Villains! You've committed acts of great and terrible evil. But now comes your greatest challenge yet. You must find and take control of the Dark Tower, and unleash horror upon the Kingdom of Talingarde.
HP 169/169; AC:37/21/29; Saves: +22/+23/+20; Init +10; Per +28(See Invisibility), CMD 42
Misc:
Effects: Resist Cold 30, Fly 30', Telepathic Bond
Jax uses 2 charges on himself. Edmin, your character sheet just says "Hp: 64" we have no way of telling if you've been wounded or not or how much healing you may need.
Male Human Oracle (FC) 15 Init: +8 Perc: +0 AC:24/14/20 F:+13 R:+14 W:+15 HP:124/124 Freedom of movement, Resist Cold/30, Air Walk 30'
I deducted the gold for the infernal wand and can make up the difference for anyone who didn't have enough funds, just let me know how much additional to deduct.
We can expect company...destroying the guardian will not go unnoticed nor ignored. Probably nothing else we could really do at this point.
The Judge looks over at the dark oracle:
But who was he the guardian for? Mitra keeping people from the tower? Or druids keeping meddling Mitrans from their forest solitude?
Male Human Oracle (FC) 15 Init: +8 Perc: +0 AC:24/14/20 F:+13 R:+14 W:+15 HP:124/124 Freedom of movement, Resist Cold/30, Air Walk 30'
Can't be sure of course...maybe he was a guardian for the tower but also aligned with the natural forces here. In any event if there are druids around you can be sure that destroying a sentient tree that has stood here for so long will attract their attention and possibly their vengence.
Meanwhile, you continue trekking through the forest. The ground is now definitely sloping downwards. On the plus side, the rain has stopped, and the clouds are thinning.
Infernal healing is 1hp/round for 10 rounds. Each charge is 10hp healed. It is great out of combat, almost worthless in combat except to combat bleeding.
As you move downwards, the road enters into a broad clearing in the forest. Only a few plants grow here, and they look stunted and sickly. Up ahead, the road passes between two piles of stone rubble.
Zimu only:
Hey, you get to use that Survival roll. Something blighted the soil in this region a long time ago -- some poison or magical effect that killed everything in a radius of a couple of hundred feet -- and it's only now, very slowly, recovering.
The Judge looks forward at the blighted area while putting his hand over his eyes to block the brutal sun.
This is much nicer than that forest, too bad one must suffer this horrid sun to see it.
HP 169/169; AC:37/21/29; Saves: +22/+23/+20; Init +10; Per +28(See Invisibility), CMD 42
Misc:
Effects: Resist Cold 30, Fly 30', Telepathic Bond
"At least its dreary and raining, just for you, Sunshine!" Jax pats Judge on the shoulder and moves swiftly out of reach to go walk with Grumbles. "How's the old brain-box holding up?"
Female Aasimar Wizard 6 (HP 53/53; AC 18/18/15; CMD 16 Fort +5; Ref +7 Will +8; Init +3; Perception +11; Darkvision 60 ft)
'The soil and natural growth in this region was decimated a long time ago -- by some poison or magical effect that killed everything in a significant radius -- and it's only now, very slowly, recovering.'
Edmin glances back over his shoulder at the Judge and shakes his head as he turns back to the dead area. "Let's see whats in the rocks."
[roll roll]
The left-hand pile of rocks was once some sort of tower, but it has been completely destroyed -- there's nothing left but rubble. You can't even tell what it might have looked like.
DC 18 Survival:
Normally you'd expect a rubble pile like this to have a lot of small animals lairing in it. Nope. And nothing is growing on the rocks but a few unhealthy looking lichens. The general aura of blight and sterility seems a bit stronger here.
However, as you climb to the top of the pile, the clouds before you abruptly part, and suddenly you can see some distance ahead.
Before you, the ground begins to slope more steeply down. You're at the edge of a great depression or basin, miles across. It looks like the forest turns more swamplike down at the bottom (where you're going).
