# JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)



## gfunk

Not even a database shutdown can take away the wormy goodness of JollyDoc's Story Hour!!!  So here we go again, with reader comments sadly deleted  

Note: I saw that the old thread was further down the page, but I think I'll take this opportunity to streamline things.

Note #2: I've got the whole SH text now, just working on re-posting it.  Thanks a ton for the readers who emailed it to me!

*Table of Contents for JollyDoc's Age of Worms*

*Prologue*

*The Champion's Belt*

Let the Games Begin
Round One 
What Has Gone Before . . . Part One
What Has Gone Before . . . Part Two
Giovanni's Journal Entry #1
Round Two
Ekaym's Request
Round Three
Endgame
Giovanni's Journal Entry #2

*A Gathering of Winds*

You Can't Go Home Again
Avengers Disasemmbled
Comes the Crusader
Wizard in Glass
A House Divided
Winds of Change
Revelations

*The Spire of Long Shadows*

The Road to Longsaddle
The Spire of Long Shadows
Round 2
Regroup
Traitors Among Us
The Harbinger
The Age of Worms Revealed

*The Prince of Redhand*

Starmantle
I've Got a Golden Ticket
Twenty Years of Joy
Everyone Who's Anyone

*Library of Last Resort*

It Ain't Fantasy Island
The Trials of Tilagos
Clash of the Titans
Days of Future Past

*Kings of the Rift*

Giants, Dragons, and . . . Goliaths?  Oh My!
The Hunt Begins
Storming the Citadel
The Fall of the Tiamikal Nul-Shada
The Heart of the Matter

*Into the Wormcrawl Fissure*

Into the Wormcrawl Fissure
Be Our Guest
Unification
The Tabernacle of Worms
The Spawn of Dragotha
The Dragon Reborn

*Dawn of a New Age*

Dawn of the New Age
Nexus of Evil
Beginning of the End
Apotheosis
Dies the Fire

*Epilogue*

*Character Builds*

Senior Civilar Hawkins Veritas (Paladin 6/Annointed Knight 10/Fighter 1)
Faust "Holocaust" Cenodoxus (Kineticist 17)
Giovanni Vito, aka "Havok" (Warlock 17)


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## gfunk

Because you demanded it, loyal readers! Here begins the next chapter in our epic campaign! Join us once again, as we set off on the road to adventure with new friends, and perhaps some old faces! Settle back, relax, and prepare to enjoy the AGE OF WORMS!!

PROLOGUE

The trip to Waterdeep had been long and uncomfortable. Giovanni Vito, former heir to one of the richest merchant houses of Sembia, could not have foreseen that he would be forced to ride in the belly of a trading vessel along with unwashed commoners. Then he remembered the names hurled at him like red-hot daggers: Cursed…Fiend-thrall…Warlock. He remembered the disgrace on his family, and their rejection of his talent. He remembered the expulsion from the family manse as an apostate, wielder of an unholy power. He was only 16 years old at the time. The memories branded his soul, the pain from which still numbed him.

Giovanni could not explain where his power came from, or when he even became aware of its presence. What he could recall were the dreams, the nightmares he experienced from an early age. The images were elemental and gruesome, dominated by monsters with leathery bat-like wings, creatures with long claws dripping with the blood of their victims, or other visions too horrifying to have been created by his sleeping mind. Always in the distance, a lone figure stood. Humanoid in shape, the shadowy figure lurked, hands wreathed in the same eldritch energy that Giovanni was learning to summon and control. Could he be the shadowy figures in his dreams, or was it someone else, perhaps an ancestor that had damned him by making a pact with such dark forces? In either case, he was unable to discern whether the figure in the distance was the fiends’ ally, their enemy, or, more dreadfully, their leader.

Over the next four years, Giovanni stayed within the larger cities, his nose buried in books of dark lore. When questioned of his motives, the boy would simply respond that he was an investigator and researcher of the Occult. Studying dragons, arcanists, magical beasts, undead, and outsiders were his trade, or so he would claim. In reality, he was more concerned with learning about the darkness within himself. Whether his powers were in league with the wishes of some cruel deity or powerful outsider, or whether he was just some sort of arcane aberration were unknown to him. Given the proper research, Giovanni was going to answer the questions as to the origin of his powers, and he was going to learn to control those powers. His knowledge was growing, but the warlock was beginning to comprehend that the more he learned the less he truly understood.

The accommodations were far more suitable than the cozy cell prepared for him by the Grand Pasha of Calimport. As open-minded as the Calishites were to magic, spell-gifted beings such as Giovanni were treated with suspicion and cruelty. Beings of Djinn ancestry were widely accepted in Calimshan; beings with ties to the fiends of the lower planes were not so embraced. Fleeing in the night, Giovanni hastily accepted passage on a cargo ship headed north up the Sword Coast. It was with great hope that Giovanni traveled to Waterdeep. The City of Splendors was renowned as being a haven for the ‘differently abled’, and its vast libraries could possibly help the young warlock.

The boat rocked, shaking Giovanni from his reverie. The young man’s spectacles, unremarkable to those not able to detect the presence of magic, slipped to the edge of his nose. Annoyed, the warlock reset the glasses and returned to his reading. The book resting on his lap, titled simply “A Treatise on the Faezress and Effects on Underdark Travel”, had been spattered erratically by water dripping from the deck above, a fact that irritated Giovanni further. The book had been a waste of time, hardly worth even stealing from the Grand Pasha’s library. It was obvious that the author, some hack by the name of ‘Volo’, had no idea what he was talking about. He was more interested in talking about the inns and mead halls of Deep Shanatar than the nature of the Underdark’s protections against teleportation.

A loud splash was audible through the walls of the chamber. The crew had dropped anchor. The hatch leading to the outer deck swung open and light poured into the dark room. A burly sailor, complete with an eye patch, grunted into the hold. “Get out, you’s! Welcome to Waterdeep!” The other passengers around him began standing, stretching, collecting their meager belongings. Giovanni’s possessions were limited primarily to his clothing which, while of high quality, was dirty and stained from the travel. He knew that much of what he wore was of magical quality, but this was a fact that he tried to cover up or conceal. His tunic, scarf, glasses, and cloak were all magical. If the sailors aboard knew of their value there would be no way that they would have let him leave the boat fully clothed.

Giovanni stepped out on to the main deck of the galley. The sunlight burned his eyes for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his sight. The city was immense! He had been told that they would arrive in a place called the Dock Ward, but he had figured it to be a few piers. Waterdeep extended as far as his vision carried. A warlock could easily get lost in a place like this.

As he stepped off the gangplank and on to terra firma, Giovanni peered into his belt pouch. Eighteen lonely gold coins looked back up at him. This would not do. There was no way that a man could make it for long on such a pittance. Sighing and biting his lower lip, the warlock began to ponder his situation and a possible solution. As he did so, a single piece of parchment floated by on the wind and softly struck his lower leg. Giovanni reached down to swipe it off, but something about the paper caught his eye. Gripping it with both hands, he began to read.

“WANTED: Competitors willing to prove their mettle against foes in gladiatorial combat.” Interesting, thought Giovanni. The young warlock continued walking north as he read. Apparently, he had arrived in time for Waterdeep’s yearly gladiatorial competition, complete with substantial gold winnings and a prize called ‘The Champion’s Belt’. The prospects were most intriguing. There was the issue of finding a licensed team manager, but Giovanni figured that he might luck upon one of those.

As he walked north, the warlock began running scenarios through his mind regarding the Champion’s Belt tournament. It was obvious to him that due to his relatively famous family name, it might be best if he used an alias. Understanding the flair expected in the arena, this alias should be something simple yet striking. Grinning inwardly, Giovanni decided that the name would hint at the extra planar and chaotic nature of the power that he wielded. He would call himself “Havok”.
__________________________________________________ _____

Giovanni spent the next several days in the City of Splendors putting out feelers and letting it be generally known throughout the seedy Dock Ward that he was an aspiring competitor looking for a manager.

One evening, while seated alone in the taproom of the Splintered Stair inn, the young warlock’s attention was drawn from his open book for a quiet, clearing of a feminine throat. Glancing up, his breath momentarily caught in his chest at the sight of the woman standing over him. She was dressed in the manner of most of the inhabitants of Dock Ward; rough, worn clothing over boiled leathers, but her eyes were depthless and hypnotic. A small, gold ring pierced her full, lower lip. It took the young warlock a moment to notice that she was not alone. A handsome, though rather short fellow, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, stood behind her. He was dressed in a fine, blue robe, and polished knee-high boots. A well-made lute was slung over one shoulder.

“I understand that you are in need of a sponsor,” the woman began without preamble.
Giovanni took a moment to clear his throat before speaking. “Er…yes. That’s right. Please, won’t you sit down?” The woman pulled out a chair, and her companion joined her. “My name is Celeste,” she said, her piercing gaze never wavering. “I know that you call yourself Havok,” at this, a small smile creased her pretty mouth. “Allow me to introduce Ekaym Smallcask.” The short man nodded. “Ekaym,” Celeste continued, “is a merchant on an extended stay in Waterdeep. He has procured a manager’s license for the Champion’s Games, and he is recruiting fighters.” She turned expectantly to Ekaym. “Just so,” he said jovially, “It promises to be quite the spectacle, or so I’m told! Opportunites abound, both financially, and…romantically.” He winked knowingly at Giovanni. The warlock kept his expression carefully neutral. “What are your terms?” he asked. “Ah, a bottom-line man!” Ekaym laughed. “I like that! Well, the standard managerial fee is, ah…fifty percent of all winnings. In return, I shall provide you with sponsorship, contacts, should you care to place any wagers on the games, healing should you need it, and, of course…a team.”

Giovanni leaned back in his chair. Of course he would need to be part of a team. He hadn’t really given that aspect much consideration, but it only made sense. He pondered the situation for a few moments, then shrugged and extended his hand to Ekaym. “I agree.” “Excellent!” shouted Ekaym. “I’ll come round tomorrow evening at this same time to fetch you and introduce you to your new team mates.”

Celeste rose, and Ekaym followed her. As the strangely beautiful woman turned to leave, she spoke one last time to Giovanni. “If you acquit yourself well in the tournament, I may have need of your services again in the future.”


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## gfunk

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

True to his word, Ekaym arrived the next evening, this time draped in a garish purple robe. A small coach waited outside the inn, and it carried the merchant and the warlock through Dock Ward, and past the Market in the City Ward. Throughout the ride, Ekaym chatted away amiably about his travels to exotic locals and trysts with an improbable number of exotic women. Giovanni feigned passing interest, but kept most of his attention on the bustling nightlife they passed on the streets of the City of Splendors.

The coach pulled up in front of another inn, appropriately named the Crooked House, since it seemed as if the entire building was a bit off tilt, its walls at odd angles, and none of its doors or windows quite square. Once inside, Ekaym tipped the barkeep, a jovial looking gnome, who then led the pair to a secluded back room. A fire crackled in the hearth of the cozy chamber, and seated around a long table was one of the motliest assortment of characters Giovanni had ever laid eyes on.

Ekaym gestured towards the group with a flourish. “Gentlemen…and lady,” he added with a wink towards a lovely elf maid, “allow me to introduce the final member of your team. I present…Havok!” Stony silence met the merchant from seven pairs of eyes, eight counting Giovanni. “Yes, well…” he continued, clearing his throat. “Havok, I give you, in no certain order of importance, Vladius,” here he indicated a young man dressed in plain brown robes, yet sporting a mane of flame, red hair, “Shay,” a dark-skinned fellow clad all in black, “Grubber,” a mountain of a man, gray of skin, and bald of pate. Unless Giovanni missed his guess, he was a goliath. “Grim,” Ekaym continued, indicating what the warlock at first took to be a dwarf, but on closer inspection, he saw that the armor clad thing had skin seemingly made of solid rock, “Storm,” the lovely elven woman, “and lastly, Civilars Hawk Veritas and Dwilt Riddick.” These last two appeared to be human, but Giovanni quickly determined that the one called Hawk was something more. His bronze hair and gold-flecked eyes identified him as celestial touched…aasimar. Even more striking, though, was the title Ekaym had identified them by, and also the uniforms they both wore. The men were civilars, officers in the city guard! Why on earth would they be competing as gladiators?

“So,” the red head Ekaym had named Vladius said, crossing his hands across his belly, “you’re the new meat. I suppose this pirate posing as a merchant is fleecing you for as much as he is the rest of us, while he profits from the sweat of our brow. We who are about to be screwed salute you.” He raised a flagon into the air.
“You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you…Pyro?” Ekaym said sarcastically. “No one is twisting your arm to be here. You’re a big boy. Now, since we have the formalities out of the way, we can get down to business.” The merchant motioned Giovanni to a seat beside Grim, while he himself conspicuously took the spot next to Storm.

“As you all know,” Ekaym began, “the Champion’s Games begin officially tomorrow night with the Champion’s Feast. This will be held at the Field of Triumph, beginning promptly at six sharp. Any team not present will be disqualified. The Feast is mostly a formality…an excuse really for the nobles, upper level clergy and merchants to size-up the competitors and makes odds for wagering. It’s also one of many opportunities for Prendergast Brokengulf, the host of the Games, to seize the spotlight for himself and brag about his glory days as a former gladiator himself. In any event, I strongly advise you to use the time to scrutinize the other teams. The Games proper will commence on the following morning with the first round of competition. There are twenty-four teams competing. On the first day, there will be six battles, each consisting of four teams in a free-for-all. The six winners of these matches will then have one day of rest. On the third day, there will be three battles of one team versus one team. The fourth day, two of the remaining teams will battle each other, while the remaining team will fight one of the beasts of the arena. Traditionally, this battle goes to the previous year’s champions, in this case Auric’s Warband. Finally, on the last day, the final two teams compete, no-holds-barred, for the Champion’s Belt.”
“You mentioned something earlier about team ranks…” Dwilt interrupted.
“Ah, yes…” Ekaym said, steepling his fingers. “A team’s initial rank determines the odds for or against them in the wagering. You are relative unknowns, so your initial ranking will probably be somewhere around three, the minimum being one, and the maximum being nine. Each time you win a match, your rank will increase. All of the other rules of the tournament will be explained to you in detail at the Feast, so, if there’s nothing else…? Good, then I’ll leave you all to get better acquainted with your new team mate. Until tomorrow.” With that, the young merchant rose, and left the room, swirling his cloak around him dramatically.

“What a little weasel.” Vladius snorted as the door closed.
“Yes, but he has a managers license,” Dwilt said, “and he got us into the games.”
“Then the criteria for getting a license must only be having a face and the intelligence of a kobold,” the red-head retorted, then turned towards Giovanni. “Now what about you? Are you just some flunky of Ekaym’s, or can you actually fight?”
Giovanni peered over the top of his glasses. “I can handle myself, but I don’t want to start by sniping at my own team mates. Ekaym was right…I’d like to know more about you all. Where do you hale from?”
“Here and there,” Vladius said, picking at his fingernails with a bread knife. “You know us gladiator types…always on the move.”
“You must pardon my friend,” the goliath called Grubber spoke up. “He tends to speak and act before he thinks.” This earned the goliath a withering glare from Vladius. “Vladius, Shay, Grim and I came to Waterdeep by way of Daggerford, but what Vladius says is also true. We have all been wayfarers at one time or another.”
“Obviously, Hawk and I are native Waterdavians,” Dwilt said, tapping his civilar insignia.
“Yes, about that,” Giovanni asked. “Why would officers of the guard be competing in a common gladiatorial competition?”
“In order to earn almost 50,000 gp in the guard, we would have to serve until I was around 300 years old,” Dwilt said with a smile. “There is nothing in the guard rulebook that says we can’t make a little money on the side.”
“Now, back to you,” Storm said, leaning suggestively across the table towards Giovanni. “Where are you from? You seem like an unlikely gladiator yourself…Havok.”
“My name is Giovanni,” the warlock replied, dropping his gaze. “I am also something of a wanderer. Suffice it to say that Waterdeep is the perfect place to lose one’s self in, and the games present a quick, if dangerous source of income.”
“Then we have more in common than you think,” Storm smiled. “I think you’ll fit in just fine.”
__________________________________________________ _______

The evening of the Champion’s Feast arrived, and Ekaym arranged for transport of his team to the Field of Triumph. When Giovanni first stepped into the luxuriously roomy coach, he was stunned at the appearance of his comrades-in-arms. Dwilt and Hawk, who the previous night had been decked out in masterwork armor, were dressed in rusted cast-offs and maggoty leathers. Dull, pitted swords hung at their belts. Vladius wore a moth-eaten robe with one sleeved pinned up as if he were missing an arm. Grubber had what appeared to be several open sores on his face and arms. Shay, the supposed scout of the group, was dressed in several loose-fitting pieces of plate mail! Finally, Storm’s beautiful face was covered in soot and dirt, her hair a matted rat’s nest, while Grim, the mineralized dwarven juggernaut, was all but engulfed in a huge, multi-colored caftan.

“Did I miss something?” Giovanni asked, his mouth gaping. “Is the Feast supposed to be a costume party?”
“Not at all,” Dwilt laughed. “We are merely attempting to stack the odds against us. The less imposing we appear, the more money we’ll win when we put a few well-placed wagers on ourselves. We even ‘convinced’ a priest of Kossuth to spread the word among the clergy that he had recently ministered to Grubber for a mysterious wasting disease.”
Grubber frowned. “Which was not entirely an untruth,” he grumbled. “I actually have just recovered from a cursed periapt I…found.”
Giovanni could tell the goliath was holding something back, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he nodded his approval. “Then I should blend in just fine,” he said, adjusting his spectacles, and patting the large tome in his shoulder bag.
__________________________________________________ ____

The Field of Triumph sat on a hillock overlooking the surrounding ward. Oval in shape, it had four gates, each overlooked by a pair of watchtowers. The arena itself was capable of seating over 18,000 spectators. Wardens manned each watchtower, greeting all arriving guests, dressed in blue cloaks with large clasps shaped like a bastard sword.

Numerous long banquet tables were arrayed in a circle around a central wooden stage in the middle of the field. Two great bonfires burned north of the seating areas, and scores of cooks, scullions and waiters were busy there with spits, grills and platters. Some two-hundred guests were already present shortly after sunset, with half again as many servants, cooks, musicians and other entertainers.

As Ekaym’s coach pulled up to the northwest gate, a warden greeted them. Ekaym presented his license and a clerk began recording the names of the team. “Now,” the clerk concluded, “what is the name of your group, and who is your group leader?” Immediately, Dwilt stepped forward. “I am the leader. I am Dwilt Riddick, and this,” he gestured towards the band, “is Impotent Rage!”

A warden escorted the gladiators to their table, and servants immediately flocked to provide a seemingly endless supply of food and drink. At exactly six, a hush fell over the gathering as a trumpet sounded from the north gate. There, a tanned, clean-shaven man, sporting a thick crew-cut and wearing a chain shirt with a pair of shortswords strapped at his waist strode across the field, trailed by six heavily armed men dressed in purple cloaks. Behind them walked a tall, heavily muscled man who appeared to be in his late fifties. Ancient scars creased his weathered face, and his grizzled, grey hair matched his small, penetrating eyes. He wore a gleaming breastplate with a buckler strapped to his left arm. A huge, bastard sword was strapped across his back. It was obvious that this was Prendergast Brokengulf, former champion of the Field of Triumph, now retired, having made a new career out of managing promising, up-and-coming gladiators, and having also created the Champion’s Games ten years ago. Flanking Brokengulf were two more men. The one on the right also wore a breastplate, and carried a large, steel shield. A greatsword rested between his broad shoulders. Around his waist was a red and black leather girdle topped with the representation of a haunted female face…the Champion’s Belt! The man on the left was balding, and dark-haired. He wore a high collared red cape fastened with a skull clasp over a green jerkin and pants.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause as Brokengulf and his retinue took their positions at the center table. “Thank you my friends,” the gladiator cried, raising his hands to silence his many fans. “You are too kind. Allow me to present to you one more deserving of your accolades.” He turned to the man seated to his right, “I give you the reigning defender of the Champion’s Games for the past two years…Auric!” At this, the throng cheered even more loudly, but it was Vladius’ murmured response that caught Giovanni’s attention, “Ah, so that’s what became of them. The rumors of their death were greatly exaggerated it would seem.”

As the tumult died down, an elderly man wearing the robes of a city magister took the stage. “I am Talabir Welik,” he announced, “judge and arbiter of these Games. I will now review the rules of engagement. First, all battles are to the death, but any gladiator has the option to surrender at any time. To do so, a competitor must drop his or her weapons, kneel and raise both hands in the air. Any gladiator who attacks a surrendering foe will be immediately disqualified and charged with assault. Likewise, any gladiator who surrenders and then attacks another gladiator is also immediately disqualified and faces the same charges. Second, gladiators with the capability of flight or levitation may do so up to a maximum height of forty feet. Attaining heights greater than this are grounds for disqualification. Burrowing into the arena floor is forbidden. Third, a match persists until one team is victorious, either through the death or the surrender of all opposing teams. Fourth, winning gladiators have no right to the spoils of the fallen. A defeated gladiator keeps his gear, or in the case of death, ownership reverts to his team or manager. Fifth, any tactic that endangers spectators is grounds for immediate disqualification and possible legal action. Finally, a disqualified gladiator must cease fighting at once and move to the edge of the field immediately. Failure to comply results in the disqualification of the entire team. Once a gladiator is disqualified, he may no longer take part in any remaining battles.” Welik then stepped down from the stage, and Brokengulf stood once more. “I hereby declare all gladiators Champions of the City of Splendors! Let the Feast begin!”

Once the formalities were over, the numerous nobles, merchants, clergy and other invited guests began to mingle among the gladiator teams, sizing up each one, assessing their strengths and weaknesses, all in an effort to gain some advantage in the wagering to come. Giovanni watched the proceedings with fascination, taking special notes of the actions of his own team mates. Dwilt, in particular, was making the rounds of the high-rollers, making outlandish claims to any who would listen. "Impotent Rage is the greatest adventuring troupe to emerge from Daggerford in a ten-day. We were credited with slaying Kruxar the Invincible, a rogue kobold who was notorious for rustling cattle and various other livestock. Also, we halted the rampage of Imarta the dreaded zombie -- who scared various children of the town. Oh . . . Imarta was a canny one! Her scare tactics only came in the dead of night -- with nary a witness to her passing. However, just to be sure, we exhumed her body and hacked it to tiny little bits -- thereby ending her horrific assaults." He would also go to great lengths to introduce the ridiculously dressed members of the team to interested patrons. "Meet Pyro the Lame, who lost an arm in a farming accident. But be ye warned! He overcompensates for this deficiency with furious . . . ANGER!" and, "Feast your eyes upon Grubber the Afflicted. His promiscuous lifestyle has lead to a variety of boils, blisters, and ulcers. Do not underestimate him, for his very touch promises slimy doom!" Before long, Giovanni had to move quickly away from his erstwhile leader to avoid breaking into howls of laughter and spoiling the whole effect. Yet somehow, against all odds, Dwilt’s plan seemed to be working. The young warlock overheard several guests declaring Impotent Rage a long shot at best, and hopelessly outclassed at worst.

As the evening wore on, Giovanni took note of several other interesting occurrences. At one point, a young woman dressed in stunning soiree attire approached Shay and Vladius. The trio seemed to know one another, as they immediately fell into an animated conversation. The woman kept looking towards Auric and his companion, and Shay and Vladius followed her gaze. After several minutes of this, Giovanni’s two team mates nodded to the woman, and then Shay produced a heavy looking purse from his cloak and handed it to her. She made the bag disappear with startling alacrity, especially considering the fact that her outfit had very few places to conceal anything.

Something else that caught Giovanni’s eye was the fact that Prendergast Brokengulf seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to the members of Impotent Rage, and that in turn, Ekaym appeared to be very interested in Brokengulf. The warlock filed all of these things away for consideration at a later date.

Finally, the Feast came to a close with a stunning fireworks display courtesy of Talabir Welik, after which the festival dancers fell dramatically to the ground and Brokengulf announced, “The Champion’s Games have begun!” At that point, the arena wardens began urging the guests towards the exits, while the gladiator teams were directed to a point near the northwest quadrant of the field. Over the course of the next hour, the teams were lowered by a cleverly concealed lift into the understructure of the arena. Giovanni and his companions eventually found themselves in a large hall showing signs of intense recent traffic. The ceiling was supported by a rectangular pillar, and by the shell of a circular stairwell. A wooden, life-sized statue of a muscular, half-naked man holding a spear and a horn lay in the southwest corner, where the lift terminated in an arcade. A heap of metal bars, hinges and locks sat along the north wall of the chamber, near a ten-foot wide, three-foot tall segment of a wooden frieze, decorated with the realistic carvings of fruits and a bull’s skull. From this chamber, the gladiators were led down a wide, curving hall to a large, irregular room which seemed to be a major junction. Many stairways and passages led in and out. One of these stairways led down to a level even further underground than the understructure, and terminated in an enormous cave resembling some sort of underground village. The cave walls were finely hewn and the floor was paved with smooth slabs of stone. Many artificial and natural pillars supported the relatively low ceiling fifteen feet above. Wooden doors on the cave’s walls lead to a circle of underground dwellings. A pair of similar doors on the north wall led to a kitchen and an infirmary. An underground stream ran in the middle of the cavern, crossed by a wooden bridge that led to a dining area with two long tables. The relatively fresh air, murals of famous gladiators on the walls and the soft illumination provided by amber-colored light globes hanging from the ceiling made the cavern a true marvel of underground architecture.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” one of the wardens called out as the last of the teams was led into the chamber, “welcome to the coenoby, your home while you remain competitors in the Games. Anything you wish will be provided for you, but you are forbidden from leaving this chamber unless escorted by a warden. Failure to comply will result in immediate disqualification. Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”


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## gfunk

ROUND ONE

When the chime sounding the dawn hour rang, Giovanni and the rest of Impotent Rage emerged from their quarters to find that most of the gladiators were gathered near the meal tables. A parchment had been posted on the wall there announcing the first round match-ups.

Dwilt’s team was slated to fight in the second slot. Their opponents were three other teams called Arcane Auriga, Badlands’ Revenge, and Sapphire Squad. Shortly, all the assembled teams separated once more and began scrutinizing their competition and muttering among themselves. Giovanni began looking through the crowd for their own challengers. Arcane Auriga was a team comprised of five elven women. Four of them were outfitted in studded leathers, while the fifth, slightly older woman, wore a breastplate. All carried well-made longbows and wore shortswords at their hips. Badlands’ Revenge consisted of a barbaric-looking human wearing rustic hide armor with a wooden shield slung over one shoulder. He gripped a spear in one hand, and a sling hung at his belt. He was barking orders in a strange tongue at three savage gnolls, all clad in studded leather and leaning on wickedly hooked halberds. Crouched at the man’s feet was a badger the size of a pony, with odd, bony knobs protruding through its fur. Sapphire squad was led by a rakish looking fellow in a gleaming chain shirt. He wore a turban atop his head, and his moustache and beard were well-oiled and pointed. A scimitar rested on his hip, and a composite longbow was slung over his shoulder. His companions were two men, similarly garbed, but wearing full chain mail and carrying heavy, steel shields. They too carried scimitars and composite bows. Three heavy warhorses were tethered near their dwelling.

It was the leader of Sapphire Squad that interested Giovanni the most. There was something strange about him…Then it struck the warlock. He wasn’t human after all. Giovanni’s years of research into his own mysterious lineage had given him a large storehouse of knowledge about outsiders…those from beyond his own plane of existence. This man was a janni…one of the least powerful members of elemental creatures known as djinn. This should prove very interesting. As he watched, the janni began swaggering towards the women of Arcane Auriga. As he reached them, he gave them a sweeping bow and a toothy smile. He spoke quietly to them for a moment, grinning all the time, until finally, the older of the women gave him a very deliberate, and equally obscene, hand gesture. The five of them then turned away. The janni looked momentarily abashed, but as his eyes fell upon Storm standing near the rest of her team mates, his smile magically appeared again.

“Good morning, fair lady,” he said, striding up and lifting Storm’s hand to his lips. “I assume you are the leader of this fine band of warriors. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Korush, major general of Sapphire Squad. I…”
“You ASS-ume much", Vladius interrupted, the crazed wizard dressed only in a loincloth this morning. "Why don’t you spare us all of your lip flapping and just tell us what in the Hells you want?”
“Ah…” Korush said, his smile never faltering, “I take it this is your advisor?” he still addressed Storm.
“I’ll tell you what you can take…!” Vladius began.
“Please,” Storm said, reclaiming her hand from Korush, and raising it to forestall Vladius, “What can we help you with?”
“Why, I only come to offer my well-wishes in the coming competition…and to offer a possible alliance between our two teams…at least until we are the only two left.”
At this point Dwilt spoke, “I am the leader of this team, Korush, and your regards are duly noted and returned. However, we have neither need nor want of an alliance. Let the best team win.”
For a moment anger flashed in Korush’ eyes, but it was quickly replaced by his charming smile. “Alas,” he said, “then when we next meet, I regret it shall be as enemies. Perhaps when all of this violence and bloodshed has past, my lady,” he turned to Storm once more, “you and I can become better acquainted.”
“Why don’t you go acquaint yourself with the horse your rode in on?” Vladius spat at Korush’ retreating back as he rejoined his own team.
________________________________________________

Two hours later, the victors of the first battle returned from the Field of Triumph. To no one’s real surprise, it was Auric’s Warband. As the reigning champion’s swaggered back into the coenoby, an arena warden called out, “Arcane Auriga! Badlands’ Revenge! Sapphire Squad! Impotent Rage!” The four teams quickly mustered around the warden, and began following him back upstairs towards the lift chamber. Giovanni noted with amusement the surprised looks on the faces of some of the other gladiators as they saw the radically different appearance of his own team this morning. Gone were the rags and cast-offs of the night before, replaced by gleaming mail and shining, deadly-looking weapons.

As the procession reached the lift, the elven women stepped on first, and began slowly ascending towards the arena, where the roar of the crowd could already be heard. Giovanni saw each of the women quickly quaff potions, and then the older woman cast two spells in rapid succession. As she completed the last one, several duplicate images appeared around her. The warlock looked at his comrades, and they all nodded. Immediately the buffing process began, with defensive spells flying, and protective potions imbibed. When they were done, Giovanni and Shay had rendered themselves invisible, while Vladius had first transformed Dwilt into the likeness of a troll, and then himself into a small, bat-winged imp-like creature…a mephit.

The next team to be taken up was Badland’s Revenge. Their leader also began casting spells, and to Giovanni’s surprise, he was using druidic magic! Giovanni’s own team was called next, and as the lift carried them upwards, the tumult of the spectators swelled. Arcane Auriga and Badlands’ Revenge had already positioned themselves at opposite corners of the field. Talabir Welik, his voice magically amplified, called out as the new team arrived. “I present Impotent Rage, slayers of kobolds, and bane of zombies everywhere!” At this, the fans howled with laughter. Talabir instructed the party to choose one of the remaining two corners. Dwilt chose the one on the southwest side of the arena, with Arcane Auriga occupying the southeast, and Badlands’ Revenge on the northwest. Last to arrive was Sapphire Squad, “noted for their prowess in mounted combat!” announced Welik.

Once all of the teams were in position, Welik retreated to the judge’s stand and called out, “On my mark…fight!” Four of the elven archers were a blur of motion before the referee’s voice had even faded. In a flash, one of the gnoll halberdiers went down in a hail of arrows. “And first blood goes to Arcane Auriga!” called Talabir Welik. The crowd went into a frenzy. Suddenly, Badlands’ savage leader drew a scroll from his belt and quickly unfurled it. This was exactly what Giovanni had been waiting for. Still lurking invisibly near his team mates, he had been watching all of the opposing spell casters, expecting one of them to lead off with magic right away. Just as the druid began reading the scroll, the warlock focused his dark energy and unleashed a thunderous blast directly into the man's chest. The druid reeled, his scroll evaporating into cinders. As Giovanni reappeared, his invisibility negated by his attack, the leader of Arcane Auriga nodded approvingly at him, and then fired her own volley of arrows, piercing the druid through the shoulder.

“That was pretty good, newbie,” Vladius laughed, flitting around in his altered form, “but let me show you how the big boys play!” A small, pea-sized ball of flame appeared in the mephit’s palm. Rearing back, he hurled it right into the middle of the elves. With a mushroom shaped explosion, a ball of fire erupted. In an instant it was gone, but three of the woman lay in smoking heaps on the ground. “Yeeeehaaa!” Vladius shouted, but Giovanni could not help but feel remorse as he saw the stricken look on the elder elf’s face. Before she and her remaining team mate could recover, Dwilt was among them, the troll-paladin whirling a great spiked chain around him like a dervish. The fourth archer was cut down, leaving only the leader standing.

At that moment, Korush leapt into the air from the back of his horse, and then hovered there, flying. Simultaneously, his body began to grow to twice its normal size, and he began weaving his scimitar in a blurring, deadly dance. As he prepared to charge, Storm conjured a ball of sizzling electricity in her hand, and launched it at the janni. When it struck him, it formed a flashing web of energy around his armor, immobilizing him. “Ride fools!” Korush cried to his men. “Run them down!” The two mercenaries spurred their mounts into a full charge, heading straight towards Impotent Rage, but as they reached mid-field, the feral badger companion of the druid rushed out to meet them. Without pausing, both riders slashed at the beast as they passed, dropping to the opposite sides of their saddles to avoid its vicious teeth.

As the two members of Sapphire Squad wheeled their horses about, a black-fletched arrow suddenly sprouted from the back of one of them as if by magic. No one except Giovanni, with his fiend-given ability to see-the-unseen, saw the still invisible Shay dart to the side of the arena, knocking a second shaft. Grubber took advantage of the rider’s momentary confusion, and he rushed onto the field, swinging his massive hammer and connecting solidly with the mercenary's shield arm, nearly dislocating the man’s shoulder in the process.

Giovanni visibly shook himself to get his attention back on his primary target. Already the druid was recovering, rage in his eyes as he glared at the warlock. The foolish man literally broke into an all out run as he began charging across the field. No sooner had he taken his first steps though, than the warlock met him head on with a second blast, this one louder and more massive than the first. Without a sound, the druid fell dead. For a moment, the two remaining gnolls just stared at their dead leader, then with a shrug, they looked at each other, snarled in agreement, and rushed into the midst of the melee at mid-field.

Meanwhile, Hawk had joined Grubber as the second mercenary spurred his horse into another charge. The civilar quickly side-stepped and plunged his sword into the animal’s flank. Instantly, a surge of energy flowed through the blade, and the horse went rigid. As the rider struggled to stay mounted, Hawk withdrew his sword and slashed at the mercenary. At that moment, both the gnolls and Grimm arrived, and a massive free-for-all ensued. The mercenary that Grubber had engaged spun his horse in circles, striking at any enemy in range. He managed to open a vicious wound in the shoulder of one of the gnolls, but in doing so, he exposed his back to Grimm. The mineralized dwarf, crouching behind his tower shield, landed two mighty blows with his sword, just as another of Shay’s black arrows pierced the man through the throat. His horse reared, and he fell lifeless to the ground. The remaining mercenary, still struggling to urge his mount into motion, fell easily to Grubber’s maul.

Korush’ electrical prison finally faded from his armor, and in an instant, the janni rendered himself invisible. Rage now overwhelmed any sense of honor that remained in him. His team had been decimated, and he was determined to get pay back. He soared silently across the stadium towards the unguarded Havok and Storm, confident that they would not detect his approach until it was far too late. Giovanni watched him every instant, waiting until the last possible moment to unleash hell once more. The eldritch blast blew through the janni’s chest, erupting from his back, and he crashed into the ground, returning to visibility as his life left him. The crowd was deathly silent, awe-stricken at what they were witnessing.

The leader of Arcane Auriga raised her bow defiantly towards Dwilt, but in two swift moves, the civilar-troll had ripped through one of her illusory images, and then snatched the bow from her grasp with his chain. “Dear lady,” the troll rumbled, “I do not wish to kill you. I beg your surrender.” For a moment she stood her ground, but then her gaze fell once more upon her fallen cousins and daughter, and tears filled her eyes. Raising her hands above her head, she kneeled before the paladin.

Hawk spun as the gnoll rushed in behind him. The creature’s halberd passed harmlessly to the right of the civilar, parried off of his shield. Hawk drove his blade into the halberdier’s gut twice, each time triggering a blast of electricity, cooking the monster from the inside out as it collapsed at his feet. Without missing a beat, he spun again, this time driving his sword through the spine of the badger and flash-frying it as well. Just then a shadow appeared above him as the last gnoll raised its halberd high above its head, preparing to bring it down on Hawk’s neck. Suddenly, the gnoll’s feet were ripped out from under it as Dwilt’s chain wrapped around its legs. As it rolled to its back, its halberd was torn from its hands by the other end of the civilar’s whirling links. “Surrender, or die,” Dwilt said simply. With a nervous, toothy grin, the gnoll raised its hands.

“The winners! Impotent Rage!” Talabir Welik’s voice boomed. The assembled crowd’s response was chaos. Never had they seen such a display of teamwork. As Ekaym stepped up to Brokengulf’s box to accept the trophy and payment on behalf of the team, Vladius did several loops around the arena, shouting to the crowd, “Are you not entertained!?”
__________________________________________________ ___

Later that night, the coenoby was noticeably quieter than the previous evening. Four other teams remained besides Auric’s Warband and Impotent Rage: Drunken Devilry, comprised of a pixie, a satyr, and a centaur; Varmint Patrol, a band of eight gnome warriors; Pitchblade, three dour-looking dwarven fighters; and the Crazy Eight, an unlikely team of eight kobold monks. Even the warden’s had departed at sunset, once more warning the gladiators not to leave the coenoby or face disqualification.

“I want to say again, well done,” Dwilt praised his team mates as they settled down in their quarters. “We’ve made it through the first round, and our plan is going smoothly. Now that the watch has been loosened on us, I say we use tonight to begin our exploration.”
Giovanni looked confused. What was he talking about? “Exploration?” he said aloud. “Of what? You heard the wardens. We’ll be kicked out if we leave without permission.”
Dwilt looked askance at the warlock, and then at the rest of the team. One by one they nodded to the civilar, and he in turn nodded to Grubber. The goliath sighed, “Perhaps we should have been straight with you from the beginning, my friend,” he began, “but we needed to test your mettle first, and let me say that you have proven yourself without doubt. You deserve to know everything. Sit back and take your ease…it is a long tale…”


----------



## gfunk

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE…PART ONE

Grubber’s tale began several months before in Daggerford, a town along the banks of the river Delimibyr some 120 miles southeast of Waterdeep. Up until two years ago, Daggerford was ruled by a hereditary duke, Pwyll “Greatshout” Daggerford. The town was located along the Tradeway where it crossed the great river, and so was a prosperous stop-over for travelers and merchant caravans. Then, in the year 1372 DR, the Duke of Daggerford, his sister, Lady Bronwyn, and his bastard brother, Lord Llewellyn Longhand, were all three poisoned…assassinated. The duchy was left without an heir. Soon thereafter, the Town Council met and elected Lanod Ondabar of Irieabor, the little-known brother of the well-respected Delfen “Yellowknife” Ondabar, as Governor-Mayor. Rumor had it that Lanod was a compromise candidate and lesser evil in lieu of a corrupt mine manager named Balabar Smenk. As Governor-General, Lanod quickly appointed an old crony, Cubbin, as sheriff and began selling political favors to the highest bidder. In less than two years, the once proud town of Daggerford became synonymous with vice and exploitation. Long-established businesses were sold, their owners forced out by “new investors” allied with Lanod and Cubbin.

The iron and silver mines of the nearby Forlorn Hills became the town’s new boom industry, with various mine managers vying for power. But the mines were not all that lay in the hills surrounding the town. Numerous tombs and burial cairns, remnants of a half-dozen long-dead cultures, pock-marked the area. In ages past, Daggerford boasted an export much more valuable than metal in the form of treasure liberated from these sites. However, those days were long past. The last cairn in the region coughed up its treasures decades ago, and few locals paid much mind anymore to stories of yet-undiscovered tombs and unplundered burial cairns. On occasion, a handful of treasure seekers would visit the town, but few returned to Waterdeep with anything more valuable than a wall rubbing or an ancient tool fragment.

Present day Daggerford was home to hundreds of laborers who spent weeks at a time underground, breathing recycled air pumped in via systems worth ten times their combined annual salary. The miners were the chattel of Daggerford, its seething, tainted blood, but they were also its foundation. Their weekly pay cycled back into the community via a gaggle of gambling dens, bordellos, ale halls and temples. Because of the demanding and dangerous work in the mines, most of the folk who came to Daggerford were there because they had nowhere else to turn, seeking an honest trade of hard labor for subsistence-level pay simply because the system allowed them no other option. Many were foreigners displaced from native lands by war or famine. Work in a Daggerford mine was the last honest step before utter destitution or crimes of desperation. For some, it was the first step in the opposite direction: a careful work assignment to ease the burden on debtor-filled prisons, one last chance to make it in civil society.
________________________________________________

It was this set of circumstances, in this particular community that led to the formation of the League. The first official member was a young man, barely more than a boy actually, named Gideon. Gideon was of unknown parentage, found abandoned on the steps of the temple of Tyr, which happened to be located in the local garrison of the Waterdavian Guard. The high priest of the temple, Valkus Dun, immediately recognized that there was something unique about the boy. This became obvious to all when Gideon sprouted a pair of large, white, feathery wings at puberty. Valkus took this as a sign that the lad had been touched, favored by Tyr himself, and he endeavored to teach Gideon the stern philosophy of the Even-handed One. Gideon took these teachings to heart, but he did not feel the calling of the clergy. Instead, he looked upon the suffering that surrounded him every day in Daggerford, and took it upon himself to do something about the corruption that was the source of the town’s rot.

Vladius was born the son of a Thayan merchant loyal more to the Temple of Kossuth than to the Order of the Red Wizards. Kossuth blessed the boy with a touch of fire, making him a genasi. While it was not apparent to any around Vladius of his nature, his elemental bloodline was recognized by one of the local Red Wizard zulkirs, who demanded that the ‘boy’ be given for formal training as a Red Wizard. Sadly, the merchant gave his son to the cruel tutelage of the wizards. Vladius learned of his mixed blood, and came to accept it, but when the opportunity arose he fled the academy as well as the depredations and evil of Red Wizardry. He could not return home, for that would surely mean the death of his family, so he chose to continue south, across the Sea of Fallen Stars, landing eventually in Daggerford. There, he found employment as a local prestidigitator at the Emporium, pleasing the masses (and separating them from their hard earned coin) with his minor spells and cantrips.
It was not long before Vladius came to know Gideon, whom he recognized to also have blood mixed with creatures from outside the Prime Material Plane. The two young men, having somewhat similar outlooks on law and stability, became fast friends and commonly spent their off-hours together dreaming of adventure and excitement. This friendship served as the starting point and foundation block for “The League”. In time, Vladius’ skill with magic brought him to the attention of Delfen Ondabar, and the mage offered him an apprenticeship, which the young wizard eagerly accepted, hoping to grow in skill and power so that he would never again have to fear enslavement.

Grubber was born in a small goliath tent city in the mountains of Chessenta. The goliaths, being very close to the earth and rock as well as of a balanced view on good/evil/law/chaos, were some of the more staunch followers of Grumbar the Earthfather. So it was with Grubber, and he became an apprentice to the high shaman of the tribe. Trouble beset Grubber when he and the tribal chieftain’s daughter fell in love, as it was strictly forbidden for Grumbar’s goliath clergy to marry. Their eyes were supposed to be kept solidly on the flock, not on personal interests. The affair between Grubber and his love was quickly exposed, and the young goliath was exiled for his dereliction to the needs of the tribe. Dejected and without other prospects, Grubber soon found himself in Daggerford as a miner, working for Balabar Smenk. His large size and great strength, as well as his skill with a hammer, made him well suited for his new position. At no time did the goliath explain his former role, keeping his magic and his prayers to himself, until one evening at the Emporium.
A fiery-looking young man with flaming red hair approached Grubber at his table. Vladius had been watching the giant for weeks, and knew that he could be the kind of muscle that he and Gideon needed in their gang. Learning that the goliath had some degree of divine spell casting only sweetened the deal. By the end of the conversation, Grubber had made himself a new friend and had committed himself to membership in a new adventuring group, should the opportunity ever arise. He welcomed the opportunity to better himself outside of the stale air of the mine, as well as bring some street justice to the local gangs.

Grim hailed from Citadel Adbar, one of the largest and most influential dwarven strongholds on Toril. Like many dwarves, he was trained in the art of martial warfare, and was skilled with any blade that you put in his hands. He was training in the Temple of Gorm Gulthyn, dwarven god of protection and defense, to be a church templar when he was approached by one of the priests with an opportunity. He was offered the chance to undergo the Rite of Stone whereby his essence would be mixed with that of a minor earth elemental. The end result would be that the dwarf would be forever changed, his flesh transformed to that of living stone. He would be more powerful and well protected than any average dwarf, but in repayment for the gift he would have to serve one of the dwarf nobles on the surface for one year. The noble, a merchant by trade named Derval Ironeater, was a master smith located in the town of Daggerford. His brother, Derwin, managed a mine in the town as well. The vein on which the mine had been placed ran true with pure metal, and could be fashioned by dwarf artisans. The trade between the miners was critical to the craftsman of Adbar, and as such the noble’s protection was of utmost importance. Thus the reason that Gorm’s clergy had been contacted.
Grim’s time with the noble was pleasant, with little to report. Just the rocky dwarf’s presence was commonly enough to end problems before they were started, and Derval came to see Grim not only as a bodyguard but as sort of a spiritual advisor. The year of servitude came and went, and Grim elected to remain on an interim basis. This was partly due to the Derval’s fair treatment and their friendship, but was mostly due to outside contacts that Grim had made. Through Derval, Grim had become familiar with the local Governor-Mayor as well as Derwin.
Grim also befriended several locals, including a winged freak follower of Tyr, who told him that he and his wizard buddy were putting together a new adventuring party. The prospects sounded very, very interesting as well as potentially lucrative.

Shay had been on the run. Those damnable Shadow Lords were after him. It was not without deep consideration that he had been selected for the Rite of Shadow Walking, but then he subsequently decided that he was too ‘moral’ to follow through with the guild master’s orders. Those orders had been to assassinate a local merchant’s five year old son in order to apply pressure to the man. That was enough to convince Shay to get the hell out of Turmish. But where would he go? Where would be so remote that he would never be found? The only place so large that a person could disappear…Waterdeep.
Waterdeep was far away, but was outside the long reach of the Shadow Lords. He wasn’t worth that much trouble to the nefarious group of thieves and assassins…was he? Stowing away on a series of merchant caravans, Shay found himself in Daggerford, a town bustling with sheep to fleece. The rogue decided that it would be the perfect place to get lost in…the Shadow Lords would never find him in that wretched mud hole.
For a time, Shay made a living on petty theft, and lived at the Daggerford Inn, a converted warehouse that was home to nearly a hundred pitiful indigents. During his stay there, Shay met Gideon, who on occasion would minister to the poor and pathetic. Gideon, sensing skill and good in Shay, offered him a chance at redemption…and adventure!

__________________________________________________ ___

At first, the League was more of a concept, an ideal if you will, than an actual entity. The stated purpose of Gideon and his friends was to ultimately rid Daggerford of corruption by starting at a grassroots level. They imagined themselves to be vigilantes of a sort…foiling mugging attempts, helping little old ladies cross the street…that kind of thing. In truth, they spent most of their time at the Happy Cow, a seedy tavern that held dog fighting competitions each night. Here they discussed their grand plans and how they might accomplish them, but came no closer to acting on those plans.

Everything changed the night three strangers from Waterdeep appeared in town. They were so-called adventurers, come to explore the ancient ruins in the hills and claim the hidden riches there. The citizens of Daggerford were used to this sort of thing, but this trio, two men named Auric and Khellek (the very same that now comprised Auric’s Warband in the Champion’s Games) and a woman named Tirra, were not dissuaded by the locals assurances that all of the cairns and tombs had been tapped out. They were determined that one such, known locally as the Stirgenest, still had secrets to reveal.

Word and rumor traveled fast in Daggerford, and the members of the League soon got wind of this new venture. This gave Gideon an idea. Having spent his entire life in Daggerford, he knew of another tomb, know to the local youth as the Whispering Cairn. A teenager had stumbled across it near an abandoned iron mine some ten years ago, and since then, adolescents had been daring each other on occasion to step inside to prove their bravery. Occasionally, when the wind was just right, haunting, almost magical tones were said to emerge from the depths of the forlorn tomb. Gideon related all of this to his companions, telling them that if there was reason to believe that even one cairn might yet hold hidden secrets, then the Whispering Cairn might be the one.

Eager for a chance at real adventure, the companions set out for the location, which lay a half-day's walk from Daggerford. The Whispering Cairn did indeed have mysteries yet to reveal, and it wasn’t long before the young members of the League found themselves facing true, life-threatening danger. Within the ancient halls, they discovered several deadly traps, and also living inhabitants, such as a wolf pack, and swarms of carnivorous beetles. The artwork, statuary and carvings of the tomb seemed to indicate that it belonged to a member of some long-forgotten race of tall, hairless humanoids called the Wind Dukes of Calim.

Eventually, the group made their way past the maze of traps to a room spanned by a single wooden beam, which served as a bridge across a sea of iron balls. As they crossed the beam, more iron balls were fired at them from hidden holes in the walls. Ultimately, the young adventurers were able to avoid the deadly barrage and defeat a grick which lurked in the spheres below them, only to encounter the ghost of a boy named Alastor Land. The ghost briefly possessed Grim, and then related to the others that he had stumbled across the cairn thirty years before, having run away from home, only to die in this very room. Since that time, he had been cursed to haunt the chamber until someone would agree to take his bones back to his family’s farm and bury them with his family. In exchange for this, he offered to open an impassable door, which he said led to a glorious chamber full of riches.

The group agreed, and unearthed the boy’s bones. They took them to the farmstead Alastor had described, to find it abandoned and decrepit. Furthermore, the graves of the boy’s family had been recently dug up, and no trace of the bodies remained. Further search of the farm brought the team face-to-face with a wounded owlbear that had taken up residence in the farmhouse. After killing the beast, they discovered evidence of a recent fight, including an intact human arm. This arm bore a tattoo which Grubber recognized as one used by a gang of toughs that worked for Balabar Smenk. This gang was led by an albino half-orc named Kullen, and it was common knowledge that he and his boys frequented the Happy Cow.

That night, the League confronted Kullen and his gang at the tavern. At first, the brute denied knowing anything, but a subtle threat to turn him in for grave robbing to the Cult of the Ascended Lovers, a local sect that venerated Kelemvor and Mystra and warded the town’s burial sites, convinced him to come clean. He told them that Smenk had ordered them to assist an associate of his by the name of Filge who had recently moved into an abandoned observatory at the edge of town. Filge’s only request had been for the gang to procure for him corpses, which Kullen and his lads had taken from the old Land farm precisely to avoid any entanglements with the CoAL.

The obvious next step for the League was to investigate the observatory. Once inside, they found the skeletons of the Lands almost immediately…they were animated and armed with crossbows! Filge, it seemed, was a necromancer. All throughout the building the party encountered animate corpses and evidence of past murders. Finally, they cornered Filge himself, and after a pitched battle, they managed to beat him into submission. He revealed that he and Smenk were old acquaintances, and that Smenk had contacted him to come to Daggerford from Waterdeep to help him out of a jam. It seemed that Smenk had been involved in a business deal with Derwin Ironeater, the dwarven manager of the Ironeater Mine. At some point, Derwin had taken Smenk into a hidden part of the mines, which, according to Smenk, was crawling with awful beasts in hooded robes. They were part of a cult which called themselves the Ebon Triad, and they said they were preparing for something called the Age of Worms. They mentioned the dead walking in the Forlorn Hills and the Lizard Marsh. Smenk knew that he’d gotten in over his head, so he had written to Filge, hoping that his knowledge of necromancy would be of use. Filge had actually heard of the Age of Worms. It was known as the Waiting Age, an era of catastrophe. Scholars of apocalyptic visions claimed that its advent would signal an interminable period of suffering in which the cosmic scales would shift disastrously towards evil and light would fade from the land. Filge also knew something of the Ebon Triad, but only what Smenk had told him. Apparently they worshiped the so-called Dead Three, Bane Bhaal and Myrkul, although technically, only two were really dead. Smenk had also stolen from the mine a jar containing a strange, green worm. Filge said it came from a powerful undead creature known as a Spawn of Kyuss. Kyuss was a being rumored to have existed a thousand years ago in a place called Skullgorge. Known as ‘the Harbinger of the Age of Worms,’ he was said to have created dozens of new undead breeds and amassed a legion of creatures bound to his will. It was also said that an undead dragon had stood at his side, acting as the general of his forces.

Reluctantly, the adventurers released Filge, after exacting from him a promise to leave Daggerford and never return. They gathered the remains of Alastor’s family and returned them to their graves, burying Alastor’s bones along side them. From there, they went back to the Whispering Cairn, and this time the doorway to the hidden part of the tomb was now open, just as Alastor had promised. Beyond, they did indeed find a magnificent chamber, consisting of a central pit ringed by stone walkways, and containing a huge pillar of air in its midst. No sooner had they entered the room, than two creatures which looked like ancient suits of ceramic armor, each wielding a pair of longswords, flew from the pillar and attacked them. The battle was harrowing, but in the end the guardians were defeated, crumbling into dust as the magic that sustained them dispersed.

Beyond the chamber, the League discovered the final resting place of a Wind Duke named Zosiel. Interred with his remains were a silver diadem, a pair of long, slightly curved black horns with red tips, and a strange adamantine loop of metal attached to a long handle. Bas-reliefs on the wall of the tomb showed a Wind Duke facing a cloaked creature with horns identical to the ones in the sarcophagus. The creature was wielding the adamantine loop to control a sphere of absolute blackness, which was shown touching the Wind Duke, and destroying him.

The no-longer naïve adventurers took their spoils, and their new-found knowledge and returned to Daggerford. Vladius suggested they approach his master, Delfen Ondabar, with the information they had discovered and seek his advice. This they did, and the old mage was delighted to see the ancient artifacts. He told the group that the Wind Dukes had been a race of djinni generals of the Calim Empire in what was now Calimshan. Their ancient foes were the armies of Memnonnar, led by the great efreet general Memnon in service to Kossuth, the elemental Lord of Fire. The Era of Skyfire ended thousands of years ago in the destruction of both genie-led empires and the creation of the Calim Desert. The Scepter of Calim was a symbol of the djinn’s sovereignty in the lands south of what was now the River Agis, until it was shattered by the elven High Mages of Keltormir. It was now known as the Shattered Scepter of Calim. It was rumored that the djinni buried their dead in the cold, unclaimed lands of northern Faerun, putting them far beyond the grasp of Memnon’s tomb-raiding legions. Delfen also knew that the strange metal loop was called a Talisman of the Sphere, used to control Spheres of Annihilation, which were holes in the continuity of the multiverse, destroying anything they touched. After the Era of Skyfire, it was rumored that the Wind Dukes scattered the Spheres to the corners of the planes.

Far more disturbing to Delfen was the information the adventurers had wrung out of Filge. Delfen himself had recently unearthed increasing evidence of strange, undead creatures infested with tiny green worms stalking the Forlorn Hills. If what half Filge said was true, Daggerford could be in great danger. At his urging, the League decided to investigate the matter further, starting with the Ironeater Mine.


----------



## gfunk

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE…PART 2

Before the League had a chance to begin their investigation of Ironeater’s mine, a message was received by Gideon from none-other-than Balabar Smenk. The missive requested a meeting with the League, and implied subtle threats against both Valkus Dun, and Melinde, a paladin of Tyr whom Gideon had been raised with, and who was like a sister to him. Reluctantly, the meeting with Smenk was arranged. The mine manager was quite forthcoming with the young adventurers, relating to them that he was terrified of the cultists, and that he had been pressured and blackmailed into aiding them. He told of finding the severed head of one of his trusted assistants in his bed recently, a clear message of what would befall him if he betrayed the cult. Smenk argued that, though his businesses practices might be somewhat suspect, he was, after all, just that…a business man, while the cultists were mad men who posed a far greater threat to Daggerford.

The members of the League agreed to Smenk’s proposal, even though they had planned all along to investigate the mine any way. Grim knew that Derwin Ironeater’s mine was well guarded by hired henchmen, and that the group would not be able to just waltz in. Shay and Vladius took it upon themselves to begin visiting some of the dives frequented by the Ironeater miners. It wasn’t long before they found a couple of disgruntled souls. After a few drinks, and promises that Derwin Ironeater would get his, the miners agreed to create a diversion so that the members of the League could sneak into the mine.

This distraction came in the form of setting fire to several store houses in the main compound in the middle of the night. While the guards responded to the disaster, the adventurers made their way into the main mine shaft. It wasn’t long before they found a boarded-up, apparently unused passageway, which led to an elevator descending even deeper into the earth.

At the bottom of the shaft, they found themselves in a vast, domed hall. One end was filled with a dark pool, while the other end bore three locked doors. The northern door bore banners with the symbol of Myrkul, and the eastern door bore the symbol of Bane. The western door was unmarked. Immediately, the band was set upon by a pair of tieflings, abyssal-blooded creatures who wore tabards bearing the symbol of Bane. Easily defeating the guards, the League decided to investigate the door bearing that dark god’s symbol first. Beyond, they found a complex populated by undead skeletons, crazed fanatics (some of them recognizable as locals from Daggerford), and more tieflings. Ultimately, they faced, and killed a powerful priest of Bane named Theldrick and several of his minions. Among Theldrick’s belongings, they discovered two pieces of parchment. The first was addressed to Theldrick by an unknown writer. It spoke of Kyuss, and told of him being a herald for some sort of Overgod. It made mention that “the three sundered faiths shall be made whole,” and stated that the worm-ridden undead in the Forlorn Hills needed to be captured to provide answers for shepherding in the Age of Worms so that the Overgod might live. There was also an odd description of something called the Ebon Aspect, which “stirs within the pool, but still is not ready to emerge.” Lastly, it made clear the fact that Smenk had become a liability and had to be eliminated, and that agents should be sent to the Lizard Marsh to find some secret that could be found among the lizardfolk there. The second missive was even more cryptic, obviously written by Theldrick, but referring to someone called the Faceless One, and another called Grallak Kur. This second individual was identified as being some sort of seer from the Underdark, who was having visions of worms, and some greater power behind them.

Finding no further information among the Banites, the League returned to the dark cathedral, and this time entered the unmarked door. Beyond, they found themselves in a series of natural caves infested with grimlocks, strange humanoids from the Underdark who lacked eyes. A running battle with these savages eventually brought the adventurers to their chieftain. During the fierce battle, the League members were stunned to see first a naked human man, and then a nude drow woman emerge, battered and beaten, from the caves of the grimlocks. The two newcomers aided the struggling adventurers, the human using a gleaming sword, and the drow using magic. After the chieftain and his warriors were dispatched, the former prisoners told their tales. The human was Hawk Veritas, a civilar of the Waterdavian Guard, dispatched to the garrison at Daggerford. He had been waylaid by what he assumed were bandits on the road, and though he fought well, he had been overwhelmed. When he had awoken, he found himself in the clutches of the grimlocks. The drow woman said her name was simply Storm (“Drow?” Giovanni interrupted at this point, staring at the elven woman across from him. “Yes,” Storm replied, removing a comb from her hair and instantly transforming into a black-skinned, white-haired drow elf.) She claimed to be a renegade from Menzoberranzan, who had been fleeing her kinsmen with two companions when they were ambushed by grimlocks. Her companions had been killed outright, but she had been kept alive as entertainment for the chief. It was she that had delivered the killing blow to the brute. Hawk and Storm decided to journey on with their saviors further into the grimlock caves, and they soon came upon one last band of them. These all bore tattoos of the dead god Bhaal carved into their chests. Their leader was a priest, Grallak Kur as it turned out, who had a pair of beholder eyes sewn into his eye sockets. Kur and his barbarians were killed in a largely one-sided fight, and the party removed another scroll from the priest’s corpse. The words it contained were rambling and disjointed, but basically stated that a great power was growing in the pool in the Dark Cathedral, and that this power would serve the Ebon Triad as a champion. It went on to say that with the return of Kyuss, the Age of Worms was finally at hand.

Guessing at what lay behind door number three, the League returned to the Dark Cathedral, more wary than ever now of the black pool at its center, and proceeded through the portal marked with the symbol of Myrkul, Lord of the Dead. A literal labyrinth greeted them as they entered the lair of the Deathbringers. The twists, dead-ends and switch-backs were a perfect set-up for an ambush, and it wasn’t long before several groups of bird-headed kenku assassins and sorcerers began hit-and-run strikes against the League and their new allies. Eventually, the adventurers killed their assailants to the last man, and found their way through the maze to the inner sanctum of Myrkulites. Here they faced several arcane acolytes of the Death Lord, and were further hindered by bizarre energies which put some of them in a hypnotic trance, and also by animate pillars with grasping hands that would grapple and hold them as they tried to pass. Finally, they met the Faceless One himself, a man dressed in green robes and a leather mask set with iron studs, leaving only his eyes visible. His hands were covered with mystical tattoos. He proved to be a fearsome opponent, with a superior knowledge of the Weave, but in the end it was a matter of numbers versus power, and the League was victorious once again.

Having defeated all three arms of the Ebon Triad, they beleaguered group returned one last time to the Dark Cathedral, only to find the elevator had been smashed beyond repair, and the black pool stirring. From it emerged a creature that appeared to be a bizarre amalgamation of aspects of all three dark gods represented by the Triad. It attacked immediately, fighting with a savage fury that nearly overwhelmed the already taxed League members. However, teamwork and expert tactics kept them alive, and the Ebon Aspect was destroyed.

With Gideon’s flight capability, the group was able to reach the top of the elevator shaft, only to find the mine abandoned. They had spent two days in the depths of the mineshaft, and in that time it seemed that Ironeater had departed. The gates were locked and a sign there proclaimed the mine closed until further notice. When they arrived back in town (having left Storm at an abandoned mine office they had converted to a headquarters near the Whispering Cairn), they heard rumors that there had been a tragic accident at the mine, a fire which killed most of the employees. Derwin Ironeater had left town shortly after, offering no word, even to his brother, of his destination. While most of the members of the League went to report what they had found to Delfen Ondabar, Grim felt he had to go to his friend Derval and tell him the truth about his brother. Derval, however, would hear none of it. In anger, he dismissed Grim from his service. Grim mourned the loss of his friend, but realized now that fate had set him upon a different path.

Delfen was again very interested in the news his young pupil brought him, and even more dismayed to hear of both Smenk’s and Derwin Ironeater’s involvement. He felt that Daggerford might no longer be a safe haven for the League, since obviously the influence of the Ebon Triad might spread even further. He recommended that the band leave town for awhile, and he suggested a destination. An acquaintance of his, a magister of Waterdeep named Marzena, who was currently assigned to Cromm’s Hold, a small barony on the edge of the Lizardmarsh, had recently reported her own findings of strange green worms in her vicinity. Delfen wanted the group to go to Marzena and tell her their own discoveries, hoping that she might be able to shed more light on the situation. Before they departed however, the League paid a last visit to Balabar Smenk. Gideon informed him that his troubles had been dealt with, and that as far as he was concerned, they were done with each other. He warned Smenk of dire consequences should the man ever threaten his loved ones again.
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The League set out for Cromm’s Hold the next day. Civilar Veritas had reported in to the Daggerford garrison, and notified the commander, Sherlen Spearslayer, of all that had befallen him and what he had discovered beneath the Ironeater mine. He told Spearslayer that he intended to continue the investigation by journeying to Cromm’s Hold. Spearslayer agreed that this would be the wise choice, and granted him leave. Storm, on the other hand, simply had no other allies or alternatives, and so she agreed to throw in her lot with the League.

The journey along the verge of the Lizardmarsh took several days, and was marred by a middle of the night attack by none other than Kullen and his gang. Smenk had apparently sent them to ‘tie up any loose ends.’ The League showed them no mercy, and once they had been dealt with, the reluctant heroes vowed to pay Smenk back in full when they returned to Daggerford.

Upon arrival at Cromm’s Hold, they found it under siege by a small army of several dozen lizardfolk, all of them wearing baldrics of red-brown pelts, and sporting a red, eye-like tattoo circling their left eyes. Several of them were trying to scale the upper battlements, while another contingent hammered at the main door. A handful of the keep’s defenders were trying to repel both sets of invaders, but their efforts seemed to be futile, as more lizardfolk surrounded the hold, waiting to move up if any of their fellows should fall. The adventurers wasted no time in their intervention, with Vladius hurling fireballs with great effect, while Shay stepped between shadows to arrive on the battlements to aid the soldiers. The others provided support where needed, and it wasn’t long before the lizardfolk were in full retreat.

When the League entered the keep, they found only Baroness Piann Cromm and thirteen soldiers still lived. The baroness told her saviors that the lizardfolk first attacked two days ago without warning. They were able to breach the main door with their first assault, but were beaten back. However, when they left they took three soldiers with them into the Marsh, as well as the hold’s magister, Marzena. Piann had no idea why the lizardfolk attacked, or their reasons for taking prisoners. By their tattoos and baldrics, she identified them as members of the Redeye tribe, once one of the more peaceful tribes in the area. However, according to reports, their leader, a shaman named Redeye, was slain a decade or so ago by a party of adventurers, only to return as a lich. Since then, Redeye had supposedly transformed his followers into a brutal band of raiders.

Gideon told the baroness of their purpose for coming to Cromm’s Hold, and offered the services of the League in retrieving Marzena and the missing soldiers if possible. Once they had offered what aid they could to the wounded, the company set off on the trail of the lizardfolk into the Lizardmarsh. Shay was able to track the raiders with relative ease, and after a day’s hard march through the swamp, they arrived at an incredibly ancient grove of mangaroo trees. Within was the lair of the Redeye tribe. No sooner had the band entered the cave-like lair beneath the trees, than they were set upon by hordes of lizardfolk, aided by harpies and one particularly brutal lizardfolk male, with black scales and acidic breath.

At one point, the party entered a chamber in which stood a lone, stooped lizardman wearing necklaces and bracelets of animal’s teeth. A large snake coiled near his feet. Instead of attacking, however, he spoke of a truce in broken common. He called himself Hishka, and said that he was the tribe’s shaman. He begged the members of the League to hear him out, and told them that he disagreed with the aggressive direction in which Redeye was leading the tribe. He said that Redeye was once a divine champion of Semuanya, and was generally tolerant of other races and willing to negotiate with humans. Then, ten years ago, he was gravely wounded while leading a hunting party through the Marsh. When he returned to the tribe, he was changed. He appeared more draconic, and was certainly more violent. He claimed that Talos, the god of destruction, had spared him, and he carried a shield bearing the standard of the Destroyer. Under his leadership, the tribe began an aggressive series of raids against human settlements. Two years ago, a strange blight of ravenous green worms ate through entire clutches of lizardfolk hatchlings in tribes throughout the Lizardmarsh. With an entire generation wiped out, many tribes fell to desperation and depravity. Others were forced to take shelter and wait for new warriors to come of age. During this time, the Redeye tribe received a visitor…a black dragon female named Ilthane. She told Redeye that the magisters of Waterdeep were responsible for the plague of worms, and urged him to lead his tribe to war. In return, she offered to guard the tribe’s latest egg clutch, and even left one her own eggs as a sign of good faith. Hishka was suspicious of Ilthane and her motives, and felt that Redeye’s war would lead only to the tribe’s ruin. The offer he now made to the League was for them to slay Redeye, allowing him to take control of the tribe and convince them to cease their reign of terror.

Gideon and his band cautiously agreed, and Hishka told them where to find Redeye and the prisoners he’d taken. When they reached Redeye’s throne room, they found the king surrounded by two dozen of his finest warriors. Battle was joined again, with Redeye claiming first blood by mortally wounding Shay with a hurled trident, followed by a gout of corrosive acid from his mouth. The tide soon turned, however, and ultimately Redeye was defeated. Hishka was true to his word, and ordered his people to stop all hostilities against the League. Still, he required one more service of the heroes. Since his tribe was already crippled by the loss of their hatchlings, and now further so by the death toll accumulated by the League, the shaman intended to take his remaining warriors and travel to other tribes to recruit new fighters and females of breeding age. This would mean leaving the current clutch of eggs unguarded, however. Once more, Gideon acquiesced, and Hishka showed him to the egg chamber. Its water-covered floor was filled with hundreds of tiny, pale leathery eggs. In the midst of them stood a halfling-sized black egg. Also in the room were a squad of eight kobolds, black of skin, with a long fin running like a crest from their heads down their backs. Hishka first informed the adventurers that these creatures were left by Ilthane as guardians, but that he did not trust them. Then he told the kobolds that the League had been hired by him to assist in guarding the eggs, after which he took his leave.

Hawk’s first action was to subtly scan the room for the presence of evil. He found it immediately in the kobolds, but was surprised to find the black egg not only radiating evil, but radiating hundreds of individual auras. Hawk relayed this message to Gideon, who flew out over the water to investigate the egg. Immediately, the kobolds attacked, and almost as quickly were dispatched. Gideon then dragged the egg from the water and onto dry land, but careful inspection gave no further information. The group decided to wait for Hishka’s return before taking any more actions. In the meantime, they were able to speak with Marzena and tell her of their reasons for seeking her out. She was interested in hearing the full story, and was grateful for her rescue.

When Hishka returned, Gideon told him of what had occurred with the kobolds, and what they had discovered about the egg. The shaman gave his permission to open the egg, and when Grim did so, hundreds of writhing green worms spilled out onto the sandy floor, only to shrivel up and die moments later. If the egg had hatched within the pool, the horrible parasites would surely have attacked the hatchlings. Hishka thanked the League profusely, and promised his tribe would engage in no further hostilities against the humans.

The League and their charges made their way back to Cromm’s Hold, only to find the soldiers and the baroness in a panic. Guilt ridden, they told the group how, over a year ago, their former magister had gone on an exploration mission into the swamp, but had returned changed. He seemed to have contracted some sort of wasting disease, which soon claimed his life. However, he rose again minutes later, with writhing, green worms pouring from his mouth, eyes and nose. Horrified, but unable to bring themselves to slay their former comrade, the soldiers had locked the creature in a cellar storeroom. Even Marzena was not aware of this. When the lizardfolk attacked, they had apparently weakened the lock on the door to the room, and soon after the League had departed, the thing had broken free. It had since dragged two other soldiers downstairs with it, and somehow transformed them as well. The party wasted no time in descending to the sublevel of the hold, and there they came face-to-face with their first spawns of Kyuss. The creatures were truly horrific, causing even Grim’s stout heart to quail. When they attacked, they did so by plucking bloated worms from their own flesh and flinging them at the adventurers. One fireball later, the undead were destroyed (along with most of the basement of the hold). The worms had begun burrowing into the flesh of their victims as soon as they made contact, but Grubber was quickly able to kill the vermin with a magical removal of disease.

Now that Cromm’s Hold was truly secure, the company prepared to take their leave. Marzena agreed to accompany them, but to Waterdeep rather than back to Daggerford. She said that she had no more information about the worms and their hosts than Delfen had already provided. However, she knew of a man in Waterdeep that was a friend to both she and Delfen. He was a sage and scholar of some note by the name of Dagsumn. If anyone could properly investigate all of these occurrences and make sense of them, he could.
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The journey to Waterdeep was blissfully uneventful. Upon arrival there, Marzena and Hawk separated from the rest of the group to report in at the barracks of the guard. Marzena gave directions to Dagsumn's home, and so the others made their way across the vast metropolis. There were many celebrations and parades going on throughout the City of Splendors, as it seemed that some event called the Champion’s Games was due to occur in the next couple of weeks.

Dagsumn and his wife Karyss greeted the adventurers cordially, and Dagsumn in particular was intrigued when he learned that Delfen had referred them to him. He listened with interest as they told their tale and showed him the artifacts they had recovered so far, including the pickled green worm from Filge’s, Zosiel’s diadem, the pair of demon horns and the talisman of the sphere. He told them that it would take him some time to fully research the information and asked them to leave the objects with him for the next ten-day. In the meantime, he recommended an inn to them known as the Crooked Stair, located in a section of the City Ward known as the Midnight Muddle, and run by a gnome friend of his named Tarquin Shortstone XXVI.

There was still the matter of Shay. The group had brought their friend’s body with them under the effects of a Gentle Repose spell, hoping to lay him to rest with honor and respect in Waterdeep. However, when Hawk found them again, he told them that the garrison commander was eager to meet them, and was very grateful for their assistance, not only in saving Cromm’s Hold, but also in rescuing Marzena. The company had also brought along a dispatch from Hishka suing for peace between his people and Waterdeep, and this too earned the League members high praise from the commander. He rewarded them by calling upon his contacts within the church of Tyr to restore Shay to life. Grumpy, but none the worse for ware, the rogue/scout gratefully greeted his companions.

The young adventurers allowed themselves to relax and enjoy the sights and sounds of the city over the next several days. Shay took to frequenting some of the more ‘colorful’ areas of town in the late evening. On one such evening, as the group gathered in the common room of the Crooked Stair, Shay took his leave as usual, only to return a few minutes later, walk up to Tarquin, and stab him in the chest. The room immediately became a mob scene. Shay tried to slip out the door in the chaos, but his friends pursued him and were forced to subdue him into unconsciousness. Grubber, in the mean time, ministered to Tarquin, keeping him from death. When the city watch arrived, they demanded that the party turn Shay over to their custody, despite the group’s vehement protest that their friend was not acting at all normally, and they suspected he was ensorcelled. Nevertheless, he was arrested and hauled away.

Later that night, Shay walked back into the common room. Needless to say, this created another uproar, but Gideon assured Tarquin that he was safe, and Shay himself seemed to have no idea what was going on, and certainly had no recollection of having stabbed anyone. The following day, the entire group trooped down to the city jail and presented Shay to the watch as irrefutable proof that if they indeed had him in custody, how could he now be standing before them? The watch commander informed them that, as it so happened, their had been a prisoner transfer request during the night to transport Shay to the dungeons beneath Castle Waterdeep, and during the transfer, Shay had escaped. He thanked the civic-minded heroes for recapturing him, and Shay was promptly arrested once again.

Furious, the adventurers protested, only to be told that a magister would hear the case the following day. Hawk insisted on being allowed to stay at the jail overnight with Shay to ensure he didn’t ‘escape’ again. That night, a detail from Castle Waterdeep arrived, once more requesting a prisoner transfer. Hawk wanted to accompany them, but was ordered not to. He returned to the inn and informed his companions what had transpired. The next morning, the group went to the castle dungeons, only to be told that no such transfer had been ordered nor had taken place. When Hawk examined the log, he found no evidence of Shay having been brought to the complex.

At this point, Hawk left to find Marzena and tell her what about the strange events. Meanwhile, Gideon and Grubber hit upon an idea to cast a spell allowing them to locate specifically Shay’s distinctive rapier. The spell pointed them towards Dock Ward, and once there, specifically to an abandoned warehouse called Sodden Hold. They had left word for Hawk where to find them, and it was at this point that he rejoined them, bringing with him another civilar that he introduced as Dwilt Riddick. Marzena had been very concerned about what had happened to Shay, and she suspected the watch might be compromised. She knew Dwilt personally, and knew that he had an impeccable reputation, and so had sent him to investigate.

Inside the warehouse, the company was attacked almost immediately by what appeared to be living crates, but which actually turned out to be shape-shifting creatures called mimics. After defeating these creatures, Grubber determined that the trail led still deeper into the hold. They soon came upon a cell block, in which they found an unconscious Shay as well as a young noble named Tryssia Lanngolyn, a magister named Gattel Watam, who seemed to have lost his mind, and two members of the watch named Martal and Regim. Shay was revived, and had little memory of his captivity. Tryssia was released and escorted to the street by Dwilt. Watam seemed beyond help, and so was left temporarily locked in his cell for safekeeping. As for Martal and Regim, while the group was assisting the other prisoners, the two watchmen produced swords from beneath the straw in their cell, opened the door effortlessly, and attacked! The party managed to kill them, but not before they almost slew Shay a second time. To the amazement of all, upon their deaths, the two watchmen transformed into gray-skinned, white eyed creatures. Vladius had heard of these types of beings before, but had never personally encountered doppelgangers until now. This explained much. If doppelgangers were in the city, they could have infiltrated all levels of government.

Dwilt and Hawk now insisted that they press on into the hold to see if there were more of the creatures hidden there. They came upon a, water-filled shaft that seemed to go deep underground. With Grubber conferring the ability to breath water upon all of the group, they set off into the under level. They found themselves in a vast underwater chamber, occupied by a gigantic octopus. They defeated the monster, and then swam to the top of the chamber, where they found a mechanism to drain it of water. Exiting the room, they were assailed by more doppelgangers, this time in their natural form. After dispatching this group, they began exploring the warren of underground chambers.

At one point, they found a room with documents detailing numerous noble families and government institutions that had been corrupted. Later, they entered a chamber and beheld and astounding sight! Seated and bound were likenesses of each one of them, excluding Dwilt! Immediately suspecting a trap, the League members attacked their doubles, and their twins responded by bursting their bonds and retaliating…all except Hawk’s double. Oddly enough, Hawk attacked his own double mercilessly, even after the others had been slain and revealed as doppelgangers. The other party members tried to stop him, suspicious of his actions, only to have him turn on them. Forced to kill him, they were stunned to find that Hawk was a doppelganger! The real Hawk was the one tied to the chair! He said that he had been captured almost a week ago, and had been held here ever since, all along thinking those around him were truly his friends and had been captured as well. How deep did this corruption go?

