# The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)



## Funeris

*PRELUDE*



> *Translated from The Book of Phoee*
> 
> And whence the mother came is of no import,
> Her bright beauty caused the darkness to flee.
> Her light, her love, the brightest cord,
> Killed the darkness; melted the ice; created the Sea.
> 
> The last of the dying races,
> Adopted as her own blood,
> Given rule over all the places,
> The power to do what they could.
> 
> The old peoples were reborn and spread,
> Except for the human race.
> But old rivalries returned, many now new became dead.
> The last man, now god, refused his kind a place.
> 
> The Mother birthed a true god,
> To quench the fires of hate.
> A god from whence all the others trod,
> A god once divided, continued to mate.
> 
> A pantheon of power was born,
> Hatred slaughtered the last man
> And still the adopted gave no heed only scorn.
> From the ashes, darkness rose again.
> 
> Humanity was created in the fires of death,
> Led by a malicious being bent by power.
> By his hand, the other Gods released their last breath
> And brought the world into its final hour.




“Aye!  And we weren’t more ‘an one naut from Norsae when the sky caught fire!  Ach!  Don’t laugh, boys!  I tell ye’ a truth.  I swear it on Cahsa herself.  The clouds burst into flames an’ the sea screamed.

“Dammit, stop laughing!  Norsae was ripperd right out ‘e ocean!  I could ‘ear Phoee cryin’.  A painful wail it was.

“Then.  Then, Cahsa turned on us an smashed ‘e ship.  If’n the mage hadn’t teleported me out…I’d have…the rest of me boys…we’d all…

“Cahsa ate ‘em alive.”

-Danbury Smalls, _Former Captain of the Lost Cahsa’s Wave and current drunk_

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What follows is a story set on the homebrewed continent of Norum da Salaex....  

I have began the conversion between this thread and .pdf.  The first .pdf with the Preludes and Interlude within is located on the sixth page of this thread, first post (You must have Adobe Reader 6.0 or newer to read). Enjoy!

EDIT: I added the .pdf of Chapter 1 today (9/23).  Its on page 6 as well.  Enjoy!

~Funeris

P.S. I’m not abandoning my first story hour to do this but sometimes, we all need a break.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Ana*

She shifted quietly in the shadows of the manor, her presence unknown except to her employer.  His hired men had not noticed her for the past fortnight, so quietly she moved.  For all they knew, they were alone.  Their crude jokes and mannerisms just proved their lack of awareness.

For hours and hours she sat in silence in the dark having to endure their stories about the most recent wenches they had the pleasure of having.  Anastrianna knew better.  These guards suffered from overactive imaginations.  These men, and she used the term loosely, would not be able to pleasure a woman if given verbal, step-by-step instructions from a master of the trade.

In the shadows she remained, waiting for her benefactor to leave.  Master Crawson was one of the more important merchants in the city of Nordaa Saam.  And by important, Ana meant wealthy.  He had hundreds of contracts at any one time, whether they be the production of arms and armor for the Empire or individual deals to hunt down antiques or relics.  The word on the street was if it could be found, Master Crawson would be the one to find it.

Ana was a little more skeptical than most.  She needed proof of his abilities, of his importance.  Her skepticism was what caused this indentured servitude.  Using the tools of her trade, she had broken into the manor she was now forced to guard.  Easily she had bypassed his traps and tricks, seeking out his main vault.

When she found Crawson’s inner sanctum, she had been astounded.  Gold and silver lied heaped in piles along with rubies and other gems of exquisite cut.  On a pedestal in the center of the vault was a unique adamantine box.  The box was perhaps a half-foot long by a half-foot wide and just as deep.  Engraved on the top of the box were symbols the likes of which she had never seen.  There was no edge to the box, almost as if it was a pure piece of adamantine.  But, when lifted, the box felt light as if hollow.

That was when Ana’s astonishment doubled.  The door to the vault slammed shut behind her.  She spun, dropped the box and she heard the sound of its locking mechanism close.  A quick examination showed no way to unlock the door from the inside, so she sat down on a pile of gold defeated.

Mere moments later, a metal slat opened on the door and two old blue eyes peered into the vault.  Master Crawson had caught her in the act.  Instead of informing the guard though, he offered her a way to pay off her debt.  Now she was stuck indefinitely as a guard for the very fortune she had come to claim.

A soft click broke Ana from her recollections.  The old oak door had closed, signaling Crawson’s leave.  Quietly, the rogue slipped through the shadows to the lone guard left in the office.  With a quick thrust of her hand, the guard dropped to the floor unconscious.

Anastrianna moved to the only window in the office and slid it open.  She then secured a grappling hook to Crawson’s massive and heavy wooden desk.  Next, she tossed a length of rope out the third story room.

She whistled and then turned from the window, heading to the vault.  Using her lock picks, Ana managed to open the vault door just as three noisome half-orcs climbed through the window.  She dashed for the box and slid it into her satchel, placing a steel replica in its place on the pedestal.

A sickly sound marked the death of the guard she had knocked out.  The three half-ors plodded toward her.

“Shhhh,” she warned, motioning with her finger for quiet.  “Grab what you can from the vault then get out.”  The half-orcs started filling their satchels hand over fist with gold.

Ana reeled in the climbing rope and shut the heavy glass window.  She checked to make sure the half-orcs were distracted.  Ana smashed the window open and flung the rope outside.  Three confused half-orc heads turned in her direction.

“GUARDS!!!” Ana wailed.

The half-orcs faces went crimson as they charged their ex-partner.  As they reached her, the doors burst open and armored guards filed into the office.  Crossbows rose toward the three crooks.

The lead half-orc smashed Ana’s face with his large, grimy hand before he leapt out the window.  The second followed his leader out the window but the third was hit by a volley of bolts.  He struggled for only a moment before his life flowed out of the many wounds.

Master Crawson strode into the room to find one dead guard, one dead thief, and Ana picking herself up off the floor.

“What happened?!”  The old merchant demanded.

“Thieves, sir,” Ana replied.  She wiped blood from her quickly bruising face.  “I called for the guards as you instructed.  I think they only managed to get some of the gold.  I’m going after them.”  She stalked toward the now shattered window.

“Wait just one minute.”  Crawson peeked into the vault to assure the safety of his most precious treasure.  Then the merchant turned back to the indentured rogue.  “I’m not sure that’s entirely necessary, Ana.  The box is still there.  The other trinkets mean nothing to me.”

“That’s not what you pay me for, sir.”  Ana grabbed a hold of the rope and flung herself out the window.

“I don’t pay you at all.”  Crawson mumbled as he entered his vault.


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## Spider_Jerusalem

*Hello hello*

Hi there, 

I like this start because, yep, you strung me along. And the style was nice too. Looking forward to next update...

Oh, and your world building sounds great! Loving the idea of the god trying to wrest the continent out of reality. 

So when do the Mindflayers turn up?  

Spider.


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## Funeris

Thanks   Your praise is very encouraging.  Mainly because I don't think you've responded to my other SH which is DMed by Destan.  Its always nice to hear from 'new' individuals.

I actually began building the 'world' in a d10 system about 9 or 10 years ago.  And originally it was built for a modern horror game.  When I made the switch to D20, the world came with me.  I changed continents and delved deeper into the religious conflict of the world. 

Mindflayers?  What are they?


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## Spider_Jerusalem

Well, haven't replied to the other story hour - i like watching new threads grow. How depressingly paternal.

I'd love to hear some more info on the world...

ps. Mindflayers? What are they? I'm not supposed to speak about it [Vacant stare].


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## Funeris

Well...I suppose I could give you some basic info that the other players do know about the world at hand.

The King of Norum da Salaex, Toq Arma Dunn (Toq is pronounced Tock...and the rest is phoenetic), has been in rule for 576 years.  He's human.  He's also the first 'disciple' of Ara'kull, the current God of Men and has been blessed with immortality...or so the religious teachings say.

Toq was alive before the continent was ripped out of the ocean.  He had been a great adventurer who was nearing the edge of his prime.  Practically undefeatable in battle, again according to religious teachings.  As age and as the amount of death he'd seen increased, he gradually became quite jaded.  He turned from adventuring to wasting the wealth he had acquired in his youth on women and copious amounts of addictive substances.  Slowly, his body wasted away just as his mind.

One night, Ara'kull appeared to the once hero.  The Deity promised Toq power and fame.  Toq had already had those however.  It was the promise of purpose that stirred the warrior from his self inflicted decline.  Ara'kull ordered Toq to gather a force to conquer the current Emperor.  Then, Toq could rule over a peaceful Utopia built in the image of Ara'kull.

The ruler at this time upon Norum da Salaex was quite the dictator.  It was known only as the Dark Lord and was said to hail from The Devil's Bog, a swamp in the southeast of the continent.  I realize that the title Dark Lord is cliche...but eh.  Perhaps the Dark Lord had a name..but if It did, it wasn't about to let that secret out.  It is harder to fight that which you don't know or understand.  Thus the ambiguity.

So, Toq built an army (human) and led them toward the capital city, Midloth.  The path he travelled became known as _The Path of Legends_ and is currently a major travelway.  Along the route, Toq attempted to recruit the elven and dwarven races to his cause.  They agreed to rally their forces and meet at Midloth.

Once at Midloth, the elves and dwarves never showed.  Toq's army (a mere 5,000 men) were faced against an army of Orcs and Trolls more than ten times that size.  Swearing a curse upon the other races, Toq charged into battle.

By the hand of Ara'kull, his men managed to survive long enough for Toq to challenge the Dark Lord.  Both the Dark Lord and Toq were mortally wounded when the Dark Spire exploded in a surge of divine energy.  They fell and their bodies broke upon ground below the tower along with rubble.

Ara'kull brought his full divine energy into the world in front of the hordes of men, orcs, and trolls that stood watching the climax of the battle.  It is said his rage at the loss of his first disciple destroyed all the rest of the world.  Although, many heretical religious teachings say Norum da Salaex was just removed from the world.

Then Ara'kull touched Toq, blessing the human with immortality.  Allowing Toq to rule for...well forever.  The Trolls and Orcs swore allegiance to both Toq and Ara'kull (preventing their extermination).

Elves and dwarves (and half-breeds containing either racial characteristic) are hunted down to this day and slaughtered after being tortured into declaring Ara'kull their sole God.  Halflings and Gnomes are also mistrusted and usually forced into slave labor camps.  In these camps, they are forced to breed like cattle.  And like cattle, they become a source of sustenance for Trolls and Orcs.  Humans typically refrain from eating any of the tainted races, despite their status as a delicacy.

Obviously, 576 years after that battle the kingdom is hardly a Utopia and more on par with a hell.  Repression, slavery, rape, random and not-so-random murders abound.  Humans are the gods of the land.

The continent has been divided into 13 territories (14 if you count the capital where Toq rules), each with its own Baron.  The Barons answer directly to the King, but are permitted the power and ability to fight amongst themselves (be it for land, slaves, or whatnot).  This keeps borders ever-changing and prevents the Barons (typically) from joining to try to take the Empire.

Additionally, there are two unclaimed portions of territory.  One is a small island north of the continent and the other is the peninsula in the southeast.  This peninsula contains the Devil's Bog, another swamp, and a small mountain range that are considered untouchable by most.

How's that for a little more background?


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## OaxacanWarrior

Well this does look like a very interesting setting for a campaign.  I'll be watching for the story to start up.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Ana (Concluded)*

Well OaxacanWarrior, thanks for reading.  Here's an update   Just figured I should finish Ana's prelude so I could move on to Cassock's.  I'm so psyched to play this Friday.

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Toren tapped his fingers rapidly against the hard oak table.  Ana, having known Toren for over seven years, easily recognized the worried quirk for what it was.  She slipped backward into her chair, sipping from the crystal wine glass.

The entire room was furnished with the most expensive and finest of everything.  Exquisitely crafted furniture, padded with the softest down wrapped in silk cases, circled the magnificently carved table.  Dwarven runes inlaid the oak table in a spiraling pattern.  Ana could not read the Dwarven script but Toren had taught her to distinguish between the written languages.  A table as finely crafted as Toren’s centerpiece was easily worth a fortune by itself if only for the script.  Items created by the older races, considered contraband, always priced higher on the market. 

Contraband seemed to be Toren’s favorite means of decoration.  Items practically littered his shelves and desks, all from other cultures.  Elven script, Halfling script, even the writing of a race of snake-descended people reflected the candlelight.  The Elven writing was by far the most beautiful in the flickering light, Ana thought.  

Her mind drifted back to the glass in her hand.  She shifted to empty the remains of the decanter into the crystal.  Toren’s drumming cadence filled the edge of her perception again as she swallowed another burst of flavor.  Her mentor leapt out of his chair and moved to refill his own glass.

Unlike Ana, who reveled in the delightful zest of a fine Elven wine, Toren had long ago grown to cherish a Dwarven brew.  Unfortunately his stocks were slowly depleting.  The Empire had recently stepped up the holy war against the older races.  Dwarven ale was becoming increasingly rare and thus increasingly costly.  If Toren could ever adapt to the foul drink of the Orcs, Trolls, or even the sludge the Goblins drank, it would save him a fortune.  He smirked in distaste as he refilled his mug.

“So, are you going to show it to me, Ana?”  Toren queried.

The rogue lifted her sack and removed the adamantine box.  Carefully, despite its invulnerability, she placed the engraved box on the table.  Toren returned to the table, ponderously examining the work of art.  His eyes darted over the symbols and runes, memorizing every detail, every edge.

“What language is that?”  

“That is Phoeeic, the writing of the druids.”  Toren glanced upward, “You won’t see it much.  They voraciously guard their relics.  And to find the writing on metal is quite a rarity.  They abhor metallurgy even while respecting the necessity of the art.”

“So it is worth a lot then?”

“Worth more money then I’ll ever see,” Toren responded.  “It is definitely unique, to say the least.”

“What does it say?”

The older rogue chuckled.  “If I knew that dear, I’d probably be dead.  Druids don’t share their secrets.  And the Empire executes them just as often as they do elves and dwarves.”  Toren leaned back up, taking a deep swallow of the ale.

“How much can you give me for it?”  Ana tapped her boot-sole with impatience.

“I cannot buy it from you, dear.  You can’t sell it in Nordaa Saam.”  Her mouth dropped open in protest but Toren interrupted her with a wave of his hand.  “By now, Crawson probably already knows that the box in his treasury is a fake.  This means, he knows you were in on the heist and that you probably have this artifact.  Selling the item in this city, would only bring you a swift death.

“Your life is in jeopardy just by staying here.  As is mine,” he added with an ironic grin.  “What I suggest is that you take the box and leave.  At least, for awhile go somewhere safe.  When everything calms down, I can send for your return.  You do have somewhere you can go, right?”

Ana thought for a moment; dreading her decision, dreading her destination.  “Yes.”

“Good.  Where?”

She cocked her eyebrow and reluctantly said, “The Town of Green Hills.  It’s to the west some distance.  It should be small enough that I’ll be safe.”

“Good, good.  Does anyone else know about your theft?”  Toren finished his glass with a gulp.

“Only Argot, I needed someone to craft a replica.  I paid him well and I trust him.  He won’t turn on me.”  Ana slid the box back into her pack and readjusted the straps.

“A little extra silver will help keep his silence,” Toren claimed.  “Go now, Ana.  Take my horse.  It should help you gain a lead on Crawson’s lackeys.”

“Thank you, Toren.  I appreciate…everything you’ve done for me.”  Ana took a step toward the back door.  Toren grabbed her shoulder and gave a quick peck on her forehead.

“Safe journey, Ana.”  Anastrianna silently exited the room.  Removing the empty crystal from the table, Toren waited for the departing sound of hooves.

Once sure she had left, the rogue removed his robe and donned his work outfit.  Silently he packed the gear he would need and picked up his trusty dagger.

“A little extra silver could never hurt.”  He smirked as he left to clean up Ana’s mess.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Cassock*

This is the first part of Cassock's (a.k.a. Hendric Balsoon's) prelude.  Enjoy.

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Hendrick Balsoon stormed down the stairs, tossing his father’s worn backpack carelessly by the door.  He paused for a quick breath and opened the door.  A hooded figure darted in quickly, motioning for the door to the cottage be closed.  Hendrick acquiesced to the somatic request and turned to greet the guest.

The visitor tossed the hood back revealing silvered hair and a worn face.  The man’s eyes were bright blue and lacked the age shown upon his brow.

“Baron Tyne,” Hendrick stammered, dropping to his knees.

“Oh come now, Master Hendrick.  You know I consider your family my own family.  Stand up and address me as Dragos.”  Hendrick stood, head still slightly bent in respect.  “And here,” Dragos removed his traveler’s cloak and tossed it to Hendrick.

Hendrick quickly hung the cloak upon a hook, turning to speak with the visitor.  “Is my father expecting you, Dragos?”

“Yes he knows I was coming tonight.  Please, let’s move into the parlor, shall we?  My old bones need a warm up and your father’s whiskey should do the trick.”  The old Baron smiled a pearly grin and paced toward the interior room.

Hendrick went to a cupboard to procure three glasses and once in the parlor, filled all three with a potent whiskey.  Dragos quietly sipped for a moment, allowing the warmth to flood back in his cheeks.

“Winter seems to come earlier and earlier each year,” Baron Tyne remarked to no one in particular.  “My body can’t take much more of this.”  The politician burst into a hacking cough as if to emphasize his point.

“I’m sure you’ll outlive us all, Baron.”  Hendrick downed a healthy bit of the whiskey, a smile covering the burn of the aged drink.

“I truly doubt that.”  Dragos peered down the hallway, toward the door, his eyes focusing on the rugged pack heaped carelessly.  “Going somewhere, Hendrick?”

“Yes.  My life here in your great city is coming to an end, I think.  I’m setting off to find my own way in the world.”  Hendrick smiled again, although not to cover the effect of the alcohol.

“I remember my own adventures, long ago.  The world’s not changed much since then, I’m afraid.”  A shadow crossed Dragos’ worn, leathery face before passing into nothingness.  “I wish you luck on your journey.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I will ask one thing of you now, though.  A promise I expect you to keep.  You are a man of your word, like your father?”  Dragos’ expression now reflected a stern look; still lurking behind his eyes was a kindness incomparable.

“Of course, sir.  My father and mother have taught me well.  They are virtuous.”

“That they are, that they are.  Your promise is this:  you must swear to never enter into politics,” the stern gaze was immediately replaced with a friendly grin.  “Whatever horrors you may experience upon your travels, nothing compares to the atrocities of the political arena.”  The Baron’s grin only grew larger as he awaited a response.

“I have no desire to rule, sir,” Hendrick was quick to reply.

“Ah, but neither did I when I was your age.  The things I saw though,” his eyes drifted back through time as he spoke, “made me want to change the world.  I warn you now:  it’s a futile effort in this damnable Empire.  With a ruler as old as the Empire, I fear things will never change.”

“There is always hope for change, sir.”

“Bah.  Only if the King were to die could anything ever change.  Perhaps that is a lesson you will have to learn yourself.  I still need your oath, Hendrick.”  Dragos leaned in to pour another glass of fire-water.

“You have my word, Baron Tyne.  Never will I enter into the political arena, as you so labeled it.”  Hendrick smiled, refilling his own empty mug.

The front door opened again, this time a good-sized man stepping through.  His pitch black hair was cropped close to his head.  Two white jets of color stained the man’s temples.  The light from a fire, barely reflected from the deep-set black eyes.

“Dragos, my friend.”  The Baron stood, clasping hands with Hendrick’s father.

“Morgan, I hope all is well with you.”

Morgan leaned downward to grasp the unclaimed glass of fire-water and decanter.  “All is as well as ever, Dragos.  If you’d like, we can retire to the library.”

“Of course, of course.  Hendrick, when do you leave?”

“At dawn, sir.”

“Well, boy, you should get some sleep.  I’m sure you have a long day of travel ahead of you.  Besides, you father and I have some business to discuss.”  The old man grasped Hendrick’s shoulder.  “Remember your oath.  And safe journey to you.”

“Good night, Baron.  Father.”  With an informal bow, Hendrick returned to his room for a long night’s rest.

“You have a good son, Morgan.”  Dragos smiled.

“Yes.  His fate is upon him now, though.  It is good for him to leave and find his own path.  Come, old friend.”  Morgan led Dragos into the small, comfortable library.  Within a few moments, a fire blazed within the confines of the small, stone chimney.  Both the fire and the fire-water warmed the veins of the men.  Morgan quietly closed the door and settled in a chair opposite the Baron.

“Dark times are upon us, Morgan.  A war is coming and I don’t just mean with the Elves and Dwarves.  Rumors abound that the Orcs and Trolls are going to make a play for power.  If the Trolls overrun the Goblin territory, Port Divi’sad will likely fall again.  I can only assume the Orcs would push further into the Troll territory when they’re distracted.”

“It would be a logical attack.  Maybe too logical for those beasts.”  Morgan pulled a large map, rough with age.  Marks in various colors adorned the map, showing the various boundary changes throughout the years.

“My thoughts exactly.  It’s whispered that the Orcs are going to turn against the Empire.  But how is not known.  If I have heard these whispers, then I guarantee so has the King.”

Morgan filled both glasses again, settling into his chair.  “I have a feeling you did not come just to discuss a possible war or rumors that may or may not be true, Baron.”

Dragos sighed, another dry coughing fit welling up through his body.  “No, Morgan, I did not.  I am old.  I can feel Cael’s <1> icy grip on my body.  Soon, I fear, I will pass on.  And I’ve no heir to leave control of this territory.  

“You’ve been my faithful advisor for years and years.  Never have I found better advice than your own words.  I wish for you to take my place when I die.”  Morgan looked down to the floor, weighing the Baron’s words.

“Dragos, I cannot serve the King.  You know this.  I cannot and will not.  If you leave me in charge, I will secede.”

“I know that.  As I said, dark times are upon us.  You’re the only one with enough strength and experience to pull Legend <2> through the coming wars.  I do not ask you to take up this role as Morgan, the secret advisor of Baron Tyne.  I ask you to take the role as Morrick, the Hand of Cael.”  Dragos paused, to gauge the effect of his words.

“On those terms, I will accept the position, although I am no ruler.”

“No, my friend, you are no ruler.  But, you are a leader and a damn fine tactician.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”  Morrick smiled as he downed another shot of the whiskey.

“You did save Port Divi’sad thirty years ago, not to mention my life.”  Again, the Baron’s eyes clouded over, consumed by memory.

“You were a damn fine sergeant, Tyne.  If not for you and the men that sacrificed their lives, the battle would not have been won.  Besides, Cael was with us.”  

“And how is the old God of Death, Morrick?”  Dragos refilled his own glass.

“I’ve not heard him since that battle.  For thirty years I’ve had silence <3>.  I think things may change soon though.  Very soon.  That’s what I pray for at least.”  Morrick stirred from his reverie and looked downward at the map.  “Shall we plan some strategy for the wars?”

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<1> - Cael (rhymes with Pail) is one of the old gods (half of the first child of Phoee); specifically the God of Death.
<2> - Legend is the name of one of the thirteen territories in Norum da Salaex.  It is named Legend because the majority of the Path of Legends runs across it.
<3> - In case the allusion isn’t very clear, Morrick was a cleric of Cael.  But I didn’t want to just come out and say he was a cleric.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Cassock (Continued)*

Just a quick snippet of Cassock's prelude while I'm at work.  Enjoy.

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Hendrick lifted the satchel from the floor and secured it tightly to his back.  He turned for his final farewell and absorbed the comfort of home one last time.

Gwenyth, his mother, and Morgan stood side-by-side, arms entangled on each other’s shoulders and bodies.  A lingering scent of alcohol wafted from his father.  Morgan’s eyes were red-rimmed, either from exhaustion, sadness, or a combination thereof.  

“Are you sure there is nothing else you need, son?”  A flash of concern lingered momentarily in his father’s voice.

“No.  I think I will be alright.”  Hendrick turned longingly for the door, for the road.

“You will remember all that we have taught you?”  Gwenyth questioned.  Her flowing blonde hair quivered slightly against her face.  Despite her age, no wrinkles had dared to crease her brow.  No silver had dared taint her perfect sunlight-colored hair.

“I could never forget my home or my teaching.  I will remember it often.  It will form a comparative basis against the education I receive upon my travels.  I will not forget.  And I will return.”  Hendrick opened the door.  The first rays of the dying summer son flooded into the entryway.  Its warmth was slightly retarded by a brief, brisk breeze.

“Tell me of the Gods, Hendrick.  The True Gods.”  Hendrick spun toward his father’s voice.  An edge had crept into the old soldier’s tone, the demanding and forceful voice of an educator.  The edge mated with a near-crazy manic glint in his piercing black eyes.

“The first was Phoee the Savior, the mother.  She came upon our world and purged the taint of hatred and evil.  She adopted one member of each of the races to bear the new bloodlines.

“But the world was devoid of life because of the purge.  The world was without light.  Phoee birthed a child, Myrcael, to journey into the heavens and restore light to the world.  Myrcael traveled to a dead star and breathed life into the red twilight.  The star burst with raw power and fed Norum da Salaex with its living rays.

“Myrcael did not return from the star as one.  Without Darkness there could be no Light.  Two beings returned from the sun:  Myr, the Goddess of light and life, and Cael, the Lord of Darkness and Death.

“Myr and Cael created the pantheon under which the world has thrived.  The Mother chose to slumber within the planet, restoring the natural order.  The Embraced children began to replenish their own races, except for one.

“Guymardt refused to shape humanity in his image.  It is said humanity had been responsible for the darkness that had destroyed the world.  As such, he refused to birth our race.

“The world flourished for a time, until the War in Heaven began.  Myr and Cael had birthed four younger deities.  These gods then reproduced again, although only to create two more.  The Kin Gods, those of direct relation to Phoee, ruled over the Embraced.

“But the Embraced fought amongst themselves.  Their races also warred across the world.  And then Nar’sra, the God of the Snake-Race, slew Guymardt.  Guymardt’s corpse fell onto the world, shattering.  The Kin Gods were unable to prevent the death.

“From his bones and skin sprung the humanity he had died.  Also from his dust rose a dark form:  Ara’kull, the Fallen God, the destroyer.  The War that began with the death of a God and the birth of mankind, still continues to this day.”  Hendrick swallowed, his mouth dry from the well-instructed story.

“You are ready.”  Morgan released his wife and embraced Hendrick.  “May the old Gods protect you, son.”

“And you, father.”  Gwenyth moved to grasp her son one last time.  The three stood huddled for several minutes before Hendrick broke away.  He walked into the street and toward the edge of the city.

Gwenyth turned to her husband.  “He will be alright, won’t he?”

“His fate is beyond us now, love.  Cael will watch and the darkness shall protect him.” 

“If you offer your blessing, then so shall I, Morrick,” Gwenyth replied.  “Let the lights of Myr guide the path of my son.  May her rays bless and refresh him in his times of need.”  With a quick kiss, the clerics of opposing churches returned into their home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, Hendrick stopped upon a hillock and turned back toward his home.  The capital city Legend spiraled upward into the heavens and yet, from this distance seemed quite miniscule.  He smiled and turned back to the Path of Legends.  Slowly he journeyed away from his home, his old life, and toward destiny.


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## TheYeti1775

Always leaving ya wanting more.

Good job so far.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Cassock (Concluded)*

Finishing Cassock's prelude.  Enjoy!

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Hendrick Balsoon had been traveling for nearly a fortnight non-stop southward.  Each day of walking brought the dying days of Kullyc <1> closer.  The scrub brush along the Path of Legends was steadily disappearing.  He had noted the slow shifting of the colorful foliage beginning.

When Hendrick had been just a child, the leaves would not turn until the end of the first month of the season.  That month, Brenn, was still a week from beginning.  With each year, it seemed as if winter came earlier and lasted longer.  And so, the leaves started to change now at the end of the summer months.

Two hundred miles now separated Hendrick from his birthplace.  Still each day at dawn he packed his gear and started a march we wouldn’t stop until late in the night.  The flowing hills surrounding Legend originally stretching upward toward the sun had sloped downward for days.  As the Draeul Wood closed on Hendrick’s right, the Coastal Spine appeared out of mist guarding his left.  The path was incredibly wide and worn from ages of travel.  Hendrick held closer to the forest preferring to keep the massive pillars of stone at a safe distance.

Soon after the appearance of the forest and mountains, Hendrick found himself standing on the edge of a great chasm.  He had finally reached the boundary separating Legend and Nordaa Saam.  An immense bridge crafted of the strongest steels arched over the depth.  The bridge itself was nearly a mile long.  At its center, Hendrick looked into the ravine.  His eyes strained, focusing on a faint blue line etching its way across the land.  The Draeul River, Hendrick had guessed before comparing reality to the old hand-drawn map in his satchel.  The Draeul River was birthed in the Coastal Spine Mountains and flowed westward, through the Great Chasm before veering north and flowing into the Norden Ocean.  At the coast, the great river actually divided Port Divi’sad in half.  A port shared by the Goblin Territory of Maatz and Hendrick’s own Legend.  

Hendrick’s thoughts were broken by a deep rumbling to the south.  His eyes peered heavenward catching sight of a massive black storm swiftly swelling northward.  Quickly stuffing the parchment back into a ceramic tube, he picked up his pace.  Hopefully, he would be off the bridge before Hell rained from above.

One hundred paces from the bridge, another booming roar shook the air around Hendrick.  He bowed his head, preparing for pelting rains and accelerated into a run.  As soon as the first thunder subsided, another split the air directly above Hendrick’s head.  An ocean of crackling filled his ears; the hair on his arms and head began to stand straight up.

Two hundred paces from the bridge, fire cascaded from the heavens.  The bolts of energy poured into the large bridge and charged the very molecules of air.  Hendrick refused to lower his speed, bowing his head more and charging along the path.  A few big globs of water foreshadowed the torrent of rain, suddenly exploding from the dark clouds.  Within mere seconds Hendrick was soaked to the bone.

Fully under the thunder clouds, the setting sun’s rays were completely obscured by shadow.  Hendrick glanced up every few moments to check his direction.  With the darkening sky, his human eyes quickly registered less and less.  A random root broke the surface of the trail and snagged Hendrick’s foot.  Unable to slow, Hendrick’s momentum carried him straight down.  With a bone jarring force, his head slammed into the packed dirt of the trail.

A warmth spreading through his face alerted Hendrick to the vitae pouring from his nose.  A slight searing pain also stretched across his face.  He moved his hands to lift himself back up and another series of lightning bolts pounded into the dirt inches from his skull.

“By Caevari’s <2> will!” Hendrick cried as residual electricity straightened his jet-black hair yet again.  Quickly, he pushed himself from the earth and broke into another run.  Two steps from his prone position, lightning crackled into the earth flash-boiling his blood and the rain.

The strobe lightning revealed Draeul Forest growing ever closer as Hendrick charged forward.  The lightning continued to attack along with the large and ceaseless raindrops.  Hendrick always seemed to be just to the left or right of the individual bolts and suffered nothing but a slight static charge.

Another bolt crackled to the left, Hendrick twisted his foot and shifted direction to the right toward the forest.  The huge, ancient trees were only three paces from him now.  Suddenly, a horrific epiphany crossed his mind.  I’m being herded by the lightning, Hendrick thought.

Lightning burst earthward again but smashed into the large oak above Hendrick.  He ducked instinctually and looked upward.  With a crack, a huge branch plummeted.  Hendrick tried to dodge but the branch smacked him in the back of his skull.  He fell forward, a jeering pain lurching through his head.  He blinked twice, wiping mud and blood from his eyes.  

A thunderous roar and the sound of the tree being zapped again by the heavenly fire filled Hendrick’s ears.  His eyes noticed nothing but darkness.

“By the Gods,” he murmured groping blindly.  Still his eyes would not function despite the continued lightening he could only guess to be more electricity.  He could feel warmth spreading quickly above him, the terrible swift hunger of fire.  A splintering sound boomed above him.

With a quick lurch, Hendrick pushed into a roll and somersaulted down a steep hill.  The sound of another branch smacked into the earth behind him.  His body contorted; legs over head and arms then vice-versa for a blind eternity.  Slowly the ground evened out and his speed declined.

Abruptly, his roll came to an end against a rock face.  Hendrick lied in a fetal position, unconscious.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Slowly, sounds started echoing through the young man’s mind.  There was a roar of flames, definitive by the warmth on his body.  Sometimes, there was a sound akin to whistling or whispering.  It was light, hollow and only tugged at the edge of his consciousness.  Often, the whispers were accompanied with a light summer breeze.  

Raindrops could still be heard; heavy, steady and monotonous and at a slight distance.  Aside from the dampness of his clothing, Hendrick felt no added moisture.  _I must’ve stumbled into a cave_, he thought.  _The fire would mean I am not alone._  Hendrick reached for his satchel but it was nowhere near his body.

“I wondered when you would wake.”  The voice was old but filled with joy.  It seemed to be coming from the direction of the fire.

“Who are you?”  Hendrick demanded as he sat up.  The throbbing in his head had passed.  As his hands glanced across his face, he felt no swelling or cuts of any kind.

“I tended your wounds, young master.”  The voice replied somewhat bemused.  “Your question cannot be answered quickly or simply.  Who I am is quite a long story and I’m afraid we haven’t the time for such digressions or niceties.  But while you are here, you may call me Master.”  Hendrick could almost hear the man laugh.

“I don’t have time for any games.  Where is my pack?”  Hendrick stood, his sore body crying out for him to stop.  Throbbing began again as he bumped his head on a stone ceiling.  He barely muffled his cry with his hand.

“I think, my young master that you have quite a bit of time on your hands.  Unless you think you can continue your journey blind.  Personally, I think a day out in that rainstorm and you’ll be in a worse position than you are now.”  Hendrick frowned as he sat back down.

“You’ve healed my wounds.  Can you heal my sight?”

“If you let me, I can help you to see clearer than you’ve ever seen before.  I will help you see through the shadow.  I can show you the truth of the world.”

Hendrick pondered the man’s words for just a second.  “I will accept your help.  I am…”

“You,” the old man broke in, “are Cassock.  Cael has brought you here for your training.  Your life as Hendrick Balsoon has ended.  From this day forward you are Cassock, the bringer of Cael.”  Before Hendrick now Cassock had a moment to wonder how the old man had known his name his training as a priest began.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time was unfathomable to Cassock’s blindness.  According to his Master, roughly a month had passed; a true eternity in Cassock’s unwavering shadow world.

All of the rites of Cael had been firmly memorized by hours of verbal study.  Theology had been pounded into Cassock’s head.  All the stories originally told by his parents as bed-time tales of the Old Gods were revisited and expounded upon.

Suddenly, Cassock could feel the old man staring at him.  His hackles rose for a moment and the shadowy veil began to lift from his eyes.

“Will you accept the path Cael has chosen for you, Cassock?”  The young man nodded mutely.  “You will be a bringer of Death and Destruction.  Use your gifts in Cael’s name and you will be rewarded at his side.  Forever more, you will only be known as Cassock, the Bringer of Cael.  Hendrick Balsoon does not and never did exist.”

“I understand, Master.”

“I am no longer your Master, Cassock.  You answer only to Cael himself, now.  Once your vision returns, you will find a mace, a holy symbol, and some armor here in the cavern.  Take it.  Return to the world and bring glory to Cael’s name.”

“Where are you going, Teacher?”  A soft summer breeze was Cassock’s only answer.

Suddenly, Cassock could make out the details of the room.  He turned to the entrance and the darkness revealed it was night.  He turned toward the fire but there was none.  Nothing cast light inside the cavern but the priest could still see.

Raising his gaze from where the fire should have been, Cassock saw two statues standing across from each other.  One statue was carved of black marble; a man holding a sword in its right arm pointing toward a sun.  The other was of a woman, white marble, touching her own blade to the same sun.  The half of the sun touched by the woman was bright white, almost as if it could cast light.  The other half was a molted black and red, true shadow.

Cassock instantly recognized the statues as Cael and Myr.  Below Cael, rested the gear the old man had promised.  His torn satchel sat beside the mace, mended.  The old man was nowhere to be seen.  Cassock hastily donned the armor and gathered his gear.  He knelt before the statues, the mace across his lap.

“Cael watch over and bless me.  Let the darkness guide my path.  Let Your darkness protect me.”  Cassock quickly bowed then stood.  He turned and left the cave.

Once outside, he realized he was no longer near the Path of Legends.  He spun back toward the cave but it was gone.  Turning around again, Cassock saw the flickering of lights.  He headed toward the village.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<1> Kullyc (Kul-ick) is the name for Autumn.  Originally it was called Caelyn (Kel-in) but was renamed by Ara’kull’s church.

<2> Caevari is the God of Luck.  He’s also known as the God of Plenty and Traveling.  He is one of the Kin Gods and thus is Cael’s and Myr’s Grandson.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Very nice.

Loved the lightning-herding sequence - great idea!
The background is really developing well... can't wait for the epic plot growth.

Spider.


----------



## Funeris

Thank you, thank you.  Its definitely heading down the epic path.  We had our game last Friday night (the first one in nearly three months due to schedule conflicts).  They're just now getting to 6th level in real life.

So, I threw an opponent at them way above what they should have been able to handle.  Now, they're not your ordinary PCs once they get to fifth level (and that'll be explained in the SH).  An NPC warned them to stay away from said opponent.  Did they listen?  No of course not.  They're PCs.  Long story short, they all survived.  Not even a scratch (I was rolling horribly).

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  So...lets return to the present.  Or past.  Or...you know what I mean


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Not a scratch... Wasn't even that close*

I wasn't even that close.
Think it really pissed him off when I rolled the DC exactly on the first save.
It would have been a very different battle if that hadn't been the case.

Yes she warned us, but I do believe it is my mission in life to bring Death & Destruction to Ara'Kull's followers.


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## Spider_Jerusalem

> So, I threw an opponent at them way above what they should have been able to handle.




Music to my ears! A DM after my own (evil) heart.

Spider


----------



## Funeris

Well, I promise my players everytime we gather that "Tonight is the night I will kill you all."  Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point-of-view) I've been unsuccesful at my attempts at a TPK.  And lucky for them, I have too much of a conscience to bring them up against an 80th level Divine Rank 21+ being....at the moment.  Figured I'd let them make it to seventh level first


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## TheYeti1775

*TPK my @ss.....*

He looks at me with a murderous gleam in his eye every d@mn session.

Not my fault his dice like me more than him.


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## OaxacanWarrior

Those back stories were great.  Now I can't wait to see what happens with the actual adventures.  Keep up the great writing, Funeris!


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## Funeris

I'm glad you enjoyed, yes I am.  So glad in fact, I have some more backstories to throw at you.  Although, not today I'm afraid.


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## Funeris

*Prelude: Aramil and Gabrielle*

The first update of the last prelude.  At least, for the moment.  Apparently I just might be getting another victim...err..I mean player  *Enjoy.*

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_The forest streamed by.

Greens and browns coupled with the yellows and reds of the sun glinting from the leaves.  Branches reached out, razor thin edges scratching ravenously.  A deeper, thicker red melted into the dense foliage.

Lungs heaved.  Muscles tired, then ached.  Fresh wounds bled openly.  The viscous, congealing fluid left black stains upon leather.  Still, muscles pushed on.  Lungs burned from overexertion.

A rough blow exploded from the side.  Bone-jarring force resonated through his skull.  The world spun and twisted.  Limb over limb, colors merged and mated.  Confusion was its progeny.

The world stilled.  Dusk had come, bringing the twilight of the day, the twilight of youth.  Cascading silver rained upon the landscape as daylight faded.

A shrill cry split the air.  His body twitched but would not stand.  Muscles ached, ceaselessly complaining for rest.  Lungs still throbbed from their struggle.  Another scream filled with utter and complete pain.  This time though, it was coupled with resignation.  Roughly, he tugged at the foliage.  Still, his body denied the command to stand.

Night, a raptor, swooped from above and chased the light.  One final, piercing screech shattered the darkness.  Death dripped from the shrill notes.  Hopelessness flooded the skies.  Night devoured its prey._

Aramil bolted upright.  Half-dreaming confusion wracked his mind as his eyes darted about.  The nightmare had returned again in the dark of night.  The burning sun hadn’t yet risen above the eastern mountain range.  Within an hour, the fiery orb would begin its daily trek across the blue sky.  Pinks and light reds were already clawing their way into the heavens.

The tiny mountain range in the east barely blocked the orb’s rays.  The range was at least a week’s walk away.  And from this distance, he could already tell they were nothing more than oversized hills.  They were nothing but ants compared to the dark, brooding peaks splitting the skies to the south.

Aramil stifled a shudder.  He was glad to be traveling away from the southern peaks that marked the edge of Midloth, the King’s royal territory.  But the ant-sized peaks were not his destination either.

Slowly, he turned north to look into his future.  Months of journeying remained, at the very least, to cross the hellish terrain.  The next major terrain feature would be an old forest perched above a series of canyons.  After that marker, the last range of mountains danced along the coast and hiding a treacherous sea.  In that sea was his destination: Aedil, the Thirteenth Territory of the King.  The only territory rumored to be just and fair to any of all races.  Aedil gave the King its allegiance and yet, managed to disobey the racial laws.  At least, that had been what he was told just like his companion.

Aramil shifted his gaze back to his right side.  Gabrielle lied, curled upon a bed of dry leaves and moss.  Draped over her small form was Aramil’s tattered blanket.  Gabrielle stirred; her dark, curly hair flopped from side to side.  Quietly, Aramil waited for the halfling’s shifting to end.  _Our destination_, he corrected.

With a dirty, travel-worn hand, Aramil wiped the thick layer of sweat from his brow.  Summer was fading and the nights were already beginning to chill.  Because of the nightmare, because of his memories, he still awoke drenched in sweat.  Since Aramil’s personal demons and devils couldn’t bleed him dry, they tortured the sweat from his body.  The constant running through his dreamscape coupled with the monotonous never-ending traveling left his body sore each and every day.

Gabrielle’s half-waking twitches slowed as she lulled back into her own dreams.  Aramil stood and pulled his dark hair back.  A delicate gesture confined the straight hair in a leather tie, exposing his slightly pointed ears.  Once Gabrielle woke and they continued their journey, his hair would have to be released again.   With delicate, angular bones Aramil ran too much a risk of discovery without displaying his half-elven ears.

Traveling north had been a difficult trek alone.  It had only complicated matters, when the half-elf had crossed paths with Gabrielle.  She, too, was running from her past and her heritage.  She had been directed to head north to Aedil.  Learning that Aramil was on the same path, the halfling practically became attached at the hip to the half-elf.

She slowed his progress.  She also ate more food and made more noise than a rabid band of goblins.  Her stature alone caused problems in the few towns they dared enter.  Passing her off as a child didn’t even ease the situation.  Her mouth usually negated any clever disguises Aramil could create.  As such, they had been forced to circle around several of the more recent towns.  Once stopped for the night, Aramil had to backtrack in the dark and pilfer what food he could.  His nights seemed to never end.

Aramil sighed as he stared at Gabrielle.  Despite the grief she caused him, she was like a sister.  She was another outcast to share the brunt of this journey.  Before the journey ended, he was sure more than just a brunt would be borne by the both of them.  Blood and tears awaited their travels.  Hopefully, they would survive.  But the half-elf had serious doubts.

Removing a hardened loaf of bread from his pack, Aramil sat back down beside Gabrielle.  He greedily tore a hand-sized chunk and devoured it quickly.  As soon as he had swallowed his piece, he waved the bread under the halfling’s nose.  Gabrielle’s nostrils twitched and her eyes opened swiftly.  Her hands lurched toward the bread but he snatched it just out of her reach.

“Not just yet.  Get up.  We have to get going.”  Aramil stood again, waving the bread tantalizingly in front of his face.  “Get up.”

“Fine!  I’m awake.”  Gabrielle sat up on the makeshift bed and gathered her things.  “I didn’t get enough sleep, you know.”

“Neither did I.”  Aramil retorted.  “But, we need to keep going.  Rest just enough so you can keep going, that’s what my father used to say.”  The half-elf grimaced as a memory of his father surfaced.  He shrugged it off as best as possible.

“Your father must’ve been a stupid man.”  Gabrielle threw a hand over her mouth but couldn’t stop the words.  Aramil’s face contorted with anger.  “I’m…I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…”

The halfling’s apology was silenced by a hunk of bread hurtling toward her head.  She dodged it nimbly and the bread collided with the soil.  “Let’s get going!”  Aramil commanded.  The half-elf stalked off, all of his gear already packed.

Gabrielle quickly threw her things and Aramil’s blanket into her satchel.  Then she snatched her lute and grabbed the bread off the ground.  She dusted the dirt off and screamed, “Hey!  Wait up!!”


----------



## Funeris

*Prelude: Aramil and Gabrielle Concluded*

Okay, last post for this prelude.  I realize its shorter than the others...but a couple of factors led to this.  First, the players of Aramil and Gabrielle didn't give me much to work with.  Also, I kinda want to move along to the first actual 'chapter' of the adventure.  So...there you go.

*WARNING:* _Norum da Salaex can be a very gritty world.  Rape, murder, thievery all happen.  If you don't want to experience any of these events, turn away now.  In the famous words of Monty Python:  *Run Away!  Run Away!*  I will attempt to keep it as clean as is possible, but I make no guarantees.  You may find subject material that you disagree with.  Sorry, I'm about realism in my games.  That's just the way I am.  But I will try to keep it in a slightly toned-down manner so as to be publishable to this free website.  I in no way condone this sort of behavior, but I do sadly acknowledge that it does and did happen (in the real world and the fantasy world).  Thank you and consider yourself warned._

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shoulder high field of wheat was a curtain of blindness.  Aramil couldn’t see more than fifty feet ahead of his position.  The sloping hills he and Gabrielle were trekking across rose steeply in front, blocking his view.  The half-elf wasn’t at all happy.

Gabrielle plodded, not-so-silently, behind him.  She had taken to plucking on the infernal instrument she carried.  She had practically no ability with the lute and her voice was a horrible accompaniment.  Always, her tone registered flat compared to the voice of the instrument.   Her cacophonous chords did nothing to alleviate the strain on his sensitive half-elven ears.   Aramil grumbled quietly.

“Would you knock that off?!”

“No.  I am going to be the best singer on the island of Aedil.  And right now, I need my practice.”  The halfling returned to her prodding of the horse-hair strings.

“Stop!”  Aramil spun and knocked the lute out of her hands.  “I need to be able to hear.  And I can’t do it with the racket you’re making.”  Gabrielle’s face welled up with tears.  Aramil released his anger with a hoarse breath.  “Look, if you don’t want to be captured by the Tyrant’s men, I’d suggest you be silent.  I need to think.”  Aramil pulled a worn map out of his satchel and tried to calculate their location.

Gabrielle plopped down beside Aramil and tried to peer at the map.  Quickly, she became impatient and turned away.  Within moments, she was strumming the lute again albeit at a quieter volume.

“I don’t understand it.  This map must be old.  Clearly, we’re nearing a town but it doesn’t appear on this,” he shook the parchment roughly.  “It must be.  Why else would we be traveling through a field of wheat?”

“Oh, do you think we could maybe stop in and get some food?”  Gabrielle beamed.  “I’m so hungry.”  Her stomach rumbled loudly in emphasis.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.  Besides, the town isn’t on my map.  So, we’ll be lucky to even see it.  It must be quite tiny.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being tiny,” she shot back.  “We should try to find it anyway.  I’m quite hungry.”

“I heard you the first time.  Either way, you’re not entering the town.  I’ll get us food.  Let’s get moving again.”  Aramil began the arduous task of plowing through the field and leaving a path for his pint-sized friend.

Suddenly, the half-elf tensed.  His ears had picked up a strange noise that raised the hairs upon his neck.  He tried peering through the blind wheat again, but to no avail.  “Run!” he hissed.

“What is it?”  Gabrielle asked.

“Horses.  Now, run!”  The half-elf shoved the halfling before turning to charge after her.  They fled as quickly as they could back down their obvious trail.  The galloping noise of hooves began to grow louder and louder.

Aramil chanced a glance back and spotted two riders coming on strongly.  Both were decked in black half-plate armor and were waving weapons in the air.  Swiftly, the gap between the groups closed revealing more detail.  Aramil spotted the symbol of Ara’kull emblazoned on the armor, a broken bastard sword nearly arranged into a cross.  The rider on the left was waving a mace in the air, while the rider on the right twirled a net.

At the last possible second, Aramil shoved Gabrielle off the path and darted the other direction.  The net had already been released and easily caught the halfling.  As Aramil plunged headlong into the crop, the horses changed direction and ploughed toward him.  He moved as quickly as possible but the stems of the wheat clung like greedy hands, slowing and pulling him down.  

A shrill cry pierced the air from behind him.  He could hear another rider coming down the hill, although he dared not look.

His pace increased but his vision was shrouded with memory.  Reds and yellows glinted off of the wheat.  Terrified he charged along even faster.

An arrow sailed over his head but he kept going.  The wheat left welts on his skin, but he wouldn’t stop.  More arrows danced above his skull, just barely missing their mark.  

Gabrielle shrieked again from behind, a dull thud chasing her fading voice.  Sweat beaded across Aramil’s brow as his lungs began to burn.  _Out of my head_, he demanded mentally of his memories.  But the weight of his father’s death effectively crushed him.

The Orcs were behind him again as he ran with his father through the forest.  They had been heading to Aedil when the Orcs came out of nowhere.  Aramil’s father shoved him off the trail, where the child had tumbled down an embankment and into the cover of dense foliage.  When the half-elf had awoken at dusk, he heard the shrill cries of his father being tortured.  When Aramil found the body several days later, he realized his human father hadn’t been tortured but devoured alive.  The half-elf’s rebellious body had saved him from the same fate.

Aramil burst out of the forest of wheat and into a clearing at the base of a hill.  A small stream cut through the trench.  A traitorous rock, piercing the water, snagged on his boot.  The half-elf tripped and plummeted to the ground.  

_A rough blow exploded from the side.  Bone-jarring force resonated through his skull.  The world spun and twisted._

He struggled to roll over.  He reached for his father’s crossbow and clumsily loaded a bolt.  The soldiers burst through the edge of the crop and into the clearing.

Aramil raised the crossbow and pulled on the trigger.  An arrow shaft pierced his arm, sending his shot wide.  The rider with the mace charged forward, swinging low.  The half-elf scrambled away but the forged metal connected solidly with his head.

Colors merged and mated creating confusion as the sky disappeared and the ground darted upward.  Darkness swallowed Aramil’s consciousness.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Did you kill the child?!”  A gruff voice pierced Aramil’s veil of unconsciousness.  The half-elf shifted slightly, sentience and pain flooding back into his mind.

“No, I didn’t kill it.  I should though.  The bitch is a halfling.”  This voice was slightly higher in tone but leering and condescending.

“You are not to kill it,” a third voice commanded.  This one was older, laden with discipline and demanding respect.  Aramil struggled to open his eyes until he realized a torn cloth was tied tightly about his head.  Similarly, his arms and feet were bound as well, although in heavy metal clasps.  He tried to rotate his head against the cold earth to try to hear more.

“I won’t kill it then.  But I am going to have some fun with her.”  Aramil heard the sound of hands working against leather.  He struggled against his bonds.

“Heh.  Do you think they’re skilled whores?”  The gruff voice questioned.

“Dunno,” the condescending soldier answered, “but they can’t be too bad.  They’re the same height as children, after all.  I’m sure her stubby fingers can work wonders.”  Laughter broke out between the two men.  Aramil struggled loudly against his bonds.

“Now look what you’ve done!”  The commanding voice shouted.  Aramil felt the man coming closer and then felt a solid piece of oak crack against his skull.  Aramil tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as darkness swallowed him again.

“Heh.  I bet the elf would benefit from you as well,” the gruff voice replied.

“*Rufus, shut the hell up!  You’re just encouraging him.  Neither of you will touch these prisoners in anyway unbefitting of your stations.*”  Captain Lockhart glared at both of the men.  He pushed his sweaty gray hair out of his eyes.  Before either of his men could speak he stated, “If however, they need to be helped along with their…confessions, you may turn toward your particular methods.  But not one hand will be laid upon them until we return to the keep, unless that hand is mine.”

The Captain threw a set of manacles to his men.  “Chain her up and then blind-fold her.  Once we’ve gathered their gear, we’ll leave.”  The aged soldier grabbed Aramil by his nape and threw him onto a warhorse.  Then the Captain leapt onto the horse and adjusted the half-elf.

“*Sometime today if you ever expect to receive your transfer!*”  The Captain cursed the Royal Army silently for sending him the worst recruits to train.  Lockhart watched as the recruits carefully chained the halfling, making sure their hands wouldn’t stray too far.  Once everything was collected, the group rode toward the Town of Green Hills.


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Wow a disclaimer....*

He actually put a disclaimer in it.
haha
I guess it did need it, sensible minds and all.
*Pulls the curtain shut*
Now that we have privacy from prying eyes, let the midget have it... er I mean halfling...

Just kidding folks, 
We have a running midget joke going on since almost every halfling encounter in the last few months involved a flying one.  The PC halfling is the first I've seen in 2 years that wasn't flying.
--------------------------
Another good update Funeris.
Now let's get into the meat of the story.   
Speaking of meat, half-elf and halfling is almost as tasty as elf.  Almost, just need extra hot sauce.


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## Funeris

Had to.  Didn't want to offend anyone.  I've had posts pulled before for questionable material.  And then I was joking.  I take my SHs a bit more seriously.  I don't want a post pulled, so I made a nice little disclaimer.

And folks, it applies to the rest of the SH as well.  Again, consider yourself warned.


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## Funeris

*Interlude: The Battle at Port Divi'sad*

Well, my intent tonight was to begin work on Chapter 1.  However, all of my notes were of roleplaying through email.  And I, being the horrible employee that I am, did it over my work email.  So, I didn't have the notes here at home.  Instead of beginning Chapter 1, I decided to take all you history buffs back in time about 30 years.  This is the story of a battle that is pertinent not just to the PC Cassock but to a later PC and quite obviously, a few NPCs.

So, I hope you enjoy the "update".  Its somewhere in the vicinity of 3,000 words and will hopefully quench your thirsts. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Nearly Thirty years prior…*

The rising sun glinted dully off the steel edging of the greatsword.  Ancient runes carved in the language of the Gods were barely visible through the dried blood and gore accumulated on the metal.  The battle-hardened warrior-priest raised the blade into the air, pressing the cool steel against his dirty brow.  He dropped to his knees in silent prayer on the field of battle.

Strewn around the praying warrior’s body was thousands of quietly smoldering bodies.  Severed appendages littered the once green grass of the park.  More than a hundred thousand gallons of blood had stained the grass deep red.  

_For your honor my Lord…_

The warrior-priest bowed forward, touching his face and the blade to the earth.  Silently, his lips murmured his prayers.  The gore of the field clung to his unshaven face.  He seemed not to notice or care as he continued his prayers.

This was the third day of the battle; the third day he had held his position, the third day without any rest.  Four days ago, he had been outside of the city, Port Divi’sad, preparing to lead his soldiers in the defense of the city.  They had marched from Legend, the territory that had claimed dominion over Port Divi’sad.

Borders in the Kingdom of Norum da Salaex were as ever-changing as the seasons.  The Troll-ruled territory of Draat had been expanding their territory relentlessly for the last twenty or more years.  The Trolls had already devoured much of the Goblin state, Matz and were now pushing into the territory of Legend.

One week ago, the warrior-priest had sworn to take back the city.  He had made this oath to the Baron, Dragos Tyne.  The men he led were not an official army and as such, were not subject to the chaotic whims of the individual Barons or the ruthless agendas of the King.  These were men dedicated to his personal causes; men that had rallied to the calls of courage, self-defense and the betterment of their own stations in life.  These men had learned the arts of war only for defense of their own families not to obtain land or riches.  These were nearly one thousand good men, and now he would have to bury and bless all but maybe ten of them.  The warrior-priest sighed as he shifted his weight slightly raising his head and allowing his tears to cleanse the blood from his face and then the earth.

He had led nearly every single one of his own men to their deaths.  They would have willingly followed him into the deepest, darkest depths of the Hells if it would guarantee the safety of their families.  If the Trolls were to maintain their foothold in Legend, the regenerating beasts would likely take the entire territory.  His sorrow creased and formed a solid grimace as he stood, muscles straining wearily.

_Give me strength, my Lord.  In this, my final hour, bless this blade and bless my body.  They are but weak vessels for your holy might, your holy wrath.  And with them, I may send more of these fiends into your eternal embrace.  

Reserve a spot at your side for me, my Lord.  Know that I died in your name, doing your will.  I died honorably and in defense of those unable to defend themselves from the wrath and hatred of Ara’kull and his minions.

Bless me, my Lord._

The warrior-priest kissed his blade once more, basking in the warmth of Cael’s wife Myr.  The sun was now above the eastern horizon by quite a distance.  He turned away from his homeland to stare toward the Troll camps in the west.

It had been nearly five years since he had actually received the words of his Lord, Cael.  But always steadfast in his devotion, the warrior-priest prayed every night to his God.  Often, he would even pray again in the morning, hoping his words were being carried to the ears of his God.  Several times, he had felt the divine power that coursed through his veins falter.  At those moments, the spells he had been concentrating upon would fly from his mind and he would be left powerless except for the blade he carried.  Still, his devotion held and he stayed on the path he had been set upon so long ago.

He noticed movement on the western horizon.  The Trolls were moving forward again.  The beasts were not fond of battling in the day’s light.  They had found that the warrior-priest actually preferred the nights as well, his power waning during the daylight hours.  It was a calculating move on their part similar to their overused tactic of throwing as many goblin slaves at him as possible before attacking with their trained soldiers.  Both tactics had failed horribly over the preceding days.  However, the Trolls had to know they would eventually wear him down.  The warrior-priest was, after all, outnumbered especially with the loss of his troops.

Calmly, the warrior-priest roused the remains of his men.  He allowed them time to eat and prepare themselves as much as was necessary.  This would be their final fight together.  He was not afraid of death but he did not relish the thought of sending his few remaining soldiers to their afterlives as well.

“Men,” he screamed his voice harsh and raspy from days of misuse, “You are free to go.  You have honorably served me and my God.”  He turned to look the ten, ragged men in their eyes.  “I will not bind you to my own fate.  You must each choose your own path.  Each of you has a family to watch over.  Your place is with them and not at my side.  I suggest you leave while you can.  The Trolls will be here in a matter of hours.”  The warrior-priest pushed the two bleached locks of white hair back behind his ears.  In that position, the long, white curls clashed with the short black hair that was cropped closely to his head.  He smiled grimly, realizing that in battle they must look like gleaming horns spinning and attacking his victims.  “You’re dismissed!”  He turned away from their nearly empty camp and looked to the horizon, to his own death.

“Sir.”  A young sergeant tried to pull him from his reverie.  He was unsure of the sergeant’s name.  The soldier was one of his quieter men.

“Yes.”

“I think, sir, I speak for all of us.  Our place is at your side.  This is the best way for us to take care of our families.  And not just our own families, but those left fatherless and brotherless by this war.  If we do not stop the Trolls, sir, then who will?”  The sergeant stepped back, respectfully and returned to the breakfast fires.  The warrior-priest smiled.

_Cael, do not fail us now._

The warrior-priest spun on his heel.  “Men.  Today we die.  Let our deaths not be in vain.  There is nothing to fear from an honorable death.  Cael will embrace each and every one of us into his arms.  And he will devour the souls of our enemies!  Into your positions!”  The soldiers formed up alongside and behind the war-priest; five to each side creating an inverted vee pattern.

The Trolls had stopped two hundred feet away.  The warrior-priest noted the prominence of the diminutive Goblin slaves making the first rank.  In the middle of the front rank was a line, maybe ten Trolls wide.  "This is a new tactic," the warrior-priest grunted silently.  “Ready your arrows!”  Each of his ten soldiers lit the arrows they held and then proceeded to nock the arrows in their bows.

A dark speck darted from the Troll ranks, running as fast as it could.  The Goblin’s short legs weren’t built for distance as he seemed to sputter and trip at numerous points in his journey. 

“Extinguish arrows, men!  I believe they wish to parley.”  Cheers exploded behind him as the arrows were carefully extinguished.

The Goblin toppled over as he reached the humans’ positions.  His breath was hoarse and rasping, from his full-speed run.  The warrior-priest lowered his weapon, resting the point of the blade only inches from the Goblin’s long, twisted nose.  The runt scrambled backward onto his knees, not even daring to raise his eyes.

“What message do you bring, slave?”

The gobber scratched his head for a moment, trying to release the memories of his orders.  Then he stood, carefully and slowly taking great pains to not look up.  “Dey sen me.”  Its common was broken and scratchy.  It motioned back toward the Trolls to get the point across.  “Dey speak:  Fierce, war-yer o’ black night, be coward.  Go to dem.  Dey let not-men go.”  The Goblin bowed his head, his transmission complete.

The warrior-priest grimaced.  He looked toward the enemies’ ranks and saw the line of Trolls part.  In the center of the massive army, he could make out the distant shapes of women and children, cowering with fear.  The Trolls alongside the prisoners rose gigantic axes into the air.

“And if I don’t?”

The Goblin raised his head and stared directly in the warrior-priest’s eyes.  “Dey speak:  Den you see dem die.  Den you die.”

The warrior-priest gritted his teeth.  “Fine.”  He sheathed his weapon and turned once again to his men.  “I am going to turn myself over to the Trolls.”  Grunts and moans arose but he cut them off with a swift gesture of his hand.  “Prepare your arrows.  If they do not release the prisoners, make them regret their dishonor.”  He turned stoically toward the enemy encampment and began the walk over with the Goblin.

Twenty feet from the Trolls, the prisoners were clearly in view.  Most of the prisoners were women and children but there were a few elderly chained down as well.  One of the prisoners stood tall and straight, long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.  Her bright blue eyes showed no mark of violation, unlike her body and clothing.  The bruises, welts and lacerations that covered her naked torso dimmed in the serenity of her eyes.  She cocked her head backward, allowing the warmth of the sun to brighten her face.

He raised his eyes toward the sky as well.  _One last moment of peace_, he thought.  The sun had moved to its zenith and basked the gore of the field in its warm rays.  A shimmer suddenly appeared just below the sun.  A blood-red moon was speeding toward the fiery orb.

*Morrick, the Hand of Cael, hear my words now.  Let my power guide and stay your hand.  Gather your strength from my own.  Your fate is upon you, the last of your adventures.  But your life is not forfeit as of yet.

This woman before you is your just reward for a life of service.  She is a follower of Myr and will produce an heir for you.  She is your salvation.  She will be your love and your confidant.  Protect her for your own future.  Protect her for my future.  And do as she requests.  This is your future.

I bless you Morrick.*

The crimson moon hovered in front of the sun, casting the battlefield into darkness.  Worried murmurs arose from the Trolls.  Morrick stared downward at his blade as he crossed the remaining twenty feet.  Warmth trickled slowly down the scabbard and through his bones.  He whipped the blade out of its covering, the ancient runes glowed an unearthly blue which quickly shifted into a bright, searing red hue.

The Trolls leapt backward as Morrick’s blade danced above his head, in a fast arc.  As the blade slid through the beasts, their bodies erupted into flame.  The flaming corpses stumbled backward allowing the flames to spread rapidly through the ranks.

The army surged forward to close the ranks and pin the cleric.  Morrick’s men unleashed a barrage of flaming arrows into the army.  They then dropped their bows, drawing their own melee weapons and began a charge.

The flaming arrows did nothing to slow the progress of the hordes of Trolls and Goblins.  Morrick grabbed the woman in white and pressed her downward onto the ground.  He spun left and right, setting more of the creatures ablaze with the glowing sword.

The warrior-priest screamed in rage as the tides kept pouring toward him.  He saw his men trying to hack their way through the ranks to join their leader.  Claws and blades hacked into his body as he fell forward, over the young woman.  Blood poured from the multiple lacerations, his eyes were dulling.

The woman stared up at Morrick’s face.  She raised her hands, gently caressing his face.  A bright light gushed from her hands.  Morrick felt his wounds close and his vitality return.  He stood straight and glared at the ranks surrounding him.

The horde broke momentarily as Morrick raised the greatsword toward the sky.  A fluid black energy poured from his body, engulfing the sword.  Morrick felt divine energy coursing through his veins.  He brought the blade down and pointed it at his enemies.  A divine radius of black energy sped outward decimating the rival army.

Morrick collapsed to the ground.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Morrick opened his eyes, he was staring into the face of the woman he had been protecting.  He jumped upward, a pain in his back keeping him earthbound.  Quickly he glanced to each side.

A devastating scene spread around his prone form.  All of the Trolls and Goblin slaves lie in burning heaps.  The grass itself was stained and charred.  He struggled to search the wreckage for his men, but her gentle hand pulled his gaze upward.

“Your men are fine, as are the prisoners.  The bolt of energy destroyed your enemies and passed harmlessly through your allies.  My Goddess was impressed.”

“You speak of Myr, do you not?”

“Yes.  She has asked me to accompany you to back to Legend.  Our union is foretold in the stars Morrick, Hand of Cael.”

Morrick grunted.  He sat up to better take her beautiful countenance.  “I know of this prophecy as well.  I thank you for your aide on the field.  Without you…”

“Without me, dear Morrick, there is no future for you or any of us.  Come,” she extended a hand and lifted him to his feet.  “Let us leave this place of death and begin our lives anew.”


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## Funeris

By the way, I'll be going on vacation this week (Hawaii).  It means I won't get another update up until June.  If you guys want to bump me until then, feel free


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## TheYeti1775

*Creator of Morrick speaks....*

Funeris,
That was a great aspect of the battle.  Very well-written.
Bill

For everyone else,
Morrick is derived from Cassock's background.
Funeris had given me a few details of Cael and a climatic battle in the history of Legend.

I mainly wanted a "famous" father to live up to.  So began Morrick's creation.  I could never get past the initial stats in his creation, so I basically gave him to Funeris with a brief battle history.  Mainly facts, as you can see above he liked the idea and ran with it.  It has made for an interesting twist in the campaign itself.

But this post did answer one question we hadn't played out. *S*
How many of Morrick's men survived, I remember we had decide it could not be more than 30, else the climatic-ness of the battle wouldn't have been as good.

O as a note to all you rule-hounds looking for that Cleric spell it doesn't exist.  Call it a Divine Aura mixed with Fireball, Flame Strike, Miracle, Destruction, and their shadow spells to create that Epic effect.  Just simply a god working through their servant.

And before you ask, no I don't know everything that happened to Morrick and his men.  And I like it that way, as much as I would like to, it is a lot more fun to find out in game through Cassock.

And have fun in Hawaii my RBDM.  
Again great update.
Bill


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## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> By the way, I'll be going on vacation this week (Hawaii).  It means I won't get another update up until June.  If you guys want to bump me until then, feel free




I hope you have a great time in Hawaii, Funeris!  I'm leaving for a bit more than a week in Cancun tonight!  I look forward to reading any updates that you have when I get back in June.


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## Funeris

Thanks O-W.  I'll try.  You have fun in Cancun.  I hope to update again around the middle of June.  So, stay tuned.


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## Spider_Jerusalem

Bump. 

Great battle sequence. I love all that rallying-the-troops talk. Every story hour should have that at least once. And the interior monologue was well handled. Nice.

Have a good holiday, and awaiting the next post...

Spider J


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## TheYeti1775

I know he's back.
I know he's not at work today.
I don't know why he hasn't updated the story hour yet.


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## Funeris

Thank you SJ.  I appreciate your praise.

Well Yeti, you're right on both counts.  However, the addendum to the second statement (in very fine print) is that I was away from my computer for the majority of the day.  And with the woman searching for a new job, I was unable to type anything up.   Then there's the jet lag...the 4 month old (as of Wednesday) not adjusting well to Eastern Standard Time....and the excuses just go on.

Expect one this weekend, no sooner.  I do start work again tomorrow (sigh).  So, feel free to email me all day (per the usual).  I know you would with or without my permission


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## Funeris

*Chapter 1: Fate's Weave*

Okay...so hopefully I'll have more than just this update this weekend...but I do have a lot of writing to get to.  Enjoy.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock of Cael stood at the precipice of a hill.  To his left, a worn tower stretched fifty feet into the cool night air.  The tower consisted of nothing but a spiraling staircase that crept upward to an open platform.  The wooden platform had been devoured by time.  Still stretching across the open gap, a few braces lent contrast to the rusting bell of the tower.  Both Enoch and Styg’s early evening rays caressed each mud-red fleck of rust adorning the warning bell <1>.

Cassock had shifted through the rubble although the post had been uninhabited for years if not decades.  A paltry handful of coins and a few vials of holy water were the only scraps he found.  Confident that his search had produced all to be found, the priest moved outside to glare downward at the bustling town.

Flickering fires danced through the open windows of the tiny cottages.  The tiny lights would not have shown normal eyes the detail revealed to Cassock.  Cael’s Blessing had already proved its usefulness <2>.  Cassock saw at least twenty individuals milling about an open field in the center of the town.  They all moved slowly, stirring or searching the ground at their feet.  A fine mist clung to the feet of the mob, clambering upward whenever given a chance.

Two distinct natural sensations arose within Cassock at that moment.  The first was a fine red glow emanating from the ground beneath the crowd.  The second, a scent of charred flesh brought to his notice by the chill kullyc wind.  The cleric winced in realization.  The field that the townsfolk shifted through was no field; it had been more homes, burnt to the ground.

“I see you have sent me to where I am needed, My Lord!  My path becomes clearer.”   The priest stood and descended toward the town.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock slid from shadow to shadow into the town, passing like a ghost amongst the living.  His crimson and black chain mail was silent as if in respect granted toward the lost souls.  

In the center of the village, the small crowd was shifting through ashes.  Burnt remains of wood still held the glowing warmth of dying flames.  The crackling wood erupted upward at odd angles from a sea of useless roofing.  Next to these cinders, lied the remains of the dead.  Their faces were contorted in ashen visages of horror.  Lips melted together with gums, teeth cleansed pearly white by the fire.  The teeth were beacons to the searchers and with each new body discovered another round of sobbing and wails pierced the air.

Most of the crowd continued with the hopeless search, unknowing of the new presence.  One man did spot the priest.  He moved warily toward the well armored visitor, bastard sword weighing heavily in his left hand.  The guard’s armor was only worn leather with scraps dangling uselessly.  Despite his middle-age, the man looked ancient and gaunt.

A few steps behind the guard, a group of townsfolk dumped a wooden pail of water upon some smoldering embers.  A soft hiss and gout of smoke plumed upward.  Nine corpses lie under gray death shrouds beside the group.  The rescuers dragged three rigid cadavers from the embers they had quieted.  A father, mother and small child were pulled toward the sheeted bodies; all of their faces frozen in agony.  Caged within the child’s arms, a small pet rested eternally.

“Hail there!  What happened here?”

The guard stopped only a few paces from the cleric.  Soot and dirt did nothing to hide the anger and sorrow etched into the creases of the man’s brow.  Neither did the grime conceal the wary glances at Cassock’s armor and weaponry.  Meticulously, the guard seemed to inventory all of the gear, piece by piece.  Once finished measuring the priest, the guard pulls out a flask and takes a long swig.  The sweet odor of a dark rum mixes with the heavy scent of rot from the guard’s mouth.

“They came for the Mayor’s half-breed!” he spits out.  “But were ‘ey content wit’ jus’ that?”  The guard swallowed another draught.  “Nah.  Burned ‘ese other homes, killin’ dose inside.”  With the last grunt, the guard clumsily waves a hand toward the crisp cadavers behind.

The sentry slips the flask back into a pouch on his belt as he bends to lift an iron rod from the wreckage.  His slightly intoxicated hand rotates the three foot pole in the air.  “Wedged ‘ese in e’ doors.  Bastards!  Trapped ‘em to roast alive.  I can still ‘ere the screams!”  The rod vibrated as it hit the ground.  The flask instantly replaced the iron.

“Damn Mayor!  Damn pointers!  Damn Orphan!  If’n the Mayor ‘ad jus’ killed the bitch, good peoples ‘ud not be dead!  Ara’Kull is punishing us!”  The guard turns to leave, stumbling over one of the many corpses.  The townspeople pulled him from the ash and soot.

A group of plainly clad females were bent over the dead.  Dutifully, they pulled the shrouds back and bathed the singed flesh of the dead with clean cloths and water.  The crowd’s talking had diminished, replaced only by a few whispers.  Cassock stared downward, trying to pick out the important bits of information.  A few of the words did stand out, not because of unfamiliarity but due to their constant repetition:  Male Half-Elf, Female Halfling, Keep, and Royal Guard all caught his ear.  The Priest of Cael turned to find the keep but is stopped suddenly in his tracks.

The crowd parted as an elderly gentleman approaches the dead.  He slowly approached; the majority of his weight supported by a twisted staff.  A plain white cloak hung over the slim frame increasing his apparent size.  Drawn around his face, a white hood with a black, ornately stitched hem hid his features.  Long, gray beard hair spilt down the front of the cloak in a haphazard fashion.  A metal symbol had snatched Cassock’s attention.  It was a simple silver amulet depicting a broken bastard sword:  the symbol of Ara’Kull’s clergy.  

The cleric bent down over each body, intoning a brief prayer.  With withered hands, he drew their charred eyelids down.  As the cleric moved from one cadaver to the next, Cassock nearly leapt out of his skin.  Each body jerked upward, a white nimbus of light pouring from the corpse.  The light quickly fouled though, becoming pitch-black in hue.  Out of the bodies the darkness flowed, vaguely humanoid.  Cassock could distinguish facial expressions, still twisted in agony as they reached toward him with their ethereal hands.  Before the ghostly fingers could brush the priest, the black souls jerked upward into the black sky.  Cassock shuddered, suddenly feeling very frigid.

