Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
update!
To War Against Felenga (FINAL UPDATE POSTED!)
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
update!
the Jester
Legend
I'll be posting an update later today if all goes as planned; this is just a quick recap of the party and their levels as of the current update.
Horbin the MFKG Holy,[/i] CG cleric 19 of Dexter;
Angelfire, LE psychic warrior 14/cleric 4/templar of Coila 3;
Orbius, the Eye of Boccob, played by Lester's player while the L's MIA, CG diviner 7/divine oracle 10;
Sybele, CN fighter 8/psion 9/warrior of chaos 2;
Rex, LN monk 5/sorcerer 1/rogue 1/fighter 1/dragon disciple 10;
Ulla, N druid 7/shifter 10.
Those are the pcs that were present at the game over which the following update took place.
Horbin the MFKG Holy,[/i] CG cleric 19 of Dexter;
Angelfire, LE psychic warrior 14/cleric 4/templar of Coila 3;
Orbius, the Eye of Boccob, played by Lester's player while the L's MIA, CG diviner 7/divine oracle 10;
Sybele, CN fighter 8/psion 9/warrior of chaos 2;
Rex, LN monk 5/sorcerer 1/rogue 1/fighter 1/dragon disciple 10;
Ulla, N druid 7/shifter 10.
Those are the pcs that were present at the game over which the following update took place.
the Jester
Legend
A Sudden Bit of Felenga!
Perched on the edge of the void, above the roiling black mists of the Negative Energy Plane, our heroes peer up at the tower of ice above them, full of frozen bodies. Their target, Mr. Grab, Felenga’s familiar, is up there somewhere. If they can get him, Orbius reasons, they can force him to lead them to his master’s phylactery.
“Let’s melt our way up to it,” Orbius urges. “We can catch it when it falls!”
Sybele covers the group carefully as they fly into position underneath the ice ceiling, all too conscious of the Void below them. Horbin gulps as he thinks, That is the source of power for the undead. The realization that he is right on the edge of total annihilation is sobering.
***
Meanwhile, Felenga is all too aware of the party’s presence. They are not far from his hidden phylactery, not far at all- for the first time in billions of years, Felenga is truly worried. First they cut him off from the source of much of his power, then robbed him of his carefully cultivated gifts- and now they actually approach his phylactery!
It is time to intervene.
Felenga greater teleports to the icy ledge before the phantom flyer’s prison, appearing a few dozen yards from where the party is.
It is time to be done with these interlopers! -But somewhere within him, there is a kernel of doubt. They are too close! If I do not stop them now they will be the end of me!
“Flee, you fools, or I will destroy you all!” the Dark One roars as he opens up with both barrels, casting first a horrid wilting and then a quickened horrid wilting. Desiccating energy rips into the party, and everyone screams in agony as the pair of spells sucks the moisture from them, nearly killing several of them. Lips crack, eyes wrinkle, tongues swell and split; our heroes’ flesh draws inward.
Orbius, barely surviving the terrible initial assault, uses his most powerful magicks. All of them.
He casts a time stop, trying to gain a moment to think. Oh sh*t oh sh*t oh sh*t, Felenga it’s Felenga!
He knows he only has an instant.
He hurls a Mordenkainen’s disjunction at the lich, and then opens a gate to the Upper Planes. A noble elf with gleaming pearlescent skin and a tremendous holy greatsword steps through. A ghaele, Orbius realizes, and a bargain is quickly struck for the outsider’s aid against Felenga in this battle.
Time flows forward.
The disjunction takes effect, rippling visibly in the cold air around Felenga. He recognized Orbius’ time stop, of course, but he wasn’t prepared for a disjunction.
Impotently, furiously, terrified, Felenga drops into the Void. He sees the party recede for a few seconds and then they’re lost from sight.
“NO!” Felenga cries out, frustrated beyond compare in his entire existence. Only another few seconds and he would have killed them all!
Quickly, he attunes himself to the negative energies coursing all around him. It is a trifling matter, but he grits his rotten teeth together as he does. His earlier expeditions into the Rib Vault on the Abyss have depleted his resources enough that he will not be able to return to Moil until he can regain his spells, leaving those foul adventurers with more than enough time to do as they will- if they can bypass Acererak’s clever gauntlet of Moilian zombies. Felenga frowns. He is certain they will.
In the worst mood of his entire existence, Felenga broods as he falls through the Void. Nothing approaches him, for this is the Void, and there is virtually nothing within it to approach him.
After a time, unable to bear the suspense, he casts his hidden scry.*
The party of accursed adventurers is melting through part of the ceiling. They have a reasonable hole already; it seems that at least a few Moilians must have dropped down through the mists in the process.
Felenga watches as they capture his familiar. He watches, unable to believe it, as they gate back to Var with Mr. Grab. And he cackles with glee as he watches them set about questioning it, leaving his phylactery- which they were so close to- safe.
But not for long; they’ll surely return and find it. The only question is, where can he put it where it will be more secure?
And the only possible answer comes to him.
Felenga waits impatiently until he can finally regain his spells and gates directly to the middle of the Moilian gauntlet. Above him, in the ceiling of ice, is a large humanoid shape.
Felenga smiles at his own genius as he frees his phylactery from its frozen prison, then plane shifts to the Negative Energy Plane. He casts attune form to ensure the environment will not cause him or his phylactery any undue distress, then greater teleports them both to Acererak’s Fortress of Conclusion.
*One of Felenga’s epic spells.
Next Time: Our heroes try to extract information from Felenga’s familiar! Plus: Angelfire falls in love!
Perched on the edge of the void, above the roiling black mists of the Negative Energy Plane, our heroes peer up at the tower of ice above them, full of frozen bodies. Their target, Mr. Grab, Felenga’s familiar, is up there somewhere. If they can get him, Orbius reasons, they can force him to lead them to his master’s phylactery.
“Let’s melt our way up to it,” Orbius urges. “We can catch it when it falls!”
Sybele covers the group carefully as they fly into position underneath the ice ceiling, all too conscious of the Void below them. Horbin gulps as he thinks, That is the source of power for the undead. The realization that he is right on the edge of total annihilation is sobering.
***
Meanwhile, Felenga is all too aware of the party’s presence. They are not far from his hidden phylactery, not far at all- for the first time in billions of years, Felenga is truly worried. First they cut him off from the source of much of his power, then robbed him of his carefully cultivated gifts- and now they actually approach his phylactery!
It is time to intervene.
Felenga greater teleports to the icy ledge before the phantom flyer’s prison, appearing a few dozen yards from where the party is.
It is time to be done with these interlopers! -But somewhere within him, there is a kernel of doubt. They are too close! If I do not stop them now they will be the end of me!
“Flee, you fools, or I will destroy you all!” the Dark One roars as he opens up with both barrels, casting first a horrid wilting and then a quickened horrid wilting. Desiccating energy rips into the party, and everyone screams in agony as the pair of spells sucks the moisture from them, nearly killing several of them. Lips crack, eyes wrinkle, tongues swell and split; our heroes’ flesh draws inward.
Orbius, barely surviving the terrible initial assault, uses his most powerful magicks. All of them.
He casts a time stop, trying to gain a moment to think. Oh sh*t oh sh*t oh sh*t, Felenga it’s Felenga!
He knows he only has an instant.
He hurls a Mordenkainen’s disjunction at the lich, and then opens a gate to the Upper Planes. A noble elf with gleaming pearlescent skin and a tremendous holy greatsword steps through. A ghaele, Orbius realizes, and a bargain is quickly struck for the outsider’s aid against Felenga in this battle.
Time flows forward.
The disjunction takes effect, rippling visibly in the cold air around Felenga. He recognized Orbius’ time stop, of course, but he wasn’t prepared for a disjunction.
Impotently, furiously, terrified, Felenga drops into the Void. He sees the party recede for a few seconds and then they’re lost from sight.
“NO!” Felenga cries out, frustrated beyond compare in his entire existence. Only another few seconds and he would have killed them all!
