the Jester
Legend
Knightfall1972 said:Awsone update, Jester. So did you get up, prance around, and sing as the imp. Heh.
I did sing in a high-pitched, mocking, sorta Mexican accented voice... it was very fun!
To War Against Felenga (FINAL UPDATE POSTED!)
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
I did sing in a high-pitched, mocking, sorta Mexican accented voice... it was very fun!
the Jester
Legend
The Vestige
Flying through one contrivance or another, our heroes lift off from the cold dark bridge and start heading towards a large, ominous-looking tower. Then Verzavi points off at an angle and calls, “Movement!”
The party looks and sees a vision out of nightmare.
Roiling clouds of vapor, gigantic in size, an entire bank of fog comes twisting through the strobe-lit sky of Moil. Within are thousands of faces, screaming in unending suffering- the spirits of the dead of the City That Waits. Terror, agony, remorse and hate fill the faces; and the misty Vestige of all the evil of Moil slithers through the air towards our heroes.
“What the hell is that?” Thrush cries. He’s never seen anything like it. His sword seems to leap into his hands and suddenly he’s standing in a fighting stance, ready to strike once it’s in range.
An arrow whizzes by, fired by Drelvin, as the party starts to ready themselves for the thing’s onslaught.
It’s terrifying.
As it moves forward, the Vestige extrudes tendrils of screaming-faced vapors. As it closes, the party can suddenly hear the terrible cries of the souls within it. Thrush shudders, but as soon as one of the tendrils reaches towards him he slashes at it. It quivers for an instant, than drops down to caress him on the top of the head.
“Urk,” Thrush says, and he starts dropping like a stone towards the blackness below.* With an exclamation, Horbin flies after his falling form.
The Vestige rolls forward over Verzavi, and in an instant she, too, is falling towards the black mists. Then a palpable wave of menace smashes out into the entire party (save only Horbin, who’s below the thing, chasing Thrush), and the party breaks as one. Only Patyn stands fast, protected by his holy courage.
The hunter of the dead takes a gamble. It looks undead, and he doesn’t have time to stop and check in. So he channels, and a burning flash of positive energy fills him to overflowing. The brilliant flash of light tears great gouges in the Vestige,
But it’s huge. Far too big for a single positive energy burst to be enough to wound it significantly. And as Patyn watches, the rents his burst tore in it start to close with disquieting speed.
I can’t take it alone, he realizes grimly. And, against his every instinct, he flees.
The Vestige descends on Horbin.
The cleric has caught Thrush and is ascending again when the bank of mist drops on him. Horbin the Holy shrieks as he feels it sucking at his essence, trying to steal his mind and soul. He can feel his brain slowing, his intellect slipping away as the cloud tries to force his spirit into an eternal torment within it! Screaming faces surround him, and he can feel flashes of their pain.
Worst of all is the instant when Thrush’s face streams by him.
“Aaagh!” Horbin screams hoarsely, flying straight through the Vestige and veering wobbly off towards the closest tower, searching for cover.
The Vestige lazily drifts in his general direction, the faces within it crying in rage and pain.
*So what if you got a fly up? If it isn’t actually dispelled or suppressed, you’ll still fall when you lose consciousness. RBDMs, take note.
Next Time: The party tries to recover, only to find themselves facing the Tower of Test!
Flying through one contrivance or another, our heroes lift off from the cold dark bridge and start heading towards a large, ominous-looking tower. Then Verzavi points off at an angle and calls, “Movement!”
The party looks and sees a vision out of nightmare.
Roiling clouds of vapor, gigantic in size, an entire bank of fog comes twisting through the strobe-lit sky of Moil. Within are thousands of faces, screaming in unending suffering- the spirits of the dead of the City That Waits. Terror, agony, remorse and hate fill the faces; and the misty Vestige of all the evil of Moil slithers through the air towards our heroes.
“What the hell is that?” Thrush cries. He’s never seen anything like it. His sword seems to leap into his hands and suddenly he’s standing in a fighting stance, ready to strike once it’s in range.
An arrow whizzes by, fired by Drelvin, as the party starts to ready themselves for the thing’s onslaught.
It’s terrifying.
As it moves forward, the Vestige extrudes tendrils of screaming-faced vapors. As it closes, the party can suddenly hear the terrible cries of the souls within it. Thrush shudders, but as soon as one of the tendrils reaches towards him he slashes at it. It quivers for an instant, than drops down to caress him on the top of the head.
“Urk,” Thrush says, and he starts dropping like a stone towards the blackness below.* With an exclamation, Horbin flies after his falling form.
The Vestige rolls forward over Verzavi, and in an instant she, too, is falling towards the black mists. Then a palpable wave of menace smashes out into the entire party (save only Horbin, who’s below the thing, chasing Thrush), and the party breaks as one. Only Patyn stands fast, protected by his holy courage.
The hunter of the dead takes a gamble. It looks undead, and he doesn’t have time to stop and check in. So he channels, and a burning flash of positive energy fills him to overflowing. The brilliant flash of light tears great gouges in the Vestige,
But it’s huge. Far too big for a single positive energy burst to be enough to wound it significantly. And as Patyn watches, the rents his burst tore in it start to close with disquieting speed.
I can’t take it alone, he realizes grimly. And, against his every instinct, he flees.
The Vestige descends on Horbin.
The cleric has caught Thrush and is ascending again when the bank of mist drops on him. Horbin the Holy shrieks as he feels it sucking at his essence, trying to steal his mind and soul. He can feel his brain slowing, his intellect slipping away as the cloud tries to force his spirit into an eternal torment within it! Screaming faces surround him, and he can feel flashes of their pain.
Worst of all is the instant when Thrush’s face streams by him.
“Aaagh!” Horbin screams hoarsely, flying straight through the Vestige and veering wobbly off towards the closest tower, searching for cover.
The Vestige lazily drifts in his general direction, the faces within it crying in rage and pain.
*So what if you got a fly up? If it isn’t actually dispelled or suppressed, you’ll still fall when you lose consciousness. RBDMs, take note.
Next Time: The party tries to recover, only to find themselves facing the Tower of Test!
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Mu-hahahahahahahahah! That's evil! You are really enjoying throwing this supernasty stuff at them, aren't you?
the Jester
Legend
Into the Tower of Test!
Horbin’s arms ache as he lugs the strong, heavily-armored Thrush through the air. Below is only the churning blackness where the bases of the towers of Moil plunge into... nothingness? What is down there? Horbin wonders for a moment, but then puts it out of his mind.
Forget about below; worry about behind.
The Vestige moves lazily after him, cutting through the dark atmosphere of the City That Waits. Horbin finds the closest cover he can, the nearest tower to hide behind- and there he finds Drelvin cowering beside Patyn.
“Horbin!” the hunter of the dead exclaims in hushed tones. “Thank the Light you’re still alive! I was worried, after that thing scattered us with fear, that you’d fall victim to it too. It seems very powerful.” He pauses. “Is Thrush...?”
“He’s alive,” Horbin answers grimly, “but I don’t think he’s home anymore.” Horror edging into his voice, the cleric adds, “I think the cloud absorbed his soul.” Setting his fellow human down against the outside wall of the tower, Horbin pensively regards him.
“Good Galador! What do you think we should do now?”
“We’ve got to reassemble as best we can, try to regroup and get under cover. Maybe Orbius can find out what that thing’s weaknesses are. Something... for now...”
