to battle.”
“My favorite form of negotiations,” said Belasco with a smirk. “It will be good to have another cleric of Tymora around, though there will be much banter of luck.”
“Actually, Ziona worships Eilistraee,” said Dent.
To this Belasco stopped in his tracks, a dumbfounded look displayed upon his face.
“She is a drow?”
“Well, half-drow actually, she…”
“Female drow are a plague!” spat Belasco angrily.
Tark and Varr, who had been lost in their own conversation, now stopped and turned to look at the two.
“Not this female,” said Dent.
“Every one of them,” growled Belasco. “They are all deceitful, and full of vengeance.”
“I have heard of the torture that males endure at the hands of female drow in the Underdark, Belasco, but that’s not Ziona,” explained Dent. “She is true and good.”
“Listen to him, my friend,” said Varr. “She is a drow of a different color, if you get my meaning.”
Belasco looked at them, his eyes ablaze with anger and frustration. He, Belasco Banrae, was here in the Underdark risking his life to save a female drow? The thought of it turned his stomach. Images of snake-headed whips and the sound of villainous, female laughter filled his mind. How could he risk life and limb for this?
“We have not met this Ziona,” Tark was saying. “Belasco, be reasonable. Do you think they would have traveled along side her if she were as you fear? We must give her a chance.”
Belasco slowly regained his composure and spoke again.
“I will fight alongside you to rescue your friends,” he said coolly. “But do not assume I will befriend this cleric of Eilistraee.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Several hours had passed since Belasco had found out about Ziona’s heritage, which he spent in silence while leading the group. Varr and Tark continued their conversation, and Dent followed behind them, lost in thoughts of his own. Dent looked up when he noticed Tark’s pack moving as though it were alive. He was rather surprised to see the head of a pseudodragon pop out of the top of the sack and look dreamily around.
“Rossal?”
Rossal perked up when he saw Dent, and flew from the pack to land on his shoulder.
“You didn’t tell me Rossal was here,” exclaimed Dent.
“He’s been sleeping for hours,” said Varr. “Kinda forgot the little lad was with us.”
“What news of Ziona?” asked Rossal telepathically.
Dent frowned. “I have not seen Ziona. I was taken away before I found out what they did with everyone.”
“But you’re okay,” said Rossal with hope. “She will be okay, too.”
Dent nodded in agreement, though he felt differently in his heart. He knew that the drow would do horrible things to someone who was of their heritage, but worshipped Eilistraee. He hoped that she would be okay, but realized that she may not be.
Belasco looked back at the pseudodragon. He knew that Rossal was a dear friend to Ziona, and he suddenly felt angered again. Could she be trusted? In each of his experiences, the female drow had always been the most fierce and vengeful beings, and could never be considered allies. He could not believe that Ziona would be any different.
Lost in his thoughts, Belasco barely noticed when a man in dark grey armor appeared before him.
“Looking for something?”
In one swift movement, Belasco drew his longswords and stopped just short of the man, who resembled a drow, but had features that looked very much like a dragon. The creature wore armor the color of charcoal, carried a great sword on his hip and a bow on his back. The smirk on his face told Belasco that the creature was overly confident.
“You’re either very powerful, or very foolhardy,” Belasco said in Undercommon.
“I could say the same for you, drow. Who are you to travel through the Deep Wastes with such company?”
“Let us speak the language of the surface dwellers, if you know it,” replied Belasco in common.
“I see no point in speaking the language of your slaves,” replied the half-dragon.
“My slaves have a sharp bite,” said Belasco.
“Most animals do.”
Belasco decided it may be wise to try to get information from the half-dragon instead of merely trying to kill it. Before he had a chance to ask any questions, however, the half-dragon asked a question first.
“What news from Szith Morcane?”
“That depends,” said Belasco. “What news will you have for me?”
The half-dragon exhaled impatiently. “I will answer one of your questions for every two you answer of mine.”
“That hardly seems right,” said Belasco. “If you provide me with the information I desire, then I will answer your questions in turn.”
“Very well,” hissed the creature.
“What do you know about a half-drow female, a worshipper of Eilistraee?”
“I have seen her,” he said, licking his lips evilly. “She was escorted through this area more than a tenday ago, surrounded by minions of Kiaransalee. Doubtful that the half-breed lives.”
“What do you know about her death?”
The half-dragon smiled. “You will answer my question now. What news of Szith Morcane?”
“The drow post of Szith Morcane has fallen. The temple has been destroyed,” said Belasco without emotion.
The half-dragon looked at Belasco for a moment, as though trying to determine whether he thought Belasco was telling the truth. “Interesting…very interesting indeed.”