Quickly, he attunes himself to the negative energies coursing all around him. It is a trifling matter, but he grits his rotten teeth together as he does. His earlier expeditions into the Rib Vault on the Abyss have depleted his resources enough that he will not be able to return to Moil until he can regain his spells, leaving those foul adventurers with more than enough time to do as they will- if they can bypass Acererak’s clever gauntlet of Moilian zombies. Felenga frowns. He is certain they will.
In the worst mood of his entire existence, Felenga broods as he falls through the Void. Nothing approaches him, for this is the Void, and there is virtually nothing within it to approach him.
After a time, unable to bear the suspense, he casts his hidden scry.*
The party of accursed adventurers is melting through part of the ceiling. They have a reasonable hole already; it seems that at least a few Moilians must have dropped down through the mists in the process.
Felenga watches as they capture his familiar. He watches, unable to believe it, as they gate back to Var with Mr. Grab. And he cackles with glee as he watches them set about questioning it, leaving his phylactery- which they were so close to- safe.
But not for long; they’ll surely return and find it. The only question is, where can he put it where it will be more secure?
And the only possible answer comes to him.
Felenga waits impatiently until he can finally regain his spells and gates directly to the middle of the Moilian gauntlet. Above him, in the ceiling of ice, is a large humanoid shape.
Felenga smiles at his own genius as he frees his phylactery from its frozen prison, then plane shifts to the Negative Energy Plane. He casts attune form to ensure the environment will not cause him or his phylactery any undue distress, then greater teleports them both to Acererak’s Fortress of Conclusion.
*One of Felenga’s epic spells.
Next Time: Our heroes try to extract information from Felenga’s familiar! Plus: Angelfire falls in love!
the Jester
Legend
Talking to the Hand
The questioning of Mr. Grab commences back in Var. Malford must attend to various affairs of state, and he warns Lester severely against blowing up any of the royal property again. Lester reassures him as the King goes off, shaking his head.
How does one extract information from an undead hand? Much less when it’s a familiar and one is trying to extract information about its master?
Orbius first tries to play up any resentment the hand might have over having been left in ice. “We came to save you,” he tells Mr. Grab. “Felenga was getting ready to make a new familiar,” he tries. “Aid us and Galador will accept you!” At that one Horbin splutters and mutters under his breath, a discernible tone of scorn threaded through his inaudible words.
Sybele tries her 'slut' technique, rubbing herself on it lewdly, trying to entice it with promises of lascivious rewards. This, too, fails to sway the hand.
They try torturing it; Angel even threatens to delete it, her hands throbbing as the Deleter continues to squeeze and crush them; but of course, Mr. Grab is undead and feels no pain or fear. Moreover, it has no mouth. The party uses magical telepathy to allow it the opportunity to speak to them, but it spurns their offers.
That night, Horbin grimly tells the party, “This isn’t going to work. It’s a familiar, we aren’t going to get anything out of it.”
“It could work,” Orbius insists.
Ulla, Sybele, Angelfire, Thrush and Horbin go out to get drunk. They succeed, Thrush, Sybele and Ulla beyond their wildest expectations. Horbin gets nicely drunk, brooding over the affair of the hand; he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be tormenting it. He wants to heal it. He vows to give it one last chance in the morning and then do so.
Angelfire is retrieving a round early in the night when she catches someone’s eye. He’s a dark, brooding-looking warrior type; and on his breast is Coila’s symbol. She hands everyone’s drinks around and then goes to speak to the warrior.
She doesn’t leave his side all night.
She’s captivated, enraptured, visibly twitterpated. Angel! And he, too, seems almost blinded to anything else in the room. They have a few drinks and talk and talk and talk. The two vanish into a room together long before dawn.
In the morning, nursing a twinge of a headache, Horbin gives Mr. Grab one last chance to help and then, when the hand remains defiant, casts heal upon it. There’s a moment of spasming agony for Mr. Grab as positive energy explodes into it, and then it blows apart, exploding into bony fragments.
“Why’d you do that?” Sybele demands. “Orbius is gonna be pissed.”
“Torturing the hand was a colossal waste of time and just puts us closer to our dark side,” Horbin rants. “It was a familiar! It’s not going to betray its master! I don’t even know if it’s capable of betraying its master!”
Around midday, Angelfire returns to the castle, her new friend in tow. “Hi, I’m Horbin,” the cleric says, shaking hands with the newcomer.
“Londo,” the warrior says. There’s a palpable aura of evil around him. But hey, Horbin hangs out with Angelfire, used to adventure with Sheva, not to mention Sith back in the day- evil doesn’t phase him. As always, perhaps he can be a good example.
Londo and Angel are inseparable. It’s clearly a case of love at first sight- the others watch, bemusedly, as the usually grim Angelfire is all sweetness and light with her new honey- who, it develops, is not merely a worshiper of Coila, but actually a blackguard of her.* Though not too talkative, he doesn’t do anything to annoy anyone right off the bat. Patyn, however, scowls immediately upon meeting the man. He doesn’t try to start a fight, but it’s clear that he doesn’t like Londo one bit and that he’s only going to tolerate him long enough to destroy Acererak and Felenga.
The group spends a good deal of the afternoon together, having lunch with the King (who seems rather grumpy today). Londo listens with interest to the conversation- it covers subjects from Felenga to the Deleter, the Bile Lords to the dragons whose hatching cave Sybele and Angel helped guard. He soaks up the information like a sponge, and already he frowns inwardly at something he’s heard.
Rex spends a good deal of time looking for Arion the Archmage, leaving a small gift of 1000 pp at his tower and searching through the bars. Alas, he has no real luck, and soon enough night falls and the party slips into sleep, Angel in the arms of her new love.
*Enter Angel’s new cohort, Londo Molari (Babylon 5 fans will no doubt recognize the name).
Next Time: Londo makes a move that nobody expects- against Angelfire! Why?? What happens?? Find out!
The questioning of Mr. Grab commences back in Var. Malford must attend to various affairs of state, and he warns Lester severely against blowing up any of the royal property again. Lester reassures him as the King goes off, shaking his head.
How does one extract information from an undead hand? Much less when it’s a familiar and one is trying to extract information about its master?
Orbius first tries to play up any resentment the hand might have over having been left in ice. “We came to save you,” he tells Mr. Grab. “Felenga was getting ready to make a new familiar,” he tries. “Aid us and Galador will accept you!” At that one Horbin splutters and mutters under his breath, a discernible tone of scorn threaded through his inaudible words.
Sybele tries her 'slut' technique, rubbing herself on it lewdly, trying to entice it with promises of lascivious rewards. This, too, fails to sway the hand.
They try torturing it; Angel even threatens to delete it, her hands throbbing as the Deleter continues to squeeze and crush them; but of course, Mr. Grab is undead and feels no pain or fear. Moreover, it has no mouth. The party uses magical telepathy to allow it the opportunity to speak to them, but it spurns their offers.
That night, Horbin grimly tells the party, “This isn’t going to work. It’s a familiar, we aren’t going to get anything out of it.”
“It could work,” Orbius insists.
Ulla, Sybele, Angelfire, Thrush and Horbin go out to get drunk. They succeed, Thrush, Sybele and Ulla beyond their wildest expectations. Horbin gets nicely drunk, brooding over the affair of the hand; he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be tormenting it. He wants to heal it. He vows to give it one last chance in the morning and then do so.
Angelfire is retrieving a round early in the night when she catches someone’s eye. He’s a dark, brooding-looking warrior type; and on his breast is Coila’s symbol. She hands everyone’s drinks around and then goes to speak to the warrior.
She doesn’t leave his side all night.
She’s captivated, enraptured, visibly twitterpated. Angel! And he, too, seems almost blinded to anything else in the room. They have a few drinks and talk and talk and talk. The two vanish into a room together long before dawn.
In the morning, nursing a twinge of a headache, Horbin gives Mr. Grab one last chance to help and then, when the hand remains defiant, casts heal upon it. There’s a moment of spasming agony for Mr. Grab as positive energy explodes into it, and then it blows apart, exploding into bony fragments.
“Why’d you do that?” Sybele demands. “Orbius is gonna be pissed.”