“Look!” interrupts Patyn, gesturing into the sky. A dark form seems to be blotting out the stars, coming closer- much smaller than the Vestige. Soon it resolves into a worried-looking Angelfire.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asks, concern heavy in her voice.
Voice tight, Horbin replies, “Good question. For now let’s get under cover, maybe see if I can do anything for Thrush, and just generally try not to run into that thing again.”
The group is on a thin trestle of a bridge that arches off to another tower in the distance. An opening leads into the tower. Angelfire lifts Thrush almost effortlessly, and our heroes, somewhat reluctantly, ease themselves inside the dark tower. Angel glances at the symbols on the lintel above the arch; a sword, an axe, a gauntleted fist and a crossbow. With a shrug she disappears into the tower with her companions.
The hall seems to wind its way along the outer wall of the tower; it curves to match the wall. Grisly, frost-covered human head trophies hang to either side at intervals of about ten feet. Beneath their feet, the party can make out tiles painted with scenes of warfare. Horbin tries to bring Thrush around, but it seems that whatever ails him is far beyond the mere physical.
“Well,” Patyn says, “we might as well make sure this tower is secure.”
Both directions looking about the same, our heroes head left. Soon they reach a rounded “T” intersection. Another mounted head is there- but unlike the others, this one writhes and groans as if it had a body behind the board and was seeking to break free. Its eyes roll in its sockets as it grunts and moans, trying to escape from the mount to which it is attached.
As out heroes stop in horror, regarding the struggling head with a mixed pathos of emotions, the pitiful thing catches sight of them and utters an inarticulate cry. Then it cries out desperately, speaking clearly in a lisping language our heroes don’t understand.
In an instant that is rectified; Horbin uses a tongues spell and calls out, “Hold on, there- now I can understand you! What-“
“The door! Take the door to the south, that is what you must do!” the head cries desperately. “But first, you must help me! You must release me from the wall! You see? I am most cruelly stuck here! Pry me loose, please- so that I can once again flex my fingers, and feel the breeze on my toes!”
“Uh- I think you- well.” Horbin pauses, relating what the head said.
“He wants us to release him?” Angelfire looks warily at the board to which the head is mounted. “He thinks he still has a body?”*
Horbin nods. Turning back to the head, he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Gus,” the head replies. “But please, you must free me!”
“Calm down, calm down,” Horbin soothes. “How long have you been here?”
“It really just looks like he’s nailed onto that board,” Angelfire muses. She leans Thrush’s drooling form against the wall.
“I don’t know, an interminable time,” Gus moans. “But please, help me get free!”
“It’s undead,” Patyn announces, his voice disgusted.
“Still, we might be able to get some information from it,” Horbin muses. “He really wants to get out of there- think we should tell him he’s not all there? He really seems harmless.”
“You have no body,” Angelfire says to the head, and reaches out and pulls the board on which Gus is mounted from the wall. “See?” She turns the board around, showing Gus the blank wall.
Gus screams, and screams, and screams.
“Dexter, Angel, did you have to do that?” Horbin winces and sighs. “Gus- I guess it’s my duty to do what I can to heal you.” And Horbin casts a heal spell, obliterating the head with the influx of positive energy.
“He said we need to go through the door to the south,” Horbin comments. “I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.”
The party heads down the leg of the T intersection, towards the interior of the tower. To the right, almost immediately, is a door. They pass on by, following the corridor to its end: a donut-shaped passage surrounding a thick central support of metal and stone. “That must have been the door he meant,” Horbin says.
“Before we go through any doors,” Angel says, “I’m putting Thrush down.” The party returns to the area of the door and Angelfire sets the warrior down again.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Drelvin says, nocking an arrow, and Patyn pushes the door open.
Next Time: The Tests begin!
*Note that throughout this conversation Gus and Angelfire couldn’t understand each other. Only Horbin could understand and speak to Gus.
Horbin’s arms ache as he lugs the strong, heavily-armored Thrush through the air. Below is only the churning blackness where the bases of the towers of Moil plunge into... nothingness? What is down there? Horbin wonders for a moment, but then puts it out of his mind.
Forget about below; worry about behind.
The Vestige moves lazily after him, cutting through the dark atmosphere of the City That Waits. Horbin finds the closest cover he can, the nearest tower to hide behind- and there he finds Drelvin cowering beside Patyn.
“Horbin!” the hunter of the dead exclaims in hushed tones. “Thank the Light you’re still alive! I was worried, after that thing scattered us with fear, that you’d fall victim to it too. It seems very powerful.” He pauses. “Is Thrush...?”
“He’s alive,” Horbin answers grimly, “but I don’t think he’s home anymore.” Horror edging into his voice, the cleric adds, “I think the cloud absorbed his soul.” Setting his fellow human down against the outside wall of the tower, Horbin pensively regards him.
“Good Galador! What do you think we should do now?”
“We’ve got to reassemble as best we can, try to regroup and get under cover. Maybe Orbius can find out what that thing’s weaknesses are. Something... for now...”
“Look!” interrupts Patyn, gesturing into the sky. A dark form seems to be blotting out the stars, coming closer- much smaller than the Vestige. Soon it resolves into a worried-looking Angelfire.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asks, concern heavy in her voice.
Voice tight, Horbin replies, “Good question. For now let’s get under cover, maybe see if I can do anything for Thrush, and just generally try not to run into that thing again.”
The group is on a thin trestle of a bridge that arches off to another tower in the distance. An opening leads into the tower. Angelfire lifts Thrush almost effortlessly, and our heroes, somewhat reluctantly, ease themselves inside the dark tower. Angel glances at the symbols on the lintel above the arch; a sword, an axe, a gauntleted fist and a crossbow. With a shrug she disappears into the tower with her companions.
The hall seems to wind its way along the outer wall of the tower; it curves to match the wall. Grisly, frost-covered human head trophies hang to either side at intervals of about ten feet. Beneath their feet, the party can make out tiles painted with scenes of warfare. Horbin tries to bring Thrush around, but it seems that whatever ails him is far beyond the mere physical.
“Well,” Patyn says, “we might as well make sure this tower is secure.”
Both directions looking about the same, our heroes head left. Soon they reach a rounded “T” intersection. Another mounted head is there- but unlike the others, this one writhes and groans as if it had a body behind the board and was seeking to break free. Its eyes roll in its sockets as it grunts and moans, trying to escape from the mount to which it is attached.
As out heroes stop in horror, regarding the struggling head with a mixed pathos of emotions, the pitiful thing catches sight of them and utters an inarticulate cry. Then it cries out desperately, speaking clearly in a lisping language our heroes don’t understand.
In an instant that is rectified; Horbin uses a tongues spell and calls out, “Hold on, there- now I can understand you! What-“
“The door! Take the door to the south, that is what you must do!” the head cries desperately. “But first, you must help me! You must release me from the wall! You see? I am most cruelly stuck here! Pry me loose, please- so that I can once again flex my fingers, and feel the breeze on my toes!”
“Uh- I think you- well.” Horbin pauses, relating what the head said.
“He wants us to release him?” Angelfire looks warily at the board to which the head is mounted. “He thinks he still has a body?”*
Horbin nods. Turning back to the head, he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Gus,” the head replies. “But please, you must free me!”
“Calm down, calm down,” Horbin soothes. “How long have you been here?”
“It really just looks like he’s nailed onto that board,” Angelfire muses. She leans Thrush’s drooling form against the wall.
“I don’t know, an interminable time,” Gus moans. “But please, help me get free!”
“It’s undead,” Patyn announces, his voice disgusted.
