Landing gently on the ground by the expired elemental, Caladwhen quickly observes the damage inflicted on the undead Treant. With one raised eyebrow, Caladwhen quickly renders her judgement "It can be salvaged. Nariel, mend the damage done to the Treant so that it can be of further use to us."
After Nariel quietly acquiesces to her demand, the elf Necromancer raises her hand, summoning T'larryo to her. "Yes, there remains no obstacles between us and the seal; we can at last begin. I'll lure Halthus to the seal..." pausing a moment, Caladwhen appears contemplative as she looks towards the men "actually, Oret, Talon I would appreciate your company. If Halthus were to grow wise to our plot, it would be prudent to have your physical strength should he grow violent."
Slowly looking back at the Horn, Caladwhen takes a deep breath and releases slowly before addressing everyone gathered "Two-hundred and twenty-two days gentlemen. Are you prepared to unleash untold misery?" With a wicked smile, Caladwhen adds quietly but malevolently "I don't think redemption will be possible for us once we're done here."
Talon nods, stepping over and standing on Cala's right. He looks up to the sky at her words, whispering softly to himself in Strix.
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stumbling around the corner, grasping one of the *exquisite* wine bottles from the High-deathpriest's stash in each hand, comes Halthus. It takes him a few seconds to realize he has missed the fun because, well, he was having too much fun.
Drunkenly swinging his arm forward to hold one of the bottles out to you (the most empty one, btw) Halthus just barely manages not to fall face-first after it, as the sudden motion further disturbes his equilibrium.
With a look the registers both contempt and disgust at the sight of a grossly inebriated Halthus, the imperious elf shakes her head and whispers in her native tongue
Putting her inclinations aside, Caladwhen produces a charming and seductive smile while forcing herself to approach the eighty year old soon-to-be-corpse "Halthus! You missed quite a show here. In any event, we thought we'd all take a look at the seal that traps our master now that it is accessible." Pausing a moment for dramatic effect, Caladwhen suddenly and coyly winks and asks in a very slow and sensuous tone "Care to join us?"
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I'm guessing everyone wants to be present in the sanctum at the start of the ritual.
The sanctum is a large, domed chamber; baroquely decorated and everywhere adorned with jagged daemonic iconography and visions of spreading pestilence and mortal suffering. Dominating the chamber is the statue of Vetra-Kali himself carved from hard green alabaster. He holds three knives and three bowls and leers eyeless over the altar before him. The statue presents a figure of brutal alien malice.
The green stone of the altar is stained black in many places, doubtless from the countless victims who met their end upon its block. There is a reservoir at the base of the statue and any water placed there is instantly polluted and transformed into unholy water.
Completely out of place is the heavy silver chains that bind the altar and connect to a heavy argent seal pressed with the holy sunburst of blessed Sarenrae -- the Silver Seal. As long as the seal persists, Vetra-Kali will never again manifest upon this mortal plane…yet still, defiantly, the statue radiates evil.
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As soon as the death priest dies on the altar and his heart is placed in the first bowl, the Horn begins to burn. An alien voice of pure malice speaks : “Kazara Vo” -- in abyssal: “I hear.”
Like a great unholy beacon, ghostly green flame flares upward into the sky. Any remaining greenery and overgrowth blending the stone spire into the Caer Bryr burns away in another flash of dire radiance. The Horn is now revealed in all its daemonic glory. Abyssal runes carved in the stonework glow furiously. Wraith spawn dance outside the Horn cackling in glee. The earth shakes - and even in Farholde, they feel the shocks. Any hope of keeping the Horn a secret now disappears in one blaze of balefire.
After a while, the pyrotechnics are over. The Horn still smolders with a residual green fire but it is no longer visible from a distance.
Not that this matters. Every soul in Farholde saw the eruption. Everyone can point the way to the Horn. And by the morning every tongue wags: “Evil stirs in the Caer Bryr.”