“Torturing the hand was a colossal waste of time and just puts us closer to our dark side,” Horbin rants. “It was a familiar! It’s not going to betray its master! I don’t even know if it’s capable of betraying its master!”
Around midday, Angelfire returns to the castle, her new friend in tow. “Hi, I’m Horbin,” the cleric says, shaking hands with the newcomer.
“Londo,” the warrior says. There’s a palpable aura of evil around him. But hey, Horbin hangs out with Angelfire, used to adventure with Sheva, not to mention Sith back in the day- evil doesn’t phase him. As always, perhaps he can be a good example.
Londo and Angel are inseparable. It’s clearly a case of love at first sight- the others watch, bemusedly, as the usually grim Angelfire is all sweetness and light with her new honey- who, it develops, is not merely a worshiper of Coila, but actually a blackguard of her.* Though not too talkative, he doesn’t do anything to annoy anyone right off the bat. Patyn, however, scowls immediately upon meeting the man. He doesn’t try to start a fight, but it’s clear that he doesn’t like Londo one bit and that he’s only going to tolerate him long enough to destroy Acererak and Felenga.
The group spends a good deal of the afternoon together, having lunch with the King (who seems rather grumpy today). Londo listens with interest to the conversation- it covers subjects from Felenga to the Deleter, the Bile Lords to the dragons whose hatching cave Sybele and Angel helped guard. He soaks up the information like a sponge, and already he frowns inwardly at something he’s heard.
Rex spends a good deal of time looking for Arion the Archmage, leaving a small gift of 1000 pp at his tower and searching through the bars. Alas, he has no real luck, and soon enough night falls and the party slips into sleep, Angel in the arms of her new love.
*Enter Angel’s new cohort, Londo Molari (Babylon 5 fans will no doubt recognize the name).
Next Time: Londo makes a move that nobody expects- against Angelfire! Why?? What happens?? Find out!
the Jester
Legend
Betrayal Over Breakfast
Londo wakes up first, brooding and silent.
Surely Coila herself led him to his angel. His Angelfire- a powerful templar of his goddess. Surely it was meant to be. Surely...
And that she should feel the same, instantly- it is a blessing the likes of which he’s never felt. She loved him at first sight, just as he fell madly for her in that initial instant. And she’s so strong- she’s no weakling, not like the girls he’s been with before. Even if they were older than him- they were girls. Angel is a woman.
I am going to protect her, he resolves then and there, even from herself. His eyes fall to the weird gloves she wears, even now in her sleep. They are, in fact, all that she’s wearing right now as she sleeps beside him. He wanted her in all her naked glory- every inch of her laid bare before him. But she would not remove the gloves.
Won’t- or can’t, he thinks grimly. He remembers the cursed amulet he wore for nearly a year once- unable to remove it, unwilling to try. Things like that change your perceptions, Londo knows. And he’s no fool- he’s been watching and listening warily to Angel’s friends since they came back to the castle and he realized what sort of company she keeps. Even a paladin, he sneers inwardly, then frowns.
Horbin. Londo will need his help. He grits his teeth at the thought of asking a Galadorian cleric for aid.
I will minimize his involvement, Londo vows to himself.
***
Chobain is the bard of Malford’s castle. He was found, years past, by Malford and several of his companions, including Lester, in a giant’s bag. The bag was stuffed full of sheep; other than Chobain, that’s all that was in there. Ever since his rescue, there have been ongoing jokes about how he can’t get the smell out.
Sometimes he wonders himself; he could almost swear that a little sheep-scent still clings in his hair, but that’s ridiculous; it’s been almost a decade, and there have been so many baths, journeys and women since then that- well. Surely not.
One of Chobain’s favorite things to do is to go into the various taverns that are springing up around Var as the population grows to sing the songs and tell the tales of Malford and his Motleys. From time to time this has led to large tips, loose women and interesting characters. This morning- as Chobain regales a small crowd at an inn called the Three Rubies (situated near the south end of Drelvin’s Avenue). It’s a place where his stories are always welcome; the clientele tends towards wealthy or ambitious adventurers. They love to hear his stories, and there have been one or two (well, more like twelve or so, but who’s counting?) occasions where he’s dragged some overawed adventuring party back to the castle for an impromptu drunk with Drelvin (and once or twice even a brief meeting with the King himself).
This is a similar occasion; only instead of inviting him back for a drink Chobain invites the fellow back for breakfast. It is early yet, after all.
The interesting person in question first strikes up a conversation with Chobain after he tells the tale of the giant clockwork horror from which the king and he (and the others, of course) rescued Belmondo the Enhanced. It’s a favorite, all the moreso since Belmondo has affirmed the truth of it more than once in this very room. Afterward, impressed by the bard’s tale, the adventurer in question comes up and introduces himself as Bartholomew of Cassus.
“A fantastic tale,” Bartholomew comments with a smile. He introduces himself as an adventuring cleric. The two chum it up for a few moments, then Chobain invites the other to come eat. They proceed back to Malford’s castle.
***
Breakfast is served, and our heroes eat heartily. Nobody else notices it, but when Horbin excuses himself to hit the privy, Londo waits a moment and then does the same. He waits for the cleric to exit the privy and speaks.
“I need to talk to you for a moment,” he says coolly.
Horbin regards him suspiciously. “What do you need?” he asks warily.
“It’s those gloves my Angel’s wearing. I’m going to take them off her, and I need you to be ready to heal her.”
Horbin gapes for a moment. Finally, he replies, “You want me to help you? I mean, sure.”
“All I need is for you to heal her.”
“I can maybe use a hold person or-“
“All I need,” Londo repeats slowly, “is for you to heal her.” His gaze on Horbin is hard and unflinching.
“All right, all right, I’m just trying to help.” Horbin shakes his head in exasperation. “But I don’t think she’s going to take them off easily.”
“I know. I’m going to chop her hands off.”
Horbin is aghast. “What?! She’ll kill you if you try that!”
“No she won’t,” Londo says with utter confidence. “Be ready tonight.”
***
The breakfast hall is full of people when Chobain and Bartholomew arrive, but Malford’s servants are nothing if not efficient and quickly arrange more space for the newcomers. The room now holds, in addition to a pair of kitchen servants, Horbin, Sybele, Angelfire, Rex, Orbius, Patyn, Bartholomew and Chobain. Chobain (who knows out heroes fairly well from their time around the castle) introduces Bartholomew around. Bartholomew for his part declares himself well pleased to make the acquaintance of such a distinguished bunch of personages. The chat centers around Thrush’s plight- trapped in the horrible Vestige of Moil.
“Interesting,” Bartholomew comments. “I may be able to help- I have mighty powers of summoning.”
The day moves along.
***
Rex continues his search for Arion the Archmage, mostly by cruising the bars. He knows that Arion likes to drink from the stories that Drelvin and Lester have told (ah, poor Lester, he thinks to himself). It’s a frustrating process that, by noon, has had no positive results. He does find a few interesting things; a poster declaring a reward for a barbarian brigand named Zonzor, for example, and, more noteworthy, a companion.
In a bar he finds a bright-eyed, heavily armored, well-armed man. He wears a silver rose to clasp his cloak; Rex recognizes this as the holy symbol of Garnet, the Triple Goddess.
“Hello there,” he says. “You serve Garnet?”
The stranger- two crossed hammers are across his back, notes Rex- looks the dragon disciple up and down. For a moment his eyes turn silver as he concentrates, then he answers, “Yes. My name is Sir Maxwell.”* He grins and extends a hand.
“You look like an adventurer,” Rex says without preamble. “I’m currently involved in quite an adventure, and frankly, we could use all the help we can get.”
After some discussion, Sir Maxwell agrees to join Rex and his companions in their assault on lich (well, frankly, at this point liches) that they’re fighting. “That’s almost my specialty,” Sir Maxwell declares, and tells Rex that he is a member of a holy order called the Knights of the Chalice “that opposes evil extraplanar creatures, such as baatezu, tanar’ri and yugoloths- fiends, in other words. Demons, devils, that sort of thing. Hordelings. You know.”