“Still, we might be able to get some information from it,” Horbin muses. “He really wants to get out of there- think we should tell him he’s not all there? He really seems harmless.”
“You have no body,” Angelfire says to the head, and reaches out and pulls the board on which Gus is mounted from the wall. “See?” She turns the board around, showing Gus the blank wall.
Gus screams, and screams, and screams.
“Dexter, Angel, did you have to do that?” Horbin winces and sighs. “Gus- I guess it’s my duty to do what I can to heal you.” And Horbin casts a heal spell, obliterating the head with the influx of positive energy.
“He said we need to go through the door to the south,” Horbin comments. “I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.”
The party heads down the leg of the T intersection, towards the interior of the tower. To the right, almost immediately, is a door. They pass on by, following the corridor to its end: a donut-shaped passage surrounding a thick central support of metal and stone. “That must have been the door he meant,” Horbin says.
“Before we go through any doors,” Angel says, “I’m putting Thrush down.” The party returns to the area of the door and Angelfire sets the warrior down again.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Drelvin says, nocking an arrow, and Patyn pushes the door open.
Next Time: The Tests begin!
*Note that throughout this conversation Gus and Angelfire couldn’t understand each other. Only Horbin could understand and speak to Gus.
the Jester
Legend
The Tower of Test
The cold hovers about our heroes like an omnipresent serpent. Ice is everywhere. Other than the group’s movements and hushed conversation there seems to be no noise anywhere.
The door makes a loud crack as it breaks free of ice that has frozen it lightly to the floor. The room revealed is shaped almost like a slice of pie, narrower toward the center of the tower and wider towards the circumference. The room itself is somewhat strange, for it appears to be full of pillars of iron. They stand in such thick profusion that it is difficult to see the opposite wall of the chamber. There seems to be almost no rhyme or reason to their placement; some are so close as to almost be touching, while others are far enough apart to allow passage.
“What the hell is this?” Horbin asks in exasperation.
Drelvin studies the room. “It looks like we could walk through.”
“This,” says Horbin, “has ‘trap’ written all over it in capital letters. In fact, I’m surprised my helm of subtitles isn’t showing it to me.” He frowns.
“Too bad we don’t have a rogue here,” Drelvin says wryly. “Where’s Malford when you need him?” A muffled voice comes from within his scabbard. Drelvin looks down and draws his sword with a smile. “What’s that, Shastruth?” he asks.
“I said, I might be able to trigger anything in there,” the sword says in a bright, cheery voice.
“Sure!” says Drelvin, and a fireball blasts into the chamber.* After the momentary roar and blast of heat- which feels quite welcome to our heroes- nothing has changed, save that much of the ice that enshrouded the room has vaporized or melted.
For a few moments more the party just kind of looks at the room; then, with a sigh, Drelvin leads the way, Shastruth out. The rest follow him gingerly, very carefully trying not to touch any of the pillars. It doesn’t really matter; as soon as Drelvin is halfway across, a pillar falls, seemingly of its own accord. And then, like dominoes, the rest start coming down.
The party springs, sprints, rushes and charges forward. A huge metal pillar smashes into Patyn and he grunts in pain; another tangs off of Angelfire’s back. Drelvin reaches the exit and hurls himself into the next pie-piece shaped room. The others fall, a little bloodied.
”Ow,” Horbin comments, rubbing his temple where he got clipped by a column.
This room seems empty, but another exit beckons. Boldly the group moves across to it; and there seems to be no consequence for moving across this room. The next room is nearly as unadorned as this last. However, a sliding metal panel of gleaming silver seems to be the only exit. The portal, strangely, is free of the pervasive frost within the city. Near the bottom is a handle, frozen to the floor in a block of solid ice. In fact, a bulge of ice, almost like a frozen wave, lies at the foot of the panel.
“If we can clear that ice, I can probably lift the panel,” Angelfire remarks.
“We can clear the ice!” Shastruth exclaims. “Stand back!” A moment later- our heroes having retreated a sufficient distance- a second fireball explodes, this one easily disposing of the ice in question. Angelfire moves up to the handle and grabs hold. It’s just big enough to grab with one hand and still hot to the touch- a sensation she can’t help but enjoy, both as a reminder that she’s no longer truly a creature of fire, and as a reminder that she once was. Her arms bunch as she tries to lift the door. To her surprise, it’s very resistant, but she redoubles her efforts and the thing slides silently upward and out of the way.
“Interesting,” Horbin muses. “Falling pillars and frozen doors. And what do we have next?”
“Weird,” comments Angelfire.
The next chamber has myriad spheres hanging from the ceiling, of both mundane and exotic colors, everything from mauve and chartreuse to red and white. They hang on copper chains, dangling anywhere from 3’ to 6’ below the twenty-foot ceiling. A faint hum is audible throughout the chamber.
“Hm,” Horbin says, looking in over Angel’s shoulder. “Looks like this demilich has a thing for circles.”
“Well, do we go in?” Drelvin asks.
“Why don’t I shoot another fireball in first?” Shastruth offers enthusiastically.
“No thanks, Shastruth, we might need it later. Besides, it seems that these rooms are a little more subtle than that.” Drelvin sheaths his powerful sword, a smile quirking his lips. They sure do seem to get along.
“Do you want to go in?” asks Horbin, looking at Drelvin.
The archer sighs. “This again,” he mutters. “I went first last time!”
Angelfire steps into the room. Drelvin and Horbin shut up and watch.
The hum rises in volume as Angel moves forward into the room. She retreats. As she does so, the volume of the hum decreases.
“Well,” she says, “that noise doesn’t feel good on me out there.” She smiles. “If we’re going, let’s be about it.”
“Of course we’re going!” Drelvin snorts. “We haven’t come all this way to turn back now!”**
*Shastruth, as of this update, was a ninth-level sorcerer sword.
**One might note that, were Lester there, his line would have been, “Of course we’re going! We’re adventurers!”
Next Time: The Tower of Test continues!
The cold hovers about our heroes like an omnipresent serpent. Ice is everywhere. Other than the group’s movements and hushed conversation there seems to be no noise anywhere.
The door makes a loud crack as it breaks free of ice that has frozen it lightly to the floor. The room revealed is shaped almost like a slice of pie, narrower toward the center of the tower and wider towards the circumference. The room itself is somewhat strange, for it appears to be full of pillars of iron. They stand in such thick profusion that it is difficult to see the opposite wall of the chamber. There seems to be almost no rhyme or reason to their placement; some are so close as to almost be touching, while others are far enough apart to allow passage.
“What the hell is this?” Horbin asks in exasperation.
Drelvin studies the room. “It looks like we could walk through.”
“This,” says Horbin, “has ‘trap’ written all over it in capital letters. In fact, I’m surprised my helm of subtitles isn’t showing it to me.” He frowns.
“Too bad we don’t have a rogue here,” Drelvin says wryly. “Where’s Malford when you need him?” A muffled voice comes from within his scabbard. Drelvin looks down and draws his sword with a smile. “What’s that, Shastruth?” he asks.
“I said, I might be able to trigger anything in there,” the sword says in a bright, cheery voice.
“Sure!” says Drelvin, and a fireball blasts into the chamber.* After the momentary roar and blast of heat- which feels quite welcome to our heroes- nothing has changed, save that much of the ice that enshrouded the room has vaporized or melted.
For a few moments more the party just kind of looks at the room; then, with a sigh, Drelvin leads the way, Shastruth out. The rest follow him gingerly, very carefully trying not to touch any of the pillars. It doesn’t really matter; as soon as Drelvin is halfway across, a pillar falls, seemingly of its own accord. And then, like dominoes, the rest start coming down.
