The apparition remains at the edge of dark, well within the treasury. It stares at you all down its nose, in disbelief. Then, a whisper tears through the icy silence. The words are so cold, they send involuntary shivers down your spines.
(Abyssal:)""(/Abyssal)
Authority radiates from this obviously undead creature. Partyl because despite those layers of mist, rotting carcass, and ghostly limbs, there are hints of what can only have been a Half-Elf woman of unsurpassed beauty in life.
You have no trouble at all imagining hordes of men crying for the privilege to kneel at her feet. and even now, she is still quite easy on the eyes.
as Sindran politely tries to open up a conversation, she floats closer.
Instantly recognizing the apparition, Caladwhen suddenly looks wide eyed and horror-struck, almost as if she were staring at a monstrous reflection in the mirror. While fear grips her, Cala has at least the presence of mind to respond respectfully, albeit quietly and devoid of her usual confidence.
Eyes transfixed on the apparition as it closes the distance, Cala's right hand rises to cover her mouth. What a nightmare. Her heart rate racing, Caladwhen suddenly sinks to her knees and seems to be labored in her breathing. After a moment, she drops her hand and quietly murmurs
Realizing that the apparition has engaged conversation with Sindran, Caladwhen fires a startling look to Sindran that cries tread carefully...
Sindran keeps his calm demeanor even as the powerful being approaches him.
(Abyssal)"We have done nothing to your priests and acolytes," Sindran says, looking at the woman in the eye. "They have been slain by the Victor and have likely gone to Abaddon."
Ezra is surprised to learn this news. Her eyes flare brightly for a second.
""
The news seems to please her, however....Clearly, you have a different moral compass, than the members of this Death cult. This will take some getting used to...
Mumbling to herself, she adds:
Her stormy appearance is somewhat settled down by the course of the conversation. She eyes each of you up and down, before turning to the kneeling, frightened Cala. Ezra smiles at the appropriate gesture of reverance.
'may' as in 'have my permission' or as in 'could be'...
what the hell is she proposing? Best be very careful when picking your vocabulary... You may share the same words with this death cult, but it seems you do not have entirely the same 'language'...
Aerent watches in disbelief as Caladwhen kneels in supplication before the floating apparition. Hearing what she says in elven, he furrows his brow in confusion, not understanding her unusual display of emotion.
Looking at his comrades, he tries to gauge their reactions. Sindran and Oret, remaining calm as always. Talon, always looking ready to leap into action. Everyone else behaving as expected...
After listening to the harsh grating language of the Abyss for a few minutes, Aerent's impatience finally gets the better of him. He bluntly asks, "So what does she want?"
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Knowning that it takes years and years for any wraith-like creature to form 'naturally', for lack of a better word, the most plausible theory would be that Ezra is merely rather young Banshee. She may not yet be at her full strength, or she may not yet be aware of her full strength. That's good, in case she becomes a problem.
In other words, I'm going to seriously downscale her to match the game as written. For now, she has a young template, but that's not near enough. She needs to lose 6 levels somehow, and until I find a quick and dirty solution, I'd prefer that you help to avoid that we need her stats for now :) A Banshee is far cooler than a dull dread wraith. That's just a stupid curtain with eyes, no?
Looking slowly up at Ezra, Caladwhen still appears horribly awestruck. Observing her more closely though, the pieces begin to fit together more succinctly in Cala's mind. She is young, at least compared to most Banshee I have ever read about. That is most promising; she may as of yet not realized her own true potential.
Though visibly still unnerved, Caladwhen battles to regain her wits. Quietly, she curses herself for her panicked outburst. I will not share her fate.
While slightly less bewildered of the specter of Ezra than a moment before, Caladwhen is nevertheless cautious and anxious in her presence. In a most deferential tone, Caladwhen responds
Gesturing towards her companions, Caladwhen adds quietly before returning her attention uncomfortably back on Ezra
Sindran misses nothing in the subtleties of the words and watches the proceedings carefully with Ezra devoting her full attention to Caladwhen. The necromancer's body language was alarming when confronted with the ghostly being.
Hearing Aerent's question, Sindran murmurs in response, "New priests."
He takes note of the other two shapes aside from Ezra.
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"...imprisoned by the one the humans so insolently refer to as the Victor...."
