”My apologies. Of course we would all wish to greet you and we thank you for your time and patience as we make our case for your aid. While Karzoug has been bound for 10,000 years, certain followers of his have made it their mission to reawaken him, with significant results. He now has the ability to possess some of his servants in the mortal realm and guide their actions. We came to this place seeking the Runefoge, to craft weapons able to defeat him. We have those weapons, but now are seeking escape. We have learned that that escape lies in the realm of Wrath, but before we save ourselves, we want to make sure that the denizens of necromancy, the last realm we haven’t cleared (other than Envy which we believe was destroyed years ago) can’t also escape through this portal.”
"And also to prevent anything here to fall into Karzoug's hand," Lym says as she rises and dusts off her robes.
Facing the Deva, she continues: "Soldier of righteousness, I am Lym Blackhand, the one who drew you to this place.
Why should you care? Karzoug is stealing souls to power his return. He is alive - or possibly undead. Either way, he is not bound by any rules or limits that apply to the foul hosts of the Low Planes. He tricks; he lies; he betrays; ultimately he murders, and both the souls of the wicked and the kindly fall into his hand.
His evil must not stand. This Runeforge, where the Runelords of old practised wickedness in relative harmony to enhance their power, must not stand. We hope you will join us for these purposes, but you are not my prisoner. If you choose not to join us... go home in peace."
Thordak stares at the angel in awe for several moments before finally shaking himself free of his trance. He then looks to his allies, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ya know, I did not know this lot could call gods to help us. Look out dungeon, Torag's comin' next," he says with a victorious grin while nodding happily.
To Praxim, the angel says: "A worthy goal, and a wise course of action."
To Lym, she says: "Rules binding those of the Lower Planes? I have yet to see such rules. Your description of Karzoug is an apt one, yet I see little difference between his evil and that of the Abyss or the Hells."
She smiles as Thordak speaks. Clearly she heard his comment. "Gods? Not I, valiant dwarf. I am merely a soldier in the Endless War."
"I will help you," the angel says, "but there is a price. While such a cause as this is great, it pails in comparison to the conflict that does not end. I will be missed, and I should bear some token upon my return that my time here was well spent."
"What do you offer?"
"For starters, there is this," Lym says , indicating the robe of the (evil) archmagi. "This item is yours to destroy."
"This..." she says grimly, "...is an excellent start. Anything else similar? I would expect this place to be full of such things."
"There is this," Lym says, as she digs through her pack until she finally extracts some books. One is foul-smelling and ill-made, others are shod in dark leather and ooze chill malignance somehow.
The spellbooks of Mammy Graul and Barl, and the Twin Serpent spellbook Lym claimed a time ago… Such a long time ago it seems, now.
"This one," Lym explains as she nudges the Graul book, "was written by an Ogrekin matron whose sadism pranced through the vales of madness, and who inspired her whole clan to unclean wickedness. The dark books were the property of a Giant in league with Karzoug; they are filled cover to cover with necromancy. The book of the twin sepents belonged to a foul cultist which served the return of the lord of Greed.
Not all that is collected within is wicked, but all of it has been used for wicked purposes.
How many of them would you like to seal our agreement?"
"I am quite certain you have taken what you need from these." The angel says as she gathers up your offer. "But I will ensure they are not used for evil again. We have an accord. What next?"
"We shall make our final preparations and then proceed to the halls of Gluttony," Lym declares, "to raze them and lay waste to any guardian creatures and/or researchers which remain -- provided they are, indeed, consumed by evil.
After we have finished with ancient Thassilon's centre of necromantic research, we assess our collective conditions, recuperate as needed, and move on to the halls of Wrath. There, we expect to find the key which will allow us to depart this Runeforge.
We must ask that you allow us to give you some guidance in order to preserve our order of battle -- none of it intended to besmirch your honour or subvert your purity!
Once we mortals are safely back on Golarion, our contract will be concluded, and we shall bid you good journey back to Nirvana and farewell -- barring an occasion occurs when I call to the Upper Planes again and you should answer my call, or perhaps Tomaru's.
We mortals will then return to our headquarters in the Astral Plane to plan our next move and continue the war against Karzoug.
Should you find occasion to warn your fellow Celestials that at least one Runelord has survived, we would surely appreciate it.
Is that acceptable to you?"
"For the most part, mortal." she says haughtily. "While I will take your...'guidance'...regarding your order of battle, I will not take orders from you. I have fought - and survived - in a thousand thousand battles. This is but a minor skirmish in the grand scheme of things. I believe I know my role best."
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"Lym, my sweet, can you tell me how many charges are currently in this Rod of Absorbtion?"