There is good news. A successful Knowledge (arcana) check (DC 20) reveals that the residual green fire is a natural magic barrier. None can teleport through or send a magical message. Teleportation and summoning work fine within the Horn, you just cannot pass through the shield while the 7 month ritual is ongoing.
And so, the tedious countdown begins. You must complete 666 rituals – no, 665 now that the first sacrifice has been made - to break the Seal. And then, on midnight, some seven months from today, Vetra-Kali will return.
Only then, finally, you can start with Thorn’s original task; get the Tears of Achlys.
Everyone knows something is afoot in the Horn. Question is...How long before the first explorers arrive? A daunting task awaits – but it is also an opportunity. A chance to show the world that only through order and inherent ability a country should be ruled – instead of the current, insulting, method of inherited nobility ordering folks around.
With skill in healing/surgery and possession of a healer's kit and the requisite ... implements - some of which are even sharpened - Morvius would appear to be best placed to do the extraction of the necessaries (now that he has returned from caressing and gloating over attending to the alchemical golem).
What he lacks, of course, is any means of cajoling, persuading, bluffing, or otherwise non-violently leading the victim to his doom. He will therefore keep his mouth shut and watch the socially skilled people go about their business, surreptitiously taking notes on not merely what they say but how they say it, in the hopes of learning something (not that he would admit to this).
Talon stands next to Cala, his thoughts running much the same as Morvius.
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meanwhile...
up comes strolling a larger-than-life shape. Long limbs, bulging muscles, and no neck -the head seems to grow directly onto its shoulders- make the appearance quite intimidating.
Its skin, impossibly, seems to be constantly moving. Unfortunately, you're not close enough to see the tiny puffs of some sort of black matter fleeting from every bit of the creature's skin - as if the entire body is burning with a black fire - but the flames arent't even an inch high, and apparently, quite harmless*.
As it reaches the still-smouldering treeline, it exposes its razor teeth.
With Halthus drunk and easy to manipulate, Caladwhen makes her move to get him to go willingly. Without drawing too much attention to herself, Caladwhen whispers quietly in elven, discretely making an alluring gesture.
Satisfied that Halthus is under her influence, Caladwhen makes sure the flayer accompanies everyone to the Sanctum. The whole journey up, Caladwhen makes reference to the glory of serving their master Vetra-Kali, and how she would even die for his resurrection.
"I mean, wouldn't you give your life for our master Halthus? It would be an honor of the greatest magnitude would it not?" The question is sweetly asked, yet rhetorical in nature and tone.
Approaching the Sanctum, Caladwhen exudes the affectation of reverence, but is sincerely curious. Finally, we have an opportunity to see the Victor's handiwork without interference.
"Fascinating... well, I think we can begin, no? Turning to Morvius with a quick nod, Caladwhen inquires "Are you ready to begin Morvius? I understand you'll be performing the surgery." Looking over at Halthus, Caladwhen smiles longingly, but with just a hint of malevolence swimming in her icy blue eyes "Halthus, do you remember when I asked you if you'd be willing to give your life for the greater glory of Vetra-Kali...?"
Talon doesn't do anything out of the ordinary, but he is standing behind Halthus and watching his reaction.
Sindran goes to meet the new arrival and a sharp grin adorns his face, reflecting Grumblejack's own, when he sees who it is.
"Finally," the half-orc agrees, admiring the black flame that rises from Grumblejack's flesh. He walks around, inspecting his new form. "I see you've finished. Excellent. Let's go inside--there's much to celebrate and more to do."
"I mean, wouldn't you give your life for our master Halthus? It would be an honor of the greatest magnitude would it not?" The question is sweetly asked, yet rhetorical in nature and tone.
Turning to Morvius with a quick nod, Caladwhen inquires "Are you ready to begin Morvius? I understand you'll be performing the surgery." Looking over at Halthus, Caladwhen smiles longingly, but with just a hint of malevolence swimming in her icy blue eyes "Halthus, do you remember when I asked you if you'd be willing to give your life for the greater glory of Vetra-Kali...?"