Proceeding on, the companions made their way through a maze of mirrors, attacked hit-and-run by doppelgangers all along. Finally, they came to a sort of throne room, which contained a stranger apparatus comprised of a table with straps, tubes and pipes coming out of it. The throne was occupied by Delfen Ondabar! He greeted the heroes as friends, but by this time they were unwilling to listen to more lies. They attacked, and the wizard retaliated. His magical skill certainly matched that of Ondabar, but it was only a matter of time before he was defeated. Not surprisingly, upon his death, he too reverted to doppelganger form, but did not appear the same as the others. Vladius knew him to be a greater doppelganger, one who was capable of actually absorbing the identities of those he mimicked, although his guise as Delfen seemed to be just that, a cosmetic façade, for when he had begun hurling spells, his appearance had changed to that of an older human.

A search of the doppelgangers chambers turned a host of forged and original documents detailing Waterdeep treaties, merchant dealings, and religious papers. In addition, there was a missive bearing the message: “I have a task for you, thrall. Meet me at the sewer junction beneath Brian’s forge and I will give you the details. There are some troublesome small minds that must be removed.” It was signed with some sort of symbol made to look like a spiraling tentacle (identical to one tattooed on the greater doppelganger’s forehead). So, it seemed someone else had ordered the doppelgangers to assassinate the members of the League, but whom and why? It seemed that the answers might be found at the forge of Brian the Swordmaster, a well-known craftsman in the city.

On the return trip to the surface, however, the League found that the water chamber was occupied again. A previously hidden door was now open on the opposite side of the room, and standing in the passage beyond it were a pair of drow males armed with crossbows, and a horrible looking creature dressed in robes, with a bulbous head and four tentacles where its mouth should be. An illithid! Immediately, a blast of mental power surged from the mind-flayer, stunning several members of the group. The illithid then withdrew, but the drow took up the assault. After a short, but hectic battle, the drow were killed but no sign of the illithid remained, nevertheless it seemed the mastermind behind the mystery had been revealed.

The group immediately sought out Marzena, and turned over to her all of the information they had discovered, telling her of their intent to now follow the trail into the sewers beneath the city streets. They made their way to Brian’s forge, and there, Hawk and Dwilt had several watchmen cordon off the block while the League descended into the sewers. Over a period of two to three hours, the company searched the sewer tunnels, and eventually found an older, disused section which led into a series of natural caves. Here they encountered more drow thralls, including a priestess of the Spider Queen (much to Storm’s horror). Deeper and deeper they journeyed, fighting many horrific aberrations along the way, including a naga and a pair of octopoid creatures which were capable of scaling walls and whose gaze dulled the reflexes of any who met it. Beyond one massive pair of double doors they encountered a marble statue of a brain, which had the power to dominate the minds of those in its vicinity. This they destroyed, and found a laboratory beyond it, with a short corridor leading to a balcony overlooking a cavernous cathedral. Here they found the mind-flayer once more, hovering over a large pool filled with swimming, tadpole like creatures. The illithid had another pair of the octopoid creatures with him, and the battle was joined in earnest.

Grubber detailed the struggle in full for Giovanni, telling of how the illithid was by far the most puissant opponent they had thus far encountered. He was a sorcerer, and used his spells and mental abilities to devastating effect. It was here that Gideon fell. He made a suicidal charge at the mind-flayer, attempting to draw its attention away from Dwilt and Grimm. The illithid electrocuted the aasimar with a point-blank lightning bolt fired into his chest. His death was not in vain, as his companions did indeed capitalize on the opportunity, and eventually brought the vile sorcerer, and his octopins down.

A search of the illithid’s chambers turned up a ledger. It detailed the creature’s recent business transactions in rare and dangerous items with patrons throughout Waterdeep. The most recent transaction listed a payment for the sale of an ancient relic listed as the Apostolic Scrolls. It took place between the illithid and one Prendergast Brokengulf! In addition, there was a notation that Brokengulf had also paid the mind-flayer to assassinate the members of the League!
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Within a few days of their return from the illithid’s abode, the party was contacted by Dagsumn. He invited them to dinner, saying that he had the information they had requested. Of the relics from the Wind Dukes, he could only say that they were not directly related to the Age of Worms, but all of the other clues pointed to the involvement of a minor deity of the creation and mastery of undead called Kyuss. The worm-infested undead were the most notorious (and, he noted, least powerful) of Kyuss’ spawn, and their increasing presence in the region indicated that the cult was becoming more powerful. The cult had traditionally been small, but the evidence provided suggested that the Ebon Triad was now involving itself with the cult. Tales of the Age of Worms were ancient, Dagsumn said, and it was often known by other names such as the End Times, the Dark Age and the Eternal Ruin. It was an ancient set of prophecies that spoke of a transformation of the world, of a time when life would give way to something else. These prophecies were recorded in certain rare texts such as the Book of Vile Darkness, the Libris Mortis, the Necronomicon and the Apostolic Scrolls. At this point, Dwilt interrupted, telling Dagsumn of what they had discovered in the sewers, and especially the illithid’s reference to the Apostolic Scrolls and Brokengulf. Dagsumn’s face darkened at this news. He told them that the scrolls were reputed to have been penned by Kyuss himself and detailed the creation of a horrible undead creature known as the ulgurstasta, which was in turn capable of consuming the living and regurgitating them as undead.

Dagsumn suggested that the League investigate Brokengulf further, but cautioned that he was a very powerful man in the city, with powerful allies, and they could not simply confront him without hard evidence (the word of a mind-flayer notwithstanding). It was at this point that the idea to infiltrate the Champion’s Games was born. Dagsumn arranged a meeting between the adventurers and Celeste, who in turn introduced them to Ekaym Smallcask…


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## gfunk

_Giovanni’s Journal Entry – Night 2 of the Champion’s Belt Games, Date Unknown

This has to have been one of the strangest, however most eventful, days that I can recall. Our team’s victory on the sands of the arena was quite flawless. Prior to the combat, I was under the impression that my eldritch powers would be of paramount importance during this first round, and that I would use my teammates as protective fodder. However, on the battlefield it immediately became quite apparent that these so-called ‘bumpkins’ are much, much, more than they seem. The synergy and teamwork that the group utilizes is beyond impressive and far in advance of their professed 'exploits' against blind kobolds and fake zombies.

From studying the group I have ascertained their general tactics. They attempt to funnel all combats through the dwarf, whose superior defensive capabilities allow him to act as a stoplog or floodwall of sorts, breaking the tide of their enemies’ advance. Behind him the goliath and aasimar will generally emerge, dealing withering damage to their now-halted adversaries. Dwilt’s role seems to be more in support, tripping and disarming as well as defending the front rank. That one won’t shut up, constantly barking commands at the other team members; it is obvious that his orders have a palpable effect, and I have to admit that I find his words to be uplifting.

Behind this wall of armor, shields, and deadly weaponry the support group is protected. Fire balls and lightning bolts are indiscriminate killers, but it appears that Pyro and Storm know how to use them discriminately. The dark rogue continually rains death from range with his arrows, but he seems to be unsatisfied unless he closes to melee where he can strike a telling blow with his rapier. I would hope that he would have the discretion to not go toe-to-toe with an enemy too far out of his class; thus far the stories I have heard speak to the contrary.

As far as their personalities are concerned, it is apparent that the group looks to Dwilt for guidance and leadership. Based on their stories it was clear that the aasimar Gideon once held this role, but with his death Dwilt has somewhat less than begrudgingly assumed command. Even Civilar Veritas seems to bow to the other officer’s decisions. Something else that I have quickly noted is that there is a discernibly intense rivalry between Pyro and the goliath cleric, Grubber. It seems that this rivalry is rooted in the goliath’s moral beliefs and Pyro’s rejection of any such code of behavior. Also, Pyro believes that the goliath’s actions do not follow his professed beliefs; thus far, I have seen no evidence to support or contradict this claim but the genasi pokes, prods, and jibes constantly. It is funny to hear Pyro rail on about the goliath’s vow to his patron, Grumbar, that will not allow him to take flight except under the most dire of circumstances. That belief seems very odd, and could be potentially debilitating in the future.

Which leads me to their claims of the impending Age of Worms. The story they have told me is far too long to detail in one night of writing. Suffice to say, I am intrigued by the mysteries that they are chasing. This Age of Worms that they speak of may be nothing more than the ramblings of some insane heretical priests…or insane heretical 'bumpkin' adventurers for that matter. However, if they speak truth, there may be something much deeper and sinister going on. For whatever reason I have gained their trust, and they have let me in to their little secret. It could be that they see nothing more than the utility that can be afforded them by my magical capabilities. How they will react if they are to learn the dark nature of these abilities remains to be seen.

As a group, we also made upwards of 1,000 gold coins in winning that fight, and I haven’t seen that kind of money since I left the manor house. If nothing else, I could use the company…and the protection that this large group can offer._


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## gfunk

ROUND 2

Giovanni sat in silence, staring at his hands and contemplating all that he had just heard. He felt hollow inside. He had arrived in Waterdeep thinking that he was worldly, that he had seen fantastic things and places. Now he realized just how naïve he had been…and selfish. He had been motivated by monetary gain…greed, to enter this tournament. But these people…the things that they had been through, and were still going through. He had heard the word ‘hero’ thrown about lightly all his life, but he had never understood the true meaning of the word until now.

“So what do you think?” Vladius asked. “Are you with us, or are we gonna have to kill you?”
Giovanni looked up and smiled faintly. To think, just a few hours ago he had thought the man an arrogant, pompous ass. Now he knew for a fact that he was an arrogant, pompous ass…but his heart was in the right place.
“I’m with you, if you’ll have me,” he said simply.
“It’s settled then,” Dwilt said, offering his hand, which Giovanni gripped eagerly, “You’re one of us. Welcome to the League.”
”I’ll brand you with our tattoo later,” Vladius smirked.
“What’s our next move, leader man?” Shay said to Dwilt from a shadow-shrouded corner.
“I overheard some of the other teams talking last night,” Dwilt replied. “There’s a rumor about Brokengulf beating back a pack of ghouls years ago that used to lair in some old underground ruins south of this room called the Titan’s House. They say he plugged the entrance to their warren with a stone seal in a pool there, but no one has ever tried to open it to verify this. I suggest we start there.”
_________________________________________________

Later that night, after the other teams had retired, the eight companions slipped from their quarters, and out of the coenoby. A long, natural tunnel led to a huge cave which resembled the coenoby, but was in a state of century-old abandonment. It looked as if a surface structure once stood there, a cluster of stone houses that were buried under a million tons of rubble long ago. Within the labyrinth of ceiling-high sections of ruined walls, the only remarkable feature was the idol that gave the cave its name, a ten-foot high, alabaster statue of a powerful giant armed with a mattock. The cave floor sloped down to the south where a ten-foot deep pool of water was located. A large stone plug was visible near the bottom at the eastern end.

Dwilt ordered his team to spread out around the vast chamber and look for anything which might appear out of the ordinary, as if it might not belong there. Grim took it upon himself to wade into the pool, his stony flesh carrying him straight to the bottom like an anchor. His dwarven sense of stone-cunning told him that there was nothing natural about the plug, and that it hadn’t been there for very long…certainly no more than ten years. He also noted that it wasn’t going to be an easy task to remove it.

An hour or so passed as the group searched the Titan’s House from top to bottom, and came up with nothing. “This is a dead-end, unless we want to work on dislodging that plug,” Dwilt said in resignation.
“That won’t be happening without a crane and hoist, or without a lot of noise and pounding,” Grimm observed.
“Maybe this is too obvious,” Giovanni said, almost to himself. “It would be a convenient coincidence for us to ‘overhear’ a tale of Brokengulf plugging up some secret tunnel. Maybe, since he obviously knows who you are, and probably why you’re here in the first place, it was a ploy to throw you off track.”
Dwilt thought for a moment, “Well, it’s certain we’re not going any further down here tonight,” he said. “What harm can it do to check out some place less conspicious? I say we make a trip upstairs.”

They retraced their steps back to the coenoby, and then down another tunnel on the opposite side, which emerged into a wide, ring-like corridor that was a mirror image to the main corridor in the level above. Like that corridor, there were spiral staircases spaced at intervals along the hall, but they were blocked by locked iron gates.
“What do you think?” Dwilt asked Shay as he examined one of the locks.
“Child’s play,” the rogue responded in a distracted voice. Reaching into a pocket of his cloak, he produced a set of elaborate-looking lock picks, and set to work. Within a matter of seconds, the hasp clicked open, and Shay stepped back with a bow and a flourish. Grim stepped forward, and pulled back the gate. It opened with an alarmingly loud shriek of rusted metal.
“Damn it!” Dwilt cursed, looking quickly around for any signs that the wardens had been alerted.
“There’s no help for it,” Shay said. “This is probably the first time it’s been opened in decades.”

Quickly, the company slipped up the stairs, only to find the top similarly blocked. Shay made even faster work of the second lock, and the group held their collective breath as Grim tried to open the gate as quietly as possible. It was no use, and this time as the squeal of metal on metal faded, they heard voices in the distance. “Did you hear that?” “Come on!” Shortly, they heard booted feet approaching.
“Gather round me, quickly!” Storm hissed as she stepped into the hallway. The others obeyed without hesitation, trusting their team mate, thought they had no idea what she had planned. The drow mage began muttering under her breath, moving her fingers in complex gestures. With a final word, each member of the team saw all the others wink out of sight. “There,” Storm whispered. “We are hidden from view, but you must all stay near to me. Each of you reach out and grab one another. We must move together.”
“Not good enough,” Giovanni’s voice said. “They might still bump into us, or hear us move. Stay here.”

Not waiting for approval, Giovanni called upon his innate magic to first render himself invisible by his own power, and then to briefly step between dimensions to travel several yards down the corridor, opposite the hall from where the wardens were approaching. As the four guards appeared in the main passage, the warlock stamped his boots loudly on the stone, and then began running away from the rest of his group. “That way!” the wardens shouted, and started after the sound of running feet. Giovanni waited until he had led them far enough from his friends, and then silently stepped between dimensions again, rejoining the group.
“That takes care of that,” he laughed quietly.
“Not bad…” he heard Vladius say. “You might just prove better than useless after all.”

Stealthily, the group moved down the hall from which the wardens had originally come, passing first through a mess hall, and then a guard room. Beyond this, they entered a second, smaller circular passageway which had three other corridors branching off of it from each compass point. The western passage led to some sort of workshop. From the one to the north came the growl of a large feline and several porcine grunts. Six identical cells opened off the hall, each closed by a metal gate. To the south, two smaller passages branched off the main hall, but there were also three padlocked doors of iron-reinforced wood, each with a small barred window set into it. It was here that the group chose to investigate first.

Peering into the first two doors, Shay saw what appeared to be empty cells. Behind the third, however, he saw a figure curled in a corner on the far side. He whispered to his companions what he had found.
“I’ll go,” Giovanni volunteered, and once more he dimension doored, this time appearing inside the cell, next to the prisoner. He could see that the bearded figure was human, but couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. Cautiously, he nudged the man with the toe of his boot. Instantly, the man jerked up right, staring around wild-eyed and terrified. It was at this point that the warlock realized he was still invisible, and for all the prisoner knew, he had just been touched by a ghost. Giovanni quickly reappeared outside the door.
“He’s alive,” he reported, “but I’m afraid I’ve probably scared him senseless.”
“Take me in,” Dwilt said.
“You’ll be visible,” Storm reminded him.
“I know,” the civilar replied, “but we need information, and he certainly won’t trust me if he can’t see me.”

Giovanni grasped Dwilt’s arm and transported the two of them back into the cell. The prisoner’s eyes widened even further as he saw the armored form of the civilar simply appear before him.
“Peace,” Dwilt said, holding up his empty hands to show he was unarmed. “My name is Dwilt Riddick. I mean you no harm.” The man stared blankly at him, uncomprehending.
“Do you understand me?” Dwilt said, squatting down to bring himself to eye level with the prisoner. The man stared at him another moment, then slapped his hand against his ears. Dwilt understood. He was deaf. The civilar took one finger and began writing in the heavy dust on the floor. ‘Dwilt,’ he wrote first, and then pointed at himself. ‘Help you,’ he wrote next. The prisoner looked at the writing, and then at Dwilt, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. He pointed to his mouth, and shook his head. Mute as well, Dwilt sighed silently. Then the man began drawing in the dust himself. As Dwilt watched, he made several squiggly lines, side by side, and then leaped to his feet, and ran to the cell door, sticking his hand between the bars and pointing towards the cell across the hall. Dwilt stared at the lines for a moment. Then, horror filled comprehension dawned on him. Worms. The man had drawn worms on the cell floor. He stood up quickly and strode to the door. “Open it,” he said. He heard, but could not see Shay open the lock and swing open the door. “Havok,” Dwilt said. “Let him see you, and then take him back to the coenoby. We’ll meet you there.” Giovanni willed himself back into the visible spectrum, and the prisoner recoiled reflexively. Quickly, Dwilt knelt to the floor again. ‘Safe,’ he wrote, and pointed to the warlock. The man nodded cautiously. Giovanni stepped to him, took his hand, and vanished.

The others retraced their steps quickly and as quietly as possible back downstairs and to the coenoby. They found Giovanni and the frightened prisoner safely in their quarters.
“Grubber,” Dwilt said, turning to the goliath, “can you do anything for him?”
“Possibly,” the priest rumbled. Holding up his hands to show he meant no harm, he approached the man and laid his hands gently on both of his ears. Chanting in a voice that sounded like the grinding of stones, he prayed to Grumbar. When he was done, he removed his hands. “Can you hear me?” he asked the prisoner. “Can you tell me about the worms?” he asked. At that, the man covered his face, and flung himself to the floor, curling into a ball. Grubber knelt next to him for a moment, studying him closely, and then stood.
“I’m afraid being deaf and mute is the least of his problems,” he sighed. “He’s also insane.”
_________________________________________

Grubber realized that the prisoner’s mental affliction was beyond his ability to mend, but he knew of a spell that might work. The next morning, as the servants came in to the coenoby to serve breakfast, he sent word to Ekaym thru a runner, requesting that the merchant purchase a scroll bearing the spell from one of the local churches.

Once again, the other teams were gathered around the postings for the day’s matches. The first competition was to be between Auric’s Warband and Drunken Devilry. Impotent Rage would compete in the second match against the dwarves of Pitch Blade, and the final match would be Crazy Eight versus the Varmint Patrol. As soon as the members of Pitchblade read the bracket, the three brothers glared murderously at their opponents, and as the morning wore on, they made a show of whetting their blades, and decorating their faces with war paint.

When the first match ended, Auric and Khellek were once more victorious, returning to the coenoby with a swagger and a smirk for the four remaining teams. “Pitch Blade! Impotent Rage!” called the warden, and the two teams moved to follow him. At this point, the dwarves, Drusfan, Pharbol and Garlok by name, began shouting loudly at the members of Impotent Rage in dwarvish, and making obscene gestures.
“What are they saying?” Vladius asked Grim.
“Oh…just something about your mother…and a donkey…and the garrison,” the mineral warrior replied. “Don’t take it personally.”

As Pitch Blade stepped onto the elevator, each dwarf began uncorking flasks and upending them, tossing the empty bottles back down at their rivals. When the lift returned, Vladius immediately cast an incantation around Shay, and the shadow walker faded from view. Havok also rendered himself invisible. Dwilt quaffed a potion of his own, and instantaneously grew to twice his normal size. Vladius was again in the form of a mephit, as was his wont when he expected trouble.

As the team reached the level of the arena, the crowd was already in a frenzy. Talabir Welik stepped to the podium in the front of Brokengulf’s box. “My lords and ladies, welcome to the second match in the quarter-final round of the Champion’s Games! First I present to you, straight from the Storm Horn Mountains, the savage swordplay of Pitch Blade!” The arena rumbled with the stamping of feet and roar of approval. Talabir waited for the crowd to settle, and then resumed, “Their opponents, our local yokels-made-good from Daggerford, the caged fury that is Impotent Rage!” This time the crowd surged to their feet, the thunderous accolades deafening. Apparently, the underdog team had made quite the impression the previous day. “On my mark...,” Talabir raised his hand, and then brought it down in a chopping motion, “Fight!”

In a flash, the three dwarves pushed themselves off from the wall behind them, and, to the amazement of the gathered spectators, took flight, drawing their bastardswords as they closed, their blades igniting in flames.
“Uh-oh,” Vladius muttered, as he hovered over Dwilt’s shoulder, “they might be smarter than they look…which isn’t saying much. Hang on for a second, and I’ll put you on even ground.” As the wizard began weaving his magic, Dwilt felt his feet leave the ground, the power of flight responding to his will. Just as Pharbol passed above his head, the giant civilar leaped leapt into the air, wrapping his chain around the dwarf’s weapon, and jerking it out of his hands to land in the dust at Grubber’s feet. The dwarf’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then widened further in pain as a black-fletched arrow from Shay’s unseen bow lodged in his belly just beneath his breastplate.

Garlok flew over Grubber’s head, but as he passed, the priest flung out his hand, rumbling a prayer as he did so. Garlok suddenly felt himself drifting towards the ground, the magical flight that his potion had given him abruptly dispelled. Just as Grubber finished his incantation, he saw Pharbol diving towards him. The goliath just had time to bring his maul up and club the raging dwarf as he landed.

While Dwilt was occupied with Pharbol, Drusfan used the opportunity to bypass the giant warrior, and charge straight towards the now unprotected Vladius. However, so focused on his tiny prey was he that he failed to see Hawk rushing to intercept him at the end-point of his charge. As the dwarf prepared to strike, the civilar smashed the flat of his sword against his skull. Simultaneously, a burst of electricity from the blade jolted the barbarian, leaving him momentarily stunned and twitching. Moving as quickly as his rocky form would allow, Grim closed to his incapacitated kinsman and slashed at him with his axe, leaving a gaping wound in the flesh of his thigh.

Although now grounded, Garlok was no less determined to reach his foes. Screaming in incoherent fury, he lunged towards Hawk, and the civilar tried to pivot and bring his shield to bear, but the sheer fury and power of the dwarf’s charge all but bowled him over. Garlok hacked at him, his flaming blade slicing into Hawk’s sword arm. Though the steel burned like fire, the flames of the blade did no harm themselves to the celestial-tainted skin of the aasimar.

Pharbol snarled, ignoring the pain of the arrow protruding from his gut, and dove for the ground, sweeping up his blade as he did so, However, as he attempted to regain altitude, Dwilt’s chain entangled his feet, dropping him to the arena floor in a heap. With an almost casual flick of his wrist, Dwilt then snapped the opposite end of his chain at the dwarf’s sword once more, again tearing it from Pharbol’s grasp. Howling in rage, the barbarian rolled and scrabbled for the weapon, but before he could reach it, Grubber stamped one massive foot down upon it, and then cuffed the dwarf with the butt-end of his mallet, just as Dwilt’s chain lashed across the dwarf’s forehead, spilling blood into his eyes and temporarily blinding him.

Drusfan still stood rigid and immobile. The magic of Hawk’s blade had left him all but helpless, a fact which Vladius was more than happy to take advantage of. Taking careful aim with one finger at the dwarf, from barely five feet away, the mephit mage blasted a volley of streaking magical missiles into the barbarian’s face. As if by magic themselves, two of Shay’s arrows materialized between Drusfan's shoulder blades. A gurgling grunt of pain was all the dwarf could manage.

As Garlok raised his sword to strike at Hawk again, the paladin brought the edge of his shield up directly beneath the dwarf’s chin. Garlok’s head rocked back, throwing him off balance, and Hawk followed through, smashing the pommel of his own blade into the dwarf’s skull. Another blast of energy surged from the sword, and Garlok’s eyes glazed over, just like his brother’s. Suddenly, a corona of eldritch light flared around the stunned dwarf, and he sagged to his knees as Havok materialized behind him, his hands glowing with power.

“All together now!” Vladius shouted to Grim as the mineral warrior raised his axe to finish Drusfan once-and-for-all. As the blade fell, another barrage of missiles from Pyro nearly exploded the dwarf’s head, and he collapsed without a sound.

Pharbol bit at Grubber’s feet, still struggling to rearm his weapon. Just then, a beam of green energy struck the dwarf, and he felt his strength leave him. He struggled to stand, looking in confusion at the elf woman who had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Before he had a chance to register more than this, the breath was driven from him as Grubber drove the head of his hammer into his midsection. As he doubled over, the damnable chain of the civilar behind him entangled his feet again, and he toppled to the ground. Fortunately, he landed right beside his sword this time, and the oaf of a goliath was no longer standing on it. Grabbing it triumphantly, he rolled to his stomach, intending to slice Grubber across both Achilles tendons, but three rapid slaps from the free end of Dwilt’s chain demanded his more immediate attention. As he rolled again to ward off the giant warrior behind him, Grubber’s hammer dropped one final time on the base of his skull, snapping his neck like tinder.

Only Garlok remained, but in his stunned state he was far from a viable threat. Hawk intended to subdue him into unconsciousness, thereby ending the match without further bloodshed, but his teammates seemed unwilling to show even that small bit of mercy. In a flurry of axe blows, eldritch blasts, magic missiles, and hurled electrical orbs, the dwarf’s days as a gladiator were ended.
__________________________________________________ _

The applause and screams of the spectators seemed to threaten the very foundation of the Field of Triumph as they roared the name of their victors: “Impotent…Rage! Impotent…Rage!” Only one face among them showed no sign of elation or joy…Prendergast Brokengulf.


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## gfunk

EKAYM’S REQUEST

As the thunder of the crowd died to a dull roar, Dwilt stepped into the center of arena.
“My fellow Waterdhavians!” he cried, and the crowd answered with enthusiasm. “As team leader of Impotent Rage, I think I speak for all of us when we thank you for your respect and enthusiasm.” The civilar waited patiently as the tumult swelled once more. “But I would be remiss,” he continued, “if I were not to acknowledge a true hero among us here today…our host, Lord Prendergast Brokengulf!” At this, the throng became deafening, stamping their feet and shouting the veteran gladiator’s name over and over. With visible reluctance, Brokengulf rose to his feet with a forced smile on his face, and waved perfunctorily to the crowd.
“Why, only just yesterday,” Dwilt resumed his monologue, “I learned that over a decade ago Lord Brokengulf almost single-handedly beat back a horde of ghouls, and sealed them in their lair for all eternity! Surely we owe an unpayable debt of gratitude to such a man…one who would never think of letting the undead walk our fair streets and threaten our women and children!” The audience cheered and cheered at Dwilt’s words. The civilar bowed deeply before Brokengulf’s box, noting with satisfaction the look of pure, murderous hatred the gladiator leveled at him.
_______________________________________________

Later in the coenoby, the team took their meal in silence in the common area, noting that the kobolds of Crazy Eight rounded out the semi-final teams. The team mates couldn’t help but suppress a snicker at the unlikely gladiators, as they were sure to be their competition in the next day’s bracket. Traditionally in the finals, the previous year’s champions would fight a beast of some sort, while the other two teams faced each other. This meant that Auric and Khellek would fight what essentially would be an exhibition match in the morning, almost assuring their place in the finals.

Just then, a beaming Ekaym walked into the coenoby, carrying a silver trophy depicting a dwarven gladiator, and a large sack of clinking coins.
“Well done again, lads!” he cried, holding up the trophy. He then frowned slightly at the replica of the dwarf. “Ironic, no? Well, it suits you boys…and lady…nonetheless. Stirring speech, by the way Dwilt.” The talkative merchant seated himself at their table, chattering away about the match and its high points while he parceled out the winnings. “Say,” he said after a brief brake from his ramblings, looking around conspiratorially, “do you think we could go someplace a bit more…private?” Vladius looked immediately skeptical, but Dwilt shrugged and rose to lead the group to one of the empty quarters. Not their own, Giovanni thought to himself, seeing as how they had an escaped prisoner as a guest at the moment.

As soon as everyone had seated themselves around the walls of the small enclosure, Ekaym pushed the door closed, then deliberately locked it. Turning towards his team, his face was transformed. Oh, it still had all the same features, but the foppish frivolity was gone, replaced with a seriousness, and underlying sadness that caught the entire band momentarily off guard.
“My friends,” he began with a deep sigh, “I am not whom you believe me to be. I have not been entirely…forthcoming with you.”
“Big surprise there,” Vladius muttered before Grubber elbowed him silent.
My true name is Lord Urtos Phylund II.” Dwilt and Hawk both knew of House Phylund, long known for training and procuring fierce monsters. “My father,” Urtos continued, “was Lord Urtos I. He was the director of the Field of Triumph until his death ten years ago, during a tragic accident while he was transporting an owlbear to the arena. Two months prior to his death, I met with an unfortunate accident myself. While out hunting at our family lodge in the Ardeep forest, my companions and I ran afoul of a large pack of wolves. I was sorely injured, and it took me over two months to recover. When I finally returned to Waterdeep, it was to the news of my father’s death, and to discover that my step-mother, Lady Aridarye, presuming me dead, had been named steward of my House until her young son, my half-brother, could come of age. My dear step-mother was not exactly overwhelmed with relief to see me alive, as I once more took control of my House’s affairs. Seven years ago, Lady Aridarye married a close friend of my fathers, and also of mine…Lord Prendergast Brokengulf. Of this I will say no more, except that is no secret that three years ago, my former step-mother began having an affair with a local gladiator named Auric. Now, none of this really concerns me, as I have always suspected Aridarye of being an opportunist and a user, moving from one relationship to the next as it suits her purposes. However, I have recently discovered that the body of my father has gone missing from our family vault. I have always been suspicious of the circumstances surrounding my father’s death. He was an expert beast handler, and for him to die at the claws of one of his animals is a bitter irony. I have long suspected Aridarye’s hand in his death, but have never been able to prove anything. I have my own reasons for suspecting that there may be some clue as to the true cause of my father’s death here beneath the Field of Triumph. My…complicated relationship with Aridarye and Prendergast prevents my direct investigation here, as you can imagine. So it was that I came up with the idea to gather together my own team of gladiators, in the hope of infiltrating the arena sub-levels to search for anything related to my father’s murder, or the whereabouts of his remains. I realize an undertaking such as this is not without risk, and so I offer you all of the winnings you have thus far accumulated, and may yet accumulate, in exchange for your services.” Here Urtos paused, his eyes cautious.
Silence pervaded the room for several long moments, and then Dwilt stood, shooting a warning look at Vladius as the mage started to open his mouth.
“We have our own reasons for conducting an investigation into the arena and Lord Brokengulf,” he said to Urtos, “as you have no doubt suspected. Why else would two civilars of the Guard be competing incognito in a gladiatorial competition? We accept your offer, and will see what our search turns up. Hear me on this, though. If any of the trails lead to your friend Brokengulf, we will not hesitate to bring him down, personal ally or not. Do not try to interfere.”
“Agreed,” Urtos said after a moment, and briskly shook hands with the civilar. “Ah yes,” he snapped his fingers, reaching into his cloak and drawing out a leather tube. “The scroll you asked for Grubber, though none of you seem gravely injured. Is this just for insurance?”
“Not exactly,” Grubber replied, accepting the scroll case. “Come with us, and we will share a secret of our own with you.”

They made their way across the coenoby to the team’s personal quarters, and stepped quickly inside. The prisoner still cowered in the corner, just as they had left him. Dwilt had given him stern instructions to remain inside, warning the man that if he was seen by any one, his life would surely be forfeit.
“Who is this?” Urtos asked, eyeing the filthy man skeptically.
“That is what we hope to soon find out,” Grubber said, crouching beside the prisoner and unfurling the scroll. He began reading in a sing-song chant, and slowly, a lambent glow surrounded his hands. As his words faded, the writing on the scroll likewise vanished, leaving the parchment blank. Grubber reached out gently towards the prisoner, laying his glowing hands on either side of the man’s head. Instantly, the look of terror and confusion left the prisoner, and his eyes lost their glazed appearance.
“What…what did you do?” he asked, awestricken.
“Merely healed your fractured mind,” Grubber said kindly. “Now, can you tell us who you are, and what you know about the worms?”
Involuntarily, the man shuddered, but he did not cower this time. “My name is Anele. I have been a beggar on these streets since I was a child…never harming nobody. Then, no more than a tenday past, two watchmen snatched me up for no reason…no reason! I thought I was being arrested for panhandling, but they’ve never bothered me before. They locked me up down here without explaining nothing. There was another fella in the cell across from me. He tried to talk to me, but I showed him I was deaf. Still, he seemed nice enough. Then one night, I heard the strangest sound in the hallway outside my cell. It sounded like hoof beats…like a horse or something. When I got up to look, I saw him…a devil he was! He was flabby, and cruel looking. Looked sort of like a man in the face, but he had hooves instead of feet. Hooves I tell you! And wings…big, black, leathery ones…like a bat. Horns was growing out of his head. He opened the door to that other fella’s cell, and went inside. That’s when he did it. He pulled this horrible looking green worm out of a bottle and put it on the fella’s face. I could tell the man was screaming the whole time, even though I couldn’t hear him. The worm…ate its way into his face. Pretty soon he keeled over. Dead as a door nail, but then…he got up again! Only he wasn’t moving right…kind of jerky and twitchy. And the worms…oh gods the worms! They were everywhere! Crawling out of his eyes, and his mouth.” Anele broke down into sobs as the horrible memory returned to him.
“What happened then,” Grubber asked gently. “Where did they go?”
“Back down the hall,” Anele said, getting hold of himself. They turned down a little short hall and disappeared. I haven’t seen them come back out since.”

Urtos’ face had gone pale during Anele’s tale, and now he gaped at Dwilt. “What is he talking about?” the Lord asked. “Is he mad?”
“Not anymore,” Dwilt said calmly, “I told you…we have our own reasons for investigating here. There is much more going on than you can possibly imagine. Stay away from here, Urtos. We will be in touch with you when we are able. For now, if you could take Anele from here and see to his safety. Storm will shroud him for you so that you can leave unnoticed.”
Storm stepped up to Anele and cast a brisk spell. Anele faded from sight, and Storm instructed him to hold Urtos’ cloak and not to let go until the spell wore off.
“May the gods be with you,” Urtos said as he left the chamber, casting one last worried glance at the team he had assembled…and quite possibly, doomed.
__________________________________________________ __

Evening came to the quiet coenoby, and the wardens once more departed, but not before warning the three remaining teams again not to wander from the area, especially since there was an escaped prisoner on the loose who was considered armed and dangerous.

As the midnight hour came and went, the League members crept from their quarters, and retraced their steps from the previous night. Though the saying goes that ‘lightning never strikes twice,’ that adage apparently did not hold true for the intrepid explorers. Try as they might to muffle it, the squealing of the long-disused upper stairway gate gave away their position a second time. This time, the shouting of the wardens was more urgent. They were already on heightened alert, with a prisoner having escaped right under their noses less than twenty-four hours earlier.

“We can’t avoid them this time,” Dwilt whispered hurriedly, “take up defensive positions! Hawk, try and stall them!” Havok and Shay quickly faded from view, while Grubber, Grim, Storm and Vladius flattened themselves against a wall. As the warden’s drew nearer, Hawk stepped into the hallway before them, silently stretching out his senses for the presence of evil and finding none.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” one of the wardens shouted. “You know you’re not allowed to be out of the coenoby! You could be disqualified!”
Hawk had no weapon in his hands. He raised both of them to punctuate the fact. “I beg your pardon, gentleman, but Lord Prendergast himself gave me his leave to explore a bit…sort of a reward for a job well done.”
The wardens regarded each other for a moment, and then turned back to glare at the civilar. “We happen to know for a fact that what you say is patently untrue,” the leader replied. “Now, we offer you just this one chance to return to the coenoby, or we will expel you from the tournament.”

“Time for talk is over!” shouted the diminutive mephit that flitted out from behind the paladin. “Show time!” With a word and a gesture, the wizard created a thick, oily layer of grease on the floor directly beneath the feet of three of the four wardens. All three immediately stumbled and crashed to the ground.
“I apologize in advance,” Hawk said as he rushed the remaining warden with his shield upraised, “but you are working for evil, knowingly or not, and we cannot allow you to interfere with us.” He slammed into the warden, rocking the man back several steps, right into the grease pit, and in short order, he had joined his comrades on the floor. Simultaneously, Havok appeared behind the four downed guards with Dwilt in tow, having dimension walked to flank them. The wardens tried to rise and defend themselves, but they were hopelessly over-matched and out classed. In less than a minute, they all lay unconscious.

“So what do we do with them?” Grubber asked as they stood over the subdued wardens.
“Obviously, we kill them,” Vladius said, with no hint of sarcasm in his voice, only deadly earnest. “They work for a man who wants us dead, and who is trying to summon an undead monstrosity that may be capable of destroying this whole city! Plus, they’ve seen us and can identify us. Case closed.”
“I won’t be a party to that,” Grubber said, folding his arms across his chest. “These men are simply hirelings for the arena. They have no part in Prendergast’s schemes that we know of. It would be murder.”
“Are you insane?” Vladius asked incredulously, “How many other people have you ‘murdered’ since we got involved in this whole affair? What about that whole tribe of lizardfolk? Didn’t I just personally witness you today smash in the skull of a dwarf or two in that arena? What part did they play in all this? Did they deserve to die?”
Grubber looked uncomfortable, his gaze falling to his feet. “That was different,” he said quietly, “There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Oh really??” Vladius pressed, “By all means, please explain them to me. I’d love to hear your moral justification of murder for money.”
“Enough!” Dwilt said, stepping between the feuding pair. “We are not going to kill these men. That’s final!” he glared at Vladius as the mephit opened his mouth again, then promptly snapped it shut. “We’ll tie them, gag them, and lock them in the cell block for now. We can decide their ultimate fate later.”
__________________________________________________ ___________

A short time later, Shay secured the lock on the same cell that had held Anele with its four new occupants. The group then moved up the main hall to the smaller branch that Anele had indicated in his tale. It was a short passage, only ten feet long, with a stout wooden door at its end. Beyond the door lay a small cellar containing several barrels and hundreds of glass bottles on shelving. The air was thick with the smell of vinegar. There was no obvious way out. Shay stepped cautiously into the room, peering closely at the walls and the shelves. He moved to the back wall and began running his hands over its surface. Finally, he carefully removed a specific bottle from the rack to his left, and the section of wall slid back, revealing a dark stairwell leading down. “I would say we have our clue,” he said.

Grimm took the lead descending the stair, which curved to the right after reaching a small landing. No sooner had the dwarf stepped on the landing, than an explosion of black energy engulfed him. He staggered forward, and nearly fell down the second set of stairs, but for Hawk reaching out to grab him. “A slaying ward,” Grubber said from further up the stairs. “He was lucky,” he indicated Grim, “it was meant to kill.” Shaking himself out of his daze, Grim continued down the stair, arriving at another door at their base.

Pushing it open, the mineral warrior saw a square room which contained three plain, wooden coffins. Two lay along the south wall, while the third had been placed in the north part of the room. Several empty sacks were piled near the third coffin. Standing near the center of the room were three corpses with green, slithering words protruding from their eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Kyuss Spawn! Grim started to lift his axe, preparing to strike, but then a wave of paralyzing fear and nausea knotted his gut. He could not explain it. All that he knew was that he had to get away…now! Turning back into the stairwell, he began shoving his comrades aside, barreling his way up the stairs. Grubber saw the panic in his eyes, and knew that it was the magic of the spawn that affected him. As the mineral warrior approached, the goliath braced himself, and shoved his hands against Grim’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.

Shay, who was right behind Grim, also felt the fear seize him. He knew instinctively that only death awaited him in that room. Death, and undeath. He quickly followed in Grim’s path, and when the dwarf was stopped by Grubber, the wily rogue darted between the legs of both of them, coming up behind the goliath into the wine cellar. As he bolted towards the door, he was suddenly shocked to find himself face down on the floor as Storm stuck out her foot to trip him as he darted by.

Hawk couldn’t worry about his fleeing comrades at the moment. The spawn were still there, unthreatened. Rushing into the room, he charged the nearest of the horrors, and rammed his sword into its chest, unleashing a burst of holy energy as he did so. If the creature felt pain, it didn’t show it. It simply plucked a fat, wriggling worm from its mouth and reached out towards Hawk’s face. Instantly, the room erupted into fire. As the heat and light faded, Hawk saw that all that remained of the spawn were three greasy spots on the floor. “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder to the hovering mephit in the doorway.

Grubber chanted his prayer quickly, letting his energy flow through his hands and into Grim. For a moment, the fear gripped the dwarf even tighter, but then his mind cleared of its panicky fog, and he felt his face flush in shame. “That’s twice those bastards have gotten to me,” he said. “Never again…this I vow.”

Back in the wine cellar, Storm had shut the door to prevent Shay’s escape. The rogue rolled to his feet, and backed into a shadowy corner. His shadow walker ritual had gifted him with the ability to use shadows as dimensional doorways, and he prepared to do just that to escape these lunatics who couldn’t see their own deaths approaching. However, just as he began to focus his energies, Grubber rushed him, cuffing him across the forehead with his mallet. As Shay’s vision exploded into stars, Dwilt and Hawk were on him, punching him repeatedly until he lapsed into unconsciousness. Once he was out, Grubber pulled a potion flask from his pouch, an elixir that would remove the magical fear effect, which he had purchased after their last encounter with Kyuss Spawn. Opening Shay’s mouth, he forced it down the rogue’s throat.
________________________________________________

“What were those…thing?” Giovanni asked as Grubber tended Shay’s external bruises (his bruised ego would have to heal on its own).
“Those were Kyuss Spawn,” Hawk said, as he looked into the coffins, making sure they held no other nasty surprises. “The same things we met in the lower level of Cromm’s Hold.”
Giovanni shuddered. “I know how you described them, but…”
“Yeah, kind of makes you want to bring your lunch up,” Vladius offered. “Don’t worry about it kid. They die just fine.”

Just then, Hawk came to a halt in his search around the chamber. He stood in an archway leading east. After about fifteen feet, it branched north, but twenty feet beyond that it ended at a door. It was there that Hawk was looking. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.
“What?” Dwilt replied, stepping beside him. “Do you detect something?”
Hawk nodded. “Behind that door…nine of them. Three are more powerful than the others.” Dwilt knew exactly what he was talking about. The paladin was sensing evil. Not only could he detect its presence, but he could also discern how many creatures were present, and how strongly evil they were. The most powerful radiations tended to come from undead, priests, and outsiders, beings from other planes.
“Form up team,” Dwilt commanded. Without hesitation, the group organized themselves with Grim in front, followed by Dwilt, then Hawk, Grubber, Shay, Storm, Vladius and Giovanni. They moved carefully down the hall, towards the door.

Grim glanced over his shoulder at Dwilt. When the civilar nodded, the burly dwarf raised one hobnailed boot and kicked in the door. The air that rushed out of the large chamber beyond was particularly noisome. The northern wall of the room was almost completely covered by the remains of a wooden bookshelf whose contents had long ago crumbled to dust. The southern portion of the chamber was occupied by dusty pieces of ancient, ruined machinery that may once have comprised sets of semi-automated combat dummies. A set of double-doors stood closed in the room’s north wall. Standing about the large room, all facing the door which Grim had just smashed, were six more spawn. Among them, however, were three other creatures that looked like gaunt, nearly skeletal corpses, their rib cages filled with horrid, writhing viscera. Their tongues, which protruded obscenely from their mouths, were long, cartilaginous and clawed!

“Mohrgs!” Grubber shouted as he glimpsed the horrific-looking undead.
“I don’t care what they are,” Vladius replied, “as long as they’re not fire proof. Incoming!” Reflexively, Grim crouched low behind his tower shield as a massive explosion ripped through the chamber. Even so-protected, the flames from the powerful fireball still scorched even his thick hide. Peering over the top of his shield, he saw that their opponents were far worse off than he. Five of the spawn had been consumed by the blast, and the one remaining looked like a burned out torch. The mohrgs, though clearly damaged, still looked more than capable of putting up a fight. All three of the creatures rushed Grim, but since he had essentially created a bottle-neck in the doorway, they couldn’t all reach him at once. Nevertheless, one of them managed to rake its filthy, snake-like tongue across his face. For a split-second, felt every muscle in his body seize up, but just as quickly the sensation passed.
“Beware their tongues!” Grubber called from further down the hallway, “They can paralyze you!”
“Thanks for the warning,” Grim muttered.

From her position in the middle of the party, Storm could just make out the mohrg facing Grim. “Duck!” she shouted to Shay, Dwilt and Hawk, who obliged without question. From her palm came a scorching ray of pure flame, which passed harmlessly over Grim’s head and struck the walking corpse full in the chest. As it recoiled, Dwilt snaked his chain between Grim’s legs, coiling around one ankle of the mohrg, and jerked. With a guttural cry, the monstrosity fell to the ground at Grim’s feet. Grim didn’t waste the opportunity, and hammered his axe into the mohrg’s animate viscera.

Hawk was frustrated. Though Grim’s position effectively protected the rest of the group, it prevented him from entering the melee. He tried to peer over the heads of those in front of him to see if any new enemies had entered the room. It was then that he noticed the last spawn. It had shambled over to the far doors, and opened one of them.
“Havok!” Hawk shouted, “Get me in there…now!” He then turned and shouldered his way past Grubber, Shay and Storm. He couldn’t see the warlock, as he had rendered himself invisible once more, but he felt Giovanni’s hand seize his, and the next thing he knew he was standing right beside the Kyuss Spawn.

Vladius cursed. Now that Hawk and Giovanni were in the room, he couldn’t hurl his more destructive spells. Well, he could, but that might result in hurt feelings, and all sorts of whining, so instead, he drew a slender wand from his robe and with a word, sent a burst of missiles of energy down the hall. Amazingly, the bolts deftly dodged and weaved around everyone in front of him, and struck unerringly the mohrg he had aimed at. At that moment, the mohrg had been trying to stand, but Dwilt flicked his chain again, sending it sprawling back to the floor, at which time Grim followed up with a second chop, cracking several of its rotting ribs in the process.

The other two mohrg’s, however, had not failed to notice Hawk’s sudden appearance behind them. Rotting sinew creaked as they turned their heads to regard the civilar, and then as one, they charged. Hawk turned, shield raised just as the horrid tongues of the creatures struck like snakes. Showing surprising intelligence, the mohrgs moved to flank the paladin, stepping between him and the spawn. As Hawk watched, unable to intervene, the thing shambled into a darkened hallway beyond the door.
__________________________________________________ ____

Bozal Zahol stood before the altar, deep in meditation over the large scroll unfurled atop it, its writing bathed in a sickly green light. It was almost time. Soon the Apostle would awaken, and the ritual would be complete. Even now, he could feel the ulgurstasta stirring, its mind reaching out to him, giving him just the barest hint of the unfathomable dark secrets it harbored.

Suddenly, he heard a muffled explosion from the training hall. With a curse, he withdrew his attention from the scroll and the Apostle. He had been expecting this. Those so-called adventurers had finally arrived. He had warned Brokengulf that they would be trouble, but the old fool had been certain that Ilserv and his doppelgangers could handle them. Bozal had not been so confident. Theldrick was no weakling, and yet this band of bumpkins from a backwater town had managed to defeat him as well as the other Triad leaders, not to mention the Ebon Aspect. No, these were not typical treasure hunters, and they had been making Brokengulf look like a fool by defeating team after team in the Games. So now they were on his doorstep. Well, he had not come this far, brought the faithful of Kyuss so close to the Age of Worms, just to be thwarted on the eve of his apotheosis. Even before his spawn minion burst in to needlessly warn him of intruders, he began uttering his prayers.
__________________________________________________

Hawk pivoted and whirled like a dervish, trying to outmaneuver the mohrgs. He slashed at the leg of one, cutting through several layers of decaying muscle. Suddenly, he saw Havok appear out of thin air as his invisibility spell ended with the blast that erupted out of his hand and down the hall where the spawn had vanished. In a brilliant flash of light, Giovanni saw the spawn illuminated for the briefest of instants, standing in an open doorway, before his eldritch blast obliterated it entirely.

The mohrg before Grim struggled to its feet one last time before a second missile volley from Vladius caused its skeletal head to explode. Dwilt and Grim wasted no time rushing past the still falling corpse and closing to aid Hawk. Both warriors struck simultaneously, Grim’s axe and Dwilt’s chain each knocking the legs out from under a mohrg, and sending them both to the ground. Hawk stabbed his sword through the sternum of the nearest one, and it began to crumble to dust as it died a second time. He then bashed the last mohrg with his shield as it began to rise, and followed up with a thrust from his blade through its chin and straight up into its rotten brain. Before it could recover, Dwilt slashed three quick strokes, each one shattering an exposed vertebra, and it followed its brethren into eternal rest.

“Come on!” Grim shouted as he started down the hall in the direction the spawn had gone. “It’s bringing others!” As he skidded to a halt at the open door at the end of the hall, his eyes went wide at what he beheld on the other side. Two braziers in the northeast and southeast corners lit the rectangular room. A simple altar of stone sat in the middle of the east wall, facing a large set of stone double doors to the west. On the altar was a scroll, which glowed with an unnatural green light. A writhing green beam of light emanated from the scroll to strike the doors, bathing them in the same green glow. Standing in front of the altar was what at first appeared to be a middle-aged man with a flaccid and misshapen figure. However, his goat-like hooves, large leathery wings, and vestigial horns labeled him as something else entirely. He wore chain mail armor and carried a wooden shield. At his side was slung a gleaming, wooden club.

Grim never hesitated. Roaring a challenge, he rushed into the chamber, but as soon as he did, he noticed the total absence of sound. He couldn’t even hear his own voice as he shouted. Nevertheless, he let his momentum carry him forward, raising his axe to cleave into the demonic figure. However, when he was still a dozen feet away, he ran up against what seemed to be a solid barrier, though one he could not see.

Grubber approached the door next and saw Grim’s dilemma. Something about the situation struck him as familiar. And then he had it. The fiendish looking man was a priest, and he had raised a powerful abjuration about himself…an anti-life shell! It would hedge out any mortal creature, preventing it from touching his person…unless Grubber could do something about it. The goliath noted that he could not hear Grim’s shouting, though the dwarf was clearly doing so. If he stepped into the chamber, he would not be able to form the words for his prayer, so he began his incantation outside the room, conjuring a dispelling field around the evil priest, hoping to bring down the anti-life shell, and whatever other defensive spells he may have in effect.

Before Grim could register the fact that the barrier had vanished, Hawk rushed past him, but as the paladin drew near Bozal, the priest uttered words unheard by no one but himself, bathing his hand in black light. He reached out gently, right for the paladin’s heart. With a silent cry of dismay, Hawk leaped back, batting the fiend’s hand aside with his shield, and then burying his sword to the hilt in the priest’s chest, unleashing a surge of holy energy as he did so. As Bozal staggered back, blood spurting from his wound, Dwilt sprang to Hawk’s side, snapping his chain around the fiend’s leg, tripping him and mentally sending a stunning blast down the length of the weapon. As Bozal jittered and jerked on the floor, Grim stood over him, and then brought his axe down upon his neck.


----------



## gfunk

ROUND THREE (OR HOW TO KILL A FROGHEMOTH IN THIRTY SECONDS OR LESS)

‘That must be it,’ Giovanni thought, for he could not speak aloud in the magically silenced room. ‘The Apostolic Scrolls.’ Carefully avoiding the writhing green beam, he walked around the back side of the altar, gazing at the scroll, but studiously avoiding reading any of the words. Who knew what even glancing at those powerfully evil verses might unleash? He could not, however, keep himself from summoning up his innate ability to detect magic. Instantly, a stabbing pain went through his head as the overwhelming aura of the scrolls bombarded him. Struggling to clear his mind, he tried to unravel the multiple auras that he sensed and focus on one at a time.

The first, and least powerful, dweomer that he noted was an unhallowing effect that permeated the chamber. It must be the source of the silence in the room. Probably placed by the priest they had just slain. Next, the green energy field that surrounded the scroll was some sort of temporal stasis. While it lasted, the scroll could not be touched or tampered with in any way. Most likely a defense mechanism of the item itself to allow the ritual to be completed without interference. Finally, the scroll itself radiated a supremely powerful aura of necromancy and evil.

Stepping out of the room, he motioned his team mates to him and told them of his observations.
“It’s certainly beyond my ability to deal with,” Vladius said. “And I doubt a simple dispelling field will affect it.” He looked meaningfully at Grubber.
“What if we destroy the altar itself?” Giovanni asked. “Would the scroll fall and disrupt the effect?”
Vladius shrugged and Grubber shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Giovanni said, and then he stepped to the doorway, pointed one finger towards the altar and proceeded to send blast after blast of eldritch energy into it. Piece by piece he blew the stone block apart, until nothing was left but rubble. Floating above the rubble, the scroll was untouched.

“We’d best move on,” Dwilt said. “Perhaps we’ll find something that will give us a clue to deactivate this thing.” Nodding their agreement, the group formed up once more. The most obvious place to start seemed to be the doors through which the green beam passed. They had witnessed the fiendish priest walk through the beam without ill effect, but that didn’t mean just anyone could. Grim motioned the others behind him, and taking a deep breath, he stepped to the doors, reached through the beam and grasped the handles. Nothing happened. Letting his breath out, he pulled open the doors. Beyond was a twenty-five foot long, ten foot wide corridor. A large portal of stone, covered with the obscene depiction of an orgy of dead, worm-ridden corpses blocked the passage. In the middle of the macabre mass, a carving of the horrible skull of Kyuss uttered a silent scream of triumph.

The first thing the group noticed was that the silencing effect of the altar chamber did not extend to this hall. However, the green beam continued down the passage to strike the second set of doors, bathing them in emerald light. Cautiously, they approached the portals. Shay stepped in front of the others and carefully studied the entire surface of the doors, being equally careful not to touch them.
“If they’re trapped,” he said after a moment, “I can’t see the mechanism.”
“The same magic field persists here as in the other room,” Giovanni observed.
“Well, it didn’t harm us the first time,” Dwilt shrugged. He reached for the doors, only this time, his hand encountered a spongy, invisible barrier inches away from the handles. Instantly, a blast of black energy surged up his arm and through his entire body. He staggered back, clutching his cold, numb hand. He glared coldly at Shay.
“Hey,” the rogue said, holding up his hands, “I said I couldn’t see it. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
“Well, we obviously aren’t going any further this way,” Dwilt said, still cradling his injured arm. “Let’s try the other door.”

They returned to the altar chamber, and crossed to the single door on the far side. On the other side was a short passage ending at a second door, and beyond this they found what appeared to be a bed chamber. A central pillar of green marble carved in the likeness of a segmented worm supported the ceiling. The room was dimly lit by a single incense burner that shed a sweet, fruity aroma. The chamber was lined with woolen tapestries depicting coiling green worms, and contained a bed, an armchair, and a cupboard. Near the bed were a small nightstand and an ornate, elongated trunk.

Before any one entered the room, Giovanni stepped to the fore, and opened his senses again for the presence of magic. Immediately, his attention was drawn to the trunk. Magic radiated from it and from within it.
“Shay,” he called over his shoulder. “Got another job for you.”
“Make sure you get it right this time,” Vladius jeered, after which he found himself on the receiving end of a particularly obscene gesture which could get a person dismembered in Calimport.

Shay crouched before the trunk. It appeared to be made of darkwood and bound with steel. A steel plaque representing a screaming skull infested by worms was nailed to the lid. The side panels were painted in tones of black and green with a cycle of apocalyptic images running around it like a frieze. The images were divided into two horizontal strips, underground and aboveground, by a cutaway of the earth’s crust. Underground, the horrible figure of a man made of worms lay imprisoned in a huge, stone monolith. The figure had been represented in perspective on each of the trunk’s four sides. Huge, green worms writhed in the surrounding caverns’ crust to invade the aboveground part of the paintings, where a sickly, green light illuminated a blasted landscape. There, the writhing worms towered over a population of monstrous undead and naked, terrified victims.

“Charming,” Shay muttered. He examined the entire trunk with a skilled eye, and there, just around the locking mechanism, he saw it…the faintest of glimmers, that to a trained professional such as himself, indicated the presence of a magical trap.
“Definitely,” he said to the others.
“Well, we’ve got the key ring that we took off goat-boy back there,” Grim said, twirling the ring around on one finger. “You’d think he’d have a way to bypass his own trap.”
“Be my guest,” Shay said, backing away to a safe distance. Grim scowled and strode purposefully up to the trunk, where he knelt and inserted what he hoped was the correct key. Turning it, he heard a satisfying click. “Hah!” he shouted, and lifted the lid. At that moment, he felt a searing pain in his hand where it touched the lid, and then he cried out as he jerked his hand back. Something beneath his skin was…writhing. Suddenly, a sickly, green worm burst from the back of his hand and dropped wetly to the floor where it hissed and bubbled into a noisome pool of goo.
“At least you got it open,” Shay shrugged, not quite meeting the withering stare of the mineral warrior.

The trunk contained several wondrous magical items, as well as gold and gems, but nothing pertaining to the scroll. A thorough search of the room likewise turned up nothing helpful. A single door led west from the room.
________________________________________________

Thrakerzog brooded within the large urn that served him as a resting place. He had heard the tell-tale sounds of combat several minutes ago, coming from the direction of the shrine. Bozal Zahol was probably under attack, and in need of his assistance, but he would be damned if he was going to trouble himself to assist the half-breed (technically, being a demon, Thrakerzog was damned anyway, but that was beside the point). The priest had summoned him in order to strike a bargain, but in hindsight, the demon felt that he had gotten the short end of the deal. Bozal had asked him to ‘domesticate’ the oozes that dwelled in the sewers, and to guard the shrine as a whole. Well, strictly speaking, Bozal’s exact words had been, “stand guard in this room,” and it was in this room that Thrakerzog intended to remain. As he chuckled silently to himself though, imagining Bozal’s current predicament, he heard the door on the other side of the curtain open, and saw a distinctly dwarf-like shape peering around the corner.
__________________________________________________ _

Peering into the room, Grim beheld a bare chamber lit by a brazier in the northwest corner. A green and black checkered curtain hung from a steel bar fixed near the ceiling, concealing the southern part of the room. Cautiously, Grim pulled back one edge of the curtain…and abruptly wished he had not. A six-foot tall black earthenware urn stood near the middle of the south wall. The south wall itself was completely filled with a mosaic of tiny green tiles depicting the horrible skull of Kyuss. Suddenly, from out of the urn emerged a shivering, shapeless blob of phosphorescent green corruption surrounded by a cracked, leathery coating which constantly oozed, secreted, hardened, and split open again. Dark, swollen eye globules dotted the surface of the thing. As Grim recoiled in disgust, a blast of frigidly cold air erupted from the mass, blistering both his stony hide, and Hawk, who stood directly behind him in the corridor outside the room.

Reacting with the experience of years of military training, Dwilt and Hawk surged into the room without even knowing what it was they faced. No sooner had they crossed the threshold, than another wave of cold emanated from the thing in the urn, only this time it began to solidify into a wall of ice which would trap them on one side, and the rest of the team on the other. However, as the ice wall began rising towards the ceiling, Grim shoved the head of his axe directly across its sagital plane, causing the entire structure to collapse into a harmless pile of snow.

At that moment both Grubber and Giovanni entered the room, Grubber by charging directly in, and Giovanni by invisibly dimension-walking. Simultaneously, their eyes fell upon the visage of Kyuss on the wall behind the urn, and something within their minds snapped. An overwhelming sensation of hopelessness, panic, and impending doom swept over them. For a moment, Grubber stood wide-eyed and rooted to the spot. Not so Havok, who stepped between dimensions again, and was gone.

Thrakerzog was irritated that his attempt to split the intruders up didn’t work, but it didn’t really matter. Now the alkilith had four of them in his sights, and he unleashed a second arctic blast directly at them.

Grim was in trouble. He had now taken two direct hits from the creature’s magic, and he knew he would not live through a third. He needed to regroup, perhaps have Grubber use his healing powers, but as he turned towards the priest, he saw the goliath fleeing at full speed back the way they had just come.

“Get out of there!” Vladius shouted from his position still within the bedchamber of the priest. He had witnessed his team getting mowed down by some spell-slinging being, and now Grubber was in full retreat. As Grim heeded his warning, Pyro slapped one hand on the mineral warrior's shoulder, uttering an arcane word as he did so. Instantly, a troll stood where Grim had just been. The transformation process immediately healed some of the dwarf’s injuries, and, the wizard hoped, fortified him enough to go back into battle.

Dwilt and Hawk also took Pyro’s advice and retreated towards the bedchamber, knowing that the wizard was about to launch one of his signature fireballs. Before he had a chance, however, the oozing mass appeared in the hallway behind the paladins, moving amazingly fast for something so ungainly. A third conical blast of cold roared down the corridor, enveloping Grim, Hawk, Vladius and Storm. Dwilt dove around a corner at the last second, avoiding the brunt of the blast. As the cloud of ice cleared, Storm collapsed to the floor. Whether she was alive or dead, Dwilt couldn’t tell.

Shay had also avoided the frigid blast, and now he stepped to the open doorway, and launched a volley of arrows at the advancing blob. One by one, the arrows bounced harmlessly off the creature’s hide. “Oh crap,” the rogue whispered, and then leaped for cover as a tiny bead of flame went sailing over his head. The fireball exploded behind the demon, filling the corridor, but as the flames subsided, the creature looked only mildly scorched.

Hawk couldn’t tell whether Storm was alive either, but he had no intention of leaving her directly in the path of the monster. He ran to her side, and laid one hand on her forehead, channeling the healing energy granted him by Torm. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the sorceress draw a great gasping breath and open her eyes, but his elation turned to pain as a bolt of black energy struck him, chilling him all the way to his soul. “Run!” he shouted at the drow as he whirled to meet his attacker.

Storm didn’t need to be told twice. Hawk had snatched her from the jaws of death, but she was far from whole. One more blast like that would kill her. She bolted from the chamber, back towards the shrine, with Shay right on her heels.
“This is way out of my league,” the rogue said apologetically, but Storm understood completely. She was afraid it might be out of all of their leagues.

“Still alive, eh?” Vladius shouted defiantly at the still advancing demon. “Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough the first time!” Chanting again, he called a second flaming ball to his hand, and hurled it at the alkilith. In answer, the demon filled the bedchamber with a nauseating, greasy black miasma. As the cloud clung to their them, Grim and Dwilt felt their skin burn, but Hawk was seared to his core. Instinctively, he knew the effect to be one of pure unholy energy, which his celestial heritage made him uniquely susceptible to. In spite of himself, he screamed in agony. Dimly, he heard Dwilt and Grim shouting, and when he finally regained control of himself, he saw why. Vladius lay unmoving on the floor. With a sinking feeling, the civilar saw that the mage had assumed his normal form, his mephit shape gone. Such a thing would not have happened if he were merely unconscious. Pyro was dead.

With a cry of defiance, Hawk rose to his feet and charged the demon. “By Torm’s holy might, I smite thee!” he shouted. “Back to the pit, spawn of evil!” He drove his blade deep into the undulating mass, calling upon his god’s anger to channel holy power into the fiend. Thrakerzog wailed an inhuman cry as pain wracked his body. So blinding was the agony, that he could not concentrate to focus his magic. Instead he struck out blindly with four pseudopods, hammering at the paladin with rage. Hawk felt the blows connect solidly, but here his ancestry served him well. His thick skin barely registered the concussive impacts, and the acid which the beast secreted was like water to his celestial hide.

“It’s a demon,” Dwilt wheezed to Grim as they watched Hawk make his stand. “Only holy power can truly affect it. Hold out your blade!” Grim obliged, though he had no idea what the civilar had in mind. Dwilt drew a vial of oil from his belt, and poured the liquid directly on Grim’s axe. There was a brief flash, and then the axe began to glow with a pure white light. “Now,” Dwilt told the troll/dwarf, “it’s payback time.”

Thrakerzog knew he could not fight this aasimar hand-to-hand, and he recognized the holy nature of the blade the troll approaching him now wielded. He had to buy time. Once more he summoned the unholy blight, drowning the three warriors in its darkness. He felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw the chain-wielding human double over and begin heaving up his last meal.

Hawk knew he was done for. The second unholy surge burned even more than the first. He was being roasted alive from the inside out. If he didn’t use his healing power to tend himself, he would not live to continue the fight. He staggered back as Grim approached. “Go my friend,” the troll/dwarf rumbled. “I’ll hold it here.” The mineral warrior didn’t wait to see if the civilar obeyed or not. He simply turned and stalked towards the alkilith, death walking. The blob began to slither away from him, but not quickly enough. With an inarticulate cry, Grim raised his axe, and buried it to the haft in the sickening green goo.

Thrakerzog screamed again. Curse Bozal Zahol for abandoning him! If the priest still lived, the demon fully intended on altering their agreement. For now, he called upon his innate magic once more and teleported himself away from the troll, reappearing unseen in the concealed corridor beyond his room which led to the lair of Bozal’s human ally. There, he allowed himself a moment’s respite, and then smiled evilly. Closing his eye globules in concentration, he willed his body to change shape. Slowly, his viscous form turned to gas.

Hawk saw the demon vanish, but his knowledge of magic was limited. It may have fled, but it may just as easily be lurking invisibly in the corridor, preparing to attack again. Quickly, he lifted Vladius’ cooling body, and carried him from the room. Behind him, Dwilt struggled to regain control of his bodily functions while Grim scanned the hallway cautiously, looking for any sign of their enemy.

What Grim saw was a thick, noxious, yellow-green cloud begin seeping into the room containing the urn from under the north wall. Slowly, the cloud expanded and began moving towards him. He began backing up, but soon the vapor had filled the corridor and half of the bedchamber. He began gasping and choking as it filled his lungs, and Dwilt was no better off than he. He felt his strength begin to ebb and he knew that if he stayed in the cloud much longer, he would soon be incapable of moving at all. Rushing to Dwilt’s side, he draped the civilar’s arm around his shoulder and the pair limped from the chamber, rejoining their remaining team mates in the silent shrine. Storm and Shay were already on the other side, and Hawk motioned Grim and Dwilt to come too. Behind them, the cloud began flowing out of Bozal’s chambers and towards the shrine.

The team reached the training room, and still the cloud pursued them. “We can’t stay!” Hawk shouted. “We have to make for the upper levels!” Together, they ran from the room, back through the coffin storage chamber, and up the stairs to the wine cellar, closing the secret doors behind them.
________________________________________________

Grubber and Giovanni did not stop running until they had returned to the coenoby and their quarters. Even then, they spent several moments cowering in a corner. When the terror finally loosened its grip from their hearts, they said nothing to one another, merely looking shame-facedly at their feet. Though obviously ensorcelled, and forced to flee against their wills, the fact remained that they had abandoned their friends.
“Let’s go,” Giovanni said finally, and Grubber simply nodded.

They began making their way back to the upper ring as quickly as possible, but by the time they arrived at the cell block, they saw their team mates approaching. Grubber immediately noticed that several of them looked badly injured, and Vladius... ‘Oh no!’ the goliath thought as he rushed to take the wizard from Hawk’s arms. He realized immediately that Pyro was dead. He bowed his head as he listened to Dwilt tell the tale of what had transpired. Storm sniffled quietly in the background. At last Grubber raised his head when Dwilt had finished. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” he began, “especially in light of the constant, nasty jibes I’ve had to tolerate from the arrogant, little bastard, but Grumbar help me, I think I can bring him back.” The others stared at him blankly.
“Are you serious?” Dwilt asked finally. “How? You said it was beyond you when Shay died.”
“I know,” the priest nodded, “and at the time it was, but all that we have seen and done has drawn me closer in my faith to Grumbar. He has granted me the power. Give me until tomorrow when I can perform my morning devotional, and you will see. For now, however, it seems we have a more pressing concern.”

The guards. That was what Grubber meant. There was still the matter of the four wardens they had locked in one of the cells. What was to be done with them? If simply left there, they would be discovered the next day and would readily identify their assailants, insuring at the very least the disqualification of Impotent Rage, if not their outright arrest.

Ultimately, Dwilt came up with a plan. When the wardens awoke in their cell, they were still bound and gagged. Standing over them were the leader of Impotent Rage, the one called Dwilt, and another of the warriors, Hawk. They seemed to be involved in some sort of disagreement.
“And I say they have to die,” Dwilt shouted, gesturing towards the wide-eyed wardens. “They’ve seen our faces, for one thing, and we know they are accomplices of Brokengulf. They have aided him in filling the catacombs beneath the arena with undead, not to mention that demon we fought. If they were on trial by the magisters, they would be found guilty and executed.”
Hawk shook his head vehemently. “I think you’re wrong. These men are unwitting pawns. How could any decent person stand by and watch the evil that Brokengulf has summoned unleashed upon their own city and people? They should be released.”
“Released?” Dwilt said in disbelief. “Why? So they can run to Brokengulf first chance they get and warn him that we are on to him? So that he can push his plan forward to destroy Waterdeep?”
“They would be fools to go to him,” Hawk argued. “If he knew that they had any idea what he was up to, he would kill them just to silence them and leave no loose ends.” Dwilt seemed to consider this as he glared at the bound men, who by now were sweating profusely. One, it seemed, had even soiled himself.
“Well?” Dwilt snarled, ripping the gag from one man’s mouth. “What’s it to be? Do we strangle you right here and now, and dump your bodies in the cistern below, or do we cut you loose on your word that you will leave Waterdeep and tell no one what you have seen or heard?”
The man’s mouth worked in silence for a moment, before he finally managed to stammer, “We…we…I mean to say…yes! Anything you say! We swear it! No one will hear a word from our lips!” Dwilt appeared to debate a moment longer, then he spat and turned away, motioning to Shay.
“Cut them loose.” The rogue kneeled behind each of the men, cutting their bonds, but whispering to them as he did so, “I have friends among the Shadow Thieves. Believe me on your life that if you break your vow, you will not live to see the sun rise.” The men staggered quickly to their feet and rushed en masse for the door, then bolted down the hall.
“Do you think they’ll talk?” Hawk asked.
“Maybe,” Dwilt said, “but not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. By the time they work up the nerve to cross us, this business will be concluded, one way or another.”
______________________________________________

Morning found Grubber deep in prayer beside Vladius’ cold body. The others stood back, their attention riveted on the priest. Finally, the goliath finished his chant, and then crushed a large gem with his maul, sprinkling the dust over the wizard’s corpse. Suddenly, Vladius’ chest heaved, and his eyes flew open. He scrabbled to grab the front of Grubber’s tunic. “You lying son-of-a-harpy!” he screamed. “You said you were guiding me to Celestia, where forty vestal virgins awaited my personal attention!”
Grubber shrugged, “I figured you wouldn’t come back if I just told you we needed you for the next match. Welcome home!”
_________________________________________

When the team emerged from their quarters, they saw Auric and Khellek striding angrily away from the posting board. The reigning champions scowled darkly at the group as he passed.

When they read the board themselves, they understood the reason for Auric’s ire. It seemed that his team was to face the Crazy Eight in the semi-final round, and Impotent Rage would be facing a creature known as Madtooth. Traditionally, the previous year’s champions would not fight another team in the third round, almost insuring their place in the finals. This was most unusual.

“What do you make of the night shift just up and vanishing?” a voice said from behind them. A pair of Wardens stood a short distance away. “Dunno,” one of them replied, “maybe they were afraid of what would happen to them for letting that prisoner get away. Maybe they figured they should skip town while they could.”
“Maybe,” the other shrugged. “Anyway, I wish it was them and not us having to deal with old Madtooth today. It’s been a royal pain in the arse trying to keep his cage so cold. I’ll be glad when this is over, and they send the brute back to the Spine. Frost salamanders! Hah! You can keep’em.” The men then seemed to take notice of the party’s attention on them, and they lowered their voices and moved away.

“Interesting conversation,” Giovanni said to no one in particular.
“Awfully convenient for us to ‘overhear’ that,” Vladius sneered.
“Very,” Dwilt agreed. “I think Brokengulf’s up to his old tricks again.”
“Yeah,” Vladius said, “for all we know Madtooth’s a red dragon.”
__________________________________________________

Later that morning, Auric and Khellek returned victorious from their match, but they didn’t seem very pleased with their victory. Their glares spoke volumes about their feelings concerning Impotent Rage’s placement in the semis.

“Impotent Rage!” the warden called, and the team followed him upstairs to the lift. As the platform rose, Vladius assumed his standard mephit form while Dwilt quaffed a potion, enlarging himself to twice his normal size, and Shay and Havok both rendered themselves invisible. Upon reaching the arena, the air seemed electric with expectation. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” Talabir called out. “Once again it is my privilege to introduce the terrors of Daggerford…Impotent Rage!” The crowd roared their approval, stamping their feet and applauding. The floor of the arena, however, was otherwise empty. There was no sign of Madtooth.

“I beg your apologies, my lords and ladies,” Talabir shouted from the podium. “It would appear that our beast-wranglers are having a bit of trouble with Madtooth, but rest assured, he is on his way.”

Minutes ticked by and the crowd became increasingly restless. Vladius cursed as several of his preparatory defensive spells expired. Finally, just as it seemed the audience might be on the verge of riot, the eastern gates to the arena opened, and a team of a dozen soldiers dragging a massive iron cube on an oversized chariot entered. The sides of the cage bore the word ‘Madtooth’ in bright, red letters clenched in the massive jaws of some huge monster. Brackish water sloshed and leaked from under the cage.
“I told you,” muttered Pyro.
The wagon’s progress was slow as the guards dragged the massive cage to the center of the arena. The spectacle seemed to drive the crowd wild, and in moments they began chanting, “MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH!” The guards stopped some fifty feet away from Impotent Rage, each one taking hold of different ropes attached to strategic pins and clasps in the cage’s sides. Each guard then retreated to a distance of perhaps one-hundred feet, each holding a rope in his hands.
The crowd became momentarily silent again as Talabir spoke, “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Watch in fear as these brave gladiators pit their skills against the eternal hunger of the worst the jungles of Chult have to offer! I give you…MADTOOTH THE HUNGRY!” With this final cry, the guards each tugged on their ropes, and the walls of the cage unfolded and fell away.

The monster was huge, and bizarre. Vaguely frog-like in shape, it had four writhing tentacles in place of front legs. Its head was mostly mouth, and its mouth mostly teeth. A retractable stalk protruded from the front of its head, at the end of which stared three bulbous eyes. The massive thing was dark green save for its belly, which was pale. A powerful tongue tipped with barbs lolled wetly from its mouth.
“That sure as Hell isn’t any frost salamander I’ve ever heard of,” Vladius muttered.
“Doesn’t matter,” he heard Havok say from somewhere nearby. “I’m betting it will still fry nicely, and I’m sort of partial to frog’s legs.” With that, a massive blast of eldritch energy erupted from right beside the wizard, as the warlock suddenly appeared in the aftermath of his attack. The bolt struck Madtooth a direct hit in the chest, but the beast didn’t slow. One giant hop brought it within ten feet of the group…and that’s where it stopped. Dwilt’s chain lashed out, slashing the froghemoth across the face, and a surge of stunning energy jolted down the weapon and into the creature. Instantly, it froze, immobile.
“He’s all yours gents…and lady,” Dwilt said, bowing to Storm.

Just like that, in a flurry of fire, lightning and flashing steel, the battle was over. Madtooth the hungry would never return to Chult. The crowd was stunned, but it wasn’t long before the familiar chant of “IMPOTENT RAGE!” began to shake the stadium. As Talabir Welik struggled to make himself heard over the tumult, the members of the League turned their eyes as one to the box of Prendergast Brokengulf. For several seconds, shock and discomfort were plainly visible on his face.


----------



## gfunk

ENDGAME

It was the last night of the Champion’s Games and the coenoby was a tomb. Auric and Khellek had retreated to their quarters, offering no word of congratulations or good luck to the members of Impotent Rage. For their own part, the League had larger concerns.

“We have to go back down tonight,” Dwilt said. “It’s our last chance. We know Brokengulf has something planned, and it’s probably going to come off tomorrow. That demon is probably guarding the information that we need,and we are going to have to face it again.”
“Are you crazy?” Vladius shouted. “After the butt-whipping it handed to us last night…oh, and let’s not forget, one of us, who shall remain nameless, ended up DEAD!”
“Maybe we should have left you that way,” Grubber muttered under his breath.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Dwilt continued calmly. “Either we are here to put an end to this, or we’re not. It’s all or nothing.” He looked around for any further dissent, and when none came, he nodded. “This is our plan. We make our way back to the shrine, trying to avoid any further entanglements with the wardens this time, and check out the scrolls once again. Maybe there’s something we missed. If we get nothing, then we move on to the demon…and we don’t stop this time.”

Miraculously, they made it past the wardens without drawing their attention. Perhaps the shift that night made a conscious decision NOT to investigate anything untoward, noting what had happened when their predecessors became too curious. The team arrived in the coffin storage area, and had begun heading towards the training room, when Dwilt held up one hand.
“Wait a second. Where does this lead?” He indicated a small side passage that branched from the hall between the coffin room and the training area. “Why didn’t we notice this before?”
“Um…we were too busy running too or from a fight,” Vladius offered, “or dieing…”
“Well, let’s not overlook the obvious then,” Dwilt said. “Come on.”

The narrow passage led due north for twenty or thirty feet before turning sharply left and ending at a plain, wooden door. After Shay had ascertained that it was safe to open, Grim led the way. The north part of the small room on the other side was occupied by a piece of ancient machinery built of stone and metal, yet it seemed not to have been in use for centuries. The structure was connected to the northeast wall by a small pipe. Storm eagerly pushed past her team mates to get a better view of the apparatus. Her eyes lit up as she examined it from multiple angles. “Very intriguing,” she said to herself.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“It is a water pump, once magical, unless I miss my guess. It looks to have been capable of siphoning enormous quantities of water at one time. I would think that pipe connects to the well.”
“How do you know all this?” Vladius asked. “I thought you studied magic, not engineering.”
“We drow are long lived, my young friend,” she smiled. “Such longevity can at times become tedious, and when a drow, like myself, is not inclined to engage in the murder and mayhem of house politics, other pursuits must be found. Tinkering with machines was a hobby of mine.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re an alchemist as well,” Vladius said, shaking his head.
“As it just so happens…” Storm began, but Dwilt interrupted her.
“Fascinating as this conversation is, you said something about a well.”
“Ah, yes,” Storm replied. “Obviously the pump must have a well in which to siphon the water. It should be at the other end of this pipe.”
Dwilt looked appraisingly at the conduit before turning to Vladius, “I think it’s just large enough for you to fit.”
“What? Me?” the mephit shrieked. “And why would I want to go into a smelly, narrow pipe, all by myself, to find Kossuth knows what at the other end.”
“You’re the only one small enough to fit,” Dwilt observed. “Besides, we’ll tie a rope to you and haul you back if you run into any problems.”
“How reassuring,” Vladius spat.

