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THEY MITE BE KOBOLDS They could see the 100-foot-tall sycamore from several miles away. As they drew closer to it over the next few hours, only then could they truly appreciate its immensity. Still, it was what they discovered along their trek to the tree that absorbed their attention. There were only one or two bodies at first…pitiful, small, twisted things that had obviously died violent deaths. The kobolds were easily identifiable, but the other creatures, blue-skinned, bug-eyed little vermin, were a bit more of a mystery.
By the time they reached the tree, the bodies had become much more numerous, and it had become obvious that a sizeable battle had been fought there recently. The roots of the giant sycamore were a massive, gnarled tangle, but Stevhan’s sharp eyes spied the small shaft that opened amidst them. It was a tight fit, but one-by-one they dropped down the shaft, which gave onto to a low tunnel that ran off in two directions. Following the left-hand branch, they shortly found themselves in a room of sorts. Three crude, wooden workbenches occupied the center of the area, their tops strewn with various tools, metal and wooden hardware, and blocks of wood. A pair of mites stood across from each other on the far side of the room. One of them manned a miniature catapult built out of bones and branches, firing small caltrops at the second one who, apparently, was trying to catch them in his mouth. Their goggly eyes grew impossibly larger when they saw the hunched over giants enter their workshop. They shrieked in unison and, incredibly, charged towards the company, small daggers clutched in their knobby hands. What followed would have been comic if it weren’t a violent life-and-death struggle. As Velox raised his sword to smite one of the little trolls, it forked its fingers at him, and in an eye-blink, the oracle began shaking and quivering as if he’d seen a ghost. When Davrim and Stevhan joined the fray, their size in the cramped quarters caused them to bang their heads on the ceiling, crash into each other when they tried to swing their blades, and overall prove themselves completely ineffectual against the mites, which darted in between their legs, thrusting their tiny blades into their feet at every opportunity. In the end, it was Mox who brought an end to the farce, blasting each of the mini demons with a mystic bolt.
They continued deeper into the catacombs beneath the tree, and next found themselves in a much larger, but no taller, cavern. The wet-looking floor of the chamber was crisscrossed by several shallow trenches, each of which contained trickles of putrid-looking fluid. Six foul mounds of compost and dung lay heaped about the room, each studded with small spherical eggs. Across the cave, a female mite sat on a low stool in front of a large, wooden bowl, from which she was ladling a foul-smelling paste to a trio of centipedes the size of small dogs. When she saw looked up, she squealed, and tumbled backwards off of her perch. As she scrambled away through a tunnel, the centipedes swarmed towards the group. Velox stepped forward and pinned one of them to the floor with his sword like a specimen on a collector’s table. Stevhan quickly dispatched a second one, but when Davrim moved towards the last one, it sank its pincers into his ankle, and he felt a hot fire shoot through his leg. He felt it going numb as the insect lunged for him again, but Stevhan stepped in front of him and cleanly swept its head off.
Their pursuit of the mite took them to a damp room haphazardly cluttered with broken beds, chairs, wagon wheels, and an assortment of worn, tattered, dingy, and broken objects. A row of bookcases stood crookedly propped against the far wall, the shelves filled with bits of bone, feathers, and dried centipede legs. Old window frames, cracked and splintered, hung upon the wall like works of fine art. When the little female came screaming into the area, six more mites were sprawled about. Two were attempting to play a folk song on a shabby, stringed instrument, while two more sat nearby, jeering and throwing rocks at them. The third pair lay beneath ragged sheet reading a book with torn pages that was, incidentally, also upside down. They all lurched to their feet when the trespassers came barging in after the female and, like the gentlemen they obviously were, they promptly fled after her after she darted out the far side of the room.
As it turned out, the fleeing mites were not as cowardly, nor as stupid as they appeared. When the six companions rounded the corner into the next chamber, they found themselves face to face with no less than ten armed mites, one of them, a gap-toothed fellow with a disgusting scattering of pimples on his face and tongue, mounted on the back of a very large, and very disgusting, tick!
Rows of wooden pegs lined the earthen walls of the chamber, some hung with tiny, filthy cloaks. In the center of the room stood a rickety table held together with twine, covered with a filthy red-checked tablecloth and heaped with mounds of dirt and twigs and gravel, apparently arranged to form some sort of map. Sitting at the edge of the map, weighing down a scrap of paper, was a bloodstained ivory statuette of what looked like a crouching reptilian devil. A bulging burlap sack sat beneath the table.
Just beyond the far side of the ‘war room,’ a deep and ominous chasm split the passage. The chasm was a few yards wide, and twice as deep, but thick ropes of tangled roots filled the entire area. The passage continued on the far side of the chasm, and between the two ledges, numerous loops had been tied into roots to serve as hand- and footholds. Velox took the lead, sheathing his sword as he reached out for the first loop and began hauling himself across the chasm. He’d gone about ten feet when the loop that he’d just put his foot into, broke. With a gasp, he plunged twenty feet straight to the bottom, landing heavily on his back.
Up top, Stevhan hissed when he saw the enormous beast bearing down on Velox. He knocked, drew and released in one fluid motion, sinking a shaft deep into the bug’s carapace. Then, to the shock of his companions, he leaped from the edge of the chasm, and plunged through the roots, rolling to his feet as he hit the bottom. Velox glanced back at him, relief and gratitude in his eyes that quickly turned to shock and pain as the centipede struck. The oracle screamed as the monster’s jaws clamped down on his thigh, his words shifting into the cryptic Celestial tongue that took him in the midst of crisis. Stevhan drew his sword as he charged the brute. It had rolled, exposing its underbelly when it bit Velox, and that’s where the ranger drove his blade, sinking it in to the quillons. With a gurgle and a gout of black blood, the creature sank to the ground, releasing its grip on Velox. “Well done, boy!” Tungdill called down. “The half-breed’ll be lowerin’ a rope in a minute! I’ll meet ya on the other side and tend to the young’un’s injuries there!”
It was only at that moment that the companions took note of their current surroundings. The walls of the small, egg-shaped room they were in were obscured by thick tangles of long, pallid roots. Four black-scaled kobolds were tied into these roots. Only one of them was still alive. This pitiful creature squeaked weakly as the group approached.
As Stevhan had surmised, the lair of the Sootscale kobolds was not more than a day’s ride from the giant sycamore tree. Along the way, Mikmek told them tales of his tribe’s bravery in the war against the mites.
As it turned out, the Sootscales had made their abode in an old mine. A weathered sign near the entrance identified it as the Oaktop Silver Mine.
Tartuk closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The purple-scaled kobold shaman knew they were coming for him. This moment had always been inevitable, and in some ways, he welcomed it. Tartuk was tortured. He had not been born a kobold, but in fact, had begun life as a gnome. He had been slain in a fight against a group of ogres that had been tormenting his village, but his ‘heroic’ sacrifice was enough to give his people a chance to defeat the giants and, sorrowed by his death, unanimously vote to restore him to life…by having him reincarnated! The bitter irony of the whole situation was that Tartuk had never meant to give his life in defense of his village. In fact, he’d actually been trying to surrender to the ogres, and had offered to help them in return for sparing his life, but the ogres had crushed him before he had the chance to speak his peace. When his people saw his new body, they were scandalized. Enraged, he fled into the forest, nursing a deep grudge. He found a tribe of kobolds, joined them, used his magic and manipulative lies to rally them, and led his new army in an attack against his old village. Since that time, the mad sorcerer had drifted through several River Kingdoms, periodically haunting towns and murdering gnomes he found, and at other times, insinuating himself into kobold tribes, taking them over from within, and then driving them to extinction by forcing them into wars they could not possibly win. The Sootscales had been but his latest project. Now, apparently, his ruse had been pierced and they were coming for him. Tartuk sighed again. At least it would save him the trouble of doing himself in. He opened his eyes once more, and their they were…his executioners. The battle, such as it was, was quick and decisive. Though Tartuk exhorted the other kobolds to kill the “infidels” for daring to defile their holy statue, his tribemates did no such thing, instead cheering madly when Stevhan’s blade felled the shaman.
With the Sootscale problem sorted out, the companions were very close to fulfilling the demands of their original charter from Restov. All that really remained was seeking out the Stag Lord…a task which sounded much easier than reality was likely to dictate. The explorers decided a return to Oleg’s was in order before they bearded the bandit lord in his lair, and so they turned their horses north once more. On the way back, they took a more circuitous route, and found themselves on the southern shore of the Shrike River. A thick, sagging rope hung across the river, apparently all that remained of a bridge that may once have spanned it. A signpost read, “Nettle’s Crossing…5 coppers…ring bell for service.” Sure enough, a rusty bell hung next to the sign. A little way down the shore, the crumbled remains of a burnt-down wooden building was slowly being overtaken by encroaching vegetation. “Guess we oughta do what the sign says,” Tungdill grumped as he reached for the bell.
THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS It wasn’t hard to find the spot marked on the map. The lone tree was the only one they’d seen in a two-mile radius of the lonely hill. It looked to have been struck by lightning, and its bare branches reached up towards the clouds like a burned and deformed claw. Stevhan knelt by its roots, and quickly discovered a spot where the earth had been disturbed…not recently, but still plain to the ranger. He didn’t have to dig too far before he found a leather-wrapped bundle. The ‘trove’ didn’t amount to much…a well-made dagger, a slim, iron wand, and a water-logged spellbook with most of the pages ruined and illegible. Still, it was just one more mystery that the Stolen Lands unwillingly gave up, and only served to remind the companions that many more, deeper secrets were yet to be discovered…
The hills of the Kamelands began to level off as the ground sloped once more down towards the dark forest of the Narlmarches. As the six travelers passed a particularly rocky crag, Stevhan’s sharp eyes spied a narrow crack in its face.
The Narlmarches again. During another day slogging through the dense forest, the explorers came across another deadfall, this one, apparently, natural. The branches of the dead trees had formed a sort of cave, and as they drew near to it, an strong animal scent wafted out to them. The horses began to shy away just as a guttural snort and a high-pitched squeal came from the cave opening. Then, a boar roughly the size of a horse itself barreled out into the daylight, its yellow tusks and piggy eyes flashing. The horses reared and neighed in terror, their eyes rolling. Stevhan leaped from the saddle and quickly rolled to his feet, his bowstring already drawn back. He loosed, and the shaft struck Tuskgutter directly between the shoulders, which only seemed to enrage the boar more. Mox slid from her horse as well, but the deftness and skill with which she did it looked as if she’d been born to the saddle. Landing on her feet, she calmly spoke her spell and flung a volley of arcane missiles at the charging beast. It veered away from Davrim at the last minute, and the half-orc swung his sword down with both hands, cleanly decapitating Tuskgutter. His body continued to run for several more yards before it realized it was dead.
East of the Skunk River, where the ground began to slump away into a soggy mire, a pair of ruined stone buildings jutted from the muddy ground. The companions stood on high ground overlooking the mire as Stevhan scanned the area for signs of life.
The food that Garrum had to offer was less than appetizing, but everyone, with the notable exception of Tungdill, graciously took what was offered. In return, they gave the boggard some of the meat they’d harvested from Tuskgutter. When Garrum saw the boar’s head, his goggle-eyes went even wider.
That night, after fending off a couple of carnivorous frogs from a nearby pond, the group settled down for an uncomfortable night’s rest in the middle of the bog. Velox and Tungdill stood first watch, as was usual. The night was anything but quiet, what with all the swamp creatures calling in the darkness, but Velox sensed nothing amiss…right up until the floating, glowing skull appeared out of nowhere right beside him. Before he could react, a sharp pulse of light from the apparition drifted across his skin, and he felt a jolt of electricity course through his entire body. His shout of surprise and pain woke the others from their sleep with a jolt. Davrim sat up, his sword in his hand, but when he saw what Velox was dealing with, his eyes went wide with fear.
The following day was spent recuperating from the harrowing night. The encounter with the ‘wisp was a hard reminder to the companions that the Stolen Lands were a true wilderness, and not everything they encountered would take kindly to their presence. Still, later that day, the companions made a discovery that lifted their spirits. It was a statue of a stag-headed man, partially overgrown at the base, but towering above the surrounding shrubbery. It was another forgotten shrine to Erastil. Stevhan took the time to clear the debris from its base, and Tungdill silently lent a hand. When they’d finished, the ranger knelt in prayer before his patron. Later that evening, as the group paused to make camp, each of them who possessed a blade found its edge honed to an unnaturally keen edge.
____________________________________________________________________ The stink of moldering plants and a strange quiet in the sound of birdlife surrounded a somewhat sunken clearing in the forest that the companions came upon the following day. At the center of the clearing, the soggy ground became an insect-infested, stagnant, swamp-like pond, and sprawled at its edge was what appeared, from a distance, to be a dead horse. As the companions approached cautiously, Selena gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
As the group wound their way through the Narlmarches back towards the Kamelands, they came to another ford across the Skunk River. Several sandy islets created the crossing, and made for a natural choke point across the river, but the thick piles of rubble, branches, leaves and dead bodies that partially blocked the river’s flow were anything but natural. Even though he knew something was wrong, Davrim was no-less surprised when the monster leaped out of the debris at him. Yellow eyes flickered from their recessed sockets in the large reptile’s skull. It was as green as the surrounding foliage, and at least six-feet in length. Its head was dragon-like and filled with sharp teeth. Its two arms ended in grasping claws, and a cloud of greenish vapor wafted from its gaping maw. It leaped at the half-orc like a cat, its jaws clamping down on his sword arm while its forelegs raked savagely at his belly. Stevhan leaped to the aid of his companion, slashing with his sword, but at that moment, a second creature emerged from the dam. Davrim threw the first beast away from him, chopping down on its head with his blade as he did so. It hit the ground and rolled quickly back upright, preparing to spring again. Before it could, however, Mox let loose with a barrage of magic bolts, and the miniature dragon fell where it lay. Meanwhile, the second creature lunged towards Selena, ripping her from her horse and snapping through the bones of one arm. She screamed in agony, but then Stevhan and Davrim were there, hacking and stabbing until the monster stopped moving and released its grip. Tungdill and Velox quickly knelt beside Selena and laid their hands upon her. Healing magic flowed from the oracle and the druid, and gradually, the witch’s breathing slowed.
The Kamelands once more spread wide before the company. Its rolling, tranquil hills gave a false sense of peace that they were coming to know all too well. In a long, thin valley between two low hills, the companions came upon a dense patch of thorns from which sprouted large, raspberry-like berries…the fabled fangberries the hermit Bokken had sent them after. Much of the thorny thicket was draped in the white gossamer of spider webs. It looked, of course, as if the best of the berries were located in the center of the patch.
Immediately, Davrim, and Velox drew their swords, while Tungdill pulled his cudgel, and began beating all about them, crushing dozens with every blow.
Understandably, Mox deferred from gathering any more of the berries, as did everyone else except Tungdill and Stevhan. The pair made quick work of the rest of the chore, and before long, they had enough to satisfy Bokken’s request.
