Another Great entry its been a long while since I read the adventure so im only remembering parts of it
Another Great entry its been a long while since I read the adventure so im only remembering parts of it
This one gets even more interesting. It really pits the party against each other as far as trust issues go.
Just managed to get through the archive after three days of reading it in spare time at work. I do love reading your campaigns, especially when I'm familiar with the modules you are running.
This one is as good as the others, and I look forward to further installments.
Just managed to get through the archive after three days of reading it in spare time at work. I do love reading your campaigns, especially when I'm familiar with the modules you are running.
This one is as good as the others, and I look forward to further installments.
Thank you very much! I'm pleased to see that a project I originally took on to enhance the game experience for my players has been able to bring others some pleasure as well.
FULL DISCLOSURE
‘Katarina, they’re calling for you.’
Kat recognized the voice as easily as she recognized her own. It was Zellara, the Harrow reader who’d first assembled the members of the K.I.A. Kat also knew what Zellara was referring to.
‘I know,’ Kat sighed, ‘but I’m so tired. I want to rest for awhile.’
‘There’ll be time for that later, daughter,’ Zellara said, ‘perhaps more time than you would wish. For now, though, there is still work for you. I have seen this. You must unite the tribes, and then you must retrieve the dragon’s bane. Only then can you destroy the Crown of Fangs. Only then can Korvosa, and Varisia itself know peace again. It’s time to go, daughter.’
‘Tribes? Dragon? Crown?’ Kat asked. ‘What does it all mean?’
‘All in good time, daughter.’ Zellara’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, and Kat could see the darkness that enfolded her begin to brighten…
____________________________________________________________________
“Tribes? Dragon? Crown?” Kat gasped aloud as her eyes fluttered open.
“It worked,” Michael said, blowing out his breath as he leaned back on his heels, sweet beading on his brow.
“You mean you weren’t sure it would?” Valeris asked as he raised one eyebrow.
The priest shrugged. “I had faith, but it’s the first time I’ve ever tried to bring someone back to life.”
“And hopefully the last for me,” Kat groaned as she sat up and massaged her temples. “It’s not an experience I would want to repeat.”
“What were you talking about when you came to?” Ratbone asked.
“I…don’t…remember,” Kat said. “It’s like a fading dream. Like it’s just beyond my reach.”
“Well, now’s not the time for dream catching,” O’Reginald said. He had been staring down the long hallway that lay beyond the deadly fountain of spinning blades. When he turned towards his companions, his eyes glowed brilliant blue. “Looks like our next challenge is just ahead.”
Eight alcoves lined the long, narrow passage. Inside each one stood a human-sized upright iron casket, the image of a sobbing woman decorating its lid. The hallway’s floor was smeared bright red, a mosaic of tiny red stones that gave the appearance that the hall was awash in blood.
“It’s a trap,” O’Reginald said as the group peered down the hall. “I can see magical auras emanating from the caskets, but I can’t discern their nature. Necromancy, I think.”
“Let me take a look,” Kat said.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Michael asked. “I mean…that’s what led to your…situation.”
“I didn’t know what I was walking into,” Kat smiled. “This time I do.”
She knelt down and examined the floor between the first pair of alcoves.
“Clever,” she shook her head, “and very deadly. When the first person steps past these statues, the sections of floor between each set of alcoves will rise up at an angle, dumping the person in between the statues, and preventing them from escaping. That’s when the magic ‘Reg detected takes effect, but I’m not sure what it does. I do know that after that, the caskets are designed to spring open. I imagine something nasty would come out. Don’t worry though. It’s wicked, but relatively simple to disable.”
One-by-one, Kat dismantled the mechanisms between the statues, allowing her companions to pass safely down the hall until they reached a closed door at the far end. Beyond the door lay a bare room, the walls, floor and ceiling decorated with a complex mosaic that depicted an immense swarm of wasps. Kat stopped her friends before they could enter, kneeling down once more to examine the floor before she entered.
“Another trap,” she said. “Needles. Poisoned I’d guess. They’d come out of every surface the moment we stepped in. See? If I know what I’m looking for, it presents only a mild inconvenience.”
Once more, Kat disarmed the trap. The room was otherwise empty, save for a small alcove strewn with bones and patches of mold. Protruding from the wall of the alcove was an ebony lever. Ratbone glanced at his companions to make sure they were ready, and then he pulled the lever. Once again, the floor rumbled and moved, rotating the room counterclockwise. When it came to a halt, a new room was visible where the wasp trap had been. Four alcoves in the walls contained floating spheres of mist, each hovering three feet off the ground. Each sphere was a foot in diameter…one was black, one white, one green and one gold. Just north of the strange spheres, two levers protruded from opposite walls.
“There’s magic here,” O’Reginald needlessly announced. “Conjuration, I think. It could summon something in here with us.”
“Or be a source of healing,” Michael observed.
“Only one way to tell,” Ratbone shrugged. He stepped to the first alcove, the one bearing the golden globe, touched it…and promptly vanished.
“Or teleportation,” O’Reginald said. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
Kat sighed. “I guess we’re committed. Here goes nothing.”
She too touched the golden sphere, and she too disappeared. O’Reginald followed, then Michael, and then Valeris. Only Herc and Orisini remained.
“After you, Master,” Herc gestured.
Orisini looked hesitant. “Are you sure about this?” he asked the big mercenary. “We’re just assuming its teleportation. They could all be dead, for all we know.”
Herc shrugged. “Could be. If they are, we aren’t going to be able to do much on our own. All or nothing.”
He stepped up and touched the sphere, confident that the fencing master would follow behind.
__________________________________________________________________
It took quite awhile for the companions to realize that Orisini had not followed them. There were too many other distractions. In the first place, the room they all found themselves in had no way out. Instead, a five-foot diameter pool of murky green water nearly filled the small, circular chamber. Ratbone, in his large, bipedal, horned predator form, stood submerged in the pool up to his neck. A glowing arcane rune glared from one wall, and Herc cowered beneath it, blind panic on his face, his sword forgotten at his feet. The rest of the group searched the walls frantically for any sign of a hidden door or lever. There was nothing. Moments later, however, the room began to rotate. The southern wall slid slowly aside to reveal another room…one they’d already seen before. In fact, it was the very first room they’d come to upon entering the labyrinth, only this time, it was not unoccupied…
The creature was not human…at least not all of her was. From the waist up she did, in fact, resemble a beautiful, if coldly deadly woman. Below that, however, her body was that of a powerful lion, with small black wings protruding from her back, and a barbed, spike-like tail that lashed the air behind her. She carried two, blood-red kukris in her hands.
“You are trespassing on Arkona land,” she said flatly. “It is my duty to kill you all. It’s nothing personal.”
She leaned casually forward, and slashed both of her blades viciously across Herc’s quivering abdomen. Suddenly, a furious roar filled both chambers as Ratbone lunged out of the pool, his jaws clamping down on the arm of the dark sphinx. Her eyes widened in shock as a rime of golden ice cascaded up to her shoulder. Ratbone’s claws ripped at her as her reflexes dulled and slowed, and even more ice began to encase her limbs. In a matter of moments, she was completely paralyzed, and completely at the mercy of the savage druid. Within seconds, he had reduced her to a bloody corpse.
It took a few minutes for Herc to recover from the magic-induced fear, but even then, he could not answer as to Orisini’s whereabouts.
“I thought he was right behind me,” the mercenary said. “Maybe when the labyrinth rotated again, he got trapped.”
“Hmph. Maybe.” Valeris grunted.
“Well, there’s no way back from here,” Kat observed, and she was correct. There was no lever in either room. The only way out was the door leading back to the passage which in turn lead back to the torture chamber where the seneschal was hiding. The companions made their way there, and found Kalepopolis just as they’d left him. He was relieved to hear they’d found Orisini, but disturbed to learn they’d lost him again. The group reassured him that they would not leave without the fencing master. They returned to the cavernous gear room, and from there Ratbone, in his avian guise, shuttled them back up the shaft Michael had created, and back inside the labyrinth. Once there, they discovered that the chamber had opened up onto an oddly-shaped hallway, the walls of which were decorated in a complex mural that depicted a jungle brimming with hungry life. Predators of every sort stalked and maimed and fed on dozens of hapless men and women. In the canopy above, monkeys, snakes, and birds seemed to chatter and mock the victims below. Standing in the middle of the hallway was none other than Orisini.
“Thanks the gods your safe!” he said, relief on his face. “I tried to follow you, but as I touched the orb, the labyrinth began to turn, and I ended up here. I had no idea where you had gone. Are you ok?”
“We’re fine,” Ratbone said, assuming his normal form. “We met your friend…the dark sphinx.”
“Sivit?” Orisini said, his voice incredulous. “What happened?”
“We’re here, she’s not,” Ratbone shrugged.
“I’m…relieved!” Orisini said. “It’s done then! We can leave and confront Glorio now!”
“Not quite yet,” Ratbone said. “We want to explore the labyrinth a bit more…just to make sure that Lord Arkona hasn’t planned any more nasty surprises for us.”
Orisini shook his head. “No,” he said sharply. “I’m done with this place. I’ve risked my life for the past several days trying to escape it. If you insist on doing this, then I’ll wait for you back with Kalepopolis. We’ll give you a day. If you’re not back by then, I’m taking him from here and I’ll try and get him to safety.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Kat said, “but I understand. We’ll be back shortly. You have my word.”
_________________________________________________________________
The six companions had a problem. In order to rotate the room again, one of them would have to stay behind to pull the lever, which was located in an adjoining chamber. Katarina volunteered. She pulled the lever and watched her friends vanish behind the rotating wall. Then she settled back to wait, rendering herself invisible as a precaution, and melted into the shadows.
Meanwhile, the remaining agents continued through the labyrinth, room after room, venturing deeper and deeper in. Occasionally they came across another of the sphinx’s arcane symbols, but they found no other living creatures…until they reached one chamber in particular. A great green throne sat atop a dais in the northern end of the room. To either side stood statues of a tiger-headed man. Each held aloft a pair of chains from which manacles dangled. Dried blood spattered the walls, floor and even the throne and statues, filling the room with its stale reek. Shackled to one statue was an unconscious man, his hair hanging lank across his face. Michael moved quickly across the room and lifted the man’s head. The features were battered and bruised, but there could be no mistake. It was Vencarlo Orisini…
___________________________________________________________________
Kat heard something. A soft scrape. It had come from the hole in the floor which Michael had burrowed down to the gear chamber below. Then, as she watched, Kat saw a figure rise silently from the hole. It was Orisini, the clothing and gear of Black Jack unmistakable, but as he turned slightly, Kat saw the terrible truth. The creature that wore Orisini’s clothing was definitely female, as evidenced by the ample curves she sported, but she was anything but human. Where her head should have been, she instead had the face of a gimlet-eyed fox. Two kukris were gripped in her hand. She paused at the top of the hole and sniffed the air. Kat stopped breathing, afraid even that slight noise might give away her presence. After a moment, the creature stepped into the room. She went to the corner which led to the passage down which Kat’s companions had gone to the rotating room. She stared intently at the blank wall there, then she flattened herself against the corner…and waited. Kat was trapped, and her friends, when they returned, would be walking straight into a kill zone…
________________________________________________________________
“Bring him!” Ratbone shouted. Herc had shattered the chains holding the fencing master, but Michael had been unable to revive him. The druid decided they didn’t have any longer to wait. Whoever was impersonating Orisini was alone with the seneschal. Worse, Kat was alone as well, and had no idea of the danger she faced. Herc quickly shouldered the unconscious man, and the group began hurrying back the way they’d come.
_________________________________________________________________
Kat sensed her companions before she saw them. She had been sending her thoughts out desperately, trying to warn them of the danger. Finally, as the wall at the end of the passage began to slide open, she touched them.
‘It’s a trap!’ she screamed in her mind
Ratbone, at the head of the group, had just stepped into the hall when Kat’s mental shout assaulted him. He paused for a moment, and his enhanced senses in his predator form picked out the figure hidden in the shadows beyond the corner. The would-be assassin, however, sensed something was wrong as well, and knew she’d been discovered. She quickly reached behind her and slammed the lever down. Immediately, the archway Ratbone had just stepped through began to close again, carrying his allies away once more, and leaving only he and Kat to face the imposter.
“You’ve been fools and pawns from the beginning,” the fox woman said as she stepped from the shadows. “Glorio thought he would use you to kill me, but I’ve always been smarter than my brother. I have been watching you for a long time, from the moment I placed my spy among you.”
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a very familiar looking silver dagger…the same one that Valeris had carried for so long. In her hand, it transformed into a serpent, its crimson eyes flashing evilly as it coiled itself around her arm.
“I always suspected that you would achieve great things, and thus might be useful to me. When I discovered that you’d entered the labyrinth, however, I knew that Glorio had gotten to you first. It was my fervent wish that you would simply do as I suggested, and kill Glorio. Believe me, he means you no good will. It would have been to your benefit to rid Korvosa of him, and I would have rewarded you suitably, but no…you insisted on your petty suspicions and codes of honor, and now you’ve forced my hand. I take no pleasure in killing you, but I will show my brother that I am no one to be trifled with.”
She leaped towards Ratbone, but as she did, a barbed tentacle suddenly sprouted from his back and slashed at her. She dodged the brunt of the blow, but a thin line of black blood flowed down her cheek. She dipped one finger in it and licked it. A thin smile stretched across her muzzle, and then, almost too quickly to follow, she snatched a javelin from her back and hurled it at the druid. As it left her hand, it transformed into a brilliant bolt of energy, and as it struck, Ratbone’s body went rigid as every hair stood on end.
________________________________________________________________
“I…hate…this…place!!” O’Reginald screamed as he pounded his fist against the blank wall. Then, before any of his friends could react, he turned and grabbed Herc by the shoulders.
“Hang on, big boy,” he said, and then both of them abruptly vanished.
“Guess that just leaves you and me,” Valeris said to Michael. “You got any cards?”
_________________________________________________________________
While Ratbone struggled to recover, the Arkona woman lunged at him, kukris flashing. She cut deeply into the druid’s tough hide, and he reeled back. He shook his head desperately to clear it, and reached out blindly, trying to draw the fox woman into his grip. For his trouble, he received another vicious slash to his arm. Kat feared for her friend’s life. In desperation, she risked exposing herself, becoming visible as she hurled a sonic lance at the woman. To her astonishment, however, the spell simply vanished as it touched the Arkona. The woman turned her head slowly and smiled at Kat.
“Well, hello there,” she said.
__________________________________________________________________
O’Reginald and Herc appeared in mid-air high above the floor of the gear control cavern.
“Whoa!” Herc said as his feet dangled over nothing. “Warn me next time.”
“I did,” O’Reginald said. “Now I’m warning you again. Hang on again. We’re going for a ride.”
The sorcerer wrapped his arms around the big merc’s neck, piggy-back style, having imbued Herc with the power of flight the instant before they had teleported. Now he had the warrior shuttle him across the vast chamber until they arrived directly below the entrance to the hole Michael had carved through the labyrinth above.
The fox-faced Arkona stepped across the hole to reach Kat, slashing with her blades in a large X across the beguiler’s abdomen. Kat crumpled as her belly opened, and the creature leaned over her for the kill. At that moment, a column of white-hot flame erupted from the hole and engulfed the woman. When the flames died, nothing remained but a pile of ash.
________________________________________________________________
Sometime later, the companions gathered together once more in the torture chamber. They had found the seneschal alive, but unconscious and badly beaten. It had taken all of Michael’s skills to revive him and Vencarlo, and to repair Kat’s and Ratbone’s wounds. Many explanations and comparisons of stories followed.
“I’m sorry to drag you into all of this, my friends,” Orisini said, “but I can’t help but admit relief that you arrived when you did. As for Glorio Arkona, I’m not certain what he is, but I know what he is not…an ally of Ileosa. There has never been any love lost between House Arkona and the Crown. I suggest we leave him for another day. We have larger issues to deal with now.”
The group made their way back to the sea cave, and boarded the small boat moored at the dock. They left through the tunnel and emerged into the harbor under the cover of darkness. Vencarlo set a course due west, and they disappeared into the darkness.
|
Cool... it's really interesting how things played out.
Just a few questions in spoilers.
1/ Did I read correctly that Ratbone killed Sivit in one round??? He seems to be doing that a lot. How much damage does he do?
2/ What's the spell that killed Vimanda? Who cast it?
3/ Did you remove or tone down any of the symbols in the labyrinth? I thought the Symbol of Insanity was a bit much... I removed it altogether.
4/ Did you remove the combat encounter in the water cave at the end because the group was too beaten up?
Cool... it's really interesting how things played out.
Just a few questions in spoilers.
** spoiler omitted **
2) O'Reginald hit her with an empowered fireball, penetrating her SR, and she failed her reflex save, and thus did not evade. He dealt enough damage to kill her after the one or two hits Ratbone had already scored.
3) The symbols were nuisances. They only occured during a combat situation once, and that was when Herc was panicked when they fought Sivit. The group never found the Insanity of Death symbols. They triggered Pain, Sleep, Stunning and Fear.
4) I actually did run that encounter, but omitted it from the update because it really didn't directly contribute to the story. It was a very tough fight, and both Ratbone and Herc almost died. Once more, O'Reginald saved the day with a well-timed fireball.
** spoiler omitted **Cool... it's really interesting how things played out.
Just a few questions in spoilers.
** spoiler omitted **
I thoroughly enjoy reading all the different journals folks are doing on Crimson Throne, as I'm GMing it myself and we're soon to start Seven Days to the Grave :) Good Work, Jolly!
** spoiler omitted **Cool... it's really interesting how things played out.
Just a few questions in spoilers.
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
I thoroughly enjoy reading all the different journals folks are doing on Crimson Throne, as I'm GMing it myself and we're soon to start Seven Days to the Grave :) Good Work, Jolly!
Thanks, lurker Girrl!! Seven Days was pretty cool. We started History of Ashes last week, and we've already had one death...this time a permanent one. It's very, very interesting...
A HISTORY OF ASHES
The boat ride to Harse was a long one. They travelled for days northwest across the bay until they reached the Falcon River, then northeast to the point where the Falcon and the Sarwin Rivers converged. Harse lay in the spit of land between. The village itself consisted of only a few dozen buildings and a large collection of stables surrounding an open field along the northeastern edge. The majority of its citizens didn’t live in the village proper, but on one of the dozens of ranches and farms that dotted the surrounding countryside. Orisini rented enough horses for all of them, and then set out north. He told them they were going to the Blackbird Ranch, only a short ride out of town. He explained that the ranch was owned by an old friend named Jasan Adriel. He and Jasan were the last two survivors of an adventuring party known as the Blackbirds. When the group reached the ranch, Jasan and his two sons greeted them warmly. A young woman was with them, none other than Trinia Sabor. She was thrilled to see her friends and rescuers again, and the reunion temporarily alleviated some of the tension of the previous days.
Jasan led them down to the house, where his wife had prepared a pleasant and filling dinner. The conversation was light, but afterwards, Jasan invited his guests and Trinia down to his basement. There he offered them a sampling of his on home-grown beer.
“Now,” the rancher said as he took a seat in a comfortably worn chair, “there must a very good reason why you have come all this way, Vencarlo, bringing with you none other than the seneschal of Korvosa himself. I’m all ears.”
Orisini brought Jasan up to speed, and then Neolandus took over.
“When I confronted Ileosa about Eodred’s death,” the seneschal began, “her response was to send Red Mantis assassins after me, proof enough of her guilt as far as I’m concerned. Through a combination of pure luck and my intimate knowledge of the castle’s layout, I barely managed to escape with my life, and then I went into hiding with my friend Salvator in Old Korvosa.
After I recovered from the attack, I spent much of my time in the old city researching the situation by interviewing key people, poring through records at Endrin Academy, and piecing together information and rumors I had heard, to try and determine what had caused the Queen’s sudden personality shift from a petulant, spoiled brat to a scheming murderous tyrant.
