Starting with the south west door you move through several rooms of varying degree of interest.
An empty antechamber; a room scarred with spell blasted gouges; a set of six holding cells in a row - all empty. And then two rooms with slightly more:
One where the walls and floor are covered in abyssal script. The phrase “Receive the wisdom of Abaddon” is written prominently on the curved northern wall. There is a circle of script in the center of the floor that is the nonsense word “nen” repeated over and over again.
The second piques Shendalyn's interest most keenly... it is empty now, but in faded color on the walls are scenes of sumptuous excess. Erotic murals of mundane, exotic and daemonic persuasion abound.
"Did that one. Did that one." Cannibalism just isn't my thing. Will do that one later." Ah that reminds me. I should do this in advance.
Jethryk regards the spell-gouged room, and the script covered room with a raised eyebrow.
"I wasn't aware that Wisdom was associated with Daemons...", he says, dryly.
He then moves to explore the next set of rooms.
Cruxcarr waddles up to the magic-scoured walls, examining them closely;
: [ooc}Aw fer fecks sake![/ooc]
After drawing deductions he moves to the circle of script, not steeping inside, but pondering the words and their implications as he licks his lips...
;
"Indeed they are not Master Devarre... Mmmmmm..."
"You can find wisdom in all things that dwell in the dark." Shendalyn says dryly. "The Prince of Darkness did not invent the darkness, he merely patented it and put a copyright on it claiming intellectual property."
"As fascinating as this all is Shendalyn can touch himself later. Lets finish clearing the place." Mi'Dre suggests, waiting impatiently to check the other side.
Cruxcarr can not ken exactly what caused the damage, but the damage seems superficial enough to make you think of fire or arcing spark rather than acid. The circle of script makes no sense... though the nonsense word is not dissimilar to those found below upon the thrones.
Moving from West to East you check the remaining single door and find a room empty save for ash and splinters. The walls of the chamber scorched black and rough by a burst of fireball or similar.
In the Eastern end of the room is a now poorly concealed secret door that opens into another room whose floor is covered with ashes of what was likely once books. The only thing that remains is an inscription in Abyssal that reads “Behold the secrets of death. Use them for my glory.”
Moving to open the double doors you find they open unto an expansive and vaulted chapel. The fane is adorned with a riot of lurid color. Brilliant bas reliefs depict daemons of every sort engaged in countless acts of wanton evil, callous destruction and inhuman savagery. Rows of pews allow a congregation of the chosen to gather. The podium is doubtless where foul sermons of Abaddon’s wisdom and bile were delivered to those gatherings.
At the front of the chamber are four shrines:
A white shrine decorated with bas relief depictions of open pits of the dead and lepers crying in anguish.
A shrine of red stone decorated with cruel iron weaponry and scenes of slaughter.
A shrine of black stone decorated with images of mortals wasting away from hunger and starvation.
A shrine of pale green stone adorned with a skull with two coins over its eyes and an inscription of jagged abyssal writing which reads “Behold a pale horse. Its rider is Death and all shall follow him.”
In the center of the north wall though is a large bas-relief image of Vetra-Kali sitting crosslegged holding his greatest work, his masterpiece, a vial of some sort. Below the vial is inscribed a name ‘The Tears of Achlys.’ Vetra-Kali also holds three blades and a strange jagged key with an Abyssal inscription “Hail Vetra-Kali”.
The three eyed daemon prince pays homage to the four shrines, but there is no doubt that this fane is built primarily to honor him.
On all the other walls are litanies of the deeds of this monster. It was Vetra-Kali who crossed the great void and came to the prime material plane to establish the Sons of the Pale Horseman. It was he who oversaw the construction of the Horn of Abaddon and it is because
of this that the Horn superficially resembles this horror from another world.
"One day a few thousand years from now I'd like a temple to myself located in a giant phallus as well." Shendalyn muses as he looks at some of the shrines.
Know planes.
Mi'Dre approaches the altar to war first, nodding approvingly at the quality of the images. As he moves along the row drawing near to the central statues however he suddenly stops with a choked off cry. Turning on his heel his launches into the air with a look of terror on his face, almost braining himself as he flees through the doors, down the corridor and out into the air above the peak putting it a goodly distance behind him before he regains his senses and his dark little heart slows it's frightened rhythm.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Jethryk sniffs in disdain as Mi'Dre flees.