Later that night, the moors of the Kamelands were lit with the full glow of the last night of the full moon. Stevhan and Mox stood watch, jokingly recalling the harrowing events of the day, Mox still nursing several nasty-looking welts. Suddenly, the still night air was broken by the sound of a lone wolf’s howl in the distance. Stevhan rose to his feet, surveying the landscape. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard wolf calls, but this one sound closer and somehow…different. Then, atop the next hill, he saw the wolf. It seemed to almost be staring directly at them, and then, it began to lope towards them. As it came, its form began to shift and change, until it ran on two legs, a gleaming sword clenched in one hand-like forepaw. “Awake! Awake!” the ranger cried to his sleeping companions as he drew his own blade and charged out to meet the werewolf. He struck first, his blade raking across the beast’s belly, but if felt as if he’d struck a stone wall, and the wound was only superficial. The lycanthrope bared its stained, yellow teeth and leaped at Stevhan, its sword stabbing into his thigh as its jaws clamped down on his shoulder. At that moment, the ravening creature was struck by twin blasts of magic from Selena and Mox, a combination of fire and arcane energy. The werewolf collapsed under the barrage, howling as it burned to death. As it fell to the ground, its body shifted again until a naked, feral-looking man lay there. Tungdill knelt quickly beside his friend to examine his wound. He pulled a clump of herbs from his pouch and pressed it to the bite.
BORDERLANDS “Is this it then?” Velox asked as he paced calmly before the two bound brigands. “Is this all of you?”
“So we kill’em now, right?” Tungdill said as the companions huddled together.
In the end, the two brigands were set free with their promise to leave the Stolen Lands and never return. Only time would tell if their salvation was justified or not.
During another day of slogging through the dense underbrush of the Narlmarches, Stevhan brought the group to a halt as he stooped to examine what appeared to be just another game trail.
The group dismounted and led their horses up the narrow, steep path. Some time later, the thick tangle of brambles they’d been hacking through gave way into a large clearing, its border partially defined by ruined stone pillars. The far side of the clearing was dominated by a looming, upthrust ridge of rock nearly three-hundred feet across, and rising to a moss-topped height of at least one-hundred feet at the center. The side of the towering boulder was carved in the likeness of an immense elk, its antlers drooping down from its weathered face to frame a wide cave entrance. A flight of stone steps led up to the entrance from the clearing, the stones thickly encrusted with layers of moss. A long, oval pool sat in the middle of the clearing, its waters thick with algae. Stevhan, his eyes wide in awe, began walking slowly towards the steps.
When Stevhan reached the steps, he knelt and bowed his head in silent prayer. A moment later, the ranger’s eyes snapped back up in shock and surprise as his prayer was answered by a bellowing roar from inside the cave. A large, lumbering shape moved within the shadows, and quickly resolved itself into a huge grizzly bear. The beast reared on its back feet and bellowed again, its claws pawing the air. Stevhan’s astonishment turned quickly to divine enthrallment.
“This was supposed to happen,” Stevhan said quietly as he gazed about in wonder. “It feels…right.”
Later that night, Velox and Tungdill stood first watch.
He’d gone no further than the shrine entrance, when he quickly started back-pedaling.
“The pool!” Stevhan shouted as he ran to Tungdill’s side. “We have to get him to the pool!”
“What do you make of this?” Mox asked.
“God’s damn it all!” Tungdill roared. The dwarf lay flat on his back where his horse had thrown him. The animal itself was still bucking violently as it struggled to free its leg from the bear trap. “That’s the fourth blasted one of those we’ve found!”
It had been two full weeks since the companions had last seen Oleg’s, and things there had gotten…busier. Four small tents had been erected near the stables, and three men dressed in soldiers’ harness busied themselves nearby. They stopped their work and watched the group closely as they road into the yard, their hands resting casually on their sword pommels.
Garess listened intently, and nodded with approval as the companions related their encounter with the Thorn River bandits, and at the news they had learned of the Stag Lord.
As it turned out, the soldiers weren’t the only newcomers in residence at Oleg’s. A middle-aged man, who identified himself as Jhod Kavken, quickly made the acquaintance of the companions once they’d stepped inside the main hall.
They spent the better part of a week at Oleg’s, resupplying and taking a much-needed rest. When the time came for them to set out again, Kesten Garess approached them.
The group set out once more, accompanied by Jhod Kavken. They intended to take the priest back to the shrine, but they planned to take a different route, hoping to map some new territory along the way. On their second day out from Oleg’s, they came upon a small hut set upon a low hill on a lonely moor. As they approached, they saw smoke coming from the chimney, and light leaking from behind the shutters.
The hut was a meager affair, its rafters hung with drying herbs of all sorts, its table covered with all sorts of alchemical paraphernalia.
The grasslands gave way to hills once more as the group angled back towards the Narlmarches. As they passed through one particularly desolate stretch, they began to notice the occasional animal carcasses they were accustomed to seeing, were becoming more frequent. Before long, the ground was literally littered with bones, everything from boar, deer and bear, to some that looked suspiciously human. Suddenly, the ground beside Selena’s horse simply erupted, and a black and red spider the size of a pony leaped out at the witch. Reacting purely on instinct, Selena threw out one hand, a hex springing to her lips. Electricity crackled around her fingers, and as she touched the leaping spider, the energy completely engulfed the beast. It fell to its back, legs curled in, twitching for a moment before becoming completely still.
WHENCE KINGS ARE MADE “Be it known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west, and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Talistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.”
Oleg’s trading post was located at the southern edge of Rostland (and thus Brevoy), and further south, the green line of the Narlmarches loomed only a few miles away. The post’s remote location and inconvenient distance from a major river ultimately kept it from realizing significant financial success. That suited Oleg just fine. The trader decided to move himself and his wife, Svetlana, to precisely such an isolated locale to get away from the constant machinations and political maneuverings that seemed to dominate urban life in Restov. All he ever truly wanted was a place for the two of them to live far enough from the sins of civilization without living so far that they couldn’t enjoy all of its benefits. Accepting a charter from Restov to rebuild an abandoned border fort into a trading post seemed like the perfect solution. Oleg and Svetlana spent several months renovating the old fort, their customers few and far between, consisting mostly of trappers, hunters and an eccentric hermit named Bokken, whose occasional potions helped keep the post in business when the fur trade was inconsistent. Things were good for awhile…until word of the trading post caught the attention of the local bandits who infested the Greenbelt to the south. They first appeared at his gate three months past, and were it not for the fact that he feared for what might happen to Svetlana, Oleg would have no doubt sacrificed his life in some foolish attempt to defend his stock. Instead, he’d been forced to turn over each month’s revenue to the brigands when they appeared to collect their “tithe.” Svetlana knew her husband better than he knew himself, and she was well aware how much pain the situation caused him, and that she was the reason he hadn’t stood up to the bandits. That act of humility was crushing his soul. She’d pleaded with him on more than one occasion to abandon the trading post and return to Restov, but Oleg had stubbornly refused to give in completely. His only concession to her wishes had been to send several requests to the city for reinforcements whenever a trapper or hunter stopped by on their way back to civilization. In fact, he’d recently received word back with a promise that a group of guards would soon be sent, but so far, he’d seen no sign of such protection. Little did he know that his request would be answered sooner than expected…or how his life would be irrevocably changed from that point on…
“Do you see something that disturbs you?” Velox asked as he glanced aside at the burly half-breed that strode beside him. The big man had been darting furtive looks in his direction ever since the six unlikely companions had set out from Restov.
Further behind the two warriors, a pair of women also walked side-by-side, but as anyone could tell easily just by looking at them, the few feet of distance between them wasn’t all that separated them.
The oddest pair of the company brought up the rear. The dwarf was a sight in-and-of-himself. He wore rough, tanned animal skins, and his hair and beard were wild and unkempt, with bits of dirt and twigs caught up in the twisted mass. He carried a simple wooden cudgel belted at his waist. His companion was rustic as well, but carried himself with a calm that came from a lifetime of familiarity with his surroundings. He wore forest colors and a mottled cloak, a hunter’s bow slung over his back, and a sword at his hip. His face was weathered and tanned, but his youth showed through when he smiled as he glanced askance at the belching dwarf beside him.
Oleg’s Trading Post wasn’t much to look at. The old fort was surrounded by a wooden palisade, and at each corner stood an old watch tower, each armed with a decrepit and obviously non-functioning catapult. The double gates stood open, revealing an open yard surrounded by a stable, a guesthouse, and the main hall. The sound of hammering could be heard coming from the roof of the hall, and as the six companions entered the compound, a rosy-cheeked woman came bustling from the guest house, her broad smile beaming. “You’ve come!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
Svetlana invited them inside the main hall, and sat with them around a long table while Oleg made himself busy behind the bar, studiously trying not to look like he was listening in.
At dawn the next morning, four horsemen rode into the yard of the trading post. Their leader wore a hooded, grey cloak and carried a longbow over his shoulders.
An arrow hissed through the air as the bunkhouse door behind the bandits slammed open. It sank into the flank of the rear rider. As he screamed and slipped from his horse, Davrim was already upon him, sweeping his greatsword from his back sheath as he came. The half-orc’s heavy blade never stopped, its deadly arc continuing down as it severed the brigand’s head from his shoulders. Happs turned in confusion and rage, sawing at the reins of his own mount as he fought to control it. A sudden flash of light from above and behind him caused him to spin reflexively in the opposite direction. He caught a brief glance of a tall woman dressed like a noble standing atop one of the watchtowers just as a bolt of blue fire struck him in the chest, and flung him from the saddle. He just managed to climb to his hands and knees when he saw the odd sight of a wild-eyed dwarf emerging from the stables. The little troll was chanting something and waving his hands about like some sort of witch-doctor. Before Happs knew whether to laugh or shout in rage, a small, black storm cloud appeared directly over his head, and a small bolt of lightning and tiny hail stones struck him about the head. He collapsed in a heap, unconscious. The remaining bandits panicked. Their mounts tangled as they struggled to turn them towards the gate. Before they could get them disentangled, Velox had emerged from the stables behind Tungdill.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!” Oleg laughed as he surveyed the carnage. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong, and I’m not too proud to admit it.”
Happs, bound hand-and-foot, was just coming around. The others stood around him in a menacing circle.
“So he’s spilled his guts,” Oleg snorted. “Now what?”
WANTED!
WANTED!
WANTED!
WANTED!
The bounty board inside Oleg’s post looked to offer plenty of opportunities for a group of intrepid explorers. Stevhan carefully detached and folded each of the flyers before tucking them neatly into his cloak. You never knew when a few extra coins in your pocket might make the difference between life and death. The ranger then wandered back over to where his companions were discussing their next course of action. “So it’s decided then?” Velox was saying. “We head for the Thorn River and try to find the bandits’ camp?”
The following morning, as the companions packed up their gear on the four horses they’d taken from Happs and his boys, Svetlana approached them with her own request.
They set out before the sun was fully above the horizon. Tungdill and Selena rode double, as did Mox and Stevhan, while Davrim and Velox, being the largest, each had their own mount. The first day’s travel out of Oleg’s was a largely uneventful trek across the verdant grasslands of the Green Belt. By the next morning, however, they had reached the edge of the Narlmarches, the vast forest that stretched south and west across the Stolen Lands. The trees were dense, and consisted of oaks, beech and rushleaf, but they were crisscrossed with game trails and clearings which made the going somewhat easier. As the group approached one such clearing, they began to hear odd, moaning sounds coming from directly ahead. Quietly, they dismounted and crept as stealthily as they could through the undergrowth. Stevhan carefully parted the branches and peered through. What he saw struck him as simultaneously surreal and comical. Four, small reptilian creatures lay sprawled on their backs, their bellies round and bloated. Scattered about them lay dozens of half-eaten radishes.
The six of them stepped into the clearing, Stevhan clearing his throat as they did so. The kobolds squeaked and scrambled to their feet, grabbing their spears that lay beside them.
“It’s a shame we had to kill most of them,” Stevhan said as he showed the others the flyer he’d taken from Oleg. “They might have been able to tell us something about their tribe.”
“Here,” Stevhan said from where he crouched by the banks of a swift flowing river. “There are hoof prints in the mud. They’re several days old, but I can still track them.”
Chaos broke loose around the group. Stevhan and Tungdill’s ears rang with a dull roar in the wake of the explosion. The horse that the dwarf and Selena were riding reared and bolted, throwing the pair from the saddle. Davrim’s horse lunged away as well, but the half-orc was able to land on his feet as he hastily dismounted the panicked animal. Stevhan and Velox spurred their own mounts forward, towards the brigand who was now fleeing from behind the log towards the shelter of the trees. Velox reached him first, his horse leaping the log easily. The young oracle heard his father’s voice fill his ears as the spirit of the Lady overwhelmed him. He cut down the running man, then whirled his mount round as he heard a chorus of hoarse shouts from the trees to his left. There, a half-dozen more bandits appeared, bows in their hands and arrows knocked. Behind them, a woman dressed in leathers and carrying a gleaming axe in each hand barked orders in their ears. In an instant, the brigands let fly with a volley. One of them struck Mox, but she rolled with the impact, dismounting her horse as if she were born to the saddle and landing deftly on her feet in a crouch, clutching at the shaft protruding from her shoulder. Her face clenched in pain, she paid no attention to the ravening group of bandits. Instead, she scanned the trees nearby. That’s where the thunderstone had come from. Then she saw him, hunkered down on a small platform amid the thick branches of an oak. Tungdill and Selena climbed to their feet, bruised, but no worse for wear. In fact, their prone positions were probably all that had saved them from being impaled by stray arrows. When the dwarf saw the clustered bandits, a broad smile split his scraggly face.
Kressle was having a grand time! The leader of the brigands had banditry in her blood. Born in the River Kingdoms, throughout her life she had never spent more than a week in one spot. Even as a child she was already helping her parents rob travelers and rough up pilgrims for some quick cash. When her parents were killed after an ambush, she headed north to seek her fortune, only to end up being captured by a group of bandits herself. When two of them lost hands and fingers to her axes, however, their thoughts turned from rape to escape. Kressle followed the wounded ruffians back to their fort. Their leader, impressed by her skill and bravery, slew her attackers and recruited her on the spot. She moved up the ranks in a matter of months, until the boss sent her to run the Thorn River camp. She knew when that idiot Happs failed to return from the trading post, that it would only be a matter of time before she’d have to deal with whomever’d done him in. She was just glad they’d saved her the trouble of hunting them down.