The party springs, sprints, rushes and charges forward. A huge metal pillar smashes into Patyn and he grunts in pain; another tangs off of Angelfire’s back. Drelvin reaches the exit and hurls himself into the next pie-piece shaped room. The others fall, a little bloodied.
”Ow,” Horbin comments, rubbing his temple where he got clipped by a column.
This room seems empty, but another exit beckons. Boldly the group moves across to it; and there seems to be no consequence for moving across this room. The next room is nearly as unadorned as this last. However, a sliding metal panel of gleaming silver seems to be the only exit. The portal, strangely, is free of the pervasive frost within the city. Near the bottom is a handle, frozen to the floor in a block of solid ice. In fact, a bulge of ice, almost like a frozen wave, lies at the foot of the panel.
“If we can clear that ice, I can probably lift the panel,” Angelfire remarks.
“We can clear the ice!” Shastruth exclaims. “Stand back!” A moment later- our heroes having retreated a sufficient distance- a second fireball explodes, this one easily disposing of the ice in question. Angelfire moves up to the handle and grabs hold. It’s just big enough to grab with one hand and still hot to the touch- a sensation she can’t help but enjoy, both as a reminder that she’s no longer truly a creature of fire, and as a reminder that she once was. Her arms bunch as she tries to lift the door. To her surprise, it’s very resistant, but she redoubles her efforts and the thing slides silently upward and out of the way.
“Interesting,” Horbin muses. “Falling pillars and frozen doors. And what do we have next?”
“Weird,” comments Angelfire.
The next chamber has myriad spheres hanging from the ceiling, of both mundane and exotic colors, everything from mauve and chartreuse to red and white. They hang on copper chains, dangling anywhere from 3’ to 6’ below the twenty-foot ceiling. A faint hum is audible throughout the chamber.
“Hm,” Horbin says, looking in over Angel’s shoulder. “Looks like this demilich has a thing for circles.”
“Well, do we go in?” Drelvin asks.
“Why don’t I shoot another fireball in first?” Shastruth offers enthusiastically.
“No thanks, Shastruth, we might need it later. Besides, it seems that these rooms are a little more subtle than that.” Drelvin sheaths his powerful sword, a smile quirking his lips. They sure do seem to get along.
“Do you want to go in?” asks Horbin, looking at Drelvin.
The archer sighs. “This again,” he mutters. “I went first last time!”
Angelfire steps into the room. Drelvin and Horbin shut up and watch.
The hum rises in volume as Angel moves forward into the room. She retreats. As she does so, the volume of the hum decreases.
“Well,” she says, “that noise doesn’t feel good on me out there.” She smiles. “If we’re going, let’s be about it.”
“Of course we’re going!” Drelvin snorts. “We haven’t come all this way to turn back now!”**
*Shastruth, as of this update, was a ninth-level sorcerer sword.
**One might note that, were Lester there, his line would have been, “Of course we’re going! We’re adventurers!”
Next Time: The Tower of Test continues!
the Jester
Legend
Enter Faericles
Imagine that you were traveling across this room, with spheres above you, and a hum. You notice it while you’re on the threshold, but you really notice it when you step into the room. Take a step and it gets louder; another three, and you have to raise your voice to have a conversation. Another two steps and it’s uncomfortably loud. You can feel it vibrating in your chest and organs. Go another three steps and you start to bleed from your ears.
You’ve taken ten steps into the room.
Great- only another fifty feet to go, and with every step the sound gets louder, making it impossible to think, filling your bowels with nausea, splitting your head wide open.
Our heroes struggle through, some barely making it. It’s not easy for anyone. Drelvin falls briefly, clutching his head and screaming in pain, before struggling on. But they all make it, albeit barely.
As soon as they’re on the threshold of the next chamber, the noise drops to its initial, barely audible level. Shaken, Horbin the Holy groans, “My head!” He applies a little Dextrite healing to the group and they turn to the next chamber.
This one is bare except for a plaque set into a door in the far wall. Small gems adorn the plaque, and they flash with color in apparently random fashion. Immediately and simultaneously, Drelvin and Horbin suggest that there’s probably a pattern; they break into grins and study the flashes. After a time, they determine that the gems flash a pattern of about 20-30 flashes, flash it again, then pause for 30 seconds.* A little experimentation quickly reveals that the gems will depress; however, this yields an electric shock if the wrong ones are pressed.
“We probably have to repeat the pattern,” Drelvin suggests.
A number of failed attempts- and electric shocks- leave most of our heroes a little sizzled, so Horbin and Patyn apply what healing they can to the group. Then they try again, trying to recall the quick sequence. Soon enough they succeed, but this test of intellect is not easy. The door slides open when they finally succeed, and the group gazes into a room that looks like it’s no fun at all.
It’s yet another pie-piece shaped room; frost lingers on the ground and the walls. At the far end of the chamber is what appears to be a spiral staircase of white stone, heading upward. Unfortunately, between our heroes and said stairway are hundreds of scythes, oscillating past each other in perfect silence. The swinging blades momentarily clear a path to the staircase, but then a deadly blade scythes through the area that just seemed safe.
“I’ll bet there’s a pattern,” Drelvin and Horbin say together again. They chuckle.
Observing the scything blades, our heroes debate their next move.
“Can we teleport across somehow?” wonders Drelvin.
They can, at least, dimension door, thanks to Angelfire’s psychic powers; and so they bypass the scythes without danger and get to the staircase in but a single step each.
“Up we go,” Angelfire says gamely, wincing as the Deleter squeezes her hands in a pulse of pain. The group ascends. Patyn and Angelfire keep a wary eye on each other, their usual animosity sparking up again visibly with being in such a small group.
The stairs spiral up to the ceiling and then exit in a huge chamber, seemingly almost the entirety of the level. Windows are visible in four places in the outer wall, facing each cardinal direction. The eerie, silent lighting of the erratic lightning bolts outside strobes within the chamber. The walls are hung with weapons of all types, from swords and axes to glaives and voulges.
Weirder, however, is the tower’s center. The staircase emerges about 20’ from the tower’s outer wall; about 30’ inward, three partial curving walls obscure the very center, but a purple glow radiates from within it.
“What’s that?” Horbin points.
Suddenly a voice calls forth. “Stand fast, you who journey in this City That Waits! If your desire be to pass me ‘ere to the Dreaming Tower, then your worth you must prove. A champion select, one of sufficient strength of arms to contest me, the Lord High Exultant of the Tower of Test! If victorious your champion emerges, all may pass. If defeat is the fate of your champion, then all must turn away, never to return! Choose!”
“It’s undead,” growls Patyn. His sword’s out.
“You want to be the champion?” Angelfire smiles at the paladin.
“I don’t think we should accept its challenge,” Patyn sneers.
“Coward!” barks the voice, and a figure steps forth, cold flesh almost translucent. He looks like a human, but clearly the glow of life has left his skin, which is almost blue with cold. “I, Faericles, call you all cowards!”
“Look, we don’t need to be fighting right now- you’re actually the first thing we’ve seen here that can talk,” says Horbin. “Maybe you can tell us a little bit about yourself and your city? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I am the Lord High Exultant of the Tower of Test! Select a champion to face me!”
“Your appraisal of us doesn’t concern me, abomination,” Patyn growls. Addressing the others, he says, “We should destroy this thing.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Horbin says. “Let’s see what’s going on before we rush to any conclusions. So, uh, Faericles, you’re the Lord High Exultant, but what does that mean? What do you do?”