But that's not what catches your eye. No. Looming through the mist, just a mile or two ahead, are a dozen or more immense stone towers. They're natural, not made -- jagged scarps of limestone rising up out of the boggy lowlands. They look something like this. In the center, a single tower stands twice as tall as the others. It's almost covered with a blanket of green, but somehow you know that underneath it, the stone is a flat and lifeless black.
Before you lies your destination -- the Catademnon. The Horn of Abaddon.
A wicked smile creeps onto the corners of the Judge's lips, not a pretty sight.
Within that is a creature that may unleash mass pain and suffering upon all the fool of this petty land. It will be an honor to release the creature.
The Judge also casts Detect Magic to determine whether there is anything magic hidden about the strange pile of stones.
A wicked smile creeps onto the corners of the Judge's lips, not a pretty sight.
Within that is a creature that may unleash mass pain and suffering upon all the fool of this petty land. It will be an honor to release the creature.
"Yeh, that's wha' the last ones said, too." A shrill, scraping voice pipes up from behind you. "Din' work out so great fer them."
You whirl. A small, wizened humanoid -- a gnome? -- is sitting on the opposite, right-hand pile of stones. You're pretty sure he wasn't there a second ago.
The little old... gnome?... is sitting rather casually on top of the pile of stones. He has long white hair and a long, tangled grey beard. His face is intensely wrinkled, like a withered old apple. He is dressed in old, dark, dirty looking clothes, and he wears a greasy leather apron over a long jacket with white buttons. His hair is stuffed into a shapeless cap of dark red wool, and he wears heavy, massive looking boots. In on hand he holds the handle of a scythe that looks rather too large for him.
Think "gnome hobo". Except that there's something distinctly menacing and unsettling about him. Okay, "creepy gnome hobo".
He speaks slowly, in his creaky, scraping voice. (There's something about that voice that's just nasty. It has a fingernail-on-chalkboard quality, but that's not it. It's like there's a shrill insane giggle just beneath it, waiting to cut loose.)
"From Skelf-hill, the Cauldron still
The Victor's children yet can show
And on the spot, where they broke the pot,
The Rose and Rush nae more shall grow."
He waves the scythe in your general direction. "Skelf-hill, that's all here, see? An' they did a deal wi' the Queen, them. Seventy mortal souls, like, to get a feckin' Ankou. An' a feckin' Night Cauldron wi' it. Who'd think some little mortal King would stand up teh the likes o' that? It was right over there -- " he points with his scythe at a spot a few feet away from you -- "where it was a standing and a stirring. An' up comes the Victor wi' his sword and, crash, he breaks the cauldron wi' his first blow. An' then wi' his second an' third, chop chop, he cuts the Ankou's legs off. Yeh don't see one o' them look surprised too much. So that was something. Feckin' Victor." He hawks and spits. "Heuch. Anyways, I ate a frog yesterday, so'm nae hungry jest now. Lucky fer yeh." This last is stated nonchalantly, as a matter of simple fact. He pauses a moment to pick something from between his teeth. You notice that his hands have long, dirty claws instead of fingernails. "Don' ask me nae questions, though. I ain't yer feckin' tour guide."
Female Aasimar Wizard 6 (HP 53/53; AC 18/18/15; CMD 16 Fort +5; Ref +7 Will +8; Init +3; Perception +11; Darkvision 60 ft)
Knowledge Nature 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21
In Fey
'Guide you may not be, and yet here you are, announcing your profound presence at this juncture, and you speak of 'the' Queen? Many wear crowns, yet I would wager a high price and guess only few would have deference from you.'
This looks like a redcap -- a type of fey best known for murderous violence. You're not sure, though. You never heard of one having a conversation before; usually they just sneak up, jump out, and start taking heads. This one has the hat, the boots, and the scythe, but he seems awfully relaxed and mellow for a redcap.
The little man's wrinkled face twitches in what might be a grin. "Yer a canny hen. Me an' Booger, we don' bend a knee to yon Unseelie Court."
Female Aasimar Wizard 6 (HP 53/53; AC 18/18/15; CMD 16 Fort +5; Ref +7 Will +8; Init +3; Perception +11; Darkvision 60 ft)
Many of the faeries belong to one of the two Faerie Courts, the Summer Court and the Winter Court. Those that do not belong to either are the Wyldfae.