Morvius nods, slowly. He has shed his usual rather dandyish apparel and is instead wearing the clothes he wears when conducting alchemy: tough cloth and a long leather apron with full-sleeve leather gloves.
Both apron and gloves are pitted and stained from many years' use; some of the marks are clearly chemical/acidic in nature, while some are rather more... distressingly organic. Morvius is preparing to add to that number.
He quickly checks that Talon and/or Oret are in position behind Halthus, ready to grab him if need be. But first, they must wait for the stroke of midnight for the Dirge of Apollyon: the Supplication to Darkness.
As the Ritual begins, Morvius finally speaks. His yellow eyes fix their gaze pitilessly on Halthus; his mouth distastefully shapes itself around the gibbering vowel sounds and ludicrous consonant forms of the Abyssal tongue:
"No, you have failed, Halthus. There is a price to be paid for that. It comes late, but it comes . Goodbye, Halthus."
As Halthus slowly begins to understand that we - the Ninth Knot - are not his friends, Morvius acts. Faster than the eye can clearly follow, his scalpel cuts Halthus under the ribs, cutting through the diaphragm and up towards the chest. With his other hand, equally as quickly, Morvius reaches into the gaping wound. His clawed hand closes around Halthus' heart, and he forcefully wrenches it out of Halthus' body.
This causes a number of things to happen.
Firstly, the cut across the diaphragm is a disembowelling move; Halthus' entrails, guts, liver and all the organs in the lower part of his body cavity fall out of his belly toward the floor.
Secondly, the removal of the heart in such a fast and brutal manner means that everyone within the front 90 degree arc of Halthus is drenched in blood. This blood rapidly pools around the body, so that everyone within a 10 ft. radius of Halthus finds that their footwear is suddenly sodden.
Morvius absently passes the still-beating heart to the ritualist for placement on the altar; his yellow eyes watch with interest as the life fades from Halthus' face. He is calculating how many minutes he has to remove the brain before it starts to die from lack of oxygen.
As Morvius performs his brutal incision, Talon steps forward (completely uncaring of the blood) and wraps a muscled arm underneath Halthus's armpits and around his chest to hold him up for his next incision.. His other hand he keeps on the wall so not to lose his balance on the now-slick ground.
With a deep sigh that rings with irritation, Caladwhen wipes off any of the blood that managed to find her. In her native tongue, she curses lightly under her breath
Grabbing a silver tray selected specifically for the ceremony, Caladwhen presents it for Morvius for him to place the heart. Moving up to the altar, she places it gently and reverently for Vetra-Kali. Looking over towards Sindran, she nods as if to say it is done, we can proceed.
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Sindran returns the nod and steps up to the altar, boots squelching in blood and gore before taking Caladwhen's place.
He faces the statue and begins by calling upon water.
"Vatna," he speaks, and a sudden downpour of water is created, rushing into the reservoir at the base of the statue. Where the liquid touches the green stone, it crackles black, indicative of its unholy power.
The half-orc lets the reservoir overflow, the sound of the unholy water filling the basin and then rushing onto the floor accompanying the rhythmic sound of the still-beating heart.
Finally, the water ceases and only the pumping of the heart is audible aside from a few errant drips. Sindran breathes in heavily and then bends forward, as if bowing to the statue, but actually cups a handful of unholy water in between his palms.
He rises, a steady motion, a flame rising, and takes the cupful of water over the seal of the altar before jerking his hands apart, letting the water fall. Where the water touches the seal, a crackle of energy is apparent and readily visible, sudden flashes of black-white. The statue itself glows darkly and all in the chamber, perhaps even to some outside of it, can feel the immense power of the two energies clashing.
Sindran closes his eyes and speaks, unable to see the unholy water fall but feeling its effects all the same.
Finally, the energy is depleted and the statue stops glowing, plunging the sanctum into relative darkness. In the short silence after the supplication, the rhythm of the still-beating heart echoes in the chamber until, at last, the heart of the servant stills, its role fulfilled.
With a practiced motion, Morvius carves through the entrails of the late priest, severing them from the corpse. He then hoists the body over his shoulder and departs for the refurbished laboratory.