The Priest of Ara’Kull turned to Cassock as the rites of passage were complete.  He raised his head enough to let the dying embers reflect from his eyes.  Without saying one word, the cleric vanished into the crowd. 

Cassock shivered yet again.  His mind tried to piece together the unnatural occurrence he witnessed <3>.  What he had seen was not just unnatural but inherently wrong in some unspeakable way.  But, there were no logical words to describe the agitation.  Worried, the Priest of Cael moved toward the bodies of the dead.

“Help me,” he begged the drunken soldier.  Cassock lifted a handful of soot and moved in between the once-blessed corpses.  Quickly, he drew Cael’s mark on their brows reciting the proper burial words.  Once each body had been marked he stepped backward to finish the rites.  “Trasumanar significar per verba non si poria <4>.”  The priest knelt briefly to sketch the Death God’s symbol into the soot as well.  “I only hope I wasn’t too late to save their souls,” he murmured.  “What is going on here?  What was that atrocity?  Damnation.  Am I to be your justicar, Cael?”

“Eh,” the guard butted in, “what er ye babblin’ about?”

Cassock glared at the soldier as his mind returned to the present.  “Make sure these people get proper burials.  And make sure they’re buried in whatever fashion suited their religion…not the religion of that Heretic.”  Cassock throws a glare toward the other priest’s last position.  A confused expression spread across the guard’s face.

“And I need to see the half-elf and halfling that were captured earlier today.  Take me there immediately.”

“I cannae.  I'm jus’ a conscript.  But if yeh really wanna see those,” the soldier spit onto the ground, “bastards in the keep, yeh need tah find Mayor Rowen.  An’ you’ll find that HERETIC in keep.”  The man’s sneer deepened.

“Very well, I will find the mayor.  Stay with the bodies and do as I instructed you.”  Cassock tossed a handful of silvers at the guard as he ran toward the keep.  After Cassock departed, the guard turned toward the ladies in white.  He had stuffed the silvers into his purse greedily and was finishing the last draught from his flask.

“Take the bodies to Tobus to be buried,” the conscript commanded.

“What of the man’s requests?” questioned a lady.

“F*ck that dumb foreigner.  ‘E don’t know our customs nor our peoples.”  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<1> Enoch and Styg are the two moons that circle Norum da Salaex.  A copper to anyone that catches the reference to another rpg.

<2> Clerics have been slightly modified from the standard cleric in that each God gifts their clerics with special abilities.  One of Cael’s Blessings is darkvision (or an increase if you already have it).

<3> This IS most definitely an unnatural occurrence…not just because Cassock can see the departing souls but for other reasons as well.  Hopefully, the group will discover what it means at some point in the future.  But I’m not spoiling it.

<4> Trasumanar significar per verba non si poria....is yup, you guessed it, Latin.  I by no means know Latin.  But I am familiar with some quotes.  I'm not sure I spelled it all correctly (its been about five years since I've used this one).  But it basically translates to: *The passage beyond humanity cannot be set forth in words*.  I felt it was wholly appropriate to the situation.


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## Spider_Jerusalem

Nice one Funeris.

Gritty as hell at the moment! When does the sun come out??? Actually, screw it, I'm loving this so far.

The departing souls was well placed - good description all round actually.

Looking eagle-eyed for the next update.

Ever a fan, Spider J


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## Funeris

> When does the sun come out???




Hmmm...What's the sun? 
Seriously though, these guys are going to have it hard.  [Insert Spoiler] during the second session!!!  And it [Insert Spoiler] because they [Insert Spoiler].  

They will be well compensated along the way, though.  One (if not all of the characters...and yes Yeti I'm talking about you) is thoroughly dedicated to slaughtering the divine-appointed King of Norum da Salaex.  He plans on going all the way.  The departing souls just pushed him further into that task...he does see these spirits every time someone dies.  That could be maddening.  Whether or not the others follow him though...that remains to be seen.

So to answer your question, the sun may or may not come out in a year and a half (game time not real time).  They're working on a clock.  And there are so many variables....

[Insert Diabolical DM laugh]


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## TheYeti1775

I don't need no stinking sun.


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## Funeris

Well, to be a smart@$$,
without light (and thus the sun) there would be no darkness.  You need the sun, biznatch.

Don't make heretical statements like that.  I may just have to threaten to slaughter you this Friday night


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## TheYeti1775

You slaughter me hahhahaha

"As the darkness enclosed the priest, the screams ensued."
That ring a bell.

I will tell my version after you get to it here.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Good start Funeris.

I've been meaning to check this storyhour out for a while, what with enjoying your Valus storyhour and seeing Spider Jerusalem praising it in his. I don't know what took me so long ... well other than finding the time between reading various other storyhours and trying actually to do some work ... and if I'm honest the name put me off a bit - reminded me too much of Hong Kong Phooey!   

Anyway, be that as it may, I've got here now and enjoyed what you've written so far ... so get writing some more !!


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## Spider_Jerusalem

What the hell was that noise?   

bump


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## Funeris

*Chapter One: Fate's Weave continued*

Ok...I'm going to try not to bore you with too many details about my month absence from this thread.  I have been busy.  So, here's an update   Consider it an approximately 2100 word apology.  Enjoy.
Hopefully everyone will forgive me  

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock spun toward the keep.  Steps, heavy with distress over the shadowed soul, pulled him toward the castle and deeper into Fate’s Weave.  

Not one hundred yards from the double gates, something brushes against the priest’s armor.  He barely noticed the motion until a small voice pleaded, “Wait!  Wait!”  The cleric stopped and turned.

A small half-orc girl, dressed in naught but filthy rags, clenched tightly to his chainmail.  Tiny, yellowed tusks broke the jagged surface of her oversized lips.  “Please, wait.”

Cassock knelt and stared at the child.  “And what I can I do for you child?”

“I…” she stammered.  “I knew Ariel.  She was nice.  She was eleven.”  A big twisted grin spread across her craggy lips.  The girl leaned in closer and whispered, “We was friends.  She did’n care that I was,” her eyes darted toward the ground awkwardly.  “Ugly.”  The word was harsh; full of steel.  She raised her sloping brow and stared the priest down.  Small beads of pain filled her eyes; one or two silently darted down her face and to the earth.  “I liked her pointy ears.  Please, sir.  Bring her back.”  Before Cassock could even respond, the half-breed twirled into the shadows of a building and disappeared.  Cassock of Cael resumed his march into the keep.

As the distance between the priest and the keep disappeared, so to the mass of townsfolk faded in the night.  Those without homes moved toward the old tavern for an emotion-numbing drink.  Those full of exhaustion moved to the keep, following the priest.  An order had been issued immediately following the attack.  All townsfolk were to reside within the walls of the keep until such a time as their protection could be assured outside the walls.

Cassock eagerly devoured the details of the stone fortress.  The layout would probably serve useful in the future.  The towering stone walls reached nearly fifty feet into the air, odd for a town so small in number.  The only entrance to the residences and taverns was a set of fifteen foot wide solid oak doors.  These doors were easily a foot in thickness and twenty feet in height.  The portcullis was only half lowered.  Gleaming, black iron reinforced by steel was shaped into that protective skeleton.  Not a sign of dirt or mud rested on its limbs.  This fortress was quite new.

Along the inner walls, stone buildings grew like jungle vines amongst tree branches.  These buildings were squat and gray with few windows for lighting.  Not even one of the buildings stretched more than thirty feet from the wall, allowing an open courtyard of near one hundred and forty feet.  It was in this courtyard that masses of the townsfolk huddled near small campfires.  A heavy scent of alcohol and roasted venison filled the courtyard.

Another wall split the massive courtyard in twain, leaving it in sections of two hundred foot length.  This wall seemed at least as thick as the exterior walls, twenty to thirty feet of stone.  There was another oversized doorway arcing above the path and into the second half of the courtyard.

Cassock noted a pair of heavily armed militiamen standing against the wall and headed forward for further direction to the mayor.  Before Cassock made it to the guards, a man in shining platemail stomped into the courtyard.  Strapped to his side, an oversized sword nearly dug a channel in the earth.  The sword, like the mail, was extraordinarily polished to a perfect mirror surface.  Around the soldier’s neck dangled a black emblem, that of the Captain of the Guard.

“LOOK, old man!  I don’t like it anymore than you!  But the law is the law.  Now people have died.  The Royal army needs to be notified of these events.”  The Captain’s arms folded condescendingly across the front of his blinding armor.

“Boy, I will not have the Royal Inquisitors stirring up trouble in my town.”  An elderly gentleman followed the Captain into the yard.  The man’s deep brown hair had grayed and thinned with age.  His skin was nearly taut, pulled across his wiry and tall frame.  “YOU don’t know what it is you are suggesting.  I was here the last time they were here.  You weren’t even a twinkle in your father’s eye.  And if he were still among us, he would know better!  Have you forgotten the histories?  I thought I educated you better.”  The gentleman sighed, straightening the ruffled noble cloth that draped from his body.  Patches littered the canvas of cloth, leaving the minor noble looking unkempt and exhausted.

The Captain spun at the mayor.  “Aye, I remember the tales.  Stories to frighten children.  Stories that sow discordant seeds between the people and our rightful ruler.  Stories and nothing more!”

Cassock stepped diplomatically in between the two men, eliciting glares from each.  Under his breath, the elder murmured, “Strange night for so many visitors.”

“Good sirs, mayhaps I can be of some service to you.  I will need some details, but…”

The Captain cut the cleric off with a dismissing wave of his hand, “And how exactly do you think you can help?”

Cassock cleared his throat, subduing the anger brewing within.  “Inquisitors here would be a terrible move for either of you.  If the Royal Army had to be summoned, it could spread rumors of your inability to control your keep and your own lands.   I suggest a small group go in search of the child.  And I volunteer openly for the task.  But, I will require some details as well as access to the prisoners.”

“Ah,” the Captain sighed.  “Just another man interested in seeing the freaks.”

Cassock turned his cool glare toward the Captain.  “You, good sir, should listen to your elders when they speak.  Their wisdom will save you more than your own blade.  But you’re right the law is that the Royals should be requested.  Within the letter of the law though it does not state a period of time within which this contact should be established.  Gather a group, send them for information and then at least you will know what the Royals will have to face.  Do NOT waste the King’s money by summoning trained soldiers before all the facts are held.

“You would also do well to remember Captain that they may be stories.  But they are also history.  They are told so that the children will not forget the past.  The children must not make the same mistakes.  How many people in this town died with the last arrival of the Inquisition?  Thirty?  Forty?  One hundred?  You would risk the lives of your people for a cause you know nothing about?”  Cassock clenched his jaw firmly, strangling the remaining bitter words into silence.  The Captain’s face flushed as he turned and stormed from the courtyard.

Cassock pivoted toward the Mayor and takes one step backward.  “Full of ignorance that one.”

“Captain Leiban has a good heart, stranger.  I’m just not sure he recognizes that facet anymore.”  The Mayor measured the visitor, watching the light reflect off the alternating black and red mail.  “I am Gabe Rowen, the Mayor of this small town.  If you wouldn’t mind, join me for a drink and we can discuss your ideas.”  The Mayor waved toward the doorway the guards were positioned near and allowed the cleric to follow him indoors.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leiban Malabrandt, the Captain of the Guard, stormed out the western gates of the keep.  His men had tried to grab his attention, but feeling his seething rage about to explode, the Captain ignored them.  In the back of his awareness he heard the clank of the portcullis shutting.  The guards were still positioned at that gate in the event of any more travelers.

The Capitan walked westward.  The early fall breeze whistled through the wheat, soothing his hatred.  He stretched his arms outward, letting the dancing plants tickle his palms.  Upward his vision stretched, counting and naming the stars he had forever known in this town, his home.  

A snapping twig brought him back to consciousness.  His sword flashed outward toward the noise, a robed hand blocked the blade.  

“Careful, young Master.  You still have use for me and my talents.”  The voice was nothing more than a whisper, but Leiban knew it well.  He sheathed the blade.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask the same of you, but I think I know.  The Mayor has chosen, once again in his infinite wisdom, to disregard the law.  This has angered you.”  The cloaked figure stalked around the Captain.  He pulled directly up to the front of the youth.  “I know you well Leiban.  I know the Mayor well.”

“You’re right.  You’re always right…”

“Shhh.”  The man raised a hand to his hidden lips.  “Do not speak my name out here please, just in case.  I believe we have a visitor, do we not?”

“Yes.  Some fool traveler broke into my discussion with the Mayor.  Arrogant bastard.”

“He is.  But he is more than that.  This man follows the Old Faith.  He follows an untrue God.  And now if the Mayor assists this man…”

“It is further reason for the mayor to be deposed.”  Leiban finished.  His anger had all but vanished.

“Exactly.  I take it you fulfilled my request?”  The cloaked man slipped past the Capitan.

“Yes.  The messenger was dispatched some time ago with your letter.”

“Good.  That is what I like to hear.  I will be meeting with T. later tonight.  Keep your eyes on the traveler if you can.  One way or another, I think I’ll have to take care of him.”

“Of course.”  Leiban turned to his friend, but found nothing but the softly shifting blades of wheat.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fifteen more minutes of peace passed outside the gates of the town before Leiban was again drawn from his reverie.  The steady plodding of hooves drifted toward him.  He drew his blade again as a lone traveler rode over the crest of the western hill.

A billowing cloak streamed from behind the traveler as it began the descent down the hill.  Leiban waved his sword above his head, reflecting the torchlight into the distance.  Surprisingly, the horse slowed its progress and brought its rider slowly toward the Captain.

“Halt.  Who approaches?!”  Leiban stuck his jaw outward.  His body prepared for the worst, inflating itself to intimidate.

“Come now, Leiban.”  A soft, melodic voice drifted from the hooded traveler.  “Surely, after all these years you have not forgotten me.”  The hood was thrown back, revealing a mass of wavy, deep brown hair.  From behind the sensual locks, two bright brown eyes stared at the Capitan.

“Lady Rowen.”  The Captain moved to his knees and bowed his head in respect.  Then he stood and extended a hand, helping the lady dismount.

“Please, Leiban.  You know I never enjoyed being addressed in that fashion.”  She allowed Malabrandt to assist in her dismount.

“Of course, Lady Anastrianna…I mean Ana.”  Leiban smiled awkwardly.  

“I see you have taken over as the Captain of the Guard.  How is your father?”  Ana unlatched her belongings from the steed.

“He passed away last year.  The fever took him in the winter months.”  A touch of sadness echoed in Leiban’s words.

“I am sorry to hear about your loss, dear Leiban.  What of this?”  Ana threw her hand haphazardly toward the keep.

“Ah.  Mayor Rowen decided the town needed better defenses.  He commissioned the building of this fortress.  It has been some time since you were here, Ana.  Would you like me to show you around?  Much has changed in the last several years.”

“No Leiban that won’t be necessary.  I do need to see my father, though.  Could you take me to him?”  Ana smiled, her expression further enhancing the beauty of her face.

“Of course.  Follow me, Lady.”  Leiban turned a similar grin spreading over his own face.  Soon, the Captain would be Mayor.  On top of that delicious fact, the unrequited love of his youth just happened to return.  _This week just can’t get any better_, the Captain thought as he ordered the portcullis to be raised.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note:  Ok, not sure if I mentioned this before.  The suffix –iban is attached to males that share the same name as their father.  The suffix –anda is attached to females that share the same name as their mother.  So, Leiban is the son of Leo Malabrandt.    Only one note this time, wow.


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## TheYeti1775

*Good job.*

Another well done job.
I will forgive the shortness of it, since we did game last night as well.   

I had forgotten how rude I was to the poor chap until I read this, and then reread my notes.
Cassock was a little on edge at this point, after the seeing of the souls, and that mixed with his open disdain of the Ara'Kull Priest.   
O well I may be wise but no one said he was the smartest.


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## Funeris

Ha!  Shortness.  whatever.  If you wanna see short, look at your own SH thread.  
And poor chap?  Funny you speak of him like that after the fact.  Although I guess, in his own way, Leiban is a bit of a tragic character.  He has that whole unrequited love thing going and he believes strongly and firmly in the government...even if its tyrannical.  All he truly wants is for everyone to follow the letter of the law even if its not logical (or pleasant etc.).  Reminds me of a thread I was recently on.  Hmmm....


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## TheYeti1775

Yes you did step on yourself in that one,
even though I do agree with you.
You know they are still arguing it over there.  Just because two of them can't stand to be "wrong" (as in intent of RAW not letter of RAW).

Yes my lame SH is short.
Yes I have many pages that you have seen handwritten.
Yes I'm too lazy.
Yes I know, I know.

Now as far as Lebiban is concerned, Cassock just thinks he is a pompus ass who inherited his title vice earning it.


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## Spider_Jerusalem

Hey Funeris, 

nice one. Well worth the update delay. Are you planning on letting us readers stew again for a week or two? Or  could ya' post up quicker this time?

I loved the description of the castle, but one thing kept stabbing at my mind as I read through it. The visual image was great, but when details of a building are explained in dimensions (30 feet by 40, for example)... it throws me out. I know it's a legacy from our game being based that way, but I don't know if it should translate into SH's. 

Strike me down if you think otherwise, but those sort of descriptions probably count as a niggling injury for me.

Ooops. Sorry to hijack your thread.

Other than that, I really enjoyed the update. Awaiting the next with eager eyes.

Spider J


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## Funeris

Hey SJ, glad to see you're still around.  As much as the Rat-bastard-liness wants me to make you all stew, I'm not sure that I will.  I want to be you when I grow up...posting every day or two (usually) .  Alas, real-life and my at home internet connection are trying to spoil yours and my dream.  I need to call my ISP and get the internet problems straightened out...

That being said, my notes are on my home PC so...I should be able to get a couple updates written (even if I can't post them).  

As for the castle, I have it a bit worse than most DMs I fear...I actually design everything using Autocad....and then plot it for my players to play upon (instead of using a battlemat).  I'll try not to describe using actual measurements...but often they're so ingrained in my head that they're hard to seperate.  Again, I'll try not to..but if one or two slips in, my apologies.

Hijack away...you never know, it may draw more people in...and I'm always hungry for new readers.


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## TheYeti1775

I love playing with his plotted out maps.

It speeds up our game considerably.  
Unroll, a little masking tape, done.  All to proper scale with grid lines.   

And I do believe that little half-orc girl was much uglier than that.  Though Cassock did accept her quest.


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## ragboy

Excellent! First post in and I'm hooked. Keep it coming...


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## Funeris

Okay folks.  There is some grittiness coming up in this next update which isn't too terribly long.  I feel...slightly disgusted with it...not cuz it's bad writing (which it may or may not be)...but because...well you'll see.  Again, if you're not of strong stomach or you are opposed to having to deal with topics such as rape, crazed religious fanatics, gritty and horrific murders, etc. etc. etc. you don't need to be in this thread.  As another note...I realize that typing etc. three times in a row is redundant.  But I like the way it sounds when I think it so .

That moment of levity probably blew my abbreviated disclaimer out of the water.  I say again:  I don't write for children.  I don't write for teens.  I write for adults.

And for those of you stopping in who haven't heard of Spider_Jerusalem or Ragboy, I believe you're all missing out on some excellent work (hi Ragboy!  Thanks for coming).  They're both great writers...so get over there.  After you finish my update of course 

Enjoy.


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## Funeris

*Chapter 1:  Fate's Weave Continued*

Gabrielle huddled in the corner of the damp cell she occupied.  Outside the barred door, her gear lay unceremoniously next to Aramil’s, along with her clothing.  Fresh welts stung painfully, allowing the past hours of torture to be unforgotten.  Blood had long congealed along her wounds.  She was sure she’d die from some infectious disease.

Thankfully, the violators-dressed-as-guards had unbound her from the heavy wooden barrel after their…*administrations*.  She shuddered uncontrollably.  A feeling of nausea swept through her body and she clutched herself closely.  _Anything to keep warm_, she thought as she groped tighter.

Gabrielle had never known such pain.  She had been warned.  Her protector, the only father she had ever known, had warned her of men.  Hargos had rescued Gabrielle from her halfling birthright.  Born secretly in a pen somewhere in the orc-blasted territory to the northwest, Gabrielle was shuttled away into the forest by the woodsman.  Hargos himself was only half-human, just like Aramil.  And Hargos had taken to surviving in the forest by himself with only a lute as company.

Hargos had been her father.  At least he was, until a band of human soldiers came along and ruined her life.  

Gabrielle could almost remember that day perfectly despite or maybe because of her current pain.  She had awoken to the beautiful sounds of birds chirping happily in the woods.  Hargos was supposed to give her another lesson with the lute.  But the birds erupted from the trees, leaving an eerie silence.  The half-elf left Gabrielle in the hut to investigate.  

The sound of the birds was soon replaced with the sound of steel carrying soldiers.  Gabrielle did as Hargos had instructed her, grabbing all her gear and fleeing.  She had taken Hargos’ lute as well, so she could continue the lessons when they met again.  That day never came.

After waiting for more than a month for Hargos, Gabrielle left broken-hearted to head toward the free state of Aedil.  “It was the only place she would ever be safe,” Hargos had claimed.  So Gabrielle fled.

It was a long journey for a long time.  The harshness of reality had left the halfling struggling for food and shelter, until she had met Aramil.  Then life had been easier again.  She could practice on the lute when Aramil wasn’t grumpy.  And she could tell him wonderful tales about Hargos, although more often then not they both avoided speaking of their pasts.  Now, they were both trapped in an unrelenting hell of abuse.

Captain Lockhart, she thought was his name, had argued with the other guards about their mistreatment.  The other guards wouldn’t listen though.  Even the mayor had ordered the pair’s clothes given back and abuse ceased.  But once he was gone, the guards resumed their fun.

_Men are evil._

A resounding thud echoed from the cell next to Gabrielle’s.  Aramil was still moaning in pain.  She knew that moan well after a day in this hell.  His mouth had been gagged, much as her own.  She was pretty sure he had his own barrel, his own bonds.  Thankfully a thin stone wall separated the cells so she would not have to relive her own experiences.

_If only I could reach the lute_, she thought.  _Its not that far…and I could soothe Aramil’s and my own pain.  Or maybe a weapon.  Aramil’s blade isn’t so far.  I should be able to reach it_, solidifying her own confidence, the halfing moved toward the edge of her cell.  She pressed her face against the cold, iron bars and glanced down the hallway.  Still there was only one guard in the dungeon.  And he was preoccupied.  Gabrielle stretched her arm out.

Another sharp crack split the air.  Before Gabrielle could react, the guard stepped out of the adjoining cell and spied the halfling’s arm reaching toward the blade.  He grunted, shifting his slimy bulk toward her.  He stopped adjusting his belt and uniform.

Gabrielle retracted her arm in a flash and slid backward from the door.  The guard grunted again, while slamming Aramil’s cell door.  One final half-conscious moan escaped before a painful silence settled in the dungeon.

The evil man fumbled with his keys momentarily.  He glanced upward, a malicious gleam in his eyes.  “Want som’in hard to hold, do ye?  I got som’in for you.  Som’in your freak beau coul’nt handle.”  The key shifted metallically in the lock until a tiny click signaled the opening of a mechanism.  

Gabrielle prayed to every god and goddess she had ever heard named for courage.

The door swung open.

The halfling prayed to Hargos for speed.  

The guard stepped in and reached to close the door.

Gabrielle made one last fleeting prayer to Phoee, the mother of all the gods, for strength.  She charged the iniquitous fiend.

The cell door slammed shut as the man raised one booted foot to Gabrielle’s face.  Gabrielle stumbled backward from the impact, crashing into the stone wall behind.  Warm vitae spilled down the bard’s face, from her shattered teeth.

“I likes ‘em frisky.  Jus’ like yer boyfriend.”  The voice was distant.  Unconsciousness stretched reality.  Before the halfling entered its cool embrace completely, she felt one fat, grubby hand slide up her nude torso.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Secrets revealed.

Good thing I never  metagame at all.

Well if it's ever told to Cassock, I'm pretty sure heads would roll.

Can't wait for the next one.


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## TheYeti1775

Apparently your emails are an hour behind this morning getting to me.
I replied to both.


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## Funeris

Lol.  I keep responding...I don't know what's up...and I'm getting emails from other people...so...

I think you just need to break down, hack your government computer...and install Yahoo Messenger...so you can bug me continuously


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## TheYeti1775

they are starting to speed up now.
and I already did that, but still need to break the network in order to take it further.
but then I would never get work done.


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## OaxacanWarrior

Great update, Funeris!  You're right...it is pretty gritty, but I love it.  Keep the updates coming!


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## Funeris

Ok...so its been nearly a month.  And I'm not sure how many readers I may have lost from that last post.  A brief excuse:  I've been without internet (at home) for just about two weeks now.  Before, that the internet only worked at random spurts.  But now, since I called out my Cable Company...they did what they always do...they screwed everything up.  I have no internet.  And I'm suffering withdrawal.

Ok, maybe it wasn't so brief.  That being said, I have resorted to moving files from my home computer to my work computer by way of a good old 3.5" disc.  [Sarcasm] Damn I feel technologically advanced. [/Sarcasm]

Oh well...whatever gets you your updates 
Speaking of....


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 1: Fate's Weave Continued*

“Thank you for the drink,” Cassock said as he set the mug of ale down.  The frothy fluid swirled within the wooden cup, a light scent of cinnamon and some exquisite, roasted bean overpowered the typically rank odor of alcohol.  Cassock glanced about the Mayor’s modest room.  

A single wooden table with three rickety chairs stood alone in the cramped room.  Bearing down upon the furniture, the stone walls stood quiet in judgment, disapproving.  Three sketches attempted to brighten the unbending nature of the walls.  Each portrait was of a different female, all three beautiful.  Slightly pointed ears pierced the shaded hair of the youngest female sketch; angled features emphasized the difference between this portrait and the other two.  A definite family resemblance linked the first two canvases.

Cassock’s eyes glanced downward, silently examining the worn fur coverings upon the floor.  He lifted the delicious ale to his lips, letting its warmth couple with the rugs and nearly making the coolness bearable.  

“I must apologize again for your Captain,” the cleric began.  “We young folks can be a bit anxious.  I’m sure the Captain only meant the best.”

“You need not apologize for my Captain of the Guard.  I knew his personality well when I had him replace his father at the post.  Leiban’s a bit quick to rouse.  But he is a good man, and a better soldier.  With a little more time, hopefully, he’ll become a little wiser to the ways of the world.”  Mayor Rowen finished his own mug and returned to the kitchen.

“I think you may want to allow the Captain to make his report though,” Cassock added when the Mayor disappeared behind a wall.

“Oh?  Why’s that?”

“Ultimately, it is your decision to forward the report along.  If you allow Leiban to, at the very least, create this report, then his ego, pride and honor should be satisfied.”

A chuckle preceded the reemergence of the Mayor.  “Too bad you weren’t available last year when Leiban’s father passed.  You would’ve made a good Captain, possibly even a better mayor than I.”  Rowen sat quickly, setting his refilled mug down and sliding Cassock a fresh mug.  “Now, if you don’t mind the abrupt segue, why have you come to my town?”  The old man’s hazel eyes noiselessly interrogated the seeming warrior.  

“Ah.  Well, that is quite a long story.”  Cassock sipped from the new mug, forcing a respite.  “But I would have to ask first, can I trust you?”

Rowen smiled almost knowingly.  “If you’re a bandit, then I might have to ask you enjoy the humble furnishings of our cells.  At least, until you leave.  But fear not, it would be rent free.”

Cassock chuckled.  “I’m nothing quite so dastardly, at least in spirit and intent.  I am a priest of Cael.”  His medallion slid easily from behind the armor.  

“Hmmm, a priest of the God of Death.  I have townsfolk who believe you *should* be sleeping in the dungeon.”

“What they don’t know will not hurt them.  I’m not here to disturb the peace.  Rather, I believe Cael has sent me here to help in your current predicament.  You have a young woman in need of rescue.  I’m here to do the rescuing.”  The last of the new mug of ale was quickly drained.  This brew consisted of a sweet flavoring, not unlike a candy Cassock had enjoyed as a child.  The priest stood and moved toward the kitchen to refill his own mug.  “Of course, I’ll need more information to complete my task.  That is, if you’re not going to throw me into the prison.”

The mayor laughed.  “No.  Religion has no place in politics, in my opinion.  You’re welcome to stay here.  You may not want to openly display your religion however.  Others may not be so tolerant.”  Cassock brought to full mugs back to the table.  “How much information do you need?”

“Well, I take it no ransom has been asked for.”  The mayor shook his head.  “Then, what was special about this girl?  There must be some reason why she was kidnapped.  If not for money then why take her?  I need more knowledge about her background.

“Also, I’d like a description of those that attacked the town.  I need to know how many and what they looked like so I know what to expect.  Give me a full account of the events of today.  Did anyone note the direction the attack came from, or the direction the attackers fled?

Taking but a quick breath, the priest continued, “I’d like to know why the prisoners in the dungeon are suspected.  If they’re not a part of the kidnapping, then they should be released.  Perhaps they can help me track down the true kidnappers, if only to clear their own names.”  Cassock lifted the ale, signaling a completion to his requests.

All was quiet for a moment while the mayor collected his own thoughts before beginning.  “Ariel was my adopted daughter.  That is her face,” he motioned to the portrait of the youngest upon the wall.

“I found her five years ago when she was four.  I was out for a walk when I stumbled across a nearly unconscious man in the fields.  He was curled oddly upon the ground.  I bent down to offer my help and bind any wounds he may have had.  He was, after all, resting in a pool of blood.

“But when I touched him, he kicked at me.  I fell beside him, but not before seeing the child he was trying to protect.  He was elven.  It took a lot of convincing for him to allow me to even look at his wounds.  The wounds were not deep.  The arrows had barely pierced his flesh.  Once I removed them, however, I knew the man would not last much longer.  The arrows were poisonous, I could tell by the Church’s insignia.  The elf had been hunted and wounded.

“He knew his own death was fast approaching.  Because of my kindness, he entrusted the child to my care.  Her name was Ariel and she was a half-blood.  I couldn’t deny him his last wish.”  Rowen wiped a rough hand across his eyes seemingly due to tiredness.  “So I brought Ariel back to the town.  The elf died in the fields and I buried him in an unmarked grave.  I’ve raised the child since.”

“What about the other two portraits?”  questioned the priest.

“The portrait on the top is…was my wife.  She passed away almost ten years ago.  The portrait below is Ana, my daughter.  She left after her mother’s death.

With a quick clearing of his throat, the mayor continued, “The band that attacked the town was about twenty-strong.  All except one wore a mask.  The leader, supposedly, was an elven ranger.  Varying accounts portray the other members of varying heights.  Some were of average height, but others were dwarfish in stature.

“This is what led to the imprisonment of the other two travelers.  One is a half-elf, the other a halfling.  It is assumed that they fell behind the raiding party.  They’re now resting in the dungeon.  I don’t believe they have anything to do with the murders and the kidnapping.  They were found to the west of the village.  The raiding party headed east however.  But, until they’re questioned in public, the townsfolk will demand retribution.  The tolerance I’ve worked so hard for my entire life has all but fallen apart in the last twenty-four hours.”  Weariness spread its fallow claws through Mayor Rowen.  

“You said the brigands wore masks,” Cassock interjected.  “What did the masks look like?”

“Oh.  They were solid brown except for a black leaf embroidered upon the forehead.”

“And was anything taken aside from the girl?”

“No.  She was taken then the brigands set fire to several homes in the area.”

“Mayor Rowen, I don’t think the elves would have taken the girl back by force.  They’re not as villainous as the Church’s myths paint them.  It could be a rogue elf, however.  Also, I don’t think the prisoners had anything to do with the murders.  However, I won’t be sure unless I can question them.  Could you produce a writ giving me access to the prisoners?  Maybe allow me to remove them from the prison?  They would be easier to question if not in an uncomfortable setting.”

Gabe Rowen stared at the priest for a moment.  “They would probably be in better hands with you.  Some of the guards had abused them upon their arrival.  I have no problem issuing a writ.”  He walked into another room and grabbed a sheet of parchment, jotting instructions quickly with a quill.

As the mayor signed his name, the door to his home swung open.  Stepping in, a young woman slid the door closed again.  The mayor turned his attention to the intruder and fell backward into his seat, one hand clutching his chest.

"Hi father, I’m home.”  Ana smiled.

“Ana…” the words were whispered and pained as they escaped the Mayor’s mouth.  He attempted to stand, but only managed to feebly wobble while spilling his ale over the rugs.  

“Who is your guest, father?”

Cassock grasped the woman’s hand and brought it to his lips as he bowed.  A brief and proper kiss leapt from mouth to hand.  While still bowing, the priest spoke.  “My lady, I am Cassock of Cael.  I am just a priest of an old religion.”

Ana nearly backtracked as Cassock’s medallion reflected light.  Instantly, she recognized the symbol as one of those carved into the adamantine box she now owned.  She shifted her pack awkwardly and smiled.

“I am Anastrianna Rowen, daughter of the Mayor.  It is a pleasure, Cassock.  I hope I wasn’t interrupting?”  She stared at her father.  The old man had barely changed in the near ten years.  As thin as ever, with only a slight loss of hair, the rogue noted.  Gabe stumbled about the room, placing another mug of ale onto the table and pulling out the third chair.

“Please, sit daughter.”  He motioned her over with a wave, but before she could sit, the mayor lunged.  His arms wrapped tightly around her in an unbreakable embrace.  The tears which had been wiped away before now fled freely down the Mayor’s face.  “My gods, the fates take one daughter away and return a lost child all within a day.”  Cassock turned slightly away in respect.

Ana pulled free of the embrace and carefully slid into the chair.  “What do you mean by that?  And what the hell happened to the town?  And where did this keep come from?”

“All long stories, dear…”

“Do not fear, lady.”  Cassock interrupted.  “I am going to retrieve your adopted sister.”

“So you have been hired then by my father?  What qualifications do you have?”

“Not hired.  I have volunteered.  And my God has set me upon this path.” 

Ana smirked slightly.  “I hope for your sake then it is a _good_ path.  The divine only seems to lead people astray anymore.”

Cassock bowed stiffly.  “I’m sure it is the *right* path.  If you will excuse me, Mayor and Lady Ana, I have some prisoners to collect.”  The priest swiped the writ from the table and, bowing once more, exited the room.

“What other daughter?”  Ana turned, now curious, toward her father.  Gabe Rowen took his seat next to his child and began his tale.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 1: Fate's Weave Continues*

...And for my loyal readers....here's another update (albeit brief)...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock slid quietly between the commoners.  With controlled effort, he silenced his armor, as much as possible.  The background was filled with a din of noise; barely controlled terror and anger rippling like a stream upon the voices.  He kept moving, forbidding the private discussions access to his mind.  His task lay before him.  All else was merely distraction.

Two conscripts stood wearily beside the iron door into the dungeon.  With eyelids drooping, both appeared exhausted.   Cassock moved for the door and the guards snapped to attention.  They moved to block the door, shields guarding their torsos and longswords at the ready.

“Wha’ ye doin,” grunted the older and hopefully wiser of the men.

“I’m here to collect the prisoners.”  Cassock slowly lifted the parchment.

The guard snatched the paper and unfolded it.  “The Cap’n said those whelps don’ leave.”

“That may be.  However, I’m sure the word of the mayor overrules your Captain’s orders.”  Cassock smiled smugly.  The guard was attempting to read the parchment upside down.

The second, younger guard leaned in to look at the parchment.  Noticing the position of the writ, he flipped the paper.  Quickly he glanced down the orders.



> I hereby authorize the removal of the prisoners by the man presenting this writ.  The prisoners will be transferred to his custody, and will now be his burden at least until the day of their public judgment.  Furthermore, any crimes that may be committed by the prisoners during the course of their temporary release shall be this man's responsibility.
> 
> Authorized on this day in 576 A.E.
> ~Mayor Gabriel X. Rowen




The guard grumbled and fumbled for his keys.  He shot worried glances to his companion but opened the heavy door anyway.

“Thank you.”  Cassock grabbed the writ as he passed.  However, the guard grabbed his shoulder.

“You’ll need a guide.”

“No I won’t.  I’ll be fine.”

“Eh…well, you’ll need a torch at least.”  

Cassock pivoted a bit, and brought his stare in closely to the conscript.  His black iris-less pupils bore into the man’s own eyes.

“No.  I won’t.”  Cassock slipped into the chamber and pulled the door closed behind, preventing further interruptions.

Quiet murmurs from filled holding cells followed the priest down the hallway.  With his gifted vision, he could see prisoners huddled in the cells.  They blindly looked for the noise that would give their intruder’s position away.  The darkness was too deep.  Cassock did not stop for these others.  His task waited at the end, near the flickering torchlight.

A gruff, spiteful laugh echoed along the corridor.  The last ten holding cells were empty.  _A buffer between the common vagabonds and the ‘murderers’_, Cassock realized.  The laugh sounded again but was accompanied by jingling and a voice.

“At’s right, you lil’ fu**ers.  I’ma piss on yur graves ‘omorrow morn.  Right after ‘e hangin’!”  An obese man strolled out of the farthest cell and into the light.  Cassock stopped his approach, staying within the shadows.  The watchman struggled to adjust his belt forcing the ring of keys to chirp metallically.  Once the belt was tightened and somehow managed not to snap in half, the corpulent man stepped up to the nearer of two cells.

“*Fu**in’ half-breeds!*”  A blob of discolored phlegm erupted from his mouth and flew into the cell.  The sound of bare feet pressing lightly against stone preceded a half-elf slamming into wrought iron bars.  His arms had extended to grasp the overweight fiend.  Stepping back, the watchman eluded the grasp.  He smiled maliciously as the prisoner crumpled against the floor.  Rasping breath was quickly overcome by a female sob in the furthest cell.

Cassock grimaced.  With one hand on his warmace and the other on the writ, he stalked out of the darkness like a spectre.


----------



## Funeris

*INCOMING!!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 1: Fate's Weave Concluded*

The faint torchlight reflected off the red and black links of Cassock’s mail as he pulled to a stop mere inches from the watchman’s face.  Cassock had to look down at the short, obese bully.  The light flickered as well off the whites of Cassock’s eyes while the pitch-black pupils devoured the rays.

“*Guard!*  Control yourself.  You will not be desecrating any graves on the morrow.  *AND* you’ll be releasing the prisoners into my custody.”  The priest shoved the writ into the man’s plump hands along with a hearty shove.  Shifting backward, the watchman stumbled slightly barely remaining on his feet.

“Oo’ the ‘ell you think you are, *peasant!?*  They’re prisoners!  ‘Ere *my* prisoners, an’ I’ll treats ‘em ‘ow I want!”  The watchman slipped his hand onto his sap, curling his fat fingers around the blood and flesh permanently joined to the rough leather.

“It’s all in the writ.”  The watchman grumbled and released his sap, proceeding to read the letter.  His face fell in horror or shock, Cassock knew not which.  Quickly, a bright red hue flooded the cheeks of the guard as he returned the writ.  Mumbling, the watchman reached cautiously for his keys.

The guard skulked toward the cells and quickly unlocked both.  The heavy doors swung open, easily and silently.  Cassock peered at the prisoners.  Both were unclothed, although with a quick glance no one would have noticed.  Thick purple and black bruises spread over their entire bodies, crisscrossing muscles and joints.  With the dried blood, the prisoners almost seemed to be fully dressed.  The halfling was curled in a corner, hands covering her naked torso.  When the watchman approached, she shrunk back to near nonexistence.  

“Did you do this to them, guard?”  Cassock’s voice was cold, hardened steel.  He could feel the anger energizing his limbs.

The watchman stifled another malicious laugh, “Course not.  They was like this when they came into my charge.”  A wholly unbelievable grin crossed his face.

“*Liar!!!*”  The halfling threw propriety to the four winds as she leapt from her position and attacked the watchman.  Her nails couldn’t puncture the hardening layer of lard, or the guard’s armor, however.  The sudden weight caused the guard to step backward, he grasped for his sap again and raised it in an attack.

As his arm swung, a hollow whir split the air.  Cassock’s warmace collided with the watchman’s hand.  The guard shrieked as his fingers snapped unnaturally backward, bones splintering through the flesh.  The sap landed impotently against the stone wall, covered as always in blood.

“*You will not lay one hand on my prisoners*.  I think its time you learned some manners.  I will be giving Mayor Rowen a full report of your behavior and activities.  Also, I will take these prisoners directly to the mayor, so he can decide on a proper punishment for your mistreatment.”  Cassock slid the warmace quickly back into its leather loop.  He stooped downward, picking up the keys and with his other hand ushered the halfling out of the cell.

“Until the mayor has had a chance to decide your punishment, feel free to enjoy your stay in that cell.”  Cassock kicked the door close, hearing the lock snap into place.  “Grab your gear, child.  And tell me if anything is missing.”  Cassock moved to the next cell and leaned over the half-elf.  With a quick prayer, healing energy flowed through Cassock and into the prisoner.  The halfling brought Aramil’s clothing over and both dressed quickly, slightly embarrassed by the priest’s presence.

“Is everything there?”  

“Yes.  All our gear is here,” the halfling responded.

“Good.  Oh, and watchman, next time, be careful who you address as ‘peasant’.  If any of their wounds are permanent, I shall see you before the next inquisition.”  Abruptly turning on his heel, Cassock led the pair of prisoners into the darkness.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 1: Fate's Weave Continued*

Cassock reached into his sack and withdrew a coin.  With a quick word, divine energy fled through his fingertips.  The coin erupted into light.  He handed the coin to his two companions as they headed toward the heavy door.

Groups of vagabonds, most dressed in rags, hissed and stared at the trio as they passed.  Cassock held his head high, not bothering to even give the criminals a glance.  The halfling however, couldn’t seem to remove her eyes.  The light cast shadows upon the faces, twisting their likenesses into hollow mockeries of humanity.  Those that still had teeth did not appear as horrific.  Those without teeth laughed and spit at the travelers.  Insanity spread from their hollow mouths, threatening to drag the trio into the oblivion of madness.

Cassock broke the silence, the madness and gathered their attentions with his words.  “You both will stay with me tonight.  Tomorrow, you will help me to track down the true criminals.  I believe you have been wrongfully accused.  Do not prove me wrong.”

“We’ll help.  Anything, to get us out of here,” the halfling’s words rushed out.  Her eyes strode downward, memorizing the rhythm of the priest’s gait.  “Why did you help us?”

“Why do I help, you ask?  This is a challenge given by my God.  I have chosen to walk this path and in so doing, have found you in need.  The true criminals were led by an elf, which is why you were falsely imprisoned.  Racism is, unfortunately, a staple of the Church of Ara’kull.  

“Now, I hope you will accompany me to find the true killers, if only to clear your own names.  It would be for the best.  Of course, if you wish to go your own way, then I will free you.  But you won’t have many opportunities of friendship in this world.

“So, what are your names?”

“I’m Gabrielle!”  The halfling did a quick curtsy before resuming her pace.

“Pleased to meet you Gabrielle, I am Cassock of Cael.  And?”  The priest turned toward the silent half-elf.  The young man glanced up, holding Cassock’s eyes for but a moment.

“I….I usually go by my father’s name.  It is…or...was Thomas.  But you may call me by my elven name, Aramil.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Aramil.  Now, we should go to see the mayor.”


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## TheYeti1775

Ahhhh...
The sweet sound of fingers crushing under a mace......


----------



## Funeris

4 updates...and only a comment from a player...
<sigh>

I must be loosing my touch.  

That...or I scared away my readers...


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## Spider_Jerusalem

I refuse to be scared!  

Great stuff Funeris - once again you've got impressive descriptive writing going here... I'm a big fan. 

Don't you dare stop this SH. I'm in this till the bitter end!

Spider J


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## Funeris

Glad to see I haven't run you off, yet Spidey. 
I won't stop the story hour (a.k.a. the madness).  We're not even into the first session yet (kinda scary...since I have upwards of 30 pages typed up).  This first chapter was all an email RP session we were doing whilst we were being paid to do "work".  Heh. 

But, we're about to pass into Chapter 2...where the "action" begins.  And don't worry, there will be some bitter ends in Chapter 2 or 3.  

Now, I'm going to get back to resting....my body has collapsed in utter exhaustion...and is now punishing me for overworking.  So, expect an update by Thursday.  

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Glad to see I haven't run you off, yet Spidey.
> I won't stop the story hour (a.k.a. the madness).  We're not even into the first session yet (kinda scary...since I have upwards of 30 pages typed up).  This first chapter was all an email RP session we were doing whilst we were being paid to do "work".  Heh.
> 
> But, we're about to pass into Chapter 2...where the "action" begins.  And don't worry, there will be some bitter ends in Chapter 2 or 3.
> 
> Now, I'm going to get back to resting....my body has collapsed in utter exhaustion...and is now punishing me for overworking.  So, expect an update by Thursday.
> 
> ~Fune




It is now Thursday and I am anxiously awaiting another update.    This is great so far!  Keep up the great story!  

I assume that now we have the 4 PCs together...Cassock of Cael, Ana, Gabrielle, and Aramil?


----------



## Funeris

Yes yes...we now have all of the 4 *ORIGINAL* characters together.  Heh.  I'll let you infer what I mean by that.  We'll add a fifth PC eventually....that's a ways down the road yet...and there may be a couple NPCs that join as well.

As for the update today....well, thanks for reminding me   I'll have to upload it tomorrow...around 8 am EST.  Still no internet connection at home...grrr...they swear it'll be fixed tomorrow (HA!).  No internet at home is my equivalent to Hell.

But, yeah I forgot to bring my 3.5" disk to work today...so, maybe I'll have to update twice tomorrow as an apology.  

So...I'll see you all in about 15 hours and 20 minutes. 

~Fune


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## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Yes yes...we now have all of the 4 *ORIGINAL* characters together.  Heh.  I'll let you infer what I mean by that.  We'll add a fifth PC eventually....that's a ways down the road yet...and there may be a couple NPCs that join as well.
> 
> As for the update today....well, thanks for reminding me   I'll have to upload it tomorrow...around 8 am EST.  Still no internet connection at home...grrr...they swear it'll be fixed tomorrow (HA!).  No internet at home is my equivalent to Hell.
> 
> But, yeah I forgot to bring my 3.5" disk to work today...so, maybe I'll have to update twice tomorrow as an apology.
> 
> So...I'll see you all in about 15 hours and 20 minutes.
> 
> ~Fune




42 minutes till update .....


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## Funeris

Okay folks…I’ve got a lot of update here for you.  I’ll probably break it down by sections (to make it easier to read).  So, enjoy.

*INCOMING!!!!!!!!!!*

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness*

Mayor Rowan chuckled warmly, his laugh combining with the jubilant laughter of all except Gabrielle.  The halfling’s eyes wavered on the verge of tears.  Across her cheek, a slight wound split open.  Limply, one of the horsehair, lute strings danced above the floor broken and useless. [1]

 Aramil slid across the bench to the girl and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.  “It’s alright, Gab.  The lute’s been through a lot.  We can always find new strings.”  The half-elf smiled a roguish grin and added, “And trust me, she really is a magnificent player.”  Just out of view, Aramil crossed his fingers.

The laughter died out slowly after Cassock healed the halfling’s wounds.  He whispered his own encouragement to the bard, as well as a promise to purchase new strings as soon as possible.  Sitting once again, the priest reclined in the high-back chair, rubbing an ale-warmed hand across his belly.  Cassock motioned to the long wooden table, whereupon rested the emptied food dishes and bottles of beverage.  On a large spit, just behind the table, rested the largest deer Cassock had ever seen.  

“Mayor Rowan, I must thank you profusely for your hospitality.   Truly, I’ve not had such a glorious meal for quite some time.”  Cassock grinned like a child.  

“Well Master Cassock, I will give the cooks your praise, for they deserve it more than I.”

A slight cough interrupted the merry and idle chatter.  Ana leaned forward in her own chair, lying the fabric napkin upon her plate and spoke, “Father, I am going with Cassock in the morning.”  The mayor’s mouth opened in response, however Ana interjected again, “It would be for the best.  Against a band of nearly twenty thieves and murderers, I’m sure the priest will need some aide.”

“Hey!  We’re going too!”  Gabrielle shrieked.

“And while I have no doubt that you are qualified for such a task, I still think Cassock needs more help than just the two of you.  Twenty men will be hard to overcome with just the three of you.  I know this area, know the trails.  I did grow up here.  My experience would be invaluable, at the least.” 

“I had hoped you were going to stay for some time,” the mayor grumbled.

“Speaking of,” Cassock added, “what exactly are your qualifications?”  He turned his eyes toward the halfling and half-elf.  “Obviously Ana has experience around here.  And her blade looks used, I have no doubt she can wield it.  But?”  He questioningly glanced at the pair.

“Um,” Aramil began, a mischievous smile spreading across his face, “she plays a mean lute.”  A quick jab in the ribs from the halfling silenced the rogue’s laughter.

“I know lots of stuff too,” Gabrielle angrily added.

“Of course.”  Cassock bowed his head in mock acceptance.

“You won’t stay just a bit longer daughter?”  

“Father, we will have more time to speak when I return.  Now, I fear it is nearly the witching hour.  If we’re going to get an early start, I’d like to go and pay my last respects tonight.  If you’ll excuse me,” Anastrianna Rowen stood from her spot and headed toward the door.

“Now, Lady,” Cassock interjected, “A graveyard is no place for a Lady at night.  I will be accompanying you.”  The priest rose as well, slipping his warmace into its leather strap.

“I’m coming too!”  Gabrielle shouted as she slipped the useless lute over her back.  

Aramil sighed, “No rest for the wicked.”

“If I can’t dissuade you daughter,” Mayor Rowen began, “I’ll have rooms prepared for when you return from the cemetery.”  Each gave their thanks before slipping quietly out the door and into the darkest hour of night.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] – I can’t remember what Gabrielle’s player rolled…but it was either a 1, 2 or 3 for the Performance check…so voila…the strings broke, she was out of tune…etc.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

“May her soul rest in peace.”  Cassock stood slightly behind and to the right of Lady Anastrianna.  A single, silent tear raced down Ana’s face in the darkness.  She struggled not to sniffle.  Gabrielle rested a comforting hand on the Lady’s shoulder.

A slam broke the eerie tranquility in the cemetery.  All turned toward the wooden cottage nestled a slight distance from the headstones.  Flickering candles inside the structure, cast malevolent and secretive shadows across a man exiting the home.  Although the light hid much in the way of detail, the rays emphasized a blade and bow carried by the traveler.  He glanced quickly about and turned away toward the forest in the east.  The man broke into a run toward the woods.

“Whose home is that Lady?”  Cassock questioned in a horse whisper.

“That is the home of the priest and healer, Tobus Matlick.  He prefers the company of the dead, rumors used to say.”

“Damned *Ara’kull* worshippers.  Lady, you’ll forgive me, but they’re never up to any good.”  He glanced toward the cottage and the fading shadow in the distance then ordered, “Find out what that man was doing in the cottage.  Aramil, lets follow him.”  The priest and rogue stormed after the stranger, leaving the ladies alone by the grave.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gabrielle sighed.  Both walked toward the cottage, watching the pursuit from a distance for a moment.  Lady Ana pounded lightly upon the oak door.  From inside, both could hear rummaging and an elderly voice erupt, “One second!”  More shifting could be heard, before the candle in the window was snatched and the door opened.  “What is it now?  Who?  Lady Anastrianna?”  A long white beard pierced the doorway, the white curls nearly graying against the pristine white robes of the clergy.

“Yes, Tobus, it is I.”

“And I’m Gabrielle!”  The halfling announced.  Her introduction was met with a hateful sneer as the candle was adjusted to cast light only upon Ana.

“It is poor company you keep child,” Tobus reprimanded.  “Should I call the guards?  Has there been a jailbreak?”  

“Nothing of the sort, Tobus.  Gabrielle is my…uh…prisoner.”

The light danced back toward the halfling.  “I see no bonds, no chains of any type.  How is she your prisoner?”  Gabrielle’s face flushed in anger.

“It is not your place to question me, Priest.  Gabrielle is in my custody, and I will treat her however I wish” Ana authoritatively declared.  “I, however, have a question for you.”  Tobus murmured something incomprehensible before nodding slightly.  “Who was that man that just fled your cottage?”

“What man?”  The priest quickly retorted.  Lady Ana glared at the cleric.  “Oh, I don’t know that man’s name.  Just a traveler in need of healing,” he added quickly.

“He needed healing in the middle of the night?  And then he headed toward the forest?  The same forest the brigands supposedly attacked from and fled to?”  Narrowing, her eyes prepared to dash any possible lies.

“It is *not* my concern from whence he came.  He needed healing.  And, he *paid* for the services I rendered.”  The priest’s voice was adamant.  “Besides,” a cool tone crept into his voice, “he was human and not a wicked, murdering *heathen*.  Ara’kull only serves the righteous, just as the righteous serve Ara’kull.  Now, if you don’t mind, Lady, I have services for the fallen to deliver in the morning.  I need some sleep.”  

The door slammed in both their faces.  Before they could even utter a word, a bolt slid into place and the light within was extinguished.  They stared at one another and then proceeded to head toward the forest.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock and Aramil dashed toward the fleeing stranger.  Hearing the clattering of metal, the man turned his head, mid-gallop, and caught sight of his loud pursuers.  Without any seeming extra effort, his pace increased, his legs carrying him swiftly across the moon-bathed blades of grass.

“Damn!”  Cassock blasphemed, as he tried to keep up.  Aramil also increased his speed and began to outdistance the Priest of Cael.  Cassock stopped, gasping and watched the half-elf race toward the wood and the stranger.

The stranger would not relent as Aramil tried to close the gap.  The forest darted ever closer, a predator about to claim its prey.  The moonlight from both Styg and Enoch disappeared within its maw of jagged branches, the first victims to its midnight hunger.  

The stranger dove into the forest-beast’s mouth, branches whipping past like pulsating teeth.  Lips of foliage closed behind his form, covering his path.  Aramil skidded to a stop at the edge, the forest looming above and around.  His half-elven eyes peered into the darkness, the belly of the beast.  Moonlight, faintly pierced spots of the woods, but there was no movement, no motion to point out the stranger’s path.

Cassock jogged up to the half-elf and peered into the gaping maw of woodland.  His own vision, enhanced by the darkness also failed to find the stranger.  “Dammit!”  The priest reasserted, vehemently.

“I don’t see him either.”  Aramil added quietly.  The half-elf had withdrawn his bow and nocked an arrow.  With a careful release, the projectile sailed along the same path as the stranger.  It clattered loudly against the many branches until falling uselessly to the ground.  No movement erupted from the bush; even the night-birds remained in their perches, watching the activity silently.

“Let’s see if the ladies found anything out.”  Cassock turned back toward the cottage and left Aramil to catch up with him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halfway to the cottage, the two pairs met in the field.  Cassock and Aramil shook their heads unhappily.  

“Tobus claims not to know anything,” Ana started.  “I’m not sure I believe him.”

“Priests of Ara’kull are never up to any good,” Cassock claimed again.

“I don’t think he has a hand in the murders and kidnapping, if that is what you’re insinuating.  Even if he is a bastard,” Ana quickly added.

“We won’t be likely to get anything out of the priest, anyway.  We should pursue the stranger.”  

“I’ll concede to that.  Follow me,” Ana commanded.  “There’s a trail, a little closer to the lake.  That’s probably where the stranger was heading.  If we follow it, maybe we can catch the brigand before morning.”

As the party found the path into the wood, another shadow slinked away from the cottage.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

Leiban Malabrandt stood upon the keep’s battlements.  His eyes shifted to the east, then south.  He had relieved the guards just after the witching hour allowing them a few hours of sleep.  Well-rested heads might prevent some of the tension that was sure to follow in the morning.  Once the town learned of the Mayor releasing the prisoners, all hell was likely to break loose.  Leiban was sure of it.

He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  _No rest for the Wicked_, he thought.  His father had always called him such.  Would Leo Malabrandt, former Captain of the Guard, be proud of his son, now?  Leiban doubted it.  The old man had never been content.  Maybe, maybe the gruff bastard found some peace in the eternal slumber of death.  Leiban some how doubted that too.

The Captain adjusted his gaze again, this time turning toward the Lake nestled between the oft farmed hills.  The light of Styg and Enoch danced across the watery mirror.

Suddenly, a hand slipped up and around the Captain’s mouth.  He whirled about drawing his blade.

“_You’re safe here, Captain,_” a voice hissed.  “How many times must I tell you that.”

Leiban grunted, sheathing his greatsword.  “What do you want now?  Did the meeting go as planned?”

“Of course.”  Leiban could hear the repressed happiness weighing upon the voice.  “I need assurances from you, however.  And lower your voice.”

“What kind of assurances?” whispered the Captain.

“We may have a slight problem.  It seems the Mayor has released the prisoners.”

“I know.  The guards have informed me.  The prisoners were transferred to the care of that traveler.”

“Not just him,” corrected the robed figure.  “Lady Anastrianna’s care as well.  And I fear they may have seen our compatriot.  They’ve followed him into the eastern forest.”

“T. will have no problems with them.  They don’t know where he is heading.”

“That is true, Captain.  But, the traveler can see in darkness, as you and I see in daylight.  T. will have to be careful.  My main concern is of the Lady, however.”

“And she is why you need assurances?”  Leiban speculated.

“Of course.  I know you once had…feelings for the Lady.”

“Aye, and they’ve not changed.”

“Well, then I definitely need to be convinced of your loyalties.  I don’t want to be stabbed in the back over some *unrequited pre-pubescent crush*.”  The figure’s mocking tone was a solid slap to the Captain’s pride.

“She will not come between our goals.”

“Good.  She keeps inexcusable company these days.  If she does get in the way, she dies.”  Again, repressed glee dripped wickedly from the hissed words.

“*NO.*”

“I’m sorry?”  The hooded figure clenched and unclenched his hands.

“I said no.”  Leiban reasserted.  The robed man’s hand snapped out, fluid water in motion.  His hold solidified around the Captain’s neck as powerful energy ebbed between the two.  The Captain dropped to his knees, pain blossoming throughout his body.

“_*I’m sorry, but could you please repeat that?*_”

Leiban struggled for a moment, his words caught in his shuddering throat.  “I said no,” he hoarsely responded.  Another tidal wave of pain spread through his body, compressing muscles and causing the Captain to twitch in agony.   The Captain’s flesh ripped open and blood cascaded over his armor.  The man held the grip for a few seconds more before allowing Leiban to crumple against the bulwarks.

“Don’t openly display your stupidity!  I’m going to ask you to restate your response just one more time.  And if I have to repeat myself, it will be for the last time you’ll ever hear.”  The man crouched above the Captain, one threatening hand wavering above the open wounds.  “I’ll also remind you, that Lady Ana travels not only with two monstrous heathens, but with a blasphemous priest of the false-god Cael.”  The last, hissed word was nearly absorbed by hatred and malice.

Leiban glared upward, the hood no longer hiding the face of his attacker, his supposed friend.  He held the man’s stare for several moments before answering.  “The writ to free the prisoners only transferred custody to the traveler.  Lady Ana’s part is still unclear.  She may yet be drawn to our side and thereby strengthen our position and our claims.  Do not judge her worth by the company she may or may not keep.”

The robed figure stifled a laugh.

“When she returns, she will join us, my Lord.  I swear it.  Her father probably asked her to accompany the heathens.  That is why she travels with them, not because of any heretical belief.”  Leiban grimaced; anguish still stretched its claws through his body.

“For her sake, I hope you’re wrong, Captain.  Our compatriot won’t allow any of them to return if they do intercede in his affairs.”  The robed man stood again, backing carefully away from Leiban.  “Now, assure me your first task was complete.”

Malabrandt sighed, shifting upon the cool stone.  “The runner returned not long before the witching hour.  The message was delivered to Nordus Post’s Captain on the sixth day of Brenn.  The Inquisition is marching this way now.  They should be here tomorrow evening or by the latest on the eleventh of Brenn.  And they’re bringing an extra contingent of Royal soldiers with them.”

“Magnificent.  That should allow enough time for dissent to be sown amongst the people.  The Mayor should easily be removed.  You keep up this good work, Leiban, and you’ll be the ruler of this small town in no time.”  The man turned to leave and stopped.  He looked down at the Captain one last time.  “Oh and of course, no one will ever learn what truly happened to your father.”  A malicious grin spread beneath the hood.

“*TOBUS!!*”  Leiban screamed.  The robed figure shuddered to a stop and turned menacingly.

“_What?!_” the figure hissed.

“Heal me.  If my guards see I’m wounded, they may ask questions.”

“Of course, dear Captain.”  The priest bowed with a flourish and tossed a vial at Leiban.  When Leiban glanced up again, Tobus had vanished.  The Captain popped the cork, prayed that it was a healing draught and not a poison, and downed the fluid.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

Cassock stopped.  The forest had thinned quite a bit, allowing moonlight to spill across the ground.  Several hours of trudging through the dense forest had brought them no closer to the man they pursued.  

“Rest for a moment,” the priest ordered.  The halfling looked exhausted.  Naturally any who had suffered as much as either of the prisoners would be fatigued.  Cassock, however, found himself at his prime in the darkness of night, the time of his Lord.

As the would-be heroes quenched their thirsts and snacked, a snapping branch alerted Cassock.  He drew his mace and signaled for the others to prepare.  As his god-blessed eyes surveyed the darkness, he caught movement behind two bushes.  He raised his arm to motion the others around but four creatures charged out of the darkness.

The first orc slammed his body into the priest.  Cassock held his ground and brought his warmace down upon the thick skull of the beast.  In the blur of motion, he watched as another orc rushed past him.  His arm flicked out to smash its skull, but his arm was too slow.  He heard the twanging retort of bows releasing their ammunition followed by the sounds of fleshy impacts coupled with groans and the hiss of a wild arrow.

He raised his mace again as his opponent brought a falchion to bear.  The immense blade barely missed and threw off the priest’s own attack.  To the right, he saw an orc drop, several quills embedded in its chest and throat.  But from behind, the priest heard a shriek.  With a quick spin he saw Anastrianna fall to the ground.  Her bow dropped lazily to the thick forest floor.

In horror, the priest saw the beast rapidly adjust its swing.  The blade moved in reverse, cleaving into Gabrielle.  The halfling seemed to float upward, lifted by the divine hands of a harsh god.  Her body and her blood crumpled and spattered several feet away.  Thankfully, Aramil wasn’t within range of the rampaging beast.

Without a thought toward his own well-being, the priest raced toward his fallen companions.  The falchion of Cassock’s first opponent sliced through his chain mail, opening a deep gash across the spine.  Blood spilled down the priest’s back as he threw his full weight into the other orc.  The beast stumbled over Anastrianna’s body, sliding to a halt a distance away.

Aramil released several more quick shots, pummeling Cassock’s original attacker.  The beast bellowed and dropped to the forest floor, death glazing over its eyes.  Meanwhile, the priest leaned over Lady Ana, pouring divine energies into her broken body.  Her eyes flickered open and Cassock clawed his way toward the halfling.

A fourth beast tore out of the underbrush and Aramil turned his attention toward it.  The tripped orc was groggily rising.  With a quick prayer, Cassock felt and saw Gabrielle’s wounds closing.  He stood as the fourth beast slammed its blade into his leg.  Cassock watched the arterial spurt leap upward from his own leg.  Drowsiness gripped the priest’s mind, but he slammed his mace into the bastard’s face.  The solid sound of bone crunching resounded in the priest’s ears.

A blade shredded through muscle and sinew, erupting from Cassock’s chest.  The priest glanced downward, a river of blood spilled upon the forest floor.  In the midst of the sea of crimson that was his torso, a thick wedge of steel hung in the moonlight.  Cassock of Cael fell. [1]

The half-elf’s arrows slammed into the back of the orc Cassock had smashed seconds before, dropping the beast permanently.  Ana and Gabrielle had leapt from the ground.  The halfling fired arrow after arrow at the creature.  Ana drew her blade and charged in.

The beast spun, his back absorbing several of Aramil’s arrows.  As Gabrielle’s arrow pierced the thick skin of the beast’s neck, Ana drove her blade into its gut.  With a twist, the orc’s entrails plunged to the forest floor.  A split second later, the standing corpse plummeted to a rest beside his organs.

The group crouched near the body of Cassock.

“What the fu*k do we do now?!”  Screamed Ana into the heavens.  Gabrielle cried. [2]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] – Crit.  Very, very nasty crit with a falchion.  Cassock’s player (Yeti) just glared at me.  First combat of the campaign…and his character was down to negatives within two or three rounds (I know it seems like longer…but *really* it was only two or three rounds).  I smiled 

[2] – You’ll have to remember, all of my players (except Yeti) had minimal to no experience with the d20 system.  Ana’s player had been in a brief (and completely screwed up – rules-wise) Star Wars d20 game…but the other two…completely new to the system.  And suddenly, their healer was down.  First combat.  Hehe.


----------



## Funeris

*Correspondence*

*CORRESPONDENCE*

Okay folks, I’m looking for a little feedback.  I want to know what you like and what I can improve with my writing style.  For those that don’t know, I really want to be a novelist some day.  That way I can escape my “real” job and just sit at a computer and write all the time.  

So…my questions…

1.  How’s the dialog going?  Does it sound like separate people interacting?  Or does it just sound like one person talking to himself?

2.  Characterization:  How’s the characterization going?  Do the characters seem real?  Do they seem like separate entities?  Can you relate with any of them?  Do you despise any of them?

3.  With the above battle scene…did it flow?  Did it keep you on the edge of your seat?  Should I use shorter sentences?  Maybe some corny onomatopoeia?  

4.  If you’re here (and reading) then you must like my style for some reason.  Why?

5.  Am I consistent in my writing (verb tense…character description….etc.)??

6.  Any other comments you can give would be helpful and appreciated.

This SH (and my other SH) are just practice…I’ve been out of the writing game for awhile…dealing with Real Life…and now I’m ready to leap back in…head first…and hopefully not plummet to my demise.  Heh.

For those of you that give me feedback, *THANKS!*  I really appreciate it.

And I hope that the sheer amount of updates, was worth the extra wait.

~Fune


----------



## happycat2000

Geez...whats with the questions? I feel like I am back in my high school english class.   I think your writing style flows very well and you really get the reader into the drama of the story.  So keep it coming.  Great job.


----------



## Funeris

Well well well....Ana's player finally steps out of the shadows.  Nice of you to join us, happycat.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> *CORRESPONDENCE*
> 
> Okay folks, I’m looking for a little feedback.  I want to know what you like and what I can improve with my writing style.  For those that don’t know, I really want to be a novelist some day.  That way I can escape my “real” job and just sit at a computer and write all the time.
> 
> So…my questions…
> 
> 1.  How’s the dialog going?  Does it sound like separate people interacting?  Or does it just sound like one person talking to himself?
> 
> 2.  Characterization:  How’s the characterization going?  Do the characters seem real?  Do they seem like separate entities?  Can you relate with any of them?  Do you despise any of them?
> 
> 3.  With the above battle scene…did it flow?  Did it keep you on the edge of your seat?  Should I use shorter sentences?  Maybe some corny onomatopoeia?
> 
> 4.  If you’re here (and reading) then you must like my style for some reason.  Why?
> 
> 5.  Am I consistent in my writing (verb tense…character description….etc.)??
> 
> 6.  Any other comments you can give would be helpful and appreciated.
> 
> This SH (and my other SH) are just practice…I’ve been out of the writing game for awhile…dealing with Real Life…and now I’m ready to leap back in…head first…and hopefully not plummet to my demise.  Heh.
> 
> For those of you that give me feedback, *THANKS!*  I really appreciate it.
> 
> And I hope that the sheer amount of updates, was worth the extra wait.
> 
> ~Fune




Well I don't think I can answer all of those questions for you, but I have enjoyed the story and characterization so far.  I think that the characters have been quite well developed.  I think that the battle was described well.  Keep up the great work.  I like this SH because it is gritty and real.  The characters and the situations they are in has been engaging.


----------



## Funeris

I appreciate the praise and encouragement, even if not all the questions are answered 

And I'll try to keep it real.  I warn you, it will get become...imbalanced...a bit later on...but then I tried to adjust accordingly.

In the most recent session, they were all 6th level or so (obviously they're all still at 1st as of chapter 2) and I threw them up against 4 flesh golems and a high-powered cleric...not to mention a brand spankin' new creature...that they somehow missed entirely...heh heh.  So...imbalanced (and unrealistic in some senses) it may become, but Epic it shall be.



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Sweet glorious god!!!! I have internet access at home again!!!!

::does happy dance::


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: A Journey into Darkness Continued*

“Okay…okay….okay,” Anastrianna murmured.  All three were slumped over their fallen companion.  Cassock’s blood ebbed out of his chest and over the sides of his tattered mail, a cascading crimson waterfall drowning the vibrant blades of grass.  “You two…strip that orc of his leather armor. I’ll…um…I’ll,” she pivoted her head around wildly and then refocused her gaze on Aramil and Gabrielle.  Both the halfling and half-elf sat idly, eyes firmly attached to the spectacle of death.  

“*I said NOW!  Get up!  Get that leather breastplate off that corpse, NOW!*”  Gabrielle and Aramil stumbled away from the verbal explosion and began hacking at the thick bands holding the armor firmly together.  Meanwhile, Ana gently slid Cassock’s chain mail over the wound and off.   

Gabrielle and Aramil brought the leather armor over near Cassock.  The halfling grimaced and turned her head.  She fell to her knees vomit bursting through her hands to join the blood-soaked forest floor.  Bits of Cassock’s organs and bone pierced his chest like monstrous claws shredding prey.  

“Aramil, I need several strips cut from that breastplate.  Keep their widths at least an inch or two thick.”  Ana grabbed her waterskin and cautiously cleaned the area around the wound with a rag.  Aramil handed her the strips of leather and turned to clean Gabrielle up.

Lady Rowen leaned just next to Cassock’s ear.  “_I hope the god that set you on this path is watching because I have no idea what I’m doing,_” she hissed softly.  She looped the leather strips around the priest’s torso, tightening each as she went.

Slowly, Cassock’s blood was staunched.  Ana leaned back and watched.  The priest’s chest rose in a rough rhythm.  His breath was deep and slow.  Beads of sweat coalesced upon his brow; a fever was coming.

Ana lit a torch and handed it to Gabrielle.  “Watch over him.”

“Where are you going?”  Aramil seemed frightened.

“I have to return to town.  Cassock needs more than I can provide.  If I do not return for a draught of healing, then he will die.  Stay here.  Stay safe.  I’ll move as quickly as I can.”  Lady Rowen stood and doffed her pack, keeping only the waterskin, her quiver of arrows, her bow and blade.  She caressed Gabrielle’s head for a moment then turned and fled westward through the woods.

Gabrielle and Aramil stared out at the dark.  Howls were drifting upon the wind.  They scooted closer together, huddling over the almost-corpse of their would-be-savior.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Tease......................


----------



## Funeris

Don't I know it?

Well...it was an update in the spirit of Spider Jerusalem...and if you don't know what I mean, you should really be reading his story as well (it'll give me more time to update )

Besides, the man pimps my thread semi-regularly in his own thread...he deserves some props.



And you don't know how hard it was to not quote one of my favorite writers when Anastrianna was ordering Aramil & Gabrielle about...and they sat there like bumps on a log.

"You were sick.  But now you're better.  And there's work to do."

Anyone know which author that is?  (And if you answer, it'll be a great way to bump the thread).....anyone who knows the answer gets a cookie.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Still a tease...*

Your still a tease.

And to have you know I have started reading Spider's story hour.  Have it all printed up here on my desk.  I love the download thread ability.


----------



## Funeris

I'm on an updating rampage...oh yes.  Who, who I ask, updates 6 times within 6 days??  Who??  

You know what this means.....*INCOMING!!!!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness continued*

Ana broke free of the shadowed forest as the first rays of dawn broke upon its gluttonous leaves.  Her destination in sight, she doubled pace pushing beyond her own limits.  Her jerkin rubbed uncomfortably against her skin.  Drenched in sweat, the leather was heavy, rough, and shredding flesh.  Cassock’s blood had dried early into the journey.  Now, dark stains and thick streaks of crust rested across her arms, hands and clothing.  

As she reached the closed door, she skidded to a halt and slid her bow across her arm.  Ana dug into her sack and pulled out her waterskin.  Quickly, she gulped as much as she could and tried to collect some sense of composure.  Then she slapped the skin back into the sack and pounded heavily on the door.  

Silence was her only answer.

Angrily, she threw her full weight against the door.  If not for the heavy bolt, the door would have likely rattled off its frame.  She rubbed the tender flesh of her shoulder and kicked the damnable oaken barrier.  Amidst the pounding, she heard the sound of stumbling coming from within the cottage.  She halted kicking and resumed pounding the barricade with her fist.

The sound of a bolt sliding warned the rogue of the opening door and she halted her attack.  Tobus stuck his head out, massaging the sleep from his eyes.  Still in the white robes, his black medallion somehow gathered the early morning sunlight and beamed it directly into Ana’s face.  Reflexively, her arm shot up to shield her eyes from the harsh rays.

“*Damnable Child!  Why do you torment me?!  Was it not enough to keep me up late last night that you had to awaken me early this morn?*” 

Ana’s arm lowered.  Tobus’ beady eyes followed the dried blood upon her limbs and he examined her clothing.  With a harrumph his eyes shot back toward her face.  “Well?  Don’t awaken a man and stand outside his door mute like the town fool!  What in the hells do you want?”

With steel in her voice the Lady answered, “I need some healing draughts.  That is your job, is it not *Priest*?”  

“You’re not wounded,” Tobus accused.  He hastily slammed the door.  Only the Lady’s foot prevented closure.

“Your powers of observation are dazzling,” she retorted.  “The draughts are for my companion.”

“I can’t help you then.  I don’t serve heathens.”  Tobus’ sneer seemed carved in stone.  Hatred flared within his eyes.

“They’re not for the halfling or the half-elf, you stubborn dolt.  They’re for the man accompanying us.  Cassock.”  