Davrim turned towards the approaching bandits, swinging his sword in broad loops as he waited for them to reach the edge of the spell Tungdill had cast. He quickly realized his mistake as he saw one of the bandits come to a halt not ten paces away as he drew a bead on the big half-orc with his bow. Davrim tried to duck, but he was too slow, and the arrow smacked meatily into his backside. Stevhan moved to go to Davrim’s side, but when he looked back at Tungdill, he was torn. He didn’t know if the dwarf was dead or alive, and before he could make up his mind, two of the outlaws had freed themselves from the entanglement and stood between him and Davrim. The ranger slid from his horse, for he was not accustomed to fighting from a saddle. As he did so, however, the two men rushed him. He spun like a snake and parried the first blow, but the second slipped beneath his blade and gouged across his ribs. Hissing in pain, he swung his sword backhanded and slashed the throat of the nearest brigand. Mox still played cat-and-mouse with the brigand crouched in the tree. She darted quickly among the tree trunks as arrows thunked into the boles around her. Finally, she reached a spot where she had a clear view of the brigand. He turned as he saw her, pulling his bowstring all the way back to his jaw. Mox quickly brought her hands up and spoke a word. A streaking blue projectile flew from her fingers and struck the bandit in the forehead just as his fingers prepared to release his arrow. He tumbled from the tree as if pole-axed, and struck the ground fifteen-feet below with a sickening crunch. Davrim was surrounded. Four of the brigands had freed themselves and flanked him on all sides, jabbing and feinting with their swords. As he turned this way and that, trying to deflect the blows, one penetrated his defenses, stabbing into his knee. His leg began to buckle, yet he struck out with a cry of rage, disemboweling his nearest assailant. He brought his sword up defensively, trying to ward off what he knew was his eminent death, and then he heard her cry. Kressle rushed at him, her axes crossed over her chest. She swung one with deadly efficiency, slicing the half-orc’s hamstring and sweeping him completely off his feet. As she stood over him, poised for the kill, Davrim heard thundering hooves approaching. He and the bandit leader turned at the same time to see Velox bearing down on them. The oracle leaped from the saddle at the last minute, driving his sword into the chest of one of the brigands as he landed. As he rolled to his feet, however, Kressle was on him. He caught one of her descending axes on the guard of his blade, but the other hacked into his shoulder. “Still alive, I see,” Selena smiled down at Tungdill.
Sometime later, when the sleeping bandits awoke and found Kressle dead, and themselves surrounded by six very unhappy looking characters, they immediately, and wisely, surrendered.
Brevoy is a land divided…but then it always was. Two hundred years ago, when Choral “the Conqueror” Rogarvia crossed the Lake of Mists and Veils, it was Lord Nikos Surtova of Issia who met him on its shores under a flag of truce. They worked out an agreement whereby Issia would surrender its land and people but the Surtovas would retain their power and wealth, serving the new ruler as stewards and duly sworn vassal lords.
The time is now, twenty years after the disappearance of the royal family: the Stolen Lands, which lay between the southern borders of Brevoy and the River Kingdoms, have long resisted attempts at civilization and colonization. The term “stolen” is defined differently depending upon who is asked and who is doing the asking. Brevoy considers the land stolen from their southern borders by bandits and barbarians, while in the River Kingdoms, it is believed that Brevoy allowed the lands to fall into the hands of monsters and worse in order to rob the lords of the Kingdoms of more lands to rule. Regardless of what the truth may be, the fact remains that the swordlords of Restov have been spurred to action by an increase in aggression among the bandits of the Stolen Lands, and by building political tensions with their northern kinsmen in Issia. They have begun to send agents and colonists into the disputed region to explore, settle and, if need be, conquer. The establishment of new kingdoms beholden to Restov’s swordlords, and the rest of Rostland, would not only bring freedom from banditry and raids along the border, but also the resources and clout needed to give Rostland the political footing it needs to challenge the Surtova hold on the crown.
Stevhan liked the rasp of the whetstone against his long, steel blade. When he wasn’t out tracking down bandits with his father, the sheriff, he could usually be found sharpening his sword outside their small home. That was where Victor found him.
Bitter! All it takes is a few bad rolls to make the difference between victory and total anihilation. This past week, the group fought a ghost/sorcerer. It almost went very badly.
Selena Belladonna was raised unaware that her mother was a witch. She knew only that her mother had powers that were unexplainable, and that she always had a crow sitting upon her shoulder.
Selena began manifesting powers of her own shortly after she found her pet, a viper she named Miss Sinister. Her mother guided her in the use of her abilities, and finally disclosed her true heritage as she lay dying of old age. Endora also told her that danger was coming to their home. Civilization had found them, and the lordlings to the north were sending pioneers into the Stolen Lands to found a new kingdom. She sent Selena to Restov to find the group and establish herself as a member, so that in befriending them, she might bend them to her mother’s cause…
There was death here. It lay sprawled across the ground of what looked like a bandit raid gone wrong. Although no tracker, Davrim could see that two sets of prints led away from the scene, one walking, and the other full out running. Choosing to follow the latter was obvious; either their owner was in need of help, or he was attempting to escape the justice he deserved. Davrim set out at a jog, one hand clutching at his chest where he still felt the pulse that had begun when he had arrived at the massacre site. She had called him there..... 　
Davrim ran for the better part of the day, stopping only to stow his armor when it began to hinder his maneuverability as he sprinted through the dense woods. When he could no longer see the tracks, he went on instinct. Finally, he came to a clearing and saw what he had been hoping for. A man stood, looking nervously about him, a dagger in his hand as he waited for a pair of travelers to unhitch a set of horses from their wagon. Taking out his bow, Davrim knelt and loosed a single shot. He dropped the bow before he saw whether or not the arrow hit, and drew his falchion as he charged across the clearing. The arrow had missed its mark, but had momentarily distracted the bandit. The brigand saw the large half-orc barreling towards him, and his eyes went wide. Dropping the dagger, he fell to his knees and began begging and pleading. Davrim came to a stop before him.
Sometime later, Davrim was awoken by the rumble of wagon wheels crunching over dirt and stone. A woman quickly leaned over him and held out a water skin. He nodded to her in gratitude and accepted the drink. Davrim assumed he must have passed out from exhaustion after dispatching the bandit.
Tungdil Steelfinger was raised in a typical dwarven family…or as typical as one could be in the town of Brunderton, far away from the nearest clan of dwarves in Brevoy, the Golkas of the Golushkin Mountains. Tungdil, however, was not your typical dwarf. He would spend hours wondering the outskirts of the Gronzi Forest, and despised listening to his father’s endless tales of his glory days in the mines.
Angel on My Shoulder The bandit turned to run, but stumbled and fell as his foot found a large root on the forest floor. Arms and legs akimbo, the man fell flat on his face, his sword flying from his grasp and clanging on the ground several feet away. Quickly the brigand turned over on his back and tried to scurry away, but the swordsman was already upon him. From afar, and hidden by the cover of the trees, the brigand and his comrades had been watching this one travel down the forest road headed to Rostov. Dressed in superbly crafted armor and other suitably fine accoutrements the man appeared to be nothing more than a simple country noble or knight, but what truly captured the brigands’ gaze was the sword he carried on his back. Even though the massive claymore was of an antiquated styling and design, it was of exquisite quality and the bandits had figured it would catch a fair penny in Restov’s market district. Knowing these woods as well as they did, the gang laid an ambush and struck.
But it was not the blade that had the brigands full attention. The knight wore a helm that covered most of his face, but a large slit left his eyes uncovered. Those eyes were white and clouded like a blind man’s, but obviously not unseeing. Disarmed and trapped, the bandit held up his arms, palms out, and stammered,
The bandit, trembling at the hacked bodies of his former comrades, quietly stammered, “What are you? Some kind of demon? Possessed?”
The elder man obliged, scrambling to his feet and bolting off into the woods. Within a handful of seconds, he was already out of the boy’s view.
Velox Vendicatori – LG Oracle of Iomedae
Disappointing. Hard to pinpoint, but I guess it boils down to the fact that the players never really identified with Westcrown, and didn't feel like they had a real stake in it. That's why we're so excited about Kingmaker! They get to build their own country in their own image, and become fully invested!
Welcome back! I've been on a little hiatus, but the itch must once more be scratched. Our group is currently concluding our Coucil of Thieves campaign, and will be beginning Kingmaker in the next 3-4 weeks. In the mean time, I'm going to be posting background bios on the PC's as they become available. Enjoy!!
The Brazi family has existed for generations in the city of New Stetven. Long ago Niko Brazi migrated from the River Kingdoms back when our family was little more than traveling brigands and bandits. He united his immediate family and extended relatives and moved to New Stetven to start a new life, one not only more profitable but more civilized. Over the years, my family was able to establish itself in many trades, but what we excelled at was the spy network. While we have not existed as long as our rivals House Surtova, we have been able to cut our own space into the country of Brevoy by serving House Lebeda and House Rogarvia. I am Luka Brazi, second son of Antonio Brazi, the current head of the Family. Word has come down the line that the Sword Lords are looking to expand into the Stolen Lands, but aren’t willing to put forth their own direct resources towards that claim. That is where I come in. Father, deciding it best not to send his first son out, as he would soon be taking his place as head of the Family, decided it was best to send me. His intent is to establish a strong holding in the new found kingdom, one that might one day rival even House Surtova in its influence..and in my Family you do what father "requests". So with that, I have set out into the Stolen Lands to break new ground and establish a foothold for my Family, or die trying.
Latest news...our Council of Thieves campaign is about to conclude, and we'll be starting King Maker in the next month or so. We are very excited about this new type of campaign, and I will be resuming my story hour writing with it.
CROWN OF FANGS It became readily apparent after a cursory reconnaissance of the exterior of the pyramid, that the main entrance must be submerged under water. In fact, it looked as if fully half of the structure’s interior could conceivably be flooded.
The group gathered around the tall angel, and in an eye blink, they found themselves within the gauzy, misty realm of the Ethereal. They moved as if in a dream, descending into the water as if it were no more than a fog. Beneath the surface, they found a large, open arch that led into the pyramid’s interior. Stairs descended, and near the bottom, the tilted stairway dropped into a horizontal layer of silt. The walls and pillars were decorated with hundreds of stylized images of the same beautiful woman carved onto the pyramid’s face.
The passage gave onto to another chamber, bare save for a large, crystal globe that hung suspended between two square pillars. The sphere was connected to the pillars by thousands of glittering crystalline filaments. A crystal tube extended up from the eastern side of the sphere through a hole in the ceiling. Inside the sphere was a staggering amount of treasure: coins, art objects, rolled-up tapestries, bars of precious metals, and more. Despite the trove, wealth was the furthest thing from the minds of the six companions. Beyond that chamber lay a room whose flagstone floor was almost completely covered by a bed of rotting swamp algae which piled up to a high heap in the far corner. The mangled, rotting carcass of a fifteen-foot-long alligator floated in the opposite corner amid a huge pile of strange bones. Throughout all of this, the devil fish continued to pace them. “I grow weary of this!” Ratbone growled. “If this creature knows we’re here, then it might be a spy for Ileosa. Let us be rid of it now!”
One unfortunate side effect of no longer being in the Ethereal, was that the companions could no longer breathe while they were underwater. Quickly, they began to swim, hoping to find an air pocket, or access to the upper levels of the pyramid. Thankfully, they came upon a large, silt-floored chamber, its walls and ceiling lined with cracks, with a large archway in the ceiling that opened into a steeply angled shaft leading upward. Water filled they shaft, and they were able to swim up its length. At the top, it opened into a partially flooded room, which in turn gave on to other chambers, each also partially water-filled, but each less so than the last. Eventually, they found another chamber with a shaft leading up, but this one was completely dry, and O’Reginald was forced to teleport himself and his allies to the top. There, they found themselves in a large room that was actually warm and pleasant. The floor, walls and ceiling were tiled with polished rose-colored marble slats, and weaving in and out of the walls, climbing from the floor to the ceiling above, were dozens of thin crystal tubes. Yet another shaft rose through the ceiling on the room’s far side. Quickly, the company started across the room. Something urged them onward, telling them that their goal was close. Before they were halfway across, however, the air around them exploding in flashes of blinding light. When the glare faded a moment later, six black-winged women of exquisite, yet sinister beauty hovered in the air around the companions. They wore gleaming, mithral shirts, and each carried a trident wreathed in flames. As one they shrieked in fury and dove. Raelak spun, knocking and releasing two shafts in one fluid motion. They both struck one of the charging fiends. She jerked to one side briefly, but recovered immediately and rejoined her sister in their assault. When they struck, they hit like thunder. No one was spared, save Raelak, the ranger’s deadly bow keeping the attackers at bay. As their weapons rammed home, they exploded in flame, searing flesh and bone alike. Pez snarled, enraged at the foul touch of the fiends upon his holy flesh. He backhanded one of the erinyes into a nearby wall, sending her slumping, stunned, to the ground. O’Reginald, never one to miss an opportunity, hurled an orb of glowing force at the downed devil. At the same time, Raelak sank a final arrow into her throat, guaranteeing she wouldn’t get up again. Meanwhile, Herc whirled on his assailant, Serithtial flashing as she bit deeply into the fiend’s unholy hide. The erinyes reeled towards Ratbone, and the druid’s tree-trunk sized tail slapped her back, snapping her neck instantly. Kat staggered away from the flaming tines of the trident nearest him. He flicked a hand over his shoulder, and the pursuing fiend stopped dead in her tracks. A moment later, however, she broke free of the spell with a tremendous surge of will. Several yards away, Michael raised his sword to block a second blow from his foe, but the priest was too slow. The erinyes batted his weapon aside easily, and then impaled him through his gut. Gurgling, Michael collapsed to the floor. O’Reginald cursed and quickly erected a wall of steel-strong force between himself, Michael and Kat, and the remaining fiends. Pez stepped to Michael’s side and laid his hands upon the priest. Michael gasped as the life that was leaving his body suddenly surged back.
Herc charged another of the erinyes from behind, Serithtial keening as she pierced the devil’s spine. So thick was the fiend’s skin, however, that the aftershock of the blow jolted the holy sword out of the merc’s hand. He bent to recover her, and as he did so, Ratbone leaped atop the crippled fiend, ripping her throat out with his teeth. A moment later, however, another of the devil women sank her trident into his shoulder. She prepared to strike again, but as she did so, Raelak spun her completely around with a shot that went clean through her own shoulder. O’Reginald cursed again as two of the walled-off erinyes suddenly vanished and then reappeared next to him. Quickly he brought the wall down so that his allies could reach him as well. Herc and Ratbone hurled themselves after the fiends, the merc slashing through one of the black-feathered wings of the nearest, while the druid’s claws tore through her flesh, simultaneously sheathing her in golden ice, rooting her in place. Only three of the erinyes were still moving. One of them thrust her trident at O’Reginald, stabbing it through his foot just as the mage teleported a safe distance away. Raelak fired at another as she leaped upon Ratbone’s back, stabbing repeatedly. Raelak fired twice more, and then Ratbone spun, knocking her aside and ripping her trident from her hands as she fell. As she struggled to her feet, Raelak put one final arrow through her throat. Several yards away, Herc sparred with another of the she-devils. She thrust and parried valiantly, yet Serithtial drew blood time after time, until finally she sagged to her knees and Herc swept her head from her shoulders. He turned just in time to see the last of the fiends teleport next to O’Reginald again. Raelak fired after her, but his arrow went cleanly through her bicep, slowing her just enough for Herc to reach her. She raised her weapon to impale the mage, but Herc struck first, severing her spine cleanly. Unnoticed by any save Pez, Michael limped slowly towards the erinyes still paralyzed by Ratbone’s holy ice. Her eyes grew wide as he raised his sword and then plunged it through her heart.