Nevertheless, a few minutes later the wizard was scurrying along the pipe, muttering and cursing to himself all the way. As he rounded one final bend in the tube, he spied a familiar green light coming from up ahead. Advancing cautiously, he approached the end of the conduit. Peering out he beheld a huge, vaulted chamber, dimly illuminated by an emerald glow. There, a colossal, disgusting behemoth, similar to a gigantic, yellowish grub lay on a heap of rubble, bones and rotting foulness. The creature seemed immersed in a magical slumber, and its horrid body pulsated with an abominable, ever-increasing power. Shambling around the perimeter of the chamber was a ragged corpse dressed in rotting noble raiment.

“Holy crap!” Pyro hissed to himself, before backing quickly and quietly back down the pipe.
“Umm…I think we’ve got trouble,” he said as he emerged from the conduit, and then proceeded to tell his team mates what he’d found. “And,” he continued, “it seems like that same force field or whatever it is, seals off the room from this access as well. Oh, and by the way, I think I found Urtos’ dad.”
“Then the scrolls have to be the answer,” Havok stated. “We have to find a way to get rid of that stasis field.”

The group retraced their steps to the altar of Kyuss and the Apostolic Scrolls. Along the way, they noticed a conspicuous absence of bodies, dead or undead. The spawn, the mohrgs, even Bozal Zahol…all gone. There was not even a trace of blood. In the altar room itself, nothing else had changed. The scrolls still floated in mid-air, the arcing beam of emerald energy connecting them to the doors across the room, which had been shut once again. The zone of unnatural silence still permeated the chamber.

Pyro, Grubber, Storm, and Havok wracked their collective arcane knowledge for ways to overcome the temporal stasis. Dispelling fields failed, but did succeed in removing the unhallow effect, and thus the silence, from the chamber. An attempt to encase the scrolls in a resilient force bubble also had no effect. Grubber, at one point, even attempted to call upon the power of Grumbar that allowed him to strike fear into, or even to destroy undead, against the unholy doors which bore Kyuss’ visage. He was rewarded for his attempt by a backlash of negative energy, and decided not to try again.

Ultimately realizing that any ability to affect the scrolls was apparently beyond them, Havok approached the glowing parchments.
“What are you doing?” Dwilt called after him.
“I have one last idea,” Havok replied distractedly. As he stood over the scrolls, he closed his eyes, blinding himself to their words. Then, calming his breathing, and reaching deep into his subconscious, he allowed just a fraction of his true heritage to come to the surface. Instantly, he felt rage, hatred, and the need for murderous violence. Glaring at his team mates, he had to physically restrain himself from melting each of them into slag. Focusing, he looked upon the words of the Apostolic Scrolls. They were scribed in the language of the Abyss, and were clear to him. He realized that it would take hours, if not days, to decipher the entire text, but the underlying purpose of the scrolls was revealed to him: they provided the means to conduct a ritual which would summon a so-called ‘Apostle of Kyuss’ so that it could perform a mass sacrifice in honor of its master. With a great effort of will, Havok closed his eyes again, and centered himself, relaxing his breathing once more. When he looked up, it was simply his friends that he saw.

“Grim,” he said as he walked away from the altar. “Where are we now in relation to the arena?”
The dwarf looked around him, sniffing the air. “I’d say we’re almost directly under it.”
“That would make sense,” Giovanni nodded. “I read a little of the scrolls. Goat-boy summoned the ulgurstasta, the ‘Apostle of Kyuss.’ He needs it to perform a sacrifice…a massive sacrifice. Don’t you see? Its chamber is right under the arena! He and Brokengulf mean to release it there at the height of the games…when thousands of spectators will be present!”
“Oh…” Dwilt said, “oh my…he wouldn’t? Can you stop it Giovanni? Did it tell you how to stop it?”
The warlock shook his head.
“Then there is no point in worrying about what we can’t control,” Dwilt said. “Let’s worry about what we can. First, we’re dealing with that demon. It might be guarding something that will give us some answers.”
_______________________________________________

Thrakerzog nursed his wounds, cursing Bozal Zahol’s name. That wretch of a half-breed had managed to get himself killed, leaving the alkilith with no way to heal the injuries inflicted upon him by those damnable adventurers. Despite that, the demon smiled. Bozal and his minions had made a fine feast for his ‘pets.’ Thrakerzog would make sure and look the priest up once he managed to return to the Abyss. Perhaps he’d been reborn as a lemure, and Thrakerzog could keep him as a pet.

He was just allowing himself a moment to savor that vision when he heard a clangor of metal coming from the direction of Bozal’s bedroom, where he’d left two of his thralls to guard against the return of the interlopers. It would appear they were back for more…
__________________________________________________ ____

When Grim had cautiously opened the door to the priest’s quarters, the first thing he saw where the two large globs, which looked like giant wads of yellow snot, pooled on the floor…and they were moving. They undulated towards him, pseudopods extruding hungrily from their bodies.
“Ochre jellies!” he called behind him to his companions, “I’ve seen’em before in the mines! Nasty buggers…and they secret some kind of acid.”
Havok, still in the altar room, peered down the hall and saw one of the jellies advancing on Grim. Pointing one finger, he sent a thin beam of eldritch energy in a surgical strike past his friends in front of him, striking the ooze and leaving a black scar on its amorphous hide.

“How do ya like that, beastie?” Grim shouted, as he stepped into the room and cleaved the jelly with his axe. Shockingly, his axe went all the way through the ooze, splitting it in two. “Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said wonderingly. But then his surprise turned to disgust as he realized that now both halves of the jelly where coming towards him and he was now under attack by three oozes. “Didn’t know they could do that,” he said.

Pyro, who could now see the jellies himself, and knew of them from one of Ondabar’s books, shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even I knew that,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t hit them with anything that slices or dices. Arrows are fine, but otherwise this whole place is going to literally be crawling with these things.”

Shay unslung his bow at Pyro’s reassurance about arrows. Drawing to his cheek, he fired a shaft directly into one of the jellies near Grim. The arrow sank into the blob and just quivered there. “ I thought you said arrows worked,” he said, turning to Pyro. The wizard shrugged, “Well, at least it didn’t split it again. Let’s try this.” Pulling out a thin wand, he spoke a word and loosed a volley of magic missiles at one of the smaller oozes. It dissolved gratifyingly into a harmless pool of goo.

At that moment Grim saw two more jellies enter the bedchamber from the direction of the room where they had first encountered the alkilith. “We’ve got more incoming!” he shouted.
“I’ve got’em,” Storm called from the hallway behind him, and with a few arcane words, she hurled a fireball into the chamber, immolating all of the fine furnishings, and obliterating one of the new oozes as it entered. Unfortunately, Grimm had still been standing at the entrance to the room, and got caught in the fringe of the blast. His stony hide smoked, but he was little more than singed. “Thanks…I think,” he grumbled. “I’ll keep’em bottled up in the room,” he continued, moving to completely block the door so that the oozes could not get past him. “Keep up the assault…just leave me out of it!”

Havok blasted one of the other oozes from behind the dwarf, and Pyro and Storm each fired volleys of magic missiles, destroying a second jelly as Hawk moved up to reinforce the mineral warrior. There were now only two of the ochre jellies remaining, and both were still in the corridor between the bedchamber and the alkilith’s room. Grimm rushed across the bedroom to keep them from progressing any further, and it was then that he saw it…the same roiling, yellow-green cloud that had pursued them last night. It was filling the hallway behind the advancing jellies, coming right towards him. “It’s coming!” he warned the others. “Fall back!” As he heeded his own advice, Pyro flitted up behind him.
“Not just yet,” the mephit said. “If the cloudkill is here, then the demon must be somewhere behind it. I’m going to try to kill three blobs with one stone, so to speak.” Chanting, he then lobbed a fireball right into the middle of the cloudkill. It detonated, scorching the ochre jellies. Just for a fraction of a second, Pyro almost thought that he saw the cloud itself recoil. Probably just his imagination. What was not his imagination was the blast of cold and ice the came out of the cloud next, engulfing him and Grim.

Luckily, Pyro had found himself just on the edge of the cone-shaped blast, though his hands and feet still felt numb to the bone. Grim, however, caught the brunt of it. The dwarf didn’t look good at all. “Get out of here!” the mephit shouted at him. “If you get yourself killed, there is no way I’m hauling your half-ton carcass out. I’m right behind you. I’m gonna give it one more try first, though.” Grim nodded reluctantly, knowing that the wizard was right. He stumbled out of the room, past Hawk, as Pyro unleashed another fiery blast. The jellies looked worse for wear, but still they advanced, the deadly cloud right behind them.
“That’s it,” he said to Hawk as he darted out of the room. “We’ve got to regroup.” Hawk waited until he was clear, then slammed the door closed on the jellies, retreated back to the altar chamber, and closed that door as well.

Grubber was already tending Grim’s wounds, reading a powerful healing abjuration from a scroll. The others took up defensive positions, focusing on the door, knowing it was only a matter of moments before their opponents began battering their way through.
______________________________________________

Thrakerzog was actually enjoying himself. Although the pathetic little wizard’s spells had actually managed to singe him a bit, it was going to be worth it to see their faces as he suffocated the life out of them. They thought themselves safely locked behind closed doors. He simply loved dashing the hopes of little people. He concentrated…and teleported.
________________________________________________

Out of thin air, the fuming vapors of the cloudkill suddenly filled the entire altar chamber, enveloping the whole team in its deadly coils. Instantly, each of them felt the life literally draining out of them, like a leech sucking blood. Storm, in a panic, simply ran. Blinded and stumbling, she managed to lurch out of the edge of the cloud and into the training room. Pyro flew the other way, ending up in the hall leading to the ulgurstasta’s abode. Dwilt, Grubber and Havok also managed to find their way to temporary safety, following Storm.

Giovanni knew something was wrong, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. How could a spell move like that…almost as if it were intelligent. Wait…that was it! Raising his hand, he sent his most powerful blast of eldritch might into the cloud, but it simply flashed on the edge of the mists, not penetrating deeper. Still, he knew he was right. “It’s the cloud!” he shouted. “The demon is the cloud! Attack the mists…now!”

Still within the mist wall, Grim heard Havok’s shout. It sounded useless, but he couldn’t see any better option. With a grunt of effort, he began swinging randomly at the fumes around him, not feeling solid impact anywhere he struck. Shay began firing into the mist as well, aiming upwards so as not to accidentally hit any of his team mates. He heard his arrows strike the stone ceiling and snap, but saw no other effect from his attack.

Pyro heard Havok’s shout as well, and he had a good idea that the warlock was actually on to something. The wizard had one more fireball left…a big one, but if he simply hurled it blindly into the room, he might hit his friends. He reached a decision quickly. It was a risk he would have to take. Otherwise, they were dead anyway.

The blast ripped through the altar chamber, hurling Grim and Hawk against the walls with its force. Shay, his reflexes almost supernatural, somersaulted into the hall leading to the training area, avoiding the searing flames. From within the cloud, they all heard an inhuman howl of pain. Havok was right. The cloud was alive!

Hawk smiled grimly. If it could feel pain, then it could die. He summoned every ounce of holy power that Torm would grant him, focusing it into his blade. With a cry, he jabbed the sword straight up, feeling it meet resistance, and seeing a vivid flash of pure, white energy. With a muffled whoomph, the cloud collapsed on itself, leaving the oozing, yet clearly dead form of the alkilith lying in the center of the chamber.

Hawk knew the fight wasn’t quite over. There was still the matter of the ochre jellies. He rushed to the door across the room, putting his ear to it, listening for tell-tale sounds. Suddenly, from beneath the door, a pseudopod swiped at his leg. Dancing back a pace, he thrust open the door. Both jellies were right on the other side. Bringing his shield arm back, he smashed the convex surface of it straight into the ooze, splattering it into harmless glop. As the last one surged forward, two scorching rays of fire flashed over his shoulder, burning it to a smoking stain. Hawk turned and saw Storm behind him, guilt in her eyes at her previous fear. He nodded in thanks, patting her on the shoulder.
__________________________________________________ __

A thorough search of the alkilith’s room turned up exactly nothing. It was empty save for the urn, the curtain, and the mosaic image of Kyuss. Still, Shay managed to pry two gem stones from the eye-sockets of the skeletal visage. “No since letting them go to waste,” he said, slipping them into his belt pouch.

A short hallway lead from the room and ended at a small, wooden door. “Maybe we’ll find what we need beyond,” Dwilt sighed, growing ever more pessimistic about their chances of destroying the scrolls. Indeed, what they discovered on the other side of the door was simply Bozal Zahol’s personal privy.

“What now?” Vladius laughed, “Looks like our search has literally turned up Jack and crap…and Jack just left.”
“Now we have no choice left to us but the truth,” Giovanni said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vladius asked. “That we’re screwed?”
“No,” the warlock said, a hard look coming into his eyes. “It means we tell the truth. To Auric and Khellek…and anyone who’ll listen. We need help in this…all we can get.
_________________________________________________

When Khellek opened the door to his quarters, still bleary-eyed from sleep, the last thing he expected to see was the entire team of Impotent Rage standing outside.
“The competition is not until morning,” the wizard said dryly. “Planning on ambushing us in our sleep? Not very sporting, is it?”
“We need to talk,” Giovanni said. “It’s important, and though you probably won’t believe us, thousands of lives are at stake.”

Thirty minutes later, Khellek was still standing in the open doorway, Auric behind him now. They were both staring dumbfounded at the clearly insane man in front of them.
“I must say,” the wizard finally began, “I am, for once, speechless. This has to be the most blatant, and stupid, display of gamesmanship that I have ever witnessed. You actually expect us to believe that Prendergast Brokengulf, an icon in this city, is in league with some secret cult of, whom did you say? Kyuss? That he has conspired to have you assassinated, and has managed to summon some undead behemoth, that in turn is planning on turning the entire spectatorship of the arena into undead as well…and you are the only ones who have caught on to this? The Lords, or the Grey Hand Enforcers, or Blackstaff himself are all clueless, yet you geniuses figured all this out for yourselves. Oh, and now you want us to accompany you out of the coenoby, which we are restricted from leaving, to see ‘proof’ of this. How convenient. Do you think we are fools? Is this the best you could come up with to have us disqualified? Do you lack that much confidence in your ability to win fairly tomorrow?”
Giovanni endured the rant. “Are you finished?” he asked
“Is there anything more to say?” Khellek glared, “Or may we go back to bed now?”
“It’s fine that you don’t believe us,” the warlock continued, “but at least grant us this. Tomorrow, after the match begins, we give our word not to attack you with lethal force in the opening minutes, if you do the same. Then, when the ulgurstasta appears, which it will, you give your word to aid us against it. If it does not appear, then we will all lay down our weapons and surrender, declaring you and Auric the champions. What do you have to lose?”
Khellek and Auric stared a moment longer. “You truly are insane,” the wizard shook his head, “but if it is your wish to throw away your chance at victory, farbeit for us to stand in your way. You have our word, but be assured, if you violate your oath, we will kill you to a man, surrender or not.” With that, he slammed the door.

“Well that went well,” Vladius said.
“We had no choice,” Dwilt said. “Giovanni was right. I’m going a step further. I’m taking Grubber with me, tonight, and we are leaving the arena…disqualifying ourselves. We’re going to Dagsumn to tell him what is happening. Maybe he can use his contacts in the city to help us tomorrow. If not, we will be in the stands in the morning. Good luck my friends…to all of us.”
__________________________________________________ _

At noon the following day, a warden entered the coenoby for the last time. “Auric’s Warband!” he called. “Impotent Rage! You are summoned!” The teams gathered their gear and followed the warden up the familiar hall to the lift chamber. Neither Khellek nor Auric even glanced at the opposing team. Once they reached the lift, both teams began their preparatory magics. Khellek and Auric both quaffed potions, and then Khellek created several mirror images of himself which moved about him in a confusing pattern. Pyro transformed Storm into a troll, at her request, to better increase her endurance for the coming battle. Both Shay and Havok faded from view, per their routine, and as usual, Pyro assumed mephit form.

The arena stands were filled almost to capacity as the two teams took their positions. At least ten-thousand strong, they roared their approval for the champions and the challengers. Talabir Welik took the podium, and that was when Havok noticed that Prendergast Brokengulf was not in his usual spot in the VIP box. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. More disturbing, Dwilt and Grubber were not visible either, yet it was a large arena. They could be anywhere.

“Welcome, one and all, to the final match of the Champion’s Games!” Welik shouted. “Without further preamble, I introduce to you our reigning champions Auric’s Warband and the Stoneworks!” Thunderous applause greeted the introduction, and a portcullis lifted directly behind Auric and Khellek, revealing three large stone statues of burly warriors. At a word from Khellek, all three lumbered forward, taking up positions in front of the wizard and Auric.

“Before I introduce their challengers,” Welik continued, “I must first announce that Dwilt Riddick and Colossus have been disqualified.” His proclamation was met with loud boos and jeers. “Yet here they are, the dark horse team from Daggerford, which has shocked and awed us with their prowess during these games! Impotent Rage!” It was difficult to say who received the greater accolades, the champions or their opponents. Anticipation surged through the Field of Triumph. “On my word!” Welik raised his hand, then dropped it, “Fight!”

Auric took flight, obviously enabled by one of the many potions he’d consumed. As he rose into the air, he tossed his shield away from him, where it hovered, following his every move. He drew his greatsword from its sheath, facing Impotent Rage. Khellek also took flight, conjuring up a shining shield of force before him as he soared. One by one, the members of Impotent Rage began fanning out, Hawk advancing to the fore. Ponderously, the three stone golems also began marching forward.
__________________________________________________ _

Standing before the Apostolic Scroll, Prendergast Brokengulf shook with barely contained fury. Bozal Zahol was dead. He had to be. That was the only explanation for his absence. The veteran gladiator had come seeking his erstwhile ally the previous night, to confirm the days plans, only to find him missing, with obvious signs of a massive struggle, and his alkilith pawn dead. It was them again. Always them! First, they had killed Theldrick, Bozal Zahol’s associate in Daggerford. Bozal had demanded their deaths for that affront, and so Prendergast had contacted the illithid Ilserv, and contracted with the creature to assassinate the interlopers, not knowing if they had any clue as to his own involvement with the Ebon Triad, but not willing to take any chances.

Prendergast had originally become involved with Zahol through his wife, Aridarye…that bitch! It was she who had seduced him into arranging the death of her first husband, Lord Urtos I, his friend. Then, when his own feelings of guilt and his advancing age spilled over into their bedchamber, she had introduced him to the fiendish priest, who spoke of secret rituals and potent prayers which, if offered to his mysterious god, could halt the aging process. Initially, when the priest could offer no proof of his claims, nor would he name his patron, Prendergast had him escorted from his villa, but not before Zahol had given him a magical token with which to contact him should he change his mind.

Exactly one year later, Prendergast did just that. He had discovered that the slut Aridarye was cheating on him with a young gladiator named Auric, exactly as she had cheated on her first husband with him. She had coldly informed Prendergast that he was no longer welcome in her bed, saying that he was too old to satisfy her, and had rejected her efforts to find a way to keep him young. Still consumed with guilt over his betrayal of Urtos, and now morbidly depressed over Aridarye’s rejection, he had convinced Zahol to return to Waterdeep. He spent many long hours with the priest, learning more about Kyuss and his dark promises. He began funneling money, at Zahol’s behest, back to the secret cell of the Ebon Triad in Daggerford. He and Zahol secretly plotted to prepare the ritual which would mark Prendergast as a favorite of Kyuss, so that he might escape death and decay. Such an unholy miracle required a massive sacrifice performed by one of the Apostles of Kyuss, the ‘blood of a champion,’ and the bones of a victim murdered by the would-be favorite of Kyuss. To meet the last requirement, Prendergast had the corpse of Urtos I stolen from House Phylund’s family tomb and gave it over to Zahol.

Unbelievably, Ilserv and his doppelgangers had failed to kill the upstarts from Daggerford, and Prendergast was convinced that they now knew of his involvement with the cult. Miraculously, they had signed up for the Games, undoubtedly to get closer to him, but it was he who would use the Games to destroy them…or so he had thought. They had defeated the premier team that he had sent against them…Pitchblade. They had killed Madtooth, which he had arranged for them to fight instead of Auric’s band, and now they had apparently murdered Bozal Zahol. They had not managed to undo the ritual though. He smiled grimly as he looked down at the still glowing scrolls. They were all against him. All of them! He knew the gladiators schemed and plotted, waiting eagerly for his demise so one of them could replace him as the younger, more handsome director of the Field of Triumph. Auric in particular wanted to take his place, and it was he who would suffer the most. It was his blood which would anoint the Apostle during the final match.

Brokengulf then raised the black rod he had procured and touched it to the energy field surrounding the scrolls. Instantly it vanished, and the scrolls dropped to the floor. “Now go,” he whispered. “Go to the champions you seek.”
__________________________________________________ _____

A rumble shook the arena. At first the crowd thought that some destructive magic had been conjured by one of the battling wizards, but then the center of the arena floor heaved, sending a geyser of dirt and rubble into the air.
“Destruction of the arena floor is not allowed!” Talabir Welik shouted. “That is a disqualifying offense!” The words had barely left his mouth, however, when the ulgurstasta appeared. It looked like a massive pale-yellow maggot. Twin rows of dozens of pulpy, rudimentary legs tipped with bony spurs lined its underbelly. Its head was studded with dozens of humanoid eyes, below which drooled a maw filled with hooked teeth. Millions of distended pores that continuously weeped a foul-smelling mucous covered its body. It radiated a cloying stink of rotting flowers and sour milk. Protruding from the pores were forty-foot long, hair-thin tendrils, which whipped about in a frenzy, lashing at the nearby members of Impotent Rage, as well as the stone golems.

The audience was shocked into stunned silence, not sure if this was part of the competition or not. At that moment, Havok appeared in the midst of the crowd. “Flee for your lives!” he shouted, and the moment broke. Screams of panic were deafening, and a mob scene of panic ensued.

Auric couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They had actually been telling the truth. All of it was true…and Brokengulf was behind it. For a moment, the face of Aridarye Brokengulf flashed in his mind, and he briefly wondered if his secret lover’s hand was involved in any of this. Then his focus returned, and he was once again what he had always been at his core…a warrior…a gladiator. Bellowing a war cry, he flew towards the behemoth in front of him, but he got no closer than twenty feet from it, when it’s massive maw snatched him from the air.

Pyro had already begun casting his spell when Auric charged, and he could not pull it back. With a massive concussion, a huge fireball erupted around both the ulgurstasta and Auric.

Shay was afraid. He had seen many bizarre and evil things in his short time with the League, had even faced death. But this…this was so far beyond his capabilities that he could not even fathom where to begin. Acting on pure instinct, he fired a single arrow at the monstrosity, and then ran for arena wall, which he nimbly scaled into the stands.

Khellek was horrified. Not only had those idiots been right, but now Auric was caught, and might be killed at any moment. Khellek was not a man who made friends easily. He belonged to an organization known as the Seekers, a less-than scrupulous group of archaeologists and adventurers who sought out knowledge regardless of the cost. He had initially joined up with Auric and Tirra simply because they suited his needs at the time, but now he honestly considered the man to be more than just a resource. Drawing a wand from his robes, he pointed it at the ulgurstasta and sent a pair of scorching beams of flame at it, simultaneously ordering his golems to attack without mercy.

Storm flew into the stands to join Havok. “Were you prepared for this?” she asked, indicating not only the ulgurstasta, but also the panicking crowd.
“No,” Havok answered honestly, “but what choice did we have? This is our hand, and we must play it till the end.” Raising his palm, he unleashed his magic at the great worm before him, only to see the beam vanish as soon as it struck the creature’s hide.

As one, the stone golems struck. Wading through the whipping tendrils as if they didn’t exist, the three constructs surged towards the ulgurstasta, hammering at its bloated body with their massive fists, sending great gouts of ichor splashing over them. The undead worm roared its rage, but instead of turning on the golems, it instead faced towards Hawk and Grim, with Shay standing just above them in the lower tier of the stands. It’s great body heaved in a lurching spasm, and from its maw spewed a vile cone of steaming, acidic stomach contents. Shay managed to leap backwards to safety at the last moment, but Grim and Hawk could not. As the horrid liquid touched their skin, it didn’t burn. Instead, a cold like the hand of death seeped into their pores, and they felt numbing weakness overcome them. Auric too was caught in the brunt of the blast, trapped as he was in the creature’s mouth. Instantly, his struggles ceased, and he went limp. Even more appalling than the stew which the ulgurstasta regurgitated, what appeared to be nine corpses also spilled to the ground around Hawk and Grim. However, no sooner had they hit the dirt, than they lurched to their feet. Seven of them were skeletal, with one of those draped in ragged, decaying noble garb, but the other two corpses were unquestionably Kyuss spawn, green worms spilling from their eye sockets and mouths.
Almost as an afterthought, the ulgurstasta dropped Auric at the feet of the spawn. Almost gently, each of them reached down to touch the gladiator’s exposed flesh, and where their hands met his skin, a black imprint was left behind.

Pyro hurled another fireball at the ulgurstasta, at the same time that Khellek unleashed another pair of scorching rays. Both spells simply dissipated upon contact with the brute.
Slowly peering over the wall behind which he hid, Shay’s eyes grew wider at the horror he was witnessing. Steeling his resolve, he knocked another pair of arrows and let fly.

Hawk was surrounded. Skeletal corpses ringed him, separating him from both Grim and Auric. Meanwhile, the ripping tendrils protruding from the ulgurstasta continued to lash at his skin. He needed to clear some room, and fast. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, sending out a mental summons into the ether. ‘Alice,’ he cried, ‘my need is great! Heed my call!’ Suddenly, a thunderous trumpeting filled the air, and materializing just beyond the ring of skeletons was an elephant of truly monstrous proportions…Big Alice. Knowing her master’s will instinctively, she lowered her head, leveling her massive tusks, and charged, trampling a pair of the skeletons under her tree-trunk feet, and batting one of the spawn aside like a rag-doll. With a gesture, holding forth his shield emblazoned with Torm’s symbol, Hawk cried out, “In Torm’s name, I destroy and rebuke thee!” The remaining skeletons crumbled to dust at his feet, while the second spawn quailed from him, turning and fleeing towards the opposite end of the arena.

The crowd surging around Havok and Storm was getting out of control. In moments they would be overwhelmed. Quickly, the warlock stepped between dimensions to a relatively clear spot, while the sorceress took to the air once more, conjuring an orb of concentrated acid in her hand and hurling it at the ulgurstasta, only to see it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s grotesque hide.

The golems continued to pound on the ulgurstasta, the damage they were inflicting obviously taking its toll. Ponderously, the behemoth turned on them, seizing one of them in its jaws and swallowing it whole. As soon as its attention was turned from him, Hawk charged forward, but the creature moved with the speed of a striking cobra. Whipping around, it lunged at the civilar, sinking its fangs into his chest and back, and lifting him bodily from the ground. As he screamed in agony, Alice looked up from where she has just finished impaling the spawn which had fled, unusual intelligence, and fear showing in her eyes.
“Hawk! No!” Havok cried, and summoning all his power to him, he loosed an awesome amount of energy at the ulgurstasta, blowing its bloated form into a hundred pieces.


----------



## gfunk

*Excerpts from the journal of Giovanni Vito, aka 'Havok'*

_*7th of Mirtul, 1373*_

_…With the destruction of the Apostle of Kyuss, the panic in the crowd began to fade away. Slowly, inexorably, that panic transformed into elation. Before long the throngs that had borne witness to my comrades’ great victory began roaring and shouting. “IMPOTENT RAGE! IMPOTENT RAGE! IMPOTENT RAGE!” The chant continued for several minutes before Talabir Welik was able to get the crowd under control. The old magister made his way down to the arena floor and gathered up all of the combatants, Khellek included. The coliseum patrons stared at the small congress in the center of the arena, quietly awaiting the judge’s announcement with impatient anticipation. You could have heard a pin drop in the sands at that moment.

Welik inquired as to what in the Nine Hells had just happened, and we obliged him with our knowledge of the creature, how it came to be here, and (most importantly) who was behind the monster’s summoning. At that point, the unimaginable happened. Khellek, previously so filled with arrogance and skepticism, told Welik that the crowd needed a champion to be named…and he relinquished any claim to such a title! Despite our promise to him the night before, the wizard demanded that Welik award us with the Champion’s Belt. Upon the announcement, the crowd exploded into a cacaphonic uproar. Pyro, in his air mephit form, grabbed the belt from Welik and flew around the arena with his fists pumping, whipping the crowd into an even deeper frenzy.

At this point, I couldn’t help but notice that two of my teammates were not enjoying the party…Grim and Hawk. The two of them leaned over the hole from which the giant maggot had erupted, peering into its incubation chamber thirty feet below. I will never forget the paladin’s cool determination and his confident words as he looked down.

“No one threatens my town and gets away with it.”

I teleported the three of us into the chambers below. It was our hope to find Prendergast and catch him red-handed, but in this we had no luck. The fiend had escaped. However, as far as I was concerned, not all was lost. As we passed through the doors into Bozal’s sanctuary, I was filled with glee when I saw the remnant Apostolic Scrolls laying on the floor of the chamber. The magic had been spent from the artifact, but I knew the lore contained within would be of immense value.

When the two warriors and I returned to the arena sands, the crowd was beginning to file out, making their way into the streets to proclaim the might of our intrepid little band. I was shocked to learn that Pyro and Shay had agreed to Khellek to pay for half of the cost to return Auric’s soul from Ysgard, and that they would see to it that Grubber perform the ritual himself. I would never have guessed the two of them to be philanthropists, but I guess that you can’t judge a book by its cover…or the first dozen chapters in Pyro’s case.

Sad news came to us later in the day. Grubber and Dwilt had returned from their Dagsumn’s tower, only to report that they had found the old sage and his wife murdered in their bed. Making matters even more gruesome, they had been decapitated and their heads stolen! This, I assume, was to prevent using divination magic to speak with the dead or possibly to prevent raising the dead. Shay quickly returned with Dwilt and Hawk to the scene of the crime. After a thorough search, the rogue had located a stack of letters and notes to be delivered to the group’s patron back in Daggerford. The first letter in the bundle seemed to have been written with an urgent hand, and demanded that Aundabar forward the information on to the two sage's old ‘master’. The letter's ending trailed off, as though the writing had been suddenly interrupted.

Most conspicuously, under Dagsumn’s bed Shay located a small silver pin. The pin was that of a stylized bastard sword, which he quickly recognized to be the symbol of Prendergast Brokengulf’s guard. While this may be a real clue, it seems to be all too convenient. I am skeptical of the validity and I believe that it could be an attempt at a set-up. I have been wrong before…

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

*9th of Mirtul, 1373*

Today, a formal parade and celebration were held in dedication of the Champion’s Belt winners. Not only did they award us with the belt and the finals prize money, but we were offered a position with the Grey Hand Enforcers themselves! While none of us accepted, it was still a thrill to be considered for such an honor. The Grey Hands command great respect and immense authority, but their duties and responsibilities to the city of Waterdeep are a bit too constricting for wandering souls such as ourselves.

At the same ceremony, we were also witness to the promotion of Civilar Hawk and Civilar Dwilt, both to the rank of Senior Civilar. When the Senior epaulettes were placed on Hawk’s shoulders, the aasimar beamed with pride. For so long, this paladin of Helm had waited for such a moment. This pride however, was not shared with Civilar Dwilt. We learned later in the evening that after the ceremony Dwilt not only rejected the promotion, but he turned in his tabard and resigned from his post. Simply, the man explained to us that the City Guard had become too corrupt, and he had no desire to continue in the charade. Hawk understood and genuinely respected Dwilt’s decision, but the aasimar was not about to give up hope in the institution to which he had already given so much.

Speaking with Talabir Welik at the ceremony, we learned what we had already had feared: Prendergast Brokengulf is missing, and no one in the city has been able to locate him. Considering the vast conventional, not to mention magical, resources available to the local magisters, I truly find that hard to believe. There just might be something to Dwilt’s accusations. Either they are hiding him, or they are conveniently letting him get away.

Upon breaking for the evening, I returned to my room and continued in my study of the Apostolic Scrolls. The lore contained within was amazing. Absolutely insane and terrifying, but amazing none the less. The scrolls, written in dark Abyssal, contain a long and complex litany filled with horrific annelidic imagery and descriptions. It was in this reading that I have come to understand the meaning of the Age of Worms, and I am more frightened of the possibilities more than ever before…

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

*12th of Mirtul, 1373*

I write this entry in the middle of the night. Since reading the Apostolic Scrolls, I have found that my nightmares have been increasing in their intensity. More than once I have awoken screaming, trying to shake off hundreds of imaginary worms. Once, I almost released a burst of eldritch power in my sleep, but I awoke in just enough time to control it. The disturbance has gotten so bad that other patrons have been complaining and the innkeeper has threatened to throw me out on the street if it persists. That...is the least of my concerns. What could this mean? I have always believed that my dreams were in some way linked to my dark magic, but is it possible that my powers are somehow linked with the coming Age of Worms? Am I some kind of unwilling thrall to Kyuss?

Whatever the case, I believe that it is not happenstance that I have encountered these adventurers and their ever-expanding quest. Tymora has guided me here and I must follow this path if I am to learn the truth, regardless of how dangerous that path may be. Once they have completed spending their hard-earned prize money on new equipment, my former teammates are planning to leave Waterdeep to return to Daggerford so that they might take counsel from their patron Aundabar. Maybe they won’t mind if I tag along. I think that I have proven myself somewhat useful to them, so it’s possible that they won’t question my motives. Besides, they might be the only people on the Sword Coast that I actually trust…_


----------



## gfunk

YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN

Daggerford. The members of the League stood on a bluff overlooking the walled town with mixed emotions. For Grubber, Shay, Vladius and Grim it was a homecoming of sorts, albeit a bitter-sweet one. When they had left the village weeks ago (which now seemed like years), they had thought themselves wise, experienced. They had been taught the depths of their naïveté with a vengeance. Smoldering vendettas against the likes of Balabar Smenk now seemed petty and juvenile. The man was a light weight. Gideon had been with them then as well. He dreamed of going to Waterdeep and seeing all that the City of Splendors had to offer, perhaps to return a hero and make his father proud. Now, he would never return at all.

For Hawk and Storm, the town brought back painful memories. The short experience they had with the denizens of Daggerford was one of captivity, torture, and degradation. To Hawk, it was a matter of honor that he return and set things right, but for Storm, the town was no better than Menzoberranzan, with its cut-throat politics and back-stabbing, hollow promises.

Dwilt and Giovanni had no knowledge of the town, save what their companions had told them. Their expectations had not been high, and they were not disappointed. Dwilt knew that Hawk wanted to take on the corruption and put the garrison firmly in charge, but the former civilar was certain that their purpose was higher. Daggerford was insignificant…a means to an end, and he wouldn’t look back once he’d wiped its mud off his boots.

“Something’s wrong,” Vladius said as they surveyed the landscape.
“How can you tell?” Dwilt asked. “The whole place reeks like an open sewer.”
“Yeah, but this sewer was my home,” Vladius replied, “and I know its layout like the back of my hand. Something’s…missing.”
Grubber nodded, his eyes widening, “The Emporium! It’s gone!”
Vladius’ eyes fixed on the spot the goliath indicated, and then quickly scanned the area around it. “That’s not all,” he said quietly. “Ondabar’s tower is gone as well.”
__________________________________________________

As the group rode into town, every eye noted their passing, some with fear, others with hope, and still others with contempt and loathing. The adventurers paid them no heed. Their attention was fixed firmly ahead, on the town square and the scene of devastation there. Zalamandra’s Emporium, once a fixture of Daggerford’s night-life and home to every sort of vice imaginable, as well as the region’s most amazing display of side-show freaks and entertainers, was simply not there. It had been completely leveled into a pile of unrecognizable rubble. In fact, every building along that side of the town square was either partially crushed or in some instances, melted. Sections of the ground were scarred and barren, including a large black swath in the middle of the square. Of Delfen Ondabar’s tower, not one stone was intact.

“What happened here?” Grubber wondered aloud as he surveyed the devastation.
“I don’t know,” Dwilt said, “but I think we’re about to find out.” He nodded his head towards a group of soldiers, wearing tabards bearing the insignia of the Waterdhavian guard, who were approaching the team from the far side of the square. As the soldiers approached, several of them showed startled recognition as they saw the faces of Grubber, Shay, Vladius and Grim. Then, their eyes widened even more as they noted the badge of office worn by Senior Civilar Hawk.
“Sir!” the ranking non-com said, saluting smartly. The other soldiers stumbled in their attempt to follow suit.
“Who’s in charge here soldier?” Hawk snapped.
“Sir…er…” the man stammered, “that would be you, sir.”
“Where is Civilar Spearslayer?” Hawk demanded.
“Dead sir,” the soldier replied. “Killed in the attack. We thought you were her replacement.”
“Attack?” Hawk asked. “What attack? What’s your name, armsman? Tell me exactly what happened here, from the beginning.”
“Sir, my name is Pyle, sir!” the soldier came to attention, saluting again. “Three days ago, sir, the town was attacked…by a dragon. It was a monstrous, black devil, thirty-foot long if it was an inch! The first thing it did was blast the wizard’s tower, then it moved on from there. Once it reached the square, it started snatching up the wounded, threatening to kill them all if we didn’t tell it where Master Ondabar was. It’d killed at least a dozen by the time Civilar Spearslayer arrived with a squad, accompanied by High Justice Valkus Dun. The dragon barely gave them notice, sir. It just burned the skin from their bones where they stood with its breath. Acid it was, green and noisome.”
Grubber blanched at the news of Dun’s death, but perhaps it was a blessing, saving the old man from grief at the news of Gideon’s death.
“Why was it looking for Ondabar?” Hawk asked.
“No one knows sir,” Pyle answered. “But we had to tell it where to find him, sir. We didn’t have no choice! It was gonna level the whole town!”
“Calm down, soldier,” Hawk ordered. “So you’re saying Ondabar wasn’t here during the attack? Where was he?”
“That old tomb, sir,” Pyle said. “The one your friends there found.”
“The Whispering Cairn?” Vladius asked. “What was he doing up there?”
“Don’t know that either,” said Pyle, “but it was pretty common knowledge that he’d been spending a lot of time up their lately. Sir…” he asked cautiously, “are you going after it? The dragon I mean?”
“It would appear that way, son,” Hawk sighed. “Until I return, you’re in command, Civilar Pyle.”
“Yes sir!” Pyle clicked his heels together and snapped off another salute. Vladius shook his head. Better to leave Smenk in charge.
__________________________________________________ __

“It has to be Ilthane,” Hawk said as the group made their way along the winding trail leading up into the Forlorn Hills. “What other black dragon do we know?”
“But why would she be after Ondabar?” Grubber asked. “He wasn’t with us when we invaded the Red Eye tribe.”
“Quite possibly she traced our connection back to him,” Hawk said. “Wouldn’t be a very hard trail to follow. After all, someone killed Dagsumn when they found out about his ties to us. Being associated with us doesn’t seem to be the healthiest thing at the moment.”

The team passed the burned-out remains of an old mine office, and Vladius called a brief halt.
“Used to be our old hide-out,” he said, nodding to the ruins. “That is until old Smenk decided we were too much of a liability and decided he didn’t want any loose ends around. Anyway, the Whispering Cairn just about a mile or so ahead. We’d better prepare ourselves.”
The others nodded their agreement, and set about their preparations. Knowing what he did about the nature of black dragons, Grubber thought it wise to use his prayers to grant the entire team some degree of protection from acid. Vladius, meanwhile, polymorphed himself into an avoral, a bird-like outsider capable of flight. Once they were all ready, they continued on.

The entrance to the Whispering Cairn was just like those who had been there before remembered it, a wide, monolith-lined portal partially obscured by underbrush and boulders, although much of the underbrush appeared to have been recently burned away. Cautiously, they dismounted and approached the opening, eyes peeled and ears tuned for any sign of Ilthane.
__________________________________________________ _______________

Ilthane watched the approach of the newcomers with interest. After three days of waiting for the wizard to emerge from his bolt-hole, she was growing bored. When her contacts in Starmantle had informed her of the demise of the Ebon Triad cult in Daggerford, and asked her to track down those responsible and their mentor Ondabar, she had jumped at the chance. In fact, she had already planned on dealing with the interlopers for interfering with her plans for the Red Eye tribe. The gold and magic promised to her by the Triad agents were almost an afterthought.

She had had little trouble in ‘convincing’ the people of Daggerford to tell her of Ondabar’s whereabouts. It was her intention to deal with the wizard first, and then move on to his underlings. She had come to this tomb and lay in wait for him at nightfall, ambushing him when he’d emerged. She had managed to gravely injure him, but the wily mage had escaped at the last back inside the cairn, and now she’d been forced to wait here for him to come back out, which he would surely have to do or starve to death.

Yet now, it appeared that her wait was to be interrupted by a pleasant diversion. How convenient for Ondabar’s lackeys to simply present themselves to her, for who else would come to this desolate place in such force, if not the wizard’s friends seeking to rescue their mentor?
__________________________________________________

A low rush of wind was the only warning the League had of the dragon’s approach. From behind a low, wooded hill she swept in, opening her mouth and spewing forth a noxious, green stream of liquid, engulfing Grim, Storm and Havok in the blast. The dragon grinned evilly, anticipating seeing three steaming pools of goo when the air cleared. Her expression rapidly turned to one of confusion, and then anger when she instead saw her quarry still standing, and relatively unscathed. “Dragotha take you!” she screamed, “The wizard is mine!”

Havok didn’t waste time trading threats with the dragon. He’d been waiting for her to show herself, and now he unleashed the full fury of his eldritch blast. Ilthane shrieked as the mystical energy scorched her hide, leaving great, raw rents in her flesh. Before she could react, however, the air around her erupted with more magic, first in a roaring ball of fire, and then in a sizzling sphere of electricity.

Right on the heels of the attacks by Havok, Pyro and Storm, Hawk and Grim charged the dragon head-on, Hawk nimbly avoiding her snapping jaws as he closed in. As she coiled her neck for another strike, the civilar drove his sword into her throat, willing its holy power to surge through its blade.

With horrifying quickness, Ilthane found herself on the defensive…and losing. Two warriors now flanked her, while the accursed spell-weavers thought themselves safely at distance where they could strike at her at their leisure. She would have to dissuade them of that illusion. Leaping into the air like a cat, she soared over the heads of the warriors, landing between Storm and Havok. The drow quickly began to retreat, but Ilthane struck at her like a cobra, her razor-sharp teeth opening ghastly tears in the sorceress’ back. The dragon then turned towards Havok, meaning to take out both of the arcanists simultaneously, but as her gaze fell on the warlock, she knew she’d been a split-second too late. His hand glowed with crackling green energy, and he leveled it at her point-blank. The last thing Ilthane saw in this life was the image of crawling worms.
__________________________________________________ ________

Giovanni stood over the fallen dragon, many thoughts going through his mind. Foremost was the name she had called out…Dragotha. He’d come across that name in his reading of the Apostolic Scrolls. Dragotha had been the general of Kyuss’ armies, and he’d also been a dragon…an undead dragon. Second to that thought, but no less important, was the fact that when he’d dealt the killing blow to the dragon, his energy blast was not the red he was accustomed to, but deep, emerald green…
__________________________________________________ _

The entrance to the Whispering Cairn was much as Grim, Grubber, Vladius and Shay remembered it. Natural light dimly illuminated a long hallway extending north into darkness. A faint breeze brought with it sibilant whispers that sounded almost like sighing breath.
The walls bore horizontal bands of deceptively simple geometric patterns at waist level. In places, the bands revealed startling detail, but in others the walls looked as though they had been hacked apart with weapons, or eroded by the rigors of time. Flakes of ancient paint, brilliant purple and a dull mustard hue, still clung to the walls in places, hinting at what must once have been a riot of color. A thin coat of dust coated the floor.
Just inside the darkened tomb, the hallway branched into shallow alcoves to the east and west. Here, the walls bore the most significant damage. Dozens of clumsy etchings marred the beautiful, ancient masonry like graffiti on a city wall.

One thing had definitely changed though. When the original League had come here, a branching passage to the east had been completely blocked off by an apparent collapse. Now, however, the passage stood open, its walls scarred and dented. At the end of the tunnel stood a glossy black surface with a raised sphere in the center, like the boss in the center of a shield. The surface resembled a heavily lacquered door.

“That certainly wasn’t here before,” Vladius said, now once more in his more familiar mephit form.
“It’s a portal,” Giovanni stated. “A conduit linking one place to another.”
“It’s evil,” Hawk said flatly. “I can sense it. Strong…it reeks of it.”
“Do you think Ondabar went through there?” Grubber asked dubiously. “Shouldn’t we check the other parts of the tomb first?”
“We’ve seen everything in this place, top to bottom,” Vladius said, “and Delfen did too, once we told him about it. Plus, Ironeater’s miners have been here removing all of those iron balls. This is the only thing that’s new. It has to be where he went.”
“It’s decided then,” Dwilt said. “It’s as likely a place to start as any.”

The group arranged themselves behind Grim, who approached the glistening black portal with trepidation. Reaching out one hand to touch the surface, he found that is was viscous rather than solid, like mud. Drawing his hand back out, he found it clean and unharmed.
“Well,” he shrugged, “no better way to find out than to just get to it.” The dwarf then stepped forward, his body slowly submerging into the substance of the portal. To his team mates behind him, it appeared as if Grim was stepping through quicksand. Half his body was already through, yet it seem a slow transit. To Grim, however, it was something else entirely. As his face broke the surface of the portal, he found himself looking into a twilit nothingness…but he was not alone. Standing directly before him, blocking any further progress, was an emaciated creature, with glowing red eyes, and a lolling, barbed tongue. Wicked, filthy claws tipped its fingers and toes, and it reeked of death and decay. Before Grim could fully register what he was seeing, the thing launched itself at him.

The other members of the League saw Grim suddenly begin to thrash and flail, still half-in and half-out of the portal.
“He’s under attack!” Havok shouted, and blindly he fired a blast of eldritch heat into the blackness that surrounded the dwarf. Hawk rushed to the dwarf’s side, struggling to pull his friend free of the black morass. At that moment, what appeared to be claws made of pure darkness reached out of the conduit, and slashed the civilar, raking his throat and sending a great gout of blood spraying the corridor wall. Staggering back, he collapsed against Grubber, blood still poring out of him. Trying to remain calm, Grubber closed his hands over the wound and began a quick prayer. As energy flowed from him into the civilar, the arterial spray slowed and died, the wound closing, but leaving an ugly scar behind.

Pyro needed a clear target. Closing his eyes and touching them with the tips of two fingers, he began chanting a spell. When he had finished, and opened his eyes, the portal seemed as clear as glass. The Blindsight allowed him to see what was hidden, and now he could make out the ghoulish creature with which Grim struggled. Suddenly, the creature grabbed the dwarf in a bear-hug embrace, and began raking at his stony hide with its claws.
“Havok, I see it!” Pyro cried. Before the warlock could protest, the wizard pressed both of his thumbs into Havok’s eyes, and uttered his spell again. Instantly, Havok saw what Grim and Pyro saw. Without hesitation, he fired a second eldritch blast at the monster, just as Grim flexed his prodigious biceps and broke free of the ghoul’s hold.
“Dwilt,” Havok shouted, “aim low. It’s right in front of Grim. Trip it!” The paladin didn’t doubt what his team mate was telling him. He whipped his chain forward into the darkness and felt it connect with something solid. He pulled mightily, felt a momentary resistance, and then the chain went slack.

Grim grinned with satisfaction as the creature sprawled on its back in front of him. Instantly, it tried to rise, but the mineral warrior hooked his axe behind its ankles, and sent it tumbling to the ground once more. Snarling, the fiend began reaching for his legs, trying to bring him to the ground with it. The dwarf jabbed the top of his axe at its face, rocking its head back, and pushing it momentarily away from him. Still the thing would not relent. It sprang to its feet, but this time when Grim tried to trip it, the creature instead snatched the shaft of his axe and pulled it towards him. Momentarily, the dwarf was off balance, and the ghoul kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first to the ground before it. In an instant it was on him, wrapping its arms around him from behind, and digging in its claws and teeth.

Pyro saw it all. Grim was in trouble. He needed an edge. The mephit/mage quickly darted towards the prone legs of the dwarf, and reached out to touch him, mouthing the words to another spell all the while. In a flash, the dwarf transformed. Now, lying on the ground was no longer the mineral warrior, but instead the massive form of a troll!

“Hah!” Grim shouted. “Now we’ll see who can wrestle!” Dropping his axe, he rolled to his back and brought his own claws to bear, tearing into the fiend’s flesh as it continued to flail at him.

“Now for my next trick,” Pyro said. Another spell left his lips, and at its completion, the troll/Grim became covered in a thick layer of grease. Within the portal, Grim slipped free of his opponent, reversing its grip and pulling it to the ground with him. The pair rolled about in a whirling ball of teeth and claws, ripping and tearing at one another with savage ferocity. Finally, with a shriek of rage, the ghoul broke free from Grim’s grasp and surged to its feet, standing over the prone dwarf. As it raised its claws to rend its prey again, a bolt of green energy speared it through the heart, and it dissolved into nothingness with a final, wailing cry.


----------



## gfunk

AVENGERS DISASSEMBLED

As Grubber tended Grim’s wounds, Dwilt stepped to the portal, and then turned back to his team mates. “I’ll go first this time. Each of you follow me as quickly as possible. There’s no telling what’s on the other side of this thing.”

The former civilar then stepped into the black morass and disappeared. Upon emerging on the other side, Dwilt found himself in a sharply sloped hallway filled with rushing, screaming wind and smoke. Small, hollow projections lining the walls seemed to be making the noise, but it was obvious that air inside the passage was being pushed out at an unusual rate. Dwilt could not hear a thing over the howling wind, and the tiny particles of grit being blown into his eyes severely limited his visibility. Suddenly, a mass of darks smoke moved against the wind, shifting shape as it came closer. Cloudlike, roiling, it abruptly exploded into a demonic creature of smoke and wind, with large, bat wings, clawed tendrils, and a biting maw. Dwilt reeled back against a nearby wall as the thing slashed at him, swinging his chain blindly to ward off the fiend.

Just then, the portal began to ripple as Grim stepped through. No sooner had the dwarf completed the transition, than a second smoke demon appeared, catching the mineral warrior off-guard and putting him immediately on the defensive. Dwilt and Grim hacked and struck wildly at the creatures, the momentum of their melee carrying them further down the hall. The portal shimmered again, and Grubber appeared, only to be immediately assaulted by a third creature.

One by one the members of the League continued to cross over via the portal, oblivious to the life-or-death struggle their comrades waged on the other side. Each in turn was attacked as soon as they stepped free of the portal. Only Storm and Shay still remained in the Whispering Cairn, and at least ten of the hideous creatures now swarmed about the others. At one point Pyro found himself caught between two of the fiends…belkers he thought, evil creatures native to the Plane of Air. From what little he knew of them, they were reclusive by nature, having little interest in the affairs of others. He could not imagine what so many were doing in a single place. Perhaps the Wind Dukes used them as tomb guardians? Whatever the case, they certainly were not about to be reasoned with. To make matters worse, as Pyro prepared to bring his magic to bear against them, he found the words to his spells ripped from his lips by the scathing winds. Still in mephit form, he struggled to put some distance between himself and his attackers, but they were too fast. The wizard knew that if he didn’t think of something quickly, he was not going to last long. Finally, concentrating with all his will, he managed to scream out one arcane word, and vanished as the Teleportation spell took him. Only at the last moment did he even consider that he didn’t actually know how far away the Whispering Cairn was. Though it seemed like the portal had only transported them a few feet from their prior position, Pyro knew the distance was probably vast. His spell was only capable of transporting him nine-hundred miles. If the cairn was further than that, this was going to be a one-way trip.

Shay waited impatiently as Storm finally stepped through the portal. It was about time. He was sick of waiting, and eager to get out of the creepy tomb. However, just as he was reaching out to enter the portal himself, a very familiar looking mephit appeared out of thin air behind him, looking battered and bloody.
“Stop!” Pyro wheezed. “We’re under attack on the other side. I barely escaped with my life.”
“Where are the others?” Shay asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Still there,” Pyro said, “fighting off a swarm of elementals.”
“But not you,” Shay said accusingly. “Here you are, safe and sound, while our friends may be dieing as we speak.” The rogue shook his head in disgust, and then turned towards the portal again. “And they call me craven.”

Just as Pyro had warned, battle raged around Shay as he passed through the conduit. Immediately to his right, Storm was being assailed by a large, demonic looking creature. The others seemed to be holding their own, and several of the monsters lay unmoving on the floor of the passage. Shay immediately drew his rapier, and began stabbing at Storm’s attacker. As the belker turned towards its new opponent, Storm did the only thing she could, since she could not focus enough to cast her spells. She drew out her crossbow, loaded it, and began firing.

The melee dragged on for several long minutes, but ultimately, the belkers were killed to a creature, and the League members took a moment to catch their breath and regroup. Storm was the most badly wounded, and Hawk laid his hands gently on her injuries, holy energy flowing from him and healing the worst of her hurts. After a few moments, a much hailer-looking Pyro poked his head back through the portal.
“All clear?” the mephit shouted into the howling wind. Abruptly, his words were choked off as Grim seized him by the throat and yanked him through.
__________________________________________________ ______

The wind-filled passageway ended after about fifty feet, and the chamber beyond it was blissfully quiet. The tall room looked like some sort of temple. Carved stone pillars reached up to the ceiling in elegant lines, but strange clusters of spikes stuck up from the floor in two distinct areas, like barricades. Near sets of doors to the north, south and east stood carved stone images of tall, elongated humanoid forms. A series of small openings, each about one inch in diameter, festooned the walls between these forms. Beneath the openings were small basins, each about the size of an apple. Strange undulations made the doors and nearby walls seem more like a curtain than a level surface. Twisting runes wound over the walls. The floor was carved with channels, as if to transport water, but nothing now flowed there.

Cautiously, Shay held up one hand, motioning for the others to wait. He had a feeling for these sorts of things, and at that moment, it was warning him of danger. Slowly, he stepped into the temple, looking warily at the spiky barricade to his right. Kneeling down in front of it, he began running his fingers lightly over the flagstones. Ah…there it was, just as he suspected…a pressure sensitive stone. Unfortunately, even the minute amount of pressure he had placed on it by touching it caused the trigger to depress. Instantly, a blast of hurricane-like wind struck the rogue, hurling him against the barbed spikes of the barrier, ripping a hundred tiny gashes into his skin. Just as quickly as it started, the wind vanished, and Shay dropped painfully to the floor.
“Watch your step here,” he moaned. “It’s a trap.”

Grubber tended Shay’s wounds, and the rogue resolved to venture into the chamber a second time, only this time, Grim accompanied him, ready to seize the skinny human and drag him out of harm’s way if necessary. Slowly, the pair made their way around the perimeter of the large hall. Shay found two more pressure plates on opposite sides of the second barricade, but managed to avoid triggering both, though it was beyond even his skill to disarm the traps. Before each set of doors in the room was another trap of sorts. When triggered (as Shay found out unintentionally), the small basins lining the walls near the door would generate a plume of white fog-like vapor, which would then run up along and meld with the bas-relief carvings on the wall, generating a fluid image. The first one was of a regal-appearing Wind Duke engaged in battle against multiple creatures of chaos. Unfortunately, the vapors themselves were poisonous. Shay managed to avoid their effects by Grim’s timely intervention. The dwarf’s own sturdy constitution seemed to render him immune to the gas. Two other images were displayed around the other doors: one of the same Wind Duke forming some sort of alliance with a large, armored behemoth, and the other of the Wind Duke holding a large square seal in one hand, and a long rod or staff in the other, as if displaying them to the viewer.

Shay informed the rest of his team mates where it was safe to walk within the chamber, and they crossed to the doors directly across from them, in the east wall. Beyond was a short passage terminating at another set of double-doors, with identical sets in the walls to the right and left. The eastern and southern doors proved to be false, opening only onto blank walls. On the other side of the northern doors, however, was a long hall containing twin sets of pillars leading to another set of double doors at the far end. The columns were made of marble blocks shaped like drums. Not all of them had aged quite the same, and their colors ranged from gray to white to tan.

Vladius, Giovanni and Storm remained in the temple chamber while the others stood in the hall outside the columned chamber. Once again, Grim and Shay were elected to scout ahead, with Grim walking down the right hand side of the hall, and Shay taking the left. No sooner had the mineral warrior stepped into the room, than a rumbling sounded from the pillar next to him, and the entire structure collapsed towards him. Grim quickly raised his tower shield above his head, deflecting most of the falling rubble. Across the room, he heard another of the pillars collapse and saw Shay duck and roll deftly out of the way of the debris.
“This whole place is a death trap,” the dwarf muttered as he brushed dust off his armor.

“Everything ok down there?” Pyro called as he peered down the darkened corridor.
“Just Shay and Grim having a little fun!” Dwilt answered.
“That’s exactly the reason I stay back here, where it’s safe,” the wizard said quietly to Storm and Havok.
At that moment, a flicker of movement caught the corner of Pyro’s vision. As he turned towards it, he saw of mass of shadows directly behind him seem to roil and churn of their own volition. Materializing out of the darkness was one of the biggest spiders he’d ever seen! Before the wizard could do more than gasp, the huge arachnid had seized him in one of its fore claws.

Grubber and Dwilt turned towards the sounds of the shouting coming from the temple chamber.
“Time to stop fooling around in there,” he barked at Shay and Grim, who had just extricated himself from yet another rubble pile of a collapsed column. “We’ve got company!”
The two then charged back towards their comrades, Grubber in the lead. When the goliath saw the spider, he didn’t even break stride, instead raising his hammer, and lunging ahead. At the last moment, the spider scuttled to one side with amazing agility, and Grubber’s maul struck only stone. For his part, Dwilt had the insane idea that he might be able to trip the arachnid. Whirling his chain above his head, he snapped it around one of the spider’s legs, and pulled with all his might. He might as well have been trying to pull a Tarasque. The spider pulled back, almost gently, yet Dwilt was yanked off his feet, falling prone at the monster’s feet.

Storm quickly moved away from the spider’s impressive reach. Pragmatic she may have been, but never cowardly. Chanting as she moved, she conjured a viscous orb of green acid in her hand, and hurled it at the arachnid. The creature shrieked as the caustic fluid ate into its carapace.

Havok knew that if he did not act, Pyro was as good as dead. Grim and Hawk were on the way, but they wouldn’t make it in time if the spider simply decided to decapitate the wizard. In desperation, the warlock darted forward and grabbed Pyro’s flailing hand. Closing his eyes, he pictured the hallway outside the columned room, and when he opened them again, he and the mage stood side by side, safely away from the melee.
“Seems I might owe you one,” Pyro rasped.
“One?” Havok laughed, “You apparently haven’t been keeping count. We’ll discuss my retainer later.”

By this time, Grim and Hawk had reached the chamber, and both of them immediately rushed the spider. However, as Hawk got within reach, he was abruptly snatched into the air by a massive claw. Grim kept going, brutally ripping at the monster’s hide with his axe. The spider hissed and spat, dropping Hawk to the floor as it backed away from its attacker. The civilar rolled to his feet, and he and the dwarf closed the distance with the arachnid, pressing their advantage. Abruptly, darkness swirled around the beast, and as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.

Dwilt climbed painfully to his feet. “If your friend Ondabar came through here,” he said to Vladius, “he must be an archmage. I fear we may not like what we find when we finally discover his location.”

The doors at the opposite end of the columned hall were another dead-end, as was the northern door in the temple chamber. The southern door, however, led to a long hallway, which bisected another about thirty feet down. The intersection was lit by six flickering orange and yellow lanterns, which floated around a central statue of grey stone. The statue depicted an androgynous Wind Duke wearing robes that seemed to be stirred by a breeze. The figure may have been a symbol of justice or war, for it held a glittering sword outstretched in one hand and carried a balance in the other.

Once more, the team had formed up behind Grim, and he began leading the way down the corridor. He had gone no more than ten paces, when a deafening burst of sound swept through the passage.
__________________________________________________ ____________

Antyress Redpike, the Earl of Coalchester, was bored…bored beyond imagining. He had spent nearly a century in this room, staring at the same four walls with nothing to do for entertainment, and no one to talk to save for Smoughed and Scrisped, who were not the best conversationalists. The salamander’s clan had been bound by ancient elemental vows ages ago to serve the Wind Dukes as tomb guardians, and Antyress’ tenure was only half over. Bored, he thought again. Bored, bored, bored. That was when he heard the triggering of the Dictum.
“The Word of Law,” he said almost in disbelief. How long had it been since tomb raiders had actually entered this place? Certainly not during his time here. Well, well, he thought gleefully, clapping his hands, a diversion after all!
“Smoughed, Scrisped,” he said to the towering elementals. “Go and greet our guests. Tell them I would like to speak with them.”
__________________________________________________ _____

Grim, Shay, Dwilt, Grubber, and Vladius were still reeling from the effects of the Dictum. The spell had rendered them all deaf, and slowed their reaction time to the point where it was an effort just to move. At that moment, a towering, walking column of flame appeared at the intersection, peering around the corner at the League. Storm, still in the temple room, saw it first, recognized the fire elemental for what it was. Thinking quickly, she created a storm of ice and sleet around the creature, and its hide began to hiss and steam where the hail stones struck it.

Hawk had not been affected by the Dictum, and he wasted no time in moving past his afflicted friends, straight towards the elemental while it was distracted by the ice storm. Unsure if mere weapons of steel would affect such a creature, he nevertheless plunged his sword into the flaming behemoth, unleashing a surge of electricity through the blade as he did so. To his surprise and satisfaction, the elemental reeled and roared in pain.

Grubber, though deaf, was not affected by the slowing effect of the Dictum, due to his Grumbar-granted power to always move unhindered as long as his feet touched the earth. Rushing to Hawk’s aid, he suddenly found himself flat on his back as his feet slipped on a slick spot on the floor. As he struggled to regain his feet, the elemental smashed one of its tree-trunk sized arms down upon him. When the flaming appendage struck him, the goliath was horrified to see that his clothes caught fire!
__________________________________________________ ______

This was no good, Redpike hissed in frustration. He had wanted to talk with these intruders, toy with them a bit before it came to blows. Ah, but with these adventurer types it was always sword first, words later. So be it then. “Kill them all,” he ordered the elementals in their native tongue. Then acting on his own instructions, he summoned a small, flaming ball into his right hand, and tossed it into the intersection.
__________________________________________________ ______

The fireball erupted like an inferno around Hawk, Grubber and Grim, scorching their skin and hair. Havok, seeing the danger his friends were in, sent a pulsating green blast of eldritch energy at the fire elemental, momentarily turning its flaming form from crimson to emerald.

Just then, a second fire elemental appeared in the hallway, stepping past its cohort and blocking off the other side of the intersection. Hawk swung at the creature as it passed, but it countered with a hammer-blow of its own, setting the civilar’s cloak and tabard aflame.

Pyro cursed the luck they were having. Not only did they have to face not one, but two huge fire elementals, but they had to do it deafened and with their main fighting force crippled. Quickly, the wizard began calling to mind the words of a spell, but he found that in his deafened state, he had trouble correctly pronouncing the delicate inflections. Luckily, he was close enough, and the Force Ball he lobbed into the intersection erupted with very satisfying results as the first elemental went down.

Grubber attempted to regain his feet once again, but again he was struck, this time by the second elemental. As the goliath collapsed to the floor this time, he did not rise again. Grim glanced over at his friend and saw his chest moving. The priest yet lived…for the moment. However, as a second fireball engulfed the hallway, it was clear to the mineral warrior that his friend was beyond any hope of aid.

Havok couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Grubber was down, probably dead. Grim and Dwilt were all but incapacitated. Whoever was controlling the elementals had them right where he wanted them. Once more the warlock unleashed his eldritch fire. Behind him, Storm lobbed a crackling sphere of electricity. Both energies struck the elemental simultaneously, sending green lightning cascading through its body.

The elemental thrashed and swatted at the fire which surged through it. Enraged, it lashed out at Hawk. The civilar batted aside its first blow, but on the next strike, the behemoth seized him in a powerful fiery grip, lifting him bodily from the floor. In vain Hawk struggled to break free of the grapple, all the while with Grim hammering at the elemental from below. Suddenly, another blast of green fire blasted a hole through the elemental’s head, and it collapsed to the floor in a smoldering pile of ash.

“See to those burns,” Grim said to the civilar as he stumbled past, still deaf and disoriented, but committed to confronting the master of the elementals. As he rounded the corner, he saw his foe. The being had a muscular humanoid upper body with a hawkish face. Its lower body, however, was serpentine from the waist down and was covered in red and black scales. Flame-shaped spines sprouted from its back, arms and head, and a glowing, red-hot iron spear was gripped in its hands.
“You must flee,” the creature said. “I am the Earl of Coalchester, and I am compelled by foul magic to kill you. Leave now and I shall not follow. I can’t be held responsible for what might happen should you stay.”
“You want to see compelled,” Pyro snapped as he flitted to a position just above Grim’s shoulder. “Watch me compel you to turn into a cockroach!” As the wizard hurled the magic towards the salamander, Redpike actually flinched, but as the spell passed harmlessly around him, he grinned even broader.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he smirked. With a casual wave of his hand, the Earl of Coalchester conjured up a roaring wall of red flames catching Shay, Grim and Havok directly in its eruption. Dwilt, Storm and Hawk were caught on the other side of the fire wall, but the heat from it still scalded them, even from a distance twenty feet away.
“Two can play that game!” Pyro snarled, and flapping back several feet from the wall, he sent a helical cone of ice through the flames, where it snuffed out a large hole in the wall, and continued on to strike the salamander. Redpike howled as the ice burned his sensitive skin like the fire he wielded.

Enraged, the Earl slithered out of his chambers and into the hall, closing rapidly on the tomb robbers. Before Pyro could fly to the ceiling and out of harm’s way, the massive spear wielded by the salamander pierced him through the abdomen. In desperation, the mephit/wizard conjured a grease spell on the longspear, hoping to make the elemental lose his grip. Redpike merely laughed however, then lunged forward with his pike, impaling Pyro against the wall. When he withdrew the spear from the mage’s limp form, Pyro slid bonelessly to the floor, assuming his natural form as he went.

Suddenly, a length of spiked chain wrapped around Redpike’s spear shaft, and jerked at it, trying to rip it from his grasp. The salamander cursed, pulling the weapon back into his grip. Dwilt’s eyes went wide as the spear head rushed towards him, piercing him three times in the chest. Then everything went dark as a vicious slap from Redpike’s tail sent the paladin to the ground.

Hawk’s eyes went as cold as death. Shield up, and sword in hand he stalked towards the Earl. Redpike’s grinning jaw went slack as he saw the determination in the civilar. Quickly, he conjured another fire wall, sealing over the hole the wizard had made in the previous one, but to his utter amazement, the human walked right through, ignoring his pain, though it was obvious his skin had been blistered.
“From Hell’s gate I stab at thee!” Hawk hissed, and then he charged, driving his blade deep into Redpike’s gut, calling upon the divine might of Torm to smite his enemy. Again and again he struck until finally the Earl's spear slipped from his nerveless fingers as his guardianship finally came to and end.


----------



## gfunk

COMES THE CRUSADER

Grim, Hawk, Shay, Giovanni and Storm stood in a loose circle, staring mutely at the tableau before them. Three…almost half their number…lay dead at their feet. It had happened so fast, a matter of moments really. True, the salamander and his elementals also perished, but at what cost, and for what purpose. They were no closer to finding Ondabar than they had been before…further really, for the effort would be more difficult and dangerous without the invaluable aid and companionship of their fallen friends.

“We need to regroup,” Hawk finally spoke. The others looked at him, but did not disagree. “We’re spent for now. If we continue on in our current condition, none of us will leave this place alive. That won’t help us or Ondabar…nor will it honor our fallen. Bring them.”
Silently, Grim bent and lifted Grubber easily across his shoulders. Giovanni and Shay carried Vladius, and Hawk cradled Dwilt, his brother-in-arms, on his final journey.

They retraced their steps through the temple and the howling passage beyond to the black portal. One by one they passed through, emerging once more inside the Whispering Cairn. When they stepped outside the tomb, the sun was still shining. Barely an hour had passed since they’d entered, yet it seemed like a lifetime. The corpse of Ilthane lay where she fell. As the others strapped their dead to their horses, Giovanni walked deliberately over to the dragon. Kneeling, he produced a thin beam of green energy from his finger, and began slicing through the wyrm’s neck with it. Within a few moments, he had beheaded the beast. Tying a length of rope around the dragon’s head, he attached the other end to his saddle horn, mounted his horse, and set out after his companions, dragging his gruesome trophy along behind.
__________________________________________________ ____________

Drasek Dundragon rode along the mountain trail, deep in his own thoughts. He had only just arrived in Daggerford this morning, but already he had more questions than answers. His superiors in Baldur’s Gate had sent him to the frontier town after receiving word of a necromancer operating in the area. The church of Kelemvor took such rumors very seriously, and when a representative from the Cult of the Ascended Lovers in Daggerford had come to the temple in Baldur’s Gate, the clergy had acted in, what was for the typical bureaucracy, a more or less timely fashion. They had dispatched Drasek as an official Inquisitor into the matter. However, upon his arrival in the village, he had found it partially destroyed, by a dragon attack of all things. When he had questioned the local constable, a singularly unhelpful man named Cubbin, he had been directed to the garrison. The so-called garrison commander was a pimply-faced adolescent named Pyle. He had given Drasek the details of the attack, and then told him of a band of local adventurers who had gone in search of the dragon. Curious though he was about the wyrm, it was not his primary reason for coming to the fly speck town. He inquired about the necromancer, and Pyle informed him that indeed such an individual had taken up residence in an old, abandoned observatory some two months back. However, that worthy had been dealt with by the same band of adventurers. The ‘commander’ then informed him that there had been some sightings recently of ‘walking corpses’ in the nearby hills…again, the hills into which the adventurers had gone. So, it seemed if Drasek wanted any real answers, he was going to have to go in search of this band. He only hoped they had already dealt with the dragon, or this was going to be a one-way trip.

As he rounded a sharp bend in the trail, Drasek came to an abrupt halt. Ahead on the path, coming his way, was a mounted band. One was a dwarf, though he appeared much bulkier than any dwarf Drasek had ever met. Three appeared to be human, though one was darker of skin, like a Calishite. The last was an elven woman, though Drasek knew immediately that she wore an illusion about her. Concentrating on her face, he saw through the veil, noting with surprise that she was a drow! Immediately, he concentrated again, trying to sense an aura of evil about any of the group, finding none. Three pack horses trailed behind the group, with wrapped bundles across their saddles which looked suspiciously like bodies. One of the humans had a rope tied to his saddle pommel and its other end was attached to a severed dragon head! This then must be the group he was seeking, though it seemed they had met with misfortune in their quest.

Hawk drew the company up short as he spotted the rider on the trail below them. The man was dressed in gleaming mail and wore a dark cloak draped over his shoulders. A large hammer was strapped to his back, and he bore a shield on his left arm. Squinting his eyes at the insignia emblazoned on the shield, Hawk knew it to be that of Kelemvor, protector of the dead. The only Kelemvorites in these parts were the cultists who kept the Daggerford Boneyard, and they usually went about in green robes, chanting to themselves. This fellow certainly wasn’t one of them.

“Well met,” Drasek said, raising is right hand palm-up. “You appear to be in need of assistance.”
“Who are you?” Hawk asked, suspicion in his voice.
Drasek could see that the man wore the insignia of an officer of Waterdeep, and that he also bore a symbol of Torm. A man of honor then. “I am Drasek Dundragon,” he replied, “Inquisitor of the church of Kelemvor in Baldur’s Gate. I am seeking a group of individuals known as the League.”
“You’ve found them,” Hawk said. “What is it that you want from us?”
“I was sent to investigate claims of a necromancer operating in this area. I was informed that your group was responsible for removing his presence. I was also informed that you might have knowledge about increased sightings of undead of late. As you may know, Kelemvor considers the undead an abomination, and dictates their destruction whenever found.”
Hawk nodded. “You are speaking of the necromancer Filge. My colleagues did indeed remove his threat some months back, before I joined them. The undead you mention are another story entirely…a long one not meant for the road. As you can see, three of our number have fallen. We came in search of an ally and mentor who was investigating an ancient cairn nearby. It seems a dragon of our acquaintance was also looking for him. The dragon we dealt with,” he gestured towards the grisly trophy. “However, once we entered the cairn, we found a previously unexplored section that we believe our friend was searching. The tomb, it would seem, is not as abandoned as we thought. Ancient guardians still remain, and it was one of these, an elemental lord from the Plane of Fire, that laid our team mates low. We defeated him, but at great cost. We are returning now to Daggerford to put our friends to rest…or at least two of them.”
“Two?” Drasek asked. “I thought you said three fell.”
“So they did, but we have all made our wishes known to one another should we fall in battle. Dwilt Riddick, and the wizard Vladius were very clear that should they depart this world, the wished their souls be allowed to travel on. The priest, Grubber, however had received a premonition from his god Grumbar, that his work in this life was far from finished. It is he that we wish to return to the living.”
“Then you do need my help,” Drasek said. “I can oversee the interment of the two, and the third…I can restore him. Kelemvor teaches that those who depart before their time should be allowed to come again to this life. I will accompany you to Daggerford and speak with my fellows in the Cult of the Ascended Lovers.”
__________________________________________________ _____

The rag-tag band entered Daggerford at noon and proceeded directly to the center of town, where repairs were already underway on the ruined businesses and dwellings there. All work came to an abrupt stop, however, when the League and Drasek entered the commons. Several garrison soldiers were present, overseeing security for the construction crews, and among them was Pyle. As the commander hustled over, Giovanni hefted Ilthane’s head and tossed it at the soldier’s feet.
“Mount it on a pike on the town wall,” the warlock said. “It was won at much cost.” By this time, quite a crowd was gathering around the adventurers, and many gasps met the sight of the remains of the dragon.
“Sir,” Pyle stammered, saluting Hawk, “what are your orders?”
The civilar looked down at him. “My orders stand, commander. We have unfinished business at the Whispering Cairn, but first, we have friends to bury.”
Abruptly, Hawk spurred his mount and he and his fellows started out of the square, towards the Boneyard on the edge of town. Pyle rushed over to the other gaping soldiers, ordering them to mount up, and then hurrying to assume an honor-guard position at the head of the procession. Many towns’ folk trailed behind in silence.

When the make-shift funeral parade reached the Boneyard, they were greeted at the iron gates by one of the green-robed cultist. She nodded silently to Drasek, and then looked at the cloth-bound bodies.
“Acolyte,” Drasek addressed her, “we have duties to attend. These men died with honor, and so will be sent to our Lord with all rites and rituals…save one. The goliath priest called Grubber shall be returned from the underworld by me. It is not yet his time.”
The acolyte nodded again, and then led the procession deep into the Boneyard and to a large mausoleum.

Dwilt and Vladius were laid in their final resting place. The garrison soldiers lifted their swords in salute. Dwilt was dressed in his old uniform, and Pyle had one of his men bring a Waterdhavian banner from the fort, and this was draped over the former-civilar. Once the words were spoken, and the mausoleum sealed, Drasek had the acolytes place Grubber’s body before it, and in front of all those gathered, he performed the sacred ritual that would return the dead to life. When Grubber drew breath and sat up, all of the spectators gasped in awe, and many holy warding signs were made upon breast and brow.
“I know you,” Grubber said as he looked upon his savior.
“Yes,” Drasek replied. When a soul was returned from the after-life, it knew exactly who had called it.
“You have my thanks,” the goliath said, bowing. He then looked at the mausoleum and at those of his friends that remained. Understanding showed in his eyes, and deep sadness.
_________________________________________________

Later that evening, the group gathered at the Blackstone Inn, and Hawk gave to Drasek their long tale, leaving out no detail. It was late into the night by the time he was done.
“This is much to digest,” Drasek said finally. “It answers many questions, but reveals so many more. This Age of Worms you speak of bodes ill for not just this small town, but indeed for all of Faerun. My duty is clear. If you will have me, I will join your crusade to crush this undead menace before it can take root and fester in our world.”
The members of the League welcomed the inquisitor eagerly, and then retired for the night, for in the morning, it was their intent to return once more to the Whispering Cairn.
__________________________________________________ ___

The League stood once more at the intersection where they had faced the Earl of Coalchester. They had searched the salamander noble’s quarters, and uncovered several valuable treasures, including a wand capable of rendering others invisible, and four decanters of valuable Scarlet Ambrosia, an efreeti brandy. The door directly to the south led to yet another dead end, leaving only the passage and door to the west to be investigated.

The doors led to a large, two-tiered hall, which shone with purple light from four chandeliers. A large, black sphere hung between them. The chandeliers seemed to be sculpted with small humanoid figures in silvery metal. A second-floor gallery with arches and spiral-striped pillars ran the length of the hallway to a second set of large double doors. The black, tile floor seemed to absorb the light from the chandeliers, and even sound in the chamber was muted and dull. Two more sets of doors stood in the north and south walls of the upper gallery.

The team elected to ignore the main floor for the moment, instead moving up the stairs to the northern gallery. They approached the doors there, and once Shay had assured them the portals were safe, they ventured through. Beyond was a small but well-appointed room with a delicately arched ceiling. The walls were painted with garden scenes featuring two Wind Duke lovers. The center of the room contained a large urn with a dark, red glaze and gold decorations. Six, small boxes, each carved of some black substance bound with corroded metal, lined the back wall. Chairs sat in each corner.

