Religion -- anything useful about the old or new rites here. (1d20 9=19)
Vel can't remember much about the old Northern gods. They were worshipped by dwarves and men alike, but men have long since ceased to pay them much heed. The dwarves have longer memories.
You are not sure of the domains or interests of Zemeboh, although the activities of his self-proclaimed cleric suggest that he is not particularly good. Jarovit you recall is the creator of the world in this mythology.
What is certain is that these are ancient gods from an older and harsher time. Blood sacrifice was certainly part of their cult, so the recent use of the altar suggests some kind of revival of their worship.
"It is a tragic tale, milady Vel, but in brief I am exiled to the middle world from the land of Faerie - that is the short of it. Mayhap, I may be indulged the lengthier version at a later date," he says suggestively, "As to how I am here on this isle; I tarried long in the nether realm you call the Underdark, and I sensed that there was a great disruption in the arcane fabric of this location. My haste led me to be captured by the dark ones here, the duergar, and their kobold lackies."
He turns to the group and looks from person to person, "And for what purpose are you come here? Not that I am ungrateful that you have..."
"We are here to seek knowledge of the stones. It seems they are items of great power. Forgive my indelicacy, but, er, do you know where your clothes are, or could we lend you anything? I think our first task it to protect you from the ravages of harsh nature."
"Oh, and I am Kia."
She waits for an answer from Arianwyn and (assuming she recieves one) wanders around the clearing seeing if she can spot anything that might hold clothes or lead to a source of such.
Arianwyn smirks at his fellow eladrin's slight embarrassment, "Kia, a name of such simple purity." he says before adding, "I know not where my garments may lie; I do not believe they would have been to the taste of the duergar."
He looks around the grove, and murmurs, "Great power indeed... then we are here for the same purpose."
Whiteclaw chuckles at Kia's words. "Our first task? To clothe him? No, our first task is getting all the stones scribed, and then to get off the island. Protecting him from nature is a distant third." She rises, stretching a little. "Let's get that stone copied and move on to the others." suggests the gnoll.
Anarak smirks at the repartee between Arianwyn and Kia. "Eladrin..." he mumbles.
He agrees with Whiteclaw. "We're not even here to learn about the stones, only to scribe them. Why don't we get to it so we can get out of this kobold graveyard before that last one brings reinforcements."
Anarak leans against a tree impatiently while the learned folk try to find some makeshift clothing for the former prisoner. He stretches his arms and focuses on repleneshing his energy in case said reinforcements do arrive.
Baldrech stalks the edge of the circle, clearly not listening to the banter.
"One got away. Amateurs. Do whatever you need to do children, I will deal with the kobold."
He crosses over to Whiteclaw. "Good work there. See you soon." It's the closest to approving any of you have seen from the shifter.
So saying, the ranger eases into the trees and is soon out of sight.
Anarak smirks at the repartee between Arianwyn and Kia. "Eladrin..." he mumbles.
He agrees with Whiteclaw. "We're not even here to learn about the stones, only to scribe them. Why don't we get to it so we can get out of this kobold graveyard before that last one brings reinforcements."
Anarak leans against a tree impatiently while the learned folk try to find some makeshift clothing for the former prisoner. He stretches his arms and focuses on repleneshing his energy in case said reinforcements do arrive.
"Aye, what my friend Anarak said."
Gobi stands watch with Anarak while still maintaining an interest in the scribing of the stones. He tugs at some of his own armor straps making sure everything is good and secure in case of trouble.
Vel looks briefly pleasantly intrigued by Arianwyn's story, but then she mutters to herself, her usual scowl returning.
"Whatever is happening here, I hope we have put a crimp in the duergar plans. Arianwyn, do you have any idea how many of them are here?"
While talking, Vel withdraws the materials for the rubbings and sets to work.
"How many of them dwell on this isle? An excellent question milady Vel... I shall tell thee what I can."
"How many of them dwell on this isle? An excellent question milady Vel... I shall tell thee what I can."
Arianwyn
There is certainly another duergar cleric around. He's lurking in the mines you were dragged through.
Something is going on up at the barrow that you don't know much about. It could be another duergar, it could be worse.
There are, inevitably, a lot more kobolds.
Arianwyn, if, as appears to be the case, you speak Draconic
'Wait til my father hears about this trip, he'll surely be impressed with what we've accomplished so far. I'll have to find some better treasure to bring home then a duergar boot'
Gobi thinks while he takes in the conversation that the others are having.
