With Strange Aeons Even Death May Die

Game Master Synxol

We each dwell upon an island forged by our ignorance amidst the black seas of infinity. Should your feeble mind correlate the seemingly disassociated contents of your skull, thus affording you an opportunity to leave your island behind, terrifying vistas of reality will entomb you and you will never know peace.

It was only a matter of time...every species can smell its own extinction. The last ones left won't have a pretty time of it.


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Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

" Well what easier and better way to keep an eye on us, I suppose. Not to mention and even easier way to spread sickness among Caern. " Daxniss says in a low voice, sounding tired as she forces her mind to work on the problem at hand.
" If most of his plans are sideways, it could be the temple prevents him from sneaking in, perhaps he also knows you are heading in the same direction to try and catch you off guard. He could also be looking to drain the magic of the dagger and get rid of a weapon that could harm him. "


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Ssilax shakes his head, "no" in response to Daxniss mentioning spreading the disease.

"I do not think the disease that effects her, or the others, is contagious. Otherwise, myself and Argon would be showing some kind of signs of illness by now. I believe the disease is magical in nature, possible something the Lich created. I would have to talk to them to find out more, something I have been negligent in doing." Ssilax says, slightly chastising himself.

"When she flew by, I got a decent look at her symptoms that plague her body. It has to be powerful to have effected her, as most normal disease would not effect dragons," Ssilax says as he thinks out loud. "It was pretty easy to determine that the dragon was a female, you can tell by placement genital slits and..." Ssilax trails off, looking at his friends and then Grendel. "And she can hear everything I've been saying," the dragonkin realizes, rubbing his temples. "I am an idiot." Ssilax sighs.

Looking at the ancient druid, Ssilax gathers his courage.

"Do you think it possible the Lich-Lord seeks to end his own existence? It seems like the he is stuck on this plane, given his power, he could have easily left the Prime Material plane eons ago. Or is it more likely he seeks a weapon to permanently slay you?" The young cleric asks of the near immortal vampire.


Grendel moves about his burrow gathering up magical items, and preparing for battle.

"For millennia I have held the line to stop the wave of the lich's evil machinations from smothering out all life on Sel Torin. A thousand times and more I have fallen in the pursuit of this cause, as Calvoric had before me. If Jaevan has a weapon that would end our suffering..." Grendel trails off with a strange expression played across his tusked face. With more than a little viciousness he shakes his head, pleasant thoughts and dreams repelled before they could take root.

A large chunk of wood, more likely a tree that lost a few branches, is leaned on as the druid prince considers the dragonkin's words.

"I cannot imagine him seeking to end his existence. Everything he ever did was for selfish reasons. If he wants it, then I can only imagine that he intends to use it for ill."

Grendel says no words of comfort to the party as he departs, accompanied by a nightmare number of giant spiders, to harry the attacking army.

Your journey back to Caern is uneventful, save for one encounter with a zone of unluck and a strange pale violet radiance equivalent to candlelight.

Primal Magic: 1d100 ⇒ 18

Primal Magic Reference:
http://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/variant-magic-rules/primal-magic

Before you lay the city gates, something Argon fled from not that many days prior.

If undead minions of evil can be trusted, then the attack will come 4 days hence.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Leaving them without a word to presumably attack the lich's armies, Ssilax wonders if that is particularly wise. The vampire seemed drained, and if the Lich-Lord had the athame in it's undead hand, Ssilax didn't think Grendel would survive.

As they travel back to Caern, Ssilax walks with the elves, and dragon, learning more about the disease (or curse), that plagues them.

"So, I am guessing you heard me talking in Grendel's grove. My apologies for not attending to my duties earlier," the dragonkin says with a short bow to the dragon and elves. Feeling a bit awkward, he stands and rubs the back of his head.

"My plan is to escort you all to the Temple of Nethys, that is where I believe you will have the best chance of being restored. There will be a price to be paid, however, I imagine information about the Lich will be payment enough." Ssilax shifts his gaze to whom he had thought to be their leader. "If Grendel is correct, your restoration might be..., more expensive, as I believe what is effecting you is much more powerful in nature. Nethys will give aid to any who seek it after all, provided they can pay for the service," the dragonkin says, sounding rather cheerful.

"Now, since we have the time while walking back to Caern, I would like learn more about how the disease has been effecting everyone's overall nature. The more I learn, the better the chances are for full restoration, and I would think everyone here would like to be restored, yes?" the dragonkin looks between the tortured elves and the shape shifted dragon.

Digging out his travel journal and inkpen, Ssilax speak quietly in his native tongue.

"If there is anything you do not wish the others to know about the effects of the curse or disease that effects, that information will stay between me and the healer's," Ssilax pauses for a moment. "Unless it's concerning eating us or slaying the inhabitants Caern, that I might speak up on." He says with a faint grin on his muzzle as he turns back around.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

Argon mutters under his breath, "Good riddance, spiders. You do the work of the right side, no matter how horrendous you look.". Truth be told, he is starting to get used to them, after a few days of riding them through the Umbral landscape.

He suggests going into the city via the route he last came out.

Knowing there is a black, diseased ancient dragon with them gives him some concern and confusion, but Khosainat had been civil with them, and had not harmed them at all. Perhaps she only wants her cursed affliction expelled from her body. She did seem genuine when describing he treatment by Azthoh, so perhaps she had been just as much a victim as the others...


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss had no clue about what to say to the ancient black dragon walking around in Elven form, too many things were in motion and the group could only guess what the lich had in motion. Perhas Ssilax was correct about the rot, as she trusted Ssilax to be correct in his knowledge of diseases, still perhaps the dragon had other plans on making sure the lich's army had the layout of the city.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

"And if anyone is worried that payment has to be coin, other service can be arranged instead of coin. Information, once verified to be truthful, deeds, etc, etc." Ssilax says as he prepares to begin taking notes. "Later, if I get the chance when we camp for the night, I need to examine the damage that the disease has caused to both parties."