“What of the half-drow? Does she live?”
“I know not,” said the creature. “As I said, she was escorted through here weeks ago. I can only assume she is a slave or has been slaughtered.”
“What is the creature telling you?” asked Dent impatiently.
Belasco turned and translated what the half-dragon told him.
“I see you are concerned about the well-being of this female,” said the creature.
“Only as concerned as one should be about a slave,” said Belasco. As the words rolled off his lips, an idea popped into the drow’s mind. “One can never be too concerned with his belongings.”
“It depends on the belongings,” said the half-dragon.
“What about your belongings?” asked Belasco. “The bow on your back, for instance.”
“What would you ask about it?”
“Well, I want my slaves to be well equipped, should I find myself in a tight spot,” explained Belasco. “My half-elf slave is skilled with a bow, though I find he is without one. Perhaps we can make a wager?”
“I can easily defeat your slave,” said the half-dragon. “Then you will be without a slave and I will have gained nothing.”
“I carry various enchanted items that may be of interest to a warrior like yourself,” bluffed Belasco. “I’m sure you would find any one of them worth the effort.”
The half-dragon looked Belasco over, and saw the fine quality of his blades, and thought that any drow with three slaves, (and looking for a fourth), is sure to have magically enchanted items, or at least something of value.
“I accept your wager,” said the half-dragon. “I hope you will not miss your slave.”
Belasco turned to his companions.
“He wants to duel you, Dent,” said Belasco.
“What? For what reason? What did he say?”
“He said that he won’t let us pass until you have defeated him in a duel to the death, but think of his equipment. You certainly could use a bow,” said Belasco persuasively.
“He’s wants death,” said Dent, “I’ll give it to him.”
Seeing that the ranger had taken a defensive stance, the half-dragon began to casting. As the spidery, arcane words leapt from his lips, Belasco looked in surprise to the half-dragon.
“He’s cast a spell to hasten himself,” warned Tark.
The half-dragon grinned and said in Undercommon, “I never said I was a warrior!”
“And I never said I wouldn’t participate!” roared Belasco.
Dent and Belasco charged the half-dragon, whose haste spell did not help him in the end. The duo had cut him down before Varr had made his way into the melee.
“Yer coulda saved a chop for me!” he grumbled.
“There, there, Varr. There will be many a melee before our journey is through,” said Tark.
“With any luck,” said Varr with a chuckle.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Days passed and the companions found rest where they could. Dent was content with the bow, though it had very few arrows, and the rest of the half-dragon’s equipment was split among the others to carry. After wandering another day without incident, the companions decided it was again time to sit and rest. Varr had just started to tell them about the time he had spent in Icewind Dale, when Belasco and Dent jumped to their feet.
“What is it, laddies?”
“Someone is coming,” said Dent. “Sounds like they’re lame, or dragging something.”
“Ready yourselves,” said Belasco.
They found refuge behind some stalagmites and waited for the traveler to come. As he approached, they saw that he was heavily cloaked, with a sash wrapped about his face. He seemed rather bulbous and hunched over, and dragged a sort of sled along behind him. They saw no weapons, though they knew he could have them beneath his cloak, or upon the sled.
Belasco stepped out, impeding the traveler’s way.
“Halt,” he called. “Do you speak the language of the surface dwellers?”
“I see that you do,” said the man in a muffled voice.
“We are searching the area for someone,” said Dent stepping from behind another stalagmite. “A half-drow woman. Would you know anything about her?”
“I know nothing,” said the man. “I must get to the surface.”
“She was captive,” continued Dent. “She may have been with a halfling and a gnome. Have you seen any of them? We were told at least she was brought this way.”
“I know nothing,” repeated the man. “You must allow me passage.”
“What is it you carry?” asked Belasco.
“That is not your concern,” said the man more sternly.
“All we want is information,” said Tark. “If you could tell us anything you’ve heard about the half-drow…”
“The half-drow is dead,” said the man matter-of-factly. “You’ll not find her now.”
“What do you know? Tell us!” demanded Dent.
“I must get to the surface. I cannot dwell here,” said the man urgently.
“Make it easy on yourself,” warned Varr. “Tell us what you know about the half-drow and you can be on yer way.”
“She’s dead now,” said the man.
“She’s not dead,” shouted Dent, “but you’re gonna be!”
Dent charged the stranger and struck him twice with the sword that Belasco had given him. Behind him, Tark began to cast, and a brilliant, fiery light shone down and bathed the traveler and his sled with holy flames.
“I’ve killed many drow,” groaned the stranger, “a few more will make little difference to me!”