“Well, we’ve had our fair share of demons lately,” Rex says, describing the massive battle with the demons on the ethereal plane, as well as their fight with the balor. After exchanging a few more tales, the two decide that they’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain by joining forces.
Later in the afternoon, Rex and Sir Maxwell finally stumble across Arion, who is more than drunk in a bar. Rex approaches humbly and speaks to Arion, who seems a little disoriented and confused, perhaps even uncomfortable when the dragon disciple brings up Brespicacious**. Arion becomes evasive, then hostile, and finally loudly demands that they leave immediately or raise the ire of the archmage.
Naturally, Rex and Sir Maxwell retire to the castle. The day’s about done anyhow.
And, as the sun sets, Horbin nervously prepares himself.
*Yes indeed, Maxwell has a silver hammer.
**Brespicacious is the amethyst dragon that is Rex’s Great Lord. When they met previously at Arion’s moving tower, Rex had asked whether Arion had ever met Brespicacious before, to which the Archmage had answered Yes.
Next Time: The Battle for the Deleter!!!
Londo wakes up first, brooding and silent.
Surely Coila herself led him to his angel. His Angelfire- a powerful templar of his goddess. Surely it was meant to be. Surely...
And that she should feel the same, instantly- it is a blessing the likes of which he’s never felt. She loved him at first sight, just as he fell madly for her in that initial instant. And she’s so strong- she’s no weakling, not like the girls he’s been with before. Even if they were older than him- they were girls. Angel is a woman.
I am going to protect her, he resolves then and there, even from herself. His eyes fall to the weird gloves she wears, even now in her sleep. They are, in fact, all that she’s wearing right now as she sleeps beside him. He wanted her in all her naked glory- every inch of her laid bare before him. But she would not remove the gloves.
Won’t- or can’t, he thinks grimly. He remembers the cursed amulet he wore for nearly a year once- unable to remove it, unwilling to try. Things like that change your perceptions, Londo knows. And he’s no fool- he’s been watching and listening warily to Angel’s friends since they came back to the castle and he realized what sort of company she keeps. Even a paladin, he sneers inwardly, then frowns.
Horbin. Londo will need his help. He grits his teeth at the thought of asking a Galadorian cleric for aid.
I will minimize his involvement, Londo vows to himself.
***
Chobain is the bard of Malford’s castle. He was found, years past, by Malford and several of his companions, including Lester, in a giant’s bag. The bag was stuffed full of sheep; other than Chobain, that’s all that was in there. Ever since his rescue, there have been ongoing jokes about how he can’t get the smell out.
Sometimes he wonders himself; he could almost swear that a little sheep-scent still clings in his hair, but that’s ridiculous; it’s been almost a decade, and there have been so many baths, journeys and women since then that- well. Surely not.
One of Chobain’s favorite things to do is to go into the various taverns that are springing up around Var as the population grows to sing the songs and tell the tales of Malford and his Motleys. From time to time this has led to large tips, loose women and interesting characters. This morning- as Chobain regales a small crowd at an inn called the Three Rubies (situated near the south end of Drelvin’s Avenue). It’s a place where his stories are always welcome; the clientele tends towards wealthy or ambitious adventurers. They love to hear his stories, and there have been one or two (well, more like twelve or so, but who’s counting?) occasions where he’s dragged some overawed adventuring party back to the castle for an impromptu drunk with Drelvin (and once or twice even a brief meeting with the King himself).
This is a similar occasion; only instead of inviting him back for a drink Chobain invites the fellow back for breakfast. It is early yet, after all.
The interesting person in question first strikes up a conversation with Chobain after he tells the tale of the giant clockwork horror from which the king and he (and the others, of course) rescued Belmondo the Enhanced. It’s a favorite, all the moreso since Belmondo has affirmed the truth of it more than once in this very room. Afterward, impressed by the bard’s tale, the adventurer in question comes up and introduces himself as Bartholomew of Cassus.
“A fantastic tale,” Bartholomew comments with a smile. He introduces himself as an adventuring cleric. The two chum it up for a few moments, then Chobain invites the other to come eat. They proceed back to Malford’s castle.
***
Breakfast is served, and our heroes eat heartily. Nobody else notices it, but when Horbin excuses himself to hit the privy, Londo waits a moment and then does the same. He waits for the cleric to exit the privy and speaks.
“I need to talk to you for a moment,” he says coolly.
Horbin regards him suspiciously. “What do you need?” he asks warily.
“It’s those gloves my Angel’s wearing. I’m going to take them off her, and I need you to be ready to heal her.”
Horbin gapes for a moment. Finally, he replies, “You want me to help you? I mean, sure.”
“All I need is for you to heal her.”
“I can maybe use a hold person or-“
“All I need,” Londo repeats slowly, “is for you to heal her.” His gaze on Horbin is hard and unflinching.
“All right, all right, I’m just trying to help.” Horbin shakes his head in exasperation. “But I don’t think she’s going to take them off easily.”
“I know. I’m going to chop her hands off.”
Horbin is aghast. “What?! She’ll kill you if you try that!”
“No she won’t,” Londo says with utter confidence. “Be ready tonight.”
***
The breakfast hall is full of people when Chobain and Bartholomew arrive, but Malford’s servants are nothing if not efficient and quickly arrange more space for the newcomers. The room now holds, in addition to a pair of kitchen servants, Horbin, Sybele, Angelfire, Rex, Orbius, Patyn, Bartholomew and Chobain. Chobain (who knows out heroes fairly well from their time around the castle) introduces Bartholomew around. Bartholomew for his part declares himself well pleased to make the acquaintance of such a distinguished bunch of personages. The chat centers around Thrush’s plight- trapped in the horrible Vestige of Moil.
“Interesting,” Bartholomew comments. “I may be able to help- I have mighty powers of summoning.”
The day moves along.
***
Rex continues his search for Arion the Archmage, mostly by cruising the bars. He knows that Arion likes to drink from the stories that Drelvin and Lester have told (ah, poor Lester, he thinks to himself). It’s a frustrating process that, by noon, has had no positive results. He does find a few interesting things; a poster declaring a reward for a barbarian brigand named Zonzor, for example, and, more noteworthy, a companion.
In a bar he finds a bright-eyed, heavily armored, well-armed man. He wears a silver rose to clasp his cloak; Rex recognizes this as the holy symbol of Garnet, the Triple Goddess.
“Hello there,” he says. “You serve Garnet?”
The stranger- two crossed hammers are across his back, notes Rex- looks the dragon disciple up and down. For a moment his eyes turn silver as he concentrates, then he answers, “Yes. My name is Sir Maxwell.”* He grins and extends a hand.
“You look like an adventurer,” Rex says without preamble. “I’m currently involved in quite an adventure, and frankly, we could use all the help we can get.”
After some discussion, Sir Maxwell agrees to join Rex and his companions in their assault on lich (well, frankly, at this point liches) that they’re fighting. “That’s almost my specialty,” Sir Maxwell declares, and tells Rex that he is a member of a holy order called the Knights of the Chalice “that opposes evil extraplanar creatures, such as baatezu, tanar’ri and yugoloths- fiends, in other words. Demons, devils, that sort of thing. Hordelings. You know.”
“Well, we’ve had our fair share of demons lately,” Rex says, describing the massive battle with the demons on the ethereal plane, as well as their fight with the balor. After exchanging a few more tales, the two decide that they’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain by joining forces.
Later in the afternoon, Rex and Sir Maxwell finally stumble across Arion, who is more than drunk in a bar. Rex approaches humbly and speaks to Arion, who seems a little disoriented and confused, perhaps even uncomfortable when the dragon disciple brings up Brespicacious**. Arion becomes evasive, then hostile, and finally loudly demands that they leave immediately or raise the ire of the archmage.
Naturally, Rex and Sir Maxwell retire to the castle. The day’s about done anyhow.
And, as the sun sets, Horbin nervously prepares himself.
*Yes indeed, Maxwell has a silver hammer.
**Brespicacious is the amethyst dragon that is Rex’s Great Lord. When they met previously at Arion’s moving tower, Rex had asked whether Arion had ever met Brespicacious before, to which the Archmage had answered Yes.