My suspicions continued to grow, but until Ileosa’s first public appearance after the plague, I had always tempered them with hope. I knew that she had been ‘borrowing’ the treasury key to look through Korvosa’s holdings. I was also familiar with several old and obscure legends about the chambers below Castle Korvosa…chambers, it was whispered, that were old even when the Shoanti dwelt here, and that used to hide something of great power or evil. There was little more information to go on, but I did uncover mention in some documents from Korvosa’s earliest days of something called Midnight’s Teeth, and that these teeth were believed to be some sort of sacred relic of great import to the Shoanti. Circumstantial evidence indicated that the Shoanti kept the teeth in chambers inside the pyramid that now serves as Castle Korvosa’s foundation.
Further research uncovered an old legend that chilled my soul. Several hundred years ago, a powerful blue dragon and agent of Zon-Kuthon named Kazavon brought the orcs of Belkzen to their knees and began conquering the neighboring nations of Ustalav and Lastwall, until he was finally defeated and his remains scattered. Some of these remains, according to certain Zon-Kuthonic scriptures, contained fragments of Kazavon’s essence. One of these relics was the Fangs of Kazavon.
I now suspect that Midnight’s Teeth were none other than the Fangs of Kazavon. The description of the Queen’s new crown sounds to me as if she now wears the Fangs on her brow, the implications of which trouble me deeply.
I wasn’t able to gather much more information before the Arkonas took me, but I don’t suspect there was much more to learn. Hard facts about Midnight’s Teeth were sparse to begin with. Korvosa’s founders didn’t think it important to preserve much in the way of Shoanti culture. Yet there is still some hope. The Shoanti have very strong oral traditions, and if anyone knows the truth behind Midnight’s Teeth, that truth is doubtless hidden among their historians up in the Cinderlands.”
“Yet even this hope if a fragile one,” Orisini interrupted. “There are rumors that the Shoanti are preparing to launch an attack on Korvosa and her holdings. They’ve been emboldened by the news that the city is buckling under the effects of riots and plagues. Word from the Storval Rise is that the largest Shoanti tribe, the Sklar-Quah, is preparing for battle.”
“Yes, but even so,” Neolandus said, “all is not lost. Of all the Shoanti tribes, it has been the Skoan-Quah who have been the most open to talk of peace between Korvosa and the tribes. Until recently, a large number of Skoan-Quah ambassadors dwelt near Korvosa, and peace talks between the two factions were slowly but surely heading in the right direction. I recall one old shaman in particular as being level-headed and friendly, a man named Thousand Bones. One of the last things I tried before the Arkonas got hold of me was to arrange a meeting with him, but unfortunately, shortly after an event involving one of the Shoanti braves during the riots, the Shoanti abandoned Korvosa.”
“We know of Thousand Bones,” Ratbone said. “We also know of the incident that you speak of. We helped recover the body of the brave and returned it to Thousand Bones.”
“Excellent!” Neolandus smiled. “You should have influence with him then. I know that his tribe dwells in the southeastern portion of the Cinderlands, east of Kaer Maga in a region known as the Kallow Mounds. I believe the best course of action would be for someone to travel to the Skoan-Quah, find Thousand Bones, and learn from him any information about what Midnight’s Teeth actually were.”
“By someone,” Valeris said, “I expect you mean us.”
“Can you think of anyone more qualified?” Orisini smiled. “Besides, Neolandus and I are known fugitives. Ileosa will spare little expense in tracking us down. Her Red Mantis agents were close to discovering Neolandus in Old Korvosa, and it won’t take them long to sift through the recent events there and piece together what happened. I plan on the two of us traveling to Janderhoff. We’ll seek asylum there with the dwarves.”
“Well,” Jasan said, clapping his hands, “I expect it was about time for a move anyway. The wife’s always talked about seeing Magnimar. I hear the coast is beautiful this time of year.”
“Of course we’ll go,” Ratbone said. “If there is some way to stop the Queen, and return Korvosa to its people, then we will find it.”
“I’m going with you,” Trinia Sabor suddenly announced from where she’d been quietly listening in the back of the room. “Korvosa’s my city too, and since I’ve been staying here, I’ve taken the opportunity to learn something about the Shoanti. I’ve become pretty fluent in their language. You’re going to need a translator if you want to convince them to help.”
___________________________________________________________
Jasan provided horses for the K.I.A. agents and Trinia, and the seven companions began their long journey north and east, following the Falcon River for several days to the base of the Storval Plateau and the city of Kaer Maga. They didn’t stay long in the strange, tiered metropolis, making their way quickly through its twisting, winding streets, thick with beggars and cutpurses. The uppermost level of the city gave onto the Storval Plateau itself, and the beginning of the Cinderlands. That harsh landscape played host to a desolate backdrop of scrubland and drought, famine and death. As hot as a forge and dry as a desert, the broken flats radiated a hazy, wavering heat so tangible that it robbed the body of precious moisture in mere hours. What beasts made their homes there were deceptive and violent, while what few plants clawed their way through the cracked ground were as nourishing as rocks. It was the next best thing to Hell on Golarion.
And yet the Cinderlands were not a wasteland. The Shoanti called them home. It was towards the sacred burial grounds of the Shoanti that the company set their course. The Kallow Mounds lay at the extreme southeast limits of the Cinderlands, and as the companions drew nearer to them, they began to see large rock cairns topped with animal skulls.
“Markers,” Trinia explained. “They act as signposts…and warnings to deter strangers…like us.”
The cairns grew more frequent the deeper into the Mounds they travelled. They had grown so used to seeing them, that they almost did not notice the four figures that stood silently beside among a particularly dense group. They were men, their bodies caked with a mixture of mud and ash, giving their skin a smoky white appearance. They were adorned with multiple tattoos of bones and skulls, and they carried large earthbreaker mauls across their backs. Trinia quickly rode to the forefront of the group and began speaking in the guttural dialect of the Shoanti. The four warriors listened in silence, but when she finished speaking, they turned and began walking away.
“It’s ok,” Trinia said. “I explained that we were seeking Thousand Bones. They’ll take us to him.”
The Skoan-Quah encampment was located at the western edge of the Mounds. There, some seventy-five Shoanti filled out the enclave. All of them stood silently gathered as the seven strangers were escorted in. The tension in the air was palpable. Three people were gathered at the center of the camp, one a gaunt, yet regal man, the other an elderly woman, and the last none other than Thousand Bones himself. Behind them crouched a large, leonine creature with a distinctly draconic head. The beast appeared to have once had wings, but only jagged stumps now protruded from its shoulders. It flexed its six-inch long claws languidly as the companions approached.
“Welcome, friends,” Thousand Bones said in Common. “You are indeed welcome here, though I must admit, I am surprised by your presence.”
“We’ve come with great need,” Kat said. “We have learned disturbing news regarding Queen Ileosa, and…”
“Such discussions should be held at the proper time and place,” the old shaman interrupted. “We will speak of them this evening at the Bone Council Fire. For now, you should rest and partake of our hospitality. We have already set aside a yurt for your comfort. Before you go, allow me to introduce the chief of the Skoan-Quah, One-Life.”
He gestured to the quiet, older man, who nodded silently in turn.
“And this is Ash Dancer,” Thousand Bones indicated the woman. “She is our eldest and most experienced shaman, and leader of the boneslayers. Last, but by no means least, is Wicked-Claws.” He turned to the lion-creature. “He has been a friend to our tribe for many years.”
The company introduced themselves in turn, and then they were shown to their yurt, for some much needed rest.
Later in the afternoon, Thousand Bones came for them, eager to hear about their adventures since their last meeting. They walked with him among the cairns, stopping at last before one which the shaman informed them contained the remains of Gaekhen, the young brave the K.I.A. had returned to him. They paid their respects and then returned to the camp. When they arrived, however, the enclave was in an uproar of excitement. New visitors had arrived in the form of a half-dozen Shoanti riders bearing a travois behind them, upon which was bound what appeared to be a body. Leading the group was a towering mountain of a man, his head clean-shaven, tattoos rippling across every surface of his body, and a truly massive earthbreaker on one hand, while his other bore the skull-like, spiked shield-gauntlet called a klar that the Shoanti favored.
“You will excuse me,” Thousand Bones said. “I have to greet our guests.”
As he walked away, Trinia leaned in and said in a low voice, “They’re Sklar-Quah, Sun Clan. They’re an honor guard for the fallen brave, sent to escort him to his final resting place.”
“Yeah, well, their leader doesn’t seem happy to see us,” Valeris remarked.
The others could see what he meant. The big warrior was speaking to Thousand Bones in a raised voice and was pointing angrily at them. After a moment, he turned and strode purposefully towards them, his maul gripped tightly in his hand.
“Uh-oh,” Trinia said. “This doesn’t look good.”
Valeris gripped his own weapon, and stepped forward. Quickly, Thousand Bones stepped in front of the huge brave and began to speak.
“He’s asking him when did the Sklar-Quah become judges of who trespasses on the Kallow Mounds where the ashes of their fathers lie,” Trinia explained. When the big warrior stopped and replied curtly, she continued to translate.
“ ‘Your words change the question, Thousand Bones. These ones bring trouble to the Cinderlands, and you know it. The coming days shall reveal to us all who is right about them.’ ”
“ ‘Perhaps,’ ” Trinia translated Thousand Bone’s reply, “ ‘but not today and not here. Would you have word of Berak’s burial tainted by bloodshed get back to your Sun Shaman?’ ”
The brave paused, the cords in his neck straining, but then he exhaled and grinned.
“ ‘You misunderstand me, Thousand Bones,’ ” he said. “ ‘My grief has wounded my words. But see to it that no tshamek defiles our memories here.’ ” His smile broadened as he pulled a thin leather loop from one of his packs. “ ‘Certainly, though, guests of the Skoan-Quah must be brave to come this far. You wouldn’t mind if I tested the courage and strength of them, would you?’ ”
Thousand Bones sighed and turned to the group.
“This is Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills,” the shaman said, speaking in Common again. “He has…challenged one of you to a Sredna contest. The choice is yours.”
“What is the purpose of this contest?” Ratbone asked.
“It is a test of strength,” Thousand Bones explained. “The competitors each place a loop of leather around their heads and behind their ears. They then take turns pulling. The one who lasts longest wins.”
“If it’s a challenge he wants,” Valeris growled, “then why don’t we pit his oversized tap hammer against my steel!”
“I warn you,” Thousand Bones said, “Krojun is a hero to the Sklar-Quah, and blood spilt here will undermine the already shaky situation between our two tribes.”
“Fine!” Valeris snapped. “Then I accept his challenge. Let’s play this kids’ game.”
The rules were explained, and Valeris and Krojun crouched on all fours in front of each other after placing the loops around their heads. Each of them drew three deep breaths, during which time they grimaced and growled at one another. Though Valeris would never admit it, the huge Shoanti’s menacing visage actually shook his confidence…marginally. Then, on Thousand Bone’s signal, the contest began in earnest. Valeris snapped his head back and Krojun’s neck strained, moving a fraction of an inch forward despite the Shoanti’s best effort. Then, Krojun pulled back, but Valeris dug his fingers into the soil, grunting as he resisted. Arching his back, he pulled again, and again Krojun came forward, unable to get enough traction to pull back effectively. Valeris felt the skin behind his ears begin to crack and bleed and he redoubled his efforts, his teeth biting painfully into his lips as he strained. Krojun’s face turned blood red as he resisted, but then, just as Valeris was certain the match was over, Krojun began to snarl like an animal, foam flying from his mouth. With a horrific effort, he snapped his head back, yanking Valeris’s forward. Before he could stop himself, the duskblade was pulled face-first into the dirt. Krojun pulled the leather loop from his head and folded it back into his pack as he stood up slowly. Then, incredibly, he offered Valeris his hand, pulling the duskblade to his feet. He clapped him roughly on the shoulder and laughed heartily. He spoke something in his own tongue.
“He said that you pulled almost as well as an aurochs calf, and that you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Trinia said.
Krojun then turned and walked away, joining his men to proceed with the burial ceremony.
________________________________________________________
As night fell, Thousand Bones invited the companions to join him at the center of the camp. The majority of the other Skoan-Quah had retired early to their tents out of respect for the Bone Council Fire. The only others present besides Thousand Bones were One-Life and Ash Dancer. As Thousand Bones began to speak, Ash Dancer sprinkled the fire with a greenish-brown herbal dust from a weathered pouch she carried. A few moments later, the fumes encapsulated those gathered, causing a slight blurring of the vision and a general feeling of ease.
“You have already done my people a great favor by returning the body of one of our warriors,” Thousand Bones began. “I sense now you come to me to ask a favor in return, yet know that by doing this favor, you are helping us all. The Skoan-Quah are a peaceful people, yet we are also all but shunned by our kin. Our willingness to mix with tshamek shames many of my brothers and sisters in the other quahs. Only their respect for our tradition of guarding and protecting the dead of all Shoanti keep them from open hostility against us. My words do not reach their ears when I advise against war on Korvosa. They hear tales of the city in flames, of its king dead, of disease ravaging its people, and they see this as the time foretold. A time when the Shoanti can ride down from these burning lands and reclaim greener lands to the south, lands that were once ours. Yet war is not good for us. My brothers do not see that, even crippled, Korvosa remains a powerful enemy. It is best to make your enemies your friends, do you not think? Yet my brothers do not listen to these words. They see weakness, they demand action.
Yet you could not know of the coming war. You come to me with a different favor. Speak of what you wish of me, and perhaps we may find our needs are the same.”
“What can you tell us of Midnight’s Teeth?” Katarina asked, her words slightly slurred from the mildly intoxicating fumes.
Thousand Bones’ brow furrowed, and he appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before he answered.
“The name is not unfamiliar, yet I know little more than that I have heard it mentioned but twice by Sun Shamans of the Sklar-Quah. Always in reference to the past, and to what you now call Korvosa.”
“How can we talk to the Sun Shamans?” Ratbone asked.
“Sadly, you cannot,” Thousand Bones shook his head. You are tshamek. Outlanders. Rightful or not, the Sklar-Quah will see you as the children of those who murdered their ancestors and drove them from the green lands. The Sun Clan does not like outsiders at the best of times. And less so now that war against Korvosa is on every brave’s lips.”
“Then how can we make them see us as allies, not outsiders?” Michael inquired.
“You must understand,” Thousand Bones replied, “the Sklar-Quah are very certain of these things. They may come to respect lone tshamek after many days of seeing them act honorably, but what you ask is for the Sun Shaman to lay bare his quah’s heart. The deepest memories of his clan. These memories are not for tshamek. Not since Skurak the Reborn have the members of the Sklar-Quah unbanished a man and welcomed him into their quah.”
“Skurak?” Ratbone asked.
Thousand Bones smiled enigmatically for a brief instant.
“The legend of Skurak,” he began, “is of a great warrior and greater traitor to the Sklar-Quah. He slew his brother, a brave of even greater courage. To the Sklar-Quah, family is purity…crimes against the family are the greatest a man can commit. Although Skurak claimed the death was an accident as he and his brother were hunting, others spoke of murder spawned of jealous rage. Skurak was declared a tshamek by the Sun Shaman and cast out, but before he left, he said he would be born again and return to his tribe. This he did. He went to the killing grounds of the great Cindermaw the Clan-Eater. Skurak walked up to the beast carrying only his dagger. Without fear, he dove inside the beast and cut his way out. He returned to the clan and declared he had been reborn, and had left his misdeeds behind in the cleansing fire of Cindermaw’s belly. The legend says the Sun Shaman accepted this and Skurak’s time as a tshamek was spoken of no more.”
“What’s a ‘Cindermaw?’” Valeris asked suspiciously.
“A legend,” Thousand Bones said, “yet one of flesh and blood. Cindermaw dwells on the northernmost edge of Shoanti lands, in the place where Shoanti and orc and giant vie for life and water. His hunting grounds are known as the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael, the land of the Clan Eater. The orcs of Urglin avoid this region; the giants of the north hunt only on its edges. Within, few have returned to tell tales, but those who do speak of a mountain that crawls and of fire that roars.”
“So,” Ratbone said, blowing out his breath, “are you saying that we could earn the respect of the Sklar-Quah by being eaten by Cindermaw and then escaping?”
“Perhaps,” Thousand Bones shrugged, “yet this route is more complex than you suspect. The Sklar-Quah would never believe the words of tshamek on such a matter, nor would they risk travel to the Feeding Grounds just to see foolish outlanders attempt to recreate legends. I could come with you, if my bones were not so tired, yet I am Skoan-Quah. My words would hold little light with the Sun Shaman, I fear.”
Thousand Bones grew silent for a moment, and in the lull, Ash Dancer spoke for the first time.
“They could bring a Truthspeaker.”
“A Truthspeaker?” Michael raised one eyebrow.
“There are those among our people,” Thousand Bones nodded, “who, after living lives without lie and never speaking falsehood, have earned the title of Truthspeaker. It is a rare honor, one that requires many years of chastity, of self-control, of introspection. There are Truthspeakers among the Sklar-Quah, yet that does not help you. Would that the Skoan-Quah had one. Yet the Skoan-Quah and the Sklar-Quah are not the only Shoanti in the Cinderlands. I have heard tell that the Lyrune-Quah, who dwell in the shadow of the Wyvern Mountains far to the northwest, have Truthspeakers among them. If you could perform the ritual of rebirth at the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael in the presence of a Truthspeaker, his words would be all the proof you need to secure an audience with the Sklar-Quah.”
“And where would we find the Lyrune-Quah?” Ratbone asked, impatience in his voice.
“The Moon Clan are nomads,” Thousand Bones replied. “This time of year, they gather at a place sacred to them, a place called the House of the Moon at the northeasternmost edge of the Wyvern Mountains. Yet I fear that they will distrust you as tshamek as well, unless you bring to them proof of your honesty and need.”
Valeris threw up his hands in exasperation.
“Come on! This is getting more complicated than advanced transmutation!”
“What sort of proof?” Kat asked patiently, ignoring the duskblade’s outburst.
“The Lyrune-Quah are unusual among the Shoanti,” Thousand Bones said. “They do not seek enlightenment through our ancestors, but from the Song of the Spheres. They are devotees of Desna, and they trust those who worship her. Yet that trust is, alone, not enough to earn the aid of a Truthspeaker to be witness to your heroics against Cindermaw. The faithful of Desna have a tradition of exploring distant and dangerous places as a way to honor their deity, who watches over all who travel. When they reach the goal of their pilgrimage, a priest leaves a found-mark to honor his journey. One of the Lyrune-Quah’s greatest ancestors was a priest of Desna named Tanjah…their legends speak of her pilgrimage into an ancient ruin and her discovery of a potent relic sacred to Desna, a stone globe held deep within a place called the Acropolis of the Thrallkeepers. Those who follow Tanjah’s footsteps and seek her found-mark upon this globe are said to be given the Spherewalker’s Mark, and with this mark, the Lyrune-Quah would welcome into their camp even their most bitter rivals.”
“So let me get this straight,” Valeris said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “We have to ask a Sun Shaman about Midnight’s Teeth, but he won’t speak to us because we’re outsiders. In order to not be outsiders, we have to get eaten by a giant worm and somehow come back out again, but even that won’t be good enough unless we can convince him that we really did what we said. BUT…in order to do THAT we have to find the Moon Clan and talk one of their Truthspeakers into coming along and watch us get eaten by the giant worm. BUT…in order to do THAT, we’ve got to first find some ancient ruin, find a big rock inside, and get some sort of tattoo from it, THEN we can go find the Moon Clan and do all the rest. That about sum things up?”
“Just so,” Thousand Bones smiled.
“Where is the Acropolis?” Kat asked.
“It is a ruin left over from an ancient time,” Thousand Bones answered. “A time when great powers ruled over this land. We speak of these ancient lords only in whispers today, but you may know their mark by the Sihedron, the seven-pointed star. I know not what perils await you within the Acropolis, but its location is not unknown to the Skoan-Quah. When you are ready to leave, I shall send with you four boneslayers to lead you there.”
“We thank you for all of your help and advice,” Kat said.
“You are doing us a service as well,” Thousand Bones said. “By convincing the Sklar-Quah you are friends, that you represent Korvosa, and that war is not in anyone’s best interest. This will save both our peoples needless pain and grief. If you can earn their trust and respect enough to learn from them the secret of what their ancestors watched over before the outlanders drove them away, they will listen to your words and see the wisdom there. This is all I ask, and it benefits you as well.”