“I still can’t help you, Lady Rowen.”  The priest mockingly bowed as he renewed his attempt to close the aperture.  This time her hand slapped against the door, pushing it open wider.

“*You will sell me the healing draughts*,” she commanded.  “If you wish to have a home to preach from in the coming days, you’ll do as I say.  If my father learns of your dissension, you will find yourself a homeless beggar!”  She cautiously removed her hand, keeping her body wedged between door and frame.  “Now, be a good priest and fetch the potions.”

Tobus grumbled as he turned from the door and stalked toward his laboratory.  He headed toward a small wooden rack, upon which sat a variety of potions.  He thumbed quickly through the selection, staring at the labels.  He snatched three vials full of healing draughts and pivoted toward the main room.  Before he reached the door, he spun again and returned to the wooden rack.  He swapped one of the healing draughts for a specially brewed poison.  With a quick motion, he removed all three labels from the vials and walked toward his intruder.

“One hundred and fifty gold pieces,” he demanded, roughly shoving the draughts into her hands.

She slid the vials into her pouch and quickly paid his fee.  Turning, she ran back toward the forest.

“Good riddance,” the priest declared as he shut and re-bolted his door.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Well that's just not a very nice priest, now is it?  I love the update rampage...keep it up!


----------



## Funeris

Nope nope nope.  He's not a very nice priest.  But...he obeys his scripture...so while not nice, he is at least devout.  His god would be proud of that underhanded switcheroo.

I'll get another update up tonight.  Had a business luncheon...eh...what a waste of time.  I could've been writing or something!  My bosses will never learn. 

Sheesh.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Scripture my ass,
damn false gods.....

Cael is the one of the true gods not Ara'Kul.


----------



## Funeris

Its so nice to see religious rivalry.  Oh yes.  If I had a nickel for every time an NPC has told Cassock that his god is dead and he should just let it go/move on, I wouldn't be forced to attend boring luncheons.  I'd be so rich I could pay my friends to camp out in my living room and DnD all the time.

That'd be heaven.

But poor Cassock (and Yeti), so *sure* he's right.  So absolutely *certain* that I wouldn't be such a bastard as to allow him to worship a _dead_ god.  And with all he has "seen".  Heh.

Well, I guess at some point we'll find out for sure one way or the other...


----------



## TheYeti1775

Of course I'm right, 
otherwise I will have to go old school on you and worship myself.


----------



## Funeris

I could see you doing that.  I'm surprised actually that you haven't done it yet.  

Of course, if and when you decide to worship yourself, that merely translates to one more _dead_ god in my world.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> I could see you doing that.  I'm surprised actually that you haven't done it yet.
> 
> Of course, if and when you decide to worship yourself, that merely translates to one more _dead_ god in my world.




Hmm...that sounds less like religious rivalry and more like a threat to me.


----------



## Funeris

Threats?  Who me??
I only threaten my players...well everytime I see them...so...you couldn't be talking about me 

Let the update rampage continue....


*INCOMING!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

The sun had risen halfway toward its zenith, casting a blazing ring of light upon the field.  The light provided sanctuary from the encroaching edges of the forest.  In contrast to the glorious warmth of the field, the forest held a cool, menacing glare directed toward the wounded priest and his guardians.  Standing imperiously, the woods seemed to be waiting for the day to end.  Its voracious appetite would resume with the setting sun.

Within the shadowed forest, dull orbs reflected the autumn light.  It seemed all of the denizens of the dark wood waited along the edges.  Their eyes blazed with curiosity or appetite.  The tangy scent of spilt blood was heavy in the air.

“She should’ve been back by now,” whimpered Gabrielle.

“She’ll be back any moment.  Just keep your bow trained on those…animals.”  Aramil had his own bow drawn and nocked.  His arrow and sight swept across the edge of the forest.  Wearily he continued his watch but his eyelids were growing heavier with each passing moment.

A garbled noise snapped Aramil’s attention from the fateful jaws of sleep.  “Gabrielle!  Just this once, could you please shut up?!  I’m trying to focus.”  

“_It…it wasn’t me_,” the halfling whispered.  “It was Cassock.”

Aramil turned his gaze to the near-corpse.  Streams of sweat trickled down the cleric’s face.  The fever’s grip was draining the priest’s life.  Aramil leaned closer; Cassock’s lips trembled slightly.  Aramil slid in closer, turning half his head and listening intently to the shallow breaths.

“_Father_…”

The half-elf waited patiently for Cassock to finish his statement.  Suddenly, a snap resounded through the clearing.  Aramil scuttled backward from the priest while pivoting toward the sound.  A blur of motion hurtled toward the edge of the forest.  The arrow leapt toward the forest edge.

Anastrianna burst out of the foliage.  The shrill whistle of the arrow forewarned the Lady.  She fell to the right causing the arrow to pass harmlessly through air.  She rolled to keep pace, returning to her feet and closing the last of the separating distance.

“I’m lucky you couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn,” Ana coldly stated.  She poured through her sack, removing the three vials.  She examined each thoroughly for cracks and leaks.  All of the fluids were crystal clear and none had escaped the sealed, cork plungers.

“And you’re lucky these weren’t broken.”  She waved the vials importantly in the air.  “Quickly, remove the bandaging,” the Lady commanded.

Aramil loosened the tough leather bandages, revealing Cassock’s gaping chest wound.  Gabrielled spun and purged again.  Her bile once again splattered upon the unforgiving forest earth.  Although Anastrianna had managed to slide the important bits back into the priest’s body, blood still seeped slowly from the hole.  Ana popped the cork from one of the vials and moved to empty its contents.  

Aramil’s quick grasp stopped the Lady.  “Why not use all three.  He definitely needs them.  Look,” he pointed toward an inky, black residue, “is that infection?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not a priest.”  Ana hissed, exasperatedly.  Large, purplish rings encircled her bloodshot eyes.  “We’ll only use one, for now.  If he needs more we’ll give him more.  But we may need these other vials later on.”  She twisted her hand, spilling the contents upon Cassock’s torso.

Cassock convulsed, his body gripped by fevered twitching.  “*Father!!*” he screamed as his body bolted upright.  Before their eyes, his flesh was knitting itself back together.  Bone reset and firmed.  Organs regenerated their ragged sections.  Cassock stood weakly, his wide-eyes glaring around the circle.  His hands felt the tender wounds, trained to examine the wounds of others.  He turned his knowledge toward himself.

“How do you feel?” queried Lady Ana.

“I’ll live,” Cassock replied.  “Where?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where did you get the potion?”

“Well, I had to run back to town.  Tobus sold them to me.”

“*You did what?  I would’ve rather died.  I will not be indebted to that Ara’Kull worshipper.  How many did you purchase?  How many did you use on me?  Have you poisoned me?!*”

Ana’s mouth hung agape.  Her body ached in ways it had never before.  The leather armor she wore had chapped her entire body.  It chapped body parts she had not even known she had.  Blood was caked to her armor.  Sweat clung to every piece of gear.  An unholy smell embraced her sore body.  And all of her pain, all of it was for an ungrateful man.  She shuddered, her anger barely confined.

“Let’s have them!”  Cassock reached out, awaiting the vials.  Ana flung the other two toward the priest.  Cassock lifted them into the air.  “Lesson number one, children.  Are you watching?  Lesson number one:  Never, ever trust a Priest of Ara’Kull.”  He slammed the two potions onto a large, flat rock.  Liquid bounced from the rock, spilling upon the grass.  One section of grass seemed purified by the liquid.  Its blades grew upward and became a vibrant green.  Another patch blackened, withering quickly.

“Consider yourselves educated.  That would have killed me.”

Ana threw her arms up into the air and stalked off.  Near the edge of forest, she curled upon the forest floor and sunk into a deep, dark sleep.


----------



## TheYeti1775

There are only a couple of people Cassock has any trust in.
And a priest of a b!tch god isn't one of them.   

But a vaulable lesson learned by the party at his rage.
I think to date only Aramil has used a healing potion since.
Cassock's meager healing magic has had to suffice, that and just pure resting.  Though I don't recall being allowed to rest very much.


----------



## Funeris

No rest for the wicked


----------



## TheYeti1775

There never is. There never is.....
So when's the next update Mister I have a connection at home again?

I know you have tons written up awaiting us salivating for more.


----------



## Funeris

> I know you have tons written up



....

::glances around then sheepishly shrugs shoulders::

Nope.  I don't have tons written up....still we'll see if I can't carry this update rampage through Friday at least.  I know this weekend I'll be busy (commissioned art project for VMI)...so I'm not sure I'll get around to updating this weekend.  Expect an update later today (maybe this evening)...then Friday around lunch time (I'm only working half a day...I'm so lazy).


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> ....
> 
> ::glances around then sheepishly shrugs shoulders::
> 
> Nope.  I don't have tons written up....still we'll see if I can't carry this update rampage through Friday at least.  I know this weekend I'll be busy (commissioned art project for VMI)...so I'm not sure I'll get around to updating this weekend.  Expect an update later today (maybe this evening)...then Friday around lunch time (I'm only working half a day...I'm so lazy).



mmmm it's 11pm and no update.........


----------



## Funeris

Hey!  Its 11:20 and here it comes....

I have to make my deadlines, after all.

*INCOMING!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2:  Journey into Darkness Continued*

Lady Rowen’s eyes flickered open.  Her sight and mind were both blurry, one from sleep the other from dream.  A quick shake had roused her consciousness from the thick webs of her subconscious.  Her vision cleared and she could see Cassock crouched nearby.  Vivid streams of fading red backlit the priest.

“What do you want priest?” Ana whined as she rolled over.

“I want to offer you my thanks.  If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be here now.  I thank Cael that you chose the right potion.”  Cassock paused, glancing upward and watching the sky shift hues.  “We’ll need to leave soon.  I let you all rest as long as possible.  But if we don’t leave soon, the trail may grow too cold.”

And stood and lifted her traveling pack back over her shoulders.  “Fine.  Let’s get going then.”  

A quarter of an hour later, the party was delving back into the forest.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the next day’s sun rose above the low-lying eastern mountain range, the party stood on the edge of a smoothed stone foundation.  White marble, aged by time and weather, stretched ahead to a tall white marble wall.  A thick, short wall crafted from deep green marble, wrapped around the foundation.  The green wall split roughly within its center, allowing a small stream to flow across the stone.  From the center of the stream sprouted a large oak.  

The wall across the stone courtyard stretched ten feet into the air where it was swallowed by a vibrant green hedge.  One carved doorway pierced the thick white wall.  The opening was a gaping maw of darkness leading into a corridor overshadowed by the hedge. 

As a group, the party moved cautiously in the early morning sun.  The hedge stretched away from the wall to either side.  The party encircled the hedge, noting its massive domed height.  The plants created a gigantic enclosure impenetrable by vision.  They finished a walk around half an hour into the morning before sitting down upon the marble courtyard.  

“What’s that?”  Gabrielle was pointing toward the green marble wall.  There, etched in a faint white hue, two sets of script danced upon the deep green.  Cassock and Anastrianna moved across the courtyard, bending near the writing.

“I don’t know this writing,” Cassock pointed toward the flowing script upon the right.  “This other though is common Saläexum.”

“Yes, I know,” Ana stated.  “The other script looks Phoeeum.  It makes sense really.  You figure a hedge like that must have some link to the druids.”

“True.  But see how it was been scored out.  Someone was here after the druids.”  Cassock turned to interpret the other writing.  “Son-of-a…You can read this right?”  The priest threw his hands up in frustration.

Ana bent over and read the script.



> This den of false realities has been purged of its vile untruths.  The worshippers of the false goddess Mialon have all been executed in accordance with our Lord Ara’Kull’s commandment.  The hedged temple has been reduced to nothing but ash and cinder.  This act of complete devotion was completed on the 20th of Luma, a Nor in the Arum [1], in the year 553.
> 
> -	Priest Tobus Matlick, Inquisitor of the First Order




“Never trust a Priest of Ara’Kull,” sighed Cassock.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1]:  20th is the day; Luma is the third month of the summer (there are four) and is generally consider the hottest of the months; Nor is the fourth day of the week (each week having eight days; Arum is the current Ara’Kull-accepted term for the summer season.

Just as a further clarifying aside, months have 6 weeks…and as of Ara’Kull’s rule, each year has 15 months (which accounts for the extra month within the summer season).  Originally (i.e. before Toq Arma became King and therefore before Ara’Kull established his divine foothold), a year had 12 months of a varying number of days.  

I came up with a lot, *a lot* of information before I actually threw these characters into the game.  I hope it improves the story.


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## Funeris

*Chapter 2:  Journey into Darkness Continued*

Mayor Gabriel Rowen poured over the paperwork scattered across his desk.  He stifled a yawn, the day was early yet.  The mayor knew he would have to tour the keep soon.  His constituents were growing restless.  They were aware of the departure of the only suspects and silently seethed with rage.  Something would have to be done.

Gabe glanced over the official report written by Captain Malabrandt.  The report overflowed with racism and generalizations.  These faults were balanced out with decent rationalizations and excellent ideas.  



> The inhuman captives should be kept separate from the general population for their own safety and the safety of the townsfolk.  The recently constructed keep provides a safe environment for the prisoners.  This is where they are placed now and they seem to be handling their confinement relatively well…




_Well Captain, that was a blatant lie_, thought the Mayor.  He sighed and pushed the paperwork away.  Leaning backward he lifted a mug and had a quick sip.

Unexpectedly, the door to his rooms exploded open.  The Captain rushed in, nearly stumbling over the piles of paperwork.  Rowen stared at the Captain, his eyes focused on a black welt forming across Leiban’s cheek.

“What happened?” demanded the Mayor.

“Quick…come quick…” hissed the Captain.  He clutched his side in pain.

“Are you alright?”

“*Quick!*” screamed the Captain.  Gabe leapt up from his desk and rushed toward the door.  He grabbed his own, aged blade and headed for the exit.  He pushed through the heavy door and came upon a horrific scene.

Lying in a semicircle around the entrance to his abode, at least a hundred townsfolk lie dead or dying.  Behind the corpses stood two dozen, heavily-armed soldiers.  The guards stood at attention, black full-plate armor sparkling in the morning sun.  Each carried a bastard sword and a variety of other, smaller weapons.  Attached to one of arm, large steel shields reflected light from a silver symbol.  Rowen immediately recognized the silver eye of the Inquisition.  

A short distance after the Inquisition stood the remaining townsfolk.  Most hung their heads quietly; a few watched the spectacle warily.  Hushed sobs and sniffles created a backdrop of miserable ambience.  In the center of the ring, halfway between Rowen and the Inquisition, Tobus Matlik paced briskly.

The priest had changed his white robes, replacing the cloth with pitch-black, silk robes.  Upon his chest rested the silver emblem of the Inquisition.  In his left hand, the priest held the Tome of Commandments [2].  In his right, a wand crafted of bone rested in an unthreatening position.

“*Tobus!  What the devil is going on here?*”  Rowen questioned.

“Mayor Rowen,” the wicked priest began, “for years now, decades, you have subverted the will of Ara’Kull.  You have ignored his commandments.  You have constantly pushed your renegade agenda.  And now, your people, those you are sworn to protect and lead, have been led to slaughter, by the very races you have tried to protect.  The *inhuman beasts* you adopt and allow to go free have brought death to the innocence of this small village.  

“The Inquisition has been sent by our all-seeing God, by our divinely-powered King to restore the peace and order of this town.  With his grace we will flush out the heretics, the demons and the devils.  We will bring them to his attention, and watch them pale in comparison to his glory.  We will watch their false truths burn beside their worthless existence upon the pyres.

“And we will begin with this man.  This *beast-lover*.  This bringer-of-woe.”  Tobus raised his wand toward the Mayor.  Rowen raised his own blade, preparing an attack.  Before the Mayor could move, a sudden pain spread across the back of his skull like lightning striking the earth.  His eyes rolled upward, and he collapsed to the ground, losing hold of his blade.

Captain Leiban stood behind the Mayor’s fallen position, a bloodied sap in his right hand.  “I have command of this town, now?”  He questioned, staring at the black priest Tobus.

From behind Tobus, a figure stepped seemingly out of thin air.  Its face was hidden within an obsidian mask.  The mask, a twisted expression of agony, completely covered its head, even hiding any hair.  Black robes fell like rain toward the ground, ending in a crimson hem.  Around its neck dangled the symbol of the Inquisition.

“_You have earned your…*honorary* position with the Inquisition_,” the creature hissed in a voice somewhere between masculine and feminine, somewhere between living and dead.  “_But you will not assume control of this town until these Outsiders have been dealt with.  Once I am assured of their capture, or death, then you will be Mayor_.” The creature pivoted its head toward Tobus, a somewhat alien movement.  “_You know what I expect.  You know what to do._” The creature stalked, more of a slither really, across the bloodied earth and into the Mayor’s quarters.  As he passed into the hallway, the door slammed shut of its own volition.

“*Begin the Inquisition!*”  Commanded Tobus.  Leiban turned away as the first of the townsfolk were tortured.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[2] – _The Tome of Commandments_ is just one of the myriad of religious texts within the church of Ara’Kull.  However, it holds the esteemed position of being the first tome of the church.  It is also said to be the exact and unwavering word of Ara’Kull.  In all matters, the priests (of the orthodox church**) must hold true to this one book (even if it contradicts any more recent tomes).  As part of the clerical training of every priest of Ara’Kull, the initiates are forced to copy this book, in their own hand, word for word.  It is whispered that those that screw up are admonished severely, if not painfully executed.

** - There are unorthodox sects within the religion (differing opinions that are found just like in every religion in reality).  However these sects are persecuted just like non-believers and non-humans.  One would be hard pressed to find an unorthodox clergy member.


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## Funeris

We're almost to a thousand views!!


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## TheYeti1775

I know your home gloating that your off and I'm not for once.
But my revenge will be next weekend.  Half a day Friday, Monday and Tuesday off, with no plans on driving anywhere.

So where's the noon update?


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## Funeris

I thought I said after noon, is it not afternoon now?  Yes yes yes...gloat gloat gloat...but I'm just working here...have a meeting with my publisher in a few...so....

As promised…here’s an update for today.  I’ve got some actual work to get to this weekend…so I’m not sure I’ll get another update pumped out.  But enjoy this one 

Update Rampage Continues….….*INCOMING!!!!!!!!!!!*


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## Funeris

*Chapter 2:  Journey into Darkness Continued*

_*Several days prior…*_

Spinum Machaera [1] pulled the long, black hair backward from his face.  With a motion, quick from years of practice, he tied it with a looped band of dragon hair.  He wasn’t a foolish man; he knew the hair was probably just some thick horse or yeti hair from the north.  Still, the claim of actually having a bit of dragon’s hair actually inflated his pride.  And he could always test the hair in one of his experiments to prove the validity.  And if the merchant had lied, which was most likely, Spinum would gladly add the bastard’s name to his list.

The fifteen year old glanced over his most recent experiment.  He pulled out his own handwritten tome and poured through the calculations scrawled in archaic script.  Everything was exactly in accordance with his machinations.  The young man smiled.  

He lifted the elegant, silver dagger he had purchased from that same vendor back in Leuwel, just south of the supposed Dragon Boneyard.  The handle, a perfect thickness and weight for the mage, ended in a perfectly rounded skull.  He drew the blade across his smallest finger, popping the protective organic covering of his skin.  Blood formed a quick bubble and he shook his hand briskly, the viscous fluid splattering upon the small pile of bones.

Spinum glanced again at the tome, searching for the correct words when yelling erupted in the distance.  He sighed and tried to focus.  His father and twin brother were sparring yet again.  The shriek of metal kissing metal and the grunting of voices carried loudly toward the Myriam Range.  

His mind slipped briefly into theory and history.  It was said that the Myriam Range, the low mountain range that climbed to join the Midloth Range was crafted by the hands of the gods themselves.  Spinum did not believe in gods, unlike his father and sibling, both paladins of the goddess Myr, the Lady of Light and Life.  But the myth surrounding the mountains involved the Dark Lord, the original ruler of all of Norum da Salaex not the false prophet now placed upon the throne, and the god of the dwarves, Rorgard.  Apparently, the myths said that the Dark Lord had enslaved the dwarven god, forcing him to craft the mountain ranges that now surrounded the capital.

Spinum imagined gleefully the power he could attain if he could enslave a god to do his bidding.  But gods were just myths.  It was more likely that the Dark Lord had enslaved the entire dwarven race to craft the mountain ranges.

The problem with a world full of myth, Spinum decided, was the inherent loss of history involved once myth enforced its superiority.  Spinum had had to search for months along the journey for the spells he now carried.  He had purchased dozens of spells, all to no effect.  They were frauds; myths wrapped nicely in a neat, arcane package and unable to assist his own development.  

Another screech of metal against metal brought Spinum back to the task at hand.  He flipped through the tome again, searching for the words.

“*Exanimus*,” the mage whispered.  “*Excio*.”  The young wizard felt a drain, arcane energy passing through his body.  Spinum nearly jumped for joy as the small skeleton shuddered and stood.  A faint red light glowed within the squirrel’s skull.  Its eye-less head searched around for a moment, before locating the arcane power which had raised it to near-life.  

“Now that I have the spell, all things will become possible,” Spinum stated smugly.  As soon as the words left his mouth, the squirrel skeleton shuddered and became a useless pile of bone again.  He growled.  Then he grabbed his material and blade, dropping them all into his backpack.

The sounds of battle again raged not near off.  The mage stormed toward where he had left his family upon the road.  As he approached, he realized something was wrong.  The metallic clanking was too rapid for just his brother’s sparring.  They must be under attack!  Spinum prepared another spell and sped up, trying to remain as silent as possible.  He loosened the halberd he had strapped across his back, just in case it would be necessary.

The mage stopped behind a large maple, and glanced around.  There were at least fifty guards surrounding his family.

“Oh sh*t,” the mage grumbled.  He was competent, but not that competent.  His father and brother whirled within the circle of black-clad soldiers, defending as much as they could.  Still, bloody bastard swords pierced their defenses and then flesh.  His brother was clearly weakening fastest.  For no apparent reason the circle of guards suddenly widened, drawing to attention.

Spinum watched carefully, anticipating a possible opening for his attack.  Out of nowhere, a creature stepped into existence.  Spinum had no other word for the being.  It was easily between seven and eight feet tall and dressed in flowing black robes, hemmed with a thick crimson line.  Where a human head should have been, an obsidian mask twisted in a visage of agony perched upon its shoulders.

It was not there and then it was, as if it had thought itself into existence.  Spinum felt his prepared spell flicker and vanish in its presence.  The creature paced a circle around his family before stopping with its back toward the maple.

“_You worshippers of Myr, drop you weapons_,” it hissed.  “_You shall be arraigned for your misplaced faith and then executed in accordance of our Lord Ara’Kull’s wishes._”  The creature stretched upward for a split second and the sound of a thousand bones cracking echoed across the road.  Spinum noted the silver eyes, emblazoned across the black armor.  _Inquisitors_, the mage thought.  _Must be from Nordus Post.  But I’ve never seen a force this large_.

Spinum’s father lashed out with his blade but a living chain exploded from within the creature’s robes.  The chain latched onto the sword and ripped it easily from the paladin’s hands.  Several other chains exploded from the false image of robes and grasped the blade, easily snapping it into slivers.

“*Fine.  We’ll do it your way*.”  The creature almost bowed in mock respect as one arm lashed outward in the direction of Albus, Spinum’s brother.  A brief wreath of fire encircled Albus and then the young paladin was naught but ash.  The monster laughed as Albus scattered to the four winds.

Spinum’s father bellowed in rage and charged the demon[2], but the creature merely sidestepped and caught the paladin by his long hair.  Before the mage’s very eyes, thousands of wounds opened across his father’s body, blood pouring upon the greedy ground.  Spinum stifled a scream as his father, the only parent he had ever known, collapsed unconscious to the ground.

“_*Collect the child’s ashes,*_” the beast hissed.  “_I will resurrect him for punishment in the Town of Green Hills._”  Just as suddenly as the creature had appeared, it vanished. 

As soon as the guards began to move, Spinum did the only thing a young man could do in the face of such adversity, he fled south.  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1]  Spinum Machaera [pronounced: Spin-um Mock-air-uh] is an NPC within the campaign.  Apparently four players weren’t enough at this point. 

[2]  Demon is just used for vivid expression.  I will not state that this Inquisitor is or is not a demon for certain one way or the other.  I’m a bastard like that.


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## TheYeti1775

> [2] Demon is just used for vivid expression. I will not state that this Inquisitor is or is not a demon for certain one way or the other. I’m a bastard like that.




Yes you are.

Once again another good one.


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## OaxacanWarrior

Nothing like a good inquisition to get the pulse going in the morning.  

I really like the realistic gritty flavor of your campaign here, Funeris.  The hatred exhibited by the main church to those not of their religion and race is classic.


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## Funeris

Thanks I appreciate the praise.  Unfortunately, sometimes racism and religion goes hand in hand....so I take it to the extreme here.  Not that I'm trying to make any political/religious points (I don't want to be banned  )...but roleplaying does seem to be a bit of a social experiment sometimes.  And while I play the role of Dr. Frankenstein, my poor players are subject to my chaotic (and sometimes lawful) whims so that I can create the best monster (whilst in the pursuit of truth, naturally).

I didn't want my world to be some bubble-gum, lollipop, sweet and gentle world.  What fun would that be anyway?  

Glad you're still reading.

P.S.  *We broke one thousand views!!!!   WOOT!!!! *


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## Funeris

*Well I had a request...*

I had a request from a friend to post the pantheon.  So, attached is the pdf.  

For further clarification:

*Phoee* :  pronounced Fee, the mother of the pantheon.  Supposedly found the world in peril and cleansed it allowing life to once again survive.

*Myrcael* : pronounced Meer-kail, the first child of her blood.  Represented only with a circular symbol (the sun).  Myrcael's task was to light the sun so that life could thrive.  To light the sun, Myrcael had to divide itself in two, Light and Darkness. 

*Cael*:  pronounced Kail, the male aspect of Myrcael.  The God of Darkness and Death(among many other things).  

*Myr*:  pronounced Meer, the female aspect of Myrcael.  The Goddess of Light and Life (among many other things).

*Pyrin*:  pronounced Peer-in, one of the four children of Myr and Cael.  Pyrin is the God of Fire.

*Arel*:  pronounced Ar-EL, one of the four children of Myr and Cael.  Arel is the Goddess of Wind.

*Cahsa*:  pronounced Kuh-Sah, one of the four children of Myr and Cael.  Cahsa is the Goddess of Water.

*Gumcha*:  pronounced Gum-Kah, one of the four children of Myr and Cael.  Gumcha is the God of Earth.

*Caevari*:  pronounced Suh-var-ee, the only child of Pyrin and Arel.  Caevari is the God of Luck and to a lesser extent Chaos.

*Kaeruna*:  pronounced Kuh-rune-uh, the only child of Cahsa and Gumcha.  Kaeruna is the God of Law and to a lesser extent Protection.

Those are the Kin gods and goddesses.  These are the divine beings born of Phoee.  The gods/goddesses along the outer circle are the Embraced.  These were once normal mortals and were elevated to divine status by Phoee herself.  Each is the creator of a race or races.

*Mialon*:  pronounced My-a-lon, the elven mother.  Also Goddess of the Woodlands.  

*Rorgard*:  pronounced Roar-guard, the dwarven father.  Rorgard is also the God of Tunnels and Mountains.

*Aryilough*:  pronounced Ar-ih-low, the mother of halflings and gnomes.  Aryilough was said to be of both halfling and gnome descent.  Therefore, she created both races.  She is also the Goddess of the Plains.

*Guymardt*:  pronounced Guy-Mart, he was supposed to be the God of the Human Race.  He declined to create the human race citing their fault in the prior destruction of the world.  Guymardt was the God of Magic and Knowledge.  He was the deciding vote of the Embraced council for governing the world.  When he died, his body fell and broke upon the world creating Ara'Kull and the human race.

*Grukblud*:  pronounced Growk-blud, the father of the Orcs.  Grukblud is also the God of Madness and Destruction.

*Fangtut*:  pronounced Fang-tut, the father or Giants and Trolls.  Fangtut is also a God of Strength and Mountains.

*Nar'sra*:  pronounced Nar-sur-ah, the mother of Reptiles and the Yuan'ti.  Nar'sra is also a Goddess of Fire and Trickery.

So that is the pantheon.  Obviously, not noted is Ara'Kull (except in Guymardt's entry).  Ara'Kull claimed the title of the creator of humanity (even though he is technically just a powerful brother).  Nar'sra was the killer of Guymardt (The God just didn't vote her way enough), so she slaughtered him.  Guymardt didn't even raise a hand in protest.  Pacifist to the end.

There are other gods as well...demigods and lower level gods that just didn't make it onto my pantheon image.  All of the smaller gods were in one way or another raised into divinity by the other gods.  I may post some of their myths eventually...assuming I need a brief respite from writing up the campaign.

A note on naming conventions...you'll note that as you get farther from Phoee within the circle (the Kin pantheon), syllables and thus complexities of names increase.  This translates roughly to the gods or goddesses themselves becoming simpler.  Cael is a god of many things (one half of the domain list).  Myr makes up the other half of that list.  Phoee has access to all the domains.  Caevari only has access to Luck, Trickery, Travel and Chaos.  As you move further from Phoee, the god's/goddess' Divine Rank also decreases.

On the ring of the Embraced pantheon, the mortals that were raised into divinity kept their original names.  However, first name and surname were eventually combined to form just one name for the gods/goddesses.  All of those elevated into godhood began at a certain divine rank, and it possibly has changed since the beginning. 

The Embraced gods/goddesses are the only divine beings with an Alignment as per DnD rules.  The Kin gods/goddesses (including Phoee) are beyond Alignment, having never been mortal themselves.  They're truly alien.  As such, their clerics may be of any alignment.

Hope that helps depict a clearer image of my world. 

~Fune


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## Funeris

Okay, HappyCat managed to distract me with her devilish ways for several hours...during which I had planned to write.  So, here are the fruits of my labor...at nearly 4 am (yawn).  Its over three thousand words so I'll break it into two parts (back to back) and if there are any notes...you'll have to wait to the very end to read 'em.

Enjoy 

*INCOMING!!!*


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## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

“You said the other writing was the druid’s script?”  Cassock stared questioningly at Lady Rowen.  “Can you read it?  What does it say?”

“Do I look like a druid, priest?” Ana wryly retorted.  “I know what it looks like, I’ve seen the writing before,” her thoughts momentarily flickered to the strange adamantine box wrapped tightly within her backpack.  “I don’t know how to read it though, only druids know the language.”

“That’s too bad,” the priest mumbled.  He turned toward the doorway, his enhanced vision passing into the deep shadows beyond.  The white marble path extended beyond and he could just make out a few departing doorways opening along the sidewalls.  The main path extended beyond the reaches of his sight, however.  “We should get moving.”

“The sun has almost set,” Aramil blurted.  “We won’t be able to see in the depths of those shadows; we’re not you.  I doubt any outside light could penetrate that hedge; it has to be at least five feet thick.  I think we should camp here for the night.”  The half-elf had tried to peer through the doorway, but the setting sun interfered with his sight.  

“If we camp for the night, we’ll lose our advantage,” the Priest of Cael calmly claimed.

“And what advantage is that?”  Aramil shot back, slightly infuriated.  No one had ever taken his opinions to heart.

“The element of surprise,” Ana answered, already drawing her bow.

From deep within the heart of the hedged temple, a low tone sounded.  The note, a long sonorous pitch, escaped the marble doorway and fled into the dying day.  

“Four Orcs at least,” Cassock sighed preparing his warmace.  “So much for the element of surprise,” he mumbled.  Louder he added, “Don’t let them out of the corridor!”  Cassock moved to close, Aramil somewhat reluctantly followed suit with his sword drawn.

Ana fired over both their heads, low grunts marking her success.  Unleashing a few projectiles, Gabrielle added more cover to her companions’ maneuvers.  Cassock headed straight into the corridor to join with the first attacker.

The orc, of slightly more intelligence than the average beast, noted Arami’s smaller shadow near the wall and lashed out at him first.  Smaller opponents fall faster.  Aramil lifted his saber in defense.  The weak attack barely scratched the beast and the half-elf received a shattering blast against his face for the effort.  Lifted off the ground by the beast’s sheer strength, Aramil tumbled through the first doorway and into a hedge-walled alcove.

Cassock bared his weapon downward, relying upon his enemy’s sluggishness.  The warmace bit passionately into the orc, shattering bone.  The orc fell; Cassock on top of it.  Another volley of arrows flew above Cassock, into the three charging foes.

Aramil stood woozily, his eyes trying to adjust to the absence of light.  He searched the ground for his sword and then stumbled toward the faint halo of light pouring through the doorway.  The half-elf stepped back into the hallway.  An orc appeared out of nowhere, preventing Aramil from tripping over his own companion.  A blade lashed outward, opening the rogue’s stomach and he stumbled backward, once again into the hedged-alcove.

Cassock leapt upward, his warmace stalling the two other orcs as it danced and weaved in front of his body.  One had already slipped past, but he knew he had to prevent the last two from reaching the girls.  Arrows impacted just to his right, that orc seeming to sprout wooden branches from his gullet.  The corpse collapsed to the ground.

Aramil fell against the hedge and rolled left, trying to place as much distance between himself and his attacker as possible.  The brute stepped into the room; its eyes aflame with rage.  It raised its arm to finish the job and shuddered mid-attack.  It spun, something drawing it from its prey.  Aramil frantically searched for an exit, his eyes not finding any.  “I hope you’re not very thick,” he hoarsely whispered spinning to the hedge behind.  He grasped his gut, hindering the blood while he hacked the vibrant hedge.

Gabrielle slid her bow to the right, taking aim on the beast exiting the first alcove.  She freed a barrage of arrows, only one finding purchase.  But the barrage was enough of a warning for the priest, she noted, as he ducked the first attack from behind.  The orc’s blade instead of finding its original target, slid gently through his companion.  The brute watched in contempt as his own mate collapsed.  The diversion allowed Cassock to bring his warmace virtually straight up.  The blow connected under the beast’s jaw and his head snapped backward.  The nearly four-hundred pound monstrosity lifted nearly a foot upward and his eyes dulled.  He joined his three dead friends upon the floor, eyes now glazed over.

The horn blast sounded again from the end of the hallway.  Another orc charged; his horn dropping in his haste as he raised a spear into the air.

Aramil bust through the hedge and his eyes widened in horror [1].  Staring dumbly at him, four more orcs had their weapons drawn.  Pure reflex, the rogue’s saber darted outward, slicing a thick and heavy line vertically through the first orc.  Its eyes rolled backward in its head and its body fell apart, as its companions retaliated.  Their blades dug deeply sending Aramil once again into the alcove determined to become his tomb.  He stumbled toward the doorway and collapsed in a heap all blood, open wounds and unconsciousness.  Coming to a rest, his blade vibrated softly against the marble.

The spear hurtled through the air and punctured Cassock’s arm.  He would have charged forward, the beast was already drawing a vicious weapon, but he heard the commotion from the alcove.  So, the priest spun to his right, dislodging the shaft and charging into the three unwounded orcs.

Ana and Gabrielle swiftly dropped the charging spearman.  Ana threw her bow over her shoulder and drew her blade.  “Fire into the alcove.  Don’t worry about Cassock or me.  If anything moves, shoot it,” she commanded.  She sped into the corridor and through the first doorway, slamming bodily into an orc.

Knowing he was flanked, the Priest of Cael did all he could.  The terrible weapons of his enemies were constantly finding purchase in his tattered chain mail.  He risked another attack, pumping divine energy through his veins.  He felt the wounds knit, but to no avail as new blade-thrusts merely reopened the healing lacerations.  

Suddenly the orc behind stumbled forward, pushing into Cassock.  The priest glanced back and saw Ana had apparently charged the monster.  He spun his warmace outward clipping the beast in the kidneys.  He laughed as blood erupted from its mouth.  A low thump turned his attention back to the beast in front; now, an arrow pierced its right breast.  He laid into the foul creature.

Ana’s blade cut low as the orc she had bumped into spit vitae.  Easily the longsword dug through muscle, vein and bone.  Its detached leg dropped to the marble with an arterial spurt.  The beast followed its severed limb.

Gabrielled pumped arrows toward the moving shadows.  Her own vision lacked clarity in the dim light, she prayed the volleys were true.  Another shadow moved along the side of the hedge, toward a pile of something.  She pumped several arrows toward it.

Cassock shoved his warmace directly outward, an attack to throw off balance not wound.  A rough exhalation filled his ears as the beast lurched backward, weaponless.  Its gigantic hands cupped its groin tenderly.  The beast, so focused on the momentary pain, didn’t see the flash of warmace directed at its skull.

The priest bent carefully over Aramil.  Rapid breaths still escaped the half-elf.  The priest gifted some of his healing magicks upon the rogue.  Aramil’s eyes flickered open, spittle and blood ran from his mouth.  “Do you think we could rest now, master?”  

Cassock grunted and turned toward the ladies.  “I’m going to drag him into the passage he cut a passageway to,” he whispered.  “One of you, go first.  One of you, watch the rear and the hallway.  If it is safe enough, we’ll loot the bodies and rest here.”  The priest waited for Gabrielle to take her position and Ana to lead him into the next passage.

Once inside he pulled Aramil, as carefully as possible, toward the direction they had entered the temple.  Sure enough, he found a thick dead-end of vegetation.  He set the rogue down and headed toward the rough half-elf-created doorway for his scouts to return.

Ana and Gabrielle returned to the cleric moments later.  “All seems eerily quiet,” Ana stated.  “I’d like to know why or what rather that beast was signaling with its horn.”

“As would I,” Cassock agreed.  “We’re going to camp here.  But I need to move the corpses first.  We can’t do anything about the stink of blood, but let’s leave as little evidence as possible.”  The priest moved toward the hallway and began dragging corpses into the alcove.  He left the ladies with Aramil.  Once all the bodies were stuffed into the alcove, he began a thorough search through the gear.

Gabrielle’s bow lifted, her arrow trained on the sudden movement.  Cassock moved into her vision and she lowered the weapon.

“Anything of interest?” queried the bard.  

“Oh, I think I found something of interest,” the priest confirmed.  With a divine gesture, he imbued a coin with light and tossed it upon the ground.  Following the coin, Cassock tossed several brown masks upon the ground.  Each had a black leaf embroidered upon the brow.  “As fate would have it,” the Priest of Cael looked skyward although he couldn’t see through the thick hedge above, “we’ve found our murderers.”

“I’ll take first shift.  Get some sleep,” the cleric commanded.  He extinguished the light and waited quietly in the shadows for the next battle.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

_Several hours later…_

Tobus burst through the former mayor’s doors.  The heavy oak slammed into stone and trembled violently, angrily.  He stormed into the war-room, seeing his destination.  Within the stone chimney, a low fire devoured parchment slowly.  Sitting at the desk, the obsidian-masked terror thumbed through a stack of papers.  Tobus stood obediently, waiting for his entrance to be noticed.  The creature, the high-priest, grabbed the stack of papers he had shifted through and flung them into the hungry flames.

“_*Sit,*_” the creature hissed in its alien voice.  Tobus wondered briefly if the strange voice was due to the strange mask or some painful brand of mutilation.

“My Lord,” Tobus began.

“*I am not your Lord, Tobus.  Your Lord is Ara’Kull.  You, as a priest of the faith, should not need to be reminded of that fact.*”  Its voice seemed suddenly crisp, still alien and exceedingly cold.

“Of course, my…erm…I just am not sure of how to address you,” Tobus stammered.

“*I have no name, priest.  A name is nothing more than a simple symbol of individuality.  I am not an individual.  I am an extension of our Lord’s will.*”  Tobus frowned, the answer, being neither here or there, did not alleviate his discomfort.  “*But I have been called many things in my time, many of which have given me some deal of minuscule pleasure.  For example, in Port Arelcah I was nicknamed ‘Pain-Bringer’.  In Elysia and Cerebus I was labeled ‘End-Bringer’.*”  The beast chuckled, a shrieking metal-on-metal-on-stone rumble.  “*The goblins in Rünse, those loyal to the Church, called me ‘Justice’; those not in favor spoke of me as ‘Death’ or ‘Demon’.  If you have need of an appellation, you may choose one of those.*”

“Well…ugh….End-Bringer, I have a slight problem,” the priest stuttered.

“*Are you trying to dance around the subject?  Let me guess, a companion of yours has returned from a venture in the forest.  His reports, specifically in reference to a certain band of adventures or would-be-heroes, are not pleasant.  Your plans are not coming to fruition as you saw fit.*”  The obsidian mask’s eyes previously half-closed in agony opened, the expression shifting to one of sadistic anger.  The eyes flared red.

Tobus could only stare slack-jawed as he shrunk back in fear.  

“*You can’t tell me, lowly priest, you thought you could keep your machinations secret from our Lord?*  End-Bringer fluidly stood from the seat and the entire room flared with light.  The fires exploded outward momentarily, bathing everything in the hue of the hungry flames.  “*Our Lord sees all, priest.  What he sees, I have been gifted to see.  He knows of your plots.  He knows of your desires.  He knows that Captain Leiban Malabrandt did not poison his own father, purposefully or not.  He is aware that you were the force behind that escapade as well.  Lord Ara’Kull knows all.  Being stuck in this backwater village has been…detrimental to your education.  Do not ever forget those facts.

“The only reason your plans have worked so far is because it coincides with His will.  It was not luck.  It was not fate.  The Lord Ara’Kull has gifted you with an opportunity:  the opportunity to show your devotion by returning this village to his fold.  I am here as your final arbiter as well as Lead Inquisitor.  I will not interfere with your attempts to wrestle control of this town.  That is not my place.*”  End-Bringer sat once again, his mask returning to its original, lightless expression.  “*However, I am not above offering advice, if it is needed.  So speak.  Tell me of the problem.*”

“Uh,” Tobus began, searching through his fear and now awe for the words, “My man has returned from the field.  He was preemptively warned of the adventurer’s assault by one of his men.  They’ve already eliminated most of the force that had attacked this town[2].  I am worried now that they will succeed in clearing out the temple.”  The priest bowed his head in sorrow.

“*The girl?*”

“Thorne had to leave her.  He did not have time to grab her and return.”

“*This does not look good for you, priest.  Remember that I am the arbiter of your fate.*”  Standing again, End-Bringer was glowering, Tobus thought.  The obsidian expression did not shift, however.  “This is what you should do to remedy your mistakes.  Give up on the temple.  Have Thorne and Leiban lay-in-wait with a contingent of my soldiers.  Once the adventurers return, they should be easy prey for our men.  I want that child as leverage against the Mayor.  I want his real daughter for that reason as well.  The rest can die, if need be.[/b][/i]”

“Is Leiban really a good choice?” Tobus quietly questioned.

“*His dedication, his loyalty still needs to be determined.  That is why both of you will be there.*”

Tobus squeaked, “Both of us?”

“*You will be there to watch him and gauge his worthiness.*”  With a rapid motion, End-Bringer tossed Tobus a silver ring.  “*That will keep you out of their sight, but do not stray too close.  You are only to observe.  Observe and pray.  Pray that your choice of the Captain was correct.  If not, your future is forfeit.*”

“Of course, End-Bringer,” Tobus replied.  He pocketed the ring swiftly and stood to leave.  A guard burst entered the room, a young man with white-hair in tow and bound.

“*You may go, Tobus.*”  The demon dismissed the priest with the wave of a taloned hand.  “*Leave the young paladin here, guard.  Then leave.*”  The soldier removed the youth’s bonds and fled the room.  The monster turned to his prey and stated coldly, “*I find your lack of faith disturbing*[3].”  Two living chains lashed out of the void-like robes, piercing the young man’s wrists and lifting him fluidly into the air.  A third chain danced out of the darkness and effortlessly severed his genitalia.  

From outside the closed doors, the guards shuddered as horrible screaming penetrated the supposedly sound-proof stone.  The commoners cowered in fear.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, End-Bringer stormed out of the mayor’s rooms.  “*Have Cassandra resurrect that child again!!*”  The demon ordered the nearest guard.  He moved toward the gates and one of the Inquisitors pulled up beside him.

“Justice, where are you off to?”

“*I need to make sure our priest does his duty*.”  With a flourish, End-Bringer vanished into thin air.  The Inquisitor was left, staring only at empty space.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] – I think, for the sake of my readers and my own sanity, I need to go over the actual DM-Player dialog for this event.  You see, I (in my ineffable intelligence) created a temple made of…well, an oversized shrubbery.  (“I particularly like the laurels” – a cookie to anyone that recognizes that quote).  And in my infinite wisdom, for one reason or another, didn’t think that they’d try to just hack their way through it.  I didn’t think of it.  *The most obvious choice f*ing possible and it didn’t occur to me.*  SO, here’s the dialog:

Aramil’s Player [Boz – and not the Boz well known in the Creature Catalog Forums]: _I hack through the hedge_.

Me: *I’m sorry….what?*

Boz: _I hack through the hedge.  It can’t be that thick, right?_

Me:  (slaps forehead)

Boz: _What?!  I need to get away, I’m going through the hedge.  I have like one hit point left._

Me:  *growl*

Cassock’s Player (Yeti):  (laughs)

So, what we did was this…I didn’t bother to look up the rules..I know it can be done…I didn’t want to figure out the amount of rounds it took…so I allowed him to do it with a full-round action.  At which point, he breaks through the hedge and sees the next band of orcs that were waiting for a signal to attack.  So (because it was such an obvious, ingenious, and great idea), I gave him a free attack against the first orc, which I think he killed.

I restate, for those of you that don’t know:  No plot survives player characters.

[2]  They had killed something around 16 or 20 orcs by this point.  I was dogging them with beasties.  If you’ll remember, the force that attacked the town were only approximately twenty individuals led by an Elf.  Also of note, the brown masks that they found, they actually found in the forest among the first batch of orcs (that nearly killed Cassock).  I just forgot to mention it then.

[3]  *I couldn’t resist!!!*  Please, oh please, George Lucas, don’t sue my pants off.  It was only used in respect.  I know you tour these forums (probably running searches on quotes from his movies)…and I don’t want a lawsuit.  To avoid that, the quote is obviously Darth Vader from _A New Hope_ (I believe…I’m not a Star Wars Nut).  But, you know, the more I thought about this character, more and more similarities between his attitude and Darth’s appeared.  Eh.


----------



## Funeris

So..what's this mean for you all?  It seems my update rampage isn't over yet.  This story just screams (insistently, inside my head, annoying all the other voices) to be written.  Don't know if I'll get an update up tomorrow...or later today, but we'll see.  Writing really messes with my circadian rhythm.  Oh well.  I'm gonna go get some shut-eye.

I was going to post pics of the map, for everyone's visual pleasure...but I don't seem to have a copy anymore.  If I have time and the inclination, I'll print it off tomorrow while I'm working mandatory overtime. 



'Night

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

Aramil sat in the gloomy shadows within the hedged maze.  From behind, he could hear the slight breathing of his companions breathing.  Ana had awoken him for his shift, the last watch of the night, maybe an hour prior.  He struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind alert while the shadows lulled him toward unconsciousness.

The cleric had healed his remaining wounds.  Aramil was, by all definitions, healthy again.  For some reason, his body still ached from the attacks.  Miraculously, the priest’s administrations had left the half-elf’s flesh perfect, without scars.  Aramil’s mind would take more than a dose of divine power to heal completely.

Dim tendrils of light were pushing against the shadowy floor.  Daylight was spreading and while it would not completely pierce the thick vegetation, it still made its presence known.  Aramil tried to focus on the battle between light and shadow, an apt metaphor for his own existence.  Racism, fear, and hatred, these were the aspects of humanity that pressed his once hopeful soul toward darkness.  Humanity was crafting him into a monster by application of their emotion, their preconceived beliefs, and their sadistic torment.  Aramil’s eyelids drooped.

The rogue’s head snapped upward and he slid silently back toward his companions.  With a gentle shake he awoke his companions, his captives.  “Scuffling, movement in the halls,” he pointed to the exit.  “I’m guessing about four opponents.”

Cassock grimaced and stretched.  Cassock silently thanked Cael for the ability to pray at night.  If he had to pray in the morning, the priest would lose valuable time.  The priest stood and whispered an order, “You and I will go around.  Ana, Gabrielle use the elf-crafted path.  Don’t attack until you hear us engage the murderers.  Remain hidden.  Come on.”  The priest grabbed Aramil by the arm and dragged him down the hedge passageway.

They stopped at the marble hallway, peering carefully around the corner.  Four humans crouched along the once virginal white floor.  They examined the blood and followed the streaks with their eyes toward the alcove. “On three,” the priest whispered, raising one finger.

“What you thinkin’ mate?” One of the men questioned.

“You mean aside from our associates being dead?”  He turned his head cautiously, searching for eavesdroppers.  “I think that if we kill these adventurers, we’ll be awarded well.  Keep your eyes sharp and your ears open.”  The human raised a hand and motioned for his friends to stalk into the alcove.

Cassock raised another finger.

All four of the men cautiously stood.  Their weapons slid from their scabbards as silent as an assassin’s blade.  One step, the two and they were all slightly closer to the alcove.

The third finger went up, Cassock and Aramil poured from their alcove.  The men spun toward their attackers and met fierce weapons.  Aramil’s blade struck true and deep, an artery severed, an enemy fallen.  Cassock’s mace, not nearly as precise a weapon, sought any target.  In its hunger, the warmace refused to distinguish between bone, sinew and blood.  It devoured all equally and hungrily.

Two men were down.  The other opponents rushed toward their ends.  Before they could even bring their blades to bear, arrows pummeled from behind.  Shafts of wood, tipped with rough metal, shredded leather armor and flesh.  All four opponents died as one, together and silent in the early autumn morning.

Cassock moved to rummage through the corpses even before all the last breaths were extinguished.  He shuddered, the shadowed souls of the fallen grasping futilely at his physical body.  They lashed outward complete in their hollowness; empty faces, empty expression, and empty attacks.  Even their silent pleas for help were empty, lacking voice.

The priest could never forget the tormented expressions.  He shifted tack, administering last rites but before his eyes the souls seemed ripped from the bodies upward.  Within a second, all four spirits shot heavenward.  Cassock merely shuddered.

“What did you find?”  Aramil questioned.  The half-elf’s left eyebrow arched slightly with suspicion.

“More masks,” the priest grunted.  He tossed the brown masks embroidered with a single black leaf upon the ground.

“I think we should keep one of each of these for ourselves,” the half-elf stated.  “They may come in handy if we need to move within the same circles as these men.”

“Agreed,” Cassock stated.  “So that’s nearly twenty orcs now and a band of four humans.  Still no elf and still no half-elf child.”  The priest moved to drag the bodies into the hedged alcove with a sigh.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Yes Cassock likes to keep a running total of those that have been sent to Cael.

Now you all start cheering Funeris on, because I want him worked up for the game coming up in 2 1/2 weeks.  I plan on a glorious death, unless of course I ruin his TPK plans once again.

From what he has told me, and you will see if he gets to it anytime soon.  There is going to be some more dramatic twists with our characters.  

Cassock Notes:
I chose the Warmace (from Complete Warrior), mainly because I wanted the burly Warrior Priest.  Events have lead me down a different path with him then first planned, especially after I adopted the alignment thing that Funeris so diligently worked on.  
Once it's in print, I plan on buying a copy and trying to get it implemented into another of my groups.
We still haven't decided a true path for Cassock yet, as he knows nothing of what transpired in the town. (Aside from one fact, and knowing Funeris, he will get to us learning that in about 5-6 updates.)

So update already.
Yeti


----------



## Funeris

I say again, No Rest for the Wicked.  Look for an update around 1-ish.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> I say again, No Rest for the Wicked.  Look for an update around 1-ish.



If you post the map today from your work files, makes sure you update it where the Weedwacking Elf took it out.


----------



## Funeris

You're kidding right...you want me to print it whilst I am at work, mark it up, photo it (or scan it) and do this all while avoiding my supervisors???  

Yeti, I'm good...but I'm not that good.  I offer into evidence this fine (short) four-hundred and thirty word or so update as evidence that I'm good.

Oh and on second thought...if I can dig up the Autocad file, I guess I can just print straight to pdf and upload it.  I'll see what I can do 

*INCOMING!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

*Back to several days ago…*

Trees and brush slid past, becoming a blur of solidarity in a world of constant motion.  The faint greens and intense browns of the autumn season were speckled with the first kisses of red and auburn as they joined; and now one, they assaulted the already exhausted senses of one Spinum Machaera.  

The young mage was hurtling through the forest, leaving the deaths of his family in the past.  For a mage, the kid had an exquisite frame of lean muscle built from years of physical training at the hands of his father.  That was the only reason he was still running, hours after the executions.

A new color, some variation of gray seeped into his peripheral vision.  Turning slightly, Spinum focused on the spot of gray.  The unwelcome color had vanished, however, replaced instead by a large ash tree.

Spinum’s vision swung around to the front.  He pulled up short, but not quickly enough and slammed face-first into a dense oak branch.  The branch, nearly as thick as Spinum’s torso, slammed ably into the mage’s head.  A jarring jolt of hurt ebbed through the mage’s face.  His feet, freed from the oppressive control of gravity and mind, shot upward becoming parallel to the forest floor. 

Time stopped.

The young necromancer hung within that moment of inflated time indefinitely, staring at the reddening canopy above and faint sky beyond.  He smiled, from delirium or happiness or some combination thereof.  

With a lurch, Time kicked back in and Gravity tugged on the mage’s body.  He was sucked onto the ground.  The snapping of branches precluded the earth’s intimate embrace.  The pain smacked his smile away into oblivion.

A twig snapped near the mage and he tried to focus his eyes, but they blurred with exhaustion.  Still, Spinum could make out the color of the movement.  A human-shaped blot of gray stood above him, a long and slender staff in its hands.

The mage steeled his mind for a slow and painful death.  Minutes passed, death never reared its umbral head.  Spinum groaned and tried to slide into a sitting position.  The gray shape slid closer, hovering just a slight distance from the wizard’s face.  A rough, acrid scent assaulted Spinum’s nose.

“_Dark mages are not abided within the confines of *my* wood._”  The staff raised into the air, splitting heaven in twain.

“No, wait!” Spinum screamed.  The staff plummeted downward, splitting the young wizard’s head in twain.  

“_Necromancers are not abided in my forest,_” the voice hissed again.  Spinum embraced the dark warmth of unconsciousness.


----------



## Funeris

Ok...so attached in pdf format in a zip file, is the first pre-designed map I threw my players into.  You'll see 4 numbers on the two pages.  Number 1 is the alcove within which Aramil kept getting smacked.  This is also where he hacked through the hedge to #2 (where he consequently found a group of orcs with a can of whoopass).  #3 was the first battle and the most recent battle (that I've told you about).  Its the hallway.  #4 on page 2 is where the horn-blowing orc was and where he rushed from.

Other notes...if its gray its hedge...if its black, its a wall...you can see the trees and stream at the entrance....um...and the only black that isn't a wall is in the alcove (its the first hedge-trimming).  Right.

You'll need a pdf reader capable of opening Adobe 6.0 (or later) files.  Remember that these sheets are 2' x 3' printed...so if you try to print to letter size...it won't look kosher.  So, enjoy.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> *Back to several days ago…*
> 
> ..... Spinum Machaera.  ......
> The young necromancer ..........




Thou believest someone forgot a few spells off the list when I took care of the battle running of young Spinum.....
O'well he is in good hands now isn't he.

O' and I know you well enough that you could do it if you tried too.  

I've been putting serious thought into a backup character for this one folks, seems like every turn something deadlier has popped up.

Yeti


----------



## TheYeti1775

Also to really boost his ego and egg him on for more updates.
I wish all groups had access to printers like Funeris.
Those pre-printed maps already grided for 1" equals 5ft are awesome.

And just so you all know this isn't the only place I bug our dear Funeris.  I have his work/home emails and phone as well.     
Now he has set the next game date, the email has been sent.


----------



## Funeris

Hehe...hey, if anyone wants a map...sned me the idea, some money...and I'll send you the pdf...you should be able to take it to staples or office depot and have it plotted, no problem.  Aside from that, there are small companies in just about every town that do plotting/printing for engineering firms (i.e. Nova Blue in Northern Virgina, etc.).  So...everyone does have access, if they don't mind shelling out a little $$ for the "professional" grade maps.

I just get a very nice discount.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness continued*

*A couple weeks ago in Legend…*

Morrick clasped the withered hand of his dying friend, his lord.  Baron Dragos Tyne looked at his companion, his one true friend and released a meager sigh.  The exhalation spurred another violent coughing fit.  His body lurched uncomfortably, pain lancing his heart and lungs.  A glob of phlegm dripped down from the dying Baron’s lips.  Morrick leaned in to wipe the fluid away, wishing he could wipe away the death as well.

“How is Gwenyth?”  The spry fires that once danced behind Dragos’ eyes had faded.  Momentarily, the flames were replaced by a serene happiness.

“Gwenyth is fine, Lord.  She misses Hendrick terribly, but she is coping.”  Morrick clasped his friend’s hand tighter, trying to keep his God at bay.

“Good.  Your son will do you well.  Whatever happens, remember him and be proud of his accomplishments.”

“Of course.”

“My time is coming Morrick of Cael.  Is your God waiting to apply the final embrace??”

The serene contentedness penetrated the priest-warrior’s shell.  He felt a tear slide down his cheek.  “I have not heard from Cael in twenty years.  He does not speak to me anymore.  Myr is similarly absent.  We fear…”

“Don’t,” the Baron commanded.  “Reality is formed by words, Morrick, so be careful with your word choice.  Your God is fine; I can almost see him now.

“You are my best friend.  I leave my domain in your capable hands.  Our people will need a strong leader with military experience.  If you hold to your ideals, everything will play itself out properly.”

“What of Laurien Aelyc?”

“The Baron of Aedil knows my decision.  He supports it fully.  And he will support you completely.  If you secede, as you should, he will follow suit.  

“No,” the old Baron sighed, “He you do not need to worry about.  It is the other Barons you should beware.  They are not above underhanded plots and plans.  They will strike at your power, only to increase their own.  So may some of my advisors.  Beware them as well.

Dragos erupted in another coughing fit.  Blood joined the phlegm’s expulsion this time.  “I…am…sorry to leave you upon the precipice of war.”  The old man shifted slowly, sinking deeper into his pillows.

“Lord, I could cast a spell, something, anything…” Morrick blurted.

“No, friend, although I appreciate the gesture.  It is my time.  My legacy…is now yours.”  Dragos Tyne’s eyes closed permanently, a soft grin frozen to his lips.  Slowly, the heat of life drained from the physical shell.  The cold of death was its only replacement.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Morrick?  Morrick, what are you doing?!”  Gwenyth shouted, grasping for her husband’s arm.

The Priest of Cael shrugged off the attack and strode into his private chambers.  Removing a key from around his neck, the cleric opened an old crate.  Respectfully, he removed the well-worn armor and sheathed greatsword from the wooden crate.  He set them upon his desk and turned toward his wife.

“Gwen, I have been placed as the protector of this realm.  I will fulfill my task.”  Momentarily disregarding the armor and blade, he pulled out a sheath of parchment and scrawled a hasty missive.

“Our fight passed long ago.  It is now in the hands of the next generation,” Gwenyth squinted trying to decipher the nearly illegible script.  “What are you writing?” she curiously asked.

“A letter to the king,” Morrick answered and then clarified, “Our intent to secede.”

“*You’re going to damn all of the people of this nation?!*”  Rage filled the Priestess of Light’s voice.

“They’ve already been damned, love.  I’m freeing them.”  Morrick slid the completed letter into an envelope, sealing it quickly with the baron’s seal and then his own.  “Please send my man in, Gwen.”  Gwenyth stormed from the room, leaving Morrick to his thoughts.

Mere minutes later, his assistant stalked into the office.  “Lord?” 

“I need this delivered to Nordus Post immediately.”  Morrick handed the missive over.  “First, ready my gear and horse.”

“Are you going somewhere, Lord?”

“I’m journey to Aedil.  I’m sure Baron Laurien Aelyc already fears I am dead.”  The assistant stared questioningly for a moment before departing.

Morrick held in his breath, reaching for the blade he had used for so long and then left sitting idly in a wooden crate.  He prayed that the blade would remember him, that he would remember how to use it if need be.  Reverently, the old priest drew blade.  Silently, he adjusted to the once familiar feel.  The sword danced merrily as he swung it.

_*Its about goddamned time,*_ the black metal hissed in his mind.  _*Those twenty-odd years of staring at the oh so fascinating grain of your chest was beginning to annoy me*_.


----------



## Funeris

Ok another update coming...and this will finish up my updates for today.  I think three updates is pretty good...what about you??

The next portion is a vision gifted to Cassock when he was struck down in the first battle of the campaign.  It's wrapped in Quote tags...so those of you reading by email will have to check in to get it all.  

*INCOMING!!!!!!!*

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

Cassock grimaced, the stench of the dead smothering his nostrils.  He sat down near the bodies, to give them a complete set of last rites.  As he began the sermon, his mind strayed to the vision he had when near death.



> _
> Cassock's eyes blinked open.  Soreness wracked his body but was quickly ignored in lieu of the beautiful surroundings.  The priest sat upon a vast, empty and black field of nothing. But the nothing was everything.
> 
> Glimmering around his infinitely small frame billions of silvery flame sang.  They seemed to be winking, luring the priest away from his spot upon the field of nothing.  Their beauty and singularity was intense and prolific and stirred a deep sentiment of serene.
> 
> Cassock realized this had to be Heaven.
> 
> Darkness and Light, Cael and Myr, spread out above, ahead, and around him.  Their forms seemed to intertwine upon the face of nothing.  They were one here, not two individuals or two aspects of one individual.  They were one.
> 
> The priest shook himself from the swelling thoughts in his mind, noticing another being not so distant from his place.  With a thought, the priest rose and closed the distance immediately.
> 
> She crouched upon the nothing, the silvery flames of light below her growing ever brighter and seemingly dancing with life.  Her vibrant locks of red, fell most unfortunately upon the natural parts of her body Cassock most desired to see.  He followed her hair downward, if there was such a direction here, and at their tips the color faded.
> 
> The cleric’s eyes pierced the thin vale of her fading hair and saw the wounds that broke her youthful flesh.  Around the wounds death crawled.  Diseases tainted the purity of her form.  He locked eyes with her and took a step but she motioned for Cassock to remain still.
> 
> Another form rapidly passed the priest aside and she gestured for his halt as well, but he did not obey.  As he bowed toward her, Cassock recognized the Lord Cael.  His silvery white locks bounded downward from his short mane of black, splashing upon his shoulders.
> 
> A shadow passed above and Cassock heard several of the silvery flames cry out in anguish; their song interrupted, destroyed.  Cassock spun, whatever had passed was gone and only a pervading absence of life was left where the silvery flames, the stars had been.
> 
> Turning back, Cassock realized his Lord was injured as well.  Cael’s wounds exactly matched the placement of the woman’s, obviously Myr.  Except festering inside the god’s wounds was life, slowly devouring his flesh.  Cael swayed for a mere second before steadying himself and drawing a great sword.  His lips moved, but the words were unhearable.
> 
> A shadow fell from behind Cassock, shrouding the scene in utter darkness and un-life.  Before the priest could turn and see the Adversary, a great bird shrieked somewhere in the distance-less distance of Heaven. _
> 
> Cassock’s eyes had opened, revealing reality as he had left it.  The vision was gone.




The priest sighed.  The meaning of the remembered vision was unclear at best.  He finished the sermons and joined the others in the hallway.


----------



## TheYeti1775

***taps feet***
should I bug him on IM.......
asking where the 7pm update is of the Insomniac....


----------



## Funeris

Well, since no one seems to want to say anything else, here comes an update.
(And Herremann, I realize your probably still trying to catch up so you can comment...to you, I send my apologies  )

*INCOMING!!!!!!*

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness continued*

*In Northern Nordaa Saam, upon the edge of the Draeul Forest…*

Lady Llewllyn stroked her long hair, silver-white with age, while staring hypnotically into the mirror.  Graying eyes peered from a wrinkled shell of flesh.  Her body that had watched countless years drift away.  Her body sagged beneath a silk white dress, beneath the weights of time and age.

Incessant murmuring drifted through her mind, lost in the shifting sands of time.  Her hair shimmered golden for half a second; her eyes followed suit.  The golden glow faded abruptly as she tugged harder on her white mane.  In the mirror, her daughter smirked.

“*You never let me out anymore, mother.*”  The voice was singsong, nearly elven in its harmony.  Lady Llewllyn knew the tone was just an impression, she had heard all manner of accents from her daughter through her life.  There was definitely no elven blood running through their ancient family line.

“What did you expect, daughter.  You adopted an entire village last time and felt it necessary to move them and all their personal belongings into our compound.”  The old woman sighed and turned away from the mirror.  Gently, she laid the brush, golden in handle with emerald gems imbedded throughout, upon a wooden stand.

“*It was the right thing to do.  It was the good thing to do.  And you know it.  You, yourself, gave me permission to help them.*”

“I didn’t mean for you to move them within our walls.  I thought you’d just take care of their problems.”  The old woman shuddered, she moved to close the door separating her room from her daughter’s, but instead just sunk into the bed.  She wrapped the sheep-wool comforter tightly around her shoulders.

“*It was the right choice.  You’ve seen it.  Do you need to be shown again?*”  The young woman’s reflection raised its arms to unleash an incantation.

“Of course not,” Lady Llewyllyn snapped.  “I know what I saw.  But our place has always been to not interfere.  We ignore them; they ignore us.  Neutrality is the only reason we could guarantee our survival.”

“*You’d rather they all be sacrificed in the name of Ara’Kull?*”

The fragile woman lost her momentary feebleness, rising to her full height.  The comforter slapped the wooden floor with a soft thud.  Rage flared in her eyes and through her bones.

“I’d rather He not exist, obviously.  But there is *nothing* we can do about that!”

“*You’re wrong, of course,*” the silken voice purred within her ear.  “*We can stop him at every turn.  Confound him, anger him and eventually beat him.  That is what the signs point to.  It is time for us to rise from Neutrality, putting our selfishness aside.  Then, we place the needs of the people above our own, above his needs and desires.*”

“IT IS NOT OUR PLACE!!!”  The old woman shrieked, clutching her skull.  Sonorous pounding resonated through her mind; the sound of war drums in the distance.  “_I know what you’re doing.  I won’t let you out daughter…never…never let you out again…_”

“*You cannot stop Fate, mother.  You’ve managed to hold the wolves at arms length for ages now.  But, no more.  The time is approaching, the last Tri’Ara is nearly upon us.  I can feel the Mother being ripped from our world.  All will die when the darkness falls.  Even we will perish, because of His whims.*”  A cool, certain ration weighed down the daughter’s words.

“I cannot,” Lady Llewyllyn muttered.  Her hands shook upon her head, parting the ruffled silver locks.  “_I cannot…I cannot…I cannot,_” she repeatedly whispered into the empty room.

“*They will be traveling northward.  They could be utilized as a tool.  With our aide, with our help they may succeed.*”

“And if they fail?”  Lady Llewyllyn’s eyes sparkled with insanity.

“*There is no harm in an attempt.  If failure is imminent, then we merely perish as we would if nothing was done.*”  The reflection paused, thoughtful.  “*Please mother, let me out!*”

Lady Llewyllyn fell backward onto her bed, the comforters trying to drown her pained body.  “I’m so old,” she moaned pulling the covers over her face.

The sheep-wool exploded outward, landing away from Llewyllyn’s body.  She stood and stalked toward the doorway.  With a glance, she stared at the golden hair that fell from above her brow.  Long, curling tresses drifted erotically to rest upon her shoulders.  Emerald green eyes stared outward from a beautiful, young face.  All wrinkles had vanished, as they always did.  The feeble body, now replaced with a vibrant youthful shell, curved delectably beneath a white dress.  

“*But I’m not so old mother.*”  Lady Llewyllyn stalked from her private chambers.


----------



## TheYeti1775

I don't remember her being that old....


----------



## Anti-Sean

Oh, this is good - this is very very good! The setting is fantastic - I definitely like the bleak feel of it all. Very nicely detailed backstory and pantheon as well. I like Cassock's character quite a lot... there's just something about non-Eeeeeevil servants of death gods that speaks to me! I'm still not sure exactly where he falls on the Stand-up Do Gooder/Antihero axis, but I'm definitely looking forward to watching how he progresses! Please keep him alive enough to continue to torment for quite a while!  Thanks to your comments on my story hour leading me here, I now have another story hour to keep up with! Now if only there were more hours in the day...


----------



## Funeris

Welcome Anti-Sean.  Its good that I managed to lure you over   And thank you, thank you, thank you for the praise.  

Cassock (to alleviate your fears) has not perished yet.  And his alignment is chaotic good (chaotic chaotic good...with the alignment system we're using now).  That, makes him a crusader.  Basically, Cassock is a fanatic with a warmace...   And he definitely doesn't mind laying down the smack when he feels it needs to be laid down.

Now...as to where he is on that Stand-up Do Gooder/Antihero axis....I'd put him a little on the Antihero side....just because I know if he could force his god's issues by committing genocide, he'd do it without blinking.

If you want to see a true Anti-hero though, you'll need to wait a bit 

As for torment, they'll have torment and lots of it by the time all my little meandering plots tie together in a nice unbreakable knot....unless they work quickly.  Either way, I'll have my fun.

And as for more hours in the day...I suggest not sleeping.  It does wonders.  Of course...you burn out.  But the all-natural-amped-up-high before that point is marvelous.  

Now, so everyone knows...I'm probably going to let this thread drift for another day or two with no update.  That way, everyone else gets caught up...and I can bombard you all in rapid succession again.

Welcome again, Anti-Sean!

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Thanks for liking Cassock, Anti-Sean.
No he has not fallen as yet.
His chosen Domains are Death and Destruction.

Ron, I thought we had choose Chaotic Lawful Good for him? 
I know you still have the im's about it.

Yes he could easily fall into the Anti-Hero role, and Funeris is right.  If Cassock thought it would further Cael's goals then yes genocide would be the order of the day for him.
Don't worry the days turn darker for Cassock, or maybe I should for Funeris's upcoming TPK scene. _"The darkness fell upon them, then the screams ensued..."_

Yeti


----------



## TheYeti1775

Yeah Insomania-Boy, been almost 11 hours since I bugged you for an update, and no update. :\


----------



## Funeris

My apologies...I said I was letting the thread drift for a couple days...and I meant it.  People need to catch up....

I'll have to look back through and double check your alignment...I know its written down somewhere...but I thought I remembered...and so spit out that bit about the crusader...oh well.

Finally, How can you go and tell them that Cassock has not died yet and follow it up two paragraphs later with a statement about a TPK scene??  Is it just me...or does that not make much sense??


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Finally, How can you go and tell them that Cassock has not died yet and follow it up two paragraphs later with a statement about a TPK scene??  Is it just me...or does that not make much sense??




Apparantly you didn't read it correctly.


> Don't worry the days turn darker for Cassock, or maybe I should for Funeris's upcoming TPK scene



Perhaps I forgot the word 'attempted' before the TPK.  Or maybe I was talking about the upcoming game on the 16th where you hope to finish me off.


----------



## Funeris

Hope to finish you off?? Hehe...

well, ok, so I lied.  I wasn't going to update...but see, I figure that I have to work a lot of overtime these next few days so I may as well give you all a snippet.  So you have something to look forward to....Monday-ish or so. 



*INCOMING!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

*Back in the Temple once dedicated to Mialon...*

Aramil led the party through the nearest doorway on the left.  The half-elf rogue moved cautiously, carefully among the hedges.  The foul scent of recent death left behind, was replaced by a new odor.  The fading stench of earthy-laced rot, probably from older deaths, overwhelmed his senses.  He slowed his movement, just in case.

The passageway began curving sharply to the right.  Aramil held to the hedge, close enough to give himself cover but far enough to prevent any excess noise.  From ahead, the half-elf could barely hear a soft clicking.  He stopped and knelt near a pile of stinking detritus.  With one hand he rummaged through the rotting remains of … something.  His eyes watched his front while his hands went through the maneuvers.

Aramil salvaged a few coins but nothing of any use.  He peered at the pile, recognizing bones stripped of flesh.  Short incisions crisscrossed the bones at random intervals, between which the bone looked nearly polished.  Rubbing a finger across the polished areas, the half-elf felt no friction whatsoever.  The fragments had been smoothed by whatever had separated meat from bone.

Waving a hand, Aramil signaled the remains of the party to join him.  They all moved as silently as possible, Cassock focusing extra hard on not making a sound.  Cassock gave Aramil a questioning glance.  

“_Animals or something ate the flesh right off the bones of whoever this once was,_” Aramil whispered.  He shoved the coins toward the party members.  They all noticed that the minted coinage seemed smoothed down in sections like the bits of the bone.

Aramil’s keen ears picked up the clicking noise again, moving closer.  He signaled for everyone to prepare for an attack.

Around the curving edge of hedge, the clicking sound increased.  Something akin to slithering echoed within their ears as one pudgy insect scooted across the ground.  Hundreds of legs pressed the ground in fluid, mechanical order propelling the oversized body along.  The underside of the corpulent exoskeletons scraped the dirt ground, leaving a thick wake across the earth.

The half-elf rogue whipped out bringing his blade fully across the creature.  A shrill pitch assaulted as the creature reared up in defense.  The blade cut dully, not surpassing the armor-like skeleton.  From above, another of the creatures fell fully upon Aramil.  Its mandibles dug through his flesh.  A fire burned through his veins, blurring his vision and causing him to scream.  The acrid scent of acid wafted from the gibbering mouth trying to devour Aramil’s arm.