Next Time: The Battle for the Deleter!!!
the Jester
Legend
The Battle for the Deleter
In the western sky, the sun touches the water’s edge and seems to perch there for a moment before starting to ease into the sea.* The shadows lengthen; the clouds turn first orange, then pink, then purple.
Horbin nervously paces in his room. He has deep misgivings about Londo- they just met, after all- but he realizes that Angelfire’s new cohort is right. The Deleter has to go. It’s killing her.**
He takes a deep breath. All he can do is wait, anyway.
***
In her room, Angel and Londo break from a long kiss.
Her heart is all aflutter; she can’t take her eyes off him. He’s dark and brooding and grim; his aura flares with Coilite power. He is a champion of her deity, and one almost as powerful as she is! Surely it is no coincidence that she has met him; surely Coila means them to be together. They must be destined for great things. Felenga- and more.
“Let’s take a shot,” Londo rumbles softly, pulling a flask of freshly-purchased tiley*** from his belt. Angel exclaims in pleasure as her new man shows himself possessed of exquisite taste in liquor.
He pour a shot for each of them, though he hands Angel hers first (very full) and covers his with his body while he pours a much smaller one. They toss them back. Angel feels it burn all the way to her belly, its sharp, coppery flavor filling her sinuses. Her head swims; she takes a stumbling step backwards and falls snoring onto the bed.
Londo, eyes watering, coughs a few times, sways, then staggers out into the hall. A few steps to Horbin’s room; then a knock, and the cleric’s door opens with alacrity.
“Get ready,” mutters Londo. “She’s passed out.”
Horbin shakes his head in wonder, then follows the blackguard. He casts a neutralize poison to sober Londo up and the two quietly enter Angelfire’s chamber. She’s still snoring as Londo carefully lays her out face down with her arms- and the Deleter- stretched out above her head.
He draws forth a sword.
***
Rex wakes with a start.
Did he hear something?
Hell, he’s tired. Forget it. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
***
Orbius, writing in his journal (he must preserve what he observes, after all), hears the blood-curdling scream rip through the living area of the castle. Immediately he casts Orbius’ mobile scry and looks in on Angelfire’s room- after all, that Londo guy doesn’t look one bit trustworthy to the Eye!
“By the spectacles of Boccob!” he exclaims.
What the hell is Horbin doing in there??
Orbius teleports.
***
All down the hall with the living quarters assigned to our heroes, doors fly open as sleepy adventurers spring into action. People are yelling; what the hell’s going on?
Annoyed- it doesn’t even sound like there’s a fight- Rex nonetheless takes the opportunity to do something he’s been considering for a while, and uses a scroll of limited wish and permanency to enlarge himself. He’s tired of Sybele and Thrush being bigger than him.
***
When the blade came down for the first time, there was a horrible amount of blood. Angel came awake with a horrifying scream as her right hand is hacked mercilessly from her body. Londo chops again, hoping to finish it all in an instant, but the Deleter seems to move the arm with an awareness all its own, jerking about and avoiding a second clean severing. The blow catches the arm a terrific blow but doesn’t hew the hand free.
“Dexter’s nadlies!” swears Horbin, and casts feeblemind on Angel. The templar of Coila grunts in surprise as her mind basically turns to oatmeal. She goes slack, crying and mewling in pain as blood pumps from the stump of her right hand at a prodigious rate.
And then Angel’s left hand- with half the Deleter still attached- jerks around to point and Londo. There’s a terrific ZOT as a coruscating beam of violet-hot energy arcs jaggedly through the air. Londo cries out in surprise, but the blast misses him.
He slices deeply into Angelfire’s wrist; he hears bones crack, but he doesn’t quite hew it off. His lips are curled in a fierce sneer as he prepares to hack at the Deleter again, and then suddenly the door to the room opens!
***
When the Eye throws the door open he’s already moving aside; but the hallway is full of powerful adventurers who know Angel and Horbin very well and would love to help if they only knew what the hell was going on. Orbius, of course, has already figured it out, with his vast intellect.
Bartholomew of Cassis has too.
He observes as Horbin casts hold person and Angelfire freezes in place, then starts in wonder as the Deleter jerks her arm about with such force that it breaks bones against the magic of the holding! Patyn is rushing into the room, striking a blow at the Deleter with his sun blade; and he deals another devastating wound to the arm.
It just won’t let go.
ZOT! Another blast fires off, narrowly missing Horbin the Holy as it cascades past his shoulder and blasts the wall. Then Londo lands another incredible blow to the arm, a grievous wound that almost takes the appendage off at last; but it’s hanging by a combination of a few flaps of skin and some filaments the Deleter seems to have extruded just for this purpose.
Orbius fires a puncture. The spell isn’t possible to aim closely, but it has tremendous power and will blow a hole in just about anything. And, through sheer dumb luck, the blast takes Angelfire in the left arm and shoots her remaining hand off.
Horbin scoops both hands up carefully and puts them in his bag of holding. “We should make sure to dispose of these properly,” he remarks, then casts a heal on Angelfire, which- among other things- takes care of the feeblemind. He follows this up with a pair of regenerates.
“Get out,” Londo tells everyone.
“I can heal her more,” Horbin says. “Maybe she needs-“
”Get. Out.”
Watching from his room, Bartholomew surreptitiously casts phantasmal thief. After he sends it off, he closes the door for a moment while he quickly summons Barzoul, a vrock known to him. Counting on the party to remain distracted enough not to find the vrock in time, he commands Barzoul to remain silent and quiescent until otherwise ordered. And he waits for the phantasmal thief to deliver its cargo.
Everyone leaves the room. Londo shuts the door behind them. In the hallway, the party discusses what to do with the Deleter.
“We need to get rid of it,” says Horbin firmly.
“What is it?” asks Sir Maxwell.
“It’s bad news,” says Patyn. “It’s an artifact- not evil, but chaotic.”
“We needed it to bring our big enemy down to a level where we have a chance against him; but we’ve done that. I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble anymore.” Horbin frowns. “We should dispose of it somehow.”
“We might need it again,” Orbius muses.
“Look at the trouble it’s caused! We need to hide it away or something, or at least make sure that it’s safely away. And we need to make sure that Angel can’t get at it- I’m afraid there may be repercussions from this little incident.”
Orbius looks uneasy.
***
Fraemlyn is steamed. Just... ooh! Steamed!
A demon! How dare he summon a demon here- the stink is almost impossible to remove!
Watching from a hidden crack in the wall, Fraemlyn determines to cause whatever trouble he can. He sees the thaumaturge hand the gloves to the demon and sees the demon teleport away, doing its master’s bidding.
Well, as Bartholomew coolly exits his room for the hallway, one thing’s for sure. You don’t piss off the house fairies if you have something to hide.
Fraemlyn resolves to tattle.
*Cydra- the campaign world- takes place on the inside surface of a gigantic air bubble in an infinite ocean. The sun orbits the island of Forinthia; night is when it plunges into the sea and goes beneath. The heat of this passage is what helps the sea’s life thrive so strongly beneath the ecliptic.
**I believe that at this point Angelfire had about 12 negative levels she couldn’t get rid of. Each time she fired a blast from the Deleter she gained 1d4! At progressively deeper and deeper thresholds, she’d lose some as other effects took over.
***An extremely potent liquor with mildly hallucinogenic properties, distilled in part from the heart’s blood of a dragon. This makes it extremely rare, as in my campaign there were very few dragons in the world until a few game years ago and the infamous Hatching Caves adventure (which were really the big setup for the Great War of Ethics that’s taking place in the background). A sip of tiley is enough to get an average human so drunk that they vomit or pass out; it is extremely unlikely that one could take a shot and still stand.
Next Time: When Horbin looks in his bag of holding in about six seconds, what happens??
In the western sky, the sun touches the water’s edge and seems to perch there for a moment before starting to ease into the sea.* The shadows lengthen; the clouds turn first orange, then pink, then purple.
