Ialo remained neutral through much of the explanation.
"I will say only this. My goals are my own but the way has shown loyalty in turn. So long as they remain true, so will I. None are an exception and make no mistake, death itself will not stop me from those who have wronged me."
His voice had remained calm and even his expression did not shift with his words. But his eyes were clear with a madness that left no doubt, an unmistakably pure madness of intent. With nothing more he picks a vial and consumes it's contents as if taking a draw of water.
As each of you are handed one of the vials, and drink down its contents, you immediately feel your body begin to ache as the oily concoction goes to work on you.
For moments, you are certain this was all an elaborate trick to see you each kill yourselves, likely to provide these necromantic lords fresh bodies to work with, but then, the pain begins to subside, replaced with...something more...
As your bodies slowly begin to recover, you see in your peripheral vision five more of the armored skeletons enter through the portal, each of them carrying a chest, and sets one at each of your seats.
As the serum burns through Aleksei's veins he seems to shrivel and age even further on the spot, bending over in pain. As he rises his eyes blaze with newfound power. He opens the chest at his feet to reveal a darkly burnished breastplate chased with motifs of bones and undead all over its surface. Next to it lies a black cloak and a gleaming morningstar mace, both of excellent quality. He picks up the equipment and puts it on. When he is finished he looks much more like he would belong among this group, rather than act as their servant.
"What now?"
As you each go through your...enlightening, Krovax steps away from the portal and returns to his seat, his posture far more relaxed.
The elf-slave weeps openly on her knees beside Marcus, who tauntingly strokes her golden hair, much like one would stroke the fur of a pet dog.
Zarkal rises and folds his arms into the sleeves of his robes. "There are few who remain that were alive during the Master's reign on the surface. I, am one of those few. I was but an acolyte of the master back then, but time has been kind to me," he says with a hint of jest in his voice. "With time, I was able to unlock the secret of my own immortality, master an array of arcane arts, as well as learn many other important facts regarding our Master's imprisonment."
"You may, or may not, be aware, but Tar-Baphon is held captive within his fortress due to the power of The Great Seal. It is an artifact of immense power, one that cannot be broken directly. However, it's power is supported by the existence of three Lesser Seals. Each of these serve as a capacitor of sorts, storing and channeling energy into the Great Seal. In order to have any hope of destroying the Great Seal, these Lesser Seals must be eradicated first."
"The bastards of the Shining Crusade took great pains to see to it they were secreted away, but I have one bit of information that none, aside from my colleagues here, are aware of. I was witness to exactly who left Gallowspire with them."
"So we hunt down the seals and...break them? By what means might they be destroyed?"
"The methods for their destruction will have to be gleaned upon their acquisition," he says dryly.
"So who left Gallowspire with them? No wait, let me guess, some Iomedean Knight of Ozem with a holy greatsword up their arse," Aleksei replies.
Marcus and Isabella both chuckle at Aleksei's remark.
Zarkal sends a dire look their direction, before answering, "In a manner. The shards were sent away with a member of each faction that rose up against the Master: the Taldans, the dwarves of Kraggodan, and the Knights of Ozem. Each of them had a champion that was entrusted with the secreting away and protection of the Lesser Seals."
"The first was given to the Taldan General, Arnisant. Another given to the Dwarven Lord Dorven Greathammer. The last, to Wilhelm Tilernos, then a well respected commander of the Knights of Ozem."
Dragos quickly downs his vial and closes his eyes. For a moment, the inky black fluid sits on his tongue. Then, as though with a mind of its own, it slithers down his throat leaving an oily slick that stains his lips. He grabs his throat as the oil blocks his lungs from pulling in air and collapses to the ground, mouth working in mute agony. His veins blacken with the oil and the whites of his cloud over.
Tiny liquid-black children flayed of skin claw and tear their way out of his body along the blackened veins. They grab hold of the ends of the wounds with tiny hooked hands and pull outwards and back, drawing and stretching the skin over his armor, pulling it completely free. One of the flayed figures bursts into flame. The dark metal of the armor glows white hot and runs like water over Dragos' thrashing form. Blackened blood oozes forth from the wounds, covering the armor in a slick patina that vaporizes in a thick mist that smells of blood. Two more flayed children burst from Dragos' eyes. They hammer and pound at his helm, cutting and reshaping the faceless helm into a perfect likeness of Dragos' face.
As the flayed ones work, they pull out various spikes and razors from their bodies and thrust them easily into and through the armor, clearly riddling the dark paladin's body with the metal piercings. Other flayed ones take Dragos' skin and pull it tight over his shield.
Their work nearly done, the children climb back into Dragos. Two through the holes in his eyes, and the others into his mouth and wounds. Each grabs the ruined flesh of his body with their hooks and talons and cruelly pull the wounds shut. A single flayed child remains behind, and fills four small glass vials with Drago's dripping blood before slitting its throat and contorting itself into a straightened pole.