“Yeah, do you, like, hang out waiting for adventurers?”
Faericles looks slightly confused, as if he cannot believe they don’t know who he is. “I am the Lord High Exultant- the final test,” he says grudgingly.
“Final test of what?” Drelvin asks.
“I guard against any who would pass. They must pass the final test- just as they passed the Test of Strength, the Test of Intellect and so forth. I am the final test. Select a champion, let him face me!”
“We don’t want to fight you,” Angelfire says reasonably. “At least,” with a glance at Patyn, “I don’t want to fight you. We don’t even really care about your city- we’re just looking for something.”
“Or someone,” Horbin adds.
“Yeah, maybe you’ve seen him,” quips Drelvin. “Felenga- mean lich, extremely powerful, big trouble? Perhaps with a beholder eye and such?”
“What? Felenga?” Faericles seems even more confused. “Who is this Felenga?”
“He’s the lich,” Drelvin answers.
“I have seen a stranger, flying amongst the ramparts of Moil,” Faericles muses. “A few times- he never came here.”
Our heroes exchange glances. “Do you know where he went?” Angelfire asks.
“No. Now, enough of this! Select a champion!”
“I’m not fighting you.” Angelfire shakes her head. She starts walking towards the staircase.
“Let’s destroy this thing,” Patyn urges sternly.
“Enough!” Faericles roars, infuriated past perseverance. He cries out, “Wall of Swords style!” and starts adopting a strange stance full of shuffling movements and abrupt movement. It seems simultaneously supremely offensive and supremely defensive.** He lunges almost faster than the eye can follow at Drelvin, but the wily elf is just too quick and dances back out of the way. Unfortunately, he gasps as ice covers his body in a hard, immobile shell!
“No you don’t!” Horbin cries, blasting a quickened searing light at Faericles, followed by a flame strike that envelopes both the Lord High Exultant and the frozen Drelvin.
Faericles, barely fazed at all, smoothly cuts down Drelvin and Patyn in one bold series of blows.***
“Wall of Swords style!” he barks, looking Horbin right in the eye.
*There were many comments during this part of the session about “Simon Says”...
**In other words, full Power Attack and full Improved Combat Expertise.
***One attack killed Drelvin, one attack killed Patyn. Right in a row. Right in the same round. Right then Horbin and Angelfire knew that things were serious.
Next Time: Things go from bad to- well, no, from worse to- well, let’s just say that things aren’t good
Imagine that you were traveling across this room, with spheres above you, and a hum. You notice it while you’re on the threshold, but you really notice it when you step into the room. Take a step and it gets louder; another three, and you have to raise your voice to have a conversation. Another two steps and it’s uncomfortably loud. You can feel it vibrating in your chest and organs. Go another three steps and you start to bleed from your ears.
You’ve taken ten steps into the room.
Great- only another fifty feet to go, and with every step the sound gets louder, making it impossible to think, filling your bowels with nausea, splitting your head wide open.
Our heroes struggle through, some barely making it. It’s not easy for anyone. Drelvin falls briefly, clutching his head and screaming in pain, before struggling on. But they all make it, albeit barely.
As soon as they’re on the threshold of the next chamber, the noise drops to its initial, barely audible level. Shaken, Horbin the Holy groans, “My head!” He applies a little Dextrite healing to the group and they turn to the next chamber.
This one is bare except for a plaque set into a door in the far wall. Small gems adorn the plaque, and they flash with color in apparently random fashion. Immediately and simultaneously, Drelvin and Horbin suggest that there’s probably a pattern; they break into grins and study the flashes. After a time, they determine that the gems flash a pattern of about 20-30 flashes, flash it again, then pause for 30 seconds.* A little experimentation quickly reveals that the gems will depress; however, this yields an electric shock if the wrong ones are pressed.
“We probably have to repeat the pattern,” Drelvin suggests.
A number of failed attempts- and electric shocks- leave most of our heroes a little sizzled, so Horbin and Patyn apply what healing they can to the group. Then they try again, trying to recall the quick sequence. Soon enough they succeed, but this test of intellect is not easy. The door slides open when they finally succeed, and the group gazes into a room that looks like it’s no fun at all.
It’s yet another pie-piece shaped room; frost lingers on the ground and the walls. At the far end of the chamber is what appears to be a spiral staircase of white stone, heading upward. Unfortunately, between our heroes and said stairway are hundreds of scythes, oscillating past each other in perfect silence. The swinging blades momentarily clear a path to the staircase, but then a deadly blade scythes through the area that just seemed safe.
“I’ll bet there’s a pattern,” Drelvin and Horbin say together again. They chuckle.
Observing the scything blades, our heroes debate their next move.
“Can we teleport across somehow?” wonders Drelvin.
They can, at least, dimension door, thanks to Angelfire’s psychic powers; and so they bypass the scythes without danger and get to the staircase in but a single step each.
“Up we go,” Angelfire says gamely, wincing as the Deleter squeezes her hands in a pulse of pain. The group ascends. Patyn and Angelfire keep a wary eye on each other, their usual animosity sparking up again visibly with being in such a small group.
The stairs spiral up to the ceiling and then exit in a huge chamber, seemingly almost the entirety of the level. Windows are visible in four places in the outer wall, facing each cardinal direction. The eerie, silent lighting of the erratic lightning bolts outside strobes within the chamber. The walls are hung with weapons of all types, from swords and axes to glaives and voulges.
Weirder, however, is the tower’s center. The staircase emerges about 20’ from the tower’s outer wall; about 30’ inward, three partial curving walls obscure the very center, but a purple glow radiates from within it.
“What’s that?” Horbin points.
Suddenly a voice calls forth. “Stand fast, you who journey in this City That Waits! If your desire be to pass me ‘ere to the Dreaming Tower, then your worth you must prove. A champion select, one of sufficient strength of arms to contest me, the Lord High Exultant of the Tower of Test! If victorious your champion emerges, all may pass. If defeat is the fate of your champion, then all must turn away, never to return! Choose!”
“It’s undead,” growls Patyn. His sword’s out.
“You want to be the champion?” Angelfire smiles at the paladin.
“I don’t think we should accept its challenge,” Patyn sneers.
“Coward!” barks the voice, and a figure steps forth, cold flesh almost translucent. He looks like a human, but clearly the glow of life has left his skin, which is almost blue with cold. “I, Faericles, call you all cowards!”
“Look, we don’t need to be fighting right now- you’re actually the first thing we’ve seen here that can talk,” says Horbin. “Maybe you can tell us a little bit about yourself and your city? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I am the Lord High Exultant of the Tower of Test! Select a champion to face me!”
“Your appraisal of us doesn’t concern me, abomination,” Patyn growls. Addressing the others, he says, “We should destroy this thing.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Horbin says. “Let’s see what’s going on before we rush to any conclusions. So, uh, Faericles, you’re the Lord High Exultant, but what does that mean? What do you do?”
“Yeah, do you, like, hang out waiting for adventurers?”
Faericles looks slightly confused, as if he cannot believe they don’t know who he is. “I am the Lord High Exultant- the final test,” he says grudgingly.
“Final test of what?” Drelvin asks.
“I guard against any who would pass. They must pass the final test- just as they passed the Test of Strength, the Test of Intellect and so forth. I am the final test. Select a champion, let him face me!”
“We don’t want to fight you,” Angelfire says reasonably. “At least,” with a glance at Patyn, “I don’t want to fight you. We don’t even really care about your city- we’re just looking for something.”