Shay moved cautiously to the urn, running his hand lightly over its surface, and the seal which held the cap on. Finally, convinced there was no trap, he grasped the lid and removed it. Instantly, a blue-black beam of energy lanced out at him, barely missing him as he somersaulted backwards. Rolling to his feet, he grinned sheepishly at his team mates.
“Allow me,” Giovanni said dryly, and he called upon his innate magic to create a dispelling field around the urn, negating the deadly trap. Shay then peered inside the vessel, and saw it filled with fine ashes.
“It’s a burial chamber,” he said. “These boxes here must contain the wealth the Wind Dukes buried with the dead,” he continued eagerly. Rubbing his hands together, he bent to examine the first box, then pulled out his lock-picks and quickly undid the latch. Inside was a set of three clay tablets carved with strange glyphs.
“What do you make of these?” he asked, holding them out. Grubber came over, taking one of the tablets and examining it closely.
“The language looks familiar, but I’m not sure…” He then began a brief prayer, asking Grumbar to grant him comprehension. When he looked at the tablets again, their words were clear.
“They’re love poems,” he said sadly. “It would seem a beloved mate was laid to rest here.”
“How romantic,” Grim said sarcastically. “What’s in the other boxes Shay? Anything useful?”

Drasek had been watching all of this unfold with increasing unease. Finally, he spoke up.
“Just a moment. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Grim stared at him blankly. “Looking for treasure, something that might help us on our quest. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re robbing a tomb,” the inquisitor said flatly. “I was led to believe you were in this place looking for your mentor. He obviously is not in this room. You yourselves said these Wind Dukes were not creatures of evil, but rather champions of Law. What right do you have to plunder their burial place?”
Grim drew himself up, and began stalking towards Drasek, “And just what gives you the right to think you can come in here barking orders at us? We just met you yesterday.”
“Yes,” Drasek replied, unruffled by the dwarf’s intimidation attempt, “and I did you a great service by returning your companion to you.”
“A service we paid for!” Grim said, his voice rising. “We didn’t ask you to come with us. You invited yourself. This is our team, and if you don’t like the way we do things, you can go back to where you came from!”
“I may do just that,” the paladin said coldly, “but I won’t allow you to desecrate this place.”
Grim growled low in his throat, his hand going to the handle of his axe. At that moment, Hawk stepped between the two.
“Calm down, both of you,” the civilar said. “Grim, he’s right. It’s wrong for us to take these things. How would you feel if your family’s tomb were desecrated?”
Grim’s mouth dropped open, “Hawk, you know what we’re up against here! We can use every tool we can find, even if it means selling it in order to buy something we CAN use! You’re going to let this yahoo come in and start dictating his rules and morals on us?”
Hawk placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The ends do not justify the means. We are no better than our enemies if we stoop to this level.” Behind him, Grubber nodded, but Giovanni and Shay remained silent, a furtive look passing between them. Storm also held her peace.
Grim considered for a moment longer, then “Fine…but only because you say Hawk, not because of this do-gooder.” He hooked a thumb at Drasek. “Looks like we’re done here. Let’s go.” He shouldered past the paladins, and out the door. One by one the others followed, but Shay was the last. Wistfully, he looked over his shoulder at the chamber, then narrowed his eyes and nodded silently to himself.

The doors on the southern gallery led to a wide, downward sloping passage, which traveled due south for several yards, before abruptly turning east. The hall was pitch-black.
“Curse this darkness,” Grubber grumbled. “It’s high time we shed some light in this forsaken place.” With a word, the goliath suddenly lit up like a small sun, shedding celestial brilliance all about him.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit much,” Shay said, shading his eyes, which burned from the glare even behind his darkened goggles.
“Perhaps,” the priest replied, “but not only will this light our path, but should we meet any more outsiders with evil intent, or undead, the light will burn the flesh from their bones, given enough time.”

The group rounded the corner, and saw that the passageway continued on another ninety feet or more before opening into a large chamber. From the light of Grubber’s beacon, they could see that the room had small columns around its edges which partially concealed carvings on the walls. Pale, white light glowed from two large, wheel-shaped chandeliers, casting overlapping shadows throughout the room. Blue metal double doors stood at the top of a flight of stairs opposite the main entrance, guarded by two warrior figures with raised double-swords. A single doorway rested in the south wall, and a second pair of double doors lay to the north, both also guarded by warrior statues. Crouched in the middle of the chamber, shielding its multiple eyes from the blinding light of Grubber’s spell, was the same, huge spider that had attacked them in the temple chamber above.

“You’re not gettin’ away this time!” Grim shouted, and with a roar he tore down the entire length of the hallway at a dead run.
“Grim no!” Hawk shouted after him, but to no avail. The burly mineral warrior surged into the room, but the spider stepped to meet him. Reaching out one massive fore-limb, it gently caressed the dwarf’s arm, and then shadows swirled around the two of them. When the darkness had cleared, only Grim remained, yet somehow the dwarf knew he had been lucky. He had felt a strange pull in the center of his chest, and a moment of disorientation, as if reality was warping around him.
“Fool!” Hawk said as he and the others entered the chamber. “We don’t know what this creature is or what it’s capable of. We’ve already lost two down here, do you want to make it three?”
“Aye, aye cap’n!” Grim saluted, then turned away grumbling.

The chamber itself, though richly carved, held nothing of any help in determining which way Ondabar had gone, if indeed he had even made it this far. Purely by random determination, the group chose the southern, smaller door to investigate first.
A small room beyond contained two suits of dusty, archaic armor, resting in front of a small shrine, apparently long abandoned. A weapon stand before the armor lay empty except for flakes of rust. Behind the armor, the altar was loaded with dusty offerings from years past. Two statues of regal Wind Dukes sat in small nooks above the shrine, and a door was painted on the wall to the right.
__________________________________________________ ______

Zifforian and Triffiel sensed life, something they had not sensed in centuries. They had once been Wind Dukes themselves, servitors who were assigned to watch over the tomb, an honorable post, if a dull one. They were supposed to have been relieved from their duty after two decades, but when that relief never came, they found the tomb had been sealed and warded. The accepted their fate stoically, spending centuries watching over the site, but eventually time and age drove them both mad, and into a lingering death. Now the wraiths still watched the tomb, but in their insanity, they failed to grasp the nature of that task. Recently, something was stolen while their attention was elsewhere, and the wraiths were obsessed with its return. The foot soldiers could not be allowed any further theft of the tomb’s treasures, but now it seemed as if they had returned for just that reason.
__________________________________________________ ____

Grim and Hawk had only just entered the room, when two large, black cloaked figures simply stepped out of the walls on either side of them. The wraiths flowed towards them, the walls behind them partly visible through their semi-transparent forms. One of them reached out, almost caressingly and placed its ghostly hand on Hawk’s chest. Instantly the civilar felt blinding pain and debilitating weakness overcome him. He felt as if his very soul were being drawn from him. At the same time, the wraith seemed to swell with vitality.

Grim swung his axe at his own assailant, watching in horror as the blade simply passed through the apparition. At that moment, blinding light filled the room, and the wraiths recoiled from it, shrieking in pain. The celestial light from Grubber burned them, but it also infuriated them even more. Grubber seized the moment to step behind Hawk and lay his hands on the civilar. He recognized the soul-draining effect for what it was, and he uttered a prayer that would counter it, restoring Hawk’s essence.

Drasek also recognized the undead dread wraiths, and he knew that sunlight was their bane. Calling out his own prayer, he unleashed a focused beam of searing light at one of the creatures, only to see it pass harmlessly thru the wraith.

“My thanks,” Hawk said quickly to Grubber, and then he launched himself at the quailing spirits. As he did so, he called out to Torm, “Here my cry, my Lord and smite down my opponents with your vengeance!” He plunged his blade into the nearest wraith, and felt solid resistance as it sank in. A flash of holy fire pulsed from the sword, and the apparition wailed in inhuman agony.

Still Grubber’s light seared and burned the wraiths. As one, they flew from the corner they had retreated two, flashing past Grim and Hawk and stepping through the walls into the larger chamber beyond, both moving unerringly towards Grubber. The celestial light had to be extinguished. One of them raked a clawed hand across the goliath’s chest, and though Grubber knew what to expect, the reality of the sensation almost buckled his knees where he stood.

“Now!” Havok cried as the wraiths appeared among them. “Let them have it!” In unison, he, Storm and Shay unleashed their attacks, the warlock with an emerald blast, the sorceress with streaking magic missiles, and the rogue with three well-placed arrows. Only Storm’s missile barrage seemed to have any effect at all. The nearest wraith hissed as the force-projectiles hammered into it.

Grim and Hawk followed the wraiths out of the small shrine and rushed to put themselves between the haunts and Grubber. Each continued to swing at the cursed creatures, most of their blows ineffective, but on occasion, as a portion of a wraith solidly materialized from the ethereal, connecting solidly.

Drasek held up his shield, Kelemvor’s symbol blazing. “By the Lord of the Dead, I command you back to the underworld from whence you came!” the inquisitor shouted, but to no avail. The wraith’s ignored his edict, attacking first at Shay as he struggled to knock another arrow. The rogue quickly fell backwards, rolling to his feet some distance away to put his safely out of reach of the spooks. The wraiths ignored the retreating rogue, intent only on Grubber, flowing around Grim and Hawk to reach him, and again touching him with their life-draining claws.

Grubber knew that, well-intentioned though they might be, the two warriors were not going to be able to save him if the wraiths were intent on his death. Stepping away from the apparitions, he called a prayer to his lips, and from the palm of his hand came a spray of diamond-like shards, comprised of pure holy energy. As the nearest wraith reached for him, it caught the full impact of the blast and shattered into a thousand motes of shadow.

Grubber’s victory was short-lived as the second wraith swarmed after him. Grim, Drasek and Hawk continued to try and interpose themselves, but the creature was implacable. Its desire to douse the cursed light was all-consuming. Again and again Storm hurled magic missiles at it, shearing off bits of shadow-stuff with each volley. The three warriors continued to slash at, but on occasion, it would bat aside one of them, restoring its own un-life as it siphoned off their energy, and periodically, it would strike out at Grubber. The priest felt himself weakening. He quickly cast a prayer that would give him the endurance of a bear, temporarily shoring up his flagging life-force. Just as he did so, however, the wraith hammered him with both fists, and his legs collapsed beneath him. It leaned over, its cowled face lowering to his own, preparing to suck the last dregs of his life from him. Suddenly, Hawk and Grim were there. Shouting and slashing they drove the wraith back as Drasek knelt beside the fallen priest and used a prayer of restoration to bring him back from the brink. Together, Grim and Hawk drove their blades against the undead horror, while at the same time a final blast from Storm destroyed the creature once and for all.
__________________________________________________ _

“I despair of ever finding him,” Grubber said, hanging his head between his knees as he slowly recovered from the wraiths’ assault. “How could even a wizard of Ondabar’s standing have survived this nightmare?”
“Until we find evidence of his destruction,” Hawk said calmly, “we owe it to him to keep searching.”

Finding nothing of assistance in the small shrine the wraiths guarded, the group crossed the larger chamber to the double doors to the north. The sight which greeted them on the other side momentarily shocked them into silence. To say it was incongruous was an understatement. A river surged through the tomb, its red water as bright as blood. A stone bridge crossed the water, but its pilings were undermined by centuries of erosion, and the arches seemed to be barely holding. In several places, the bridge tilted dangerously to one side. On the far side of the river was what appeared to be a fortified gatehouse, dimly visible and secured by an enormous rusted gate, which was at least fifteen-feet tall, and just as wide.

“Does anyone disagree with me when I say we avoid that bridge?” Giovanni asked rhetorically. “I can get us across, but we’ll have to go in turns. Grim, Hawk, Grubber, grab hold of me.” The three complied, and in an eye-blink they vanished, only to appear on the far shore of the river. Just as Giovanni turned to signal to Shay, Storm and Drasek that they were ok, the ground around him exploded. Surging up from the churned earth were two large creatures with wide bodies made of a pebbly, stone-like material. They had large, powerful mouths atop their heads, with three long arms, tipped with sharp talons, symmetrically positioned around their torsos. Between the arms were large, stone-lidded eyes. At their bases were three thick, short legs, each directly beneath an eye.

One of them immediately struck at Hawk, locking its massive jaws around his thigh. Though caught off guard, the civilar’s military training immediately took over. Shield in one hand, and sword in the other, he stabbed at the odd creature, unleashing an electrical jolt through his blade as it struck. The creature bled a thick, viscous ichor, but the electrical surge seemed to short-out, simply sparking and smoking across the monster’s rocky hide.

“So much for taking the safe approach,” Shay said. Knocking an arrow, he took careful aim and fired a shaft straight through one of the eyes of the creature attacking Hawk. Beside the rogue, Storm conjured an orb of crackling lightning to her hand and hurled it. The electrical ball struck the monster, but like Hawk’s sword, the shock seemed to have no effect.

Havok was a man who knew his limitations, and front-line fighting was one of them. Concentrating again, he willed himself back across the river, and in a moment he was standing with Shay, Storm and Drasek. He also knew his strengths, and distance fighting was his forte. He loosed an eldritch blast in a green burst at Hawk’s assailant, and was satisfied to see the creature recoil in pain from the civilar.

Meanwhile, Grim had his own problems. The second creature was hammering relentlessly at his shield, keeping him on the defensive. Suddenly, an image of Dwilt came to the mineral warrior’s mind, and he had an idea. Snaking his axe under his shield, he used the head of it to snag the creature’s foremost leg, and then pulled, hoping to trip up the ungainly beast. It looked as if, once down, it would be like a turtle unable to right itself. However, he underestimated the stability that the creature’s tripod-like stance gave it. Not only did his attempt fail, but the beast jerked its leg back, pulling the dwarf off-balance and sending him sprawling. As he tried to regain his feet, the monster sank its teeth into his shoulder.

Grubber unstrapped his maul and drove it into the body of Hawk’s opponent. He was just winding up for another blow, when the ground erupted again, and two more of the behemoth’s appeared, completely surrounding the trio. In a flurry of claws and teeth, all four pressed their attack, ripping and tearing at all of the harried warriors.

“I don’t have a clear shot!” Storm cried, knowing she couldn’t bring her most destructive magic to bear while her companions were trapped in the midst of the beasts.
“Remember that Grubber imbued us with fire protection,” Havok reminded her as he launched another eldritch blast. “He feared we might encounter more elementals, though it seems now that some sort of earth protection would have been in order.”
Storm nodded, beginning her spell as Shay continued to pepper the monsters with arrows.

Hawk was taking the worst of the assault. Even his battle-honed skill could not protect him from all sides at once. He reached for his belt pouch, uncorked a flask there, and upended it. Immediately, his body felt lighter than air, and he took flight, hoping to gain some altitude and a brief respite. However, as he rose, all four of the creatures struck at him, pulling him back to the earth, where he landed in a crumpled heap, unmoving. At that moment, Storm’s fireball exploded into the melee. As Havok had said, Grim and Grubber appeared to suffer no ill effect…but neither did the creatures.

Grubber raised his shield above his head to protect him from the teeth and claws all around him, as he knelt beside Hawk. It was obvious that the civilar was dead, but Grubber also sensed that his soul had not yet departed. He only had a moment to act. Calling on Grumbar, he spoke a prayer which would prevent the soul from leaving, returning life to Hawk, but leaving him unconscious. He had just managed to complete the spell when the attacks from the monsters broke through his defenses, battering him to the ground, engulfing him in the blackness as consciousness left him.

Grim was alone. All about him, the beasts roared and struck. His tower shield afforded him a greater measure of protection than his companions, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually, they would overcome him. He saw, across the river, Drasek leap into the air, flying towards him. He only hoped the goody-two-shoes wouldn’t be too late.

“Hold still…perfect!” Shay cried as he fired another arrow, this one impaling the same beast he had partially blinded before. With a shriek, the monster collapsed. “Only three to one odds now,” he said in satisfaction. “Any takers?”
“My money’s on the dwarf,” Havok said as his emerald blast seared into another of the beasts.
“As is mine,” Storm replied, hurling a lighting ball this time, intentionally placing it so that Grim was outside the blast radius. This time, the electrical burst seemed to have some effect, and another of the monsters fell.

The deadly dance continued. Drasek closed to join the fray, but he had no sooner arrived than one of the remaining beasts sliced across his abdomen, nearly disemboweling him. The inquisitor was forced to temporarily retreat to heal his grievous wound. Still Grim fought on. He managed to hold his own, giving as good as he got, supported by artillery from Shay, Havok and Storm. After a moment, Drasek rejoined him, and the battle raged on.

“I have an idea,” Storm said, breathless from the work of expending so much magical energy. Reaching out to Shay, she uttered a spell, and the rogue faded from view.
“Strike at will,” the sorceress said to her unseen comrade. “The magic I wove will not fail just because you are on the offensive.”
Shay smiled. Concealment was his ally. With it, he could pick his target spots with uncanny precision. He set one foot on the bridge, just to lessen his margin of error as much as possible, but as he did so, the slippery stone caused him to lose his footing, and he tumbled over the side. However, as he fell, a ring that he wore on his left hand flared to life, slowing his descent to the gentle glide of a feather. Shay smiled again. Always prepared, that was his motto. As he landed gently on the sand, he sighted carefully, and loosed two arrows at one of the beasts, sinking them deep into the soft area just beneath its eyes. Just as his arrows struck, a green blast from Havok felled the creature with finality.

With only one attacker left, Drasek dove quickly to the ground, landing beside Grubber and laying his hands upon the priest, willing Kelemvor’s life-giving energy into the goliath. Grubber’s rasping breathing slowed and calmed, but he remained unconscious. Drasek thought he was safer that way for the moment. Just as he stood to assist Grim, the remaining beast struck him a fearsome blow, knocking him from his feet and sending him tumbling down the river embankment.

“Gotcha!” Shay shouted as the fully exposed flank of the creature was now in his view. Three shots he loosed, and each struck in the center of one of the monsters’ eyes. All three went dark, and with a groan, the behemoth tumbled into the river.


----------



## gfunk

WIZARD IN GLASS

The campfire popped and crackled behind Hawk as he walked to the mouth of the Whispering Cairn for at least the twentieth time during his watch.  Once again, the group had been forced to retreat from the tomb so that Storm and Grubber could replenish their spells, and others, including himself, could heal from the constant challenges they had encountered since entering the accursed place.  Even the usually unflappable civilar was beginning to think they were on a fool’s errand.  Already they had lost two of their number and been forced to retreat twice.  How could Ondabar, wounded from his battle with Ilthane, have survived all alone?  Still, honor demanded that they continue looking until they found him, or found credible evidence of his death.

Hawk peered out into the night, his eyes seeing in the pitch darkness as if it were bright moonlight due to his celestial bloodline.  For a moment, his wool-gathering distracted him from the figure walking deliberately up the trail towards the cairn.  When he did notice it, he came alert instantly, sword in hand and shield up.  He shouted once over his shoulder where Shay, who shared his watch, came up from his crouch by the fire and began rousing the others.

The intruder did not appear troubled by this.  In fact, he did not even slow his pace until he was within but a few paces of the civilar.  
“Hello the camp,” he said.  He appeared human, but to say he was unattractive would be to say Halaster Blackcloak was slightly unbalanced.  The man was absolutely revolting, with his bulbous nose, sloping brow, warty skin and sparse fringe of hair on his otherwise bald pate.  And he smelled.  An odor which combined the worst of onions, stale fish, body odor and unwashed feet washed over Hawk in a nauseating wave.  
“Who are you and what do you want?” Hawk asked for the second time in as many days, grimacing as he tried to breathe through his mouth.
“You can call me Faust,” the man said, “though I’ve gone by other names, so I have.  What I want is to join up with you, simple as that.”
Hawk couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter.  “Really?  And what makes you think we have need of one such as yourself, a perfect stranger who simply walks foolishly into an armed camp?”
“Oh I know who you are,” Faust said.  “And I know what you’ve done.  I was at the Champion’s Games in Waterdeep…”  He let the sentence hang, heavy with unspoken implications.
Hawk’s eyes narrowed, his suspicions rising.  Reflexively he reached out with his senses, seeking the aura of evil about the man, but finding none.  Still, he did not trust the stranger.  “What of it?” he asked.
Faust shrugged, “Just this.  I know of the Age of Worms, and the godling Kyuss.  Let’s just say I have a vested interest in preventing such a thing from coming to pass.”
By this time the others had gathered behind Hawk and were staring daggers at the strange little man.  
“I sense no deceit or evil intent about you,” Hawk said at length, “but why should we trust you?  What do you know?”
“Probably not much more than you’ve already discerned,” Faust replied.  “I know of the prophecies foretelling the dark times.  I know of the spawn of Kyuss who walk the surface in increasing numbers.  I know you need all the help you can get, and they don’t call me Holocaust for nothing.”
“I thought you said your name was Faust,” Hawk said.
“Among others,” Faust replied.
“Wait here then Faust, or Holocaust, or whatever you call yourself,” the civilar said sarcastically, “I must confer with my team mates.”

After several minutes, the League returned to find the ugly, little man waiting patiently.  “What you say is true,” Hawk began.  “We do need allies.  All of us are here for our own reasons and have our own motives.  We will not question yours too deeply…for now.  Know this though…we do not suffer fools lightly, and traitors not at all.  If you cannot pull your own weight, then we have no use for you, and if its your plan to manipulate us, you do so at your peril.  Consider yourself warned.”
Faust nodded, “I understand.  Now, what’ve you lot got to eat?  I’m starving!”

By dawn of the next morning, the League had already reentered the tomb and returned to the large chamber where they had faced the shadow-walking spider and the dread wraiths.  Of the spider, there was no sign.  They knew what lay behind two of the three sets of doors exiting the room, and as a group, it was decided to bypass the bridge leading across the river of blood for the moment, and to investigate the final pair of doors instead…the easternmost, which were forged of blue steel.  Again, Grubber glowed like a small sun, and upon entering the tomb, Faust had somehow transformed himself into a small dragonet with butterfly wings, and he flitted along behind the main group, taking in every detail, but saying nothing.

Beyond the door lay a large antechamber.  A small statue of an armored Wind Duke, his left hand resting on a sword, his right held up to shield his eyes, stood at the far wall as part of a small shrine.  The statue seemed to be made of gold, with sparkling blue gems for eyes.  A beam of bright light shone onto the figure from above.  The walls were carved with bas-reliefs of Wind Duke servants bowing, and soldiers saluting.  An elaborate carpet covered the floor, but it was badly worn and the colors were faded, with only small patches of the complete pattern remaining.

The group gave the apparently empty room a cursory exam.  Grim stared greedily at the statue, noting its excellent craftsmanship and obvious value, but then his eyes narrowed as he glared at Drasek.  
“Better leave this be,” the dwarf sneered.  “Wouldn’t want to be accused of thievery or vandalism.”  
Drasek simply nodded, not dignifying the jibe with a response.

A single door led from the antechamber, and Grim pushed it open despite Shay’s protests of possible traps.
“Bah!” the dwarf said.  “We’ve wasted enough time already.  I’m weary of all this creeping about.  I say bring whatever may be.”
His words died on his lips, however, as he beheld what lay in the room beyond the door.  It was full of flickering, bluish light and a breeze that smelled like thunderstorms.  The floor sloped down toward the center from all directions, like a funnel.  At the bottom crackled a sparkling globe of lightning.  A metallic spike protruded down from a stone block in the ceiling, touching the very tip of the globe’s upper curve.  Inside the globe floated a human figure…a man with a long, dark beard wearing torn and stained red robes.  Delfen Ondabar.

Storm and Grubber peered over Grim’s broad shoulders at the tableau.  
“It’s another Temporal Stasis,” Grubber said with disgust.
“But something else as well,” Storm added distractedly.  “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but we need to be extremely cautious.”
“Bah!” Grim spat again.  “I’ve told you I’m fed up with sneaking.  We’ve got to get him out of there, so instead of discussing it in a committee, let’s just try the direct approach.”
Without waiting for approval, the mineral warrior started down the sloped floor of the chamber.  Instantly, a sizzling bolt of electricity arced from the tip of the metal spike towards him, lighting him up like a beacon.  Quickly, the dwarf backed out of the room, his armor smoking and his beard standing on end like a porcupine.  
“Don’t…say….a word…” he growled as Storm and Grubber smirked.

“Allow me,” Grubber said, rubbing his hands together.  “As it so happens, I am prepared for just such an eventuality.”  Raising his face to the sky, he began chanting, and slowly a glimmering blue field formed over the team, settling gently over them and then disappearing.  Each of them felt a tingle through their skin, and the hairs on their arms stand on end.  
“There,” Grubber said.  “I have imbued us all with a measure of resistance to electricity.  We should be safe now.”
“You go first,” Grim muttered.

One by one the team entered the chamber, Grubber leading.  As each stepped into the room, the spike sent energy bolts at all of them…to no effect.  As Grubber had promised, they were protected.  Yet even so, they could find no way to penetrate the sphere which surrounded Ondabar.  Drasek and Havok even tried multiple Dispelling fields, with not even a flicker in the energy field.  It was like the green beam which had protected the Apostolic Scrolls.  

After a time, Grim grew bored and distracted with the spellcasters’ failed attempts at trying to breach the sphere.  He wandered to the far side of the chamber to an archway.  Beyond was a short flight of stairs leading to a sheer drop-off.  Rungs descended the wall down into darkness.
“ I wonder where this leads…” the dwarf mused, and then shrugging, he lowered himself over the side.  

“Um…” the dragon/Faust said into the silence of the room, “I think your dwarf friend is leaving.  Is that a good idea?”
Hawk looked around abruptly and saw the top of Grim’s head disappearing below the lip of the pit.  Swearing roundly, he started towards the stairs.  When he reached the drop-off he could see that Grim was almost at the bottom of the shaft, forty feet below.
“Grim!” the civilar called.  “What in the name of the Seven Heavens do you think you’re doing?”
“Exploring!” the dwarf called up.  The floor directly below him sparkled with an intricate pattern of scarlet tiles the created a swirling mosaic.  “Pretty,” Grim said.  Two hallways extended away from the base of the ladder, one leading east, and one northeast. Grim stepped onto the floor, glancing down both halls and noting that they seemed to be dead-ends.  “Odd,” he said, but just then he heard a ‘click’ and felt one of the tiles under his foot begin to sink into the floor.  “Uh-oh.”

Hawk heard a rumbling sound from directly above him.  Looking up, he saw a large, iron door slowly descending from the ceiling.  He could see that if it closed all the way, it would seal off the pit from the room containing Ondabar.
“Great,” he muttered, “Just what we needed.  Come on!” he shouted to his companions.  “It looks like Grim’s chosen our path for us!”  Quickly, the civilar began climbing down the rungs.  The others followed, ducking under the closing door, and climbing after Hawk…all but Faust and Storm.  The former simply flitted to the bottom of the shaft and hovered above Grim’s shoulder, while the latter stepped off ledge and floated slowly downward, the words to a Feather Fall spell on her lips.  
“Was this your plan all along?” Faust asked Grim.  “Devilishly clever if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” the dwarf snorted, and began stalking down the eastern passage.

Grubber was the last one down.  The others had followed Grim, and the goliath was preparing to do the same when he heard the iron door slam shut above him.  A second later, he heard the sound of stone grinding on stone coming from both passages.  This was followed by a rushing roar from the northeast…

As Grim stood with his hands on his hips staring at the blank wall before him, it suddenly slid up into the ceiling.  He found himself standing on the edge of a thirty-foot diameter pit.  The red river plummeted over its edge off to his left.  Above, a vast cavern arched upward into darkness and Grim could just make out a short set of stairs on the far side of the pit which ended at another blank wall.

“Guys, we’ve got trouble!” Grubber shouted down the hall to his companions.  A wall of water was rushing down the northeast passage directly towards him.  All eyes turned towards him for a moment, and then back towards Grim.  The dwarf shrugged.  “Only one way to go.”  Reaching into a belt pouch, he withdrew a flask and chugged its contents.  He then leaped into the air and hovered over the plunging waterfall.  Drasek followed suit, quaffing his own Fly potion.  Shay and Giovanni simultaneously Dimension Doored across the chasm to the relative safety of the steps on the far side.
“That just leaves you three and me,” Faust laughed, indicating Storm, Hawk and Grubber.
“In case you’ve all forgotten,” Grubber frowned.  “I can’t fly!  Grumbar forbids it!”
“Then you and your friends had best grab hold of me,” Faust replied.  Grubber eyed the dragonet dubiously, and then the fast approaching flood waters.  Making a snap decision, he quickly turned towards the water and uttered a prayer, at the end of which a solid wall of iron appeared to block the northeast hall.  Grubber could hear the water roaring on the other side, but otherwise the wall seemed to be holding.  Nodding in satisfaction, he walked calmly to where Hawk and Storm already had their hands placed on Faust’s back.  Joining them, he was suddenly whisked through the Astral plane and back, to find himself and the others standing with Giovanni and Shay.

“Now what,” Grubber asked no one in particular, though he stared coldly at Grim.  “We’re trapped here.”
“What about that door?” Storm asked, pointing towards the blank wall.
“What door?” the goliath said, staring intently at the bare stone.
“This one,” the drow said in exasperation, and she stepped in front of Grubber and placed one finger-tip against the stone.  To the goliath’s amazement, the wall began sliding aside, revealing a short passage and a room beyond. The chamber was watched over by six statues of Wind Duke nobles, three against the east and west walls.  The central statue to the east stood before a stone door.  The statues all had cupped hands in front of them, and floating on a cushion of air above their hands were intricate carvings of strange buildings and towers.  The statue before the door held no such carving.  The air in the room was cold, and moved in faint whispers.  A passageway to the north opened into a large room lined with red ice, sheets of which extended along the floor of the near chamber.  Three large humanoid statues of red ice could be seen in the gloom of the northern room, their frozen, scarlet surfaces scribed with smoking white runes.

As the others looked with curiosity at the strange sight, Drasek noticed something amiss.  The air around the statue before the eastern door appeared to shimmer, and to the inquisitor’s trained eye, a veil of illusion dropped away, revealing a metallic construct of some sort, dressed in gleaming mail and a red robe.  
“Ware the statue!” he shouted.  “All is not as it appears!”  Immediately, the construct dropped its disguise and turned towards the intruders.  Grim charged into the room, swinging his axe in a great arc, but the creature deftly avoided the blow, and then reached for a lever on the wall which had been concealed behind it.  As it pulled the lever, two iron portcullises dropped, one across the southern hall, and one across the northern. Grim was now trapped with the thing, his allies stuck beyond the bars.

Without missing a beat, Hawk strapped his shield securely to his arm, and then began hammering it again and again against the portcullis.  Grim appreciated the effort, but he knew he was going to be on his own in the mean time.  However, help came from an unlooked for source.  The little dragonet that was Faust opened his mouth and out came a sizzling current of fiery energy.  It struck the construct unerringly, and began melting its metal frame.  Furthermore, the flames did not cease.  Faust kept his mouth open, and the current continued unabated.  Faust recognized the creature as a kolyarut, an inevitable, which was to say, a construct formed for a specific purpose, in this case to ensure the enforcement of a binding agreement.  The Wind Dukes must have placed it here as part of a bargain to guard their resting place.  Unlike golems, inevitables were not mindless.  On the contrary, they were quite intelligent, if single-minded in their purpose.  They were also master tacticians.  

As if to prove that point, the kolyarut stepped away from Grim and opened its palm towards Faust.  A ray of black energy lanced out towards the dragonet/psion but at the last moment, Hawk hurled himself into the path of the beam an took the full brunt of its life-draining effect.  For a moment, the civilar sagged against the bars, his face pale and drawn, but then, with a visible force of will, he pushed himself upright again and resumed his assault on the portcullis.

With the inevitable’s attention shifted from him, Grim rushed forward, chopping at the construct’s shoulder with his axe.  The heavy blade ricocheted off the creature’s metallic hide, denting it, but not damaging it significantly.  At that moment, Grim heard a great crash behind him.  Incredibly, Hawk had managed to smash three of the bars, allowing enough room for Grubber and Drasek to squeeze through.  The goliath quickly moved to Grim’s side, while the inquisitor made as if to flank the kolyarut, but the creature’s reflexes were cat-fast.  It spun as Drasek passed, striking his chin with the palm of its hand.  As metal struck flesh, Drasek felt his heart skip a beat, and weakness overcame him.  At the same time, some of the damage inflicted on the inevitable by Faust’s energy current began to repair itself.  Quickly, Drasek tried to step away, swinging his maul blindly as he went, and missing the construct completely.  However, the kolyarut followed directly in his footsteps striking him twice more, each time draining off more of his life force, and adding to its own.

As the inevitable moved past Grim, the dwarf swung with all the force in his body.  The axe buried itself into the creature’s thigh, and yet Grim continued his swing, sweeping the construct’s leg off the ground, and leaving the it flat on its back.  No sooner had the kolyarut hit the ground, than it vanished.  Still watching from outside the bars, Storm knew the creature was still there.  It had just rendered itself invisible.  She called out to Grubber, who immediately responded by conjuring up an Invisibility Purge field, showing the inevitable to have gained its feet and moved behind Grim.
“Duck!” Faust shouted, and Grim complied without question.  The psion opened his mouth again, and a missile of pure energy struck the kolyarut directly in the chest, exploding it into several hundred clockwork pieces.

The door that the inevitable seemed to be guarding led to a room that contained absolutely nothing.  It looked as if it may have been intended for use as a private tomb, but the occupant never arrived.  

The team crossed the room containing the five remaining Wind Duke statues, and entered the red ice-laden hall beyond.  Before Grim had taken more than half a dozen steps, the nearest ice sculpture sprang to life, swinging one massive fist at the dwarf.  Instinctively, Grim ducked beneath the blow, coming up slashing with his axe.  Large chunks of the thing flew in all directions, but it didn’t seem to be slowing down.  To make matters worse, the other two sculptures further down the hall had also animated, and were closing in.

As luck would have it, Faust had also heard of these creatures.  Ice golems, simple constructs without the mental skills of an inevitable, but more than compensating with sheer brute force.  Luckily for him, their icy nature made them particularly susceptible to fire.  With a thought, the psion manifested an energy ball of pure fire, engulfing the first golem, and the one closest behind it.  Storm, though not as knowledgeable about the nature of the creatures as Faust, nevertheless was a quick study.  Seeing the effect of Faust’s power, she cast a more mundane Fireball in the same proximity as Faust’s, completely destroying the first golem, and severely damaging the second.

Hawk, still under the effects of his Fly potion, zoomed past Grim towards the second golem.  Unfortunately, his momentum carried him slightly past the creature, which promptly smashed one frozen fist into the civilar, sending him careening into the nearby wall.  The golem then drew itself up to its full height, flexing its arms and sending a blinding, piercing spray of ice shards into the paladin.  

Meanwhile, the third golem lumbered past Hawk, ignoring him completely, even when the civilar struck out at it as it passed.  It moved to within a few paces of Grim, Grubber and Drasek, and then it too released a spray of ice.  Wiping at his eyes furiously, Grim lunged forward, smashing his axe into the golem’s body, tearing off great hunks of ice.  Grubber joined him in his attack, his maul dismantling the creature even further.  But then, a scorching ray of fire pierced the construct’s head, sending great gouts of steam into the air, and melting the golem into a puddle of slush.

Storm fired a second ray at the remaining golem, damaging it, but not to the extent of her first assault.  The golem lurched back several steps, only to find itself surrounded by Grim, Hawk and Drasek.  It managed to strike a glancing blow at the civilar, but then a combined strike by all three warriors consigned it to the fate of its brethren.

A single door led from the end of the long, icy hall.  The room beyond had a low ceiling, only eight feet in height, and was caked with ice as well.  The air was even colder than the other chamber.  Where a floor should have been, there was nothing more than a slowly churning pool of almost liquid snow and slush.  Grim tentatively reached out to touch the pool, and then drew his hand back quickly, mist rising from his rocky flesh.
“Cold,” he said.
“Duh,” said Shay, shaking his head.  “If you ever actually have need of a scout again, you will let me know, won’t you?”
Grim shot him a withering glare before turning to Hawk.  “Well, we’ve reached a dead-end.  What now?”
Hawk rubbed his chin for a moment.  “We have two options,” he said finally.  “Head back to that gatehouse we saw on the other side of the river, or follow the waterfall down that pit.  Personally, I vote for the devil we know.  We should check the gatehouse first.  Maybe there will be something or someone there that can tell us how to free Ondabar.”

Ultimately, it was decided that Grim, Drasek and Hawk, all three of whom were still capable of flight, would follow the river upstream, away from the falls, until they reached the chamber where the gatehouse was located.  The others agreed to stay put in the ice halls to await their return.  

The trio made their way up the river, a simple enough task since the tunnels ceiling remained at least ten feet above the rushing water.  After a time, they saw the opening ahead that lead to the gatehouse, but just before that, the river branched off into a narrower tributary to the east, and this in turn branched again to the northeast.  Hawk motioned for the others to follow him, and then headed down the side-stream, anxious to be sure they did not miss any hidden details.  

The eastern branch turned out to be a dead-end, the temperature dropping precipitously, and the walls of the tunnel becoming ice-coated.  The three back-tracked to the northeast spur, only to find it dead-ended as well.  As they turned to retrace their flight, the waters beneath them began to churn even more violently.  Suddenly, the crimson tide erupted into three large, amorphous, bloody looking columns.  Tendrils snaked out of the columns towards the trio, and strange, moaning faces seemed to appear and disappear in the viscous surface of the things.  

“Grab me!” Drasek shouted, and when his companions had complied, he opened a dimensional portal back to where the rest of the team waited.


----------



## gfunk

A HOUSE DIVIDED

“Can you believe they actually fell for it?” Shay asked for at least the tenth time in the past ten minutes.
“Our story was perfectly plausible,” Giovanni replied, again for at least the tenth time.  “You and I stay behind to make sure there are no other ‘visitors’ to this supposedly ‘forgotten’ cairn.  After all, we’ve had two in as many days.  Fortunately for us, they came to help, but we all know that not everyone in Daggerford has our best interests at heart, heroes or not.  So what if we decide to cut our watch a little short?  Who’s to be the wiser?  By the time we finish our ‘business,’ we should be right on schedule to rendezvous with them.”
“Yeah, but that might be a problem,” Shay said.  “They didn’t say where they’d be.”  
“They said they would avoid the gatehouse and try the blue metal doors,” Giovanni answered.  “This is our team we’re talking about, remember?  Subtlety is not their strong suit.  They should leave behind a trail a blind man could follow.”
Shay nodded.  They had been over all this before, but he was getting antsy to be on their way.  “Do you think it’s safe to go now?”
Giovanni was reminded of a small child on a long trip, ‘Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?’  He sighed, “Yes, it should be ok.  We’ve given them enough of a head start.  Let’s go.”

The warlock pulled a clear, crystal wand from his belt and tapped Shay once with it, then himself, rendering them both invisible.  The pair then made their way back to the portal and crossed over, Giovanni leading.  Cautiously, and careful to avoid any of the traps they’d previously located, they back-tracked to the silent gallery and the courtesan’s tomb beyond.  This had been their plan all along, to remove the valuables there and determine if they would be of any immediate use to the group, or if they would be of monetary worth later.  Grim had been right, they both agreed, like it or not, they were trying to save the world, and sometimes the ends justified the means, despite what a certain pair of do-gooders might believe.  

Working quickly, they removed the contents from each of the six boxes, retrieving the thin, gold wand they had discovered previously, the clay tablets bearing the love poems, a set of silk gowns, which crumbled to dust when they touched them, leaving behind the pearls and turquoise embroidered into them, and finally, a matching platinum necklace, ring and earrings.  When they’d finished, they picked up the trail of their comrades and started down the long passage which led to the temple chamber.

They had gone no more than half the length of the hall, when Havok heard Shay draw a sharp breath beside him.  He turned, the enhanced vision that was his birthright allowing him to see the invisible form of the rogue, and saw that Shay had his bow out and an arrow knocked.  Before the warlock could stop him, the rogue had fired, instantly ending his concealing invisibility.  Havok jerked his head around to see just what Shay was shooting at, and his eyes went wide in shock.  It was the shadow spider.  It was crouched not sixty feet from them, blocking the entrance to the temple.
“Shay, you fool!” he hissed.  “We could have snuck past it!”
“No, it heard us,” Shay said, shaking his head in panic.  “I know it did!  What do we do?”
Before Havok could answer, he saw familiar shadows engulf the spider, and to his horror, deposit it directly in front of them!

“Hold on!” Havok yelled as he saw Shay start to backpedal away.  The warlock seized the rogue by the hand and whisked them both through the astral plane to the spot he had envisioned in his mind’s eye back on the Prime…the small chamber where the League had earlier fought the dread wraiths.
“That was close,” Havok gasped.
“You’re telling me,” Shay stammered, his eyes still showing mostly white.  “What now?  That thing’s still out there.”
“Do you still have a Fly potion?” Havok asked.  When Shay nodded, he continued, “Good.  When we leave this room, you need to make directly for the ceiling of the temple.  We need to get above the spider.  Then we can rain hell down upon it and it won’t be able to touch us.” 
“Good plan,” Shay nodded enthusiastically, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, than shadows boiled in the corners of the room and the massive bulk of the arachnid materialized again, nearly filling the entire chamber.
“Havok!” Shay screamed, the spider’s mandibles less than a foot from his face.  Once more Giovanni grabbed the rogue’s hand and dimension-walked back into the temple.
“Now Shay!” he cried.  Shay scrabbled in his belt pouch and drew out a potion flask.  Bobbling it in his trembling hands, he finally managed to uncork it and gulp it down.  He then leaped into the air, positioning himself in the exact center of the room at ceiling height.  Havok remained invisible, and he moved to a dark corner, waiting for the spider to show itself.

Moment’s later it did, appearing on the ceiling not five feet from Shay.  Reflexively, the rogue somersaulted backwards, knocking another arrow as he went and firing.  The arrow bounced harmlessly off the spider’s carapace, and then the behemoth was scuttling towards him.  It’s snapping fore claws lashed out at Shay, tearing into his flesh and then seizing him, shaking him like a rag-doll.  In moments, he lost consciousness, dangling limply in the spider’s grasp.

Havok watched, horror-struck at the lightning fast manner in which the creature had dispatched Shay.  The warlock knew what would come next:  the spider would now travel to the Plane of Shadow, taking Shay to its larder to kill at its leisure.  Havok concentrated, focusing his power, waiting for just the right moment.  Then, just as the shadows began to gather, he unleashed his fury, a green spike of energy lancing out and blasting the arachnid, nearly dislodging it from its perch on the ceiling.  The jolt was enough to cause the spider to lose focus, failing in its attempt to enter the Shadow Plane.  However, it quickly recovered its composure, and called the shadows to it once more.  Again, Havok struck, refusing to allow the monster to escape to its lair.  Great gouts of blood and ichor now spurted from the horrific wounds in the spider’s carapace.  Then, slowly, the spider held Shay out in front of it with one claw, clasping a second one around the rogue’s neck, but not applying pressure.  The threat was implicit.

“Cease your attack, human,” the spider hissed.
“Release him, or die where you hang!” Havok cried back, now fully visible in the wake of his assault.
“If you continue your onslaught, I will kill him now,” the spider responded.  “You may slay me, but your friend will die in the bargain.  Perhaps we can come to an…understanding.”
“What are babbling about fiend?” Havok shouted.  “You have attacked us repeatedly, without provocation.  Now you speak of parley?”
“I am called Flycatcher,” the spider said calmly, “and it is you who entered my lair, not I yours.  You and your friends are the second such group of invaders I have encountered in recent days.  That is the nature of the bargain I now offer.”
“You mean the wizard?” Havok asked.  “Ondabar?”
“I know of no wizard, human,” Flycatcher replied.  “No, it is the Marquis of the River that I refer to.  He who has tormented me and despoiled my home.  Here is my offer:  bring me the head of the Marquis, and I shall return your friend to you…relatively unharmed.”
Havok laughed.  “You expect me to trust you to keep him safe while I play assassin for you?  I won’t leave here without him.”
“Hardly an assassin,” Flycatcher said.  “The Marquis is a creature of evil…one of undeath.  His departure from this world would be a boon.  As for your friend, am I to simply return him to you and trust you will hold up your end of the agreement?”
“Then we are at an impasse,” Havok shrugged.  “What do you suggest?”
“Offer me something of equal value that I may hold in trust until you fulfill our arrangement, and I will give him to you now.”
Havok pondered his dilemma.  Flycatcher left him with little choice.  No doubt he could slay the spider, but Shay’s life would surely be forfeit.  But what did he have to offer that would be worth Shay’s life?  Suddenly, it came to him.
“I do have one thing,” he said, reaching inside his cloak and drawing forth the Talisman of the Sphere.  “It is a minor artifact, capable of controlling an even more powerful one.  If you have dwelt here in the tombs of the Wind Dukes, surely you have heard of such?”
Flycatcher’s many eyes gleamed as he focused on the wire loop.  “Indeed I have,” he whispered.  “I agree to your terms.  Lay the Talisman on the floor.”  Havok walked slowly to the center of the chamber and complied.  Cautiously, Flycatcher crawled down the wall and placed Shay’s body on the ground, snatching up the Talisman simultaneously.
“You will find the Marquis in a chamber far below this tomb.  Follow the River of Blood.  Bring me his head!”  Abruptly, shadows whirled around the spider, and in an instant, he was gone.

Shay blinked in confusion as Giovanni healed the last of his wounds with the curative wand he kept in his belt for just such emergencies.
“What happened?” the rogue mumbled.
“You almost got yourself killed…again!” the warlock snapped.  “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re the most craven coward I’ve ever met, or the bravest fool!  Either way, I’m not going to let you take me with you on your death quest.  Now come on, we’ve got to find the others.”  He turned on his heel and started towards the blue metal doors.  Bewildered, Shay climbed to his feet and followed.

They found the room containing the golden Wind Duke statue as undisturbed as when the League had passed through well over an hour before.  Giovanni only gave the sculpture a passing glance as he headed for the far door.  “Check this,” he ordered, and Shay, a hurt look on his face, hurried to comply.  
“All clear,” the rogue said quietly, and Giovanni pushed open the portal.  Beyond, he beheld the same tableau Grim had stumbled upon earlier:  Ondabar, encased in the crackling sphere of electricity, injured, but not clearly dead nor alive.  The only exit from the chamber seemed to be blocked by a large, iron door.
“Surely they must have seen this,” the warlock said, musing aloud to himself.  “Why would they just leave him?”  Obviously there was some danger here that he could not see.  His companions must have tried to free the wizard and fallen prey to whatever trap was laid for them, then been forced to flee.  He pondered the situation a moment longer, then reached a decision.
“I’m going to try and dispel that field from here,” he said over his shoulder to Shay.  “This may take awhile.”

For a time, Shay watched his friend as he hurled blast after blast of magic into the far chamber, apparently to no visible effect.  Soon, the rogue’s attention wandered, fixing upon the only other thing in the room…the statue.  Looking at Giovanni to make sure he wasn’t looking, Shay nonchalantly wandered over to the sculpture.  It was an exquisite work or art, solid gold, unless he missed his guess.  Briefly, he contemplated simply tipping the entire thing over into his magical sack.  It was capable of holding fifteen-hundred pounds, but then he realized that the thing must way twice that much.  Then, he noticed its eyes…sapphires the size of his fist, each of them.  With one last glance at Giovanni, he pulled one of his daggers and set to work.

“Got it!” Giovanni cried as the shimmering energy field flickered and died, dropping Ondabar unceremoniously to the floor.
“Me too!” Shay shouted, and the warlock turned.  The rogue held up two huge gems, smiling from ear to ear.  Suddenly, from the walls on three sides, three of the carved warrior reliefs stepped physically into the room, holding great marble swords in their huge hands.  
“Not again,” Havok moaned, rolling his eyes.  “Run!” he shouted.  Heeding his own advice, he darted into the chamber where Ondabar lay, seizing the unconscious wizard by the wrist.  Shay was right on his heels, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by the carvings as he rolled between them.  Havok held out his other hand, and Shay grabbed it.  The warlock focused on the iron door across the chamber, mentally gauging the distance.  Then, in the blink of an eye, he stepped between dimensions again, reappearing with his two passengers just on the other side…overlooking a forty-foot deep pit!  He could see the bottom of the shaft, and the tunnel leading east from it.  To the northeast was an iron wall, fused to the stone.  
“Hang on,” he said to Shay, and then he quickly transported them to the bottom of the pit.  Now he could clearly see the opening at the far end of the tunnel, and he could hear the roar of the falls beyond.  He and Shay carried Ondabar between them, and made their way to the far end of the passage.  Just as they were gazing out over the chasm and the churning falls, Grim, Drasek and Hawk appeared out of thin air on the far side.

“So you gave the Talisman to the spider??” Hawk asked, becoming more and more incredulous as Giovanni’s story unfolded.  
“Yes, I told you I didn’t have any other choice!” the young warlock said defensively.
“And so now you have to go and assassinate some marquis that you’ve never met?” Hawk pressed.
“An UNDEAD marquis!” Giovanni said in exasperation.
Hawk shook his head.  “I knew it was a mistake leaving you two alone back there.”
“A mistake?” Giovanni shouted, “How can you say that?  Was it not we who found the way to free Ondabar where the rest of you failed?”
The civilar glanced over to where Grubber was tending the last of the wizard’s wounds.  
“I suppose,” Hawk agreed reluctantly.  “But this means that instead of leaving now that we have what we came for, instead we have to go even deeper into this death trap.”
“Leaving??  Why on earth would you do that?”  Ondabar was now standing over the pair, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“What do you mean?” asked Hawk.  “We came here to rescue you.  You’re safe now.  We can go.”
The wizard shook his head, “No, no.  Don’t you see?  Do you even know where we are?”
“Somewhere below the Whispering Cairn,” Hawk answered.
Ondabar rolled his eyes, “Ah, if only Vladius were here.  He would understand.  But alas, that boy always was the impetuous one.  Never interested in the defensive magic, no.  With him it was always, ‘When am I going to learn Fireball?  When am I going to learn Fireball?’  I warned him, ‘Vladius,’ I said, ‘remember the old saying…he who lives by the Fireball, dies by the Fireball.’  Anyway, where was I?  Ah yes, the tomb!  You are only half right.  We WERE in the Whispering Cairn, but the magic of the portal has taken us hundreds of miles from there.  This is the tomb of Icosiol.  You’ve heard of him?”
Hawk shook his head.
“Icosiol,” Ondabar explained, “was one of the greatest generals of the Wind Duke army, one of the seven so-called Wandering Dukes, champions of Law who forged a powerful artifact called the Scepter of Calim, and used it to end the war against the armies of Memnonnar.  That defeat shattered the scepter, transforming it into what is known today as the Shattered Scepter of Calim.  That is why I came here!  The Wind Dukes had a habit of burying their weapons with their dead in the months after their victory.  Not to honor the dead as much as to store these weapons in a safe place, so that should the Memnonnar rise again, the weapons would be available.  I believe that something powerful indeed is hidden somewhere in this tomb, and if what you’ve told me is true about your adventures in Waterdeep, and Dagsumn’s unfortunate demise, I believe that this weapon can help us in the dark times to come.”
“Are you saying that a fragment of the Shattered Scepter might be here?” Giovanni asked, stunned at the prospect.  
Ondabar shrugged.  “If it is, then you must find it.  It could be invaluable to you in the coming struggle.”
“Us?” the warlock asked.  “What about you?  Aren’t you coming with us?”
Ondabar shook his head.  “The news that you have brought to me of the destruction of my home grieves me greatly.  I must return there to see if any of my research may be salvaged.  Also, in light of what Dagsumn stated in his letter, it may also be time to try and contact my one-time master, Malchor Harpell.”
Giovanni blinked.  He had of course heard of the arch-mage, a powerful member of a powerful family of wizards who all-but-ruled the small town of Longsaddle.  
“So,” Ondabar concluded.  “I of course offer you thanks for my life, and I advise you caution in the continuation of your exploration.  I will be most intrigued at your findings.  Goodbye my youthful heroes.  You have made an old man feel young again.”  With that, he uttered two short spells, allowing him to fly, and then rendering him invisible, and was gone.

Grubber scowled as all of his companions flitted through the air above him, each under the effects of one sort of Fly spell or another.  
“What about me?” he grumbled.  “You know of my Oath.”  Grumbar, Lord of the Earth frowned on any mode of travel which caused one’s feet to leave the life-giving soil or unchanging rock.  Therefore, flying, and even travel by boat, was forbidden among his clergy except under the most dire of circumstances.
“Well,” Storm laughed, “you don’t think Grumbar would consider falling the same as flying, do you?”
“Very funny,” Grubber said, gazing over the lip of the seemingly bottomless pit into which the river of blood flowed, and down which his companions seemed intent on going.  
“I’m serious!” the drow said.  “Catch!”  She tossed a small silver ring at him.  He caught it deftly, and looked at it skeptically, certain it wouldn’t fit past the first knuckle.  However, before his eyes, it seemed to expand, until it slipped easily on his finger.
“Now what?” he asked dubiously.
“Now…you jump!” Storm giggled.  “You have faith, don’t you?  Surely Grumbar wouldn’t let you die by smashing into the ground?”
Grubber’s scowl deepened.  Mustering his resolve, he stepped off the edge of the pit…and began floating gently down, like a feather on a breeze.

The party followed the falling river down its tortuous path into the bowels of the earth.  After sixty feet or so, the shaft narrowed from some to thirty feet to no more than twenty.  Here the spray of the falls filled the air with a fine mist.  Beyond the narrows, the shaft widened again and straightened for about a hundred feet.  It was at the bottom of this second portion that Grubber beheld his greatest fear.  The river was emptying into a lake!

Hawk and Grim had flown down ahead of the rest of the group, looking for just such a hazard.  They saw the lake as well, and were just turning to rejoin the team, when Grim noticed a side tunnel entering the main shaft that they had overlooked on the way down.  Floating in the mouth of this tunnel were two figures dressed head-to-toe in ceramic armor.  Each one had a pair of longswords strapped across its back, and held a loaded crossbow in its hands.  As Grim opened his mouth to shout a warning to Hawk, the first figure fired, its bolt burying itself in the civilar’s shoulder.

Havok saw the two flying warriors as well, some thirty feet below him.  As he watched, Grim closed on their position, but the burly warrior was slowed in his movement by his own bulk.  The warlock had recently learned of a new aspect to his innate abilities, and he felt that there was no better time than the present to try it.  A sickly green burst of energy surged from his hand, striking the first armored figure and leaving it in a cloud of noxious vapor, before arcing towards the second.  This one, however, moved with an uncanny speed, slipping beneath the ray with a grace belied by its encumbered form.  

Meanwhile, Hawk saw a greater danger.  Though Grubber was falling at a relatively slow speed that would cause him no harm upon impact, when his dense body hit the lake it would sink like a proverbial rock.  The civilar soared upwards, pulling a flask from his belt which contained an elixir capable of conveying the ability to breath water upon its imbiber, and holding it out towards the falling goliath.  
“Take it!” he shouted as Grubber drew near.  As the priest fell past him, he reached out with one meaty hand and seized the flask, upending it as he plummeted.  Above him, Drasek spoke the words to a powerful prayer, causing his body to enlarge as he was filled with the righteous might of Torm.  The inquisitor then dove towards the surface of the lake, prepared to retrieve the goliath should the blood-red liquid of the lake prove more harmful than mere water.  

Just as Grim reached the two flying warriors, both of them cork-screwed around and beneath him, one of them firing a parting shot at Havok, but managing to only hit one of the illusory images the warlock had just finished conjuring about himself.  Grim recognized the beings as they passed.  They were wind warriors, the elementally animated suits of armor he and his original team mates had first met in the Wind Duke Zosiel’s tomb inside the Whispering Cairn.  As he watched, the pair zipped past him to take up a position at the lip of the lake, where its waters overflowed and continued to fall into the depths of the pit.

Havok unleashed a second chained noxious blast at the retreating wind warriors, striking both this time, but failing to achieve his desired effect of nauseating them to the point of defenselessness.  Above him, Shay sipped from a potion flask, and instantly turned invisible, though Havok could still see him as he darted down to a position below the wind warriors.  Hawk and Grim, meanwhile, both closed on the elementals from above.  Drasek joined them, managing to strike one of the elementals a glancing blow before both of them, turned and dove into the black depths of the chasm, rapidly disappearing from view.

It was at that moment that Grubber struck the surface of the lake…and sank straight to the bottom, which fortunately was only twenty-five feet.  Once there, able to breathe comfortably, he began slowly walking up the gradual incline towards the surface.

“That’s not the last we’ve seen of them, I’ll wager,” Drasek said as he joined Hawk and the others.  The civilar nodded.  It seemed that the Wind Dukes meant only for those who were truly determined and driven to discover their secrets.  
Once Grubber had extricated himself from the lake, he stepped off into the void once more, and the descent into the depths continued.

Some hundred or more feet below the lake, the falls again accumulated, but this time only in a shallow basin before flowing onward, down a series of projections, creating even more mists in their cascade.  It was here that the wind warriors made their final stand.

This time the pair was widely separated.  They were apparently capable of learning from their mistakes, and they did not mean to be caught by Havok’s chain again.  Before any of the team could do more than note their position, Faust darted ahead, flitting right up to the nearest warrior, and then darting back and forth in front of it, as if daring it to strike.  
“What does he think he’s doing?” Drasek hissed.
“Drawing their fire,” Hawk answered, impressed by the temerity of the psion.  “Let’s take advantage of the opportunity.”

The wind warrior never hesitated.  Dropping its crossbow, it drew both swords in a single blurred action, striking like lightning at the dragonet.  Both blows connected solidly, but to the amazement of his team mates, Faust only seemed grazed by the blows.  
“Is that the best you can do?” he taunted his silent foe

Grim charged towards the second wind warrior as it drew a bead on Faust with its crossbow.  However, as the dwarf closed, the elemental tossed its crossbow casually aside and drew its own blades, clanging them together in front of it.  As it did so, a wave of pure sound struck Grim in the chest, momentarily stalling his charge.  The wind warrior flowed forward, swords raised for a devastating strike, but at that moment, a spear-like bolt from Havok drove the creature back several feet.  This was followed by an arrow from the darkness, fired by the now visible Shay.  The shaft pierced the slit in the elemental’s helm and stuck there, quivering.  The wind warrior staggered, stumbling through the air towards Grim, and landing a glancing blow against his stony hide.  As it struck, the warrior began to crumble before Grim’s eyes, becoming dust in a matter of seconds, from its armor to its blades.

Hawk rushed to aid Faust, flying past the dragon/psion and plunging his sword into the mailed chest of the wind warrior. As he struck, he unleashed an burst of electricity through the sword, which flashed from every chink in the elemental’s armor.  Withdrawing the blade, he spun, catching the warrior again with a back-handed chop.  

As the melee continued, Grubber fell helplessly past all the combatants.  He bumped against one of the sloping walls of the shaft, and scrabbled to gain a hand-hold.  The water-slicked surface, however, allowed no purchase, and the goliath tumbled down the slope and disappeared into the darkness of the pit.

The remaining wind warrior clashed its own swords together, sending a sonic blast slamming into Hawk and Faust.  As the pair reeled, a second blast from Havok hammered the elemental.  Incredibly, the creature clutched at its midsection, and doubled over, silently retching.  Havok had no idea how a creature with no discernable digestive tract could become nauseated, but he did not question his good fortune.  As the wind warrior continued to heave, three arrows from Shay pierced its breast plate, and it too crumbled to dust.

The team began to regroup, preparing to follow Grubber’s plunge, but at that moment, four more wind warriors ascended from the pit, blocking their path.  As one, Grim, Hawk and Drasek closed the distance to the elementals, bottle-necking them in the shaft so that they would have no opportunity to spread out and attack from all sides.  Grim struck at the nearest warrior, his axe gouging deeply into its archaic armor.  

While it was true that the three heroes had indeed stopped the forward progress of the warriors, it was equally true the elementals had them like-wise trapped.  Moving in unison, the four warriors slammed their swords together, sending wave after wave of sonic force to buffet Grim, Hawk and Drasek.  

Grubber’s fall into darkness seemed timeless, but he could still hear the echoes of battle above him.  Soon, however, he began to see a dim glow of light from below him.  The red waterfall crashed into a pool of jagged rocks in a large cave at the bottom of the shaft.  An outlet of slow-moving water gurgled away to the south.  The cavern beyond was large and wet, longer along its north-south axis, and roughly fifty feet across east to west.  A pale, greenish-yellow light reflected off the river and walls downstream.  The same light flickered and refracted off tiny crystals in the roof above, almost giving the cave the feel of being open to the night sky.  As Grubber descended, he could see three figures standing by the side of the pool, staring up at him.

The mid-air battle raged on.  The front-line fighters held their position, despite being repeatedly battered by the wind warriors’ sonic onslaught.  Shay lent missile support, placing his shots with uncanny accuracy.  Artillery was provided by Havok, Storm and Faust, in the form of eldritch blasts, lightning bolts, and elemental energy currents.  No League member wavered, but one-by-one the wind warriors fell, succumbing to the strength of blows and firepower.  Finally, the last one disintegrated, and without hesitating to savor their victory, the League sped onward, knowing they had to find Grubber before it was too late.

As Grubber came to a gentle landing in the pool, he noticed that the trio have moved farther away as he had come closer.  Even now, one of them was shielding his eyes from the blinding light of the goliath’s Celestial Brilliance.  In that light, however, Grubber saw that two of the three weren’t even remotely human.  In fact, they were mohrgs!  The third creature wore fine clothes, though they were the genteel, rotted garments of a generation ago.  His skin was sallow, almost parchment-like in texture, and his taloned fingers, black, split tongue and cruel hooked teeth betrayed his distinct lack of humanity.  He held a lantern in one hand, and its eerie green glow was the only other source of illumination in the cavern.

“A bit hard on the eyes, wouldn’t you say my good man?” the creature said in cultured tones.  “Do you mind covering it up so that we can have a good look at you?”
Grubber was confused.  Politics and diplomacy were not his strong suit.  At least two of the beings were clearly undead, yet the third seemed intelligent, and they did not appear to offer any immediate threat.  Still, all of his senses screamed for him to be on his guard for treachery, and yet, he was alone.  Perhaps he could stall them until his team mates arrived.
“I will put it away,” he replied, tossing his cloak over his holy symbol, which was the source of the heavenly light.  “I warn you though,” he continued.  “Stay where you are.  Come no closer.”  The creature, and Grubber now thought there was something familiar about him, spread his empty hands.  
“You must pardon the appearance of my companions,” he said.  “They are but thralls and will not act without my leave.  By the sounds I heard earlier, I assume you’re not alone.”  He looked up towards the high ceiling.  “It’s quiet now.  I trust your friends are safe.”  A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.  

At that moment, a small dragonet flitted into the chamber, making lazy circles in the air as it descended to hover above Grubber’s shoulder.  The goliath breathed a sigh of relief as the rest of the League appeared, flying quickly down to join him in the pool.
“Ah, here they are now!” the creature said, clapping his hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Drasek shouted, his eyes fixing on the mohrgs, an abomination in the eyes of Kelemvor.  He hefted his maul as he took a step forward, Hawk right beside him, raising his sword defensively.
“No so fast gentlemen,” the creature said, taking a step back.  “I mean you no harm, but if threatened, I shall be forced to defend myself.”
“Who…or what…are you?” Giovanni asked, stepping in front of the two crusaders.
“I can at least tell you what he is,” Faust said.  “He is a true ghoul.  They are a race of evolved undead.  There is rumored to be an entire kingdom of them somewhere in the Underdark.
“What a perceptive familiar you have,” the ghoul said smiling.  “I am, in fact, Moreto, the Marquis of Ravenstone.”  He sketched a formal bow.  “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Your executioners!” growled Drasek.  Giovanni shot him a warning look.
“My friend is a bit…overzealous,” the warlock said, turning back to Moreto.  “You said you are a marquis.  Are you perhaps the Marquis of the River?”
Moreto looked confused.  “I’ve never carried such a title.  Where did you hear it?”
“Have you ever heard of a creature called Flycatcher,” Faust interjected, and he too received a withering glare from Giovanni.
“Ah, it becomes clear now,” Moreto laughed.  “Did that old, crazed arachnid send you?  Did he instruct you to kill me?”
“How do you know this?” Giovanni demanded.  
“Because he is as predictable as he is evil,” Moreto said.  “Did you know that his is the epitome of wickedness?” he addressed Drasek and Hawk.
“I made no such bargain,” Drasek sneered.  “One form of evil is much like another.  I’ll see you and the spider destroyed before the day is done!”
“And what of you?” Moreto asked, turning again to Giovanni.  “Was it you that Flycatcher bargained with?  They you must be a reasonable man.  Allow me to make you a counter offer.”
“Why are we listening to this filth?” Drasek shouted.  “His very existence is abhorrent!”
“I did not choose to be what I am,” Moreto said reasonably.  “I was born who I am.  So judge me if you must, but at least hear me out first.”
“Drasek, please,” Giovanni implored.  “Stay your hand a moment more.”  The inquisitor scowled, but did not advance any further.  “What is your offer?” Giovanni then asked the ghoul.
“I knew we could be civilized,” Moreto smiled.  “As I said, Flycatcher is evil, and treacherous.  No doubt he somehow blackmailed you into this agreement.  My offer is simply this, kill Flycatcher in my stead, allow me to go on my way unmolested, and I will offer you that which the spider seeks.”
Giovanni looked perplexed.  “But what he seeks is your head.”
Moreto laughed again.  “No, what he seeks is what I took from him, the Seal of Law.  With it, you will be able to find, and safely enter, Icosiol’s tomb.  You see, I am merely an explorer, and fascinating as this place is, I’ve seen enough of crypts and tombs to last many lifetimes.  No, I seek greater mysteries, those which only the endless possibilities of the surface world can offer.”
“If you think for one minute that we are going to turn you loose on the world above, you are even more crazed than Flycatcher!” Drasek spat.  
“Drasek,” Giovanni said urgently, “listen to what he is saying!  He is offering us the key to Icosiol’s tomb!  This is what we need!  It’s our very reason for still being down here!”
The inquisitor squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at the warlock.  “The ends never justify the means.  Compromise your own soul if you will, but I will not deal with this monster any further.  I will put an end to him now!”  He turned and began moving across the pool once more.  Giovanni looked imploringly at Hawk.
“My friend,” the civilar said, “you cannot ask this of us.  Drasek is right.  You risk your immortal soul.”  He then turned his back on the warlock and joined Drasek.  To Giovanni’s disbelief, Grim moved to stand with them.  The dwarf merely shrugged as the warlock gaped at him.
“My soul’s no concern of the holy-rollers, but I’ve got no stomach for such as them,” he indicated Moreto and his companions.
Moreto sighed, shaking his head.  “It doesn’t have to come to this,” he implored.  “I will state again that I mean you no harm, but if you force my hand, you will leave me no choice.”
“It’s your funeral,” Drasek said coldly, “again.”

At a gesture from Moreto, the mohrgs surged into motion, closing the distance between themselves and the party in several quick strides.  The first rushed at Drasek, and the second at Hawk, their lolling, repulsive tongues lashing out at the warriors.  For the briefest of moments, the civilar and the inquisitor both felt their limbs seize and go rigid, but the sensation quickly passed.  At that moment, a roaring bolt of lightning arced from Moreto’s hand, striking Grim.  The electricity crackled around the dwarf, but the effects of Grubber’s protective spell still lingered, and Grim merely smiled.  Moreto darted quickly towards the back of the cave.

Hawk raised his sword high above his head, then brought it down in a curving slash, opening the protruding entrails of the mohrg in front of him with a blinding flash of holy energy.  The mohrg staggered, and Grim drove his axe into its bony sternum.  Drasek raised his holy symbol between him and his own opponent, and began shouting, “In Kelemvor’s name you stand accused!  You are guilty of murder most foul!  You first raped, then slew your own sister, while your parents slept in the next room!  This after you committed a slew of other assaults on the women of your town!  When your parents awoke and confronted you, you murdered them with your bare hands!  You were put to the torch for your crimes, but the depths of your depravity bought you this lingering half-life!  Now, you will answer for your sins!”  The mohrg quailed before the litany of its past deeds, and a blast of golden light surged from the upraised scales of Kelemvor, flaying the flesh from the creature’s bones.  

At that moment, Faust darted from behind Grubber and flew directly towards Moreto.  The ghoul reached for the sword slung over his shoulder, but the dragonet came to a halt several feet away, and then turned his back on the ghoul, facing his own team mates.  
“I told you all before,” the psion shouted, “I care only about seeing that the Age of Worms never comes to pass!  If this creature can assist us in that endeavor, then he you threaten him at your own peril!”
The rest of the team stared in stunned silence for a moment.  It was Drasek who spoke first, “Then you have made your position clear.  So be it.”  He raised his hammer as Grubber hurled a spray of sparkling diamonds at the mohrgs.  Simultaneously, Hawk, a hard, closed look in his eyes, struck at the mohrg before him again, separating its skull-like head from its body.

“Thank you my friend,” Moreto said quietly from behind Faust.  “I promise I will not kill your friends, unless no other choice is left me.”  He then uttered several arcane words, and a wave of null-magic swept over Grim, Hawk, and Drasek, stripping away several of their magical wards, including Hawk’s and Drasek’s ability to fly, and Grim’s energy resistance.

Grim and Drasek never hesitated.  They continued their assault of the cowed mohrg cringing before the inquisitor.  Shay added his support, shooting a final arrow through the mohrg’s skull.

“What is your choice?” Faust said to Moreto.  “Stand or flee?”
“Take me from this place,” the ghoul said quickly, “and the Seal is yours!”
The psion landed on Moreto’s shoulder, and in an eye-blink, they were gone.

One heartbeat later, Moreto and Faust appeared in the narrow corridor overlooking the beginning of the falls.  
“I am in your debt,” Moreto said.
“Yes, you are,” Faust agreed, “and now it’s time to pay that debt.  The Seal please.”  
Moreto smiled, then drew from his cloak a disc of crystal about a foot in diameter, carved from a single large quartz and polished to a glossy finish.  One side was engraved with three runes.  
“You must speak these runes before you touch it,” Moreto instructed.  “They are Skyfire, Calim, and Icosiol.  If you do not, then they wrath of the Wind Dukes will descend upon you.”
Faust nodded, and quickly spoke the words before taking the Seal.  
“What will you do now?” he asked Moreto.
“Now I would ask one final favor of you,” the ghoul said.  “Show me the way out of this tomb.  I wish to see the surface.”
“What is it exactly that you are looking for?” Faust asked.
“Knowledge,” Moreto said simply.  “My studies have revealed to me rumor of an ancient dragon lord known as Dragotha.  He died centuries ago, but it is said that he held the secrets to incalculable storehouses of ancient lore.  It is this that I seek.”
Faust shrugged.  The name meant nothing to him.  “I’ll show you the way,” he said.  “Then we are done with each other.”  Gripping the ghoul’s shoulder once more, he again transported them through the Astral Plane, appearing this time before the portal to the Whispering Cairn.
“Step through,” he said, “and the follow the tunnel to the outside.”  Without waiting for a reply, the psion vanished again.
Moreto looked at the portal, testing it cautiously before pushing through.  As he stepped clear, he turned to inspect the magical transport more closely.  A knowing, thoroughly wicked smile creased his ancient face…


----------



## gfunk

WINDS OF CHANGE

“So you came back, traitor?”  Drasek said coldly as the dragonet form of Faust reappeared a safe distance away from the group.  It had been no more than a minute since his departure with Moreto.  The jeweled eyes of the pseudo-dragon showed no hint of emotion.
“I have betrayed no one,” the psion said.  “I did what had to be done…what you could not do.  You will thank me one day, if you live through this.”
Drasek frowned, and turned to Giovanni.  “And you!” he shouted.  “You didn’t lift a finger to stop him!  Twice now you have made bargains with the spawn of the Abyss!  How will you now honor your original deal and retrieve that which you so freely traded?”
“For Shay’s life!” the warlock said defensively.  “Flycatcher left me little choice.  I had to promise him whatever it took for him to release Shay to me.  I never intended to blindly assassinate any one without first knowing something about that individual.  When I had the chance to actually speak to Moreto, I knew I could not simply kill him in cold-blood, especially since he had something of value to offer us in turn.”

“Cold-blood?!” Drasek laughed.  “Doesn’t a creature have to have a beating heart to have blood at all, cold or warm?  This is a walking corpse you’re speaking of with such admiration, an abomination, evil!”
“You keep throwing that word around as if it is so simply defined,” Faust interjected.  “If you are so dead-set of removing evil from the world, why don’t you start with Daggerford?  The town is full of evil, self-serving, back-stabbing individuals?  Why, this Balabar Smenk your team mates told me of sounds like ten-times the monster that you accuse Moreto of being.”
“That’s different,” Drasek fumed.  “Mortals can choose their actions, and thus they are capable of redemption.  The undead are inherently corrupted.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Faust shrugged.  
“Did you find out where the Seal is located,” Giovanni interrupted.  
“Yes, he gave it to me,” the psion replied.
“So he had it on him the whole time?!” Drasek cried.  “You see!  We should have just destroyed him and taken it from him!”
“Ah, but then you would not have known the safe way to handle it, as Moreto instructed me.” Faust answered.  “Had you simply taken it, you would have brought down the wrath of the Wind Dukes upon you.”
“Better that than to sell your soul,” the inquisitor snapped.

“Look my friend,” Grubber said, placing one large hand on Drasek’s shoulder, “Grumbar teaches that the more the world changes, the more it stays the same.  Ultimately, time will bear out the boon or bane of Faust’s decision.  He acted for the greater good.”
“And unleashed an undead horror into the world,” Drasek said, shrugging off the Goliath’s hand.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Grim put in, “but I have to agree with goldilocks there.  I’m all for seeing our mission thru to the end, no matter what we have to do to get there, but making deals with the undead is asking for trouble.  They’re treacherous.  Can’t trust’em.”  

“This is pointless,” Faust said in exasperation.  “What’s done is done.  I have brought you the Seal, but first, Giovanni, I would speak with you alone.”
“Of course,” Drasek said, waving one hand.  “What can you expect from two who are morally bankrupt?  Go ahead, scheme some more!”
Giovanni cast a hurt look at the inquisitor before shaking his head and following Faust, who had moved to a distant part of the cavern.  The psion began speaking without preamble as the warlock approached.
“I’ll only ask you this once.  If I feel that you are not being truthful with me, I will leave now and take the Seal with me.  Contrary to what Drasek thinks, I actually believe in being open and honest in all of my dealings…some may say brutally so.”
“What is it that you want to know?” Giovanni asked suspiciously.
“What were you and Shay really doing all that time while you were left alone?  You managed to find yourself an awful lot of trouble for a pair who was supposed to be on a simple watch detail.”
Giovanni shrugged.  “Simple,” he said.  “We were cleaning out the courtesan’s tomb of the treasure Drasek had us leave behind.  We cannot afford to be overly moralistic about the resources we have at our disposal to complete our goal, as I’ve just stated.”
The psion nodded.  “Good.  I appreciate your honesty.  Now, I would also appreciate you giving me one-third of what you took for my own personal use.  I assure you, my motives are not entirely selfish.”
Giovanni stared for a moment, then nodded once.  “Done.  No questions asked.”
Faust produced the Seal and instructed the warlock in its safe use.  “Now,” he said when he had finished his tutorial, “just to show that I’m not a completely heartless bastard, I’m going to return to Daggerford and keep my eye out for Moreto to insure that he doesn’t cause any trouble.  I will hopefully meet you all back there no later than tomorrow.  If you’re not there, I’ll come looking for you.  If you’re not here, I’ll assume the worst.”  With that, once again, he vanished.

“I think our best bet is to start with the gatehouse.” Giovanni said, addressing the team after he had showed them all the Seal and taught them the words to safely use it.  Drasek stubbornly refused to meet his gaze and Hawk looked troubled, but it was Shay who voiced his disagreement.
“It seems to me,” he began thoughtfully, “that the last time we met those wind warriors, they were guarding Zosiel’s true tomb.  Now we meet them again, this time in the bowels of the earth, nowhere near the tomb we’ve been exploring.  Don’t you think it’s reasonable to assume that they might have been put there to act as guards as well?  Could it be that the entrance to Icosiol’s tomb is hidden somewhere in the shaft?  Perhaps the Seal can lead us to it.”
Giovanni looked thoughtful.  The rogue had an excellent point.  They had to make their way back up the shaft anyway, they might as well look as they went.

“Since we can still fly, Shay, why don’t the two of us go first?”  the warlock asked.  “If we find anything, we’ll come back for the rest of you.”
“I’m going too,” Grim sad matter-of-factly, and he gave Giovanni a knowing look.  It was clear he didn’t trust the warlock and the rogue to their own devices.
“You can’t fly,” Giovanni pointed out.  Moreto had seen to that.
“Landlubber there can fix that,” the dwarf said, hooking a thumb at Grubber.  The goliath looked momentarily taken aback, but then he nodded his head.  
“Yes, I can do that, but how did you know I had prayed for the Aspect of the Celestial this morning.”
“I make it my business to know what might keep me alive,” Grim said cryptically.  Grubber shrugged and began his incantation.  When he finished, a pair of white, feathery wings sprouted from the dwarf’s back.

The trio took to the air, circling slowly back up the shaft, looking at all the walls carefully, Giovanni all-the-while holding aloft the Seal.  They found nothing.  Frustrated, they returned to their companions and told them of their efforts.  Hawk looked pensive for a moment.  
“It’s called the Seal of Law, correct?” the civilar asked finally.  Giovanni nodded.  “We also know that the Wind Dukes were beings of rigid laws.  It would stand to reason then that perhaps the Seal might best be used by one who also follows a similar code.”  Giovanni looked insulted at the implication of the paladin’s words, but logically he could not argue the point.
“I can make you fly again,” he said, passing the Seal to the civilar.  Unfurling a scroll, he read it, after which it dissolved into ash.  “Let’s go.”  The four of them took to the air once more.