The last vertical shaft led to the apex of the pyramid. There, the companions and their angelic ally found themselves in a huge, very high chamber illuminated by braziers at its four corners. A soft light also filtered from two very high oval windows on the southwestern wall. The twin windows were fitted with panes of blue crystal that allowed in some light from the outside. Below these crystal ‘eyes,’ a band of mosaics on the south wall formed a single, huge map of an ancient, unknown land. The map featured a river valley with many villages, each one labeled with a long-forgotten, strange name. Yet the most unusual feature of the room floated and undulated at its center…there, an amorphous blob of blood, over thirty-feet wide, floated and rippled in the air. Shapes seemed to form periodically on its rippling surface: faces, hands, buildings, and figures that lasted only long enough to melt back into the horrific mass. Dozens of thin, crystal tubes extended from the upper walls of the room to a point just above the shifting mass of blood. As the companions stared in wide-eyed amazement, the Everdawn Pool began to shake and rumble. It rippled briefly into a familiar shape…the Korvosa skyline…only to crumble as if during an immense earthquake. A moment later, the beautiful yet furious face of Ileosa appeared in the blood as she shrieked in rage. Three humanoid-shaped blobs detached themselves from the pool and floated to the ground. They looked like blood-soaked giants clad in tattered robes…wraiths! At that same moment, Ratbone’s keen senses detected the presence of others in the room, unseen. He barked at Kat, and the sorcerer quickly dipped his fingers in his belt pouch and dabbed a small amount of salve over each eye. Instantly, the features of the room leaped into perfect clarity…as did two invisible forms that looked all-too-familiar…Togomor and Sermignatto!
The blood pool began to roil and churn again. Then, from the bottom, Ileosa dropped to the floor. In rapid succession, however, seven identical figures dropped to the floor as well…more simulacrums. As one, they began to sing, weaving spells as they did so. Raelak and Kat clutched their heads in agony, and then their eyes went completely blank. Their fog cleared a moment later, however, as O’Reginald hurled an orb of electrified acid into the midst of the false queens. Three of them dissolved into pools of blood. Ajax obliterated three more with a bolt of holy fire, and Pez dispatched the last of them with his own blast. The dread wraith struck Herc again, but as the mercenary spun with the blow, Serithtial flared in his hand. The holy blade slashed the ghost’s form apart as if it were no more than tattered rags. The last of the wraiths joined its brethren under a second barrage from Raelak’s bow. As the final spirit faded away, the Everdawn Pool rolled one final time. Ileosa flowed out of it as if from a womb, the Crown of Fangs set firmly upon her brow. Her eyes blazed with fury and hatred. She turned her horrid gaze upon Ratbone as the druid charged towards her, and she waved her hand absently. In an instant, Ratbone felt many of his mystical enchantments stripped from him, including the spell which granted him an extra pair of limbs. At that moment, Sermignatto made his move. The bdellavritra conjured a roiling fog around the companions…a fog that burned like acid as it touched their skin. It lasted only a moment, however, as Kat banished the spell as quickly as it came. As soon as the mist cleared, O’Reginald conjured a second globe, this one of fire and lightning, and slammed into Ileosa. As the demon-possessed queen reeled and screamed, Ajax hurtled towards her. The angel reached out one hand, glowing with power, and laid it upon Ileosa’s chest. Her eyes flew open wide and she screamed again as the divine energy siphoned her life-force from her. She wrenched herself free of the angel and hurled him away from her.
As Ileosa gloated and chuckled, Pez lurched into action. Invoking Heaven’s name, he charged the b*~&@-queen, and slashed at her with his glowing blade. In the same moment, Kat lashed out with a lance of pure sonic energy, and Ileosa was again hurled backwards. On the floor below, Ajax climbed dizzily to his feet, just in time to see Sermignatto slithering towards him. The angel flung out one hand, and spoke a single word of power. The fiend stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily stupefied. Before he could move again, Herc leaped upon his back and drove Serithtial through his central head. Like Togomor before him, Sermignatto’s second chance at life was short-lived. Ileosa’s fury continued to grow. Her eyes blazed at her thrall, Raelak, and her words burned into his mind like a brand.
Suddenly, the Everdawn pool began to shudder and shake. A moment later, a draconic talon lanced out from one side, an immense skeletal wing from another. The entire room began to rumble, and a growing roar filled the air, quickly rising to deafening levels. With each passing moment, an immense shape of blood and darkness rose from the pool, building itself into a mighty, blue dragon from the inside out. Lightning crackled and chains of iron began to writhe and snap throughout the room. The chains seemed to wrap around the draconic form and transform its flesh, organs and muscles.
Kat kept HIS name as Kat, or Cat. You'll have to wait for the epilogue to see his ultimate destiny. Yes, the group did rest, but I usually leave the more mundane things out to keep the story moving. The castle was a challenge because during the group's fight with the leader of the Red Mantis, one of the assassins escaped and sounded the alarm. This brought the entire castle's forces down on them at once, so it was one, long, non-stop brawl.
THE LUCK OF THE DRAW The companions stabilized their wounded as best they could, but without Michael, it amounted to little more than field dressings. Katarina climbed to her feet unsteadily, a heavy bandage over her injured left eye.
The pull of Zellara’s Harrow drew Kat and her comrades to the ground floor of the castle and into the servants’ quarters. There she paused at a seemingly blank wall, and then ran her hands over its surface. Her fingers triggered a hidden catch, and a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow flight of stairs that led down. At the bottom, a passageway branched northeast and southwest. To the southwest, the way seemed to have once been closed off after only a few feet by an ancient brick wall, but a man-sized hole appeared to have been fairly recently smashed through it. “That is the way,” Katarina nodded.
“I hope this is worth it,” Herc said coldly as he glared at Katarina. He lifted O’Reginald’s limp body over his shoulder and stalked through the archway on the far side of the chamber. The room beyond it seemed to be a dead end. The air felt cold and clammy. The ceramic floor, walls and ceiling were lined with light brown tiles that formed gentle geometric patterns. On the far side, an ancient coffer sat atop a single low plinth of stone. Kat walked slowly over to the coffer, which stood open. Its interior was empty, but there were several fang-shaped shadows burnt into the bottom. Then, at an impulse from Zellara, her eyes rose to the far wall. On closer inspection, she saw that a section of it appeared newer, of more recent stone work.
A short time later, the four companions stood in the specter’s apartment once more, with three corpses at their feet. As they laid the tiefling’s body on the floor, the apparition appeared again, but this time not as just a misty outline. He looked to be a translucent elderly tiefling man with a deck of Harrow cards that periodically flew out of his hands to spiral around him before returning to his clutches. He regarded the quartet with kind but sorrowful eyes before he began to speak. “Thank you for taking my bones from that dreadful, dark room below,” he said. “My name is…was…Venster Arabasti, and in life, I was half-brother to King Eodred. As I’m sure you’ve deduced by now, Ileosa killed my brother. Poisoned him, to be specific, but you may not know of my role in that dreadful deed. I was seduced by Ileosa’s promises of power and love, but I do not seek to shift the blame for my own shortcomings. In the end, I got what I deserved I suppose, when Ileosa walled me up and left me to die. Now, as long as she continues to live, I shall remain bound here, unable to emerge from this room, imprisoned by my own shame and guilt. Still, perhaps I am not completely beyond redemption. Perhaps, through you, I can help to undo what I helped set into motion, and perhaps move on to face Pharasma in the afterlife and accept my fate.”
“We each must draw,” Kat said. “First, however, you must declare how many cards you will take. That declaration will bind you. If you do not draw all, they will be drawn for you, and you must still abide by their weird. However, Venster’s and Zellara’s sacrifice will allow you to discard once only, but you must then redraw. Choose wisely.”
“I will draw next,” Kat said, as she took a seat at the table. “I will choose the maximum draw allowed…four.”
Raelak swallowed hard as he looked down at the cards.
Herc was last. He gripped Serithtial as he sat at the table.
As the last card was drawn, Zellara and Venster reappeared.
The two wishes the comrades had received were ultimately the easiest of their dilemmas. Despite Kat’s altered physique, at least she was still alive. The same could not be said for O’Reginald and Michael, and so, with two carefully worded requests, the wizard and priest were restored to the world of the living once more. There were many questions to be answered, not the least of which was Kat’s new gender. Once the pair was brought up to speed, Ratbone suggested another use for one of their boons.
The air crackled and rippled with dark energy before them, and a hulking shape appeared. A grim statue hovered there, its slow, seemingly weightless bobbing belying its obvious bulk. Sculpted in the shape of a grim, horned angel, gigantic wings and terrible, long-clawed arms jutted from a legless body that tapered into a blunt, blade-like trunk. Upon the ominous form’s breast hung the fresh remains of the crucified corpse of Ishani Dhatri. No sooner had the nightmare construct appeared, than Ishani opened his mouth and began to scream and scream. At the same moment, a blast of pure evil emanated from the figure, and Kat felt his soul literally being drained from his body. His own screams joined those of Ishani. Ratbone snarled, morphing into his feral form as he leaped at the demonic statue. He bit and clawed, his talons and fangs tearing stone and shadowstuff from it. For the first time, the construct lurched into motion, and it grappled with the druid with its own clawed hands and spiked wings. It hurled Ratbone away from it, which gave Raelak the opening he needed. The ranger loosed a salvo of gleaming arrows into the thing, and it shattered into a thousand pieces. Ishani’s body stopped screaming and fell to the floor, a lifeless husk. “What…was that?” Herc gasped.
Following Venster’s directions, the six companions made their way to the top of the tallest tower in Castle Korvosa, only to find an empty room. Ratbone placed the prince’s signet ring upon his finger, and as he did so, a shimmering portal appeared in the air above them. One by one, they climbed through. They found themselves in another small chamber, but this one contained a single large bookshelf filled with dozens of books and scrolls. Nearby, a single desk and chair stood. Sitting on the desk was a single large book with a black leather cover. Kat picked up the book and read its title aloud:
Kat turned his attention to the other books and scrolls on the shelves, hoping he would find even more information of Ileosa’s plans. He wasn’t disappointed. He found her written plans on how she had poisoned her husband, a letter of contact to the Red Mantis, and an outline of how she had planned to use blood veil to murder many of Korvosa’s undesirables. Lastly, among a batch of magical scrolls, including two that allowed the summoning of powerful extraplanar beings, Kat found something very enlightening indeed. It was a sheet of parchment that appeared to be made of human skin, covered with writing in human blood. It was, essentially, a contract between Ileosa and Sermignatto, in which the fiend agreed to provide the queen with infernal aid, minions, and even a bound devil to augment her body and mind. In return, Ileosa promised to turn over part or all of Korvosa to the bdellavritra and his unspecified superiors once she had finished her current goals.
Kat once more transported himself and his allies through the murky lands of the Shadow Plane to swiftly reach the edge of the Mushfens. From there, it was a relatively simple matter for Michael to use his own magic to first find the path to the Sunken Queen, and then transform himself and the others into mist to be carried speedily along the wind. In hours, instead of days, they reached their final destination. Surrounded by a grove of primeval mangroves and draped in immense sheets of moss and vines, the horns of the Sunken Queen seemed to claw at the sky like the blind talons of an immense monster drowned in an abyss of mud. On the east side of the great pyramid, which leaned heavily into the marshy slough, one of the three original horns had collapsed, leaving a jagged, metallic stump. On the south side, barely dented by the elements and millennia of neglect, was a giant relief of a standing, naked woman, her lean idealized figure immersed in murky water up to the knees. “I do believe that Ileosa may have inadvertently provided us with unlooked for aid in her hasty departure for this desolate redoubt,” Michael said as he and the others solidified once more.
Nicely done in the throne room ... KIA indeed. ^_^Thanks! It was epic...that one fight took us five hours of game time! I only have two more updates plus an epilogue to conclude this story hour. Hope to have one up a week and finish by New Year's. Well, there are two very unexpected twists coming in the last two updates, and the final battle puts this one to shame!
BATTLE WITHOUT HONOR OR HUMANITY ‘Now!” Sermignatto screamed mentally through the ether. ‘Destroy them all now!’
The companions stood amid the carnage, breath coming in ragged gasps. Warily, Ratbone stalked back towards the deadfall. Cautiously, he began lifting the logs aside, piece by piece, until finally he saw a flash of crimson near the bottom. When he’d finally cleared enough of the debris aside, he saw only Ileosa’s clothing and a pool of blood. Of her body, nothing remained.
As if on cue, the air within the throne room suddenly exploded with the smell of sulfur and brimstone as multiple creatures teleported into the chamber. No fewer than nine black-winged erinyes devils appeared circling in the air, wickedly curved bows in their hands. Near the entrance to the chamber, a huge fiend stood with curving ram-like horns and a cruelly spiked chain gripped in his hands. Before him were three identical barbed-skinned devils, giggling and chortling evilly to themselves. Mavrokeras, the horned minion of Sermignatto, cracked his chain and sent the Yallops charging forward. One of the brothers wove his hands in a complicated pattern, and the air before him spun and churned. From within the vortex emerged four more fiends, these with beards like thorny brambles. They appeared in between Raelak and O’Reginald just as the ranger unloaded his bow on one of the fiendish Yallop brothers. A moment later O’Reginald seized the Shoanti by the arm and whisked both of them to safety by stepping between dimensions. No sooner had they reappeared than the wizard conjured an invisible wall of pure force between themselves and Mavrokeras, the Yallops and their summoned henchmen. Herc touched the golden breastplate of his armor, and wings of purest silver sprouted from his back. He leaped into the air of the throne room and closed rapidly towards the deadly erinyes archers. Below him, Ratbone assumed his avian form and took flight as well. The she-devils turned their bows on their approaching enemies, but Ratbone closed the distance too quickly. He raked across three of them, ripping their bows from their hands. The others grinned savagely, and then redirected their shots below. Three arrows struck O’Reginald, slamming the young wizard into a nearby wall. Two more hit Katarina, one of them taking her through her left eye. She screamed in agony as she clutched at the projectile. Raelak whirled and loosed his own volley in return, impaling one of the erinyes and sending her tumbling towards the ground. Ratbone disemboweled another, transformed into his ape form in mid-air, ripped the wings off a third fiend, and then plummeted towards the floor with her still screaming in her death throes. At that moment, the Yallops abruptly teleported themselves past O’Reginald’s barrier, reappearing next to him, the still-sobbing Kat, and Raelak. The ranger turned towards them, but as he did so, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could react, a masked Red Mantis assassin drove a saw-toothed saber into his back. As his vision blurred, he saw three more assassins emerge from the shadows. A moment later, he would have sworn he was hallucinating as almost two-dozen Gray Maidens swarmed into the throne room. Herc saw the dilemma his companions were in, and he turned his attention from the erinyes and dove back towards the floor. One of the Yallops whirled as he approached, and Herc slammed into him shield-first. The fiend screamed as bones cracked, yet Herc grunted in pain as well when the sharp barbs on the devil’s hide pierced his arms and hands. Suddenly, the big merc heard more screams…coming from Kat and O’Reginald! He looked up and saw that the erinyes had opened fire again, peppering the two wizards like sitting ducks. Desperately, O’Reginald flung out his hands, conjuring a second force wall between the devils and themselves. Herc’s attention was quickly drawn back to the wounded Yallop as Raelak sent a shaft through its forehead and point-blank range. It collapsed in a heap at his feet. The ranger’s satisfied smile faded a moment later as a second Yallop leaped at him, shrieking and tearing at him with its razor-like claws. Herc surged to his feet, raising his shield high above his head and then bringing it down on the back of the fiend’s exposed neck. A tingling, sixth-sense from Serithtial warned him just before the last Yallop brother came for him. Herc spun low, thrusting upward with the holy blade and burying it in the devil’s gut. It spewed black blood from its stretched mouth, and then crumpled.