Cуровую tries to remember long ago studies and rymes from her youth.
How did that unbreakable Faerie Oath go?
In Fey
'By Alder, Fir, Mistletoe, Oak, Thistle, Hazel, Yew and Elder Ash, I ever swear that we have brought no quarrel here nor seek it out. But as I said our paths have crossed and this can not be by mere happenstance or chance.'
The daughter of ancient winters locks eyes with the redcap.
'Say the words, speak the First World's Oath, and tell us of your purpose of revealing yourself here and we shall share ours.'
Booger?
Her eyes discreetly dart around, and gives cues to the others. Does he mean his weapon or is there another?
The little man snickers nastily. The greasy, shabby creature is not interested in the niceties of courtly language and diplomacy.
"I already know yer purpose, yeh daft bint. Yer here teh rip th' Victor's seal from the hole in the world, like a scab off a wound, like. We got tha' from the last bunch." He grins. His teeth are yellow and very sharp. "I tol' yeh already, tha' din' work out so great fer them. Yer lucky Booger ain't around. He left early fer the summer hollies."
Knowledge(nature)(untrained): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
Unsure what this strange being is, the Judge, from the back, casts Enlarge Person on Morsum. Morsum then takes to the air and begins to watch the area.
The little man observes this with a mordant smirk. "Oooh, look. Yon peely wally got a flyin' beast. It's gaun up in the sky ter look roun' like an keep edgie. It's magic." He shakes his head. "Them other lot did exactly the same. 'We're far too important ter go paddin' about in dungeons, like! There's nae profit in that! We'll use magic like, ter fly ourselves straight up ter the top. Because that's where all the good treasure is, aye! All magic stuff and jewels, like! That's braw!'" He snickers. "What a gang o' feckin' muppets. Yeh people, yer all the same."
The Judge throws back his head and lets out a gurgling sickening laugh:
You think we are like the others? Perhaps you should crawl back into the hole from whence you came. I have tasted the blood of many. I have not had the honor of sampling fey blood yet, I bet it is quite sweet.
The Judge then looks up at Morsum:
And he does not need magic. Flying with magic is dangerous, one never knows when it might suddenly . . . stop. The Judge then makes a whistling sound like something falling fast followed by a crunch.
The Judge throws back his head and lets out a gurgling sickening laugh:
You think we are like the others? Perhaps you should crawl back into the hole from whence you came. I have tasted the blood of many. I have not had the honor of sampling fey blood yet, I bet it is quite sweet.
Wow, the Judge is really feeling his oats these days. First that business with the Seventh, and now this. Well, if you say so...
He puffed out his chest, why shouldn't we do the same. Nobody has attacked yet, we simply have a very large scout in the sky. The Judge has not drawn a weapon, neither has anyone else. This guy has clearly attempted to threaten us with his buddy Booger. I do not see how these comments are terribly misplaced since this guy seems to have already said that he wiped out the 8th.
The little man pulls out a filthy-looking rag and begins wiping the edge of his scythe. "Ah heuch. See, there's a lesson. Try ter be nice, talk pleasant an' sweet like, passing the time o' day all couthie. An' some pasty-faced bufty bamstick midgie-raking windae-licker comes swaggerin' up sprayin' spittle, all yappin' about how he's the biggest nugget in the chamber pot." He shakes his head, still polishing the scythe. "It's a sad feckin' commentary on the modern world. It makes me boak ter think on it, yes it does."
Male Human Oracle (FC) 15 Init: +8 Perc: +0 AC:24/14/20 F:+13 R:+14 W:+15 HP:124/124 Freedom of movement, Resist Cold/30, Air Walk 30'
I think we are both "passing" the time here, and trust me we are being nice. Other than insulting us, do you have a purpose for your visit? We have places to be.
"Stand down. There is no need for violence among the ranks of like minded people over this. Especially when there are so many others to do violence to. You know the truth of why we are here and you speak of the others that came before us. Stay your hand Sir, and we may come to assist each other."