Drasek watched them go, anger still plain on his face.  Without a word to Storm and Grubber, he walked to the far wall of the cavern, and seated himself cross-legged, resting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes.  Softly he began to chant, his voice growing stronger by the second.  He called out, not only across the chamber, but across the Planes themselves, his prayer seeking out another who walked the Path of the Exalted…a herald of Kelemvor.
‘What is it that you ask of me, Holy Warrior?’  Drasek heard the Celestial’s voice plainly in his mind as if the speaker were directly in front of him.
‘I cry your pardon, my Lord for this intrusion, but I have come to a cross-road on my journey, and I fear I lack the wisdom to choose the proper path.’
‘I know of your crisis,’ the herald said, ‘and our Lord Kelemvor regrets your sorrow.  Yet these are His words that I convey to you:  the apocalypse that is the Age of Worms is the greatest threat that your world, and perhaps many others, has faced in millennia.  It cannot be allowed to come to pass.  There are others who strive against it as do you and your companions, but the greatest opportunity for success lies with you.  Your companions’ hearts are true, and their intentions pure, yet their actions place them at great peril.  They risk becoming exactly that which they seek to destroy.  You must show them the way and be their guide on this perilous journey.  Our Lord has foreseen it to be so.’
A smile crossed Drasek’s face, and his soul was at peace.  ‘I thank your for your guidance.’  As swiftly as it came, the contact was broken.  The inquisitor rose and returned to his friends, his mission now crystal-clear in his head.

Hawk had reached the point in the shaft where they had encountered the second group of wind warriors, and there, clearly outlined by a softly glowing white light, was a hidden doorway behind the cascading falls.
“We’ve found it,” he said to his companions.  They returned to the others.  Storm wove a spell around Grubber enabling him to climb walls like a spider, and Grim then transported first Drasek, then the sorceress to the point Hawk had indicated, while Grubber followed close behind.

Beyond the secret doorway lay a narrow flight of carved, stone stairs winding steadily upwards.  At the top of the stairs was a small cave, the walls and floor of which obviously been partly finished by stoneworkers.  More impressive by far were the massive, fifty-foot tall doors on the far side of the cave.  These dull, black doors were carved with both gigantic and tiny runes, some at eye level and others much larger.  The metal of the doors seemed pristine and freshly forged.

Giovanni moved up closer to the massive portals, and peered intently at the runes.  He pulled another scroll from his belt, and read aloud the spell inscribed there.  As the parchment disintegrated, he looked at the runes again, this time nodding his head in comprehension.  
“This language is that of the Wind Dukes,” he said over his shoulder.  “Most of it seems to be a litany of curses against the forces of Chaos, but there is one prominent phrase here, over the handles.  It reads, ‘Dare not enter the tomb of Icosiol, Lord of Calim, Wandering Duke and Bearer of the Scepter of Calim.  His righteous peace and glorious memory are best left forever sleeping.’”  When he’d finished, the warlock blinked his eyes once, reflexively shifting his gaze into a different spectrum, one where lines of magic were perceptible to him.  Immediately he beheld two powerful spells woven into the doors.
“Be careful here,” he said to no one in particular.  “These curses may be more than just words.”

Hawk stepped forward, and held the Seal before him.  Instantly, he felt a sensation of weightlessness come over him, and in his mind words of fire appeared:  Calim, Icosiol, and Skyfire…the runes inscribed on the Seal.  Without hesitation, he spoke the words aloud.  As the final syllable left his lips, the mighty portals swung soundlessly open.

The chamber revealed on the other side contained seven stone columns, each slightly taller than the next, rising slowly from the entrance to a small platform at the far end of the chamber before a second set of enormous doors.  No floor was visible.  In its place was a pit filled at a depth eighty-feet below the doorway with glowing blue fog.  Swirling patterns of wind and lightning danced and howled along the walls and ceiling, filling the room with a tumultuous roar.  Each of the seven columns appeared slightly different.  The closest column’s top was level with the ground in the entry way.  The next column was two-feet higher.  The third rose up to the ceiling, forty-feet above.  The fourth was three feet higher than the second one, but rotated slowly in place.  The fifth column’s upper surface seemed to be covered with a thick layer of what looked like tar, and was about one-foot higher than the last.  The sixth column was two-feet higher than the previous one, but was made of a lighter colored stone.  A larger column, nearly twice the diameter of the others, stood to the left of the main row.

Hawk never wavered.  Taking to the air, he landed lightly atop the first column, and peered down into the mist below.  There, he saw the vapors begin to swirl, forming themselves into a small vortex, which became steadily larger as he watched.  Soon, the whirlwind reached his level, and before he knew what was happening, it surged towards him, lifting him into its swirling midst, buffeting him about like a rag-doll.

“It’s another elemental!” Havok cried.  “We have to get him out of there!”  Shay quickly walked forward, holding out his empty hands.
“We come in peace,” he pleaded to the cyclone.
“Step aside, fool!” Havok shouted, elbowing him out of the way.  He raised his own empty hand, and fired a blast of noxious, green energy into the whirlwind.  Simultaneously, Grubber and Grim charged forward, each swinging their weapon at the huge elemental, but the creature proved to be as swift as the wind it was formed from, and moved back from the doorway, then dropped like a stone back into the mists, taking Hawk with it.  Gripping his axe in both hands, Grim spreads his wings, and leaped into the void, disappearing into the fog before anyone could stop him.

Drasek was momentarily stunned by what he’d just witnessed.  Just like that, Hawk was gone.  As the inquisitor moved towards the edge of the pit with the others, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.  The third column, the one which rose to the ceiling, was illusory, or at least the part that rose to the roof was.  The real column was almost level with its predecessor.  Drasek didn’t know what the significance of this was, and he didn’t have time to give it further thought.  He noticed the others were all engaged in preparatory actions.  Storm had cast a Fly spell upon herself, and then one of Invisibility.  Grubber was moving towards one of the inside walls, preparing to start climbing along it.  Shay upended a flask, and then he too disappeared from sight.  Havok was pulling another scroll from his belt, and came to stand beside the crusader.
“If you want, I can make you fly as well.”
Drasek looked at him, and then nodded.  It was obvious they had to go after Hawk, no matter what was waiting for them below.

Hawk could barely make out his surroundings.  Everywhere he looked was wind and fog.  The vortex buffeted him constantly, and he couldn’t think.  Desperately, he called out the words on the Seal, but nothing happened.  He gripped his sword tightly, and swung blindly at the bludgeoning winds, to no avail.  As his body became steadily more battered and bruised, he struggled to concentrate on his Torm-given ability to heal his own wounds, but the cyclonic winds ripped away his focus, and his powers failed him.

Grubber seemed in an endless free-fall.  Already he had flown down almost four-hundred feet by his dwarven reckoning, when finally below him, he saw the whirling mass of the elemental, and Hawk’s broken form within it.  At that moment, a second vortex began forming above him, and before he could take evasive action, he was sucked into its maw, trapped as effectively as Hawk.

Grubber reached out for the chamber wall, and felt his fingers grip its surface like the arachnid Storm’s spell mimicked.  The moment he did so, however, a shaft of lightning tore through him, and a hurricane-force blast of wind howled around him, threatening to wrench him from his perch.  Only the goliath’s bulk and strength held him to the wall, but he quickly backed away to the doorway before another of the deadly blasts hit him.

Storm didn’t stop to think before she acted.  She knew that if she did, she would be paralyzed with fear and indecision.  She leaped from the lip of the doorway, and followed Grim’s path down into the mists.  She could only pray to Elistrae that her kinship with the storms that were her namesake would allow her to assist her companions.  She flew deeper and deeper into the fog until she saw a vortex below her.  To her surprise, inside it was trapped not Hawk, but Grim.  Then she saw the second cyclone, and Hawk within.  Thinking quickly, she cast the first spell that came to her mind…a Thunderclap.  The impact reverberated within the mists, slamming into the elementals, and unfortunately their captives as well.  Storm had hoped that the sound wave would stun the cyclones, but alas she failed to perceive that nature of elementals, and their natural immunity to such things.  Alas too for Hawk, since he was not.  The sonic boom left him dazed and limp, completely at the mercy of the destructive winds.

“We have to reach the far side,” Havok said to Grubber, indicating the small platform across the chamber.  “Those doors might be the key to ending this assault.”  Grubber nodded and started towards the inner wall again, this time speaking the words from the Seal before he touched them.  It didn’t help.  Again the wind and lightning struck at him, but this time he pressed on, crawling as rapidly as he could along the wall and to the platform on the far side.  For his part, Giovanni wondered if the columns had something to do with the solution.  He leaped to the first column, then quickly Dimension Doored to the second.  

Drasek and Shay were the last to leave the ledge, but neither hesitated, not even the normally reserved rogue.  Since Drasek could not see the invisible Shay, his path diverged from the rogues once they entered the mist.  Consequently, Shay first encountered Hawk’s captor.  He continued past the elemental, even deeper into the pit, until he reached the tapering end of the cyclone.  Drasek, in turn, came upon the second elemental and Storm simultaneously.  
“Beware!” the sorceress warned.  “There is another near at hand!”  

Drasek could hear the roaring wind of the second elemental, but could not see it through the fog.  He began moving in the direction of the sound, but before he could close the distance, the cyclone that had trapped Grim flowed over him, engulfing his as well. 

Slowly, Hawk returned to his senses, but found his situation unchanged.  He was still being slammed in all directions by the whirlwind.  Again, and again he swung his sword about him, unleashing surges of lightning as he did so.  He could not tell if his blows had any effect, but he thought he detected a slight decrease in the force of the winds.  At that moment, Storm appeared out of the mist, flying straight towards him!  What was she thinking? he wondered.  It was suicide coming so close in, and no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than the elemental lunged for her, sucking her into its maw.  

Havok balanced atop the second column, watching Grubber’s progress.  Once the goliath made the far ledge, he quickly set about healing his wounds.  Havok’s gaze shifted between the goliath and the mists below.  Even through the howling winds, he could hear muffled explosions echoing up from the depths.  In that moment, he was decided.  
“I’ll be back,” he called to the goliath, and then he flung himself off the column and down into the maelstrom.

The two elementals were now side by side, and their prisoners could all see each other as they waged their personal battles.  Drasek and Grim struck out at random with their weapons, feeling the vortex shuttered, but seeming no closer to freeing themselves.  For her part, Storm only concentrated on one thing…reaching Hawk.  Focusing all of her concentration, she flew against the cyclonic winds, finally reaching the civilar.  She reached for him, concentrated again, and spoke the words to a spell, though Hawk could not hear the words.  The results, however, were instantaneous.  In the blink of an eye, both sorceress and civilar vanished.

Grubber was astonished a moment later when Hawk and Storm appeared on the narrow ledge beside him.  
“He needs help,” Storm said, supporting the barely conscious paladin.  Grubber nodded and helped Hawk to sit against the wall.  He then began the business of ministering to the civilar’s injuries.

Shay did not see Storm’s dramatic rescue of Hawk.  He assumed the civilar was still trapped, and so he began stabbing at the base of the cyclone, and then darting quickly away once the elemental saw his now visible form and whirled towards him.  

Havok finally reached the top of the swirling elementals and saw Drasek and Grim’s predicament.  Deliberately, he moved even closer, waiting for the tornado to approach.  When it did, he willingly went into its embrace.  Drasek and Grim merely gaped at him…until he leveled a tremendous eldritch blast from inside the elemental.  Instantly, the whirlwind dissipated, flinging the trio in all directions as the elemental assumed its natural form, that of a smaller, but no less formidable looking cyclone.  This one had two burning blue eyes, and they smoldered with rage.  

Hawk struggled to his feet against Grubber’s protests.
“I’m fine,” the civilar said.  “I’ve got to get back down there.  The others are in trouble.  Storm, make me invisible.”  The sorceress didn’t question him.  Once her spell was cast, Hawk stepped to the edge, looked at the long drop below, and fell forward.  This time, however, he did not fly, but instead let himself free-fall.  He needed speed, and he knew the pit to be at least four-hundred feet deep.  He felt sure he would be able to pull out of the fall before he hit bottom.  This was his last conscious thought as, moments later, the floor suddenly loomed up at him.

Havok and Grim streaked towards the elemental from opposite directions.  As the warlock launched another noxious eldritch blast, Grim hacked into the ethereal substance of the creature.  In response, a pseudopod-like appendage swung out from the elemental, smashing into Havok, momentarily addling him.  He quickly recovered, but knew he would not survive another such attack.  Quickly, the warlock Dimension Doored several dozen feet up into the mist, leaving behind an illusory image of himself.  Still enraged, the elemental struck again at the image, dissipating it as its pseudopod passed through.

Drasek headed back towards the elemental as well, but as he passed the second one, still in whirlwind form, the massive creature struck out at him, sucking him inside, trapping him once again.  The creature then struck downwards at Shay, who continued to harry it with his hit-and-run tactics.  This time the elemental connected, driving the rogue to the floor, but Shay continued to roll and tumble with the momentum of the blow, avoiding the cyclone’s vicious suction.  

Storm followed Hawk down into the mists, but the invisible, free-falling civilar outdistanced her easily, and so she was not aware of the paladin’s fate.  She came upon the smaller elemental still battling Grim, its larger brethren nearby with Drasek suspended inside.  Quickly, the sorceress conjured a large ball of flame into her hand, and hurled it between the two elementals.  It detonated with a deafening explosion, its flames engulfing both of the creatures, and Drasek as well.  Storm regretted the injury caused to her companion, but she knew that if the elementals were not destroyed, they were all as good as dead anyway.

Drasek weathered the blast, but he knew he was gravely injured.  If the elemental’s buffeting continued, he would be battered to death in a matter of moments.  He inhaled deeply, centering his mind, and calling on Torm’s power to deliver him.  In a rush, he was instantly teleported to the relative safety of the platform high above.  Once again, Grubber contributed what he could to his friends…his power to heal.  

Grim was alone.  Storm hovered somewhere above him, but the dwarf was now trapped between the two maddened elementals.   Abruptly, the second one abandoned its cyclonic form, and now both faced him in their natural state.  As he tried to maneuver from between the two, the first struck out at him, hitting him like a charging rhino.  Fortunately, the mineral warrior’s thick hide absorbed the brunt of the blow.  Suddenly, a lance of green energy struck from out of nowhere, slicing through the second elemental.  It exploded in a cloud of green gas.  Concealed in the fog, Havok smiled.  The warlock had used his magic to give him one True Strike, negating the concealment afforded the elementals by the mist.  He had used the opportunity to strike what he hoped was a telling blow, and had been rewarded beyond his expectations.

Shay tumbled abruptly to a stop as he rolled into something lying on the floor of the pit.  Tentatively reaching out one hand, he quickly recoiled as he felt something wet and sticky.  Yet he also felt the cold touch of metal armor.  It was a body.  An armored one.  Could it be one of his companions?  He couldn’t see the figure, though the warmth of its skin told him there was at least still a spark of life there.  Hastily, the rogue fumbled in his belt pouch for one of his healing elixirs.  Feeling blindly, he tried to locate the mouth of the person, but was unsure if he was successful when he upended the potion.

Grim and his foe traded blow after blow, clashing like titans.  Havok could hear the conflict, but he dared approach no closer for fear of becoming a casualty of the melee.  Blindly he launched another eldritch spear, not knowing that he had in fact hit his mark.  Simultaneously, Storm lobbed an orb of lightning at the elemental, illuminating it as it collapsed in on itself and vanished from sight.

Shay felt the life leave his unknown companion, and hung his head in defeat.  He still did not know which of his friends he had just lost, but he knew he could not leave his team mate.  Pulling out his magical bag, which contained a large extra-dimensional space, he slowly worked until he had placed the body inside, and then he took to the air.

When the team regrouped in the entry hall, they realized that it was Hawk who had been lost.  The paladin was dead, and though Grubber knew that he could retrieve the civilar’s soul, a black pall still hung over the party.  They were battered, bloodied and exhausted.  Though they stood on the threshold of their goal, they knew they could go no further this day.  As they scanned the room for other imminent threats, Drasek noted a second illusion in the chamber, this one a false section of ceiling forty-feet above the larger pillar.  He pointed it out to his companions, and though it was unanimously agreed upon that they must rest, it was decided that they would do so within the relative safety of the stairwell.


----------



## gfunk

REVELATIONS 

Faust stared at the ruined portal, and smiled ruefully.
“That sneaky bastard,” he said, shaking his head.  In the time between when he had left Moreto and returned the Seal to the others, the true ghoul had apparently smashed the doorway from the other side, trapping the League in Icosiol’s tomb…wherever that happened to be.  The psion shrugged, and sat down on the floor of the corridor with his back to the wall.  He should go and warn the others, but his mental abilities were exhausted, and he wasn’t about to go traipsing through this death trap defenseless.  No, he would be better off staying put, meditating for a few hours, and then trying to get some rest.  The others would have no choice but to come this way if they decided to leave.

Several hours later, he awoke with a start.  He was usually not one to dream, but he had just had a particularly nasty one.  In it he had seen a handsome man with dark, shoulder-length hair, dressed in the garb of a nobleman.  He had stood at the head of a large banquet table, crowded with many guests of equal noble bearing, but his team mates were also present.  The table had been set with a sumptuous feast, with a large, covered tray bearing the main course.  With a flourish, the nobleman had removed the lid, and there, trussed and cooked, complete with an apple in his mouth, was Faust.  The psion wasn’t sure what the dream meant, if anything, and he didn’t dwell on it.  He supposed exhaustion was playing tricks on his already spent psyche.  

Faust stood, gathered his belongings, and began making his way back into the tomb on foot, rather than by dimensional travel.  His companions had not come upon him during the night, and so must still be on their search…unless they were dead.  He remembered Giovanni had mentioned something about a gatehouse located off the temple chamber where they had encountered the spider.  That was as good a place to start as any.  As he walked, he focused an image in his mind, and between one step and the next, his body morphed into that of a grey render.  The vicious creature’s form was far stronger and more hardy than his natural form, and he didn’t care to take any chances while he was alone.  

Flycatcher was dozing lightly, when a slight noise brought him to full wakefulness.  What had it been?  The scrape of a claw on stone?  The shadow spider retreated further into the shadows and peered down the long hallway which led to the upper levels.  There, lumbering down the passage with no attempt at stealth, was a hulking, grey-skinned creature, with a large, fang-filled maw, six insectile eyes, and long arms tipped with claws that dragged the ground.  In an instant Flycatcher had wreathed himself in shadows and closed the sixty feet between the creature and himself.

“I know not what manner of beast you are,” the spider spoke in common as he loomed over the creature, “and you may have a mind as primitive as your body, but if you comprehend my words, heed them now.  I offer you one chance to turn and leave my abode.”
The thing’s six eyes blinked in unison and it cocked its head quizzically, much like a hound will do when it is confused.  However, Flycatcher was very observant, and he caught just the barest hint of a smile on the creature’s drooling lips.

Faust knew his bluff had been called when the spider suddenly lunged for him.  Stepping back quickly, the psion manifested a current of fiery energy from the middle of his brow.  The beam struck the arachnid in the thorax, and though it reeled in pain, it come steadily on, its huge bulk squeezed in the narrow passage.  It’s claws snapped at the air as Faust shuffled back again.  Then, it surged towards him, claws wide as if to embrace him.  Faust darted forward, locking his massive jaws onto Flycatcher’s arm.  The spider squealed in pain again, its body still being scorched by the energy current.  Frantically, Flycatcher flailed at the render, seizing Faust with two of his claws and lifting the psion off the ground so he could rip at him with his mandibles.  Struggling to maintain his concentration despite the ferocity of the attack, Faust continued to poor his mental energy into the current, melting large holes in Flycatcher’s body.  Again and again the shadow spider tore at him, but his attacks became weaker, until finally, he dropped the render to the floor and curled into a crisped ball.  Faust breathed heavily, finally letting the energy current subside.  He looked down at his injuries, decided they were not life-threatening, and stepped past the spider, continuing down the corridor.  
“Did not know who you were screwing with,” he muttered to himself.

Reaching the temple chamber, Faust considered his options.  The doors to his left would lead him to the gatehouse, but the blue, steel doors in front of him would take him eventually back to the falls.  However, Giovanni had told him about the golems that had been released in the room before he and Shay fled.  Faust wondered if they were still there.  Cautiously, he moved up the short flight of stairs to the door, and cracked it open.  Immediately, three pairs of stone eyes turned towards him as the golems moved towards the door.  Quickly, the psion slammed the door shut, and hurried back down the stairs, and towards the doors on the opposite side of the room.  He heaved a sigh of relief when it did not appear that the golems were following.

When he opened the second set of doors he saw the unstable looking rock bridge which spanned the river of blood.  The gatehouse stood silent and apparently empty on the far side, the bodies of the slain xorns lying on the beach in front of it.  Not willing to risk the bridge, Faust Dimension-doored to the gates.  The entrance was made of flaking, rusting iron, with hinges on the other side and a series of glyphs and protective amulets inset in the iron.  Some of the amulets looked almost like feathers, while others seemed more like mill wheels or perhaps latches or levers.  The thick rust made it difficult to say what the engravings really were meant to be.  Some of them seemed to be smudged with black dirt or ashes.  In any event, it did not appear that the doors had been recently opened.  Faust surmised that his friends did not come this way after all.  Willing his body to morph once more, he returned to the form of a pseudo-dragon, and Dimension-doored back to the cave where they had encountered Moreto.  He would start his search from there.

Hawk rubbed his bleary eyes as the fuzzy image above him coalesced into the stony visage of Grubber.
“Not you again,” the civilar groaned.  
“Retrieving your soul is becoming something of a habit,” the goliath said good-naturedly.  “Have a care, though.  Even Kelemvor’s patience can be tested.”
As Grubber helped Hawk to a sitting position, and began healing his body now that his soul was intact, the others quickly brought the paladin up to speed on their current situation.  Hawk glanced up at the point in the ceiling that Drasek had identified as false, though to him, it appeared as solid as the rest of the stone around it.

“Our plan is as simple as it is dangerous,” Giovanni added.  “First, I recommend you allow Drasek to hold the Seal.  Then, I will Dimension Door with him, Grubber and Grim to the top of that large column, directly beneath the hole.  From there, I will transport the four of us just inside the hole, and hope that location is a stable one.  As quickly as I am able, I’ll return for you, Storm and Shay.”  
Hawk agreed the plan was dicey, at best, but their options were limited.  Enabling all of them to fly again would expend resources, and even then, they could only enter the hole one-by-one, which could be potentially suicidal.  He had to agree that the warlock’s plan seemed best.

The team prepared themselves, with the spellcasters, both divine and arcane, layering one defensive dweomer after another on themselves and the warriors.  When all was ready, Havok joined hands with Drasek, Grim and Grubber, and then stepped into the Astral Plane.  

They were coming.  Augerric could sense it.  The oculus demon had heard and witnessed most of the trespassers’ battle with the guardians the day before.  He also knew they had encamped just beyond the entrance to the Rising Path, fools that they were.  Had he not been bound by his Oath to the tomb he would have swept down upon them in the night and slaughtered them at his leisure.  Instead, he was forced to bide his time, making his own preparations for when they felt bold enough to come to him.  That time was now.

The chamber was modestly sized, but had a very high, vaulted ceiling, nearly sixty feet at its apex.  The room was lit by elongated metal lanterns that glowed with the colors of the rainbow.  A white, marble sarcophagus floated in the air at the far end of the room, ten feet off the floor.  The sarcophagus bottom was carved with an image of a sleeping Wind Duke, two swords resting on his chest and a winged helmet at his feet.
The walls of the chamber were carved to depict a funeral procession that wound up in a spiral, showing Wind Dukes, djinni, air elementals and other elemental servants of Law in mourning as they attended the body of a fallen general.  After the first spiral, the upper sections showed the general’s ascension into a primal vortex of wind and thunder.  Many-eyed abominations, frog-like humanoids, and tentacled demons were trampled beneath his feet as he rose into a golden doorway at the end of the fresco.

Havok and his three companions barely had time to register the quiet grandeur of the room, as disaster struck as soon as they appeared.  Unfortunately, the hole in the ceiling of the ante-chamber below opened into a small alcove in this upper room.  The warlock had not anticipated this when he shifted the group here from the column below, and Grim and Grubber both rematerialized inside a solid wall!  Instantaneously, they were shunted completely across the chamber, where they stood momentarily stunned before a raised dais.  As if this weren’t enough, Havok’s ability to ‘see the unseen’ revealed the creature that stood, cloaked in invisibility, upon that dais, directly above his friends.  Some obscure wisp of planar knowledge in the back of Havok’s mind named the fiend:  an oculus demon.  It stood roughly six feet in height, but sported a large pair of bat-like wings which made it look even more imposing.  The most shocking thing about it were the literally hundreds of eyes that blinked in unison, and covered its entire body, from the tips of its horns, to the bottoms of its feet.  A wickedly hooked sword was clutched in both its taloned hands, and a multitude of identical images of the demon danced about it…a spell-like effect that Havok was well acquainted with.  

Though he longed to stay and defend his friends, Havok knew that he could be of most use by bringing in reinforcements.  Darting towards the hole in the floor, he shouted over his shoulder, “Behind you, on the dais!  It’s a demon!  Bless your weapon, if you can, and use cold iron if you have it!”  Then he dropped through the floor, trusting in the Feather Fall ring he had borrowed from Grubber to slow his fall.  However, no sooner had he begun his descent, than he was battered by a blast of lightning from the maelstrom raging across the ceiling of the antechamber.  Fortunately, Grubber had once more protected the team from electricity, and he weathered the worst of the damage.  Slowly, he drifted towards the top of the large column below.  

Augerric smiled at the futile warning the human had given his companions.  Much good would it do them.  The demon’s augmented sight showed his every magical dweomer the pitiful mortals had cloaked themselves in.  The goliath in particular was heavily draped in magic, and the robe of Celestial Brilliance he wore annoyed Augerric.  With a thought, he dropped a dispelling field over the brute, smirking as charm after charm winked out, but unfortunately not the damnable light.  As he struck with his spell, he became instantly visible, but before the dumbfounded creatures could do more than gape open-mouthed, three of his eyes fired lancing beams of black light at each of them.  Augerric began to laugh as the pathetic goliath began to heave and retch.

As Havok landed atop the column, he instantly transported himself to stand beside Hawk, Shay and Storm.  
“We’ve got trouble.”

Grim shook off the draining, nauseating effects of the eye-bolt, and deliberately pulled a flask from his pouch, while at the same time drawing out an axe he had found long ago, and kept purely for aesthetic reasons.  One didn’t come across cold iron that often.  Working quickly, he emptied the contents of the flask onto the blade of the axe, and began rubbing the oil into the metal.

Augerric paid little heed to the dwarf.  It was the human on the far side of the room that now captured his attention.  Obviously this one had at least a modicum of intelligence, and had recognized the nature of the demon’s eye beams, for he was placing another dweomer upon himself, one that warded him from the effects of negative energy.  No matter.  He would deal with that shortly.  For the moment, he would content himself with harrying the two nearby who remained susceptible to his powers.  Twice more he blasted the goliath, smiling again when he saw the look of abject fear that came into the doomed mortal’s eyes.  Just for good measure, he shot the dwarf as well, then, willing himself invisibly once more, he glided silently across the room to stand right next to the human.

Grubber felt panic overwhelm him.  He had to leave this place now or he would surely die.  He was convinced of it.  Shoving Grim aside, he took off at a full run across the chamber, reaching the hole in a few strides.  Not hesitating, he dropped through, plummeting towards the column forty feet below, lightning blasting him as he fell.

“Trouble you say?” Shay said, raising one eyebrow as he watched the goliath tumble from the ceiling, wreathed in electricity, and fall prone atop the column.  
“Exactly,” Havok answered.  “Let’s go.”  They grasped hands, and vanished, reappearing next to the fallen Grubber.  

Drasek knew they were in trouble.  Already their initial strike force had been cut in half, and they couldn’t even see their enemy.  Quickly, he began another prayer, one which would purge all invisibility effects within thirty feet of him.  He was shocked and stunned to see the demon revealed not two feet from him.  Grim saw the demon as well, and he hurled himself across the chamber, raising his blessed weapon and slashing at the fiend, but was rewarded only by one of the multiple images of the creature winking out of existence.  

Augerric ignored the dwarf.  Instead, he dropped a second dispelling field over the human, watching hungrily as his defenses began to collapse, including his Death Ward.  Immediately, the demon blasted the inquisitor with three eye bolts, chuckling as the man clutched his abdomen and doubled over.  

As swiftly as it came, Grubber’s terror departed, leaving behind a feeling of deep shame.  Rising to his feet, he joined hands with the other three atop the column as they were whisked into the tomb.  

“Two can play that game, pit-spawn!” Drasek gasped between heaving.  He chanted a prayer that sounded more like a curse and dropped his own dispelling field over the demon.  To his satisfaction, all of the illusory images vanished.

Grim’s opportunity was at hand.  With only one target to deal with, he swung his axe with all his might, slamming it into the demon’s flank.  Augerric howled as the cold iron, blessed axe bit into his flesh and burned like acid.  Enraged, the fiend focused his ire first on the inquisitor who had made him an easy target.  Slashing with his unholy weapon, he gashed Drasek’s armor, slicing deep between his ribs.  The paladin felt one of his lungs collapse, and his breath came in ragged gasps.  Three blasts from the demon’s unblinking eyes hammered him into unconsciousness, and he sagged to the floor.

As Drasek dropped, Hawk stepped in to fill his space, “Shay, help Drasek!” the civilar called, parrying a blow from the demon at the same time.  As the momentum of Augerric’s strike momentarily over-balanced the fiend, Hawk slipped his own blade past, calling on Helm’s wrath to smite his foe, while at the same time unleashing a surge of holy power.  Augerric reeled from the blow, but was abruptly thrown forward again as a blast of eldritch power from Havok buffeted him from behind.  Again Grim picked the perfect moment to strike, sweeping his axe low this time, tangling Augerric’s feet, and putting the demon flat on his back.  Before Augerric could raise his blade to defend himself, the mineral warrior struck in two swift chops, his weapon opening horrific gashes in the demon’s vulnerable hide.  

Augerric was still furious, but he was also starting to feel a glimmer of something unfamiliar…fear.  The dwarf, goliath, and aasimar stood above him on three sides.  He was surrounded and on the ground.  He had to regain his feet and heal his wounds.  Reflexively, he lashed out at the dwarf with three of his eye bolts, and was rewarded with the sounds of the hated little creature vomiting.  Quickly, he heaved himself to his feet, but as he did so, the goliath and the aasimar struck.  Their blows were largely ineffective due to the unholy fortitude that was his birthright, but little by little his life’s blood was being drained from him.  Again the aasimar struck, but then Augerric quickly stepped behind the goliath, placing the brute between himself and his other assailants.  Concentrating, he summoned his magic, then reached out to touch the goliath, siphoning life force out of him much as a vampire would.  The demon’s wounds began to close.

Shay knelt beside the fallen form of Drasek.  Quickly, he poured a healing elixir into the inquisitor’s slack mouth.  Drasek coughed and sputtered, opening his eyes as the potion took effect.  He sat up hurriedly, assessing the situation around him.  “My thanks Shay,” he said, patting the rogue on the shoulder.  “I’ll take it from here.”  Just as the demon began draining Grubber’s life energy, Drasek began his own spell.  At its completion, an ephemeral hammer of pure white light, flashed into existence, and drove into Augerric’s chest, forcing the demon away from the goliath.  As he staggered back, Grim shoved past Grubber, lowering his shoulder and bowling the fiend completely over again.  The demon half raised one arm in a feeble attempt to ward off the dwarf, but Grim’s axe cleaved through Augerric’s limb, and into his skull.

Shay pulled a coil of rope from his pack, and spoke a word.  Of its own volition, the rope began snaking upwards, wrapping around the floating sarcophagus, and knotting off.  Quickly, the rogue scaled the rope and perched atop the marble casket.  The carving on the top depicted the same image on the underside, but its hands were empty, and protruded out of the top, seemingly carved as if to hold something.  Shay relayed his findings to the others, and then relinquished his position to Drasek.  The inquisitor drew out the Seal once more, and placed it within the Wind Duke’s hands.  

Instantly, the sarcophagus sank slowly to the floor, at which time the top faded away, leaving the Seal suspended in mid-air.  Within was dust and bone fragments, the remains of the Wind Duke general, Icosiol.  However, four items rested among the debris.  Two were swords, one a short sword of mithral, its pommel a single huge star sapphire that glittered with electrical energy, and the other a long sword, its hilt set with six pale sapphires the size of grapes.  A heavy platinum ring lay along side the swords, set with four, large, pale blue sapphires and carved with crisp runes of Law.  Finally, what appeared to be the sundered haft of a weapon, some fifteen inches in length, and jagged at one end, lay near the foot of the sarcophagus.  Giovanni’s sense of magic told him that all of the items were powerful, but the weapon fragment was potent beyond measure.  Reverently, Drasek removed each of the items, wrapping them carefully in his cloak before stowing them.  As he did so, a momentary rush of anger and jealousy swept over the group, but it was quickly replaced by a feeling of peace and welcome.  Drasek knew that Icosiol himself had blessed them, and gifted them with these relics from the past, to use in whatever way they saw fit in their coming trials.  Atop Grubber’s brow, the diadem of the Wind Duke Zosiel flared brightly, and the goliath felt its power increase, imbuing him with even greater wisdom and insight.  

“Well,” Drasek said as the team stood just inside the hidden passage overlooking the falling river of blood, “our search is over, and we can finally leave this place and its spirits in peace.”
“Not yet,” Giovanni said, his tone dark.  “There is still the matter of Flycatcher.  He has the Talisman, and I’m not leaving here without it, nor without repaying him in full.”
“What do you suggest?” Hawk asked.  “Did he instruct you were to find him?”
“No,” the warlock answered, “but I imagine he’ll be somewhere near the temple.  However, I would prefer that we start at the gatehouse.  It may be that his lair is within, and if so, we can take reclaim the Talisman.”  
All were in agreement, and while Drasek would transport himself, Hawk, Shay, Grubber and Storm, Giovanni and Grim would follow behind by flight via the wings that Grubber’s Celestial Aspect prayer granted them.  

It was during this return flight that the warlock and the dwarf came upon Faust.  
“I’ve been looking for you,” the psion said without preamble.
“Why?” Giovanni asked.  “I thought you were going to watch over Moreto.  Why are you back so soon?”
“It would seem,” Faust began, “that our paladins’ intuitions were correct, though I would never tell them so, and that Moreto was not entirely trust worthy.  You see…he sort of…destroyed to Portal.”
Grim cursed roundly.  “I told ya!  We should’a killed him when we had the chance!”
“Yes, well, you know what they say about hindsight and all that,” the psion said unperturbed.  “Not to worry, though.  Both and I Drasek are capable of Teleportation, so escaping should present no major obstacle.”
“That will have to wait,” Giovanni said.  “We were just on our way to find Flycatcher.”
“Oh…” Faust said, dropping his eyes.
“Oh…what?” the warlock asked, his own eyes narrowing.
“I…umm,” Faust hesitated.  “Well, it was self-defense!  He had me cornered, and I was on my own!  I didn’t know if he had already killed the rest of you, so…I…sort of….killed him.”
“You what?” Giovanni shouted, aghast.  “Did you find the Talisman?”
“No,” Faust admitted.  “He wasn’t carrying anything, and believe me, I looked.  I don’t know what you’re so upset about.  You said you planned on killing him anyway.”
Giovanni took a moment, then drew in a deep breath.  “I meant AFTER I had retrieved the Talisman.  Look, we were just on our way to meet the others at the gatehouse.  You had better hope that was where the spider laired.”

Some time later, Giovanni stood before four sets of smashed double doors, each set situated directly behind the other, with a blank wall behind the last set.  The gatehouse was a dead end.
“Well?” the warlock asked Faust accusingly.  Faust turned to Grubber.  
“I’m no expert,” the psion said, “but I’ve heard that some priests are capable of locating hidden or lost objects that they are familiar with.”
“That is true,” Grubber nodded, “provided that the object is within a certain distance.  If you will give me a few minutes to mediate, I can pray for the requisite spell.”

Several minutes later, the goliath shook his head.  “It is not nearby.”
Giovanni cursed, his fingers massaging his temples.  
“I have another idea,” Faust offered.
“Great,” the warlock snapped.  “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Flycatcher was a shadow spider,” the psion said, ignoring Giovanni’s sarcasm.  “So it stands to reason that his lair might lie on his home plane…the Plane of Shadow.  I happen to know that this particular plane overlies our own, and locations there mirror the same locations here, though in a somewhat altered way.  I can take us to the Shadow Plane, but the travel is imprecise.  We will not arrive in this same spot.  Once there, we must Teleport to the Shadow equivalent of this location.”
The others stared at him with mouths open.  He simply shrugged.  “It’s either that, or just admit the loss of the Talisman.”
Giovanni’s jaw tightened.  “Let’s do it.”

They found themselves upon a vast, monotone plain, the sky overhead a uniform shade of gray.  The land around them was blasted, and twisted, and seemed to be some sort of ancient battlefield.  Gnarled trees stood alone here and there, and tattered banners rustled in a chilled breeze.  A feeling of oppression overlay everything.
“Let’s keep moving,” Giovanni said.  “I don’t want to attract the attention of any natives.”

Drasek could only Teleport some of the group, and so, reluctantly, Shay, Giovanni, Storm and Hawk climbed inside Shay’s extra dimensional bag, holding their breaths as the sack was sealed.  Drasek then joined hands with Faust, Grim and Grubber, who in turn carried the sack, and focused in his mind an image of the temple in Icosiol’s tomb before invoking his Teleportation.

The room they appeared in was undoubtedly the temple, but it appeared nothing like its counterpart on the Prime.  The large chandeliers lay in ruins on the floor, and all the doors hung askew on their hinges.  The carvings on the walls had all been ruined by huge gouges, as if by large claws.  Draped from wall to wall, and ceiling to floor, were vast sheets of webs, wispy and ethereal in the half-light.  There was no question that they had found Flycatcher’s lair.  Dried husks of unknown creatures littered the floor, half cocooned in webs.  In one corner, however, Giovanni’s percipience detected the tell-tale emanations of magic.  The Talisman was indeed there, along with numerous items of jewelry and coins, but the magic of the artifact was much stronger than the warlock remembered.  Perhaps it had been affected by Icosiol’s blessing as well?

They did not tarry on the Shadow Plane any longer than necessary.  When they had reclaimed the Talisman, Faust transported them back to the Prime, this time aiming for Daggerford.  However, as the psion had previously mentioned, planar travel was an inexact science at best, and the group found themselves in the midst of a dense forest. 

By this time, they were all weary, and decided to rest for the evening before continuing on.  Their night passed uneventfully, full of the wild sounds of the forest.  In the morning, Drasek gathered them together again, as he had on the Plane of Shadow, and Teleported once more, this time appearing in the middle of Daggerford’s town square.

Delfen Ondabar greeted his friends warmly.  He had set up a temporary residence in an abandoned cottage, and had been busy recovering what he could of his research and lore. He was ecstatic when he heard of the team’s discoveries, and overawed when he beheld the actual relics.
“It is just as I guessed,” he whispered as he examined the shattered haft.  “This is indeed a fragment of the Shattered Scepter of Calim!  Unless I miss my guess, this is the largest piece.  Ah, alas!  Legend has it that each smaller fragment can guide the bearer to the next largest one.  This one, being the largest, cannot help us to find the others.  Still, it is a potent item in its own right.  It is supposed to be capable of healing any injury or malady simply by touch.  And these,” he said, picking up the swords, “These are the Lightning Sword and the Sword of Calim…Icosiol’s personal weapons!  And his ring!  With it, he could command the service of any creature of Air.  Amazing!”

In time, the team reached the conclusion that, though powerful, the swords and the ring were of little practical use to them.  Their own weapons were of comparable power.  However, the monetary value of such relics would provide them with much needed capital to equip themselves for their future endeavors.  Ondabar eagerly offered to purchase the items, paying the adventurers well over one-hundred thousand gold coins.  The shard of the Scepter, however, they decided to keep, with Drasek offering to bear it.

“And now my friends,” Ondabar said, “I must bid you goodbye.  You have grown beyond this old man, and I’m afraid I can be of no further use to you, save in one final way.  I would have you journey to the town of Longsaddle, east of Neverwinter.  There, you must seek my former master, Malchor Harpell.  Bring to him all you have gathered, and all that you have learned.  He is an archmage of vast power and knowledge.  If anyone can guide you in the days to come, it is he.  Go with my blessing.  You have made a jaded old wizard proud, and renewed my hope for this world.”


----------



## gfunk

THE ROAD TO LONGSADDLE

After a much deserved respite in Waterdeep, during which old acquaintances were renewed, wounds were healed, and gold spent, the League set out upon the Long Road for the more than two week journey to Longsaddle, legendary home of the Harpells.  Days were spent in monotonous travel, with Hawk and Giovanni astride Big Alice, and Drasek mounted upon Beaucephalus, his own steed, while the others plodded alongside on foot.  Night’s were spent in relative comfort, inside a Celestial Fortress conjured by Grubber each evening.  Grumbar’s ‘fortress,’ however, since it was designed to mirror the tastes of its deity, was little more than a large, stone block.  What it lacked in aesthetics, it made up for in security, having one door, no windows, and a trapdoor on the roof.  Both portals were locked by arcane magic which only Grubber could pass.  Each night, the priest would light a Celestial beacon on the rooftop, standing watch all through the dark hours, joined in rotation by Grim, Hawk, and Drasek.  The following morning, Grubber would pray for a simple spell to remove his fatigue due to lack of sleep.

So it went for the better part of a week, until one afternoon the group ran afoul of a hunting frost giant mounted on a grizzly mastodon.  The fellow seemed disinclined to parley, and so the League was forced to resort to other forms of diplomacy.  When the battle was ended, the party decided to make their camp a bit earlier than usual…

Magnus watched through his crystal ball, just as he’d watched for the past several weeks.  Visciannix, his employer, had told him where and how to find the adventurers.  It had just been a matter of waiting until the right opportunity presented itself for his own team to strike.  It would have been far too risky while the group was in Waterdeep.  Once they had set out upon the open road, however, Magnus wanted to establish their habits and patterns.  He felt he knew them intimately by now.  In truth, the archmage had no personal vendetta against the League.  They just happened to be standing between him and a very substantial sum of money.  It was strictly business, but it would be no less lethal for that.

As he watched the priest light his beacon, he finally turned to his strike force.
“Blob, you will go first.”  The huge elemental simply grunted, and moved towards the gleaming circle inscribed upon the floor of the chamber.
“Destiny, you and Avalanche will follow,” Magnus continued, “leaving Sabertooth to bring up the rear.”
The Harpy nodded, then turned towards her other two companions.  The one called Avalanche appeared human enough, but his golden eyes betrayed his other-worldly heritage.  Sabertooth, however, looked anything but.  At first glance, he seemed to be a bipedal tiger, but his overlong arms, which dragged the ground, long snout of a nose, and horrid stench gave away his true ancestry.  It was true, she thought with disgust, trolls really would mate with anything.

Grubber stood peering out into the night, brightly illuminated by his beacon.  He knew that the others though it risky to advertise their presence so boldly, but he thought just the opposite.  Any predator in the dark would think twice before attacking any group so confident as to light up the night like a spring dawn.  Behind him, Grim paced in silence, making perhaps his fiftieth circuit of the twenty-by-twenty rooftop.  

The goliath stretched and yawned as boredom set in.  While it was true that Grumbar espoused constancy without change, these nightly vigils were testing even His most faithful’s patience.  In an instant, everything changed.  From literally out of thin air appeared a huge creature, easily fifteen-feet tall, that, though roughly humanoid in shape, appeared to be made completely out of earth and stone.  Shaking the ground as it came, it moved with surprising speed towards the fortress, and with one, tree-trunk sized arm, swatted Grubber from the roof like a gnat.  The goliath tumbled to the ground like a child’s toy.

Grim turned, stunned by what he was seeing.  What in the name of Hela Brightaxe was an earth elemental doing here?  As he pondered THAT question, two more creatures suddenly popped into existence behind the elemental.  The first was a harpy.  He recognized her breed from the covey his team had encountered in the lair of the Redeye tribe.  The second was a man dressed in a chain shirt and carrying a large, steel shield emblazoned with an oddly stylized helmet in its center.  A heavy mace hung from his belt, and a leather headband held back his long, black hair.  All of this, Grim took in quickly.  Acting purely on reflex, he moved to the back side of the roof, and promptly leaped to the ground below, barely taking note of the impact from the twenty-foot drop.  Scrambling to his feet, he began fishing in his belt pouches for his defensive draughts.

Grubber still lay on his back, staring up at the behemoth towering over him.  He too saw the arrival of the newcomers, and knew this was no random encounter.  An ambush was being sprung.  With a word to Grumbar, the goliath priest hurled a Storm of holy Shards from his outstretched hand towards the invaders.  The human and the elemental ignored the blast completely.  Not evil then, Grubber noted with frustration.  The harpy, however, was another matter.

Destiny screamed as the knife-like shards ripped at her wings and skin.  They burned, but with cold instead of fire.  Worse, as they struck her, they flared with piercing light, and as it faded, she saw only darkness.  She was blind!

Grubber struggled to his feet, trying to back around the corner of the fortress and out of the elemental’s sight.  He was not fast enough.  Another hammering blow sent him reeling.  He managed to keep his feet, but only just, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer going toe-to-toe with the brute.

Inside the stone fortress, Faust snapped fully alert from his reverie at the sounds of battle just outside the door.  Around him, Hawk, Storm, Shay, and Giovanni all sat bolt upright, jolted from sleep.  Astonishingly, Drasek slept on, his rumbling snores uninterrupted.

As Grubber struggled to shake the stars from before his eyes, he saw a fourth creature appear on the scene.  For all the world, it appeared to be a tiger walking on two legs, but there was something misshapen about it…grotesque.  Yet, when it moved, it was like watching an arrow in flight.  In two strides, it reached the door to the fortress, pulling at the handle, then growling in anger when the magically sealed portal refused to open.  In the air above, the harpy seemed to have regained her composure, though from the jerky movements of her head from side to side, Grubber knew his spell had the desired effect.  Suddenly, she called out in a beautiful voice that belied her hideous appearance.
“The Scepter,” Destiny trilled, “It is all we want.  Give it to us and your lives will be spared.”  Then, incredibly, she began to sing.  Her voice was hypnotic in its haunting loveliness, and for a moment, Grubber wanted nothing more than to stand and listen to it.  Then, he shook his head violently to clear it, knowing the glamour for what it was.  

Avalanche saw that Destiny’s music wasn’t going to snare the goliath.  Time then for him to act.  Slapping his hands together, the aasimar sent a wave of sonic force at the priest, but the goliath ducked behind the building’s corner at the last second, and the blast only succeeded in chipping off a few stones.  

“Not so fast, little fella,” Blob rumbled as Grubber struggled to put some distance between himself and the elemental.  He swung his massive fist again, and the goliath raised his shield, bracing for the impact.  As it was, the blow put a sizeable dent in the priest’s magically hardened shield, and he knew instinctively that one more like that would sunder it completely.  Grubber had to buy some time.  Then, an idea hit him.  Thinking back to the wall of water that threatened to drown him and his companions back in Icosiol’s tomb, the goliath quickly uttered the prayer that would bring into being a Wall of Iron.  The barrier appeared instantly between him and the elemental, fusing itself into the side of the fortress.  Safely out of the brute’s reach, Grubber darted around the back of the shelter, coming face-to-face with Grim.

“Get up!” Shay shouted, as he kicked Drasek between the slats.  
“Wha…huh?” the inquisitor mumbled groggily.  
“For the love of Oghma,” Havok cursed, reaching down to grab Drasek by his tunic.  “Hang on!”  In a flash, the warlock and the paladin vanished, reappearing some forty-feet behind the fortress.
“Oh…my…” Drasek whispered.

“I’m not sure what’s happening out there,” Faust said to the others, “but the first one of you who opens that door before I’m ready is going to get Ego Whipped into butter!”  With that the psion morphed his form into that of a grey render.  He was none-to-soon in doing so, as at that precise moment, something literally flowed through the front, stone wall of the fortress as if it didn’t even exist.  The huge elemental stood staring down at the slack-jawed quartet gazing dumb-founded at him.
“Nothing beats the blob!” he roared, as Hawk, snapping into action, drove his sword hilt-deep into the earthy mass, then struggled to free it, as if it were stuck in quick-sand.  No trace of a wound showed in the creature’s stony hide.  Reaching over him, Blob slammed his fist into the face Faust.  The grey render/psion was hurled back into the wall.  He absolutely despised hand-to-hand combat!

Sabertooth was tired of waiting for the mice to come out of their hole, and he wasn’t about to let Blob have all the fun.  Darting around the side of the building, he rounded the back corner to find two of his prey conveniently waiting for him.  
“It’d be a shame to bust up that pretty mug of yours,” he growled with a toothy smile at Grim.  “Why don’t’cha be a good little fella and just hand over the Scepter?”  
“The only rod I got is attached to this blade!” Grim snarled, and then swung with a two-handed blow at the wreaking half-breed.  His axe bit deep into Sabertooth’s hide, as it did, Grim unleashed the magic of the blade in the form of a surge of acid.  Sabertooth yowled, knowing that his father’s blood would allow him to quickly heal most wounds, save those from burns…such as acid!

Havok and Drasek were still on their backs as they reappeared outside the fortress.  Havok could hear the piercing notes of the harpy’s song, and instinctively he knew that if he stepped outside of the inquisitor’s protective aura, he would be overwhelmed by her words and helpless.  He had to bring her down first.  Taking careful aim, he unleashed an emerald spear of eldritch power, which struck Destiny unerringly.  Destiny felt her voice crack, as her skin blackened and burned.  Her wings began to falter, and she began to fall…

Magnus cursed as he watched the battle unfold within his crystal ball.  He could not afford to lose Destiny.  Quickly, he snatched one of the charms from the bracelet on his left wrist.  When Destiny hit the ground, it was on the floor behind him.  
“Spiral, tend her wounds,” the archmage said absently as he turned his attention back to the matter-at-hand.

Shay dove quickly for his bow, and was rewarded with a back-handed smash by the Blob.  The rogue careened off the fireplace, and lay momentarily dazed.  No good, he thought to himself.  This was not his forte.  Closing his eyes, he willed himself to the roof of the fortress, where he took a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings.

Hawk struck at the elemental again and again, each attack as ineffective as the first.  
“Time to go!” Faust shouted, and before Hawk could protest, the psion snatched him with one large claw, and the pair Dimension Doored out of the fortress too, reappearing not far from Havok and Drasek.

Sabertooth watched Destiny vanish and knew that Magnus had retrieved her.  He glared in the direction of the warlock who had felled her and realized that the bigger threat lay there, not with the two oafs before him.  Turning on his heel, he prepared to sprint towards Havok, but he had not gone two steps when Grim’s axe tangled between his feet, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt.

Avalanche saw the wily rogue appear on the rooftop and draw a bead on the prone form of Sabertooth.  Quickly, the wilder slammed his hands together again, sending another sonic blast in that direction.  He smiled as the rogue reeled from the blow, but his smile faded an instant later as an emerald lance of energy tore a hole through his chest.

“Unfortunately, we left my weapons and armor back in the shelter,” Drasek said to Havok as the warlock felled another of their foes.  “You seem to be handling yourself pretty well.  I’m going to gain some altitude, where I can work without either of those wrecking machines down there bearing down on me.”  The inquisitor quickly cast a Fly spell upon himself and took to the air.

Grubber was glad for the brief respite.  He called upon his most potent spell of Healing to mend his shattered ribs and contusions, and was preparing to join Grim in finishing off the tiger-creature, when the wall of the fortress suddenly rippled as Blob stepped through.  

“Now yer gonna get it!” Sabertooth smiled up at Grim, but then he yelped as a black-fletched arrow, courtesy of Shay, sprouted out of his backside.  
“I don’t think so, bub,” Grim whispered, then slashed furiously at the prone half-breed, loosing a second gout of acid.  Though in agony, a blind rage fell over Sabertooth, and he heaved himself to his feet, suffering another blow from the dwarf’s axe as he stood.  Despite his almost overwhelming desire to rip the little man’s throat out, he knew the warlock was still the main threat, and now that one was all alone.  Again, the half-troll started in Havok’s direction, and again Grim tried to trip him up, but this time Sabertooth was ready.  As the dwarf lowered his axe, he seized he haft, wrenching it up and over, while simultaneously sweeping one foot behind Grim’s knees.  The dwarf buckled, tumbling to the ground, and then Sabertooth was clear, running in a full sprint towards Havok.

As Faust saw the elemental emerge from the fortress, he did exactly the opposite of what every fiber of his being told him not to do.  He closed in.  He had to get close enough to release a cone of pure mental fire, and do so without catching Grim or Grubber in the backlash.  The blast washed over Blob, but the elemental didn’t even slow.  Ignoring Grubber, he took two giant steps towards Faust, and then drove two devastating punches into the render’s midsection.  From twenty-feet away Grubber heard bones snap, and saw blood gush from the psion’s mouth.  

Drasek watched as the half-troll closed on Havok.  Calling upon the Deific Vengeance of Kelemvor, the inquisitor began reciting a litany of the creature’s past crimes, and there were many.  Sabertooth stumbled in his charge for only a moment, but it was enough.  Havok summoned his most potent blast, and loosed it completely into the half-troll, literally tearing him in half.

“Hey ugly!” Grim shouted, struggling to his feet, and facing the giant elemental.  “Over here!”  As the Blob turned towards him, swinging his arm in a whistling arc that made even the stout mineral warrior stagger, Grubber darted behind him to Faust’s side.  As the psion wheezed and coughed up more blood, the goliath quickly wove a potent curative spell over him, halting his internal bleeding, and mending his punctured lung.

Hawk rushed past Grubber and Faust, hoping to draw the elemental’s attention from completely focusing on Grim.  The civilar stabbed and slashed at the brute, knowing his blows would be largely a nuisance, but hoping to buy a little more time for Faust.  It was a false hope.  As Faust tried to back away, Blob struck at him again, aggravating the injuries Grubber had only just healed.  Desperately, the psion hurled a ball of psychic energy towards the elemental, but incredibly, the huge, ungainly-looking behemoth leaped into the air, somersaulting completely over the energy ball, which crashed harmlessly into the side of the fortress.

As Blob landed, he spun deftly and seized Grim in one crushing fist.  The dwarf groaned in agony as the air was squeezed out of him.  Holding him dangling in the air, the Blob then proceeded to smash the dwarf again and again with his other fist, sending blood and teeth flying with each blow.  In unison, Hawk, Faust, Drasek and Havok struck, sending electrical surges, Hammers of Righteous energy, eldritch blasts and spheres of numbing cold at the elemental.  Blob felt himself weakening, but he would have the last word.  
“Nothing…beats…the…Blob!” he shouted, smashing Grim one final time before sinking into the ground and out of sight, leaving the dwarf a broken, bleeding heap.

None of the Leagues’ injuries proved fatal, though Grubber’s healing powers were sorely taxed to prevent that.  The team continued on their trek the next day, but paranoia set in immediately.  Every strange sound or fellow traveler on the road was a potential threat.  No one could be trusted.  What Ondabar had told them was true:  rarely did a piece of the Shattered Scepter reappear in the world without purpose, and when a piece was found, the forces of Chaos were always seeking to claim it.  

Nine more days on the road passed without further incident.  Finally, sixteen days out of Waterdeep, the party crested a hill and gazed down upon Longsaddle.  They had passed increasingly frequent numbers of ranches over the past several miles of the journey, outlying settlements of the town itself.  The village, however, was small, with scarcely over one-hundred inhabitants.  The Long Road was the only street, and the town’s buildings lined both sides of it.  The Road led straight to a hill in the center of town, atop which was perched a many-spired, chaotically arranged, and ivy-covered manor house:  the Ivy Mansion, ancestral home of the Harpells.  

The group continued straight through town, their heavy armament and odd mounts drawing many stares, but also smiles and good-natured waves.  The plan was to go directly to the manor house and request and audience with Malchor, however as the road reached the base of the hill, Alice came to an abrupt stop.  When Hawk urged her forward, she shook her massive head and stared passively at him.  Cursing, the civilar dropped from her back and began walking in front of her, but he was suddenly brought up short by an invisible barrier of some sort.  
“Well, it is the home of a wizarding family,” Giovanni shrugged.  “We should have expected as much.”
“What now then?” Grim asked testily.  
“We go back to the village,” Hawk said, climbing up Alice’s flank.  “Maybe someone there can tell us the proper protocol for meeting these wizards.”

Shay decided to start at the Leaping Hooves, the local stable, while the rest of the group made their way to the Horn and Hoof, the tavern.  When Shay entered the stable office, he was met by a heavy-set man with ruddy cheeks and a thick, black beard.
“Saw you come into town,” the man said.  “Name’s Urvon, what can I do for you?  Before you ask, though, I’m afraid I don’t have enough space for the elephant.”
“I’m actually interested in seeing some of your horse-flesh,” Shay replied evenly.  “Don’t have a mount of my own, and I’ve been riding shank’s mare for the past two tendays.”  
Urvon nodded, and led the rogue into the stable yard.  Several fine looking horses were on display there, but what caught Shay’s eye were the half-dozen or so creatures that stood inside a scale-model corral.  They appeared to be horses, but they were no more than six inches in height!
“What in the world…?” Shay goggled.
“Ah,” Urvon smiled.  “Those are mini-horses.”
“Mini-horses?” Shay asked.  “What do you use them for?  Where do they come from?”
“Well, they’re mostly bred as house-pets,” Urvon said.  “You know, just like some dogs are working animals, herders and the like, some are also lap-pets.  Ladies love’em.  Same goes for the mini-horses.  Kid’s adore’em!  As for where they come from, well old Malchor Harpell himself breeds’em.  Kind of a hobby of his.”
“Malchor Harpell, you say?” Shay replied.  “Funny you should mention him.  You see, my friends and I were kind of hoping we might see him while we were in town.  We have a business matter to discuss with him.”
Urvon nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  Whole town knows.  We’ve been expecting you.  Malchor left word that your to go to the   Gilded Horseshoe, the inn.”
Shay looked taken aback at this unexpected announcement, but he simply nodded and thanked the stable master, and then set off for the inn.

When he reached the Gilded Horseshoe, he found his companions waiting.  They had been given the same information as he.  The innkeeper was a fat, balding man named Trappy Snulgers.  He jovially informed the group that their rooms had already been reserved and paid for.  He had their gear taken upstairs, but directed the party members to a private room behind the bar.  “The Lady is waiting for you,” he said, winking.

When they entered the room, they actually found three people waiting, two of whom most of them recognized immediately.  The first was Celeste, the woman who had introduced the team to Urtos in Waterdeep, the young lord who had sponsored them in the Champions’ Games.  Celeste looked nothing like she appeared in Waterdeep.  There, she had seemed a common street rogue, but now she was positively radiant, and it was immediately apparent to Giovanni that she was not remotely human.  She was, in fact, a ghaele eladrin…a celestial!  Even more shocking was the man seated at the table beside her.  It was none other than Dagsumn, Ondabar’s sage friend who they had last seen as a headless corpse at his manor house in Waterdeep.  He appeared hale and whole now.  The last person in the room was a stranger, a tall, thin elf woman with a lean, almost wolfish look.

“My friends,” Celeste said rising to greet them.  “It is so good to see you again, though I’m sorry to see some of those I knew in Waterdeep not among you now.  I must first beg your forgiveness for my absence during the aftermath of the Champions’ Games.  Malchor had urgent need of me, and I was forced to depart earlier than I had planned.  I learned of Dagsumn’s fate too late, but Malchor arranged to have our old friend returned to us, as you can see.”  Dagsumn smiled quietly and nodded.  
“Allow me to introduce Cymria,” Celeste continued.  “She is Malchor’s personal assistant and go-between.”
The elf woman stood without further preamble and approached the group.  “Celeste and Dagsumn have told me much about you and your quest,” she said tersely, “but if I am to recommend an audience for you to Malchor, I must know everything.  So, tell me exactly why you have come, and what it is you seek from my master.  Leave nothing out.”

Grim, Grubber and Shay began the tale, with the others taking up at the parts where they entered it.  The telling took well over an hour, and when it was finished, Cymria simply nodded.  “Very well,” she said, rising to leave.  “Malchor is away on business at the moment, but I expect him back within the tenday.  I will notify you the moment he returns.”  Without further comment, she left.

“You must excuse her,” Celeste said.  “She would lay down her life for Malchor, but diplomacy is not her strong suit.  I can assure you that Malchor will be very eager to hear your tale when he returns, but until then, please feel at home here in Longsaddle.  All of your expenses have been taken care of.”

The group took a while longer to reacquaint themselves with Dagsumn and to hear his tale, then took their leave of their hosts to await the return of Malchor.

As the tenday wore on, the group made themselves known about town, learning what they could about the locals and the long history of the Harpells.  Giovanni discovered that the town actually had a library of some renown.  It was in actuality a temple, dedicated to several neutral-minded deities of knowledge, and it was presided over by a priest named Agath of Thrunch, who had, as it so happened, been the one Malchor had called upon to resurrect Dagsumn.  

When Giovanni entered the library, he was greeted cordially, but coolly by Agath.
“How may I be of service?” he asked, the barest hint of derision in his tone.
“I’m seeking to do some research on a prophecy known as the Age of Worms,” the warlock replied.  
“I see,” Agath said, any hint of a smile fading.  “You must understand that this is a scholarly institute.  We often have…adventurers…who wish to make use of our resources for all sorts of dramatic endeavors.  We tend to charge a hefty fee for such privileges for lay folk.  What is it you do again Mister Giovanni was it?”
“I’m trying to save the world,” Giovanni replied flatly, meeting Agath’s steely blue eyes with his emerald ones.
“Just so,” the priest said drolly.  “Tell me, if you can, what do you know of the Bastion of Broken Souls.”
“I assume you are speaking of the reputed source of new souls located on the Positive Energy plane,” Giovanni responded immediately.  Agath’s eyes went wide.  “It only became known as the Bastion of Broken Souls after it was occupied by the demon wyrm Nalavarra.  She was slain many years ago by a party of so-called adventurers led by the Tyrite priest Joachim, and the sorceress Entropy.  This was of course before Entropy  became the corrupted Chosen of the White Banshee, Kiaransalee.”  
“Make yourself at home…no charge,” Agath said.

Finally the day came when Cymria came for the members of the League, stating that Malchor had returned.  She instructed them to accompany her to the Ivy Manor, leaving weapons and armor behind.  An exception was made for Hawk when the civilar refused to be parted from his ancestral blade, agreeing in the end to peace-bond the sword.

When they arrived at the base of Harpell Hill, Cymria produced a stone token, bearing the Seal of the Harpells for each of the party members.  Bearing the token, they passed easily through the magical wards surrounding the manor grounds.  They were greeted by a polite guard at the main entrance, and then escorted to a private study deep within the winding halls.  

The long, airy chamber had a high ceiling and generous adornments.  A deep, blue carpet covered much of the floor.  The walls were thoroughly covered by a wide range of paintings, each depicting a different exotic locale or dangerous region.  The paintings were rendered with extraordinary skill, and seemed almost like windows looking out on remote locations around the world.  Several overstuffed chairs sat throughout the room, and at the far end a massive antique wooden desk loomed, its surface a tangle of scrolls, books, statuettes, stone tablets, quills, vials of ink and an expensive dragonchess set, its pieces arrayed in mid-game.  

Malchor Harpell stood near the desk, his hands clasped behind his back.  He was dressed, not in robes, but in expertly tailored commoner’s clothes.  Physically fit and tall, his dark brown hair was worn short and his beard was neatly trimmed close to his face.  Agath was seated in one of the chairs nearby.  
“Welcome friends,” the archmage said, gesturing for them to be seated.  “Cymria has told me your tale, and Dagsumn has filled in some other details.  Still, I would hear from your own mouths what you know, and what it is that you seek from me.”

Once again the story was told, with no detail left out.  When they finished, Hawk concluded with, “So we have come to you, hoping you can tell us more of Kyuss and the Age of Worms.”  
“The Age of Worms,” Malchor began, “is foretold in a prophecy that speaks of a coming apocalypse, an age of death and writhing doom.  Normally such rumors should be dismissed…doomsday prophecies are typically the product of nothing more sinister than madness.  This prophecy is different.  It can be traced back, through various incarnations in books, tablets, and carvings on walls, for over two thousand years.  It does not change in content during this time…it has not evolved through clumsy attempts of fanatics desperate to reword its predictions to support their agendas.”
“This alone would be enough for it to merit further study.  But even more interesting is the fact that in the last few years several of its predictions have actually come true.  In one prophecy, it predicts the ‘ruin by fire of a city built in a bowl in the spire’s shadow.’  Just last year, in Turmish, the city of Cauldron, built in the caldera of a dormant volcano, was destroyed by a volcanic eruption.  Other prophecies speak of the recrudescence of the worm-eaten dead, the recovery of potent artifacts from ancient tombs, the destructive manifestation of an immense demonic tree in a distant city across the sea, the arrival of a ‘Fane of Scales’ amid a storm of wind and flame, and the awakening of an evil taint from a city besieged in the past by giants.”
“These events have all come to pass, and quite recently.  In fact, there are only two prophecies remaining to be fulfilled.  The first of these mentions the reunification of a tripartite spirit…I assume this is a nod to the goals of the Ebon Triad.  The second remaining prophecy reads:  ‘And on the eve of the Age of Worms, a hero of the pit shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead.’  I believe this last line may have been speaking of Prendergast Brokengulf and his recent attempt to sacrifice thousands at the end of the Champions’ Games.  It remains to be seen if your actions actually made a difference here or not, but it would be foolhardy to assume that those who are trying to fulfill the prophecies will abate their efforts.”
“As for Kyuss, he is an enigma.  What we know of him is sparse.  We know that he was once a mortal, a powerful priest who ascended to godhood.  He ruled a city named Kuluth-Mar, far to the south, and was famed for the creation of undead.  A former companion of mine, a wizard named Balakarde, made an extensive study of Kyuss and his ways.  You might even say he was obsessed with Kyuss.”

At this Hawk interrupted.  “You speak of him in the past tense.  Where is this wizard now, and what was the nature of his obsession?”
“When Balakarde learned Kuluth-Mar was the likely location of Kyuss’ divine apotheosis,” Malchor replied, “he could barely restrain himself.  I cautioned him against going to investigate the ruins.  One does not simply teleport into an unknown region without doing some research.  Yet he would not listen.  He left immediately, returning two tendays later with a wild look in his eye.  He wouldn’t say much of what he’d found there, and before he moved on he asked me to hold on to some of his notes.  He promised to return later and tell me more, but that time was short and he had to head east to follow a new lead.  He vanished without a trace not long thereafter.  I intended to try to track him down, but unfortunately, other events conspired to take my attention away.  I suspect he is dead now.  Or worse.”

A silent moment passed, then Hawk spoke again.  “What of the Ebon Triad?  As you know, we encountered one of their cells beneath Daggerford.  You said one of the prophecies referred to them.”
Malchor nodded.  “They seem to be involved, at least on some level, with most of the events associated with these prophecies.  Their involvement merits further investigation, although I believe that they may in fact themselves be little more than agents for a larger power…perhaps Kyuss himself.  Certainly, their goal of unifying Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul into one Overgod seems ridiculous, although as far as the Age of Worms prophecies about this tripartite spirit are concerned, it seems that the actual manifestation of an Overgod is not what is being predicted as much as it is predicting the heretical beliefs of the cultists themselves.”

“This all seems to leave us with more questions than answers,” Giovanni sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.  “Where do we go from here?  It seems that Balakarde may have been on to something, but now he is lost.  What about this ruin he found, Kuluth-Mar?”
“That may indeed be your best starting point,” Malchor agreed.  “The notes Balakarde left me are, unfortunately, rather sparse.  They confirm that Kuluth-Mar is located in the jungles of Chult, far to the south, and estimate that Kyuss ruled the city more than two thousand years ago from a fortress called the Spire of Long Shadows.  Balakarde believed that this spire was the site of Kyuss’ ascension to godhood.  Kyuss built a ziggurat to serve as the foundation of the Spire of Long Shadows.  Balakarde wrote how the ziggurat was a powerful magical focus for the ritual that propelled him to divinity.  Much of Kyuss’ might has since left the city of Kuluth-Mar, but powerful undead servants and lingering touches of Kyuss’ own miasma make the ziggurat a fell and dangerous place.  Balakarde visited the ruined city several times, but never penetrated the spire itself.  I never found the journal pages that described his earlier visits.”
“Then how can we find this place?” Giovanni asked.
At this, Malchor walked to one of the paintings on the wall.  It portrayed a giant ring of black rocks encircling an ancient stone ziggurat.  Atop the ziggurat rose a towering spire of stone shaped almost like a stylized tree or cactus.  Arms projected from the sides of the stone spire in mocking defiance of gravity.  The apex of the spire was missing.  
“This is an exact representation,” Malchor said.  “By memorizing its details and concentrating upon it, a mage might Teleport to its precise location.”

“It seems our choice is made for us then,” Hawk said.  “We thank you for your valuable assistance, my lord mage.  We will prepare to take our leave in the morning.”
“Just one more thing,” Malchor said, holding up his hand.  If you recall, I mentioned that the Age of Worms prophecy also predicted that several major artifacts would surface in the months before the end.  It does not indicate that these artifacts have a role to play in the realization of the Age of Worms itself, only that their appearance marks that the time is near.  I know of several that have surfaced of late; the Black Blade of Aknar Ratalla, the Tome of the Black Heart, the Obsidian Eye, the Dread Forge, the Bindings of Erivatius, and now a fragment of the Shattered Scepter of Calim.  The recovery of this last artifact has likely placed you in even more danger than before, as your encounter of the road here can attest to.  Worse, if the fragment falls into the wrong hands at this critical juncture, the results could be disastrous.  Therefore, I make you an offer.  Give me the fragment, and I shall store it safely in my vault.  In exchange, I offer you…this…”
He removed a certain book from one of the shelves, and the entire book case swung open, revealing a metal and stone chamber beyond.  The walls of this small room were festooned with several incredible wondrous items, from gleaming suits of armor and shining swords, to rune-carved wrings and silken cloaks.
“Choose,” Malchor said simply.


----------



## gfunk

THE SPIRE OF LONG SHADOWS

The air was thick with heat, moisture and the cacophonous din of the jungle.  Chirping birds, cries of hunting predators and the incessant whir of insects combined to create an exotic song.  The plants of the jungle pressed in, a wall of color and vegetation interrupted only by a twenty-foot gap in the undergrowth that looked out over an immense, bowl-shaped valley.
Within the valley sat a ruined city.  The buildings were, in most cases, little more than crumbling foundations overgrown with vines.  In places, small copses of exotic trees had reclaimed the ruins, while elsewhere, some buildings still stood.  The city’s streets were visible only as faint lines where the undergrowth hadn’t grown as thick.  Yet, as incredible as the spectacle of this forgotten city was, it was dwarfed by what dominated its center.
There, a giant ring of black rock circled the heart of the city, runes graven upon its surface.  Within this ring rose an ancient stone ziggurat.  Two openings into chambers within beckoned on opposite sides of its base.  Atop the ziggurat rose an unbelievable sight…a towering spire of stone shaped almost like a stylized tree or cactus.  Arms projected from the sides of the stone spire in mocking defiance of gravity, either a feat of divine engineering or the product of powerful magic.  The apex of the spire was missing.  Whatever rested at this forgotten peak was long gone.

The League had arrived in the midst of the ruined city, some hundred yards from the great, obsidian wall that surrounded the ziggurat.  Slowly, they began to pick their way thru the rubble and undergrowth.  The ruins seemed to be suffused with a strange taint that hovered just beyond the edges of reality.  Like an oily stain spreading over a pool, a vision wavered in the air.  Within the tainted energy was a man seated on a great throne made of green stone.  He wore ornate plate armor, and a black circlet rested on his brow.  Both the circlet and the armor were adorned with silver symbols.  The vision expanded, widening its scope to reveal that the throne was located at the apex of the large ziggurat in the shadow of the spire.  The spire itself gleamed with flashes of white light, and at its peak was balanced a fifteen-foot tall black stone monolith shaped like a trapezoid.  Around the ziggurat spread a thriving city, its streets paved in white stone, its buildings painted and whole.  Thousands of figures were gathered in the large open plaza that surrounded the ziggurat, all facing the figure seated at its center.  Their cries were a rhythmic chant, surging like waves on the monolith’s shore.  As these cries rose in volume, threatening to shake the jungle apart, the vision faded and was replaced once more by the ruins of Kuluth-Mar.

“Did you see the symbols that he wore?” Giovanni whispered quietly.
“Yes,” Drasek answered.  “They were archaic in design, but they were Cyric’s nonetheless.”
“So Kyuss was a death worshiper even before he became a god himself,” Hawk stated.  “I guess we came to the right place after all.”

As they neared the black wall, they could see that it had been formed from a single, giant block of obsidian.  It was featureless except for eldritch symbols that covered the upper rim, each of which glowed as if lit from within by molten rock.  
“It’s draconic,” Hawk said as he studied the writing.  “The language of magic.  It repeats, ‘Kyuss forever bound,’ over and over…like a warning.”  
The wall was at least thirty feet high, with no apparent opening in its smooth surface.  As the rest of the group pondered how they might pass it, Faust, once more in his dragonet form, flitted up to the top.
“It’s just a barren courtyard beyond,” he called down.  “I’d say it’s about two-hundred feet from the wall to the ziggurat.  I’m going to fly around the perimeter and see if I can find another way in.  I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”
Hawk shouted after him, but the psion seemed not to hear.  “That one will be the death of us yet,” the civilar muttered.  
“Yeah, well, I’m not waitin’ around for’im,” Grim groused, and as his team mates watched dumbfounded, the dwarf got down on all fours and began burrowing into the ground.  In a matter of seconds, there was nothing but churned earth where he’d been standing.

The same ceremony that had transformed his skin into rock had also given the mineral warrior the ability to tunnel through natural earth like a badger.  Grim found that the obsidian wall extended ten feet below the ground.  As he dug his way under the five-foot wide barrier, he suddenly found the soil around him literally crawling with thousands of green worms!  Redoubling his efforts, he surged to the surface on the far side of the wall, slapping the foul vermin from his clothes and skin.  He looked down and saw them still in the freshly turned dirt, though they appeared to be moving top slowly to pose him any real threat.  
“It’s all clear!” he called over the wall to his friends.  “But mind your step!”

One-by-one, Giovanni ferried his colleagues through the wall trans-dimensionally, but each time he did so, he felt a growing sense of unease, almost as if his life hung in the balance each time he crossed the barrier.  Finally, they all stood within the plaza surrounding the ziggurat…all except Faust.
“Let’s move out,” Hawk said after ten minutes had passed.  “He can take care of himself…he’s done it before.”  
Cautiously, the team began heading for the eastern entrance to the ziggurat.

Nezzarin watched from his place of concealment as the group of mortals dared to approach the place of the Ascension.  For two-thousand years he had kept his vigil, awaiting the return of his lord.  For those two millennia no dweller of the outside world had set foot upon this holy ground.  None had entered the Spire of Long Shadows.  And none would enter on this day.  Silently, he called out to his hounds.

Grim was the first to enter the gloom of the ziggurat.  At the bottom of a short flight of stairs was a chamber, the walls of which were carved to depict an army of undead soldiers engaged in the ruin and destruction of a city of helpless men, women and children.  Buildings burned, blood washed the streets, and dark thunderclouds boiled in the skies above.  Over them all, directing the army, was an enormous figure dressed in a tattered dark gray robe.  His visage was only remotely humanoid, a seething mass of worms in the mocking shape of a face, with vast, cavernous sockets for eyes.

“Grim wait!” Hawk cried out in warning as alarm bells went off inside his head.  The presence of great evil suddenly washed over him like a wave.  As Grim turned questioningly, a figure stepped out of the gloom of the chamber.  It wore dark armor that hid much of its form from view, but its skeletal visage and horrid stench revealed that it could be nothing but some kind of undead.  Small green worms, their mouths filled with row upon row of jagged teeth, writhed along its armor, crawling under the plates and panes.  Its most gruesome feature was its eyes, which had been replaced by the ravenous mouths of two bloated worms.  Behind this horror appeared two large, bloated beetles moving with unnatural speed, their mandibles clicking and clicking and clicking in a maddening rhythm.  Their rotted and pitted shells evoked thoughts of ancient decay and unfathomable corruption, and tiny green worms, each a wriggling abomination of terror in its own right, squirmed through these holes in their exoskeletons.

Grim whirled to face the threat, but Nezzarin moved with mind-numbing speed.  Raising a bastard sword, which he gripped one-handed, the ancient knight slashed at the dwarf, ripping into his rocky hide as if it were parchment.  As the blade struck, dark energy flowed through it, scorching the mineral warrior’s very soul.  As Grim recoiled, Nezzarin thrust his face forward, and horribly, one of the worms in his eye socket struck out like a serpent, fastening its fangs into the dwarf’s cheek.  For an instant, Grim’s head swam with nauseating dizziness.  He jerked free from the worm, but his thoughts were clouded and muddled.  He couldn’t quite organize them enough to counter-attack.

At the same time, one of the rotting beetles surged up the stairs towards Hawk, snapping at his thigh with its razor-sharp mandibles.  Hawk felt the chitonous weapons bite into his flesh, but simultaneously, there was a bright flash from his armor.  While in Waterdeep, he had had one of the master-smiths there imbue the plate mail with the ability to ward off negative energy.  Now, as his breast-plate flared to life, he knew that the monster’s bite was even deadlier than it appeared.