Behind him, however, the bundle on the sled began to scream and shriek in pain. As the blankets surrounding it were tossed aside from it’s fitful movement, the companions could see that it was a quth-maren the man was carrying.
The stranger pulled forth a shining sword and plunged it into Dent’s abdomen. The ranger was surprised, not only by the attack, but by what he saw beneath the stranger’s cloak. Dent dropped his weapon and held out his hands.
“Stand down!” he shouted.
“What? Are you mad?” called Belasco.
“Stand down!” repeated Dent.
“If you stand down now,” bellowed the man, “I’ll take my cargo and leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve answered our questions,” hissed Belasco.
“Very well,” said the stranger. “You have been proven yourself an enemy, and you will be destroyed!”
“You must stand down! All of you!” called Dent. “You know who I am! Why are you doing this?”
“I do know you,” said the stranger, “your kind are evil and wicked.”
Varr was just getting close enough to enter the melee when Tark stepped in his way. The cleric held his holy symbol of Tymora forward and attempted to turn the man and his ‘cargo.’
“Enough of this!” shouted the man. He dropped his sword and pulled forth a spear, which he hefted and thrust into Belasco. The motion of his attack caused his cloak to fall from his shoulders, exposing a set of wings that looked scabbed and featherless.
“What about Lathander?” called Dent. “Avangel, I am your friend!”
“What would a drow know of the Morning Lord?” called Avangel bitterly. “My friends abandoned me, like my God! I’ll not fall for your wicked tricks!”
As the sash began to fall from his face, Dent could see that Avangel’s shining blonde hair was mottled and unkempt. His nails were long and dirty and his face was scarred. His stunning eyes were now cloudy from the damage they had endured at being clawed and scratched at.
“We have fought many battles together, you and I,” said Dent pleadingly. “Castle Xyzx, Avangel! Do you remember? Avangel, please! We are looking for Ziona! Do you remember?”
Avangel halted and Belasco backed away.
“Ziona?”
“Yes,” said Dent. “We must find her.”
“Dent…Dent Masterson…Ziona? Can you help Ziona?”
“Where is she?” asked Rossal. “You have to tell us where she is!”
Avangel bit his lip as he remembered the telepathic voice of the pseudodragon.
“Yes…you must help her…but if you hurt her, if this is a wicked trick, I will destroy you all.”
“Just tell us where she is Avangel,” said Dent anxiously.
“She’s here,” said the celestial elf kneeling beside the sled. “They have tortured her…made her quth-maren...we must help her, get her to the surface…”
It was then that the companions realized…the skinless, undead drow on the sled was Ziona.
The Adventure Continues…
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Re
Great write up Ziona...) I am beginning to like this Belasco fellow.
Poor Ziona. I can't believe they turned her into a Quth Maren. That is horrible. More cruel than death Xaltar.
What happened to Avangel? I hope he is redeemed. I can't believe he lost his faith...(
Dent made out the best as a slave. I bet he was happy to be herding Rothe rather than residing with Avangel and Ziona.
Great write up Ziona...) I am beginning to like this Belasco fellow.
Poor Ziona. I can't believe they turned her into a Quth Maren. That is horrible. More cruel than death Xaltar.
What happened to Avangel? I hope he is redeemed. I can't believe he lost his faith...(
Dent made out the best as a slave. I bet he was happy to be herding Rothe rather than residing with Avangel and Ziona.
That makes just you and me Celty.
Dent and Avangel are waiting for me to die. Varr would get to cut more stuff down if I wasn't around to get to it first. Tark likes everyone I guess. and Ziona..
Ziona is just waiting to 'show her true colors' and sink her tentacle whip into my back! Drow wenches.
Ziona
First Post
Spatula said:Avangel the Godless?
What are quth-maren, exactly? I'm not familiar with a lot of the drow cultural stuff.
Quth-maren are undead drow. The followers of Kiaransalee flay drow alive and then raise them as undead. We had fought some of them earlier in the adventure. Here is a pic of what they look like...
As you can see, they spit acid and all that is visible are their skinless muscles...ugh... All I can say is that I was shocked! That whole session I just sat taking notes for the story, because Xaltar mentioned that Dent and Ziona may have been returning. When they found Dent, I figured Ziona would probably be worse off, but not like that.
My Xaltar...Master of Plot Twists. Heh.
PaynAndispare
First Post
Horacio said:ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!
Poor Ziona...
Fear not Horacio, I feel that the luck of the Gods is with this one yet!!
Ziona said:
Devious! Belasco brings such excitement to our adventuring party
Lucky for him that Tark is quick to fight at his side! Of course my melee skills are quite lacking, but I sure do like mocking the mobs as they try to hit him Similar Threads