A third creature turned into the hallway, following the scent of fresh meat.  From behind it, mother poured into the hedged corridor, her girth nearly filled the passage as she slid along, no end in sight.


----------



## Funeris

Hope that's enough of a cliff-hanger for ya!  

So, to start a brief discussion, I'd like your opinions....

Is it too much of a distraction to skip around the world saying this is happening here, (shift to a new location)...this is happening here, etc. etc. etc.?  Or do you guys like all that extra stuff?  Should I just keep to the main story...or show all these other threads?



~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hope that's enough of a cliff-hanger for ya!
> 
> So, to start a brief discussion, I'd like your opinions....
> 
> Is it too much of a distraction to skip around the world saying this is happening here, (shift to a new location)...this is happening here, etc. etc. etc.?  Or do you guys like all that extra stuff?  Should I just keep to the main story...or show all these other threads?
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune




I personally like all the threads.  I like to know what's going on all over the campaign world...I guess that's the DM part of me.


----------



## Funeris

Wow, that was a really brief discussion 

Heh...nearly 11pm...still stuck at work (2nd day in a row!).  I've decided EnWorld needs a smiley that's aiming a big-a$$ revolver at its own forehead.  Enough complaining though.

Thanks for the input O-W.  Unless I hear comments at the other end of the spectrum I'll keep posting parallel-running background stories then.  I like writing them.  They're fun.  Its nice to share what I'm doing off stage.

Ok...back to work.  This two-minute break brought to you by Anti-Sean's Eberron thread...if you haven't read it yet, then you're missing out.  Get up (virtually) and go read it.  That's an order 

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Checking in....*

Okay, folks.  I’m still hoping to have an update on Monday (even though I’ll probably be toiling away my “holiday”).  So, no one seems to have bitten on any of the questions I’ve posted as yet.  I’ve decided to post a new question (and answer my prior two).



			
				Post # 33 said:
			
		

> <1> Enoch and Styg are the two moons that circle Norum da Salaex. A copper to anyone that catches the reference to another rpg.




This was the first question.  The answer is such:  Styg is an abbreviation of Stygia.  Both Stygia and Enoch were cities in the Shadowlands from White Wolf’s _Wraith: The Oblivion_ (the first pencil-paper RPG I ever played).  Good game.  They discontinued it and I left their system.



			
				Post #82 said:
			
		

> "You were sick. But now you're better. And there's work to do."
> 
> Anyone know which author that is? (And if you answer, it'll be a great way to bump the thread).....anyone who knows the answer gets a cookie.




The author is Kurt Vonnegut (IMHO one of the best American authors of *all* time.  But I like sarcasm and dry with.  Maybe that’s just me).  The novel was _TimeQuake_, if you’ve never read it, I suggest you pick it up.  His ability to cut through the American façade of “life” with a sharp wit is amazing.  He’s hilarious.  And I love him (in a pure fan-boy kinda way…not that stalker-with-a-protection-order kinda way).   

So there.  Now I’ve pimped Anti-Sean’s SH, Spider-Jerusalem’s SH, a discontinued game system and Kurt Vonnegut.  You have this non-exclusive list to fill your time whilst I toil at work and prepare a Story Hour Update.

But if that’s not enough to keep you busy, how about a new query?

If I had to choose one quote to sum up this campaign (and I usually choose a quote to represent my goals for the over-arching plot which I give to the players in a handout, only I didn’t do it this time…But here it is now).  This is a quote from a children’s book author (and no, its not JKR):



			
				Children’s Book Author to be named later said:
			
		

> Nothing was.  She was not.  There was no dark.  There was no light.  No sight nor sound nor touch nor smell nor taste.  No sleeping nor waking.  No dreaming, no knowing.
> 
> Nothing.
> 
> And then a surge of joy.
> 
> All sense alive and awake and filled with joy.
> 
> Darkness was, and darkness was good.  As was light.
> 
> Light and darkness dancing together, born together, born of each other, neither preceding, neither following, both fully being, in joyful rhythm.
> 
> The morning stars sang together and the ancient harmonies were new and it was good.  It was very good.
> 
> And then a dazzling star turned its back on the dark, and it swallowed the dark, and in swallowing the dark it became the dark, and there was something wrong with the dark, as there was something wrong with the light.  And it was not good.  The glory of the harmony was broken by screeching, by hissing, by laughter which held no merriment but was hideous, horrendous cacophony.




As a clue, she [this author] once won a Newbery Award and then also collected the Margaret A. Edwards Award, which honors lifetime contributions to books for young adults.

Anyone who recognizes the author wins not one or two cookies, but three.

On an aside, its interesting to look backward through time and see how my mind was shaped at an early age and by whom…and to watch that shaping not just affect my personality but the stories I end up telling and creating.  

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

Aramil’s fevered screams set a grueling backdrop against the carnage.  The rogue had fallen to the ground, rolling over and over attempting to squish the insect.  His slight, half-elven weight was not nearly enough to squish or at the very least remove the voracious insect.  Instead, he merely jammed the pincers deeper through his flesh, allowing the poison easier entry to his already aching veins.

Cassock swung his mace, shattering one of the smaller insects; all the while watching the mother slide her massive bulk ever closer.  He turned to aide the rogue, motioning for Anastrianna and Gabrielle to continue their ranged attacks.  The priest grabbed Aramil roughly by the collar and flipped him over.  Still attached to his arm, the centipede dug even farther into the raw meat.  

Cassock prayed silently for his friend’s sake as he drove the oversized mace head into and through the creature.  The insect popped, sticky residue splattering everywhere, as the mace slammed painfully into the half-elf.  

The rogue rolled about on the ground, clutching his wound for several disoriented moments.  His eyes latched shakily onto the cleric and rose heavenward to meet the worried gaze.  “Poison,” he hissed, still grasping pointlessly at his boiling blood.  “Do something, dammit!”

The Priest of Cael grimaced.

“You *are* a healer aren’t you!” the half-elf shrieked.

Cassock placed a reaffirming hand on the shuddering rogue’s shoulder.  “There is nothing I can do for your poison.  You will have to be strong enough to survive it yourself.  Right now, right now we need your help.”  Grasping the young rogue’s hand, he hefted the half-elf up.  He reached back down and lifted Aramil’s blade, placing it firmly within the rogue’s hands.  The priest noticed the rogue’s shaky legs.  With another prayer for strength, he led Aramil back into the fray.

Ana and Gabrielle shifted their barrage of missiles toward the mother centipede, while Cassock and Aramil divided their attacks among the remaining baby.  The poison had eaten away at Aramil’s muscles.  His attacks were slow, ungainly and not doing much except for keeping the insects at bay.  

With a missed swing, Aramil lurched violently forward into the pincers of the baby.  Cassock swung in, leading with his mace and smashed the insect into a gooey pulp.  Aramil collapsed on the ground, mere feet from mother.

The priest dodged into friendly fire across Aramil’s frame.  He threw himself bodily into the path of mother, trying to utilize his warmace as a shield.  The beast reared backward, pincers shrieking upon the metal.  It yanked fiercely, twisting the bulbous head back and forth, but Cassock would not let go.  Shifting its attack, the monster reversed its weight, pressing the priest into a pious position.  Bowing his head, Cassock felt the muscles in his body strain against the heavy onslaught.

Above his skull, arrows hissed against the air like water across flame.  Dull plops resounded with each hit, but mother refused to relent.  He felt the pincers scrape feebly across his forehead, his body slid backward.  Mother leaned in, her pincers closing on the priest’s forehead.  The potent venom stung for a moment, before more wet pops exploded somewhere distant.  

Mother slid forward, pinning the priest, dead.  Cassock shrugged the corpulent corpse off and stood wobbly.  His body had managed to counter the centipede’s poison; only slight fatigue kept him completely off balance.

With a quick motion, he wrenched Aramil back to his feet.  With a few divinely powered words, the priest healed all of the group’s wounds.

“We need to keep moving,” the cleric ordered.  Then, without waiting for his scout, the priest stalked deeper into the maze.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1]

In the center of a jagged hedged room, lied a small unconscious form.  Each of the group quietly moved into the unnatural clearing.  They were all covered with the dirt and blood of a very long day.

Aramil moved slower than he had in the morning; three more swollen centipede wounds oozed angrily causing poison to stain the rogue’s leather armor.  His body was sore from a well-mixed cocktail of pain, exhaustion, and venom.  Silently, he wondered what he had done in his past lives to warrant such a hellish existence[2].

Gabrielle thudded onto the soft earth, nursing her freshest wounds.  She had been given the easiest task of all.  “Just watch that passage,” Cassock had ordered.  And she had done as he asked.  Of course, that was when the mean humans had attacker her, all biting metal with no words.  She was quickly beginning to think herself too inept for the “adventurer’s life”.

Ana stared at the prone form of what could only be her adopted sister.  Slightly pointed ears pierced the waves of hair, her face turned into the earth.  If not for the slight quivering of her chest, Ana would believe she were dead.  Purple bruises bulged along the half-elf’s cheek.  Lady Rowen questioned how she should react to the sibling that had replaced her for so long a time[3].

Cassock watched his companions carefully.  Somehow, they had all managed to survive, so far.  The priest had doubts about how long their luck would last.  Gabrielle, the weakest of them all, had nearly perished naught but minutes ago.  Aramil would surely die if he did not rest.  The centipede’s venom seemed to bypass the half-elf’s immune system as if it were invited happily within.  Cassock eyed Anastrianna over, wondering if she would ever leap directly into combat with her sleek blade again.  The human rogue had hung back for many of the battles, just firing at her foes from a distance.  While not an unsound tactic, the cleric felt overwhelmed by having to carry the brunt of close-quarters combat.  He sighed, thankful that this task was nearly at its completion.

Aramil bent over the half-elf and nudged her easily.  She stirred slowly, her eyes batting open.  Fearfully, the child threw her arms above her face in defense.  Aramil grasped them gently and pulled them away.

“We’re not here to harm you, Ariel,” the rogue claimed.  “Your father, Mayor Rowen has sent us to rescue you.”  A large, beautiful smile broke through the bruised skin and she wrapped her arms tightly around Aramil’s leg.  Aramil leaned backward, an uncertain expression plastered upon his face.  He glanced at Ana but she merely shrugged and turned away.

Aramil pried the young girl’s hands from around his thigh and staggered away.  He leaned against the hedge to rest his weary bones and slid to the ground.  A sixth sense fired somewhere in the back of his mind and he turned around to search the plants.  Inside the bush, the rogue’s hands sensed a deep impression or clearing.  He scrabbled along the ground, sliding under the hedges.  Inside the hedge, a small space large enough for a man was carefully trimmed.  Lying on the ground was a wrapped piece of parchment.  He snatched the letter and scrabbled out of the enclosure.

“What’ve you got there?” demanded Cassock, in the middle of applying a few spells to the bruised child’s face.

“Dunno, can’t read,” the rogue mumbled.  He shoved the parchment toward the priest.  Carefully, Cassock untied the black ribbon and unrolled the paper.



> T~
> 
> Proceed with plan.  Deliver corpse to bell tower.  Cavalry on way.  TM pleased.
> 
> ~L​




“It seems they meant to kill the prisoner, I mean Ariel,” the priest stuttered.  “Did you see the face of the elf that did this to you?”  

Ariel glanced down and nodded slowly.  “He wasn’t an elf, though,” she said in a quiet voice.  “He was human.  But he was an elf too.  It depended on whether or not he was wearing his ribbon.”

“What does it mean, the ‘cavalry is on the way’?” Ana queried.  She was leaning over the priest’s shoulder, deciphering the rough handwriting.  

Cassock grimaced.  “Either there is a larger band moving this way or toward the town.  I think we need to keep moving.  If they’re heading here, we don’t want to be around when they arrive.  If the cavalry is heading toward town, then your fa--…the mayor will need all the help he can get.”  The priest stood up, slipping the parchment into his pouch.  “Can you travel?”  His stare focused upon Aramil.

“I’ll be fine,” the half-elf grumbled.  He stretched his weary body and assumed the lead.  Two steps toward the hall, Ariel’s hands were again wrapped about his legs [4].  From behind, he heard Gabrielle smacking her lips together in a mock kissing sound.  Aramil fumed.

[5]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] I chose to skip a bit here.  Battle is all fine and great…but should be used sparingly in my opinion.  I don’t want to be R.A. Salvatore.

[2] Ok, well maybe…not so silently.  This is an example of Out-of-Character speech & emotion making the final cut into the SH update.  Aramil’s player has the worst luck in existence.  If something can go wrong, Murphy chooses to lay the smack down upon Aramil (for the most part).  Of course, part of the blame does go to Aramil’s player because…well he usually just charges in like a lawful-stupid paladin, even though he’s a rogue.

[3] Another player’s speech made the final cut.  Happycat turned to me, during the game, and questioned, “How am I supposed to feel about this girl who replaced me?”  As a good DM I replied, “Dunno.  How does it make you feel?”  She never did talk to her adopted sister much…hmmm.  Go easy on her folks, this is her first *real* d20 game…and she’s practically new to the whole “roleplaying” aspect.  For that matter, it’s Aramil’s and Gabrielle’s players first d20 game as well…guess I like noobies.

[4] Hey, she had to bond to someone…so why not the other half-elf?  Its not like her sister was paying her any attention…. 

[5] Skipping a bit more battle that they pulled through quite easily.  Goblins…heh…nothing but meat shields in my book.  Although I have to spit this out…because in retrospect it was humorous….there was a pack of goblins that walked up to the party in the hedge maze…one of which was waving a wand at them and chattering incomprehensibly.  He almost seemed to be trying to hand over the wand.  At which point, Cassock delves into battle, smashing goblin heads left and right.  When all the goblins have been slaughtered he examined the wand…it was a wand of cure light wounds with a couple dozen charges left on it.  The goblin was trying to exchange the wand for its (and its companions) survival.

Moral of the story:  Never offer a Priest of Cael a gift…unless you want to end up on the wrong side of a weapon. 

…granted…I guess I did kinda push my players into a kill everything that moves mindset…

So, when next we pick up…I’ll be bypassing the sleepless journey back to the Town, picking up the story just outside the village and a not-so-pointless battle.


----------



## Funeris

*In the meantime...*

Here's a couple more PDFs...i know that all three of you that actually look at them must be quite excited   I've been trying to gather all of my hand-scrawled notes into a digital format....I know there are people who love world building and would like to see all the little background details...

Not sure when I'll next update...hopefully, it won't be too long.  

[Edit]Oh yeah..and the file on dwarves is by no means complete...that's just a little bit of their ancient history  [/Edit]

P.S.  Herremann, I'm still waiting on pins-and-needles for your feedback 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> [5] Skipping a bit more battle that they pulled through quite easily.  Goblins…heh…nothing but meat shields in my book.  Although I have to spit this out…because in retrospect it was humorous….there was a pack of goblins that walked up to the party in the hedge maze…one of which was waving a wand at them and chattering incomprehensibly.  He almost seemed to be trying to hand over the wand.  At which point, Cassock delves into battle, smashing goblin heads left and right.  When all the goblins have been slaughtered he examined the wand…it was a wand of cure light wounds with a couple dozen charges left on it.  The goblin was trying to exchange the wand for its (and its companions) survival.
> 
> Moral of the story:  Never offer a Priest of Cael a gift…unless you want to end up on the wrong side of a weapon.
> 
> …granted…I guess I did kinda push my players into a kill everything that moves mindset…



Yeah they tried to parlay, they pointed a wand at me.
A better parlay on their part would have been throw it all down.
Cassock is hardly ever in a parlay mood, even though he is rather good at it.


----------



## Funeris

Heh…I remembered that I can’t skip the entire trip through the forest…that would skip an important meeting…and another dangly thread.  Anyway, on with the story!  We'll touch on two other threads briefly and then when I next update again, we'll return to our intrepid heroes.

*INCOMING!!!*


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

A pungent odor snapped Spinum back to reality.  The dense fog of reality drifted away like smoke from a dying fire.  The mage moved his hand to rub his aching head, only to find his hands bound tightly together.  Razor-vine scratched through the flesh around his wrists, old streams of blood stained his forearms.

Following the vine with his eyes, he found the end tightly secured around the fist of an overbearing creature.  Green and orange mottled flesh danced beneath boils and scars.  Oversized, rough ears sloped backward and away from the beast’s face.  Within the lobes, dozens of wooden circles pierced fleshed.  It turned its head toward the mage and grunted.  Large, razor teeth shimmered dull yellow with spittle beneath lips drawn thin in a grimace.  The eyes were fathomless orbs of black.  Only a gleam of calculation within the orbs marked the thing as intelligent.

_Okay, either this is a baby troll or one of the half-breeds I’ve read about._  The mage sat in silence, observing as much as possible and plotting an escape.

“*I am glad you have awakened,*” the creature rumbled.  Its breathing was heavy and raspy; it sounded as if it were suffocating.  It cocked its head to the side and spit a wad of phlegm and bone onto the ground.  With one meaty claw, it beat upon its chest.  The gurgling of thick and probably rank fluids sounded from within.  Its beady eyes flared red for a moment and then returning to a dull sheen.  “*You will answer for your crimes within my wood.*”

“And what _crimes_ would those be?  I have done nothing but travel through the forest.  Unless that is a crime, I am not guilty, beast.”

It laughed hoarsely for minutes, pausing only to drain its lungs.  “*I am Orange Leaf and I am only half beast.  I have just as much education as you, black mage.*”  Orange stood, stretching to his full nearly eight foot height.  His massive claws lifted upward, dragging the vine and even Spinum easily into the air.  

“Just my luck to bump into an intelligent beast,” murmured the mage.

“*No, not luck,*” Orange Leaf corrected.  “*I felt the forest cry out in pain and when I tracked it to its source, I found you.  And you were tainted with an aura of necromantic energy.  But do not fear, man.  I justly punish the wicked that pass through my forest.*”  The half-troll chuckled inwardly.

“And what is my punishment for so small a spell?”  

“*Death, of course.  All uses of death magic will be repaid with the blood of its caster.  Those are the laws.*”

Spinum shuddered, his mind working quickly.  “And who made that law?”

“*I did.  My forest, my laws.*”  The half-troll lowered Spinum to the ground and began leading him southward.

“I don’t think the Church of Ara’kull would agree with you, druid.”  Venom laced the young mage’s voice.

“*Do not make me enjoy killing you, wizard*,” Orange Leaf grunted vehemently.

“Or what?  You’ll kill me twice?”  Spinum eagerly searched his mind for the spells he had prepared.  His mind, however, was a blank slate.  He glanced left and right, searching for his tome or a weapon, anything.

“*I have removed your weapons and tome from your possession.  I am no fool.*”

“But…I…I didn’t do anything!  What you sensed must have been the Inquisition.  They had…something…with them, something unnatural!” screamed the mage.

“*It has been years since the Inquisition has been near this forest, long before my time.  I will not believe your lies*,” Orange’s dagger-like claws drew close to the mage’s face.  “*You will silence yourself if you do not wish me to do it rather painfully*.”

“My father and brother died back there!” shrieked the youth.  “You can go back and see for yourself!”

“*And why did you not die with them?*”  The half-troll stopped his movement, lurching the mage to an imbalanced stop.

Spinum’s lip quivered.  “Because I am a coward and did not want to die.”

“*Those are the first words out of your mouth that I believe.  However, you’ve already admitted your crime.  You will be punished and then I see if your other lies are truths.*”

Spinum opened his mouth in protest, only to meet the blunt force of the half-troll’s fist.  The mage slumped backward to the forest floor. Orange Leaf lifted the lanky human and tossed him onto his shoulder.  “*Well, this should make traveling a bit easier and less annoying.*”  The druid stepped toward the nearest plant and bent down to cast an incantation.

Pain flooded throughout the druid’s body and he crumpled onto the dirt, hands clutching futilely at his stomach.  The pain boiled and burned from the inside.  Shrieks and screams filled the druid’s ears, his mind.  He glared around, seeing the plants in his vicinity wither and die.

The pain passed as quickly as it had taken the druid to his knees.  The shrieks quieted and when he looked about, the plants appeared normal and vibrant again.  Orange Leaf stood again warily.  Placing Spinum back onto his shoulder, he stepped into a plant and vanished into thin air.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

*Approximately a month prior…*

“Is he here or isn’t he?”  Zayda Silverbough stomped her foot nervously.  The edge of the forest always worried her, ever since she had met her first humans.  That life-altering event had not only destroyed her town and claimed her parents’ lives but instilled a healthy respect coupled with paranoia toward the no-elves land of the well-tilled fields south of the Draeül Forest.  Her fingers twitched near the hilt of her blade and curving handle of her bow.

“Well?” she demanded again of her charge.  Zayda glanced about nervously; all had been silent since Mialee had delved into the well-camouflaged wooden home.  Not one hundred feet distant, the protective barrier of the forest ended, birthing fields of wheat that sloped gracefully toward the massive Lake Norda.  

Mialee sauntered out of the cabin, her sword still drawn.  “He’s not home.  I don’t know where he is…do you see any tracks?”

Zayda sighed angrily.  “Good luck finding a druid in a forest.”  She searched half-heartedly for tracks but finding none, simply shook her head.  “We won’t be able to find him.  Why don’t we move on?”

“We need to be thorough in our search.  Rock Tooth would have the best understanding of recent events.  If there is no possibility of finding him, then we will search for Orange Leaf.”  Mialee calmed her authoritative tone and resumed looking about.

Zayda stalked away from the cabin, keeping a wary eye toward the clearing.  The Elder’s daughter had always been a good friend, even if she was a bit bossy on occasion.  Silver Dew had chosen Zayda specially to protect his daughter, knowing of their close friendship.  

But they had already been traveling for a week and to no avail.  This was the second day at Rock Tooth’s shack and for what?  While they were away from their homes, more damage could be wrought.  What if the Inquisition attacked?  What if more druids died from no known cause?  Zayda tried to clear her mind and focus.  She drew an arrow and nocked it, staring down the shaft and concentrating on aiming.

The deaths of the two initiates had been swift and unprepared for.  They had merely been going about their business when they burst into flames.  There were no mages about, no reasons to be prepared.  Humans hadn’t neared the village of Stonetree during its entire existence.  And yet, for no reason, two of her friends, the only Elven druid initiates in more than a century had spontaneously combusted.

If that wasn’t enough injury, their flaming corpses burnt down large sections of the city.  _So much for building a city in the trees_, Zayda thought painfully.  During the week of fire, the population was cut from five hundred to only around one hundred.  _It must’ve been the humans doing,_ Zayda concluded.

A quick tapping on the shoulder brought Zayda to the present and she accidentally released her grip.  The arrow flew off into the woods, vanishing amongst the leaves.

“I think we should move on,” Mialee stated calmly.  “With any luck, we’ll meet him if we travel eastward along the edge of the forest.  And if not, at least will be close enough to Llewyllyn Manor to be protected.  Ready?”

“Let’s get going.”  Zayda reached for another arrow and strung it fluidly.  _Just in case,_ she thought.


----------



## Anti-Sean

Wow, thanks for the story hour pimping! If I get a few more readers, I'll be glad to return the favor!  Orange Leaf is pretty damn cool - now I need to add a Troll Druid to my ever-growing list of NPCs to tinker around with!


----------



## Funeris

Unfortunately, Orange Leaf never had the chance to interact with the PCs...just the NPC Spinum....sigh.

I thought he was a cool idea too...some oversized...half-human, half-troll druid.  Just clicked in my mind.

And then I blowed him up real good.  Its sad really.... 

And you're welcome for the pimp...i just pimped it in the "What are you reading?" thread too....I'm nice like that 

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> As a clue, she [this author] once won a Newbery Award and then also collected the Margaret A. Edwards Award, which honors lifetime contributions to books for young adults.
> 
> Anyone who recognizes the author wins not one or two cookies, but three.
> 
> ~Fune




I am guessing here, but I have only found two authors that fit the clues:  Madeleine L'Engle and Cynthia Voight.  It might also be Ursula K. LeGuin, Nancy Garden, or Francesca Lia Block, but I think that it sounds most like Madeleine L'Engle's "Wrinkle in Time."

I hope that I can still get cookies if I'm right even though I guessed.


----------



## Funeris

Consider the cookies yours, Oaxacan Warrior.  Madeleine L'Engle was the correct author.  The book though was the fourth in her series about the Murray's (the first being _A Wrinkle in Time_) entitled _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ (I think...my mind is becoming addled...not enough sleep....).  

*All three of the cookies are yours!!!!*  Congrats.  (and phwew...i was afraid no one would ever answer a trivia question  )

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Oh, and if you have an address you want those cookies sent to, just drop me an email


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> *All three of the cookies are yours!!!!*  Congrats.  (and phwew...i was afraid no one would ever answer a trivia question  )
> 
> ~Fune




Wahoo!!  I can't wait to get the cookies!


----------



## Funeris

So....i get to work today....and open Outlook....there's a message about possible junkmail and whether or not I'd like to read it.  So I click sure and there is an email from Oaxacan Warrior with his address at the bottom.  Heh, it made me smile.  Already I feel today may be better than yesterday.  So, I guess you'll be receiving a package soon, Oaxacan Warrior.  



~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> So....i get to work today....and open Outlook....there's a message about possible junkmail and whether or not I'd like to read it.  So I click sure and there is an email from Oaxacan Warrior with his address at the bottom.  Heh, it made me smile.  Already I feel today may be better than yesterday.  So, I guess you'll be receiving a package soon, Oaxacan Warrior.
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune




I'm glad that I can bring you some small measure of joy in return for the great SH!


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

So I drop in quite early in the storyhour, take a small break and when I check in again, Funeris has set such a cracking pace with his updating that it takes me three days reading to catch up!!

Anyway ... Great stuff, Funeris. I really like the bleak world you've created and the tension between the races.

I'm enjoying the writing too. Don't know if all the PC's characters are really coming out yet, but that always takes time. And some the description and action writing has been really vivid ... keep up the good work!   

If you don't mind one small criticism (meant entirely constructively), I think in some of the earlier posts you fell into the "exotic language" trap. By this I refer to a tendency among a number of writers on these boards (and even some published fantasy writers) to use unusual vocabulary, in an effort to spice up their writing ... but with the unfortunate consequence that they often use words incorrectly.

There's only one specific example of yours I recall, although I have a feeling there were a few others. In the description of Cassock and Aramil chasing the figure into the woods you refer to them trying to move silently and then describe them as "noisome". Alas "noisome" doesn't mean "noisy" but "foul smelling". Now maybe they were that too, but I didn't get the impression that that's what you were going for.   

Anyway, you seem to have avoided this trap more recently, so probably it's something I don't really need to be telling you at all.   

Keep up the good work.


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## Funeris

LOL....didn't realize noisome meant foul smelling...and...I don't remember using that word, to be honest.  Too much updating...  

I will go back, find the word, figure out what I meant to write and change it (when I have a moment).  Thanks for the criticism.  I'll try not to use "exotic language"...I try to keep it simple.  The only exoticness I hope to bring…is that inherent within the world….the naming conventions (which become important in our next session…hint hint to my players)…month names…days of the week…all the boring little details of reality that I slightly altered.

Thanks for your critique & praise.  So….you’ll be back to check in, what sometime next week?  I’ll make sure to try to have another bazillion updates for you to catch up on 



~Fune


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Hey Funeris, just dropping a note to let you know I'm still reading!

Now you're setting the update pace... (spider shakes fist)... kudos to great posts throughout. And hey, I thought they were noisome too.  

I'll write more when I'm back off of holiday. 

Keep it up buddy.

Spider.


----------



## Funeris

Hehe...they really are noisome....no one wants to come near my apartment when the Yeti is around.  

I'm just keeping you on your toes, spider J!

Enjoy your holiday.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Ok...went back and fixed the noisome error in post #71 (downloading the thread and using the Find function in Word to change the error saved a lot of searching).  And as another note, it seems that I had used noisome twice...once refering to a band of Orcs...correctly and then the second error during my weeks of insomnia.  It seems sleep depravity causes not only errors but the loss of word definitions.  

Well, problem fixed.  I'll probably be updating today...so stay tuned. 

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued*

Aramil paused wearily.  The return journey had been unusually unmolested.  Around him, the fading sounds of summer and the rising tide of fall played delicately upon his half-elf ears.  The leaves began their tumultuous turns of color.  Squirrels darted about, dodging the party and hiding the stores of food they would never remember after the long rests.  

Those details had suddenly disappeared.  Not a sound broke the air, not a movement stirred through the brush or the first fallen leaves.  The air held a dead calm, empty and chilled.

Still grasping at his leather, the child stopped happily, her attention turning to the surroundings.  Her small grin fading as she noted the dead stillness.  Aramil grasped her shoulder and turned her toward his companions.  With a finger across his lips for silence, he pointed in their direction.  Hesitantly, she slid silently toward the rest of the party.

Aramil motioned for his companions to stay and then stepped through the thinning brush ahead.  He stepped into a large clearing.  The clearing was new and extraordinary.  It definitely had not been there on their journey into the forest.

Around the clearing, the changing leaves seemed to contain the abnormal absence.  Upon its border, the trees with leaves held only half their foliage.  The halves turned toward the clearing were charred, lifeless skeletons of splintering branch.  Across the ground, the weeds and brush common to the forest floor were notoriously missing.  Not even grass spread across the earth here, only along the edge of the clearing.  The dirt was dry, lifeless, and held a musty odor of uselessness coupled with the overwhelming scentless absence.  

Of all the details, the most interesting was the collapsed husk of a body in the center of the clearing.  It was massive in size for a human, if that is what it was.  A chaotic array of gear surrounded the corpse:  a large and undamaged scabbard, a masterfully crafted silver dagger, its handle the likeness of a skull, various other odds and ends including a large tome.  The husk seemed to have been burned alive, yet the gear the creature was carrying had survived the attack.  Even the creature’s clothing was intact, no detail-spilling rips or tears struck the rogue’s detail-oriented eyes.

The pungent reek of crispy flesh stung the rogue’s nostrils.  He rolled the body over and determined its race.  While most of the distinct features had been burned away, there was no mistaken the corpse of a half-troll.  Aramil had only crossed a few in his travels and always at a safe distance.  But the telling scent was only barely masked by that of brimstone and charred hair.  And if the creature had been of full troll blood, only ashes would have survived a fiery attack.  _If that was what had actually happened_, the half-elf thought suspiciously.  

His eyes caught upon a rope extending from the dead half-troll’s arm and out of the clearing.  Cautiously, he followed the rope bodily.  In the shrubbery, just outside the clearing rested another body.  This one still breathed albeit laboriously.  Aramil rolled the human, youth it seemed, over carefully.  Two blackened and bruised eyes were squinted shut in unconsciousness.  His brow was broken by a red swelling that bowed outward.  A long-dry stream of blood stained the youth’s chin and contrasted his pallid skin.  Raven black, shoulder length hair laid haphazardly upon the earth, twigs and dirt strewn within.

Aramil grasped the young man and dragged him into the clearing.  He stopped once the two bodies lie next to each other.  Turning, he motioned for the remains of his party to enter the lifeless circle.

Cassock was the first to speak, once Ariel had returned to her place at Aramil’s side, “What happened here?”

“Do I look like I’m trained in magicks or surviving in the wild?”  Aramil retorted.

“Well,” the priest began, “You’re the best we’ve got, at least on the wilderness issue.”

“There must’ve been an explosion or something.  I’m not sure.  This half-troll was dragging this human.  I found the human outside of the clearing.”

“Was there a struggle in the brush?” Ana queried.

“I don’t know.  It’s not exactly my area of expertise.  Anyway, can’t the priest here discern whether or not magicks have been used recently?  If there is a witch or sorcerer nearby, I’d like to be forewarned.”

Cassock said the necessary words, his vision blurred by a few shimmering auras.  “That book…looks like it may be a spell book.  There is a slight aura around the youth as well.  He may be a wizard.  As to what happened here, it wasn’t natural.  And I can’t tell if it was arcane in origin either.  If it was, then it is of an aura I cannot recognize.”  The priest moved to inspect the gear and bodies.  He slid the dagger and other materials into his own pack to the raised eyebrows of his companion.

“What?  This half-troll was dragging the human along.  If the human is dangerous, it is only fitting that we keep the tools of his trade away from him.”  

“What’s this?”  Gabrielle’s soft voice broke in as she ripped a necklace crafted of twine from the half-troll’s throat.  She dangled the emblem for everyone else to see.

“That, my observant halfling friend, is the symbol for Phoee the Mother” [1].  Cassock took a moment and then for clarification added, “She was the creator of all of the gods and goddesses, except Ara’kull.  It is an interesting detail you’ve found.  It leads me to believe that this half-troll was a druid.  You see, druids usually worship Phoee or Mialon, or both.  There are sects that worship some of the other deities, but they are rare even when compared to the druid religion as a whole.”

Ana clutched her stomach.  The symbol was the first of the symbols upon the adamantine box she yet carried.  The religious symbol for Phoee and then the holy icon for Cael[2].  _What have I gotten myself into?_ she silently questioned.

“Are you alright?”  Cassock’s voice brought her back to herself.

“Yes of course.  Just, the stench…” she quickly lied.

“Well,” the priest decided, “let’s wake the survivor up.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] I’ve attached the religious symbol for Phoee.  Anyone recognizing what this actually is a symbol for (and then realizing what the deal is with the Mother’s name…don’t ruin it for my players  )

[2] I’ve attached the religious symbol for Cael as well.  (Pretty nifty, huh?  I of course have all of this in pdf form…which I’m still gathering together…)

Woot.


----------



## Funeris

Here's a document on the Kin Pantheon.  Its zipped up...for size sake.  Its ten pages long or so, has the religious symbols and some info about the gods.

EDIT:  I have uploaded the edited copy 

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Arel is listed as the husband of Pyrin in the PDF, but she is female so shouldn't that be wife?


----------



## Funeris

Good catch.  I'll edit it and repost it in the morning.  I actually caught that mistake before...in a different entry.  That would be the problem with cutting and pasting in word.  

Thanks O-W.



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Heh, one more thing.  Folks, this just goes to show you that Microsoft Word cannot match the editing power of EnWorld.  I love this place.

O-W, you're quickly working your way toward a box of cookies. 

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> So….you’ll be back to check in, what sometime next week?  I’ll make sure to try to have another bazillion updates for you to catch up on
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune




So I give you to Tuesday ... and only ONE update.    Stop this slacking!!   

Seriously, Funeris, another nice update ... and a very dramatic way for the party to meet the new NPC. Keep up the good work.


----------



## Funeris

I know I know...I'm a slacker.  I'm sorry.  I don't have much to say for myself.  I was up until nearly 5 this morning (final preparations for the game on Friday).  I've entered myself into the Ceramic DM competition (which begins sometime this week I guess)...and my excuses could go on.  Really, I've got a list of prepared excuses for just such an occasion. 

I will try to get you those bazillion updates...although it might have to wait till after the game on Friday.  Hopefully not...we'll see how difficult (i.e. time consuming) the rest of the final preparations are....

And I've gone ahead and replaced the Kin Pantheon.zip above...hope its correct now. 

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Heh, one more thing.  Folks, this just goes to show you that Microsoft Word cannot match the editing power of EnWorld.  I love this place.
> 
> O-W, you're quickly working your way toward a box of cookies.
> 
> ~Fune




Wahoo!!  A whole box?  I can't wait!


----------



## Funeris

It amazes me that promises of cookies are what gets me the most bumps 
I could beat out piratecat, sep, destan and the rest if I just promised everyone a box



~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> It amazes me that promises of cookies are what gets me the most bumps
> I could beat out piratecat, sep, destan and the rest if I just promised everyone a box
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune



Free gaming materials work too!


----------



## Funeris

Hey, if anyone want to root me on at the Ceramic DM contest, here's the link:
http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2578558#post2578558

I just posted my first entry.  (Praying it goes well)

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hey, if anyone want to root me on at the Ceramic DM contest, here's the link:
> http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2578558#post2578558
> 
> I just posted my first entry.  (Praying it goes well)
> 
> ~Fune




Good luck, Fune!!


----------



## Funeris

Thanks O-W.  So, all the submissions for round one are in and we're just waiting on the judges to...well, judge.  

Tonight (Fri night, actually) was our first game in 2.5 months.  Very role-play intensive, a lot of information handed out....a lot of possibilities surfacing.  I think it went decently well, but my players are free to chime in and post their own opinions as always.  There was no combat tonight.  Four hours of play...and no combat.  It was interesting to sit back and let the players try to figure stuff out...and work on diplomacy and figuring out what the hells was happening.

So, I think it went well.  That's just me though.   

What's on my agenda this weekend you ask?  Well, making plans for MD-VA-DC Game Day (woot!).  Working on my Halloween costume....maybe buying a few supplements (its been months and I'm suffering withdrawal)...checking out the judgings for Ceramic DM....oh yeah and i guess there is the pesky *updating* thing.  Heehee.  Just kidding 

Stay tuned boys and girls. . .

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Oh yeah...there's also a package of cookies I have to mail out


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey Into Darkness Continued*

The cool pulse of divine energy flooded through Cassock's veins.  His arms tingled with the harnessed power and the sensation snaked from his shoulder down through his fingertips.  The surge leapt between his outstretched hands and the body of the unconscious child.  The tide ebbed, waxed, then waned and they awaited the youth to awaken.  Cassock fatefully glimpsed down, noting a line of blood stretching past the edge of youth's clothing.  He carefully pulled the rough leather aside.  Carved into the child's chest, the symbol of Cael rested.  The youth's eyes snapped open.  Their pitch hue filled with fear as he recoiled, slamming bodily into a tree.

"We're not going to hurt you," the priest began.  In his most comforting tone he added, "We just want to ask you a few questions."  The youth seemed to relax a bit and tried to adjust but his hands were still bound tightly behind his back.

"Can you untie me?"

"Once are questioning is over."

"Do it now.  As a showing of trust?"  The youth bent over and stretched his hands outward, away from his spine.

"I cannot.  It would not be prudent.  You may be a powerful wizard," the priest set the recovered items near the boy's face.  "I would not wish to endanger my friends.  And I have no need to slay you, yet.  Answer the questions and we will decide whether or not you can be trusted.  If you can be trusted, we'll untie you."

The black haired youth smirked and sat back down. 

"Are you a worshipper of Cael, child?"

The youth snickered.  "Of course not.  Why?!"

"You have His holy symbol carved into your chest, even if it is somewhat flawed."

"That would explain. . ."

"Explain what?"  The youth glanced away into the forest, denying an answer.

"What is your name, child?"

"I am Spinum Machaera and I am no child."

"Very well.  Why did the druid take you prisoner?"

"He claimed I had violated the rules of his forest."  Bitterness touched with anger hung heavily upon the words.

"Did you?"  Cassock sat back, trying to read Spinum's face for lies and deception.

"I violated no rules.  I was fleeing for my life when he caught me and beat me.  When I awoke, he told me I would be sacrificed to the forest to right my wrongs.  *Can you cut these damnable bonds now?*"

"In time.  What were you fleeing from?"

"Probably that which had truly violated the forest...the Inquisition."  

Cassock snapped upward, drawing his mace.  "The Inquisition?"

"Yes, they came upon my family and I.  Thankfully, I was a safe distance away and in the cover of the forest.  I could only watch helplessly as they killed my father and brother."  Spinum struggled to scratch an unreachable itch.  Cassock leaned in, slitting the bonds, gifting the mage with freedom.  "Thank you."

"Which way was the Inquisition heading?"

"If they were following the road, it would've taken them to some small town...Green HIlls or some such.  I do not know for sure.  We were heading toward Aedil."  

"Why?"

"My father and brother are...were holy warriors of Myr.  They thought Aedil would be the safest place for our futures."

"And are you trained in combat?"

"I have some training but I was never the match of even my brother.  My power, as you suspect, is not one learned by swinging a shard of metal at another man's face.  It comes within.  It is true power."

The priest grabbed the halberd and spellbook shoved them into the youths hands.  "You will travel with us to the Town of Green Hills.  Try to run and I will kill you.  There, we will set things right.  You can have your vengeance on the Inquisitors."

Spinum grimaced and shuddered.  The young mage had no desire to face whatever it was he had seen.  But fearing death at the hands of his new captors, he slunk to the floor to prepare a few spells.

"We're leaving in twenty!"  The priest shouted.  "Get your gear together!"

"Why?  What's happened?" Ana questioned.  

"Inquisitors were spotted heading in the direction of your Town, Lady.  It is not a good sign."

Before the last word had fully formed, Ana had vanished past the edge of the clearing, heading home.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Oh yeah...there's also a package of cookies I have to mail out




Wahoo!!  I'm glad that you can get to this with all the other things that you've crammed into your schedule this weekend.  

Great update, btw.  I can feel the tension building.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> "Inquisitors were spotted heading in the direction of your Town, Lady. It is not a good sign."




It never is. Y'know someone ought to do a setting where the Inquisition are the good guys. I mean what's actually wrong with rooting out heretics using violence and torture.


----------



## Funeris

Hehe...well I'm of the mine (personally) that the _Ara'Kull Inquisitors_ can be the good guys.  I mean, they kill off unpredictable races like the Elves and halflings and gnomes...they kill of stubborn races like the dwarves.  Plus, they eliminate thieves and criminals (when not slaughtering people of other religions).  They even kill orcs, trolls and goblins (if it comes to that...remember that each of those races have their own territories within the Empire). 

Their main task though is to root out insurgents.  Such as those of other religions, trying to force a different way of life onto people (i.e. Cassock of Cael).  They are law-bringers and while their tactics may seem cruel and unusual (on occasion) they do keep true to their faith and occupation, allowing the good people of Norum da Salaex to grow up under the safety of one unified religion and one set of unified laws.

Nothing bad about that, right? 

Of course, I am of the mindset that Good and Evil are nothing more than individual interpretations of actions and values.  Cassock would call the church of Ara'kull (and its rabid...er...devout (I meant) followers) Evil for using their overbearing methods and cruel methods.  And yet, he struck down a Goblin that was trying to give him a wand of cure light wounds without so much as a second thought or question.  Same method, but his interpretation (rationalization, really  ) says that when he does it, its right and when they do it, its wrong.  That's not the last time you see Cassock use those tactics.  He slaughters a priest (with the help of the group) that actually refuses to fight him, throws his hands up, and falls to the ground in a prone position to try to avoid combat.  It does that priest of Ara'kull no good...his life ends.

But now I get ahead of myself and we'll get to that point eventually.  In our friday game I threw a Good (read as what the general masses define as good i.e. no torture, wants equality, whole-hearted disney-esque goodness.) priest of Ara'kull at them.  Hehe...I could've sworn I saw Yeti's eye twitch in anger.  Actually, several of my players gave me the finger that night for what I did to them.  More on that later, though.

I love DM-ing.


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Good Disney - My @ss*

If it weren't for two Story Hour spoiling fact, I would have killed that priest(ess) where he/she stood.

Grumble Grumble Grumble


----------



## Funeris

hahahaha.  <Insert 10 minute long evil DM laugh here>

I love you too, Yeti


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Grumble Grumble*

And your lucky my wife was there too.
Or I would have beat you after the game session.


Ok yes, Cassock will seem very 'evil' at times.
But he does believe it is for the greater good.

Think about it folks, 
Goblin, shouting strange words at you, you have been attacked at every turn.  He has a Wand.... What would you do?
Priest of Ara-Kull, he already tried to kill you through Posion.  The town taken over by his troops.  The Mayor killed.  I see it as justice done.  But in Hindsight, I should have took his head with me.  Speak with dead is useful.

O and we need to find a better Chineese place.


----------



## Funeris

Yeti said:
			
		

> And your lucky my wife was there too.  Or I would have beat you after the game session.




Bring it ON!!!!  

Now...the Goblin you can rationalize perfectly fine within the context of In-Character Knowledge.  Yes, he was waving a wand.  And although it may have been a cure light wand, I would've interpreted that as a threat as well.  I was just seeing if we had any pacifists or thinkers in our group to actually stop and ask them a question.  After all, how many of you speak Goblin?  Quite a few in reality.

As for the Priest, the attempted poisoning was strictly Out of Character Knowledge...so while you can claim out of Character that he needed to pay for his sins (as it were...hehe) you cannot claim that in character.  No one drank from those vials and they were destroyed.  And never, in character, did I say that the shattered vials singed and killed the grass.  You know that's just an embellishment.  Furthermore, you don't really know if one of the vials was poison, or not.  For all you know, that could just be an addition to jazz up the Story Hour.  

I think, since we're using a lot of Out-of-character knowledge though, it should be stated that the priest in question, Tobus Matlick, had two domains at his command.  #1 was Protection.  #2 was Healing.  (I have the pdfs at work if anyone doubts my word  ).  So, you be the judge of what that means.



			
				Yeti said:
			
		

> O and we need to find a better Chinese place.



Agreed.  Cat said the same thing after everyone left.  We will switch to China King next time everyone wants some "Asian".


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Quite a few in reality.



Ok who speaks f'ing goblin.  I might have held the mace on that one.



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> As for the Priest, the attempted poisoning was strictly Out of Character Knowledge...so while you can claim out of Character that he needed to pay for his sins (as it were...hehe) you cannot claim that in character.  No one drank from those vials and they were destroyed.  And never, in character, did I say that the shattered vials singed and killed the grass.  You know that's just an embellishment.  Furthermore, you don't really know if one of the vials was poison, or not.  For all you know, that could just be an addition to jazz up the Story Hour.



I killed him before you got to the potion portion of the SH.



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> I think, since we're using a lot of Out-of-character knowledge though, it should be stated that the priest in question, Tobus Matlick, had two domains at his command.  #1 was Protection.  #2 was Healing.  (I have the pdfs at work if anyone doubts my word  ).  So, you be the judge of what that means.



I knew not of his domains, even at the time of his demise.  Either In or Out.
What I did know was the souls of the dead being ripped away and not proceeding to the afterlife as they should.




			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> Agreed.  Cat said the same thing after everyone left.  We will switch to China King next time everyone wants some "Asian".



Ok cool.
Though I do eat Chineese every Wednesday anyways.  That's what the other group devours, or Indian.  

------------------------------
And yes I did enjoy the straight Role-playing of Friday.  
There were a couple of points I did have to shut my mouth though.  Because, prior character knowledge, would have been handy, but that knowledge was no longer with Cassock.  If Funeris wants to explain that cryptic explanation he can.  But he hasn't reached the point of the SH where even that explanation would make sense.
So I guess he needs to UPDATE.


----------



## Funeris

Ok...I'm going to try to give you a string of updates tonight (cuz I'm cool like that).  The intent is to finish the battle that everyone should be expecting...and thereby finish the chapter.  At the end of the updates/chapter I'll attach a map of the area they battled at.  It's hand-drawn then photographed with a cheap digital camera...so you'll forgive any distortion (I hope).



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued (Concluded)*

Tobus Matlick shifted uncomfortably near the tree.  The powerful ring on his right hand hid his form from those he had been sent to watch.  He worried desperately about the outcome that would occur soon.  Already, the priest had waited hours for the return of the ‘heroes’.  They should have returned by now.

And yet, that was probably the most comforting of thoughts.  Perhaps Fate or the Will of Ara’kull had already eliminated the problem.  If this was the case, then the outcome of events could only be positive for the cleric.  Deep down, however, Tobus knew that the Ara’kull would not prevent the judging.  End-bringer’s tone had confirmed that fact.  Tobus felt his life and hope wither.

A short distance ahead, Leiban Malabrandt crouched near the stream.  The Captain was obsessed with examining his own reflection in the quick moving water.  A rogue had applied a decent amount of make-up to have the Captain appear beat and bloodied.  Hopefully, the lure would bring the ‘heroes’ across the bridge and into the waiting arms of six Inquisitorial guards.  

Perched a bit farther from the melee waited the ‘Elven’ ranger Thorne.  Of course, Thorne was not truly Elven but a human mercenary with a bit of magic about him and an intense love of torture and murder.  He had been employed by the priest in the past, albeit only a few times, but had not once failed.  If the battle were to occur as planned, his services may not be needed.  But in the event of the ‘heroes’ realizing their peril, Thorne would shoot to kill.  The Master of the Forest’s presence gave Tobus a little hope.

The priest’s eyes shifted again, focusing upon the six plate maille clad guards.  Their armor, painted black, aided the camouflage that the high bushes eagerly applied.  The men had not budged since their positioning behind the shrubbery nearly six hours prior.  Tobus wondered if they were actually men.  He had never seen their livery removed and so perhaps they were something closer to the demon End-bringer.

Tobus shuddered.  He refocused his eyes past the hopefully-able Captain and focused upon the edge of the forest.

Not more than three paces behind the priest, End-bringer waited as patiently as he could.  The disquieting vibrations of the enemies of Ara’kull grew ever closer within its senses.  Their number had increased by two it seemed, since beginning their travels.  Not a good sign for the priest Matlick.  The demon had to quiet his laughing or risk revealing himself.

Inside the cloak of pure shadow it wore, the vicious chains hungered for fresh blood.  They slithered silent, snakily around his torso, their three-pronged ends, razor-sharp like teeth, snapped soundlessly together.  Its body trembled for a moment, the energy of a forthcoming battle dancing across its rotting limbs and chains.  The chains stopped their complaining just as the first of the ‘heroes’ burst forth from the dark wood.

--o--o--


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Wow!  I can't wait to read how the battle goes.  Things do not look good for our heros.

By the way...Funeris, you are cool like that.


----------



## Funeris

hehe.  Thanks.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued (Concluded)*

Ana was the first out of the forest, Aramil following with Ariel attached to his leg still.  Bringing up the rear Cassock, Spinum, and Gabrielle watched behind, fearing attack.  Their heads turned round prevented them from noticing the head of the train stop suddenly.  With various grunts, the party slammed into itself and somehow managed to keep atop their feet.

Leiban Malabrandt, glanced up from the edge of the small stream.  He stood, carefully as though his body was racked with pain.  His right eye was swollen, nearly closed and a large laceration stretched down the left half of his face.  The Captain made an attempt to cross the bridge but doubled over in pain.

“I don’t trust that,” mumbled Spinum to no one in particular.  Still, Cassock rested a hand upon the haft of his war-mace.

“Leiban, what happened!?” Lady Ana shouted.  

“Inquisitors,” the glorified guard stuttered, apparently his teeth had been shattered as well, “Attacked the town.  Killed Mayor Rowen.  They took control.”

“That settles it for me,” Cassock steeled his body as he withdrew the weapon.  “I hope you prepared some fun spells, mage,” he hissed before returning his attention to the Captain.  “*Where are they?!  I will show them how a true God deals justice.*”  The cleric stalked forward and a small hand snatched out to grasp him.  The priest turned to Ariel who stared fearfully upward.

“He is wearing makeup.  It is a deception,” the child hissed. [1]

“He must be working with the Inquisition,” agreed Spinum.  “They do not let their foes escape alive.”  The necromancer shivered in horrid recollection.

“*LIAR!!!*”  Cassock of Cael raised the bloodied mace and stalked across the bridge.  Leiban stumbled backward in a rush, accidentally brushing a bit of the makeup off.  “*I will send you to meet my maker!!!*”

“_Leiban!  What have you done!_”  Screeched Ana.  Her bow had risen with an arrow nocked upon its string.

“Lady Ana, do not be a fool,” stated the Captain as calmly as he could manage.  “Turn from these heretics; they will only condemn you to a torturous fate.  You can be free.  These heathens cannot mean that much to you.”  The words continued to flow; Leiban continued to step cautiously back.  “What I have done is restored law to our Town.  Your…I mean Mayor Rowen was nothing but a conspirator against the King.  He violated every one of our Lord’s mandates.  

“But you need not fear, dear Lady.  You can rule beside me.”

“_Treacherous knave!_”  Ana shrieked again, letting the arrow fly.  In her rage, the shot missed and skittered harmlessly across the path in the distance.  Cassock chose the moment to charge the Captain war-mace raised and stumbled to a stop as a yelp exploded from the rear.

Gabrielle crouched upon the earth, an arrow splitting her hand in twain.  Blood dripped caustically upon the green grass.  Cassock’s head pivoted back to his target.  Six black-clad Inquisitors now blocked his intended target.  Observing the steep slope of the bank and realizing the warriors would be hard pressed to cross except at the bridge, the cleric backed away.  

Another arrow whined shrilly through the air, embedding itself in Aramil’s neck.  The rogue dropped to the ground, moaning in agony.

--oo—oo—

Tobus chuckled quietly.  The whole affair had not started too badly.  Perhaps everything would work out for the cleric.

--oo—oo—


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued (Concluded)*

“*Accendo Sphaera!!*”  The arcane incantation rolled happily off Spinum’s lips.  Fire exploded outward creating an orb of heat and destruction.  With a gesture, Spinum commanded the fiery orb to spin across the earth.  The sphere scorched the grass as it tore toward the tree from which arrows were flying.

Another arrow escaped as the orb crashed into the tree.  The metal-tipped shaft plunged through Gabrielle’s bosom.  The small halfling crumpled backward onto the ground.  She ripped the first arrow from her palm and grasped feebly at the second.  Spittle and blood fell like rain from her mouth as she yanked.

Cassock hefted the war-mace, blocking a glancing blow from the first Inquisitor.  The priest shifted his block, bringing the metal back across his opponent.  A solid crunch sounded as the Inquisitor’s knee shattered.  Cassock grinned.

Thorne screamed as the flames climbed steadily up the side of the tree.  He gritted his teeth and took his only option out.  The ranger leaped.  For an eternity he seemed to float above the licking flames before gravity kicked back in wrenching the ranger downward into the ground.  His knees cracked and buckled under the pressure as he front rolled and came up into a run.  The woodsman nocked another arrow and let the shaft soar.  The projectile bit into Spinum’s arm causing the mage to curse and momentarily loose control of the fiery orb.

It only took half a second for Spinum to redirect the orb toward his ranged attacker.  The fire skirted across the earth, chasing Thorne.

Ana released another arrow at Leiban.  Despite the armed cover afforded the Captain, her arrow found purchase.  The metal dug painfully through a joint in Leiban’s armor just between his ribs. He coughed blood tinged phlegm as he drew his own greatsword.

Aramil stood awkwardly, his wounds painfully tingling.  The rogue drew his bow, unleashing a torrent of arrows toward the fast-moving ranger.  To the rear of the darting target, the tree with its camouflaged perched crumpled and crashed still aflame.  Aramil’s arrows pierced the ranger, slowing his progress across the sparse woods.  The ball of flame bowled into the ranger, pressing his body to the ground.  Shrieking escaped the flickering sound of the fire as Thorne burnt alive.

Spinum laughed wickedly as he redirected the orb again.  It bowled through a few of the Inquisitors, heating their armor and forcing hoarse screams from the black masks.  The smell of roasted flesh quickly filled the battlefield.  Leiban yelped as the fire engulfed his body.

--oo—oo—

The priest of Ara’kull hissed in rage.  He reached for his God’s divine power, reached for some way to retrieve the victory he had foreseen. 

Suddenly a writhing mass of something ensnared Tobus.  He fought against the force but couldn’t slip from the constriction.  A cold metallic tang filled his mouth as one of the bonds gagged him.  He could feel something painful shred through the tough muscle of his tongue and the priest vomited.  With nowhere to go, the vomit returned to the pit of his stomach along with a gush of warm blood.

“*No, no, no.*”  End-bringer whispered from behind.  “*You will not interfere.  If you are meant to fail, you will.*”  The cold voice terrified the priest and he struggled vainly against the invisible chains.  “*And when you fail, you will pay.*”

--oo--oo--


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued (Concluded)*

The Inquisitor charged across the bridge slamming into Cassock of Cael.  The Priest of Death stumbled backward and shifted his weight, spinning to the right along with the heavily armored warrior.  Stumbling down the bank, the Inquisitor flipped and rolled, colliding with the river.  There he lay, disarmed and on his back, arms flailing uselessly against the air.

Cassock stood, grasping the next Inquisitor with his bare hand, divine energy exploded outward before withdrawing back into the priest along with the Inquisitors life-energy.  The soldier collapsed, lifeless.  Cassock grinned haughtily before realizing the damage was already done.  Being forced away from the bridge had allowed the group of Inquisitors to the other side.  Now they swarmed about like angry wasps, their bastard swords the equivalent of painful stingers.  Gritting his teeth, Cassock dove back into battle.

The flaming orb dissipated; the spell had run its course.  Leiban stood, his flesh charred and smoking, grimacing as the parched skin split open and bled.  He hefted his blade again and dropped it just as quickly.  Another of Ana’s arrows sprouted from his chest.  A slick line of vitae slid down his chin.  Shaking, Leiban lifted the sword again, a third arrow lodged in his body.  With a wobble, he fell, swallowed by death.

Ana shouted with glee and momentarily forgot the unstoppable tide of battle ebbing toward her.  A bastard sword reminded her and re-educated the rogue.  It dug voraciously into her hip, lifting the light rogue into the air and dropping her some feet away.  Her head struggled upward; her hand struggled for her sword.  Spinum leapt in between the two projecting another rush of fire.  The fire singed but did not stop the war tank.  Its sword split the mage’s abdomen, cleaving through stomach and intestine.  Spinum slumped.

Gabrielle loosed another wooden projectile.  It clattered harmlessly off the armor of the tank ahead of her.  She scrambled backward, but not enough to escape the bite of the very solid blade.  Arching backward unnaturally, her body fell to the earth.  A thick line of blood congealed across her chest and she squirmed farther away, the black, dealer of death closing.  She grasped helplessly at her dagger, unable to unsheathe it as another blow arced inward.

Aramil’s blade blocked the attack, his arm nearly numbing from the force of the blow.  He pressed in to force the Inquisitor back but the war tank would not move.  Rather, it unleashed a flurry of attacks that decimated the roguish half-elf’s defense and his body.  The rogue was forced to duck the final swing, falling to the side.  A spray of blood blinded the half-elf.  Within the crimson darkness, he heard Gabrielle scream.

Cassock darted in between the two Inquisitors focusing upon him.  Even with his combat training, Cassock was pressed to block both skilled warriors.  Their blades struck true more often than his war-mace.  Besides that painful fact, each warrior had a solid steel shield which prevented most of the priest’s attacks.  There were two of them, both well-trained in tactical combat and now, Cassock was beginning to tire.  The priest bellowed in rage as another sword shredded through his chain maille and his skin.

Ana slammed bodily into the Inquisitor, the war tank, pressing him away from the mage.  She maniacally swung her blade, landing a minor scrape before feeling Ara’kull’s retribution.

Spinum grabbed the moment, scrabbling away from the battle, his intestines cupped tightly by his hand.  He slowed to a stop by the frail form of Ariel.  The child stood at the edge of the forest, dagger clutched in her hand and wavering.  The mage thought momentarily about fleeing into the woods, this was not his battle at any rate.  But the quivering child slowed his feet to a standstill.  The mage turned back toward the battle and ran through his mind for some miracle, some tide-turning tactic.

Aramil wiped the crimson fluid from his eyes.  A quick glance alerted him to Gabrielle’s unconsciousness.  The halfling lied unnaturally on the ground, a gaping wound like a hinge in her throat.  The rogue glanced toward the priest.  Cassock was on the end of a losing battle against three powerful opponents.  And without the priest, Gabrielle would die.  Aramil stood, blade drawn and charged the ring of warriors around the priest.  

From the stream, the downed Inquisitor finally managed to roll over.  He stood, wobbly, and scrambled up the bank.  Three of his companions were battling the Priest of Cael.  One lie dead near the bridge and the last was overpowering the human woman.  The Inquisitor beamed, it was a good day to kill.  He stalked toward the half-elf, as quietly as his armor allowed.

In the center of the triangle of warriors, Cassock dropped to his knees.  The cleric’s divine assistance was exhausted for a day.  His bones, his muscles were also spent.  He wished for quiet.  He wished for peace.  Cassock wished for darkness.  Above his head, whirling blades of tyranny moved ever closer, searching for a kill.

--oo—oo—

*“Arakull may yet bless you this day, Tobus.”*  End-bringer had not released his grip upon the cleric; had actually intensified the grip.  One of the invisible chains had squirmed farther down Tobus’ throat nearly cutting off the flow of air.  Instead, the chain burrowed deeper within the cleric if he fought back.  It allowed air to pass, if a bit painfully.

Tobus tried to answer and a spasm blood poured from his mouth.   Pain exploded across his nerves; the chain dug deeper.  He slumped backward, all the fight leaving him.  Unconscious coalesced on the edges of his vision, refusing to take the priest until after the battle.

Somewhere, a rasping laugh echoed in his mind; End-bringer’s malicious glee.

--oo—oo--


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Concluded*

Cassock watched the blades coming in for their final blows.  Across a vast perceptional distance, he saw a tiny blade hacking at the backs of the giant monsters; the rogue’s futile attempts.  The monsters, war tanks, were bringing death toward the priest like a meal on a platter of gleaming, sharp steel.  Quiet, peace, and darkness sat calmly beside Death.  Each stared longingly at the priest.  The priest stared longingly at each.

_But death is the realm of your God.  Where is your faith?_  The words were whispered by the wind in a reproachful tone.  _Darkness is also your God’s realm.  Have you forgotten your faith, priest_?

The harsh words struck Cassock in the face; opening the sealed chest within his body, unleashing his rage.  Cassock of Cael stood, feeling divine energy surge through his physical shell along with his angst-filled bellow.  A shadow of pitch stretched outward, engulfing the attackers, engulfing Aramil [2].  Perfect, absolute darkness swirled around the priest and he watched the wicked blades falter.  By mere millimeters, the blades missed. 

Cassock’s vision was clear as the Inquisitors stumbled and flailed aimlessly.  The warmace lifted and snapped out, shattering one of the Inquisitor’s masks; shattering the skull behind.  The body plummeted to the earth with a clank.  The war tank to the left leapt at the noise, missing the priest, and slammed into its companion.  Aramil also flailed about wildly, blind in the darkness.

The Inquisitor from the stream watched the shadow expand.  Thankfully, he was on the edges and just outside its purview.  His courage faltered for a moment.  His eyes fell to the halfling bleeding to death upon the ground.  “If my life is for naught, at least I’ll take one with me.”  The war tank knelt over Gabrielle and drew his blade carefully.  He rested it against the halfling’s neck.  “If I die before I wake; I’ll pray the lord my soul to take.”  With surgical precision, the Inquisitor removed the halfling’s head [3].  He stood and threw the detached skull into the stream to rot.  Steeling his courage, he leapt into the shadows.

Ana stumbled backward, gripping her blood life like a pile sand.  And like sand, it flowed eagerly through her hands.  Then, the orb of darkness filled her view.  Her mouth hung agape wondering if her mind was hallucinating.  The Inquisitor prepared to finish her off as Spinum plowed into the war tank.  The spellcaster’s halberd sliced between the chinks of armor and forced the Inquisitor away from his victim. [4]  

Cassock smashed the larynx of one of the fallen Inquisitors within the shadow of darkness.  He stepped easily away, allowing the other to pummel his fallen foe.  Once the attacks stopped and the beast was standing, Cassock swung his war-mace in a low-to-high arc smashing the bastard’s chin upward.  A sickening crack and the war tank’s skull snapped backward, consciousness fleeing into eternal darkness.  

The priest stepped back, noting the new Inquisitor.  While blinded, the soldier made his way toward the sound of Aramil cleaving at empty air.  Cassock stepped behind the soldier and waited for its sword to lash out.  With a shattering blow, the Inquisitor’s plate maille caved in along with his spine.

Cassock turned his attention to the last of the Inquisitors, the one outside his shadow of darkness.  He charged at his full speed, war-mace positioned ahead like a battering ram.  The priest exited the area of shadow but the Inquisitor was distracted by the mage and his halberd.  Cassock’s war-mace leapt up and bit down.  The last of the dark-clad foes fell upon the field.

With a thought, Cassock dismissed the shadowy area, returning sight to the half-elf rogue.  Aramil stared at wonder amongst the fallen bodies, each dead from bashes.  He realized nothing he had done had helped.  Turning to his long, if somewhat annoying, friend he noted her headless body.  The rogue slumped to the ground, sobbing.

Cassock withdrew the wand acquired from the Goblins.  Carefully, he used a few charges to heal the rest.  He moved to offer the half-elf a few words of condolence.  The priest found none.  He could not lie.  And just as with all the prior deaths Cassock had recently observed, the black souls of the fallen twisted upward, begging help, before being snapped upward into the sky.  Instead the priest stated, “There was nothing you could do.  Get up.  Move on.”  With that, he quickly buried the halfling in a shallow grave.

Then, the ‘heroes’ robbed the bodies of all their gear.  Unable to carry it all, they crafted a make-shift sled to drag the haul.  Cassock used Leiban’s sword to carve the Inquisitor carcasses into bloody pieces.  Without a word, he reassembled them into the holy symbol for Cael.  

Without a further word, the party moved into the dark shadows of the forest.  Above, the sky tore open with a cacophonous boom; a maelstrom pounded against the earth as if Ara’kull’s displeasure had manifested in reality.[5]

--oo—oo—

*“Our Lord frowned upon you today, Tobus.  You have wasted the lives of six of my personal soldiers.  You now owe me a debt.”*  The chains retracted returning the priest his freedom.  Before they disappeared completely into the demon, the chains snapped off Tobus’ finger along with the ring of invisibility.  Priest Matlick could only whimper in pain as he was doubled over, spitting up a large amount of blood.

“*Your first task is to gather the body parts of the fallen.  Then, you are to drag them back to the town.  You will find me there.*”

“You are just going to let them escape!”  Tobus finally found his voice, his courage.

“*It is not your place to question me, failure.*” End-bringer ordered.  “*There is nowhere for them to head.  South is the King and our Lord.  East is the King’s great-great-great-great grand-nephew.*”

“What of north to Legend?  They could flee to Aedil.  I’m sure that would please our Lord, greatly.”  Sarcasm dripped from the words.  A chain lashed out of the now-visible High Inquisitor.  The metallic barbs tore and bruised the priest’s face.

“*They cannot head north, fool.  My Inquisitors and I destroyed the Bridge of Legends before we traveled to your pathetic village.  To cross the great chasm between Nordaa Saam and Legend would require ability they do not possess.  It would also require that they not be caught before that point.  They will head for the bridge.  Then they will be forced to backtrack and head west across this territory.  And then, north through Goblin country.  No, only death awaits them…in good time.  For now though, you have your tasks, SLAVE.*”  End-bringer vanished in a flourish, leaving the priest to his task.

Tobus grumbled as sheets of rain weighed down his robes and the corpses, making his task that much more impossible.  Ara’Kull definitely did not smile on Tobus that day.

--oo—oo—

End-bringer stood amongst the throng of people.  Around him was every surviving member of the village.  He had shifted his robes and mask with but a thought.  The livery, usually black as shadow, were a deep crimson.  The obsidian mask had lightened to a dull gray hue, its lips curled in a maliciously sweet grin, and its eyes, now open, a clear blue color.  Lying at his feet, the remains of Leiban, Thorne, and his six personal soldiers rested in pieces[6].  Behind him and against the keep crouched the priest Tobus.

“*I have a few words to speak.  First and foremost, all of the events that have led us to this day were set in motion by your priest, Tobus Matlick.*”  Tobus glared dully at End-bringer, his fury and will already nearly broken.  “*If you have any grievances, take them up with him.  But now, to more important matters.

“First and foremost, this town is now officially under the purview of the Royal Inquisitors.  For the moment, I am your ruler and my word is Law.  You will obey me.

“Next, as you can see, I have lost some Inquisitors.  I seek to replace them.  I need volunteers.*”  The demon paused for some moments but no one offered.  In rage, his robes and mask shifted to their true appearance.  “*VOLUNTEERS.  NOW*”  Again, naught but silence was his answer.

“*Very well, have it your way.*”  The chains snaked out from the robes, dashing madly through the crowd.  Before anyone could react, the chains grasped four infants and brought them to the forefront of the crowd.  “*No one?  What a shame.*”  The metallic chains swirled around the babes, shredding their bodies to nothing.  In a puff, the flesh became a pale crimson mist laced with fading infant screams.  

The crowd shouted and cried, an upset monster in its own right.  Mothers sobbed along with children, men stood dejectedly, aware of their own cowardly natures.  End-bringer, meanwhile, inwardly smiled wickedly at the faint, miniscule, black shadows that wrenched upward into the heavens.  _More fuel for the fire_, he thought.

“*Still no volunteers?  Fine.  KILL THEM ALL.*”  He turned his back on the crowd, stalking toward the dungeons when ten men leapt from the crowd.  

In unison they shouted, “WAIT!”

“*Volunteers?*” The demon queried.  Each man nodded sadly.  “*Good*.”  The chains whipped out yet again, impaling each man upon the barbed tips.  The slowly dying bodies twitched in agony as the demon dragged them toward the dungeon.

“What are you doing?” Tobus questioned.  “I thought you needed fresh soldiers?!”

Without pausing End-bringer replied, “*I think its time I upgraded.  Bring the other corpses.  And before you do, pour this into the well.  Oh and don’t you ever question me again, Slave, or it will be the last time*.”

Tobus glanced at the vial, recognizing the tell-tale signs of poison.  He watched the End-bringer stop at the western well, probably to foul that water as well.  _No rest for the wicked_, the priest thought.  He sullenly walked toward the other well.


----------



## Funeris

*Notes & Picture*

[1] – Okay, it was a difficult spot check, granted.  Somehow, the only one to make it was the 9 or 11 year old child they had been sent to save.  Some NPC with one commoner class makes a damn spot check.  Go figure.

[2] – Priests of the Kin Pantheon are gifted with special abilities.  Depending on their amount of clerical levels determines how many times a day they can use them.  If not for Cassock’s darkness, it would have been a TPK.  As it was though, Cassock managed to save the day…barely. 

Oh, and we play Darkness as per 3.0 not 3.5 when they made it pointless… 

[3] – Coup de mutha-f*ing grace, baby.  Unfortunately, Aramil’s and Gabrielle’s players were not present for this game.  So sad.  Still, what occurred was logical…so the death stood and a new character was drawn up.

[4] – Spinum only had one hit point by the end of this battle.  That’s one ballsy spellcaster.  (Must be because he was raised by paladins  )

[5] – I roll randomly for weather…didn’t use a program or anything.  Rolled randomly and got a massive awe-inspiring thunderstorm.  Obviously, it must’ve been Ara’Kull’s wrath 

Something I’d like you all to keep in mind:  The party was 2nd level nearing 3rd at this point (I believe).  Leiban Malabrandt was a 3rd or 4th level fighter.  Thorne was a 4th level Ranger.  The Inquisitors were 1st level Warriors multiclassed into 3rd Level Fighters….and there were six of ‘em.  Tobus was a 3rd or 4th level Cleric…I don’t remember which…and I’m not giving up End-bringer’s stats yet  

My players did a helluva job at surviving my wrath and plots this night.  I was…amazed.  I’m still amazed at their luck over this event.  This coulda broken ‘em…instead they continued on to annoy me  

Now, this officially ends chapter 2.  We’ll begin chapter 3…well….sometime :d
You know me, one week I update everyday, the next only once.  Eh.  

And attached below is the photo.  Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Hehe....*

Now you all know where 'The Darkness fell, and the screams ensued' came from.

One correction Funeris, Shannon & Boz were there for this battle, it was the rain battle in the woods, where your sister filled in that they weren't present.

If you look at Funeris map I'll give you how it shaped up.
To the top of the map is the Town of Green Hills, we were approaching from the woods at the bottom.
After are little girl, Commoner 1, that we rescued spotted the makeup, it was a classic skirmish control the bridge for us.
If i remember correctly, the bridge was only a foot bridge 5ft wide.  I decided to plant Cassock there, as he was the closest thing to a full on Fighter we had.  It really fustrated Funeris getting peppered with arrows while I held the bridge, then that Inquistor finally bull-rushed me as I took out his fellow.  That's when all hell broke loose on us.

I was running the battle for Spinum, I believe he was 4th level at the time (Right Funeris?).  As he couldn't hit the Inquistors in their Banded Mail easily, I decided he would take out the tree the archer (Thorn) was hiding in.  That tree went up like a match, between the Flaming Sphere and the tree being on fire I believe the archer lasted 2-3 rounds.

More notes on the Darkness, Priest/ess of Cael can see easily through their OWN darkness.  Even with Blindfight, they were at a serious disadvantage within.  A sneak Rogue would have been proud of Cassock's fluid movements within.  I would have killed for a sneak attack bonus to damage.  I think I walked away with about 8-10 Hit Points remaining, I know Spinum had only 1, Gab was Coup De Grace (worst part about it she had stabilized at -2 or so), Aramil was in single digits, Anna had only suffered a few hits.  Only the child escaped physically unscathed.  Most of the Inquistors' attacks fell on Cassock as he was an opponent worth dying for in Ara'Kull's name.

Now let us hope for more updates.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

That's a negative, old yeti   Shannon and Boz were not there for this battle (weather issues...this was last winter...yikes!).  And I only remember because the next time Shannon saw me, she took one look and said, "My character died, didn't she??"

Must've been the sadistic grin on my face...I dunno.

Spinum was a 5th level NPC, actually.  And the opportunity of utilizing his abilities was given to you specifically for this battle.  He was (and is) a Ftr-1/Wiz-4.

More updates?   Heh.  We'll see.  I'm waiting for the judgings (STILL!) for the Ceramic DM competition.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Well they say with age, you do lose your mind.
I remember the one because of the Inbound Snow at my place.

But now I do recall telling you as that Inquistor passed by Gab, "Would you really pass by a living halfling if you were him?"  And not getting slapped by Shannon when I said it.


----------



## Funeris

Hahaha.  There you go.

And you would have been slapped for that comment.  But have no fear, afterward, I did tell her it was your fault she died.  

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Great stuff, Funeris - although not so nice for your players.   

And I'm very glad to see you're trying to get your average back up, with four updates all at once.


----------



## TheYeti1775

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Great stuff, Funeris - although not so nice for your players.
> 
> And I'm very glad to see you're trying to get your average back up, with four updates all at once.