Grim finally gathered his wits enough to heft his axe.  Still feeling sluggish, he chopped at the undead knight, sinking the blade into Nezzarin's corrupt flesh.  As he did so, Grim willed a surge of magical fire through the axe-head, but to his dismay, the flames sloughed harmlessly from Nezzarin like water.  

As the second beetle closed in on Grim, the combined, mindless clicking of the two undead creatures’ mandibles began to gnaw into the psyche of Hawk, Shay, Grubber and Storm.  All three clutched at their skulls, trying in vain to rid their minds of the terrible sound. 

Drasek knew instinctively what it was that he and his team faced.  In his reading of the Apostolic Scrolls, he had come across a reference to four warriors who had been the personal bodyguards of the mortal priest Kyuss.  Upon his ascension to god-hood, his unholy power had transformed this quartet into powerful, undead creatures, sworn to forever maintain their vigil until Kyuss’ return.  This then was one of the four.  Acting on impulse, the inquisitor began chanting a prayer, filling his mind with a litany of this particular knight’s past transgressions, and the list was impressive.  As he began uttering the charges, calling on Kelemvor to punish this sinner for his life of evil, Nezzarin recoiled, hissing, his skin blistering as the Deific Vengeance of Kelemvor washed over him.  

Still at the top of the stairs, Havok could clearly see the battle raging below, and he could also see that the undead knight and beetles were just as he wanted them, grouped together in a tight knot.  Eldritch power arced from his hand, striking Nezzarin first, then leaping to the nearest beetle, and then to the next, in a chain of emerald devastation.  As the chain faded, the warlock dipped deep into his magical reserves, and unleashed a lighting-fast eldritch spear, stabbing it deep into the Kyuss knight’s chest.

Nezzarin felt pain, a sensation he had not experienced in millennia.  It was something novel, and therefore not entirely unpleasant.  His discipline allowed him to focus past the feeling, however, and continue his assault.  Darting past Grim’s hovering tower shield, the knight drove his sword straight into the dwarf’s gut, then slashed across, practically eviscerating the mineral warrior in the process.  At the same time, one of his eye-worms struck again, feeding off of the dwarf’s mental energy, and healing some of Nezzarin’s own wounds in the process.  The second beetle attacked as well, its mandibles scouring Grim’s shoulder, negative energy pouring into the wound, further weakening the dwarf.  Its companion continued to strike at Hawk, the civilar unable to effectively defend himself or counter the attack due to the maddening chittering of the beetles.

Staggering from blood loss, Grim nevertheless managed to strike at Nezzarin again, this time smiting the knight with pure earth-power, another gift bestowed upon him by his transformation.  This final blow  sapped what was left of the dwarf’s strength.  He sagged to one knee, fully prepared to meet Hela Brightaxe.  It was not her hand that reached out to him, but rather that of Drasek.  Calling once more upon Kelemvor, the inquisitor sent healing energy into the mineral warrior’s body, closing his most critical injuries.

Havok tried to back away from the mind-numbing clicking of the beetles, while still keeping the combatants in sight.  Seeing the state of Hawk, Grubber, Shay and Storm, he knew that he had to take down the necrotic insects, and quickly.  He unleashed a second chain, this time starting with the nearest beetle, then arcing to the second, and finally to Nezzarin.  Again, he followed this with a quickened spear of eldritch power, and with this last blast, the Kyuss knight went down.  

Finally, Hawk managed to shake off the effects of the beetles mandibles.  Fending off the nearest insect’s attack, he thrust his sword through one of the holes in its carapace, loosing a surge of electricity as he did so.  As he withdrew his blade, the giant bug collapsed.  

As the last of Grim’s wounds began to close, the sole remaining assailant lunged again, piercing the newly formed skin on the dwarf’s abdomen, ripping at tearing at the soft entrails beneath.  Grubber, also now free of the beetles’ mind effects, quickly stepped forward, and summoned his most powerful Healing spell, instantly closing every one of Grim’s wounds, as well as restoring the damage done to the dwarf’s mind by Nezzarin’s eye-worms.  

One last time, Havok released his eldritch spear, striking the beetle at the same time an orb of lightning hurled by Storm did.  Its mandibles closing for good, the beetle flipped onto its back, its legs contracting like a fist.

Beyond the antechamber, the group found themselves in a huge room.  The once-grand chamber suffered from long neglect.  The dark green stone floor lay broken in its center, giving way to a gaping pit.  Writhing tendrils of sickening green vapor slithered up from the pit, only to break apart and fade before seeping much further into the room.  Great pillars lined the outside walls of the vast hall, but those near the center of the room lay broken…blasted outward by whatever force caused the hole in the center of the chamber.  Immense, stone double-doors stood in the center of each wall.

No sooner had the entered the vast chamber than Hawk and Drasek looked at each other.  Both paladins could sense the overwhelming evil, on a scale like nothing they’d ever felt, emanating from the pit.  Grim cautiously approached the edge.
“Careful,” Hawk warned.  Grim nodded and tentatively peered over the side.  The hole fell away into darkness, its perimeter pock-marked by large, round holes.
“Leave it for now,” Hawk said.  “Let’s secure this area first, and then check these doors.”

A short time later, confident that the room was unoccupied, they team approached the northernmost set of doors.  As per their routine, Grim turned the handle on one of the two doors, and shoved it open.  The green walls of the room beyond seemed to writhe and glow with an unhealthy light.  Scattered around the chamber were instruments of torture…rusted and pitted iron hooks, ancient blades, and other tools of horrid intent.  Three beings stood around the perimeter of the room, looking expectantly at Grim.  For a moment, the dwarf could only stare, open-mouthed.  Two of the figures were as large as giants, fully nine-feet tall, yet they were gloriously beautiful.  Male in form, they had golden hair and eyes to match.  Large, feathery white wings, edged with gold, sprouted from their muscular shoulders.  The third figure was of normal size, but no less impressive.  He appeared to be an elf of noble bearing, wearing exquisitely crafted breastplate, and carrying an ornate greatsword.  

Kelvos smiled at the dwarf’s obvious confusion.  Three celestials were surely the last thing he and his band expected to find in this stronghold of darkness.  So much the better, Kelvos thought.  The ghaele eladrin and his sword archon brethren had indeed come to this place long ago, intent on stopping the vile necromancer Kyuss from achieving divinity.  It was folly on their part, and utterly in vain.  They were fools to have believed they could ever hope to defeat one as powerful as he.  In the end, Kyuss had shown them the error of their ways, and now they too patiently awaited the return of their lord.  The years had been long, even for immortals, and there was little opportunity for sport.  Until now…

When Kelvos spoke, his voice was musical and hypnotic, but there was a cold cruelty to his words.  “You have desecrated the temple of the Worm God, and for that you cannot be suffered to live!”
Sensing what was coming, Grim slammed the door shut, then gripped the handles tightly.  “Fan out!” he called over his shoulder to his teammates, and then the doors were ripped from his grasp.  Looming over him was one of the Angels of the Worm.  In the blink of an eye, the celestial’s arms both transformed into wickedly barbed blades.  

Havok had heeded Grim’s warning, and ducked behind one of the pillars in the outer chamber.  Now, as the sword archon stood in the doorway, the warlock unleashed one of his most powerful blasts, striking the angel, and then letting it arc to the eladrin, whom he could just make out from his vantage point.  The bolt bounced harmlessly off the archon’s bronze skin, but the eladrin grimaced in obvious pain.  

Directly behind Grim, Drasek leaped into action.  Though confused as to why three celestials would be serving as guardians in such an unholy place, his senses nevertheless told him that they were unredeemably evil.  Calling upon Kelemvor to guide him, and forgive His fallen children, he loosed a cone-shaped Diamond Spray upon all three, but when the glittering shards cleared, there was not a scratch on any of them.  Simultaneously, Storm hurled a sizzling orb of electrical energy at the archon in the doorway.  The sphere struck unerringly, but the current merely played over the surface of the angel’s chest, leaving behind no trace of injury.

Kelvos could tell that he and his brethren faced a seasoned, and well-coordinated band.  Though the outcome of the battle was assured, he intended to give himself every advantage possible.  Calling on the power of his own god, he rendered himself invisible, and moved to a better tactical position.

“Grim, move!” Hawk cried, charging past the dwarf, sword poised to strike.  As he came, however, the sword archon struck, stabbing one of his arm blades into the civilar’s knee.  Though he stumbled, the paladin did not falter.  He immediately struck back, his holy blade gouging deep into the celestial’s flesh.  With blinding speed, he called upon Helm to guide his hand, and struck again.  The angel recoiled, and as he did so, a second orb from Storm, this one made of acid, struck him full in the chest.  The archon screamed as the caustic fluid burned away his skin, eating into the sinew beneath.  With a final howl of pain, he succumbed.

“Holy power is their bane!” Drasek called out to his comrades, and as he did so, he chanted another prayer, this one meant to bless the blades of each of his teammates.

That would be quite enough of that, Kelvos thought to himself as he stepped over Gabriel’s ruined body.  Standing unseen (save by Havok) in the door, he clenched one immaculately manicured hand and spoke a single word, so vile that it caused his lips to sting a bit, though he had been wholly corrupted for over two-thousand years.  Its utterance had immediate and dramatic effects on the entire League.  Each of them felt the strength drain from their muscles, with Havok so weakened that he almost collapsed under his own body weight.  Storm became rooted to the spot, unable to even blink her eyes.  The rest of the team were so stunned by the blasphemous energy that they could do nothing but stare in dazed confusion.
“Excellent,” Kelvos smiled.  “Now, for my next trick…”
A fan of vibrant, prismatic colors fanned out from the invisible eladrin’s fingers, engulfing the League, each of them struck by at least one band of the color spectrum.  Grubber’s skin blistered as acid coalesced from thin air around him.  A shock of pure electricity jolted Drasek.  Grim was immolated in fire.  Hawk retched as a cloud of noxious green vapor further sapped his flagging fortitude.  Havok felt his flesh momentarily harden to the consistency of stone, before it snapped back.  Shay saw the room around him waver, replaced by a roaring inferno, pools of magma, and the screams of the damned, but just as suddenly he was back in the temple of Kyuss.  A purple beam struck Storm, but the drow’s innate resistance to magic allowed it pass harmlessly through her.

As the prismatic spray vanished and their dazed state abated, the team struggled to regain their wits and resume their offensive.  Grubber lumbered quickly to Hawk’s side and once more cast his most powerful Healing spell upon the civilar.  Instantly, all of the paladin’s wounds closed, and he felt his strength and vigor restored.  Hawk still could not see the eladrin, so he instead closed the distance to the remaining archon.  Again as he came, the angel’s impressive reach allowed him to make a token slash at the civilar before he reached striking distance.  At that point, Hawk opened the archon’s right pectoral with his sword, calling on Kelemvor’s wrath once more to smite his foe.  The archon reeled, and Hawk struck again, backing the giant celestial into a corner.  At this point, the archon raised his sword-arm to strike, and Hawk ducked behind his shield, bracing for the blow.  Incredibly, the fallen angel missed the civilar by a large margin, striking the wall next to him instead.  It was only at this point that Hawk realized the horrible truth about the writhing green light within the walls of the smaller chamber.  They were made of glass, and when the archon’s sword shattered the barrier, a swarm of the horrid green worms were released from their terrarium, tumbling down upon the paladin.

Havok still had a clear view of Kelvos, and though the warlock was still pathetically weakened, he could still summon his birth-right, releasing another maximally empowered eldritch chain at the eladrin, and then having it arc to the archon.  To Havok’s complete dismay, neither of the celestials even seemed to notice the withering blast.

From previous experience with swarms of vermin, Shay knew it would be useless to attempt to target the slithering worms with his bow, so instead he turned the now-blessed weapon on the archon.  His first shot struck the angel in the shoulder, and the archon quickly tore it free.  The second shot, however, was more precise, piercing the celestial’s left eye.  He howled in agony, clawing at his exploded orb before collapsing to the ground.

Grim was struggling to move his four-hundred plus pound frame even a single step, weakened as he was by the eladrin’s blasphemous attack.  Drasek hurried to the dwarf’s side, uttering a simple restorative spell which removed Grim’s fatigue.  Kelvos watched as the inquisitor and the goliath continued to undo the damage he had wrought, and he decided the pair must be neutralized.  Concentrating on a point in space between the two, he caused a bubble of silence to envelope them, preventing them from uttering the words to their potent prayers.

Grubber recognized the silence spell for what it was immediately, and knowing its limitations, he began moving towards the perimeter of the room until he reached a point where he could once more hear his own heavy footfalls.  The eladrin still eluded his perception, but Hawk was obviously in trouble.  The civilar was struggling in vain to sweep the writhing worm-swarm from around and on him, but it was a hopeless effort.  The goliath focused on the swarm itself, and with Grumbar’s blessing, unleashed another spray of holy diamond shards into the mass.  He was relieved to see a large number of the vermin shrivel and die, but more than enough remained.  Once more, he loosed the holy spray, and then he saw that Drasek had managed to leave the sphere of silence as well, and had conjured his own Diamond Spray.  One final blast from the goliath consumed the last of the worms, freeing Hawk.

All of the distractions were serving Kelvos’ purposes well.  The eladrin used the opportunity to heal some of his own wounds, watching the pathetic mortals stumble around like rats in a maze.  

Storm still stood paralyzed within the zone of silence.  Havok decided to attempt to undo both ills simultaneously.  Summoning a dispelling field, he dropped it over the area in which the drow stood.  Instantly, sound returned to the zone, but Storm’s state was unchanged.  Following the warlock’s lead, Drasek cast a dispelling field upon Storm herself, knowing he risked undoing many of her protective spells, but knowing that, more importantly, they wouldn’t help her if she remained a sitting duck.

With tremendous relief, Storm felt mobility return to her limbs.  Realizing that their remaining foe was free to strike at them with impunity as long as he remained unseen, the sorceress cast a spell, touching her eyes as she did so.  When she opened them again, she could clearly see the eladrin still standing in the small chamber.  
“He’s there!” she cried.  “In the far left corner!  Don’t let him escape!”

Grim did not hesitate.  Moving quickly through the doors and into the room, he headed for the corner Storm had indicated, but Kelvos would not be so easily trapped.  He stepped nimbly into the air, walking upon it as if it were solid ground, moving over the dwarf’s head, through the doors, and into the temple beyond, until he stood, unseen, right next to Grubber, the source of the hated Celestial light that had been searing his skin ever since the goliath had appeared.  Reaching out gingerly, almost lovingly, he caressed Grubber’s left cheek…releasing his devastating Harm spell as he did so, hoping to draw all but the barest essence of life from the priest.  To his astonishment, the goliath was unfazed.  Knowing full well the possible nature of the undead they would in all probability be facing in Kyuss’ temple, Grubber had prepared himself with a Deathward, a spell that protected him from all life-draining effects.  He now thanked Grumbar that he’d had the foresight to do so.  Recoiling from the unseen touch, Grubber quickly uttered the prayer he’d been waiting for the right moment to use.  In a flash, the area all around the priest was purged of all invisibility effects, showing everyone clearly exactly where Kelvos was.

Hawk charged, roaring in indignation at the abomination that the eladrin had become.  The civilar railed against the fallen celestial as he struck again and again, but Kelvos only smiled at him as he deftly side-stepped each blow easily.  

“Drasek, now!” Havok cried.  “Dispel his defenses!”  The inquisitor and the warlock then both dropped dispelling nets over the eladrin, hoping to strip him of his magical protections.  Kelvos felt some of his more minor magics falter, but he was unconcerned.  They could be easily replaced.  What concerned him more was the charging mineral warrior bearing down on him.  As he braced himself for the impact, he failed to see Shay knock another arrow, and as a result he also failed to avoid it.  The black-fletched missile pierced his thigh, and he hissed in irritation.  The distraction was just enough for Grim to make his move.  Sweeping his axe in a looping arc, the dwarf swept the eladrin’s feet off the floor, and Kelvos landed hard on his back.  With cat-like reflexes, the celestial vaulted back to his feet, Grim slashing at him as he rose.  Dodging around the dwarf, Kelvos walked out over the gaping pit in the midst of the chamber, hovering there, daring any to follow.  Once in place, he casually gestured towards Drasek, Havok and Storm, causing a wall of impenetrable force to spring up in front of them, separating them from their teammates.  

Havok did not grasp the nature of the spell Kelvos had created, and the warlock thought to catch the eladrin flat-footed now that he was in plain sight.  Hurling a blast of noxious energy in Kelvos’ direction, he was shocked to see it stopped in mid-flight. 
“He’s erected a barrier of some sort!” Havok shouted.
“A force wall,” Storm agreed.  “But if he has made it wide enough to bisect the entire chamber, I’m guessing it does not reach the ceiling.  We can go over it.”  The sorceress then placed a fly spell upon herself while Drasek did the same for Havok.

“Get me over there Grubber,” Grim snarled, glaring at the eladrin that sneered back at him, well beyond his reach.
“As you wish,” Grubber said, placing his hands upon the dwarf’s shoulders and murmuring a spell to imbue the mineral warrior with the feathery wings of a celestial.  Grim launched himself into the air and over the pit, closing rapidly with Kelvos, but at the last instant, Kelvos smiled…and created a dispelling field around the dwarf.

For a moment, Grim did not know what had happened.  Then he felt as heavy as lead and realized that his wings had vanished.  He dropped like a proverbial stone, the walls of the pit flashing past him as he fell, and fell, and fell.  Five-hundred feet the mineral warrior plummeted, crashing to a stone floor what seemed like an eternity later.  The wind was driven from his lungs and he was sure that he had felt bones snap.  It was only the supernatural hardness of his flesh that had kept him from dieing instantly.  As he struggled to look around him, he wasn’t sure that the latter option wasn’t preferable.  He lay in the middle of a small room, the floor of which was literally crawling with green worms.  Then he heard it…the tell-tale clicking of mandibles…


----------



## gfunk

ROUND TWO

The troll limped slowly down the darkened stairs on the western side of the ziggurat.  Blood flowed freely from a gaping wound in his right thigh.  The demodand had taken him by surprise, and it had been a miracle he’d escaped with his life.  Oddly enough, the laceration was not closing or regenerating the damaged tissue, as would be expected of such a creature.  The chamber at the bottom of the stairs was empty.  Its walls were carved to depict an army of armored soldiers engaged in the ruin and destruction of a city of helpless men, women and children.  Buildings burned, blood washed the streets and dark thunderclouds boiled in the skies above.  Above them all, directing the army, was an enormous figure dressed in plate mail.  His face was cold and cruel, but also quite handsome.  He wielded an exotic pole-arm that combined the features of a pick, an axe, and a mace.

The troll noticed none of this.  Purposefully, he strode across the room to a set of double-doors on the far side.  Without hesitation, he pulled them open…and beheld a scene of pure chaos!  The vast chamber before him bore a large, smoking pit in its center, surrounded by shattered pillars.  A battle raged within the room.  Several figures surrounded the pit, over which floated the object of their ire…a strikingly handsome elven man, dressed in a gleaming breastplate and wielding a glowing greatsword.  The only thing that marred his beauty was the cruel smile that twisted his lips, and the dark miasma that surrounded him like black flames.

“What in the Nine Hells is going on in here?” the troll roared.  A goliath stood chanting at the near side of the pit.  At the sound of the troll’s bellow, he turned, his eyes glowing like twin flames.  
“Faust!” Grubber yelled.  “It’s about damn time you showed up!  The eladrin’s evil!  Grim fell in the pit!  Go get him!”
Faust the troll sighed, trying to remind himself again why he had thrown in his lot with these misfits.  
“There’s only one problem with that…well, not only one, but the main one.” Faust said sarcastically.  “I can’t fly.”  
“I can fix that,” Grubber said as he quickly crossed the floor to the troll.  Speaking a prayer and then touching Faust’s back, the priest caused leathery, bat-like wings to sprout.  “Hmm,” he said, looking at the wings critically.  “Those were supposed to be angelic.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m in a bad mood,” Faust grumbled, heading towards the pit.

Havok breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Faust.  Maybe the psion would be able to tip the battle in their favor.  For now, however, the warlock was wounded.  Grubber had restored his strength, but several gashes and ugly burns marred his flesh.  Nearby, Drasek did not look much better.  
“Time for a brief, tactical retreat,” Havok said to the inquisitor.  Then, touching the paladin’s shoulder, the warlock transported the two of them into the room where Kelvos and his Angels of the Worm had been holed up.  
“Timely,” Drasek said, as he began fishing potion flasks out of his belt.  One was to again give him the power of flight, which the eladrin had dispelled, and the others were to heal his injuries.  

Kelvos watched the hijinks of his foes with amusement.  He had them on the run.  They were unable to organize any coordinated strike against him…just as he’d planned.  Casually, he began walking on air as if it were a solid surface, down into the pit, regaining his invisibility as he left the area of the priest’s damnable purge.  Twenty feet below the rim, he stepped into one of the rough hewn holes that festooned the sides of the shaft.  While he still did not feel that the buffoons above posed him any serious threat, they had managed to injure him and before he destroyed them, he needed to make sure he was at his peak.  Calling upon his lord Kyuss, he suffused his body with unholy power, closing each of his wounds in turn.  That task complete, he then called out into the void of the pit, speaking in the tongue of the Abyss.  “Come worms!  Heed the words of the Wormtouched!  Your master has need of your service once again!”

As the maddening clicking of the mandibles came closer, Grim fumbled at his belt pouch, digging out a small flask.  Just as a large shadow fell over him, the dwarf upended the flask, and his form winked out of sight.  He wasn’t quite fast enough.  The undead beetle had already reached him, and mindlessly, it lashed out at where it had last seen him.  Its cruelly barbed jaws sliced into him, drawing out his very life-force as easily as they did his blood.  Grim clenched his jaws to keep from screaming, and also to hold back his gorge.  The writhing worms still crawled over him, biting him like a thousand wasps’ stings.  The effect was nauseating.  Quickly, he reached for a second potion, imbibing it just as the beetle struck again.  This time, the vile creature’s mandibles stabbed deep into his gut, and despite his best efforts, the mineral warrior cried out.  It felt as if his innards were literally being ripped out of him.  For a moment his vision blurred and darkened, but he knew that if he lost consciousness he was finished.  At that moment, he felt his body lighten as the flying drought took effect.  Willing himself up, the dwarf shot into the air, straight into the narrow hole through which he’d fallen.  He had to get out of the pit.  That was his only thought as he flew up, and up, and up.

Faust didn’t know where the eladrin had gone, and he wasn’t going to wait around to find out.  Running to the edge of the pit, he threw himself over the edge, diving down into the darkness as fast as his wings would carry him.  Deeper and deeper he flew, at one point passing the invisible form of Grim, who did not call out to the strange, winged troll, thinking it another spawn of Kyuss coming to finish him off.  Eventually, Faust could see the bottom of the shaft, where it narrowed down to a scant eight feet in diameter, before opening into chamber, the floor of which was crawling with green worms.  Directly below the hole was also a large, half-rotted green beetle, its mandibles clicking in a maddening tempo that seemed to bore into the psion’s skull.  If Grim was down there, he was already dead, or worse.  Faust concentrated, manifesting a flaming ball of energy, which he flung into the hole, and then retreated out of the blast radius as it consumed the chamber.  He didn’t wait to see the effects of his attack, instead turning back up the pit, and starting his slow ascent back to the surface.

Grim willed himself to fly faster.  He had heard the explosion below him, and knew for a fact that the fiend he’d passed had been sent to insure his death.  Pulling flask after flask as he flew, he attempted to abate the worst of his hemorrhaging.  

Cautiously, Drasek and Havok approached the edge of the pit.  Peering over its edge, they saw no sign of the eladrin at first, but then the warlock’s fiendishly acute eyesight picked out the invisible form of the celestial outlined in glowing, green light, standing just inside one of the holes below.  Kelvos saw them as well.  Without hesitation, he thrust one hand towards them, a bolt of lightning flashing from his palm and striking Havok.  It then leaped from the warlock, arcing into Drasek.  At that moment, both Drasek and Havok saw something else.  Emerging from another hole, some forty-feet below them, was a vile, bloated worm, with a thick, green body.  Its vaguely human head was covered in stringy green hair, and its mouth was a round, sucker-like orifice, ringed with rows of tiny teeth.  Its identity flashed into Havok’s mind instantly.  Once again, the knowledge gleaned from the Apostolic Scrolls served him well.  The creature was a worm naga, created by Kyuss after his transformation to godhood as a way of rewarding the powerful arcanists that had served him in life.  Even as this realization came to him, Havok heard the horrid thing began to chant the words to a spell.  A blast of freezing cold air and ice roared up from the pit, engulfing Drasek and him.  Reflexively, Havok’s hand came up in an ineffective attempt to ward off the spell, but as it did, the warlock loosed an eldritch spear at the naga, followed by a second blast of noxious energy.  With that, his stamina flagged.  Staggering away from the pit, he stumbled back into the smaller antechamber.  Closing his eyes, and concentrating, he summoned up a new aspect of his fiendish power…the ability to somewhat clot off flowing blood and close minor cuts.  At the same time, he heard a voice speaking in his head:  “Fear not, master.  I am here.  Let me tend your need.”  It was the armor given to him by Malchor.  The wizard had told him that it could provide some healing in times of great necessity.  The warlock supposed this was one of those times.

Grubber quickly stepped to Drasek’s side, grimacing in disgust at the horrible naga protruding from its hole below.  Calling out to Grumbar, the goliath caused a wall of whirling, slashing blades to appear directly across the opening from which the worm had emerged.  The creature screamed as the blade barrier ripped at its flesh, and it quickly drew its head back inside the hole and away from the whirring shards.  As it retreated, Drasek appealed to Kelemvor for his own spell, a radiant blast of power which seared the naga’s warty hide.  

Continuing his ascent, Faust saw something emerge from one of the holes in the side of the pit above him.  Had he been at the top with his companions, he would have seen that it was the same type of creature that assailed them.  As it was, he guessed it to be some sort of naga, though not any kind that he had ever heard of.  Even as he contemplated this, the worm spat out a spell, sending a scathing beam of green energy at him.  The ray struck Faust, but dissipated on impact, the psionic spell resistance he had manifested earlier against the demodand still in effect.  

Hawk couldn’t see exactly what was throwing spells from down in the pit, but he assumed it was the eladrin.  Imbued with the power of flight from a potion, the civilar dove into the pit, only to see the naga trapped behind the wall of blades.  Confused, he turned to look for the eladrin…but Kelvos saw him first.  Laughing to himself at the stupidity of these mortals, he again summoned a dispelling field, watching with delight as horrific realization dawned on the paladin and he began to fall.  Fortunately for Hawk, unlike Grim, his flight ability was not granted by wings, and so when it suddenly ended, he merely drifted down instead of plummeting, though he knew that effect would last only a few seconds before he began to fall in earnest.

The naga, trapped behind its prison of blades, glared balefully up at grubber.  The goliath could see its puckered lips begin to move as it spoke the words to another spell.  A ray of emerald death lanced towards the priest, but as it passed through the blade barrier, its path was deflected just enough to cause it to strike at Grubber’s feet, where it promptly disintegrated several inches of stone.  Just then, a hand gripped his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled, preparing to face this newest threat.  Instead, he saw Havok standing behind him, the warlock looking worse for wear, but no longer ashen with blood loss.  Havok nodded, and looked past the goliath at the snarling, hissing worm below.  With almost a casual flick of his hand, he sent an eldritch blast through the blade barrier to strike the naga between the eyes.  The wretched creature blinked once, and then collapsed.  

Faust ignored the naga as he flew past it, intent on reaching the top of the shaft.  Again and again, though, more nagas appeared at intervals, each one hurling disintegration beams at him, and each one rebuffed by his protective aura.  As the psion passed his nearest assailant, his eyes locked briefly with those of the naga.  In that moment, Faust was lost.  At first his thoughts became jumbled and he found it hard to concentrate.  He paused in his flight, hovering in place.  A moment later, he forgot why he had come down here in the first place.  A moment after that, he forgot his own name.  All that remained was the feral mind of the troll.  Faust was no more.  Red rage filled his mind as he continued to stare at the naga.  He wanted to rend it, tear it, taste its blood.  With an inhuman roar he charged at the hole.  

Hawk glided down another sixty feet, sheathing his sword as he fell, and pulling a second fly potion from his belt.  As he passed one of the ubiquitous holes, he saw another of the nagas emerging from it.  It spoke in a guttural voice, and green light enveloped him.  The civilar hissed in pain as the ray seared his flesh like acid.  A small hole had been bored through his breastplate, and through his skin beneath.  Then he was past the hole, falling deeper into the pit.  Unfortunately, below him he saw yet another naga appear, and a second beam struck him.

Drasek finished his laying on of hands upon himself, and somewhat revitalized, moved to rejoin Havok and Grubber.  There, he saw that a second naga had crawled from a hole forty feet below where the first one had been.  Storm saw it too.  The sorceress floated above the top of the force wall that Kelvos had erected, and now she hurled two scorching rays of electricity at the worm.  The first struck the creature a glancing blow, but the second blasted it directly in the mouth as it was preparing to cast its own spell.  As a result, the disintegration ray it was sending towards her missed her by a wide margin.  

Kelvos could not keep himself from chuckling as he saw the frustration etched on the faces of his foes.  They were so confused that they did not remember not to cluster in one place.  Once more calling on Kyuss, the eladrin brought down a column of green fire directly upon the spot where Havok and Drasek stood.  The warlock hurled a token blast back his way, but the pitiful attempt simply dissipated as it touched Kelvos’ divine flesh.  Once again, the warlock was forced to retreat.  To Kelvos’ great surprise and delight, however, the inquisitor leaped from the edge of the pit and dove straight towards him.  

The troll’s quarry slipped eel-like away from him, speaking unintelligible words.  A blast of bitter cold struck the troll, but he barely felt it.  He prepared to leap upon the naga, but at that moment, a brief flash of insight struck him.  There were clan-mates nearby, allies to be protected.  A primal instinct caused him to retreat from the hole and launch himself back into the pit, his wings straining as he climbed steadily upward.  

Struggling to ignore his pain, Hawk finally managed to swig down his potion.  Feeling the power of flight once again return to him, he willed himself up.  More nagas were above him.  He raised his shield over his head as deadly, green beams began to crisscross the shaft.  

Storm watched as Drasek closed with the eladrin.  The inquisitor swung his maul, but the celestial deflected it easily.  The drow could see that the paladin was outclassed in a one-on-one contest.  Thinking to aid her comrade, she hurled a glowing ball of fire into the hole behind the eladrin, but unfortunately, she misjudged her aim, and when the spell exploded, it engulfed both combatants.  When the flames cleared, the eladrin looked unscathed, but Drasek bore several blistered burns.  

“With friends like that,” Kelvos laughed at Drasek, “I won’t have to raise my hand against you at all!  Come now my friend.”  He held one hand out towards the inquisitor.  “I can see you are of pure heart and noble of spirit, but do you truly think your devotion to goodness and law could ever come close to that which I once held dear?  And yet here I am, a testament to flawed thinking.  We are kindred spirits.  Can’t you feel it?  Everything you have believed in is a lie.  Join me, and I will show you truths you could never believe possible.”
“Never!” Drasek hissed, and he swung his maul again.  Kelvos caught the head of the weapon on the guard of his sword.  Rotating his wrists, and jerking back, he wrenched the weapon from the paladin’s hands.  It clanged to the floor at Drasek’s feet, and before the inquisitor could reach to recover it, Kelvos kicked it out of the hole and into the abyss beyond.

“Havok!” Grubber called over his shoulder to the warlock, who was allowing his armor to again pull him back from the brink of unconsciousness.  “Drasek’s in trouble!”  The goliath then turned back to the scene below him, and launched twin beams of fire from his eyes, which bore the aspect of the celestial firre’.  The beams hit the side of the wall where Kelvos’ head had been but a moment earlier, before the eladrin had dodged with superhuman speed.  Havok limped back to the pit edge, hurling his own magic at the celestial, amazed that this time his blast actually seemed to hurt Kelvos, though it did not have the nauseating effect that he had hoped for.

“Now what will you do?” Kelvos taunted the unarmed inquisitor, feinting at him playfully with his sword.  
“This!” Drasek said, speaking a prayer to Kelemvor that caused his arm to become a living blade, ironically that of a sword archon.  
“Ah,” Kelvos said, smiling, “but how can you hit what you cannot see?”  The eladrin then retreated several feet down the worm tunnel, and willed himself invisible once more.   Speaking the words to one of his most lethal spells, he hurled destructive energy at Drasek, intending to snuff out the paladin’s life like a candle.  Incredibly, as the spell struck Drasek, his armor flared with blinding light, the Soulfire enchantment placed upon it by Malchor protecting him from the life-draining effect.  

Hawk had managed to survive the deadly gauntlet of nagas, and he had only one more to pass before he reached the pit’s rim again.  This last one, however, did not attack him as the others had, with a disintegration spell.  Instead, it summoned a dispelling field, and again the civilar’s power of flight failed him.  

Grubber saw Hawk’s plight, but could do nothing to directly aid his friend.  Instead, he summoned a spiritual hammer of Grumbar to him, willing it to fly at the naga.  The great maul closed the distance rapidly, hammering at the worm repeatedly.  Simultaneously, Havok hurled a noxious blast at the naga, relieved when the creature began to retch and heave violently.  Relinquishing his concentration on the spiritual weapon, Grubber cast a second spell, this time striking the worm naga with a hammer-like blast of righteous power.  Havok followed again with an eldritch blast.  The combined assault quickly overwhelmed the naga, and it tumbled from its hole, disappearing into the darkness of the pit.
“Fall back!” the warlock called to Drasek, and heeding his own warning, he moved back towards the antechamber.  Drasek did not hesitate.  Knowing he had no way of combating the eladrin when he could not see it, he flew from the tunnel, but instead of making for the top of the shaft, he dove deeper in, heading towards Hawk.  As the inquisitor reached the civilar, he seized his hand, and then Dimension Doored them both back into the temple chamber next to Havok.  Storm joined them, but for some reason, Grubber hesitated.
“Grubber!” Drasek called.  “Get away from there you fool!”  
“In a moment,” the goliath replied calmly, holding up one hand.  An idea had struck him.  The eladrin was too well defended, hidden as he was in the naga-hole, but perhaps that could be turned to their advantage.  Calling to Grumbar once more, the goliath priest created a wall of iron across the opening to the hole, sealing it completely shut.  
“I’ve bought us some time!” he called, moving towards his friend.

Just then, the winged troll that had been Faust soared out of the pit, landing heavily near the others.  
“Where is Grim?” Havok asked.  “Did you find him?”  
The troll stared at him blankly, growling low in his throat.  He knew this was a pack member, but he could not understand the noises it was making.  
“Something’s wrong with him,” the warlock said, backing several steps away.  “Grubber, can you tell what’s happened?”
The goliath looked closely at the troll, but he could see no sign of comprehension nor intelligence in its eyes.  
“Something has affected his mind,” he said finally.  “If Faust is still in there, he is locked deeply within.  It is beyond my power to help him right now.”  
“Damn it!” Hawk cursed.  “This is poor timing.  We need him.”  He shook his head in frustration.  “Storm, keep an eye on Faust.  Havok, I want you to transport Grubber, Drasek and me into the hole where the eladrin is.  This may be our one and only chance to defeat him, while he is relatively weakened, and spent of spells.”

Havok, Hawk, Grubber and Drasek linked arms.  The warlock closed his eyes and pictured the entrance to the wormhole where the eladrin had taken cover.  When he opened them again, they stood in the exact spot, the iron wall to their backs.  Immediately, Grubber’s celestial light and purging aura showed them Kelvos.  He stood several yards down the tunnel, smiling at them.  No hint of his previous wounds now showed.  Hawk and Drasek were moving as soon as the group appeared.  The two paladins rushed the celestial, with Drasek going head on while Hawk dodged to the side, deflecting a blow from Kelvos’ sword off his shield as he passed. Kelvos found himself flanked, but seemed unconcerned.  Casually, he walked past Hawk.  The civilar snarled and slammed into the celestial with his shield.  Kelvos was forced back several steps, blood dripping from his lip.  Still, the smile never left his face, even as he touched one finger to the trickle and licked it off.  Speaking a litany of words, the eladrin began to grow, until his body filled the corridor.  Madness blazed in his eyes as he raised his sword to strike.
“Not so fast, my friend,” Havok whispered, and he pointed one finger at the giant eladrin.  A green energy field appeared around Kelvos, and within it were what appeared to be dozens of fanged mouths.  The celestial cried out as spell after spell of his defensive repertoire was ripped away by the voracious dispelling effect, including the Righteous Might that had granted him his increased size and power.  Once more Drasek and Hawk closed, Hawk hammering at the eladrin again with his shield.  For the first time, Kelvos’ smile faded, replaced by a look of hate that was far worse.  Taking one step back from the paladins, he vanished from sight.

Storm stood looking over the edge of the pit, listening for any sign to tell her how the battle fared below.  The drooling troll stood behind her, his fetid breath hot on her neck.  It was then that she saw a figure emerging from the darkness.  The spell she had previously cast that allowed her to see the invisible showed her that it was none-other-than Grim!  The mineral warrior looked battered and beaten, but he was alive nonetheless.  Just as he reached the top of the pit, the others rematerialized behind her.
“What happened?” she asked.
“The bastard fled,” Drasek spat.  “Teleported.  He could be anywhere.”  
“Or he could be right there,” Grim said, pointing to the far corner of the chamber, where Kelvos stood, rage etched across his face.

Storm drew a wand from her cloak and spoke the command word.  The effect she hoped for was that the eladrin would become charmed, considering her a friend.  She was disappointed when the spell fizzled as soon as it touched Kelvos.  Behind her, Havok again summoned a dispelling field, but this time he was not strong enough.  Kelvos shrugged it aside.
“The time for magic is over!” Grim cried.  “It’s time for cold steel!”  With a roar of challenge, the dwarf charged across the room, Hawk and Drasek on his heels.  Grubber gripped his maul, then looked up at the troll, who was staring after the others with his head tilted to one side, like a dog who hears a rabbit in the grass.
“What are you waiting for?” Grubber shouted at him.  He swatted the giant on the flank and pointed towards Kelvos.  “Sic’em boy!”  The troll snarled and leaped into the air, beating his leathery wings and rapidly closing the distance to the eladrin.  Grubber brought up the rear.

In no time, the warriors had Kelvos surrounded, just as he’d hoped.  The filthy civilar even managed to score a minor blow.  The others, the eladrin evaded easily, and then, just as they were closing in for the kill, he vanished once more, only to reappear right next to Havok.
“You have caused me enough trouble,” the eladrin hissed.  “Once I’m done with you, the rest of your friends will be child’s play.  And once you are all dead, I’ll feed you to the worms.  You will serve Kyuss one way or the other.”
In a panic, Havok scrambled back a step, hurling a noxious blast point blank into the celestial’s face.  Kelvos’ skin blistered, but he was otherwise unaffected.  As he advanced on the warlock, he saw the warriors already on the way to intercept him.  The troll reached him first, its filthy claws scraping at his armor as it tried to grapple with him.  Kelvos thrust his sword into the beast’s armpit, eliciting a howl of pain from the brute.  As he turned to move towards Havok again, he found Grim barring his way.  The dwarf swung his axe low, slamming into the eladrin behind his knees.  His legs buckling, Kelvos fell heavily to the floor.  Immediately, he surged to his feet, but Drasek had arrived by that time, and the inquisitor drove his sword arm into the eladrin’s back.  At the same time, Grim kicked Kelvos’ leg out from under him again, and once more he sprawled at the dwarf’s feet.  From the ground, the eladrin spat out the words to an unholy prayer, and a sickening, black aura descended upon the group, searing their skin, and churning their stomachs.  All except for Storm.  The sorceress still stood near the pit, and she could see that the eladrin was in dire straits.  Knowing she was taking a risk, she summoned a deafening thunderclap, which enveloped both friend and enemy alike.  Her companions reflexively clutched at their ears as the sonic wave struck, but so did Kelvos.  While he was thus distracted, Havok fought back his own pain and pointed his finger once more.  The eldritch blast tore through Kelvos’ skull, leaving a gaping hole through which a writhing mass of worms could be seen.


----------



## gfunk

REGROUP

No sooner had Kelvos fallen than the ruins of the room wavered and faded, replaced by a well-equipped torture chamber.  Wailing victims strapped to horrific devices hung in the background from chains.  In the foreground stood two figures.  One was a handsome man dressed in flowing robes.  Facing him was a strange, six-armed creature that looked as much insect as it did humanoid.  The insect creature’s eyes were hollow sockets containing a pinpoint of light deep within.  Its flesh was rotting and festering, and the green robes it wore were old and moth-eaten.  The creature wielded a long green crystal rod in one hand, a cruel hooked rod in another.  In two other hands it held a jeweled gold box that it presented to the man, who took it and set it upon a table.  He opened it and, using a pair of iron tongs, withdrew a writhing green worm.  The man’s expression changed to one of excitation as he looked upon the worm…and the vision faded.

It was obvious to the members of the League who were still capable of coherent thought, that the man was the same one they had witnessed in their vision outside in the ruins, just as it was obvious that the green worm was a Kyuss worm.  The six-armed creature, however, was an enigma.  None of the group had ever seen such a being, but its significance was obvious…it had gifted Kyuss with his first worm.

“Well, what now?” Giovanni asked the others after the vision passed.  “I for one feel we are in no shape to go any further.  Faust is a drooling beast.  Grubber, Storm and Drasek have depleted their spells, and all of us are injured.”
“I might at least be able to help Faust’s situation,” Grubber said quietly.
“How so?” asked Hawk.
“It is apparent that he is under some sort of enchantment,” the goliath replied.  “I have a scroll with a spell designed to break any such ensorcelment…provided the source of the effect was not too powerful.  Shall I try?”
Hawk shrugged and gestured for the priest to proceed.  Grubber pulled the scroll from his pack and began to read.  The others watched the troll closely as the spell began to gather strength.  Finally, Grubber spoke the last word, and a sense of power rippled through the air.  Faust grunted, then sniffed the air before inserting one large finger into his right nostril.  
“It didn’t work,” Grubber said, shaking his head.  “I can perhaps try again tomorrow.”
“Then I suggest we leave now,” Giovanni spoke up.  “Furthermore, I recommend we use the last scroll that Malchor gave us, and travel back to Waterdeep.  We can rest there, recover, and purchase more scrolls to bring us back, now that we know where we are going.”

The others could not argue with the warlock’s logic.  Camping inside the ziggurat would be foolish, and making camp in the outlying ruins or the jungle, with their unknown hazards, would be more foolish.  Using their usual travel mode, several of the lighter team members slipped into Shay’s Bag of Holding, and then Giovanni read the scroll.

The night and next day were spent recuperating and restocking supplies.  Grubber cast his Break Enchantment again the following morning upon Faust, who by this time had returned to his natural form, and was relieved when the psion’s mental faculties were fully restored.  Once he was brought up to speed on what had transpired, Faust made a request of Grubber.
“I want you to deafen me…permanently.”
Grubber looked at him blankly.  “You want me to do what?”
“Deafen me,” Faust replied calmly.  “After your stories of those undead beetles with their maddening chittering, I would just as soon not succumb and be a sitting duck, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Yes,” Grubber said, “but isn’t this a bit drastic?  How will we communicate with you?”
“Simple,” Faust responded.  “I can mind link all of us so that we can speak telepathically with one another.  It will work no matter the distance between any of us.  So, if one of you should, say, fall in a pit, you can notify the others that you are still alive and what your situation is.”
Grubber shook his head.  He had become accustomed to the psion’s eccentric behavior.  Besides, he knew that the deafening spell could be dismissed by him whenever he wished.  Shrugging, he granted Faust’s wish.

The following day, the team was ready to return to Kuluth-Mar.  Both Grubber and Storm had imbued themselves with the permanent ability to see the invisible.  In addition to his hearing impairment, Faust also vowed that he would not open his eyes as long as they were within the Spire.  He had no intention of meeting the gaze of another naga.  Instead, he manifested Touch Sight upon himself, which effectively granted him the ability of Blindsight.  The group assembled in a quiet place.  The bag riders re-entered their home-away-from-home.  Faust once more assumed troll-form, and then Giovanni recited the teleportation spell from his scroll.
“Rise,” Mak’ar hissed into the darkness.  “You are needed.  There is yet work to be done, as I fear that our unwanted guests will be returning soon.  In the mean time, you will stay be my side.  Do not fail me in this.”

The first thing that the League noticed when they reappeared in the temple, was the absence of bodies.  No sign remained of their previous battles.  All of the corpses were gone.
“I don’t like this,” Grim grumbled.  
“Maybe they return to the worms from which they were spawned when they die,” Grubber offered.  
“Yeah, and maybe trolls can fly,” the dwarf sneered, but then he caught Faust’s eye.  “Sorry.”

The team was not yet prepared to brave whatever awaited them in the steaming pit, not-the-least of which would most assuredly be more worm nagas.  Instead, they made for the double stone doors on the far side of the room.  After Shay assured him that the doors were not trapped, Grim pushed the portals open.  The long chamber beyond obviously served as a library, as dozens of bookshelves lined the walls and stood back-to-back amid the room.  In addition to the surprisingly well-preserved tomes, twelve clear jars sat on various shelves, each one filled with a thin, gray liquid and containing a single writhing, green worm.  In one corner of the chamber crouched an eviscerator beetle, its mandibles clacking together rhythmically.  Four other figures also stood about the room.  Three wore baroque armor, which covered every inch of their skeletal forms, save for two gaping eye sockets.  The ornate steel and silver plate carried a sickening, green sheen, and from the armor’s well-crafted joints, small, green worms wriggled to be free.  Similar worms writhed and slid between many of the armor’s plates, yet the creatures’ grips on their massive greatswords remained firm and hinted at deadly skill.  The fourth figure was a stooped creature sheathed in full plate armor, over which lay the tattered remains of ancient robes of state.  The creature’s shriveled and tortured limbs teemed with writhing hordes of green worms.  These vermin moved over the figure’s decayed body, crawling between the plates of its armor as well.

Havok didn’t hesitate.  As soon as he saw the Kyuss spawn, he loosed an eldritch chain, which arced between the beetle and the nearest swordsman.  In unison, all three of the warriors pulled a single worm from their mouths and raised it towards the ceiling.  Instantaneously, three blasts of cold, negative energy surged through the members of the League, and through the undead as well.  On each League member, a Soulfire or Deathward effect automatically triggered in response to the assault…all except Storm.  The drow had no such protection, and she felt the cold all their way to her bones, sapping her vitality.  At the same time, the wounds Havok had just inflicted upon the undead seemed to melt away, healed.  The robed figure gestured silently at Hawk, and for a brief moment, the civilar felt his muscles seize and spasm, but the sensation quickly passed.   The creature gestured again, and this time a powerful dispelling field settled over the entire team, stripping off defensive spells as it triggered.

Seeing the effects of Havok’s eldritch chain, Storm decided to attempt the same tactic, only with lighting.  Casting her spell, she arced a short burst from the robed undead to a nearby swordsman, but to her dismay, the electricity seemed to affect them not at all.  Meanwhile Drasek, who had purchased a new maul in Waterdeep to replace the one lost by Kelvos, stepped forward to meet one of the swordsmen.  He swung two mighty blows at the undead, but the creature deftly parried both with the flat of his blade.  The momentum of the defense forced the inquisitor to turn with the undead warrior, exposing his flank to the closing eviscerator beetle.  The insect’s mandibles snapped shut an inch from where Drasek’s lumber spine had been a moment before he managed to lean his body in the other direction.  

Hawk closed to Drasek’s side, plunging his sword into the beetle’s thorax and loosing a surge of holy energy as he struck.  Grubber was also moving to join the fray, but at that moment, the maddening chitter of the beetle overwhelmed his thoughts, forcing him to grab at his ears in a futile attempt to rid them of the noise.  

Faust ‘saw’ Grubber’s dilemma, and secretly smiled at his own ingenuity at having the priest deafen him.  As the psion scanned the battlefield, he identified each of the combatants.  The swordsmen were known as Swords of Kyuss.  They were once the elite shock troops of Kyuss’ army.  The robed figure was a Wormcaller, at one time a lesser priest of Jergal who assisted in Kyuss’ own ascension to godhood.  This was how Kyuss’ ‘rewarded’ his faithful.  Not wishing to give the Wormcaller a second opportunity to rid him of his precious magical defenses, Faust manifested a current of fire between the undead priest and one of the nearby Swords.  

Havok prepared to blast the beetle a second time, but he too could not drive out the horrific noise of its mandibles from his head, and he screamed in pain and frustration.   

Hawk pulled his blade from the beetle just as the Sword behind him swung its own weapon.  The civilar was a fraction of a second too late.  The undead warrior slammed the greatsword down across the paladin’s spine.  If not for his armor, he knew the blow would have severed it.  As it was, he was staggered and momentarily off-balance.  Deftly, the Sword took a step back so that one of its brethren could move into the breech.  Winding up, and taking advantage of Hawk’s lapse in defense, it too hammered at him, this time the blade coming from beneath and catching him in the gut.  The civilar spat blood as the air was driven from his lungs.  

The Wormcaller hissed as its moldering robes began to smolder from the beam of fire being generated by Faust.  Quickly, the priest ducked behind one of the nearby bookshelves, out of the psion’s line of sight, and thus out of the path of the energy current.  

Seeing the effect that fire had had on the undead, Storm, who had moved a safe distance away from the melee, now hurled a pea-sized ball of fire into the library, where it detonated with a roar, engulfing the beetle and two of the Swords.  Unfortunately, the sorceress did not take into account the susceptibility of the books to her flames, and several of the ancient tomes began to burn.

“Back pit-spawn!” Drasek cried as he loosed a spray of diamond shards at the pair of Swords harrying Hawk, catching the beetle in the blast as well.  The undead moaned, and recoiled, but they recovered quickly and the beetle lunged at Hawk again, savaging one of his legs with its claw.  The third Sword had still not entered the battle.  Instead, it plucked another worm from its armor and raised it up.  Once more, a blast of negative energy filled the area, and again the undead were healed of many of their wounds.  The League was right back to where they’d started from.

Hawk was not so fortunate.  His own wounds continued to bleed freely, and he was forced to stagger back into the temple room to grant himself a temporary respite.  As he cleared the doorway, Grubber, who had finally managed to shake off the effects of the beetle’s chittering, called down a column of holy fire upon the two Swords who stood there, as well as the beetle.  

Faust was intent on the Wormcaller.  Though the Swords were unquestionably puissant, he knew that the undead priest could ultimately cause them the greatest harm if it was able to bring its full arsenal of magic to bear.  Moving behind the battle line until he could see the creature again, he channeled his energy current solely into the priest.  

Havok clenched his eyes shut, and ground his teeth in an effort to regain control of his faculties.  Finally, driving the deafening clicking to the back of his mind, he opened his eyes again, and fixated on the beetle.  Channeling his most powerful energies, he sent a roaring, green spear of eldritch power lancing into the undead insect, and then instantly followed with a second blast.  The eviscerator beetle exploded into a gory pulp.  

With the doorway unblocked, one of the Swords stepped quickly between Drasek and Hawk.  Both paladins struck at the undead warrior as it passed, connecting solidly, but the creature seemed to shrug off their attacks, and kept moving…straight towards Faust!  Grubber swung his maul as well when the Sword passed him, and the silver-headed weapon burned deeply into the creature’s flesh.  It glared at him balefully, but did not deter from its course.  In desperation, Faust slashed at the approaching Sword with one clawed hand, but the razor-sharp talons did not even break the rotting flesh of the warrior.  To make things worse, the second Sword followed the first, darting among Hawk, Drasek and Grubber while they were distracted by its predecessor.  The warriors now had Faust flanked.

Chuckling evilly, the Wormcaller once more ducked for cover from Faust’s energy beam, knowing that the hateful mortal would soon be incapable of summoning any more such magics.  

The final Sword stepped into the now empty doorway, and grasped a third worm in its hand.  Again, the energy blast filled the air, and again its allies began to heal.  
“You’ve done quite enough for one day,” Hawk snarled, stepping up to confront the swordsman.  Like a dervish, the civilar swung his blade with blinding speed, striking the undead warrior once, twice, three, four blows!  Holy energy and divine might flared and the creature shrieked and gave ground, though to Hawk’s utter amazement, it did not fall.  He knew he had dealt enough damage to kill an elephant, and still his opponent stood.  And it had just healed its compatriots.

Drasek and Grubber struggled to put themselves between the Swords and Faust, but the warriors were too fast and coordinated.  They dodged and parried blows expertly, and still managed to maintain their proximity to the psion.  Faust was as close to panic as he had ever been.  He manifested a second energy current between the two Swords, then pictured a point just behind Grubber, and a moment later stepped between dimensions to put himself there.

‘Just where I want you,’ Havok though as he saw the position of all three Swords.  He focused, and a chain of eldritch energy leaped among the warriors.  To his great relief, the one whom Hawk had dealt such withering damage to finally succumbed.  Quickly, the warlock loosed an eldritch spear at one of the two remaining, and it too crumbled, perhaps not quite so healed as they had believed.  Only one Sword still stood, and it lunged at Grubber, trying to fight past the goliath to get at the psion behind him.  Grubber blocked the blow with the haft of his maul, and clashed with the swordsman, their footwork bringing them both dangerously close to the edge of the gaping pit.

Faust turned to find the Wormcaller again, but just as he did, the priest conjured a dispelling field solely around the psion.  Faust felt spell after spell, and power after power fade away, and he did not have the resources to replenish his defenses.  Storm watched from her position of relative safety, and an idea came to her.  If a Feeblemind spell could neutralize as potent a psion as Faust, perhaps it could do the same on the Wormcaller.  The sorceress chanted the words to the spell and focused the magic on the priest, but the creature did not so much as glance her way.  If it even noticed her attempt, it gave no sign.  

Drasek did, however, get the Wormcaller’s full attention.  Calling upon the Deific Vengeance of Kelemvor, he began to recite a litany of the priest’s crimes, crimes made worse by the creature’s transition to unlife.  The priest quailed before the diatribe, and Hawk took the opportunity to rush forward, slashing at the Wormcaller and smiting it with the power of Helm.  
“I’ll handle this from here boys,” Faust said in a low, menacing voice, as he stepped to the library door.  Concentrating, his used his vast mental powers to seize control of the Wormcaller’s motor functions, taking over its body in full.  Like a puppet, he commanded it to begin walking forward.  As it passed Hawk, the civilar swung again, carving large chunks from its flesh.  Unable to defend itself, it continued past the paladin, and then past Drasek as well.  The inquisitor smashed his maul into its chest as it approached, and caved in its sternum.  The Wormcaller went limp, though it did not fall, still in the grip of Faust’s body control.  Like a rag doll, the psion cast it aside.

Slowly, the last Sword backed Grubber closer and closer to the lip of the pit.  Havok hurled an eldritch spear into it, but the warrior did not relent.  Storm flung an orb of corrosive acid upon it, and still it persevered.  Grubber felt his back foot slip on the edge of the chasm.
“Grubber, move!” Drasek cried.  The goliath suddenly stopped resisting the Sword, and fell to one side, landing heavily on the brink of the precipice.  Behind the Sword, Drasek charged.  Lowering one shoulder, he slammed into the creature, which teetered precariously on the edge.  The inquisitor drove the Sword into the open air above the abyss, and it dropped silently out of sight into the void.

The library wavered and shimmered as the last Sword fell, and suddenly a human man appeared at one of the desks nearby.  A strange, gray-skinned humanoid creature with six arms stood at his shoulder.  The man studied a collection of worn and pitted bronze disks arrayed on the desk before him.  Faint etchings adorned the plates, and it seemed as if the alien figures and symbols writhed together at the behest of some sinister will.  The gray creature pointed to one of the plates, and a look of sudden comprehension bloomed on the man’s face.  The man, the creature, and the plates then faded away, and were gone.  

“That’s the same creature we saw in the previous vision,” Giovanni remarked.
“I didn’t notice a creature like that in the vision we first witnessed on entering the city,” Faust replied questioningly.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” the warlock answered.  “You were…not yourself when we saw the second vision.  It was after we slew the eladrin.”
“Ah,” Faust nodded.  “Well, for your information, that ‘creature’ was a spell weaver.  An undead one if I’m not mistaken.”
“What is a spell weaver?” Grubber questioned.
“I thought you might ask,” Faust said, warming to the topic.  “Spell weavers were an ancient race who steeped themselves in strange, arcane research.  Their accomplishments were said to be far beyond anything we could imagine today.  They supposedly died out centuries, if not millennia ago, although I have heard rumors that one might have been involved with that nasty business in Cauldron a few years back.”
“Cauldron?” Grubber asked again.
“You haven’t heard of it?” Faust said in surprise.  “Its picture was on Malchor’s wall, and the archmage even spoke of it when he told us of the predictions that were the harbingers of the Age of Worms.  ‘The ruin of a city built in a bowl.’  He was speaking of Cauldron.  The city was built inside a supposedly dormant volcano, but it was destroyed when that same volcano erupted.  All sorts of tales abound as to what caused it, but the most popular one is about demons trying to open up some sort of Gate within the city to stage an invasion of our plane.  Balderdash if you ask me.”
“Well, regardless of what occurred in Cauldron,” Hawk said, “it is obvious that Kyuss was involved with at least one of these creatures, and it would appear that it was the one that gave him the knowledge to begin his divine ascension.”
“Perhaps the library itself will tell us more…” Giovanni said, walking over to a podium where a book lay open, untouched by the fire caused by Storm’s spell.

The book showed a strange diagram of a rune-covered worm inside a human head.  The worm seemed to be whispering words into the human’s brain.  Giovanni stared at for a moment, before slowly lifting his eyes to the jars which contained the floating worms.  Three of the jars had been destroyed by the fireball, but nine still remained.  Crossing the room to the nearest shelf, he lifted one of the jars to examine it more closely.  As he had suspected, the worm was covered with strange, tiny runes.  

“They’re knowledge receptacles,” he said absently, still studying the floating worm.
“What??” Grubber asked, incredulous.
“You heard me,” the warlock replied.  “Each of these…things…contains information about a certain area of study.”  He began examining each jar in turn.
“There are four disciplines in all:  history, arcana, religion, and planar facts.”
“But…how are you supposed to access the information?” the goliath asked, dreading the answer.  
Giovanni looked up at him and smiled, “Isn’t it obvious?  You eat one.”
The entire team looked revolted, except Faust, who seemed intrigued.  
“But won’t that expose you to infection?” Hawk asked.
Giovanni nodded.  “Yes.  It’s a calculated risk.”
“I’ll take it,” Faust said, lifting one of the jars and opening it.  Before anyone could protest, he plucked the wriggling worm from the solution and swallowed it whole.  The others watched him tensely.  Immediately, Faust felt wracking cramps in his abdomen, followed by a searing pain in his back, which began traveling up his spine into his neck, and then his head.  All along, however, he heard whispering in his mind, speaking to him of secret religious lore, things long lost from mortal knowledge.  As the pain in his head became almost unbearable, he sensed the worm expire, just as the knowledge it imparted took root in his psyche.

“Well…?” Grubber asked as Faust recovered from his ordeal.
“I can’t say it would be my choice of ways to study, but it beats pulling an all-nighter.”  He described to them what he had felt and what he learned.  It was decided that he, Grubber and Havok would consume six of the remaining worms.  Havok ate two of arcane lore, and one of planar, Grubber one of religion and one history, and Faust the last of the planar worms.  All of them endured the grisly ritual, and the pain it inflicted, but all emerged otherwise unscathed.  The final two worms they would take back to Malchor for further study.

The remaining books in the library contained a vast storehouse of research on all of the areas covered by the knowledge worms, but it would take days, if not weeks to catalogue it all.  The group decided to leave them for the time being and retrieve them later if possible.  

Back in the temple, they discovered that each of the narrow stairways leading up ended at a hidden door which opened out onto one of the high steps of the ziggurat.  Nothing more was to be discovered in the upper level.  That left but one choice…the abyss.

At first, the team thought to start at one of the wormholes in the side of the pit.  Perhaps by following one of them, they could wind their way to the bottom without having to descend the shaft itself.  They were sure to meet more of the worm nagas on the way, but dealing with them individually would be far better than being targets for them in the main pit.  However, they quickly discovered that the tunnels were a chaotic, twisting maze, and it would take hours for them to find a path down.  Plan B involved Faust using his ability to Dimension Door to take them to the worm hole closest to the bottom of the pit that he had seen.  It would place them some forty feet above the end of the shaft.  Doing so would require one of the group to ride inside Shay’s bag of holding.  It was Giovanni who volunteered.

When they appeared inside the opening to the worm hole, the shaft itself had tapered down to a mere twelve feet in diameter.  Similar holes opened into the shaft at the other three compass points.  Grubber was the first to be able to take full stock of their surroundings, and the first thing he noticed was the baleful glare of a worm naga staring at him from no more than twenty feet further down the tunnel.  Remembering Faust’s warning about the power of the nagas’ eyes, the goliath quickly averted his gaze and then charged down the tunnel, maul raised and a war-cry on his lips.  His eyes on the ground just in front of him, he was unable to gauge his distance accurately, and his blow fell just short of the worm.  

Storm also recalled Faust’s words, and in addition she remembered that he had said arcansists were inherently more susceptible to the feeblemind effect.  She wasn’t quite sure how the psion had come to this conclusion, but she wasn’t about to test it.  Closing her eyes firmly, she pictured a point in the worm hole on the opposite side of the shaft from where she and her companions stood.  Speaking the words to her own Dimension Door spell, she vanished and reappeared at her chosen spot, eyes still shut.  It was then that she heard the faint scrape of scales on stone coming from directly in front of her.

Hawk was right behind Grubber, his eyes turned away from the fiend.  The civilar had the advantage over the priest, however, in that he was trained to rely on his other senses when in combat.  His blade struck true, and he willed electricity through it, shocking the naga as he drew out its life blood.

Faust waded past the civilar and the goliath.  His eyes were shut, as they had been since he’d reentered the temple, relying on his Touchsight to guide him.  Reaching for the naga, he wrapped his muscular troll arms around it, hugging it to his chest, holding it immobile while at the same time preventing it from bringing its arsenal of spells to bear.  Writhing and hissing in the psion/troll’s grasp, the naga lunged at Faust’s face with its razor-sharp teeth.  Instinctively, Faust flinched, loosening his grip just enough for the worm to slip through his arms.  Moving with amazing speed, the naga quickly disappeared around a bend in the tunnel.

Drasek hastily loosened the knot binding the magical bag shut.  Upending the sack, he dumped Havok unceremoniously to the floor.  
“You’re on,” he said to the warlock.

Before Storm could even open her eyes, she heard the naga speaking in the language of magic, and recognized the spell just before the blast of cold air and ice shards struck her.  It was the last thing she heard or saw.  Drasek and Havok saw the drow fall an instant before the same blast rolled over them, chilling them to their marrow.  

Grubber felt his mind-link with Storm vanish, and he knew the sorceress was dead.  Still, there might be time to save her.  Turning back down the tunnel, he hurried to Drasek, praying as he moved.  When he reached the inquisitor, he touched him on the shoulders, granting him the celestial aspect of the winged angels.  Drasek nodded in understanding, he too having felt the loss of mental contact with Storm.  Taking to the air, he soared the short distance across the shaft to the opposite tunnel. Careful not to meet the gaze of the naga, the inquisitor called upon Kelemvor not to take the drow’s soul just yet.  As he laid one hand upon her brow, he felt warmth return to her skin, and saw her chest rise and fall with her respirations, though she still remained unconscious.

Hawk didn’t have time to spare see what was happening with his comrades, though he guessed at Storm’s fate.  Instead, he pursued the fleeing naga, catching up to it just around the corner.  His eyes still averted, he swung again, but this time his skills failed him, and his blade cut only air.  

Havok scrambled to his feet, trying to shake off his momentary disorientation.  To his right, he saw Hawk disappear around a bend.  To his left, he saw Storm’s body lying on the ground before a worm naga, Drasek facing off with it on the other side of the fallen sorceress.  Quickly turning his eyes away, he loosed an eldritch spear, but the shot went just wide of the mark, striking the wall inches from the naga’s head.  His quickened follow-up, however, was right on target, gouging a deep fissure across the worm’s carapace.  

Enraged, the naga before Drasek spoke its spell a second time, unleashing a second cone of cold.  Drasek took the blast full force, as did Havok in the tunnel behind him.  Unfortunately, the newly revivified Storm was also caught in the blast.  Drasek saw her life-force wink out once again.  

Hawk’s opponent prepared to strike at the civilar, a potent spell on its lips.  However, at precisely that moment, Faust rounded the corner, and manifested a circular wall of fire around the naga, with one edge of the barrier passing directly through half of the worm.  It reeled, and tried to move away from the flames, but Hawk was there.  Praying to Helm to grant him strength, he buried his sword deep behind the naga’s neck, momentarily stunning the creature as he connected.

Havok was weak, his armor doing everything in its power to keep him alive.  Concentrating one more time, he fired another blast at the naga across the shaft.  As the blast struck, the naga shriveled into an unrecognizable husk.  

Drasek knew of only one other way to save Storm.  Though the prayer he requested was normally used to grant a soul slain before its time one final chance at vengeance against its killer, this time it would temporarily restore Storm’s life for a few minutes.  When the spell expired, Storm would die, and Drasek would attempt to Revivify her once more.  

The stunned naga was unable to remove itself from Faust’s burning energy wall, and so it continued to cook in the roaring flames.  Not wanting to waste further needless mental energy to no purpose, the psion instead charged forward, slashing at the worm with his claws.  At the same time, Hawk struck as well, his sword disemboweling the creature. 

“We should keep going,” Faust said after the team had regrouped in the first tunnel.
“Storm’s not doing so well,” Drasek said pointedly.
“What are you talking about?” the sorceress asked.  “I am a little bruised, but otherwise I feel fine.”
Drasek turned to her, his face grim.  “You are fine…for now, but the spell I cast to restore your life is of limited duration.  You have maybe another ten minutes to live.”
The drow stared at him, shocked.  “You mean I going to die again!?  Why did you bring me back then?  Just so I could suffer?”
“Not at all,” the inquisitor said, placing his hands on Storm’s shoulders to calm her.  “I only have the ability to perform one more Revivification prayer today.  If I had done it while the naga was still alive, it would have just killed you again, and then you might have been lost to us forever.  This way, when you die, I will restore you permanently, and heal you in the bargain.”
Storm nodded in understanding, and then looked into Drasek’s eyes.  “Why not just kill myself now?  Get if over with?”
“I can’t allow you to do that,” he replied calmly.  “Kelemvor sees suicide as an abomination.  Just wait.  I assure you that your death will be painless.”
“Which is more than I can say for the rest of us if we stay here until more of those nagas come,” Faust snapped.  
“Then we should leave until Storm has regained her strength,” Drasek said flatly.
“And I say we should move on,” Faust argued.  “We know those worms are in the room below us.  We can at least clear that threat out of our path and see what lies beyond.  If our resources are too taxed, we can retreat then.”
For a moment, there was silence, and then everyone looked at Hawk.  
“We go on,” he said after a time.  “We take as many of them by surprise as we can now.  I fear what forces may be arrayed against us if we continue to let our enemies know that we are coming, yet are unable to finish the task.

Preparations were made.  Storm rendered Faust invisible.  The troll/psion then quaffed a fly potion, and descended into the rapidly narrowing shaft, until he was just above the opening in the ceiling of the lower room.  Grubber drank his own potion, enabling him to climb the sheer walls of the pit like a spider, and he quickly moved to join Faust.  Drasek was the last to follow, still using his wings that Grubber had granted him.  The others remained in the tunnels above, ready to lend support if need be.

Faust peered into the small chamber below, and beheld the thousands of writhing worms blanketing the floor.  Unfortunately, his deafness prevented him from hearing another sound…the scuttling of something large moving his way, followed by a very familiar clicking.  

Storm was just preparing to cast an invisibility spell upon herself when the clicking noise filled the air.  She clenched her eyes shut, but could not drive out the sound.  Slowly, hands covering her ears, she sank to the floor of the wormhole.  

Faust quickly descended into the chamber, noticing the beetle for the first time.  He also noticed that all of the worms were slithering from the room.  Half disappeared through an archway to the west.  As Faust watched them go, he could see the room beyond, the floor of which was covered with perfectly preserved corpses, arrayed head-to-toe in neat rows.  Thick dust obscured the walls and floors, signs of the chamber’s great age, yet no trace of decay touched the corpses.  The massive green stone blocks that lined the chamber were covered with ancient symbols resembling coiling worms.  Another group of worms had crawled down a short southern passage.  Beyond it, Faust could just see what appeared to be an immense cavern filled with a horrific sea of writhing green and the nauseating susurrus of millions of slimy bodies slithering over each other.  One clump of worms remained, directly under the hole in the ceiling.
“Not so fast, my wriggling friends,” the psion muttered, and he loosed a cone of fiery power down the western hallway.  It engulfed the slithering horde, and also the swarm still in the chamber with him.  Unfortunately, his attack  ended his concealment.  With a target plainly in view, the eviscerator beetle charged, clamping its mandibles around the troll’s thigh.

Grubber clung to the top of the hole like the spider who’s power he was emulating.  Into the center of the room, he unleashed a Storm of Shards, the razor-sharp blades spilling into the corridors beyond.  The remaining worms in the western corridor were obliterated, as was the group directly below him.   “Faust’s in trouble!” he called over his shoulder, back up the shaft.

Back in the wormhole, Havok unfurled a scroll.  Reading the arcane writing upon it, he spoke the name of Magmus Moltenspear, summoning the noble salamander from his home in the City of Brass.  The elemental appeared in the center of the chamber, beneath Grubber.  “Your enemies are mine, master,” he said, “for now…”  Gripping his great, iron spear in both hands, Magmus stabbed at the eviscerator beetle again and again, each blow leaving gaping holes in its already crumbling carapace.

Drasek folded his wings and dropped past Grubber to land in the room adjacent to Faust, his eyes darting to the three exits from the room, wary of other enemies.  Behind him, Storm had managed to free herself of the beetle’s enthrallment, and had rendered herself invisible.   She glided silently down the shaft, and into the room, hovering just near the ceiling.  At that moment, Drasek spotted movement from the western hall, in the room lined with corpses.  
“We’ve got company,” he said.

A Wormcaller and three Swords of Kyuss appeared in the entry to the far chamber.  The undead priest immediately gestured, and a powerful dispelling field filled the near room.  Instantly, Magmus vanished, the summoning spell undone.  Likewise, Storm’s cloak of invisibility was stripped away, as were several defensive spells upon Grubber, Drasek and Faust.  

“Time to go gentlemen,” Hawk said, the civilar dropping through the ceiling hole and landing near the others.  “I’ll hold the retreat.”
Faust manifested two glowing missiles of pure energy, one at the beetle, and the second at the Wormcaller, before leaping towards the ceiling.  As he left the ground, the beetle lunged at him, taking a large bite out of his right foot.  The beetle then rounded on Drasek, closing the distance between them rapidly.  The inquisitor fended off the undead horror’s assault, and loosed one final spell at the approaching Wormcaller and Swords.  The Diamond Spray ripped into the minions of Kyuss, but did not stop their advance.  Shaking his head, Drasek flew towards the ceiling as well, but again the beetle attacked, pulling off one of his boots, but luckily not his foot.  

“Grubber, go!” Hawk called, but he saw that the goliath was clutching his head in agony.  The beetle again.  ‘We’re in trouble,’ the civilar thought.


----------



## gfunk

TRAITORS AMONG US

As the Wormcaller and trio of Swords continued to advance towards the chamber, Hawk flew up to the ceiling hole, joining Storm and Grubber.  With relief, the civilar saw that the goliath seemed to be coming to his senses.  At that moment, a large troll hand reached down from the shaft above.
“Grab hold,” Faust shouted.  “This ship’s pulling out!”  All three of them latched onto the psion, and in an instant were whisked through the Astral plane to reappear in the library a moment later.

Havok, Shay and Grim waited for Drasek to join them back in the wormhole.
“I can’t take you all,” the inquisitor said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Grim muttered.  “I know the drill…dwarf in the sack again.”  Still grumbling, the mineral warrior clambered into Shay’s bag of holding, and then Drasek Dimension Doored them into the library as well.

“This seems to be a recurring theme,” Faust said sarcastically as he surveyed his battered companions.  “I suppose we’ll be retreating to Waterdeep again, and after a full half-hour of exploring, no less.  This has to be some sort of personal record for us!”
“Zip it Faust,” Hawk snapped.  “We’re in over our heads here.  These glorified zombies have been shambling around these ruins for centuries.  They aren’t going anywhere in the next couple of days.  We’re here to get information, not killed.”
Faust shrugged, looking at the library around them.  “Looks to me like we’ve already found information.”
“You’re right, and we’re going to take as many of these books with us as we can, so Shay and Storm, empty out that bag and haversack and start loading up.  We’ll see what we’ve got when we get back to Waterdeep, but I’m guessing there is much more here to be found.  You’ve seen the visions we’ve been witnessing.”
Blessedly, Faust held his tongue, and helped the others in gathering up some three-hundred of the books in the library, which amounted to only about a third of the tomes that were still intact.  It bears mentioning that during this process, Storm died.  She was leaning over to inspect a pile of grimoirs when Drasek’s Revanance spell expired and she simply collapsed.  Drasek, fully expecting this, rushed quickly to her side and spoke a prayer of revivification over her.  
“See,” he said as she drew breath and opened her eyes, “painless, just as I promised.”
“But still disconcerting,” she replied as he helped her to her feet.

Once the task was completed, the group gathered together again, and Havok read the scroll they had purchased, transporting them to the City of Splendors.


“There’s got to be a better way,” Drasek said in exasperation as he and Giovanni walked towards the Thayan embassy.  
“What do you mean?” the warlock asked.  “We don’t have any choice but to purchase more of the Teleportation scrolls.  It’s the only way we can get to and from Chult.”
“Yes, but at the prices these extortionists are charging,” the inquisitor railed, “we’re going to go broke very soon.”
“What do you propose then?” asked Giovanni.
“The problem is distance,” Drasek said, stopping in the street and turning to the warlock.  “Waterdeep is just too far from Chult for me to Teleport us.  We need to find some place closer, say, Calimport for instance.”
“Calimport?” the warlock looked puzzled.  “Have you ever been to Calimport?”
“No,” Drasek answered.
“Then how can you Teleport us there if you’ve never seen it.”
“The Wayfarer’s Guild,” said Drasek.
Giovanni smiled as understanding dawned on him.  The Wayfarer’s Guild was comprised of sorcerers and magicians who would, for a fee, Teleport travelers anywhere in the Realms.  They could transport the League members to Calimport, where Drasek could memorize a point of reference, and then transport the group back and forth to Chult as needed.  It was brilliant in its simplicity.

Giovanni spent much of the rest of the short stay in Waterdeep studying.  The books from the library of Kuluth-Mar contained a treasure trove of information on many things, but the young warlock had something in particular on his mind.  His supernatural heritage gave him a certain affinity for all things magical, including items normally only usable by arcanists or priests.  Among these items were scrolls…spells written on parchment that could be cast simply by reading them.  One spell, specifically, Giovanni wanted.  He went to the Thayans and made his purchase…one scroll with the Shapechange dweomer.  With it, he could literally transform himself into other creatures, gaining their abilities and powers.  The possibilities were endless.  So, he devoted his research to certain types of creatures whose form he could assume.  Ultimately, he settled on three to study in depth, two angelic, and one decidedly not.  Deva’s and archons were celestials, beings from the Upper planes.  Kelvos had been a related creature, though corrupt, and Giovanni was intrigued by the power the eladrin had wielded.  The celestials he chose could bring similar powers to bear.  The third type of creature was one whose existence he had only just become aware of…the Wormcaller.  Some intuition in the back of the warlock’s mind told him this knowledge might prove very useful in the days to come…

Two days later, the League traveled to Calimport via the Wayfarer’s Guild, and spent just long enough in the rogue-infested city for Drasek to familiarize himself with a safe, out-of-the-way spot to focus his return Teleport spell on.  Then they made their preparations to return to Kuluth-Mar once again.  

Giovanni read his new spell from the scroll, transforming himself into the winged form of an Astral Deva.  Faust, relying upon his more mundane psionic talents to alter his shape, opted this time for the sturdier form of a Stone Giant.  He remained deaf, thanks to Grubber’s spell, and he again vowed to keep his eyes shut, relying on his Touchsight to see for him.  When all was made ready, Shay, Storm Grim, and Faust crawled into the rogue’s magical bag.  Drasek, holding the bag, then Teleported himself, Grubber and Hawk directly to the chamber where Faust had seen the preserved corpses, the room positioned between where the worms swarmed, and the chamber from which the Wormcaller and Swords had emerged.  Havok followed with his own Teleportation spell.

No sooner had the League members appeared in the corpse-filled chamber, than they heard movement coming from all sides…almost as if their foes were expecting them.  From the western archway the Swords of Kyuss appeared, while from the east, a living river of green worms flooded, soon encompassing most of the floor upon which the party members stood.  The vile vermin ripped with their razor-sharp teeth at the feet of the companions, and the sight of their writhing, bloated bodies brought gorge into the throats of the heroes.  

Havok, in his angelic form, hovered above the floor with its undulating swarms.  His studies and meditations had recently awakened a new aspect of his power within him, and he now summoned it to bear upon the advancing soldiers of Kyuss.  At a gesture from him, a small forest of grasping tentacles erupted from the floor all about the Swords, radiating a bone-chilling cold in their wake.  However, to the warlock’s dismay, the ‘tentacles’ resembled gigantic green worms rather than the black octopoid appendages he had expected.  What was wrong with him?  First his eldritch blasts and now this?  He didn’t have time to ponder it further, for though the worm-like tentacles reached for the undead, the warriors batted them aside with relative ease, their momentum merely slowed.  With the speed of though, Havok loosed an emerald spear of eldritch energy at the foremost Sword, the ray tearing through the undead’s ancient armor.  