“Or someone,” Horbin adds.
“Yeah, maybe you’ve seen him,” quips Drelvin. “Felenga- mean lich, extremely powerful, big trouble? Perhaps with a beholder eye and such?”
“What? Felenga?” Faericles seems even more confused. “Who is this Felenga?”
“He’s the lich,” Drelvin answers.
“I have seen a stranger, flying amongst the ramparts of Moil,” Faericles muses. “A few times- he never came here.”
Our heroes exchange glances. “Do you know where he went?” Angelfire asks.
“No. Now, enough of this! Select a champion!”
“I’m not fighting you.” Angelfire shakes her head. She starts walking towards the staircase.
“Let’s destroy this thing,” Patyn urges sternly.
“Enough!” Faericles roars, infuriated past perseverance. He cries out, “Wall of Swords style!” and starts adopting a strange stance full of shuffling movements and abrupt movement. It seems simultaneously supremely offensive and supremely defensive.** He lunges almost faster than the eye can follow at Drelvin, but the wily elf is just too quick and dances back out of the way. Unfortunately, he gasps as ice covers his body in a hard, immobile shell!
“No you don’t!” Horbin cries, blasting a quickened searing light at Faericles, followed by a flame strike that envelopes both the Lord High Exultant and the frozen Drelvin.
Faericles, barely fazed at all, smoothly cuts down Drelvin and Patyn in one bold series of blows.***
“Wall of Swords style!” he barks, looking Horbin right in the eye.
*There were many comments during this part of the session about “Simon Says”...
**In other words, full Power Attack and full Improved Combat Expertise.
***One attack killed Drelvin, one attack killed Patyn. Right in a row. Right in the same round. Right then Horbin and Angelfire knew that things were serious.
Next Time: Things go from bad to- well, no, from worse to- well, let’s just say that things aren’t good
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
OK, so I was looking at his stats in the other thread, and I was thinking he was fairly nasty...I had no idea he was that nasty! This is looking rapidly like a TPK here! Fingers crossed that your players can get out of it!
Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Tallarn said:
Agreed, I like these guys. (Yes, even the high and mighty Patyn and his 'you are evil' attitude.)
of course, a TPK wouldn't necessarily mean the end of this story arc. There are enough additional PCs, in the Cydra escapades, to warrant a rescue party.
Clambake anyone?
Cheers!
KF72
P.S. Tallarn, have you seen my Gods of Harqual Story Hour. (See sig!)
the Jester
Legend
Faericles, pt. 2!
Angelfire is strolling towards the stairs, but as Faericles, Lord High Exultant of Moil, cuts her friends down she hesitates. She has no conflict with Faericles, nor does she really mind that he cut down Patyn; after all, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But Drelvin was a friend, and a good drinking buddy- and his death is troubling.
And now Horbin’s essentially on his own against the Lord High Exultant, and that’s not good. Horbin’s the guy who can bring me back at full strength if I die, Angelfire thinks.
Still... she isn’t the one who wanted this fight.
“Dexter’s nadlies!” swears Horbin. He opens up with both figurative blessed barrels, first hitting Faericles with a quickened lower resistance and then following up with a fire storm. Faericles, fortunately for our heroes, is not fast enough to dodge the blast to any appreciable degree, and staggers as the holy flames tear across him, inflicting severe damage. Faericles grits his teeth and remains silent as his arms are seared, his torso blackens, and his feet are charred almost into ash.*
A ghastly grin on his undead face, the Lord High Exultant steps forward and takes a staggering sling at Horbin. He cuts into the cleric’s arm, but he has to move too far forward to get in another attack, and hope surges in Horbin’s breast as he realizes he’ll have time to blast it again before it can finish him off.
And then, in his head, Horbin screams, for the ice closes in around him, freezing him in a block of ice.
“Ahhh,” Faericles gloats, “foolish sun-worshiper! Now I will drink your life!” And indeed, Horbin can feel his health leeching away, sapped by the cold and drunk greedily by Faericles of Moil. The High Exultant’s grin stretches wider as he watches Horbin slowly dying in the sheath of ice. He raises his undead arms, watching as Horbin’s life energy starts repairing the damage from the fire storm.
Horbin’s heart spasms as Faericles draws in a deep breath of his life force. Getting weak, he thinks desperately. Dexter help me... where’s Angel?
And then an arc of coruscating power shoots from the shadows by the stairwell, blasting into Faericles, and he screams in a high, reed-like voice, and then he slumps down, deleted.
Angel slowly walks over to the corpse, but it’s neither moving nor draining life any longer. She moves to free Horbin, breaking the ice away. The shivering cleric collapses against the wall for a moment, then heals himself.
“That was terrible,” he says.
Angelfire nods. “We shouldn’t have fought him. But it’s okay. I deleted him.”
Horbin lets it go with a glance at the body. Even within the encasement of ice he saw the blast that destroyed it; and he worries at the influence of the Deleter on Angelfire. But this is not the time or place...
“We should at least search around,” suggests Angel.
“I think we need to find the others and get the hell out of here! If that Vestige things attacks us before we’re ready for it-“
They do a quick search of the area. In the center of the tower is a strange meditation area. The purple radiance they noted earlier seems to come from some weird mats on the floor; staying in the center of them for more than a few seconds hurts, and the two survivors decide not to tempt fate.
Faericles’ armor is scooped up, but when Angelire grabs his greatsword she feels a lash of pain, so she drops it. With a shrug she moves to start throwing the dead or... er... well, whatever Thrush is, over her shoulders. The two move out of the tower.
Shortly, via various messaging magicks, they rejoin the others at their initial entry point. When she sees Thrush’s vacant eyes and drooling mouth, Sybele cries, “What happened to Thrush?!” Angel and Horbin explain that the Vestige got him; worse, Horbin tells her about seeing Thrush’s face within it.
“We’ve got to rescue him!” cries Sybele.
“We need to go rest first,” Horbin says. “But yes, then we should rescue him.”
“I have a good idea of where Mr. Grab is,” Orbius announces. “We should try to get him before we leave.”
“Well,” Horbin muses, “I do still have most of my spells.”
“I’m ready,” Angel says.
”We are down a few people,” Rex points out, “but I’m sure we’ll be fine. I mean, it’s just a familiar, how tough can it be?”
“Right,” grumbles Horbin. “Every time someone says that, it’s tougher than we thought.”
The party stands close while the Eye casts a few special enhancements and protections, including a mass stoneskin, Rary’s telepathic bond, piercing clarity and protection from spells, then dispatches an arcane eye to scout the tower of black ice at which the familiar should be (according to Orbius’ spells). Even as the arcane eye approaches the tower, Orbius sends over a mobile scry as well, using ultimate concentration to pay attention to both at once and start exploring the tower, looking for signs of Felenga’s familiar.
“The tower’s solid ice,” he reports. He casts another spell, one of his own creations, and an image resolves, showing what he sees to the rest of the party. “There’s a body! Frozen in ice... another... many.” His lips press together in distaste.
“Are they undead?” Horbin asks. Sybele glances over from where she’s wiping Thrush’s drool-covered face with an edge of her cloak.
“Can’t tell by looking,” Orbius replies. “I think it’s a fair assumption that any bodies we find anywhere in here might be undead, though.” The cleric nods in agreement. “Hey, an entrance,” Orbius remarks. “Hmm... I’m going down even further... whoa! What’s this?”
“What is it?” Rex asks.