The Yallops were down, as was their master, Mavrokeras, but they were only four, and more than two dozen foes remained. The remaining erinyes archers began teleporting past O’Reginald’s second wall at the same time that the Gray Maidens began knocking arrows to their own bows. Ratbone pulled one of the she-devils from the air almost as an afterthought, yet the sheer numbers arrayed against them was overwhelming. It was at that precise moment that Sermignatto chose to make his presence known. The bdellavritra was an amphisbaenic monstrosity with the body of a mottled, slimy slug. At one extremity of its body was the wormish mouth of a leech, while at the other was a knot of three human heads, their features contorted in expressions of incredible pain. Between the teeth of his three human mouths lashed three elongated, writhing tongues, each slashing through the air like hair-thin, deadly blades. The fiend was not at all happy with the turn of events, and the time had come for him to play a more direct role. Before the drop-jawed mortals could react, he filled the area around them with a soup-like, green rolling fog. He chuckled to himself as he imagined them trying to move through the quicksand consistency of the cloud, all the while their skin being scalded by the droplets of acid concealed in its vapors. His mirth faded a moment later when the cloud abruptly vanished. It was the accursed Harrow witch! Even with an arrow through her eye, she would not die! Suddenly, the air crackled with electricity as the younger mage wove a cone of lightning, engulfing several of Ileosa’s maidens and assassin allies. Sermignatto snarled in rage and slithered eel-like into the fray. The horde surged forward, blocking the bdellavritra from view temporarily. Herc met them head on, Raelak at his back loosing arrow after arrow in a blur of motion. Two more of the Mantis assassins went down, and then O’Reginald loosed another deluge of electricity into the mass, and more Maidens fell. A hole opened, and Herc saw his opportunity. He leaped forward, dodging the slashing tongues of the huge fiend. Serithtial howled in fury as she struck, and Sermignatto howled as well…in agony. Raelak moved also, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. One of Sermignatto’s tongues lashed out, wrapping around his throat. The ranger’s face began to turn an ugly shade of purple. With a guttural snarl that was purely animalistic, Ratbone hurled himself at Sermignatto. The druid and the devil clashed like titans, but it was obvious to any onlookers who the victor would be…and it soon became obvious to Sermignatto as well. In desperation, he tried to shift himself back to the Ethereal, but Ratbone would not release his hold, and he kept the fiend firmly anchored in reality. It was over in moments, and Ratbone raised his head and howled, blood dripping from his fangs and claws. The remainder of the battle was furious and frenetic, with numbers pitted against might. Magic pulsed and steel clashed. Arrows flew and blood spilled, but in the end, though battered and beaten, the Korvosan Intelligence Agency stood victorious, with not a single one of their foes left alive. Silence fell over the throne room once more…and that silence extended throughout Castle Korvosa as well.
CASTLE CRASHERS Sabina drew a detailed map of the castle, pointing out each area as she did so. She pointed out several possible entrances, but the one that seemed most tactical to the companions was a storage area on the keep’s fourth floor. It was there that Zarmangarof had laired, and the dragon had torn a hole in the floor of an overhang, allowing him to fly out into the night unseen on his hunting forays. As for herself, Sabina asked to be allowed to move against the Longacre Building. If she could draw upon the aid of some of the Gray Maidens still loyal to her, she could infiltrate the building and release the prisoners within. Properly outfitted and armed, they could provide a potent fighting force for the rebels when the time came to retake the city. The group agreed with her logic, and O’Reginald transported the lot of them back to Korvosa. Once they parted company with Sabina, Katarina cloaked the group in a sphere of invisibility as they flew above the city rooftops to Castle Korvosa. It was only the work of a few minutes to find the concealed hole in the caste eaves and slip inside undetected. They made their way through the empty storage area to the castle’s main attic, heading for the keep’s central stairwell on the far side. Before they reached it, however, Sabina’s map indicated a secluded room off the attic that looked to contain some sort of hidden chamber within. Their curiosity piqued, the companions moved through another narrow storage room, finding a small, locked door on the far side. Kat made quick work of the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a small apartment. The room was dusty and appeared to have been abandoned for awhile, though it showed an unexpected level of comfort. A large bed sat in one corner, and there was a nice table with two chairs, a desk with a stuffed armchair, a lamp, and a stove. On the east wall was a glass showcase full of rare card decks. There were at least fifty different decks, all displayed with care and competence, most with several pieces laid face-up and with matching leather, ivory or wood cases. What looked like a partially melted stone trapdoor sat in the floor in northern corner of the room, and a single toilet sat behind a partially folded screen to the south. No sooner had the group entered the room, than the sound of furtive scratching came from behind the far wall. Kat, feeling an odd compulsion from the Harrow deck at her hip, moved quickly to the panel. She ran her hands over it and felt a hidden catch. When she triggered it, the wall swung out. The dusty room beyond contained a well-made bed, a large armchair, a one-legged table, and a silver lantern. On the table near the lantern sat a dusty Harrow deck in an elongated redwood case. As Kat stepped into the room, the temperature abruptly dropped by several degrees. A few moments later, a strange, rolling mist seemed to rise from the cards in the case, causing them to flutter and dance upon the table as if in a small breeze. The mist took on a vaguely humanoid form…that of an older man with tiny horns on his brow…a tiefling! He reached out towards Katarina and whispered in a gravelly voice…
The grand staircase wound from Castle Korvosa’s uppermost pinnacle to its lowest dungeon. Kat was single-minded. Zellara kept pulling her down and down, but O’Reginald stopped them on the third floor.
The third floor landing of the grand staircase gave onto a great salon. The wooden floor, walls and ceiling of the large hall presented a rich and harmonic scheme of decorations. The high ceiling was supported by pillars inlaid with ivory and partially hidden by a hanging forest of silk draperies in the colors of autumn. Near the walls, the draperies reached down to the floor in foamy cascades of deep red and yellow-orange silk. Crimson circular couches sat around the base of the pillars, with matching stuffed stools and low, ebony tea tables with stained glass tops. In the middle of the hall was an empty space that served as a dance floor, and a balustrade opening to the stage hall below. Cautiously, the group started across the hall, Herc and Ratbone taking point. As they reached the center of the room, Ratbone’s snout abruptly lifted towards the ceiling. Herc’s eyes followed and there, among the hanging silks, he saw several hammocks strung, all but hidden from view. Red-clad figures swung out of them, grabbing the silks and sliding down them like glass ropes. Shrill whistles came from their mantis-masked faces as they came, and more figures boiled out of the rafters. As the first of the assassins hit the floor, Herc was already in motion. He struck the foremost mantis solidly, shield lowered, slamming the murderer back over a dozen feet. The big mercenary leaped after him, bringing down the edge of his shield on the assassin’s neck before he could rise, insuring that he never would do so again. Meanwhile, Ratbone seized another in his jaws, shaking him savagely and snapping his neck before tossing his limp body aside and turning on another, disemboweling him with a vicious rake of razor-sharp claws. Three more Red Mantes landed deftly, circling the two warriors. Abruptly, a blinding spray of color struck one of them from behind from Kat’s outstretched hand. Ratbone leaped on the stunned man like a dog on a rabbit. Another of the assassins tumbled towards and over the balustrade, but as he began to fall, he was stopped short, hanging in mid-air
“Nicely done, heroes,” a woman’s voice sneered from behind the companions, “but Ileosa isn’t paying us just to dance with you. Once you’ve gained the attention of the Red Mantis, you’re living on borrowed time, and now the time has come for all debts to be paid!” The voice belonged to a deadly beautiful young woman whose lucent white skin was offset by her raven black hair. She wore the familiar garb of the Red Mantis, save for the insectile mask. She carried a saw-tooth saber in each hand, both crackling with electricity, and her waist and legs where festooned with a multitude of scabbarded throwing daggers.
From the dim shadows in the far corner of the salon, a lone mantis assassin watched. His blood boiled for vengeance, but he knew his duty. He silently slipped away into the darkness. He had to warn the seneschal.
“What are we going to do without Michael?” Herc asked.
One by one, the remaining companions dropped over the salon balcony to the stage hall below. Sabina had told them that Ileosa had been spending most of her time in her chambers of late, and the map she’d given them showed the royal bedroom to be on this floor. There was a foyer off the stage hall that gave onto the bedchamber, but there was also a secret door which led from Sabina’s chambers nearby. Their plan was to post Herc outside the secret door, while the rest would enter via the foyer. That way Ileosa could not easily flee, and would be caught in a pincer. When they entered Ileosa’s room, however, it was empty. The walls were paneled with darkwood planks and decorated with elaborate tapestries and hanging silks. A double canopied bed dominated the northeast part of the chamber, while to the southwest stood a desk and stuffed armchair. Stained-glass windows along the southwest wall depicted complex patterns of swirling reds, fiery oranges, and bright yellows. The bed appeared to have not been slept in for some time.
As they turned and left, alien eyes watched them go. Sermignatto, known to some as the Lord of Bloody Quicksands, lurked nearby, but an infinite distance away. He lay hidden on the Ethereal plane, adjacent to reality, but so far removed as well. The bdellavritra fiend followed after the companions, moving easily through walls as if they were mist, sending out a silent call to his minions, summoning them to battle.
The magnificent throne room was lavishly decorated with frescoes, mosaics, and hanging tapestries of gilt crimson silk. Three colorful stained-glass panes on the windows presented scenes of past kings and queens. A huge fireplace stood in the east corner, its mantle shaped like an enormous stone tree that had spread its branches up to the ceiling. Against the southwest wall, on a low dais of granite, sat the Crimson Throne itself, an iron throne draped with deep red silks and velvety crimson cushions. Four Gray Maidens stood on the floor below the throne, and each held a length of thick iron links attached to spiked steel collars worn by four massive hounds, easily the size of war horses. The hounds had fur of deep umber, and their eyes glowed crimson. Flames licked from their jaws as their tongues lolled and acidic drool pooled around their clawed feet. Seated upon the throne was none other than Ileosa herself, the Crown of Fangs upon her brow. “Welcome, my friends,” the young queen smiled as the five companions entered her presence. “I thank you for seeking me out. I’ve been observing your progress over the past few months, and I’m grateful for the assistance you have provided the people of Korvosa.”
As Kat’s words echoed through the throne room, Ratbone leapt into motion. The feral druid somersaulted over the hounds and Gray Maidens, landing in a crouch before the Crimson Throne. Before Ileosa could react, he reached forward with one clawed hand and snatched the Crown of Fangs from her head. As he turned and leapt away again, Katarina drew a scroll from her belt and quickly read the arcane words written there. With a roar like thunder, five tons of wood and stone appeared out of thin air above the Crimson Throne and crushed Ileosa beneath. Just like that, it was over…only her minions didn’t seem to know it. They learned better moments later when O’Reginald’s fireball roared through the deadfall, setting it ablaze and immolating one of the Gray Maidens. The warhounds ignored the flames completely, their abyssal blood rendering them immune, but they could not ignore Ratbone’s fangs, nor Serithtial’s bite. Three went down in a haze of blood and fur, then the druid and merc turned on the last one and the remaining Maidens. The fight was over before it had really had a chance to begin…or so they thought.
“Now!” Togomor commanded the squad of Gray Maidens who waited outside the throne room in the entry hall. The bloat mage had heard Sermignatto’s summons, and had been compelled to respond, despite his own self-loathing at being manipulated as if he were no more than a puppet on a string. The Maiden’s surged through the throne room doors as the seneschal quickly rendered himself invisible and followed behind.
Ratbone tore furiously at the deadfall. He had seen Ileosa…smelled her! He knew she had been there, yet he couldn’t sense her now. Surely she could not have died so easily. Then there was the matter of the Crown of Fangs. For an item reputed to be so Evil…it felt like nothing more than a cold iron trinket. His search was interrupted a moment later, however, when the doors at the far side of the throne room burst open and another dozen or more Gray Maidens rushed in. Ratbone turned, snarling, blood frenzy in his eyes. Suddenly, the air in front of him seemed to freeze solid as a searing polar blast of energy struck him from out of nowhere. He reeled, pierced by a pain he had never before experienced. Chilled to the marrow of his bones, he collapsed to his knees. O’Reginald turned towards the invading Maiden’s as well, and he saw where the polar ray had originated from, though he could not see the caster. He didn’t need to. He hurled a ball of fire and acid into the midst of the Gray Maiden’s, and when it exploded, it engulfed the area where he knew the unseen wizard to be. Then Herc drove into the midst of Ileosa’s guards, hacking and slashing with Serithtial, cutting down a half dozen of the badly burned women before they could recover from O’Reginald’s blast. Ratbone slowly felt the numbness seep from his limbs and he surged to his feet. He raised his muzzle to the air and sniffed. He closed his eyes and began making odd clicking sounds with his tongue. The vibrations they set off in the air around him bounced back to his hyperacute ears from the people and objects around him, and there, at the far side of the room, he sensed a presence he had not seen when his eyes were open. His eyes still closed, he leaped, and Togomor’s stench of blood nearly overwhelmed him as he closed on the bloat mage. Jaws gaping, he clamped his fangs down, but it felt as if he had bitten into raw granite. A moment later, the mage was gone. Togomor thanked whatever Powers still favored him that he had the foresight to cast the stoneskin spell upon himself before he’d entered the battle. Fortunately, the savage’s bite had done little actual damage, and he’d been able to teleport quickly away. Still invisible, he now stood on the far side of the room, directly behind the male and female wizards, and the archer. Quickly, he spoke a few arcane words, and instantaneously erected a wall of pure force across the throne room, separating the druid and his sword-wielding companion from the rest of their allies. Ratbone roared in impotent rage at the escape of his foe. He turned this way and that, slapping Gray Maidens aside like ragdolls as he searched for Togomor’s scent. Then…he had it! Behind O’Reginald and Kat! He bounded on all fours across the room, but halfway through, he slammed head first into an invisible wall. Howling and snarling, he clawed and bit at the barrier, but to no avail. “Now,” Togomor spoke, still unseen, “where were we? Ah yes…I was just about to kill you all!”
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HOMECOMING Katarina dreamed. She was standing in the middle of Vencarlo Orisini’s academy, back in Korvosa. The fencing master paced before her, a look of concern on his face. He paused and looked her directly in the eye.