Ezra screams wickedly, twisting, shaking clenched fists at the air, seething with frustration.
She quickly regains her composure, and with a fearsome smile, quietly speaks""
"Our purpose is to right that wrong, and release Vetra-Kali Eats the Eyes from his prison to inflict vengeance and his mercy on the those that pollute this plane with their existence."
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He takes note of the other two shapes aside from Ezra.
They are ghostly figures - gray holes in the darkness with two barely visible pinpoints of orange/red light. The creatures vaguely resemble the humanoids they were in their previous life, and if you look closely for a while, one of them might be wearing tattered, utterly faded ranger's clothing, while another appears to wear tight rags - the remains of a nicely crafted leather armor perhaps? There are some more pinpoints of light near the back, but it's hard to tell if it's the shine from the gold or the eyes of another of these ...spawn.
Whatever they were, now they meekly, slowly follow Ezra's moves. They show no aggression - no motivation of any kind, for that matter.
Ezra, while waiting for your answer, suddenly twists her face as if spattered by onions.
Suddenly uninterested in your presence or answers, she leaves - by floating through the floor. The spawn follow her.
Besides Ezra, there is also the small matter of the treasure.
Heaped about this room is the accumulated wealth of the Sons of the Pale Horseman.
Two iron plates both carved in abyssal that read “Aticus” and “Andian”
About a ton (yes, 2000 lbs) of solid silver furnishings --
plates, silverware, goblets, candelabra, cirlets, jewelry and
the like worth 10,000 gp total
600 lbs of similar golden items -- worth 30,000 gp
Six chests full of mixed coinage from dozens of nations worth 5,500 gp total (approximately 550 lbs of coin)
A carefully packed crate holding a dozen potions of cure moderate wounds (labelled as such in abyssal)
Ornate silver belt studded with obsidian
A plain golden ring
An ornate teak wood box
A walking stick of hard black wood adorned with silver fixtures and green semi-precious stones
you also notice a faint green glow at the back of the room. At the center of the far wall is a small podium, that rises from the floor like a claw. Between its talons, it clutches a single dark radiant emerald, and you instantly notice the similarity to the emerald you found below - this is another Eye of Vetra Kali!
Moments later, a visceral scream much like the one before echoes through the entire complex - you quietly count yourself *very* lucky that you're not on the same floor as Ezra right now.
The moment Ezra leaves, Caladwhen appears to breathe a sigh of relief. Standing up again, she takes a moment to finally regain her wits once and for all.
Trying to minimize her earlier state, Caladwhen quickly mutters "Whatever you have to say, just don't." Pointing into the treasure room, Caladwhen adds "In any event, we're in luck. Among the piles of jewels and riches in there rests another emerald Eye of Vetra Kali."
Flinching upon hearing Ezra scream from below, Caladwhen closes her eyes and folds her arms protectively around herself. Get a hold of yourself.
Opening her eyes again, its clear to all that Cala is contending with some inner turmoil. After a the screaming dies down, Caladwhen quietly remarks "Ezra will want to view the seal when she returns. I can take her, but clearly we need to get that emerald."
Talon lets his fingers fall systematically on the hilt of Rygat. "So. What's the plan?"
Aerent gives Caladwhen a guarded look when she rises, but his face borders on concern, rather than contempt. Grimacing, he forces his eyes to look where Cala points, and his eyes catch sight of the emerald.
Hearing Talon's question, Aerent suggests, "At least we know where it is - until we are ready to start the ritual, do we need to hold on to it? Leaving it here, under Ezra's supervision may serve to get us into her favor. Let her know we'll need it in a few days, but that having her guard such an important piece of the ritual will allow us to focus on other matters to ensure success."
Moments after Ezra screamed her heart out, she returns, rising through the floor.
Ezra is obviously furious about something she discovered on the 2nd floor.
A ceaseless stream of abyssal guttering spawns from her mouth.
""
After she calms down a bit, she explains the issue.
The look on her already enraged face suggests she believes she's provided enough information and is surprised you are still here.
Talon has Rygat halfway out before the situation is explained to him. At this rate I'll kill her just so I can get some sleep. "Consecrated, huh? Don't imagine you can take care of that Sindran. Can't imagine where we could get a scroll of that without too many questions asked."
"Can't imagine where we could get a scroll of that without too many questions asked."