It becomes more obvious as your attention is keyed to it. The elves shun the transformed dragon with an almost palpable paralyzing fear. Onvyr's every move has heads snap around, and wide eyes seeking places to go to ground.

Thinking back you realize that you had been in Onvyr's presence when you had seen the distant Khosainat nestling about the mountaintop. Either there were two dragons, which was a horrifying consideration, or this Onvyr has the ability to cast illusions, turn invisible for a time, and cast silencing magics. You have never heard of a dragon that has been trained as a bard, but it appears you have one among your number.

Coaxing the story from one of the elves, that still holds their tongue, is the toil of many hours, but luckily your journey from Grendel's Grove to Caern proper affords you the time. For those fluent in the elvish tongue, for these damaged elves have resorted to their language in times of profound stress, what follows are accountings of some of the most vicious torture possible to conceptualize. Perhaps the most egregious slight is the complete inhumanity with which it was carried out.

The plague and pestilence that has been inflicted upon these elves is part of the process of making them into living weapons. The only reason they still draw breath is that they are failed experiments. Acid was used in every experiment, as the lich sought the means to store great quantities of acid without the body for a time. Those powerful inhuman experiments that were not failures are among the lich's army, which marches upon Caern.

You learn that Lich Lord Azthoh has invested much of his own energy into his minions. While it weakens him greatly, it also makes them incredibly dangerous. As each of his minions fall he will be reunited with his full might, and will crush Saevia under his heel.

There is a moment that steals the dragonkin's breath, but it is so subtle that it is missed by all the others. Onvyr slowly turns her head, when Ssilax mentions eating the party, and fixes him with a glare so intense in its hatred that he understands that only a small illusion stands between him and the full power of an ancient black dragon. Perhaps now is not the time to reveal the knowledge that the druid prince half-orc vampire had provided.

Perhaps this was the same look she gave the male elf before nearly tearing his arm from his shoulder, crushing his bone to powder, and throwing him off the side of the cliff.

The better part of the fourth day before the attack is behind you, and as you break camp to cover the rest of the distance to Caern you realize that you are one shy of a full group. Onvyr has disappeared, her intent unknown.

Argon leads the group to and through the tunnels without incident, as Ssilax leads the group to the Temple of Nethys. Despite the lateness of the hour, the elves are received, and the bits of conversation you catch suggests that they will be tended to in exchange for years of service to the temple.

Tears are shed as the elves depart, the elves' gratitude goes beyond mere words as they drop to kiss your feet before being drawn off to begin their service.

You are left with the unsettling feeling that any, or all, of these elves could be working in the service of the lich, and they have now been placed in the very city that Azthoh comes to dominate.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"Well, I hope we did the right thing -- sometimes it's hard to know. But we're in a dangerous place and we had to do something."

Argon thinks for a bit, and continues.

"Ssilax, Do you think we could stay in the temple of Nethys for a night? People are out to get me, and probably Daxniss now too, since she doesn't have the book. And the rest of us are not entirely welcome in town, either. I'm not sure if there's anywhere we could go and be any safer. We should also consider disguises, at least superficial ones."

He thinks about his 'friend' Grinn, and Me'lar. Grinn had to choose between Argon and Me'lar, so it's tough to be completely angry at him. He just hopes Me'lar was freed after all that. The concern now is around getting the dagger, the ancient and powerful Deitus Athame; and then deciding what to do with it once it has been acquired.

"Should we warn Baba Yaga about the elves and the possible risks they carry?"


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss shudders at the thought of the dragon running amuck, hidden by magic however there was little that could be done about that. Somehow, the lich had managed to infuse his essence into his walking bombs.
Daxniss sets that thought to the side, there was not much in the way of thinking she could wrap her mind on what the lich's plan.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Upon learning that the shape-changed black had left during the night, Ssilax grows very annoyed, close to angry with himself. The young dragonkin had hoped the real possibility of being cured who sever an ally from the lich-lord's forces. How a dragon could debase itself to be a willing slave to a human lich just seemed.., perverse in his mind. Perhaps his desire to see the ancient dragon freed had clouded his judgement. 'Or perhaps I'm just a great big fool who just handed the lich the damn athame,' Ssilax thinks bitterly to himself as he checks over the elves.

Making their way into Caern was made a surprisingly low stress affair, thanks to the hidden passage that had been discovered. All that little boon took was the destruction of Argon's friends lives. Ssilax hoped that the slayer's friend and Me'lar where still alive. Once they reached the street level, they didn't stop until Ssilax had lead them into through the portal into the temple grounds. After a few moments of consideration, Ssilax drops his disguise, but keeps his cowl and hood up. If the Arch-Magus made a move against them at this point, well, it would probably save the Lich the trouble of slaying Ssilax.

Greatly embarrassed by the gratitude of the elves, Ssilax wishes them well, hoping they all recover. As they are lead off, Ssilax drops back to speak with Brother Vomas. His young friend was busy taking down Ssilax's observations and thoughts, including the possibility that they might be in Lich's thrall. He also tells of the shape-changed dragon, her current elven appearance. If they cannot see Baba Yaga, he will have Vomas deliver the message to her. The Lich-Lord marches on Caern, and if they cannot hand over the athame, it will lead it's armies onto Caern. He also speaks of what he knows about the experiments that the lich carried out on the elves and others. He ends with telling that the lich has split his power among his servants.

Nodding when Argon speaks, he looks up from where he stands near Vomas.

"The Holy Mother will learn everything that I have shortly, once Brother Vomas delivers the message," Ssilax says to his friend with a faint grin. "I am glad we are thinking along the same lines."

The dragonkin looks around at the temple grounds.

"It is possible that this friend of Daxniss works for the Lich," Ssilax says as Brother Vomas runs off, looking for the Holy Mother. He walks back over to his friends. "I am almost thinking that we should try to find the athame. I worry that the dragon I failed to convince to be restored might be after it. At the very least, I would feel it would be a safe bet that she is spying on us. Or meeting with the other agents that I am sure the lich has in the city."

Leaning against a nearby wall, Ssilax rubs his scaled snout, and sighs. Thinking for a few moments, a frown grows across his muzzle.