By sundown of the following evening, the Korvosa Intelligence Agency stood outside the temple of Pharasma, in the city’s enormous cemetery, the so-called Gray District. Katarina had transported them through the Shadow Plane, a dimension of gloom adjacent to reality. Distances there were subjective, and the journey from Belkzen to Korvosa had taken only a matter of hours rather than days. As they approached the doors to the temple, Kat used an illusory veil to make them appear as Pharasman priests. An acolyte greeted them warily.
Bishop d’Bear led them down into the vast ossuary below the cathedral, then through an iron door and into a subterranean complex. Eventually they reached a rough chamber where the Bishop excused herself. Smiling broadly, Cressida Kroft stepped out to meet her agents. Behind her stood Vencarlo Orisini, Neolandus, and Grau Soldado, the soldier they had helped when the riots first broke out in what seemed like an eternity ago. Cressida was a bit more ragged and rough-looking in her scavenged armor, but no less the warrior that the companions remembered. The reunion was brief, but joyful, the old friends anxious for updates and tales of what had transpired among then since their last meeting. Eventually, however, Cressida’s face grew serious, and her tone grim. “I know you’ve not been out in the city,” she began, “but the situation is far worse than you can imagine. Though the streets are quiet and silent, it is the calm of utter oppression. Ileosa and her Gray Maidens have been at work on Korvosa night and day, and the result is a city of broken-spirited citizens desperate for deliverance but too cowed by the atrocities and cruelties witnessed in the streets to rise up. The people of Korvosa need heroes. The rebels that I have gathered are ready to make their move and reveal ourselves to the Gray Maidens. We also plan to make public the fact that Neolandus lives, and as a result, Korvosa has a legal option beyond open rebellion to depose Ileosa. With luck, this will rally the noble houses, arbiters and magistrates, but I fear that doing so will spur Ileosa to step up the violence to even greater levels than before.” “Before my people can take to the streets, we need someone to take the initiative against the monarchy. We need intelligence from the castle. I have heard rumors about what has been going on inside it…that the Gray Maidens are mind-controlled, that devils and a dragon dwell within its walls, that the Red Mantis are now secretly in control of it, and that Ileosa herself has transformed into a monster. If you are in agreement, I have prepared a list of priorities that I feel need to be accomplished if we are to have any hope of success. First: a new ‘hero of the people’ has been fighting rebels in the streets. These so-called rebels are false. They’re not my people, and I suspect that this ‘hero,’ a man named Trifaccia, is false as well. We need to find out who, or what he is. Second: I have it on good authority that the rumors of a black dragon taking nest in Castle Korvosa are legitimate. If the rumors prove true, the dragon must be defeated. Third: The role of castle seneschal is currently held by a bloated wizard named Togomor. If you can capture or defeat him, we’ll avoid a long legal complication over the revelation that Neolandus still lives. Fourth: Ishani Dhatri, the Abadarian priest that you befriended, has become a vocal opponent of his church’s public endorsement of Ileosa. He has vanished. My initial investigations indicate that he was last seen approaching the castle. Perhaps some clues to his fate lie hidden within? Fifth: I suspect that there are Red Mantis agents sheltered in the castle. Proof of the alliance between Ileosa and the Red Mantis would be very helpful. Forcing the assassins to abandon Korvosa, perhaps by finding and defeating their local leader would be even better. Sixth: The Gray Maidens are certainly a menace. They need to be stopped. Sabina Merrin is their commander. Find and defeat her, and you’ll throw the entire organization into chaos long enough for us to reclaim the streets from them. Vencarlo and Grau believe that she can be reasoned with, and that she may not be as loyal a minion of the queen as she seems. Seventh: Rumors of devils involved with the monarchy disturb me as well. If you can find proof that Ileosa is trafficking with devils, or that devils dwell within Castle Korvosa, that should significantly help our case against her in the eyes of the city’s government. Finally: Ileosa must answer for her crimes. She hasn’t been seen publicly recently but for her brief appearances on the castle walls. If we can capture her, a lot of our work will be easier.” “If I may interject,” Vencarlo said. “Cressida’s comment about Sabina is true. The woman I knew loved Korvosa, and was honorable to a fault. It was her rigidity of thought and personality, in fact, that held back her progress in the more fluid fighting style I attempted to teach her when she was my student. I have a hard time believing she could condone what Ileosa has done to Korvosa. I suspect the queen is using some sort of magic to control her, and I would urge you to try and use nonlethal methods in dealing with her. At the very least, if she could be made cooperative, she would be an excellent source of information about Ileosa’s plans and what has been going on inside Castle Korvosa for the past few months.” “Sounds like we have our work cut out for us,” Kat said as she turned to her companions. “Where do you think we should begin?”
That task proved easier said than done, however. The following morning, Katarina veiled the group as nondescript dockworkers, all except Ratbone. His bestial form presented a small dilemma, but Kat solved it by disguising the druid to appear as a large draft horse. They had no difficulty bypassing the Gray Maiden patrols as they entered the city proper, but when they surreptitiously began asking questions about Trifaccia, the answers they received were surprising. It seemed that most of the common folk saw the “rebels” that Trifaccia brought to justice as no more than common thugs who used extortion and terror to further victimize the populace. Since Black Jack was nowhere to be found, Trifaccia was seen as a true hero when such things were in scarce supply. Ultimately, the six companions decided that they would not be able to discover the truth by simply gathering information off the street. They would have to find someone who knew what was really going on in the city, and they thought they had just the person. They decided to pay a visit to House Arkona…
“We’re here to see Lord Arkona,” Kat told the dubious-looking guards at the main gate of the noble house. “Tell him that the people who helped him with his little ‘family’ problem need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”
Since Pilts Swastel’s death, House Arkona had expanded to fill the void, brining all of Old Korvosa under their dominion. Their status upgrade was obvious in the new, luxurious trappings of the manor. Lord Arkona greeted them in the same parlor in which he’d originally met them. He looked exactly the same, the look of subtle arrogance on his handsome face so very natural.
The taproom of the inn that Lord Arkona directed them to was fairly crowded as people gathered to have one last drink before heading home in time for the nightly curfew imposed by the Gray Maidens. The five companions strode to the bar and ordered tankards of their own. Ratbone, again is his horse guise, waited outside at the hitching post, his eyes watchful in anticipation of what was to come. Herc downed his ale in one swallow and slammed it noisily back down on the bar.
Ratbone watched the customers file out one after another. It wasn’t long before he noticed something else…a squad of Gray Maidens gathering across the street. As the last of the townsfolk left, the doors burst open, and six heavily armed and armored Gray Maidens stormed in, their faces completely covered by their helms.
“I’m going to say this once,” Kat whispered in the ear of the helpless Maiden. “You are being allowed to live for one reason. We want you to deliver a message for us. We work for the true rebellion in Korvosa, and we want Trifaccia. Until he shows his face, we will kill every Gray Maiden we see from this point on.”
The following day, as the companions visited another tavern Arkona said was sympathetic to the rebel cause, a group of rough-looking Varisian men entered the tap room. As they did so, the customers quickly rose to leave. Kat made the young men out to be Sczarni, Varisian organized criminals.
At that moment, another figure burst into the room. He was slender and dressed in black clothes with a long, flowing, hooded cloak. His features were obscured by a brass mask in the shape of three faces in a row, the central one frontal and the side ones in profile. He carried a golden scimitar in one hand, and it flickered with fire. His mocking laughter was strong and clear. He nodded towards the companions and raised his blade in salute.
At that moment, the front window shattered as Ratbone leaped through it, shedding his equine disguise as he landed in a crouch. Yzahnum whirled towards him, and hurled a blast of fire at the feral druid. In the same instant, the efreeti reached into a pouch at his belt and flung a handful of dust over his head. As it settled over him, he disappeared from view, and even Kat’s True Sight couldn’t discern his location. Ratbone turned this way and that, trying to use his heightened senses to find his foe. Another fiery blast struck him from behind, and then a large gash opened across his flank as an unseen scimitar slashed at him. Raelak closed his eyes and focused on the totem of his clan, the Moon. Calling upon Her power, he opened his eyes again, and found that he could sense the genie’s presence, though he could not actually see Yzahnum. His hands a blur, he loosed three arrows and was rewarded by a cry of pain from the efreeti. Ratbone’s head whipped around and he leaped for the spot where the arrows had struck. His teeth and claws sank solidly into flesh, and he shook his head like a wolf with a rabbit. Yzahnum screamed in agony and wrenched himself free of the druid’s deadly grasp.
Within minutes, the streets around the inn were swarming with Gray Maidens. The K.I.A. watched from a distant rooftop, grim satisfaction on their faces. Things were now in motion that could not be stopped. There would soon be a reckoning.
The dragon hovered above them for a moment, its jaws gaping wide as if to unleash its deadly breath again. The rider sawed on the reins and the dragon turned its head and snapped viciously. The Maiden jerked both reins sharply, and the dragon’s head snapped back. With a roar of fury it landed heavily on the rooftop. As it lumbered clumsily towards them, Raelak loosed a deadly volley of arrows, scoring four direct hits. The beast squealed and reared on its back feet, beating its wings downward as it struggled to get airborne again. Once more the rider pulled sharply on the reins, and the beast’s forepaws slammed back to the roof. It turned its head to snap again, but as it did so, Herc rushed in. With one wide swipe of Serithtial, he cut cleanly through the dragon’s neck, sending its head tumbling over the side of roof. Its body collapsed, thrashing, and throwing the rider sprawling. In an instant, Ratbone was upon her, pinning her arms to her side and pressing his fangs against her neck.
Scarwall again. The companions thought they had seen the last of the ancient keep, but when Sabina asked them to find a private place where they might talk, it had seemed the obvious choice. O’Reginald had teleported them all directly to the former throne room of Kazavon. “I was foolish,” the Gray Maiden said, bowing her head. “I loved Ileosa…truly loved her, but I was not blind. When the King was assassinated, I began to see that something was dreadfully wrong with her. My fears were confirmed when she began moving forward with the establishment of the Gray Maidens. It was not the foundation of a new military wing that I objected to, but rather the use of magic and torture to force their loyalty. Yet despite this, I had seen enough to know that openly opposing Ileosa was not a solution, so instead of taking direct action against her, I accepted the charge of leading the Maidens. Where I could, I lessened the impact of the queen’s cruel methods. Still, many women who were drafted into service proved too headstrong. Ileosa executed some of them until I convinced her that it would be better to imprison them under Longacre Building, arguing that some of them, given time, might well realize that serving as Gray Maidens was the better choice. I made regular trips to the Longacre dungeons to ensure that they were as comfortable as conditions would allow, and that they were not being abused by the guards.”
Silence stretched out for a time as the companions absorbed all that the Gray Maiden had told them. It was Herc who finally broke it.
THE SWORD IN THE STONE Once again, the nine companions stood outside the doors of Mithrodar’s lair. They knew the chained spirit was waiting for them, but they could only hope that what Malatrothe had told them was true…he would be weaker, and perhaps vulnerable, without his spirit anchors. Their whole plan hinged upon it. All stood poised and ready as Ratbone threw open the doors. Even knowing what they would see, they were still caught off guard by the sight of Mithrodar and his specters hovering directly on the other side of the portals. O’Reginald quickly pulled energy into his hands, and then hurled an orb of pure force at the spirit. Mithrodar recoiled momentarily, but then he and his minions surged forward, the specters passing easily through the walls to insinuate themselves among the allies.
An inhuman shriek issued from Mithrodar as his body twisted and spiraled as if caught in a vortex. A heartbeat later, he was gone. Within moments, the walls of the castle began to shimmer and brighten as the shadows that had clung to every inch of the cursed structure faded. The sound of countless sighs whispered in the ears of the companions, and the oppressive sense of menace overlaying the structure vanished. The remaining specters simply winked out of existence. At the same time, Katarina felt a familiar presence envelope her. Zellara was free. Her spirit reentered the harrow deck as if returning home. Suddenly, a small luminescence formed in front of the allies. It rapidly brightened until a figure manifested. It was a confused-looking human man in early adulthood. He wore finely cut, if long out of style clothing, and clearly was a nobleman of some sort. As he looked around and noticed the companions, his ghostly flesh began to strip away, revealing raw muscle and bone below as if he were being flayed by invisible knives. After being reduced in such a horrible fashion, however, his skin reappeared a moment later, only to start the process all over again. To his credit, the ghost seemed to hardly notice his continuing mutilation, with only the occasional flinch as a particularly tender bit of skin was tugged away. He began to speak, his accent heavy and archaic, yet his words were clear, manifesting as sounds as much as thoughts. “You. You have done a great thing today. You have accomplished the conclusion of a legend. What has festered here in Scarwall is no more, and in saving us all, you have returned honor to Tamrivena after these long years of shame…a shame I created, and a shame I was unable to lift. I sent Kazavon into Belkzen, so many ages ago. Eventually, when even my coward’s soul could no longer bear to hear tell of his cruelties, I came here to Scarwall to attempt to undo what I had done in asking for the Midnight Lord’s aid in defending Tamrivena. Yet again, I failed…my general, Kazavon, had me skinned alive and ate the strips raw before my dying gaze. And when I did die, my soul remained, trapped here as surely as any prisoner.
The end of his speech coincided with the completion of one of his ghostly mutilations, except that his form did not rejuvenate. Instead, it crumpled and slowly faded from view. The House of Tamrivena was at last no more…
“A Star Tower!” Laori exclaimed, awe in her voice. “Who would I’ve thought I’d ever live to see one?”
The inside of the chamber was completely empty, save for a five-foot-wide flight of stairs that wound down into darkness. The companions descended in single file, emerging at the bottom into a large chamber. The walls and floor had a strange organic texture, appearing almost like black, decaying flesh streaked with glistening swaths of blood. Four pillars carved to look like coils of entwined arteries and spinal cords supported the ceiling…nails and surgical tools were embedded in those pillars at key and painful-looking positions. At the base of the stairs was a ten-foot-wide open shaft filled with thick, bluish mist. No sooner had the last of the group stepped into the room, than a disembodied, sibilant voice echoed throughout it. “Greetings, and welcome to the Star Tower,” the voice said. “Which of you wishes to take on the honor and glory of becoming its new Curate?”
“I see the choice has been made,” the disembodied voice intoned, a trace of amusement evident. “Priestess,” it said, obviously addressing Laori, “I invite you to accompany me as I escort your compatriot to the Midnight Lord’s palace. There you may testify in person to the Shadowcount’s traitorous acts, if you so desire.”
At that moment a massive shadow detached itself from the ceiling of the chamber as a massive creature drifted downward. It looked like a great bat formed from pure darkness.