"Leave the innards be, I'll come back for them in due course."
He does not specify when - or for what purpose.
Morvius reaches the laboratory and gently lays the corpse down, treating it with more reverence and care now it is dead then when it was living. He meticulously selects the right tools and carefully extracts the brain, putting it into the husk of the golem:
Time passes.
Halthus' entrails continue to lie in a heap where they fell on the floor beside the altar, glistening and steaming as the biochemical processes inside them continue... Did he leave them behind just to annoy you?
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Removing her white gown, she impatiently tosses the blood soak dress at the feet of the alchemist "Tell you what, you can clean that now that you've ruined it. I should think you could use your vast skills to conjure up some cheap detergent; or perhaps your alchemical ability is as worthless as your skill with the scalpel?" Keenly aware that her lithe figure is exposed and drawing a certain kind of attention, Caladwhen nevertheless glides out of the room with a confident and haughty air about her, but not before stopping by the Morvius and whispering in a sarcastically flirtatious manner
Without looking back, Caladwhen coldly adds before leaving "If you'll excuse me, I have an army to build."
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Can't remember the last time I got someone to do that without drugging them first...
Morvius quietly suppresses a grin at having - however temporarily - cracked the Ice Queen's facade: he was slightly disconcerted by the failure of his previous gibes to elicit any reaction from Cala. Order restored.
Aloud, he merely observes: "What sort of mage doesn't know about Prestidigitation? Maybe I'm transplanting this brain into the wrong subject."
Nevertheless, he does pick up the dress. He might even clean and return it on a non-geological timescale. When one has low Charisma, it's sound policy to have some sort of peace-offering in reserve.
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How many (and which) spells are you spending on your army today, cala?
The brain is removed without damaging it - and installed properly into the Golem's braincase. The brain is artificially preserved by Morvius' magic, but this will not last forever. You have weeks to acquire all parts for the Golem, before Halthus' brain will perish.
On learning this, Morvius considers. Neither mending nor make whole are part of his formulary, and he is in truth more interested in exploding things or changing them into other things than he is in mending them. Sindran does not appear to know either spell. Cala is busy with undead and is not likely to appreciate being disturbed for a matter of truly minor magic.
Nariel? A possibility. Morvius will approach her at a suitable moment (i.e. when she is not clearly involved in undead matters or consulting with Cala).
In the meantime, he clears up the entrails and blood from the Sanctum. He keeps the blood in case it is needed for necromantic purposes while the entrails are preserved for his bomb reagents.
At Talon's really quite subtle (for him!) nudging, Morvius will also start work on the armour.
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And so the countdown begins; the first week is spent preparing, setting up defenses and setting up an undead army. The first 33 of the 666 rituals go by without a hitch. The question hangs in the air...How long before the first explorers arrive?
The answer – day 10.
On midday of day 10, a messenger arrives at the horn, franticly displaying the Asmodean symbol on the chain around his neck in all directions, until finally he is greeted by goblins. The messenger, a mere boy, obviously one of the Baron's orphanage, carries a written note:
"group of adventurers is headed your way. Local heroes. Poor equipment. Little experience. Plan to arrive in three days. The dwarf has been to the Horn before and said something about entering the caves. Prepare them a proper welcome, will you? — Z."
Talon glides down, stowing Rygat halfway down when he sees the goblins have already identified the boy as harmless. He kneels and reads the note with a hand on the boys shoulder, then nods as he finishes. He folds it and puts it in his pocket, then turns to the boy. "You carried your message well. Also, I want you to do me a favor. It'll help keep things a little safer. I want you to learn a whistle, can you whistle? Ok, listen..." Talon makes sure the goblins are paying attention, then teaches the boy two distinct whistles: One is a short note followed by a long one, the next sounds like a whippoorwill. "The second indicates you are here to see us and all is safe. The first is that something is wrong, such as a group of adventurers are using you to reach us or some other problem where us coming down to find you would be bad." He speaks up to the goblins. "Hear that? Little code that is, we use that up in the mountains when there were hunters."