"Damn it!" Ssilax curses suddenly, with a rare outward display of anger. Crossing his arms in front of him, the dragonkin grinds his sharp teeth together. "I have a feeling that the Iomedaens are not going to just hand over a holy artifact to us. And we still have no idea what the lich could possibly want with the athame." The dragonkin speaks quietly with his friends.

"And I will ask if we can stay, if that is what we chose to do for the night. If that dragon is keeping tabs on us, we might want to be careful as to who we contact," the dragonkin nods to Argon once more.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

Wrathe offers a suggestion for where the group could go to find rest for the night, "The Underpaths?"


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Ssilax thinks for a moment, tapping the side of his snout.

"Where you thinking of seeing if the Captain is still around? Or just finding some place to sleep?" The dragonkin asks, thinking of the Underpaths. In particular, about the Deva and the bizarre Imp, sitting within the odd Planer Sphere.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

"Just a place to sleep and plan our next move, or moves."

Wrathe looks bedraggled and haggard after so many trials in recent days, and needed his full 2 hours of sleep (Ring of Sustenance) to recover.

"I worry that we put any of our friends or contacts in danger by merely talking to them at this point."

It was anyone's guess who could be watching them and what their intent might be.

His attention had not strayed far from memories of watching fellow wizards being burned at the stake, and he was not sure he wanted to live with himself if he found himself to be the cause of people he knew dying in anguish.

Wrathe sought an opportunity to sit in silence and draw the lich before the edges of the memory faded further.

As Argon suggests disguises, Wrathe adopts human form 'neath his voluminous cowl.


Lich Lord Azthoh reputedly comes at things sideways, which makes it that much more difficult to unravel what he plans.

You are offered lodging and simple fare at the Temple of Nethys. Donations are always welcome.

Baba Yaga sends a message back thanking the group for their vital information. The faithful will be ready to stand strong when the time comes for them to be tested. The elves will be watched.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"Well, we're here now, and if we stay we won't have to move about any more. I think we stay here, lay low and try to be noticed as little as possible." Argon feels vulnerable, both for these friends and for any contacts outside who are still alive and kicking.

Once they are in a private place, he wonders aloud about their next steps, though he still speaks in Undercommon and tries to leave out key names and places. "I think we have two main problems; how to get the item, and what to do with it once acquired. For the first, what are the odds we could enter the target place and retrieve the object? Could we ask them for it? Could we ask them for a tour of their antiquities? Or should we tell them outright what A wants and see what they say? And if we do somehow get it, what then? Try to use it for its intended purpose? The second problem is moot, of course, until we solve the first. But should that happen, thing may move very quickly, so it would be good if we had agreement, and a plan, on what to do in that case."


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss had been angry at first it would seem that Duran didn't care who he worked with. It would make sense that he would work with whomever was going to line his pockets with coin and information. Daxniss would have to get creative in hiding who she was, Duran would know that she was back in the city sooner or later.
Daxniss gives the temple 50 gold, as it would help the temple, not to mention it wouldn't hurt to curry some favor to the same church that Ssilax is at.


Will post more when I get a chance


You are provided a place on the floor to rest your collective heads by the fire. A hearty stew is brought with black bread. The night is dark and full of terrors, yet somehow you find your way safely to morning's light.

3 days stand before you and the expected attack.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

Twisting his tongue into Undercommon gymnastics, Wrathe asks, "Do we trust anything Azthoh said? Or is there just enough truth in there to manipulate us?" He chuckles, "Perhaps he expects betrayal and has already factored that in to his plans."

He realizes that he just took three sides on the upcoming decision.

Such a twisted mind was maddening to contend with.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"He may expect betrayal, but then once he starts destroying the city, and comes for the item, he may believe we have only the two options - give it to him, or see everyone die horribly. And he may be right. But I hope we can come up with another option. Perhaps we can give it to Grendel. Or hide it. Or come up with another plan; what of the Imp? What of Sanriel?"

Argon tries to jog his own brain, to come up with ideas. Or to help others do the same.

He thanks whoever brings the food, and donates 30gp to the church.

In the morning he says, "Choose your spells wisely, this morn."


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

"I believe that the lich was being somewhat truthful. Mostly in the wipe out Caern sense. Grendel said that the athame was designed to permanently destroy vampires, but it was effect against undeath in general," Ssilax says, speaking undercommon like the rest. He doubted speaking a different language really matters as the lich is probably spying on them in some way or fashion. The dragonkin shoulders slump as a that thought begins to sink in. He signs. "We are probably just wasting the last few days of our lives, running around looking for some stupid athame.[/b]" Ssilax mutters darkly.

"The Deva already fought the lich once, on the site where Cearn was built. Remember in the tale the "a priestess of dark gods long forgotten stood in his path?" The lich mentioned her when it was rambling on towards the end," Ssilax pauses for a few moments thinking about the former Deva and the strange Imp. "I guess it might be worth asking them, but I doubt the captain would help, he does not strike me a being that really cares about the plane of existence he is on."

"As far as the Deva goes... who knows if she would battle once more. I guess the only thing we could do is ask. That is assuming we can even get to the Sphere." Ssilax says, stirring his stew disinterestedly.

"I think the lich is insane, and is more than likely not going to keep any word it gives. My guess is that we will had over the athame, be kept alive long enough to watch the city be destroyed and then used as new experiments like the elves, or something even worse. As far as coming up with some plan to fool a creature that has been practicing magic for anywhere from 3 to 5 thousand years, I keep drawing a blank. Short of Nethys cutting off the lich's access to magic, I really cannot think of anything. And since the gods rarely interfere on this plane, I do not see that happening. Only devils and demons are apparently allowed to muck about on our plane of existence without consequence."

"Part of me wants to say "F%%* it, we can't do anything so why bother," and the other part of me says we should at least try. I have to believe Nethys has a goal in mind," Ssilax looks at his friends, his eyes dull and tired. "Of course, the lich could be punishment for how humans have tried to crush out magic from Sel Torin, but that does not feel right."