As each of the companions stepped into the blue light of the pit, they experienced a sudden plummet of vertiginous length, seeming to stretch on for miles and miles. A moment later, however, they found themselves standing in an empty chamber, the air cold and still. The jagged walls of the tower were broken to the northeast by a single stone door, and the floor was polished to a reflective sheen. Thirty-feet above, the ceiling was completely obscured by a roiling bank of glowing blue mist. The door gave on to a cave tunnel, the walls of which looked moist, yet were strangely dry to the touch, covered with a sheen of glittering mineral deposits. The tunnel wound for some distance before ending in an immense chamber. The rank odor of decay, filth, and wet fur clung to the air with a palpable tenacity. The cavern faded into the dark away to the north. A wide, rocky shelf sat in the southern portion of the cave, and upon this shelf were four crude, domed hovels, each nearly twenty feet in height, and built from crude stone blocks mortared together with a nasty mix of mud, hair, and other assorted debris. Each stone igloo had a large arched opening into its darkened interior. To the north, a silent lake of black waters stretched into the distance. Very few ripples disturbed its surface, giving it the appearance at times of a massive sheet of polished obsidian. Far out in the water to the northwest, a single point of light glowed just above the surface, a bright star whose radiance illuminated a few stony islands about seventy feet out in the lake, though the source of the light was not discernible from shore. Suddenly, several hulking shapes began to emerge from the darkness of the igloos. Shaggy, black fur matted with filth and debris covered the deformed giants. Their arms split into two forearms at both elbows, each ending in a massive four-fingered claw. Their heads were a travesty of nature, with vertical, fang-filled maws splitting them from what would be crown to chin on any normal creature. Bony protuberances jutted from the sides of their heads, each sheltering a baleful eye, pink and bloodshot. Their horrid appearance was matched only by their stench, a rancid combination of wet fur and decay. With an inhuman shriek, the creatures lumbered forward, their talons snapping viciously. Herc and Ratbone met them halfway. The big merc swung his shield in a short arc as he spun, hammering its edge into the back of the foremost monstrosity. Its spine snapped, and it crumpled screaming to the ground. As Ratbone stepped past it, he bent quickly and tore out its throat. A moment later, an explosion of fire and electricity erupted in the center of the beach, engulfing the arachnid-like horrors. They squealed in agony, but continued charging forward, only to run straight into a whirling wall of blades that Michael conjured out of thin air. One fell, slashed to ribbons, while Raelak opened fire on the others. One managed to free itself, burned and ripped flesh hanging from it in ribbons. It struck the ranger back-hand, sending him sprawling to the ground. As it moved in for the kill, however, Herc was there, disemboweling it with one blow. The remaining three, still writhing within the blade barrier, were instantly immolated as O’Reginald unleashed a second energy ball.
“Can you hear that?” Herc asked as the companions stood on the shore of the lake.
While Ratbone transformed into his avian form, O’Reginald enabled the others to fly. They rose into the air and flew across the dark water, making for the distant island and the glowing blade embedded in the stone there. It was Ratbone who first saw the behemoth rising from the water beneath them. It was a horrible amalgam of man and worm, its flesh split and filled with maggots. The creature was all that remained of Kleestad, once Kazavon’s chamberlain. He had betrayed the warlord by giving Mandraivus the information he needed to strike at Scarwall when its defenses were lowest, and directed the cabal to a secret entrance to the castle. For his treachery, Kazavon intended to reward him with a slow and painful death, yet the warlord only managed to break Kleestad’s ankles before Mandraivus and his companions entered the throne room. Kleestad managed to crawl to safety during the ferocious battle that followed, and remained in hiding throughout Mandraivus’s short reign. When the curse of Scarwall fell, he emerged, half-mad, to find the castle empty of all save the dead. He found Mandraivus’s body and claimed Serithtial for his own, calling upon Zon-Kuthon to witness his victory. Yet the Midnight Lord was not pleased, and transformed the chamberlain into a monster, hurling him into the lightless vault deep below Scarwall, Serithtial still clutched in his hand. Almost a millennium later, the last thrall of Kazavon lived on in his underground prison, in a final twist of fate becoming the guardian of the very blade that laid his master low. Now Kleestad erupted in rage as he sensed the trespassers in his domain. He roared his challenge, and it was answered by the battle cries of Herc and Ratbone. The two warriors charged the leviathan, tearing into it with steel and claw. O’Reginald hurled fire and lightning, scorching Kleestad’s flank. Then, Kleestad unhinged his jaw, opening it hugely and vomited forth a great gout of black, acidic blood. It burned all whom it touched, and caused their stomachs to seize and clench. Raelak fought the nausea that gripped him and loosed his arrows into Kleestad’s bloated flesh. Finally, a rippling lance of pure sound spiraled from Katarina’s hand and tore through the goliath’s skull. Slowly, Kleestad sank back into the depths, his soul at last free to face Zon-Kuthon’s judgment.
Herc knelt before Serithtial, her voice echoing in his mind.
TOMB OF HORRORS “Ha!” O’Reginald barked at his companions as they stood panting in the courtyard, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mithrodar and his spectral minions. “I told you! I warned you!”
There seemed no other alternative but to return to the donjon’s sealed doors.
A second set of doors on the opposite side of the shrine opened into what seemed to have once been a common room. A worn by colorful carpet covered most of the floor, and a number of wooden tables and comfortable chairs were spaced about the chamber for informal gatherings and meals. A small kitchen had been set up by a low stone fireplace alongside a cupboard that held some dishes and utensils as well as a few desiccated remains of foodstuffs. Strangely, a half-dozen figures were seated around one of the tables, as if in deep discussion. They wore black robes that appeared rotten and threadbare with age. They turned in unison when the doors opened, and it was only then that the companions saw that their gaunt faces and empty eye sockets were translucent, as where the trappings they wore. They shrieked when they sensed the living life force of the intruders and rose, claw-like fingernails bared. The specters flew among them, their touch numbing with the preternatural cold of the grave. Sial, reasoning that the spirits would obey him as a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, tried to rebuke them, but to no avail. They showed no preference, nor discrimination in whom they assaulted. So the Zon-Kuthonites found themselves fighting hand-in-glove with the K.I.A. With the two forces fighting in unison for the first time, they managed to destroy the wraiths one-by-one. As the last one faded from existence, Michael, Sial and Laori tended their allies in silence, a sense of shared responsibility overriding animosity.
The donjon seemed largely abandoned, yet untouched by the passage of the centuries. Given the nature of the numerous empty rooms the allies encountered, the structure obviously served as Kazavon’s personal temple to Zon-Kuthon. Yet there was still a brooding presence in the air, almost as if something…waited. Then, they came upon a chamber that seemed shrouded in writhing shadows. A large, humanoid figure stood motionless deeper in the room. Ratbone crouched, his hackles raised as he stalked slowly forward, waving his companions behind him. As he drew closer to the figure, he realized it was in fact a statue of a cloaked figure with a skull for a head and a spiked chain dangling from its eye sockets…a representation of Zon-Kuthon. The druid relaxed slightly…until he saw a second, smaller figure step from behind the statue. It to was humanoid, its body wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages. An ornate, archaic pectoral hung from its neck, and an elaborate head dress topped its turbaned head. Ratbone snarled and swung a massive paw at the frail-looking mummy. His eyes widened a moment later when the undead priest grabbed his hand in mid-swing with a vice-like grip. Suddenly, a battle cry roared from behind the druid as Herc rushed to his side. The big mercenary bull-rushed forward behind his shield…and the mummy deftly side-stepped his charge. The creature then raised its free hand and began tracing a luminous sigil in mid-air. Laori cried out in agony as she saw it, her body wracked in agonizing pain. Katarina quickly conjured a mass of darkness to veil the symbol, while at the same time sending the roiling cloud to envelop the mummy lord. The dark tendrils tried to wrap around the priest’s arms and legs, but to no avail.
Finally, after searching the donjon for what seemed like hours, Katarina found a well-hidden door secreted in an out-of-the-way corner. Behind it was a narrow flight of stairs that led down. At the bottom was a long hallway which ended at a pair of large double doors.
Cautiously, Ratbone moved towards the altar.
A MATTER OF TRUST “Nice of you to join us,” O’Reginald smiled dryly at the Brotherhood of Bones. “We’d hate to think you’d run out on us.”
“What do you make of these?” Herc asked Kat. He was gazing up at the alcoves that spiraled up around the circumference of the tower. Almost half of them held polished, though brittle-looking skulls. He reached out and picked up the nearest one.
Two hours later, most of the companions were fast asleep. Herc, Raelak and Asyra remained awake and on guard, the humans keeping their distance from the kyton. A lantern burned in the center of the tower floor, and shadows danced at the periphery of its flickering flame. Raelak’s eyes narrowed as he watched the light. It seemed to him that some of shadows moved a little differently than the others. Suddenly, several of them detached from the darkness and swarmed towards them. Raelak raised his bow and loosed a shimmering arrow at one as it came. The shaft pierced the shadow, seemingly hanging in mid-air. Then they were upon him and his companions. The shadows struck like living wraiths, their incorporeal hands reaching through armor as if it didn’t exist. Raelak, Asyra and Herc all felt the cold embrace of the undead, their strength leeched out of them. Another knelt beside O’Reginald as he was rousing from his slumber. Before he could do more than open his eyes, however, the shadow reached into his chest and the wizard suddenly found himself paralyzed…so weak that he could no longer move. Quickly, the ranger and the mercenary rallied what stamina they had left, shooting and slashing at the animate darkness. Behind them, Sial rose to his feet, Asyra at his side. The dark priest raised the profane symbol of Zon-Kuthon from around his neck and channeled black power through it. As if flared with red light, several of the shadows quailed before it and disappeared through the walls. Despite their weakness, Herc and Raelak were able to beat back the few remaining ones, and then they stood heaving, their hands on their knees. Quietly, Michael went to them, making the rounds to try and restore some of the damage done.
Dawn came gray and bleak through the skylight at the top of the tower. The remainder of the night had passed uneventfully, though sleep had not come easily to any of the companions, plagued with troubling dreams as they were. Ratbone remained silent on the subject as the group readied themselves to move out again, though Katarina could tell the druid was displeased. It was decided among them that they should seek entrance to the donjon. Malatrothe had said that she suspected the last spirit anchor was inside, along with the only chance of defeating Mithrodar. They made their way from Nihil’s tower back down to the castle courtyard. Atop a landing across the yard a double door stood, its bronze finish so tarnished that it appeared almost black. Cast in bas-relief on its exterior were gruesome images of devils and priest cavorting among the corpses and tortured souls of the damned. A skull and spiked chain overlooked the entire scene from the center of the doors…the symbol of Zon-Kuthon. A heavy wheel was set into the center of each door. Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the stone jamb around the doors had been altered in some way to form a seal around them. The central seam had likewise been sealed with lead.
They stood huddled around the door Malatrothe had warned them away from, Kat’s ear pressed against it.
A large hall loomed beyond the door. Thick wooden columns, their sides caked with dust, supported the ceiling above. Between them, in the center of the room, sat a large fire pit, its ashes long cold. Many old stains marred the floor, some surely of spilled food and ale, though several darker ones appeared more grisly in origin. At the western end of the hall, a wide dais rose where the lord’s table could be set to oversee the affairs of the hall. In the center of the dais was a great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets. Down one step and to the left of it was a smaller chair of oak, less elaborate. A lone figure stood silent and still upon the dais. Its eyes blazed in a deathless rage. It seemed to be some sort of phantom, floating unfettered by the bonds of the living world. The ghostly horror possessed its own ethereal bonds, though, its semi-transparent, vaguely humanoid figure clenched in the hold of countless crisscrossing chains that writhed and tightened over its vaporous form in unending torture. Several of those chains extended from the ghost’s body, some dangling through the floor or reaching seemingly through the ceiling above, while others pooled in spectral lengths upon the ground like solid things. Three particularly long chains seemed to have been broken halfway along their length. On the floor at the phantom’s feet, lay the shriveled, husk-like remains of Malatrothe.
Before the mercenary and the ranger could move or warn their companions, Mithrodar, for there could be no doubt that was whom they faced, swung one length of chain and snapped it out like a whip, stretching it fully thirty feet to strike quick as a snake around Raelak. The Shoanti screamed in agony as he felt the spectral links pulling something…vital…from him. Herc looked on in horror as his friend’s face became drawn and gray, his eyes sunken. The big warrior seized the Shoanti by the back of his jerkin and yanked him out the door. As he turned, he saw shadowy forms materializing from the darkness around the perimeter of the room. They looked human, but he could see through them, their archaic robes flowing around them like wisps of cloud. As he watched, they began stepping through the walls and into the corridor where the others waited, still oblivious to the danger.
NIHILISM “I knew it!” Kat snapped at Malatrothe’s disappearance.
Beyond the peak of the rooftop lay another balcony with a single door leading into the tower. Herc led the way as the others readied themselves behind him. The sparsely furnished chamber beyond appeared to be a guardroom with a single table, two chairs, and a tarnished brazier. Above the table hung a bronze gong and striker. Three creatures paced restlessly around the room. They were humanoid in size and shape, but their skin was spiked with numerous wicked barbs. Sharp fangs filled their mouths and hooked talons protruded a full inch beyond the ends of their fingertips.
Raelak stood up with an effort and drew back his bowstring. He fired a shimmering shaft directly into the devil’s gut. The fiend spun with the impact, but when it came around again, it unleashed another blast of dark energy. Then, it was struck by a half-ton of fur and claws as Ratbone slammed into it, bearing it to the ground and then rending it limb from limb, ignoring the savage rents its barbs left in his own flesh. At that moment, the confused fiend blinked its eyes once, its vision clearing. Too late it realized its situation. It launched itself towards Herc, but Ratbone was in the way. The druid caught the fiend around the waist and hurled it savagely into a wall, snapping its spine. Then he turned on the cowering fiend and quickly put it out of its misery.
Nihil the Ashbringer crouched brooding in the highest rafters of her tower, the same tower that once served as Kazavon’s personal bedchamber. The irony was not lost on her. She, once the personal assassin of the Dragon Lord, gifted to him by Zon-Kuthon himself, was now reduced to skulking amid the decaying remains of her former lord’s glory, a prisoner of the usurper Mithrodar. She allowed her anger at the presence of intruders within her master’s domain to burn away her self-loathing. They had already slain most of what was left of her once-grand army of gargoyles and fiends, and now they had the temerity to come for her personally. She may have failed Kazavon once, but she swore upon her immortal soul that she would not do so again. As the door to the tower swung open below, she silently ordered her minions to their positions…
The interior of the tall, hollow tower was silent and menacing. High overhead, an opening at the tower’s peak let in light, as did the arrow slits set into the walls, yet nothing seemed capable of dispelling the gloom of ancient evil that loomed there. A shallow pool of stagnant water from past rains had formed in the center of a floor that was largely empty of furnishings. Near the far wall slumped a wide bed, swathed in rotten and moldy bedclothes. The bed itself hung a few feet off the floor, supported at its corners by chains that hung from a series of iron support beams above. To the side, a large gilt throne stood upon a short dais before a series of manacles inset into the floor. A nearby fire grate, long cold, held a collection of branding irons and other torturer’s tools. A series of alcoves climbed the walls of the tower in an ascending spiral. Within each stood a statuette, art object, or polished skull. Ratbone was the first into the tower, his hulking form taught and guarded. His feral eyes scanned the darkness above, and immediately locked onto a bare flicker of movement. His vision rapidly shifted through the visible spectrum, and then beyond. The heat signatures of three large creatures jumped out at him. They were invisible, hovering in the nest of rafters. They seemed to be mostly skeletal, though the fact that their bodies radiated heat meant that they were of flesh and blood, not undead. Long, scorpion-like tails arched over the heads, the spike-like stingers dripping with poison. Ratbone turned to warn his companions as they filed into the room, but at that moment, a harsh, shrieking voice ripped the air, and power flowed through its words. As the blasphemous sound hammered into the group, all of them felt their strength sapped, and their heads swam. At the same time, the three fiends above appeared as they flew down, howling in hell-spawned fury. Katarina looked up as the devils drew nearer. She closed her eyes, driving back her terror and brought the words of a spell to her lips. When she opened her eyes again, they flashed with eldritch light, and the three creatures paused, hovering not twenty feet above. Their eyes locked on one another, and hatred burned in them. Talons hooked and fangs bared, they fell on each other, locked in mortal combat. Raelak quickly took advantage of the confusion and began firing amidst the fiends, while beside him, O’Reginald hurled bolts of crackling lightning into the fray.