It was then that the clicking began.  From the eastern archway lumbered the eviscerator beetle, all of its previous wounds erased.  It scuttled quickly across the floor, straight for Hawk.  The civilar raised his shield, but the undead insect lunged beneath it, tearing into his thigh with its mandibles.  Hawk screamed through clenched teeth as the beetle tore a fist-sized chunk from his quadriceps.  

Grubber stomped ineffectively at the worms crawling over his boots.  The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.  They were surrounded on all sides.  The goliath grasped his holy symbol and began chanting.  As he did, a corona of power coalesced around him before exploding in all directions as a Storm of Shards.  The spell rippled through the chamber, spilling into the two adjacent rooms as well.  The Swords rocked back on their heels and the beetle squealed in pain.  Several hundred worms shriveled and died, still leaving thousands to contend with.  

At that moment, beyond the waving worm-tentacles, the Wormcaller appeared.  The canny priest muttered its own vile prayer to Kyuss, calling upon its dispelling magic and filling the chamber with it.  Instantly, the tentacles winked out of existence.  The League members felt a number of the protective spells woven by Grubber, Faust and Drasek also disappear.  This was what they had feared.

Though Drasek knew the Wormcaller was their greatest threat, he also saw that the hordes of worms were distracting the others enough to give the rest of the foes an advantage.  He had to get rid of them.  Holding both hands out in a fan before him, he called upon Kelemvor and a spray of diamond-like projectiles spread over the floor in front of him.  To his relief, an entire ten-by-ten section of the floor was immediately cleared of worms.  To his utter shock, the trailing Sword, caught by the back edge of his blast, also collapsed, moldering to dust in seconds.  

Faust, still clutching the Bag of Holding and standing in the rear of the party, saw that the two remaining Swords were badly injured, but they were also reaching to pluck worms from their eye-sockets.  They were preparing to heal themselves.  Quickly, the psion manifested a ball of pure energy…fire.  It exploded around both of the undead warriors, crisping them to withered husks, and also wiping out another section of the worm carpet beneath their feet.

Havok gestured again, and a second wall of worm-tentacles sprang into existence, surrounding the Wormcaller, as well as Hawk.  The warlock knew, however, that Malchor had given the civilar a ring that allowed him freedom of movement in any situation, thus making him impervious to the writhing, grasping tentacles.  The Wormcaller, unfortunately, did not, and one of the green worms wrapped itself around his body, pinning his arms to his sides.  

Grubber, seeing the trapped Wormcaller, began wading through the forest of worms towards it.  Grumbar lent his priests the supernatural ability to move unimpeded through just such terrain, and Grubber ignored the worm-tentacles as if they’d never existed.  The Wormcaller, however, saw him coming, and it did not need its hands free to bring its powers to bear.  Concentrating, it focused a single dispelling field around the advancing goliath…with devastating effect.  Immediately, Grubber felt spell after spell fail him, and his sudden vulnerability threatened to weaken his resolve.

Faust was becoming concerned about the occupants of the bag he held.  He wasn’t quite sure how long they could hold their breath.  Unceremoniously, he upended the sack, dumping the drow, the rogue and the dwarf upon the writhing floor.
“Thanks for nothing!” Grim roared, surging to his feet, and swiping green worms from his exposed skin.  Storm quickly cast a Fly spell upon herself and drifted towards the ceiling.  

Hawk continued to push his way through the green tentacles, closing on the Wormcaller.  Without a word, he thrust his blade into the undead priest’s chest, filling the weapon with holy power as he struck.  Pulling the sword free, he whirled, gaining momentum, and slashed across the vile creature’s neck, nearly decapitating it.  Yet still, the abomination remained upright.  Grubber could see it preparing to use its dark magic again, but this time, the priest was prepared.  He spoke a word to Grumbar, summoning an eldritch hammer of Righteous Might which smashed into the Wormcaller, silencing it for good.

With the Swords and Wormcaller destroyed, Havok prepared to focus his attention upon the eviscerator beetle, but even as he turned towards it, the maddening chitter of its mandibles overwhelmed him.  Nearby, Shay had also succumbed to the clicking, leaving him helpless amid the worms which swarmed over him.  Faust reached down and grabbed the rogue, triggering a Dimension Door as he did so, and reappearing with his friend in the chamber beyond the eastern arch.  

Focusing with all his power, Havok broke himself free of the beetle’s hypnosis, and spawned his worm-like tentacles once again, this time enveloping the beetle and Drasek.  Kelemvor had also granted the inquisitor absolute Freedom of Movement, and so he was unencumbered by the clutching appendages, though their radiating cold pierced his armor as if he were naked.  Ice crystals also appeared on the carapace of the beetle, though the tentacles were not strong enough to hold the insect in place.  The worms at Drasek’s feet, however, shriveled and died in the wake of the icy blast.  A small blessing.  The eviscerator beetle feinted at the inquisitor, and then made to move out of the swaying tentacles, but Drasek was after it in a flash, smashing at its carapace with his maul.  

The beetle continued moving towards the eastern exit, through which it could see Faust and the fallen form of Shay.  By this time however, Grubber, Hawk and Grim had managed to maneuver around the creature, blocking its escape.  Simultaneously, Storm hurled an orb of concentrated acid from her perch near the ceiling.  The orb left a grape-fruit sized hole in the beetle’s shell where it ate through into the soft flesh below.  The beetle lunged from one side to the other, striking first at Drasek and then at Hawk.  Each time, a flanking attacker would strike.  Finally, as the beast heaved itself one last time towards Drasek, Grubber brought his silver maul down upon its head, crushing it into a formless mass.  

Only a few hundred of the green worms still remained, crawling around in a loose circle.  Havok evoked another tentacle field, knowing the appendages themselves were too large to harm the worms, but letting the emanating cold do its work.  At the same time, Faust manifested a small, controlled wall of fire straight through the mass, cooking any that escaped the warlock’s trap.

“Let’s keep moving,” Hawk said once the team had regrouped and healed their wounds.  “We made relatively quick work of that lot, and no reinforcements have arrived yet.  We just might have the element of surprise on our side.”

Crossing the now empty chamber into which the shaft opened, they proceeded down a corridor to the east which ended at a set of double stone doors.  The portals were unlocked and Shay deemed them free of traps.  Grubber, Hawk and Drasek arranged themselves before the doors, and the goliath pushed them open.  The chamber beyond was lined with the trappings of religious ceremony in homage to Kyuss the Wormgod, but in place of an altar stood a beautiful, if disturbing fountain carved from black marble.  Even more disturbing were the three Wormcallers standing poised about the fountain, as if they were expecting the party…

Havok immediately took evasive action, firing off an eldritch spear at the foremost Wormcaller before flying several dozen feet back the way they had come.  He knew that the Wormcallers’ most potent power was their ability to dispel magic, and he had not shelled out thousands of gold pieces for his Shapechange scroll just to have it stripped away by some moldy bag of bones.  

Grubber, Hawk and Drasek were not so swift in their reaction times.  Each of the Wormcallers targeted one of the front rank with a dispelling field.  Spell after spell collapsed.  Grubber, who was literally layered in magic felt all-but naked once the assault had passed.  Crying out in rage and frustration, the goliath hurled a Storm of Shards into the room, buffeting the undead priests with exalted power.  

Drasek could see that the nearest Wormcaller had been badly injured by Grubber’s and Havok’s combined assaults.  The inquisitor hefted his maul and charged the priest, but just as he drew close enough to strike, he was overcome with a powerful thirst.  The water in the fountain looked so clear and inviting.  So distracted was he, that his strike went wide.  Then the room erupted in flames.  Drasek was hurled forward by the force of the blast, passing through the charred remains of the Wormcaller that had stood before him just moments before.  When the inferno cleared, Drasek sagged to one knee, his flesh blistered and oozing.

“Storm!  What in the Abyss do you think you’re doing?” Hawk screamed.  It had been the sorceress who cast the Fireball, almost incinerating Drasek in the process.
“I…I thought he was warded,” the drow stammered.
“Have you not yet learned what these creatures are capable of?” Hawk snarled.  “Removing spells seems to be their specialty!  When we need your help, we’ll ask for it!”  The civilar turned and stormed into the room, closing with the priest standing to the left of the fountain.

Shay stepped past storm, smirking at the sorceress.  “You might try a little finesse next time,” he jibed.  Then, retrieving two silvered arrows from his quiver, the rogue fired two quick shots at the other remaining Wormcaller, smiling in perverse pleasure as it screamed in pain.

Simultaneously, both Wormcallers began to cast.  Reflexively, those League members in the room flinched, waiting for another blast of dispelling fields.  However, what came instead were two waves of negative energy, normally intended to inflict painful wounds upon their targets.  All of those within the chamber were protected from such effects by various Death Wards, but the magic still had an impact.  The wounds that the Wormcallers had suffered began to close.

Faust sighed, frustrated at how long this was taking.  Extending one hand, he focused his mental energies and seized control of the motor functions of the Wormcaller facing Hawk, just as he had done to the one in the library above.
“Dance puppet!” the psion cackled, and at his words, the Wormcaller began shambling forward.  As it moved past Hawk, the civilar slashed his blade across its back.  The creature could not even cry out as the holy blade seared its rotting flesh.  It continued to move towards the doors, until it exited the room, coming to a halt before Faust.  
“Kneel,” Faust commanded, and the priest’s knees buckled.  “Storm,” the psion called over his shoulder, “he’s all yours.”  The drow moved slowly up to stand beside Faust.  Though she knew how vile and evil the Kyuss-spawn was, to strike down any creature so completely defenseless felt distasteful to her.  Still, she called an acid orb to her hand, and with only a slight hesitation, hurled it directly at the Wormcaller’s face.  Faust allowed the smoking corpse to fall to the floor.

The remaining Wormcaller then did something odd.  It stepped into the fountain, facing the still kneeling Drasek.  Raising its hand, it summoned a column of green fire, which completely engulfed the inquisitor.  Drasek howled in agony, the flames searing his already raw flesh.  
“Bastard!” he cried, clutching his holy symbol and shouting the words to his own prayer.  Another column of flames, this one pure white, erupted around the Wormcaller.  The creature collapsed into ash, just as Drasek sagged to one side.  Grubber caught him just before he hit the floor, the words to a Heal spell already upon his lips.

There was no way out of the room, and none of the company felt inclined to closely investigate the fountain itself, especially with the strange sensation of thirst that came upon any who strayed too close.  Instead, they returned from whence they’d come, crossing the room full of the strangely well-preserved corpses, and entering a similar chamber beyond.  This room, however, contained dozens of skeletons lying on the floor, neatly arranged and surrounded by halos of stonework stained with ancient decay.  The bones were unquestionably dead, and the League members wasted no time in the area.  One corridor lead south from the chamber, and they could see another hall branching east about half-way down.  At the far end of the hallway stood another set of closed stone doors.

Cautiously, the company spread out along the hallway as they approached the doors.  The branching hall turned due south after twenty or thirty feet, and they could just catch a glimpse of the lake of worms around its bend.  
“I have an idea,” Faust whispered.  When Hawk nodded for him to continue, he said, “I can create a construct out of Astral material.  It will do my bidding without question.  I can even imbue it with certain abilities, such as constant invisibility.  I will have it open the doors, and if there are enemies beyond, or traps, it will serve as a buffer.”  No one could see a flaw in the psion’s logic, and so he proceeded with his manifestation.

Havok and Storm were the only ones who could see the invisible construct, though in truth there was not much to see.  It was large, about eight feet in height, and vaguely humanoid.  Its skin was composed of some silvery material, and save for a pair of lifeless eyes, it had no other features.  As it approached the doors, the company members moved into concealment.  

Nests of tattered books, bits of fabric, and other refuse lay scattered about the chamber beyond, curved troughs each big enough to fit a creature the size of a small horse.  There was a disconcerting symmetry to the way the nests were positioned, a marker of an alien will making itself at home amid the refuse of Kyuss’ arrogance and power.  

“Who’s there?” a guttural voice called out from the chamber.  Havok, who was the only one in position to see directly into the room, peered around the corner.  A worm naga crouched amid the clutter, an open book on the floor before it.  The creature saw the angelic warlock and its eyes narrowed.  “Is any one with you?” it asked.  “Can any of you perform Teleportation?”
Havok held up a hand to forestall any sudden actions by his team mates.  “Who are you?” he asked.  “Why do you want to know about Teleportation?”
“I’m Sruggut,” the naga replied, “and I want to leave this place.”
“You are a minion of a corrupt god,” Drasek called out suddenly.  Havok sighed, placing his hand over his eyes.  “You have been imprisoned here for a reason,” the inquisitor continued, “and here you shall stay, at least for what is left of your miserable life!”

At that point, Faust stepped from his hiding place and entered the room, pushing past his unseen minion.  “Forgive the rash words of my companion,” the stone giant offered, having overheard both sides of the conversation via his mind-link.  “He does not speak for us all.  Of course we’ll take you out of here…after you’ve answered a few questions for us.”  Through the mind-link the psion spoke to the others.  ‘Don’t worry my friends,’ he said.  ‘I’ll Dimension Door him alright…right to the top of the shaft!’
“You’re lying,” Sruggut hissed.  
Faust shrugged.  “Suit yourself,” he said after Havok relayed the worm naga’s words to him.  Silently, he ordered his construct forward.

The astral construct began lumbering forward.  Sruggut heard its approach, but could not see it. It reached for the naga, attempting to wrap its massive arms around him.  In a panic, the naga wriggled free of the construct’s grasp.  At that moment, a nest of Havok’s writhing worm-tentacles appeared in one corner of the chamber, Sruggut caught within their reach.  As their supernatural cold caused frost to appear on the naga’s hide, one of the appendages twined around the creature, holding him firmly in place.  
“Now Grubber!” Havok called.
In response, the goliath summoned a wall of blades, which began ripping into Sruggut.  Shrieking in pain, the naga writhed and twisted in a frenzy, biting at the tentacles that held him, all to no avail.

‘Grubber,’ Faust spoke into the goliath’s mind, “dismiss my deafness.  I need to speak with the naga directly.
Grubber snapped his fingers and the psion’s hearing instantly returned.  Faust then stepped as close as he dared to the maddened naga and whispered, “Come with me if you want to live.”
Sruggut stared at the giant, unsure whether to believe him or not, but knowing full well what his fate would be if he remained where he was.  Hastily, he nodded.  Faust reached out for him, and then they were gone.

They were outside the Obsidian Ring.  Faust, Sruggut and, unbeknownst to the naga, the psion’s astral construct.  Sruggut couldn’t believe it.  After centuries...millennia of imprisonment, he was free.  
‘If he moves,’ Faust silently commanded his construct, ‘attack.’
Sruggut looked questioningly at the giant, and then pain overwhelmed any other concerns.  The injuries he had suffered were grave, and he needed to tend to them immediately.  He began casting a healing spell.  Instantly, he was struck with the force of a battering ram by some unseen force.  Nevertheless, he completed his spell, and all of his wounds vanished.
“Traitor!” he spat at Faust.  
“My apologies,” Faust said, holding up his hands.  “I misinterpreted your spell-casting for aggression.  It won’t happen again.  Truly, I seek a parley with you.”
Sruggut stared intently at the stone giant, intentionally suppressing the Feeblemind ability of his gaze, though from the giant’s closed eyes, it was clear he was well aware of his danger.  “You have freed me,” the naga said finally.  “I will hear your parley.”
“I only require answers to a few questions,” Faust said, “then you may you go your way.  First, who leads the minions of Kyuss that inhabit the ziggurat?”
“No one,” Sruggut answered quickly.  “We were abandoned here when our master vanished two-thousand years ago.  We are like a ship without a rudder.”
“We are here in search of ancient lore pertaining to Kyuss,” Faust said.  “Do you know of any such hidden repositories?”
Sruggut considered this for a moment, and then nodded.  “Yes, I know of what you speak.  Kyuss placed records of his greatest accomplishments and triumphs in a place where they would be secure for all eternity…beneath the Lake of Worms.”
“What about the visions we have received?” Faust asked.  “Where is Kyuss now?”
“The visions are but a remnant of Kyuss’ power,” Sruggut answered.  “As for our Lord…he is ascended.”
“Why did the other nagas attack us?” Faust next queried.  
“They are not as…enlightened as I,” said Sruggut.  “They have reverted to savagery under the duress of our long imprisonment.”  
“What of the fountain the Wormcallers guarded?” Faust pressed.  “What is its significance?”
“Those who drink from its waters are said to receive visions,” Sruggut smiled.  “Such knowledge is to be protected.”
“One final question,” Faust said.  “What is the nature of the knowledge beneath the lake?”
Sruggut smiled again.  “There is a key secreted in a hidden compartment beneath the ooze at the bottom.  The key is fashioned in the likeness of a golden worm.  With it, those who are deemed worthy are granted great power over the spawn and minions of Lord Kyuss.”

‘Did all of you get all that?’ Faust asked his team mates after he had relayed Sruggut’s information to them.
‘Yes,’ Drasek responded first.  ‘Now kill him!’
‘I gave him my word,’ Faust replied, ‘but I will bow to the will of the majority.  What say you all?’
Grubber answered.  ‘I have consulted with Grumbar,’ the goliath said solemnly.  ‘He deems that the worm-spawn should not be suffered to live.’
‘I say let him go,’ Havok spoke.  ‘What harm can he do?  He has already said he can’t Teleport.  He is in the middle of a jungle with civilization hundreds of miles away.  Some predator will surely be the end of him before he gets very far.’
‘Follow your conscience,’ Hawk offered.  ‘Do the right thing.’
‘I could care less,’ Shay added.  ‘Kill him, don’t kill him, it’s all the same to me.’
‘You have given your word,’ Storm said.  ‘Keep it.’ 
‘Gut’im,’ Grim said simply.
‘You have in essence left this decision to me then,’ Faust replied.  ‘I will set him free.’
Before anyone could respond further, Faust motioned towards the jungle, “Go.  We shall trouble you no longer.”  
Warily, Sruggut began slithering through the ruins, casting cautious glances back at the giant psion before he vanished from view into the undergrowth.

‘You have shown your true colors repeatedly,’ Drasek spoke to Faust through the Mind Link.  ‘From this point on, expect no assistance from me.’
‘You cannot be trusted, Faust,’ Grubber said.  ‘Grumbar has declared it.’
Faust sighed and took hold of the construct’s hand, preparing to return to his team.  Time to face the music.


----------



## gfunk

THE HARBINGER

When Faust reappeared in Sruggut’s library, it was to a mix of sullen, cold stares, and uncomfortable downcast eyes.  
“I’m surprised you came back,” Drasek began without preamble.  “I would have thought you would have slithered away with your new friend.”
“I probably deserved that,” Faust said, nodding.
“No, you deserve far worse!” the inquisitor snapped.  “Twice now, twice you have unleashed an imprisoned agent of evil into the world!  And for what?  Information of questionable value that we probably could have gotten anyway!”
“By what means?” Faust asked, lifting one stony eyebrow.  “Torture?”
“There are other ways to get what you need from those who are uncooperative,” Drasek replied.  “You should have asked us before you acted.  We could have come up with an alternative.  However, since you have decided to be a singular judge and jury, then you must deal with the repercussions of your actions.  From now on I will do nothing to aid you, short of letting you die, and I expect nothing from you in return.  In essence, stay out of my way misfit!”

Faust looked at the faces of the others.  “Do the rest of you feel the same way?” he asked.
Giovanni sighed.  “Faust, the only thing I ask is that you not keep us in the dark as to your tactics.  The only reason the rest of us attacked in the first place was because you did.  When you changed strategies and did not inform us, we were at a loss.  We are supposed to be a team, but the only way we can function as one is to have trust and faith in one another.”
Faust nodded again.  “Agreed,” he said.  “It has never been my purpose to mislead you, despite what some of you may think.  I did what I thought was best, but perhaps I acted in haste.”
“Now,” Giovanni said, “I suggest we table this discussion for a more appropriate setting.  We still have a job to do.”
“You all heard what Sruggut told me,” Faust said.  “I suggest we start with the fountain and see if we can discover the visions that he spoke of.”

Faust stood before the fountain, staring down into the crystal, clear water.  The others were gathered in the room at a safe distance, but close enough to intercede should the need arise.  As Faust had approached the fountain, he had become noticeably thirstier.
“Wait a moment,” Giovanni said from the doorway.  The warlock was still in his angelic form.  “Let me see if I can discern anything about the fountain’s purpose.”  He began concentrating, allowing his vision to absorb the auras in the room, separating the magical from the mundane.  The fountain itself radiated strong magic, though Giovanni could not determine the type.  It seemed to him, however, that the general purpose behind the magic might be some sort of compulsion, or brain-washing effect.
“I’m not so sure about this Faust,” he warned the psion.  “This may be a trap.”
“Then we’d best spring it,” Faust replied, dipping his hands into the water and bringing the cool liquid to his lips.  It was only after he had tasted the water that he felt something…wrong.  In his mouth, something wriggled and bit at his tongue.  Looking into his hands, he saw that they were filled not with water, but with green worms.  In fact, the entire fountain was writhing with them!  He tried to spit the vile vermin out, but reflexively he swallowed.  Almost immediately, he felt a horrible, burrowing sensation in his stomach, but then his surroundings wavered and faded, replaced by a bird’s-eye view of the city of Kuluth-Mar at its height.  The streets were empty, as the thousands of citizens seemed to have gathered in a mass in the central plaza surrounding the Spire of Long Shadows.  Suddenly, a foul energy welled from the spire at the center of the city, and swept outward, felling the living as it passed.  For each creature that fell, a silent but potent sense of wrongness could be felt, as some indescribable part of the creature, perhaps its soul, was drawn back towards the Spire to be absorbed by the strange, black monolith of stone balanced at its peak.  As the energy built around the peak, a shimmering image of a colossal humanoid figure, its body composed of a million writhing worms, took form around the Spire of Long Shadows, its arms raised in triumph.  Yet in another moment, that triumphant pose seemed to change to one of rage and a soul-wrenching cry of fury tore from the undulant face.  The image shrank, pulled into the stone monolith at the Spire’s peak, before imploding with a horrific, wet burst.  In an instant, the city was quiet again, yet as the vision faded, the first signs of unlife began to spread through the thousands of dead bodies strewn around the ziggurat’s base as the corpses, now festering with green worms, rose from death.

Faust crumpled to his knees, crying out in agony and clutching his head as he felt the worm begin to burrow into is brain.  Quickly, Hawk stepped to the psion’s side and gripped his skull with both hands, praying under his breath as he did so.  After a moment, white light spread from the civilar’s hands and into Faust’s skull.  Gradually the pain eased until it was finally gone completely.  
“Thank you,” Faust said
Hawk merely nodded.
“I warned you,” Giovanni snapped.  “This is what I mean about not sharing your plans.”
“I did share my plans,” Faust retorted.  “I told you that I was going to drink from the fountain, no matter what, and you saw the vision, didn’t you?  That backlash of energy was not just the souls of Kyuss’ followers.  It was their very faith!  The possibilities of what a powerful creature could do with that much devotional energy are staggering!  At the very least, ascension to godhood would be possible!  And yet, it seemed to me that Kyuss was not able to control his apotheosis, and became trapped within the monolith.”
“A monolith that no longer exists,” Hawk observed.
“As far as we know…” Faust answered cryptically.
_____________________________________________________________

“How do I look?” Giovanni said as his latest shape-changed form manifested.
“Like the walking dead,” Shay said dryly. 
That was an apt description, as the warlock had morphed himself into a Wormcaller.  The team now stood in the chamber at the bottom of the worm naga shaft.  To their south lay the lake of worms, where Sruggut told them the key to Kyuss’ power could be found.  Giovanni volunteered to lead the search, reasoning that the worms would not molest him if he were perceived as a Kyuss spawn.  Drasek placed a Fly spell upon him, and he quaffed an Invisibility potion before stepping into the cavernous room.

The immense cavern was filled with a horrific sea of writhing green, and the nauseating susurrus of millions of slimy bodies slithering over each other.  There was no floor.  The hallway fell away to the undulating surface of an immense lake of green worms.  The rippling surface lay about five feet down from the floor of the passageway, while the ceiling rose to a vault nearly ninety feet above.  Low islands of stone protruded here and there from the wormy expanse, and additional passageways extended out of the sea and back onto solid ground in the wall opposite, and in the walls to the left and right.

The first thing Havok noticed was the two Wormcallers standing on the far shore, and they in-turn were pointing towards the passageway behind him, where Hawk stood, revealed by the glowing blue light shed by Grubber’s Luminous Armor enchantment.  As quickly and quietly as he could, Havok slipped into the sea of worms.  As he had hoped, the vermin ignored him, and to his surprise, they did not fill the lake.  Some ten feet below the surface was water, murky but free of the vile worms.  Havok swam deeper, straining to see the bottom, but then something else caught his eye…something enormous.

Hawk saw the two Wormcallers as they stepped into the gloom at the far edge of Grubber’s light.  The priests were literally walking on air above the worm-lake, and in unison they thrust their hands towards him.  Twin columns of green fire exploded around the civilar and the goliath, scorching them not only with heat, but also with a greasy, unholy energy.  Hawk and Grubber each dove for cover, rolling into the hallways on either side of the smaller chamber.  His hands spasming with pain, Grubber gripped his holy symbol, chanting.  His pain eased as the healing magic washed over him, his breath slowing from the ragged gasp it had become.

The giant, green worm in front of Havok had a vicious maw ringed with row upon row of needle-like teeth.  Its great bulk flattened on its underside, its color lightening and the rings of its musculature becoming tighter.  It had no obvious sensory organs, yet it turned unerringly towards the warlock, and it moved with surprising speed.  Havok gasped, relaying mental images of what he was seeing to his comrades before willing himself through the Astral plane, and reappearing in the chamber of preserved corpses.  Shedding his undead form, the warlock instantly replaced it with that of the Deva.  
‘Be wary!’ he warned his friends.  ‘I’m going around to the western hall to see if I can give those Wormcallers a bit of a surprise.’

Drasek, hearing Havok’s warning, uttered a brief prayer to imbue himself once again with the aspect of the celestials, this time the burning eyes of the Firre’.  Stepping into the passage connecting the smaller chamber with the cavern, he heard Faust speak into his mind.  ‘Just hold them off for a moment,” the psion said.  ‘If not for me, then for the others.  I will get us some help.’  Drasek did not respond.  He knew his duty clearly, and did not need the black-hearted psion to instruct him in tactics.  The light from his own armor spilled into the cavern, lighting him like a beacon, and making him an obvious target for the undead priests.

As the light filled the chamber, Havok had a clear view of both Wormcallers.  With a moment’s concentration, he willed a forest of his worm-like tentacles to sprout from the surface of the lake.  Striking like snakes, the worm tentacles wrapped themselves around the priests, holding them fast.

Drasek heard heavy footsteps behind him.  Turning, he saw a giant with silvery, mirror-like skin and no facial features lumbering towards him.  Another of Faust’s constructs.  The behemoth stepped past him, and right into the lake, sinking like a stone.  

Shay remained concealed in the shadows, as he preferred.  He fished a flask from one of his many belt pouches and upended it, fading from sight as he drank.  Then, literally melting into a nearby patch of darkness, he stepped from another in the corridor on the far side of the lake, right behind the trapped Wormcallers.  The moment he appeared, his cloak of invisibility vanished, leaving him completely exposed to the grinning priests.

Mindlessly obedient to its creator, the astral construct began striding through the ooze and sludge at the bottom of the lake, straight towards the gargantuan worm.  The worm’s head snapped towards the construct, and its maw opened.  In a flash, it seized the giant in its jaws.  The construct struggled in vain to free itself as the worm opened its mouth even wider, dropping the colossus down its gullet.

Drasek focused on the nearer of the two Wormcallers, and twin beams of fire flashed from his glowing eyes.  They struck unerringly, but seemed to have no effect at all.  The priest’s robes did not so much as smolder.  
“We’re going to have to take this to them up close and personal,” Hawk said, stepping up next to the inquisitor.  The civilar had managed to heal his burns, and looked fit, sword in hand.  “Are you with me?”
Drasek nodded as his eyes returned to their natural shade of blue, and white, feathery wings sprouted from his back.

Despite being held securely by the tentacles, Havok could still see the foremost Wormcaller’s features knot in concentration.  The warlock knew that the undead priests did not need words or gestures to perform their magic, and so when the creature’s brow furrowed, Havok unleashed his eldritch power, a green spear of energy which limned the Wormcaller in an unearthly corona.  As the glow from the blast faded, a second, smaller beam of green light struck from the opposite side of the room, where Faust now stood on the edge of the lake.  As the beam hit, the Wormcaller began to disintegrate before Havok’s eyes, becoming nothing more than dust in the wind within seconds.

Shay quickly knocked two silver arrows and loosed them in rapid succession at the remaining Wormcaller.  The creature shrieked as the metal, with was anathema to it, began to sear its rotting flesh.  Suddenly, the rogue saw  Hawk and Drasek soaring just over the reach of the grasping tentacles, landing in the hallway between the Wormcaller and himself, just as the priest was turning its attention towards him.

Acting on the assumption that the gargantuan worm was still roughly where he’d last seen it, Havok focused on his forest of worm-tentacles, and then willed an identical one to appear exactly thirty-feet below it, sprouting from the floor of the lake.  It was his hope that the barrier would at least slow the behemoth.  Unbeknownst to the warlock, the Overworm was already headed towards the surface, but just before it breached, a spasm shook it as a great gout of ichor belched from its underbelly.  A ragged hole appeared as Faust’s astral construct ripped its way out of the worm’s gizzard.  The wound immediately sealed itself, but the construct sank quickly towards the lake bottom, coming to rest directly in the middle of Havok’s tentacles.  Instantly, four of the rubbery worms twined around the construct’s arms and legs, holding in place.

As the two paladins alighted, the Wormcaller channeled its innate magic into a huge dispelling field, catching Shay, Hawk and the tentacle swarm in its area.  The powerful magic of the tentacles persisted, however, though several of Hawk’s and Shay’s defensive magics did not, including Hawk’s ability to fly.

Grubber stood next to Faust and spoke several divine words of power, causing a glowing silver maul to appear in the air next to him.  At his command, the Spiritual Weapon of Grumbar soared across the cavern, flying unerringly towards the Wormcaller.  The creature struggled to free itself as the weapon approached, but to no avail.  Then, from behind, Hawk struck.  His gleaming blade flashed like lightning, scoring blow after blow upon the priest.  From prior experience, the civilar knew the creatures’ weakness to silver, and he had coated his sword with a magical silver sheen prior to leaving Calimport.  Now, as the blade struck, it dealt horrible wounds to the Wormcaller, drawing cries of agony from its worm-filled mouth.  

At that moment, the Overworm breached.  Like some mighty green whale it reared from the lake of worms directly before Hawk and Drasek.  Its cavernous maw lunged at the civilar, but Hawk crouched low behind his shield, feeling his entire arm go numb as the beasts teeth rasped against the steel.  Above and behind the behemoth, Hawk saw Havok soar into the room, positioning himself well beyond the worm’s reach.  A pulse of emerald light as bright as the sun burst from the warlock’s hands, ripping through the Overworm’s skin as though it were paper.  A heartbeat later, a second blast struck the brute, and it flailed about blindly, seeking the source of its torment.  

The Wormcaller saw that source clearly, and knew that if the angelic being was not brought down, the Overworm was doomed.  Concentrating, it centered a dispelling field right on top of Havok.  For a moment the warlock panicked, for if his ability to Shapechange were negated, he would drop straight into the worm lake, right next to the Overworm.  Fortunately, the potent spell remained, though many others did not, including his Mindlink with his comrades.  The Wormcaller prepared to try again, but just then, Grubber’s glowing maul struck, caving in the priest’s skull.

Shay had never seen a creature as large and imposing as the Overworm, not even the ulgurstasta.  Fishing blindly through his quiver, he withdrew two arrows forged of adamantine, hoping the incredibly hard metal could pierce the creature’s hide.  He fired once and again, both flying true, but the great worm did not seem to notice their impact… until they started melting into its unholy bulk, imbued with the holy power of the rogue’s bow.

As the Overworm lurched and writhed, Drasek reached out one gloved hand, and simply touched it.  Kelemvor’s power allowed him, upon occasion, to deliver the final touch of death to those deserving…which, apparently the Overworm was not, as its vile heart continued to beat.  However, as the inquisitor withdrew his hand, he saw that several green worms clung to it, gnawing at the leather of his gauntlet.  In disgust, he brushed them into the lake.

Holding nothing back, Havok unleashed two more savage barrages upon the Overworm.  As each one struck, green blood streamed from the beast’s mouth and many wounds.  It reared one last time, preparing to slam its entire bulk down upon Hawk, Drasek and Shay, but at the last moment, a blazing missile of fire soared from the hand of Faust, drilling through the worm’s cranium.  The massive behemoth convulsed once and sank back into the lake one final time.

“Why don’t you just accept it?” Drasek shouted.  “The filthy, evil, hell-spawned worm lied to you!  Does that surprise you?”
Faust had to admit, if only to himself, that it did.  They had spent the last hour fruitlessly searching the bottom of the lake, and ultimately finding no hidden caches nor any sign of Sruggut’s promised key.  Drasek was right.  The naga had lied
“He told the truth about the fountain,” the psion said sullenly.
“Hah!” Drasek laughed.  “He also told you the water wouldn’t harm you.  He only told you about the vision so that you would eat the worms and hopefully become corrupted…well, more corrupted.”
“Faust made a mistake,” Hawk interrupted.  “Who among us has not?  I believe the lesson has been learned, so let’s waste no more time on it.  We still have two paths before us.”  He indicated the hall to the south, which ended at a pair of double doors, and the hall to the east, which ended at a single one.  By random decision, the team chose south.

Drasek and Hawk threw open the doors, revealing a chamber, opulent by any standard, yet somehow alien despite its finery.  Furniture placed at odd and uncomfortable angles blended with the disconcerting imagery of the carpets and tapestries that decorated the room.  The imagery was sometimes understandable, depicting scenes of carnage and torture in great detail, while in other places it was simply abstract patterns drawn by an unsettled mind.  A lone figure rose from a divan at the far side of the room.  Both of the paladins’ mouths dropped open.  They had seen this creature before.  It was the spellweaver liche from the visions!  Its eyes were hollow sockets containing a pinpoint of light deep within.  Its flesh was rotting and festering, and the green robes it wore were old and moth-eaten.  In one of its six hands it held a long, green crystal rod, and in another a cruel hooked rod.

‘I’ve been expecting you,’ a high-pitched, buzzing voice spoke into the minds of each member of the League.  ‘You have taken your time about getting here, and now that you have finally arrived, I would know what exactly it is that you think you have achieved.’
It was Grubber who replied, speaking aloud.  “We have come seeking knowledge to stop the so-called Age of Worms.”
‘Is the time nigh?’ the liche asked.  ‘Which of the prophecies have come to pass?’
“The ruin by fire of a city built in a bowl,” Grubber began to recite, drawing withering glances from several of his team mates.  “The recrudescence of the worm-eaten dead, the recovery of potent artifacts from ancient tombs, the destructive manifestation of an immense, demonic tree in a distant city across the sea, the arrival of a Fane of Scales amid a storm of wind and fire, and the awakening of an evil taint in a city once besieged by giants.”  
‘Ah,’ the liche sighed, ‘then the hour is indeed at hand, and yet I sense that all of you may have a roll still to play in bringing about the true Age of Worms.  Therefore, I grant you mercy and bid you take your leave of this place.  Go on your way and fulfill your destiny.’
Several of the group still stood on the ledge beyond the hallway, overlooking the lake of worms.  From this vantage point, they could see the eastern passage, and at that moment, the door at its far end opened.  Emerging from the chamber beyond were three Knights of Kyuss.
‘My associates will see to it that you do not become lost on your way out,’ the liche said.
‘I’m sorry,’ the voice of Faust now spoke into his colleagues’ minds as well as to the liche, ‘but I’m afraid an evil such as yours cannot be suffered continued existence.’
Drasek swore silently to himself.
‘What harm can I do?’ the liche answered.  ‘I have been imprisoned here for two millennia, and it is likely I will remain here until the Age of Worms has come to pass.’
It was Drasek who had the final word.  “My friend speaks truth.  We do not believe your lies, and there is no redemption for one such as you save through true and eternal death.”

Storm heard Drasek’s words, and her gaze shifted nervously towards the approaching Kyuss Knights.  There seemed no way for them to cross the lake to where she and the others stood, but she would not put it past them to have some trick up their sleeve.  It seemed open conflict was inevitable, and so it was the sorceress who struck the first blow.  Speaking the words to a spell, she hurled three tendrils of scorching flames towards the first Knight, who when he lived was called Barnos Indarna.  In dismay, Storm watched the flames simply evaporate as they touched the warrior’s antiquated armor.

‘Perhaps I was mistaken about your roles,’ the liche Mak’ar sighed.  ‘Perhaps it is only your destiny to die at my hands.’  With that, he gestured absently at Grubber, and the goliath simply vanished.  His Mindlink was instantly severed.  At the same time, six identical images of the liche sprung into view around him, dancing and spinning about so that the true enemy could not be discerned.  Shay quickly drew back his bow and fired a rapid volley of three arrows, each one striking an image, which promptly vanished.

Faust, still out on the ledge overlooking the lake, turned to Havok.  “I can end this very quickly,” the psion said.
“How?” Havok asked, perplexed.
“Transport us next to him,” Faust replied, “and once I’m there, I can manifest a field of null-magic.  No magic of any sort will function within, not even mine.  I’ll be vulnerable, but so will the liche.  Drasek and Hawk can carve him to ribbons.”
“Sounds risky,” the warlock said doubtfully.
“What about this whole scenario isn’t?” the psion asked.
Havok couldn’t argue the point.  He reached out for Faust’s shoulder, and they disappeared.

Grubber found himself on a vast, empty plane, stretching on endlessly in every direction.  All about him were softly glowing translucent walls…a vast maze.  He was imprisoned, and had no idea how he might escape.

Havok and Faust appeared, not ten feet from Mak’ar, but at that moment, all of the psion’s hopes were destroyed.  His eyes still closed, Faust continued to rely on his Touchsight, and with it he could see another figure standing directly between the liche and himself.  It was Kelvos.
“Havok!” Faust cried out in warning.
“I see him!” the warlock shouted.
Not daring to risk making himself helpless in the face of the eladrin, the psion quickly manifested a current of fiery energy between the celestial and Mak’ar.  The flames simply washed off Kelvos like water, but the liche shrieked in agony and frustration.  
“Kill them!” the Harbinger roared to his minion.

With dawning horror Storm watched the Knights continue their relentless approach.  They reached the edge of the passageway, and then simply stepped into the lake, disappearing beneath the writhing worms.  They were coming.  Quickly, the drow slipped into the hall, intent on warning the others.  As she saw Faust and Havok confronting the liche, she summoned a globe of pure acid into her hand, and hurled it towards Mak’ar.  To her complete shock, it smashed into some unseen barrier directly in front of her…and between her and her companions.  She was alone out here…just her and the approaching Knights.

Drasek knew that something else was in the room with them, something that only Faust and Havok could see.  Quickly, the inquisitor spoke a prayer, causing a field of rippling energy to emanate in all directions from him, revealing anything that might be hidden under the cloak of invisibility.  When he saw Kelvos, his jaw dropped open for a second time that day.
“I don’t know how you violated the sacred Law of Death,” Drasek snarled, struggling to regain his composure, “but this time I will insure you stay dead!”  He charged towards the eladrin, but Kelvos moved with the quickness and grace of an eel.  Stepping deftly to one side, he lowered the blade of his greatsword, tangling it between the paladin’s feet, and sending him tumbling to the floor in a heap.
“Charming,” Kelvos smiled.  “When last we met, I offered you a chance to stand by my side.  You won’t get the chance to refuse a second time.”  The celestial’s eyes blazed, and a word so vile left his lips that it left all of the occupants of the room, save himself and Mak’ar, stunned by its evil.  At that exact moment, Storm Dimension Doored herself past the Wall of Force to stand beside Shay, realizing too late that her friends were helpless.  Kelvos and Mak’ar walked past her dazed companions to stand calmly beside her and Shay.  
“We’ll be with you in a moment, my dear,” Kelvos smiled, and then he spoke another vile prayer, and the wounds Faust had inflicted on Mak’ar began to mend.

Just then, the numbing shock left the limbs of the others, and relying on instincts and training, they sprang into action.  Shay quickly somersaulted away from the liche and the eladrin, rolling up on one knee with an arrow already knocked.  He loosed it, and smiled tightly as it thunked into Kelvos’ thigh.

Havok whirled towards his enemies, summoning up a chain of eldritch energy, which arced from his hand to Kelvos, and then towards Mak’ar…only to strike another of the illusory images.

Faust’s original energy current had been disrupted by Kelvos' blasphemous prayer, but now the psion created a new one, once more synching it between the liche and the celestial.  

Drasek, still on his back, gripped his holy symbol and called upon Kelemvor.  A wave of dispelling energy washed over Mak’ar, and all of the liche’s illusory images vanished.  

While her adversaries were distracted, Storm shoved past them, struggling to follow Shay to safety.  Kelvos was too quick however.  As she passed, he thrust his sword into the ground in front of her, and the sorceress tripped over the blade, sprawling to the floor.  

“Kelvos, we are trapped here!” Mak’ar snarled, slamming his fist against the invisible barrier at their back.  Stepping between his master and their opponents, the eladrin dismissed the wall with a thought.  Quickly, Mak’ar scuttled down the hall, and around the corner to the ledge bordering the lake.  Once again, Faust’s current was snuffed out.

“Game over,” Shay whispered, as he let fly two arrows of cold iron, inimical to outsiders, from his bow.  Both shafts struck Kelvos in the chest, and for a moment the eladrin could only stare at them in disbelief, before he sagged slowly to the floor.

“Come on before he gets away!” Faust shouted, running down the passage and skidding to a halt on the edge of the lake.  He reached out with his Touchsight, and there, at the bottom of the lake, he sensed Mak’ar…surrounded by all three of the Knights.
“He’s right below us!” the psion cried.  Drasek came to his side, and fingers spread, unleashed a Storm of holy Shards into the water.  Hundreds of worms shriveled and died, and Faust could sense that Mak’ar and his minions were wounded.  Then suddenly, Mak’ar vanished.


----------



## gfunk

THE AGE OF WORMS REVEALED

Mak’ar stood gazing off into the infinity of the maze, chuckling at his own ingenuity.  Those fools may have drawn first blood, but it was the outcome that mattered.  He now had all the time he needed to tend his wounds and replenish his defenses.  Then he would return to the ziggurat, and there would come a reckoning.

“Are they still there?” Havok called as he hovered over the writhing lake of worms.
“Right below me,” Faust answered, his eyes still tightly shut, but his senses stretching into the depths of the lake where he could sense the three Kyuss Knights still gathered at the base of the ledge on which he stood.  
“Excellent!”  the warlock shouted.  “Now let’s see what we can do about keeping them there.”

Havok was familiar with the layout of the lake bottom from his fruitless search for the nonexistent Key of Kyuss.  Now, drawing on that knowledge, he swooped low over the crawling surface, imagining points some thirty feet below, and willing wave after wave of the worm-like green tentacles into existence.

Below, Barnos Indarna, called the Dreamer in Green, Kardic, the Shadow Worm, and Markath, the Mageslayer stood still and silent.  The Harbinger had bade them wait for him at this spot just before he left, but he also commanded them to do everything in their power to remain corporeal until that time.  When the giant worm-tentacles began sprouting around them, they at first took it as a manifestation of the Harbinger’s power, but when the tendrils began twining about their limbs, they understood that their enemies were going to make it as difficult as possible to follow Mak’ar’s orders.  Barnos was snared first, the tentacles seizing his arms and legs and lifting him from the bottom of the pool.  Kardic and Markath managed to evade the flailing appendages, but they were in no position to aid their comrade.  Suddenly, the area around them erupted in a concussive blast that flung them away from each other and sent a geyser of water and worms erupting from the surface of the lake.

“Bullseye!” Faust laughed as he saw the results of his sonicball.  “We’ve got them on the run!” he shouted.  “Now’s our chance!”
Hawk nodded from his perch atop one of the stalagmites which protruded from the lake, and then dove head first into the swarm of worms.  His flight ability carried him like an arrow through the water, though he still felt the sting of hundreds of needle-like teeth pierce his skin as he passed through the vermin.  Down into the tentacle forest he continued, moving freely through them thanks to the enchantment of his armor.  When he reached the lake bottom he saw that one of the Knights was still firmly grappled by the tentacles, but the other two were free, and plodding directly towards him.  Kardic reached him first, and though the Knight’s blade was slowed by the water, Hawk still felt as if he’d been struck by a sledgehammer when it connected.  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Hawk saw a shadow detach itself from the entangled Knight.  As it floated above its host, twin flares of emerald light flared where its eyes would be, and a stabbing pain went through the civilar’s head.  Horrid visions of death and mayhem flashed behind his eyes, threatening to drive him mad.  With an effort of will, Hawk pushed the images away, shaking his head violently to clear it.  He braced himself, knowing that his momentary distraction had probably given the two remaining Knights a chance to flank him, but the expected blows did not fall.  Instead, when he looked up he saw that both of the undead warriors were now as enmeshed in the tentacles as their brother was.

Hawk lunged towards Kardic, who was nearest to him, chopping at the Knight’s neck.  To his utter amazement, his blade passed right through Kardic, as if he were a ghost.  In that same instant, the Knight phased through the tentacles as well, and then stood before Hawk with sword upraised.  Again Hawk struck, this time calling upon Helm to smite this unholy abomination, but once more it was if his sword were trying to cut air.  Kardic swung his own sword, its blade translucent and passing effortlessly through the water, and Hawk’s armor.  Though the weapon appeared insubstantial, Hawk felt it cut deep into his flesh, and bone-chilling cold filled him in its wake.  Kardic prepared to attack again, but just then a tentacle wrapped around his waist and jerked him away from the civilar.  Quickly, Hawk flew upwards through the water, enduring the biting worms once more as he broke from the surface of the lake.
‘I can’t touch them,’ he gasped through the mental link he still shared with his comrades.  

‘I bet I can,’ Faust answered back through the link.  The psion could still pinpoint the exact position of the three Knights below.  Opening his mind, he let his mental energy flow forth, shaping it as it came.  The result was a curtain of solid sound placed like a wall along the bottom of the lake.  Barnos and Kardic were caught in the midst of the barrier as it manifested, and its sonic energy buffeted them.  Even Markath, who was some ten feet away from the others, could feel the power of the energy wall.  Redoubling their efforts, Barnos and Kardic tore free of their shackles and stepped out of the wall, leaving Markath on the far side.  In unison, they approached the rock wall of the lake bed and gripped it with their bony fingers, preparing to climb to their attackers.

“They’re coming up the wall!” Faust cried in warning.
“Not if I can help it,” Drasek answered.  Gripping his holy symbol, he began a prayer to Kelemvor.  With a flash that could be seen from the surface, a curtain of living light materialized at the bottom of the lake.  Rising to a height of five feet, it clung to the rock wall of the lake bed like a second skin.  Searing heat scorched the Kyuss Knights as they clung to the wall.  Recoiling in pain, but uttering not a sound, they dropped back to the bottom, where Barnos was immediately enmeshed in the tentacles once again.

“Nice work,” Faust said grudgingly to the inquisitor.  “Let’s see if I can do better.”  
Concentrating on Kardic, the psion seized mental control of the Knight’s limbs.  Though the Shadow Worm struggled mightily, Faust forced him, step by step, back towards the sonic wall, finally bringing him to a halt fully immersed in the concussive energy.  Then, Faust commanded the Knight to turn and place his hand fully within the light curtain.  If Kardic were capable of fearing death, he would have quailed.  Instead, the Kyuss Knight simply shifted his body into incorporeality, freeing him from the psion’s mental control and the pain of the twin energy barriers simultaneously.

Faust cursed.  These fellows were proving to be wilier than he would have imagined.  Quickly, while the two were still in close proximity, he manifested a current of sonic energy between Markath and Kardic, hoping that by keeping them on the defensive, he could whittle away at them little by little, while at the same time preventing them from counter-attacking.  Yet again, the Knights were not so easily trapped.  Kardic, grasping the mechanism, if not the nature of Faust’s power, lumbered towards a nearby stalagmite, interposing it between himself and Markath.  Immediately, the arcing current left Markath, but continued to hammer away at Kardic.  The victory was short-lived, however, as both Knights soon found Havok’s ever present tentacles wrapped around their legs, holding them in place.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Faust growled, and before anyone could stop him, the stone giant/psion leaped off the ledge, plunging through the worm-ridden surface of the lake.  The worms bit at him as he passed, but his weight carried him quickly through them, and straight to the bottom.  He landed behind his own energy wall, but still within the grasping tentacles.  Immediately, he felt numbing cold emanating from the tendrils all about him.   The worm-like appendages wrapped around him, binding him as securely as they did the Knights.  Faust did not struggle, however, for he didn’t need to be free to be deadly.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him take all the glory,” Hawk snarled, and he dove once more into the lake, again enduring the chewing worms.  As he closed towards Kardic, the Shadow Worm tore himself free of the tentacles.  The Knight began wading through the waving forest, attempting to place another stalagmite between himself and Faust, and thus escape the inexorable devastation of the energy current.  Hawk was faster.  The civilar smashed his sword between Kardic’s shoulders, cleaving his armor in two and severing his spine.  The Kyuss Knight fell face first into the tentacles, which instinctively grabbed at his corpse and began to rip it limb from limb.

Now it was Barnos Indarna who broke free of the tentacles.  The wall of sound separated him from the trapped psion, but the Knight did not seem to care.  He strode right through the barrier, its energy ripping at him as he passed.  Undeterred, he lifted his sword, aiming it towards the stone giant’s heart.  That was the moment when Kardic perished, and with a thought, Faust redirected the energy current towards Barnos.  The beam tore through the Knight’s chest, and he too fell.

Only Markath remained, and as Hawk closed to him, the Magekiller managed to disentangle himself from his bonds.  He was too late.  Hawk struck, his blade flashing with holy power at the same moment that Faust’s energy current blew the top of the Kyuss Knight’s head off.

At this point, Faust finally noticed the relentless squeezing of the tentacles about him.  ‘Havok,’ he called through the Mindlink, ‘I could use some assistance.’  
‘I’m on it,’ Drasek responded.  The inquisitor quickly invoked two blessings upon himself, one of flight, and the other of water breathing, thus enabling him to use his magic while submerged.  He dove into the sea of worms and moved quickly to Faust.  Reaching out to touch the psion, he then immediately whisked them back to the surface ledge via the astral plane.  

It was at that precise instant that Mak’ar returned.  
“He’s back!” Faust cried, though to Hawk that fact was patently obvious.  This was the moment Havok had been waiting for.  Stepping between dimensions, he held his breath and appeared in the middle of the lake, below the worms, but above his own tentacles.  The liche had indeed returned, and he was once again surrounded by several revolving images of himself.  He stood directly in the midst of the tentacle forest, yet seemed to move through them as if they didn’t exist.  The warlock had expected the Harbinger to replenish his defenses, and he was ready.  Raising one hand, Havok invoked a shimmering, green field that resembled gnashing teeth around the liche.  These fangs ripped and tore, literally attempting to consume the magical energies that surrounded Mak’ar, but the liche was too powerful.  Only one minor dweomer was taken before the effect faded.

Hawk charged towards Mak’ar at the same time that Drasek reentered the lake.  The civilar hacked at the liche, but only succeeded in ripping through one of his illusory images.  Drasek, however, had another plan.  Mak’ar had reappeared at the exact spot from which he had vanished.  This placed him with the lake wall to his back, covered by the curtain of light, Hawk in front of him, and Faust’s sonic wall to his right.  His only means of escape was to his left, and it was here that the inquisitor erected a second wall of light, thus completely boxing the liche in.

Mak’ar watched all of these machinations with amusement.  These fools had no idea what they were up against.  His first priority was the warlock.  After all, that one had managed to bring down Kelvos almost single-handedly.  With a gesture, the liche erected another psychic maze, and Havok abruptly vanished.  

Hawk cursed silently in frustration.  The bastard was going to pick them off one by one.  Enraged, he hacked again and again at the liche, taking down image after image, until only one remained.  At that moment, Drasek dropped down from above, swinging his maul with all his might and connecting solidly with the spellweaver.  Bone chips and teeth flew as Mak’ar’s jaw shattered.  Suddenly, a terrific splash came from above, and Faust landed next to Hawk.  Immediately, the psion manifested another energy current, the sonic beam boring into Mak’ar.  Desperately, the liche attempted to weave his magic and place a force barrier between himself and Faust, but the pain would not allow his mind to focus on the necessary words.  Only the simplest of spells would come to him, and he hurled a minor enchantment at Hawk.  The blue beam struck the civilar, and he felt his strength ebb.  Undaunted, Hawk swung his shield, the edge catching the liche in the throat.  Mak’ar clutched at his shattered larynx, completely unable to speak.  Slowly, the flickering green light faded from his eyes as Faust’s psychic power crushed the last spark of unlife that sustained him.

At the moment of the Harbinger’s destruction, Grubber and Havok were freed from their psychic prison.  The first thing they noticed upon their return was the dull rumble which shook the cavern.  Dust and rocks fell from the ceiling, and abruptly, the sea of writhing worms began to dissolve into a thick, viscous ooze, until not a single one of the vermin remained.  The room suddenly seemed to melt away into darkness as the air filled with strange, frightening whispers.  It sounded as if a hundred different voices spoke in a hundred different languages, but an instant later, the voices joined into one and the language resolved into familiar words.  These words spoke of the prophecies of the Age of Worms, and as they spoke, visions of the prophecies coming true manifested, allowing the members of the League to observe the events as if they were gods looking down upon a troubled world.  The visions were violent, and horrific.  Legions of worm-eaten dead rose from soggy graves.  An immense and demonic tree exploded into destructive life from the heart of an unfamiliar city.  A burning comet lanced down from the heavens to strike the earth in a tremendous, mushroom-shaped cloud of devastation.  Another city, its town square wreathed in a cloud of black smoke filled with eyes, was held in the grip of shadows that moved independently from their source.  A cackling man attached a clawed and withered hand to the bleeding stump of his arm, and the hand writhed into unholy life.  A city built in the heart of a volcano suffered tragedy during an eruption that saw its complete destruction.  As each of these scenes flashed by, they were accompanied by a crushing sense of certainty…these events had already come to pass.  Yet finally, the whispering voices spoke of two more prophecies, and these were accompanied by blackness.  “A tripartite spirit once again becomes one, and at its advice, the mighty are undone,” the voices whispered.  And then, “On the eve of the Age of Worms, a hero of the pit shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead.”  After this, there was only silence.  It would seem that two of the prophecies had yet to be realized.

Suddenly, all of the previous visions the League had received began to flash by in rapid succession, but each was subtly different.  In the first, the skull symbol worn on the armor of Kyuss warped from human to that of a spellweaver and back again.  Next, above and behind the torture room could be seen a figure in the shape of a two-armed insect-creature.  It was handing an identical jeweled box to Mak’ar, as Mak’ar passed the box to Kyuss.  Faust recognized this creature as a Netherese depiction of the god Jergal.  In the third vision this same figure could be seen above and behind the desk at which Kyuss studied.  It was inscribing words onto bronze disks…the same ones that Mak’ar gave to Kyuss.  As the fourth vision passed, three human-like figures clawed their way out of the ground surrounding Kuluth-Mar, each one dripping with green worms.  One figure was clad in full plate mail and bore an iron scepter.  One was heavily cloaked and bore a dagger dripping black blood, and the last was a lich-like abomination clad in the black robes of a necromancer.  Again, Faust recognized these figures.  They seemed to be archaic depictions of Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul.  One by one, the Jergal-figure seen in the previous visions reached down and consumed the three, and then finally, the image of Kyuss himself.  After each was destroyed, Jergal sprouted another arm and swelled in size, until in the end he had six arms and seemed larger than all of Toril.  Finally, after the last vision, the figure of Jergal could be seen pulling a familiar green worm out of its ear and placing it in a jeweled box.

Malchor listened intently as the tale was complete, his expression cold.
“When we made our way to the surface again,” Hawk concluded, “the ziggurat had completely collapsed on itself, taking the obsidian ring with it.”
Dagsumn, Celeste and Agath sat silently about the drawing room, each staring at the archmage.  Finally Malchor spoke, his voice heavy.  
“These are ill tidings.  Darker than I feared.  I had hoped you would find some information that would be of use to us, but instead I fear you have brought news of our doom.  I must admit, I do not comprehend the significance of your visions of Jergal.  The so-called Lord of the End of Everything has diminished greatly in power, his portfolio over death divided first among Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, then passing in large part to Cyric, and now to Kelemvor.  Again these three…’the Dead Three,’ though Bane is reborn.  Perhaps the Ebon Triad has a larger role in these events than that of Cat’s-paw.  Indeed, while you have been away, we have managed to unearth more information about the cult.  In several of the scrolls and books in my library, we found references to Ebon Triad activity, most of which had short notes written in the margins by Balakarde.  These notes repeated over and over his suspicion that the cult was little more than a front for the followers of Kyuss.  Even more curious, in every book and scroll that mentioned Ebon Triad activity, Balakarde had underlined the word Starmantle.  It would seem that a surprising number of Triad leaders hailed from this town on the Dragon Coast.”

At this point Celeste spoke.  “I actually found one book on the city itself.  It was titled A History of Starmantle.  It was written by a priest of Tyr named Rhorsk only a few months before a despotic ruler named Prince Zeech assumed rulership of the city.  One section of the book recounted the emergence and influence of a cabal of Banite heretics who attempted to establish an underground cult somewhere in the city, a cult dedicated to the ascension of their god into something greater.  This cult made particular use of what they called ‘the Writhing Dead.’  The cult was defeated with the aid of one of Starmantle’s greatest spellcasters, an elven noble named Lashonna, but its leaders escaped persecution.  In the margins of this account, Balakarde made a fairly extensive note.”  Celeste handed a piece of parchment to Hawk.  Written on it was the following:  Starmantle is the key.  Missing heretics never captured…possible site of Ebon Triad foundation?  Did they turn to the cult of Bhaal for aid, and then more recently to that of Myrkul?  Are new Triad leaders trained somewhere in Starmantle and then sent out to start their own cult cells in other cities?  To Do:  Lashonna (helped defeat heretics.  May know more about them that wasn’t printed.); Rhorsk (research indicates he did not flee Starmantle after it fell…he’s probably dead, but may have left some sort of legacy.); Ebon Triad (are they still active in town?  Find out if their original hideout/shrine still exists.)

Hawk sighed after he read the note.  “It would seem our travels are just beginning,” he said.
“Now hold on just one minute,” Shay said, standing abruptly.  “If you’re talking about going to Starmantle, then count me out.  That’s too close to Westgate for my comfort, and the Nighmasks still have a hefty price on my head.  I’m going back to Waterdeep.  When…if…you finish whatever it is you have to do on the Dragon Coast, you’ll know where to find me.”
Hawk shook his head.  “You will be missed my friend, but I understand.  A death mark is not an easy thing to live with.  What about the rest of you?  Who’s up for a trip to the Coast?”


----------



## gfunk

STARMANTLE

Malchor Harpell sat brooding in his study for some time after the members of the League had departed for Starmantle.  He had provided them with a detailed painting of the city gates to get their bearings, thus allowing them to teleport en masse.  Now, he was deeply troubled.  Not only had the rogue Shay abandoned the group, but at the last minute, the dwarven mineral warrior had also begged off.  Grim had stated that he felt honor-bound to return to his clan and warn them of the impending danger of the Age of Worms.  That left only six of the group…six to fight an undead army.  The archmage still felt in his heart that he could not intervene directly.  He had made some powerful enemies in his life, and were he to actively join in the search for the truth behind the Age of Worms, those enemies would likely be moved to join the opposition.  Still, that did not mean he was completely without recourse.
“Celeste,” he said, turning to the ghaele, who was busy perusing more of the library’s tomes.  “I think it might be wise for you to pay a visit to Baldur’s Gate.  See if our old friend Pavel is between employers.”

Starmantle perched upon a rocky outcropping which curled around a natural harbor.  Numerous ships, from proud sailing vessels to small rickety fishing sloops found shelter there.  Buildings had been crammed onto the promontory with such congestion that they almost seemed afraid of the gray, featureless lands beyond…rotting hills of brown and black and gray stones, and vast muddy tidal flats pocked with collapsed structures and stunted trees.  The town itself was a montage of different architectural styles, designs, and cultures.  Black towers rose ominously along the walls and cliffs surrounding the town, while intimidating golden-domed temples and pagodas cast shadows upon huge wood and stone manor houses that reached cathedral height.  Interspersed with these were endless rows of hovels made from bits of timber, barrels, sides of boats and rubbish.  The shanties spread at the feet of the town like flotsam washed up at the seashore.  Three structures dominated Starmantle’s skyline.  In the center of town rose an ominous cathedral, while on the highest cliffside stood a grand palace.  However, even the palace was dwarfed by another structure in the southwestern section of the city.  There, a massive ziggurat of red stone appeared to be under construction.  Above all of this circled crows…thousands upon thousands of them, like black storm clouds.

The League had appeared a half-mile from the city walls, so as not to attract suspicion.  As they approached the town, a steady stream of travelers, both coming and going, grew along the road.  Soon, they reached a pair of massive gates, where a passively disinterested hobgoblin guard stood with a ledger.
“What’s yer business in town?” he muttered.
“We’re here to see that zig…” Faust began before Hawk elbowed him aside.
“We’re here to spend some coin and see the sights,” the civilar said.  Hawk had put away his Waterdhavian insignia, and now wore a featureless tabard over his armor, though the symbol of Helm still hung from its chain around his neck.  Drasek likewise made no effort to disguise the skeletal hand grasping a set of scales that was Kelemvor’s sign.  The hobgoblin grunted, barely giving them a second glance and waved them through.

Upon entering the town, the group was immediately struck by the overtly festive atmosphere.  Banners and pennants hung from every building and sign post, and it seemed the populace was preparing for some sort of celebration.  Hawk’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, however, as he saw the emblem emblazoned on the banners…the upraised black fist of Bane.  The civilar pointed this out to Drasek, and the inquisitor had to forcibly restrain himself from ripping down one of the pennants.
“Joy to you on this day strangers!” a matronly shopkeeper called out.  “A blessing upon you for visiting our humble land!”
“All hail the Black Hand!” Faust called back enthusiastically, earning withering glares from both paladins.  
“When in Starmantle…” the psion shrugged.  He turned his attention back to the shopkeeper.  “Tell me dear lady, what is the occasion for this celebration?”
The woman’s smile never wavered, but something in her eyes seemed to question its sincerity.  “Why, it is the twentieth anniversary of our Lord Embuirhan's rule of Starmantle, blessed be his name!  There will be parades and entertainment all week long in Lowtown, not to mention the wonderful sales in the merchant’s market!  Then, at the end of the week, Lord Embuirhan will host his annual extravaganza at the palace!  Everyone who is anyone will be in attendance!”
“I see,” said Faust, maintaining his own false grin.  “Can you tell us where some weary travelers might find accommodations nearby?”
She pointed up the main thoroughfare.  “The Deluxury is the finest inn in all Starmantle, though I dare say it will cost a pretty copper.  The Ogre’s Hideout is certainly more affordable, but it caters to a less sophisticated crowd.  I don’t think it would suit the tastes of gentlefolk such as yourselves.”
“You have our thanks,” Faust bowed, “and may the firm Hand of Tyranny always hold you under its thumb!”  

“We are trying to maintain a low profile,” Faust said as the group continued along the road.  “Perhaps less conspicuous lodging would be in order?”
Hawk looked dubious.  “Perhaps.  We can at least have a look.”
The Ogre’s Hideout, as it turned out, was only a block or so off the Toil Road.  It was a rough looking establishment, much like many other inns the adventurers had frequented in their travels.  The taproom was large and well-stocked, but unimaginative.  It was also crowded with hobgoblins…large, burly sorts, well-armed and well-armored.  The innkeeper was a small, jumpy looking man who’s eyes kept darting here and there among his patrons.  
“Good day to you, sir!” Faust said as he approached the bar.  “Might I have your name?”
“Frill Breskered,” the man answered.  “Who’s asking?”
“Faust Cenodoxus,” Faust replied, “but you can call me Holocaust.  My companions and I were wondering if you had any rooms available.”
Breskered shook his head, “No singles.  All of them are rented out,” he nodded towards the hobgoblins.  “All I’ve got’s common rooms.”
At this point, Grubber leaned across the bar.  “I hope you don’t mind my presumption,” the goliath rumbled, towering over the little man, “but you seem troubled.  Are your current clients causing you mischief?”  
Hastily, Breskered shook his head, “No sir.  None at all.”  Faust didn’t think he sounded very convincing.
“Because if they are,” the psion said conspiratorially, “my friend here,” he hooked a thumb at Hawk, “absolutely detests goblins of any sort.  I’m sure he wouldn’t mind freeing up a few rooms for you.”
At this the innkeeper’s eyes widened, “Oh no!  No sir!  I don’t want any trouble here!  The last thing I need’s for the Blessed Angels to come poking around!  Please, either take the room I got or move along!”
“Blessed Angels?” Giovanni asked, suddenly intrigued.
“Our protectors,” Breskered said, hastily making the sign of the Evil Eye.  “They are both beautiful and terrible to behold, with their fiery hair, and black wings!  They root out heretics and miscreants, like the rabble-rousers who distribute the Sinchaser Report!”
The warlock raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It’s a newspaper,” the innkeeper said, his voice low.  “Full of all kinds of lies about Lord Embuirhan.  It’s illegal to even be discussing it!”  
“Yes,” Hawk said, interrupting before Faust could stick his foot in his mouth, “well, we can see you are a busy man, and we will not trouble you further.  Come on,” he said to the others.  “We’re leaving.”

“So what do you make of all that?” Drasek asked Hawk once they were back out on the street.
“I’m not sure,” the civilar said, “but there is obviously much more going on in this town than meets the eye.  I say we continue our wandering a bit longer and get a feel for the lay of the land.”

Prior to departing for Starmantle, Drasek had contacted his superiors in Baldur’s Gate to update them on his progress.  He had been informed of the existence of a temple to Kelemvor in Starmantle.  However, the clergy of this particular temple, the so-called Scarlet Spire, were referred to as “orthodox,” that is they had once been followers of Myrkul who had reluctantly converted after the death of their god.  As an inquisitor, Drasek felt that it was his duty to pay the temple an official visit.

As it happened, the Scarlet Spire stood in close proximity to the largest cathedral in Starmantle…that of Bane.  This, in turn, was directly across the street from the luxurious inn known as the Deluxury.  Faust agreed to accompany Drasek to the Scarlet Spire, while Grubber decided to poke about in Lowtown in search of any leads.  Giovanni, Hawk and Storm had a plan of their own.  It was Giovanni’s intention to purchase the finest noble garb that he could afford, and then pay a visit to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium, the equivalent of the merchants’ guild in Starmantle.  The warlock’s family, House Vito, held a prominent position among the merchant houses of Sembia, and now he intended to drop that name and see if it would help him to procure an invitation for Embuirhan’s gala.  No one need know that he was considered outcast from his family.  Hawk would pose as his bodyguard, and Storm as his concubine.  Appearances were everything.

When Faust and Drasek entered the sanctuary of the Scarlet Spire, they were immediately greeted by a bustling acolyte.  The young priest’s eyes went wide when he saw Drasek’s insignia.  
“My…my Lord Inquisitor!” the boy stammered.  “This is a most…unexpected honor!”
“No one expects the Kelemvorite Inquisition,” Drasek said in a bored voice, casually looking around at the opulent décor of the chapel.  Obviously the church was thriving.  The inquisitor’s suspicions immediately increased.
“Fetch your superior lad,” he commanded.
“The High Priestess…dislikes being disturbed,” the acolyte whispered, eyes downcast.
Drasek drew himself up to his full height, “I am certain she would dislike the fact that you refused the order of an Inquisitor far more!”
“Yes my Lord!” the boy answered, bowing and bobbing back down the aisle, disappearing through a side door.  A short time later, a middle-aged woman dressed in luxurious vestments appeared thru the door.  The expression on her face was as severe as the bun which held back her iron-grey hair.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, striding boldly up to Drasek.  “I was not informed of this inquisition!”
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Drasek said softly, a note of warning in his tone.
“I am Almerah Kosen, High Priestess of the Scarlet Spire of Kelemvor,” the woman intoned.
“I am Drasek, but you may address me as Lord Inquisitor, and as you well know, the Inquisition goes where it is needed, not where it is invited.  I have come to Starmantle to pay my respects to Lord Embuirhan on the occasion of his anniversary, but it has come to my attention that your enclave has had a dramatic increase in the size of your coffers…a bounty that has not been passed along in your annual tithes.  Would you care to explain the nature of this boon?”
Almerah looked incensed…worse, she looked ready to kill.  Visible restraint showed in the tense working of her jaw muscles.  “The ascension of the church of Bane since Lord Embuirhan’s rise to power has not been favorable to us,” she said sharply.  “We were still accorded our traditional duties of tending the cemetery, but beyond that we were barely tolerated.  We had to devise…other means to support our ministry.”
“And what would those be?” Drasek asked coldly.
Almerah seemed reluctant, but finally she said, “We offer some of our divine favors to the nobility.  They come to us seeking to maintain and prolong their youth and beauty.”
“Surely you are not prolonging lives by artificial means?” Drasek demanded.  “That is an abomination!”
“Of course not!” Almerah snapped.  “We merely offer cosmetic services.”
“I see,” Drasek nodded.  “However, I’m sure you will not mind if I ascertain for myself the nature of these services.  I will be here for at least a week.  I will require suitable quarters here in the church for myself and my assistant.”
Almerah’s eyes widened, and she looked with unveiled disgust at Faust.  “Surely you would be more comfortable in one of the local inns,” she began, but Drasek cut her short.
“I will stay here,” he said with finality.
“Very well,” the High Priestess said tightly.  “Arrangements will be made.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have important duties to attend to.”
“I’m sure,” Drasek said to her retreating back.

Grubber made his way down to the dock district, which proved to be as seedy and rundown as any such area in any large city.  Hobgoblins seemed to comprise the bulk of the sailors and stevedores, but a few humans and half-orcs were also in attendance.  The goliath briefly toyed with the idea of preaching Grumbar’s Word to the seamen regarding the inherent dangers of water travel, but the grim faces and plethora of blades boasted by the sailors gave him pause.  The goliath was certainly no expert when it came to being unobtrusive, and the first several people he stopped to ask information from either ignored him completely, or cursed roundly, placing their hands on the hilts of their steel.  Finally, he approached an elderly fish monger who didn’t accost him outright.
“Your pardon dear lady,” he bowed.  This earned him a cackle of laughter from the snaggle-toothed crone.
“Lady is it?” she laughed.  “Why I’ve not been called such in three-score years, and even then it weren’t meant as a compliment.  Yer not from around here, are ye big’un?”
“No Madame, I am not,” Grubber said, perplexed at her reaction.  He couldn’t tell if she was amused or angered.
“Well I ain’t no Madame neither,” the woman chortled.  “If’n I were, it sure wouldn’t be scrod I’d be peddlin’, now would it?  What is it ye want lad?”
Grubber was momentarily at a loss for words, and as he finally caught her meaning, a deep blush crept up his gray cheeks.  “I…I’m looking for someone,” he finally managed to stammer.  “Do you know a wizard named Balakarde?”
“Never heard of’im,” the crone answered, shaking her head.
“Oh.  I see,” Grubber paused.  “What about a man named Rhorsk?  He is a Helmite priest from this town.”
“Helmite!”  The woman shrieked with laughter.  “Helmet-head’s more like it!  If it’s those type yer lookin’ fer, ye’d best go to the Church of Blessed Deliverance.  Ye’ll find all the Helmites ye want there!”  Still laughing, she turned and walked away, leaving the goliath even more perplexed.

After procuring a suite at the Deluxury (for the exorbitant fee of one-hundred gold crowns a night…each!), Giovanni Vito, his bodyguard, and his concubine worked their way across town to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium.  The building seemed like any other guildhall on the inside, with merchants ranging from street vendors to wealthy craftsmen mingling in a large common room.  A young, bearded man wearing a fez cap sat behind a desk scribbling in a ledger.  
“May I be of service?” he asked, looking up as Giovanni and his contingent entered.
“I am Giovanni Vito,” the warlock said, “of the Sembian Vitos.  Perhaps you’ve heard of my family.”  
The man shrugged, “The name sounds familiar.”
“Yes, well,” Giovanni continued, clearing his throat, “I am looking at some business ventures in Starmantle.  Is your master available?”
The man snorted.  “I’m afraid not.  Mistress Mahuudril is rarely in attendance here.”
“I see,” the warlock said, looking pensive.  “Do you expect her any time soon?  I will only be in town for the week, until the prince’s gala.”
“Oh?” the scribe said, raising one eyebrow.  “Then you should certainly run into the guildmistress there.”
“Ah,” said Giovanni.  “You wouldn’t happen to know how one might go about procuring an invitation, would you?”
“You are planning on attending the gala, and you don’t have an invitation?” the man said, a bemused look on his face.
“Well, as I mentioned, I’ve only just arrived in town and heard news of the celebration,” Giovanni answered.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the scribe said, going back to his ledger, “and I wouldn’t count on running into Mahuudril while you’re here.  She usually doesn’t involve herself in the more mundane aspects of our business.”
For a moment, Giovanni thought he detected a faint note of bitterness or resentment in the man’s tone.
“Can I have your name, sir?” the warlock asked politely.
“I am Trell, sergeant-at-arms for the guild,” he replied.
“A pleasure, Mr. Trell.  Forgive me for being intrusive, but I could not help but notice that you don’t seem very fond or your mistress.”
Trell was silent for a moment, and then looked around for any nearby eavesdroppers.  
“Look,” he said finally, “you seem a good sort, so I’ll give you a bit of advice.  Take your business elsewhere.  Starmantle is not the place for free and fair trade.  Mahuudril has a monopoly on the merchant enterprise here, and she doesn’t share with anyone.”
“Nevertheless,” Giovanni said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I am looking to expand my family’s interests into this market, and I will be in need of someone trustworthy who is not afraid to take a financial risk or two.  Perhaps I could contact you again sometime Mr. Trell?”
Trell nodded cautiously.
“Excellent,” the warlock said, pulling his cloak around him.  “If you happen to come across any leads on securing attendance at the gala, I will be staying at the Deluxury.”  With that, he beckoned Hawk and Storm to follow, and they departed the guildhall.

‘Have you been to the church yet?’ Faust asked Grubber through the Mindlink he had erected among the group before they separated earlier in the day.
‘No,’ Grubber responded.  ‘I thought I would contact the rest of you first.’
‘Wise move,’ the psion replied.  ‘Havok, Drasek and I are closer.  We will meet Grubber at this Church of Blessed Deliverance.  We will stay in contact with you.’
‘I’m not sure I like this,’ the warlock said.  ‘Just be careful.’
‘My middle name,’ Faust laughed.

The bitter irony of the church of “Blessed Deliverance” was not lost on Faust, Drasek and Grubber.  The building was a blackened hulk, a monument to loss and ruin.  Melted stained glass depictions of angels appeared to writhe in the black kiss of fire in the few walls that still stood.  Those sagging, blackened ruins bore numerous signs which read, “Condemned by the Order and Ineffable Wisdom of Almighty Prince Embuirhan…Entry Prohibited!”

“I hate this city,” Drasek said in a soft, deadly voice.
“Do you want to take a look inside?” Faust asked.
“What would be the point?”  Grubber answered.
“I want to go in,” said Drasek.  “If nothing else, at least I can sanctify this place, so that some small beacon of light might shine in this hell hole.”
“Gather around me,” Faust said.  “I don’t think we should make this too obvious.  Don’t want to attract any ‘Blessed Angels.’”
Stepping into a nearby alley, the trio huddled together while Faust transdimensionally transported them inside the ruins.

The interior was just as blasted as the exterior.  Nothing was intact, and rubble was piled head high.  However, as Grubber poked around beneath one of these piles, he found a concealed trapdoor.  Calling the others to him, he heaved on the lift-ring and hoisted the rusted door open.  Underneath, a steep, circular stairwell led down into darkness.  
“The crypt,” Drasek said, staring down.
“Do you hear that?” Grubber asked, whispering.  From the darkness, a faint, low moan drifted up.  Drasek looked at his companions, and then started down.

The crypt was a shambles.  In places, the low ceiling sagged ominously.  Bones were scattered in tangled heaps all over the floor, and the twelve tombs that surrounded the central chamber had been violated.  The brick-lined crypt walls had been torn down, and narrow, claustrophobic tunnels had been dug through the stony earth.  
“Those are not natural,” Grubber said, peering at the tunnels.  “They were made by magic.”
At that moment, a piercing shriek filled the air.  From behind a mound of rubble at the far end of the crypt, a creature shambled.  It looked like a twisted, feral, gray-skinned man with large, jagged fingernails, sharp teeth, red eyes and festering skin.  Its body seemed frail and emaciated, save for its belly, which was disturbingly round and full.  The creature wore tattered remnants of once fine robes over a gleaming chain shirt.  The robes bore the symbol of Helm.

“It’s some sort of ghoul,” Faust said quietly, “and yet, I sense an intelligent mind beneath.  Peace!” the psion called out.  “We too venerate the Watcher, and revile the Black Hand!”
The creature hissed and babbled, waving its hands in agitation.
“Let me try,” Drasek said, slowly approaching the ghoul, and brandishing Kelemvor’s symbol.  “We mean you no harm,” he spoke in a soothing tone.  “We are looking for a priest named Rhorsk.  Do you know what has become of him?”
For an instant, Drasek swore that he saw a flicker of recognition in the creature’s eyes, but then its gaze fell upon his holy symbol, and a blind rage seemed to overtake it.  Incredibly, it began a chanting incantation that was undeniably spellcasting.  Rushing forward, Drasek swatted the ghouls gesticulating hands aside with the head of his maul.  Hissing in anger, the creature retreated several steps, and began another spell.  This time it was successful, and a baleful glow surrounded its clawed hand.  Drasek recognized the spell as one that was capable of weakening servants of Law, such as himself.  With a snarl, the ghoul darted forward, laying its limned hand on the inquisitor’s chest.  Drasek felt a brief surge of dark energy pulse through his body, but it passed quickly, his faith in Kelemvor too strong to allow such a weak enchantment to affect him.