Scratching his dozing familiars ears, Ssilax stares into the fire that crackles nearby, trying to think of anything that might help.


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

" Look, perhaps we can grab the dagger, get those of folk that we care about out of the city and perhaps use the captain to get to get to Sigil, keeping those that and the dagger out the lich's reach. I can't trust Duran or many of the contacts I have in this city, to not sell us out, since there is no way to get Rygear out of where he is currently held. At this point at least making contact with the captain is our best course of action, and Sigil might be our only hope at raising enough help to fight off the lich. " Daxniss says slowly at first seeing as the groups back was to the wall, Grendel was an unknown factor since he might not have enough power to say the least.

" Our options are limited but at the very least, talking to the captain would give us an idea or two. I have little ideas as to what the lich is planing and I think sideways enough for us I think that is. I believe that the lich means to at the very least end Grendel's life, and rob us of a powerful allay. Since Grendel himself has said he has been weakened by the lich's actions. I and I stress this, might be able to get a hold of the this dagger, with some luck and since I'm sure Duran is working in some way, with the lich. We could ask for the Deva and having her weld the athame, or keeping the athame out of the lich's grasp. ?


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"I suggest as a first step, we ask the church of Iomedae if we can get a tour of their church, with history and antiquities. Then, if they mention the dagger, we might see something about how it is stored and how valuable it is to them. If they don't, we know it is secret and its retrieval plan will be different. We should be disguised, of course," suggests Argon.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

It felt like years had passed since they had tracked the sociopathic giantess and watched Ssilax be lead off in chains.

Knuckles whiten as they were no closer to finding Master Dainoth, or any of the other members of Umbrae reputed to still draw breath.

Wrathe felt the frustration of the moment as much as any of the others. They played for the highest of stakes, and were left to make decisions based on incomplete information. It was nigh impossible not to succumb to decisions wrought in the forges of fear.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

"Not to shoot your idea in the foot with a bolt, but, I do not think that the Iomedians will be giving tours of their crypts. Especially, crypts housing holy weapons," Ssilax says with a faint grin. The dragonkin is tapping the side of his snout as he thinks. "That is if they even know that the athame is there. That is something I imagine we will just have to be truthful about. Iomedae deals with honor, so lying would be extra insulting. Besides, if they do know about the athame, they might be able to tell us more about it."


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

" I'm sure that asking to see their ancient crypts is only for the folk and faithful of their church, so going that route with Iomedians might not be the best plan. I'd say talking to the Captain and his other friend, if Grendel has not already informed them that is, wouldn't hurt. Asking at the Athame sounds like a good idea Ssilax, I think we should go that route, as my connection should only be asked as a back up plan. Seeing that the wanker might be working for the lich and not knowing it or perhaps he does and doesn't care. " Daxniss says with a hint of disgust in her voice.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"Who said anything about their crypts? We would ask about their great religion and its antiquities. Our purpose would be merely to determine which situation is true of the athame: a) they allow others to see the dagger, b) they don't allow others to see it but it is known that they have it, c) they don't let others know they have it, d) they don't even know they have it, or e) they don't have it. We wouldn't ask to see their crypts, or the dagger. Wrathe could certainly pass himself off as a person interested in objects of religion; he wouldn't have to lie. We wouldn't ask about the dagger, merely let them tell us about it, or not. You think we should ask about the dagger? Perhaps they would show it to us, but I doubt they'll just hand it over.

The point is to gather more information than we have now, which is practically nothing.

I do like the idea of talking to Sanriel, too." Argon looks at Wrathe to see what he thinks.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

Armed with tented fingers the wizard considers the sage advice offered by his travelling companions, "The Iomedaeans know us not, and are unlikely to trust us with something of significant value, especially at a time where they might need it most. Perhaps they know not that they even have the athame in their possession, and to make them aware will only have them hold it closer. Discovered deception will turn them from us at our time of greatest need, and possibly prompt them to attack us, or work against our efforts to stop Caern from being razed. Then again the lich might be lying, and possibly wasting our time with distractions. A quandary indeed."

Wrathe had no use for organized religion, as he had seen its darkest face, and had the scars to show it.

"Regarding the timing or visiting the diametrically-opposed duo, I would suggest doing so only when we are confident we are not being followed. If such assurances can be realized of course."

The wizard looks to Argon, as their expert tracker, and Daxniss, their expert on skulking in the shadows, hoping that they can determine if they are being watched.

He and Ssilax knew the Underpaths well enough to make all but the most ardent stalker get turned around and tied into knots.

"There is also the worry I have that others might be seeking the athame. I would feel more confident with it in our possession."

He didn't mention the worry that perhaps they were being sent to pull it from hallowed ground only to make it easier for it to be stolen or plucked free of their dead hands.


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

" I can do a good enough job making sure we are followed on the physical aspect of things, I'll change how I look to help throw off any folk that might be able to recognize me, I would say that each of us don't look like we normally do. However if someone is moving around with magic, I might not be able to keep an eye on them. I say we visit them first, then start trying to find the Athame's location, if we start to run even shorter on time well, I'll start looking into it with a few shadier types. "


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

"I have proposed an initial plan. Ssilax has too. Is there another course anyone suggests?" asks Argon. The stakes are high - the highest - and the members of this Nameless group are understandably reluctant to make a mistake. But action is needed.

At least they have the night to discuss it and make a decision, even if it's just what to do after breaking their fast in the morning.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Ssilax gnaws on a hunk of the black bread as he thinks. The dragonkin mind whirls with possibilities and half-baked plans.

running late for work, will try to post more later tonight


Caern Reference:
The port city-state of Caern, named after a dark priestess of foul gods long since forgotten, is the remaining stronghold upon Saevia that has staved off the denizens of the Umbral Lands. It is found on the edge of its land betwixt the Crystal Lochs and the Okeanos Sea. Saevia, but more specifically Caern, is considered the "Hub of the World" as its central position places it along a number of major shipping routes. As a crucial shipping hub other nations have a stake in keeping it as a neutral nation. Caern's economy is predominantly connected with shipping and providing safe ports and with this in mind they boast Sel Torin's most lethal navy.