____________________________________________________________
The following morning, Thousand Bones saw that the company was provisioned against the dangers of the Cinderlands. The same four boneslayers that guided them into the camp waited for them at its edge. Thousand Bones introduced them as Ahalak, Hargev, Nalmid, and Shadfrar. The guides said nothing, simply nodding and then turning for the deep Cinderlands.
The journey was sweltering, monotonous, and surreal. The boneslayers never spoke, and seemed to take the odd sights and sounds of the Cinderlands for granted…up to a point. Three days had passed when the hunters abruptly came to a stop. They stood looking up the side of a low hill, their faces grim. The agents followed their gaze. Protruding from a cleft between two rocks was a sharp wooden pole. Mounted atop it was the rotting head of a Shoanti man, hung in such a way that it almost resembled a flag on the side of a building.
“What is it?” Ratbone asked.
The warriors didn’t answer. Trinia spoke to them in their own language, and Ahalak replied in clipped, angry words.
“He says it’s the head of a Sklar-Quah, but it was placed here by a ‘tshamek devil’ they call the Cinderlander. He says that this man has stalked the Cinderlands for the past several years. He never attacks large groups, but instead targets only lone braves with a strange, sideways screaming bow. They believe he is the unquiet ghost of a Korvosan general who hunts the land, and will continue to slay Shoanti until his victims equal those the Shoanti took from him.”
Ahalak quickly scaled the hill and retrieved the grisly trophy, plucking two red bolts from its eyes. Later that evening, the four boneslayers conducted a private ceremony in which they burned the head, scattered the ashes, and buried the skull under a cairn of rocks.
______________________________________________________________
The next day, Ratbone announced that he was leaving the group.
“Just for a short time,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I was born in the Cinderlands. My father’s tribe lived north of here, in the mountains. I need…to pay my respects. I’ll join you at the Acropolis.”
Nothing they said could change his mind, and as they watched, the druid morphed into a great bird and winged his way into the ash gray sky.
By late afternoon, the sky had darkened further, and strange clouds gathered on a blood red horizon. The boneslayers paused again and gazed suspiciously at the coming storm, testing the air with their noses. At length, Ahalak spoke.
“He says it’s an emberstorm,” Trinia translated. “It’s like a sandstorm made of burning ash. Not something we want to be caught out in.”
Ahalak pointed towards the nearby foothills and spoke again.
“He says the Acropolis is just there,” Trinia said. “If we hurry, we can make it before the storm hits.”
A partially collapsed tower that bore the mark of a seven-pointed star stood atop a stone outcropping. Just beside the strange mark, a pair of wide stone doors stood ajar. The boneslayers didn’t hesitate, and ducked quickly through the portals. Once inside, the companions found themselves at the head of a steep, broad stair that descended into darkness. The walls were black granite, flecked with blood-red deposits of rock crystal. Intricate rune patterns of strange writing decorated the walls, interrupted at intervals by the ubiquitous seven-pointed star.
“These runes are Thassilonian,” Kat said, marveling. “This mark is the Sihedron Rune, the mark of the ancient Runelords of ancient Thassilon. The writings speak of Runelord Karzoug, and the rune goddess Lissala.”
“Fabulous,” Valeris said. “This deal just keeps getting better and better.”
At the bottom of the stairs, a corridor opened into a massive chamber. The air in the cathedral-like space seemed strangely cool. The ceiling vaulted into the shadows above, while the walls were carved with vertical ridges that rose to support the arch above. A narrow balcony circled the room, the floor of which dropped into a pool of dark water. A bridge crossed the pool down the room’s center, and two large stone doors stood in the walls to the south and east. Smaller doors sat in the walls to the northwest and southwest…all four of the portals bore the depiction of the Sihedron. Ahalak stopped at the bottom of the stairs and dropped to one knee, staring intently at the floor. After a moment, he spoke, and pointed towards the small door to the southwest.
“He’s found tracks,” Trinia said softly. “Two people passed this way recently. He says they went through that door.”
Carefully, the group approached the door. Kat examined it closely, then reached out and touched the Sihedron symbol. Slowly, the door slid up into the ceiling, revealing a long, plain hallway with narrow gaps piercing the wall facing the pool chamber, acting as a hidden observation gallery. Two figures stood halfway down the passage. They turned as the door opened. One was a distinguished looking older man dressed in heavy black robes. The second was female, but not human. Her skin was as pale as bone, her eyes red as fire. Slender horns protruded from her forehead, and she was naked save for spiked chains that wrapped around her body like a second skin.
“Well now, this is inconvenient,” the man said.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” Kat demanded. The boneslayers gripped their earthbreaker mauls tightly. “Speak quickly!”
“Of course,” the man said. “There is no need for violence. I am Shadowcount Sial, and this is my associate Asyra. We are accomplices of Laori Vaus. I trust you remember her?”
“Well, well,” Valeris said. “Isn’t this getting interesting?”
“Laori reported your efforts in Old Korvosa to our organization,” Sial continued. “I have been…observing you for some time now.”
“You mean spying on us!” O’Reginald snapped.
Sial shrugged. “I was simply gathering information. You see, I represent a group of scholars and historians within the church of Zon-Kuthon. We may have need of the services of such an esteemed group as yourselves, but first we must make be certain of your methods. I humbly request that you allow us to accompany you as silent observers. You have my word that we will not interfere with your quest in any way.”
The boneslayers began speaking at once, their voices raised in anger.
“They don’t like them,” Trinia said. “They are warning us…strongly…not to trust them.”
“How quaint,” Sial said, his voice dripping disdain. “Your primitives speak for you?”
“Watch your mouth!” Valeris said.
“My apologies,” Sial said. “I’m just not accustomed to servants being so…outspoken.”
“They’re not our servants,” Kat said. “They are allies, and if you want to be the same, you’ll show some respect.”
Sial nodded silently.
“Fine,” Kat continued. “We can’t keep you from following us without killing you, and I’d prefer to keep my eyes on you, but be warned, if you step out of line even once, we’ll end this partnership…permanently.”
“Understood,” Sial smiled.
_________________________________________________________________
Beyond the gallery hall, the ever-growing group came upon a strange sight. The floor of the otherwise empty chamber contained a five-foot diameter hole in the center, surrounded by a ring of wavy runes. Inside the hole, a shaft filled with brilliant emerald light dropped into the depths. A smaller room opened off the chamber, as did a second observation gallery. Within the smaller room, a strange, bronze statue stood. It depicted a half-snake, half-human creature with the lower body of a serpent coiled about a stand and the upper torso of a slender human woman. Her hands were crossed over her chest to clutch two objects at her shoulders…the right hand held a large quill, while the left held a jade-handled whip. Six bird-like wings emerged from the torso’s shoulders, and instead of a head, it had a disk bearing the seven-pointed star of the Sihedron. A line of jade runes ran down the statue’s belly and along the length of its snaky lower body.
“Lissala, the goddess of runes,” Sial said.
“One of the former patrons of ancient Thassilon,” Kat agreed. “I have studied Thassilonian, but these runes are nonsensical. Perhaps a spell or incantation of some sort.”
The beguiler approached the statue and began to examine it more closely, sliding her hands over its surface. When she reached the base, she noticed a hair-thin seam there…a concealed drawer. Her fingers working nimbly, she depressed a hidden latch, causing the drawer to slide open. Inside was a large circular frame that contained several wedge-shaped metal plates, each punched with its own intricate design. Each plate appeared to slide perfectly over or under the two adjacent plates along the outer ring.
“Hmm,” Kat mused as she held the frame in front of her. Then she walked quickly back into the first chamber and stood next to the illuminated hole. She kneeled down and placed the frame over the hole. It fit perfectly. Her face intent, Kat began to slide the plates over and under each other. As she did so, the light from the shaft below shone through the openings and began to create a pattern on the ceiling. When she slid the last one into place, it was obvious to all that she had created a map…a map of the truly massive complex that the Acropolis was once a part of.
“I’m impressed,” Sial said, smiling. “Laori did not speak falsely when she told of your talents. I think we shall indeed have much to talk about.”
Though the map was interesting, it was also outdated. Much of the areas it revealed had been destroyed over time. It seemed only a few rooms remained of the original structure. Kat left the frame in place as the group moved on through the next gallery to explore those other chambers. The second gallery opened onto a perpendicular hallway that seemed to join the two sides of the Acropolis that bounded the central chamber. Along the hall, the company came to a point with two large double doors on either side. It seemed reasonable that the western door would lead back to the central chamber. From the map, Kat knew that another room lay to the east. When she opened that door, she beheld a truly wondrous sight. The walls were decorated with six life-sized bas-relief carvings that depicted a diverse collection of priests, each adorned in billowing robes draped in Thassilonian runes. An intricate scripture wound around each carving, coiling around them and along the walls like an immensely long tangle of ribbons.
“So what do you make of this, then?” Sial asked Kat, interest gleaming in his eyes.
“I don’t recognize the carvings,” Kat replied, “but the writings are Thassilonian.”
“The carvings represent the upper tier clergy of Lissala, unless I miss my guess,” Sial offered.
Kat looked at him suspiciously. She turned and began reading the scripture.
“It seems to be a warning of some sort,” she said. “Something about a dire peril that lies within the heart of the Acropolis. It’s going to take me a bit to read it all…not long…perhaps five minutes…”
______________________________________________________________
An hour later, she was still reading.
“Come on!” Valeris groaned. “Don’t you know what the danger is yet?”
“Just a bit longer,” Kat said distractedly.
Valeris rolled his eyes and stalked towards the doors. He depressed the Sihedron Rune there, as the doors had closed again on their own after only a minute of being open. He stepped out into the hall, and Herc followed, the big mercenary having grown restless as well. Valeris reached to open the doors across the hall, when suddenly they slid upwards of their own accord. Standing on the other side was Krojun, and three of his Sklar-Quah thundercallers. The boneslayers tensed, their hands gripping their weapons. The big barbarian nodded stoically and spoke curtly.
“He’s warning us that this is a bad place, and we shouldn’t be here,” Trinia translated.
“Then what’s he doing here?” Valeris sneered. Trinia asked the question.
“He says that he and his braves took shelter here to wait out the emberstorm,” Trinia said after Krojun had replied. “Now he wants to know what we’re doing here.”
“Tell him,” Michael shrugged. When Trinia complied, Krojun snorted derisively, and barked out a response.
“He says we’re no better than the ‘star-gazing Lyrune-Quah,’” Trinia said. Krojun then leaned forward and fairly growled his next question into Valeris’s face.
“He’s demanding to know what, exactly, we’re doing in the Cinderlands,” Trinia said quietly. Once again, Michael nodded for her to explain. When she did, Krojun folded his arms across his chest, and grunted. He spoke briefly, his tone dripping disdain.
“He says that the Sun Shamans of the Sklar-Quah have nothing to say to tshamek,” Trinia said.
“I guess we’ll just have to see about that then, won’t we?” Michael smiled, and then he turned back towards Kat.
________________________________________________________________
Another hour passed as Kat continued reading the scriptures, unhurried by the constant grousing of Valeris. Krojun and his band grew quickly bored and began wandering around the main hall. At one point, they came upon a carving of a buxom mermaid, and began hooting and whistling as they made lewd gestures. When that grew tiresome, they took to skipping stones across the twin pools of dark water.
“Let’s go keep an eye on these bumpkins,” Valeris said to Herc. “At least it’ll give us something to do.”
The two went to the bridge which spanned the center of the room. From there they could see the Sklar-Quah clearly on the far side of the pool. Herc crouched down and peered into the black liquid.
“How deep do you think it is?” he asked.
Valeris shrugged. “One way to find out.” He pulled out a length of rope and tied a rock to it. He then whirled it several times around and cast it out over the water. The stone landed heavily, and sank quickly. Valeris began hauling it back towards him. As he did so, the entire structure suddenly shook slightly. The waters of the pool sloshed and churned as if something huge had just shifted below the surface. He dropped the rope and he and Herc began to back away from the pool, but as they did so, movement flickered at the corners of their vision on both sides. They turned, weapons leaving their sheaths, just as a half-dozen Red Mantis assassins appeared from the shadows, surrounding them on both sides.
“They’ve found us!” Herc shouted in warning, praying his voice would carry to his companions.
In an instant, the assassins were upon them, whirling saw-toothed sabers in their hands. In rapid succession, three of them struck at Valeris, their blades slashing him viciously before he could even raise his own sword in defense. His eyes went wide as he collapsed to one knee, blood pouring from multiple wounds, and also from his mouth. His eyes locked with Herc’s briefly before they went dim, and he fell heavily to his side.
“No!” Herc shouted. He lowered his shield and rushed forward, attempting to bull his way through the killers, but they were too skilled and too many. All of them turned their attention to him, and the big warrior knew that it would not be long before his joined his friend in death.
O’Reginald was the first to hear Herc’s warning. The wizard rushed through the doors just as Valeris went down. To his amazement, Krojun and his warriors were watching the battle and actually placing bets with each other! Several coins changed hands when Valeris collapsed, and Krojun chuckled, shaking his head. O’Reginald silently vowed to see that they paid more than coins when this was over. He turned back as Herc struggled to free himself. He closed his eyes and spoke his spell quickly, yanking the mercenary across dimensional boundaries to reappear at his side seconds later. He turned to help his friend, but saw that Sial was already there.
“I have him,” the priest said, and as he laid his hands upon Herc, the warrior’s wounds began to close and heal. O’Reginald nodded his grudging gratitude, then turned back to the room where Kat was still reading.
“Kat!” he shouted. “We could use some help out here!”
Katarina heard the sounds of combat, and she also heard O’Reginald’s calls, yet she could not pull herself away from the ancient writing. Something inside her kept telling her that she was so very near to discovering the secret…she just needed a little more time.
‘No!’ she told herself. Something was wrong. Why couldn’t she simply stop reading and come back to it? With an effort of will that nearly caused her to swoon, she wrenched her eyes away from the script. In that instant, she realized with horror that the writings had been so much nonsense. It had been a trap all along! Cursing herself, she hurried across the room and looked out at the scene unfolding. The Red Mantis killers were regrouping, preparing to close on Herc and O’Reginald. The four Skoan-Quah boneslayers were moving out to meet them.
“Stop!” she shouted, knowing full well that the Shoanti stood no chance against the brutally efficient assassins, but the honor of the braves would not let them retreat when their charges were in danger. Kat began to cast, and before the Red Mantis could leave the bridge, she filled it with a billowing cloud of fog, but it was no ordinary mist. It had the consistency of quicksand, and the assassins suddenly found themselves unable to move at more than a crawl.
“Now!” Kat shouted to O’Reginald, for the two wizards had practiced this particular combination of spells for just such a contingency.
O’Reginald grinned evilly and began his own spell. Within moments, a cluster of writhing, black tentacles sprouted within the fog bank, and quickly entwined every one of the killers. The wizard had one last trick up his sleeve, and he hurled a ball of fire into the mix. It exploded spectacularly, but astonishingly, grappled though they were, all but one of the assassins managed to evade the brunt of the blast. The unlucky individual who did not was burned to ash on the spot.
The tide of battle had certainly turned. The Red Mantis were trapped, and it would only be a matter of time before the tentacles squeezed them all to death. O’Reginald nodded in satisfaction, but as he turned away from the battle, he heard one of the boneslayers shout a warning. When he turned back, he first thought that something had gone awry with his spell, for protruding from the water nearby were several long, rubbery tentacles. On closer inspection, however, the wizard saw that the greenish-black appendages were studded with bumpy nodules, and as he stood there, mouth agape, the nodules opened, revealing reptilian eyes. All of those gathered around the pool recoiled in horror, or, in the case of the Red Mantis, tried to. One of the tentacles suddenly whipped out and snatched one of the assassins from the grip of O’Reginald’s spell, then crushed the man with a slight flex of its coils, dropping him limply into the pool. Another struck at Krojun and wrapped around the barbarian’s leg. With a shrill war cry, the nearest thundercaller whirled a longspear around his head, causing it to emit an ululating whistle through the holes in its blade. He brought the tip of the spear down on the tentacle, pinning it to the ground. A moment later, Krojun raised his maul and crushed the appendage, causing it to release him and slither back into the pool. Yet more tentacles continued to emerge. One grabbed Hargev, one of the Skoan-Quah boneslayers, and lifted the man screaming into the air. His cries were abruptly cut short as his spine snapped.
Chaos erupted in the central chamber. As O’Reginald watched, the remaining Red Mantis were killed off one-by-one, either by his tentacles, or by the alien ones from the pool. One of Krojun’s thundercallers was seized by another tentacle, and Krojun rushed to his side. Nalmid, another boneslayer, died quickly as his neck was broken. Still more tentacles emerged. No one could move for fear of being snatched. O’Reginald wondered how long it would be before they all joined Valeris. Where was Ratbone when you needed him?
NOWHERE TO RUN
Raelak breathed a sigh of relief as the last remnants of the emberstorm finally passed. For a brief moment there, he had thought that he might die within sight of the Acropolis. Surely his shame among his ancestors in the afterlife would have been never ending. Fortunately, he’d been able to bring at least a small amount of honor to his fathers by using the skills they had taught him and finding shelter within an old landshark drift.
“Come on dog,” he said as he climbed to the edge of the crater and shook the ash from his cloak. The mangy mongrel padded after him, obedient as a heel hound despite the fact that Raelak had found him scavenging for scrub rats just two days past. The Shoanti hadn’t named the animal. That would be disrespectful. The gods already named all creatures at the moment of their creation, and it would be presumptuous of him to second guess the divine. He certainly had no illusions that he now owned the dog. To Raelak, they were simply two travelers going in the same direction, and the mongrel had already proven very useful when they’d stumbled across that pack of bush tigers. Still, he was looking forward to a little company while he explored the ancient ruin. Technically, the Lyrune-Quah rite of passage was supposed to be a solo journey, but there was never any mention of animal companions. Besides, the Moon Maidens had their wolves, didn’t they? What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Raelak and the dog made their way up the low hill to the doors of the Acropolis. Strangely, they were ajar. Raelak crouched and examined the ground around them closely.
“Well,” he said, “it looks like we may not be alone after all…,”
______________________________________________________________
Krojun crushed another tentacle beneath his earthbreaker, but not before it had ripped the leg from the Sklar-Quah thundercaller it had seized. The man bled to death within seconds. Across the pool, Asyra unspooled two of the chains from around her arms and spun them like scythes as she warded off a pair of tentacles that threatened to menace Sial. Sial himself had produced a spiked chain from beneath his robes, and he gripped it as though he knew how to use it well. With his other hand, he pulled out a black, stoppered vial and removed the cork with his teeth.
“Asyra,” he growled, “it has become most inhospitable here. We are leaving. Any who wish to come with us, join me now!”
“We’re not leaving!” O’Reginald snapped. “We came here for a reason, and we won’t let a giant squid stop us!”
“As you wish,” Sial shrugged. “If you survive, we shall soon meet again.”
He upended the flask, quaffing its contents in one swallow, and then gripped Asyra’s arm. In a matter of seconds, the pair simply faded away to nothingness.
____________________________________________________________________
When Raelak reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw a roiling cloud of fog stretching across a dark pool. Strange, serpentine shadows played within the mist, while shouts and the sound of clanging metal echoed from somewhere beyond it.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, dog,” he said as he ruffled the mongrel’s fur, “but I won’t allow open defilement of this holy place. Wait here. I won’t be gone long.”