Ezra stops her raging only to look you square in the eyes.
""
""
The ghastly apparition disappears into a wall - screaming madly. The wraithspawn remain behind, passively, mindlessly floating like a discarded toy.
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in other words, she seems to have lost interest in you.
As the horrid Banshee stares down Talon, Cala slowly places her hand on his shoulder gently to intervene.
Watching with relief as Ezra disappears, Caladwhen shakes her head. "It would be just my luck; the one embodiment of the living dead that I want nothing to do with," pausing a moment, Caladwhen mutters with a sigh "makes its home right here."
Shaking her head, Caladwhen somewhat nervously approaches the treasure horde "On the plus side, Ezra has a very different definition of rubble than us. There is a sizable fortune here, which we can doubtless put to good use."
Halting her train of thought, Caladwhen turns away from the treasury and looks back at everyone "We should probably get down to the second floor soon... there must be something important there, important enough that Markadian consecrated it, and Ezra desperately wants back there."
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Heading down from the 3rd level to the 2nd involves a nasty ninety-foot angled descend (adequate handholds, DC15 Climb) but it is far easier to fly or levitate down.
Looking all the way down, you see small specks scurrying around the cave entrance - probably the BaneWog Goblins. Something seems to have got them in an uproar.
Looking closely, it seems odd that some of the specks move at high speed away from the cave; at first in a straight line, then a flash of light, and the small green speck awkwardly tumbles to a complete stop.
Is this some odd Goblin game? Why are they not guarding the Horn? Likely they have caught a wild animal, overestimating their ability to tame it! Or...maybe......are we under attack?!
The entryway to the second level is accessible via a small winding stairway that hugs the side of the Horn. This small stairway rises from 1-1 almost two hundred feet and is covered in places with thick ropy vines. The entire stairway counts as difficult terrain.
2-1
Once you arrive at the aperture, you are confronted with a forty foot long entryway that should by all means be a death trap. Between the arrow slits (six on the right, six on the left), the pit trap and the half-height-barricade at the corridor’s end, this should be the true defensive hard point of the Horn.
Now, it is anything but. No one mans this defensive hallway. The once concealed pit trap is open and obvious, a twenty foot wide chasm with a wooden plank put across it by one of the more adventurous Goblins who
once ventured up here.
The pit traps drops down directly into the cell at 1-23.
Talon narrows his eyes, then swears. "Get down there! NOW!" Talon leaps down, body pointed downward to increase his speed. Before he crashes into the ground he spreads his wings and pulls up, leveling out and grunting at the strain on his back. He looks around for the threat, grabbing a goblin and asking what's happening if he doesn't see anything.
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The lump of panicked goblin in Talon's hand squawks and squeals, desperately trying to break free of Talon's grasp, anxiously looking over its shoulder.
When you look around, you find that the scenery has changed slightly. What used to be a downward slope full of small stalacmites, is now a downward slope with stalacmites, and a horde of moaning, frightened Goblins, who are desperately trying to claw their way out of some elaborate form of webbing, or netting.
None of them are hurt.
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Talon shakes his head. "I'm on your side moron. What is this? We're not dealing with some giant spider are we?"
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Her elven eyes, keen as ever easily pick out the commotion below. To herself, she whispers "What are those damnable creatures up to now?
Unsure of the urgency, Caladwhen stares blankly at Talon as hollars before departing. Looking to the other men remaining, Cala shrugs and adds calmly "Well, something must be afoot. I can get the three of you down safely, though it may take a few minutes to make the descent."
You hear a muffled laugh - a chuckle, really - from behind you
"A giant spider...? Oh, that's good, my dear boy, that's good..."
A medium-size figure detaches itself from the shadow of the entrance; robed and hooded in a midnight-purple velvet cloak, it blends easily into the background - especially with the screeching BaneWogs providing a distraction. It is clear that the cause of their distress is a covering of alchemical gloop that is holding them in place and from which they are trying in vain to break free.
The hooded figure nonchalantly fiddles with and eventually lights a pipe that is evidently of halfling make. Having lit it, the figure holds the pipe in its left hand and gestures with its clawed right hand toward the goblins, whose howls of rage have subsided to an impotent whimper as they realise they are stuck fast.