Caern is the only city where a glimmer of freedom exists, as it is the only major city on Sel Torin that is not ruled by a tyrant, and is ruled by one who is secretly thought to be a wizard, named Eoqium the VII, which possibly stems from her leniency on a literate populace and the rumours of magi having a foothold in their lands. Having the Umbral Lands so close, conspiring to extinguish its flame, has perhaps forced their attention to more pressing needs than the maintenance of an ignorant population.

It is reputed that the ground under the city-state is honeycombed with caves hollowed out by water flowing in from the sea, creating an "Undercity." The thieves guild occupies the Undercity and protects its secrets with poisoned blades.

The streets are festooned with the impoverished moving about in the garbage and effluence of their betters. Cruising among these poor souls are predators: cutpurses, assassins, and the supernatural denizens of the shadows. Slavery is rampant, as is evinced by the prostitutes that ply their trade in the open. Guards walk by with cold eyes, stepping over those who die in the night, ready and willing to mete out punishment to those that threaten the royalty, church, or free exchange of goods.

Refugees pack the gutters, the streets, wherever they can. Weary refugees sob for loved ones left behind, still hoping against hope that they weren’t really dead. Others stared blankly with dull eyes, not really aware of the Hell their lives had become. Constricted stomachs wouldn’t accept much of the food provided them, and some couldn’t keep down what they had eaten.

Carts rumble over the cobblestones every morning, removing the bodies of those who died during the night.

There are men out here who will murder you for your boots.

Iomedae Reference:
Iomedae is the goddess of righteous valour, justice, and honour. She espouses the ideas of honour and righteousness in the defence of good and the battle against evil. The Church of Iomedae is assertive and vigilant in rooting out evil.

Her priests are composed of clerics and paladins, who perform an hour of prayer a day, in addition to a weekly public worship service. Their formal raiment includes a white cassock with gold or yellow trim and mitre, while on non-festival days they dress in similarly coloured, if less ostentatious, clothing.

The temples of Iomedae function as both a church and living space for her holy knights. Former temples of Aroden are frequently converted into honouring the Inheritor.

Within the Ascendant Court you approach the largest temple to Iomedae on Sel Torin.

Walking up its gravel path your breath catches and the chaos and noise of the city disappears. You have found an oasis. As you move past the gate's arched entrance, not even the hinges dare to squeal, interrupting the peaceful atmosphere. Your shoulders begin to slowly relax as you inhale the sweet aroma from the multitude of wild flowers and herbs growing in abundance.

As you approach the temple you notice the white and gold adorned clerics and temple guards' curious looks regarding your presence, yet they greet you with warm smiles and bows. Understanding that only the pure of heart may enter these hallowed grounds, the faithful have no fear or apparent hesitation towards you.

White pillared courtyards, fountains and statues, all blend seamlessly together with hundreds of wild plants.

When you finally reach the main doors of the temple your breath catches in your throat. The temple is a domed crystal. The walls having been made from translucent glass with enormous oak wood acting as the veins holding the shards of glass together. Behind each shard of glass stands large candles. The building appears like an organic being moulding and shifting in reaction to its lush environment. You begin to imagine how glorious the temple would appear in the dead of night, like a beacon of hope against evil.

It is at the front doors to the temple that an armoured holy knight stops you. Her eyes glow from beneath her visor, and she methodically takes your measure (detect evil), and her hand does not stray from the hilt of the sword that adorns her hip.

Satisfied she offers, "Welcome friends. How may we serve?"

(for whomever will be doing the speaking for the group: please include a single bluff or single diplomacy check for your upcoming interactions, and please state whether you will be using a Hero Point for your roll, aid another rolls can be provided if others will be speaking as well)

Horns blare in the distant city.

From the screams of preparation you become aware that the Tiletsu barbarians are launching yet another attack from their stolen sea vessels, their ship-mounted siege weaponry targeting the harbour.

Unlike in previous attacks these barbarians are not wasting time with anthropomancy. The portents of Ryuen's Tyrant King Eoes IX are weal for slaughter.

Iomedae clerics and knights pour forth from their barracks to lend assistance to fend off the attackers, tend to the wounded, and douse the fires.


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss would have sighed, but this was closer to her bread so to speak, as she was more of the one who did the talking. That being thought she still doesn't enjoy the thought of talking to a Paladin, espcially since there would be a chance that this could go wrong. The good news was the Daxniss didn't look like herself, so that would at least help her out in the event.

" I thank you kindly for your welcome lady knight and we mean no ill will toward you, we were wondering if perhaps we could gain entry and hear more on your order's history, mayhaps something that could of use in defending your charges. Knowledge is what we were hoping to seek and I will add a tithe to your temple in this current climate, it would make me feel remiss if I didn't give the temple something. " Daxniss says politly and an innocent smile

Rogue stuff:

Diplomacy with a hero point 1d20 + 12 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 12 + 8 = 31
Since I'm currently not lying, I won't need a bluff check, we are seeking knowledge. Also NOT BRIBING THE PALADIN, just making an offering to Tithe to the church, so no stabbing me with a sword for word usage. That's right I'm looking at you Loki :)


The xenophobic guard's eyes play across the group, lingering for a moment upon the cowled Ssilax, and then finding their way back to Daxniss' face; completely missing all the signs that she is not speaking to humans (critical failure on perception).

It would have been a nightmare to enter this holy place as a nonhuman, as the temple is like the rest of Caern, and those of tainted blood are as likely to have their blood spilled as to receive a hand up in this place.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8 (critical failure)

Her brow furrows for a moment as she wonders how a tour could be of use to defending the church's charges, but she moves on without addressing it.

A tour is arranged and you are handed off to 4 acolytes, as all of the higher ranking members of church are involved in preparing defences, or taking part in the battle. They answer your questions, and walk you through the church chatting about this and that. Many doors are left closed, and you never leave the ground floor, to which they describe that they are areas only for high ranking members of the Temple of Iomedae.