Since he is currently stymied by the need for a mithral heart cog that he cannot manufacture himself, Morvius spends a day overseeing Nariel as she repairs the golem's eye and reservoir; he spends 5 days making Talon a shiny new set of armour; and he spends the remaining time before the adventurers arrive crafting some more traps.
The first two traps will go toward the top of each of the outside staircases to the upper levels; they are not as elaborate as the one on the inner spiral staircase and need fewer resources. All they are is a very well-concealed trigger and a rockslide. The rockslide traps are designed to do two things:
- make a LOT of noise so we know someone is coming;
- sweep anyone caught in it right off the stairs (Reflex save to avoid)
The third trap is simply the restored pit-trap at level 2-1 ; this involves retrieving a few pieces from the Bane-wogs and some simple smithing.
The fourth trap is in the fireplace vent at room 1-9; this uses acid from the pool in the caves below and will spray anyone trying to come down the vent; it will also set off a mechanical alarm so we know someone is trying to get in.
The fifth trap is a weighted net positioned above the pit trap at 3-1, designed to snare anyone flying in through the balcony and bring them crashing to the ground, triggering the pit trap.
Talon more or less restlessly moves from party member to party member to see their progress, not being prying so much as curious and bored. When Morvius mentions moving rocks Talon jumps at the opportunity since he has been lethargic lately. He chuckles at the net. "Aren't trying to keep me out, are you?"
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After Talon moves some things for Morvius he gets a lot of paper and sets up a little workshop at a ledge giving him a birds eye view of the area around the horn. He begins laying out the map for traps and choke points, getting the goblins to cut down trees so the adventurers will be funneled in certain locations (unless they want to climb over lots of logs).
Talon also finds Oret at some point. "Yeah I know how you feel right now, but come loot at what I'm working on." He shows him the maps for the traps and funneling. "Who says we need special training to make this place more secure? Just a good mind and a strong back. Also, I have this idea of making it appear as if we are both territorial madmen who attack anybody that gets too deep in the forest. We might be able to stop threats before they even get here."
Oret nods at Talon's work thus far. "Let's focus on the horn's defenses, rather than meeting them out in the forest. First, it's possible they would pass us by without either side seeing the other. More importantly, though, we should test our defenses with a weaker group of invaders so we can see where our problems lie."
He begins laying out the map for traps and choke points, getting the goblins to cut down trees so the adventurers will be funneled in certain locations (unless they want to climb over lots of logs).
Morvius will be glad to assist Talon with this, lending any advice that may be needed on deadfalls, how to angle cuts in tree-trunks so they fall with maximum impact in the right direction, that kind of thing.
"Ah, this takes me back a bit, a mere slaver out hunting slips [Halflings] - simpler times... Now we have to consider tactics to fight in all 4 dimensions - hence the net, nothing personal you understand dear boy!"
Talon shrugs. "Hey, you told me about it so that counts for something." Talon grunts, shoving over the tree he had cut three quarters of the way through. It comes down with a loud crash. "Beautiful, unless they have wings they're not coming through this way."
"Speaking of defenses, how goes the planning?"
Gracefully gliding into the room, Caladwhen makes a rare appearance from her laboratory to check on the preparations. "If you wish to deploy the undead in a certain fashion, I would be happy to oblige."
Taking out a leather sack, Caladwhen places it on the table near the map used for planning. The bag makes a jangly sound, appearing to hold a great quantity of coin or other precious materials "Sindran, the rings you requested. I must admit, this was a most clever and eminently cost effective tool you dreamed up here. Good work."
Turning her head slowly towards Oret, the lithe elf nods lightly "Oh and Oret, my intent is to enchant your amulet next, which I should have it ready for you shortly... hopefully before you need it next."
At this point, observant members note that a new piece of jewelry adorns Caladwhen's delicate visage. The circlet is beautiful to behold; a conservative circlet of dark polished platinum that features a sapphire at its crest, and supports a translucent black veil that drops just beneath her nose.
