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Crackling and hissing echoes out from a larger chamber beyond the stairs. Ithalgol’s voice calls out over the new sound. “Students! Leave them, they do not understand their struggle. Join me at the pedestal. Once I absorb this soul, there will be a greater power to bestow to you...”
Somewhere out of sight, up the stairs into the high roofed chamber beyond, Ithalgol’s voice rings out: “My hand is forced by your intrusion into my sanctum. I have slowly siphoned the life-force of your king through my arcane crystal. Now, I shall draw the last of his life, and ascend…”
"You are strong, tiger. But I am beyond strength..." Ithalgol lowers the top of his black staff, aiming it at the tiger. A sparkling ray of black energy flashes out toward the ferocious beast!
"Students, I leave this to you. Inform me when they are subdued, and we will begin the ritual." He turns and ascends the stairs, through the metal doors. The great metal slabs close behind him with a boom. A large rune suddenly flickers over the seam between the doors and disappears.
“...and yet you fight on. Very well, perhaps you do not understand who you are dealing with…” Extending a bony palm, a ghostly copy of his hand floats further out, leaving a wispy trail as it flies toward the other corner of the room. Silent, it approaches the foremost intruder, Nme’an. With sudden quickness it darts forward to touch him!
Nme'an once again feels the grim touch of death. But this time, it is not a chill that threatens his strength. The call from the grave tries to stiffen his joints, as though rigor mortis is about to set in!
He slowly ascends the steps with a lordly tone. “So be it. It is said that the hero is only as good as the villain. Let it be known that you are not the heroes this time; merely the first of many to die and join my servitude.” With a motion of his bone hand and arcane words from his teeth, Ithalgol’s free hand has ghostly wisps trailing from the fingertips.
“I am Ithalgol the Wise, the lord of this tower, and a master of death and existence beyond. Whether you refuse my offer of peace, or seek to join our ranks, both bear the same immediate result. Surrender yourselves now to ease your passage to the other side.” With a gesture and an utterance, the deep purple robe that he wears briefly pulses with pale magical energy and returns to the dark purple hue. Taking a black staff in one skeletal hand, he looks to the minion waiting beside him and nods. The other skeleton completes the suspended spell in its hands, though no visible effect is noticeable.
A spine-chilling voice emanates from the rictus smile of the crowned figure as he gestures to the living who opened the door.
Will save DC 17: Abject terror erases all reason from your mind. Your instinct to survive cries a single impulse in response: Run! |