We start the day with a good breakfast. Tomaru will cast Heroe's Feast.
cures everyone of all sickness and nausea; everyone gets the benefits of both neutralize poison and remove disease, and gains 1d8+7 temporary hit points; everyone gains a +1 morale bonus on attack rolls and Will saves and a +4 morale bonus on saving throws against poison and fear effects for 12 hours.
The Deva is welcome to partake.
Aurora eats the Heroe's Feast
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Lym enjoys a hearty breakfast.
Once the meal has been finished, she casts a spell on herself which is fast becoming a daily standard.
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Thordak dives in like he hasn't eaten in weeks. After stuffing himself, he appears to be a little ill. "Oh man. Don't suppose we've got time for a nap, do we?"
"Up you get, private Ironheart," Lym says with mild sarcasm. "It's another glorious day in the army of justice, goodness, kittens and mom's apple pie, so get off your bottom and onto your feet."
Slightly more seriously, she adds: "I've studied a flight spell for you, so just let me know when you're ready to become the miraculous self-hurling Dwarf again, hmm?"
To the deva: "Thordak has actually become quite the proficient flier under our tutelage. It's always amusing to see the looks on our enemies' faces when the party's main warrior in heavy armour suddenly takes off and starts flying around the room. Ah... It would probably not be as novel for an Angel, but I can assure you it's hilarious for us mortals."
"I would expect that it would be...for mortals..." she says dryly.
Praxim also enjoys the breakfast. ”I’m curious...what do angels find hilarious?”
Rexil also enjoys the breakfast, though he looks quite reluctant to venture forth once again.
Tomaru looks over to Rexil and he understands. "I told you once before, it's not how many times you fall down. It's how many times you get up. What we're doing here is crazy, but to get home, we have to see it through. Firm your resolve. Take heart in our companions. When you make it back home, you can tell of the time you went into battle next to an angel." Tomaru slaps Rexil on the back, giving him Moment of Prescience, and gets back into position.
Jorimandus' notes describe the The Ravenous Crypts of Gluttony thusly:
'In the thousands of years since the fall of Thassilon, the necromancers of the Ravenous Crypts ran into a problem—without a constant inf low of new bodies, they quickly ran out of fresh dead to work upon. The necromancers initially turned to the other wings, assaulting them and attempting to harvest other students for necromantic supplies, but the other wings proved too well defended. In the end, the necromancers succumbed to their own sin of gluttony and effectively became cannibals, turning on each other for raw materials. It didn’t take long for one necromancer to win this war—this was the lich Azaven. Over the past several thousand years, Azaven’s advances in necromancy have slowed to a near standstill and the crypts have long since emptied of the dead. His greatest necromantic triumphs dwell in the crypts now, but Azaven himself spiraled into introspective Oblivion.
That changed with the wakening of the runeforge well. After taking part in the destruction of the Abjurant Halls, Azaven managed to harvest a fresh supply of dead and is in the process of revitalizing his experiments. He spends all of his time in his laboratory, but the crypts beyond are far from safe.
The Ravenous Crypt is exquisitely crafted. Arches are elaborately carved with stunning artistic patterns. Ceilings are 10 feet high in corridors, all of which are adorned with decorative moldings inlaid with silver angels. Chambers are usually arched or domed to a height of 20 feet and covered with beautiful frescoes and mosaics depicting sleeping men and women tended by cherubim and soothed by angelic singers and musicians. The floors are covered in smooth, fitted flagstones with inlaid ceramic tiles in various decorative patterns. All doors are made of wrought iron.
Seems like a lot of work from one dedicated to Sloth, until you realize these notes took Jorimandus 500 years to write...
"I leave such things for mortals." she replies with a sniff, "Mortals have such short lives, that they need to indulge in extremes of emotion. I would guess to experience the full spectrum of life before it is snuffed out like a candle."
Seeing Rexil's reaction to her words about 'short lives' and 'snuffed out', she frowns.
"What is wrong?"
"Up you get, private Ironheart," Lym says with mild sarcasm. "It's another glorious day in the army of justice, goodness, kittens and mom's apple pie, so get off your bottom and onto your feet."
Groaning, the dwarf reluctantly rises. "Alright, alright. Probably best I work this off anyway."
Slightly more seriously, she adds: "I've studied a flight spell for you, so just let me know when you're ready to become the miraculous self-hurling Dwarf again, hmm?"
Nodding, "Aye. Will do, lass."
To the deva: "Thordak has actually become quite the proficient flier under our tutelage. It's always amusing to see the looks on our enemies' faces when the party's main warrior in heavy armour suddenly takes off and starts flying around the room. Ah... It would probably not be as novel for an Angel, but I can assure you it's hilarious for us mortals."