"Tsk. Typical. Competent help is so hard to get these days..."
...he then ambles forward as if he did not have a care in the world.
"You know," he says thoughtfully, "I think that there is a secret door right here."
Jethryk then steps forward to the eastern wall, to look for the opening mechanism.
"Let me know when our errant companion returns."
Hearing Shendalyn's comment, he chuckles.
"Why settle for in a thousand years? I am sure we could each arrange something suitable within a hundred, if that is where your tastes are..."
Jethryk grins, and winks at Albina.
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," he says, airily.
The secret door is easily opened, but you are disappointed to find that the room behind it is filled only with junk and debris. Confused a sweep of magic detection is done... and both the fear generating throne... and the secret door radiate strong auras - the secret door specifically conjuration based.
Shendalyn, wishing to avoid the embarassment of fleeing for his life abstains the approach and instead attempts to identify the spells on the door.
Spellcraft
Shendalyn has no real idea of what type of spells or otherwise are woven into the door.
Cruxcarr eyes Mi'Dre's fearful retreat with a rictus smile. With slow ponderous steps the hemothurge-to-be waddles forward - allowing the magicks to wash over him;
;
The a disdainful sneer he dismisses the enchantment and the power it represents:
"Had this been a the tomb of a Thassilonian Runelord my Blackhearts, Mi'Dre would have shat out his entrails in terror..."
Cruxcarr too approaches the door to discern its arcane nature; caressing sausage like fingers across its surface as he whispers softly to himself;
:
When he finally masters himself Mi'Dre reverses his course and flies back more sedately then he left. He slinks quietly back into the room, lurking behind the pews and eyeing his companions wondering what their interest in the door is.
Cruxcarr feels that the door acts as a portal of sorts, when the key is not used it opens to rubble... but perhaps if the key was found then it could be re-directed to a different destination.
The corpulent mage smiles, needle-point teeth playing across whetted lips;
“Most curious my delicious Blackhearts... The door requires a key, one that if we had possession of would enable me… us…to unlock its potential application as a portal of sorts..."
"Do you mean a physical key, or could it be something else?" Mi'Dre asks, approaching casually. His look though dares any to comment.
Jethryk nods to Cruxcarr.
"Very well. We should go over this place with a fine tooth comb, to see what we have missed."
Jethryk stares at the door critically, before opening and closing it a couple of times, uttering a different phrase each time.
"Open Sesame!"
"Hail Vetra-Kali!"
"Try it in abyssal. Actually never mind I will."
"What about the three word fragments we've found. Nen, Yah and... whatever the third was. Any of them fit together into something intelligible?" he suggests, looking at Shendalyn.
The first attempted phrase meets with a minor groan from the meta-verse... but no tangible response from the portal. However as the words of praise towards Vetra-Kali are uttered, there is a deep thrumming sound and the secret door shimmers slightly. When opened, it does not open unto ruin or debris... and nor is the space unoccupied...
Coalescing in black smoke and lingering malice is a wraith... powerful and sinister. Flanking it are three similar creatures though smaller and less foreboding. The larger incorporeal creature speaks with breathless voice "I am Ezra Thrice-Damned, and I am death. Your soul quivers fearful and calls for me to consume it..." the black that makes up it's form roiling and darkening "Is there any reason why I should not drink from it until you wither and die..."
Behind the wraith the room glows with an eerie green light... playing off of the literal tons of gold, silver and items arcane that fill this treasure vault.
"Frankly my soul has been accounted for at least three times over in the past year so you'll have to take it up with my debtors. Lovely place you have here by the way really though we're searching for a chap that goes by the name Vetra-Kali? Tall chap, likes to have paintings and statues made of himself? You see our current employer would like to have words with the fellow about a certain shall we say, infestation of Inheritor loving sheep let loose in Talingarde and he believed that the best bet would be to consult an expert on the matter. You don't happen to know where we might find the necessary parts required to summon him do you?" Shendalyn flashes a bold fearless smile though truth be told an inner voice of his was screaming quite loudly for his legs to move very much the opposite direction of these thigns and at speed.