Ratbone watched the withdrawal of the Brotherhood of Bones with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. Quickly, however, his attention was drawn back to the matter at hand. Willing his body to transform, he shifted into his avian form and lifted off the floor. As he rose towards the fiends, he seized Herc by the shoulders in his talons and carried him aloft as well. Both of them struck at Nihil as they drew close, but the devil’s skin was like striking iron, and it shed the brunt of their blows.
Raelak darted clear of the ten-foot tall ashmede devil, struggling to get enough room to bring his bow to bear. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession, and Nihil shrieked in a mixture of pain and fury. She lunged at the ranger, batting O’Reginald aside as she charged. Her scythe-like appendage slashed at Raelak like a thresher through wheat. The Shoanti reeled, and felled heavily to his back. Nihil reared above him, preparing to drive the point of her scythe through his chest, when suddenly a bolt of green energy struck her from behind, where O’Reginald had managed to raise himself up on one elbow. Nihil stumbled as her limbs felt loose and clumsy. Her eyes blazed, and lightning flew from her fingertips, arcing from O’Reginald to Raelak to Kat, and lastly Michael. In the aftermath, all four lay on the ground around her. She howled in victory as she moved in for the kill, but her celebration was premature. Too late she saw Raelak raise his bow a final time. Two arrows flew from his string simultaneously, and both struck the fiend in the middle of her chest. Stricken, she stumbled back. Her foot caught on the short dais, and she collapsed into the ancient throne, her head slumping down upon her chest, which heaved one final breath and then was still. Somewhere in the distance, a chain snapped, and an anguished moan rumbled through Scarwall. Ratbone rapidly shifted back into his ape form, dropping Herc to the surface of the ice wall as he landed upon it himself. Just in time, as the first of the bone devils leaped upon him. Ratbone caught the fiend in mid-air, enfolding it into his four-armed grasp. The druid squeezed as the devil clawed and bit at him, as all the while its spine snapped and cracked. Finally, it went limp in Ratbone’s arms, and he dropped its lifeless corpse to the ice. As it struck the wall, however, the ice began to split and crack beneath the feet of Ratbone and Herc. A moment later, the wall collapsed entirely. The druid and mercenary fell, and the remaining two bone devils came after them. Katarina hurled a lance of solidified sonic energy at one, and Herc managed to grapple with the fiend as it tumbled through the air. He slammed at its neck with his shield again and again as it fell, and when the two of them finally struck the floor, only Herc rose to his feet again. Ratbone and the last devil landed heavily near Kat, and as they rolled to their feet, the beguiler blasted the fiend with another sonic lance. It stumbled from the impact, and in that moment Ratbone was on it. The feral druid savaged and tore at the devil as if he were possessed himself. It was no contest…
Raelak's bow is a +13 bow of cheese!!! Mark my words, there will be no such cheese in our NEXT campaign!! Ratbone's player was indeed absent that night, otherwise he would have had a LOT to say, I'm sure!
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS Scarwall was proving to be a frustrating, potentially deadly, unsolvable mystery. Some new undead horror threatened the companions at every turn, yet they were no closer to finding Serithtial’s resting place. The castle was massive, and could take days, or weeks to search completely, assuming of course they survived that long. Something had to give. The group backtracked their trail through the guest wing to the courtyard and the porter’s hall. There, they chose another door they had bypassed on their first trip through. The walls of the dismal room beyond were hung with innumerable bags of netting that held bottles, clay jars, dried plants, desiccated bits of animals and similar things. Tattered, gauzy curtains had been strung throughout, creating a diaphanous kind of maze. The whole was choked with a dank-smelling smoke that seemed to be issuing forth from a pitted iron brazier in the center of the chamber. Incredibly, also suspended within the netting was a halfling woman.
The debate continued for several minutes, with the company split over whether or not to trust the night hag. In the end, there really was no choice. They had no other leads on finding Scarwall’s secrets.
Malatrothe lead them upstairs to the keep’s second level. As they passed down a long hallway, she paused at a set of intricately carved doors.
Herc pushed open the door, revealing an oddly shaped chamber that apparently occupied most of the second floor of the gatehouse. A large set of winches seemed to govern the gates and portcullises in the gateway below. Troughs ran along the sides of the winches, just above a set of murder holes in the floor to the east and west of the gears. Arrow slits pierced the outer walls in several places, completing the room’s defensive posts. A half-dozen skeletal minotaurs stood about the room, and the companions beheld the source of the attack they had endured as they had fled along the causeway. The undead brutes raised their crossbows as the door opened, but Herc was across the floor before they could fully shoulder their weapons. The big warrior leaped into the air and came down swinging his shield and slashing with his blade. Within seconds, he had smashed one of the guards to bone shards. As he turned towards the others, they fired their crossbows. Most of the bolts went wide, but one struck Michael like a hammer-blow, and another spun Raelak as he drew his own bow. That was the only volley the minotaurs got. O’Reginald conjured a hail of heavy stones in the midst of the room, pummeling the creatures beneath the deluge. Simultaneously, Malatrothe hurled a barrage of magic missiles into the monsters, drawing a look of disbelief from Katarina. By that time, Raelak had recovered, and he began to loose arrows in a steady volley, until the last of the creatures collapsed into a bony heap. Malatrothe stepped around the bones and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the guardhouse.
The shadows moved among the allies, reaching out with incorporeal arms to touch, draining the very life force from their victims. Michael raised his hands to the sky and began to pray. The clouds above suddenly released a deluge of rain, but when the water struck the undead, they wailed in agony as they were burned by its holy power. Katarina took advantage of the moment to begin her own spell, conjuring a large, insubstantial fist out of thin air. The hand seized one of the shadows, holding it fast. Then, Laori rushed forward, her chain whirling around her head, and she proceeded to rip the ghostly creature to shreds. Herc moved in as well, smashing and slashing at the shadows, regardless of the fact that half of his attacks passed harmlessly through them. That was not true for Malatrothe’s arcane bolts. They crashed into the undead relentlessly, felling one after another in rapid succession. Raelak reeled from Castothrane’s blow, but he quickly managed to put some distance between himself and the skeletal warrior. Castothrane charged, but the ranger was faster, loosing arrow after gleaming arrow from his bow. They tore into Castothrane like ballista bolts, and though Kazavon’s former minion did not falter in his resolve, his corporeal body could not withstand the assault. Ultimately, he fell, and as he did so, Malatrothe was there. The hag knelt beside him, uncapping a bottle she had pulled from her cloak. The wispy form of Castothrane’s soul could be seen being drawn into the flask. Malatrothe quickly recapped her treasure and rose, giggling. Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a chain snapping could be heard, followed by a soul-chilling bellow from deep within the keep.
Asyra isn't getting punked by hp damage...she's missing saving throws. Also, she's not a melee powerhouse when it comes to creatures with DR or that are incorporeal...her chains are not magical.
THE FIRST ANCHOR Beyond the porters’ hall, a wide courtyard stood at the heart of Castle Scarwall, giving an inside view of the castle’s looming walls and towers. A chill breeze whipped through the yard, carrying a few dry leaves from scraggly scrub bushes that grew fitfully at its edges. A wide, stone-rimmed well stood at the western end, though the stone lip was crumbling and had collapsed in places. To the north, stairs rose to a platform fifteen feet above the courtyard. Atop it, a black double door provided entry into the castle donjon. Double doors to the east stood open, creaking on their hinges, as if left open by someone leaving in a hurry. Bent, rusted, and in some cases partially broken spikes protruded from the walls of the courtyard, and in places, holes in the hard-packed soil hinted at long-missing structures or poles that once stood within. Cautiously, the companions began making their way across the yard and towards the ancient fountain. It was only a faint scent on the breeze, the smell of attar, which warned Ratbone an instant before the attack came. Large, dark shapes swooped out of the sky from the surrounding rooftops, like living gargoyles, but with four arms and heavily muscled. One of them struck Asyra from behind like a battering ram. When her spine snapped, the sound was like a lightning crack in the still air. As she collapsed, more of the brutes landed among the group, one of them latching onto Ratbone with all four arms and then burying its curved horns in his shoulder, while another battered Michael to the ground next to the still form of Asyra. Ratbone flexed, breaking the gargoyle’s grip, then proceeded to rend the creature limb from limb. Katarina spun as another brute came towards her, flinging her arms out and shouting the words to a spell. The monster froze in its tracks, paralyzed. Raelak stepped casually behind it and fired an arrow into the back of its skull. Meanwhile, Herc and Laori stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sword and chain flashing with deadly precision as another gargoyle fell. Michael lay where he fell, unnoticed in the melee. He rolled towards Asyra and passed his hands over her ruined back, channeling healing energy into the horrible wound. When a shadow moved over him, he turned, expecting to die. Instead, he saw Laori extending her hand towards him. When he took it, he felt power flow out of her and into him, healing his own wounds. Two of the gargoyles still menaced the group, so it was several moments before anyone noticed the gathering cloud of darkness emerging from the partially open double doors on the far end of the courtyard. When they finally did, the battle came to a complete standstill, with even the gargoyles starring open-mouthed at the miasma. Suddenly, a blast of blackness emerged from the cloud, washing over friend and foe alike in a dark cone. When it dissipated a moment later, one of the gargoyles lay dead on the ground, and next to it Michael lay as well, stricken, barely breathing, his eyes wide and staring. The others stood pale and shaking, a numbing, bone-chilling coldness penetrating all the way to their bones. Ratbone shook off the effects first, snarling and snapping the last gargoyle’s neck while it was still stunned. The others began moving as well. Laori knelt quickly by Michael’s side, working furiously to stabilize the priest. Sial and Asyra, on the other hand, retreated quickly back inside the porter’s hall, closing one of the massive doors behind them. Katarina knew that the darkness was of magical origin, so she wove a wave of dispelling magic through it, causing it to vanish in puff of black smoke. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Fierce, crimson eyes gleamed from scales the shade of midnight. A terrible, skeletally gaunt draconic visage leered at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck. Its body was black and lithe, so dark that the sheen of its onyx scales made it appear almost indistinct; angular, backward-swept horns, wings that arced like gothic steeples, tight skin, and a thin, whip-like tail accentuated the hissing dragon’s sinister ferocity, giving it the appearance of a starved serpent ready to strike. It hovered in the air some thirty feet above the courtyard, its wings whipping up dirt and grit as they beat downward rhythmically. As the companions stared in horror, the dragon hurled a volley of black light towards Raelak, the bolts striking the Shoanti unerringly. Raelak jolted back several steps, but then almost instinctively, he brought up his bow and let fly with his own barrage. The arrows stuck in the dragon’s scales, flaming against the black hide like burning brands. Herc and Ratbone moved as one, the mercenary quickly downing a potion from his belt, and then lifting into the air, while the druid shifted into his avian form and followed. As they closed with the dragon, however, it struck out, slashing at Herc with one huge forepaw, while snapping at Ratbone with its powerful jaws. What followed was sheer brutal savagery. Ratbone and Herc circled the wyrm, feinting and striking lightning-quick, while the dragon whirled in the air, like a great cornered cat, ripping with its claws, gnashing and crushing bones with its teeth, buffeting and slapping with its wings and tail. Moments stretched out like hours, and then, for a moment, the combatants paused as if by mutual agreement, all panting and struggling to catch their breath.
The spacious west wing of the castle seemed largely given over to guest rooms as well as torture chambers, a statement of the predilections of Kazavon’s reign. Most of these areas were abandoned and looked to have been so for some time. It was only once they had reached the far end, an open antechamber, that they saw signs of habitation. In fact, they thought they even detected the faint strains of orchestral music coming from beyond a set of large, ornate double doors. A vast, grand ballroom lay beyond the doors, constructed in a floral shape with a high, vaulted roof of intricately wrought glass panes that bore a slight rose tint, but nevertheless provided a breathtaking view of the sky above. Clover-shaped pillars supported key portions of the roof above the polished floor of stained cherry, and a wide dais provided room for an orchestra to play or stage performance to occur. A few broken chairs had been pushed into the corners, but otherwise the room was empty. No sooner had the companions entered the ballroom than the music rose to a crescendo. Dozens of ghostly figures appeared in the middle of the floor, swirling and cavorting, floating through the air as the followed the steps of an ancient, rhythmic dance, seemingly keeping in time with the ebb and flow of life itself. Amid the eerie crowd of dancing specters loomed a dark, cloaked figure wielding a scythe, and ominous wraith with the dreaded countenance of Death itself. The group stared in combined awe and horror at the spectacle…until they saw that Asyra and Raelak had joined the dance!
Just a quick side note for those of you attending GenCon: JollyDoc, Joachim (Ratbone, Reaper, Mandi,etc.), and myself (Katarina, Adso, Marius) will be there. The Doc will be running his usual Iron Man battle royal, and we'll be assisting. So please stop by and say hey. We're also participating in the Pathfinder interactive "Betrayal at Absalom" on Saturday night. See you guys there! P.S. Your's Truly will also be running one leg of Betrayal at Absalom!!
I'm not upgrading NPC's or advancing creatures. Mainly I just add more mooks. Usually, since our group has six PC's, I increase the number by 1.5. Granted, I don't give a blow-by-blow of each battle when I write the SH. I just try to hit the highlights. There are some good fights coming up, especially when the K.I.A. starts encountering the spirit anchors of Scarwall...
Some of the PC's can deal out truly withering damage. Ratbone, for example...with Girallon Claws cast, he usually gets one bite, 4 claws and a tail slap. If he hits with at least two claws, he also gets to rend. If all attacks hit in one round, he's looking at around 90 hp of damage in one round! Raelak is also deadly...with rapid shot, many shot, deadly aim and forcebow (which overcomes ALL DR), he's a damage machine as well. Herc is no slouch, using a two-weapon fighting style incorporating sword and shield...five attacks per round.
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