The figure looks up at you – you notice yellow eyes glowing fiercely within the shade of the hood – and says (in a heavy Chelish accent):
“Tanglefoot bags – Never leave home without them.”
Evidently pleased with itself, the figure draws heavily on its pipe and blows a smoke ring; the gesture is slightly obscene, in some indefinable way. The smoke is heavy and reeks of sulphur – if it is tobacco, it's obviously laced with something.
As if remembering its manners, the figure pulls back the hood of his midnight-purple velvet cloak, revealing – in addition to yellow eyes – a bald, red-skinned head with prominent cheek bones, small horns on his brow and a narrow mouth filled with several rows of needle-pointed silver teeth. Evidently a half-fiend of some kind.
The tiefling places his large, clawed right hand against his chest and bows – very slightly. His needle-pointed teeth flash in the light, as he speaks again:
“Morvius Zaan, at your service. Our paths have nearly crossed twice already, so let us hope that third time is the charm. I was taken to Branderscar – for a trivial matter that I won't dwell on now – the morning after your … departure. It seems that a fellow named Ron had set the prisoners free and taken over the place, killing everyone else in the process; I took advantage of the confusion to avoid my appointment with the branding irons. My intent was to flee back to Cheliax, with the help of one of my associates in - Ballentyne. I arrived at just about the same time as a rampant horde of goblinoids. The city was almost entirely defenceless, with the exception of a dwarven rearguard trying to hold off the invaders for long enough to let the citizens flee; I put a stop to that. Dwarves may be resistant to poison, but they explode very satisfyingly if you heat them up just right; I've a theory that -"
Morvius visibly checks his enthusiasm for an undoubtedly gruesome technical explanation; another slow draw on his sulfurous pipe, another indefinably obscene smoke-ring, before he forces himself back on track:
“Anyway, as I was saying: I made myself useful to the invaders and got to know Sakkarot Fire-Axe himself; splendid chap – but then of course you've met him. He told me of the plot to take over Andoran, so naturally I put my escape plans on hold and went to pledge myself to the good ... that is to say, the Cardinal, who kindly issued me with a Contract and sent me here to join you.”
Morvius pauses.
“I take it that I am addressing the Ninth Knot?”
Meanwhile Cala slowly descends the Horn, maintaining an impossible lump of people holding hands while steering.
Zikomo emerges from the cave mouth, staff crackling with readied magiks. Shaking with insulted rage, he aims the staff at Morvius and commands him to...
"rrrelease! my Horrrrde!"
Talon stands there with his scimitar drawn, a black edged weapon that seems to pulsate slightly. He glances around at the mess, the panicking and angry infidels, then back at the Tiefling with an annoyed look. "I've killed for a lot less than this. We have enough to get done without cleaning up this mess, on top of that most of them are getting some of those things done." Talon's eyes shift over to the little blue and grey one, the same one who put feathers in his hammock and he has (although he would never admit it) taken a liking to. When Zikomo burts in he looks back at Morvius, then raises his sword and with a gesture sets it on fire. He walks up to him, towering above then puts a finger on his chest. "Think next time." And he goes about, using his flaming sword to cut the little buggers free.
Sindran leaves the treasure to the others, reasoning that it can be accounted for later. He flinches when an unearthly scream echoes throughout the chamber before sighing, pinching his forehead.
Sindran breathes out heavily after Ezra is gone, leaving them yet another task. He slowly unclenches his fists, placing another blank stare on Talon. "I'll get right on that," he says in a dry tone.
He heads on to the second floor with the others but whether he actually meant that he'll do the task or not is somewhat difficult to decipher.
Sindran peers down and sees the stranger and Talon surprisingly freeing the trapped goblins. "Hmn."
** spoiler omitted **
Sindran peers down and sees the stranger and Talon surprisingly freeing the trapped goblins. "Hmn."
Flying down the side of the horn, the scene begins to come together for Caladwhen the closer she gets. Gracefully leveling herself off, Caladwhen continues hover approximately five feet of the ground with her right leg bent knee facing outward.
Before engaging in any conversation, Caladwhen calmly guides the men to the ground safely, her outstretched hand guiding the floating trio between herself and the new arrival. Insurance.