“Well, look,” Orbius points at the display. “I went to the base of the tower to see what was there- and there’s a chamber at the bottom.” He gestures. “Mostly floorless, but either end has a little platform. Looks like that’s where you’d come in- a sloping chute that heads up, or down from above, I guess. And on this end...”
“Wow,” says Horbin, “are those bars?”
“Bars of light, yep. And what’s behind them? I don’t know, because my scry sensor won’t go in there.
“I think I know where we should go,” remarks Orbius wryly.
*Faericles failed his save, and Horbin rolled pretty well on the damage (19d6). Add in the cold subtype (150% damage from fire) and Faericles went from pretty close to full hp (196) to about 20.
Next Time:/Our heroes fight a monster from the Epic Level HB- a winter-wight!
Angelfire is strolling towards the stairs, but as Faericles, Lord High Exultant of Moil, cuts her friends down she hesitates. She has no conflict with Faericles, nor does she really mind that he cut down Patyn; after all, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But Drelvin was a friend, and a good drinking buddy- and his death is troubling.
And now Horbin’s essentially on his own against the Lord High Exultant, and that’s not good. Horbin’s the guy who can bring me back at full strength if I die, Angelfire thinks.
Still... she isn’t the one who wanted this fight.
“Dexter’s nadlies!” swears Horbin. He opens up with both figurative blessed barrels, first hitting Faericles with a quickened lower resistance and then following up with a fire storm. Faericles, fortunately for our heroes, is not fast enough to dodge the blast to any appreciable degree, and staggers as the holy flames tear across him, inflicting severe damage. Faericles grits his teeth and remains silent as his arms are seared, his torso blackens, and his feet are charred almost into ash.*
A ghastly grin on his undead face, the Lord High Exultant steps forward and takes a staggering sling at Horbin. He cuts into the cleric’s arm, but he has to move too far forward to get in another attack, and hope surges in Horbin’s breast as he realizes he’ll have time to blast it again before it can finish him off.
And then, in his head, Horbin screams, for the ice closes in around him, freezing him in a block of ice.
“Ahhh,” Faericles gloats, “foolish sun-worshiper! Now I will drink your life!” And indeed, Horbin can feel his health leeching away, sapped by the cold and drunk greedily by Faericles of Moil. The High Exultant’s grin stretches wider as he watches Horbin slowly dying in the sheath of ice. He raises his undead arms, watching as Horbin’s life energy starts repairing the damage from the fire storm.
Horbin’s heart spasms as Faericles draws in a deep breath of his life force. Getting weak, he thinks desperately. Dexter help me... where’s Angel?
And then an arc of coruscating power shoots from the shadows by the stairwell, blasting into Faericles, and he screams in a high, reed-like voice, and then he slumps down, deleted.
Angel slowly walks over to the corpse, but it’s neither moving nor draining life any longer. She moves to free Horbin, breaking the ice away. The shivering cleric collapses against the wall for a moment, then heals himself.
“That was terrible,” he says.
Angelfire nods. “We shouldn’t have fought him. But it’s okay. I deleted him.”
Horbin lets it go with a glance at the body. Even within the encasement of ice he saw the blast that destroyed it; and he worries at the influence of the Deleter on Angelfire. But this is not the time or place...
“We should at least search around,” suggests Angel.
“I think we need to find the others and get the hell out of here! If that Vestige things attacks us before we’re ready for it-“
They do a quick search of the area. In the center of the tower is a strange meditation area. The purple radiance they noted earlier seems to come from some weird mats on the floor; staying in the center of them for more than a few seconds hurts, and the two survivors decide not to tempt fate.
Faericles’ armor is scooped up, but when Angelire grabs his greatsword she feels a lash of pain, so she drops it. With a shrug she moves to start throwing the dead or... er... well, whatever Thrush is, over her shoulders. The two move out of the tower.
Shortly, via various messaging magicks, they rejoin the others at their initial entry point. When she sees Thrush’s vacant eyes and drooling mouth, Sybele cries, “What happened to Thrush?!” Angel and Horbin explain that the Vestige got him; worse, Horbin tells her about seeing Thrush’s face within it.
“We’ve got to rescue him!” cries Sybele.
“We need to go rest first,” Horbin says. “But yes, then we should rescue him.”
“I have a good idea of where Mr. Grab is,” Orbius announces. “We should try to get him before we leave.”
“Well,” Horbin muses, “I do still have most of my spells.”
“I’m ready,” Angel says.
”We are down a few people,” Rex points out, “but I’m sure we’ll be fine. I mean, it’s just a familiar, how tough can it be?”
“Right,” grumbles Horbin. “Every time someone says that, it’s tougher than we thought.”
The party stands close while the Eye casts a few special enhancements and protections, including a mass stoneskin, Rary’s telepathic bond, piercing clarity and protection from spells, then dispatches an arcane eye to scout the tower of black ice at which the familiar should be (according to Orbius’ spells). Even as the arcane eye approaches the tower, Orbius sends over a mobile scry as well, using ultimate concentration to pay attention to both at once and start exploring the tower, looking for signs of Felenga’s familiar.
“The tower’s solid ice,” he reports. He casts another spell, one of his own creations, and an image resolves, showing what he sees to the rest of the party. “There’s a body! Frozen in ice... another... many.” His lips press together in distaste.
“Are they undead?” Horbin asks. Sybele glances over from where she’s wiping Thrush’s drool-covered face with an edge of her cloak.
“Can’t tell by looking,” Orbius replies. “I think it’s a fair assumption that any bodies we find anywhere in here might be undead, though.” The cleric nods in agreement. “Hey, an entrance,” Orbius remarks. “Hmm... I’m going down even further... whoa! What’s this?”
“What is it?” Rex asks.
“Well, look,” Orbius points at the display. “I went to the base of the tower to see what was there- and there’s a chamber at the bottom.” He gestures. “Mostly floorless, but either end has a little platform. Looks like that’s where you’d come in- a sloping chute that heads up, or down from above, I guess. And on this end...”
“Wow,” says Horbin, “are those bars?”
“Bars of light, yep. And what’s behind them? I don’t know, because my scry sensor won’t go in there.
“I think I know where we should go,” remarks Orbius wryly.
*Faericles failed his save, and Horbin rolled pretty well on the damage (19d6). Add in the cold subtype (150% damage from fire) and Faericles went from pretty close to full hp (196) to about 20.
Next Time:/Our heroes fight a monster from the Epic Level HB- a winter-wight!
the Jester
Legend
The Winter-Wight!
For those of you with an interest in gaming history, the winter-wight actually first appeared in Return to the Tomb of Horrors. It's now in the ELH.
The landing is small, a last stepping stone above the Void. As Orbius’ greater teleport lands the group on the platform, he grimaces. The Void, he thinks. The Negative Energy Plane. Lester...
The mists churn behind them as the party examines the glowing bars of energy that they scried out moments ago. “That’s not where Mr. Grab is,” Orbius tells them. “My locate creature has him pinpointed. He’s above us. I think he’s frozen in the ice.”
“Something’s back there,” Sybele calls, pointing beyond the bars. She sees something in the darkness, something huge, with a long, low shape... she thinks she catches a glimpse of a saddle.
“One thing at a time,” Orbius urges. “We’ve got a shot at Mr. Grab now, we need to take it!” He starts to fly up towards the ceiling, but his foresight warns him against it. “Whoa! Nobody go up!”