Horbin nervously paces in his room. He has deep misgivings about Londo- they just met, after all- but he realizes that Angelfire’s new cohort is right. The Deleter has to go. It’s killing her.**
He takes a deep breath. All he can do is wait, anyway.
***
In her room, Angel and Londo break from a long kiss.
Her heart is all aflutter; she can’t take her eyes off him. He’s dark and brooding and grim; his aura flares with Coilite power. He is a champion of her deity, and one almost as powerful as she is! Surely it is no coincidence that she has met him; surely Coila means them to be together. They must be destined for great things. Felenga- and more.
“Let’s take a shot,” Londo rumbles softly, pulling a flask of freshly-purchased tiley*** from his belt. Angel exclaims in pleasure as her new man shows himself possessed of exquisite taste in liquor.
He pour a shot for each of them, though he hands Angel hers first (very full) and covers his with his body while he pours a much smaller one. They toss them back. Angel feels it burn all the way to her belly, its sharp, coppery flavor filling her sinuses. Her head swims; she takes a stumbling step backwards and falls snoring onto the bed.
Londo, eyes watering, coughs a few times, sways, then staggers out into the hall. A few steps to Horbin’s room; then a knock, and the cleric’s door opens with alacrity.
“Get ready,” mutters Londo. “She’s passed out.”
Horbin shakes his head in wonder, then follows the blackguard. He casts a neutralize poison to sober Londo up and the two quietly enter Angelfire’s chamber. She’s still snoring as Londo carefully lays her out face down with her arms- and the Deleter- stretched out above her head.
He draws forth a sword.
***
Rex wakes with a start.
Did he hear something?
Hell, he’s tired. Forget it. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
***
Orbius, writing in his journal (he must preserve what he observes, after all), hears the blood-curdling scream rip through the living area of the castle. Immediately he casts Orbius’ mobile scry and looks in on Angelfire’s room- after all, that Londo guy doesn’t look one bit trustworthy to the Eye!
“By the spectacles of Boccob!” he exclaims.
What the hell is Horbin doing in there??
Orbius teleports.
***
All down the hall with the living quarters assigned to our heroes, doors fly open as sleepy adventurers spring into action. People are yelling; what the hell’s going on?
Annoyed- it doesn’t even sound like there’s a fight- Rex nonetheless takes the opportunity to do something he’s been considering for a while, and uses a scroll of limited wish and permanency to enlarge himself. He’s tired of Sybele and Thrush being bigger than him.
***
When the blade came down for the first time, there was a horrible amount of blood. Angel came awake with a horrifying scream as her right hand is hacked mercilessly from her body. Londo chops again, hoping to finish it all in an instant, but the Deleter seems to move the arm with an awareness all its own, jerking about and avoiding a second clean severing. The blow catches the arm a terrific blow but doesn’t hew the hand free.
“Dexter’s nadlies!” swears Horbin, and casts feeblemind on Angel. The templar of Coila grunts in surprise as her mind basically turns to oatmeal. She goes slack, crying and mewling in pain as blood pumps from the stump of her right hand at a prodigious rate.
And then Angel’s left hand- with half the Deleter still attached- jerks around to point and Londo. There’s a terrific ZOT as a coruscating beam of violet-hot energy arcs jaggedly through the air. Londo cries out in surprise, but the blast misses him.
He slices deeply into Angelfire’s wrist; he hears bones crack, but he doesn’t quite hew it off. His lips are curled in a fierce sneer as he prepares to hack at the Deleter again, and then suddenly the door to the room opens!
***
When the Eye throws the door open he’s already moving aside; but the hallway is full of powerful adventurers who know Angel and Horbin very well and would love to help if they only knew what the hell was going on. Orbius, of course, has already figured it out, with his vast intellect.
Bartholomew of Cassis has too.
He observes as Horbin casts hold person and Angelfire freezes in place, then starts in wonder as the Deleter jerks her arm about with such force that it breaks bones against the magic of the holding! Patyn is rushing into the room, striking a blow at the Deleter with his sun blade; and he deals another devastating wound to the arm.
It just won’t let go.
ZOT! Another blast fires off, narrowly missing Horbin the Holy as it cascades past his shoulder and blasts the wall. Then Londo lands another incredible blow to the arm, a grievous wound that almost takes the appendage off at last; but it’s hanging by a combination of a few flaps of skin and some filaments the Deleter seems to have extruded just for this purpose.
Orbius fires a puncture. The spell isn’t possible to aim closely, but it has tremendous power and will blow a hole in just about anything. And, through sheer dumb luck, the blast takes Angelfire in the left arm and shoots her remaining hand off.
Horbin scoops both hands up carefully and puts them in his bag of holding. “We should make sure to dispose of these properly,” he remarks, then casts a heal on Angelfire, which- among other things- takes care of the feeblemind. He follows this up with a pair of regenerates.
“Get out,” Londo tells everyone.
“I can heal her more,” Horbin says. “Maybe she needs-“
”Get. Out.”
Watching from his room, Bartholomew surreptitiously casts phantasmal thief. After he sends it off, he closes the door for a moment while he quickly summons Barzoul, a vrock known to him. Counting on the party to remain distracted enough not to find the vrock in time, he commands Barzoul to remain silent and quiescent until otherwise ordered. And he waits for the phantasmal thief to deliver its cargo.
Everyone leaves the room. Londo shuts the door behind them. In the hallway, the party discusses what to do with the Deleter.
“We need to get rid of it,” says Horbin firmly.
“What is it?” asks Sir Maxwell.
“It’s bad news,” says Patyn. “It’s an artifact- not evil, but chaotic.”
“We needed it to bring our big enemy down to a level where we have a chance against him; but we’ve done that. I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble anymore.” Horbin frowns. “We should dispose of it somehow.”
“We might need it again,” Orbius muses.
“Look at the trouble it’s caused! We need to hide it away or something, or at least make sure that it’s safely away. And we need to make sure that Angel can’t get at it- I’m afraid there may be repercussions from this little incident.”
Orbius looks uneasy.
***
Fraemlyn is steamed. Just... ooh! Steamed!
A demon! How dare he summon a demon here- the stink is almost impossible to remove!
Watching from a hidden crack in the wall, Fraemlyn determines to cause whatever trouble he can. He sees the thaumaturge hand the gloves to the demon and sees the demon teleport away, doing its master’s bidding.
Well, as Bartholomew coolly exits his room for the hallway, one thing’s for sure. You don’t piss off the house fairies if you have something to hide.
Fraemlyn resolves to tattle.
*Cydra- the campaign world- takes place on the inside surface of a gigantic air bubble in an infinite ocean. The sun orbits the island of Forinthia; night is when it plunges into the sea and goes beneath. The heat of this passage is what helps the sea’s life thrive so strongly beneath the ecliptic.
**I believe that at this point Angelfire had about 12 negative levels she couldn’t get rid of. Each time she fired a blast from the Deleter she gained 1d4! At progressively deeper and deeper thresholds, she’d lose some as other effects took over.
***An extremely potent liquor with mildly hallucinogenic properties, distilled in part from the heart’s blood of a dragon. This makes it extremely rare, as in my campaign there were very few dragons in the world until a few game years ago and the infamous Hatching Caves adventure (which were really the big setup for the Great War of Ethics that’s taking place in the background). A sip of tiley is enough to get an average human so drunk that they vomit or pass out; it is extremely unlikely that one could take a shot and still stand.
Next Time: When Horbin looks in his bag of holding in about six seconds, what happens??
omrob
First Post
the Jester said:
Goddamn Matt Levy! I shoulda known by the name, its a very matt name,
And I even thought that to myself when you said it...BARZOOOOOL? Double damn.
The dangers of being super stoned by hour 4 of your game.
These professional risks we take with our characters...
the Jester
Legend
At last another of my players comments!! Watch for a story hour by him, it should be very entertaining... 
Ah, but Matt Levy didn't name him.
omrob said:
Ah, but Matt Levy didn't name him.
the Jester
Legend
Return to the Tomb of Horrors
“Let’s make sure,” Horbin says fatefully, “that the Deleter is safe, at least, and let’s keep it away from Angel.” The others nod. Horbin hefts his bag of holding and looks inside.