The Lyrune-Quah brave then slipped away into the shadows to a nearby door. He pushed a stellate symbol in its center, and it rose silently into the ceiling. He peered around the corner and then quickly ducked inside. He didn’t hear the dog began to growl low in its throat, nor see it suddenly double in size, nor notice the long, spike-like appendage that sprouted where its tail had been…
____________________________________________________________________
A ball of fire rolled across the surface of the pool, immolating several of the grasping tentacles, but despite O’Reginald’s best effort, more of them continued to emerge from the water. Both of the two remaining thundercallers were seized and lifted into the air as Krojun howled impotent rage. Despite the fact that the Sklar-Quah had made no effort to help him and Valeris, and had even gone so far as to wager on their fates, Herc couldn’t stand by and simply watch them die. He rushed forward, hacking an intervening tentacle in two as he went, and grabbed the legs of one of the thundercallers just as the Shoanti was about to be pulled out of reach. The other Shoanti was not so fortunate, and the tentacles that held him sucked him beneath the water. Krojun roared again, and pulverized the appendage that held the last of his men. As the tentacle released him, Herc caught the semi-conscious thundercaller, heaved him over his shoulder, and quickly carried him to safety back in the room where Kat had found the insidious writings.
__________________________________________________________________
Raelak jogged quickly down the length of the gallery he’d entered, then opened another door and came upon a strange chamber that held a pillar of emerald light which formed some sort of pattern on the ceiling. He ignored the phenomenon for the moment, and also the large pair of double doors on the room’s north side, guessing they would only lead him into the midst of the fog bank. Instead he opened another smaller door across the room, and hurried down a second gallery. When he opened the door at the end of that hall, he stopped dead in his tracks. Standing directly on the other side was a beautiful, yellow-haired tshamek woman, and, of all things, a Skoan-Quah boneslayer!
“Hold, brother!” Ahalak shouted as Raelak reflexively raised his bow. “We are not your enemy today! The tale is a long one, and I shall give it to you should we survive this day, but for now you must take me at my word…stand with us against this evil, and all will be made clear!”
Raelak was still very confused, but he did indeed trust the word of a fellow Shoanti, even if it was a tshamek-loving Skoan-Quah. As he glanced around the corner into the main chamber, however, he was both horrified and awe-struck. A lone Sklar-Quah warrior stood at the edge of the dark pool, menaced on all sides by writhing, eye-covered tentacles. The warrior was none other than Krojun Eats-What-He –Kills. The Sklar-Quah’s legend stretched the breadth of the Cinderlands, and it was apparently well-deserved. The tentacles ripped and tore at his flesh, yet the brave stood his ground, wielding his earthbreaker and klar as if they were extensions of his own body. As Raelak watched, however, a second Sklar-Quah appeared from a side passage…a thundercaller from his tattoos. The man was badly wounded, yet he did not let that stop him from rushing to Krojun’s aid. Before he could reach his leader, however, one of the tentacles flicked at him like a striking viper, and caved in his chest before he could take three steps.
_______________________________________________________________
Kat could see that the situation was growing more desperate by the moment. Thinking quickly, she took the best tactic she could think of…buying time. Weaving her magic more intricately than she’d ever tried before, she constructed a highly realistic, yet illusory stone wall around the near side of the pool to a height of over ten feet. To her horror, however, the tentacles began ‘climbing’ the wall, and several even came right through it. One of them twined around Shadfrar, one of the two remaining boneslayers. The man died screaming. Another seized O’Reginald, heaving him into the air, and driving the words of a spell from his lips as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs. At that precise moment, all of the open doors in the area abruptly slid closed at the same time, pinning several of the grasping tentacles beneath them. Kat, Herc, Michael, Trinia, Ahalak, and Raelak found themselves in the long hallway between the main chamber and the room filled with Thassilonian writing. O’Reginald took a deep breath, and spoke one word, transporting himself out of the tentacle’s grasp, and as far away as he could get, but the last thing he saw before he departed was Krojun taking the opportunity to dart to safety in one of the galleries on the far side of the chamber.
__________________________________________________________________
Herc immediately began hacking at the tentacles that were trapped beneath the doors. From several feet away, Raelak drew back the string to his bow, and as he did so, an arrow of pure light formed. When he released it, it burned through one of the tentacles like a hot knife through butter. Again and again he pulled and released, destroying tentacle after tentacle. When the last one withdrew, Michael slapped the Sihedron rune on the door behind the group, and the company quickly fell back into the writing chamber to regroup and catch their collective breath.
__________________________________________________________________
O’Reginald reappeared back on the main stairs that lead up to the Acropolis entrance…and immediately thought that he’d jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. Standing before him was a gigantic bipedal, lupine creature that sported a stocky, flail-like tail. Then, recognition dawned on the sorcerer’s face.
“R…Ratbone??” he asked incredulously.
The predatory creature nodded once, then suddenly leaped forward. For a moment, O’Reginald thought he’d been mistaken, and now he’d pay for his mistake with his life. An instant later, however, he was seized from behind as tentacles began emerging from the pool again. Ratbone seized the appendage in his claws, and then bit cleanly through it with his powerful jaws. O’Reginald dropped heavily to the floor, then quickly scrambled to his feet and began running up the stairs. Behind him, he saw Ratbone wade into the pool, directly into the nest of tentacles, and continue to wreak havoc with the alien things.
__________________________________________________________________
“We cannot stay here,” Raelak told Trinia and Ahalak. Those…things…could find another way through at any moment. I can lead us out, but I suggest we split up. If we divide the attention of the demon arms, we might have a better chance of escape.”
Trinia translated the Lyrune-Quah’s words for her allies, and they quickly agreed. They hurried back into the hallway, and then divided. Raelak, Kat, and Ahalak went left, while Herc, Michael and Trinia went right. Raelak led his group back through the galleries, past the fountain of light. He did not notice when Katarina paused there, and did not follow. When he reached the end of the second gallery, he quickly opened the door…and stopped in his tracks. A monstrous creature stood knee-deep in the pool, ripping and tearing at tentacles with feral savagery.
“Dog?” the Shoanti asked.
Meanwhile, Herc led his friends through the opposite galleries, but when they reached the end of the second, they found Krojun already there, crouched and peering out the narrow windows into the central chamber beyond. The Sklar-Quah warrior was bleeding profusely, and looked as if he was barely able to stay on his feet. Cautiously, Herc drew a healing elixir from his belt and held it out to the Shoanti. Snarling, Krojun slapped it away and barked something in his native tongue.
“He says he’d rather die than feel the pity of tshamek,” Trinia said.
Herc shrugged. “Then tell him to stand aside,” the big merc said, and he shouldered past Krojun to the door. When he reached it, he opened it quickly…and was immediately yanked through as a tentacle reached in and coiled around his waist.
__________________________________________________________________
Ratbone didn’t see Herc’s plight, for by that time he had fought through a small forest of tentacles and completely submerged himself within the pool. He intended to find the source of the deadly appendages and deal with it in his customary fashion. He hadn’t gone very far down before he saw it: a massive mound of tentacles rose and fell, hinting at the breathing of a great slumbering beast. Every so often, the tip of one the glistening filaments twitched to life, spontaneously growing a razor-like feeler, horrible eye, or other alien appendage. The creature’s body was a looming clot of those same appendages, a twitching knot of wriggling matter. Ratbone hesitated for a moment, not certain what he was looking at, but then he surged forward and slashed into the beast with one savage swipe of his claws. It was as if he had struck a stone wall. Barely a scratch marred the thing’s skin, and even that rapidly healed and vanished completely in the span of a three heartbeats.
__________________________________________________________________
Kat stood studying the map on the ceiling, looking for something…anything…she might have missed. Then, she saw it. There was another level to the Acropolis…one that lay directly beneath them! The cone of light was a passage! Immediately, she opened her mind to her companions, telling them of her discovery, but in that moment, she sensed the danger they were in. Quickly, she hurried out of the room and back towards the main chamber.
_________________________________________________________________
Michael was grabbed next. Before he knew what was happening, he was dangling by one leg over the pool, not far from the still struggling Herc. Raelak still knelt in the doorway, firing over and over at the tentacles, destroying several, but not able to get a clear shot at those holding the tshamek. Before he could, he was struck repeatedly by several of the flailing arms, and he was forced to retreat back to the relative safety of the gallery. When he looked around to find Krojun, he saw that the Sklar-Quah was gone.
Meanwhile, Kat stepped out of the gallery across the chamber and quickly loosed a thunderous lance of sonic energy. The tentacle that held Herc was blown into a dozen pieces and the mercenary fell heavily to the floor.
“Come on!” Kat shouted, and Herc didn’t hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and ran across the room, dodging tentacles on all sides. Suddenly, the pool erupted in a geyser as Ratbone reemerged. With one hand he slashed through the tentacle that held Michael, then caught the priest as he fell and tossed him towards the door where Kat stood. Michael rolled to his feet and darted after Herc. Kat cleared a path for Ratbone with another sound lance, allowing the druid to reach the gallery. He shoved Kat in front of him and the pair hurried towards the map room. Behind them, the tentacles writhed and slithered through the gallery door, pursuing with deadly speed.
By the time Herc and Michael reached the cone of light, Trinia and Ahalak were already there. Then, from the far side of the room, Raelak emerged, panting and bloody.
“In the hole!” Kat cried as she ran in. Herc looked dubious, but shrugged and leaped in, vanishing into the brilliant emerald light. Michael started to follow, but suddenly a tentacle burst into the chamber and seized the priest’s leg. He cried out in surprise, then swung his shield almost reflexively, bringing it down solidly on the appendage. For an instant, its grip loosened, and Michael yanked himself free, then rolled across the floor and into the hole. Ratbone grabbed the wriggling tentacle before it could lash out again, buying time for Trinia, Ahalak and Raelak to dive down the shaft.
“Wait!” Kat shouted. “Where’s O’Reginald?”
“Right here!” the sorcerer said as he popped out of thin air.
Kat allowed herself a brief smile, then stepped into the beam of light. O’Reginald quickly followed. Ratbone allowed himself the brief indulgence of snapping the tentacle in two before he followed his companions into the unknown.
Nice... very nice. You really did a great job running that fight and describing it in this text. It's epic.
I'm sorry to hear that Valeris died. Is Raelak a new character for that player?
Yes, Raelak is the new character of Valeris's player, Ricky. This past week, however, he almost went down himself in the battle at Flameford...
I love the Jolly Doc Campaign Jounals (and Story Hours from Enworld). I hope that your games are as exciting as they seem from your writing.
Sometimes even more so...the verbal barbs that are hurled across the table are memorable. I'm probably guilty of most of them, as I nearly did a maniacal dance when Raelak suffered a humiliating beat down at the hands (paws) of an ANIMAL COMPANION!! EAT IT!!
ooooo i laughed till i cried........we are actually discussing video taping moments like that at the table the joy JD showed when picking up raelak and slamed him over dead. All the while huriling eat its and whose the man nows.
And btw Never wake up a tired sorcerer from a happy dream.
CINDERMAW
A wide corridor, composed of polished black granite, stretched away north. A blue stone disc sat on the floor beneath the glowing column of blue light that rose up from it through a hole in the ceiling. To the north, a small, circular opening in the wall opened into a smaller chamber. The eight survivors gathered round the small disc, each having drifted gently down the hole when they took their leap of faith.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Ratbone, in his normal shape, said to Raelak.
The Shoanti quirked an eyebrow expectantly.
“Yes…well…it’s kind of a long story,” the druid stammered. “I’ll try to sum it up. You see, we’re from Korvosa, the land of your ancestors. The queen there has gone insane, and we believe she’s been corrupted by a powerful, ancient, and thoroughly evil artifact. We also believe the Sklar-Quah Sun Shamans know something about this and can possibly tell us a way to destroy it and defeat the queen. The only problem is…,”
“You are tshamek,” Raelak said solemnly.
“Exactly,” Ratbone nodded. “So, Thousand Bones of the Skoan-Quah told us that the Sklar-Quah might accept us if we recreate the legend of Skurak.”
“You are going to be eaten by a giant worm?” Raelak asked, a slight smile on his face. “I thought you were smarter than that, Dog.”
“Me too,” Ratbone muttered. “Anyway, in order for the Sklar-Quah to believe us, assuming we can recreate the legend, we need a Truthspeaker.”
“I think I know the rest,” the Shoanti said. “My tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, won’t exactly give you one of our Truthspeakers unless you prove yourselves to them, so you have come here seeking Tanjah’s found-mark.”
Ratbone nodded again.
“That is my quest as well,” Raelak said. “It is tradition among my tribe that each brave undertake such a pilgrimage in order to prove himself worthy to take his full place in the tribe. I have one question though…why were you travelling apart from your friends?”
“That’s an even longer story,” Ratbone said. “I was born in the Cinderlands under…unfortunate circumstances. I felt a need to visit my birthplace…on my own.”
This time it was Raelak who nodded. “We must each seek our own peace. It seems that, for now, our paths are the same. If it is well, I will walk with you for a time. If I see that you are worthy, perhaps I will even speak on your behalf with my tribe…Dog.”
Ratbone smiled, but just as suddenly, his brow furrowed in confusion, and he turned to Katarina.
“Where’s…Valeris?”
Kat shook her head. “Gone,” she said. “The Red Mantis caught him and Herc off-guard. He fell.”
“Where is his body?” the druid asked tonelessly.
“Above,” Kat said, “on the bridge.”
“I will recover him before we leave,” Ratbone said. “I owe him that much.”
_______________________________________________________________
Beyond the smaller chamber at the end of the wide hall, was a narrow flight of stairs that led to a large, open vault. The walls, ceiling and floor of the chamber had been painted to resemble a starry sky, giving the illusion of walking through space. In places between the stars, were painted small blue butterflies. A ten-foot diameter stone sphere floated near the room’s southern wall. Three short metal rods protruded from the lower hemisphere, radiating outward like the legs of a tripod, only the rods rested on empty air rather than a solid surface. The sphere itself appeared to have been carefully carved with drawings of tiny rivers, mountains, and forests.
Raelak walked reverently over to the globe, his mouth open.
“This…is our world,” he said softly. “It is Golarion…only…not…”
“What do you mean, ‘not,’” O’Reginald said as he came to stand beside the Shoanti.
“Look here,” Raelak replied, pointing towards a large central landmass. “This is where Varisia should be, but it is landlocked, except for that narrow strip of coast to the south. And see? The Inner Sea is missing completely, and what are these islands, and that continent? No such places exist. Strange…,”
“Hmm,” the sorcerer said as he leaned in for a closer look. In doing so, he absently placed his hand on the globe…and promptly vanished!
_________________________________________________________________
O’Reginald felt disembodied. He floated, or at least his mind did, in a vast void, yet the space was not empty. It was full of stars and strange planets. His perspective began to shift, slowly at first, and then more rapidly. World after world flashed past him, each stranger than the one before. The vistas became dizzying, and O’Reginald felt his psyche begin to fragment. Desperately, he tried to focus on something, anything familiar. He pictured his friends where he’d left them, and just as suddenly as the visions had begun, they ended and he was again standing in the strange vault, his hand hovering just above the globe.
“What happened?” Raelak demanded. “Where did you go?”
“I…I don’t know,” O’Reginald said. Then he saw his hand that was still held before him. On the back of it was a light blue tattoo of a butterfly. It had not been there before.
“The Spherewalker’s Mark!” Raelak exclaimed. “You’ve received it! Did you see her? Did you see Desna?”
“I don’t know what I saw,” O’Reginald shook his head. “I just know that I don’t want to see it again.”
“Well I do!” Raelak said, and he reached towards the globe.
“Careful!” the sorcerer warned. “Be sure to picture something familiar to you when you want to return, otherwise…I think maybe you never will.”
Raelak nodded, and touched the sphere. He too vanished, only to reappear moments later, but what felt to him like an eternity. When he did, he too carried the Spherewalker’s Mark. He gazed at it in wonder, and a child-like smile brightened his face. One-by-one, the other companions repeated the ritual, each telling a different tale when they returned, but all carrying the found mark. The left the vault and returned to the shaft of light. Instinctively, they knew that the light would carry them back up as gently as it had brought them down. When they regained the main level, all was quiet. The dark pool was placid with no sign of the deadly tentacles. Valeris’s body, and those of the Red Mantis and the boneslayers lay where they fell. The bodies of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers, however, where gone. Ratbone gently picked up his friend, while Raelak and Ahalak gathered the remains of the boneslayers. In silence, the companions left the Acropolis of the Thrallkeepers.
______________________________________________________________
When they exited the ruins, the landscape outside had changed. A tower stood where none had stood before. It was carved of some sort of white stone, and bore only a single door. Atop it sat a huge carving of a bleached skull. As the companions watched, the door swung open and Shadowcount Sial stepped out, Asyra just behind him.
“We meet again,” the Kuthite priest said with a bow and a small smile. “I’m relieved to see that you are all alive and well.”
“Not all,” O’Reginald snapped.
“Yes, the duskblade,” Sial nodded. “Pity, but it seems that you’ve bolstered your ranks with one of the natives. They do have their uses, I suppose. Ah, and I see ‘Ratbone’ has rejoined you as well.”
“Who is this?” Ratbone asked the others, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“An acquaintance of Laori Vas,” Kat explained. “He says that the ‘Brotherhood of Bones’ wants to partner with us. They want to observe us. They say they might have work for us later.”
“No,” Ratbone said simply and definitively.
“Wait…,” Michael began.
“I said…no,” Ratbone repeated, his eyes flat. Michael wisely remained silent.
Kat shrugged.
“You have your answer,” she called to Sial.
The priest nodded. “So be it. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of each other.”
_______________________________________________________________
With Raelak’s help, finding the Lyrune-Quah proved an easy task. The Shoanti explained that, this time of the year, the clan camped near an ancient ruin called the House of the Moon, or simply the Moon Ruin. As they neared the area, they were intercepted a group of four female Shoanti, each with a large wolf at her side.
“Moon Maidens,” Raelak explained in a low voice, “the protectors of the Lyrune-Quah.”
“Why have you brought tshamek here?” one woman, obviously the leader, demanded of Raelak.
“They all are bearers of the Spherewalker’s Mark, Tekra’Kai,” Raelak explained.
The Moon Maiden’s eyes went wide. “Then our prayers have been answered,” she whispered. “You have been sent by Desna! You must come quickly! The creature has already slain several of my best warriors!”
“What creature?” Raelak asked.
“A red reaver,” Tekra’Kai said. “We discovered that it had taken up residence in the temple when we arrived. As you know, we are responsible for preparing the House before the rest of the tribe arrives. Our shame shall be immeasurable if we cannot fulfill our responsibility.”
Raelak nodded in understanding, then explained the situation to his new-found companions, adding in Common, “It would only serve to improve your case to the Truthspeaker if you were to offer your assistance.”
“Of course we will,” Ratbone spoke for the group.
The matter settled, the Moon Maidens led the company on to the House of the Moon.
_______________________________________________________________
A silvery tower stood atop a low promontory in the foothills. The surrounding stone had been smoothed by ages of wind, but the tower itself remained as stark and crisp as the day its final block was set in place. The structure shimmered with a slightly reflective sheen, as if an almost invisible layer of silver covered it. A thirty-foot-tall opening allowed access to the tower interior at ground level, the curving sides framed by the long peacock tail feathers of an immense butterfly or moth that had been carved into the building’s façade. The creature’s wings furled to the left and right, fanning over two side towers attached to the central spire, which rose to a height of at least one-hundred feet. Above, a silvery sphere capped the tower’s peak, as if the moon itself had fallen out of the sky to become impaled upon the structure’s steeple.
Ahalak did not accompany the tshamek and the Lyrune-Quah brave inside. He had performed his duty in escorting them that far, and had lost three of his brothers on the journey. The boneslayer wished them well as they mounted the wide stairwell of the House of the Moon. The companions moved into a wide, open central chamber. Raelak paused in the entry way and stooped to examine the paving stones. His finger traced faint grooves there.
“Claw marks,” he said as he rose to his feet. “They lead that way.”
The tracks led to another wide stair that gave onto one of the tower roofs, and provided a majestic view of the stars. A wide archway led back into the main tower, where an immense hall could be seen. Its walls had been painted with symbols and imagery sacred to the worship of Desna. A massive starknife was affixed to its high ceiling. Something large crouched in the center of the chamber, something that smelled bestial and growled deep in its throat as it sniffed the air, sensing new prey. It rose to its full height of over ten feet and stalked forward into the moonlight. Its body was thick and hairless, its gray hide flushed with crimson along its arms and legs. Strangely tiny bat-like wings jutted from its shoulder blades while its gangly claws swung down to its ankles. Three separate pairs of crimson eyes hinted at the creature’s crude intellect, but its powerful jaws and razor-sharp talons dismissed any suggestion of docility. Herc was in the lead as the group gathered on the rooftop. He lowered his shield and began jogging forward to meet the reaver. Almost casually, the behemoth swung one tree-sized arm and batted the mercenary aside like a rag doll. It turned back towards the others, coming face-to-face with…Kat. The slight Varisian woman smiled endearingly, then spoke a few musical words. The creature froze in its tracks, paralyzed.