The athame is never mentioned or even alluded to, and you see nothing that would even hint of its existence in any painting along your path.

You are left in the presence of a dull-eyed prelate who accepts your generous donation and offers to answer any questions you might still have after the tour.

Smoke drifts into the sky from the area of the barbarian's attack.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Still angry with himself for costing them the chance to pick the ancient black dragon off the war field, Ssilax remains quiet. Besides, he would probably just screw up the conversation and cost them their chance to obtain the athame before the lich does. If it already has not laid its undead claws upon it.

About the only thing that Ssilax had been pleased with that morning was the magic message he had sent through Vomas to Storm. He had warned the druid about the lich-lord, the shape-changed black and the lich's plans. The dragonkin had asked that she flee Caern if the lich's forces breach the walls. If they failed to stop filth in lich form by the third day, there would be no stopping it.

Having tithed most of his monies away at the Temple of Nethys, 'Considering I will more than likely gong to be ash in a few days, why would I need coin?' was Ssilax thoughts at the time, he adds what he can to Daxniss's tithe to the church of Imoedea. 20gp to Nethys, 10 to Imoedea

When the lady knight had greeted them, Ssilax, wearing his tall, bald human disguise, bows respectfully to the paladin. As much as he loathed wearing the human illusion, it would attract far less attention to them. Dog's white fur was a bit of a dead give-away, so he and Vomas had mixed up some ash and charcoal and applied it to the familiars fur. It wasn't a great disguise, but should at least help to keep him from being spotted from afar.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Tapping his chin in thought, Ssilax bows to dull-eyed prelate.

"I do have a question for you, if you do not mind. Decades ago, when Caern was laid siege by the vampire menace, I heard tale that a Imoedian welding a sacred knife, or dagger, slew the vampire master in single combat. After the battle, she or he succumbed to there wounds and was laid to rest at this holy site. I only heard the tale years ago, and I might be misremembering," the illusionary bald man rubs his head. "It has just been on my thoughts of late, given the barbarians, and the rumors I have heard about a merchant guild making a deal with some vampires. Idle gossip, I am sure, but, it is on my mind none the less."

"My apologies, I am rambling, I am asking for piece of mind. It would do me a world of good to know such protection against vampires does indeed exist."

Diplomacy check: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

Something about the air in the temple of Nethys makes Argon uncomfortable. No doubt it the strong magic emanations that are everywhere in here. Argon and the others discuss and argue into the night, and in the end decide to visit the temple of Iomedae and see what happens.

After the short tour, during which Argon feels somewhat guilty because the Iomedaens are hunkering down for a battle while the group is on a tour, he lets the others do the talking. As Ssilax is asking some relatively innocent questions, Argon donates two lovely little gems (@25gp) to the temple.

Diplomacy, Aid Another: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

He listens to hear the answer of the prelate, not expecting much but hoping for a tidbit of information, and studies him critically (Studied Target, and no, he will not be attacking the prelate).


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

I was referring to the vampire scourge that Dainoth and the others had wiped out, as well as the big block o' hanging plot threads disguised as rumors that we we're handed before being told what to do by the lich. Bluff plus a hero point: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16


Sipping his heavily-sugared silver needle white tea, and waiting for each of you to sip yours, the dull-eyed prelate glances at each of you through the fragrant steam rising from his mug.

"Please indulge a few extra moments in my company. You may bring your tea with you. Follow.

You are led to one of the doors ignored in the previous tour, dodging those sprinting to lend their arms or magics to the defence of the city, a torch is gathered, and you are taken to the temple's cellar.

Mouse droppings crunch underfoot, and spiderwebs break across your flesh, as you move among casks, and other stores.

The sound of dripping orients you to a corner, where run off from above appears to have pooled. Waiting for the others to gather around he holds the torch up to reveal far below the water's surface a blued double-bladed knife with black handle that is covered in runes.

He bends down and reaches into the water, something that could only be an inch deep at most, but his hand does not close upon the hilt, or even make contact with the weapon. Its image is distorted by ripples, but it looks as if his hand passes right through it.

The prelate, a disinterested middle-aged human named Mariel, relays that it is prophesied that, "Only one with pure intent may prove worthy to wield Deitus Athame to light the darkest of hours."

He steps back with an almost bored look splayed across his face as he offers to hold your teacup if you would like to reach into the waters.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

Argon looks on in awe, but soon his cynical side appears, and he wonders if this prelate is more than what he appears to be.

(Hero point used)
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (18) + 20 = 38

"Is there a prophsey that goes with this weapon?"


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss sips on the tea, almost spluttering at the sweetness of the hot beverage, it wasn't a blend that she enjoyed, too much sugar cubes had been added. Daxniss enjoyed the more bracing green tea that she had gotten her hands on so many years ago, while she knew that the boys enjoyed coffee it was tea that she enjoyed the most.
Upon following the prelate and finding the temple's cellar she would have been shocked, however there was too many shocks to her system due to the information and things she had seen. Hearing the prelate's words, she shakes her head, it wasn't like she had much thought on even coming close to welding the artifact, as she knew thanks to the Stalker she would more then likely never be worthy to wield the dagger. Daxniss would let the other's try first before she even thought of attempting this feat. After all, Daxniss was a rogue, of the group Argon or Ssilax would have a better chance at trying to reach for the dagger.
Honor and justice we great things however she had seen in her life too much 'Justice' and 'Honor' corrupted by material things, far too many folk had been oppressed by those that had the power of ' Justice'. Daxniss was also a Rogue, deception was part of who she had been trained to be.
Daxniss gives a rueful shake of her head, her idea of Justice and Honor was not the same as those who ruled this city, being nonhuman was another factor. Daxniss would never hold the same 'moral' purity that the normal's would, not to mention the fact of all the injustice that the ruler of the city of Cearn had shown those that might upset his rule and power.
Daxniss felt her heart almost weep at the fact there might not be any hope for the folk that lived in the city, trying to survive and do well. Daxniss would help those in need, as much as she wanted to deny that to herself, as the law was concerned, some things needed to be bypassed. Daxniss might be able to fool many things, however she was always honest with herself, she looks at the others and cocks an eyebrow and motions for one of the others to try. It would only be fitting that a rogue would try last, letting the others who might be more worthy then her, try first.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Sipping at the sweet tea, Ssilax looks at the cup, surprise on the illusionary human faces was clear. He takes another sip, enjoying the sugar taste. While it wasn't coffee, it was still a pleasant change of pace. With the war against the barbarians, it almost felt decadent to be enjoying such a little bit of sweet warmth. Looking at the prelate with raised eyebrows, he follows Mariel.