Satisfied, surveys the mess and ever so slowly looks towards Zikomo. With a single eyebrow raised, she address the goblin priest with an ever so slight hint of derision
Without waiting an answer, Caladwhen fixes her gauze back on the tiefling in their presence with a distrustful scowl, but addresses Talon
Talon responds casually while cutting the goblins out (although being fairly rough about it).
Morvius calmly smooths down his robe where Talon poked him and languidly takes another draw on his pipe, this time exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. His face takes on a sightly amused expression as he watches Talon's efforts.
"My dear boy, don't exert yourself - the effect will wear off soon enough."
Sure enough, the tanglebags' effect is over; the gloop hardens and crumbles to dust, freeing the BaneWogs.
Morvius continues.
In any event, how was I to know they were goblins (not something I would admit to, but it takes all sorts...)? They're not harmed; I simply stopped them from attacking me - they might have muddied my robes."
As the others descend, Morvius courteously bows to each and introduces himself, repeating the story presented above as required. He then strides over to Zikomo, crouching down to be in his face:
Goblin:
Morvius stands up, rearranging his features back into their usual neutral expression, and resumes his previous courteous tone:
"Now, assuming that you are indeed the Ninth Knot, and that you're prepared to accept my story and my assistance, why don't you fill me in on where you'd got to?"
Trying hard to find a way to take advantage of the situation, Zikomo stands and raves a prophecy.
"The father speaks! The father speaks! He say red man come! Red man bring BaneWogs GREAT fires! Go inside, BaneWogs! The Chosen must speak with father."
Deeply impressed by this display, the tribe heads inside.
Even though no child would buy Zikomo's crap for a second, he neatly controls the chaotic Goblin tribe, and they fade into the caves to leave the big-uns talk.
Talon nods to Zikomo, and once all the little-uns are gone he wraps an arm around the tieflings chest and puts Rygat to his throat. The scimitar crackles with energy, making your hair stand on end. He slowly draws it across the skin, just barely breaking the skin and letting a small trickle of blood drip down. "I'm sure we would all like a little reassurance in this matter."
Morvius sighs wearily, putting a hand up to his throat to catch the blood and prevent it from spilling on his clothing.
"I suppose boys will be boys... If you will permit me?"
Morvius reaches slowly under his cloak and pulls out a piece of parchment that is ominously familiar to you all.
"There - my copy of the Contract, prepared and counter-signed by Dessiter the Phistophilus; I assume you remember him? He's covered in parchment, a difficult fellow to forget, I would imagine."
"Now, will that satisfy you? If so, perhaps you could tell me a little of yourself - starting with your name?"
A nod of understanding towards Talon, the lithe elf flies over towards Morvius and lands gently in-front of him. Taking the parchment from his hand, Caladwhen unfurls it while adding "You speak Auran do you? Fascinating. How did you come to learn that dialect?"
Quickly scanning the document, Caladwhen sighs lightly after absorbing its contents. Waving her hand over it, the document glows lightly further proving its authenticity "You can release him Talon, it does indeed bare the prose and seal of Dessiter." Rolling up the contract again, she hands it back to Morvius.
It appears that insufferable Cardinal and his pets are checking up on us again.
Looking intently on Morvius, Caladwhen studies him closely a moment before finally adding dispassionately "We are the members of the "9th Knot" Morvius, welcome." The tone in which Caladwhen referred to the 9th Knot suggests the cold and calculating necromancer doesn't put much, if any, stock in the title bestowed them by the Cardinal.
Bowing slightly as a sign of respect, the elven girl finally introduces herself "I am Caladwhen Aldimae of Kyonin."
I've got my work cut out dealing with these unsophisticates...
Morvius gladly receives back his copy of the Contract and bows floridly, even extravagantly, to Caladwhen.
Morvius pauses at this point and re-lights his pipe, which had gone out in all the excitement. Having lit it, he blows another ring of sulforous smoke. Switching back to the Common tongue, he addresses you all:
"Now that I have I trust established my credentials, perhaps you can inform me of your progress towards the goal? Then we can see how best I might assist.
"I understand entirely that you may be suspicious of me - I would be were I in your place - but I hope to be able to prove myself to you.
"I have always considered myself to be a loner and this idea of cooperation - of trust, even - is new to me; but let us consider that we may be able to hang many more people together than we would be able to hang separately, yes?"
Morvius frowns to himself.