"Ah, my thanks." Sindran takes the bag of rings from Caladwhen, looking up from the map. [b]"I'll distribute them later and keep the rest in the Sanctum."
He pauses momentarily to take in the necromancer's new accessory. "Magical, I assume? Good craftsmanship."
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Your preparations proceed without noteworthy incident.
Sure enough, the late afternoon of day 13 is disturbed by an unnatural rustling of leaves and trees near the southwestern edge of the Cair Bryr forest...
(common with a thick dwarven accent)"Hmm! Torag's beard - the path is blocked - oh wait."
""
"SSSSSHusssh!"
"SSSHT!"
"SSSSSHHHHHH!"
"PSSST!! Yorgun! I swear, when we get back I'll make you make me a muzzle and a leash for you! Dimwit!"
(a calm, friendly, lady) "*sigh* Save your spirit, James; focus on whatever evil lies ahead. It will surely have heard us by now. Gather round, friends; I will ask Sarenrae for her blessing."
"ready?"
"Yeah"
"Shh! ...ok, remember what I told you: when we get inside the caves, keep going left!"
and bravely, the fools emerge from the forest, sneaking across the barren landscape between the Cair Bryr forest and the Horn's Cavern entrance.
But, by now, even the Goblins are aware of them...
Talon rolls his neck with a sickening series of pops as he crouches next to Oret. "Steel versus steel and flesh versus flesh? I cut through armor easier than you do." Talon draws Rygat slowly, savoring the slow hiss of the metal leaving the sheath. He feels the perfectly balanced weight in his hand, then turns to the others. "So, go in swinging, kill the two tall men, capture the other three?"
Morvius smiles wickedly when he overhears what the band of bozos is saying.
As if they'll even get inside the caves... Fools.
His clawed hand closes around a vial that he has prepared specially for today; it contains - among other things - a potent steeped residue of the entrails of the late priest, Halthus. Morvius is a great believer in not letting things go to waste: efficiency is a watchword of the Infernal Hierarchy - some of the time.
He listens to Talon and Oret's plan and nods agreement - he is happy for them to do the melee, to risk life and limb in toe-to-toe combat. It's what they are for.
However, there is no point in an even contest. Time to put a thumb - if not an entire limb - on the scales to weight the odds in our favour.
Morvius hurls the vial (a stink bomb) towards the group of intruders, aiming as close as possible for the one in the middle - preferably armoured; it makes them easier to hit.
The explosion is muffled in a cloud of foul smoke that quickly expands from the point of impact.
All who smell the smoke will gag - it smells even worse than Morvius' pipe.
Listening to men discuss the battle strategy, Caladwhen nods quietly with the general consensus. "I'll provide support from the skies," pausing a moment, Caladwhen nods at the motionless Treant, which suddenly surges forward with an unnatural groan "and the ground."
With a quiet incantation, Caladwhen disappears as she steps away from the group and quickly takes to the sky.
Landing softly on a nearby branch, Caladwhen quickly opens her component pouch. Opening a small vile, the smell of rotting eggs touts her nose which causes Caladwhen to grimace. Alchemy; certainly not my cup of tea. Waving her hand over the vial, Caladwhen whispers
Suddenly the sulfur evaporates into a wisp of gas that coalesces into a small ball of fire in her palm. Quickly, Caladwhen flicks her hand in the direction of the wayward heroes. As the ball of fire speeds towards its target, it appears to grow rapidly in dimensional and power, finally exploding in a ball of flame as it strikes the ground at their feet.
Thanks for that - I was thrown by the fact that the Alchemist bomb description states that the Int bonus isn't multiplied on a critical, which made me think that the 'normal' damage was. OK, no critical damage - what a waste of a natural 20!
However, for the Stink Bomb the effect - as I read it - is not 1 round per level: "The effects of the smoke created by an alchemist’s bomb can duplicate the effects of stinking cloud instead of fog cloud, filling an area equal to twice the bomb’s splash radius for 1 round."
"Do remember we're trying to keep some of them alive."