The insubstantial darkness pauses for a moment, before resuming swirling and the voiceless breath speaks "You seek the gift of Vetra-Kali... and would see him freed?..."
Jethryk raises an eyebrow as he regards the incorporeal beings in front of him.
"Well, we seek the Tears, and thus need to restore him to this plane... Unleashing him on the lackeys of the Inheritor is a delightful side benefit. From what we can tell, it will take quite some time to perform the proper rituals, though; 222 days, to be exact..."
Mi'dre tenses up as the door opens to reveal an intimidating scene. He may not know what the things are but the only other remnants from Vetra-Kali's time had been powerful daemons, so he is wary of these things now. He looks briefly to Shendalyn and Jethryk as they speak up, keeping his own silence as he waits for a reaction from the creatures. His hand curl and flex unconsciously as he stands ready.
|
Albina regrets not learning how to twist negative energies to control the spirits of the dead, that they must wheedle and plead with this shade, instead of demanding it's compliance.
As Jethryk has taken the lead in the conversation, Albina keeps her silence, not wishing to complicate negotiations with dissenting or conflicting views.
Cruxcarr silently weighs up the undead before him;
Interesting... Servitors of this "daemon price", rewarded with the boon undeath... Oh to feast upon their most bitter essences... quite delectable I would wager...
:
The mage steps forward and bows his head slightly toward Ezra Thrice Damned;
"Indeed we do seek both Vetra Kali's gift and release from the shackles that bind him... Perhaps however it would be more prudent to assist us in this undertaking..?"
Cruxcarr then smiles slyly at the tall shade;
"Afterward, you are more of course, more than welcome to try to feast upon our black souls... Presuming... of course, you and your triad of phantasm lackeys survive to that juncture..."
Cruxcarr's recollection does not connect undead specifically with Vetra Kali's worship - instead you wager that the wraiths were formed during the fall of the horn, when dark energy flowed into the newly dead and raised one of them back wrong.
The dread wraith regards Jethryk and Cruxcarr in turn as they speak, before it's swirling shadows writhe in a mockery of a nodding head. Sound is heard "We will not kill you... as long as you act to return Vetra-Kali. Swear a blood oath upon this, spill your blood on the Eye and it will be yours." the wraith turns to gesture at the dark radiant emerald that sits on a pedestal in the center of the room. It fills the room with a tangible sense of hate, something that might sicken once of fainter heart... but serves only to excite such as yourselves.
|
|
"The ritual to awaken your lord will necessitate the creation of hundreds of flasks of unholy water, which will require great quantities of silver. Unless you know of a great vat of unholy water we can draw from in this place, we will have to use coin from this room to complete this task." Albina says matter-of-factly to the wraith, attempting to show the same level of scorn for the amassed riches.
The wraith hisses in what seems to be laughter "Vetra-Kali will provide. These are but trinkets and worthless next to his grace."
"Then let's get this over with..." he mutters, eying the Wraith warily. It seemed that their goals aligned after all, but he was wary of making such oaths. "Do you require such an oath from each of us?"
If the answer is in the affirmative, then he will look to the others, before moving forward and biting at his wrist, holding it out over the stone. "I swear to do all to complete the ritual to free Vetra-Kali."
The wraith sussurates with conviction before turning to the rest of you and awaiting your own oaths.
Once oaths are given, it gestures towards the pedestal "Take the third eye... I sense the other two upon you... all are needed for the ritual."
Strewn around the chamber are the following:
Ornate silver belt studded with obsidian
A plain golden ring
An ornate teak wood box holding a glass lens
A walking stick of hard black wood adorned with silver fixtures and green semi-precious stones
Two iron plates both carved in abyssal that read “Aticus” and “Andian”
A ton of solid silver furnishings -- plates, silverware, goblets, candelabra, cirlets, jewelry and the like
600 lbs of similar golden items
Six chests full of mixed coinage from dozens of nations
A carefully packed crate holding a dozen potions of cure moderate wounds (labelled as such in abyssal)