“Thanks,” Herc said, wiping blood from his mouth as he raised his sword and drove it through the base of the monster’s skull.
______________________________________________________________
When the group returned to the Moon Maiden’s with the bodies of their slain companions and the head of the creature that had taken their lives, the Lyrune-Quah warriors were speechless. They were invited to stay and enjoy the hospitality of the camp until the remainder of the tribe, along with the Truthspeaker, arrived. Raelak found himself on the receiving end of a special form of gratitude from Tekra’Kai, and the archer knew that his path had truly been blessed by Desna…
Within days, the remainder of the Lyrune-Quah reached the House of the Moon, and with them came an elderly Shoanti that Tekra’Kai introduced as Truthspeaker Akram. He was duly impressed when the leader of the Moon Maidens told him of the aid the tshamek who bore the Spherewalker’s Mark had given them. When he learned of their plan to recreate the legend of Skurak, his expression became one of wonder and excitement. He welcomed the chance to journey to the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael and bear witness to such an historic event. He would be prepared to leave by dawn of the next day. A massive celebration was held that evening, and the members of the K.I.A. felt that acceptance by the Shoanti might not be such an impossible task after all.
________________________________________________________________
Cindermaw was known to hunt the lands in the extreme western portion of the Ash-Blown Lands. As the train of wanderers traversed this desolate landscape, they encountered fewer and fewer signs of other living creatures. What at first seemed like low hills in the distance revealed themselves to be enormous burrows upon closer inspection. Despite these discoveries, it was still hours before the companions caught their first glimpse of the great worm. On the horizon, it breached the earth like an ocean leviathan, rising high into the ash-filled air before crashing into the ground once more. The group halted, tension palpable in the air…and nothing happened. Over the next hour, Cindermaw appeared several more times, each time a little closer, and in a different direction. It was like a great shark circling its prey, toying with them.
When the attack finally came, it was swift, and unexpected, despite their expectations. The ground suddenly trembled beneath their feet like an earthquake, and then Cindermaw breached, not a dozen feet away. The behemoth was truly gargantuan, its mottled skin the red of molten iron, heat radiating from it in oppressive waves. It opened its triple jaws and exhaled a torrential inferno of flame that engulfed all of the puny creatures beneath it. Fortunately, the K.I.A. were not fools, and had not entered the hunting grounds unprepared. Michael had placed protective wards against fire over them all, and the flames passed around them harmlessly.
“Now!” Ratbone shouted.
In order for Akram to tell their tale, the K.I.A. needed for him to survive the experience. Likewise, it was only necessary for one of them to recreate the legend, and so all of those who were going to be extraneous, and needlessly endangered, had planned early on to make good their escape when the moment came. O’Reginald quickly grabbed Akram and Trinia by their arms and spoke a word. In an instant, they were whisked away between dimensions, reappearing a safe distance away, but still close enough so that Akram could bear witness. Raelak and Ahalak took to their feet in the opposite direction, the swift Shoanti rapidly putting distance between themselves and Cindermaw. That left Herc, Ratbone, Kat and Michael. The druid and the mercenary had the obvious roles of baiting the worm, while the priest stayed close in case his healing powers were needed, and the sorceress stood ready in the event that her beguiling magic might turn the tide of battle.
Herc moved in first, slashing quickly at the great worm and then darting away. Cindermaw turned to follow the big warrior, but instead found Ratbone. The druid, in his huge, four-armed, horned, spiked-tail predator form, stood directly in front of the beast, roaring and howling a furious challenged. Cindermaw took the bait. The worm struck like a cobra, and seized Ratbone in its jaws. The druid went limp and allowed himself to be hauled into the air. Herc rushed in again, delivering a series of vicious strikes. For a moment, Cindermaw loosened its grip on Ratbone, turning back towards the creature that harried its flanks.
“Pull back!” Ratbone growled.
He feared the worm would not try to swallow him, but would instead content itself with tearing him and his companions apart with its teeth. As Herc withdrew again, Cindermaw’s barbed tail whipped out of the sand and stabbed him behind the knee. As the burning poison exploded into his body, Herc stumbled, but quickly regained his feet and lurched towards Kat and Michael. Cindermaw roared, extending its neck and swallowing Ratbone whole in a single gulp. For several seconds, silence reigned. Then, Cindermaw bellowed again, but this time it was in agony as a hole was ripped through its gizzard by the razor-sharp claws and teeth of Ratbone. As the druid dropped heavily to the ground, covered in gore and slime, the hole he’d left behind closed quickly by muscular contraction. Ratbone rolled to his feet and began to run, but before he could go more than a dozen feet, Cindermaw seized him again, and bones crunched as the worm decided to simply crush the life out of its prey.
At that moment, O’Reginald suddenly reappeared.
“Time to go, ladies and gentlemen!” the sorcerer announced. His fingers moving in a blur, he wove a quick spell which whisked Herc and Ratbone several dozen feet away. Ratbone reappeared and hit the ground running. As Cindermaw hesitated in momentary confusion, Michael began to run as well, and Katarina simply faded away as she willed herself into the safety of the Ethereal plane. Seeing all of its prey escaping, Cindermaw howled in fury and lunged after them. The nearest and slowest target was, unfortunately, Herc. The worm grabbed the mercenary by the leg and flipped him into the air, catching him in its mouth and allowing him to slide right down its throat. O’Reginald cursed roundly and prepared to loose his most powerful evocations, knowing that to slay the beast would minimize their accomplishment, for what would be legendary about escaping a creature that could be felled so easily? Abruptly, however, Cindermaw’s gizzard exploded a second time as Herc’s spiked shield smashed through sinew and flesh. No sooner was the warrior free than O’Reginald rushed to his side and then whisked them both quickly away. Cindermaw was left hungry, angry, wounded, but with its legend still intact. The K.I.A., on the other hand, had reproduced the rebirth of Skurak not once, but twice. Akram was grinning ear-to-ear when the companions finally regrouped.
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Comparisons to my Cinderland experience...
1. We never figured out what those discs were used for and, subsequently, supremely disappointed Sial. We took big dislike to him afterwards and that feeling eventually led to satisfactory consequences in the next chapter...
2. I thought the Cindermaw test requires you to cut your way out with a dagger. My group found a beast-bane dagger in the acropolis and my fighter managed to cut himself out. Interestingly enough, in the same room as the dagger, we also found this bottle that would produce infinite water. If my fighter was going to die before he was able to cut himself out, he was suppose to open that bottle inside the Cindermaw and make his exit via the subsequent enema...
Comparisons to my Cinderland experience...
** spoiler omitted **
Oh...my!!!
THE BATTLE OF FLAMEFORD
Akram advised the tshamek and Raelak that, if they truly intended to seek out the Sklar-Quah, they should start with one of the tribe’s oldest encampments, a place called Flameford. He explained that the clan there was steeped in Sklar-Quah tradition, and thus much more likely to honor and respect what the outsiders had accomplished. The Truthspeaker being what he was, the companions took his advice as a matter of course.
The journey was arduous, yet uneventful, and not long after Akram told them that they had crossed into Sklar-Quah lands, the company was intercepted by a contingent of burn riders, Shoanti braves who had trained their mounts to survive and not balk under even the most extreme of environments…the wildfires of the Cinderlands. Akram quickly stepped forward and identified himself. With Trinia and Raelak translating for the K.I.A., Akram explained to the Sklar-Quah that those he escorted sought to divest themselves of their tshamek status. At that, the burn riders hooted with laughter, but when Akram then told them that the tshamek had succeeded in recreating the Legend of Skurak not once, but twice, they grew serious. They swiftly agreed to escort the Truthspeaker and his charges to Flameford.
Flameford occupied an extremely defensible position nestled in the middle of a field of razor-sharp slashrock at the edge of a high cliff. The campsite consisted of some seventeen yurts, two larger tents, and a stable for the tribe’s horses. The burn riders threaded a convoluted path through the slashrock, following no trail that the companions could discern. By the time they had reached the huge bonfire at the center of the camp, the entire camp had gathered to watch them. Prominent among the Shoanti was none-other than the towering form of Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills.
“What is it with this guy?” O’Reginald exclaimed. “Can he just teleport anywhere we happen to be?”
“This is his home tribe,” Akram explained. “His uncle, Ready-Klar, is chief.”
“Wonderful,” the sorcerer groaned. “We don’t stand a chance.”
When they reached the bonfire, Akram bowed low before it. Then, to the confusion of the companions, he began addressing the flames. He started by formally requesting that the Sklar-Quah accept those he presented with full entitlement to walk the Cinderlands. He then launched into a long, meandering story of the never-ending relationship between the sun and the moon that Raelak explained was called the Ritual of the Cycles. When this was complete, Akram boldly announced that he was a Truthspeaker and demanded that any who challenged his standing should speak. A lengthy period of uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Katarina’s eyes cut to Krojun, and she could tell that the big warrior was thinking long and hard as to whether to have his say or not. Ultimately, he remained silent, and then, surprisingly, the bonfire flared once. Akram seemed to take this as some sort of approval, and then launched into a tale of the recent deeds of the K.I.A., tying them to the legend of Skurak, including the details of not only Ratbone, but Herc as well cutting his way free of Cindermaw’s gullet. At that, Krojun and a few others laughed out loud in disbelief, but when the fire flared again, they went quickly silent. Suddenly, the fire died completely and a burly, elderly Shoanti man stepped from it…the Sun Shaman. Silently, he turned and entered one of the larger tents. Across the clearing, Krojun crossed his arms and stared menacingly at Herc.
“What now?” Ratbone asked the Truthspeaker quietly.
“Now, we wait,” Akram answered. “The Sun Shaman will confer with the chief to discuss the implications of what you seek. I must tell you, however, that if he rejects your petition and decides that you are still tshamek, then we, myself included, will be disemboweled for trespassing on Sklar-Quah land…”
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An hour passed before the Sun Shaman reemerged. His words were curt and to-the-point.
“Step forward, outsiders, and speak your name before the tribe.”
Obediently, each of the companions did, including, to the surprise of all, Raelak. The Sun Shaman repeated their names as they spoke.
“Henceforth,” he intoned when the recitation was complete, “you are tshamek no more.”
Akram breathed an audible sigh of relief, while at the same time many of the Shoanti, Krojun included, visibly struggled to contain their fury, yet none openly dared to reject the Sun Shaman’s proclamation.
The gathering began to break up, and Chief Ready-Klar designated one of the yurts that the companions might use as their own.
“Wait,” Ratbone said, as he turned to Akram, “what of our request to join the tribe? What of the information we seek?”
The Truthspeaker merely shrugged. Frustrated, Ratbone started after the Sun Shaman. He recognized that the Shoanti and he shared a common bond…they were both druids. In the ancient language of the sect, he called to the older man.
“Sun Shaman,” he said, bowing in respect, “what can you tell us of Midnight’s Teeth?”
Slowly, the Sun Shaman turned and regarded the half-orc.
“Nothing,” he answered in the druid tongue. “You are no longer tshamek, but neither are you Sklar-Quah, and the deep history of our tribe is not for others to know.”
“Then how may we become Sklar-Quah?” Ratbone asked, drawing himself up.
The Sun Shaman quirked his mouth in amusement. Patiently, he replied.
“If this is truly your wish, then you must undertake the Trial of the Totem. If you succeed, then you will be acknowledged as honorary members of the Sklar-Quah.”
“What must we do?” Ratbone asked.
“Meet me at dawn,” the Sun Shaman replied, then he turned to the rest of the tribe and spoke to them in Shoanti. “The former tshamek have asked for the Trial of the Totem! Their request shall be granted at dawn!”
Krojun could take no more. He shouted in protest, and then stormed off with several burn riders. Akram chuckled and shook his head.
“You people truly know how to make an impression,” he said. “ I wish you luck in your endeavors. My tribe’s traditions preclude me from sharing a sunrise with the Sklar-Quah, and so I shall depart before dawn. Ahalak has graciously volunteered to accompany me. Allow me to give you one final piece of advice before I go: Krojun is an important member of this tribe. Anything you can do to win his respect can only help you.”
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Early the following morning, about an hour before dawn, the companions were awakened by the Sun Shaman. Then, along with a trio of thundercallers, he escorted them out through the slashrock in silence, and took them east across the Cinderlands on a twenty-minute trek to a small mesa. A single ledge wound up to the westernmost flat-topped area of the mesa, a plateau that sat about thirty feet above the surrounding plain. A second ledge led up higher to another plateau, about ten feet higher in elevation. In a square stone pod at the base of the mesa were several fired-clay pylons decorated with numerous Shoanti sigils.
“This is Bolt Rock,” the Sun Shaman intoned, “a place of spiritual significance to my people. These,” he indicated the pylons, “are sun totems. Throughout the trial, each of you will be represented by a totem. Each of you shall select your own totem and then, as a group, you must carry the totems to the first plateau, where you must then balance them in the depressions you find there. Each of you must keep your totem upright until dawn tomorrow. At that point, you must move all of the totems to the highest plateau and keep them upright once more for an additional day. When the sun rises on the second day, any totem still standing shall grant its bearer the status of Sklar-Quah. You must provide your own food and water, or do without. You may use magic, or any other means at your disposal to aid you in keeping the totems upright, as long as they are not changed or damaged, nor the structure of Bolt Rock itself.”
With that explanation, the Sun Shaman transformed into a large raven and took wing back towards Flameford.
The next several minutes were spent with most of the group arguing about the best way to move each of the several-hundred pound totems up to the first plateau. Ratbone ended the debate when he transformed into his burly, ape-like form and shouldered two of the totems simultaneously. He carried them effortlessly up the trail, and then returned for the rest. Once all the totems were moved, the stronger members of the group assisted the others in raising their pylons and settling them into shallow depressions hollowed out in the stone. So balanced, the seven companions began the endurance challenge…
The sun in the Cinderlands was warm from the time it rose. Barely an hour after dawn, it was already roasting. The group had not thought to bring food, but Michael was able to use his magic to create water periodically and passed it round to the others. Still, the heat, wind and general lassitude took its toll. At one point, Kat’s sweat soaked hands lost their grip and her totem began to tilt precariously. Ratbone, still in his predator form, reached out one massive paw to catch it and set it right again until the beguiler could regain her grip. The day passed, and then came the chill of night. Once the sun was down, the totems began to shine with a phosphorescent glow, adding an eerie quality to the quiet, wind-blown dark. By dawn the next day, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them all. Once more, Michael stepped in, weaving his prayers to remove their fatigue and rejuvenate them for the remainder of the trial. As the sun rose, Ratbone again moved the totems to the higher plateau, and the companions settled in for another day of slow torture.
At midday, as the sun overhead raised the temperature of the mesa to something approximating that of an active volcano, a silhouette appeared at the edge of the plateau, rippling out of the heat waves like a mirage. As it drew nearer, it gained definition until it was obvious that it was a man…a big man. Krojun stopped in the midst of the open flat, then folded his arms and stared silently at the struggling companions. Ratbone cut his eyes at O’Reginald, daring the sorcerer to speak. Akram had told them to seek the warleader’s respect, and the druid was determined not to pick a fight. After several minutes of silence, Krojun spoke a few brief words, then turned and left the plateau.
“What did he say?” Ratbone asked Raelak.
The Lyrune-Quah smiled and shook his head.
“He said that you are lucky to have one another as nalharest…brothers and sisters. He actually paid you a compliment!”
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Thirty-six hours had passed atop Bolt Rock, and the sun was setting on the second day. It was then that the company first felt the ground rumble, and saw the dorsal fins break the ground in the distance, like great sharks circling.
“Land sharks,” Raelak moaned.
“Bulettes,” Katarina clarified. “Fierce predators. They’re hunting in a pack. They must have sensed easy prey. They’ll be here any minute!”
“I don’t think they’ll find their prey quite so ‘easy’ this day,” Ratbone muttered. He braced his totem with one hand and uttered the words to a spell, causing two more arms to sprout from his torso.
“Herc,” Raelak called, “can you take my totem? I need to reach my bow.”
“If I’m holding both totems, how can I fight?” the mercenary asked.
“If I am any sort of archer, you won’t have to,” the ranger smiled.
The landsharks erupted from the earth at the base of the mesa, huge, four-legged, armored beasts that looked like horribly mutated armadillos crossed with rhinoceri. Several of them leaped onto the lower plateau, while others began crawling up the sheer walls of the mesa itself. Fortunately, the path to the upper level was too narrow, and the beasts could only come single-file. Ratbone was there to meet them. With three claws free, as well as his fearsome jaws and wicked horns, the druid made quick work of the first creature. While the others raged below, O’Reginald took one hand from his totem and quickly loosed a spell, a dizzying explosion of fire mixed with electricity. Two more of the beasts were incinerated in the blast. Meanwhile, Raelak took careful aim from the edge of the plateau and began raining glowing arrows down upon the monsters climbing up from below. Not a single bulette made it to the top under the deadly barrage. It didn’t take long for the combined efforts of the druid, ranger and sorcerer to repel the assault, and for the last of the brutes to take flight back into the trackless Cinderlands.
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In the pre-dawn hours of the third dawn, the Sun Shaman lead the entire tribe from Flameford up to Bolt Rock. As the sun rose, a chorus of cheers roared across the mesa, welcoming seven new brothers and sisters into the tribe. The Sun Shaman held up his hands for silence, then personally welcomed each of the companions into the Sklar-Quah. He then suggested that the new tribesmembers return to the camp and recover from their ordeal. As the tribe began making its way back to Flameford, the Sun Shaman walked next to Ratbone.
“It is almost time for me to speak with you of the information that you seek about Midnight’s Teeth, and the great evil the Shoanti once guarded long ago, but first I must seek the wisdom of my ancestors. I will travel to the Kallow Mounds this day, and Chief Ready-Klar shall accompany me. Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills shall command the tribe in our absence. We will return by sunset tomorrow. I suggest you rest and enjoy the hospitality of your new family.”
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O’Reginald, Kat, Michael and Trinia retired to their tent when they returned to the village. Ratbone and Herc, and Raelak, however, sought out Krojun. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the four warriors discussed the art of war and battle, spiritual matters, culture and the nature of family. By sunset, they were laughing like old friends and sharing a flask of strong Shoanti ale. As the sun sank below the edge of the western cliff, no one saw the shadowy, winged shapes approaching out of the rose-colored glare. In fact, it was not until the stone-hued gargoyles began dropping their passengers, red-armored, insect-masked assassins, into the midst of the village that the screams and cries of danger began.
The sleeping members of the K.I.A. were among the last to become aware of the assault, but it was a rude awakening that finally alerted them. The tent was completely torn asunder as a covey of gargoyles surrounded it and began tearing at the prone prey within. O’Reginald was the first to come to his senses, acting solely on instinct. Rolling from side to side to avoid the blows of the creatures, he spread his fingers and spoke a word. Behind the gargoyles, a mushroom cloud of fire erupted, engulfing at least half-a-dozen of them. As he paused to catch his breath, however, he an equal number soared in for a landing.
Across the camp, Ratbone morphed his body into his deadly, predator form, then took off at a lope towards the tent on the far side. Raelak and Herc ran in his wake, ignoring the dozen or more small skirmishes between Sklar-Quah, Red Mantis and gargoyles going on around them. Meanwhile, Krojun roared a battle-challenge, hefted his earthbreaker and his klar, and waded into the midst of the attack.
The gargoyles, having seen O’Reginald’s power, concentrated their attacks on him. Kat saw that the sorcerer would not last long against those odds. Thinking quickly, she wove an enchantment about the creatures, causing their relatively unimaginative minds to momentarily perceive their brethren as sworn enemies. They turned on one-another with the savagery of a pack of wild dogs, but such was their rage, that they attacked anything that moved nearby as well, including Kat and O’Reginald.