While Orbius mulls over the best approach to getting at Felenga’s familiar, Ulla, Rex and Angelfire fly around, scouting the tower’s interior. The ceiling- a slab of dull black ice- is about 20’ overhead; the mists are below. At either end of the tower is a small landing. The one they first arrived at, of course, has the colored bars sealing off... something. The other landing seems to have an ice chute that leads in from above. Rex and Angel land to check it out.
Before they have time to more than glance at the chute, something springs out from behind it.
A skeleton encased in ice with a corona of familiar-looking black flame around its skull leaps out and deals a resounding blow to Rex! “Come to feel my icy embrace, darlings?” it rasps in a hissing, cracking voice, and its blow sends Rex reeling.
Angelfire deletes it, the weird gauntlets crushing her hands as she does. “NGGG!” she groans as the effects of the Deleter continue to ravage her. The arc of eye-splitting energy shoots out-
And misses.
The winter-wight starts forward to finish off Rex, who kicks out with bone-cracking force and deals a tiny amount of damage to the monster. “Uh-oh,” the dragon disciple grunts, but then the winter-wight is blown off balance for a moment by a puncture from Orbius.
The winter-wight lets out a blood-curdling laugh as it tears into Rex. Its massive icy claws tear open horrid wounds on Rex’s torso and leg, and only the dragon disciple’s amazing speed keeps the black flames from catching on his very soul! Rex spins and leaps away, taking another telling wound as he does.
Angelfire timeslips, and with Rex flying away from the thing, it is left alone on the landing. But the thing is clearly not so easily discouraged- it fires a cone of freezing air at the group! A chorus of cries rings out as our heroes feel the ice settle into their limbs and organs!
“Kill it from a distance!” cries Sybele, firing arrow after arrow at the thing, but the winter-wight ducks back behind the ice chute, out of sight.
“Crap,” mutters Horbin, casting a heal on a very grateful Rex. “We should kill that thing.” Rex nods agreement.
“It’s strong,” the draconian-looking adventurer comments. “And watch out for that black fire.”
A few nervous seconds pas as out heroes watch for any sign of the monster; then Angelfire reappears, looking around, and in another instant the creature has emerged again, cackling wickedly as it hacks at Angelfire with deadly, brutal force. She throws her shoulder into the monster, knocking it back a pace, trying to force it off the edge of the precipice, but it’s too strong! It slashes back, cutting a deep trench in Angel’s face. She groans, shaking her head as the black flame catches on her body! A terrible scream of pain rises from the landing as she staggers.
“No!” cries Orbius, and a greater dispelling snuffs the black flames. Horbin the Holy flies forward, skimming the surface of the Void, and casts a mass heal. Like a hammer blow, positive energy arcs into the winter-wight, inflicting tremendous damage even as it heals Angelfire of most of her wounds!
Gasping at her near destruction, Angel lifts her feet off the ground (she’s still under the mass fly Orbius cast earlier) and whips an odd cube of rusty-looking iron from a pouch at her belt. “Here!” she calls, and activates it.
There’s a tremendous noise.
The cube- a Daern’s instant fortress- expands rapidly on the edge of the landing, smashing the ice slide and part of the ceiling before the platform shatters under its growing weight and falls into the Void, taking the instant fortress, the winter-wight and all with it.
Shaking her head, Angelfire quirks her mouth in a smile. “Bad, but not so bad,” she comments.
Next Time: Mr. Grab!
For those of you with an interest in gaming history, the winter-wight actually first appeared in Return to the Tomb of Horrors. It's now in the ELH.
The landing is small, a last stepping stone above the Void. As Orbius’ greater teleport lands the group on the platform, he grimaces. The Void, he thinks. The Negative Energy Plane. Lester...
The mists churn behind them as the party examines the glowing bars of energy that they scried out moments ago. “That’s not where Mr. Grab is,” Orbius tells them. “My locate creature has him pinpointed. He’s above us. I think he’s frozen in the ice.”
“Something’s back there,” Sybele calls, pointing beyond the bars. She sees something in the darkness, something huge, with a long, low shape... she thinks she catches a glimpse of a saddle.
“One thing at a time,” Orbius urges. “We’ve got a shot at Mr. Grab now, we need to take it!” He starts to fly up towards the ceiling, but his foresight warns him against it. “Whoa! Nobody go up!”
While Orbius mulls over the best approach to getting at Felenga’s familiar, Ulla, Rex and Angelfire fly around, scouting the tower’s interior. The ceiling- a slab of dull black ice- is about 20’ overhead; the mists are below. At either end of the tower is a small landing. The one they first arrived at, of course, has the colored bars sealing off... something. The other landing seems to have an ice chute that leads in from above. Rex and Angel land to check it out.
Before they have time to more than glance at the chute, something springs out from behind it.
A skeleton encased in ice with a corona of familiar-looking black flame around its skull leaps out and deals a resounding blow to Rex! “Come to feel my icy embrace, darlings?” it rasps in a hissing, cracking voice, and its blow sends Rex reeling.
Angelfire deletes it, the weird gauntlets crushing her hands as she does. “NGGG!” she groans as the effects of the Deleter continue to ravage her. The arc of eye-splitting energy shoots out-
And misses.
The winter-wight starts forward to finish off Rex, who kicks out with bone-cracking force and deals a tiny amount of damage to the monster. “Uh-oh,” the dragon disciple grunts, but then the winter-wight is blown off balance for a moment by a puncture from Orbius.
The winter-wight lets out a blood-curdling laugh as it tears into Rex. Its massive icy claws tear open horrid wounds on Rex’s torso and leg, and only the dragon disciple’s amazing speed keeps the black flames from catching on his very soul! Rex spins and leaps away, taking another telling wound as he does.
Angelfire timeslips, and with Rex flying away from the thing, it is left alone on the landing. But the thing is clearly not so easily discouraged- it fires a cone of freezing air at the group! A chorus of cries rings out as our heroes feel the ice settle into their limbs and organs!
“Kill it from a distance!” cries Sybele, firing arrow after arrow at the thing, but the winter-wight ducks back behind the ice chute, out of sight.
“Crap,” mutters Horbin, casting a heal on a very grateful Rex. “We should kill that thing.” Rex nods agreement.
“It’s strong,” the draconian-looking adventurer comments. “And watch out for that black fire.”
A few nervous seconds pas as out heroes watch for any sign of the monster; then Angelfire reappears, looking around, and in another instant the creature has emerged again, cackling wickedly as it hacks at Angelfire with deadly, brutal force. She throws her shoulder into the monster, knocking it back a pace, trying to force it off the edge of the precipice, but it’s too strong! It slashes back, cutting a deep trench in Angel’s face. She groans, shaking her head as the black flame catches on her body! A terrible scream of pain rises from the landing as she staggers.
“No!” cries Orbius, and a greater dispelling snuffs the black flames. Horbin the Holy flies forward, skimming the surface of the Void, and casts a mass heal. Like a hammer blow, positive energy arcs into the winter-wight, inflicting tremendous damage even as it heals Angelfire of most of her wounds!
Gasping at her near destruction, Angel lifts her feet off the ground (she’s still under the mass fly Orbius cast earlier) and whips an odd cube of rusty-looking iron from a pouch at her belt. “Here!” she calls, and activates it.
There’s a tremendous noise.
The cube- a Daern’s instant fortress- expands rapidly on the edge of the landing, smashing the ice slide and part of the ceiling before the platform shatters under its growing weight and falls into the Void, taking the instant fortress, the winter-wight and all with it.
Shaking her head, Angelfire quirks her mouth in a smile. “Bad, but not so bad,” she comments.
Next Time: Mr. Grab!