His face turns ashen.
“It’s gone,” he whispers.
The group drops into a moment of heavy, ominous silence.
“What do you mean, it’s gone?” Orbius finally asks.
Horbin displays his bag- with no gloves within. “But it was just here...”
“How could-“
“Who-“
“Dammit!” Orbius swears. “That’s just what we need! Hopefully it’s not Felenga who’s got it!” A quick locate object reveals that the Deleter is nowhere within range- not that it’s necessarily detectable anyway, the Eye thinks grimly.
“That’s very unfortunate,” Bartholomew commiserates smoothly. “What exactly was this ‘Deleter’ you are talking about? I mean, I presume it’s the gloves...”
“A very powerful- and very dangerous- artifact,” Horbin tells him. “It was vital in our fight against the arch-lich Felenga, but I’m thinking that it’s done just about everything it could for us. Personally- well, good riddance. It was slowly killing Angelfire.”
“Even though she and I have our differences,” Patyn adds, “she should not die like that.” He shakes his head. She should die in battle... with me.
The group mills about the hallway for a few moments, discussing things. Then Angelfire’s door opens and she walks shakily out into the hallway, Londo close behind her. Both of her hands are in the midst of regrowing by now- fresh pink skin slowly extending over new bone and muscle. They look moist, but not horrible mutilated (as her old hands had started to be). The party falls into silence for a few moments.
Finally, Orbius ventures, “Angel... are you all right?”
She nods dumbly. Glances around. Her face is haunted, her eyes crinkled in horror. Blood stains her shirt and, behind her, her bed.
“Where is it?” she whispers, pain and desire in her voice.
“Angelfire...” Patyn starts, but Horbin the Holy interrupts him.
“That’s a very good question,” he says frankly. “We don’t know. It’s vanished- and that’s for the best.”
Slowly, Angelfire shuffles about the hall, glancing this way and that as if expecting the Deleter to suddenly have been lying right over there all along, and everyone somehow just missed it. But no such luck. Londo glares fiercely at everyone, a warning as clear as daylight that, for now, they must leave her to him.
But Bartholomew leans over and whispers in her ear, something intended for nobody but her.
“All is not lost. I have something you want.”
The others, meanwhile, are gathered around Orbius, suggesting things for him to ask of the great powers when he sends his mind into the Outer Planes for information. Grimly, the Eye remarks, “Not just the Deleter- I also want to try to find the L. My prior divinations told me to seek him in the Void- that could mean the Negative Energy Plane or maybe the plane of Vacuum. It could also mean the void of death. But I have to find out what I can- we have to rescue him if we can!”
“Not to mention Thrush,” Horbin says. “He’s trapped in that... that thing.”
At the mention of the Vestige, Patyn shudders.
***
Who has the right glove of the Deleter? Barzoul.
Who has the left glove of the Deleter? Barzoul.
Is Barzoul aligned with Felenga? No.
Does Acererak the demilich have Lester’s soul? No.
Is Barzoul aligned with Acererak? No.
Is Barzoul a Bile Lord? No.
Is Barzoul seeking to use the Deleter against us within a month? No.
Will we able to reach Lester by going through the gate in Marius’ Citadel of Eternity? No.
Who does Barzoul plan to immediately use the Deleter against? Nobody.
Once we are in the Void, where should we look to find Lester? Nowhere.
Orbius relates his results. “I know I’ve heard that name, Barzoul, before,” he muses.
Suddenly Horbin snaps his fingers. “I’ve read about him in some old religious works. Barzoul is a vrock in service to Graz’zt. Interesting, but not in a very encouraging way.”
***
Bartholomew, meanwhile, has retired for the evening. And by retired, I mean he teleported to Shuljin, his cohort, who runs the small pirate base that Bart considers his true home. It is to here that the Deleter was delivered, and now Bartholomew makes a most unwelcome discovery, staring glumly at the head that came with it.
“Do we know who this was?” he asks.
Shuljin shakes his head. “I assumed it was an enemy of you. The vrock dropped the things off in your name and issued dire warnings against touching them.”
It is perhaps indicative of the number and power of summonings that Bartholomew performs that his men not only did not bat an eye at the arrival of a vrock, but also took it at its word that it came from him. Bartholomew wonders briefly if that might translate, in some ways, into a weakness. Well, hopefully he hasn’t made any enemies powerful enough to truly exploit it.
Although this might prove to be an exception, if he isn’t careful.
To hell with caution; audaciousness is his nature.
He communes to find out what he can about Barzoul’s extra little gift, and he determines that he didn’t know the person, nor did it belong to a powerful person who might seek revenge. Nor, it develops, did Barzoul bring the head for a particular reason.
Demonic savagery, thinks Bart.
Furthermore, Angel is still compelled by the Deleter; a miracle might be able to break it. Might. Bartholomew frowns. Should Barzoul choose to inform his demonic lord of his recent activities, it seems likely that his forces could infiltrate Shuljin’s stronghold. Hmm, not the best news, but it certainly could be worse.
After all, Bartholomew of Cassis now has the Deleter. And according to his god, it’s the real thing.
Whatever the hell that is.
***
Horbin hits a bar that night. The whole thing with Londo and Angel and the Deleter has left his more than a little bemused; and he feels a strong need to take the edge off.
At the bar he finds another friend- Ten Buck Tom, a gnome bard he’s crossed paths with once or twice.* The two share some anecdotes, and Ten Buck Tom suggests that he compose an epic of Horbin’s life. To this end, he agrees to follow the cleric through hell and high water- and even through the legendary Tomb of Horrors.
***
In the morning Bart teleports back to his room in the castle of Var, just in time to hear a knock on the door. He hustles over and opens it.
“Do you have it?” Angelfire asks hungrily.
Bartholomew hesitates for a long moment. Finally, he answers, “I’m hiding it from you.”
“No. You’d better give it to me.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you-“
“You’d better give it to me.” Suddenly her falchion is in her hand. Bart takes a nervous step back and teleports downstairs into the dining room.
“Morning,” says Horbin.
Orbius stands up and points at him. “All right, what’s all this then?” The Eye glares. “What have you done with the Deleter?”
“What? I don’t have the Deleter.”
“Liar! I saw it all! You just told Angelfire you’re hiding it from her!”
Angelfire walks into the room. Inwardly, Bartholomew groans. “Look, I don’t have it- you can search me and my rooms if you want. We’ve already established that Barzoul has it, whoever that is.”
“One of your servants?” Rex suggests.
“He’s not evil,” Patyn comments.
Maxwell nods. “It’s hard to believe one could consort with demons without being evil, especially if he’s a cleric.”
“Thank you!” Bart cries. “A voice of reason at last!”
Angel stares hard at him. “If you have it,” she says, her voice slow and full of iron, “if you’re hiding it from me, I will kill you.”
“Can you believe,” Horbin says behind his hand to Sybele, “we only started our attack on the Tomb of Horrors three days ago?”
“I want my babies’ daddy,” Sybele moans.
The party discusses their next move. Sybele repeats, “I want my babies’ daddy!” The group agrees that destroying the Vestige will make their hunt through Moil for any other clues much easier, and with any luck they’ll be able to rescue Thrush from it.
“We need to think of the L too,” Orbius reminds everyone.
It’s time for them to get back to it. Under the theory that it’s better to keep an eye on someone who’s probably recently stolen an artifact from the party than to let him run off and use it, the party allows Bartholomew to accompany them. They mass teleport to the Great Green Face, give a pinch of dust to Bartholomew and Maxwell, and step through the mouth that does more than devour, returning to the City That Waits.
To hunt the Vestige.
*What we have here is Horbin’s new feat, Leadership, at work. Ten Buck Tom is his cohort.
Next Time: Our heroes face the Vestige again! Will they have any better luck this time??
“Let’s make sure,” Horbin says fatefully, “that the Deleter is safe, at least, and let’s keep it away from Angel.” The others nod. Horbin hefts his bag of holding and looks inside.
His face turns ashen.
“It’s gone,” he whispers.
The group drops into a moment of heavy, ominous silence.