Herc was almost to the tent when he saw the three Red Mantis assassins step out of the shadows. One darted towards his outnumbered companions, while two quickly moved to flank him. The mercenary whirled and parried, hammering one of the killers with his shield, all the while trying to keep an eye on the third and to shout out a warning. Suddenly, an arrow of pure light streaked out of nowhere and took the third assassin in the leg, causing him to stumble just as he raised his sword above Katarina. At that point, six-hundred pounds of feral druid came crashing out of the tents. Ratbone seized one of the Red Mantis by the throat and snapped his neck with a casual twist of his wrist. O’Reginald took the opportunity to link hands with Kat, Trinia and Michael and instantly transport all of them out of the midst of the kill-zone, reappearing a dozen feet away. The sorcerer then shaped a cone of white-hot fire to immolate the remaining gargoyles. Ratbone roared and turned towards the other two assassins. He ripped one to pieces in a matter of seconds, while Herc quickly disemboweled the last of them.
At that moment, one of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers came rushing from between the burning yurts, shouting hysterically.
“What’s he saying?” Kat asked, turning to Raelak.
“He says that Krojun’s in trouble,” the ranger said grimly.
As a group, the companions began moving quickly through the encampment. The Sklar-Quah were holding their own against the invaders, but they had already suffered many losses. In the center of the camp, however, Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills stood alone, facing off against a lone attacker. The man was dressed in the clothes of a tshamek tracker, though the gleam of fine mithral could be seen beneath his shirt. His hair hung to his shoulders, lank and gray, and a broad-brimmed, floppy hat shadowed his eyes. A lithe, firepelt cougar crouched at his feet, its hackles raised, and its teeth bared. In his hands he held a strange-looking crossbow, with a box-like cartridge fitted into the top. As the companions stepped into the clearing, the man took aim and fired his weapon. The bolt shrieked like a living thing as it streaked towards Krojun and impaled itself squarely in his chest. The fletchings on the bolt were blood-red.
“The Cinderlander…,” Raelak whispered.
Then, before any of them could react, six Red Mantis assassins stepped from among the yurts and quickly surrounded Krojun. The barbarian roared his defiance, but when the killers struck in unison, swarming over him like the insects they were named for, Krojun went down.
Katarina acted first. She flung her hands out, and a billowing cloud of thick fog enveloped the assassins as they raised their blades to deliver the killing blows. She nodded in satisfaction, knowing that their opponents were trapped, imprisoned inside the solid fog. A moment later, however, her eyes went wide in disbelief as the Cinderlander raised his own hand, and a powerful blast of wind ripped the fog cloud to shreds. Raelak cursed, drew back his bow and released. The arrow of light flew in an eye-blink, burning like sunlight as it sank into the leg of the Cinderlander. A moment later, a sonic blast like a thunder-clap flew from Kat’s palm and struck the man. He reeled backwards for an instant, then deliberately raised his crossbow again.
“You shouldn’t’ve interfered, missy,” he snarled. “Neverfear! Kill!”
At his command, the cougar launched itself across the clearing at Kat, leaping into the air and landing heavily atop her, sinking its fangs deep into her shoulder. At the same time, the Cinderlander fired two more of his screaming bolts at Raelak.
In the confusion, the Red Mantis assassins dispersed, moving like shadows until they were among the remaining companions. A pair of them quickly flanked O’Reginald, slashing at him with their wicked sawtooth sabers.
“Herc!” the sorcerer called, extending a hand towards the mercenary. In a flash of light, both of them vanished, reappearing a moment later, their positions transposed. Herc smiled viciously at the two assassins he’d suddenly appeared between, and then slammed his shield into the face of one of them, snapping the man’s neck. Not a dozen paces away, Ratbone seized two more who tried to pull the same flanking maneuver on him. He smashed their skulls together and dropped both of their limp bodies to the ground.
Raelak hissed in agony as the bolts struck home, burning like fire. Clenching his teeth, he drew and released three times in rapid succession. The Cinderlander spun as the arrows hit, and he stumbled to one knee, yet raw fury filled his eyes as he shouldered his crossbow and fired the last bolt in his cartridge. His aim was true, and the missile took Raelak in the notch below his neck. The ranger gasped for air, and clutched feebly at the wooden shaft, but could not pull it free before he collapsed heavily to his side, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
Herc spun his blade in a dazzling display and then gutted the second assassin that faced him, then whirled and crushed the windpipe of a third that rushed towards him with his shield. Ratbone silenced the last in his own, unique way, and then the monstrous druid stalked across the battlefield towards the Cinderlander. The man was still on one knee, fumbling to load a new cartridge into his crossbow.
“I got no quarrel with you,” he said as he looked up at the shaggy behemoth that towered above him. “I only got a debt t’settle with the Shoanti. Stay outta my way, and nobody else has ta get hurt.”
The cartridge clicked home, and he raised the crossbow, but one swipe from Ratbone’s massive paw made sure he’d never fire it again.
Michael rushed to Raelak’s side and knelt next to him. He yanked the bolt free from the ranger’s neck, then passed his hands over the wound. Warm light flowed from the priest into Raelak, and his breathing eased as his eyes fluttered open. Still terribly weak, the Lyrune-Quah warrior lurched to his feet. As he did so, he saw the body of the Cinderlander laying at Ratbone’s feet, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, a low growl and a flash of motion drew his attention to his right. He turned just in time to see the firepelt cougar leaping towards him. That was the last thing he saw before everything went black for the second time.
“Listen to me, people of the Sklar-Quah!” A clear, female voice abruptly rang out across the camp. As it did so, the remaining gargoyles and Red Mantis ceased their attacks. All eyes turned towards the source of the voice, a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with long, auburn hair that cascaded below her shoulders and seductively covered one eye. She wore stylized leather armor, and bore a bared sawtooth sword in one hand. Held in the crook of her other arm was a Red Mantis mask.
“I am Cinnabar,” she said, “and you are harboring enemies of the Red Mantis. Give us the tshamek, as they mean nothing to you, and we will cease all hostilities and leave you in peace.”
A perfect silence fell over the village as the woman’s words echoed in the waning sunset.
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What was the difficulty level of this encounter for your group? I always thought reorganizing the raiders into 2 bigger waves would have made it more challenging.
I also thought while the red mantises are a little weak. They certainly have the potential to do a lot of of damage and the fact that they can spring attack made them extra annoying. Overall, though, they aren't very hardy and tend to fall after a few whacks.
The Cinderlander in our game almost got away. If it weren't for the crazy range of our mage's magic missiles, he would have.
What was the difficulty level of this encounter for your group? I always thought reorganizing the raiders into 2 bigger waves would have made it more challenging.
I also thought while the red mantises are a little weak. They certainly have the potential to do a lot of of damage and the fact that they can spring attack made them extra annoying. Overall, though, they aren't very hardy and tend to fall after a few whacks.
The Cinderlander in our game almost got away. If it weren't for the crazy range of our mage's magic missiles, he would have.
Circumstances played a big role in the difficulty level. The group was separated and not buffed for a fight. Several of them were asleep when the fight occured. Once they organized themselves, things moved quickly. The gargoyles were never an issue, but the Red Mantis en masse could have been deadly. Remember, they killed Valeris in one round by flank/sneak attack combos. The Cinderlander could deal withering damage with his crossbow when you add in his Favored Enemy bonuses along with human bane from the crossbow. Not a TPK encounter by any means, but enough to keep the group on their toes.
SCARWALL
Cinnabar’s answer from the Sklar-Quah was given in one word, chanted over and over: “Tshamek! Tshamek! Tshamek!”
Cinnabar’s mouth twisted in hatred.
“Kill them all!” she screamed.
The Red Mantis assassins were in motion before her last word had left her lips. Four of them, as well as Cinnabar herself, somersaulted and vaulted across the intervening distance to hem Herc in on all sides. Though he whirled and parried with a speed that belied his size, one of the assassins drove a blade through his thigh, while Cinnabar slashed viciously across his torso from shoulder to hip.
Meanwhile, three more of the killers closed to Kat, who still lay on her back where the firepelt cougar had left her. She threw magic in the face of the closest, causing him to hesitate momentarily before striking, but the other two had no such qualms, and they began hacking and slashing viciously.
Herc staggered, but did not fall, turning on Cinnabar instead. His arms seemed to blur as he struck. Twice his sword grazed her, but her grace and agility allowed her to avoid the brunt of the blows, but as she spun a final time, Herc’s shield connected solidly with her jaw, shattering it audibly. She reeled, her eyes momentarily glazed over, but as she shook her head to clear it and wiped the blood from her mouth, she smiled. An instant later, however, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as a great horn ripped through her chest from behind and she was lifted bodily into the air. Ratbone then tossed his head almost casually, and sent her limp corpse tumbling across the ground. Then, before the other assassins could fully grasp what had happened, the feral druid ripped two of them to shreds.
Michael’s path was clear, both literally and figuratively. He dodged the surging melee and rushed to Raelak’s side. When the Cinderlander’s cougar turned and snarled at him, the priest promptly ran it through with his sword. He then turned his attention back to Raelak and Krojun, and let his power flow into them.
Kat concentrated on blocking out the pain from the numerous cuts and nicks, and cast another spell, transporting herself out of the death trap to reappear several yards away. While the assassins turned this way and that, searching for her, Ratbone and Herc closed on them. It was over before they knew what hit them.
______________________________________________________________
Dawn the following day was not the usual time of celebration for the Sklar-Quah. Instead, it was a time of mourning as the Shoanti gathered their dead and erected funeral pyres. When the Sun Shaman and Chief Ready-Klar returned from the Kallow Mounds, it was that scene which greeted them. The leaders listened in silence as the people told the tale of the attack. Krojun was especially vocal, but he did not lay blame upon the newest members of the tribe. Instead, he praised their valor and the risks they took in protecting the other members of the tribe. Once the story was told, the Sun Shaman stood before his tribe.
“You honor our fallen,” he said. “Their spirits look down upon us and smile. Do not grieve in their absence. Instead, celebrate, for word of the deeds done here in recent days shall spread quickly throughout the Cinderlands. Others will realize, as we have, that even tshamek can become heroes of our people, and the idea of waging war against them will become as ridiculous as waging war against your own family. Let us honor our dead, as our rituals have taught us, but let us also honor them by our future actions.”
As the Shoanti went about the work of laying their dead to rest, the Sun Shaman told the companions to accompany him to his tent. Once there, he seated himself cross-legged on the floor and indicated that they should be seated as well.
“I am now ready to give to you the knowledge that you seek,” he began without preamble. “Hundreds of years ago, one of my ancestors was called to join a righteous cause. A man named Mandraivus, a hero from a distant nation, was gathering a small group of warriors to aid in a fight against a despotic dragon named Kazavon, and my ancestor joined this crusade. He was gone for months, and when he finally returned he was not the same…his hands shook, his eyes carried a haunted stare, and he cried out in fear at night. He spoke little of what he saw while serving Mandraivus, but did say that they were successful in defeating Kazavon, and the fortress of Scarwall had come under Mandraivus’s control. He was convinced it would remain impotent as long as the hero managed to maintain a hold on it.”
“While Kazavon had been defeated, however, his will to live was so immense that even the remains of his body twitched. The cabal had attempted to destroy the remains, but many fragments of the dragon’s skeleton resisted even their most destructive spells. Mandraivus tasked seven of his surviving followers, which my ancestor counted himself among, each with claiming one of the bony relics of Kazavon’s body and ordered them taken from Scarwall. None of the seven would communicate where they were going to the others or to Mandraivus, and they were to ensure that their chosen relics would remain hidden and guarded for all time in order to prevent the dragon from returning to life.”
“My ancestor told this story to his fellow shamans, and revealed that his chosen relic was the dragon’s fangs. The Shoanti began calling them the Midnight Fangs, and they chose the ancient pyramid on the shores of Conqueror’s Bay as their reliquary. After hiding the fangs in a secret room deep inside the pyramid, they took to the task of ensuring that the fangs remained safe. For generations, they maintained their task…until Cheliax invaded and slaughtered my people. Those few who survived and knew the secret of the fangs were forced to flee with their kin into the Cinderlands. For the next three centuries the knowledge was passed from Sun Shaman to Sun Shaman, and they watched with fearful eyes as the city of Korvosa grew around their ancient reliquary.”
“That Korvosa’s queen has discovered the Midnight Fangs and somehow tapped into their latent power troubles me greatly, for I know something of their abilities. During the time they were guarded, Shoanti shamans studied them and communed with the spirit world about them. They discovered that a fragment of Kazavon’s soul remained lodged within the fangs. While this fragment alone wasn’t’ enough to work ill upon the world, it could certainly invade the dreams of those who touched them. The Sun Shamans were stubborn and willful, more than a match for the fangs’ temptations and promises, but a weaker mind, say that of a pretty, young queen, would have no such defense. “
“The fragments of Kazavon’s soul are like a plant…once they find suitable soil in which to grow, they can bloom into a mighty tree. This seems to be the case with Ileosa…her own cruelty and strength have been enhanced greatly by the fangs. Worse, she now possesses two souls…her own, and one grown from the fragment of Kazavon’s. Two souls in one body would grant her incredible power over her own mortality.”
“Now,” he leaned forward intently, “I suggest that you take part in an ancient Shoanti ritual known as the Blessing of the Ancestors. We use it only in times of great change. It calls upon a soul from the spirit world to seek guidance and advice on how to proceed. Is there a particular spirit or ancestor with whom any of you have a strong link? The stronger the link, the more exacting the advice granted becomes.”
Immediately the group began discussing the options, with several suggesting family members or close friends. Only one of the companions remained silent…Katarina. At the Sun Shaman’s first suggestion, something began nagging at the back of the beguiler’s mind. Then, as the discussions and suggestions continued, it hit her, and she knew with certainty who their link should be.
“Zellara,” she said.
The tent became hushed as everyone turned to look at her.
“She brought us together originally,” Kat said. “I still carry her harrow deck, a piece of her almost. She’s been our spiritual guide all along.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“It is decided , then,” the Sun Shaman nodded.
_________________________________________________________________
The ritual took place atop Bolt Rock. Though it was only the companions who sat with the Sun Shaman around a small campfire, the entire village of Flameford gathered atop the mesa to observe the proceedings. The Sun Shaman began by recounting the legends of the tribe and the heroics and wisdom of the ancestors in a sing-song voice, shifting after some ten minutes or so into wordless droning and rhythmic chanting. This went on for another two hours, at which point he slumped and a ghostly figure began to appear in the smoke of the fire. It was obviously Zellara. As she saw the group gathered, she smiled in recognition.
“Katarina,” she said, “Ratbone, O’Reginald, and Herc. You’ve been joined by new friends, Michael and Raelak.”
Trinia’s face fell when she realized that the spirit had not called her name.
“I know why you have called me. The path you must take is clear to me. You must journey to Kazavon’s former stronghold, and claim the blade that laid him low. I have words for you about your goal,” Zellara continued, “but first I would like to perform a Harrowing for you.”
Katarina pulled the gypsy’s harrow deck from her pouch and passed it to her. Zellara’s eyes glazed over as she began laying down the cards, leaving them hovering in mid-air. By and large, the Harrowing was typical for such things…ephemeral and vague, but at several points, Zellara pointed out specific cards.
“The Eclipse,” she said to O’Reginald. “In this position, it speaks of the present. It represents the Brotherhood of Bones and their presence in this region.”
She then turned to Raelak. “The Tyrant,” she said. “It represents Kazavon and his current influence over Ileosa. Also, I see the Eclipse for you as well, but this time in the future. It portends that many undead await you within the walls of Scarwall.”
Raelak smiled grimly. Undead were anathema to his tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, and he relished the chance to destroy as many as possible.
“Katarina,” Zellara said to the beguiler last, “my daughter. For you I have pulled the Keep. It is your future. It is Scarwall, where your destiny lies.”
Then, once more, she addressed them all.
“The cards tell me many things. The Past shows us Kazavon’s tyrannical rule over Belkzen, and his subsequent defeat by Mandraivus and his allies. The Present speaks of Queen Ileosa’s great power, and that confronting her without the sword of Mandraivus, Serithtial, would be a fool’s errand. Finally, the Future foreshadows the great evils you will encounter within Scarwall. Your wisdom will guide you. Gird yourselves against the undead and the touch of death. Also, beware that the so-called Brotherhood of Bones could be an important, perhaps even critical ally in the immediate future, but at the same time, you should be careful about how much you trust them.”
Zellara paused for a moment, then, unexpectedly, began singing.
“Fate of steel…Serithtial
Her cage for years sustained
Four enthralled in lost Scarwall;
Undead to keep her chained.
A spirit first, red war his thirst
Still stands at post of old;
A second foe, infernal soul
Waits high in tower cold.
In kennel’s grime, third bides his time
Then vents his killing breath.
And on a stone ‘mid ash and bone,
The final dreams of death.
The spirits worn and battletorn
And locked in their damnation,
The chained one’s hold at last grows old
And ushers in salvation.
Yet hope remains amid the chains
When blade’s stone cage has crumbled,
Friends to dread and the death of the dead,
Keys to Kazavon humbled.”
As she finished her song, Zellara smiled again, but it seemed somewhat sad or bittersweet. Suddenly, each of the companions felt a powerful upsurge in their souls as the spirits of the dead infused them with strength and energy. They knew that the souls of their ancestors would aid and watch over them in the dark days to come. The Shoanti stood amazed as the ritual ended and Zellara faded into darkness. Finally, Chief Ready-Klar broke the awestruck silence.
“Truly these Friends of the Sun are blessed by the ancestors,” he said. “They walk with the spirits and bear their mark. They honor us with their presence and friendship. As they go forth to battle the evil that has plagued these lands of ash for many-score generations, they go with the power of the Sklar-Quah. They shall go forth with the power of Father Sun in their hands.”
____________________________________________________________
“I’m not going with you,” Trinia said as she watched her friends pack up their gear.
“What??” Ratbone asked as he stood and turned towards her.
“Your spirit guide,” she said, “she didn’t mention me, but that’s not the only reason. There’s nothing I’d rather see more than for Ileosa to be brought to justice, but these things are beyond me. I’m a simple girl…an artist. I’m not used to all this, and now…well, I’ve been studying the history of the Shoanti, and it’s so rich! For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m…home.”
“I can understand the desire for home,” the druid nodded. “You will be missed. If we come through this, we will meet again.”
“I look forward to that,” Trinia smiled. “I’ll paint your victory portrait!”
The six companions said their goodbyes to their tribemates…their new friends and family. Then, they gathered around O’Reginald. The sorcerer spoke a few arcane words and the group was engulfed in shadows. When the darkness faded, the K.I.A. was gone…
_________________________________________________________________
The ancient fortress of Scarwall lay far to the north of the Cinderlands, in the orc infested Hold of Belkzen. The companions knew generally where it lay, but they also knew the trip would be arduous and dangerous, and they did not have time to waste. So it was that O’Reginald came up with the answer. He transported them to the Plane of Shadow, a dimension parallel to reality that was a monochromatic, darkness infused mirror image. It had its own share of dangers, but travel across it took a fraction of the time it would have taken in the real world. So rather than days, it took only hours for the party to reach the eastern tip of the Kodar Mountains, only a few miles from Scarwall itself. However, the structure they saw before them when they stepped from the shadow realm was not the ancient castle, but instead the bone tower of Shadowcount Sial.
They approached the tower cautiously and once again, as if they were expected, the door at its base opened. This time, however, it was not just Sial and Asyra that came out, but also Laori Vaus.
“Well, well,” Sial said, “here we are again. It seems fate has destined that our roads should join together regardless of our desires. Our offer to you remains the same…a truce.”
Ratbone started to voice his refusal again, but then Kat’s telepathic voice spoke into his mind…into all of their minds.
‘Remember what Zellara told us,’ she said. ‘The Brotherhood of Bones may prove to be valuable allies for us.’
‘Or traitors,’ Ratbone reminded.
‘We must let fate decide,’ Kat replied. ‘We cannot afford to reject aid freely offered at this juncture.’