Curiosity nibbling at his thoughts, Ssilax follows the prelate, wondering where they might be off to. When they begin descending, the dragonkin heart picks up a few paces, excitement stirring within his chest. Clutching his tea cup with slightly trembling hands, the dragonkin stares at the athame. The Imoedian holy blade sits, seemingly just under the surface of the water.

"That is an amazing thing to see," Ssilax says as he crouches down near the pool to look at the athame. He cocks his head looking at the holy artifact quietly waiting under the water for the right person. He thought what Mariel had said about pure intent.

Ssilax thought about his own intent for the athame, slowly standing back up. Destroying the Lich-Lord was the only hope that the entire world had of recovering and moving forwards, rather then repeating a stagnate cycle. One that if Grendel was destroyed, the lich would once again seek to kill every living thing on the face of the planet. The problem was, Ssilax wan't sure if the athame would even effect the Lich-Lord. Even if the lich kept it's word and didn't destroy Caern, the barbarians where still chewing apart the city. The world couldn't risk losing the vampire druid until the lich was destroyed.

Catching Daxniss' cocked eyebrow and slight wave motion, Ssilax briefly wonders about it. She was just as worthy as any of them, perhaps more. The wyrmtouched had always the closest to people, being raised in the care of a Master Rogue, on of Dainoth's close associates.

"If you would not mind holding my cup, I would like to make the attempt. Thank you," Ssilax says as the dull-eyed prelate holds his cup. Walking back over to small pool, Ssilax crouches down once more. Illusionary fingers break the surface of the water, making his attempt to grasp the hilt of the Deitus Athame.

Dog watches Ssilax curiously, his head cocked to the side as the dragonkin walks back and forth between the pool. Sniffing the air a few times, the canine sneezes suddenly, breaking the silence.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

Wrathe shared Argon's cynicism.

Sense Motive (Hero Point Used): 1d20 + 13 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 13 + 8 = 39

Moving back, both because melee weapon use was not his forte, and to shield his use of magics (Detect Magic).


Whether correct or not, you are confident that Mariel is either an expert liar or believes that he speaks the truth.

"'Only one with pure intent may prove worthy to wield Deitus Athame to light the darkest of hours' is the only prophesy I aware of. It appeared in this place not long ago, and none have yet been able to draw it free from the waters."

Wrathe sees something odd in the spectrum of magic. The weapon is not magical in any way, shape, or form, yet strangely does interact with necromantic magics. It is like a dead hole where magics would go to die.

The dragonkin's hand slips into the puddle and descend until the cleric entire forearm is submerged. As his scaled flesh descends Ssilax feels the water grow cooler and cooler, until the waters are freezing. The movement of something massive shakes the waters as an unseen body silkily approaches the descending limb. While he reaches in this place, it appears that his forearm is possibly on another plane of existence, or another place upon the surface of Sel Torin.

Quickly reaching out, his fingers wrap about the athame's hilt. There is an intensity in the moment that presses down upon him. Tendrils of light fill Ssilax's forearm, radiating through his thick flesh with screaming intensity. Pulling the weapon free of the waters takes absolutely all of his strength and then some, he lays on his back panting with the dagger clutched to his chest.

In the dragonkin's head is a soft voice in a language he does not speak. He glances about, but finds no speaker until he looks down at the intelligent weapon.

For those standing nearby they see Ssilax pushing his hand into solid stone and then his magical disguise is simply gone for a few heartbeats and then returns.

Mariel stares at the truth of Ssilax with an obvious sneer. You can see he is torn between the words of the prophecy and his own racism. "Get. Out."

It is unlikely that you will be sharing tea with Mariel again.


Female Wyrmtouched Gestalt Unchained Rogue Sorcerer level 12

Daxniss shakes her head at the scene, on one hand she was glad that Ssilax was deemed worthy enough to handle the atahme. The other hand was filled wit worry, since they would need to figure out a way to either stop the lich, or something. Without of course, killing everyone in Caern if that was possible.

Daxniss looked around for a place to set her tea cup that in order to help Ssilax up from his now prone position.


It was in the small hours that the clouds of war gather over Caern.

Caern’s high walls are impressive and professionally manned, as the hard-eyed soldiers work to keep the denizens of the Umbral Lands from spilling into the city and slaughtering all of the residents.

They never stood a chance.

Tiletsu barbarians, of the blighted lands of Ryuen, wash the city with blood in search of an artefact of impossible power to permit Godking Eoes' ascension and enslave all of Sel Torin. Stolen ships provide platforms to raze, rape, plunder and abduct those foolish enough to dwell in coastal cities.

As with their previous attacks the barbarians had ambushed patrolling ships under the flag of Caern only as a distraction, to drag the city's defenders out into deeper waters, as their main force setting upon the city. This time would prove different, and the trap is even now closing upon the barbarians, though how many will be slaughtered in the intervening time is unknown. The most powerful army upon all of Sel Torin would end this fight for good.

Ships burn in the harbour, their crews' screams the earliest warning that death was coming with the surety of an onrushing scythe's blade. Hard pressed are the city's defenders as those barbarians that had already landed ashore throw themselves through the holes in the walls crafted by their ship-mounted siege weapons.

Fires rage, lighting up the morning as the ships switch to flaming coal tar pitch, which is lobbed into the city seemingly at random. Some fall to the flames, but many more die suffocating on the oily smoke.

Maximum chaos has been inflected upon Caern.