Not so nice for us, haha, you should have seen his face drop when I dropped the darkness.  All his planning for the TPK, and I foil it with a Darkness spell.  He forgot to give his guys Blindfight, I guess.

Now I did get a very very nice Greatsword off of Leiban's corpse.  Yes we looted the hell out of the bodies.  Dragging it with us, while not the smartest thing (tracking), it did serve a greater purpose.  It was going to help pay for a means of revenge (Anna - her hometown had just been sacked), hatred (Cassock's hatred of all things Ara'Kull), and more revenge (Amaril's vengence for the killing of Gaberial).  Spinum just wanted to escape, at least thats what he told us.  As for the child, she was still clinging to Amarmil (she had yet to learn of her relation to Anna, and Anna was still dealing with that as well)

It's Noon, where's the next update.
My eyes are already going buggy from freaking work and crunching year end numbers.
I need the break.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

EDIT:  Okay...well I looked it over, made a couple more changes...added page numbers (on the sun in the bottom right corner)...And I added bookmarks to it...so you can leap between the different character's sections.  

Oh yeah, I also decided to make it just one single column...so that those of us that read at work won't have to scroll back up....

Criticism on the layout is not only welcome, but appreciated.  

~Fune


----------



## Anti-Sean

Ok, End-Bringer is freaking cool. Where do I get me one of those?


----------



## Funeris

Well, Anti-Sean....you have to reach down deep within yourself and find the hidden beast that most 'normal' people hide.  Bring it to the surface and enjoy its ruthlessness (although I warn you...*Never in Public!!!*...that only leads to a trial, possibly followed by an execution depending upon the country/state you are in...).  Then you have to cater to its every whim.  Allow it to roam, merciless upon the denizens of your *imaginary* world...again, I stress imaginary...you don't want this sucker in reality.

Place it in a locale where your characters may come in contact with it...even if it is dozens of CRs above said characters...don't worry, death is natural and life is fleeting.  Then have fun!  

Of course, if your players ignore it, then let it still have fun in their absence and plot their demise.  That is what it is best at.

Conversely, I could email you the stat block 

~Fune


----------



## Anti-Sean

Funeris said:
			
		

> Conversely, I could email you the stat block




Hmmm, I dunno... I might not be able to resist the temptation to offer the stat block up to your players in return for some of the D&D miniatures I'm still missing. I wonder if it'd be worth a Harbinger Wraith or Displacer Beast to them?


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Well, Anti-Sean....you have to reach down deep within yourself and find the hidden beast that most 'normal' people hide.  Bring it to the surface and enjoy its ruthlessness (although I warn you...*Never in Public!!!*...that only leads to a trial, possibly followed by an execution depending upon the country/state you are in...).  Then you have to cater to its every whim.  Allow it to roam, merciless upon the denizens of your *imaginary* world...again, I stress imaginary...you don't want this sucker in reality.
> 
> Place it in a locale where your characters may come in contact with it...even if it is dozens of CRs above said characters...don't worry, death is natural and life is fleeting.  Then have fun!
> 
> Of course, if your players ignore it, then let it still have fun in their absence and plot their demise.  That is what it is best at.
> 
> Conversely, I could email you the stat block
> 
> ~Fune



O Email me the stat block.  hehe


----------



## Funeris

In your dreams you overgrown hairy ape


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Great updates, Funeris!  It looks like your players had luck on their side in that battle.  The odds were definitely stacked against them in that one.

It looks like congratulations to your players are in order...so congrats, Yeti and others!


----------



## Funeris

Anti-Sean said:
			
		

> Hmmm, I dunno... I might not be able to resist the temptation to offer the stat block up to your players in return for some of the D&D miniatures I'm still missing. I wonder if it'd be worth a Harbinger Wraith or Displacer Beast to them?




Ha.  That's pretty funny.  See the thing is....that no one aside from myself has a bunch of miniatures.  Yeti has a few...but definitely not the ones you want/need.






			
				OaxacanWarrior said:
			
		

> It looks like congratulations to your players are in order...so congrats, Yeti and others!




Definitely....on both counts.  I did stack the odds against them (I wouldn't get my jollies any other way...and the fact that Yeti was pulling his hair out by the handful before the tide turned was well worth it, IMO).  And yes praise is in order.  They survived.  And sad to say, although I tried...after that event they weren't quite so afraid of battle anymore.

Of course, I haven't really thrown another Inquisition party at them.

*YET*


----------



## Anti-Sean

Funeris said:
			
		

> Ha.  That's pretty funny.  See the thing is....that no one aside from myself has a bunch of miniatures.  Yeti has a few...but definitely not the ones you want/need.




Curses! Foiled again! *twirls waxed moustache*

They'd better start buying some and send them to me, then! Of course, since I'll hopefully start DMing a campaign soon, I'll send them a stat block that *looks* plausible enough, but actually leaves them completely unprepared to face End-bringer. And thus, my DM training shall be complete!  *cackles with glee*


----------



## Funeris

Anti-Sean, welcome to the RBDM club.


----------



## Funeris

Well, just wanted to keep you all alerted.  I uploaded a new version of the Preludes and Interlude .pdf (after Yeti's incessant editorial breakdown of the original....who knew a number cruncher could be so demanding about the way a file is edited and laid out??  ).  So, there it is, in the 1st post of this page, finally complete.  I will be moving on to crafting the first two chapters in its likeness over the next few weeks.  And hopefully, will get around to some updates...maybe this weekend.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Well, just wanted to keep you all alerted.  I uploaded a new version of the Preludes and Interlude .pdf (after Yeti's incessant editorial breakdown of the original....who knew a number cruncher could be so demanding about the way a file is edited and laid out??  ).  So, there it is, in the 1st post of this page, finally complete.  I will be moving on to crafting the first two chapters in its likeness over the next few weeks.  And hopefully, will get around to some updates...maybe this weekend.
> 
> ~Fune




Layout means everything to us mainframe programmers.


----------



## brellin

Holy crap this story is cool I can't grasp that it took me so long to get around to reading it


----------



## Funeris

Welcome Brellin,

_and now my subtle plot to lead you from Spider J's thread to my own has come to fruition_ 

Did I say that out loud?  

I'm glad you are enjoying.  I love love love praise.  And don't worry about being a little late...I like to stretch everything out.  As it stands....Chapter 3 begins with a session we had last December or January, I believe.  Either way, its been awhile...and there is sooooooo much more to come 

Glad to have you on board.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

December right before the pre-Christmas snow, is the start of of Chapter 3.

So yes you have lots and lots of typing to catch up to current.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 1 - Converted to PDF*

Chapter one has been converted to PDF.  Enjoy.
(Oh, and eventually...I'll move all these to the front page...I just figured for now, I'll slap 'em here).

~Fune

*EDIT: So...I just copy and pasted my entire Second chapter into word...to maybe start some editing if I can fit it in today.  I wound up with 59 pages!  59!!! That's 24,827 words in one chapter....FRIKKIN CRAZY!  Okay...so that's only about 6,000 words more than the Preludes & Interlude chapter along with Chapter One.  But think about it...if I were earning a nickle for every word, that'd be $1,241.35 in my pocket (not including the two chapters prior).  That's just crazy.     

Of course, once I edit it...I'll cut out some words & notes...but still...jeez.  I'll try to keep it as a single chapter...if it's too large...I might break it into 2 (i.e. Journey to Temple, Return to Town..except with cooler Titles  )

One last thing, these pdfs, aren't necessarily approved by Eric's grandmother.  I sorta..hmm..replaced some of the foul language I cut out....So, if you're a child I suggest you don't download it.  (My mom was a sailor   ) *


----------



## Funeris

Heh, I told you I'd get around to updating again this weekend.  Well, here it is.
We're moving into chapter 3 and rather than "getting on with it", I'm going to divert from the main story again.  This chapter will be a bunch of interludes...strung together...to help introduce another eventual PC (if you've download the Preludes and Interludes .pdf...you may recognize the character) as well as a bit else that is occuring within the world (without spoiling too much for my characters...hopefully....not that they could do anything about it right now  )

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 3: Interludes & Nocturne*

*PART 1: THE GRIM HAND*

_Nearly fifty years prior. . ._

     Lieutenant Rhynos Medizen stormed out of his tent.  The young officer barged through his soldiers, his black robe flapping open shamelessly revealing his pale body beneath.  His hair, short and black was more mangled than typical and a fire of hate burned behind his eyes.  In his hand, the soldier carried the burned husk of a viper.

     Medizen’s troops grimaced in fear; many raised their hands as if to shield their bodies from another beating.  The platoon, a mismatched grouping of goblinoids and half-orcs, quickly pulled into a fragile quiet for the Lieutenant.  Most wore the hard-earned scars from countless battles.

     Rhynos lifted his right hand into the air, motioning for the silence that already had fallen across the camp.  Both moons were fully ripe in the dark summer sky; their light fell into the opening among the trees.  A jagged campfire combated the moons’ illumination, twisting the Lieutenant’s face into warped caricatures of monstrosity.  

     With a sharp movement, the officer tossed the viper corpse at his underlings.  Ten forms darted backward from the dead beast, knocking over others planted to the ground behind.  Commotion echoed within the clearing and through the forest.  In response, a hundred other surrounding encampments doused their fires.

     The fearful soldiers stopped a few paces from the snake, a minor amount of discipline holding them to their spots.  The soldiers knocked over and trampled remained with their faces to the ground, unwilling to move and draw any unneeded attention.  

     “You do realize why I have interrupted your reverie, do you not?”  Rhynos’ voice was sickly sweet and layered with resentment.  The Lieutenant did not cover his feelings of contempt toward the sub-human troops.  Often, he would talk down to them as if they were children.  

     “No.  Of course you do not, for none of you have what I have:  Intelligence or a cognitive process of at least moderate range.  I am no fool.  Yet all of you are.  That is why you are under my command.  Understand?”  Before the troops could even move, the officer continued, “So, I am interrupting your gathering, your respite from this secret war because once again, someone has attempted to take my life.  I found that viper in my tent, more specifically in my bed.

     “Luckily enough, I was not attempting to sleep when that critter decided to attack.  So, what I need from you is simple.  Which one of you traitorous beasts tried to kill me?  Answer quickly and save yourselves from a lot of pain.  I will offer a swift execution for this paltry transgression.”  Rhynos ended his speech, crossing his arms.

     Silent moments crawled by with no admittance.

     A half-orc raised his hand slowly.  The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed along with his cruel lips.  “It was you?!” he demanded.

     “Nah, Sur.”  The voice was guttural, the words nearly intelligible.  Rhynos’ eyes flashed with rage forcing the half-orc to bow his head.  “Jus’ tot ‘he snake ‘ould ‘ave ss…sss…slithered inte’ your tent.  Is snake country.”  Rhynos’ arms shot upward, hands carving like talons prepared to shred prey.  

     “I’m sorry, you thought?” the officer mocked.  “I don’t think you did.  Yes, it is snake country, congratulations for making a plain observation.  The snake didn’t just s..s..slither its little self into my bed, fool.  Who are you covering for?”

     The half-orc’s head shot upward, fear beading upon his brow.  His mouth agape, he knew what would happen.  Before he could respond, a crackling energy danced across the Lieutenant’s hands and leapt outward.  The bolt of energy slammed into the soldier’s face, shredding flesh and bone.  The disfigured, nearly headless corpse crumpled, knocking more soldiers to the ground.

     “Anyone else with any bright ideas?”  Rhynos’ lips twitched into a cruel snarl.  “No takers?”  The warlock unleashed more blasts of energy, slaughter four more warriors.  From the other campsites, hushed watchers noted the green flashes and cowered, thanking Ara’kull for not being within that Lieutenant’s command.

     More minutes of silence passed, Rhynos’ caught his breath and channeling his rage into an impressive light display.  Emerald arcs of energy danced back and forth across his fingers and between his hands.  He harnessed the energy, drawing it along his arms and toward his chest.  There, the energy compacted into a small sphere of energy and dissipated harmlessly.

     “*Sergeant!*”  A human in heavy armor dashed toward the Lieutenant, saluting briefly and awaiting his orders.  Rhynos glared at the cattle and shouted, “*If I cannot punish the perpetrator, they all will suffer.*  Sergeant, work these animals all night.  Do not stop until we begin our march in the morning.  These beasts do not sleep.  If they sleep, they die.  I will be watching.”  Rhynos’ eyes flashed red momentarily, an incantation enhancing his vision.

     “Sir, yes sir.”  The Sergeant turned to begin drilling the men as the Lieutenant stormed toward his tent.

--oo--oo--

     Rhynos sat naked at the huge desk he forced his troops to haul around.  His hair became increasingly scattered while he struggled to devour the knowledge of an ancient tome.  

     His overly large and heavy bed sat in the middle of his tent.  Three ill-gained concubines chained to the heavy oak.  Each dozed in slumber, the flickering lights revealing their varied and eternal abuses.  The Lieutenant would not even allow the women the decency of clothing, be it summer or winter.  

     There was a brief knock at the outside of the tent upon a wooden door-jam surrounding the entrance.  Rhynos glanced upward, hands running through his black hair and he slid farther into his chair.  The warlock reached for a fine cigar, lighting it with his candle.  

     He allowed a few moments to pass before demanding, “Enter.”  Into the tent walked Sergeant Gardone.  The human’s armor glistened with sweat and blood.  The salty fluid drenched his brow as well.  The Sergeant stopped at the edge of the desk, waiting for the command to sit.  Rhynos’ waived his hand looking quite bored with the matter.

     “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

     “Speak your mind, Sergeant.  We did grow up together.”  Rhynos took a long drag from the cigar, allowing the smoke to permeate toward the soldier.

     “Of course, Sir.  I’m afraid that you are overworking the troops.”

     “So?”

     “Well, Sir, morale is low.  If you keep killing the soldiers, soon we will have none left.  Four have dropped dead in the hours since your…declaration.  They are overworked, underfed and generally malnourished.”  Gardone grimaced a bit, worrying about his own fate.

     “I care nothing for these animals.  If they die, we will get more.”

     “This is an undeclared war, Rhynos.  The King has only allotted a set number of men to prevent the Trolls from gaining too much power.”

     “Then we will get new recruits from the Orc-baron.  You are wasting my time, Sergeant and you will take care to address me as is proper for my station.”  Rhynos stood and stalked toward his bedding, still puffing on the cigar.

     Gardone averted his eyes, quickly.  “All I am saying, Sir, is. . .”

     “You know Gardone,” Rhynos interjected, “I don’t believe you have asked your sister how she is doing.”  The warlock grabbed one of the nude slaves by the hair, wrenching her face upward.  Despite the bruises and lacerations, the familial resemblance was clear.  The young woman’s hair curled, naturally black, naturally the same tone as the Sergeant’s.  

     The sergeant tried to change the topic, searching with his eyes until he noted the tome.  “An Arcane History of the Cosmology of the Multiverse?  That doesn’t sound like it pertains to our war and it doesn’t sound like light reading.”  The Lieutenant completely ignored the unsubtle shift of topic.  In response Gardone grimaced, not wishing to look at the broken, naked form of his sister nor the bare body of his commanding officer.  His sister whined briefly as the warlock increased the pressure of his fingers within her hair.  Rhynos released her head and brought his other arm across her face.  The concubine made no sound, no move to fight back.  Her face began swelling almost instantly.

     “Really, Gardone,” the warlock started again.  “She really was the best purchase I’ve ever made.  You couldn’t imagine the things she can do with the seven fingers I’ve allowed her to keep.”  Rhynos grinned as he led one of her hands slowly up his leg and burned it with the tip of his lit cigar.  “Gardone, are you still here?  You’re dismissed.”

     With a grumble, the sergeant left the tent.  Once outside he ran from the sounds of his Commander’s pleasure and the screams of his sister.


----------



## Funeris

Just taking a little time out of fall cleaning to give my SH a bump 

And to remind you all that this story is intended for a mature audience.  I think I've made that entirely clear...but if not, there it is again 

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> And to remind you all that this story is intended for a mature audience.




No kidding.   

But none the worse for that. Indeed, I think there are plenty of us fans of the "grittier" style of fantasy you storyhour epitomises. Keep it coming ...


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Rhynos is very evil...let's see more of him!


----------



## Funeris

Don't worry, you will . . .


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 3: The Grim Hand continued*

The warlock perched upon the edge of his desk, staring at the wicked scar emblazoned upon his palm.  His memories danced backward to the day of its creation, as easily as if it had been yesterday as instead of more than a decade in the past.  

     Rhynos stood, a boy of only twelve, upon the right angle streets of Midloth, capital of the Kingdom.  His hair was pitch black even then; his body wiry and trim.  In his hand, the child spun and twirled two slivers of wood lashed together:  a toy sword.

     The child dipped left and right, running his imaginary opponents through.  His mouth stretched open, a fierce battle cry erupted; he leapt upward, bringing the blade down against a rusted, waste can.  His full weight bent the can inward, a grimacing dent smirking at the child.

     Rhynos shifted backward into a feral crouch, lifting the sword for a killing blow.  In his mind’s eye, the child as a powerful lord lifted his unbreakable blade preparing to execute the treasonous and cowardly dog of a brother that had betrayed his kingdom.  The sword poised perilously above the enemy, above the smirking can.

     A fell blade pounded against the back of Rhynos’ arms, his sword dropped amidst the expanding threshold of agony.  He spun, arms outstretched and there stood his true brother, a true coward.  The wooden sword dashed downward, ripping a deep chunk of flesh from Rhynos’ hand.  The child collapsed screaming, his brother’s eyes growing wide with glee.

     The slamming of a door ricocheted against the stone walls of the small manor.  Talia, his mother, dashed across the street grabbing Rhynos by the scruff of his neck and dashed back to the house.  Inside, she cleaned and bandaged the wound all while holding the child to her breast.

     Vargiban[1] had stalked inside after his mother, taking care to watch the proceedings.  The sharp wood twitched in his hands, yearning for more blood.  Talia turned toward the other brother and smiled feebly.  Vargiban smiled innocently back.

     And then the door was nearly pulled from its hinges once again.  In plodded Rhynos’ father and quickly evaluated the scene.  Varg had had another long day at the shop, his eyes rimmed red with exhaustion.  With a speed belying the overweight merchant, he snatched the sword from his eldest child and then slid almost preternaturally to the sink.  With a callous grip, he ripped Rhynos from his mother’s comforting arms and smashed the woman against her face with the toy.  Talia stumbled backward, crashing into the table and onto the floor.  A line of blood, ragged flesh, and jagged splinters etched into her broken jaw.

     Varg lifted Rhynos into the air with and by one arm.  The child felt his shoulder dislocate, sending shudders of pain from his arm to his toes.  He cried out in agony.  Varg tore the bandage from his child’s hand, blood splattered upon the smooth, wood floor.  Grabbing a riding crop from the wall, Varg whipped and whipped and whipped the open wound.  A sadistic grin stretched across the man’s face as more and more blood flowed openly.

     “*Let it bleed.  Let it scar.  Let it serve as a reminder to not be so foolish*.”  

     Once Varg tired, sometime long after Rhynos’ wails had quieted to sobs, he tossed the child against the wall like an unloved toy.  Then the merchant stormed to his study, taking his eldest with.

     A great orb of concentrated energy drew Rhynos back to the present.  His scar tingled as if fresh.  The arcane flames he had trained to control surged upward from his palm.  Screaming with rage, he hurled the bolt to the left.  It slammed into Sergeant Gardone’s sister, dragging her soul into the afterlife.

     Rage carved a wicked smirk upon the warlock’s face.  He allowed the anger to draw another bolt of energy into his palm; then turned to exit the tent and unleash his wrath.

--oo--oo--

     “SIR!”  Gardone had stormed into the tent, immediately drawing to attention.  His lip quivered at the sight of his sister’s festering corpse.  A lone tear streamed down his cheek but the soldier did not release the stern facial expression.

     Rhynos spun toward his sergeant, completely nude as usual.  Unlike his typical state, Rhynos’ hair was matted unceremoniously behind his head, gelled by a crimson fluid.  Once he turned completely, the flickering light illuminated the swirls of blood the warlock had rubbed across his chest.  Bits of flayed skin clung to the blood, giving the arcane master a horrific appearance.  In his eyes burned a flame of madness; the crooked scar upon his palm was etched in a green glow.

     “*WHAT is it SERGEANT?!*”  the warlock bellowed.  “*Can’t you see I’m in the middle of enjoying your SISTER?!*”

     Gardone struggled not to smack his superior.  His body was on edge, adrenaline and hate forcing his muscles to move--and if not move to quiver at least.  The soldier bit his tongue, warm blood billowing into his mouth.  

     “*Speak up Gardone.  Did you want to join your sister and I?*”  Rhynos pirouetted around the collapsed corpse, rubbing one bloodied leg over her cold shoulder.  The warlock grinded provocatively against the fragile body, sliding closer to the mask of death stretched taut around her mouth.  As the Lieutenant bent the corpse’s head forward, Gardone noted claw marks around her empty sockets.  Little blood polluted the torn flesh indicating the wounds as postmortem.

     The sergeant’s temper snapped and he lunged.  His steel-plated gauntlet slammed into Rhynos’ face as the sergeant wrapped his arms around the nude officer.  They collided to the floor behind, Gardone’s spiked knee-guard severing his sister’s dead.  The mailed fist rose and descended over and over again in a seemingly endless repetition.  The detached head rolled to a stop within Gardone’s view, its eyeless sockets piercing his mind.

     The distraction was all Rhynos needed.  The energy coursed from his palm and he shoved his hand against his Sergeant’s armor.  The warlock sighed as the energy ripped through his body and dove through the protective metal.  Gardone jolted backward, flung into the empty air.  With a thud, he landed violently against the floor.  

     Rhynos drew up to his full height, the flames of insanity replaced by those of betrayal.  More energy coalesced around his hand and he stepped toward Gardone.  The sergeant rolled over and flung his one good arm over his head.  The warlock hesitated.

     “Sir, we found a pack of the trolls.  That’s what I came to tell you,” the Sergeant blurted, his last chance.

     Rhynos roared but released the magical fire.  His scar still pulsing, the green fire alighted behind his eyes.  “*Take me*.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] - Son of Varg


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Darker and darker yet. 

(Which is not a criticism.)


Now, I'm assuming Rhynos isn't being introduced as a new PC.


----------



## TheYeti1775

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Darker and darker yet.
> 
> (Which is not a criticism.)
> 
> 
> Now, I'm assuming Rhynos isn't being introduced as a new PC.



And a Yeti chuckles somewhere.......


----------



## Funeris

And somewhere an angel has earned her wings...

Remember that this part of the interlude is approximately 50 years prior to the actual game.  Rhynos is in his mid-twenties....which would push him right to the limit of the human age range....were he to join the party at that time...odds are he'd die on the road, an old old old man....

unless of course...he found some way to circumvent death....or maybe it found him....

Guess you'll just have to wait to find out 

~Fune


----------



## Anti-Sean

Complete(ly depraved) Warlock said:


> *Cover Your Shame*
> Least, 2nd
> 
> This invocation summons large, opaque rectangular bars of inky black void from foul, insane dimensions best left unspoken. These bars hover before the warlock, obscuring any naughty bits from view by others, and sparing the imaginations of more prudish story hour readers from any unpleasantness.




Rhynos is a bad man. Someone needs to find him some pants, and run him through with a broadsword. Not necessarily in that order.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Anti-Sean said:
			
		

> Rhynos is a bad man. Someone needs to find him some pants, and run him through with a broadsword. Not necessarily in that order.




Rhynos isn't that bad, honestly him and Cassock have very similar views on certain things.

*****************************************
*****************************************
*****************************************

See   

------------------------
Now a little more Cassock insight.
Cael doesn't care of good or evil, and really neither does Cassock.
He might try to do good, but like mentioned before.  He would slaughter the innocents if he thought it furthered Cael's goals.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Rhynos is evil.  Period.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his reasons 
I much prefer characters that have some reason for being what they are...Rhynos definitely fits the bill.

And hopefully I have scared away any "prudish story hour readers" by now.  Because in all honesty, I'm only going to get worse....grittier...dirtier...

But I promise to leave some extremes (detailed necrophilia for example) to your own twisted imaginations.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> But I promise to leave some extremes (detailed necrophilia for example) to your own twisted imaginations.
> 
> ~Fune




At least until the PDF verisions right.


----------



## Funeris

Haha...the profanity I will add back in...I may even add a little more graphic detail.  But I'm not going to explain the ins-and-outs of necrophilia...if that's what you're into...well i'm sure there's a website about it somewhere.  

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Haha...the profanity I will add back in...I may even add a little more graphic detail.  But I'm not going to explain the ins-and-outs of necrophilia...if that's what you're into...well i'm sure there's a website about it somewhere.
> 
> ~Fune



What someone delete your bookmark again. hahaha

So when's the next update to all 3 *S*


----------



## Funeris

Cassock of Cael said:
			
		

> What someone delete your bookmark again. hahaha




Yeah...look at my avatar...I put the skull in Skullf*ck.    

All three?  You mean BoPhoee, In the Valus, and now your story hour Valus +20 as well?  Like I'm not busy enough 

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*The Grim Hand (Chapter 3..concluded)*

Last one about Rhynos for a bit...some of you got your wish (kinda) 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     Rhynos Medizen padded softly into the clearing.  The Lieutenant wore the fading leather armor of the Empire, the most constricting protection he would allow himself to use.  Behind, Gardone, two half-orcs and a goblin stumbled noisily up the hill.  Rhynos contemplating silencing them eternally, but figured he would need them at least until the battle at hand was over.  And then the fallen soldiers could receive the honor none of them had earned in life: a proper burial and the title “Hero”.  The warlock smirked.

     Above the clearing, a soft, fully awake moon cast its rays onto a shimmering pool.  Rhynos’ head slid side to side unable to find a single target.  His fingers twitched in anticipation.

     The warlock spun to address Gardone.  Pain erupted through his chest; a metal shaft split through his ribs.  Gardone’s eyes twitched in rage and he penetrated Rhynos’ body further with the cold steel.  Rhynos lifted his arms in retaliation, orbs of energy crackling across his fingers when the half-orcs grabbed his hands.  His arms tore from their sockets as they were yanked behind the Lieutenant.  Another blade, a dagger by the slight feel, punctured Rhynos’ kidneys.

_Let it bleed.  Let it scar.  Let it serve as a reminder to not be so foolish_.  The words echoed through his mind combining with the torrid pain and rage.  Rhynos screamed and pushed backward into the dagger, away from the sword.  The half-orcs struggled to hold the officer in his place.

     The water in the pool sloshed as its surface broke.

     “*Let it bleed!*” Rhynos bellowed as he pushed further into the dagger, his left kidney erupted.  Gardone’s eyes quivered.

    From the broken waves of the pond emerged a woman with flowing black hair.  Gardone released his grip, stumbling back.  The hairs on his neck perked up.  The Goblin cried as Rhynos stumbled forward away from the dagger.  The half-orcs held their grip, questioning eyes glaring at the Sergeant.

     “*LET IT SCAR!*”  Rhynos wrenched forward, feeling the tenuous hold of ligament and tendon barely keep his arms attached.  Blood veins and arteries burst, instantly bruising the flesh beneath the armor.  The half-orcs slipped on the wet ground, falling to their knees.  

     Gardone stepped forward, slamming his steel through leather and stomach.  A globule of blood and spit spilt down the warlock’s chin.  The sergeant pivoted to flee but the warlock leapt, grappling the traitor to the ground.  The blade inched further through Rhynos’ abdomen and back, stealing more precious fluid.

     The goblin’s neck snapped with a soft twist.  The crackle caught the half-orcs’ attentions and they saw the woman-beast between them.  Their eyes ran up and down the length of her nude form, an exquisite, flawless alabaster flesh softened by the long, black curls of her hair.  

     Each turned to scream and found their throats and their voices caught by a vice-like grip.  Without so much as a bead of sweat, the woman-beast lifted both into the air.  She brought them close to her delicate, red lips.  Her mouth parted; two oversized incisors and dog-eye teeth permeated the smell of death and rot.  Her pitch-black eyes drowned the soldier’s consciousnesses.  With two swift twists of the neck, the undead shredded the carotid arteries and gulped the oxygen-rich blood.  She dropped the corpses, haphazardly.  Her form shimmered and shifted, sliding into the earth below her bare toes.

     “*LET IT SERVE AS A REMINDER TO NOT BE SO FOOLISH!!!*” Rhynos dug his thumbs into Gardone’s skull, unleashing a torrent of arcane energies.  The Sergeant bellowed, his head jerking left and right until his neck snapped under its own force.

     With a sigh, Rhynos kicked himself off Gardone.  The warlock pulled the crimson-stained blade from his stomach, tossing it feebly to the side.  He pushed himself to his knees, shuddering to a stop upon seeing the carnage.

     Black tresses danced liquidly across the back of Rhynos’ neck, but he did not move.  “_Don’t worry my sweet_,” a sensual voice purred softly into his ear.  “_I’ll let it bleed and scar.  You’ll have to learn from your own mistakes, though._”  Nails like talons tore into the Lieutenant’s flesh as he collapsed under the strength of the predator.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Another good one.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

So does Rhynos become a vampire?  That would be a great enemy for the PCs to face 50 years in the future.


----------



## Funeris

heh. well...you'll find out eventually.  I burned out last night though...while working on the next update.  And now, I'm suffering from writer's block....

so...it might be a bit until you find out for sure 

OTOH, while you're waiting for the block to pass...you can enjoy the cookies I sent you 

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> heh. well...you'll find out eventually.  I burned out last night though...while working on the next update.  And now, I'm suffering from writer's block....
> 
> so...it might be a bit until you find out for sure
> 
> OTOH, while you're waiting for the block to pass...you can enjoy the cookies I sent you
> 
> ~Fune




Oh no!  What will I do without the plethora of updates that you've been posting?

You've got to work through the block and keep up with the posts so that you can maintain your lead over Spider_Jerusalem.  

I can't wait for the cookies to arrive!  I guess they'll keep me busy while I wait for the next update.


----------



## Funeris

With any luck, I'll work thru the writer's block before your cookies arrive.  (US mail does tend to move a bit slowly...I just hope they're not stale  )

No worries about losing my lead to Spider J....he sleeps more than I do 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> With any luck, I'll work thru the writer's block before your cookies arrive.  (US mail does tend to move a bit slowly...I just hope they're not stale  )
> 
> No worries about losing my lead to Spider J....he sleeps more than I do
> 
> ~Fune



You better remove that block else I might have to drive over with a smoking censer....


----------



## Funeris

Hehe.  Its good to feel loved.
You were already devoured by the censer, Yeti...and I think it would be better if you didn't bring up a contest I was unceremoniously punted out of in the first round...

The writer's block is dislodging itself...just give me a couple days...

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hehe.  Its good to feel loved.
> You were already devoured by the censer, Yeti...and I think it would be better if you didn't bring up a contest I was unceremoniously punted out of in the first round...
> 
> The writer's block is dislodging itself...just give me a couple days...
> 
> ~Fune



No it was only alluded to that I was devoured, but no one saw any evidence of that.   
Anyways I'm too big to fit in that censer.    

I thought yours was better anyways.
And really that's what counts your loyal story hour readers and players.

Now unblock yourself dog nabit.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

I am unblocking myself...unfortunately that usually involves writing about something aside from that which I've been pounding away at.

As such, my attention is turning to my novel...and you'll have to wait for a couple days.  I'll try to update by Sunday night though...at least for one of the three threads.



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 3: Interludes - WYRM*

Ok...nothing too meaty...but hopefully this'll tide you over until I have time to shift a lot of focus back to this story hour 

And hey...O-W...did you receive those cookies yet???

~Fune
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Wyrm*_

The great wyrm plummeted from the heavens, a cool breeze following in her wake toward the rolling planes.  Below but rapidly approaching, thick, black, unnatural thunderheads obscured the ground underneath.  She calmly allowed her wings to flutter uselessly behind, counting the seconds until impact and almost certain death.

Above the storm, the twin moons of Norum da Salaex danced above the autumn sky.  Just before the moons, just within the atmosphere, a hazy shield of divine energy wavered in the sky, blurring the edges of the stars.  She had learned long ago not to near the shield as it had singed her wing, destroying one talon and very nearly causing her death.

Unusual for mid-autumn, the skies above the raging storm were warm and laden with a sticky humidity.  As the thunderheads leapt ever closer, she could make out the smell of precipitation, a cold, stark torrent of rain pouring just beyond visibility.

Her wings snapped out, just above the maelstrom.  She caught a sudden warm updraft, the silver and gold plated wings sighed under the fierce wind and her immense weight.  Her tail lashed back and forth, a rudder of solid muscle adding momentum to the forward heave as she cleared the edge of the storm.

Lightning snapped and crackled below, igniting a tree just outside the range of the storm.  Catching another updraft, the colossal beast twirled through the air like a graceful dancer.  She deftly arced upward, soaring nearly vertically against the edge of the Viper Mountains.  

She beat her wings once; twice; thrice, slowing to a hovering position above the edge of the range.  Her magical eyes pierced the dark veil of shadow.  Amassing above the clouds, above the mountains, and swirling above the capital were hundreds of thousands of blackened spirits.  A few darted past her silver and golden scaled head, the expressions of terror etched permanently upon their ethereal countenances.

Turning north, the dragon stopped the beating of her wings.  She plummeted again, along the face of the range accelerating to a near impossible speed. 

The ground lunged upward at her, but her wings pulled taught again.  As she soared a mere ten feet above the ground, the ungodly sized creature left a wake embedded within the earth.  

Her jaws opened; jagged and hungry.  A roar split the air as she sped under the thunderheads and into the snow.

As the hunter passed overhead, her prey cowered in fear. . ._


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> Ok...nothing too meaty...but hopefully this'll tide you over until I have time to shift a lot of focus back to this story hour
> 
> And hey...O-W...did you receive those cookies yet???
> 
> ~Fune




Yes, actually I did get them.  They arrived last Saturday and then I left on a business trip early Sunday so I couldn't get on here and thank you for them.  So thanks!  They arrived worse for the wear after going through the mail though.  

I'm glad to see an update from you, however small.  You really spoiled all of us with your constant barrage of updates over the last few weeks.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Funeris!

Sweet stuff buddy (as always). I've finally caught back up - give me a warning next time you unleash that amount of material!

2 things: Great writing. The darker the better for me, so as the rest faint and swoon I'm rubbing my hands together.  

End-Bringer (adding my voice to the chorus) was a superb little thing. One of those "wish I'd thought of that" moments. 

On a more recent note, the wyrm interlude was really nice - good sense of size and speed. 

Spider with a dash of Illithid

ps. I can't believe you stole Brellin! AND I just drafted him into my fantasy-SH-readers team.


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Reprieve for Funeris*

I'm giving him a reprieve this week from updating as we shall be abusing each other tonight.

Gotta love it.

Though he is hounding me for updates on mine.  I gave him a glimpse of it over the im the other day, so he hounds me now.  So if I ever take the d@mn time to put all the handwritten stuff to type, you all will see it.

O Funeris, did you find a better Chinese place? Or will we being doing Pizza/Beer & a virgin tonight.


----------



## Funeris

SPIDER J:

I'll drop you a direct E-mail next time I decide not to sleep 
Thanks for the props on End-Bringer.  He is/She is/It is one of my favorite toys to think about 

Stole Brellin?!  Who me?!  Am I that devious?!  I think not 

OAXACAN WARRIOR:

Glad you got the cookies...sorry if they were in pieces (_note to self: do not stomp on cookies ten times before mailing them ever ever again  _)

Me?  Spoil you?  Nonsense.  The praise I receive truly proves that you (*all of you*...points to the slight, squirrely man cowering in his seat so that his friends won't think he's some sick, demented being for reading a dark/gritty SH....) spoil me. 

THAT BEING SAID...

I will try to get an update posted this week (preferably of the 1200-1700 word variety).  That being said though, I have a novel to work on...a Playtesting session tonight (and I still have about ten characters to draw up for that)...my son's 8 month b-day....the DnD:2 movie (yeah...I'm gonna watch it...I just have to see it...and I'm praying its not as campy as the first)...a meeting with my publisher....finishing up some work for the publisher....and then possibly some more work for the publisher, too.

Talk about a busy schedule.  

So...no promises.  But I'm sure I'll need a break at some point...and I don't have to work Monday...so....keep your fingers crossed 

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Virgin?  Are you talking bout that goat I borrowed?

I mean...  NEVERMIND.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Virgin?  Are you talking bout that goat I borrowed?
> 
> I mean...  NEVERMIND.




You mean you didn't got to the XXX shop next to the Elementary School up in W.Va.
(O and folks if you think I'm kidding about it's location.  We aren't.)

You know if we get tired of playtesting we could go to Vixen's for a breather.  I'm sure Boz would be allowed out. haha

Only 10 more left to make.  Must be the Epic ones.  
I'm still rounding off that PBEM Character and Cohort.  I dropped him a line and said I would try to get him everything come Sunday.

Then that Dawnforge one is coming along nicely.  Still filling in his background info, and where he stands politically and all.  Though I did finish part of his political stuff, enough so the DM could plan his contigencies.  Sometimes its a bear playing a Noble.


----------



## Funeris

Tired of playtesting?  Please.  I'm tired just building these damnable characters.  <sigh>

I only slept an hour last night...working on these characters....and finished half of them (10).  So...I've got ten left now...A ton of stuff has collected on my desk (in a matter of minutes)...so basically, I'm screwed.  Hehe.

Now those 10 characters are only for the first 2 encounters.  The remaining five encounters will need characters created for them (or advanced rather...from the original).  So....you'll end up creating....20 more characters tonight.  And since I'm the running the test groups...(and there are 2)....I'll have 40 more characters to create tonight.

Although its not so hard to advance the individual groups...just slightly time consuming.

Eh.

Better bring a bottle of Jack, Yeti.  I'm gonna need it.  

~ Funeris "No rest for the wicked" DnD-addict


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Good luck with all that work, Funeris!  We can be patient and wait for the next update until next Thursday (I'll be on a business trip to San Diego with little spare time until then.)


----------



## Funeris

*Status report...*



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> THAT BEING SAID...
> 
> I will try to get an update posted this week (preferably of the 1200-1700 word variety).  That being said though, I have a novel to work on...a Playtesting session tonight (and I still have about ten characters to draw up for that)...my son's 8 month b-day....the DnD:2 movie (yeah...I'm gonna watch it...I just have to see it...and I'm praying its not as campy as the first)...a meeting with my publisher....finishing up some work for the publisher....and then possibly some more work for the publisher, too.




Okay lets see where I am with my list of things to do...

[1] - Novel to work on -- *no writing accomplished...more planning thought of...and some work on my maps..still need to get to writing the next chapter though*

[2] - Playtesting session Friday night (and 10 characters) -- *Done and Done.  And then I had to go thru and cut that race down.  WAY TOO POWERFUL.  Of course, you would assume that anything able to throw down 4d8+15 points of damage as a free action at fourth level would be overpowered   Eh.  You can't catch everything in design and that's what playtesting is for...*

[3] - My son's 8 month birthday -- *Yup.  That's come and gone (not that we did anything really special...just played).  He is a little young yet to drag around everywhere.  Although we did pop the first Harry Potter movie in tonight...and he sat there and watched it.  I was amazed.  He's a bright little fellow. *I'm so proud!* *

[4] - DnD: The movie 2 -- *Well, I don't want to give a lengthy review.  I enjoyed it (more than the first).  I thought all the little game bits they shoved in were magnificent (like the image of the devourer off to the right side during the intro -- which I liked the animation of)...and I also enjoyed the DnD specific commercials...but I'm an addict as I said.  Decent movie.*

[5] - Meeting with the publisher -- *Yup.  Went well.  Always does.  He and I are similar-minded.  Although, he was a little surprised to learn the race was overpowered.  But..heh...he couldn't deny the 4d8+15 at fourth level as being overpowered.  His exact words: Cut it.*

[6] - Finishing up some work for the publisher (along with new work) -- *New work received..along with deadline.  Some old work done...some yet to do...but am waiting for feedback for that.*

So...what does all of this mean??  It means I hope to get to that update tomorrow (if not tonight...depends on what I feel like writing in a few minutes).  

_Note to self...start using that damned free blog you signed yourself up for...._

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Interludes: Wyrm Part II and Lost Part I*

So...here's that 1500 word or so update...Enjoy!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*WYRM II*_

She climbed upward with another fierce beat of her wings and then barreled right, wing-over-wing-over-wing in endless repetition.  The thin membrane of her wings was rigid and as solid as diamond for the maneuver—at least at the edges nearest her talons. 

She could feel the slight jerks against the membrane as enemy after enemy was decimated.  Her body slammed the monstrosities with enough force to leave the stumbling skeletons as nothing but piles of dust.  The wind dragged across the ground, pulling snow and the dust of her foes into piles of inseparable white.

A spasm brought the barrel roll to an end and she jerked upright all over again.  She clawed up into the skies above the storm, seeking a vantage point for the battlefield.

Once above the storm, she counted the sheer numbers of the undead.  Hundreds crossed the fields slowly from all directions, heading toward a single indiscernible town.  Unseen from this height, but the great wyrm knew its location well.  And around it were hundreds of the creatures.  Hundreds closed in on a slight village.

It must have fallen to the clergy, she decided.  And if so, the town was truly lost; at least for the time being.  For the dragon, while not tolerant to undead—especially those that had attacked those under her protection—had more important responsibilities.  If ever she had a free moment, she would return to cleanse the taint.

For now, she had to clear a path toward the manor for the heroes that would be driving away from the village.  Her orders were clear.  Diving back to the earth, she veered north, cutting a solid line through the scattered undead; a safe path.

Her roars echoed across the vast plains.  Below, unliving corpses fell, a permanent peace finally settling upon the rotting bodies._

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*LOST I*

_Centuries ago. . ._

Stul the Redbeard—originally of the Kronilk clan, true descendant of Bartor the Redbeard, and most recent to sit upon the throne of dwarven kings—cursed.  He stomped his dense legs upon the stone tunnel and cursed loudly.  When that would not alleviate his rage, the young dwarf jumped up and down, actually shattering some of the fine stonework beneath the layer of dust.  Frantically, he pulled on his curling brown beard, highlighted with shades of red, actually managing to extract many hairs painfully.

“*Damn it all!*” he shouted, his voice retorting sharply along the once-smooth passage.  “*How dae this happen?!?!  HOW!!*”  He snapped his arm out, grabbing the nearest passing dwarf by the beard.  The King jerked the stonemason toward him, glaring at the shrinking dwarf.

“My liege, I dannae know.  It will take time…”  The mason grunted as the king shoved him away and into the wall.

Stul pivoted, grasping futilely at his beard hair, and tried to plow through the recent, tumultuous events of his life.  Dwarves, at least since their arrival on Norum da Salaex, had been the most stable of the races.  Rigid laws enforced every aspect of their lives, every aspect of decorum, every aspect of everything.  Even with the reign of the Black Magus, the dwarves had prospered, safe within their mountain home that lied so near the black cathedral.  

Two years.  Two years Stul had ruled over his kin.  Two years of pure, chaotic hell.  

The raids from the surface had intensified, pushing Stul to enlist every dwarf in the defense of their home.  Dozens of an originally small population of dwarves had perished in the raids.  Two years of death, suffering, and being pushed ever deeper into their tunnels, ever deeper toward the heart of the world.

And when the human warrior Toq Arma Dunn had sent an emissary requesting aide against the Black Magus[1], Stul had acquiesced.  The young—for a dwarf at least—king had instantly accepted the offer.  Anything, he would do anything to be rid of the Black Magus and to once more have freedom.

Stul had organized the largest army in dwarven history consisting of every able man, woman and child.  Then, the king had marched his soldiers to the exits; tunnels that were only recently occupied by orcs and other foul breeds of beast.  Tunnels now abandoned, the orcs amassing for the war with the humans.  There had been one or two beasts that had fallen behind their comrades; stragglers quickly dispatched in the march toward freedom.
And then the earth, the Spire had betrayed them.  The earth fell upon their heads, the entire army crushed in those few black seconds.  Not the entire army, the king reminisced.  He had survived.  Possibly a score more had lived with minor scrapes only.  But the mass of the dwarven race was crushed.  Not by orc, not by human, not even by the sly elves or the wicked deep dwarves; no the earth itself had decimated the populace.

Stul screamed in rage.

“King Redbeard?”  The withered advisor, an older cousin, warily grasped the King’s shoulder.  Stul nodded sadly, silencing his bellow.  “There be naught ye can do, my King.  Return to the throne room.  We will find more of our king alive, I believe.  And once we know wha happened, we’ll tell ye.”

Stul nodded again, agreeing to be lead in his moment of weakness toward his gilded throne.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

King Redbeard snapped awake, a stout dwarven hand grasping his shoulder.  Stul raised his red-rimmed eyes and stared incredulously at the figure before him.  A dwarf carved completely of rock stood ahead of him, its outstretched hand fiery hot against the King’s full-plate armor.  Eyes of molten rock peered from within the gray, stone face.  A beard of the same molten, red rock stretched down to the floor.  Its curled tip cooled to pure, black obsidian against the floor.  Sharp angles replaced the typical, solid curves of a true dwarf but the stoic expression carved upon the face held more truth than simple curves.  A solid, sharp-edged battleaxe was wedged between the bare, stone flesh of the creature and a belt crafted of fine diamonds.  Within the haft of the axe sat a black diamond with red swirls of energy, the gem of King Bartor.

Stul slipped from the throne and to his knees with a clang.  Quickly he bowed his head with deference.  “My Lord,” Stul squeaked.

“*Get up, child.  You are the King, you should bow to no one.*” The proclamation was laced with the gritty sound of stone rubbing against stone, the voice of a god.  Stul quickly obliged, still keeping his head bowed in respect.

“My Lord, I never thought I’d see…”

“*O’ course not Stul the Redbeard.  I only appear to the King of my kin.  An’ e’en then I make ‘em swear on their lives to secrecy that they have ne’er seen me.*”  Stul waited for the demand of an oath but with none forthcoming, he raised his head.  Ahead of him was naught by empty air.  He turned, searching for Bartor and stopped as he noted the old king sitting upon the throne.  “*I won’ lie to ye, my heir.  I miss her.  She’s a beautifully crafted chair.  And the air up here is nae laced with the foul stench of below.*”

“Ye 'ave gone below then, as some of the priests said?”

“*Aye.  Every day I hunt Liln an’ her kin.  Foul, dark beasts they be.  But it is my duty, to protect my kin from the evil born in my time.”  The king’s molten eyes glossed over, a thin film of obsidian as a tear somehow managed to slip past the lava and down the stone cheek.  “Every day I protect ye arses.  But tha’s not why I came.  

“I came to alleviate the blame ye feel.  The mountain killed our kin, nae you.  And if ye would look beyond yer grief, ye might’n see wha’ happened.  Ye were tricked, deceived.  As sure as the foul scent always accompanying orcs, ye were made a fool of.”  Stul grunted, turning away.

“Ach, boy.  Listen to me words.  The tunnels above were nae clear for the war amongst men.  The tunnels were clear to crush ye and our kin.  To kill our race.  An’ they left just enough orcs to assure ye.

“Ye ‘ave to know the words I speak are true.  Ye can feel it in your gut, I don’ doubt. 
“I see much further than I used to, me boy.  Much further.  Forward and behind.  This was a setup.  But luckily for us all, some of our kin survived.  An’ nae just here.  Our race’ll survive or I’m the bastard son of an orcish b*tch.

“Now though, ye must tend our people.  Rebuild our race.  Rebuild our home.  One day, when the passages up are clear again, ye shall collect the debt of life.”  Bartor stood, grasping his axe and replacing it within his belt.

“We’ll talk again, Stul.  But before I return to the deep, bring me some fine dwarven ale.  My throat’s been parched for centuries.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] The Black Magus was the ruler before King Ara'kull over Norum da Salaex.  I very possibly referred to this character prior as the Black Lord or the Dark Lord...which continues to confuse my players (who think the Dark Lord is Ara'kull or the King).  So now...this ruler is called the Black Magus...and shall be called such forever.

I have to post Lost Part II...and then I'll probably return to the heroes (and the current timeline  )  Oh and for those of you that haven't read the dwarven pdf...now would be a good time to do so...to understand a bit more of this update.  

~Fune*


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Good stuff as ever, Funeris. I particularly like the appearance of King Bartor.

So, keep it coming ... and no more of these "hundred different projects on the go all at once" excuses!!   

(Seriously, I'm not sure how you do it. I spend most days falling asleep at my desk!)


----------



## Funeris

Thanks 
And, you'll see King Bartor again...I figured a good dwarven perspective was needed...since I'll have an on-again-off-again dwarven PC possibly....plus it gives you all some insight into how the current state of the world came about.  Always good to have a little more info.

How do I do it?  Well...I'm just naturally a night owl.  Unfortunately...reality forces me to work a typical 8-5er...so I *have* to be awake all the time.  That and the fact that I could never get anything done if I slept all the time.  

I'm one of those people that become bored really easily...I need diversity and a constant shift between projects to be happy.

But, even I'm human (at least that's what I'm told).  And my keyboard is stained by the dozens of cups of coffee I've knocked over on it....as I've drifted to sleep at work.



~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

*Well......*

So where's your update.
I've not bugged you in awhile.
Or are you going to force an update out of my sorry butt first.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Did you just say you were going to update?!  Really?!  

You know me...I'll get around to it sometime


----------



## Funeris

*Update!  A Kiss...*

Okay...I know I have to get back to the Lost interlude...unfortunately, I've been the victim of writer's block for about 8 days now....gah!  Maybe I'll reorder this bit of it when I get around to pdf-ing this interlude chapter....

I think it may be passing though.  As evidence, I offer this story hour sacrifice to the dark, pagan moderator gods.  Bless the sacrifice with the blood of virgins and all that other good stuff...._and now that I've scared a few away...here you go!_ 

~Fune

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*A KISS*
_
Hendrick plunged ahead, his arm extended to his friend. He closed his fingers tightly, drawing the cloak of the girl backward, lessening her speed.  Suddenly, she stopped and pivoted ninety degrees.  As Hendrick stumbled to not slam into her, she flicked the catch of the cloak.  The unforeseen movements, despite his feet scampering to change direction and only managing to increase his acceleration across the slick ice, threw Young Master Balsoon’s balance.  He slammed powerfully into the solid ice, skidding unceremoniously away from his friend in a heap.

Cassie giggled uncontrollably, plopping down on the frozen pond still quite a distance from Morgan’s son.  Her bright, blonde curls bobbed and weaved just above her shoulders along with the laughter.

Hendrick groaned, trying to lift himself from the freezing surface.  The cloak had somehow managed to twist around the boy, confining his movements.  Gingerly, he rolled slowly from the cloak and pressing his hands firmly against the ice, rose to a crouch.

“You never could catch me Hendrick!” Cassie shouted across.  “I guess those that have regular dealings with nobles are as lazy as the commoners say.”  She grinned mischievously, spinning away to begin the chase anew.

However, Hendrick was the first to move.  He tossed the cloak forward and leapt.  Bringing his weight and agility to bear on the cloak, the heavy cloth sped toward Cassie.  He bellowed a challenge, drawing her eyes away from her own route and fully distracting her for a moment.  That moment was all he needed.

When she turned forward, her own feet betrayed her progress.  She slipped backward and Hendrick plowed into her.  They tumbled across the last few feet of ice, landing in a deep snowdrift.

For several moments, nothing but the drifting, late winter snows stirred.  Silence crept across the landscape, broken by Cassie’s grunt.

Hendrick pushed away, placing some space between their awkward bodies.  “Caught you,” he grunted breathlessly.  Cassie smirked.

Then she wrapped her tiny arms tightly around Hendrick’s waist, drawing his body closer to hers.  He felt compelled to stare deeply into the pure, crystal blue of her shining eyes.  Carefully, he stroked a stray strand of golden hair away from her eyes.  

This was his best friend, the baker’s daughter.  This was the girl he had spent the entirety of his young life playing beside.  And now, as his hand passed gently over her cheek, maybe she was more than just a friend.

Both leaned forward, their lips gently brushing for the barest moment of bliss.  Each felt the increased rush of blood, hearts breaking into thundering rhythms as of a stampede of wild horses across an empty field.

They leaned closer but Hendrick was tugged backward by a firm grip around the collar of his wool cloak.  

“What do you think you’re doing Cassock!”  Terwin shouted, his long brown hair sweeping around his fae-kissed ears.  

“Damned pointer,” Morgan’s son grunted.  Sudden shock slapped the child.  His eyes filled with loss as he he turned toward his half-elf friend.  “Wait.  What did you call me?!”

“You’re lucky I don’t strike you down with a spell.  If you weren’t Morrick’s son, Cassock, know that I would.”  With a wide grin, the Terwin turned and ran toward the cottage.  “But that won’t stop me from telling your father of your foul curse!”  he screamed back as he fled.

Cassock stared dumbly after the half-elf, confusion setting in..._


The cleric grumbled and opened his eyes.  He was covered in a foul sweat, allowing the cold to seep into his body and through his bones.  “Terwin?  Cassie?” he whispered, wiping the beads of moisture from his brow.  The priest noted half-elven eyes staring at him.  Before he slipped back into the dream, he realized the eyes were Aramil’s.  Still the half-elf’s eyes were rimmed red with loss; a cynical smirk carved into his face.

“It’s finally stopped raining,” the rogue mechanically responded to the interruption.  “But now, instead of the torrents of water, snow is falling.  We’re only half way through the fall and already there are several inches of snow upon the ground.”  The half-elf paused and when Cassock did not interject, continued, “It will be a harsh winter.

“If you’d like to rest a bit more, priest,” the tone was in no way respectful from the embittered half-elf, “your shift does not start for another hour or so yet.  I will wake you when it is time.”  Aramil rolled a dagger between his fingers, the soft silver reflecting what little light survived the dark night.

Cassock rolled onto his side, trying to find a place of comfort.  As his lids succumbed to the sandman’s whims, he uttered, “Cassie.”


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> “You’re lucky I don’t strike you down with a spell.  If you weren’t Morrick’s son, Cassock, know that I would.”  With a wide grin, the Terwin turned and ran toward the cottage.  “But that won’t stop me from telling your father of your foul curse!”  he screamed back as he fled.



Umm Funeris,
His name is Morrick only after his return, Cassock didn't know the whole of the truth at this point.  Or are you letting this memory be his subconcious saying others knew?

See now your putting drive to Cassock's being, and that could be very dangerous to all around.  Genocidial Maniacs people can deal with. Genocidal Maniacs that are lovestruck are an entirely different and more dangerous breed.  

But I do like the memory flashback.  Now explain Terwin's background.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

TheYeti1775 said:
			
		

> Umm Funeris,
> His name is Morrick only after his return, Cassock didn't know the whole of the truth at this point.  Or are you letting this memory be his subconcious saying others knew?




I'm aware of what Cassock knew at this point, thank you very much     By calling your PC Hendrick and Cassock as well as his father Morgan and Morrick within the same dream sequence, I'm bridging the gap between past and present.  Hehe...that could be an interesting choice of words for you...since you know what happens between now and our current situation.  For the readers, just know that I'm bridging a gap.  Perhaps Cassock's subconscious (_if that's what it truly was_) was putting pieces of the puzzle together.  Maybe not.  Maybe its something else.  _::Shrugs noncommittally::_



			
				TheYeti1775 said:
			
		

> See now your putting drive to Cassock's being, and that could be very dangerous to all around.  Genocidial Maniacs people can deal with. Genocidal Maniacs that are lovestruck are an entirely different and more dangerous breed.




Haha.  Cassock is very dangerous to all anyway.  But don't worry...I'm leading you toward a "fall".



			
				TheYeti1775 said:
			
		

> But I do like the memory flashback.




Knew you would...._you self centered bastard_ 



			
				TheYeti1775 said:
			
		

> Now explain Terwin's background.




Okay...at a point in the not so distant future of this SH, we gain another character.  The whole campaign spirals haphazardly toward oblivion (powercreep)...and I decide to plug the dam, temporarily.  It felt to me...as if no one knew their characters and inner motivations very well.  Some still don't (_sigh_).  

But basically, I sent out a questionnaire...to help add more depth to the characters.  So that motivations could be found within their psyches....so that they could be more realistic.  So far...you've seen two examples of the result of this questionnaire:  The first being Rhynos' flashbacks...(yes, he becomes a PC...and yes, he's evil _but everyone else at his point was chaotic neutral [which is severely abused]_...and yeah, I allow that intra-party conflict...not that it has happened...but if it were to happen...It'd be kosher as long as everyone remembers its a game) *AND* the second being the small passage just posted.  Cassie and Terwin are two names from Yeti's questionnaire of childhood friends...and he explicitly stated that as a child he had a crush on Cassie.

So now, we have depth.

Also...so that everyone could fully grasp their personalities and not just their To-Hit-modifiers, I pull the characters off the main plot arc...and throw them to a place where they can do very little or no harm to the main story line...while figuring their personalities out.

So, be prepared and consider yourself warned...in another chapter or two we're going to depart from the main story arc...and there will be some changes.  But it's all I could do to keep it together.

Now, Terwin is obviously a half-elf.  He's also a wizard and while a little older than Cassock (a year or two)...was already apprenticed to Baron Tyne's mage for training.

I think that about covers it 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

And the crowd grows wild.


You know you should post that questionaire you gave us as a download doc.
I'm sure there are a few DM's out there that would love it.

I know it made me think about some of Cassock's choices that I hadn't fully thought out.

So now you have reprieve till Saturday as we game on Friday.  

O and... actually I'll just send you an email on this one.  Don't want to give the plots away.
hehe


----------



## Funeris

Well, just so you know...it wasn't exactly my questionnaire.  I went about online and stole it...then modified it.  I used to actually have a better one (IMO) for designing fictional characters for writing...but over the course of a decade, it was misplaced and eventually permanently lost.

Oh well.  so...here's the link I used (I think) for the questionnaire: http://www.realmofzorcon.com/Character Background.txt

There are a dozen plus on the web, use the one that fits your campaign correctly.  I had to take it and edit it anyway.  Eh.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Dang Technology!!!*

Okay...so I'm sitting here, minding my own business...just working on some final, final prep work for Friday night's game (WOOT! by the way)...and my computer crashes on me.  Boot up..work from the saved spot...and *CRASH*...

damn old laptop.

So, I wrote an update instead...I'll have to delegate final preptime to coincide with actual pay-by-the-hour work time for the next 2 days I guess (the eventual inlaws are coming down tomorrow night).  Oh well.

So...while I curse my computer...you can praise it.  Here's 1500 (approximately) words for you!



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Interludes Continued - Lost II & Lost III*

* LOST II *

Tierun glanced casually forward.  Toq stood twenty feet ahead of the army, if it could be called that.  The level of training the majority of this gathering had had would truly only make them a militia.  And actually, it seemed more a group of pilgrims traversing mile after mile for some mythical holy land.  Many had joined the ranks, many too young to fight, many too old and infirm.  Yet still they had come, the slow moving swarm of human beings growing bloated and full, leaving long trails of devastation after its passage.

Tierun sighed.  _Why had he asked me to join him?_  No, the question had been answered the warrior acknowledged.  Toq had needed a man he had battled with before, even if that was decades ago.  Toq needed a man he trusted, a warrior that had already proven himself, to lead the barrage against the fortified cathedral, the black cathedral.  Toq needed a trainer for his militia or ‘Army of the Righteous’ as he had called it.  And a teacher not only gifted in skill based purely upon weapon use, but on the use of the human body as a weapon itself. The First Priest of Ara’kull, a new and unknown god, had no money for arms.  His people were armed with whatever they had brought: pitchforks, shovels, hoes, even nothing but their own forms.  And now Tierun was forced to teach them basic weapon technique and martial forms for the battle.

A battle not truly meant to be won; a battle that would inevitably be nothing more than slaughter.  How could the First Priest expect the war to be won?  The answer, obviously, was he did not.  The mass of humans, five- maybe ten-thousand strong, was to serve as nothing but a vehicle for the priest.  A wedge-shaped shield, dozens thick meant only to pierce the orcish hordes and deliver the priest to the base of the Black Spire.  And once the path to the spire was clear, Toq would climb the fell monument to battle the Black Magus one-on-one.  The priest had no faith in his machine of war but they held belief in him.

Tierun shuddered from fear, anxiety or cold, it mattered not which.  Ahead, splitting the sky stood the structure.  And while still many leagues away, the damning effects on the militia were telling.  The people behind and around the ‘general’ were trembling from their own fear; an obvious result of the structure’s recent presence within their line-of-sight.

_Why had he asked me to join him?_ the question rang again through Tierun’s head.  Because he knows me, the ‘general’ thought.  Once upon a time and long, long ago, the two had fought as an unstoppable team.  Just two men against the foul world, saving villages from rampant orcs or undead; fighting the Black Magus on the smallest battlefields imaginable.  They were just two men that grew apart with time, stifled by the hopelessness of the world.  Two similar men, both falling prey to greed and lechery and ale.  Both had lost their faith, lost their hope.  

At least that was the case until a matter of months ago, when hope and faith was rekindled within the breast of Toq.  _After a long night of drinking_, Tierun added ruefully.  Now Toq Arma Dunn was nothing more than a religious zealot, driving ultimately toward a goal that was unattainable; driving thousands of men and children to their untimely deaths.  

The priest had enlisted the aide of both the dwarves and elves, luring them to the righteous cause.  He had done so openly, allowing the obvious increase in morale once both races had accepted.  The priest, soon-to-be-king, had proclaimed the loudly the meeting place and time for the conjoining of the armies.  A loud huzzah had broken the air.  

Quietly and in confidence later on, Toq had told Tierun that both the elves and dwarves would not show.  His countenance was calm and calculating.  Tierun had pressed the priest for details.  Had both races declined the offer?  What did the priest know that the others did not?  Toq’s response was only that his god had told him the truth of the matter:  the elves and dwarves worked alongside the Black Magus, though in secret.  Tierun had shrieked in confusion.  Toq held his steeled, mindless gaze, seemingly unaware of his general’s outburst.

The First Priest had lost his mind.  Tierun was sure.  Half of the time, the priest’s head lolled about on its neck like a piece of fruit resting upon a broken stem; his eyes hollow and devoid of any semblance of recognition.  Otherwise, those eyes were aflame with faith and dedication, quite inhuman in their fanatic glee and just as empty in regard to sanity.  Tierun did not feel comfortable near either personality; and so now, he stood a good pace behind the First Priest.

Soon, maybe tomorrow, they would all die.  No allies would show.  And one by one, Tierun would watch each of the warriors surrounding him die.  And then Tierun’s spirit would be freed from its own mortal shell, hopefully to some undeserving heaven; but more likely to some endless and deserved hell.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*LOST III *

All around, the forest reverberated; resounding booms echoing from trunk to branch and finally into the air.  Like a heartbeat, it sounded pure, solid and strong.  Joining the steady rhythm, thousands of legs moved perfectly, fluidly to the beat of the war drums.  

The elven army was on the move.

They had left weeks ago, at least the half relinquished directly from the Ancient Wood.  The other portion had been gathered within the Draeul Forest; members of clans more used to dealing directly with humans.  Slowly, for elves at least, they had marched parallel to the human group some eighty miles in the east.  The elves would have joined the younger race, if not for their desire to meet with a dwarven contingent within the Viper Mountains.  Here, the army could cross the range and make swift time to the capital, assuring the rendezvous with the human army was made at the time and on the day they had promised.

Lord Laesu raised his scimitar to the troop, each and every elf stopping.  They were a formidable force, trained in warfare and with such skill and grace never seen among the newer races.  Dwarves could not match their grace either although many made up for it with pure, vehement force.  

It was for the dwarves that Lord Laesu had called the halt.  For here, at the very edge of the range, the dwarves would rejoin their own contingent, under the mountain.  Etched into solid rock, runes within the stone glowed a bright blue; indicating a doorway for those of dwarvish blood.  Swiftly, the small dwarven group of guides across the rough mountain range encircled the doorway.  One pricked his finger, spilling blood upon the runes.  The stone slid upward, revealing a dark tunnel.  Along its length, dead sconces burst to life, flames lighting the perfect, craftsmanship of the gaping warren.

Laesu dropped his sword, indicating the army’s surge downward toward the plains of Midloth, the decaying capital province.  The crowd leapt forward, war drums now silent and unused.  Each elf sped heartily down the hillside, nimble feet barely finding purchase before becoming aloft yet again.

The dwarves stepped toward their path, falling back suddenly, snarling.  The air before the opening shimmered violently, something invisible blocked the path.  

“*Wha’ in the nine hells?!” screamed the leading guide[1].  Laesu looked over, confusion blossoming across his brow just as shouts echoes up the hillside.  He turned his vision back toward the army of elves that only moments ago rushed down the hill still in perfect formation, now slamming painfully into each other.  

Screams of agony and pain swam to his ears; the sound of his men being crushed by the ranks behind.  He stepped forward and the earth trembled, throwing the agile lord to the earth.  The dwarves bellowed in range, tumbling away from the tunnel.
There, just inside the opening, the earth collapsed upon itself, destroying the beautiful pathway.

Below, wails of pain and grief echoed up from the broken ranks of the elves.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] So…I really wanted the dwarves to say “What in tarnation?!”  But I figured that that would be too looney tunes-ish.  Yeah, that’s right…even I have a sense of humor—even if I don’t let it out to play often! 

Oh, and it seems Lost will have a fourth part...since I've introduced the character of Tierun...and have decided to show a bit of that battle!  Then we'll move on to the next chapter...whichever chapter that may be!

*


----------



## Funeris

Oh...and methinks one Cassock of Cael might pay attention to Tierun's description of Toq Arma Dunn (supposedly Cassock's mortal enemy)...cuz it seems that some people may just describe you the same way, Cassock ole' boy!  



~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Oh...and methinks one Cassock of Cael might pay attention to Tierun's description of Toq Arma Dunn (supposedly Cassock's mortal enemy)...cuz it seems that some people may just describe you the same way, Cassock ole' boy!
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune



O Dragon's Kiss.  
I'll see that foul beast die by my hand.

O is that too fanatical?  Friday shall be interesting to say the least, as Cassock might suprise you.  The beauty of Chaos.


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> So...while I curse my computer...you can praise it.  Here's 1500 (approximately) words for you!
> 
> 
> 
> ~Fune




Hooray, computer!


----------



## Funeris

OaxacanWarrior said:
			
		

> Hooray, computer!




hmmm...I somehow knew you would say that, O-W.  Hmmm...  

So...let's see.  Tonight was game night (Note to Self: Use your blog instead of Enworld).  And this is what happened (no spoilers, don't worry!):  Today, at work, I was having a cigarette...standing outside, in the rain, minding my own business (quite noir-ish in its own way).  And what should happen?  A loud thunk echoed across the small yard in the rear of the building.  I looked left.  I looked right.  And all of a sudden something landed on my head.

It was an ill omen, for sure.

A small sparrow (maybe 5 inches in length) had smashed itself, head-first, into a third-story window.  Its neck was snapped instantly.  Whereupon, it fell the 25 feet to land with a thick splat upon my skull, matting down the hair that was becoming drenched with moisture.  Alas, it was an ill omen.,

For not but 3 hours after that sad, sad event, one of my players cancelled.  It seems she fell ill.  Her boyfriend (another player) would not be attending since, naturally, it was his duty to take care of her.  Okay...I can cope...two players down....3 left.

Then at a little after four, receive another email.  One of my other player's wife had fallen ill (allergic reaction) and was forced to return home, to watch his progeny.  Went to the hospital with his wife...and ended up not getting home till ten or so.  He lives just over an hour away.

So, at the beginning of the game night...we were cut down to three.  We took the DnD books and tossed 'em by the wayside to pull out some _Wraith_.  Yes.  The game that has been out of print and not supported by White Wolf for over 8 years.  I love it.  I'm just cynical enough to get the joke printed stealthily inbetween the wonderful lines of text, and have personally told Sam Chupp (writer of the first edition). 

And I have to say, despite the ill omens and the mocking fate the cosmos threw at us, we had fun.  Just three of us...but it was fun nonetheless.  Nothing to add to our ongoing chronicle here, but a lovely one-shot.

So, I've had...6 or 7 ounces of whiskey....and its time to go to bed.  Stay tuned...I'll try to update this weekend.  Its off to sleep now...before I realize how stupid I sound slightly inebriated.

Good night.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

As promised, here come the update(s).  

Yeti, that birthday present so rocks.  I was away from my internet connection today so I was able to put it to use...backing up all of the stuff on the laptop.  Its sweet.

Right, enough about that though.  Here come the updates...and lets see which dots I connect with this history lesson....

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Lost - IV*

Blood dribbled from an endless number of wounds.  The fields surrounding the cathedral, the Black Spire, usually a light brown in the cool autumn sun were stained deep crimson from the spilt blood.  The sun was rising on the second—no, third, or was it the fourth?—day of ceaseless battle.  

Tierun stood in the center of the writhing mass of death, wounds weeping from beneath the tattered robes clinging to his lithe form.  Around him, a handful of his army remained, pressed into a tight circular perimeter.  Glancing over the forms, he could see the dark horde of orcs swarming, like rabid beasts, around other bastions of humanity in the tumult of war.  

Somehow, the band of humans had weathered days of hard battle, exhaustion seemed their greatest foe.  Exhaustion was the bringer of death here on the battlefield.  Once a man slipped even close to its unconscious borders, his life would be extinguished by any of the beasts constantly poking and prodding.  For those beasts, exhaustion just meant being shifted away from the first rank; a constantly revolving and constantly refreshed wall of death.

But the humans had lasted several days now, an eternity of sleeplessness.  Most importantly, Toq had been delivered to his goal.  Tierun stared upward, marking the lighter speck of shadow against the pitch-hued walls of the Spire.  There, Toq hung or clung, still fifty feet from the jagged tip of the structure.  Hundreds of feet the priest had climbed, no doubt with aide from some type of spell.  The man was unburdened, save for his bastard sword, a religious medallion, and a pack of rations.  

Tierun smirked.  Today was the last day of battle, he knew it as he felt and saw the warming rays of light crest the wall of earth to the east.  Today, Tierun would join his ancestors beyond the war torn world of his life.  Hopefully, it would be an existence of bliss and contentment.  Hopefully, he mused, this life would end quickly and painlessly.

A shout ahead brought Tierun’s attention back to reality, back to the dying surrounding him.  The farmer bellowed in pain, doubling over as a vicious falchion rent through his stomach and through his spine, severing the cord in a deft move.

Tierun’s arm reacted instantaneously, flipping the barbed chain forward.  The jagged edges snapped like a viper attacking, shredding the flesh of the dead farmer and slamming into the face of the charging orc.  The ugly brute shrieked in rage, the spikes finding purchase across his porcine visage and more painfully, within his eyes.

Howling, the beast fell backward, pulling the chain tight but Tierun shifted his weight, turning the chain with the revolution and taking several layers of flesh along for the ride.  The chain flew left, Tierun released a little more of its length, and it pummeled into the next attacking orc.

The first orc fell to its knees, eye-less sockets gaping angrily about for some foe aside from the impenetrable darkness.  Another of its kin stepped to the fore, ending the beast’s hopeless search.  

The general wrenched again on the chain, snaking the rabid metal through the air toward the replacement.  It impacted, just short of the mark, as a young male stepped in to fill the line.  The sudden interruption redirected the chain, looping the weighted end around the boy’s neck and projecting the deadly weight toward the general.  Tierun dropped to the ground, pulling the chain with but not before the solid end smashed into another soldier’s head.
Behind, the man dropped allowing two orcs to flow inward through the gap.  And ahead of the general, the child’s head disconnected under the sharp strain of metal.  Tierun struggled to stand, caught off guard by the horror stricken head that rolled to a stop mere feet from him.  The child’s eyes lolled about impossibly inside the skull, blame and pain engraved in the flesh.
In that split-second, the human-crafted bastion of protection around the general was severed, split in twain by a line of savages and brutes, quickly working to extinguish the fires of hope.

Tierun screamed with rage, leaping to his feet, but the sharp bite of metal ripped through his arm, severing the limb at its midpoint[1].  A burst of blood sprayed across the ground and into the air as he collapsed to the ground.

_Today, I will die_, the general admitted silently to himself.  The sudden rush of blood had left him light-headed and accepting of the fate.  “*But, I will take you all with me!*” he screamed as he wrapped the spiked chain around his torso.  The razor edges dug into his flesh as the chain was looped about his shoulder and down the bleeding stump of an arm.  He shook the new appendage, and though the edges vibrated, they would not release their hold upon his flesh.

The general smiled wickedly, kicking out and shattering a porcine nose.  More of the beasts encircled, mixing allies and foes.  The general lifted his left arm to serve as a counter balance and spun.  The chain danced off the ground, creating a whirling wheel of death and pain as he fell into the motion.  Around, the heads and appendages of his enemies and allies exploded with agony.  The ranks fell back away from the wheel of death, caught by utter surprise.
More wounds dumped blood down the general’s twisted form, holes opened by the chain itself.  The ranks of orcs stood outside his reach, dumbfounded.  But the surprise couldn’t last and the ranks parted slightly.  Two ogres filled the gap, lifting giant bows and aiming at Tierun.

Tierun laughed maniacally, breaking into a run.  The chain whipped outward, shattering one of the composite bows and raking across the ogre’s chest.  It bellowed, a cry short-lived as it fell to the ground utterly dead.  The second ogre unleashed its projectile, which flew true over the short range and sprouted from Tierun’s chest.  

The general screamed and brought his chain twirling around the giant’s legs.  The blades along the lengths rotated quickly, severing the meaty thigh.  The ogre shrieked and fell backward.