"We should eh..get a move on, it's likely that they'll be even more prepared for us when we head for the next stone. They are obviously trying to keep anyone from scribing them or taking them, heavy as they may be." Gobi says as he sizes up the weight of the stone. "Blech, still feel bad for that lizardfolk."
Vel paces the circle pausing by each of the three remaining stones to trace the markings. The group watch her, each to some extent preoccupied by their own affairs.
It's not dark yet, but there is an increasing chill in the air and as the heat of battle fades you become more and more aware of the unnatural silence of the area. All the noises you would expect to hear of birds and small animals are absent. Even the least imaginative of you notice this. The chill and whatever is causing it emanates from the altar.
Religion; Perception (1d20+2=7, 1d20+1=10)
"There is another of those accursed godi, or 'clerics' as you say around, as well as more of the kobolds - although the little lizards are disgruntled with their partnership with the bearded ones. Something about their hatchery..."
Gobi
Old stories you learned as a very young child are coming back to you. It is said that in the deepest mines the dwarves whisper of knowledge given to them by the old gods. In the days before dwarf and man took different paths, the god Jarovit shared the secrets of wisdom, strength and creation with his chosen peoples.
Those secrets were passed down for generations from father to son, always whispered, never committed to writing. Only thus could they be safely preserved and kept away from those who would abuse the knowledge. The dwarves kept their secrets. Humans however, as is their flighty way, searched for more.
Zemeboh the trickster, ever eager to breed dissent, promoted the human wish for greater glory for his own ends. Unable to subvert the true dwarves and force them to write down the secrets so that he could share them, he had only to wait for a reckless human willing to share the deep secrets. Zemeboh disguised himself as a beautiful woman and seduced a young priest, promising him immortality in return for the writing of that which should not be written.
This piece of ancient history now starts to seem a lot less like folklore.
Icy mist roils from the altar and a spectral figure forms in its midst. Deeply glowing red eyes appear. The figure is roughly human but fearsome in appearance, elongated and ethereal, its form fluid and melding into the mist. Arms stretch towards you, the mouth opens impossibly wide and a voice is heard. It speaks in common, but the words are distorted and you can barely understand.
"Desssppppoillllllers.... betttrraaayalll.... seeekkkkkeers offff immmoorratalllitty....... Foooollls!"
The last word is followed by echoing crackles of sound that might, just might, be laughter.
Perception checks
Below 5:
5-10:
10-15:
over 15:
Religion check
below 5:
5-10:
10-15:
15-20:
20 up:
Arianwyn grits his teeth, and knows that the fear he feels is irrational but is still un-nerved.
Strange, that I who have compacted with spirits of the otherworld should feel such dread for a mortal shade...
Vel steps back a pace, but only a pace, from the mist. She shoots a look to Kia as if hoping for support and calls out, "We are not the despoilers!"
Disinterested at first, Anarak peers closely as the mist forms into a vaguely humanoid shape. He stands up straight and his eyes widen with trepidation. He begins to tremble and cries out, "We can not fight this being. There is no hope!"
Shaking uncontrollably now, he immediately turns on his heels and sprints out of the clearing. He'll run in whatever direction takes him away from the misty figure, along a path if there is one or into the woods if not. In his haste to flee the ghost, he carelessly drops his great axe where he was standing. This is something Gobi, at least, knows he would never do.
Even the drachenboren fears this spectre... the sorceress seems not to be concerned... mayhap she will be able to reason with it...
Anarak/Whiteclaw
Your terrified run takes you down the path. You run for a turn only, putting as much distance as possible between you and the shade. Once you're out of the immediate influence you stop running but it will take some persuasion to get you back to the stone circle. Let's see who catches up with you and how they decide to deal with the situation.
Assume that you're now about half way down the hill - you don't get back as far as the four trails glade.
While she doesn't say anything, Whiteclaw's eyes widen at the sight of the ghost, and she, too, races from the clearing close on Anarak's heels.
AND the beastman flees too! Truly this spirit is mighty indeed...
Kia Rubarka
Perception and Religion checks: (1d20 1=8, 1d20 5=22)
Terrified as she is, Kia realises that the strange shade may be able to help them. Although she remains rooted to the spot, she manages to catch Vel's eye.
"I say, keep talking to it." she manages to stutter through chattering teeth.
Truly my body doth not obey my will!