The horde pushes past the outer defences and floods the streets with blood. Unlike the previous attacks they do not stop to perform anthropomancy. This time they are fully committed.

Lean, sun-darkened, muscular nomads holding themselves as erect as spears throw themselves at the Caern defenders. Naked bodies are stained with yellow-orange silt except for wide stripes across their grave faces and festooned with black tattoos. The thin white slits of their desert eyes clearly show minds actively contemplating magnificently horrific acts of slaughter, and sexual depravity. Savage beasts made manflesh, standing fully a head taller than any man seen before, and festooned with corded muscle bedecking battle scarred frame. It is a plague of that arrives from the desolate wastelands of Ryuen from which they were birthed.

Tyrant King Eoes IX will not let these men rest until the artefact is found. They are after something specific, and from the number of barbarians arrayed against the city it became obvious that the artefact was within Caern's walls. The godking would wade in the blood of the innocent. Hundreds of babies dead oozing and stinking, with their expressions frozen in death, blood partially congealed, and some of their tiny bodies still warm.

Gone are the importance of politics in the moment, as survival takes precedence. Tomorrow, should tomorrow come, will find Eoqium the VII among the fallen, though her death had taken place many days earlier. It would later be called the Night of the Goblet as over 30 nobles and influential figures were poisoned far from anything that could be associated with the Tiletsu. Many of those who had fallen were opposed to the slave trade with Siranor, and still others were apolitical.

As you fight your way free of the Temple of Iomadae your senses awaken with the smell of burning ash on a cold wind, the sounds of a distant battle, the tumult of clashing arms, grunts, curses, clashing sword on sword, thump of cudgels hitting flesh, muted crack of breaking limbs or shattering skulls, the whistle of air escaping from a throat instead of a mouth, the familiar stench of blood and bile and death-loosened bowels and the stench of fear. Embers hang in the air, the heat of nearby fires steal your breath and char the skin.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Helped back to his feet, Ssilax head feels barely attached as he finds his balance once more. Looking down at the athame clutched in his hand, the cleric hears a new voice in his mind. Blinking owlishly, the dragonkin looks around, before staring down at the athame. Unless he had truly joined the ranks of the completely mad, the holy athame had spoken to his mind.

'Hello? Can you understand me' Ssilax thinks to the athame as he is lead out of the temple.


Male Argon Gestalt Slayer-Cleric 12

Argon looks at the prelate, disgusted, and says to Ssilax, "You are pure. That is what matters." Then, to Mariel, he says, bile almost coming into his mouth, "We'll be going now, thank you."

He helps the heavy dragonkin to his feet and gives him a light push to get him going. He seems to be staring at the blade in disbelief, or something.

As the group escape the temple, Argon thinks of Me'lar, and of Kai'lit. He considers going to Kai'lit, because he doesn't know where Me'lar might be, but he realizes their current mission, whatever it is, is far more important than them. Argon realizes, only now, he will give his life to end Azthoh's, if necessary, and others will have to do the same. It is a disturbing thought, and it may get worse if he, or they, are tested along such lines. Putting those thoughts aside for now, he tries to think of the Now.

"Where to now? I would like to 'give' the dagger over right now if we could. How are we supposed to find him? I thought he would find us.

Perhaps he will. So, then, in the meantime I would like to go put out some fires. Ptah will likely help by producing some conjured water for the task." He looks at the dagger, and around at the city. So much could be done, and possibly all of it to no avail.


Male Dragonkin Cleric/Wizard level 12

Moving as if sleep walking, Ssilax is guided out of the temple, still trying to wrap his mind around the events that just occurred. Briefly, he recalls the sensation of something that had moved in the pool when he reached for the athame, wondering what it could have been. The dragonkin's sapphire orbs never leave the athame until the brazen scent of burning flesh and buildings reaches his nostrils.

Looking up, the dragonkin takes a moment to look at the fires that are spring up around Caern. This was not a simple skirmish, the barbarians where attacking in force. The cries of their victims float in the air, ringing in his ear slits.

'I.., all of us, need your help,' Ssilax thinks while looking at the athame. He forms the image of the Lich-Lord in his mind for the athame to "see." 'The Lich-Lord seeks you out for some ill purpose. While he promises to spare our city if you are handed over, its word is suspect. The lich will once more seek to end the lives of all living beings. I have no intention of giving you over to the lich. We think that if we pierce his phylactery with you, he will finally be freed from his state of undeath and will actually be no more.' The dragonkin thinks sharing what he knows and had seen about Lich-Lord Azthoh. 'I think that the lich seeks you out to slay the vampire druid Grendel that has kept the Lich-Lord at bay for over a thousand years. Or for something worse.' The cleric of Nethys explains to the athame. Briefly, Ssilax wonders about the state of sanity, he is thinking to a divine object as if expecting it to have some kind of answer.

Looking up and at his friends, a faint smile appears on the dragonkin's muzzle for a moment.

"Thanks for that, guiding me out of the temple." Ssilax looks down in the athame still clutched in his right hand. The limb still throbs from the light that had sunken into his flesh, almost like acid or the like. "I'm just a surprised as everyone else," the dragonkin says, lifting his gaze from the athame. "Wrathe, do notice anything unusual about the athame? I think it is intelligent, that, or I am hearing an extra voice inside my head. One that I cannot understand."

The cleric looks out at some of the devastation that can be see cropping up in the night time cityscape.

"We should not stay here. Do we try for the Captain and his ship? I have the feeling that it knows that we have the athame, but wants to wait until the barbarians have softened what remains of guards and vice versa so that the lich can swoop in with his forces and lay waste to both," Ssilax says after a few seconds of thought. "I think we should try to help out where we can, but we need to be careful not to get swallowed up in the chaos of the invasion."

The dragonkin frowns, glancing once more at the night sky.

"And there is still the cursed black dragon floating around," Ssilax says looking back at his friends.


Xthian Shadowcaster Conjurer / Gestalt Druid

Wrathe provides what little information that his magical eyes have deduced. The athame is a dead zone of magical power.

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