Pain echoed across the general’s mind as he turned, to find two more archers at the other end of the circle.  He charged toward them but kept his mind at the rear where he heard, as he had expected, the twang of more bowmen.  Tierun dropped to his knees, pivoting into a roll.  The chain-arm scraped the wet earth, creating a wall of dirt and dust for the orcs.  His momentum carried him through the legs of an orc, his chain whipping above his head and severing those legs. 

Tierun leapt upward, chain still in motion, killing as many of the beasts as he could.  His body arched up, over the heads of his foes and he brought his legs around in a mid-air flip.  With his feet, the fighter broke the faces and necks of two opponents as he landed.  The circling chain followed him, taking those directly around.

As Tierun felt the earth rush at him, he felt also the last warmth flee his dying body.  The chain whipped about limply one last time, before it joined its master useless and broken upon the ground.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] - More shades of Star Wars


----------



## Funeris

*Pawns*

Toq climbed through the arcing window, as deftly as a spider upon a beautifully spun web.  The priest knew the Black Magus would be waiting, such had been foretold.  It would be a definitive meeting in the history of humanity, a time to finally throw off the shackles of divinity; at least a time to remove the shackles crafted by gods and goddesses which had no right to claim leadership over humanity.  Those gods and goddesses that had sat idly by and allowed the great snake Nar’sra to kill Guymardt, the father of humanity, would be removed.  All of divine history, all of the betrayal, all of the bloodletting had been but mere steps along the path of coalescence of purpose for the human race and their guiding influence, Ara’kull.
Today was a day of fate.  Today was a day of history.  Today, Toq’s life would finally have purpose and meaning.  Yes, all of it would mean something after today.

The cleric stood waiting quietly for the meeting he knew had been prearranged by fate.  And without disappointment or surprise, the Black Magus stepped out of the long shadows of the Spire. 

“It is time, Magus.”  Toq began, holding his symbol at arm’s length.  “It is time for a regime change.”

“_I am aware of your god’s plans, child,_ the voice drifted across the shadow, condescending and emanating from all directions.  The voice was soft and feminine, quite the surprise to Toq who had always assumed the Magus was male.  The tone was also distant and cold, a voice tainted by the corruption of death.  _For several long centuries, I have held the separate kingdoms together, per the desires of Ara’kull.  For an eternity, I have reigned and given my tribute to your, to *our* god.  I have a few words to leave you with, of course, once you have given to me the payment I am due._

She paused, sliding gracefully into the light.  Spiked armor, blacker than shadow, was stretched taught across her small frame.  She moved noiselessly, despite the encumbrance, and moved right to the edge of the extended holy icon.  She batted it away, almost playfully before flowing directly into Toq’s arms.  Her hands, covered by gauntlets tipped with razor-like talons, closed strongly about his arms.

“_You did bring my payment, didn’t you priest?_”  The words were drenched in the scent of rot and decay, her face hidden by a demonic mask with eyes flickering the color of dying embers.  Toq shuddered; he was sure he did not wish to see the face hidden behind the mask.

“It is,” the priest replied turning away, “in my satchel.  My lord fulfills his promises, fiend.”  
“_Of course he does, priest.  Of course he does._”  She stepped a pace back, releasing the priest’s arms.  He could nearly hear the smile stretch the decaying flesh behind the mask as he reached into his satchel, rummaging about for the payment.

Toq pulled his arm out quickly, throwing an object toward the Black Magus.  Her hands shot out with preternatural speed, to enclose a vial that exploded within her clutches.  She screeched, drawing away as the sanctified waters scorched her flesh and armor.

“*TREACHERY!!!*” she shrieked, pulling back defensively as the priest’s bastard sword slipped between the plates of mail.  The sword bit into her torso and burst into flames, righteous, sanctified light.  She hissed again, drawing back to disappear into the shadows.

“_Mark my words, priest.  You and I are naught but pawns to your god.  Pawns manipulated in the greatest of games.  You will watch your back, for when you least expect it, I shall be there.  In the darkest of hours, upon the darkest of nights, I will wait for you.  And that night, much like tonight, I will not retrieve my due.  But I will rise again, devouring your soul and teaching you the truth of torture._”  

A sudden flaring of light drew both attentions to the center of the spire.  There, between the cracks of masonry, energy poured into the room.  The energy flared, burning white to blue to red, like a great, angry pyre.  It blazed golden, burning the priest’s eyes and singing the Black Magus’ flesh.  Both yelped in pain, flinching away from the light.

*I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOU*.  The command was direct and resonated within their minds.  *I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR GOD OR HIS MACHINATIONS*.  Anger, pure, clear and precise anger jabbed each pawn.  They fell to their knees, skin and mind aflame with pure agony.  Within their minds’ eyes, the flames reappeared, uniting into the form of a beautiful woman.  The flames were her body, flickering and dancing, licking the cool air.  Blue flames burned where her eyes would have been, piercing shadow and veil, piercing truth itself.

She reached out and with a thought drew both creatures into her grasp.  The grip, tight, was hot and cool, painful and soothing all at once.  The Black Magus shrieked, her undead flesh slowly turning to ash and soot.  

*FOR YOU THAT ARE DEAD, TO DEATH YOU SHALL RETURN.  FOR YOU THAT WILL BE KING, A PRISON YOUR EXISTENCE WILL BE IF ARA’KULL FEELS NEED FOR YOU.  TO SERVE AS PAWNS IS TO DIE AS PAWNS, SACRIFICED FOR THE END-GAME.*

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sudden still calmed the raging battlefield.  From the top of the dark spire, bright light flickered and threatened to consume the precipice.  Red, white, and blue blistered outward from the black-hued spear.

Each orc, ogre, troll and even human, what few remained, stared at the sight, unable to look away.  Seconds transmuted into minutes of perfect peace and solitude.  The light vanished, flowing back into the black walls. 

The Dark Spire exploded, stone and debris being forced from the structure in a deafening burst.  Every living being below screamed, cowering and covering their heads as a torrent of energy rippled out from the spire.   

Then all was movement, dodging and pivoting, ducking and dying.  The debris plummeted quickly, squashing life from those that were too slow or just plain unlucky.  

After mere seconds, a dusty mist had arisen across the battlefield, keeping the wounded and tentative peace.


----------



## Funeris

Well, I hoped you enjoy the updates I crafted for you today!  
Its my birthday week..._does the happy dance_....I'm not sure when I'll get to updating again...but aside from my own personal stuff, I don't have much on my plate at the moment.

With luck, it'll be sooner rather than later.

So as SJ would say: Cheers!

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> Well, I hoped you enjoy the updates I crafted for you today!




Of course. Even if I am less than sure that I understand exactly what's going on!!  :\ 

And happy birthday, for whichever exact day it is!!


----------



## Funeris

you're not the only one less than sure.  Yeti wasn't entirely certain...at least, that's what he said after I posted them.  Maybe I'll clarify a bit.

Before the current king (or emperor...or tyrant), Toq Arma Dunn, came to power, Norum da Salaex had been ruled by an entity calling itself the Black Magus.  The Black Magus (generally thought to be a man...although it was never truly seen in public) ruled for upwards of one thousand years.  Of course, you all know that it was a woman as evidenced above.

The Black Magus had conquered the preceding kingdoms (there were two of them): Norum and Salaex...thus the title of the continent: _Norum da Salaex_.  At the disposal of the Black Magus, were all of the "evil" races.  And she built her stronghold in the center of the continent, to better tighten her iron grip around the people.

So, these Lost sections as well as the Pawns section are about the change of rulership that occured almost six hundred years prior to the current year within the main Story Hour.  The myth regarding King Toq Arma's rise to power claimed that he vanquished the Black Magus in a great explosion.  Both of their bodies fell to the world, broken and lifeless.  Ara'kull intervenes and ressurects Toq, for the human warrior is not only the King but the first priest of the church, as well.

I am a big fan of needing to know the history of a world...so, it becomes pertinent.  And I just felt it necessary to go back and show a bit of the legend...because maybe everything wasn't quite what it seemed.

Eh....now I rant.  I may as well have just written a new update!  

My birthday is Friday and *THANKS!*

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Thanks for the explanation, Fune. I thought it was something along those lines - and I should really have gone back to look at the background info you posted at the beginning of the thread to refresh my memory, but, what can I say ... I'm lazy!


----------



## TheYeti1775

Our little Funeris is on his way home, and plans on having Thursday & Friday off as well.
So I will be bugging him to death for updates, and if you all want to bug him please do so.
hehe
Stuck at work for another 4 hours......
Yeti


----------



## Funeris

No problem HalfOrc HalfBiscuit!  (_I'm lazy too_)  

Yes, the yeti has already demanded three updates from me (one for here, one for The Heroes of Marchford, and then one for his SH Valus+20).  He had some requirement that they all be teasers...4-500 words each.

_Sigh_

No rest for the wicked.

*WAIT!!!!*  What's that I hear??  Is that...no, it couldn't be...the sound of an incoming update?!?!?!



~Fune

P.S. - Its 478 words...just so you know it qualifies.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 4: From Here to There*

*VISITORS - Part I*

Cassock awoke to the pounding of rain amidst the dense foliage of the forest.  He shuddered, cold gripping his bones as he rolled to a sitting position.  The house or building—Cassock couldn’t distinguish for sure—had been abandoned for some number of years.  Age had crumpled most of the roof, devouring supports and braces, causing the roof to collapse into the two levels below it.  The vengeful timber had driven downward, pulling the lower floors down to the earth between the foundation walls. 

It was between those solid, stone walls that the company now slept, a fitful and fevered rest brought on by not just the fatal battle they had encountered, but the unseasonable weather which now wrapped its tendrils tightly around their throats; draining the heat and life from their bodies.  A slight portion of the roof had survived the assault of age, a thin border that trapped a gaping view into the foliage and beyond, into the stars.  Beneath the edges of roof, they slept.  

The fire in the center had not survived the battle with the downpour and later with the snow that now rested quietly upon the foundation.  The snow itself was succumbing to the fresh downpour battering the ground.  Quickly, the white was vanishing into a puddle spreading through the debris along the floor.  

Soon, they would all be sleeping in a pool of hypothermic death.

“Unless I wake them,” Cassock stated to no one in particular.  Aramil was leaning against the far edge of the foundation, with a clear view through a hole into the surrounding wood.  But the rogue had fallen asleep, whether it occurred before his shift ended or after the mourning half-elf had decided to watch alone all night, Cassock could not be sure.  From the obviously distraught mental state of the rogue, probably the latter, he decided.  

Cautiously, the priest moved around to wake the rogue first.  When the priest glanced through the large hole, he noted a land of white and gray dancing between the mottled brown of wood and the still unchanged green of the leaves.  It was an extraordinarily crisp and pristine view.  He reached for the rogue’s shoulder when a large shadow stretched across his body.

Cassock spun, a massive form negating the hole completely.  It was a sickly green-brown in hue, larger than four men strapped together and had a wicked under-bite.  The teeth—giant fangs—lacerated the lips they were held taught against.  A dim intelligence pierced the deep brown of its eyes and it opened its maw.  “*FOOD*!!!” the beast bellowed, lifting the half of a falling tree it used as a club.  From behind the head of the beast, Cassock saw more—gigantic—shapes looming.

_Ogre!_ the priest’s mind shrieked.  He fell onto his back, scrambling away to draw his mace.  “Attack!” he screamed, hoping to wake the others.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

> No problem HalfOrc HalfBiscuit! (I'm lazy too)




Yeah, right! That's how you keep two storyhours going, plus updates for the Yeti's as well. I wish I could be as lazy as that!   

PS nice update - looking forward to seeing ogres eat the party!


----------



## TheYeti1775

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Yeah, right! That's how you keep two storyhours going, plus updates for the Yeti's as well. I wish I could be as lazy as that!
> 
> PS nice update - looking forward to seeing ogres eat the party!




Now why is it everyone wants Cassock dead......


----------



## Funeris

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Yeah, right! That's how you keep two storyhours going, plus updates for the Yeti's as well. I wish I could be as lazy as that!
> 
> PS nice update - looking forward to seeing ogres eat the party!




Lazy...I am Lazy.  Believe me.  Now, I do accomplish a lot...two storyhours, helping Yeti with his, One long-term publishing gig...and I've now picked up another smaller book to help out on...not to mention the novel I will finish someday (hopefully).  Not to mention preparing the BoP games, designing gigantic maps to play with, a full time job, a nearly nine month old son, and a woman that needs my affection.

But aside from those few things, I'm quite Lazy 



			
				TheYeti said:
			
		

> Now why is it everyone wants Cassock dead......




Heh.  Maybe he deserves it   

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Heh.  Maybe he deserves it   ~Fune




Most likely does for the things that float through his mind.
hehe
--------------------------

I do thank Funeris with his help on my story hour.
As most can see my writing sucks big hairy Yeti balls.
Great ideas and all, but grammer and all that I'm not that great at.

Now that I've pumped his ego up a bit, he better pump out a few more updates.   

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Hmmm...maybe if you sat down, ignored everything else...and pumped out updates...say once or twice a day, maybe all that you _think_ is wrong with your writing will improve.

You're always your worst critic.  

Back to actual publishing work (researching that is...its always nice to know I'll eventually make some money off of having to read sourcebooks--not to mention it gives me a billion ideas to hurl at my players) 

I'll update at some point today or tomorrow.  

And for those of you that haven't read Valus +20 but are fans of the Heroes of Marchford Storyhour...go read it (link in my .sig, linked also in Yeti's .sig).  It tells of what's happening in the twenty years between the as-of-yet uncompleted SH by me...as well as what happens after that.  We're slipping all kinds of pertinent info into it...but leaving a lot of spoilers open for my Heroes translation.

If you like it, bump it.  Get the Yeti (and me) off our collective asses.  

~Fune


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Hey buddy. Y'know, this SH is getting better and better. I would go into why, but if I put my finger on it then it could well be another of those creative-butterflies stamped out by my stumpy digits.

Suffice to say I'm really impressed. 

Keep it up!

Your eternal fan, Spider J


----------



## Funeris

Thank you spider J.  

It means a lot.  Don't worry about crushing the creative butterfly---it's actually half-phoenix and will rise from the ashes of its death...over and over and over again.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hmmm...maybe if you sat down, ignored everything else...and pumped out updates...say once or twice a day, maybe all that you _think_ is wrong with your writing will improve.
> 
> You're always your worst critic.
> 
> Back to actual publishing work (researching that is...its always nice to know I'll eventually make some money off of having to read sourcebooks--not to mention it gives me a billion ideas to hurl at my players)
> 
> I'll update at some point today or tomorrow.
> 
> And for those of you that haven't read Valus +20 but are fans of the Heroes of Marchford Storyhour...go read it (link in my .sig, linked also in Yeti's .sig).  It tells of what's happening in the twenty years between the as-of-yet uncompleted SH by me...as well as what happens after that.  We're slipping all kinds of pertinent info into it...but leaving a lot of spoilers open for my Heroes translation.
> 
> If you like it, bump it.  Get the Yeti (and me) off our collective asses.
> 
> ~Fune



I'm not my own worst critic.  Did you forget I'm married.  haha

I think we are looking at a Nov 18 game date, for our next session.  Should be interesting in how we handle our current 'dire' straits.
haha

Yeti


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris, great updates on both Story Hours!  Also, happy belated birthday...I hope you had a great one!


----------



## Funeris

My birthday was quite nice, thank you.  Although that day was hectic because I actually picked up some much needed sleep.  We (all my players except for Rhynos' but including yeti's wifey) went out to dinner at the Outback...I had nearly $50 in whiskey...and then we retired to my apartment...where i continued to consume whiskey until well after midnight.  Somehow, I even managed to beat Aramil, Anastrianna and Gabriel/Zayda at a game of Egyptian Rat Screw.  They don't know how I pulled it off....especially since I didn't get into the game until Anastrianna (HappyCat) was about to win.

Yummy.  Whiskey.

But then the day following was probably one of the worst of my life.  Although those problems eventually (for the most part) worked their selves out.

This week...not so good.  _Sigh_  Back at work and hating it 

~Fune


----------



## OaxacanWarrior

Funeris said:
			
		

> My birthday was quite nice, thank you.  Although that day was hectic because I actually picked up some much needed sleep.  We (all my players except for Rhynos' but including yeti's wifey) went out to dinner at the Outback...I had nearly $50 in whiskey...and then we retired to my apartment...where i continued to consume whiskey until well after midnight.  Somehow, I even managed to beat Aramil, Anastrianna and Gabriel/Zayda at a game of Egyptian Rat Screw.  They don't know how I pulled it off....especially since I didn't get into the game until Anastrianna (HappyCat) was about to win.
> 
> Yummy.  Whiskey.
> 
> But then the day following was probably one of the worst of my life.  Although those problems eventually (for the most part) worked their selves out.
> 
> This week...not so good.  _Sigh_  Back at work and hating it
> 
> ~Fune




Well you have my sympathies on having to work again.  I, unfortunately, am in the same boat...although I don't think I can call what I do work most days.


----------



## Anti-Sean

Funeris,

Just figured I'd let you know I pimped your SH in Nephtys' Your best dark Storyhours thread. Hopefully you'll have one more minion slavering for more updates soon!


----------



## Funeris

Well the more minions the better, I say.  

Hmmm...I suppose that has earned you an update...yes.  I will get you an update today as thanks, for pimping my SH.  

~Fune


----------



## Anti-Sean

Sweet! Oh, and as I'll be travelling tomorrow, I guess I should say Happy Birthday now. Happy Birthday!


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Well the more minions the better, I say.
> 
> Hmmm...I suppose that has earned you an update...yes.  I will get you an update today as thanks, for pimping my SH.
> 
> ~Fune




So if I pimp you out, you will update.  
*Rubbing hands together*
MMM Ok.

Yeah Ron, want to go to DC......


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 4: From Here to There Continued*

Ummmm....no.  I don't think I'd look very sexy in a tight, hot pink outfit.    



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassock swung the mace upward awkwardly, a feeble first attack, but was rewarded with a thud and the sound of the ogre’s breath escaping.  He pulled the weapon backward, preparing to follow up with an overhand swing.  Maybe with a small leap, despite the encumbering armor the priest wore, he could crush the monster’s head or face.  Maybe.

Aramil’s eyes flickered open, the dull light of morning eagerly emphasizing the shifting flesh of the ogre easily within two paces of the rogue.  He held his eyes closed and felt a seething rage boil, bubble and churn within his stomach.  He gripped his blade slowly enough for the movement to go unnoticed.  If any were to focus on the half-elf—a dim possibility in the midst of an attack—his knuckles shifting to a bright white with tension would be the only clue to his conscious state.

_Gabrielle_

Rage, white-hot and tearing at his muscles, compelled him to leap into action.  He denied the urge, some last thin strand of control held his body in check.

_Gabrielle_

The rogue bit into his lip splitting the flesh nearly in half; a small stream of blood flooded into his mouth.  It was enough, to keep control.  The bitter, metallic taste ebbed with the anger…at least, for the moment.

Cassock jumped, pulling the mace over his head for the attack.  His weight shifty unnaturally upon the rain and snow soaked muck and before the swing could be completed and even before the cleric could lift far enough off the ground, he tumbled back and away from the fight.

The priest grunted and swore.  The full girth of the ogre shifted into the foundation.  A flickering flame of hunger burned brightly in its mottled face.  The tree trunk—or club—darted toward the sky.  It drove down, the unusual strength of the large creature forcing it through the air to smash its dinner into submission, into a slightly crunchy and delicious paste.

Two arrows whistled above Cassock’s prone position.  They pierced the flesh of the ogre, pushing it toward the door.  The tree truck smashed into the soft earth, just a hair’s width from the priest’s face.

Either the beast’s skin was too thick, or it was just too stupid to realize it had been attacked.  It shook its lumpy head and refocused its concentration on the cleric.  The trunk was lifted again.

_Gabrielle_

Aramil’s eyes jerked opened.  He moved from his sitting position to an attack form within a split second.  Utilizing the wet muck of ground, the half-elf half-slid and half-ran to the foe.  His short blade led the way, snaking easily under the massive arm.  Despite the immediate assault of the ogre’s underarm stench, the blade finished its route—sliding through layers of fat, between two ribs, and into the lung of the monster.

The ogre yelped, dropping the trunk.  Cassock crawled from the battle, from the doorway.  Loud voices snarled and yelped from behind the first ogre—other ogres no doubt, maybe some goblins.  The priest sighed and tried to get a decent footing.

Aramil ducked the beast’s flailing arm.  He wrenched the blade from the punctured lung, a feral look in his eye.  Snatching the ogre’s belt, the half-elf spun across its belly, slamming the blade into its other armpit.  It screeched again, arms grasping futilely for the rogue.   Aramil slipped down, dragging the blade through the soft, and usually hidden flesh.  A spurt of blood arced from an opened artery, the crimson mixing eagerly with the snow, rain and mud.

Three more arrows pummeled the ogre, the dumb brute wavering unsteadily on his feet.

Cassock closed the gap, to finish the job, his mace smashed easily into its head, shattering bone and blood vessel alike.  The beast’s eyes dulled, everyone scattering away from its form.  And with a resounding boom, it collapsed to the earth.

Shock stretched across the company’s faces as they noted several arrows sprouting like little trees from the ogre’s back.  Outside, the howls and yelps of the other creatures had all been silenced.  Only the constant drizzle echoing upon the foundation filled the air.

A smallish form slipped through the doorway, followed by another slightly taller.  Both were cloaked in emerald traveling clothes.  The first held a long sword, perfectly balanced and poised to attack—the mark of a true fighter.  The other held a yew bow, drawn with two arrows set and ready to be released.  

They moved silently into the foundation, only the slight shift of cloaks making the smallest of noises.  The long sword cut a vicious, twisting arc, disappearing into the robes of its holder.  With her other hand, she tossed the hood of the cloak from her face.

The party’s eyes were drawn to her angular face, particularly the elongated ears.  The elf smiled and relaxed her pose.  “I am Mialee and this,” she pointed toward the other—still hooded—traveler, “is Zayda.”


----------



## Funeris

Now, as an additional note...In Game, it didn't happen quite like this.  Both Gabrielle's and Aramil's player missed this session as well.  My little sister filled the part of Mialee...while Ana and Cassock controlled Zayda and Aramil.

And they all met In Game before the battle...but I figured from a Story Hour point of view...it worked better if they showed up at the same time as the battle.  You know, it just makes more sense if you're to establish trust between characters.

Eh.

Creative License...you know I love it.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

You know its been an hour since you updated.
Guess we have to go pimp you out again.

Yeti


----------



## brellin

that was a cool update.  
but it was to short we need another update


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 4: From Here to There (Part III)*

Well, I'll be damned.  If Spider_J can update today...then so can I 

~Fune

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Aramil stormed from the foundation, directly into the vengeful drizzle outside.  The yet unturned colorful leaves were frail, inept shields against the assaulting heavens; Aramil’s leather was quickly soaked through.  The half-elf was in no mood to entertain guests, no mood to even loot the scattered goblin and ogre corpses.  Rather, he preferred suffering alone under the weight of his own morose emotions coupled with futile guilt.  So, he delved into the forest with no destination in mind.

	Zayda Silverbough watched the half-elf with a burning interest as he stomped away from the desolate structure.  He plodded directly across the corpses, not even bothering to avoid the muck of spent blood and ruined flesh.  Quickly, she moved to follow him silently hopefully to satisfy the curiosity of her own mind.

	Cassock chatted idly with Mialee, apparently the daughter of an Elvish leader.  Ana rolled her eyes while moving to help Spinum in relighting the campfire.  The mage was earnestly considering the best way of clearing the muck, water and slight layer of snow from the aged kindling.  Without as much as a sound, Ana stalked right up beside the wizard and focused upon his task.  He acknowledged her presence with a nod and then shook his head.

	“Everything is soaked clean through.  If the half-elf had bothered to wake anyone for their shift or tried to keep the damned fire clear—” he complained but was silenced when Ana patted his shoulder.

	“He’s having a rough time.  Even Ariel is leaving him be,” she glanced to the spot her adopted sister had curled up in.  She was covered with Aramil’s blankets, seemingly asleep under the heavy cloth.  

	“You could talk to her you know,” the mage suggested, still refusing to draw his eyes away from the dead campfire.  

	“And what would you know about it?”  Ana’s words were rushed and tipped with anger.

	“I know you probably don’t feel comfortable around her yet, especially since your father had replaced you and your mother with her.  But, the fact is she is your sister, whether or not you understand what that means.  And now, just like you and just like Aramil, she has lost someone she cared deeply about.  And that,” the mage continued with a somber teaching tone, “I understand quite well.

	“You have to understand, Anastrianna.  I never felt like I belonged with my father or brother.  I always felt an outsider when I was beside them.  I did not and still do not understand what they were fighting against, although their ideals are beginning to clarify in my own mind.”  The mage sighed, cutting his response short and shifting uncomfortably.  “The least you could offer her is a little comfort.  Do it for your father’s sake if not for her.  It would be what he wanted, yeah?”  The mage weaved his hands back and forth and uttered, “_Accendo Sphaera_.”  

Spinum smiled as the five-foot sphere of flame burst to life, quickly evaporating the moisture, and setting the drying wood below ablaze.  Warmth stretched away from the orb, quickly bringing the feeling of life back to his skin.  “Well, I’m no woodsman but I think that should do,” he turned, smiling boastfully toward Ana but she had moved away.  He caught sight of her huddling beside Ariel and smiled again; a true smile lacking pride.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Funeris said:
			
		

> Well, I'll be damned. If Spider_J can update today...then so can I



*rolls up sleeves, flexes fingers... then gets distracted by a cup of tea*

nice update

Spider J


----------



## TheYeti1775

Damn fine update, good thing I fed Funeris tonight.  Course that Kitty Cat he sleeps with will probably hate the fact it was chili later on tonight.

Yeti


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Good stuff, as ever, Funeris. Keep 'em coming.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 4: From Here to There ([i]Part IV[/i])*

Well...if Spidey says he's going to update today...then so am I   (_especially since my son has finally laid down for a nap_)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“It’s strange you know,” Zayda whispered over the thudding rain.  Aramil was caught off guard and tripped.  His arms shot forward, breaking the fall but covering his flesh and armor with a thick layer of muck.  His face reddening, Aramil grimaced and spun, drawing a dagger.  He remained half crouched, a predator ready to attack if given any sign of weakness but Zayda just shook her covered head.  “You won’t need that half-blood.  I have no intention of attacking you.”

	“You shouldn’t have followed,” the rogue grunted; very disturbed by the racial slur.  They stood in silence and unmoving for a few moments before the half-elf slid the dagger away.  “Why’d you follow?”

	“Curiosity,” the elven ranger admitted.  While Aramil could not plainly see her face beneath the cowl, he could hear the smile behind the words.  “And to ask you a few questions,” Zayda added.

	“Go on then, get it over with,” he barked.  He turned away, focusing on the individual drops of rain and flakes of light snow; watching as they hit each leave, rolling across their thin veins and plummeted to the devouring earth.  

	“Can these humans,” the ranger paused, brushing her hood away with a light push, “be trusted.”  Aramil glared at her, his face registering true shock at the query.  He noted her perfectly straight hair, draped like a black curtain teasingly hiding the supple flesh of her neck.  Her face was perfect, a pale canvas upon which a masterwork painter had crafted a delicate nose and to either side perfect almond-shaped eyes of the finest jade hue.  Disconcertion only swept over Aramil from the cold, hard gaze emitting from the jade eyes.  Her thin lips moved again, revealing pristine teeth and the rogue found himself struggling to make out the words.  “Do you trust them?”

	“With my life,” he grunted, turning his back on the beauty again.  “I trust them with my life.”

	Zayda grunted.  “Then why did you flash that look at them as you trotted off?  Your mannerisms give away much, thief.”  Aramil began to interject, but the ranger continued with her soothing, melodic voice.  “No, something here is not right.  You do not trust them with your life, just as I would not.  Are you their prisoner?  That would make more sense but then why would they allow you to stalk off alone?”

	“I am *not* their prisoner!” he blurted.  But the memory of his release drifted to the forefront of his mind, betraying his own assertion.  “I am…but I am not.”

	“What word game are you playing thief?  Either you are their prisoner or you are not.”

	“I am both.  And *you* would not understand.  It is too long a story for someone with such short tolerance for other races.”  He smirked and moved to leave but she hurled another question his way.

	“Were you a child of rape or love?”  The rogue spun, staring into those heartless orbs.  His lips curled angrily.

	“My mother and father loved each other,” he claimed stonily.

	“Sure they did.  What was her name?”  Aramil’s eyes widened in shock at the personal affront.  

	“I…I don’t,” he stammered.

	“You don’t know.  I suppose the man that claimed he was your father told you that he loved her.  But he didn’t tell you her name.”

	“There…there was no time…”

	“*Of course not.  And you just believed his lies.  They are humans.  Humans lie.  They are no better than the foulest of beasts, worse than orcs and even trolls.*”  Zayda slammed her mouth shut, entrapping the bitter rage that festered in her heart.  “If you were wise,” she continued in a strained, cool voice, “If you were wise you would not trust them.  I do not.  And for that matter, I do not even trust you.”

	“*I do trust them!*” he screamed, pivoting toward the ranger.  His mouth opened for she had vanished.


----------



## Funeris

Oh yeah...can anyone guess what the ranger's favored enemy is?  It should be pretty obvious 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Oh yeah...can anyone guess what the ranger's favored enemy is?  It should be pretty obvious
> 
> ~Fune



Racist itch.

 

No dear elf ranger you shouldn't trust the blood soaked human........


----------



## Funeris

LOL

yeah...well you know racism is just generalization coupled with anger and an ignoble sense of justice for the most part.

Funny though, Clerics that live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, eh?  Especially if you come across a "good" follower of Ara'kull.  Hmmm...

_Of course in my mind...good is relative both to the race and predisposition of a character...so...._

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> LOL
> 
> yeah...well you know racism is just generalization coupled with anger and an ignoble sense of justice for the most part.
> 
> Funny though, Clerics that live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, eh?  Especially if you come across a "good" follower of Ara'kull.  Hmmm...
> 
> _Of course in my mind...good is relative both to the race and predisposition of a character...so...._
> 
> ~Fune



You are mixing up your definitions,
your thinking of persucution (or however you spell it) not racism.

Cassock presucutes the Ara'Kull priesthood.


----------



## brellin

nice update. I hope you plan on telling us more ch. backstory


----------



## Funeris

Brellin, we'll get to more backstory eventually.  Cassock/Yeti well knows that I pull backstory into the forefront (I'm a character-oriented type of guy)...its what I'm doing in the current arc.  But, I'll explain that happy horsepoo when I get there...it'll receive its own unique disclaimer....and of course, I've still got some Rhynos backstory to get to...and I need to get to an event or two with Morrick and possibly Gwen...oh the list goes on.

But, since my kid has a fever of 103, I'll probably end up with tomorrow off..and may be able to update if he naps 

And Yeti, persecution is a by-product of racism   Racists persecute.  Therefore, by your own definition of Cassock's actions...you're a racist.  Although...I dunno...maybe you're more of an extremist (since its a religious view thing)...yeah, I think we'll go with extremist.



~Fune

_Not that you're not justified....._


----------



## brellin

Funeris tank you for posting an anwser and I hope your kid gets better soon.


----------



## Nephtys

Hi Funeris, great story. I really enjoy the dark and gritty mood of the game, it lends a lot of depth and credibility to the story. There is one thing I don't quite understand though. 

Ara'Kull's followers seem a bit too destructive, and Toc himself is apparently a very negligent ruler. It doesn't seem sensible for him to allow his kingdom to be divided into racial fiefdoms, constantly fighting amongst each-others while his inquisitors are slaughtering those who should be his most loyal followers (human noncombatants). It's just wasteful, and poor management. It would be an understandable compromise with older (institutional and racial) traditions during the first unstabile years of his reign, before he would have been able to fully take control. But after 600 years and with a God on his side its amazing that he would still rely on short-term solutions that inevitably weakens his rule in the long term by destroying the people's loyalty to him, as well as turning the country into an improductive wastelend incapable of paying much in taxes and dues.
Even if his goal was to gather as many souls as possible for some Evil Ritual of Ultimate Power it would be a lot more efficient to manage the operation, as well as the management of the kingdom as a whole, in a more professional and consistent manner that ensured stability, prosperity and a healthy long-term growth of the population. After all, the higher the population is the more souls will eventually be harvested. And if you have had 600 years to prepare surely you can afford to be patient enough to sow before you reap.

Regardless, I've enjoyed the story a lot and am looking forward to another update.


----------



## Funeris

Thanks and welcome Nephtys!

Hmmm...I've been pondering how to respond to this...without giving away too much (the Yeti is always listening).  But I think I can explain some of it...with the promise that all will eventually be revealed.

You're right that it seems wasteful and just poor management.  But its important to realize that the King, Toq Arma Dunn, is mad.  And not in an angry way so much as a losing-his-mind-crazy-and-very-possibly-dissassociative-kind-of-way.  Plus, for a "medieval" world, he has quite a bit of land to rule...roughly 9 million square miles of territory.  So, for his purposes...it is easier to divide the land into territories (most of which are human dominated) and three of which are governed by Trolls, Goblins and Orcs respectively.

The individual territories owe allegiance, fealty, taxes and whatnot to the King.  But he lets them govern their own lands as long as his laws are followed and enforced.  He does meet with the individual Barons once, sometimes twice, a year.  But for the most part he lets them be and as a result they squabble over the constantly shifting boundaries of their territories.  This also keeps the individual barons from banding together against the King.  Well, that and a lot of Fear.  Because they all feel the Inquisitor's presence within their lands...constantly monitoring.

Now...why slaughter about 1200 (noncombatant) subjects?  The Town of Green Hills is/was a small village.  It wasn't located on any major roads...they were lucky to see two handfuls of travelers in a year.  The closest neighboring city/town was Nordus Post.  It is approximately 75 miles to the north and isn't a city so much as a barracks.  Nordus Post is positioned on the main road and houses (or at least did house) the Inquisitors.  Nearly no one, barring the PCs or any other children that had grown up and moved away, will miss the village.  Kinda sad, really.

There is a use for nearly 1200 corpses, believe me.  And I'm not saying for certain that *everyone* died.  I haven't really bothered to decide that aspect yet...and if they realized their wells within the keep were poisoned, they could've resorted to drinking from the nearby streams and lake or emptying the tavern...assuming the Inquisitors left (_which I'm not going to say_).  The King does have uses for them...alive or dead...as you will eventually see.

I like to sit down in between sessions and shift perspectives to each of the barons and King in turn.  I decide what they've got going, what they're plotting, how they're going about it and whether or not it is something the PCs will notice during the next session.  If not, then...well...they might catch a glimpse of it eventually.  I do a lot of long term planning...and hopefully, not all of it will go to waste.

So, when you notice something that just seems crazy....chalk it up to madness.  And later on, maybe you'll see the method forming within the madness.  

Thanks again for reading.  I appreciated the comments and hopefully the dodgy clarification was of some use.    And I began working on an update last night...I'll probably work on it tonight too and hopefully have it posted later today.

~Fune


----------



## Nephtys

Thanks for your reply. I'll chalk it up to madness  . No, but seriously, it does make sense. Mad people do mad things and mad Gods create mad worlds. And the story is all the better for it. 

Cassoc will need to do a lot more persecuting before the world can be put under a more sensible government.


----------



## Funeris

Nephtys said:
			
		

> Cassoc will need to do a lot more persecuting before the world can be put under a more sensible government.




Don't worry...we're getting there.  _::sigh::_  

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 4: From Here to There Concluded*

“What important matter draws two elves from their forest homes and into the lands of the Enemy?”  Cassock smiled as he shifted the topic of conversation; small talk and dancing around the issue was quickly growing stale to him.  Mialee batted her eyelashes and smiled but kept her lips sealed.  “Surely, *something* has happened,” he added while drawing a sip from the warm coffee Mialee had been kind enough to share.  

	“Maybe something has happened,” she agreed enigmatically.  “But that doesn’t mean it concerns you, good priest.  I’m certain you can’t be all that interested in our affairs, and if you were I’d have to question your motives and allegiances.”  The elven noble’s grin held a finality that the Priest of Cael was quick to ignore.  His lips parted to interject but her voice prevented the verbal coup de gras.  “And did you hear the thunder last night?  I could’ve sworn it sounded like a massive beast roaring.  And the horrible weather—”

	“It was just the weather,” he annoyingly broke in.

“But aside from this wonderful shelter we are so kindly sharing with you, perhaps we could be of some service to whatever quest brings you so far south.  If nothing else, we may hold a bit of useful information.”  Cassock returned an enigmatic grin as he added, “especially with the Inquisitors so nearby.”  Cassock slouched back to appraise the elf’s reactions:  her left eye twitched uncomfortably as she looked away.  He knew the thought of the enforcing arm of the church within a day or two’s march had to be unsettling to any group outside of Ara’kull’s “good” graces.

	Mialee quickly ran over her options.  _With the unseasonable weather, both elves would likely be trapped with this band for at least another day.  If they *did* hold any useful information, well, it may be worth the risk.  Especially,_ she thought, _if the whole story and need were trimmed to just a few vague details._  “Very well, if you won’t let the subject drop I guess I’ll tell you.  We are searching for a priest.”

	“What luck,” Cassock laughed heartily.  “I am a priest.”

	“And I’m sure your intentions are wholesome but you are not the priest we are searching for.  We look for a priest of the Mother.”

	“Of the mother?”  Cassock’s laugh vanished as he remembered the unsavory circumstances surrounding Spinum’s joining of the party.  “You mean a druid?”  The priest noted the mage skulking closer as the words danced from his mouth.

	“Yes, if I must be so blunt.  There is a druid that resides within this wood.  We have been sent for his advice.”  Mialee quieted as the mage slid into a seated position next to her.  His beady eyes trained upon her and for a moment she felt utterly naked.  She glanced away, coughing to cover the uncomfortable silence.  “His name is Orange Leaf and I would imagine he would be hard to miss.  He’s a half—” 

	“Troll,” Spinum finished.  

	“Ah!” Mialee shrieked.  “Maybe you will be of some service after all!  Do you know where he is?”  

	“Yes.”  Cassock spoke softly.  

	“You are allied with that monster?”  The mage questioned; his tone shrouded by anger.  All of his injuries throbbed to the forefront of his memory as if they had never healed.  

	“He is no monster.”  Mialee stuttered.  “He is a good priest and he might be able to aide my people.”

	“No he won’t,” the priest muttered again.

	“What would you know of it?!” the elf barked.

	“Well, my lady, I know dead men rarely have aide to offer to the living.”  Cassock sighed.  

	Mialee’s eyes opened in shock.  “But—but you said you knew where—”

	“I know where his corpse is, yes.  But I doubt it would be much use to you even if we could find it again buried under the snow and rain.  We passed the body along the way,” Cassock thought about adding that it was where they had picked Spinum up.  But, that seemed unnecessary.  If trust was what was being built, a little detail like that could topple the foundation.

	“But—” she stammered, “how?  Why?  Who?”

	“That, I do not know,” Cassock released quickly to circumvent Spinum’s own answers.  “We found his body within a ring of death in this forest.  The ring had to be at least sixty feet in diameter.  Nothing was living within its perimeter.”  Spinum opened his mouth but Cassock forcefully repeated, “*Nothing*.”  The mage closed his mouth.

	“And…did it…did it looked like there had been a fire?”  Mialee asked and knew she should have held her mouth closed.  Cassock’s eyebrows raised as he nodded in affirmation.

	“How would two elves from so far north know such a detail?”  Cassock’s eyes narrowed knowing the solution before it was spoken.

	Sighing, Mialee softly whispered, “Because two of our young priests burst into flames—seemingly spontaneously.  That is why we have come so far south; to question a few of the druids outside our settlement.”

	“*You speak too much and too openly!*” Zayda accused.  The ranger had slid quietly through the opening, drawing none of the speakers from their discussion.  Her hood was down, her porcelain face tinged with red and eyes ablaze.  “*And to speak so openly with the enemy!  They cannot be trusted!  They are the rapists and murderers of our blood.  Deceit flows through their veins.  IT is their legacy.*”

	“Zayda, you are overreacting…”

	“No I am not, your highness.”  She bowed in mock respect, the anger still in her face and eyes.  “We will say no more to you.”  Snatching Mialee by the shoulder, the ranger dragged her across the foundation to an empty corner.  

	From across the structure, Spinum and Cassock could barely make out the hoarse whispers—the sound of Zayda admonishing Mialee.  “Well mage, I’ll tell you one good thing that has come of this.”  Cassock smiled genuinely, sipping a bit of the warm brew.

	“And what’s that?”

	“Now I can trust you.”  The priest laughed a short triumphant laugh causing Spinum to frown slightly.  “So, would you like to hear of the True Path of Righteousness, the Path of Cael?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The next morning dawned late, the sun creeping above the eastern mountains slowly as if afraid to show its warming face to the white blight of snow, water and ice.  A stiff breeze was blowing southward into the foundation.  Quietly, the flickering embers died; their warming energies released into the cold fury of the wind.

The party had gathered in the doorway, preparing their gear and listening while the two elves bickered yet again.  They had fought all night long in their sharp murmurs; just quiet enough to allow the others the rest they needed.  

“Enough of this,” Mialee commanded.  Raising her voice, “*This is my expedition.  I decide where and when we go.  You are only here to protect me.  And I need no protection from our new companions.*”  Zayda’s lip quivered with resentment before bending into a condescending smirk.  “Cassock of Cael,” Mialee shouted, turning and realizing that the party had not yet exited.  “We will be heading north as well.  I think it would be beneficial that we travel together.  What say you?”

Bowing his head reverently he spoke, “I think that would be a marvelous idea, my lady.”

“Excellent.  We know of a gracious family in the north that would be more than happy to restock your party for its travels.”  Mialee grinned; Zayda stamped her foot in frustration.

“Which family?”

“Have you never heard of the Ladies Llywellyn or their magnificent manor?”  The elf’s eyebrow rose with delight at the possibility to educate the priest.

“It does sound vaguely familiar.”  Cassock pulled out his father’s map searching for the location of the manor.  “But it…is not on my map.”

“It would not be,” Mialee answered.  “It is probably the greatest shame of the King.  Never in the history of the manor, nearly one thousand years, has the keep fallen.  Not to the King, not to the Black Magus before him.”  

As the party journeyed north, Mialee kept their spirits high with her stories of failed attempt after failed attempt of seizure of the grand manor of Llewyllyn.  Zayda dragged behind the main group, still unhappy and untrusting.  Cautiously she watched for enemies…enemies behind every tree and shrub and snowdrift…


----------



## Funeris

Well, I've decided to skip a bit of the campaign (namely the journey northward).  I'll pick it up again when they're nearing the perimeter of Llewyllyn Manor's walls...

The reason I'm skipping it is because nothing of REAL import occurs.  They had five battles along their trek...all undead (don't worry Nephtys...it wasn't 1200 undead from the Town of Green Hills  ...hehe).  The battles were "random"...and the only important dynamic change within the characters was Zayda began to trust the party.

But the fuhschnizzle hizzits the fan at the manor...so it seems like a better place to pick up the story arc...and not drag through 5 unimportant skirmishes.

Before I return to the main SH though, I may hit some other background info per Brellin's request...I've still got a bit to tell about Rhynos and a few other things...so...

eh...we'll see.

Hope you enjoyed. 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Nephtys said:
			
		

> Thanks for your reply. I'll chalk it up to madness  . No, but seriously, it does make sense. Mad people do mad things and mad Gods create mad worlds. And the story is all the better for it.
> 
> Cassoc will need to do a lot more persecuting before the world can be put under a more sensible government.




I like how you think.  

And yes Funeris I'm always watching.  Even when I'm hungover from a Marine Corps Birthday bash 5 days long.  I'm just now catching up on my emails and what not.

As far as Cassock persecuting, just wait and see how dangerous he becomes.  Inquistors have nothing on him.

Yeti


----------



## Anti-Sean

Nice - Hellooooo Zadya...now *that's* how an elf should be! Completely xenophobic and more apt to fill a stinking human full of arrows than to deign to speak with one. Too bad about Orange Leaf, though... 

It looks like we updated about the same time last night - I guess that means I need to start writing a lot more if I want to see some of that sweet, sweet persecuting of Cassock's that you're teasing us with sooner than later!


----------



## Funeris

lol.  I was watching while you updated last night Anti-Sean 

And hey, if you wanna write a bit more, I'd consider it an incentive to pump out some more.  Especially since it seems some of the SHs I've been frequenting have been quieting...must be because of the approaching holidays.

And yeah...we're getting to the "persecution"...of course, I like to call it cold-blooded murder...but eh....that's just semantics.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> lol.  I was watching while you updated last night Anti-Sean
> 
> And hey, if you wanna write a bit more, I'd consider it an incentive to pump out some more.  Especially since it seems some of the SHs I've been frequenting have been quieting...must be because of the approaching holidays.
> 
> And yeah...we're getting to the "persecution"...of course, I like to call it cold-blooded murder...but eh....that's just semantics.
> 
> ~Fune




You call it murder.
I call it a just sentencing and the carrying out of such sentencing.

And you can quote me on that one.
Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Funny, that's how the Inquisitors describe their jobs.  But I guess that's just semantics too 



~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall*

Yup...here comes another Interlude...I so do enjoy writing them (although I admit...I had some help for this one...eh hobbitkiller?) 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: Nightfall

Rhynos screeched silently.  His lungs kicked uselessly against their bone prison, diaphragm trembling and heart roaring.  

“*Let it bleed, let it scar.*”  The warlock drew his legs underneath him, empty sounds ringing through his empty ears.

Vertigo clutched his mind, he felt as if he were falling eternally.  Down, down an endless pit of black into the depths of night and darkness his body flew.  His stomach lurched; vomit shot up his esophagus and burst against the back of his teeth.  Rhynos’ lips parted—splatter and stink assaulted his blind senses.  

He tried to open his eyes but they were somehow sealed shut.  Clawing at his lids, Rhynos scratched dried blood, mucous, and phlegm.  His jagged nails tore into his own soft flesh, fresh blood spilling into his opening eyes.

Everything was still perfectly black.  

His eyelids flickered—he forced them to flicker open—closed—open—closed.

Still black.

The warlock screamed—raw anger, primal rage welled up through his throat.  He crouched over against the damp earth, slave to a coughing fit.  Blood from his eyes and parched throat dribbled into his stomach forcing him into a fit of gagging.

“Rhy—Rhynos?”

Rhynos stopped moving, forcing the fits to cease.  He listened close to the dark but it was as silent as it was black in this hell.  _F*ck!  Now I’m going mad_, he thought.

“Rhy—Rhynos?”

“Who’s there?!” he hissed into the dark.

“It’s G-g-g-g-gardone,” sighed a weary voice.  Rhynos’ face slid between his hands, pain boiling through his brain.  The last few moments of memory flashed across his mind’s eye.  _Gardone turning on him.  Gardone suffering his wrath.  Pain and a hole through his chest. And something—no someone else—someone fluid and murky like his memories_.  He grasped harder, his nails opening fresh wounds along the sides of his face.

“It can’t be.  I killed you.”  Rhynos’ arms slipped down to his wound.  There was no hole, nothing but his smooth flesh.  

Gardone giggled a raspy laugh.  “Killed me?  Killed me did you?  Well, my exalted Lieutenant, then it looks like you failed miserably.”

“*I killed you—you godd@mned traitor!*”  The warlock leapt toward the voice, his head bashed into soft earth above.  However, his momentum carried him through and he landed on his sergeant.  His arms shot out, grasping a head.  He wrenched and forced it into the damp earth behind—back and forth endlessly.  Gardone laughed—loud and maniacally.

Rhynos’ felt fluid splash in his face but he kept moving.  Gardone’s head forward—back—into the air—and into the dirt.  But the laughing did not end.

Finally—frustrated and at a loss—the warlock fell away, curling again upon the moist earth.  The peal of laughter continued.  Rhynos tried to take stock of his surroundings:  not so far he heard the _drip…drip…dripping_ of water, the earth smelled of moisture—dank and old, he felt cold but the air seemed warm, hungry—he was so hungry.

“How long have we been here?” he demanded.

“Forever…and not so long.  Time loses its meaning in darkness.”  

“I am not going to play games with you.”

“Oh but you should, I do so love games.”  Gardone’s voice had shifted, losing its deep tone as it slid upward; masculinity lost, femininity gained.

“G-gardone?”  Rhynos slid back a bit.  He felt a gentle breath on his shoulder.  He tried to spin away but a talon caught him, unbending like a vice it held him in place.

“I brought you dinner, child.”

“W-who?”

“I am your mistress.  I am your mother.”  She paused—allowing the words to settle upon the muggy darkness.  “I am your Goddess.  To me you do owe a great debt.”  A light flared not so far away, her talon receding.  She set a thin, faint candle upon the damp earth.  Before Rhynos, crouched upon the floor, a beauty—flawless, pale beauty sat.  Her long hair was her only covering and even it seemed to despise the idea of modesty.  No, the black hair danced away, luring Rhynos’ urges forward.  

He turned away, gripped with uncertainty and the need to see Gardone.  A body lied broken upon the floor.  Despite the week or more of rot, Rhynos could recognize its features—even despite the pulpy skull he had recently smashed futilely against the earth.  

Death clung to the warlock’s nostrils.

A wail brought his eyes to his Goddess again.  She held a bundle of cloth in front of her body, mostly rags but something inside tossed and turned.  A tiny hand lifted from the pure white—grasping for heaven.  “I have brought you dinner.”  She smiled, her lips sliding easily past jagged incisors.  Her right hand reached around what must have been its throat.  He saw again her talons and watched as the white began to stain red.

Hunger clawed at his stomach.  His arms reached slowly—tentatively toward the offering.  She tossed it callously.  He snatched it from the air—the infant was still wailing albeit softly now, he remarked—and brought the warm flesh to his lips.  He felt his lips part, felt the hunger claw outward, felt warmth spreading through his limbs.

“Eat, drink and be merry—” she whispered with an amused smile playing across her lips.

Rhynos brought the babe closer—its cries had ceased.  He felt the bones break in his strong grasp.  The body crushed in his grip, fluid spurting down his throat and into his stomach.  The hunger wasn’t passing though…it just kept growing.  Stronger, stronger…and stronger.

“For yesterday you died.”

Rhynos tossed the corpse to the ground.  “*More*,” he demanded.

Lillith smiled.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Nice ...... in a twisted, perverted sort of way.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall Part II*

Hmmm...anyone think I should call this an update rampage?  
And Halforc Halfbiscuit, I couldn't agree more--but I think it makes for good writing/reading 

~Fune

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The warlock smirked into the night.  He shifted slightly for a better footing; the hill he stood upon was covered in a week’s worth of heavy rain.  The grass had been forced down into the muck beneath, fornicating with the mud until it had become a slippery mass of gunk any human would’ve had problems traversing.

Rhynos was no human, though.

His scowl increased with the passing of minutes, with old memories long lost to the time-devouring darkness.  Lillith had been correct about that at least:  Time meant nothing in the darkness.  Years had passed, was it five, ten or twenty?  Rhynos couldn’t say for sure.  Existence had become mindless and numb—as numb as his unnatural body.  _Of course, slavery must seem mindless to the slave_, he thought.

He bent down, stretching the tips of his fingers out into the dark.  The familiar pain tingled and danced through the tips just as the flesh parted to the ragged, bony daggers.  The wounds quickly healed, another benefit of this damned body.

But then the hunger—the demonic, never sated hunger—clawed at his breast again.  It was always there, always lurking beneath the false surface of human flesh and bone yearning to be unfettered.  Yearning to devour the world whole.  It awoke every time blood was near, living or dead, it did not discriminate.  Now, it craved Rhynos’ own blood, the few droplets he had sprayed into the mud-cloaked earth.

He focused, pushing the craving down and away from the here and now, away from his task.  A scent drifted upon the night air—a putrid, death-filled scent of rot and immortality—but it was a scent only an animal or Rhynos would notice from so far off.  Another vampire.  Another beast bold—or stupid—enough to tread upon Lillith’s demesne.  Another notch on Rhynos’ near-infinite list of kills.

The warlock shot upward, his legs extended fluidly and launched his body higher than any possible mortal.  Silently, his body passed through the tight branches above, each sliver of wood bent away momentarily as if afraid to catch plague.  He pierced the prison-like crossing of branches and landed upon a sturdy limb without a single scratch upon his perfect body.

Waiting for the walking corpse to near, he dropped into a sitting position and continued to traverse his mind’s memories.  Memories of being naught but Lillith’s servant and occasional lover.  Memories of being a beast in the dark, death incarnate for so many.  The memory of Lillith whipping him incessantly and her light, airy laughter mocking him as the many open wounds sealed closed again.  

But there were memories of his life before; leading so many men in the King’s useless army.  Not that there were that many men in his unit—mainly goblins, orcs and the halfbreed orcs.  

“No, my life is better now,” he determined.  “Or would be if…”.  The idea was ludicrous—so insane it just might work.  If he could be free of Lillith, yes this life would be worth living.  But he would need to enlist the aide of a priest—no minor task for a creature with his proclivities.

Rhynos spun backward over the limb, an unconscious reaction, and plummeted again through the branches that avoided his form.  The beast—the vampire was below now, a perfect target for his hate, rage and constant hunger.  But, he wouldn’t let it take him from his thoughts.

_There is a town not so far from here_—his ragged bone claws pierced flesh, wrapping—along with his fingers—around the beast’s collarbones.  His feet slammed into its back and with an immediate kick, he flipped forward.  The vampire shrieked as Rhynos’ momentum shattered its bones and launched it easily into the air.

_And there is a priest and priestess—husband and wife, if I recall correctly_.  The warlock closed the eighty-foot gap in less than two blinks of an eye, his target howling in fear, anger and agony.  Rhynos’ claws flared green—channeling the energy he had always been connected to—as he launched into a flurry of blows to throw his opponent off its guard and push him back.

_They could help—but the planning alone would take years_.  Rhynos’ left arm slammed through the sternum—piercing the bone, atrophied flesh, and black heart.  The vampire screamed futilely as the warlock used his right arm to snap its neck.  He leaned it, the beast’s healing slowed, and jabbed his fangs through its neck.

Cold—yet still invigorating—blood flooded his mouth.  It, the vampire, twitched and tried to yelp.  Rhynos just wrapped tighter around it, drinking in every potent drop of its unlife.  

After a few moments, Rhynos detached himself.  The body of his foe was quickly turning to a well-sculpted pile of ash, a monument that would blow away with the first kiss of a breeze.  He stood, turning toward the small down and stalked forward—his path set.

Time means nothing in the darkness.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> And Halforc Halfbiscuit, I couldn't agree more--but I think it makes for good writing/reading




Oh, I agree completely. My comments were intended entirely as a compliment.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall - Part III*

Another quick update...I may get to one more before I leave on Thanksgiving break...but no guarantee.

~Fune

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The undead warlock clenched his fingers together.  His grip was strong, almost unbreakable, but he held back from the force that would shatter the frail mortal’s windpipe.  He waited patiently, just as any creature with an eternity of time to spare can.  Slowly, the man’s face shaded; pale to pink, pink to red, and finally red to burgundy with a blue tint around the edges.  Rhynos opened his grasp and the man slammed into the floor.  He coughed and wheezed, rocking abjectly on the wooden strips of varnished wood.  Before feeling and control could return to his lips, spittle spiked with a bit of blood slid down his chin, plopping with finality onto the floor.

“*Why is it not done yet?*” Rhynos demanded.  He trembled, his closed fists seemingly white with rage.  In truth, he was struggling against the demonic hunger again.  Inside his chest it rose with a purely inhuman strength, despite having been quenched several times already that night.

“S—sir, it is a delicate process…”

“*I DON’T NEED YOUR DAMN EXCUSES!!  I NEED THE BLOODWINE!!!*” [1]

“My G-g-g—god, Cael, has not spoken to me in some time.  I am weak, I don’t know why.  But that—that is why it is t-t-tt—taking so long.”

“*ENOUGH	EXCUSES!!!*”  Rhynos’ arm snapped out, closing tightly against the human’s throat again.  He fought himself, he fought the beast.  But the warlock watched as if a spectator; cast from his body by the hunger.  The priest was raised again into the air with one extended arm.  Cold fury was etched upon the false Rhynos’ face, upon the demon’s visage.  The human kicked and flopped about like a dying fish pulled from a stream, his legs wobbling left, right, then circularly but his neck could not escape the grasp.  A tingle of sensation caressed Rhynos’ consciousness where his fingers would be, where the talons of hardened bone would explode through his flesh and into that of his foes.  Lines of blood trickled down the aged priest’s throat, staining his coarse and worn clothing.

“*NO!!!*”  Rhynos screamed, banishing the beast and hunger.  The priest flew across the room, smacking into the far wall heavily.  With his will, the warlock retracted the claws and pulled at his own hair like a mad man.  

He watched, waiting for a sign of life to stir within the priest.  After several long moments, at least for the vampire, the cleric climbed to his knees, one hand grasping the shredded skin of his neck.

“What is your name?” the vampire hissed.

“M—M—Mo-” the priest stuttered. 

Rhynos interrupted with a dismissing wave of his hand.  “Never mind your name.  It does not matter.  I want the blood wine.  All of it.  You have until a few moments before sunrise.  If it is not complete I will kill your wife.  Even if Myr came down from the heavens to save this one priestess, I would drain every precious, delicious drop of life from her body before I too embraced the cold finality of true death.  But I doubt her goddess would try to save her anyway.  Mighty Cael doesn’t even help you to craft a poison!

“You will finish the poison.  If you do not, the rape and torture I have subjected to her this past fortnight will mean nothing as to that which awaits her prior to eternal slumber.  And if I am truly, truly upset with you, dear Priest,” sarcasm clung to the title as it slid out the warlock’s mouth.  “Perhaps I will bless your wife with an existence eternal so that I may taste of her deliciousness for all of eternity.”  Rhynos spun, swinging the door open.  It slammed against the adjoining wall, rattling nearly off the hinges from his strength.

“But I will get her back?” whimpered the cleric, unsure.

“You have my word, priest.”  The warlock slipped a hand into a pocket, withdrawing a small cloth.  He tossed it carelessly onto the floor.  “But don’t disappoint me.”  

As Rhynos stepped into the dark forest outside the cottage, he heard a wail erupt from within its walls.  _No doubt he realized it was one of his wife’s fingers_, he thought as his body slipped silently downward into the earth, swallowed whole by its natural embrace [2].

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] - Blood wine is from _Libris Mortis_ (pg.74-75).  It is a poison laced with garlic.  In Norum da Salaex it is a bit more potent than the one described in the book though... 

[2] - Vampires, vampires, vampires.  I love variants.  We (Rhynos' player and myself) crafted this variant based loosely against White Wolf's Gangrel clan.  As such, they have extendable razor claws and can sink into the earth.  They have some other abilities as well.  Basically, I hate that all vampires are only of one "species" and all have the same faults.  So, I've adjusted it a bit in my world...but haven't gotten very far in creating all the unique bloodlines.

Right...well...enough jibba jabba.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Funeris!

Hey, sorry for being a bit slow on showing my recent appreciation here! I have to say this SH keeps getting better and the gritty edge to the writing is really beginning to *shine* (?). Undead characters are tricky ones to handle! It'll be interesting to see how this progresses.

Anyway, have a good thanksgiving.

Spider J


----------



## Funeris

Hey, no problem spidey.  I do read your thread...so I know you've away a bit.  And I had hoped that I had inserted my claws deep enough to lure you back eventually 

I'm not sure "shine" is the correct word...but it'll do until we come up with a better one.  Rhynos is a...fun character to say the least.  For one, we had 50+ years of history to come up with...and that should just make any DM's day.  Hobbitkiller, Rhynos' player, will probably de-lurk at some point.  But I'm having fun with the vamp...and he's a crafty sort...running around with heroes...always seeming to agree with the "good" idea of what to do....he saves their asses on occasion....and all the while, he's pure, candy-flavored, arsenic-laced *Evil*.  With a capital *E*.

I'll try to have a good thanksgiving.  I'll probably be without internet...so I'll have to fall into my other vices.  But I'll take the laptop with me...so I should have at least one update ready by Sunday night/Monday morning.

Until then....adieu.

~Fune


----------



## hobbit_killer

*De-lurking*

Well I will take that as my cue.  

I play Rhynos in this campaign and it has been a blast.  I was a bit leery of playing an evil character and constantly ask Funeris if this or that is too much or if Rhynos should be "written out" and a more "party friendly" PC brought in.  But we have decided to run with it and see what happens.  And like I said, its been a blast for me.  

A little history on our fanged friend:
I came into this campaign a little late and when I did enter, the rest of the group had undergone a bit of a transformation themselves.  So the question was, do I want the same thing or should I go down a different route?  Well, needless to say, I went a completely different direction.  Funeris and I worked out the history and specifics and we rolled with it.  A little while after this is when we started to spiral out of control as Funeris already mentioned.  Funeris did an excellent job of fixing the situation (and I'll admit at first I was a bit worried it might turn out like the Dallas dream season) and got us into some intense RP heavy sessions that have been great.

But I'm getting ahead of myself and the SH.  So sit back and enjoy, the campaign gets turned on its head in a bit...but that doesn't mean Rhynos loses his edge   

And I don't mean to dissapoint Anti-Sean, but no one has yet given Rhynos the two things you have stated he needs most......although I did get some special attire from the waist up.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall Part IV*

Well, you all have Rhynos/hobbitkiller to thank this one--since he decided to de-lurk and share a few comments.  So be nice folks and thank the wickedly evil vampire that just wants to devour your souls.  

*DISCLAIMER:  THIS STORY HOUR IS STILL A GAME CRAFTED BY ADULTS FOR ADULTS.  IF YOU ARE HERE...HAVE SOMEHOW MADE IT THIS FAR THROUGH THE GRITTINESS AND YET ARE OPPOSED TO SAID GRITTINESS, BLOOD LUST, NORMAL LUST, OTHER THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT, AND THE TRUE DECREPIT NATURE OF SOME MORTALS' (AND IMMORTALS') SOULS...THEN BE GONE.  I DON'T WANT TO GET WARNED/BANNED FOR THIS ONE.   AND I DON'T WANT TO OFFEND (NOT MY INTENT--WHICH IS TO TELL THE TALE AS ACCURATELY AS POSSIBLE).  CONSIDER YOURSELVES WARNED YET AGAIN. * 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My dearest,” the warlock reached up and brushed a long golden strand of the priestess’ hair back behind one of her ears. She shriveled away from his touch, trying to force herself into the dank earth prison he had crafted.  “No, no, no, that won’t do,” he had turned his attention to the stub of pinky which had managed to scab over during his nightly jaunt.  

She continued to shrink back; becoming as small a target as possible.  Her eyes darted around blind for the intense, pure darkness of the prison.  Grinning, the vampire shifted downward, opening his mouth.  The fangs elongated and he snapped his jaws shut.  The scab as well as an eighth of an inch of flesh exploded into his mouth followed closely by a torrent of blood.

The priestess shrieked, slouching onto the damp floor.  As the warlock released the finger—preferring to lap the life-giving fluid with the tip of his tongue—her body became rigid.  Caution fell upon the vampire but too late.  A burst of intense light flowed from the priestess, pushing the beast backward [1].  The tendrils of light trembled, mating, and became an orb of daylight.

Rhynos yelped as he dove back away into the shadows.  Embarrassment now filled the walking corpse.  He stood, as regally as possible—no hard feat for a creature cursed with immortality as well as an ego to match such a lifespan.  Taking a pointless breath, the vampire stepped into the light.  A slight tingling, the briefest memory of a summer breeze, warmed his flesh but did not increase into the realms of pain.  The warlock laughed maniacally.

“You see, of course my dear, that this little blessing your goddess has given you has no effect upon me, a true god.”  He soaked up the light and her fear, allowing both to invigorate him fully.  The beast, the demon was in his gullet again, clawing to the surface of consciousness, of control.  “No.  And now you, a priestess of Myr, of light, are buried so deep within the earth that your goddess—even if she still lived—could not protect you.”  The circle of light diminished, shuddering.  “No one can protect you now.  Not from me, not from the damnation I offer; you are cast out and broken.”  The light failed and Rhynos was upon her.

The priestess’ scent filled every of his senses; her warm, delicious blood, the soft scent of her hair, and even the dankness of the earth seeping into her imprisoned flesh—he desired it all.  He brushed the rebellious strand of hair behind her ear again, the warmth of her flesh tingling against his cold, dead hand.  His hand slid down from ear to neck and over the rough rags she still wore.  

A dagger slid from the edge of his finger—he couldn’t feel it; the beast was so close now—the cloth slipped around his talon and dropped limply to the floor.  In the darkness, he noted the supple shape of her soft breasts with his eyes and then his hands.  The monster dragged the edges of his fangs against her throat, two bubbles of blood formed into vivid lines along the flesh.

But he did not drink.

He moved lower, down, over the shapely body—feeling every soft curve, every shapely line.  She sighed and leaned back, sinking to the floor completely—too weak for a fight.  The slow, steady drip, drip, dripping of her wounded finger created a morbid rhythm for the beast upon her.  

“I could give you life eternal,” he muttered from within the crease of her thigh.  His hands caressed, the daggers elongating and shredding the first few layers of skin.  She moaned; a sound equally filled with pleasure and pain.  The light she had generated had vanished and it had taken the spark of light, the spark of life from her eyes.  

“You could be my queen,” he stated in between his tongue’s gentle caresses and his fang’s greedy scrapes.  “We could watch the world grow old, wither and die as all things but we do.  We could rule, side by side, for eternity.  All of this could be yours.”  His claws wavered, yearning to dig through her skin and into her perfect, pure, holy body.

“No.”

Rhynos snapped up as if struck in the face.  “*What?!*”

“No.”  The small flame of life, of light had sparked again behind her blue iris.

“*Your goddess is DEAD.  And I will send your husband to meet her soon enough as well.  You have nothing left in this world, NOTHING*.”

“I will not damn myself.  Take of me what you will, monster, beast born of blood, hate, and wickedness.  When you meet your end, my goddess will still offer forgiveness.  And do not be foolish, you will meet your end, true justice, long before this world withers.”

The vampire shrieked, his claws hungrily shredded into the small, juicy space between her nude ribs and hips, blood welled up over the talons.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.  And then she thought, _Myr forgive and protect me_.

Rhynos screamed, rage fueling the beast, as his wickedness penetrated her again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] - As noted before, Clerics have spell like abilities gifted from their gods/goddesses.  Followers of Myr can summon light, as the _daylight_ spell.  This of course ties back to the yin-yang concept of Myr and Cael being opposites that are forever attracted to each other--and produce the balance within the world.  (Of course, I made the female aspect of the concept gentle and healing and good--whereas actually in modern myth the male aspect holds those qualities and females are granted roughness or hardness, evil, etc.)

And for real this time--I won't be updating again before I leave (in an hour or two).  So, keep the thread warm for me until I return.  Everyone (in America) enjoy your Thanksgiving!  Those of you elsewhere...enjoy the rest of your week/weekend.    

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

Well, the thread is not locked...I haven't gathered any warning points...and my post hasn't been deleted....so I assume:

     Either no one has read it 
     Or...everyone that did read it expected such from Rhynos (and myself) 
     Or...I just failed horribly at stirring emotion...

No matter the reasoning, I guess the last post was kosher...so I continue to enhance my concept of how far I can go with...description of certain types of events.  

Unfortunately over the break, I didn't get around to an update...but I'm sure you all can expect one from me at some point this week.  

stay tuned....

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Oh I read it all right - and had my emotion stirred. But I don't think anyone having got this far into your storyhour would have been at all surprised.


----------



## Funeris

Wow, that was a fast response HalfOrc HalfBiscuit.

lol.  Yeah, I can see what you're saying   Glad I stirred some emotion.  I think Rhynos is the hardest character to write...because he is evil...he's not above rape, murder, torture, or well...anything and trying to find a decent balance in the writing (_so as to avoid a banning_) is difficult.  Especially because his history is pertinent to personality...and the path he ends up on.

Oh well.  I hope I can finish up Rhynos' (hi)story maybe some time this week...so I can get back to the main thread...but we'll see.

~Fune


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## TheYeti1775

Just wait for the PC's to meet up *S*


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## hobbit_killer

I thought it was a good update.  Faintest spark of humanity and then 'poof' it was gone.  Good stuff.  Its tough to ask WWRD and then distill it down to something you can post on a public forum.   Rhynos is more into inflicting mental anguish (cause lets face it, every Ed Gein knockoff and his brother does the physical stuff and that's so amateur hour)  and that's tough to write as well.  But you've pulled it off this far.  Maybe its time to take it up a notch next session--just in time for our new players


----------



## TheYeti1775

hobbit_killer said:
			
		

> I thought it was a good update.  Faintest spark of humanity and then 'poof' it was gone.  Good stuff.  Its tough to ask WWRD and then distill it down to something you can post on a public forum.   Rhynos is more into inflicting mental anguish (cause lets face it, every Ed Gein knockoff and his brother does the physical stuff and that's so amateur hour)  and that's tough to write as well.  But you've pulled it off this far.  Maybe its time to take it up a notch next session--just in time for our new players



New players = Sacrifical Lambs
O did I say that out loud.
Actually it is Cassock that is the closest to death.  I might actually need a back up character in this one.

Yeti
P.S. Mike, Like the idea, run with it run with it. run boy run. I only have the main Eberron sourcebook but I'll work with it.


----------



## brellin

I don't realy like Rhynos. But of course that is because I feel a bit strongly about 
rape but I guess it realy comes down to picking the lesser of the 2 evils


----------



## Funeris

You don't have to like Rhynos...he is a villain. 

_And by no means am I claiming that rape or anything else you find in this thread (including traveling from village to village and killing "evil" people for money) is acceptable behavior.  I have rather a strong stance against that specific behavior as well.  But, he is a villain.  And I try to portray him as such._

I'm sure I've broken some sacred cow ideal by allowing evil characters to travel with "heroes" (although...in my defense...no one was giving me a solid alignment at this point--they were all claiming "chaotic neutral" except Rhynos of course).  But...evil or good...when it comes to party composition...does it really matter as long as the two factions have goals that run parallel?  

Once those goals diverge...the crap may hit the fan.  But until that moment....they may find they need each other.  

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> You don't have to like Rhynos...he is a villain.
> 
> _And by no means am I claiming that rape or anything else you find in this thread (including traveling from village to village and killing "evil" people for money) is acceptable behavior.  I have rather a strong stance against that specific behavior as well.  But, he is a villain.  And I try to portray him as such._
> 
> I'm sure I've broken some sacred cow ideal by allowing evil characters to travel with "heroes" (although...in my defense...no one was giving me a solid alignment at this point--they were all claiming "chaotic neutral" except Rhynos of course).  But...evil or good...when it comes to party composition...does it really matter as long as the two factions have goals that run parallel?
> 
> Once those goals diverge...the crap may hit the fan.  But until that moment....they may find they need each other.
> 
> ~Fune




Yup, though there is Good/Neutral/Evil in the party, it can be done easily enough with our group.  The players are cool with it, the characters might not be if the 'goals' ever cross.  That might be sooner than most think though.

Yeti


----------



## TheYeti1775

I'm not getting any work emails right now.
Ron/Mike sent both of you emails,
did ya get them?
Did ya respond?

I haven't received even work ones today.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Our connection here went down about 15-20 minutes ago (although...obviously, it's back up now).  But, I sent you an email around 12:30 ish...did you get it?

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Our connection here went down about 15-20 minutes ago (although...obviously, it's back up now).  But, I sent you an email around 12:30 ish...did you get it?
> 
> ~Fune



Just got a network notify here,
our incoming internet email is down.

Ugh
Just when I wanted to be lazy.
And Email back and forth.
I swear the Gods are against me in all forms today.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Ah...well...if you go here you'll see what my email was about.  I was requesting input from both you and Mike.

Once our connection went back online...I went ahead and posted it...but its not drawing any views as yet.  

~Fune


----------



## Anti-Sean

Grrr...

I suppose I despise Rhynos so much because his humanity (and vampirism) hit very close to home. I can believe that evil such as him exists. End-Bringer, on the other hand, is an alien form of evil - one that my mind can always write off as a fiction (he/she/it is very real within the context of the story, mind you, it's just that I can safely put it aside when i remove myself from reading). Rhynos, to me, represents the evil that can and does well up from within each of us, as opposed to an otherworldly, external End-Bringer (from my POV/given what little I know about it as has been revealed in the SH so far).

I guess the only way I'll get satisfaction with the character is to level up my PCs a bit and throw a vampire spawn named Rhynos at them and let them beat on him for a few dozen rounds before granting him final death in as gruesome and just a manner as possible. 

Excellent writing as ever, Funeris. Admittedly, some of it goes beyond some of my comfort levels, but I keep reading it regardless. I'm not exactly all sunshine and rainbows, but your story has challenged me to allow it to take me places that I'd rather not go. Follow your muse no matter what pathways it takes you down! We'll still be along for the ride.


----------



## Funeris

Thanks Anti-Sean 

That made me all warm and tingly inside.  And you're dead on (_so to speak_) with the comparison of evils between Rhynos and End-Bringer.  End-Bringer...does at least seem alien (you don't know his whole past...so maybe that'll come into play...and I can make you feel for him as well...cuz I'm *evil* like that).  End-Bringer...is what Aliens...or Demons/Devils...Angels...Gods...should be...an unknown entity.  You don't know what drives him truly (aside from his god/king).  Does he enjoy the death/pain/suffering he causes?  Is he truly evil...or is he more like a machine??  

Rhynos on the other hand...here you have a guy that was obviously abused as a child (and often even though you only get one true glimpse of it).  He's been forced to feel inferior all his life...as compared to the brother that was truly inferior and was to inherit the father's business.  He had a loving mother...that was forced to keep a safe distance or be "punished".  His father neglected him.  He suffered injustice.