Dragos breathes deep and stands from the ground, his tattered red cloak hanging from spikes rising out (and partially driven into) his pauldrons. The rest of the armor is an exact copy of his flayed body with every sinew and line of musculature exposed to see. It is covered with numerous and intimidating spines and razors that look more directed inwards than out. Clearly, they harm the wearer more than his opponent.
The helm is an exact copy Dragos Vako's face, with the mouth pulled into a beatific and sublime sublime smile.
Thank you, Dark Prince, for showing me your love and grace! Dragos holds out his armored hands, flexing and moving his body to get used to the new armor. I shall send many joyful noises to You this night! His voice is filled with wonder contentment as he returns to his seat at the table. He leaves red footprints in wake and his armor still glistens wetly in the candlelight.
Do any of these people have surviving heirs we can question? \
"Indeed. Though, there is no guarantee that the Seals still reside directly with them. The 'heroes' could very well have hidden them away somewhere. However, this will at least give you some starting points..."
As the liquid falls down his throat it seems to vaporize with in him. Seeping into his very being as directly as possible, the sensation is strange. A creeping cold that burns slightly at the edges. A madding cackle that is louder and deeper then any mortal should be capable of emits unbidden from him. His unseen aura pulses out, the skeletons shuffle back, away from the claiming grasp as if they still possessed some undying instinct to avoid capture. Their is little physical change to be seen on Ialo, yet those with sharp senses both living and undead feel a difference in him. All the while his mind is whirling with new perspective and understanding of knowledge half forgotten or revealed with new truths. Details escaped by a mind not fully realized of what was being learned and overseen.
Shaking all the new revelations aside he opened his chest. Donning the items without a word, knowing all their secrets unbidden. A silky thought granting him the information with each hand laid upon them. Finally when the last gem was pocketed his most precious and odd possession rustled of it's own accord with in a deep pocket, the poppet whispered new secrets to him. Promising more power for them and their vengeance.
After what seemed a long time and a few questions by the others, Ialo speaks. His voice as quiet and calm as ever.
"Is there any information known about the fate of any of these people? It may serve us to know the most recent news of them or their bloodline."
He brought his own knowledge to bare now that it had been enlightened by the elixir. He took a moment to focus with the aid of his power.
"The Greathammer's still hold the seat of power among the dwarves of Kraggodan, and, in their pride, still hold the seal as a trophy in their great hall. This one is the easiest to locate, but possibly the hardest to acquire, as it is guarded, literally, by an army of dwarves. The seal entrusted to Tilernos family was long held in Vigil, but, was secreted away about a century ago to an unknown location after an idiotic band of thieves thought to steal it and hold it ransom over the Knights, only to fail and cause them to relocate it, but we feel strongly that the Tilernos family still is aware of its location. The last is on the other side of the Inner Sea Region, and what became of it once it crossed into Taldan lands, unfortunately, remains a mystery to us..." answers Fostian.
Confronting the dwarves sounds the most exciting, but would be the least strategic move at this time. I would welcome the challenge of fighting an entire citadel of dwarves, but it would not be secret, and we must remind hidden in the shadows until Tar-Baphon is released. But with careful practice, we could find the heirs of Tilernos and make them speak.
Ialo thinks for a moment, still getting used to his sudden abilities and what they bring.
"The dwarves should be last, we need an army to fight an army. Though not in the way most would think. Or a plague."
He moves on without dwelling or explaining his thoughts.
"Arnisant would not go unnoticed or his family name in Taldan, while the seal may be secret and unknown. I doubt the man or his legacy could do the same among the dandies and endlessly nosy nobility. Yet connections and wealth will be required as the nobles will share not even their presence with anything less. We have nether and their arrogance is endless."
Again he abruptly shifts topic.
"That leaves the brood of Tilernos with in the heart of the nation most opposed to our goal. Locating them will be the least of the task. Approaching and gaining the information another if they are anything like their ancestor. Still it is our best course I believe, the approach will be determined by what we learn."
His slow gaze sweeps his newly empowered companions in the venture.
"I believe some of you will need to find proper ways to foil the gaze of the holy knights and others like them."
While he was not a wicked person by nature, nether was he a noble soul. Perhaps once upon a time, but that was long ago with a life less empty of fallen brothers and sisters.
"That seems to be sound reasoning, Ialo. I fear our very appearance may be enough to get us in trouble in Lastwall. We need magical disguises of sufficient strength, something like an alter self enchantment. More money would certainly go a long way towards making this mission a success. Or perhaps we can find rot in the heart of Lastwall. No place is all good, especially one so close to my homeland. Temporary allies might provide us with a place to hide while we work."