"Do you know, I don't think I HAVE ever hanged anyone? A most notable oversight..."
Talon lowers his scimitar and shoves Morvius away. "Yes, don't get in our way. Don't touch anything either." He jumps and spreads his black wings, taking off.
Talon lowers his scimitar and shoves Morvius away. "Yes, don't get in our way. Don't touch anything either."
Morvius - quietly - snaps. He has been polite, respectful, friendly and courteous. All to no effect. It is time to demand some respect.
Talon's push has no effect whatsoever - Morvius is far more strongly built than he appears - but as Talon moves away, Morvius sweeps back his cloak, revealing a polearm . In fact it is a fauchard (picture here) and he sweeps with it, making a trip attempt on Talon.
Success! Talon does not launch himself in the air, but instead tumbles to the ground in a flurry of legs, wings and arms. As he falls, Talon feels the blade caress both sides of his neck, drawing blood twice over.
As a move action, Morvius follows up, bringing the blade toward Talon's throat, but not touching.
"Dear boy, the Infernal Hierarchy has absolutely no place for blustering fools like you. Listen carefully - I don't care what 'inner conflicts' you are struggling with. I don't care whether your parents didn't love you enough when you were an egg. I don't care about you at all. No, not even that much.
"All I care about is the Contract, which states that we have to cooperate to achieve our goals. You don't want to cooperate? Fine, then you are in breach of Contract and your soul becomes forfeit to Asmodeus; you become a personal plaything of his forever and ever. And. Ever.
"You don't seem too bright to me, so I'll spell it out - that is a Bad Thing. You don't want it to happen to you.
"So, what will it be, my dearest, darling boy? Will we cooperate, or am I removing your head and commending your soul to the Dark Prince and leaving your body to the oncoming walking tree?
"Either works for me...
"Go ahead, boy - Make. My. Day."
While talking, Morvius - as a swift action, using his prehensile tail - reaches for one of his extracts (fly) and drinks it.
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Sindran, with his magical helm, understands everything that is spoken. As the conversation continues, he slowly comes to pinch his forehead with two fingers, not at all in a mood to deal with yet another variable to consider, even when it is one sent by Cardinal Thorn. Especially when it is one sent by Cardinal Thorn.
It is this that lets him be one of the first to notice the approaching treant. A very inflammable treant. A perfect outlet for his frustration, perhaps?
The half-orc turns his attention back to the group, noting that relations have further progressed emotionally and increased the likelihood of future strife. Another spike of irritation and Sindran bellows a word,
An unnatural stillness follows his proclamation and his arm movements further hint that it is a spell, his hands almost appearing to choke and pressure something invisible down.
"Enough," he growls, tired of the posturing. Even as he speaks, he can feel the spell workings its effects on him. Already he can feel himself distancing from his emotions. A rather crude method of self-control, but a helpful one to have in his repertoire in certain situations. "We can speak later. Cardinal Thorn sent him and that is what matters for now."
He then turns his attention to the Tiefling and draws his attention for the first time. "I am Sindran Eithe and there is a treant approaching. You may have noticed it." Doubt on abilities, first seed of needing to prove self.
Sindran is a strange first impression here. He wears what appears to be a completely ordinary helmet at first glance and no visible armor, but hints of chain links can be seen protruding from plain, dirty clothes.
Not what would be a fearsome sight if it didn't serve to highlight his reddened flesh, numerous dark scars and the black charred limbs that are his arms, a withered reminder of dead skin and necrosis. He bares sharp teeth into a smile.
"We had planned to take care of it later, but your antics may have revealed our position too early." A reasonable supposition but not one backed with fact, a part of Sindran's mind continues to analyze. Still, leaves possibility of subject causing fault and leaves room for guilt. Subject unlikely to place blame on self but may react to responsibility. Anxiety and stress in group higher than normal, introduction of new element serves to further heighten tension. Likelihood of group conflict higher, requires immediate intervention before worsening. Previous goals of familiarizing and securing new home insufficient. Succeeding through adversity together improves relations of individuals involved. Strength shown to be respected by all concerned individuals. Approaching obstacle an opportunity. Approaching obstacle can burn. "Thus, we now have a tree to burn. I'm sure you know where this is going and I expect you to be of assistance."
Funeral pyre shall be glorious.