So...he did what most second children from Midloth did...he enlisted into the King's army (seeing as how it is the capital of Norum da Salaex...the King has a very *strong and constant* presence in his own city).  And he quickly rose through the ranks...taking lead of these inferior creatures (orcs, half-orcs, goblins, half-goblins) in an undeclared war.  The power...for one constantly forced into an inferior position...was overwhelming.  So he reacts the way he was taught those in power act:  he abuses his troops, his "friends"...everyone.

Then of course...he's pushed even further from his humanity with the vampirism.  Its a constant downhill slide with his intentions and soul...that began at his birth.  Hell, it may have even began before that--but now I get ahead of myself, the story hour, and even the game 

Rhynos is what every human can be.  That's why I like humans in roleplaying games.  They have this great ability of being Angels or Devils...and the getting to that point is delicious.  That is probably why I studied Psychology & Criminal Justice in college too   Besides...we as humans can relate more to human characters...at least initially.

Well, I'll stop boring you with my rambling.  I have to get prepared for a meeting.  Ugh.

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Thanks Anti-Sean
> 
> That made me all warm and tingly inside.  And you're dead on (_so to speak_) with the comparison of evils between Rhynos and End-Bringer.  End-Bringer...does at least seem alien (you don't know his whole past...so maybe that'll come into play...and I can make you feel for him as well...cuz I'm *evil* like that).  End-Bringer...is what Aliens...or Demons/Devils...Angels...Gods...should be...an unknown entity.  You don't know what drives him truly (aside from his god/king).  Does he enjoy the death/pain/suffering he causes?  Is he truly evil...or is he more like a machine??
> 
> Rhynos on the other hand...here you have a guy that was obviously abused as a child (and often even though you only get one true glimpse of it).  He's been forced to feel inferior all his life...as compared to the brother that was truly inferior and was to inherit the father's business.  He had a loving mother...that was forced to keep a safe distance or be "punished".  His father neglected him.  He suffered injustice.
> 
> So...he did what most second children from Midloth did...he enlisted into the King's army (seeing as how it is the capital of Norum da Salaex...the King has a very *strong and constant* presence in his own city).  And he quickly rose through the ranks...taking lead of these inferior creatures (orcs, half-orcs, goblins, half-goblins) in an undeclared war.  The power...for one constantly forced into an inferior position...was overwhelming.  So he reacts the way he was taught those in power act:  he abuses his troops, his "friends"...everyone.
> 
> Then of course...he's pushed even further from his humanity with the vampirism.  Its a constant downhill slide with his intentions and soul...that began at his birth.  Hell, it may have even began before that--but now I get ahead of myself, the story hour, and even the game
> 
> Rhynos is what every human can be.  That's why I like humans in roleplaying games.  They have this great ability of being Angels or Devils...and the getting to that point is delicious.  That is probably why I studied Psychology & Criminal Justice in college too   Besides...we as humans can relate more to human characters...at least initially.
> 
> Well, I'll stop boring you with my rambling.  I have to get prepared for a meeting.  Ugh.
> 
> ~Fune




To sum it up in a few words.
Rhynos makes Cassock look like a Saint.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall - Part V.*

“Now, priest!”  Rhynos’ arm snapped out, shattering the Cael worshipper’s jaw.  The human slumped to the floor.  His hands grasped at the broken bones, trying to staunch the flow of blood and spit.  The beast flared with the scent of fresh blood.

A soft, smooth humming filled the room; a soft, inky darkness spread between the priest’s fingers.  He removed his hands—the wounds were gone.

“Not until I have my wife.” 

“Because of the two of you I could tear my own hair out in frustration!”  The cleric of Cael smiled inside from the response—his face kept its unwavering glare.  “You will get your wife when—*And only when*—I have received the blood wine.  And I mean all of the blood wine.”

The vampire stomped toward the first of only two windows in the small domicile.  He threw the shutters open.  Outside, the pristine, velvet sky warmed to a beautiful rose red along the verdant horizon—the ancient trees of the Draeul Forest.  To the west, the towering giants of the Matz range twinkled in the dawning sun—their white-capped peaks bounced the light rays into the valley.  If the vampire had glanced south and west, he could’ve watched those giants stoop and crouch until they disappeared into the vacant, flat horizon formed by the Dead Sea.  But he had seen enough.  It was time to push the priest.

“I gave you until the last few moments before daybreak.  Day is now breaking.  Your wife’s life is forfeit.  Tomorrow night, I will return for you, coward.  Get you as far away from here as possible under the light of the sun; offer me at least some sport—although, one as lazy, fat and cowardly as yourself will be an easy slaughter anyway.  Until tomorrow.”  Rhynos stepped away from the window, sliding the door open a sliver.

“WAIT!”  The vampire grinned without turning.  “I have your bloodwine.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.  Here.”  The priest flew from the entry and into the small kitchen.  Rhynos heard the clatter of dishes and other rummaging noises.  He turned to the kitchen and the cleric poured through the cramped doorway with a large box in his hands.  “It’s all here,” he huffed as he set the box down cautiously.

“All fifty vials?”  

“Yes.  Each and every last vial you requested.”

“You wouldn’t try to betray me, would you priest?”  Rhynos’ left eyebrow arched with a measuring movement.

“Not when my wife's life hangs in the balance,” the cleric replied—fingering the holy symbol in his pocket.  

“Good.”  The vampire knelt and transferred the vials into his satchel.  

“And my wife?”  The priest cautiously queried, his hand gripped tight about the symbol now.  Outside the doorway, the first true rays of sunlight were slithering across the dirt.  

“I have one more task for—”

“*The deal was the vials for my wife!*”  The holy symbol had leapt from the cleric’s pocket still embraced between the shocked-white fingers.

“Don’t do anything hasty,” hissed the Grimhand.  He finished shoveling the vials into the leather satchel and secured its straps.  Inside, the vials quivered and clinked—glass against glass.  “Your last task for me,” the vampire stated as soothingly as possible, “is to remove your wife from her prison.  I have no more need of her; she is wasting valuable enough space as it is.”

The priest blurted, “She’s alive then?!”  He sighed, releasing a breath full of worry.

“Yes,” and here Rhynos chuckled, “although she is tired—positively drained.  That’s no real surprise though, is it?”  His face broke into a cruel smirk.  “You’re not even half the man I am, or was.”  Frowning, the holy man shuffled his feet nervously; to say anything could jeopardize his wife’s rescue.  “Of course she wants something of me that I cannot give.  And she has more in common with you—a weak, sack of flesh.  So, come with me and I will take you to her.  Then you both can be rid of me.”

Taking steady strides, the vampire crossed the threshold and into the bright morning rays.

“*NO!  Wait!*”  The priest of Cael threw himself at the vampire; a vain attempt to protect the demon from the damaging rays of the sun.  Rhynos sidestepped, allowing the minister to fall gracelessly onto the earth.  His body took the brunt of his weight; his robes absorbed the brunt of the moist earth.  Onto his back he spun, horrified to see the vampire, a creature unable to tolerate the light of day, standing calmly within its bright grasp.

“But—the sun’s—its light—”

“It will take effect soon enough, priest.  Have faith.”  A sizzling pop echoed the truth of his statement.  His flesh began to singe and blaze.  It sagged and then just as quickly drew tight across the bones beneath.  Wide holes tore into being; boils that burst and spread a pale ash into the drifting winds.

“Get out of the light!”

“Grab my hand, priest.”  Rhynos stretched his arm out and down.  His flesh peeled back from the tips; muscle separated; his bones pushed into the warming air—the jagged barbs were at the very edge of the white.

The priest hesitated then reached up to clasp the bone.  Rhynos’ arm darted back.  A crackling green energy engulfed the bones and the forearm surged forward.  The bare fist slammed into the priest’s head fracturing his skull and pushing the holy man into a deep, tumbling darkness.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 5: Nightfall - Part VI (Chapter Done)*

“What, please say, is this?”  The sexual, sinful, and naked form of Lillith slid its lithe, long arms up and around Rhynos’ body.  Her cold, lifeless touch caressed his body lovingly but her eyes stared hungrily over the warlock’s shoulder.  The warlock, Rhynos, knew the loving touch was false—all loving touches were.  The world was cold, dark, and hateful.  It was full of spite, wickedness and injustice; love was a concept some fool poet dreamt in an earlier, perhaps kinder age.

No, Lillith cared nothing for her once precious dark child.  She used him constantly as a guard, as a slave, as a sexual tool.  And in the very earliest of days, a fulfillment of her lustful hunger was his only purpose.  Afterward, the demoness would drain his body of its sustaining blood—leaving him in a state of torpor until the next night.  Then she would wet his lips with some blood; usually from a child or some other pitiful creature; stirring him from sleep, awakening the beast, obliterating what little humanity the Grimhand had.

But how quickly she had grown tired of him.  Did those blissful, thoughtless, eternal nights of lust even last a year?  He often wondered.  Time was irrelevant, meaningless in the darkness.  Soon, she no longer drained him of his blood.  She still used him to sate the ungodly lust that burned within her breast, but always she left him awake and restless.  Once he had dared question why.  Her cold response had been:  _Because you amuse me.  I am tired of you.  But still, you amuse me._  The feeling had become mutual.

_Tonight it will all end,_ the warlock thought.  “And how was the gathering, my goddess?”

“It is unimportant, slave.  What is this?”  She moved around him, shifting silently across the damp earth.  She knelt in front of the gift he had prepared, examining each individual piece separately.  Slowly, she traveled along the line.  Often she would grip one piece, examine the details closely; she sniffed, touched, and even rubbed her soft tongue across a few.  “They still live?  And what are all these holy symbols doing in my cave?” the vampiress demanded.  She spun to her child.

Rhynos stood unmoving, cold and now nude.  “My goddess,” he knelt to one knee and bowed his head in deference.  “I know how these meetings with the council starve and bore you.  The food cannot be of the best, most delectable morsels.  I have prepared a feast worthy of your divinity.”  His black, shaggy-haired head bowed ever lower.

“The religious symbols?!”

“I have gathered all of the priests, each and every single one from within our—I mean your,” he corrected, “territory.  With them eliminated, your grip will be ever more powerful.”  Rhynos raised his head, his sharp fangs black in the lightless cave, “And a goddess should only eat the best.

“I placed their symbols out in front of their bodies so that you may know of which god or goddess you drink from.  I know, from experience, that each tastes unique when compared to the next.”

Lillith laid her pale hand against one of the minister’s chests.  “His heart still beats!  You said you tasted from each?”

“Only enough to assure their compliance until you returned, my lady.  I did not wish such a gathering to awake.  Together, they may have been able to best me, your weak subject.  I wanted everything perfect for your return.”  Quietly, the warlock stood and moved to stand beside his mother.

“You have done well in my absence, slave.”  She looked at the warlock, taking notice of the red spots that marred the perfect, white flesh of his face.  “Have you been playing in the light of day, fool?”

Rhynos smiled, seemingly abashed.  “No, my goddess.  The priest of Cael was exceedingly difficult to gather—even though I already had his wife, the cleric of Myr.  He fought me well into the bitter light of morn, where I sustained these wounds.”  With a quivering motion, Rhynos brought her attention again to the scars upon his face and also to the still-healing flesh and sinew of his arm.  “In the end, I did succeed however.  And your feast is complete.”

“Well done.  Yes, very well done.”

Rhynos gripped Lillith’s arms, pulling their naked forms together; grinding against her cool body in exquisite pleasure.  “Please, my goddess, my love.  Take me as you did when first I was turned.  I long for your caress.”  His cry was lustful and altogether true.  It elicited only a seductive smile from the demoness.

“My dear, sweet child.”  With the patronizing words, her right arm snaked upward and grasped his hair solidly.  She wrenched his head back, tugged his body from the softness of her own.  Lillith hissed, “*You* are not fit to touch the flesh you so desire.”  She spit in his face and smirked.  “But do not despair for you have done well in my absence.  Perhaps another night you will be worthy.”  She batted him away with her left; he tumbled through the air and slammed against the stone wall.  

“Just now though,” she licked her lips, “I am famished.”  She tore into Rhynos’ gifts with ravenous greed, savoring each delectable drop.

Against the stone wall, the warlock smiled.  

*		*		*​
Lillith’s body twisted in agony.  She mouthed words but they were silent and replaced with regurgitated blood and, more importantly, potent blood wine.  

“My dear, sweet mother,” Rhynos whispered.  He crouched on one knee again but she was not standing.  Now he was above her, he had the advantage.  The warlock looked at her as an evil god might glance at a human, as a large beast preparing to crush an annoying fly.  “I believe you are weakened.  I hear blood wine does that.”  He smirked and then stood.

“And what is that tingling in my blood, sweet, loving mother?  Is that the first sign of the coming sun?  Of course it is.  In this lightless, dirty and dank pit you were once safe.  This is no longer the case.  You should have killed me when you had the chance.”  Rhynos’ leg kicked straight out, slamming Lillith’s head with brute force.  Her neck snapped causing her head to twitch ever more violently.

Slowly, more slowly than usual, the bones cracked and popped—resetting their selves and healing.

“I do believe that sun is going to hurt you more than me, Mother.”  His tone was biting and sarcastic.  Her eyes opened wider in fear before she was forced to close them with another rush of vomited fluid.  “Yes, yes it will.  And all you had to do was *love* me, mother.  That was all.

“You could’ve prevented this.  But you chose to ignore me.  Always, always ignoring me.”  Insanity crept into the warlock’s mind, twisting the long years of painful memory.  “Was I not good enough for your love?  Was I not good enough for your protection?  *Was my life not worth the cost of your own?

“It must not have been.  I have endured it all:  the pain, the scarring—I must never forget the constant reminders—, the physical abuse, the rape, the beatings, and torture.  And I have ignored, ignored, ignored it all away into nonexistence.  Just like you, Mother.

“But no more.  Those days are done and gone.  Now, I embrace my immortality.  I embrace my freedom.  I embrace my right to give back the glorious existence this world has given to me.”*  The warlock tightened the last of his old armor that still bore the King’s crest and the Church’s icon.  

[/b]“My last act, Mother, is truly an act of love and compassion—if such emotions actually exist.”[/b]  He knelt to whisper into her ear:  “_I will spare you the suffering of life.  This morning, I kill you._”  The warlock’s arm burst into green flame as he drove it through Lillith’s chest.  She clawed frantically at him, but his grasp was too tight with his claws lodged delicately around her black heart and her poisoned body was too weak.

He lifted her easily—she was still vomiting, twitching, and trying to fight back—and carried her through the solid earthen wall into the bright light of early morning.

The light assaulted both of their bodies but the warlock had been practicing.  Every morning of her absence, he had basked in the morning light for as long as his body could take the harsh rays.  Eventually, the periods of time stretched longer and longer.  And now, the results of his experimenting paid off.

Lillith’s body quickly began to ash while his held its pale, pureness stoically.  His skin reddened a bit but refused to burst into flame or ash.  He brought Lillith close to his mouth to whisper, “_I love you, sweet mother._”  He closed his grip upon her heart—oh, how she convulsed.  “_I hope you burn in the strongest fires of hell_”.

With two quick motions, the warlock ripped the black heart from Lillith’s body and decapitated her with his other taloned-hand.  The heart burst into flame setting his scarred-hand, the grim hand, ablaze.  Her head also turned to ash, along with the rest of her body.

The sun ripped across his own corpse, destroying it.  But before the bright light could completely consume his body, before the world could demand its true justice, Rhynos the Grimhand, sunk through the earth to sleep a long, restful, and healing sleep.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient - Part I*

_Fata Viam Invenient_:  Latin for “The Fates will find a way”

—oo—oo—

“Mother, I have news!”  Lady Llewyllyn burst into her private chambers.  Her golden hair swung lightly left and right, creating a shimmer of light in the darkened room.  She carelessly tossed her candle onto the oak bureau.  It landed awkwardly, skidding a few inches, before stopping precariously close to the edge.

The lady shifted her curling, golden mane away from her face and peered intently into the mirror.  Her piercing green eyes stirred the reflection until her image disappeared; replaced by the frail and aged image of her mother.

“_And what news is so important to wake me from my comfortable slumber?_”

“Oh, don’t lie.  You’ve been listening—at least part of the time!”  Lady Llewyllyn, the younger, crossed her arms defiantly like a child during a temper tantrum.

“_I have been listening in—now and again.  But, I just can’t keep up with you daughter.  You’re always rushing about.  And your last excursion was thoroughly exhausting.  I don’t think my shoulders will ever feel right again._”

“A little exercise won’t hurt your frail body.  Besides, I bore the brunt of it.  All you had to do was sit back and enjoy.”

“_Yes, yes.  Anyway...what’s your news?_”  The old woman sat down upon the reflected bed.  She reached for the mirror image of the brush and lovingly stroked her straight, silver hair.  

“A traveler just stopped in—a bounty hunter.”

“_Oh?_”  Lady Llewyllyn, the elder, paused her delicate brushing.  She leaned forward to hang onto each word and detail.

“This bounty hunter is looking for one of our soon-to-be-guests.”  The elder resumed her brushing, but looked utterly distracted.  “A woman by the name of Anastrianna Rowen.”

“_Yes,_” the elder chimed in, “_I know the name.  A Gabe Rowen is mayor of a small town about a month’s march south of our manor.  I seem to remember him having a daughter…_”

“One and the same.  Well, it seems there is a bounty out on her head for a theft she made within Nordaa Saam.”

“_Are you sure it is truly wise to allow these common thieves and brigands within our walls?_”

“Mother,” the younger sighed.  “They’re not common thieves or brigands.  Anastrianna has stolen the key!”

Shock registered across the reflection’s wrinkled brow.  “_Oh, dear.  We must—oh, well—we need to—_” she stuttered incompletely.  She began wringing her shriveled hands together.

“I’ve already sent the bounty hunter along his way.  And I truly doubt he’ll remember telling me everything he did.”  The younger smiled proudly.  “I _charmed_ him with more than just my womanly wiles.”

The elder grimaced, the worry pushed momentarily away.  “_That was a waste.  But, it *is* true then:  the time draws near.  Daughter please let me out.  I should be the first to meet this band._”

The younger sighed, “Fine.  But first there is one more thing you should know about these common thieves and brigands.”

“_And what could that possibly be?_”

“Cassock of Cael, the son of Morrick the Bringer of Cael, travels with Anastrianna Rowen.”  Lady Llewyllyn the younger smiled as her mother’s face turned deathly pale.

“_We’ll need to take down that portrait!  And…and…_”

“Mother, I’ve already taken care of it.”  Then she commanded, “Now, come out of there this instant.”

With a ripple, the mirror shifted about.  Within a few seconds, the younger was confined within the mirror and the elder stood within reality.  She hurriedly finished the brushing of her hair, pulled out a fresh, white dress, changed equally as quick, and hurried to meet her guests.


----------



## Funeris

Well, folks...as promised I finished Rhynos' chapter.  And now I'm bringing you into the chapter where the fuh-schnizzle hits the fan.  So...stay tuned.  Hope you all enjoyed the updates tonight 

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hope you all enjoyed the updates tonight




Well ... they'll do for now.   

Good stuff, as ever, Funeris. I'm looking forward to what all this wierdness leads up to.


----------



## hobbit_killer

I think I am playing a paladin in whatever game I am in next...

Seriously, if you despise Rhynos, then we are doing something right.  We'll see how long we can run with the Grimhand.  So far the rest of the group can't afford to get rid of him just yet.  Hopefully the heroes will eventually give him what he deserves.  If not, then they really aren't heroes and just as bad as he is.   

Good updata as usual.  Mechanics-wise, Rhynos has the Endure Sunlight feat.  Hence, the reason he could do what he did.  

And maybe Rhynos does make Cassock look like a saint, its hard to tell when he's slapping the death priest around like a little girl.


----------



## brellin

I'm sorry to be asking this
but could someone give me the stats for the bloodwine?


----------



## Funeris

No problem Brellin...here they are:



			
				Libris Mortis pages 74 &75 said:
			
		

> *Bloodwine*: This thick, crimson positoxin includes garlic in its creation, making it particularly harmful to vampires and other undead with a vulnerability to garlic.  Such creatures take a -2 penalty on their Fortitude saves to resist damage.  Though normally delivered by injury, it can also be consumed by a living creature to deliver it to a vampire or similar blood-draining creature via ingestion.  A single does, if consumed by a living creature, remains in the bloodstream for 12 hours.  Any undead creature draining blood from a creature that has ingested bloodwine must make a Fortitude save as if it had been injured by a weapon bearing the positoxin, though the save DC drops to 9.
> 
> Bloodwine
> Injury DC 11 (Ingestion DC 9)
> Initial Damage - 1d4 Charisma
> Secondary Damage - 2d4 Charisma
> Price - 250 XP
> DC 22




That's as it is in the book.  Of course, in Norum da Salaex not all vampires are weakened by garlic.  Bloodwine is just a cool general name for positoxins.  

~Fune


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## brellin

thankyou


----------



## Funeris

No problem.  I live to serve


----------



## Funeris

Yup...lost two pages in this SH, too.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Cassock looked around at his bedraggled traveling companions.  Each and every member was drowning in a thick covering of dirt and blood, even the child Ariel.  One month of endless travel had solidified the mud into a hardened surface on each of them.

Still, the camouflage had not protected or hidden the travelers from the beasts, from their endless list of adversaries.  They had intentionally veered away from the major road, oft guarded by the Inquisitors or at the very least the Royal Army, and into the wilds of Nordaa Saam.  But the choice had not protected the group.  

Foul beasts, dead and rotting but mocking life with their unnatural existence, had pounced upon the group.  A handful of the creatures were dispatched within the wild.  The priest had questioned his god for guidance over a course of action—Cael remained silent.  The undead fell within the God’s domain, they were creatures marked with the very kiss of Cael, and yet he offered no solution for Cassock.  

For that matter, the ever-present sensation of contact with Cael dwindled as well.  Cassock’s path was unclear.  So, he destroyed the beasts.

Cassock’s eyes lifted, like a moth to a flame, to observe a distant glow.  Small pinpoints of light flickered across the plains they tread over.   

“It is the manor,” whispered Zayda.  The priest nodded but kept silent.  Talk had become unnecessary and worse, dangerous, along the journey.  Too many predators stalked the wild.

The party slowed to a near-crawl while the manor grew closer, grew larger.  Cassock moved to take the lead with only a few hundred feet left to traverse.  The wall—a stone perimeter stretching east and west seemingly indefinitely—climbed above the heads of the group, despite their current distance.  Evenly spaced upon the ramparts, torches flickered in the brisk wind of approaching winter.  _No wonder it has never been conquered,_ thought the cleric.

Cassock pulled to a dead stop, his left leg raised to take a step but unable to force the completion of the motion.  The rest of the group stopped as well, eyes glued to the priest.  He shifted backward, a questioning expression wrought upon his brow.

“What is wrong, priest?” asked Aramil, Ariel still grasping his trousers.

“I don’t,” Cassock shook his head, “I don’t know.”  He stepped forward and again his leg paused midair.  

“Welcome, weary travelers,” stated an unknown voice.  The entire group leapt, nearly out of their skins.  In front of them, yet unnoticed until now, stood a white cloaked woman.  She stood a few paces in front of Cassock and whatever invisible barrier prevented their travel.  The woman dropped her hood, allowing her aged, white tresses to shimmer in the light of the moon and distant torches.  Her face was small and old but glowed with an inner spark of light—or at least it seemed to.  She moved regally toward the group and passed between the individuals.  Zayda and Mialee inclined their heads slightly as she passed.

“Have you had some problems with the church?”  The aged woman, the elder Llewyllyn, asked.  Her eyes fixed upon the sled of gear and the armor and weaponry of the Inquisitors.

“My lady,” Cassock answered, “we have had a few disputes with the church.”

Llewyllyn turned to the cleric, staring deep into his eyes and face.  “You all look like you need a good rest.  Come, you are invited into my home.  You will hopefully find a bit of peace, nourishment and rest within its sacred walls.

“Good men,” at the title, three unseen men separated their bodies from the darkness, “please bring these spoils of war inside.”  They moved quietly and efficiently to complete the Lady’s requests.  She once again turned to the group, “Please, follow me.”

Cassock opened his mouth to scream that he could not, but his feet moved forward drawing him past the barrier.  The cleric grasped his head—a searing pain stretched through his skull and the connection to Cael faded entirely.  “What witchery,” he hissed, turning to see if any beside he had felt anything strange.  

Spinum slid up to Cassock, laying a comforting hand onto the priest’s shoulders.  “Do not fear—I don’t believe we are in any danger here.”

“But…”

“I know, Cassock.  I can feel it, too.  I do not think I could cast the simplest of cantrips near this manor.  It is as if the magic that flows within my veins and through my mind has been drained from my body.”

“Then I believe we just discovered why this manor has never been conquered.”  Cassock steeled his mind to spite the nervous trembling of his stomach.  

The immense gates of the outer wall swung open, swallowing the weary travelers.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Dancing between the silky fabrics of the curtains, the early rays of the sun fell across the priest’s face, spotlighting his peaceful but slightly uncomfortable features.  He tossed and turned, raising a hand to block the rays.  The bed was so soft and comfortable; Sleep sang a sweet lullaby tune to draw him back to its embrace.

The light slammed into his closed eyelids again.  They fluttered open followed by a deep yawn.  Slowly, Cassock shrugged the sheets and blankets from his body to sit up.  Taking a moment, he admired the pink marks across his body:  the wounds that should have scarred but had been healed with Cael’s aid.  Instead, his body was littered by dozens of the faint discolorations, impermanent reminders that would fade in time.

He stretched, standing and reached for the worn armor.  A few of the chain links, alternating black and red, had been completely obliterated in his recent journeys.  His fingers slid down the cool steel, tracing the blows that would have been fatal.  

Cassock shook his head; no need for the armor today.  Instead, he chose a plain set of black robes and donned them quickly.  He pulled his holy icon from within its folds, allowing it to rest atop the simple fabric.  There, it glimmered against its black backdrop, naming the human for what he truly was:  a priest.

Smiling and comfortable again despite the loss of connection to Cael, Cassock hurried down to the dining hall and hopefully to another delicious meal.

—oo—oo—

“Good morning, Cassock.”

The priest slid to a stop before a beautiful and unknown woman.  She sat relaxing at one of the dining tables, her golden tresses cascading downward to disappear, camouflaged against loose robes of the same hue.  

“Good morning, Lady,” Cassock sputtered, unsure of how to address the woman.  He stiffened to bow.

“Do not bow to me, priest.”  The title was weighted with cynicism, despite her pleased grin.  “Sit.  Eat.”

“Yes, Lady.”  The cleric chose the seat across from the lady, a better position to observe her.  He slowly heaped fresh fruit and other tasty morsels onto his plate.  He stared at the food, but turned his eyes back to the woman.  She stared at him and held his gaze.

“You have a question for me, priest.”  The tone, at least with the word priest, was still cynical and somewhat condescending.

“Yes, Lady.  I…uh, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

She smiled.  Her teeth were exceedingly bright.  “I am the Lady Llewyllyn.”  When Cassock said nothing, she added, “I am the daughter of the woman you spoke with last night, your hostess.  You do remember, do you not?”

“Yes, I remember,” he answered annoyed.  “But what do I call you?”

“You may call me the Lady Llewyllyn.”  She smiled; that flawless, bright smile again.  Cassock shuddered, suddenly reminded of the way a cat smiles while batting about a mouse that cannot escape.  He lowered his eyes, quietly munching upon his breakfast.

Minutes of silence passed, broken only by the small noise of Cassock’s feasting.  He glanced up, but always Lady Llewyllyn the younger sat there smiling at him.  Discomfort filled the priest.

She broke the silence.  “You have another question for me.”  The priest dropped the fruit he was about to place into his mouth, his mouth remained agape.  “You are wondering about *your* god and why you cannot feel him here.”

_What are you?  A mind reader?_  Cassock thought.

Llewyllyn shook her head slightly.  The hair on Cassock’s neck bristled.  “When you think you are feeling the grace of *your* god, it is nothing more than the ability to access magics inappropriately termed divine.  You see, *priest*, Cael died a long, long time ago.”

Cassock’s face flushed with anger as he dropped his silverware.  “*Cael is NOT dead*.”

She ignored his comment to continue the lesson.  “One of our protections here prevents magic from being cast, except within a few choice locations.  Since magic is blocked, you feel cut off.  It is nothing to worry about.”

“Cael is not dead,” he hissed again.  Her eyes and teeth shimmered.

“He is dead.  But, I’m not in the mood to argue with you theologically right now.  If you’d like, I have a book you should read.  It *will* educate you.”  She stood, her robes shifting like fluid.  “Follow me.”

The priest hesitated.  She turned to smirk mischievously at him.

“You are not hungry anymore.”

“No, no I’m not,” he murmured.

“Then follow me to the Library, unless you are afraid of hearing the truth.”  

The priest’s eye twitched as he stood slowly.  Reluctantly, he followed as she led him to the staircase and further into the manor.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Cassock stepped through the doorway and into an enormous library.  Along each of the sides of the rectangular room ran enormous shelves filling the room for floor to cathedral ceiling.  There were only a few empty spots along the shelves—books Spinum had removed for research.  Each individual shelf curved down, straining under the immense weight of its contents.

The mage sat at an aged table, pouring over his pile of reading material.  The entrance of Lady Llewyllyn and Cassock of Cael was entirely unnoticed as he flipped fervently through the yellowed pages.

The lady cleared her throat, forcing Spinum to look up.  He smiled for a moment before turning his eyes downward to absorb more information.  She grasped the cleric’s arm—a grasp as strong as steel—and tugged him along the bookshelves.  

Cassock’s eyes rolled in his head, trying to absorb the titles of the immense collection.  He was pulled along too fast to notice many that would hold interest.  _Planar Cosmology:  The Gods’ Blunder_ leapt out at him but they had passed before he could reach out and snatch the tome.  

“Here we are,” Lady Llewyllyn stated, snapping Cassock into a stopped position.  She released his arm and carefully withdrew a tome nearly as thick as the priest’s arm was long.  With a quick brush, she dusted ages of dust from its binding.  She held the tome out, indicating Cassock should take it.

The priest cautiously held the tome, glancing over the fading gold lettering:  _The Gods’ War:  A History and the Ramifications of Divinity  upon Norum da Salaex_.  

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of work to do.”  Llewyllyn smiled brightly.  “But everything you need to know can be found within those pages.  And whether or not you believe me, that tome speaks the truth.”  Without giving Cassock the time for a retort, she pivoted and moved toward the doorway.

Before she could exit, the rogue wandered in, nearly bumping into the lady.  “Oh, um…sorry, Lady.”

“No apology is necessary, Aramil.  Have you seen Ana or Zayda?”

“Yes,” the half-elf answered.  “I just left them downstairs.  They’re having breakfast.”

“Good.  I should go make sure they are comfortable.”  Aramil nodded as Llewyllyn brushed past him.  Turning, the half-elf stumbled into the room, observing its details very carefully.

“Something is different in here,” Cassock murmured.  He sat the book down beside Spinum’s pile.  The mage glanced up and smiled.  

“You haven’t figured it out, yet?”

Cassock sneered.  “And you have?”

“Let me guess, you’re feeling a lot better now that you’re in here—more complete.”

“Something like that.”

“Yes, well.  Unlike the rest of this castle, our magic is not repressed here.”  To accent his point, a glowing orb of _light_ formed in Spinum’s hand.

“By the Gods…”

“It’s a great defense,” the mage acknowledged.  “There are only a few spots where magic actually functions.  It is no wonder that the clergy and the King leave the ladies alone.”

“How?”

“My impression is that either the ladies are using some type of relic—or that they are exceedingly powerful.  A relic or several relics would be the most efficient means, however.  And that by no means should be interpreted as a lack of ability on their part.”  Spinum’s head turned to the left, passing the long shelves to focus on Aramil.  “Rogue!  What are you doing?”

Aramil refused to turn around.  Instead, he muttered, “This candelabra…it is slightly crooked.”  The rogue twisted the metal, a popping sound echoed through the room.  He stumbled back as two of the bookshelves along the short wall slid open.  The shelves withdrew revealing two storage rooms overflowing with items.

Spinum’s head fell to the table, his hands massaging his aching temples.  An impossible amount of magic radiated from the rooms, instantly causing a maelstrom of pain to brew within the mage’s mind.

Cassock rushed toward the rogue, leaving the tome upon the table.  

Aramil bent down—a small leather wrapped item drawing his attention.  He picked the object up and removed its cover.  The rogue held an ornate deck of cards within his hands.  With a quick flick of his wrist, the cards were shuffled and he flipped three cards out onto the wooden floor.

The three cards rested face down as Cassock grabbed Aramil by the shoulder.  “What are you doing?!” he screamed, knocking the deck from the rogue’s hands.  

A burst of wind appeared from nowhere, circling through the library.  Books fluttered and flapped, almost clapping at the spectacle.  Before their eyes, the first card levitated and spun, revealing its face…


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

The card landed face-up, the other worn cards trembling with anticipation in the malevolent winds.

The border of the card was simple, a heavy, black line. A skull, facing in different directions, accented each corner. The center was blank and yellowed—until the yellow began to swirl.

“I don’t like this!” Cassock exclaimed over the gale. Aramil chuckled, fascinated. Spinum had finally approached, cautiously staring at the card.

An image materialized:  the face of a beautiful humanoid. Quickly her features grew, casting a warming radiance over the three. She seemed to turn and smile, observing the voyeurs. Her eyes blinked and then flashed wide—

And all of the color drained from Her visage. Flesh rotted, pulling away into the depths of the card. Soon all that remained was a wisp of vapor or fog within the dark borders. The fog twisted, much as the yellow had, forming two deep pockets of blackness—eyes that glared at the companions.

Each shivered uncontrollably. The remaining two cards thumped against the floor, demanding their turn.

But the fog dissipated as well. In its stead, a gleaming shaft of metal—equally bright and dark—materialized. Before their eyes the steel was shaped, folded, bent and decorated.

The image increased in size, threatening to burst the borders of the card.

Wind howled around the three, the piles of weapons and armor nearby creating an unsteady cadence—the sound of an army, a war gone mad. Armor clattered loudly to the ground, all three leapt into the air with surprise.

A blade danced from within the pile, a perfect copy of the image upon the card. It flew toward Aramil, as if the wind itself was wielding the blade as a weapon. Before it reached the rogue, he felt his arm snap out, clamping tightly around the hilt.

His knuckles turned white and he could not relinquish the blade. 

The image upon the card faded to nothingness, all except for the border.

The maelstrom pummeled the remaining cards, flipping the next over. This card was not empty within its border, a massive, bloated corpse sat upon a throne of polished bone. The creature animated, drool and puss bursting from its lips to slide hungrily down the decaying flesh of its jaw.

It flexed its claws, scraping at the air in front of it, scraping at an invisible barrier.

“I truly hope that doesn’t wind up in your hand, too,” Spinum jested as he prepared a spell. Aramil frowned.

The beast’s talons shredded the invisible barrier and it reached into reality. Its hands pressed against the floor, skin sliding back to reveal dull claws of bone. The claws pierced the floor as it raised its head from within the card’s borders.

Its eyes bulged, dead and white. Its mouth opened, a pit of eternal darkness and emptiness—a void.

The wind around the trio shifted its orbit, bearing fully down upon Aramil and pushing him toward the open maw.

The rogue dug the tip of the sword into the floor as his feet lifted into the air—holding him parallel to the floor. Aramil’s other arm grasped the hilt, both knuckles purpling…

Cassock rushed toward his friend, Spinum unleashed his spell. The spell harmlessly fizzled and the mage swore just as Cassock hit the invisible barrier surrounding Aramil.

Each cursed as Aramil’s eyes stretched wide in shock. His powerful new weapon teetered, its edge just about to lose its grip in the floor…


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Jagged razors of teeth lowered from the great corpse-beast’s lips, tearing into Aramil’s ankle.  The beast laughed.

The rogue wailed.

The leather of the half-elf’s boot split, turning into nothing more than twisted rags.  The broken leather flapped toward the void.

Cassock pulled out a few hairs in frustration and punched the invisible barrier.  He screamed and swore.  Spinum rubbed his chin—deep in thought.

An epiphany hit both at the same time.  In unison, they screamed, “*Flip the other card!*”

Glancing toward the floor, the rogue eyed the remaining card.  It was just barely outside his reach unless he could pull himself closer.  The muscles on his arm bulging, the rogue reached for his last hope.

A fierce gust of wind assaulted his body, straining his muscles.  The beast’s raucous laughter echoed past the gale.

Once Aramil thought he was close enough, he released one hand.  His palm slapped the remaining card.

Cassock and Spinum watched in horror as the rogue’s other hand lost its grip upon the blade.

As he was wrenched backward into the bottomless maw, the rogue seized the other card, flipping it in his hand and brushing his finger over the small, delicate symbol in its center:  a lamp.

The lamp swelled and emitted an electric azure puff of smoke.

The creature’s maw closed around the half-elf.  But the corpse-beast vanished, leaving Aramil wounded yet safe on the floor.  Towering over the half-elf stood a vivid blue-skinned creature.  It leaned down, lifting its charge from the floor.  

Aramil stared, his mouth open.  The creature was easily eight feet tall, if its height could be measured.  It had no legs; both were replaced by a vapid fog which tied it to the card.

It lifted its arm, indicating two fingers pointing directly up.  “You have two more wishes,” it bellowed.  The voice, Aramil thought, was deep and strong and carried a tone similar to that with which he thought a god would speak.

The half-elf’s lips parted, his words barely spilling out.  “Can—can—can you tell me what I *can* wish for?” he stammered.  

The djini leaned in, intimidating the rogue with his size.  His black eyebrows—the only hair on his body—arched high.  “Are you *wishing* for me to tell you what you can *wish* for?”

“N-n-no.  That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Be quick then.  I have other business to attend to.”  The djinni’s skin flared from blue to red with impatience.  Aramil shuddered as he backed off.

_Gabrielle_, the name pounded into the half-elf’s mind.  With her name, a vivid recollection of her death at the Inquisition flashed behind his eyes.  _If I had had more power…_  He was unsure if the words were his own thoughts.  But he knew what he wanted.

“Make me a god,” he stated coldly.  “I wish for the power of a god.  I wish to be a god.”  Aramil lifted his head nobly.

The djinni measured the little half-elf with his eyes and sighed.  “Very well.”  With a click of his fingers, light exploded within the room.  

Cassock and Spinum rubbed their eyes.  The light had cleared…Aramil lay unconscious on the floor.  The djinni had one finger still up…


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Aramil’s eyes flickered open. Dim light filled his vision. Laughter drowned his ears. Where the hell was he? Was the light too dim to see or were his eyes just not opening? 

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He had been in a library—something about a deck of cards. Yes. But the library had not been dim. It had been well lit or at least bright enough for him to notice the opening for a room; a room behind a wall.

The deck—it was all because of that damnable deck! There had been a woman that had become a sword, a corpse that had tried to devour him and a…his mind trailed off…

The light surrounding the rogue increased just enough to note the details. Aramil was slumped against a wall, sitting on a rickety, wooden chair. Around him, dozens of people—Humans!—sat, apparently unaware of the rogue or at least not paying him any mind. 

The rogue’s eyes searched for an exit. His eyes followed the walls but there were no doors and there were no windows. Trapped.

Aramil inched up slowly. He needed to move slowly, quietly—to keep them unaware. 

The djinn! And a wish. What was it he had wished for? The memory was incomplete. 

A shattering snatched Aramil’s attention to a small table. Two brutes, giant men, smashed their mugs of ale together. Their mugs split into dozens of pieces. Each eyed the other angrily—and then both were on the floor: punching, kicking and tearing. A table toppled; patrons watched and laughed.

A tavern. He had somehow made it to a tavern. But where? And why couldn’t he remember how? Something isn’t right here.

Godhood. He had wished for the power of a god. Was this tavern somehow related to that wish? All Aramil had truly desired was the ability to stop death—Gabrielle’s, Ana’s, his own and maybe Cassock’s; if the priest would stop blathering about his god. Cael had let Gabrielle die—if what the priest said was true. Cael could never be forgiven.

A hand snagged the rogue’s shoulder. Automatically, Aramil’s hand reached for the dagger he kept hidden. It wasn’t there. His hand just grasped at cloth. Even his armor had vanished with the journey.

_There’s no need for weapons here,_ a soft voice whispered. _As you can see_, an arm and hand hidden by gray cloth pointed toward the brawl, _there are other, less permanent methods for dealing with disagreements here._

_Come sit with me, have a drink, and maybe play a game or two._ The rogue could hear the smile upon the voice. Standing, against his better judgment, he followed the cloaked traveler to a small, empty table in the center of the room. 

They both sat, quietly peering at each other. The traveler was practically invisible within the folds of his cloak. Deep shadows covered his face, hiding all but a cocky grin. Aramil drummed his fingers against the table. He was uncomfortable with the man’s obvious staring.

_You’ll forgive my manners_, the traveler said. One of his hands slipped into the folds of his robe. The rogue tensed. The hand came out, carrying two silver goblets and a small flask. Despite its obviously small size, the flask easily filled both of the goblets. The traveler pushed one over to Aramil.

“Where am I?” 

_A good question_. The traveler reached back into his robes—pulling out a velvet sack. Inside, solid objects clacked against each other as it was moved. _A better question, though, would be ‘Why’?_

“Why am I?” What kind of crazy question is that? No, there is something definitely not right here. Aramil glanced at the traveler’s hands, which grasped the bag. Each hand was a delicate, pure blue in hue. A thick, strange design danced up the sides of the flesh, entwining the fingers with archaic symbols. Definitely not right.

The traveler chuckled. _No, not why am I? That question holds many answers—and none that are truly correct. The better question is ‘Why am I here’._

“Fine.” If the strange man wanted to play games—Aramil would go along with it. As long as an exit, preferably a safe and easy exit presented itself soon enough. He glanced around the tavern again. “Why am I here?”

_I have the answer to that question. You are here—_ he paused, as if to give the words more weight, _—to play a game_. The rogue’s face screwed up into a look of confusion, drawing another chuckle. 

The velvet bag spilled open, bones scattered across the table. Each polished white bone had a number etched on each face. _You are a gambling man, are you not?_

“Well—not really…”

_If you weren’t a gambler, you wouldn’t be here. Did you bring your own bones?_

“I don’t have,” he started. What was he doing there!? “No. And I don’t have any money or anything to gamble with.” A chuckle was the only response. Aramil felt anger flare within his chest.

_I was thinking of gambling for something—a little less materialistic, actually._

“Oh, and what did you have in mind?” Sarcasm and anger laced the words.

_Your fate. It’s the only thing worth gambling for. And from the stories I’ve heard, it is what you like to gamble with as well. So, we’ll play for fate._

Now he was astounded. How exactly does one ‘play for fate’? No, Aramil had always firmly believed his fate was his own to create. And now this traveler wanted to meddle with his fate. Something was not right.

“What do you mean? If my fate is on the line, what do I get if I win?” The traveler chuckled again. Aramil was quickly growing tired of it all. 

_If you win, I will help you out. If you lose, I will ruin you._ He lifted his hood, allowing it to fall to his shoulders. The traveler was delicate looking, almost fragile with his thin aquiline nose and large eyes. His orbs were solid silver and framed by the same delicate blue flesh, which also covered his hands. Silver wisps of hair fell to his shoulder, nearly covering the black etchings that drifted up either side of his face. Just above his nearly nonexistent eyebrows, a single symbol was tattooed into the flesh.

Aramil had never seen anything like that traveler before. He immediately felt inconsequential.

_What is more, whether you win or lose I will show you how to return home. But you’re probably curious as to what you would lose. That is why I chose this meeting place._ The traveler shifted back in his chair. The full sounds of the bar came storming back in—Aramil hadn’t even realized reality had softened.

_You see that man over there,_ he gestured toward one of the two still rolling about the floor, _his name is Danbury. He is the great, great, great, great, great-grandson of one of the most respected captains in the entire world. Or at least, at one time his relative was. But you see, that captain saw something—something he could not or should not have. As a result, he was forever after thought a fool and a drunk._

_They share the same name. Only, this Danbury wanted to dig himself out of the drunken shadow cast by his forefather. So, he made a deal with me. The problem was he did not win—at least not completely. He played the game; he won some, he lost some. He has since managed to distinguish himself—and end the disgrace that was brought upon his family._

_Today, he pays up on his end of the bargain. _The traveler turned to watch the brawl. Aramil was compelled to watch as well. 

Danbury swung, landing a solid blow against his opponent. The other man stumbled back and away, a dazed, hollow look in his eyes. Danbury stepped in to finish the other man off.

A sound—a repetitive whirring—drew Aramil’s attention momentarily away from the brawl. A handless mug tumbled across the floor, rolling quickly toward the two opponents. The rogue’s eyes lifted, watching in slow motion as Danburry stepped forward for his final swing. 

It was then that the sailor, the captain, set his foot upon the moving mug. His eyes opened in shock as his weight shifted backward, his final blow missed by inches. He was carried backward, both legs shooting into the air. Gravity slammed the hearty man headfirst into a tipped-over table and then just as mercilessly into the floor. 

The crowd was silenced. The other brawler was beginning to come to—surprised at the silence. Danbury was crumpled upon the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood.

“And…how many times did he lose against you,” Aramil whispered. He was released from watching the brawl and turned back to his silver-eyed opponent. 

_Just once. Are you ready?_

The rogue looked at his side of the table. Six bones had been spaced evenly on each side of the table during the fight. He swallowed hard. 

“I can go home, after this?”

_Yes._

“Okay…”

Each picked up their bones and tossed them into the air. Time slowed while they fell toward the table, toward an uncertain fate. Aramil closed his eyes and prayed.

_Three._

“What?” Aramil’s eyes opened. He glared at the bones. 

_You won three times. Which means I won three times._ The traveler grinned. _Three times in your life I will help you. And then there will be three times when you will fail._

“How…how do I collect my earnings?”

_Pray hard enough. I might hear you._ The traveler grinned and extended one hand toward the rogue’s face. _Now it’s time for you to go home._ His hand flashed in front of Aramil’s eyes. Aramil’s lids drooped.

Before he lost consciousness completely, Aramil thought he heard, _Welcome to the extended family._


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

“What in Ara’kull’s hell did you do to him?” Cassock cursed as he knelt over the prone form of Aramil.  The djinni just smirked.

Cassock stood, drawing his weapon and pointing it threateningly.  “*What in the hells did you do to him?!*”

“The compact,” the djinni spoke condescendingly, “that I am bound by specifically states in Article Three, Section Fourteen dash One Hundred and Fifty Nine that _‘whilst called to serve upon any of the numerous material planes, the djinni named above, formally and formerly titled as the *Bonded Servant*, is only beholden to the responsible individual, formally and formerly titled the *Master*, whom temporarily calls him or her to servitude.  A Bonded Servant is therefore not required, by any statute previously created, or any statute that is as of yet created or defined, by the Temporal Registration and Licensing Committee or the Grand High Magister, itself, to perform any function or service to any associates of the Master, which include but are not limited to:  friends, immediate family, distant family, enemies, or rivals of any nature._”  The djinni shifted his vaporous, blue legs about him as he took a deep breath.  Calmly, yet with a disapproving look upon his brow, he crossed his arms and glowered at the priest.

“Uh…”  Cassock said as he turned to glance at Spinum.  “Can you translate?”

“Basically,” the mage spoke as the words flashed quickly through his mind again, “He doesn’t have to tell us sh*t.”

“Oh.”  Cassock turned back to the djinni.  “There are ways to make you tell us,” he warned.

“Doubtful,” the genie quipped.  “Not that you can’t try.  But I’ve dealt with much worse than you throughout the course of my employment.  Besides, the code does not prevent me from speaking either condescendingly or sardonically toward you.  It is completely within my purview to treat you as the inferior being that you are—within the grand scheme of what was, is, and will be—since it only states that I am not required to speak to you.  I do not need to…”

“He’s stirring,” Spinum blurted, ended the outsider’s verbiage.  Cassock replaced his weapon and knelt to help the rogue to his knees and then his feet.  Aramil was bathed in a blue-gold radiance which quickly withdrew to nothingness as he gathered his wits about him.

“What happened?”  Cassock queried.

“My worthy Master,” the djinni interrupted, throwing a childish scowl at the cleric of Cael, “You have one _remaining_.  I do hope that you ask quickly.  The compact specifically states…”

“The compact?”  Aramil asked groggily.

“Yes, the…”

“It’s the law that binds him to the card!”  Spinum screamed.

“Yes, as your scholarly friend says, the compact binds me here.  It also gives a limited time during which I must remain here upon—whichever of the multiple Material planes I am on now.  So, ask quickly before the period of servitude ends.  Or, you could think on it for a time.  I would not mind that course of action, at all.  You do have to be careful of your wording or phrasing and it is so hard to…”

Aramil turned toward his friends.  The djinni continued its speech, completely oblivious or just not caring that he was being ignored.  “I don’t know what else to wish for,” the half-elf hissed.

“Just pick something,” Spinum urged.

“I really don’t think you can top godhood,” Cassock added.  His head shook slightly in wonder.

“Neither do I,” Aramil agreed.  The rogue spun around to address the djinni.

“…what you have to realize is that a camel is not unlike your horse; it is a beast of burden.  And he asked for one thousand of them.  The sultan did not specify where he wanted them.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head when all one thousand appeared directly over where he was,” the genie’s mouth slowed down as he realized they were listening again, “standing.”

“I know what my final wish is.”

“Don’t be rash now,” the outsider said as he chuckled.

“I want Cassock of Cael to have my final wish.”

The djinni’s mouth (as well as Cassock’s) dropped open in shock.  “But…but…the compact doesn’t,” he stuttered.

“I *wish* Cassock of Cael had one wish.”  The djinni twitched.  “I think you could put it to better use than I,” Aramil added.

“Master,” the djinni said as he turned to the cleric, a look of repressed rage forming in the soft lines of his face.

“I _wish_ we all were gods,” Cassock demanded.

“Very well, master,” the djinni spit.  He lifted his arms and a torrent of power washed through the room.  The energy tore down the hallways of Llewyllyn Manor, knocking Lady Llewyllyn against the wall.  Gravity quickly set about its task, pulling the blonde’s body down the staircase as the energy passed on.

Once she hit the landing, her eyes popped open to catch the last glimpse of the tail of the energy.  She quickly hopped up in pursuit,

Cassock, Anastrianna and Zayda all fell to unconsciousness.  Spinum watched as the cleric’s knees buckled and he collapsed.  

The djinni murmured, “I’m spent.”  He spun, the little card—his prison—quivered to devour his essence.  He cast a long look at Spinum and leaned in to whisper, “Sorry, my intellectual associate, even *my* power is limited.  Besides, as the smart one, you should know only fools ask for that divinity.  You’re better off,” he stated coldly.  With a pat on the mage’s shoulder, the djinni evaporated, leaving naught but fading smoke behind.

The three cards lifted into the air, circled thrice in wide arcs, and spiraled slowly to land atop the deck.  The old leather wrapping closed around the card, sealing itself back into place.

Aramil eyed it cautiously then moved to snatch the deck.  The set of cards leapt across the floor, away from his grasp.  He tried again but to no avail.

“It’s no good, rogue.  You cannot use the cards again until another person does so.  They will keep evading your grasp,” Spinum educated as he reached down easily and lifted the wrapped deck.

“Then use them,” the rogue tempted.  “You could wish for godhood, too.”

“It will mean more when I earn it myself.  Anyway, there is too much risk.”  The wizard slipped the deck into his pocket for safekeeping.  “Haven’t you learned anything, yet?”  Spinum walked to a nearby table and slumped into a chair to await Cassock’s awakening.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Cassock felt his body jerk backward, the magical energy of the _wish_ dancing through his nervous system like electricity.  Vertigo wrenched the edges of his mind.  Shuddering, the priest’s soul seemed to expand, nearly splitting its fleshy prison at the seams.  Cassock’s vision dimmed, permitting a brief respite as vertigo’s razor talons loosened their hold.

Slowly, the disorientation passed and the priest’s eyes opened.  In the brief span of near-unconsciousness, Cassock had apparently been relocated, either physically or spiritually.  The massive library of Llewyllyn Manor was gone; instead he found himself in the center of a great hall.  A checker pattern, black and white floor stretched beneath him endlessly, it appeared, in either direction.  Ages of dust laid upon the open floor, dancing in a slight, chilled breeze.

The priest turned around carefully, trying not to disturb the piles of aged soil around him.  The grand hall was an immense beast, perhaps larger than the dragons of lore.  The priest felt as though he had been swallowed by the colossal beast.  Staring straight upward in the dim light the ceiling could be discerned, a massive ribcage easily a hundred feet or more above.

_A predator just waiting to pounce_, thought the cleric.  He turned his attention from the vaulted dome to the workmanship surrounding him.

The checkered pattern of the floor was crafted of the smoothest marble.  The blackness of the alternating squares nearly void of color was in stark contrast to the seemingly glowing white.  The blocks seemed carved by a deity; so perfectly smooth as if to deny a mortal hand had ever worked it.  

Doric columns, made of the same pitch black marble, pierced the floor and stretched the impossible height to support the ceiling.  Cobwebs covered the columns and trapped motes of dust against the stone.  At ordered intervals along the side of the columns, red marble gargoyles were carved as if in mid-climb.  If not for the perfect stillness and dull sheen of the unpolished marble, the creatures could be alive.

A shudder passed through Cassock, a feeling of uncertainty traveling upon the chilled air.

Arching bridges spanned the empty air above, lending support to the marble columns.  The locations of the arcs appeared random or chaotically placed, like a spider’s web.  Upon the bridges perched more of the gothic marble gargoyles; these stared hungrily downward.

The edges of the room slowly made their presence aware to the priest.  Massive walls flowed vertically—like water in motion—and grasped the ribcage of the ceiling.  

Cassock cautiously paced toward a window in the wall, allowing the dim light to guide his footsteps.  As he edged closer, his eyes distinguished the strange detail in the masonry.  Twisted, tortured visages gazed outward toward him.  The faces exhibited every expression of pain possible.  The cleric blinked and paused, for a second the faces seemed to contort.  Seconds passed slowly, nearly endless and no more movement occurred.

Carved into the stone walls surrounding the window’s sill were more of the agonized faces.  Unlike the sill, the walls allowed enough room for humanoid bodies to connect to the numerous faces.  The bodies were also contorted in agony and poised as though attempting to escape the marble.  

A breeze poured into the hall causing deep velvet curtains to dance gracefully.  The unobstructed view through the window allowed a view of a reddening forest.  A gracefully curving hill descended from the hall for some distance and sloped into an extremely large city.  All these details, Cassock carefully observed and held onto—locking the sights permanently within his memory.

A great wall encircled the lower levels of the city; its great height allowing only towers to peak above its ledge.  Many of those towers were sharp and black.  Cassock thought they appeared to slice futilely at the heavens above, trying to tear a hole in the sky.

*Rap! Rap! Rap!*

Cassock pivoted toward the sound drawing his war-mace and preparing for battle.  Along the rear wall of the chamber rested a large black throne.  Slowly, the cleric picked his way across the floor and toward the seat.

The throne was easily thrice the height of a man.  It was crafted of warped wood and black metal; the material infusing its frame slipped toward the floor in gothic curves.  The seat and armrests were cushioned by dark crimson pillows.  Each armrest ended in a black marble sculpture of human skulls.  From the eyes of the skulls, dim candlelight flickers to light the priest’s destination.

Upon the throne rested a middle-aged man.  Silver hair, balding on top, drifted lightly down to shoulder length.  The face under the hair was utterly unremarkable except for the eyes.  From above a hating sneer, irises of pitch black stare downward.

*“Why do you disturb my kingdom, child?!”*  Upon the brow of the man, a crown carved to resemble thorns perched precariously.  As Cassock neared, he could tell the crown while resembling thorns was actually carved from bleach-white bone.  The man snorted—breaking the cleric’s attention—and settled backward into the seat, nearly swallowed by the shadows.  Impatiently he tapped a gnarled black oak staff upon the floor.

*“Don’t make me ask you again, child.  Answer the question.”*

“I disturb your kingdom because I wish to, milord.”  Cassock warily sheathed his weapon.

The old man snorted, nearly choking on some phlegm.  *"I heard you were an insolent bastard, a worshipper of the dead gods.  And you pay your King no respect.  These treasons will not go unpunished, Cassock of Cael.  I ask again; why do you insist on disrupting my Kingdom?!”*

“Cael has deemed the disturbance necessary.  And I follow the path my God sets before me.”

A snicker hissed from the shadow of the throne.  The King leaned out slightly, a holy emblem of the deity Ara’kull dangled impotently from his neck.  "*Your god is no more, child.  Soon even his flesh will be but ash.  Ara’kull devoured his essence long ago.  Your insolence will incur the wrath of Ara’kull—my wrath."*  King Arma leaned back into the shadow. * “Unless of course, you submit to the glorious will of the All-Holy.”* 

Cassock could hear the wicked grin stretch across the yellowing teeth of the man.  He smirked in kind and spoke, “I will see Ara’kull’s death long before that time, King.  I will spill his blood and end his reign as well as your own.”

With inhuman speed, King Arma hopped from the throne, his long black robes billowing after the movement.  Within one blink of an eye, he closed the distance between the throne and Cassock.  Hoarse, flat, insane laughter leapt from his mouth while the flesh upon his head began to rot and peel.  His skin pulls taut across his skull, stretching tightly as he continues the mocking laughter.  The King’s black irises seep outward, devouring his eyes.  The only light in the empty sockets is that reflected off pale, wriggling white maggots.  The insects feasted upon the necrotic skin surrounding the sockets.  A scent heavy with stench and decay engulfed the air around the monarch, pouring into Cassock’s nostrils and forcing him to gag.

“Death overcomes all,” Cassock spitted  defiantly.

*“Child, you have no power over me.  And no power you wield could destroy me.  For I am Death.  Just as I am LIFE.”*  The dry voice split into two, parallel but different tones.  

“You are nothing but a puppet, fool.” Cassock tentatively returns his hand to grasp the hilt of his mace. 

*“I AM NO PUPPET.  IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT SPEAKS TO YOU NOW, CHILD.  IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL CRUSH YOUR BODY AND SOUL RIGHT BEFORE THIS THRONE.  IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL MAKE YOU BEG FORGIVENESS BEFORE STRIPPING THE LIFE FROM YOUR BODY AND DEVOURING YOUR SOUL.”*  An aura of divine energy spasmodically radiated from the un-living corpse pacing in front of Cassock.  The creature twitched in anger and rage, dead knuckles turning white upon the black staff.

*“EVEN NOW, AS WE SPEAK, THE MOTHER DIES.  THE CREATOR OF ALL TORMENT SLOWLY WASTES AWAY.  ALONG WITH HER SHALL PASS HER CHILDREN AND BY THEM HER OTHER BLOOD.  THE WORLD WILL COME TO DARKNESS AND I SHALL BE THERE.  IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU, CASSOCK OF CAEL.  IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL END YOU.”*  The walking corpse grimaced. Its maggots vanished as the skin upon its face reformed.

*“I can give you anything you desire, Cassock of Cael:  Wealth; Power; Immortality.  All of it could be yours.”*  The voice returned to its original, single tone.  It was the King speaking again, not the fell God. 

“Cael provides for me, you insufferable fool.”

*“Cael will provide for you no more.  The signs and portents are here now.  The last and longest Tri’ara*[1]* is upon us.  With the coming of the dark, all of the old gods shall become nothing but ash upon the wind.  And there is nothing anyone can do to stop the end-times.

“If you were wise, you would join with me to rule the world after.  The new dawn is upon us and you may watch from my side, ruling as an equal.  Your father has realized this already, although I had to open his mind for him.”* King Arma grinned.

Cassock doubled over in pain as a vision filled his head.  _Upon a cold, black marble floor his father writhed naked.  White-hot brands prodded his already singed flesh.  Ara’kull’s holy symbol was burned onto his body._

The vision shifted; _Morgan was now strapped to a rack, slowly elongating.  Only the skin around the fist-sized symbol of Ara’kull was undisturbed. The rest of his body was split open, like overstuffed garments bursting at the seams.

Morgan’s head jerked backward in agony screaming for mercy and forgiveness.  Cassock’s father’s back popped loudly as his spinal cord snapped apart.  The man wrenched upward and pleads again for forgiveness, as the last of his life poured from his wounds._

*“If I must, I will teach you in the same manner, child.  But it need not be such,”* the King speaks as the vision ends.

“Now I know you are a liar, false one.”  Cassock unsheathed both his mace and sword, holding each at the ready in his hands.  A confident sneer and a blood-hungry gleam in his eye break his normally stoic visage.

King Arma laughs and waves a hand quickly in the air.  Both weapons vanished.  Cassock glanced at his empty hands and balls them up in rage.

*“Very well, Cassock of Cael.  I will be waiting for you in the darkness.  You may go.”*  The King gestured as if to dismiss the priest; Cassock felt himself slip back into the darkness of unconsciousness.  The scene, that image of the cocky and cold smile of the king, was etched into his memory along with the details of the chamber.

----------------

[1] Tri’ara – The last three months of the year.  Before Ara’kull, there were 12 months in a year.  After Ara’kull was born, the year lengthened by three whole months.  This became known as the Tri’ara; 3 months given every year to the world by Ara’kull.  The extra time seemed not to affect the life expectancy of any race.  So, if an average human lived 30 years before the switch…he would still live for 30 years afterward.  The time change does add an extra 7.5 of the old years to his life though.  Just a little tidbit for you.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued*

Zayda blinked her eyes.  The dining table she had been sitting at blurred.  _Dizzy_, she thought.  Poison was the next thought that pounded into her mind like a cart driven by a team of horses—fast, relentless, and dominating.

She blinked.  It was her only course of action.  Powerless, the elf felt the poison—if that were the cause—drown her in unconsciousness.

But it was not pure darkness and absence of thought.  The elf could feel and sense, could even see.  The colors that swirled in front of her mind’s eye formed a cacophonous brilliance like the dances of her home upon the harvest nights.  The celebration of life, their continued life, was both beautiful and savage.  These colors were not dissimilar.

And then the savage dance parted like a two curtains drawn aside, revealing reality.

She stood on the edge of the forest, the Draeul forest, her homeland.  South, the sloping hills of the human kingdom slid away from her.  North, the forest swallowed the horizon, silent but vigilant guards of her home.  She stood on the sword’s edge, a part of neither world, her only company a familiar wooden hut.  

Zayda glanced at the hut, catching each detail with her trained eye.  It looked no different than when last she had laid eyes upon it.  She felt a difference, though.  Something here had changed.

She stepped forward and reached for the old leather skin that covered the doorway.  It was grainy and rough; at least that much was the same.  She pushed it aside watched as the light illuminated the floor.  The rug that had lain across the floor during her last visit was pushed haphazardly to the side.  Leaning against that wall and pinning the rug in place, a rough section of wood with braces rested.  It was circular and covered with dirt.  

In the center of the floor was a circular hole, piercing the earth.  A hemp rope—tied to the hut—descended into that dark pit.  The elf glanced carefully over the ledge and noted a flicker of torchlight deep below.

With a sigh, she grasped the rope and flung herself into the hole.  Quickly, she descended as carefully as was possible. 

She landed with a quiet thump upon the soft earth at the bottom of the rope.  The blue light of the world above partially slipped through the vertical shaft, surrounding her head with a nimbus of blue light.  She ignored the light.  Her eyes were focused on the bent form stretching its withered hands over the wall.

The wall was dirt and stone, unremarkable.  But upon that crude surface, some talented hand had etched a tree in silver.  The branches curled and uncurled, stretched away from the thick trunk.  The detail was magnificent.  She leaned in, noting the shifting patterns of ridges upon the drawn bark of the tree.  And it seemed to sway, as if a breeze were flustering the branches and molesting the silver leaves.
  “_You may not find me above_,” the withered form whispered.  His hands etched an invisible arc over the tree and then slashed downward.  “_For I have gone below._”  He spun, allowing Zayda a complete view.  He was old, as old as a human could be she thought.  His eyes were bright and blue and shining with a youth never lost.  Upon his bald pate, a wreath of mistletoe circled his brow.  It was like a crude crown crafted by a child.  It was simple; in that simplicity was elegance.

“_The branches wither,_” he said as he turned back to the silver tree.  His fingers rang the lengths of a few branches before shooting down to the base again.  “_When the roots cannot grow._”

“I know you,” Zayda said.  “I was supposed to find you…I can’t remember your name.”  

“_There is not enough water for the rain and the skies.  When the darkness comes, the last *Phoee’un*[1] dies._”  The old man paused, taking a slow, labored breath.  Sadness, she thought, infinite sadness.  “_One year after that last day, all the bonds shall be broke.  Both forest and city, devoured by smoke._”

The old man, the druid, turned to Zayda.  His radiant eyes locked her in place.  “_Two questions you may ask, the answers I may tell.  Ask quickly my dear, ‘for the world becomes hell._”

Zayda felt the holding power of the gaze waver.  She thought quickly and blurted, “Are you the last Phoee’un?”

The old man sighed and shook his head sadly.  “_The last Phoee’un, the greatest in power, their name will not be known until that fateful hour._”

Zayda scratched her nose with irritation, a very un-elf-like motion.  “Then,” she murmured, “then you are obviously talking about the end of the world.  How long do we have?”

The druid sighed again and Zayda instantly knew neither of her questions were of any use.  Still, he pulled near to her ear and whispered, “_Guess I was not clear, in verse two or three.  Let’s clear this confusion so you can finally see._”  He leapt back and motioned at the silver tree.  With a voice as deep as a god, she thought, he proclaimed, “_Cold Winter’s approach brings final darkness._

The tree shuddered and twitched.  Its silver leaves fell like snow to its base as an oily fluid broke the earth above it, painting the stone black.

“_At the end of this year, all people will feel distress.  But suffer one year more of pain and hunger, watch the world die, watch the Dark God conquer._” 

Zayda had shielded her eyes from the silver tree which had rent itself into many flickering, silver silhouettes of people.  Those tiny forms had turned upon each other, fighting and killing all while wasting away.  She couldn’t watch.

The silence caused her to look up.  She looked into the eyes of the druid, the prophet.  The deep blue of his eyes swallowed her.  Faintly, she heard the verses again as if drifting over a vast distance to reach her ears.  She could feel warmth; he was grinning.  Deep down, she knew it would be alright.  Somehow, it would all be alright.

The darkness closed in around her, silencing her senses.

-------------------------------------------------------

[1] Phoee'un is the proper name of druids in Norum da Salaex.  Phoee is the name of the mother of all the other gods. She is credited with all of creation. The suffix 'un means "child of"; it’s a neuter prefix as opposed to ‘iban (son of) and ‘anda (daughter of). So, Phoee'un means:  child of Phoee.  They revere Phoee as the ultimate form of nature.  She is neither good nor evil, neither lawful nor chaotic.  She just is.

[2] General Note:  I don’t consider myself much of a poet…especially when it’s on the spot.  So, hopefully you’ll forgive my attempts.   

*[3] IMPORTANT NOTE:  THIS BRINGS US CURRENT, AS FAR AS I CAN TELL *


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## Funeris

*Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient (Concluded)*

Anastrianna held her palm against her head.

_Nope, no fever,_ she thought.

She had to be ill or dreaming.  Whatever the case, she knew what she was seeing could not be real.  Moments before—before what?  Darkness?  Absolute confusion and a bout of vertigo?—she had been sitting in the grand dining hall of the Ladies Llewyllyn, feasting on a delicious breakfast and making small talk with Zayda.  Of course, that elf was as racist and closed off as they came, so, Anastrianna had done most of the talking.  The elf had only grunted in reply; even that response was scarce.

Now, the young rogue was staring at the butchered body of her father.  The grotesque scene contrasted sharply against the fresh new walls and floors of the keep in her hometown.

Gabe’s chest rose with a wheezing breath, shuddering violently.  It had to be an illusion or a trick of some kind.  No man, young or old, healthy or feeble, could have survived the abuse that had been heaped upon that fragile shell of flesh.  His skull peeked through flayed layers of flesh.  Blood was dried across his body, edging slowly toward rents and fissures in his flesh.  Whip markings and knife wounds, Ana realized.

She choked down a surge of bile.

Gabrielle Rowen, her father, breathed again.

A shadow moved into her periphery vision.  The form was man-sized and moving with an odd gait.  The shadow clung to its edges, blurring the details of its form.  Ana still recognized it as both familiar and unnatural.

She stalked away from her father’s body; she was not sure if this was real but if it was, she had no desire to be seen.

_You should have listened to my advice, old man,_ the thing hissed.  Ana recognized the voice just as it moved into the light:  Leiban Malabrandt.

The Captain of the Guard had changed since last Ana had seen him.  He had been dead.  Now, he definitely was not dead but neither was his body full of life.  He was something else entirely.  The wounds he had sustained still showed clear upon his body.  The many red, jagged lines where Cassock had painstakingly severed appendages were marred even further by thick black cord.  Puss filled one of his eye sockets; the orb in the other remained but was yellow and dull.

A ragged scowl showed the few teeth the Priest of Cael had left intact; many of those few were splintered.  His face was tortured—although with what, anger or pain, Ana was not sure.

“Traitor,” Gabe spit.  A bubble of blood burst at the edge of his nose, coating his face with a new layer of drying film.

_Traitor!  *YOU* were the traitor!  You and your whore of a daughter!_  Leiban leaned down and stuck his meaty fingers into one of Gabe’s festering wounds.  Maggots squirmed out of his stitched flesh, wiggling merrily into the crevasse to feast.  Ex-Mayor Rowen squirmed but would not scream.  _I loved her and she betrayed me.  You, even you I loved as a father._

“Does that mean you would have poisoned me as well, Leiban?  You’re a disgrace!”

The undead stood.  He lifted his foot and placed it against Gabe’s throat.  _You tempt my patience_.

“Do it,” Gabe spit.  “Do it!  I would see that…thing finish what Cassock began.  You are a coward and a bully, Leiban.  You don’t have the…”

*What do you think you are doing?*  Leiban spun as a shadowy arm lifted upward.  Without touching the undead, End-bringer forced him backward roughly.  Leiban slammed into the wall and collapsed onto the floor.  *You do not touch my prisoner.  You have already proven your incompetence.*  The beast lowered its arm and turned its mocking visage toward the prisoner.

_If I am such a failure, then why was I brought back_, Malabrandt questioned.  He knew his mistake as a razor sharp chain shot from End-bringer’s shadowy form, wrapping its serrated edges around his neck and chewing through flesh.  Leiban was jerked toward the Inquisitor, his form lifted easily, effortlessly into the air.  

*The Lord Ara’kull believes in second chances for some of his loyal followers—loyal in act if not will.  Yours is a second chance, nothing more.  Do not fail.*  The chain snapped, unraveling and pulling taught before withdrawing into the shadowy folds.  Leiban crashed into the door, which opened to allow his exit.  As he hit the floor in the hallway, the door simultaneously shut, its bolt snapping into place.  *It is good to see you awake again, Gabriel.  We can begin your reeducation now.*

“I don’t know where my daughter is,” Gabe pleaded.

*I do not do this for information, Gabe.  I do this because I enjoy it.*  Two chains lurched out of the shadows…

As the chains pounced, Ana screamed.  The scream brought the nasty barbs up short.  The thing—whatever it was—turned its mask side to side, looking for the source of the disturbance.

Ana felt the world grow black.

*     *     *​
And suddenly the world became all light and pain, a sharp pain in her arm.  Ana lifted her head from the dining table.  Lady Llewyllyn scowled at her, the beautiful golden tresses of her hair created a strange concoction of beauty and anger.  The Lady’s fingers were clamped tightly around her elbow, pinching the very life from her veins.

Zayda, Ana noticed, was in the same predicament.

“*Come with me,*” the Lady demanded.  Not waiting for a response, she hefted the two women out of their chairs and pulled them toward the staircase.

*     *     *​
Cassock shook his head slightly as he stood.  He was still a bit woozy from the fall, or from the vision.  Despite his lightheadedness, he immediately recognized a new power resonating through his veins.

The cleric ducked as the door to the library was nearly torn from its hinges.  Lady Llewyllyn stormed in, dragging Zayda and Ana behind her.  She forcefully shoved them into chairs and whirled on Cassock, Spinum, and Aramil.  Her eyes narrowed, her face flushed.

She lifted a hand toward Aramil, who stood in the entrance to one of the secret compartments.  He was flung like a rag doll away from the enclosure.  The doors hissed as they closed upon the compartments.  A thick thud marked the setting of a lock-bar on the inside; a lighter thud noted Aramil’s fall which he easily shifted into a roll.  The rogue popped up onto his feet; he swung his new sword around to a defensive stance.

Cassock and Spinum stood dumbfounded.

Llewyllyn snarled and pointed one hand at the rogue.  His body stiffened, the sword fell impotent to the floor.

“*NOW,*” she bellowed, “*You have proven exactly how unworthy of trust your respective races are.*”  They all eyed her wearily except Aramil, whose face was frozen in shock.  “*I welcome you into my home.  I give you shelter.  I feed you.  I offer to pay for the gear you have dragged tirelessly behind you for nearly a month.  Gear, that I might add, came from murder*,” Cassock opened his mouth to speak but she prevented his words by raising her voice even louder.  “*DEATH DEALT IN DEFENSE, NO DOUBT.  BUT MURDER IN THE EYES OF THE KING, IN THE EYES OF HIS GOD, AND IN THE EYES OF THE EMPIRE.  HAVE I NOT RISKED ENOUGH FOR YOU?*

“*No, of course not.  You thank me by rooting through my personal possessions like common thieves.  If it is thieves you act like, it is thieves you will be.  You are all imprisoned within this room for the next twenty-four hours until I decide how to deal with you.*

“*Pray I am lenient.  Pray I find some course other than giving you freely to the Inquisitors.*”  She turned, as if to go, before she looked back at Spinum.  Her snarl deepened.