“What do you mean, it’s gone?” Orbius finally asks.
Horbin displays his bag- with no gloves within. “But it was just here...”
“How could-“
“Who-“
“Dammit!” Orbius swears. “That’s just what we need! Hopefully it’s not Felenga who’s got it!” A quick locate object reveals that the Deleter is nowhere within range- not that it’s necessarily detectable anyway, the Eye thinks grimly.
“That’s very unfortunate,” Bartholomew commiserates smoothly. “What exactly was this ‘Deleter’ you are talking about? I mean, I presume it’s the gloves...”
“A very powerful- and very dangerous- artifact,” Horbin tells him. “It was vital in our fight against the arch-lich Felenga, but I’m thinking that it’s done just about everything it could for us. Personally- well, good riddance. It was slowly killing Angelfire.”
“Even though she and I have our differences,” Patyn adds, “she should not die like that.” He shakes his head. She should die in battle... with me.
The group mills about the hallway for a few moments, discussing things. Then Angelfire’s door opens and she walks shakily out into the hallway, Londo close behind her. Both of her hands are in the midst of regrowing by now- fresh pink skin slowly extending over new bone and muscle. They look moist, but not horrible mutilated (as her old hands had started to be). The party falls into silence for a few moments.
Finally, Orbius ventures, “Angel... are you all right?”
She nods dumbly. Glances around. Her face is haunted, her eyes crinkled in horror. Blood stains her shirt and, behind her, her bed.
“Where is it?” she whispers, pain and desire in her voice.
“Angelfire...” Patyn starts, but Horbin the Holy interrupts him.
“That’s a very good question,” he says frankly. “We don’t know. It’s vanished- and that’s for the best.”
Slowly, Angelfire shuffles about the hall, glancing this way and that as if expecting the Deleter to suddenly have been lying right over there all along, and everyone somehow just missed it. But no such luck. Londo glares fiercely at everyone, a warning as clear as daylight that, for now, they must leave her to him.
But Bartholomew leans over and whispers in her ear, something intended for nobody but her.
“All is not lost. I have something you want.”
The others, meanwhile, are gathered around Orbius, suggesting things for him to ask of the great powers when he sends his mind into the Outer Planes for information. Grimly, the Eye remarks, “Not just the Deleter- I also want to try to find the L. My prior divinations told me to seek him in the Void- that could mean the Negative Energy Plane or maybe the plane of Vacuum. It could also mean the void of death. But I have to find out what I can- we have to rescue him if we can!”
“Not to mention Thrush,” Horbin says. “He’s trapped in that... that thing.”
At the mention of the Vestige, Patyn shudders.
***
Who has the right glove of the Deleter? Barzoul.
Who has the left glove of the Deleter? Barzoul.
Is Barzoul aligned with Felenga? No.
Does Acererak the demilich have Lester’s soul? No.
Is Barzoul aligned with Acererak? No.
Is Barzoul a Bile Lord? No.
Is Barzoul seeking to use the Deleter against us within a month? No.
Will we able to reach Lester by going through the gate in Marius’ Citadel of Eternity? No.
Who does Barzoul plan to immediately use the Deleter against? Nobody.
Once we are in the Void, where should we look to find Lester? Nowhere.
Orbius relates his results. “I know I’ve heard that name, Barzoul, before,” he muses.
Suddenly Horbin snaps his fingers. “I’ve read about him in some old religious works. Barzoul is a vrock in service to Graz’zt. Interesting, but not in a very encouraging way.”
***
Bartholomew, meanwhile, has retired for the evening. And by retired, I mean he teleported to Shuljin, his cohort, who runs the small pirate base that Bart considers his true home. It is to here that the Deleter was delivered, and now Bartholomew makes a most unwelcome discovery, staring glumly at the head that came with it.
“Do we know who this was?” he asks.
Shuljin shakes his head. “I assumed it was an enemy of you. The vrock dropped the things off in your name and issued dire warnings against touching them.”
It is perhaps indicative of the number and power of summonings that Bartholomew performs that his men not only did not bat an eye at the arrival of a vrock, but also took it at its word that it came from him. Bartholomew wonders briefly if that might translate, in some ways, into a weakness. Well, hopefully he hasn’t made any enemies powerful enough to truly exploit it.
Although this might prove to be an exception, if he isn’t careful.
To hell with caution; audaciousness is his nature.
He communes to find out what he can about Barzoul’s extra little gift, and he determines that he didn’t know the person, nor did it belong to a powerful person who might seek revenge. Nor, it develops, did Barzoul bring the head for a particular reason.
Demonic savagery, thinks Bart.
Furthermore, Angel is still compelled by the Deleter; a miracle might be able to break it. Might. Bartholomew frowns. Should Barzoul choose to inform his demonic lord of his recent activities, it seems likely that his forces could infiltrate Shuljin’s stronghold. Hmm, not the best news, but it certainly could be worse.
After all, Bartholomew of Cassis now has the Deleter. And according to his god, it’s the real thing.
Whatever the hell that is.
***
Horbin hits a bar that night. The whole thing with Londo and Angel and the Deleter has left his more than a little bemused; and he feels a strong need to take the edge off.
At the bar he finds another friend- Ten Buck Tom, a gnome bard he’s crossed paths with once or twice.* The two share some anecdotes, and Ten Buck Tom suggests that he compose an epic of Horbin’s life. To this end, he agrees to follow the cleric through hell and high water- and even through the legendary Tomb of Horrors.
***
In the morning Bart teleports back to his room in the castle of Var, just in time to hear a knock on the door. He hustles over and opens it.
“Do you have it?” Angelfire asks hungrily.
Bartholomew hesitates for a long moment. Finally, he answers, “I’m hiding it from you.”
“No. You’d better give it to me.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you-“
“You’d better give it to me.” Suddenly her falchion is in her hand. Bart takes a nervous step back and teleports downstairs into the dining room.
“Morning,” says Horbin.
Orbius stands up and points at him. “All right, what’s all this then?” The Eye glares. “What have you done with the Deleter?”
“What? I don’t have the Deleter.”
“Liar! I saw it all! You just told Angelfire you’re hiding it from her!”
Angelfire walks into the room. Inwardly, Bartholomew groans. “Look, I don’t have it- you can search me and my rooms if you want. We’ve already established that Barzoul has it, whoever that is.”
“One of your servants?” Rex suggests.
“He’s not evil,” Patyn comments.
Maxwell nods. “It’s hard to believe one could consort with demons without being evil, especially if he’s a cleric.”
“Thank you!” Bart cries. “A voice of reason at last!”
Angel stares hard at him. “If you have it,” she says, her voice slow and full of iron, “if you’re hiding it from me, I will kill you.”
“Can you believe,” Horbin says behind his hand to Sybele, “we only started our attack on the Tomb of Horrors three days ago?”
“I want my babies’ daddy,” Sybele moans.
The party discusses their next move. Sybele repeats, “I want my babies’ daddy!” The group agrees that destroying the Vestige will make their hunt through Moil for any other clues much easier, and with any luck they’ll be able to rescue Thrush from it.
“We need to think of the L too,” Orbius reminds everyone.
It’s time for them to get back to it. Under the theory that it’s better to keep an eye on someone who’s probably recently stolen an artifact from the party than to let him run off and use it, the party allows Bartholomew to accompany them. They mass teleport to the Great Green Face, give a pinch of dust to Bartholomew and Maxwell, and step through the mouth that does more than devour, returning to the City That Waits.
To hunt the Vestige.
*What we have here is Horbin’s new feat, Leadership, at work. Ten Buck Tom is his cohort.
Next Time: Our heroes face the Vestige again! Will they have any better luck this time??
Greybar
No Trouble at All
Cool, I just hope that their dangerous lifestyle isn't too deadly for all of these cohorts. Then again, at 23rd level the cohorts are likely 20th or so themselves. Scary. What are the non-cohort followers of the group like nowadays? Or are they worth bothering about (other than Malford's desires for godhead).
Can we get a lineup of PCs and cohorts and their brief levels/stats?
Very looking forward to see where this keeps going... THANKS!
john