Aloud, Ratbone sighed. “What is it that you propose?” he asked.
It was Laori who answered, to the visible consternation of Sial.
“Our goals are not so dissimilar,” she said smiling. “Our organization is very interested in Kazavon and his relics, but Ileosa doesn’t really fit into our plans. We would see her destroyed so that we might recover the teeth from the so-called Crown of Fangs. We suggest that, for now, we all work together, or at least not directly against each other while navigating the dangers of Scarwall, so that we might increase the likelihood that one of our two groups will succeed in obtaining the sword. Serithtial, being what it is, cannot be wielded by us, but you, not being followers of Zon-Kuthon, cannot freely access all of Scarwall. So you see? We need each other until the sword if freed. After that, we can then determine what our next step should be.”
Ratbone remained silent for a time, then he nodded once.
“Come then,” he said, “but we make you no promises, only that we will not draw blood against you unless you first betray our trust, or until our goals come into direct conflict.”
Laori shrugged and smiled more broadly.
“What more could we ask?”
_____________________________________________________________________
The castle sat atop a small island in a crater lake in the caldera of a dormant volcano. The surrounding hills were desolate, with little more than a few isolated scrub trees and lichens growing here and there. The keep was an imposing collection of towers and fortifications. Clouds of dark carrion birds perched upon its pinnacles and rode the winds above its towers. A single span connected the castle to a small peninsula on the lake’s southern edge, where a crumbling gatehouse still stood. The barbican consisted of a moldering curtain wall that flanked the remains of two towers, the western one of which had collapsed. The other, though battered, still stood and supported a ramshackle lean-to built against it.
As the company approached the edge of the peninsula, Ratbone, once more in his feral form, halted. He raised his muzzle to the sky, scenting the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his thoughts to Kat.
‘Orcs,’ he said. ‘I can smell their stink, and there are several on the upper two parapets of the tower. They must be squatters.’
No sooner had he communicated his observations than a volley of arrows went up from the top of the tower, as well as from behind arrow slits in the ground level. The projectiles fell among them, and the eight of them scattered in all directions. Kat began casting, cloaking the middle level of the tower in an impenetrable cloud of fog. Two orcs remained visible on the rooftop, however, and arrows continued to erupt from the ground floor arrow slits.
Raelak knelt and drew his bow in one smooth motion, sending three arrows towards the tower in the blink of an eye. All three struck one of the orcs atop the roof, who roared in pain and dropped below the cover of the parapet. Herc and Ratbone, meanwhile, were in motion as well, running full out for the tower. Herc reached the walls first, slung his shield behind him, grabbed the rough handholds on the crumbling brick and began scaling it into the fog cloud above. Ratbone paused in front of the arrow slits, reached one massive paw inside, and felt something snap in his grasp. When he pulled his hand back out, he held an open-mouthed disembodied orc head.
When Herc reached the battlement, he found it abandoned. No orcs stood within the mist. He began hurrying along the parapet towards the tower entrance. Suddenly, a pair of hooked chains arced over the edge of the platform, and a moment later Asyra hauled herself over. She locked her crimson eyes on the mercenary and simply nodded, then ran along beside him. When they rounded a corner, they found the tower door open, but in the room beyond, nine heavily armed and armored orcs waited.
Down below, Ratbone reached through the slits again and disemboweled another pair of orcs. When he withdrew his bloody hands that time, no more arrows came after him. Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily behind him. He turned and saw an orc corpse riddled with Raelak’s arrows. He grunted in satisfaction as the remainder of the company ran past him and through the ground floor doors.
The nearest orc swung a massive axe at Herc, who managed to deflect the brunt of the blow, but still felt his arm jarred all the way to his jaw. He prepared to counter, but then a bellowing roar sounded from the back of the room. The orcs parted, revealing a truly massive specimen behind them. His muscles bulged as he gripped his greatsword in both hands, and his red eyes burned behind the bleached skull tattoo on his face. He roared again and then rushed forward. Herc tried to brace himself, but when the hulking brute struck, the mercenary screamed as the orc’s blade severed a tendon in one of his biceps. Snarling and channeling his pain, Herc struck back, delivering a flurry of vicious blows. The orc chieftain didn’t even try to avoid them. He simply absorbed them, and howled at the sky, blood flowing freely from his wounds.
Laori and Michael quickly climbed a ladder they found in the lean-to, and emerged atop the parapet behind Herc and Asyra. At that moment, the orcs in the room boiled out onto the battlement. The priestess of Zon-Kuthon laughed in delight as she whirled her spiked chain around her like a dervish. Asyra joined her, and orcs fell like cordwood before them. Michael could only marvel in horror and wonder at their display. Meanwhile, Herc stood toe-to-toe with the orc leader, and eventually, attrition took its toll. The brute could only ignore the mercenary’s withering assault for so long, though he continued to fight even as he was collapsing to the floor, stopping only when Herc brought the edge of his shield down on the barbarian’s neck.
THE RESTLESS DEAD
A high bridge crossed the vast expanse of black water between the barbican gate and the entrance to Castle Scarwall. The bridge was ornate and in excellent condition, with only a few tenacious patches of moss and lichen clinging to it here and there. High arching columns reached from the water below to support the broad span, each of which was marked by a pair of sinister gargoyles that stared out over the dark lake. A larger pair of statues flanked a great archway that encompassed the near end of the bridge.
The company started across the causeway, but as soon as Katarina stepped onto it, a strong wind began whipping along the bridge where before the air had been calm and still. Within moments, the wind had grown into a gale. As the companions shielded their eyes from the blowing grit, they began to see vague shapes materializing around them…faces and humanoid forms. Suddenly, a scream came from Kat, but when the others turned towards her, they saw that it was not the beguiler screaming, but Zellara. The spirit of the Varisian woman had manifested, and the figures in the wind were assaulting her from all sides. She fought to hold them at bay, but it was obvious that she would be overwhelmed quickly. Kat scrambled to fish the harrow deck out of her pouch and focused all of her will on it, trying to call Zellara’s soul back to it. It was no use. Zellara screamed again as the shrieking souls tore her away and vanished into the wall of the castle. The wind died just as suddenly as it had begun, and silence reigned once more.
As the group struggled to regain their composure and unravel what had just transpired, a loud squealing ripped the air. The portcullis guarding the castle entrance on the far end of the causeway was grinding slowly open. From the darkness of the tunnel beyond emerged a grotesque spectacle. Some two dozen skeletal soldiers clad in plate armor and armed with longswords marched onto the bridge in rigid formation. In their midst rode a lone horseman. He was clad in plate mail as well, and he bore a lance at least twelve feet in length. His mount was horrifying…the bony remnants of horse with shreds of flesh still clinging to it in places. Shining silver barding covered it, and red eyes gleamed from within their dark sockets. When it snorted, smoke and fire erupted from its nostrils. The rider lifted his visor, and a grinning skull peered out. He nodded once, then dipped the lance and urged his mount forward. As he did so, the foot soldiers parted before him.
“Stand back ladies and gentlemen,” O’Reginald smirked as he shook out his sleeves. “I got this!”
The sorcerer went through a flashy show of casting his spell, but when he finally released it, the result was accordingly spectacular. A huge ball of fire erupted in the middle of the span, engulfing the entire horde. When the flames cleared, all that remained of the foot soldiers were piles of charred bones with only four individuals still on their feet. As for the knight, he and his mount appeared unscathed, and he seemed unconcerned with the fate of his troops. Instead, he spurred his steed into a full gallop, lowering his lance and visor as he came. Ratbone quickly shoved O’Reginald behind him and stepped to the fore of the group. He braced himself, confident that his feral form and size could withstand the brunt of any blow. When it came, however, the druid discovered he’d grossly underestimated his foe. The point of the lance completely impaled him, going through his chest and exploding out his back. Had it not been for the fact that his shapeshifting ability allowed him to literally move the position of his vital organs, he would likely have been mortally wounded by the assault. Despite that, the pain was overwhelming and he crumpled to one knee, clutching at the weapon buried inside him. He waited for the coup de grace to come, but to his utter amazement, Asyra stepped to his side, her chains spinning and snapping. She flung them towards the rider’s bony mount, the spikes ripping into the beast, causing it to rear back and away from Ratbone. That was the chance he needed. Suppressing his agony, he surged to his feet and launched himself at the skeletal knight. The rider released the lance and grabbed for his sword, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The druid tore into him like a force of nature, literally ripping him to pieces. A moment later, a volley of flashing arrows left Raelak’s bow and impaled the nightmare, driving it over the edge of the bridge. By the time the four foot soldiers had closed the remaining distance, Laori and Asyra were ready for them, and the two chain fighters made quick work of the undead fodder.
Michael was at Ratbone’s side as the battle ended. The druid ripped the lance from his body, and as the blood began to flow, the priest pressed his hands over the wound, pouring energy into it. Within seconds, the worst of the injury had mended, and Ratbone was able to stay on his feet.
“Zellara’s not gone,” Kat announced abruptly. She held the harrow deck in her hands, and gazed at the walls of the castle. “I can sense it. She’s in there…somewhere. We have to find her and free her.”
“Then I suggest we don’t tarry here in the open any longer,” Sial said. “We’ve made targets of our ourselves quite enough for one day.”
The others couldn’t argue, and they started across the causeway again, moving more quickly. The front gates of the keep loomed at the end of the bridge, flanked by twin statues of warriors standing at attention. Pale flames rose from the tips of their spears thirty feet above. Torches were set into the entryway tunnel that lead to the main gates themselves, providing illumination. The massive gates were closed, and a lowered iron portcullis further barred unauthorized entrance. As the company closed within sight of the tunnel, however, a barrage of crossbow bolts suddenly erupted from arrow slits above the gates. One of the projectiles pierced Laori in the gut, causing her to double over and stumble to the stones. Two more struck Asyra, but the kyton’s otherworldly physiology allowed the bolts to bounce harmless off of her iron-hard skin.
“Run!” Sial commanded his bodyguard, and the priest began following his own advice, racing towards the tunnel, Asyra hot on his heels.
“Idiots,” O’Reginald scoffed. “There are quicker ways to get there. Gather round me!”
He linked hands with the others, but when he concentrated and willed them across the intervening distance…nothing happened.
“No!” he cursed. “There’s some sort of dimensional lock in effect! I can’t teleport!”
“Then I guess you’d better use what the god’s gave you, hadn’t you?” Raelak asked, slapping the sorcerer on the shoulder as he began running. The others followed, Ratbone dragging Laori in his wake, all of them moving in a serpentine pattern, desperately trying to avoid the deadly rain of missiles.
When the group reached the safety of the tunnel, there was still the matter of the portcullis that stood between them and the main gates. Ratbone gripped the bars and began to lift, the massive iron frame rising achingly slow.
“Watch out!” Kat shouted, but her warning came too late as murder holes opened in the tunnel roof above them and black, viscous oil began pouring in. The oil, however, was not boiling, but was instead bone-numbingly cold. The companions clung to the sides of the passage, trying in vain to avoid the deluge. Finally, Ratbone lifted the gate high enough for them to duck through, and then he followed behind, the portcullis slamming down behind him. Herc already had the gates opened, and the group hurried inside the main keep.
______________________________________________________________
The scene within the large chamber beyond the doors was stomach-turning. Bodies lay everywhere, orc and human alike. Judging by the sprawled nature of the corpses, they fought brutally before succumbing to their wounds, dying in heaps on the floor. Many corpses were riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, and a few appeared to have perished while locked in mortal combat, and still clutched at weapons embedded in various parts of each other’s anatomy. A particularly large mound of bodies lay in the northwest corner, a heap of carcasses in a tangle of limbs. Strangely, while the room reeked of death, the bloodstains on the walls and floor seemed incredibly ancient.
Before the companions could do much more than take note of their surroundings, a deep, gurgling voice came from within the mound of corpses.
“Ah, my wayward children,” it said. “You’ve come home to me! Come! Come and let me embrace you!”
Then, to the horror of the onlookers, the entire pile began scuttling forward on dozens of arms and legs.
“What in Desna’s name?” Raelak exclaimed, quickly loosing a shining arrow at the orgy of corpses. Ratbone lunged forward, slashing at the pile with his claws, golden ice forming over the limbs of the bodies in the wake of his assault. At that moment, all of the mouths of the corpses opened at once and emitted a piercing shriek that filled the room. The companions found themselves involuntarily screaming in response, their hands going to their ears as blood poured from ruptured tympanic membranes. Kat began shouting the words of a spell over the cacophony, and loosed a rippling lance of sonic energy into the morass. A moment later, a hail of stones pelted the horror as O’Reginald loosed his own spell, and finally, another volley of force arrows from Raelak’s bow caused the entire pile to collapse.
“I think I’m going to hate this place,” O’Reginald said grimly.
________________________________________________________________
The only exit from the chamber of horrors seemed to be barred from the far side. Ratbone and Herc brought both of their full strength to bear against it, however, and the large portals burst inward. Beyond was a ruined hallway. Tattered bits of ruined tapestries lined the walls…wispy filaments of rotting cloth that hung limp and forgotten. Ancient bones from scattered skeletons lay on the floor amid bits of broken weaponry and armor. Only one skeleton seemed to remain whole, slumped against the northeastern corner, clad in dust-caked full plate armor. It was Kat and Ratbone who heard it first…the distant sounds of battle. Seconds later, the silence of the ancient, dead castle suddenly shattered. The hall was filled with a cacophony of clashing weapons and battle cries intermingled with the screams of the dead and dying. Individual words were impossible to discern, but as the sounds reached a crescendo of violence, smoky black shapes boiled up out of the bones and swirled into a vortex of angry, shrieking spirits. Kat grabbed her head as the wailing voices of the spirits dug into her mind like daggers. She moaned and collapsed to the floor twitching, her eyes rolled into her head. Sial sneered at her weakness…until Asyra collapsed next to her.
As quickly as it began, the maddening vortex collapsed, but in its place, a towering, smoky form rose from the plate-mail-clad bones. It appeared to be a large, shadowy form clad in armor made from tendrils of dark mist. Two red eyes glowed deep inside its helm. The apparition pointed one dark finger at Herc.
“You shall not have Serithtial,” it said. “She is mine and no other’s!”
The creature then surged forward.
“Help me move her!” Michael cried out to Sial as he knelt by Katarina.
“I think not,” the priest said, “but I shall not impede your efforts.”
“Do not strain yourself,” Laori snapped at her colleague. She raised her hands above her head and a blanket of darkness formed around her, obscuring Kat and Asyra, providing them some measure of concealment from the oncoming shade. Then, Raelak was there, stepping in front of his allies, and drawing the string of his bow to his jaw. In rapid succession, he loosed four golden arrows. The wraith howled as the pure light discorporated its ethereal form.
Michael laid a hand on the chest of Kat and Asyra and began his prayer, heedless of the fact that he was using his holy power to heal a fiend. Within a few moments, both of them opened their eyes and sat up, blinking dazedly. Asyra regained her composure first and reached her feet without a word, as if nothing untoward had happened. Kat took Michael’s offered hand and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said quietly.
“Look at this!” Herc called from where he knelt beside the armored bones.
The others quickly gathered round and saw that the armor, though ancient, was in exquisite condition and bore elaborate heraldry engraved upon the breastplate.
“It’s the coat of arms of Lastwall,” Michael said wonderingly. “I…I think these may be the remains of Mandraivus!”
____________________________________________________________
Several minutes later, as the company prepared to move on, Herc was clad in the armor of Mandraivus. The mercenary felt somehow…drawn to the mail. None of his companions argued when he donned it. After all, the spectre of Mandraivus had spoken to him only.
They next found themselves in the kitchens. Rickety tables, butcher’s blocks, and collapsed shelves cluttered the room. The walls and ceiling were covered in soot, particularly to the west where three huge ovens loomed. Each was completely covered in a layer of char and soot, inside and out, with bits of charred bone and charcoal caked on the iron grills and in the ash pits beneath. Worse, however, were the two outlines burned into the brick of the oven walls…humanoid images splayed in positions of agony and death. Despite the ancient look of the layers of grime, the ovens radiated slight warmth and the faint odor of burning meat, as if they had been used recently. As the group moved closer to investigate, faint tendrils of smoke began to rise from each of the huge ovens. Moments later, a sudden blast of fire welled up inside the ovens, then plumed out into a sheet of flame that filled the entire room. As it burned, shrieking spirits made of fire tore through the chamber, swimming through the bodies Laori and Asyra, and appearing to tear away bits of flesh as they did so. Laori screamed in a combination of agony and ecstasy, while Asyra merely looked bemused. The flames died as suddenly as they had appeared, but then something far more disturbing occurred. The scorched outlines on the wall began to peel away, and then abruptly ignited into swirling, humanoid clouds of burning ash, bone and charred body parts that glowed fiery red from within and reeked of scorched flesh. They roared like a wind-stoked fire as they rushed forward. Asyra stood her ground, her chains gripped tightly in both hands. As the first of the ghouls drew near, she lashed out with blinding speed, her weapons tearing through the beast’s form as if it was rice paper. It evaporated in a puff of brimstone-tainted smoke. Ratbone seized the second one in midair as it leaped, and literally tore the thing in half. For a few moments, silence returned to Scarwall. Then Sial cleared his throat.
“Thrice now Asyra’s life has been endangered protecting you people,” the priest snapped. “No more! We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is not to get killed in your defense.”
Ratbone began growling low in his throat.
“Who asked you to?” O’Reginald sneered. “In fact, who asked you to be here at all?”
“Sial,” Laori interrupted, “you forget yourself. We are guests here. Do not forget the greater goal. Need I remind you of our imperative?”
Sial glared at her, but said nothing, his lips as thin as paper. Instead he simply nodded once, sharply.
“I’ll take point with Herc,” Laori said, moving towards the doors.
_______________________________________________________________
The kitchen gave on to what seemed to be a long, wide porter’s hall. Numerous arrow slits along the far wall looked out over the castle courtyard, and a pair of doors looked as if they opened onto it. The burnt stubs of torches hung in iron brackets between the arrow slits, and small puddles of rain had formed beneath them, staining the stone. Opposite those, metal rings had been driven into the stone wall; some had short lengths of chain attached to them. Six large figures stood along the hall, facing the arrow slits. When they turned towards the sound of the opening door, the half-light from the slits threw their features into grotesque relief. They were skeletons, but not human. They were massive, and had the heads of bulls. The gripped great crossbows in their bony hands, and as their hollow eyes sockets fixed on the intruders, they raised the cocked weapons.
Raelak was quicker on the draw. He put four arrows in flight before the nearest minotaur could pull the trigger. The brute crumpled into a pile of inanimate bones. Ratbone pounced on a second one and quickly disassembled it as well. When he turned on a third, however, it had dropped its crossbow and drawn a massive axe. It swung broadly and slashed the druid across his belly. Ratbone snarled deeply, ignoring the wound as he tore the axe from the minotaur, along with its arm. Meanwhile, Michael stepped forward, his holy amulet gripped in his hand. Before he could bring its holy light to bear, however, one of the creatures slashed him viciously with its axe. The amulet slipped from his fingers, and he bent quickly to retrieve it. The minotaur moved in for the kill, but then exploded into a thousand pieces as several of Raelak’s arrows ripped through it. Michael grabbed his amulet and thrust it towards another of the beasts. Light exploded from the holy symbol and immolated the monster in a great column of white fire. The last of the minotaur’s joined its brethren in a final hail of Raelak’s brilliant arrows.
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Yes, it's cool that you guys are in Scarwall! It's really a great dungeon! I like the way you're playing Sial. ;)
It seems the PC's do a phenomenal amount of damage. Often, the monsters seem to die in just one PC's full attack, even some with decent hit points and damage reduction. Is it really the case in-game or is it just described as such for the flow of the story?
Yes, it's cool that you guys are in Scarwall! It's really a great dungeon! I like the way you're playing Sial. ;)
It seems the PC's do a phenomenal amount of damage. Often, the monsters seem to die in just one PC's full attack, even some with decent hit points and damage reduction. Is it really the case in-game or is it just described as such for the flow of the story?