With a firm shake of her head, Kia throws off her irrational fear and concentrates on the job in hand.
Save v immobility due to scaredness: (1d20=16)
The Eladrin salutes the shade and addresses it.
"Actually, we're the ones who stopped the desecration. Vel, can you keep talking while I go and see if Anarak and Whiteclaw are alright?"
As she goes on her way she pats Arianwyn comfortingly on the shoulder. "Buck up old chap. It's better than a sword in the guts. You can beat this thing."
Whiteclaw feels some of the fear leave her. She keeps fleeing, but feels slightly more in control of herself. She slows a little, trying to chase more of the fear from her mind.
Vel, receiving no response from the spirit, spares her companions a quick glance -- those that remain. Realizing that she is acting alone, she continues, "We hunt the defilers!"
The shade writhes and focuses on the mage. As your ears adjust to the moaning tones, the voice becomes clearer.
"My vengeance cries out beyond time. You futile efforts may yet aid me. I am bound, bound to this place and one other. Fear me if you have betrayal in your hearts."
"How could we help you -- and why should we?"
Anarak tries and fails to throw off the fear. He stops running and turns to face Whiteclaw, his blue eyes still wide with horror.
Saving throw v being a nutbar: (1d20=7)
At Vel's words the shade stretches its arms towards her, the words crackling in its throat.
"They read what should not be read. They move what should not be moved. Now they seek to bring fresh evil to us. Prevent this. Let me rest."
The almost piteous tone vanishes abruptly.
"Fear me. I fell to pride. My touch is doom."
Long fingers of shadow snake out of the mist and wrap themselves around Vel's wrist. A deathly chill momentarily paralyses her before the fingers are removed, leaving behind a trail of sickened flesh where the shadow passed.
"A warning only. Do not provoke me."
The shadow's eyes gleam and the marks fade, releasing Vel from her temporary stasis.
Anarak races down the path ahead of Whiteclaw. After a short sprint, he pauses to catch his breath. Still wide-eyed, he sees Whiteclaw running up beside him. He reaches for his axe and finds it missing. Embarrassed and afraid, he stammers, "I...I thought I heard something over here. Must be further ahead."
He draws a pair of hand axes and continues to move away from the ghost, more slowly this time. He wants to save face, but his first priority is to get away from the spirit.
He brushes off any half-assed attempt to reason with him and pushes forward, searching for non-existent enemies. Any physical effort to bring him back to the group will be met with force and future apologies.
Arianwyn recovers himself and says with all the integrity he can muster, "We seek the restoration of the stones to their rightful places, and if it pleaseth thee, we shall wreak vengeance on the defilers."
Arianwyn's words seem to appease the shade.
"Vengeance unto defilers? My vengeance may only truly come about when my sorrowful bones lie here beneath the altar. Seek them, seek the stones, restore them to their rightful sanctuary. Waste not my eons of torment. Defilers, despoilers, seekers of the secrets of the gods shall perish beneath my guard. Their doom is sure."
The shade's ranting voice takes on a note of warning.
"Beware lest you arouse the curiosity of the gods. Such arrogance wrought my downfall. Seek thou immortality fey-child? Look on my reward and quail."
"Noble warder of the stones, I seek not for life ever-lasting, worry not for that" Arianwyn says, relaxed enough to smile slightly,"We shall seek recompense and restitution, be assured. Not slight is the promise I make, not scanty is the might in our hands and minds. Where lie your bones, so we may set this right?"
"Within the barrows of my kindred lie my despoiled bones. Wrought upon with evil wiles and consigned to doom for untold years, consider me the most wretched of souls. Dearly have I paid for my pride. Noble watcher do you say? Not so. A wretch, a maw-worm, rightly consigned to immortal torment for my sins.
The foul defiler who seeks to abuse the stones already waits. He lingers, captured by his own despoiling lust. Shun him if you can. He is devoured, cursed and will consume you as the hawk consumes the sparrow. Garner weapons, treasure, items of worth. Mayhap I may myself give aid when the time is ripe."
"Thy long guard and the aid you give us speaks of your nobility. We shall heed thy words, and give you rest."
Gobi stands and nods in agreement with Arianwyn.
"We should leave immediately, I wonder where anarak went off to.. it's not like him to leave like that."
He then turns and looks over his shoulder for Anarak.
After recovering from the shade's touch, Vel clutches her arm, more than contented to let Arianwyn continue the diplomacy.
Anarak finally comes to his senses.