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "Noooo, no. It's not, it's not that funny, lass. I'd have ta say it's... it's... it's, um... intimidatin'! Yep, that's what it is. Intimidatin'. Pretty scary stuff if I don't say so meself, goddess lass," he claims, giving a firm nod. He then looks a bit confused, as if something's wrong. "Is it 'don't say so meself' or 'do say so meself'? I can never remember. Bah. Doesn't matter."
"Tomaru had to resurrect Rexil just prior to my calling you," Lym replies to the deva. "It is... difficult for us, to pass beyond the Veil, then return and realize what has happened. It takes time to process."
To Thordak, she says: "I mean it's funny to see the look on our enemies' faces when you suddenly lift off and start zipping around. They never see it coming."
Rexil was about to answer when Lym steps in instead. He just meekly nods his head, both at Tomaru and the angel, grips his greatclub all the tighter and prepares to enter with the others.
"Ohhhhhh, okay. Well now THAT'S true. That is pretty funny," he chuckles. "They're like: 'Oh no, it's a flyin' dwarf. Now what are we gonna do?' he mocks in a high pitched, scaredy voice and pantomimes flailing hands. "And I'm like: 'Grrrr! Argh! You'll do nothin' but die! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!' Oh man it's classic stuff," he chuckles some more.
Praxim looks from the angel to the dwarf and back again. ”I’m sorry for him. We’ll get him house-broken...eventually.”
Aurora will stay in the second rank where her high Perception can be put to good use.
Tomaru will also be in the second rank. Fighting undead is kind of what he's supposed to be good at.
Praxim looks from the angel to the dwarf and back again. ”I’m sorry for him. We’ll get him house-broken...eventually.”
Thordak completely misses Praxim's remark as he's steadfastly caught up in his own world. "'MWAHAHAHA, you'll do nothin' but die'; yeah that's a pretty good one I gotta admit. I think I can come up with some better ones though. Will have ta think on it," he mutters to himself, grinning excitedly.
Lym likewise walks in the second rank. Or rather, she floats along there, her feet inches above the ground.
"Tomaru," Lym says while the group proceeds, "did you pray to starry Desna for Death ward and Lesser restoration today? Thordak, Rexil; when the undead show up, don't rush out to meet them; we don't want you getting isolated and outflanked, not with the kind of damage they can do. Aurora, this is a place where you can go buck wild with your fire - you know, just so long as you manage to avoid the rest of us. Praxim, are you scanning for evil?"
”Always, though so far the only bad things I’ve detected are Thordak’s new catch phrases,” he replies, and indeed, he begins a methodical scan for evil. It restricts him to one move action per round, but this isn’t a place we want to rush into anyway.
"i do have two Death Ward, my love, and can take care of any restorative needs as well."
Praxim's scans immediately detect evil. It is everywhere; the floor, the walls, the ceiling above. It is omnipresent and overwhelming. Not ten steps in and he is forced to stop scanning just to keep his own senses clear.
The angel with you looks stressed, as if she is bewildered. She shakes her head to clear it.
I...I cannot focus...it is as if the very walls exude evil..."
"Take a moment. Breathe, if you can," Lym says. "Shut down the sense. I had a similar problem when we arrived here and I tried to use Detect magic."
"We knew we were coming into evil. This place is permeated with foulness. This is precisely why we called you. You can see that you are needed here."
”I think that’s polite Desna code for ‘I told you so’”, Praxim says as he shakes his head to clear his senses.
"How are you feeling now, soldier of righteousness? Are we ready to proceed?"
The angel blinks hard, twice, ignoring your comments and questions. Then she moves forward alongside Thordak. The ornate hall opens up into a larger room.
The ceiling of this circular domed chamber rises to a height of thirty feet. The walls are decorated with ten grinning skulls, each gripping what appear to be bits of flesh in their teeth. A flight of steps leads up via a corridor in the far wall. Six desiccated and dried bodies lay in state in the center of the chamber. The bodies are covered in strips of ragged linen and silk. The flesh is black and shiny, and shiny black beetles clatter over (and in places, through holes in) their frames. As you watch the beetles constantly moving about, you see some falling off and turning to dust, only to be reborn in the desiccated flesh.
”So shall I just preemptively put arrows in anything that moves or looks like it could move?”
Praxim bonds with his bow, making it +5 holy undead bane.
"Wait! The area master is a lich. The possibility exists that this is a trap, primed to go off if we interact with it rashly."
"They're all probably undead. We should be ready to destroy everything."