Some of the PC's can deal out truly withering damage. Ratbone, for example...with Girallon Claws cast, he usually gets one bite, 4 claws and a tail slap. If he hits with at least two claws, he also gets to rend. If all attacks hit in one round, he's looking at around 90 hp of damage in one round!
Raelak is also deadly...with rapid shot, many shot, deadly aim and forcebow (which overcomes ALL DR), he's a damage machine as well.
Herc is no slouch, using a two-weapon fighting style incorporating sword and shield...five attacks per round.
I'm not upgrading NPC's or advancing creatures. Mainly I just add more mooks. Usually, since our group has six PC's, I increase the number by 1.5. Granted, I don't give a blow-by-blow of each battle when I write the SH. I just try to hit the highlights. There are some good fights coming up, especially when the K.I.A. starts encountering the spirit anchors of Scarwall...
The paladin of Iomedae in our group just got her paws on Serithiel. (I turned Serithiel into a Pathfinder RPG equivalent of a 2ed Holy Avenger). I'm afraid for my bad guys: overhand chop, backswing, devastating blow, extremely high strength, smite, Mandravius' regalia and Serithiel. So far I've been stalling them by diverging in a series of side treks to find clues of the Queen's wrongdoings. (In my campaign, the Queen has been eerily effective at cleaning up after herself and is currently loved by the populace.) They are currently in Magnimar and will set off to explore Foxglove Manor...
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Just a quick side note for those of you attending GenCon: JollyDoc, Joachim (Ratbone, Reaper, Mandi,etc.), and myself (Katarina, Adso, Marius) will be there. The Doc will be running his usual Iron Man battle royal, and we'll be assisting. So please stop by and say hey. We're also participating in the Pathfinder interactive "Betrayal at Absalom" on Saturday night. See you guys there!
Just a quick side note for those of you attending GenCon: JollyDoc, Joachim (Ratbone, Reaper, Mandi,etc.), and myself (Katarina, Adso, Marius) will be there. The Doc will be running his usual Iron Man battle royal, and we'll be assisting. So please stop by and say hey. We're also participating in the Pathfinder interactive "Betrayal at Absalom" on Saturday night. See you guys there!
P.S. Your's Truly will also be running one leg of Betrayal at Absalom!!
Yes, it's cool that you guys are in Scarwall! It's really a great dungeon! I like the way you're playing Sial. ;)
It seems the PC's do a phenomenal amount of damage. Often, the monsters seem to die in just one PC's full attack, even some with decent hit points and damage reduction. Is it really the case in-game or is it just described as such for the flow of the story?
Some of the PC's can deal out truly withering damage. Ratbone, for example...with Girallon Claws cast, he usually gets one bite, 4 claws and a tail slap. If he hits with at least two claws, he also gets to rend. If all attacks hit in one round, he's looking at around 90 hp of damage in one round!
Raelak is also deadly...with rapid shot, many shot, deadly aim and forcebow (which overcomes ALL DR), he's a damage machine as well.
Herc is no slouch, using a two-weapon fighting style incorporating sword and shield...five attacks per round.
wow my fireballs get no love
THE FIRST ANCHOR
Beyond the porters’ hall, a wide courtyard stood at the heart of Castle Scarwall, giving an inside view of the castle’s looming walls and towers. A chill breeze whipped through the yard, carrying a few dry leaves from scraggly scrub bushes that grew fitfully at its edges. A wide, stone-rimmed well stood at the western end, though the stone lip was crumbling and had collapsed in places. To the north, stairs rose to a platform fifteen feet above the courtyard. Atop it, a black double door provided entry into the castle donjon. Double doors to the east stood open, creaking on their hinges, as if left open by someone leaving in a hurry. Bent, rusted, and in some cases partially broken spikes protruded from the walls of the courtyard, and in places, holes in the hard-packed soil hinted at long-missing structures or poles that once stood within.
Cautiously, the companions began making their way across the yard and towards the ancient fountain. It was only a faint scent on the breeze, the smell of attar, which warned Ratbone an instant before the attack came. Large, dark shapes swooped out of the sky from the surrounding rooftops, like living gargoyles, but with four arms and heavily muscled. One of them struck Asyra from behind like a battering ram. When her spine snapped, the sound was like a lightning crack in the still air. As she collapsed, more of the brutes landed among the group, one of them latching onto Ratbone with all four arms and then burying its curved horns in his shoulder, while another battered Michael to the ground next to the still form of Asyra. Ratbone flexed, breaking the gargoyle’s grip, then proceeded to rend the creature limb from limb. Katarina spun as another brute came towards her, flinging her arms out and shouting the words to a spell. The monster froze in its tracks, paralyzed. Raelak stepped casually behind it and fired an arrow into the back of its skull. Meanwhile, Herc and Laori stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sword and chain flashing with deadly precision as another gargoyle fell. Michael lay where he fell, unnoticed in the melee. He rolled towards Asyra and passed his hands over her ruined back, channeling healing energy into the horrible wound. When a shadow moved over him, he turned, expecting to die. Instead, he saw Laori extending her hand towards him. When he took it, he felt power flow out of her and into him, healing his own wounds.
Two of the gargoyles still menaced the group, so it was several moments before anyone noticed the gathering cloud of darkness emerging from the partially open double doors on the far end of the courtyard. When they finally did, the battle came to a complete standstill, with even the gargoyles starring open-mouthed at the miasma. Suddenly, a blast of blackness emerged from the cloud, washing over friend and foe alike in a dark cone. When it dissipated a moment later, one of the gargoyles lay dead on the ground, and next to it Michael lay as well, stricken, barely breathing, his eyes wide and staring. The others stood pale and shaking, a numbing, bone-chilling coldness penetrating all the way to their bones. Ratbone shook off the effects first, snarling and snapping the last gargoyle’s neck while it was still stunned. The others began moving as well. Laori knelt quickly by Michael’s side, working furiously to stabilize the priest. Sial and Asyra, on the other hand, retreated quickly back inside the porter’s hall, closing one of the massive doors behind them. Katarina knew that the darkness was of magical origin, so she wove a wave of dispelling magic through it, causing it to vanish in puff of black smoke. She immediately wished she hadn’t.
Fierce, crimson eyes gleamed from scales the shade of midnight. A terrible, skeletally gaunt draconic visage leered at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck. Its body was black and lithe, so dark that the sheen of its onyx scales made it appear almost indistinct; angular, backward-swept horns, wings that arced like gothic steeples, tight skin, and a thin, whip-like tail accentuated the hissing dragon’s sinister ferocity, giving it the appearance of a starved serpent ready to strike. It hovered in the air some thirty feet above the courtyard, its wings whipping up dirt and grit as they beat downward rhythmically. As the companions stared in horror, the dragon hurled a volley of black light towards Raelak, the bolts striking the Shoanti unerringly. Raelak jolted back several steps, but then almost instinctively, he brought up his bow and let fly with his own barrage. The arrows stuck in the dragon’s scales, flaming against the black hide like burning brands.
Herc and Ratbone moved as one, the mercenary quickly downing a potion from his belt, and then lifting into the air, while the druid shifted into his avian form and followed. As they closed with the dragon, however, it struck out, slashing at Herc with one huge forepaw, while snapping at Ratbone with its powerful jaws. What followed was sheer brutal savagery. Ratbone and Herc circled the wyrm, feinting and striking lightning-quick, while the dragon whirled in the air, like a great cornered cat, ripping with its claws, gnashing and crushing bones with its teeth, buffeting and slapping with its wings and tail. Moments stretched out like hours, and then, for a moment, the combatants paused as if by mutual agreement, all panting and struggling to catch their breath.
“I…yield…,” the dragon hissed at length. “I, Belshallam, give you my word that if you spare my life, warriors, I will tell you of things that you will want to hear. What say you?”
Before either of them could answer, however, a streaking arrow flew past them and buried itself between the dragon’s eyes. The beast looked pole-axed as it tumbled heavily to the courtyard below. As Belshallam died, a soul-chilling moan rose from the depths of Scarwall, and a loud, metallic snap, as if an enormous chain had just given way, echoed through the still air.
“Thanks for all your help,” Ratbone snapped at Sial as the druid landed, and returned to his normal form. “We’ll remember that next time.”
__________________________________________________________________
The spacious west wing of the castle seemed largely given over to guest rooms as well as torture chambers, a statement of the predilections of Kazavon’s reign. Most of these areas were abandoned and looked to have been so for some time. It was only once they had reached the far end, an open antechamber, that they saw signs of habitation. In fact, they thought they even detected the faint strains of orchestral music coming from beyond a set of large, ornate double doors. A vast, grand ballroom lay beyond the doors, constructed in a floral shape with a high, vaulted roof of intricately wrought glass panes that bore a slight rose tint, but nevertheless provided a breathtaking view of the sky above. Clover-shaped pillars supported key portions of the roof above the polished floor of stained cherry, and a wide dais provided room for an orchestra to play or stage performance to occur. A few broken chairs had been pushed into the corners, but otherwise the room was empty.
No sooner had the companions entered the ballroom than the music rose to a crescendo. Dozens of ghostly figures appeared in the middle of the floor, swirling and cavorting, floating through the air as the followed the steps of an ancient, rhythmic dance, seemingly keeping in time with the ebb and flow of life itself. Amid the eerie crowd of dancing specters loomed a dark, cloaked figure wielding a scythe, and ominous wraith with the dreaded countenance of Death itself. The group stared in combined awe and horror at the spectacle…until they saw that Asyra and Raelak had joined the dance!
“Oh no…!” Sial whispered, terror in his voice.
“What?” Kat snapped. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“We cannot win this,” the priest said. “It is the Danse Macabre…the dance of Death itself! We should flee!”
“Flee?” Kat asked, incredulous. “We’re not leaving Raelak. And what of your minion?”
“She is lost!” Sial shouted. “As are you all if you remain here!”
He began backing quickly towards the doors. At the same time, the robed apparition moved forward. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, the scythe flickered, and in the next instant Herc howled as his ear was cleanly lopped off.
“I do not accept this inevitability!” Michael roared.
He held out his symbol of office, and light flared from it like a small star. For an instant, the Danse recoiled, and in that moment, holy power pulsed over Raelak, and the ranger’s mind was freed. He blinked and shook his head, then, as the specter loomed over him once more, he raised his bow. Force arrows hammered into the fiend’s incorporeal body, nailing it to the air as the power of Zellara’s blessing pulsed through the missiles. The Danse began to burn, the dancers shrieking as their master died. In moments, it was over. Silence rained again as Asyra collapsed to the floor.
That Asyra isn't having much luck :-)
They just don't make Kythons the way they used to.
That's weird, when I ran it, Asyra was probably the most resilient person in the group, thanks to her resistances and regeneration. :)
I like the way you introduced the dragon!
Asyra isn't getting punked by hp damage...she's missing saving throws. Also, she's not a melee powerhouse when it comes to creatures with DR or that are incorporeal...her chains are not magical.
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS
Scarwall was proving to be a frustrating, potentially deadly, unsolvable mystery. Some new undead horror threatened the companions at every turn, yet they were no closer to finding Serithtial’s resting place. The castle was massive, and could take days, or weeks to search completely, assuming of course they survived that long. Something had to give.
The group backtracked their trail through the guest wing to the courtyard and the porter’s hall. There, they chose another door they had bypassed on their first trip through. The walls of the dismal room beyond were hung with innumerable bags of netting that held bottles, clay jars, dried plants, desiccated bits of animals and similar things. Tattered, gauzy curtains had been strung throughout, creating a diaphanous kind of maze. The whole was choked with a dank-smelling smoke that seemed to be issuing forth from a pitted iron brazier in the center of the chamber. Incredibly, also suspended within the netting was a halfling woman.
“Help me!” she shouted. “The witch will be back soon!”
“Who are you?” Kat asked suspiciously. “How did you get here?”
“I’m Alimae,” the halfling replied. “I’m an herbalist. I was gathering herbs in the woods near my home when I was snatched by a horrible dragon! It carried me halfway across the world to this nightmare castle, and then handed me over to the witch! She’s been gone for several hours now, but if you hurry and get me loose, I can lead you upstairs to her home. If you’re quick, you can break her crystal ball and weaken her!”
“Hmmm…,” Kat said as she pursed her lips. “Perhaps.”
The beguiler then spoke a spell, and her eyes flashed golden, allowing her sight to pierce illusions and glamers. When she looked up at the halfling, she saw instead a monstrous hag, black-skinned, with curling horns and wickedly sharp teeth and claws.
“Would you care to tell us the truth now?” Kat asked.
The hag cackled as she used one of her long nails to slice her way free of the nets, and dropped heavily to the floor, assuming her true form as she landed.
“My compliments on your astute perception,” she laughed. “How would such clever little people such as yourselves like to help me with a little project?”
Kat’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at her companions.
“Why don’t you start with telling us who and what you really are, and why we shouldn’t just kill you now?”
“I’m Malatrothe,” the hag said, her face growing serious. “I assume that you are here to defeat one, some, or all of the commanders in Scarwall. All I want is to be there when you best one of them.”
“We’re still listening,” Kat said, “…for now.”
“There is a spirit…a force that powers Scarwall,” Malatrothe began. “His name is Mithrodar, and he is a chained spirit. His power derives from four spirit anchors…powerful beings, some living, some not, that he has bound to his will. As long as these anchors exist, he cannot be destroyed. Hundreds, if not thousands of spirits are trapped within Scarwall’s walls because of Mithrodar’s power.”
“Zellara…,” Kat whispered.
Malatrothe continued as if she’d not heard. “Three of Mithrodar’s anchors I know: the dragon Belshallam, which I gather you have already slain; Scarwall’s former military commander, Castothrane; and Nihil, a fiendish woman who dwells in the towers above. I’m not sure about the fourth, but I think it resides within the chapel, inside the donjon.”
“So why do you want to see these anchors destroyed?” Kat asked suspiciously. “What do you get out of it?”
“Power,” Malatrothe shrugged. “Souls carry much value in certain circles. My motives, admittedly, are selfish, but I’m the only one who can show you where to find at least two of the spirit anchors. What say you?”
“I say to the Hells with you!” Raelak snarled.
“Now, now,” Sial said silkily. “We shouldn’t be so hasty. After all, we are here to retrieve the sword. If weakening this chained spirit helps us to accomplish this, what does it matter how that is achieved?”
The debate continued for several minutes, with the company split over whether or not to trust the night hag. In the end, there really was no choice. They had no other leads on finding Scarwall’s secrets.
“We will follow you,” Kat said as she turned back to Malatrothe, “but if you seek to trap or betray us, you will think the Hells are Paradise by the time we’re done with you.”
_______________________________________________________________
Malatrothe lead them upstairs to the keep’s second level. As they passed down a long hallway, she paused at a set of intricately carved doors.
“Mithrodar lies within,” she said quietly. “I warn you to avoid this place until you have destroyed all of the spirit anchors.”
The passage ended further on at a single door.
“The way to Castothrane is beyond,” the hag nodded. “I do not know if he has placed guards or wards about him.”
“What do you know of this person?” Sial asked with interest.
“He is no ‘person,’” Malatrothe chortled. “He was already undead before Scarwall fell to Mandraivus. He was captain of Kazavon’s guards. I know that he was destroyed when Scarwall fell, but when the castle’s restless spirits reclaimed the keep, Castothrane was restored. It was sometime after that he was bound by Mithrodar. He is a wily one. You should have a care.”
Herc pushed open the door, revealing an oddly shaped chamber that apparently occupied most of the second floor of the gatehouse. A large set of winches seemed to govern the gates and portcullises in the gateway below. Troughs ran along the sides of the winches, just above a set of murder holes in the floor to the east and west of the gears. Arrow slits pierced the outer walls in several places, completing the room’s defensive posts. A half-dozen skeletal minotaurs stood about the room, and the companions beheld the source of the attack they had endured as they had fled along the causeway. The undead brutes raised their crossbows as the door opened, but Herc was across the floor before they could fully shoulder their weapons. The big warrior leaped into the air and came down swinging his shield and slashing with his blade. Within seconds, he had smashed one of the guards to bone shards. As he turned towards the others, they fired their crossbows. Most of the bolts went wide, but one struck Michael like a hammer-blow, and another spun Raelak as he drew his own bow. That was the only volley the minotaurs got. O’Reginald conjured a hail of heavy stones in the midst of the room, pummeling the creatures beneath the deluge. Simultaneously, Malatrothe hurled a barrage of magic missiles into the monsters, drawing a look of disbelief from Katarina. By that time, Raelak had recovered, and he began to loose arrows in a steady volley, until the last of the creatures collapsed into a bony heap.
Malatrothe stepped around the bones and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the guardhouse.
“Through there,” she said. “Castothrane is above.”
Herc took the lead, climbing up the ladder and carefully raising the trap door. He found himself looking out over a wide parapet. On one side was a peaked roof with an archway leading to the chamber inside. The mercenary climbed all the way out, then reached his hand down to help his companions up. At that point, Raelak took the lead, his bow at the ready. Beyond the arch was a long chamber with inward-slanting walls, much like an attic. Many old barrels and boxes, broken and empty, were stacked at the base of the walls. Stairs descended to the north, near two small alcoves with conical roofs. Striding down the center of the room was an armored warrior. He gripped a massive battle axe in one gloved hand. Where his head should have been, however, there was instead only a grinning skull, wreathed in a halo of flickering flames. Raelak drew back his bowstring, but then his eyes caught a flicker of movement from behind the barrels. Shadowy forms moved there, and as he watched, several detached themselves from the general gloom.
“’Ware the walls!” the ranger shouted to his companions. No sooner had he spoken, than the vaguely humanoid-shaped shadows began stepping through wall, passing through it as if it did not exist. At the same moment, Castothrane stepped through the archway. Silently, he raised his axe and brought it brutally down on Raelak’s arm. The Shoanti pivoted at the last minute, and the blade merely sliced into his flesh instead of completely through it.
The shadows moved among the allies, reaching out with incorporeal arms to touch, draining the very life force from their victims. Michael raised his hands to the sky and began to pray. The clouds above suddenly released a deluge of rain, but when the water struck the undead, they wailed in agony as they were burned by its holy power. Katarina took advantage of the moment to begin her own spell, conjuring a large, insubstantial fist out of thin air. The hand seized one of the shadows, holding it fast. Then, Laori rushed forward, her chain whirling around her head, and she proceeded to rip the ghostly creature to shreds. Herc moved in as well, smashing and slashing at the shadows, regardless of the fact that half of his attacks passed harmlessly through them. That was not true for Malatrothe’s arcane bolts. They crashed into the undead relentlessly, felling one after another in rapid succession.
Raelak reeled from Castothrane’s blow, but he quickly managed to put some distance between himself and the skeletal warrior. Castothrane charged, but the ranger was faster, loosing arrow after gleaming arrow from his bow. They tore into Castothrane like ballista bolts, and though Kazavon’s former minion did not falter in his resolve, his corporeal body could not withstand the assault. Ultimately, he fell, and as he did so, Malatrothe was there. The hag knelt beside him, uncapping a bottle she had pulled from her cloak. The wispy form of Castothrane’s soul could be seen being drawn into the flask. Malatrothe quickly recapped her treasure and rose, giggling. Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a chain snapping could be heard, followed by a soul-chilling bellow from deep within the keep.
“Mithrodar is not pleased,” Malatrothe laughed. “Too bad for you!”
With that, she spun in a circle of darkness and vanished.
Raelak's bow sounds scary :-)
Thanks for another nice update JD - they're getting in nice and deep, by the sounds of things. Was Ratbone's player absent? I'd expected him to have something more to say about helping the Hag...
Raelak's bow is a +13 bow of cheese!!! Mark my words, there will be no such cheese in our NEXT campaign!!
Ratbone's player was indeed absent that night, otherwise he would have had a LOT to say, I'm sure!
Nothing wrong with my Bow I payed for it fair and square it is not cheese :) and it sure is not +13 more like +5 counting the undead bane that they so generously gave me. Plus Undead is a favored enemie I have +6 to hit and damage them no matter what I am using. May go to +8 when I get my next Favored enemie I see no cheese whatsoever :P
Besides cheese is good compared to Jacobian monsters that have all this crazy unholy toughness crap