The mage paced toward her, his hand slipping into his pocket.  He pulled out the deck and extended his hand, giving her the deck freely.  “I did not use it,” he murmured.

Lady Llewyllyn turned without another word and stepped out of the library.  The door shut and locked, trapping the companions in the room.  The Lady said a quick cantrip, sealing the exit.  With a smile, she walked slowly down the hall to her room, the deck firmly in her hand.

[END CHAPTER]
--------------------------------------------------

I've gone ahead and posted this update a little early.  But make no mistake, this is Wednesday's update and you will receive no other on May 10th.  

This also brings a conclusion to Chapter 6 (long overdue, I might say).  I'm not done updating this SH yet, though.  I'm going to go ahead and write up a (brief) chapter of Interludes. Then, I'll hop back to updating my other SH and leave this one hanging for a bit.

Thanks for reading, and welcome back post-crash.  

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Good stuff, Funeris. (Not that we expect anything else   ). And well done on getting us back up to date so quickly.


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## Funeris

Thanks HO HB.  

Yeah, it took about a half hour per story hour...  But, we need to be up-to-date so I can continue on (and not slip back into the shadows).

~Fune


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## Anti-Sean

Sweet! Any update that gives us more time with End-bringer is more than welcome! I'm curiious to find out exactly what is up with Lady Llewyllyn, too...


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## Funeris

Thanks Anti-Sean.  I'm afraid I didn't get to go very in depth with the Ladies Llewyllyn during the actual campaign.  Its sad really.  Sigh.  Nor did End-bringer ever get to rear his ugly mask.  So sad.  So much going on in the background...and not enough time to realize it.

Anyway, all that is better left as an explanation tacked onto the end of this SH.  Or...I could do it through the use of a little idea I've had recently...which I'm loathe to speak of until I finish this SH up.  So, either way...you've got a bit of a wait ahead of you.

You will see a bit more of the Ladies Llewyllyn.  End-bringer might pop in once or twice briefly...but that'll be it for him.

So, thanks again.  

~Fune


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## Funeris

Ah, I've finished the Friday update   (I know, I'm a tease).  It's longer...my Friday updates tend to be...at nearly 1700 words.  And it turns the attention back to good ol' Rhynos, the PC everyone loves to hate...or despise (for good reason).

I'm giddy about posting it.  

But, I must hold off.  I feel as if the SH has lightened up a bit recently.  It'll be nice to return to the grittiness with Rhynos.  

~Fune


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## Funeris

Hey Anti-Sean, 

I hope you don't mind I quoted you in the SH Index entry for this SH.  

I needed a quote...and I couldn't decide which one.  There are so many great reader comments in here (from all of you).  So, I chose a humorous/semi-weird quote that will hopefully draw a little more attention.  

~Fune


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## TheYeti1775

Yes the campaign ended much too soon. 
And the Ladies of Lwelyn really did not get their deserved credit, but I'm sure as Funeris continues this SH he will tell more of them and that of End-Bringer.

Though I am beginning to form a few theories, I will not post them here because I don't want to spoil Funeris's suprises for you all.

Yeti


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## Anti-Sean

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hey Anti-Sean,
> 
> I hope you don't mind I quoted you in the SH Index entry for this SH.
> 
> I needed a quote...and I couldn't decide which one.  There are so many great reader comments in here (from all of you).  So, I chose a humorous/semi-weird quote that will hopefully draw a little more attention.
> 
> ~Fune



Not a problem - I'm flattered, and happy to be of service! Semi-weird is my specialty!

*edit* I just added an entry to the index for my story hour, and quoted you.


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## TheYeti1775

Funny no sooner post that and he emails me asking for my theories.


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## Funeris

*Chapter 7: Interludes*

Hey, thanks Anti-Sean.  

Anyway, Happy Friday Update, everybody.

--------------------------------------------

The beast moved skillfully above its prey.  The long, slender branches bent and quivered but made no sound as it moved across them.  The beast was a hunter.

Below, two men in full Royal gear huddled about a fire.  The flickering light cast short, pure shadows about them.  Around them, a moonless night hid most of the forest from their weak eyes.

“Did you ‘ear somthin?”

“Ach!  Bjorn, yer such a yellow-bellied coward.  Those fairy tales of the pointy-ears keeping you up at night again?”

“Shut up.  I don’ trust these woods.  They have eyes.”

“It’s just the pointers.”

“I tell ye its not.  I can feel a…a presence.  An aura of malevolence.”

“Big words for a man with such a small mind and such a small c*ck,” Tymar spit.  He immediately filled his rotted mouth with a roasted hen’s leg.  The succulent meat burst its fluid over his lips and down his scraggily, brown beard.

Above, the hunter grinned.  He slipped his legs silently over a firm branch and settled in against the massive width of the tree.  The pungent odor of life and roast hen wafted upward, warming his body.

“Besides,” Tymar spoke over the mouthful of hen, “It’s not even like the pointers are gonna do anything.  They’re worse cowards then you.”

Bjorn stood up, rubbing his hands against his bare arms.  The fire did well enough to warm the flesh against the coming winter.  But he still felt cool; goose bumps raised the flesh of the meaty appendages.

“Ye didn’t grow up around here; you don’t know how it is.”

“Of course, I don’t.  Why’d I wanna grow up near a sh*thole like this fer?  I grew up in a real city and I don’t care about yer damned country superstitions.”

“I still don’ think we shoulda taken this shortcut through the wood.”

“Coward.”

“You dunno how it is around here, Tymar!  My ma’ told me the story of the beast and how it followed their caravan from Divi’sad.”

“Yeah, I had yer mam once.  Not terribly skilled if you catch my drift,” Tymar quipped as he swallowed a mouthful from his flask.  Bjorn grunted with frustration.

“It followed them south, real smart-like.”

“And wha’ would a beast be doin’ in that city?”

“They say it was there searching for the heretic.”

“They say?  And the heretic?”  Tymar erupted into laughter.

“Yeah, they say and yeah, the heretic.  The heretic—you know the one—the heretic that saved the city single-handedly from the Troll War.”  Tymar rolled his eyes.  “Anyways,” Bjorn continued, “they said the beast was there looking for the heretic.  They say he wanted a challenge but was too late.  The heretic had fled east after the battle had ended.

“So the beast was angry.  He followed the caravan my ma and pa were on tweny’ years ago south.  Every night, someone went missin’.  Every mornin’ their body showed up dead.”

“Is that the best you got, country-boy?  We’ve got mice in my city scarier than that yarn.”

Bjorn’s face darkened; his eyes squinted.  “Nah, there’s more.  See, my mam and pa and a few others survived.  But only ‘cuz the beast turned off the trail to settle in this wood.”  The other soldier guffawed.  “Don’ believe me if you like.  We still have soldiers gone missing.  And the pointers speak about the beast, too!”

“And if the pointers say it’s true, than it must be.  Gullible.”

“They say it walks on two legs and four—both man and beast.  It protects their cities, it kills any guards that wander too close.  They say it bathes in the blood of the dead.”

“Yeah, an’ I bet it has a twelve-foot c*ck, too!”  Tymar laughed, swigging another mouthful from his flask.  “It was just a damned troll.”

“What?”

“Just a damned troll that followed that caravan.  There are enough of the beasts hanging around in these parts—not wanting to return to their own blasted lands.  That an’ I hear they like the taste of gobber flesh.

“And there was no heretic either.  That was a company of the King’s best that stopped that incursion.”  Tymar scratched himself and belched.  He leaned against the wide tree, letting the natural curve of its bark support his back.  With a sigh, he undid the belt around his waist, his gut stretching beyond the confining leather to its proper position.

For a moment, all was silent except for the crackle of the charring wood in the fire.  Bjorn tried to readjust; he had thrown a cloak over his bare arms to keep the warmth of the fire in.  Beneath the bear-fur, his anger simmered.

Above, the hunter reached around the tree, pulling his body to the side cloaked in shadow.  With the _invocation_ and his claws, he was a perfect climber.  He was as silent as a ghost, as well.

“Bah, why we headin’ south anyway?”

“The whole company’s being repositioned.  Something about some disturbance in Norda Saam or Legend.  A priest or sumthin.”

“A heretic?”

Tymar laughed again.  “Damn, boy, let it go.  Ain’t no heretic.  Tha’s just your mam’s story to keep you ‘round, sucking on her teat since no one else wants that rotten flesh.”  The soldier scratched his crotch.  “Jus’ a small disturbance, some group of ‘adventurin’ types’ makin’ trouble.”

“F*ck you!  If its jus’ a small disturbance, why move the entire company?”

“Rumors are of a war brewing.  I heard the King destroyed the bridge ‘tween Legend and Norda Saam.  So, we’re heading south-east to take care of the vagabonds and then to join with a full contingent of the army.”  Tymar pointed his finger squarely at Bjorn.  “And we better make it there first.  You keep slowin’ me down and I’ll beat your ass.  Then I’ll leave you fer dead in this forest so the pointers can have their way with ye!  We’re gettin’ there first—so I can take those vagabonds out and make Captain-at-Arms.”

“Bah.  I gotta sh*t.”  Bjorn murmured as he stood.  

“Don’ go too far, wouldn’t want the monsters to get ye.”

“F*ck you.”  He cursed as he moved away from the firelight.  The soldier found a nice solid tree to lean against, protecting his white ass from view of his vulgar superior.  He dropped his pants and leaned.

Tymar murmured too himself.  The booze—some homebrewed concoction created by the backwoods villagers he had been forced to watch over—was the strongest drink he had ever had.  Even now with his two—or was it three?—swigs, the warmth was beginning to make him lightheaded.  He took another swallow and nearly choked as a sharp pain spread through his arm.

Tymar twisted.  A loud pop sounded as a flash of pain spread through his dislocated shoulder.  He tried to move his head, tried to scream.  An arm held firmly against his mouth, turning the scream into a muted wail and preventing movement.

Cold, sickly flesh rubbed against his chin.  Dark strands of hair fell into his face.  He rolled his eyes, trying to take in a view of his attacker.  All he could see was the pallid flesh of a forearm and unnaturally long fingernails.  Both were covered in spots with fresh earth.

The hunter opened his mouth, pushing forth a small gust of air.

Tymar shuddered as the scent—heavy with death and wet soil—passed by his face.

“You should have listened to your friend’s warnings.  This is *my* forest.”  The hunter tightened his grip, sliding his arm up slightly; baring the soldier’s neck.  He opened his mouth, pristine white fangs elongated.  They pierced the warm flesh.  A torrent of blood flooded his mouth.

He could feel and hear the soldier’s pulse.  It had been a high, racing beat at first.  Now the beat slowed, deepened.  Tymar’s attacks lessened in frequency and force.

It all stopped completely.

Rhynos released his victim, allowing the corpse to keel over unnaturally.  He leapt from the tree, landing inaudibly.

Bjorn had come back around the tree, his pants still halfway down his legs.  One arm held the waistband of the ragged leathers, his other hung limp, like his mouth, with shock.  

Rhynos grinned widely, revealing the monstrous teeth in his mouth.

Bjorn snapped into action, pivoting awkwardly while hiking his pants upward.  He was in motion long before his belt was even tightened around his waist.

He hit something hard—a tree probably you fool! His mind screamed—and fell back onto the dirt.  Rhynos stood above him; leaned in.

“A good thing I let your ‘mam’ and ‘pa’ live, eh?  You’ll be a tasty little snack.”  He leaned in closer, breathing his foul scent onto the soldier.  “Although, I have to agree with your friend; your ‘mam’s’ flesh was a little rotten, even for my tastes.  Nor was she very skilled in bed.”

Something in Bjorn snapped; his reason probably.  He drew a dagger and punched it into Rhynos’ chest.  

The vampire laughed as he leaned back.  The metal had easily pierced his clothing and now was lodged between his ribs.  He pulled the metal out carelessly and flung it to the side.  “You’ll pay for ruining my shirt,” he spit.  

Bjorn rolled backward, somehow pulling himself into an awkward run.

“Yes, RUN!”  Rhynos bellowed.  He withdrew a wand from his satchel.  Focusing his arcane control, a blob of energy sputtered from the tip.  Instantly, the blood and dirt upon the vampire vanished.

He slid the wand back into his satchel and turned toward his fleeing prey.  “Run,” he spoke in a sing-song voice, “Run.  Lead me to your friends and to the heretic.”  Happy for the first time in decades, Rhynos moved to follow Bjorn slowly.  He savored the scent of fear, sweat and urine that hung in the air—an almost visible trail, a beacon, left by the soldier.  

It was good to exist.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Wonder who the heretic is.......


----------



## Funeris

*SH Sampler*

Alright Boys and Girls,

I want to add my SHs to the Story Hour Sampler.  So, I need to select one post which is the *Greatest Post in the Entire Thread* TM.

But you all are the readers.  So, tell me...which post was your favorite.  Which do you think should be nominated for the task?

Thanks,

~Funeris


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

The one where the half-elf child spots something the PCs did not, the fake bloody make-up. Don't know which post that is.


----------



## Funeris

*VOTES:*

Post #190 -- Bryon_Soulweaver.
Post  #12 -- Anonymous.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 7: Interludes (Cont'd.)*

I'm kinda surprised no one bumped me for the update today.  Did you doubt?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You planned that,” she accused the mirror.  The reflection trapped within the milky, silver hue of the mirror was not her own.  It was not entirely her own but bound to her just as a true reflection would be.  Instead of her own golden tresses, locks of silver were reflected back.  An aging, but serene, face replaced the Lady Llewyllyn’s tense, youthful visage.

“Perhaps, I did, Gold,” the other responded furtively.  

“You did, Silver, you did.  I know you left the mechanism for the rooms concealed in the library slightly askew.  Those mortals would not have found the opening, otherwise.”

“You, who revered the ‘mortals’ so when first you learned of their arrival, seem quite content to bash their intentions.”  The old woman in the mirror smirked, not unhappily or with disdain, but with the wisdom of age.  “Let us not forget who moved an entire village within our outer walls, calling the dreaded eye of the King.  You have made us a bastion of safety to the oppressed.  

“And I,” the elder continued unhindered, “have merely given them a slight chance in the storm that even now crests upon the horizon.  They could have noticed the room without my help.”

“Yes, they may have.  But they may not have, Silver.  You have meddled, it is not very becoming for your neutrality.”

“Our neutrality,” the elder corrected.

“Yes, our neutrality.  I fear my impetuousness has rubbed off on you over the long years.  One of us must be in control.”

“There *is* only one of us in control at a time ‘daughter’.”

“Still, you may have jeopardized the Mother’s plans.  Was it not She that asked this task of us?  Was it not She that demanded the collection of the relics?  Perhaps with your meddling you have jeopardized Her plans.”

“Have you become so cocky, ‘daughter’?  To think that you, a frail living thing, could possibly know Her plan?  Besides, you broke our Neutrality when you decided to play the role of hero to those townsfolk.”

“*They deserved to live*.”

“Everyone deserves to live.  It is not our place to pick and choose which shall live and which shall not.  That is Her choice.”

The younger tossed her golden tresses over her shoulder with haughty twist of her head.  “There is a priest in that library which may disagree with you.”

“Cael enacts Her will,” the elder interrupted, ending that tangent.  “Tell me, of all the treasures, what did they choose?”  The younger, Gold, sighed and shook her head.

“They have chosen deityhood.”

“They _wished_ for that?”

“Yes.  You would not expect it of that cleric.  I think he may have only duplicated the rogue’s _wish_ to assure they were all on equal footing.  Still, our heart tells me that it will only lead to ruin.”

“There is always hope.  Maybe they are the weapons that will undo the wrong.”

“You said that of Morrick as well, dear ‘mother’.”

“His path was in another direction; you are right.  Still, it is his blood that pumps through Cassock’s veins.”

“That does not alleviate my concerns.”

“It should not.  Who was blessed and cursed with deityhood?”

“Cassock and Anastrianna, Zayda and Aramil.  Spinum was unaffected, as far as I can tell.  So, too, were Mialee and Ana’s adopted sister.”

“The _cards_ had limited effect.”

“And their power has been all but drained.  They will not perform any other miracles for the next century at the soonest, at least, no miracles that we could not perform on our own.”

“Useless,” the elder, Silver, sighed.  “A small price to pay if it furthers the Mother’s agenda.”

“So tell me, how should I punish the mortals for their indiscretion?”

“Do not be too harsh on them, Gold.  I suggest we allow those that had no hand in it to go.  Allow Mialee and Spinum to escort Ana’s half-sister to the elven city.”

“Spinum had his hand in the indiscretion.”

“If he was not affected, he did not.”

“I disagree.  He was there and he did nothing to stop them.”

“A compromise then?”

“I’m listening.”

“We allow him to escort the ladies back to the elven city.  Then he returns to us, to be indentured as a servant for as long as we see fit.”

“Sounds like meddling.”

“I knew you would approve,” Silver grinned.  “I have foreseen our death, ‘daughter’.  We will have to leave our task in capable hands if it is incomplete.  Spinum could be one of those trusted, I think.”

“You presume much.”

“I take it you approve then?”

Gold nodded.

Silver paused, reflective as a reflection.  Her wrinkled arm lifted to massage her temples.  “The others need a larger task.  I will leave it to you to decide.”

“Silver,” Gold growled.

“You are half of us, Gold.  Half of our burden is yours.  I decide that part of your half is in dealing out an appropriate amount of justice in this small matter.”  Gold nodded.  “Now, where did you leave our guests?”

“They are still in the library.”

“After their ‘betrayal’ you left them there?”

“Do not act so surprised.  I figured you had a minor role in this event.  They’re safe there and the doors are locked.”

“You left them locked in a room—a party with two thieves?!  Pray they don’t find anything else that piques their collective curiosity.”

Gold nodded in affirmation as Silver vanished.  The mirror emptied, leaving a perfect view of the large, four-poster bed in the rear of the room.  Gold stared into the depths for awhile longer, trying to make out the faintest outline of her own image.  But there was none.  It was as if she did not exist.  She was a ghost that could not be trapped by the looking glass.

Was she soul-less or soul-full?  Gold did not know anymore.  Neither had their brother known or understood.  He fell to madness because of it.   A fall was coming, of that she was sure.  Perhaps it was their death on the horizon.

Gold shook her head, tossing the tresses about in frenzy.  Thoughts like that were what drove sane people to madness.  “Good thing we were never sane,” she murmured as she stalked from the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*General Note:* So now, the readers have nicknames for each of the Ladies:  Silver for the elder and Gold for the younger.  It can be rather…complicated...writing a dialog between the two of them.  I hope it is easier to read than to write.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> I hope it is easier to read than to write.




Well, I think I followed it OK ...

Intriguing stuff, Funeris. I'm looking forward to more.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Bumped for the proding of a Wednesday update.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 7: Interludes (Concluded)*

Rhynos stepped over the cooling corpse of the infantryman.  The human had been easy prey.  He had allowed the man to wear himself out; not that he would have been difficult prey had he not been exhausted.  The chase was the fun bit he knew.  Everything after the chase was disappointing, anticlimactic even.  Even feeling—not as a mortal would acknowledge a cooling breeze through their crude tactile senses but something beyond just feeling, beyond sense, something beyond reason, something more akin to becoming—Death grasp its sickly claws upon the man’s body and invade his spirit was not enjoyable anymore.

There was a time, decades prior but a time nonetheless, when he *had* enjoyed gifting others with eternity.

Perhaps it changed when he had been given a more real version of eternity.

Perhaps not.

Perhaps Rhynos had just lost the thrill of the kill.  Whatever the case, the vampire had easily dispatched his victim without much thought.  He had enjoyed watching the man urinate all over himself and then had quickly ended the game.  He had drawn out the last of the man’s life through his neck, listening to the heart tick, tick, tick into oblivion.

And now he moved past the corpse which had nearly cleared the edge of the forest.  He was a mere dozen or so paces away from a path, an old road it looked, long overgrown with weeds and grasses.

He froze in place, his head cocked to the side.  His preternatural senses kicked on, calculating at a deific rate.  

There.

His head whirled to a soft glimmer of crimson across the road.  Two eyes stared unblinkingly toward his position.  The creature, whatever it was for it was outside of the range of even his vision, did not move nor flinch.  

A moment passed where they observed each other.  Rhynos knew what it was.  He had seen similar sets of eyes watching his every move for the past week.

They never drew close, the other members of his race.  _For their own good_, he thought.  The eyes were unnerving in a way; he had never seen quite so many of his own kin.  The vampire was certain the set of eyes he saw now was not the same pair that he had seen two hours prior, nor two days prior.  

This was a different beast altogether.  None of the other bloodlines moved with the speed or acuity Rhynos’ blood imbued him with.  These were slower brutes.  What they lacked in speed they apparently made up for in sheer numbers, he noted.

The crimson eyes continued to stare unblinkingly.

Another pair flickered into existence.  Rhynos just caught it within his peripheral vision.  It was in his half of the wood, a hundred paces to the east.  That pair blinked out shortly thereafter.

He smirked, fangs bared in an inaudible hiss.

A third pair erupted in the west.  This set held a cerulean hue.  For a moment, Rhynos doubted it was another vampire but his intelligent mind rapidly destroyed that foolish notion.  It was one of his kin.  He did not know their proper blood-name, but kin it was.  One of the dabblers, no doubt.  It was a species of vampire whose sheer arcane powers were doubled or tripled by their unholy existence.  He had only heard of their brood and specifically the tale-tell blue eyes once.

Outnumbered.

Rhynos shuddered and stepped out of the canopy onto the fading road.  

“Well come then.  Let’s get this over with,” he barked, his hands outstretched.  The skin of his fingers split, allowing an opening for the bony talons hidden within his humanoid hands.  The pain was sweet.

Not one of the sets of eyes moved.  Not one of the other creatures came near.

Rhynos glowered.  Cowards.  He waited.  One-by-one the other sets of eyes vanished back into the wood, leaving the warlock alone.  “Cowards,” he reaffirmed.  His talons retracted.

He glanced down at the surrounding weeds.  Crouching, the vampire easily found marks where heavy boots had smashed the flora and imprinted the muck below.  A rough count set the number of travelers at somewhere between five and ten, heavily armored or heavily burdened humanoids.  

Soldiers, no doubt.

The warlock turned to the east and began the new hunt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The three individuals huddled in front of the Lady Llewyllyn.  They had never before been in the grand bedroom.  That, coupled with her mood, made each of the three huddle inwards as if they were afraid to touch anything.

“Do you understand?”  She queried while twirling a golden curl around her long finger.

“Yes, milady,” Spinum replied.  “I am to escort these two back to Mialee’s home.  Once safely delivered, I am to return posthaste.”

“Precisely.”

“And what have we done to invoke your wrath?” spit Mialee.  “I have only heard good rumor of your estate.  Never have I heard it said that the Ladies Llewyllyn have a mood as changeable as the weather!”

Gold’s finger shot out, pointing its perfectly manicured nail at Mialee’s chest.  “Like it or not, child, before yesterday our gracious natures have never been betrayed by welcomed guests.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” she murmured.

“No, you did not.  But, if you would like to stay and incur the same punishment as the others, be my guest.”  The elf pulled her lips together, silencing her dissent.  “Good.

“Now, the child is to accompany you because there are no human lands where she will be safe.  Spinum will travel with you, to assure your safety.”

“Humans are not allowed in our village,” Mialee blurted.

Gold’s eyebrow arched.  “You will welcome him as *my* Emissary.  And that is even if he wishes to sleep in those so-called homes of yours, those silly little huts hidden amongst the boughs of the trees!”  Mialee cowered, her face contorted into a look of shock that the Lady had been to her home.  A human!

“Spinum may prefer to sleep amongst the dwarves,” Lady Llewyllyn added.  “Stubborn though they may be, they probably have a firmer grasp on reality than you elves!”

Silence spread across the gathering as moods both simmered and cooled.

“Preferably,” Gold added as she turned back to the mage, “You will not stay in the village.  I need you back here immediately.”

“Yes, milady.”

“To begin your apprenticeship.”

Spinum’s eyes opened wide.  He felt his cheeks flush.  Respectfully, he bowed his head.

“Now go.”  The three stood and left the Lady’s room.  As her door shut, Gold removed the cloth that covered the mirror.  “And how did I do, mother?”

“Magnificently.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Rhynos leaned the man against a nearby tree without as much as a sound.  The soldiers had stationed only one guard on duty at a time.  And as always, Rhynos had been the better of his prey.  The difficulty, in this instance, was to kill and position the soldier without his heavy armor waking the others.

When they did awake, they would see only a companion that fell asleep and did not survive the trip to the world of the wakeful.  Rhynos had taken extra precaution, leaving no mark upon the fellow.

In the morning, they would continue on, all the slower if they decided to salvage any gear.  The following night, Rhynos would catch up.  

One by one, they would all die.

The last few would know true terror.

And Rhynos would finally meet the man he had tried to hunt down more than two decades before.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

General Note:  Okay, this finishes the brief Interlude chapter.  I’m taking the rest of the week off from writing SHs (I’ve got homework to catch up on).  Next Monday, you’ll see me in the Valus:  Heroes of Marchford SH again.

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Funeris said:
			
		

> I’m taking the rest of the week off from writing SHs (I’ve got homework to catch up on).




Shocking! Can't you come up with a better excuse than that!   



> Next Monday, you’ll see me in the Valus: Heroes of Marchford SH again.




I'll be waiting ...


----------



## TheYeti1775

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Shocking! Can't you come up with a better excuse than that!
> 
> 
> 
> I'll be waiting ...




I'll let him get away with it this time, mainly because the next few chapters of Marchford are jammed pack full of ...... and ..... and then the ....... with the ....... 

Well you wouldn't want me to spoil it would you.

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

Yeah, I could come up with a better excuse.  I was tired though, so give me some slack.  

~Fune


----------



## Sirya

It took a few days... to read it all, and now I'm wondering just how long a week IS exactly for you?


----------



## Funeris

Sirya said:
			
		

> It took a few days... to read it all, and now I'm wondering just how long a week IS exactly for you?




Each week is an eternity.  And don't even get me started on this just past "long weekend".  Eternity just doesn't even start to explain...

~Fune


----------



## Sirya

That bad huh?>  Well, I hope you were left unscathed enough to continue..


----------



## Funeris

I can go on, no worries.  Family time...is...draining.  So, Once I'm done updating the other SH (probably another week or two), I'll be back here, doing my thing again.

~Fune


----------



## Sirya

uhuh... sure


----------



## Funeris

And I suppose I owe you a proper welcome and thanks for reading.

Welcome, Sirya.  And thanks for reading 

~Fune


----------



## TheYeti1775

Yes welcome aboard Sirya,
Check out Funeris other thread as well.  The Heroes of Marchford

Yeti


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark*

I have returned!   

Hope you missed me.    Let's begin Chapter 8: *Devils in the Dark*, shall we?  I can't guarantee a steady stream of updates...life is hectic right now.  But I'll do my best.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tobus!*

The shifting shadow swayed in the dark evening.  It was nearly invisible in that dim light even without the enhancements that could make it vanish into the thin, crisp air.  It stood near a well which was full to the brim from the early winter snows.  The water soaked up some of the faint light, reflecting the entire spectrum of color like a rainbow.

The water was poisoned.

But not every one had perished; only the weak and infirm.  Many yet lived for the moment, grasping their fleeing strength.  The wails of the dying created a cacophonous symphony.  

*Tobus!*  The shadow screamed again.

A few guards along the embattlements shuddered against the shrieking wail.  None turned toward its source.  Their eyes were locked outward searching for threats.  

Within those stone walls, no creature stirred in the courtyard aside from that shadow.  No sign of life was present.  Even the grass had vanished, dead or buried beneath the layer of snow.

The shadow, End-Bringer, slid across the frozen landscape, without leaving a mark upon the snow.  Tobus was hustling through the courtyard at a pace to quick for the old priest.  

End-Bringer drifted nearer.

Tobus’ leg shot out at an unnatural angle as his balance failed.  A sharp crack preceded the priest’s crash into the hard dirt, ice and cold snow.  

The shadow examined the wound, waiting in absolute silence for the weak mortal to cry out in pain.  But Tobus did not.  The priest laid there, head against the snow, breathing shallowly with his leg twisted perpendicularly to his body.

End-Bringer snorted, ruffling his cloak and jingling the chains beneath.  *How is the pain priest?*

“Wonderful,” he whimpered.

The shadow chuckled maliciously.  *Liar.  I have a task for you.*  It tossed a satchel at Tobus, hitting him in the chest and eliciting a painful groan.  *You are to head due north of this place.  There is a tower across the lake.  Deliver that package to the cleric there in service to the King.*

“Yes, sir,” Tobus groaned.  Although it pained him to move, he bowed his head slightly further in respect.

*Heal your leg now and go!  The matter is most urgent!  And do NOT circle the lake.  Grab a boat and row your damned, feeble body across.*

Tobus rolled to his back, unleashing a torrent of divine energy into his leg.  The bone popped back into place; muscles, tendons and ligaments knitted together once again.  Without losing his momentum, Tobus murmured, “Yes, my lord,” and shuffled from the courtyard.

His pace was slower, more careful during the exit.

*Leiban!*  End-Bringer screamed.  

As if waiting for the sign, the door to the prison swung open immediately.  It wrapped against the stone wall as Leiban’s corpse, all stitched back together, hobbled toward its master.

“Lord,” his gravelly voice spit as he knelt.

*Gather the forces, slave.  Our Lord has spoken and commands us to War.*

“What of Mayor,” Leiban coughed, “ex-mayor Rowan and the surviving townsfolk?”

*I will deal with Gabe.  Let the others starve.  We leave immediately for Llewyllyn Manor.*


----------



## Herremann the Wise

Funeris said:
			
		

> I have returned!



And so has one of your readers.   
You sit out for just under two months here and people think it's a long time. Wait until they have to wait almost a year.   I'm sure they'll then have something to truly complain about.   
I think I might just have to go back to the start of this and re-digest it since it has been _so_ long.   [sits down for a good afternoon's read].

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


----------



## Funeris

Hey Herremann,

Its great to see you still hanging about!  I hope all my other readers are still about too 

~Fune


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Welcome back, Funeris.



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> Hope you missed me.




Well of couse we did ... Now, get your nose back to the grindstone and churn out a few more updates!!


----------



## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:
			
		

> Hey Herremann,
> 
> Its great to see you still hanging about!  I hope all my other readers are still about too
> 
> ~Fune



Never left.
lol

Do love hearing about the NPC's lives.

Yeti


----------



## hobbit_killer

Bump.

Because its my 100th post.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Ya know I ain't bumped the idgit in awhile now.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

I turned the coffee pot back on and look what came out...
--------------------------------------------------------

“How many?”  Cassock hissed.  The large priest looked uncomfortable crouched in the bushes surrounding the ruins.  Night had fallen some time before.

Aramil focused his eyes, running from shadow to shadow, penetrating the dark.  “Three,” he counted, “no, four there in the center.  And it looks like two on the exterior.  See that lumpy shadow on the ground—that’s a sentry.  He may be asleep or he might just be lying in wait.”

Cassock grunted in acknowledgement.

Without a sound, Aramil motioned to Zayda and Ana across the dirt path.  The two pairs stalked forward.

“We move in silently—giving the soldiers no chance of resistance,” the half-elf whispered.  

“And then we send them to meet my God,” Cassock firmly declared.  

Silence fell upon the night as Ana and Zayda disappeared around the northern wall of the crumbling structure.  Aramil slid his most recent acquisition from its sheath releasing a soft hiss.  

The sentry did not stir.

The half-elf twitched, his eyesight flickering into shades of black, white and gray.  Vision distorted, the world shifted within his view as Aramil detached from his body and floated across the earth.  While hovering above the body of the four crouching forms inside the ruins, rot and decay stretched fetid tendrils into his nostrils.  

_Dead,_ he thought.  

*Not Dead, Child.  Worse*, a biting, metallic voice reprimanded within the half-elf’s mind.  *This One Will Walk Again.  This One Will Feed On The Blood Of The Innocent.*

Aramil shuddered and found his spirit safely encased again within his body.  Cassock arched an eyebrow quizzically.  “That sleeping sentry is not sleeping.”

“Good,” the priest whispered back.  “One less we need to worry about.”

The metallic voice tickled Aramil’s spine with a chilling cackle.  “No, we still need to worry.  It is undead—just not stirring, yet.”  

Cold crept over the black of Cassock’s eyes.  His weapon was loosed and prepared.  Aramil watched, waiting for the ladies to move into proper position.  Minutes passed, creeping faster toward daylight than the Zayda and Ana toward the opposite side of camp.  Nervousness raised Aramil’s hackles.  A bead of sweat slipped down Cassock’s brow in annoyance.

_Just a few more steps,_ the rogue prayed.  

Cassock surged forward with momentum, startling the rogue into action.  The priest’s mace-arm lifted into the air.  Aramil threw a glance at the ladies, noting they had also relinquished stealth in exchange for rapidity of motion on the priest’s foul up.  

The metallic cackling was filling the space between Aramil’s ears.  His eyes traced from the ladies to the slowly mobilizing guards around the campfire to the undead sentry upon the ground.  It stirred, an arm twitched and clawed feebly at the ground.  Cassock’s mace slammed into the thing’s chest, cracking the ribs like so much tinder.  Its eyes opened wide in horror or pain—the tainted red light of the hells burning within their extents.

Aramil trembled as the cackling shifted to cool instruction, *Take Its Head Off*.  The half-elf’s arm snaked out, carrying with it his instructor, his blade.  She erupted in ecstasy as she tore through the spawn’s neck.

Its head tumbled uselessly across the ground as the women descended onto the still-readying soldiers of the Empire.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Yee-Haw

Yeti want more.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8:  Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

I'm still brushing the cobwebs out...
----------------------------------

Aramil wiped the blood off his blade with a rag.  The bodies of the Empire’s soldiers were haphazardly stacked a short distance outside the stone walls of the ruined foundation.  Cassock paced back and forth near the corpses, chanting a final prayer to speed the unworthy souls along to his god, no doubt.  The cleric did not look happy; the combat had been entirely one-sided and for all Aramil knew, that meant the souls offered to Cael may be entirely unworthy*(1)*.  At any rate, the cleric seemed angry while the women appeared merely disgusted.

He struggled to hold back a childish snicker over the cause of that displeasure.  Hovering upon the broken walls, a macabre shadow grinned wickedly.  It had been Cassock’s idea to burn the body of the undead.  Aramil had chosen that time to impale the detached head on a stick and to lodge it in the flames of the campfire.  Now, the shadow of a crazily grinning corpse spread upon the walls and the half-elf almost felt truly alive.

“We need to discuss exactly what the plan here is.”  The cleric startled the others from their thoughts.  Aramil sighed.  So much for having one moment’s respite.

**     *     *​*
The soldier’s neck snapped as Rhynos’ feet kissed just below the helm, just at the base of the skull.  His talons gripped the bottom of the helm, wrenching the metal up and away from its perch along with sinew and muscle.  Landing and rolling into a crouch, the monster tasted blood in the air, heightening his lust.

A labored sigh escaped the corpse behind.  A shrill, curdling scream echoed ahead.

“One left,” he grinned.  Then he was in the shadows again, hunting.

**     *     *​*
“The chalice must have some great power,” Cassock concluded.  “We should not waste time.  We have traveled at least half the distance—”

“Do you know anything of Orin the Red?”  Aramil looked hopefully at the priest but Cassock could only shake his head.

“I’ve heard the name before,” Ana chimed in.  Everyone shifted to focus on the rogue.  “He’s a ruthless mercenary.  I’ve really only heard the name in passing.  He’s expensive but he’s one of the best.”

“No man can stand before us,” the priest declared.  

“I’ve heard tale that he’s not a man,” retorted Ana.

“With the righteousness of Cael—”

Zayda smirked and coughed.  Irritated, she stood and barked, “We should just keep moving.  The sooner we’re through with this punishment, the sooner I can return to my people.”  She tossed a disdainful look at the others and moved toward the horses.

Everyone moved to follow.  Cassock grinned at Aramil.  “Knowing what my personal punishment was, I cannot even begin to imagine what that elf had to go through.” 

Aramil stopped to stare in confusion.  “What exactly do you mean?”

The priest just smiled and mounted his horse.

**     *     *​*
Droplets of blood sprayed into the air as the chains constricted and shattered the rib cages.  First, the three victims cried out as the bones split and popped.  A few moments of silence—silence complete except for the loosening chains—followed until the bones popped again, this time reforming as the creatures healed.

*I will only ask one more time.*  The shadowed form turned its mask upon each of the creatures, adding an undeniable permanence to the unspoken threat.  *I believe a group headed this way not so long ago.  One was a priest of Cael.  One was—*

“YES!” Blurted one of the undead.  The other two cocked their heads at their traitorous companion, allowing extra space for the chains to shift up their torsos, tighten around their throats, and tear through flesh and bone.  The two bodiless heads would hold expressions of surprise for the entirety of their decay.

*Go on.*

“They passed this way not more than a fortnight ago.  Left a trail of carnage.  Many of my kin perished.”  

Easily, the spawn was drawn closer to the cold mask.  He reflexively and futilely tried to pull away.  *As my Lord instructed.  Gather your kin, if you would seek revenge against this group.  Meet us at Llewyllyn Manor.  Your appetites will be sated there.*  The chain twitched, tossing the spawn carelessly to the side.  He tumbled painfully to his knees and scampered into the nearby foliage.

End-Bringer turned to the north.  His inquisitors fell quickly into step behind.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Glory to Cael!

Hadn't thought of Cassock in quite some time until Funeris started writing again.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Now maybe you'll update this one too:

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=97346


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Crikey! I thought this story was well and truly deceased.

And I see that my last post here said "welcome back" to Funeris with the result that you didn't post again for nearly 15 months !!!!! So don't expect me to be polite this time.   

Now if only I could remember what the Hells is going on ....


----------



## javcs

I like this SH.

Gives me ideas.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (continued)*



			
				HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Crikey! I thought this story was well and truly deceased.




Not quite.  Real life just became...complex for 15 months or so   



			
				HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Now if only I could remember what the Hells is going on ....



  Might I suggest a re-read? 

Welcome back and now on with the story...

----------------------------

Tobus half-stepped, half-fell from the railing of the wooden barge and into the freezing waters of Lake Norda.  The men aboard broke out into insulting laughter which, for a moment at least, replaced the priest’s chill with a flaring warmth.  A draught or other curative would be necessary for the drill, he acknowledged as he stepped toward shore.

“What of our payment, priest?” shouted down one of the men, obvious contempt dripping from the title.  

Tobus grunted and turned toward the ship, shouting, “I’ll pay you when you grant safe passage back to the southern shore.”

“You’ll pay us now, or you’ll walk your way back.”  

“Half now, half when we return south,” he negotiated.

“Nay.  All of it now, priest.  Surely you’re not trying to cheat us.”

“It’s not honorable that you attempt to renegotiate our bargain halfway through the journey,” Tobus admonished with a sneer.  “If you’re so dishonorable in this, how can I be certain that you will wait for me here?”

“Don’ speak to us of honor, Priest of Ara’kull.  The word is a poison when it passes ‘tween your lips.”

“*Fine.*”  He pulled a sack of coin from his satchel, careful to hold it at its drawstrings.  With a flick of the wrists, the coin leapt into the air and crashed onto the wooden deck of the barge with a heavy clink.  “There’s a little extra there to guarantee you’re here when I get back!”

Spiteful laughs erupted from the men.  “Aye, thank ye much, priest!” yelled one of them.

“My pleasure,” Tobus murmured as he turned toward shore.  Over the heads of the trees, a single spire towered in the distant moonlight.  One short leg of this journey remained.  Deliver the package personally to Blackrose and then return to town.  Taking a step beneath the dark boughs of the forest, a wicked grin split the priest’s face.  He wondered exactly how long it would take for the poison on the coin to circulate amongst all the men on the ship and wished that he had enough time to watch their agony.

**     *     *​*
“It’s been a ten-night already of near-constant riding,” Anastrianna whined.  They all felt the weariness of the road and of travel.  New layers of dirt clung to the older layers, slowly darkening the natural hues of their flesh.  Soreness reached through their bodies and more importantly through the worn bodies of their steeds.  The hard ride had left the horses borrowed from the Ladies Llewyllyn in a weakened state.  

“We need to push on,” Cassock reaffirmed.  His eyes drifted across the shadowy tops of the trees, noting the unnatural break where a tower pierced the boughs.  A dim light flickered within the structure’s topmost window.  The cleric cocked his head, catching the sound of faint cries upon the wind.  His eyes locked onto the two moons, cresting above the landscape.  Styg’s large steel face contrasted sharply with the unusually heavy, red hue of Enoch.  

A passage the cleric had been required to verbally recite during his training returned to him like the faint cries on the wind.  _When blood and steel meet upon the divine’s field at night, when the weeping of the pure and mother unite, the dead rise to walk again in bodies crafted of flesh or iron._  The two moons drew closer, looking to overlap above the tower.  His eyes widened.

“We have to go now.   There is not much time.”  The orbs inched closer.  Everyone stared blankly at the priest while he untied his own steed and climbed onto the saddle.  “Now, damnit!  Get up, there’s no time!”  An uncertain look passed between his companions, but they followed his instructions, killing the campfire and mounting their own horses.  

Cassock dug his heels into the horses’ flanks and it begrudgingly lumbered into a trot.  Like a gentle thunder, the sound of the horses’ pace rolled through the forest, signaling their approach to the tower.

**     *     *​*
Tobus glowered at the large man.  “I must deliver the package,” he wagged the leather scroll tube at the mercenary, “personally to Blackrose.  It has been commanded.”  The beast—for it was definitely more beast than man—laughed menacingly, its razor fangs glinting in the torchlight.  

“I think not,” the Red’s gravelly voice responded coldly.  He extended a hand covered in flesh as pale as bone.  Only his lips and cheeks bore a rosy, life-like hue that was, no doubt, caused by a recent feeding.  A red glow glimmered in Orrin’s eyes, daring the priest to continue arguing.

The old priest sighed and massaged his temples.  “Look, beast,” he spoke but was interrupted as Orrin’s head snapped to the left, focusing on the forest.  “What?”

“Guests are arriving.”  He lifted a black helm, covering his face.  “It seems you can continue with your orders.  It is time for me to entertain.”  The mercenary leapt down the stairs and sped to a midnight-black steed, mounting it quickly.

Tobus pulled on the heavy wooden double doors of the tower, impatiently.  Soon, he would be on his way home, hopefully after watching the rest of the shipmen perish.  The priest stepped into the darkened room, noticing a stairway that climbed along the inner walls.  The large room was empty except for a circular wooden table supporting a wooden chalice and four large, shadowed forms.  The forms were macabre statues of creatures with stitched flesh.  He was nearly nauseated by the fine workmanship that captured and accented every gory detail.

“*BLACKROSE!*” the priest bellowed and then reactively fell back.  Two of the stitched statues lurched forward, their arms reaching for him.


----------



## Funeris

javcs said:
			
		

> I like this SH.
> 
> Gives me ideas.




Hi and welcome to the SH.  I'm glad you're enjoying it.  What's crazy is that I'm just now (partially thanks to that lovely 15 month hiatus) catching up to the session that we had prior to Post #14 back on page 1, more than two years ago.

Crazy.

So, welcome, again.  And I'll try to make sure you all enjoy.

~Fune


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

Very short update.  Apologies.  I'll update at least once more before next Sunday.

~Fune

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The priest gargled a painful shout as one meaty, oversized hand clamped his throat closed.  His face erupted in reds and blues.  Stars erupted in front of his eyes.  His last breath, caught just below the stitching in the golem’s hand, threatened to burst out of his body.  

A high-pitched wailing filled the cleric’s ears.  He realized with some sadness the scream was female and not his own.

Tobus’ left leg twitched violently as the golem’s arm extended, causing the hardwood of the double door to dominate his spine.  He was pinned; the world was spinning and swiftly approaching blackness.

**     *     *​*
The horse reared in mid-stride, its black mane whipped across Cassock’s face.  Its rear legs threatened to snap under the strain of its own weight and speed.  As fast as it had shot upward into the air, gravity pulled its kicking front legs down.  The hooves rent the dirt of the forest and Cassock grasped tightly to maintain his balance.  His companions, still a distance behind, had the advantage to slow more carefully.  They trotted up behind after only a few moments.

A mere fifty feet ahead, a rider in black and crimson blocked the path.  Once the companions reined in their horses, he slid like a shadow running from the midday sun off the back of the black steed.  The reins fell from his hands.  He stalked forward carefully, only two pinpricks of burning red visible within the visor of his helm.  He was all black and crimson armor and clothing.  

“I should handle this,” Cassock quietly suggested.  He dismounted.  Aramil followed next.  

“We have your back,” Ana swore as she, too, leapt to the earth.  The priest grunted in assent.

*Undead*, the chilling voice of the blade whispered in Aramil’s ears.  *This One Has Not Walked In The Light In Some Time.*  Aramil nodded, unconsciously and whispered the information.

“All the more reason for me to handle this,” the priest intoned.  

The rider halted.  Five feet of dead space separated Cassock and he.  Orrin’s red eyes flared behind the visor.  He breathed deeply the scent of the trespassers.  His lust flared within his stomach, up through his throat and into his jaws.  His own fetid blood filled his mouth when his fangs tore into the flesh of his lower lip.  The taste of his last meal—a peasant that had been quite succulent—tasted of naught but rot when compared to the scent surrounding him.

Orrin was glad for the armor he wore now for not only the protection it would offer him but that it cloaked his facial expressions.  The hunger in his face would betray him.  It would need to be swallowed—the pungency and sweetness of these mortals would have to be ignored.  

Exhaling, the scent passed out of his body and his words formed, “You are trespassing on the King’s lands.”


----------



## TheYeti1775

As Cassock doesn't recognize the King's authority, he definitely doesn't see himself as trespassing. 

Bump for more.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8:  Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

Sorry I didn't manage to get another update in this past week.  Work has been busy.

However, happy Birthday to me and happy birthday to you.  Here is a longer update than is typical.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thin, preserved strips of flesh peeled away from the golem’s chunky hands easily.  The stars before Tobus’ eyes were exploding more and more rapidly with each passing breathless moment.  He could not scream.  He could not verbally pray and knowing his own Lord so well, he knew that it would be useless to do so were it possible.  Suffering was a part of life, a major part of life for the weak.  If it were His will to die, so it would be.

For the first time in Tobus’ life, regret and disappointment gripped his heart.  

“Release him,” hissed a nearby voice.  The meaty claw opened and the ground roughly caught the priest.  His knees buckled and the world spun end-over-end until he was sitting upright, between the thighs of the monstrosity.

“Get up,” the raspy voice ordered.  Tobus breathed deeply, too deeply for his location and had to choke down a small amount of bile.  The scent of preserved decay surrounded his head like a cloud.  It smelled of wetness and earth and rot.  “Return to your positions,” the voice sounded again.  “Do not move unless the chalice is disturbed.”  

Tobus’ eyes opened in awe as he realized not one of the guardians had descended upon him—four had.  Four flesh-crafted golems were stationed in this seemingly empty tower.  Four highly expensive creations—things he had only ever heard of in passing at the temples in Norda Saam—lurched back to their positions surrounding the circular table.  The empire, no, his God, truly was powerful to give such blessings to his servants.  Blackrose then must be a powerful member of the clergy.

“GET UP,” the voice hissed again.  A pallid, oval shape leered out of the gloom of the shadows.  The hard angles of his nose and jaw were emphasized by a set of beady, dagger eyes that cut through Tobus without any effort and the cold reflection of the far away torch light off Blackrose’s hairless head.  

The sounds of dripping gripped Tobus’ ears as he struggled to take in more air—air which shimmered and felt more malevolent than all the hate in Blackrose’s eyes.  Tobus noted the ritualistic dagger in the other priest’s hand—covered in blood.  The dripping was two-fold in its origin.  Somewhere behind that priest, near the golems and probably near the aforementioned chalice was the other source.

Tobus spooked as the wind—was it really the wind?—began to murmur around the interior of the tower, spinning rapidly like a vortex.  Blackrose’s bald, oblong head tilted his head as if to listen.  The murmuring rose to a wailing and was joined by multiple screams.  Tobus’ blood curdled.  

The ceiling of the tower was beginning to fill with a strange mixture of dancing light—hopefully from the moons.  Something important was happening, Tobus felt, as the wind increased again in intensity, filling his ears with a roaring and coalescing to near-physicality.  Suddenly, he lurched into the air, the preternatural wind holding him in the air.

Fear spurred Tobus’ heart to a rapid pulsing.
Blackrose let out a hoarse laugh.  “Not this one.  Too frail, too frail.  It is not his task and he will be dead soon.”  The sharp lines of his mouth drew into a feral grin.  “I am Nar’za,” he bellowed over the rising cacophony of the wind.  His head had resumed its natural angle, his eyes needling into Tobus’ flesh.  Tobus barely held back the bile as the wind lifted him to perfect rigidity above the floor, his toes dangling inches above the stone.  “Why are you here…” Nar’za began to question, his head tilting ever so slightly again, listening intently, “…Tobus?”  

Tobus moved to lift his arms, to cover his ears, to drown out the maelstrom and the screams of agony but the wind stalled his movement, snapping his arms behind, near to their breaking points.  Pain lanced down the nerves in his arms, gripping his back in spasms of pain.  Warmth spread along his thighs, filling his robes with moisture.

“You are here,” Nar’za continued with his head cocked, “to deliver a package.  A package you have been intelligent enough not to open.”  The light along the ceiling—a red and silver blending—danced fluidly, rippling and casting odd contrasts of light and shadow over the entire room.  Out of the corner of his eye, Tobus thought he saw the maelstrom draw itself into a shadowy form, vaguely human in shape, but when his head turned he saw nothing but empty space.  “You did, however, manage to poison an entire ship of fishermen.  Good for you.”  The sardonic smirk was unmistakable.  

Tobus felt a shifting in his satchel and then the package he was meant to deliver drifted through the air and to Nar’za’s extended hand.  The package was open a half-second later, his captor eagerly pouring through the correspondence.  A darkening frown spread across his features as the second scroll was read until finally, Nar’za looked at Tobus.  “Your god has reserved a special place in Hell for you.  You may go,” he hissed and turned, moving toward the stairs.

Father Matlick clenched as the maelstrom spun him around and his ears filled with the whistling wind which almost formed a hoarse, “WHAT?!,” before his aged knees were slammed into the floor and he collapsed on all fours.  The wind pulled away from the priest, seemingly to follow Nar’za up the staircase.  Tobus struggled for the handle to the door and pulled it open as quickly as possible.  He struggled to his feet and passed through the portal, drawing the door shut as he cast one frightened glance back at the unmoving statues of sewn flesh.

**     *     *​*
“All of the lands were created by the gods.  They belong to no King,” Cassock retorted with a cocky sneer.  “We shall pass.”  Aramil stepped closer to the young priest, hoping to reinforce their resolve with strength in numbers.  A guttural laugh was the only response.

“These lands are the King’s.  This Empire is his.  And it is on his lands you trespass.”  Cassock opened his mouth but the knight in black and crimson continued, “Should you travel any farther onto the King’s lands, I have been granted the authority to serve as judge, jury and executioner for your crimes.  

“I have taken the time to inform you of the possible crime you are about to commit.  Any further action on your part will result in an immediate judgment of guilty.  The punishment for your crime will be a sentence of death to be executed, so to speak, immediately.”  The hunger spread again into his every limb.  Orrin ripped the helmet from his head, tossing it to the ground.  With a quick movement, he slid from his steed and unsheathed his blade.  He gritted his fangs, obvious bloodlust burning in his eyes.  Although he struggled against it, he felt the beast growing within.  Their pungency was too much.  “Execution,” he restated.  “Unless…” his words trailed to nothingness and he waited.

“We will not,” Cassock blurted but was cut off as Aramil placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What are your terms?”  Cassock’s mouth dropped open as he turned and stared at the half-elf.  Aramil ignored the gaze and again opened his annoying mouth, “You wouldn’t say ‘Unless’ unless there were some way we could peaceably pass on the King’s lands.  What is it you want?  Money?  Women?”  Cassock’s eyes grew larger and larger as his hand gripped the mace tighter and tighter.

Orrin laughed again, which drew the priest’s gaze to him.  “I want you to *join me*.”  

Cassock’s mind screamed as his vision dimmed around the pin-prick red eyes of the knight.  The command—more powerful than any natural request or order—reverberated in his mind, demanding control of every part of his being.  The assault was nearly overwhelming.  

“*All you need do is join me*,” Orrin the Red repeated and Cassock felt his control slip further.  The vampire then turned his gaze to Aramil, his hypnotic eyes swallowing the half-elf as easily as the eyes of a puppy could capture the love of a child.  “*We could be allies.  Your power multiplied by my own.  Our strength would be unstoppable.  Just think of it.*”  Orrin inched closer, his mouth half open, his tongue lolling about behind the fangs.

“Yes,” Aramil murmured.  “There’s no reason for us to fight—except as a team.  We could use your power just as you could use our aide.”  The half-elf turned back to repeat louder his epiphany to the others, exposing his neck to the bloodlust-driven demon.  

The pulsing of Aramil’s neck artery drove the vampire’s lust beyond controllable.  His mouth opened to its full extent and he was suddenly in motion, darting forward.

The red eyes glowed and shifted in Cassock’s mind’s eye, but another symbol was rising to consume the command.  Cael’s holy image grew around the red light, adding strength to the priest’s already amazing will.  His arm danced out, the heavy mace extending to his full reach and he felt a shudder in his arm as the head impacted with the undead’s face.

A howl erupted in the night air as Orrin fell back, fetid blood oozing from mouth and nostrils.  The lust thrummed through the vampire’s every muscle.  He issued another command while he maintained his last shreds of humanity but Cassock’s response was not one of acquiescence.  Another heavy blow landed solidly against the vampire, knocking him back another step.  Cassock stepped in.

*WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!*  Aramil’s hands latched around his ears but the voice that twisted his stomach and split his head was from within.  *AID YOUR TRUE ALLY,* it shouted again—effectively ending the control that had been asserted over his will.  A faint regret lingered in his mind, but Aramil found that emotion displaced as the powerful weapon he held pierced the vampire’s flesh again and again.

Zayda and Anastrianna joined the fray, closing around Orrin.  Weapon thrust after weapon thrust fell again and again on the creature.  The ground was soaked with the blood of the undead—of its victims.  Orrin tried to raise his weapon, only to have it knocked away by a fierce blow by Cassock.  

The Red shrunk beneath a thrust of Zayda’s sword and his flesh shifted, becoming mottled with fur and his arms expanding to take the shape of leathery wings.  He sped up—his new body that of a bat—toward freedom.

The stars in the sky were suddenly drowned out by the brown of cloth.  Orrin squealed in anger as the haversack caught him.  Ana held her prize to the ground as Cassock and Aramil pummeled it ceaselessly.  

“Quickly,” Cassock grumbled as he grabbed the satchel and moved to the forest line.  He cast a traitorous look at Aramil but said nothing as the half-elf followed him.  Along the edge of the tree line, a small stream fled toward the nearby lake.  Cassock thrust the haversack below the waterline and opened it.

A few minutes later, the priest pulled the satchel, now empty, from the water.  He stood, Aramil following suit.  The half-elf could not react quickly enough as a mailed fist launched out, batting him against the back of his skull.  The world spun for half a second and he heard the priest’s words, “Never disobey me again.”

Aramil blinked and realized he was on the ground as Cassock walked away.  His mouth flopped open and closed like a fish on dry land.  *IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU, YOU WILL NOT SAY ANYTHING RIGHT NOW,* the metallic, female voice calmly stated.  The half-elf nodded.

“Let’s go,” Cassock yelled.  “We’re almost to the spire.”  _And probably already too late,_ he thought as he saw Enoch and Styg embracing in the heavens.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Man was I that much of an @ss playing Cassock   

Cassock tends to be single-minded at times.  In another world, he might have been easily turned to Blackguard.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

They turned to the stair, ready to ascend the handful of stairs as the door wrenched open.  An old man spilled from the opening, yanking the door shut behind.  Twisting, his ankle burst and he tumbled down the cool stone to land prostrate before them.  He looked up.

“Tobus!”  Cassock growled.  

The old man hissed in response, rearing back.  A soft light drifted from Tobus’ wrinkled hand and into his useless ankle.  The bone knit itself together again.

“You will not escape justice this time, priest.”  Cassock leveled his bloody blade at Tobus.  

“I am not here as your enemy.  I am only here to deliver a message to this tower’s master,” the priest sniveled.  

“No matter.  As Cael’s proxy, I will pass his judgment on you, follower of Ara’kull.”  The others watched the tip of Cassock’s sword sear into Tobus’ flesh in silence.

“I will not fight you!” Tobus shrieked.

“Guilty.”

Metal slid silently between ribs.  The cold steel burned as it passed through muscle, lung and heart.  Hatred filled Tobus’ eyes as blood filled his mouth and painted his lips.  

“I go now to my, God,” he rasped.  “Your suffering is only beginning.”  Wet sucking drowned the rest of the curse.  Life left the priest’s eyes and his body slid from the blade.

“You go now to Cael,” Cassock corrected but his voice held doubt.  A shadow stretched up from Tobus’ body, another soul dragged toward the capital.  He cleaned his sword on the priest’s body, then rifled through the few possessions.  

“Are we ready, yet?” Aramil begged, impatience obvious.

“Yes,” Cassock blurted.  A scream snatched their attention, proved his answer false.  

A man broke from the wood, two hundred feet away in a full run.  His colors were hidden by night but the cut of his armor clearly marked his allegiances to the royal army.  He screamed again, bastard sword waving in the air.

Cassock grumbled, readying his blade.  Was there no end to their line of foes?

Ana and Zayda lifted arrows to their bows.  

Aramil paused, listening intently to the sword’s cool voice.  *FEAR.  HE DOES NOT ATTACK.  HE FLEES.  BE READY.*  Aramil thought to speak up but the sword stopped him.  *THERE, SEE IT?  ANOTHER UNDEAD.*

A dark form, faster and quieter than the dead separated itself from the shadow of the forest.  It allowed the soldier to set the pace, keeping just close enough that its prey would feel the pressure.

“Undead,” Aramil advised.  

“I know, I can feel it,” Cassock replied.  “Be ready.”

The distance between the groups vanished as the soldier charged.  The shadow allowed it.  When the soldier was only thirty feet away, Cassock prepared his sword, drawing it back for a powerful blow.

The shadow struck.  

Its lithe form became the sky, expanding and filling the world with terror and death.  The soldier’s eyes widened with shock.  Inky talons slid into his back as the thing became part of him.  His blood became its blood.  

Death closed around the soldier’s heart, ending its rhythm.  His body crashed into the earth, a few hand-spans from Cassock.  The shadow landed lightly thereby.

“Is it really you?”  It questioned.  “Truly?  After all these years?”  It stepped into the light.  A line of blood streamed across its pallid chin.  It reached a hand up, a cold finger and thumb closing on Cassock’s jaw.

Rhynos turned the cleric’s head to the left and the right.  The scent—their scent—their life was potent, overwhelming.  But it was not right, not quite.  Similar but not the scent of the destruction in Divi’sad.  

“You’re not him,” Rhynos spit with disdain, releasing his hold.

“I am Cassock of Cael,” the priest replied, unsure.

“Yes, yes,” Rhynos bellowed, “but you’re not *HIM*!”

A scream echoed from the tower.  Cassock looked at its high walls.  “We’ll sort this out momentarily,” he promised.  

Aramil took his cue and examined the door.  “Not trapped or locked,” he murmured.  Taking a deep breath, he pulled the doors open.

Moonlight fell across a large chamber, revealing a circular wooden table and a chalice.  Large, nearly-hidden forms stood sentry nearby, statues of stitched flesh.  

Aramil saw the flicker of torchlight dancing up the staircase winding around the inside of the tower.  Zayda could see only the chalice.

Aramil darted for the stairs.  Zayda sped across the floor for the chalice. 

“No, WAIT!” Cassock ordered.

“You’re definitely not *him*.”

Zayda’s leapt onto the table nimbly, her fingers closing around the chalice.  The four dark forms shuddered to life, lurching toward her, meaty fists striking at her body.

Aramil was halfway to the torch.  Just a little further.  

*DEFINITELY A LIVING FOE,* the sword commented.  

“My kind of enemy,” Aramil quipped, sure.  Then the stair was opening before him, gravity and his weight springing the trap.  Seventy feet of darkness yawned at him with a hungry maw.

Aramil fell.


----------



## Funeris

TheYeti1775 said:


> Man was I that much of an @ss playing Cassock




Yes, yes you were.



TheYeti1775 said:


> Cassock tends to be single-minded at times.  In another world, he might have been easily turned to Blackguard.




In another world?  Apparently you forgot what happened in this one


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## TheYeti1775

Funeris said:


> Yes, yes you were.
> 
> 
> 
> In another world?  Apparently you forgot what happened in this one




Shhhh you give away to much.......


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

_Stupid_, he cursed silently as the spikes drove through his armor, shredding skin and splintering bone.  YES, the feminine voice from the sword agreed.  VERY STUPID.  Aramil’s mind exploded with pain as his body continued to thrash on the spears and a fire borne of magic erupted.  

His flesh blackened, the life oozed from his broken body.  A numbness spread down his spine.  POISON, she informed.  

“I’m not dead yet,” Aramil swore, blood staining his blistered lips.  

LISTEN, she demanded.

He pushed at the screaming agony in his body, issuing from his body.  Pushed, shoved, mastered it.  He found no silence beyond his howling.  A soft tic-ticking was nearby.  

Aramil twisted, a spike tore the side of his neck.  But his head twisted so he could see the device in the wall.  A silver panel fashioned as a blade of a guillotine crawled toward the top of the device, a clock recording the resetting of the trap Aramil assumed.  At the bottom of the guillotine, a prostrate form lied headless.

“$*!*,” he swore.  

TIME IS ALMOST UP.  For the first time, Aramil noted sadness in that voice.  He turned his head toward where he had fallen.

“Hurry.”

*          *          *​
“What would you like me to do?” Rhynos asked as he slouched against the wall.

“Die,” Cassock spat.  Rhynos chuckled.

Zayda spun out of the way of one of the fists but another cracked her back, tossing her toward another of the guardians.  The elf, light on her toes, twisted in midair and managed to stop short, pushing back flat against the table.  A pair of meaty fists arced toward her prone form.

Cassock reached into his divine power, drawing on a simple orison.  The chalice Zayda held radiated no power.  “That’s not even the right cha—”

A flash of light.  Aramil screamed.  The smell of singed flesh and burnt hair filled the air.  

“I could—” Rhynos began.

“Yes, GO,” ordered Cassock.  The undead spun toward the stair and began leaping up its length four stairs at a time.  

Anastrianna dodged right, sliding beneath the golem and returning to a crouch.  She unleashed two arrows which may as well have been gnats to the stitched creature.  Ana looked left and right, searching for a way out of her corner.

Cassock’s sword snapped into a golem’s side.  Seams ripped, spewing filth and stink down the length of his blade.  

Behind it, two of its brethren brought their fists down into Zayda hard.  The table beneath her split from the force.  The chalice rolled from her fingers.

Rhynos saw the flickering torchlight above make its final turn.  Its carrier must have reached the top level.  For a moment, he considered ignoring the rogue in the pit.  Aramil gurgled.  The smell was sweet.

Rhynos leapt into the pit, clinging to its wall as he slid toward the half-elf.  

“No time,” Aramil rasped.  His eyes flickered toward the wall.  Rhynos saw the guillotine blade reach its pinnacle.

The vampire growled, one taloned hand snapping shut around Aramil’s neck, the other reaching out as he leapt upward.  As Aramil’s body separated from the poisoned spikes, the guillotine dropped and another ball of fire erupted.  Rhynos was shielded by the half-elf’s body.  The magic propelled them both upward.

One of the golems fell to Cassock’s blade and the priest actively grabbed the attention of one attacking Zayda.  Thankfully, the elf had managed to somehow draw her blade and attack from the floor.  She could only hit the ankles of the monstrosities but it would help.

Cassock’s blade slid into the back of another beast.  From somewhere, a woman bellowed in agony.  The priest glanced up.  High above, powerful magics hung.  His ribs splintered as one of the golems pounded into his side.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

Aramil moaned, his skin charred and cracked and bleeding.

Rhynos’ nose caught the scent of fire being born above.  Below, the sweet perfume of death hung in the air.  The vampire watched Aramil’s eyelids flutter open.  He grinned and ran a tongue across the blackened skin and blood of the half elf.  He spit, “I prefer my meals rare.” 

Feebly, Aramil tried to use his sword as a shield. 

Chuckling, Rhynos tensed and kicked away from the staircase, feeling the world lose its grip upon him.  If blood still pumped through his body, he might have felt some exhilaration.  Already, the blood from his last kill had burned away leaving only the cold distance of reality. 

The priest of Cael—not THE priest but a priest similar in scent, power and, perhaps, bloodline—danced with one of the golems below.  The dance was clumsy; burdened by the weight of the great sword the priest wielded.  Perhaps if the priest had a few of Rhynos’ gifts he would not be so clumsy.

A feral grin split the vampire’s face as he landed nimbly on the golem’s shoulders, tearing into dead flesh and sinew with razor talons.

Some of the pain fled.  Wounds knitted and blackened flesh sloughed off, replaced by sore, baby-pink skin beneath.  Aramil rolled to his side, reaching for another potion vial.  His eyes caught the flicker of fire above.

*DO NOT*, the blade commanded.

Aramil struggled to his feet, swallowing the fourth vial.  The monster had set him on the stair just before the pit trap.  Typical.  Aramil glanced at the simply carved stone, following the thin gap that could have revealed the pit’s presence.  The stair had closed, resetting the trap for the next idiot to bumble onto it.  

He continued to search.  There had to be a trigger, a control of some kind to lock the trap and allow safe passage.  He saw it; a tilted wall sconce on the high side of the trap.  If he leapt, he might be able to make the distance and turn the trap off.

*DO NOT!!!* the voice shrieked inside his mind again.  He slid her into the scabbard.

“Have to,” Aramil calmly replied as he stepped back, leaned, and leapt forward.  Three quarters of the way up, his feet grazed the floor.  The trap swung open, hungry maw ravenously begging for its meal.  

“Sh*t!”

*IDIOT.*

Aramil flailed his arms like wings as his feet entered the maw.  By Caevari’s grace, Aramil slammed into the side of the pit, hands scrambling to cling to the stone.  He slipped an inch, then two, before managing to swing an elbow out of the pit.  Leveraging against it, he pushed up and out.

“I’m not that big of an idiot—See!”  The half-elf stood and twisted the sconce.  He was rewarded with a metallic grinding as the stairs lifted back into position to lock.  

Drawing the sword again, he double-timed up the stairs.  A glance back showed the rest of the group beginning the ascent.  He pushed harder, trying to make it to the source of fire.

The stairs ended at an open room, sparsely decorated.  A small cot relaxed in one far corner while a grand desk stood in the center of the floor, filling the room with smoke as fire massaged and devoured the parchments scattered across the desk.

A pallid, emaciated man stood in the far corner, dressed in robes crafted from utter darkness.  His hands twisted, finishing an incantation.  A black bolt of energy spiraled across the floor, slamming into Aramil.  

The rogue gritted his teeth, clenched his eyes shut.  Pain ravaged his body, reopening freshly closed wounds.  

When the pain passed, his eyes opened.  The desk continued to burn brightly.  The pallid man had vanished.

*IDIOT*, the cold, feminine voice judged again.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (Continued)*

Aramil staggered to his feet, fresh blood spilling onto the floor.  He stepped toward the desk covered by dancing tails of flame.  His knees wobbled; his eyes darted.  

A large platform dominated the center of the room.  Wooden stairs hugged the rim of dark stone.  Amber runes twinkled along the black edge, drifting rhythmically to oranges and reds before settling again on their original hue.  Two pillars of hard wood stood at either end of the device, supporting a number of chains as black as the stone.  Nestled in the chains, a few strips of the same hardwood supported a body.

Female, Aramil noted.

*DEAD ALREADY*, the steel voice whispered into his mind.  *FRESH, THOUGH.  JUST DEAD.  PERHAPS IF YOU HAD NOT FALLEN—*

“Enough.”

*YOUNG, TOO*, she hissed.

“ENOUGH!” Aramil bellowed.

“Enough, what?”  Cassock panted.  

Aramil threw a wary glance back and then, pushing the device from his mind, crossed the floor to the burning desk.  His sharp eyes caught a few yet undamaged parchments on the burning desk.  Barring his mind against more pain, the rogue snatched them.

Cassock grunted when Aramil ignored him.  Zayda and Ana were trotting up the last of the stairs.  The undead was crawling across the inside walls of the tower, searching for the tell-tale auras of magick.  The priest’s eyes settled on the device and the suspended body.  He stalked up the staircase, eyes searching every corner of the room.

She was young, too young.  Stripped of all clothing, Cassock could only stare in disgust at the purple bruises ringing the bonds that had held her down.  She was only nine, maybe ten.  Nothing more than a child.  A jagged crevasse smiled jaggedly along her breastbone.  

Holding his breath, Cassock leaned toward the wound.  It pierced her entirely, a deep gouge that revealed the theft of her heart.  He shifted away from her absent hazel eyes.  

The inside of the device had been worked like a bowl.  Some of her blood stained its bottom.  At the bottom center, the blood spilled through a hole.

“Found it,” the sharp voice hissed.  Cassock glanced toward Rhynos.  The abomination held a chalice in his left hand, a chalice rimmed with blood.  Blood also covered the lips of the monster.  “It tastes fresh, and very, very young,” Rhynos nearly purred.

A roar ripped from Cassock’s lips.  His feet hit the floor before he realized he had leapt from the platform.  His left arm pressed the vampire into the wall while his right hefted the blade.  

Rhynos smirked.  “Is this not the chalice you were looking for?”  Anger flashed across the priest’s face.  “Someone had secured it below a hole, where a stream of blood had filled the cup to its brim.  Then, the blood dripped down, and if I’m not mistaken, into and through the wooden chalice your female elf so mistakenly grabbed below.”  

Cassock hesitated, lip quivering in anger, in frustration.  Taking a breath, he released the monster.  It held the chalice toward him.  He grabbed it.

“She’s too young for my tastes,” Rhynos hissed with a wicked grin.  “I prefer my women to be experienced.”

Under his gauntlet, Cassock felt his knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword.  

Aramil shoved a handful of papers at the priest.  “Looks like designs and pieces of a journal,” the half-elf murmured.  Cassock only grunted as he sheathed the sword and collected the papers.  

“There was someone else here,” the undead teased.  “Moments ago.”  Everyone turned to regard him.  “I have a nose for these things and I know only too well the stink of a priest.”  Rhynos glared knowingly at Cassock.  

“He slipped away,” Aramil confessed.  “He burned me with magicks and made his escape while I was distracted.”

“He did not have to go too far.  There is a hole here in the floor.  Looks like he used this metal pole to escape.”  He took two long, deep breaths.  “Yes.”  Rhynos glanced around at the unmoving group.  “I'll go first; I don’t mind.”  He gripped the metal with his slender hands.

“I go first,” Cassock commanded.  Rhynos shrugged and smirked, stepping away.  “Cael,” Cassock stated low enough so that only Rhynos could hear, “believes undead to be an abomination.  An abomination with use.  But outlive that use,” his last word hung threateningly between them.

Cassock leapt into the darkness.


----------



## TheYeti1775

Yeti thinks the guy playing Cassock is a grade A a__hole.  Wait a minute...... that's me. 

Another good update.


----------



## Funeris

*Chapter 8: Devils in the Dark (concluded)*

“Ladies first,” Rhynos cooed.  He bowed in mock respect. 

Anastrianna wearily paced to the edge of the shaft.  Twenty feet below the lip, darkness swallowed the metal shaft entirely.  She took a slow breath.  Her options were limited.

Rhynos smiled at her.  “I am always the gentleman.  Chivalry is not entirely dead.”  His wicked grin cut through her as easily as a blade would.  “Ladies first,” he repeated.  

She leapt.  Zayda and Aramil followed.

Rhynos watched them vanish one by one.  At the bottom of the shaft, an intense, strange magic pulsed.  The colors within its aura shimmered and shifted unlike any of the schools he knew.  

The vampire breathed deeply, searching for the delicate and overwhelming scent of those four.  His preternatural senses found nothing.  

“This is probably not the best idea.”  He pulled out his wand, tapping it gently against his own body to trigger the magicks.  Billowing as if caught by a sudden gust of wind, his clothing resettled about his body, all wrinkles and dirt vanishing from the fabric.  He returned the wand to its sheath.

Rhynos gave one last look around before succumbing to his curiosity.  He leapt into the pit.

A wave of nausea pummeled his body.  An endless darkness smothered him.  Time slowed, stretched, and then stopped.

Gravity tugged Rhynos downward.

The scent of fresh blossoms and flesh assaulted Rhynos as the world exploded with light and color.  He twisted in agony and shock beneath the bright sun.  A blanket of fresh grass caressed his body.

He flailed about, terrified.  Details began to collect in his mind like rainwater pooling upon a leaf.  His clothing was gone, replaced by a gray robe.   He was on a hillock surrounded by a forest.  Autumn gripped the trees, despite the fresh scent of flowers.  White clouds crawled lazily across the sky.  

Six black pillars stood in stark contrast to the grass on the hillock.  They stretched no more than ten spans into the sky.  Aramil stood near one of the pillars, running his hands across its surface.  The half-elf sported a robe identical to Rhynos’.

The sun blazed high above Rhynos but its light did not burn his flesh.

He realized suddenly that he was breathing heavily.

Rhynos stopped thrashing about, fear gripping his body.

The rhythmic pounding filled his body and fueled his fears; his heart beat within his chest.


----------