“Enough!” Faust commanded from the far side of the crypt, and at his shout, the ghoul went rigid.  
“Kneel before the Hand of Kelemvor!” the psion intoned, and the creature’s knees folded beneath it as it dropped to the ground at Drasek’s feet.  
“In the name of Kelemvor,” Drasek intoned, “I commend your eternal soul to his benevolent embrace!”  With that, he brought his maul down upon the ghoul’s forehead, and it fell as if poleaxed, twitching once, then moving no more.

“Now what?” Faust asked as he moved to Drasek’s side.  
“Now I will lay this tortured soul to his final rest,” the inquisitor replied, “but perhaps not permanently.”  Reaching down, he wrenched one boney finger from the ghoul’s hand before stuffing its body into the extra-dimensional space of his magical bag.

The gravediggers at Starmantle’s Boneyard did not question the Kelemvorite priest when he commanded them to hastily dig an unmarked grave in a distant corner of the cemetery.  Nor did they look back when he ordered them away once their task was completed.  If the inquisitor was not intimidating enough, his companions, one a giant, the other a wretched creature that nonetheless carried death in his eyes, more than compensated.

Drasek laid the cursed priest’s remains in the grave, and then covered them with his own hands.  After, he bowed his head and prayed to his god.  “Lord of the Dead, please receive this tainted soul, and hear my beseechment on his behalf to judge him not on the events of his death, but instead on the deeds of his life.”  Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and Drasek knew his prayer had been heard.

Midnight.  The doors to Bane’s Cathedral were thrown wide, and dirge-like organ music spilled out onto the Toilway.  Giovanni entered the narthex of the temple, followed closely Hawk and Storm.  It was the warlock’s intention to bear witness to the Banite rites and glean what meaning from them he could.  Surprisingly, the atmosphere inside the church seemed almost…normal.  A young priest greeted them as they entered, welcoming them to the services, and escorting them to a pew about halfway down the chapel.  The other pews were about three-quarters full, with townsfolk ranging from commoners to minor nobility.  Prince Embuirhan was not in attendance.  The mood of the congregation was somber.  

A thin, balding man ascended the pulpit, and officially began the service.  If Hawk was expecting blood rites and human sacrifices, he was disappointed.  Though the dogma of Bane that was spewed forth in a tirade from the high priest’s mouth, and the dark hymns sung by those gathered galled the paladin, he felt as though he might be listening to any street preacher.  The man inspired no spirituality in his flock.  In fact, the civilar noted, many of the people did not even sing along with the hymns.  They merely mouthed the words, glancing furtively at those around them.  It was almost as if they were present simply because they were expected to be.  The service ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the congregation filed out wordlessly.  Though Giovanni seemed disappointed at the lack of drama, Hawk actually found himself slightly hopeful that the people of Starmantle were not entirely beyond redemption.

Dawn found the six companions gathered in the crypt of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.  Faust had shuttled them inside unobserved in the gloom just before sunrise.  Now they all stood in silence as Grubber placed the severed finger that Drasek had taken from the ghoul upon the floor.  He then began to pray.  “Grumbar, root of the earth, hear my prayer.  Return this man from your embrace, for the change that was wrought upon his soul was unnatural, and such changes are to be shunned.  Let him walk once more upon the rock and soil, so that he may help us to restore the status quo.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then the finger twitched.  Before their eyes, it began to grow new flesh, then a new hand, arm and so on, until in a matter of moments, a whole man lie on the hard stones.  He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a full beard.  He opened ice-blue eyes and stared up at his saviors.
“I’m back,” he said breathlessly, sitting up and staring at his surroundings.  Then, sorrow filled his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands.  “What have I done?” he sobbed.
Drasek draped a robe about the man, and gently pulled him to his feet.
“Whatever wrongs you have committed have been forgiven by Kelemvor, though atonement must still be made, and you must find your own peace with Helm.  Are you Rhorsk?”
The priest nodded.  “I am, and I owe all of you much, not the least of which is my apology.”
“Do not think on it,” the inquisitor said, shaking his head. “But there is a way you can repay your debt.  We need information.”

And so Rhorsk began his tale, which began and ended twenty years ago.  At that time, the church of Helm was strong in Starmantle, though the city itself had been under the ineffective rule of one petty lord after another, culminating in Embuirhan’s rise to power.  The current prince gained popularity by putting down a heretical Banite cult, which had allied itself with worshippers of Myrkul and Bhaal.  During this uprising, Helm’s church had been caught in the crossfire, and had been burned to the ground by so-called bandits, though Rhorsk had his own suspicions that Embuirhan himself had ordered it.  Rhorsk had been trapped in the crypt during the fire, and had ultimately resorted to eating the remains of those interred in order to survive.  Thus, he had damned his own soul.  Eventually, starvation claimed him, and he rose the next night as one of the gravetouched…a ghoul.  He had existed in that state, tunneling his way into the city’s sewers to feed on rats and such, until yesterday.  Now, he had been reborn, given another chance to make amends.  He told the League members that all of the Banite heretics had been captured and executed, but he himself had had a chance to interrogate some of them via Speaking with the Dead.  He had discovered that they had been set upon their path by a mysterious contact known to them only as Mother Maggot.  This person had given the cultists the worm-eaten undead they had used to cause so much trouble, and had apparently promised more support if they were successful in the crusade against Starmantle.  Rhorsk never found out what Mother Maggot’s true goals where, but he did discover that the heretics met her in a subterranean room under a house in the southeast section of the city.  He was able to tell the company exactly where to find this house.

“What about Balakarde?”  Grubber asked.
“I do remember a strange man visited me here, though I can’t say when.  He also asked about the Ebon Triad, and compelled me to give him the same information I have just given you.”
“Thank you Rhorsk,” Drasek said.  “You have been a great help to us.  Do you need our assistance in leaving the city?”
“No,” the priest said thoughtfully.  “I think I’ll be staying awhile.  There is still good in Starmantle.  I can feel it.  I may see what I can do to foster that faint light.  If you need me, you can leave a message for me here.”
The League members thanked him again, and took their leave, with Rhorsk already setting to work reinterring the remains of his brethren.

Rhorsk’s directions were very precise, but the building located there hardly seemed like a likely site for an Ebon Triad stronghold.  It was a single story wooden structure, which was badly in need of a paint job, and listed to one side.  There was a single door and no windows.  A sign nailed to the door proclaimed the establishment as “The Sinner’s Sanctum.”
“Ironic,” Drasek said as he mounted the porch and rapped on the door.  Almost immediately, the door was snatched open, and an elderly woman with ragged hair and an almost feral look in her eyes glared out.  She was dressed in rags, and stank as if she’d not bathed in some time.  Her eyes snapped to the emblem on Drasek’s armor.
“We ain’t got no dead today, Father,” she said.  “Yer lot’s already been by this week.”  

Trying to be unobtrusive, Giovanni pulled a scroll from his case and began reading it.  When he was done, he closed his eyes and concentrated.  He could sense a hidden portal somewhere within the building.
“I’m not here to collect the dead,” Drasek said, not unkindly.  “I’m actually new to town, and to the local church.  Would you be so kind as to tell me the nature of your establishment?”
The woman looked at him quizzically for a moment.  “This be a sick-house, Father,” she said finally.  “I tend to the poor unfortunates that got no other resources.”
“Is that so?” Drasek said, intrigued.  “Would you mind if we came in and had a look around?”
She peered cautiously at the inquisitor’s comrades, then shrugged.  “Suit yerself, but don’t blame me if’n you come out with more than ye came in with.”

The bulk of the interior was taken up by a single, large room.  The incense-laden air failed to cover the unmistakable stink of sickness.  Twelve people lay on makeshift pallets throughout the area.  Grubber went to the nearest one, a man of indeterminate age who burned with fever.
“These people are dying,” he told Drasek.
“Didn’t I tell ye so?” the old woman said.  “But not to worry.  Lord Embuirhan’s promised me elixirs to cure all their ailments, so he has.”
“Forgive me,” Drasek said, also kneeling by one of the patients, “but I’ve been discourteous.  What is you name, dear lady?  I am called Drasek.”
“Furtopia,” she said.
“Yes, well Miss Furtopia,” Drasek continued, “with all due respect, I do not believe these poor souls will live to see that day.  My colleague and I, however, may be able to offer some immediate assistance.”
Furtopia looked wary, but reluctantly, she nodded.  Grubber and Drasek each began to pray over their respective wards, and in a matter of moments, the ashen pallor had left the faces of the patients, and their breathing became more regular as they drifted into a peaceful sleep.
“Well I’ll be,” Furtopia said, amazed.  
“We can help the rest as well,” Drasek said.  “I give you my word, I’ll come by daily until they are all cured.”
“That’d be right kind of ya, Father,” Furtopia said, “but there’s always more sickness to come.  Mark my words.”
“Of course,” Drasek said.  “If I may beg your tolerance a moment longer, there is another reason I have come here.”
Furtopia looked at him questioningly.
“I have reason to believe,” Drasek continued, “that there is evil in this house, specifically, below it.”  
“What??” Furtopia shouted.  “I’ve never heard the like.  There ain’t nothin’ underneath this house.  I ain’t even got a proper cellar!”
“Begging your pardon, Madame,” Giovanni said, emerging from a back room where he had managed sneak off to, “but you are mistaken.  Let me show you.”
Cautiously, Furtopia followed the warlock into the small pantry, where a trapdoor stood open.  Iron rungs led down the shaft below into darkness.  Furtopia looked genuinely shocked.  
“That hole just feels wrong, dearies.  None of old Furtopia’s business can be down there.”
“I agree,” Drasek said, “but our business does lie below.  All I ask is that you inform no one of our presence.  Should we not return by dawn tomorrow, please take this letter and leave it at the ruins of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.”  He handed the old woman a folded piece of parchment.  She took it with shaking hands, and nodded wordlessly.
“Time to go,” the inquisitor said to his comrades.

The shaft was deep, at least a hundred feet.  Hawk, using one of his ubiquitous potions of flight, had scouted ahead of the rest.  Now that he could see the bottom, he signaled back to them via the Mindlink, and then descended the rest of the way.  No sooner had he reached the end of the tube, than he saw the rest of the group appear on the floor beneath him, courtesy of Faust’s Dimension Door.

The walls of the domed chamber beyond the shaft were made of red brick and lined with stone beams that arched up to a point directly overhead where the shaft led back up to the sickhouse.  The iron ladder continued on from the ceiling to the floor.  The chamber itself was empty, save for several rotting prayer mats strewn about.  Each bore a simple black triangle, which Hawk identified as the symbol of the Ebon Triad.  A five-foot wide hallway led east, and a large heap of tangled rope lay in its entrance.  At that moment, two things happened simultaneously.  The vest that Hawk wore beneath his armor began to tingle, while at the same time, the mass of rope began to writhe of its on accord, forming itself into a large, humanoid shape.
“It’s a golem!” Hawk shouted, intuitively warned by the magic vest.
Reacting instantly to Hawk’s warning, Havok loosed a spear of emerald energy at the creature, but in his haste, his aim was off, and stone chips fell from the ceiling where his blast struck.  Grubber lunged forward, swinging his maul in a huge arc.  Though the head of the hammer connected solidly with the rope-creature, there was too much give in the material for it to do much damage.  Again, Hawk instinctively knew what the problem was.  Most golems, being constructs rather than living beings, were innately resistant to harm from most weapons, even magical ones.  However, another benefit of the vest that the civilar wore was that it allowed his own weapons to overcome those resistances.  Hovering above the golem, he whirled his blade about him, slashing at the large hawsers which comprised its body, and cutting several of them in half.  

Faust, by virtue of having to have been the central point around which the others had gathered for their little dimensional jaunt, was trapped among his colleagues, and well within reach of the rope-golem, a position he certainly did not relish.  Morphing himself into a stone giant, as was his habit, he immediately manifested a current of fire at the construct, reasoning that its flammable form should burn quite easily.  He was wrong.  As soon as the beam struck the golem, it simply dissipated.  Hawk could have told him that the construct was magic resistant as well.

Havok was aware of this fact, but he also knew that creatures or things that were Summoned by magic were able to bypass this property of golems.  Thus, when he conjured up a forest of tentacles in the hall directly behind the creature, it was unable to escape their rubbery grasp.  

While the construct struggled, Grubber and Drasek moved in, adding their blows to Hawks, though it was the civilar by far who wreaked the most havoc, and who ultimately brought the creature down.

“A guardian of some sort,” Drasek observed, once he was sure the construct was destroyed.
“A Hangman golem,” Faust said.  “It would take a powerful wizard to create such a thing.  If the Ebon Triad is able to employ such arcanists, we may be in for more than we can handle.”

Beyond the archway was a short hall with shallow alcoves on each side.  As she passed by one of these, Storm reached down and picked up something that caught her eye.  It was a desiccated green worm.  
“At least we know we’re on the right path,” the sorceress said, unnecessarily. 
At the end of the hall, a fifteen-foot wide pit yawned.  The walls were lined with bricks and caked with mold and less-identifiable encrustations, and in the places where these growths weren’t too thick, strange figures and runes were visible carved into the bricks.  Faust bent low to examine the runes, then stood with a puzzled look on his face.
“Unless I miss my guess,” the psion said, “these are Avolakia runes.  They are some sort of intelligent worm with the capability to assume humanoid form.  I can’t decipher the writing itself.”
“We’ll worry about it later,” Hawk said, “after we see what’s down shaft number two.”

Drasek, Faust and Storm quickly imbued themselves and Havok with the power of flight, leaving only Grubber.  The goliath refused, choosing instead to imbibe a potion which gave him the power to scale walls like a spider.  As the others disappeared down the well, Grubber began the slow descent behind them.

This time the shaft descended over three-hundred feet.  It emptied through the ceiling of an immense chamber, its domed roof a full fifty feet over a black floor, worn smooth by the passage of countless creatures.  Alcoves in the north and south walls held wretched statues of worm-like monsters coiled around pillars of skulls and bones.  A single object occupied the room’s eastern half…a huge statue with three heads.  One was bestial, while the other two were skull-like, one of them cowled.  It had six arms, three ending in black-taloned hands, while the other three had skeletal appendages.  It towered thirty feet in height, and seemed to be made of some strange stone that looked almost like leather in places, and the eyes in its bestial visage seemed wet, soft and almost alive.  Hawk and Storm immediately recognized the statue as a much larger representation of the Ebon Aspect they had fought in the mines beneath Daggerford.  That creature had combined features of Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, as did this statue, only, it became readily apparent when the thing began to move, that it was not a statue at all.

The thing’s speed belied its bulk, and it closed the intervening distance rapidly.  With one great claw, it ripped at Faust, just managing to reach the psion’s leg and tearing a large hunk out of his calf.  Then, its brow furrowed, and a glowing, black morningstar  appeared out of thin air next to Havok.  Luckily, the warlock had thought to create several illusory images of himself before he descended the shaft, and it was one of these that the morningstar struck, shattering it as if it were made of glass.

Drasek could see that Faust was in trouble.  Worse, Storm was within striking distance as well.  Neither the psion nor the sorceress would last long against the behemoth, so the inquisitor made a snap decision.  Diving down, he closed with the beast, intending to interpose himself between it and his less hardy allies.  As he came, the Ebon Aspect struck at him, the jaws of its beast head snapping shut on one ankle.  Drasek could feel the bones snap.  Still, he did not hesitate, swinging his maul into the side of the brute’s face.  

Havok felt safe, at least for the moment.  He still had several images between himself and the spiritual weapon.  Taking careful aim, he let loose his most powerful manifestation of his eldritch power, the beam tearing into the Ebon Aspect’s chest, causing the huge beast to stumble back a step.  Faust and Storm were not feeling so lucky.  Both retreated into the relative safety of the shaft, but not before Storm attempted a trick she had learned from the worm nagas of Kuluth-Mar…a Feeblemind spell.  Unfortunately, not only did the spell fail to have its desired effect, but it seemed to actually heal some of the damage done by Havok.  She would not soon be trying that again.

Hawk moved quickly to Drasek’s side, again trying to buy some time for the artillerists.  As he drew near the creature, however, he saw an abrupt change come over it.  All six of its eyes began to glow red, and foam slavered from the jaws of its central head.  Many of its wounds began to knit at an alarming rate, and it roared at the ceiling, shaking loose bits of stone and dust.  With blinding speed, it struck, yet it seemed to Hawk as it everything slowed to a crawl.  First one claw, then another, and another tore into Drasek, each blow making great rents in the inquisitor’s armor, and in the flesh beneath.  Blood flew in all directions like a geyser, and Drasek screamed, yet that cry was cut short a moment later as the Ebon Aspect’s jaws clamped around his neck, and tore out his throat.  In disbelief, Hawk watched his friend fall to the floor, fifty feet below, where he lay still in an ever-growing pool of his own blood.  Before the civilar could react, one of those platter-sized paws hammered into him, batting his shield aside as if it were nothing.  He could see his own death coming in those crimson eyes.

Havok was just as stunned as Hawk at what had just occurred, but he had his own problems.  The ebony Morningstar destroyed two more of his images, and then struck him twice.  The warlock knew his own limitations, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them.  Still, he couldn’t just leave Hawk to die.  Concentrating, he unleashed back-to-back eldritch blasts, both infused with all the power he could muster.  Each one struck the Ebon Aspect, opening horrible wounds in its hide, yet it still stood.  That was it.  Havok knew he had to get away from the disembodied weapon, or he would be no better off than Drasek.  Quickly, he soared up into the shaft, but was amazed to see Storm and Faust passing him on their way back down.

The psion and the drow knew they might very well be going to their deaths, but it was a risk they were more than willing to take.  Hawk and Drasek had certainly risked their own lives countless times before, and now Drasek had paid with his.  Together, the psion and the sorceress attacked.  Storm hurled a sizzling orb of lightning at the same time that Faust manifested a current of electricity.  Both struck the Ebon Aspect unerringly, and like a mighty oak being felled, it collapsed to the floor.

Drasek was dead, and by the time Grubber reached the bottom of the well, it was far too late to help the inquisitor.  The League would morn their friend in time, but for the moment, they were going to see if his sacrifice was worth the price.  After conducting a thorough search of the chamber, they discovered a hollow wall, behind which was a small fortune in coins, gems, and magical items.  Apparently some sort of emergency fund for the Ebon Triad.  

Giovanni used another of his many scrolls to allow himself to read the tortuous writings of the Avolakia.  They were monstrously vile prayers to Kyuss.  A recurring theme in them was the mention of a ceremony known as The Ravenous Awakening, during which huge numbers of undead were animated and then led like cattle into vast banquet halls where they would present themselves to the feasters for consumption.  The writings also revealed that, though the Avolakia worshipped Kyuss above all things, they seemed to believe his power was waning.  The passages suggested that Kyuss was trapped in some form of large, stone monolith.  They said that he had managed to partially escape his prison once, fifteen-hundred years earlier, but he was unable to maintain his freedom for longer than a few short months before the defeat of his armies by a force referred to only as the Enemy, which also forced Kyuss back into his monolithic prison.  More obscure mentions in the writings included reference to a location called M’theskuss, the Writhing Tabernacle, which the Avolakias seemed to hold as the most holy site of Kyuss.  Mention was also made of their great ally, and the Voice of Kyuss, the Consort of the Five-Faced One, the eternal dragon Dragotha.  

All of this Giovanni related to his remaining companions before they gathered Drasek’s remains and returned to the sickhouse.  Back in the pantry, Grubber created a small, iron seal over the hole, preventing anyone from returning that way again.  Furtopia was horror-stricken when she saw Drasek’s body.
“By the Gods,” she whispered.
“Do not fear,” Grubber said, “I will keep his promise to you, and tend your charges.  The evil below has been cleansed.  It will not trouble you again.”

Concealing Drasek’s remains within their bag of holding, the group made their way once more to the Church of Blessed Deliverance, and into the crypt below.  There they found Rhorsk, still busy with his clean up.  They quickly explained what they had found and what had befallen Drasek.  The priest of Helm nodded in understanding.
“He made his wishes clear,” Grubber said in conclusion.  “If he were to die, he knew that it was his time.  He wanted to remain with Kelemvor.  We have no way to give him the proper rites in a city such as this, and we dare not turn him over to his brethren at the Scarlet Spire.”
“Leave it to me,” Rhorsk said quietly, “I will lay him to rest with all the honor that he deserves.  This place has been consecrated once again.  He will lie with others who have martyred themselves before him, and he will know peace.”


----------



## gfunk

I’VE GOT A GOLDEN TICKET

The following morning found the League members once more going their separate ways.  In the wake of Drasek’s death, Grubber was even more determined to fulfill his promise to Furtopia.  The old healer welcomed him, telling him there was much work to be done.  Entering the sickhouse, the goliath was disheartened to see that those who had been healed the day before had been replaced by more of the afflicted.  Grubber sighed, rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

Giovanni and his entourage crossed the lobby of the Deluxury, intending to make another trip to the merchant’s guild when the desk clerk hailed them.
“I have two messages for you, my lord,” the man said, passing the warlock one neatly rolled and tied piece of parchment, and one crudely folded sheet.  Giovanni read the rolled message first:

Lord Vito,
As you requested, I am contacting you to inform you of some news that has come to my attention.  It would seem that several foreign dignitaries who were invited to the Prince’s gala will not be attending.  It would be a significant loss of face for the Prince should his party not be fully rounded out.  It is my understanding that the extra invitations are now in the possession of Armhin Loratio, the proprietor of the Deluxury, and that he has been instructed to find people of suitable quality to give them to.  I hope this will be of help to you, and that you will remember who your friends are.

Trell.

The second message was significantly less articulate:

Be at the Ogre’s Hideout at sunset.  News from Malchor.

Hawk and Storm read the missives over Giovanni’s shoulder, and the civilar raised an eyebrow at the conclusion of the latter.  Giovanni glanced up to see the clerk looking at him expectantly.  The warlock cleared his throat.
“Is Mister Loratio in?” he asked.
“I believe he is, my Lord,” the clerk replied.
“Would you be so good as to inform him that Lord Giovanni Vito requests a brief meeting with him?”  As he spoke, he slid a platinum coin surreptitiously across the counter.
“Certainly, my Lord,” the clerk said smiling, as he made the coin vanish as if by magic.  He disappeared into a back room, returning a few moments later, still smiling.
“Mister Loratio awaits your pleasure.”
Giovanni instructed Hawk and Storm to wait for him, and then followed the clerk into the rear office.

Armhin Loratio was a jolly-looking fellow, but his eyes bespoke a shrewd and cunning mind beneath the façade.  He did not rise as Giovanni entered, but instead motioned for the warlock to be seated, and then dismissed the clerk.
“How may I be of service, Lord Vito?” the hotelier asked without preamble.
“As you may know,” Giovanni began, “I am from Sembia, seeking to establish some business contacts here in Starmantle.  I have, of course heard of the coming gala, and those who are expected to be in attendance.  It would present a wonderful opportunity for me to network with those in position to facilitate my venture.  I have, ah…heard that you might be the man to see if one were to be looking to procure an invitation to this fete.”
Loratio looked at him, unblinking, for a full thirty seconds before answering.
“Assuming what you have heard is true, the Prince prides himself on the quality of those he chooses to surround himself with.  I would insist on personally interviewing everyone in your retinue.”
“Of course,” Giovanni replied.  “I think you will find them a…colorful group.  I can have them assembled by this evening.”
“Very well,” Loratio said, rising and opening the door, “then I shall look forward to our meeting tonight.”

Faust materialized within a nimbus of blue light inside the catacombs beneath the Church of Blessed Deliverance.  Rhorsk did not seem surprised to see him.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” the priest said.  “I have already laid your comrade to rest.” He pointed to one of the newly sealed tombs, now inscribed with the symbol of Kelemvor.
“I have news,” Rhorsk continued.
Faust nodded, “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I would think you were a psion yourself.  It’s like you read my mind.”
“It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what information you would find useful,” the priest chuckled.  “It’s amazing what one can hear when one lurks in the sewers right beneath the feet of those above.  Rumor has it that the remnants of the Ebon Triad in Starmantle had allied themselves with a dragon of late.  However, I have also heard that same dragon was recently slain somewhere on the Sword Coast, but that its lair might be found somewhere beneath the Traitor’s Graves.”
“Traitor’s Graves?” Faust asked.
“It’s a small island in the river where the Prince disposes of dissidents.”
“I see,” Faust said.  “I don’t suppose you know what color this dragon was?”
“Black,” said Rhorsk.

Later that afternoon, the team regrouped on the patio outside the Deluxury and exchanged the information that they had uncovered.
“It’s almost sunset now,” Giovanni said.  “I suppose we should get over to the Ogre’s Hideout and see what Malchor sent us.”

“Not you lot again!” Frill Beskered moaned when he saw Giovanni and his friends enter the taproom.  “I told you once already, I ain’t looking for trouble!”
“And we don’t intend to bring you any,” Giovanni said placatingly.  “We just want to know if anyone new has checked in within the past two days.”
“Yeah, him!” Frill said jerking a thumb towards a table in the corner.  The group looked in that direction, but all they could see was a table stacked with ale steins.  They walked curiously over, and Giovanni cleared his throat.
“Did you leave a message at the Deluxury for Giovanni Vito?” 
“Who’s askin’?” came a gruff voice from the other side of the mugs.
“I am Lord Vito.”
“Lord is it?” scoffed the disembodied voice.  “Way I heard it, yer family booted ya out.  Ain’t lord of nothin’ no more.”
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Giovanni asked coolly.
“You can call me Pavel.”  A meaty hand casually swept the steins to the floor, revealing a scowling dwarf seated on the other side.  His frizzy black hair stood up in all directions, like a crazed corona around his head.  His beard was haphazardly bound in three braids.  He wore well-made, but battered armor, and two large axes were strapped to his back.  
“I was sent by Harpell.  He thought you lads…and lady, might need an extra hand.”
“Perhaps,” Hawk said, stepping forward, “but it might help us to know something about your credentials.”
In an eye blink, both axes were out and embedded in the stained wood of the table.  
“This is all the credentials I got!” Pavel bellowed, drawing the attention of several hobgoblins nearby.
“Yes, well, we typically have a six month trial membership period,” Faust smiled.
“I don’t work fer you, ugly,” the dwarf sneered.  “I’m on Harpell’s payroll.  He says help ya, and the price is right, so I’m here ta help, like it or not.”
“I see,” Hawk said.  “Well, as it just so happens, we were just on our way to a little rendezvous that might be right up your alley.”

A low, sodden hummock of mud and rocky soil rose only a few feet above the dark brown waters of the slowly flowing river.  Here and there, tangled patches of wiry undergrowth grew, interspersed with muddy pools of water.  Wooden frames in the shape of a Y protruded from the island in several places, and on some of them still hung the rotting bodies of traitors executed for heinous crimes.  A startling number of crows perched on these frames or hopped along the ground, where they hunted for bugs and worms.  

The League members slogged through the shallow waters of the river, which were only knee-deep at low tide, to the island, such as it was.  Clouds of mosquitoes filled the air, buzzing and biting constantly. No sooner had the last member of the group set foot on the island, than the waters around it began to boil and froth.  Six black-scaled dragons, roughly the size of small horses, with eyes that smoked with green vapor, crawled from the river, surrounding the party on all sides.  The group tensed, readying themselves for battle, but then one of the dragons spoke in its native, hissing tongue.  Only Faust was able to understand the creature.
“We have need of you,” the dragon said.  “Our lair has been invaded by a tremendous creature.  It exceeds us.  You will slay this invader for us, and we shall reward you handsomely.”
“Um…is it the dragon Ilthane that you speak of?” Faust answered hesitantly in the wyrm’s language.
The young dragon’s eyes darted towards its siblings and back.  “We do not know she of whom you speak.”
“I see,” Faust said, though he had not mentioned Ilthane’s gender.  “What does this creature look like?”
“It has the shape of our kind,” the dragon hissed, “yet much larger, and it has three heads made of bone.”
Faust could not imagine what such a creature might be.  “My companions do not understand you,” he said, buying time.  “I must translate your words for them.”  The dragon nodded, its eyes narrowing.  The psion quickly summarized its offer for his comrades.
“They actually expect us to work with them?” Hawk said incredulously.  “Tell them absolutely not!  We have had our share of deals with devils!”
“I agree whole-heartedly,” Faust said.  “Prepare yourselves while I tell them we decline their offer.”
Turning back to the dragon, Faust smiled.  “My friends say they would be happy to assist you, but you must first give us a moment to prepare for the coming battle.”
The dragon eyed the élan suspiciously, and then nodded again, slowly.  “Be hasty.”
Faust turned again to his friends, “They’re not taking it well.  Since black dragons breathe acid, I think it would be wise to protect ourselves, don’t you Grubber?”
The goliath looked momentarily confused, and then understanding dawned on him.  He spoke a prayer, conveying a minor miracle upon all of his team mates that would render them somewhat impervious to the effects of caustics.
“Good,” Faust said.  “Hawk, I don’t think they’re going to take no for an answer.  I suggest we strike…now!”

Havok didn’t hesitate.  A sizzling blast of eldritch energy leaped from his hand to the three nearest dragons, in a noxious chain.  The young dragons writhed in agony, and one began retching violently.  Quicker than thought, the warlock unleashed a second blast, this one striking only one of the beasts this time, but leaving it quivering and near death.

Right on the heels of Havok’s attack, Grubber raised one fist into the air, calling on Grumbar to rain a Storm of Shards down upon all of the dragons.  Havok’s first victim collapsed, while the eyes of the sickened wyrm suddenly lost their emerald glow as the creature was blinded by Grumbar’s holy power.  Wailing pitifully, the wretched dragon slithered back into the river.

The four remaining dragons, two on each side of the League, simultaneously stretched their maws and breathed forth streams of hissing acid, catching the entire group in a deadly crossfire.  When the steam from the fluid abated, not a mark shown on any of the heroes, Grubber’s magic having afforded them complete protection.

Lowering his shield, Hawk lunged forward, running the nearest dragon through with his family blade.  A stunning jolt of energy surged through the blade, leaving the young wyrm twitching uncontrollably.  

Taking a page from Havok’s book of tricks, Storm twined her hands above her head, generating a turbine of electricity there before hurling it at the two dragons nearest her.  The bolt arced between the pair, killing one instantly.

Faust was feeling cocky.  His companions seemed to be having no trouble dealing with the dragons, and the psion saw no point in wasting his precious mental energies.  Concentrating, he morphed himself into his now-familiar stone giant form and lumbered towards one of the dragons.  The dragon crouched as he approached, and when he tried to sweep the beast into a bear-hug, it fought like a cat, hissing and scratching before wriggling out of his arms.
“Having trouble, eh?” Pavel laughed, stomping on the retreating dragon’s tail and then burying one of his axes in its haunch.  The creature wailed and squirmed even harder to escape.

“Seems like you’re both having some trouble,” Havok laughed, before sending another chain of stinking energy into both the dragon attempting to escape, and its helpless sibling cowering before Hawk.  Now, that creature also began vomiting continuously.
“There is no honor in this,” Hawk said with a scowl as he brought his blade down upon the pitiful thing in front of him, putting an end to its suffering.

It was only a matter of time before the remaining pair of dragons fell before the combined onslaught of the League.
“I hope that was just the appetizer,” Pavel bellowed, “’cause I’m still hungry!”
“You heard what the dragons said,” Giovanni reminded him.  “It would seem something else has taken up residence in Ilthane’s lair.  The problem is, we just killed our only sources for finding it.”
“Not quite,” Faust replied.  “Black dragons typically lair in underground or underwater caves.  Since the young ones came up on land, we can assume the entrance is here on the island somewhere.  I’ll just have a look around.”  Morphing again, the psion assumed the form of a large, beetle-like creature…an umberhulk, and then promptly burrowed into the soggy ground.

A short time later, he reemerged and resumed his giant habitus. 
“There’s a shaft leading straight down just over there,” he indicated a nondescript patch of earth in the center of the island.  “There appears to be some sort of cave below it.”
“Let’s not waste time then,” Giovanni said.  “Everyone join hands.”  The group gathered around him, all except Faust, who in his current incarnation would have to provide his own means of transportation, being too large for the warlock to accommodate.  In a flash of light, they vanished.

The earthen-walled cavern reeked of sharp, bitter chemicals strong enough to water the eyes and steal the breath.  The walls were a tangled mess of roots, mud and stone.  Water dripped constantly from them, gathering in puddles on the floor and collecting in a fuming pool to the east.  North of the cavern entrance, four large, glass canisters once stood, now shattered with their contents washed away.  To the northeast, a ledge was heaped with smashed containers, crates, and other unrecognizable ruins.  To the east, a second ledge was similarly cluttered, only this time with alchemical equipment and large, ruined tables of stone and wood.

Havok scanned the room quickly, his fiend-touched eyes showing him nothing concealed by invisibility within his line of sight.  Cautiously, Faust approached the pool, allowing his Touchsight to peer beneath its calm surface.  Nothing lay there save more debris and a few skulls.  Suddenly, the still pool began to churn violently, sliding up onto itself and quickly filling out into the form of a lumbering, draconic beast.  The thing’s body was semi-translucent and gelatinous, with streamers of acid dripping from its flanks to sizzle on the ground.  Some of these strands writhed and cracked like whips.  Its long neck ended in a disturbing tangle of skulls, some human, some draconic, and some something in between.

Before Faust could react, the skulls screamed simultaneously, and as they did so, a great gout of yellow-green acid spewed forth, drenching the psion from head-to-toe.  Though Grubber’s spell still protected him, Faust still felt a few sharp stings on his flesh, and he knew that had it not been for that protection, he might well be dead.  

Havok had conserved most of his strength for this moment, and now he held nothing back, hurling back-to-back surges of his most powerful blasts.  Both passed harmlessly through the creature.  On the heels of this came a fiery burst from Storm, which proved equally ineffective.  Both arcanists stared at each other, mouths hanging open.

“Maybe steel’ll do where magic can’t,” Pavel snarled, and he charged forward, Hawk right behind him.  The dwarf reached the creature first, slashing one of his axes furiously across its long neck…and standing dumbfounded as the weapon cleaved nothing but air.  Hawk took a different tact, and aimed his blow at one of the undulating skulls.  His blade connected solidly, and a large crack appeared in the bone, but almost immediately it began to knit itself back together.

“Just hold it there!” Faust shouted at the warriors as he stepped back from the edge of the caustic pool.  Concentrating, he manifested a writhing current of fire from the center of his brow, sending it like a whip at the monster.  This too passed through the beast as if it were non-existent.  The psion was beginning to believe that no magic of any sort could touch it.  Another failed salvo from Havok and Storm only reaffirmed this belief.  Even Hawk’s blade failed to connect a second time.

It was Grubber who stumbled upon the key.  Taking a chance, and mainly trying to buy his friends some time, he chanted a prayer, creating a whirling wall of blades that cut directly through the space in which the abomination stood.  To his, and everyone’s amazement, the blades actually seemed to harm the beast.  It screamed in an unearthly shriek, and backed quickly out of the biting wall, placing it between itself and its attackers.  Then Grubber understood.  The blades were made of pure force, an energy which could harm even intangible beings such as ghosts and wraiths.  Perhaps this creature was similar in nature.  “Force!” he cried to his spell-casting comrades.  “Use force effects!”

Unfortunately, Faust had no such options available to him, but he did understand the nature of incorporeality, and knew that such creatures tended to shift rapidly between their solid and intangible forms.  He could still get lucky and strike the creature with his energy current when it was momentarily solid.  Focusing his will, he lashed out again, and this time the flaming whip actually burned the beast, causing it to wail louder.  At that moment, however, it breathed its searing breath again, catching Pavel and Hawk, as well as the psion.  Though Grubber’s spell again deflected the bulk of the effect from Faust, Pavel and Hawk did not possess the toughened flesh of a stone giant, and Faust could see their skin blister and crisp under the assault.  Yet the warriors did not falter. Striking through the intervening wall of blades, Pavel managed to connect twice with his twin blades, though Hawk could not duplicate his earlier effort.

Havok and Storm both shrugged at Grubber, unable to generate the type of magic that was required.  The goliath knew that it was solely up to him.  As the creature breathed a third time upon the warriors and Faust, Grubber called upon Grumbar one final time, calling down a hammer-blow of righteous power.  The concussive force struck the horror at the base of its neck, severing it from its amorphous body.  In an instant, the beast’s entire form collapsed back into the pool.

A thorough search of Ilthane’s lair turned up thousands of corroded and useless coins and pieces of jewelry.  Storm identified most of the smashed equipment as belonging to a very sophisticated alchemical lab.  Apparently, some catastrophe had destroyed the lab and possibly caused a mixing of the chemicals within it that created the abomination.  Alas, they would never know, since Ilthane had taken her secrets with her to her grave.

The League made their way back to the Deluxury, where Giovanni arranged for baths and new clothes to be provided for his cohorts before their meeting with Armhin Loratio.  When the appointed hour arrived, the group went to the proprietor’s office, and were escorted directly in.
“Well, well,” the innkeeper said, pacing slowly in front of the motley crew.  “You were certainly telling the truth, Lord Vito, when you described your associates as ‘colorful.’ However, as I mentioned to you before, the Prince expects a certain caliber of guest from me.  So why don’t we start with you.  Tell me something of your past accomplishments and your future goals.”
Giovanni nodded.  “I understand perfectly.  Well, I should start by mentioning that several of my teammates and I were very recently the winners of the Waterdeep Champion’s Games.  We also were instrumental in ridding the town of Daggerford of a certain dragon that was plaguing it.”
“Intriguing,” Loratio said, still pacing.  “So where will you go from here?”
Giovanni smiled, “My goals are simple.  I intend to save the world…whether it wants to be saved or not.”
“Bravo,” Loratio grinned, “and what of you my large friend?” He stopped in front of Grubber.  “What do they call you?”
“I am Grubber,” the goliath replied, bowing.  “I am a traveling priest of Grumbar, the Earth Lord.  I do not claim valorous titles or honor for myself.  I seek merely to spread the word of the Unchanging One in a troubled world.  My Lord has bestowed upon me certain talents, and with these I minister to the ill and infirm, both physically and spiritually.”
“I see,” Loratio said, rather dryly.  “Just be sure that your god’s goals do not cross purposes with the Black Hand.”  He moved on to Hawk.  “What’s your story?”
“I serve Lord Vito,” the civilar said.  “I have seen to his safety and protection on more than one occasion.  I also acquitted myself respectably at the Champion’s Games.”  He hooked his thumbs in the ornate Champions Belt around his waist.  “As for my personal goals…I think I’d like to own my own continent some day.” He smiled and winked.
The proprietor looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed as if sharing a secret joke.  He moved to stand before Faust.
“My but you’re an interesting looking creature,” he said, barely masking his disgust at the élan’s appearance, and smell.
“I’ve been called worse,” the psion said, smiling from ear to ear.  “I’m Faust, but you can call me Holocaust.  I am an élan, and I have lived for more than four-hundred years.  To list all of my accomplishments over that time period would take your lifetime.  Suffice it to say that I can spin a tale or two.  I’ve seen the rise and fall of many of the Great, and I intend to witness many more.”
Once again Loratio smiled knowingly before turning his attention to Pavel.  “You look like a feisty one.”
“Ye bet yer arse!” the dwarf snarled.  “Pavel’s the name, and killin’s my game.  My only goal is to stay alive long enough to kill everyone’o me backstabbin’ kin that banished me from me clan.”
“The Prince will simply love you,” Loratio drawled.  Finally, he moved to Storm, letting his eyes roam slowly over her body.  “And what do you do, my lovely?”
Storm lowered her eyes demurely.  “Lord Vito’s pleasure is my command,” she said quietly.
“Of course it is,” Loratio leered.  “I’m sure you will strike the Prince’s fancy as well.”

Finally, the innkeeper moved back to lean against his desk, eyeing them all critically.  He sighed deeply, and motioned to Hawk.  “You.  Come with me for a moment.  I’d like a word in private.”  Hawk looked questioningly at Giovanni.  The warlock nodded and the civilar followed Loratio to a smaller inner office.
“Let me be frank,” the proprietor began, “I can tell that there’s more to you than meets the eye, but I’ll not pry into your business.  Suffice it to say that you are truly the only one of your band that I think will really fit in with the Prince’s crowd.  Now, I will provide you with invitations for all of your colleagues, but let me be clear that their behavior is on your shoulders.  If they cause any problems, you will be the one to pay the price.  Are we clear?”
Hawk nodded, “Crystal.”
“Good.”  Loratio said, and then retrieved a strongbox from a cabinet and unlocked it.  He withdrew six rolled pieces of parchment tied with silk, and presented them to the civilar.  Hawk took one of them and unrolled it:


----------



## gfunk

TWENTY YEARS OF JOY

You are hereby and cordially invited to attend and behold the wonder and beauty of our magnificent ruler on this, the twentieth anniversary of his liberation of our fair city!

Your carriage awaits two hours before sundown on the eve of this magnificent event.
                                        ______________________
Scheduled Course of Events

Gathering in the Vertiginous Terrace
                                        ______________________
The Harlequinade Mortificatio…Premiere!
                                        ______________________
Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians
                                        ______________________
Lively Sports and Baiting…Win The Golden Egg!
                                        ______________________
Bowling the Devious Heads…Win The Silver Skull!
                                        ______________________
Five Course Feast
                                        ______________________
Song! Dance! Braggery! (as time permits)

‘Perfect,’ Hawk said dryly through the Mindlink he shared with the others.

The next morning found Faust and Pavel seated at a table in the taproom of the Ogre’s Hideout.  Faust wouldn’t exactly be welcomed at the Scarlet Spire without Drasek, and the pretence of the Deluxury didn’t suit him, so he and Grubber had taken up temporary residence in the dorm-like common room of the inn.  Pavel has just finished his sixth pint of ale, and was beginning yet another story of his time in the Underdark and raiding Menzoberranzan when a shadow fell across the table.  Standing over them was a large hobgoblin clad in a breastplate, with a large shield and a bastard sword strapped across his back.  A raven perched on one shoulder.  Behind him stood a surprisingly clean, smaller hobgoblin wearing robes.  
“Good morning, gentlemen,” the larger hobgoblin said in a cultured voice.  “I am B’kruss, commander of the Knights of Nelanther.”
“So what?” Pavel growled.  “Ya want a medal or somethin’?”
“Charming,” said B’kruss.  “I merely wanted to introduce myself to fellow guests at Prince Embuirhan’s Gala.  Word spreads fast, though I must confess, I though that I knew all of the invited guests.  Imagine my surprise when I heard there would unexpected arrivals.”
“World’s full’o surprises,” Pavel sneered.  “Best get used to it.”
“Tell me,” B’kruss continued, ignoring the dwarf, “from where do you hail?”
“All over,” Pavel snapped.
“Waterdeep,” said Faust.
“Ah,” said B’kruss, “a city supposedly renowned for its culture and nobility.  Surely the two of you must be from some notable House there?”
“Not at all,” Faust said.  “We are merely guests of more well-connected friends.  Guilty by association, if you will.”
B’kruss frowned.  “I see.  So you are nothing more than coattail hangers.  I thought as much.  Your benefactor probably paid for invitations on the black market.”
“Are ya tryin’ to piss me off, ya overgrown kobold?” Pavel said in a low, dangerous voice.  “’Cause if ya are, ye’re doin’ a fine job of it.”
“How typical,” B’kruss drawled.  “Threats of violence.  The final recourse of the weak-minded.  Among my people we settle our differences in more…refined ways.”
“Like what?” Pavel barked.  “Buggerin’ each other’s mothers?”
B’kruss’ eyes narrowed dangerously.  “I would watch your tongue, dwarf, before you find yourself deprived of it.”
“I’m shakin’ big boy!” Pavel roared, leaping to his feet.  “Now, if it’s a fight yer lookin’ for, just name the time and place!”
B’kruss visibly regained control of his emotions.  “I will meet your challenge, but I will not shed your blood.  I hereby invite you to pit your skills against mine in the Mindless Courage of the Dreadful Mauling!”

At least a hundred hobgoblins were gathered around the corral behind the inn, elbowing and shoving for position.  Faust was barely able to keep his spot perched atop a fence rail.  B’kruss and Pavel stood in the middle of the enclosure, both weaponless, but still in their mail.  
“The rules are simple, even for one such as yourself,” B’kruss said to the dwarf, though his voice was pitched so that all could hear.  Whichever of us can wrestle and pin Gristlegape in the shortest period of time shall be declared the winner.
“Gristlegape?”  Pavel asked skeptically.
“V’juss, if you would do the honors!” B’kruss called to his smaller companion.  The robed hobgoblin walked inside the stable, and returned a moment later leading a monstrous boar, fully as large as a horse, with bony spines protruding from its coarse hide.  
“I will go first,” B’kruss said, “but fair warning dwarf…if you harm Gristlegape, you forfeit the match.”  Pavel shrugged and retreated to the edge of the corral.  

The boar squealed as V’juss released it, and rushed madly around the ring, churning up dust and dirt in a large cloud.  As it passed close to B’kruss, the hobgoblin lunged, locking his arms around the pig’s mid-section.  Gristlegape squealed louder, and threw its head back, trying to gore the hobgoblin.  B’kruss managed to evade the razor-sharp tusks, and then with a grunt of effort, he threw himself to the ground, bringing the boar with him.  Gristlegape bucked and squirmed, kicking its feet and flinging its head in all directions, but still the hobgoblin held on.
“Time!” V’juss called, and the assembled crowed roared their approval.  B’kruss had managed to pin the boar in just under thirty seconds.  

When B’kruss released Gristlegape, the boar once again began charging around the circle, rushing at many of those hobgoblins nearest the fence.  Pavel moved cautiously towards the center of the ring, waiting for just the right moment.  Finally, the pig noticed him, lowered its head and charged.  The dwarf stepped aside at the last possible moment and seized the boar around the neck as it passed.  Pavel dug his heels into the ground for traction, trying to stop Gristlegape’s momentum.

Unnoticed among the crowd, Faust’s brow furrowed slightly.  In that moment, an invisible, whip-like tendril of pure psychic energy lashed out towards the boar, penetrating its feeble mind.  The effect was immediate.  All of the rage drained out of Gristlegape, replaced by a feeling of fear and hopelessness that its puny mind could not comprehend.  Its psyche collapsed in on itself, and the boar curled itself into a fetal position.  Pavel felt the pig go limp, but remembering B’kruss’ warning, he continued to wrestle with it, tossing it this way and that to maintain the appearance that it still struggled.
“Time!” V’juss shouted again, and Pavel released his hold, the unconscious boar sliding to the ground.  B’kruss rushed over immediately and knelt beside his mount.  “You killed him!” the hobgoblin shouted.
“Bah!” Pavel snapped.  “He’s just asleep.  Patented dwarven wrestlin’ move.  He’ll come around in a few minutes.  What’s the word baldy?” he shouted at V’juss.
“Twenty-four seconds,” the hobgoblin said quietly.  Stunned silence and gasps of disbelief came from the crowd.  
“I guess that makes me the winner,” Pavel said, standing over B’kruss.  The large hobgoblin stood slowly and glared at the dwarf for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking away.


----------



## gfunk

EVERYONE WHO’S ANYONE

At dawn on the seventh day of the League’s visit to Starmantle, the members were wakened by a tremendous din.  Trumpets sounded across the city, every drum, horn and bell in every place of worship called out to announce that the Day of Great Rejoicing had arrived.  The streets thronged with happy, smiling faces, the locals cheered and rejoiced, babies were held aloft and patriotic songs about the divine mercy of Embuirhan were sung at every corner.  

As the day wore on, the group made their preparations for the evening’s festivities.  Hawk and Havok both donned noble raiment, with their armor worn beneath.  Hawk even deigned to leave his ancestral weapon in one of the vaults in the Deluxury, but his shield he tucked inside a magical glove he had purchased for just that purpose.  As for Havok, he was not altogether unarmed either.  The warlock had managed to procure a small, flesh-colored pouch that molded itself perfectly to the skin of his abdomen.  Inside, he secreted several of his more useful wands and scrolls.  Storm, still using her dweomered headpiece to appear as a beautiful elf maid, purchased a glamorous dress cut to flatter her own natural assets.

For his part, Faust didn’t bother dressing up.  Despite his four-hundred plus years in existence, he still did not understand mortal propensities for outward accoutrements.  He simply put on his usual non-descript clothing, and the various magical baubles he wore as jewelry.  At the other extreme was Pavel.  The dwarf polished his armor as best he could, and then purchased a royal ensemble, complete with a flowing, ermine-trimmed purple robe and a gold circlet.  This contrasted with his personal hygiene, which amounted to picking most of the food out of his beard, and slicking his hair down with bacon grease.  Reluctantly, he stowed his axes in a locked trunk.    

Grubber spent the day working with Furtopia, practically until the time the royal carriage was to pick him up for the gala.  The pair had discovered that much of the disease being spread among the shanties was the result of both rat and mosquito vectors.  The priest was determined to come up with a solution.  He too did not bother with finery, instead donning his armor and his simple holy symbol, though he also left his weapon at the Ogre’s Hideout.

Two hours before sunset, the carriage, almost shocking in its decadence, arrived at the Ogre’s Hideout.  The vehicle was gold-plated, and of incredible size.  Its interior was sumptuous, with leather seats padded with down and gold lanterns burning pleasantly-scented oil.  A tray contained several crystal decanters of wine and silver salvers of sweet-meats.  It was pulled by four trolls, each dressed in ill-fitting suits designed to call out their hideous countenances all the more.  The carriage was driven by a lanky, wide-mouthed man with black robes and a tall, black top hat.  A sizeable crowd of hobgoblins gathered outside the inn as Faust, Grubber and Pavel boarded.
“See ya around, losers!”  Pavel jeered at the goblinoids, though he noticed a second coach arriving behind theirs, with B’kruss and V’juss getting inside.  The hobgoblin captain shot a look of pure hatred at the dwarf.  Pavel saluted him in kind with a gesture that would make even a dwarven miner blush.  From the Ogre’s Hideout, the carriage traveled to the Deluxury to pick up Havok and his party, and then on to the palace.  

The red stone wall that surrounded Embuirhan’s palace supported dozens of statues…all which were of the Prince.  The grounds featured many gardens set with beautiful orchids, monkey-puzzle trees and small waterfalls and ponds.  The palace itself was a fanciful hodgepodge of various styles, with a large central core.  Beyond the gates, the carriage followed a steep, rising path, flanked by polished skeletons in gibbets.  The path wound up the rocky promontory to the main hall, where the guests were asked to decoach, and then led to a verdant terrace overlooking a two-hundred foot drop to the Dragon Reach.  

A dozen or more guests were already present on the lawn, milling about in small groups and talking quietly.  It was Giovanni that first noticed the one glaring difference between the other invitees and themselves…each bore an expensively wrapped gift!
“Did Loratio say anything to you about gifts?” the warlock asked Hawk.
“Not a word, but perhaps he expected we would know the proper protocol.”
“So what do we do?” Faust asked.  “I would hate to start off the evening by offending our host.”
“The ledger,” Giovanni replied, looking thoughtful.
“What??”  Faust looked stunned.  “Are you serious?  Why would you want to turn that over to him?”
The ledger which the warlock spoke of had been among a small cache of valuables they had discovered in the lair of the Ebon Aspect.  At first it had seemed to be simply an outdated list of goods stored by the cell.  However, upon further examination, Giovanni had discovered a secret page, concealed by magic.  On it had been written an exhaustive list of every member of the Ebon Triad in Faerun, including their numerous allies, and the locations in which these individuals lived.  It contained some familiar names:  Theldrick, Prendergast, The Faceless One, and Ilthane.  Its value was immeasurable.
“We know of the Prince’s hatred of the Ebon Triad,” Giovanni replied.  “Don’t you think he would be extraordinarily pleased to have a list of his enemies at his fingertips?  Besides, you already committed the list to memory.”
“I’m not sure about this,” the psion said doubtfully.  “We can’t be positive that Embuirhan is not secretly an agent of the Triad.”
“If that’s true,” Giovanni countered, “then this might be all we need to flush him out into the open.  We win either way.”
The others could not deny the logic of Giovanni’s argument, and it was agreed that they would present the ledger as their gift.

It was after this that the group began to take full notice of the other attendees.  A few quiet questions of the circulating waiters gained them the names of all the guests.  B’kruss and V’juss they already knew.  The hobgoblins were speaking quietly with a rather handsome half-orc whom they were told was Mariss Quemp, a one-time mercenary leader-turned aristocrat.  B’kruss cast several pointed looks in the direction of the League, and Quemp nodded with interest.  
An almost impossibly fat dwarf, with a rosy red nose and piggy eyes, stood near the appetizer table.  He was called Hoff, and was captain of a rather notorious group of pirates and brigands.
Two human men sipped wine and laughed good-naturedly.  One was iron-haired, and weather-beaten, with a hook instead of a right hand.  This was Lord Malaven Kiraven, a captain of Starmantle’s border patrol.  The other was dark-skinned with a small goatee.  He was Captain Vulras, the commander of a squad of rangers who patrolled the southern wilderness for orcs and other raiders.  
An exotic and mysterious woman sat alone near the edge of the terrace.  She appeared to be in her late fifties with a thin face that had aged well.  She wore her shocking red hair in braids woven around an elaborate headdress.  Her clothes were rich and royal, and she wore and excessive amount of jewelry.  Giovanni was interested to learn that she was, in fact, Merchantmaster Mahuudril, leader of the Red Blades Merchant Consortium.  
A rather strange looking duo stood out and apart from the other groups.  The first was a wide-faced man in his late fifties.  He had rosy cheeks and a pair of wire spectacles, and he was dressed in a clashing riot of flamboyant clothing and a strange, pointed hat.  His companion was a quaggoth, though far from the animalistic barbarian typical of his kind.  He wore gentleman’s garb and possessed a cultured demeanor.  Grubber recognized him instantly.  He was none-other than Shag Solomon, once a member of the side-show at Daggerford’s Emporium.  How odd to find him here, of all places.  The human was named Professor Montague Marat, a man the waiter said had provided Embuirhan with all of his palace staff.  
A halfling woman, slightly overweight and a little nervous looking sat chatting with a male gnome, who was extraordinarily long-nosed with a magnificent handlebar moustache.  These were Miszen Mitchwillow, a well-respected merchant, and Toris, a visiting noble from one of the other city-states along the Dragon Coast.
The waiter was just about to point out the final two party-guests, when Faust stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” the psion said.  “I believe we’ve already been introduced.”

Immediately, Giovanni’s armor began shouting inside his head.  “He’s undead master!  Beware!”  The warlock looked in the direction Faust was already walking towards, and found himself so stunned he had to remind himself to breathe.  The man clothed in rather outdated noble garb was Moreto, the true ghoul Faust had released from Icosiol’s tomb.  He turned as the élan approached, and a quizzical look appeared on his face.  This turned to surprise as he looked past Faust towards his companions.
“Well, well,” the ghoul laughed, “I should have known my little diversion wouldn’t hold you lot for very long!  See here,” he elbowed his companion, “these are the ones I was telling you about!”
The pale human next to him, dressed completely in black, turned around.  This time it was Grubber who gasped.  
“You!” the goliath shouted, taking several involuntary steps forward.
Slowly, a smile spread over the gaunt man’s face.  “It’s been a long time,” he said in a mournful voice.  “I never thought to see you again, least of all in these surroundings.  But tell me, where are your friends?  I do not recognize your current traveling companions.”
“While I recognize yours, Filge!”  Grubber spat.  “I see you have not mended your ways, as you promised!”
The necromancer laughed, “I am hardly the person you remember.  My grave-robbing days are long past.”  It was at this point that Grubber noticed the symbol hanging from a silver chain around Filge’s neck…the mark of the Liche-lord Velsharoon! 
“Perhaps you do not recognize me,” Faust said to Moreto.  “When last we met I seemed no more than a dragonet familiar.”
“It was you…” Moreto said in astonishment.
“Yes,” Faust nodded, “but you need not worry about repercussions from the inquisitor whom I traveled with.  He recently met an untimely end at the hands of an Ebon Triad abomination.”
“Ah,” Moreto smiled.  “More’s the pity.”
“Alas, I cannot say the same for him,” Faust hooked a finger at Hawk, who had approached the group.  
“Well, I owe you all my gratitude for my freedom,” the ghoul said amiably.
“And I as well,” Filge said, “at least to the goliath.”  
“What strange coincidence brings you here?” Faust asked quickly before any hasty actions could be taken by his comrades.
“After I left you,” Moreto replied, “I made my way to Waterdeep.  There I met my dear Mr. Filge.  As it turns out, he and I have similar research interests.  Our pursuit of our studies has led us here to Starmantle.”
At that moment, Giovanni began reciting the opening verses from the Apostolic Scrolls.  When he’d finished he asked, “Would your interests have anything to do with that?  If so, then we have something in common.”
Moreto smiled coldly, his pointed teeth dimpling his lower lip.  “Our interests may be the same, but I am certain that our goals are not.”
Hawk and Grubber automatically reached for weapons they were not carrying, but Faust quickly stepped between them.  “Our paths will cross again.”
“I’m counting on it,” Moreto said quietly.

At that moment, trumpets sounded from the entrance to the palace.  As one, the guests turned.  There in the doorway stood a handsome man in his early forties.  He wore his hair loose and just off his shoulders, and he was dressed at the cutting edge of style.  On his left stood a sinister little man who was only two-and-a-half feet high.  He clutched a mummified raven to his chest and looked around nervously.  He wore crimson leather and a strange three-pointed, but floppy hat wrapped in black and white ribbons and studded with gems.  To the Prince’s right was a woman who was a strange combination of the beautiful and the grotesque.  Her piercing blue eyes matched those of Embuirhan, but her face was misaligned, with the right half about half an inch above the left, giving her nose an ugly twist and her mouth a perpetual upturned sneer.  Her back was hunched, with a fine cloak attempting unsuccessfully to conceal it.  
“My lords, ladies and other honored guests!” the little man cried.  “I am the Ominous Fabler.  Prince Embuirhan bids you welcome, and I trust you will enjoy the hospitality of his humble home!”  He looked around, leered at some of the guests, then flapped his free arm and lifted the mummified raven up on his shoulder.  Using the dead bird as a ventriloquist’s dummy, he chirped out in a raspy voice, “You may now present your gifts to honor the Prince!”  He then stepped back, giggling quietly as the attendees reached into folds in their cloaks and pockets.

One by one each guest came forward to bow before Embuirhan and present their offering, ranging from jewelry to bottles or rare wine, to exotic caged animals.  In the case of Mahuudril, it was a horse that flew onto the lawn on smoking hooves, with fiery eyes and flames blowing from its nostrils.  Last came the League, led by Giovanni.
“My Lord Prince,” the warlock said, bowing low, “allow me to introduce Impotent Rage, champions of the Games of Waterdeep!  During our brief stay in your city, we recently uncovered a previously undiscovered lair of the hated Ebon Triad, and there we came upon a fabulous prize!”  He produced the ledger, placing it in Embuirhan’s hands.  The Prince scanned the pages with curiosity until he came to the list.  Then his eyes went wide, and he snapped his gaze up to Giovanni.  
“Can you prove the veracity of this?” he demanded.
“We can tell you exactly where the cell is located,” Giovanni replied, “as well as the lair of the black dragon Ilthane, who, as you can see, aided the cult in Starmantle.”
“I will indeed verify this,” Embuirhan nodded, “and if your story is true, then this is indeed a priceless gift.  I am well pleased!”
The other guests politely applauded, but the looks on many faces revealed anything but well wishes.

The Prince then proceeded across the lawn, and behind him came a strange menagerie of freaks who acted as palace servants.  There were fat ladies, pin heads, men without legs, women without eyes, and all manner of deformity on display.  Grubber recognized all of them as former side-show attractions from Daggerford’s Emporium.  He, Giovanni and Storm also noted something else.  Each of them had the ability to see creatures cloaked by invisibility, and so it was that they saw the quartet of Blessed Angels that silently flanked Embuirhan.

Immediately after the gift-giving, servants appeared with padded chairs for each guest.  The fool then stepped forward and winded a strange horn.  “My masters!  We beg you to enjoy our little tale…’tis a small thing I penned myself.  A tale of menace, revenge, lust and death which I have called ‘The Harlequinade Mortificatio.’”  The fool moved back, and as he did so, the servants arranged a small stage with a backdrop of a town street at night.  A wooden moon wafted over the scene, and suddenly a host of animated skeletons dressed as clowns marched on stage.  
‘Master, they’re undead too!’  Giovanni’s armor spoke into his mind.  ‘You needn’t point out the incredibly obvious,’ the warlock snapped.  ‘The merely obvious will do.’

The play was performed in silence, apart from some guests applauding as the skeletal clowns performed particularly ridiculous stunts, such as drinking wine.  It soon became obvious that the entire plot recounted how each of the skeletons was acting out its own death, always by suspicious circumstances that were not quite accidents.  Throughout the play, which lasted the better part of an hour, servants fluttered about with wine and trays of lightly roasted almond biscuits of exquisite taste.  Hawk barely concealed his utter disgust at the whole affair.  That the Prince and his toadies were completely debauched was without question.  The civilar felt soiled just sitting among them.  At the play’s end, the curious actors bowed and everyone (except Hawk) applauded.  The Ominous Fabler appeared again, this time dressed as a scarecrow on stilts and with a hare’s skull where his head should have been.  He led the guests across the grounds to the next event, singing a song about boiling sparrows as he went.

Eventually the guests arrived at the charmingly named Balcony of Expectorance, a wide deck jutting from the cliffside about twenty feet down from the palace.  It was sheltered from the wind and the view of the Dragon Reach coastline was even more magnificent than that from the Vertiginous Terrace.  

The fool trundled up onto the balcony railing, somehow managing to balance there on stilts as he addressed the party-goers.  “And now, welcome to the Balcony of Expectorance, my friends, and the Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians!”  Two deformed servants marched out, carrying between them a large rack of repeating crossbows.  Another group of servants wheeled out a number of cages filled with brightly colored red birds…corollaxes.  “Please select your weapon,” the Fabler continued, “and make ready to…”  Prince Embuirhan cut him off with a dismissive slap as he stepped forward.  The fool teetered, but managed to catch his balance and clambered down from the ledge as the Prince selected a magnificent looking crossbow and said, “I’m feeling particularly lucky today.  If anyone can bring down more than me, I’ll give the lucky soul a thousand gold coins.”  

As the Prince readied his weapon, the Fabler released ten of the birds, which immediately scattered and began flashing sprays of color as they wheeled in the air.  With uncanny accuracy, Embuirhan brought down three of the birds which his first volley, reloaded, and then took down three more.
“Six!” he cried jubilantly.  “Now, who’s next for the challenge?”
One by one the other guests took their turns, several of them killing a few corollaxes, but none coming close to the Prince’s total.  When the League’s turn arrived, Pavel shot first, but the surly dwarf only managed to slay one bird.  It was obvious he was more comfortable with an axe in his hands than a crossbow.  B’kruss sneered at him as he stepped away from the balcony, to which the dwarf replied with several loud oinks and squeals.  B’kruss’ eyes narrowed dangerously.
Faust also hit one corollaxe, but failed to kill it.  Storm had better luck, slaying two.  Giovanni also killed two, and then wounded a third.  When that one refused to fall, the warlock cursed, “Damn bird!” and reflexively fired off a thin beam of eldritch energy, which also missed.
“Not fair,” the Prince said in a chiding voice, but smiled nonetheless.  Grubber refused to attempt the sport, earning him a scowl from Embuirhan, leaving Hawk to go last.  The civilar put on an amazing display, practically blowing four birds apart with his powerful shots.  Alas, it was not enough.
“Well done!” Embuirhan applauded.  “Perhaps another sport will be better suited to you!”

Throughout the shoot, the servants passed roasted corollaxe glazed in honey and mulled spice wine amongst the guests.  Again, Grubber abstained.  After the slaughter, the Fabler led the party back into the house, through a maze of doors and halls, and eventually down into the extensive basements.  He did so by walking on his hands the entire trip, finally leading the group into one of the Prince’s underground miniature arenas.  The guests were directed to sit on the curved benches surrounding the sunken fighting pit (which contained two four-foot square bird cages swathed in dark silks) while the Fabler explained the nature of the event.  The misshapen gnome retrieved a small oak box from a locked chest and opened it, withdrawing a pair of silver rings.  
“And now, we come to some lively sports and baiting, my friends!  These rings are ensorcelled with magic such that those who wear them can direct the actions and movements of one who has been…specially prepared as a receiver.”  He hobbled over to the Prince and handed one of the rings to him.
“The Prince would like to challenge one of you to an honest fight, utilizing what lives at the other end of these rings as proxies.  Are there any of you brave enough to meet the Prince’s champion on the field of battle?”
None of the other guests immediately rose to the occasion, so it was Giovanni who first raised his hand to volunteer.

The warlock placed the ring on his finger, and was immediately overwhelmed with a disorienting sensation of seeing, feeling, and hearing through the body of some creature mentally linked through it.  Just then, the Fabler pulled a silk cord, releasing a dozen yowling, hissing feral cats into the arena.  The frightened animals immediately began racing around in circles, fighting among themselves.  The Fabler then raised his voice over the cacophony.  “If you can create more ornaments than the prince, and if you can survive his champion’s wrath, you’ll win a most fabulous prize indeed.”  With that, he pulled a second cord, and the cages in the pit below opened, revealing two cockatrices…strange, rooster-like creatures with the power to turn other living things to stone with their touch.  

Immediately, Giovanni saw the Prince raise his hand, and one of the cockatrices darted towards a nearby cat, pecking at it with its vicious beak.  Instantly, the cat went rigid, petrified into a very life-like stone statue.  Giovanni now grasped the nature of the game, and commanded his own cockatrice into action.  During the fight, dishes of eggs were served…boiled ones of unusual size, eggs scrambled with fine meats, and even a strange cocktail of egg mixed with rum.  In the end, Giovanni managed to turn five cats to stone, while Embuirhan only took four.  The remaining three were killed outright.  Then, the Prince launched his cockatrice at Giovanni’s and a furious struggle ensued.  The creatures were immune to their own petrifying touch, but not to their sharp beaks.  Blood flew as the little monsters ripped and tore at each other, but finally it was Embuirhan’s champion that still stood, Giovanni’s challenger’s throat gripped in its maw.  
“Another valiant effort,” the Prince said good-naturedly.  “Better luck next time.”


The Fabler led the guests back upstairs and out into a long, narrow garden on the north side of the palace.  By this time, twilight had fallen, and the garden had been lit by numerous differently-colored flames inside skulls hanging from delicate silver and golden chains.  A mound of differently colored human skulls had been arranged at one end of the garden.  As the group filed out onto the lawn, Faust spoke softly to B’kruss.
“I just wanted to thank you again, my friend, for giving Pavel the opportunity to best you in that little contest.  It’s simply done wonders for his self-esteem!”
“Enough!” the hobgoblin roared, whirling around in a rage.  “My Lord Prince!” he bellowed.  “This dwarf has insulted my honor again, and again!  I demand satisfaction!”
Embuirhan looked around with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.  
“What is it you request?” he asked.
“A duel!”  B’kruss shouted.
“You have been challenged master dwarf,” the Prince said, turning to Pavel.  “How do you reply?”
“Bring it on!”  Pavel growled.
“Very well,” the Prince said.  “The challenge has been made and accepted.  As the challenged, Master Pavel has the right to name the nature of the duel.”
“Dwarven axes,” Pavel said softly, without the slightest hesitation.

Two servants quickly brought out silk-lined boxes with a gleaming axe in each, taking one to each of the duelers.
“I hope their ain’t no hard feelin’s for me pinnin’ that whore of a wife of yers!”  Pavel grinned.  B’kruss roared, leaping forward with his axe.  The hobgoblin hooked the head of the axe beneath the haft of Pavel’s, and attempted to wrench the dwarf’s weapon from his hands.  Pavel twisted his own weapon, ripping B’kruss’ axe free instead, and dropping it to the ground at his feet.  Still smiling, Pavel reached down and picked the weapon up, dodging a clumsy punch from the hobgoblin as he did so.  Now Pavel stood before the unarmed mercenary, an axe gripped in each hand.  B’kruss lunged, seizing the dwarf in a bear-hug, and almost lifting him from his feet.  Pavel grunted and flexed his arms mightily, tearing loose B’kruss’ grip.  As the hobgoblin staggered back, Pavel swung both axes, opening up ragged cuts in B’kruss’ leg and shoulder.  B’kruss lunged again, once more grappling with the dwarf, but Pavel was too strong, and too angry to be held for long.  Breaking the hobgoblin’s grip once more, he struck four more times, leaving small streams of blood pouring from multiple deep wounds.  B’kruss staggered back, pulling a flask from his belt and upending it.  Several of his wounds began to heal, but before they could mend completely, Pavel was upon him again, slashing like a dervish.  In desperation, B’kruss attempted to tackle Pavel one last time, but the dwarf was having none of it, spinning around and swinging low, he took the hobgoblin’s legs out from under him.  B’kruss crashed to the ground, unconscious and barely breathing.  The other guests, who had been cheering throughout the battle, now went deathly silent.  Pavel gripped B’kruss’ hair, lifting his head from the ground, and then looked questioningly at Embuirhan.  Slowly and deliberately, the Prince stuck out his hand, curling all his fingers into a fist save for is thumb, which he pointed down.  Pavel nodded and decapitated B’kruss.
“To the victor goes the spoils,” Embuirhan said, turning away from the gory spectacle and walking towards the pile of skulls.  V’juss stared dumbfounded, and horror-struck at what had occurred, before he too turned away.  Giovanni and Faust nodded in congratulations to the dwarf, but Hawk, Grubber and Storm looked stricken, and said nothing.

“And now my beautiful friends,” the Fabler’s voice interrupted the tableau, drawing everyone’s attention to him, “we come to the final game of the evening.  I present to my wonderful Prince an unfortunate criminal named Jack.”  He handed the Prince a human skull that had been painted black.  “And to the rest of you, I present these delicate treasures!”  The Fabler indicated the stack of differently colored skulls.  “The prince shall throw Jack to the far end of the garden, and the rest of you shall toss a chap of your own.  The thrower who comes closest to Jack shall be declared the winner!”

The Prince made his throw, Jack’s skull landing about fifty feet away.  One-by-one each guest made their own throw…all save Hawk.  The civilar had retreated to the opposite end of the garden, lost in his thoughts.  Ultimately, it was the gnome Toris who won the match, earning himself a necklace with a small silver skull with ruby eyes.  Throughout the sport, the servants passed around gingerbread men without heads.  As the game ended, the sun sank below the horizon.

The peal of an unseen gong sounded the call for dinner.  The Fabler led the guests back into the palace, and then to the Great Banqueting Hall.  A massive, cylindrical chamber rose through the heart of the palace.  A tremendous round table of polished mahogany dominated the room, the walls of which were decked with portraits and landscapes of great quality.  A large number of these featured Embuirhan himself, although the enigmatic Lashonna, a silver-haired, pale, remarkably beautiful woman, dominated one prominently placed portrait near Embuirhan’s place at the table.  A vast stained glass dome depicting what appeared to be angels at play (but on closer inspection show the ‘angels’ to be erinyes devils, whose ‘play’ was something one would not normally associate with angels) arched gracefully above, its perimeter decorated by a ring of severed heads mounted on iron spikes some twenty feet above the polished marble floor.

The guests were seated, with Hawk and Giovanni on either side of the Prince.  Pavel was placed between Hoff and V’juss, ironically, while Storm sat between Giovanni and Mariss Quemp.  Grubber sat between Shag Solomon and Professor Montague, and Faust was between Filge and Moreto.  One seat, directly opposite Embuirhan, was left empty.  As Pavel took his seat, he nodded to the fat dwarf seated to his right.
“Humph!” the dwarf snorted.
“’Zat so?” Pavel asked, a tone of warning in his voice.  “You got a problem, bub?  You saw what happened to the last guy who got uppity with me.”
“You don’t seem like any gold dwarf I’ve ever met,” Hoff said with disdain.
“I ain’t,” Pavel said.  “Fact is, I plan on guttin’ every one’o my clansmen first chance I get.  What about you?  What’s yer story?”
“I’m captain of the One Armed Bandits mercenary company,” Hoff replied stiffly.
“Oh yeah?” said Pavel.  “I’m a merc myself…freelance stuff mostly.”
“You’re common is what you are,” Hoff sneered, “and obviously out of your depth here.”
Pavel scowled in silence.  Much as he would like, two duels in one night might be pushing it.

Mariss Quemp positively beamed at Storm when she sat next to him, though his eyes were obviously looking somewhat south of her face.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced my lady,” he said standing and kissing her hand.
“I’m Aurora,” the sorceress replied coolly.
“And I am Lord Quemp…but you may call me Mariss.  All of my closest friends do.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Quemp,” Storm retorted, a tad sharply.
Quemp’s smile faltered for a moment, but was quickly replaced.  “Surely you must be a noble yourself,” he said.  “What House do you hail from?”
“House Vito,” she said, nodding towards Giovanni, “and he is my master.”  Quemp snapped a look at the warlock, and then slowly released Storm’s hand.  
“I see,” he said coldly, then sat and turned his back to her, giving his attention to Mahuudril instead.

“Solomon tells me you’re from Daggerford?”  Professor Montague asked as Grubber sat down.
“Not originally,” the goliath rumbled, “but I called it home for a time.”
“Me too, me too!”  The old man laughed.  “You’re familiar with the Emporium?  Well, it was I who established it before selling out to Zalamandra.  When I had heard about its near destruction by a dragon recently, I made it a point to invite the performers and staff here to Starmantle.  The Prince has taken quite a shine to them.”
“I see,” Grubber said flatly.  “That was very…thoughtful of you.”  Apparently, Shag Solomon did not agree.  The quaggoth had a very sour look on his furred face as he puffed on his pipe.
“Quite!”  Montague said.  “I would love to speak more with you about the old days.  Perhaps you would agree to be my guest at the Deluxury for the week?”
“I…” Grubber stammered, at a loss for words.
“Excellent!”  Montague said, shaking his hand vigorously.  “It’s settled then!”

At that moment, Embuirhan abruptly stood, and all of the guests followed suit.  A dazzling beautiful elven woman entered the hall.  Her skin was like pale alabaster, and her long silver hair was set back with a tiara of black diamonds.  Everyone in the room could feel her gaze settle upon each of them in turn.  
“Lashonna,” Embuirhan said smiling, “welcome!”  Lashonna nodded, but said nothing, sliding gracefully into the empty seat.  As one, the rest of the party resumed their seats.
‘Master!’  It was Giovanni’s armor again.  
‘What is it now?’ the warlock asked irritably, sure that the coat was going to warn him about the severed heads on their pikes, which he already noticed moved their eyes, watching those below them.
‘The woman…’ the armor replied, and Giovanni instinctively knew it meant Lashonna.  “She’s not alive!’

Embuirhan remained standing, and silence fell upon the banquet hall.
“My dear friends,” he began, and as he did, the decapitated heads above echoed the word ‘friends’ in a ghoulish tone.  “I bid you enjoy this feast, eat and drink your fill in my humble abode.”
“Humble!” said the heads.  The Prince clapped his hands once.  An instant later, the great doors to the kitchen swung open and a trio of manticores entered to the sonorous hoorahs of the heads.  Yet these were no wild monsters…the fire was gone from their eyes, and their wings had been cruelly severed.  Even the once ferocious barbs of their long tails had been surgically removed.  Each manticore carried great platters on its back, and a host of distorted servants trailed behind them, eager to begin serving food.  Each guest was given a small covered silver goblet.  Once all had been served, the Fabler stood.
“One of the founders of Starmantle was a desperate pilgrim,” he intoned, “who washed up on the harbor shore.  He had not eaten for many weeks, and he fell upon the moors to die.  As he did he saw a worm emerge from the ground, and he realized the worm was a gift from the gods that he should live…and so he devoured it.  Along the Dragon Coast it has always been the tradition to start a feast with such a celebration of thanks!”
The servants then removed the lids from the goblets, revealing in each a fat, writhing, greasy worm, its glistening flesh a nasty shade of green.  Pavel immediately picked up the worm between two fingers and sniffed it curiously.  He shrugged, and then popped it in his mouth, chewing noisily.  Faust recognized the worm as just a harmless green scrubgrub, and he too consumed it quickly.  One by one, the other guests followed suit…all except Grubber.  Hawk noticed the dark look the Prince shot the goliath, and when Embuirhan leaned over to whisper in the ear of one of the servants, the civilar knew it didn’t bode well.

For the second course, a single manticore entered the hall.  It carried an enormous pie on a silver dish of great size strapped to its back.  Pastry beaks of birds covered the pie, and as everyone looked on, the crust was opened and twenty-four black birds emerged, and flew around the room in terror.  The guest partook of the pie with a bit more enthusiasm than the appetizer, finding the crust made of sugar and almonds, and tasting surprisingly good.  Servants then brought in huge tureens of vegetables, along with plentiful supplies of a locally produced spiced white wine called Dragon Coast Resinwint, which was particularly potent.  
Once again, Grubber did not eat nor drink.  Embuirhan’s gaze grew even darker.  Faust and Pavel fumbled with the dozen utensils arrayed by their plates, using them at random, earning them irritated glances from the Prince as well.  Hawk cleared his throat, trying, and failing to attract their attention, as he picked up the proper fork for the dish.  Giovanni and Storm were quicker on the uptake and mimicked his every move.

The Fabler announced the third course as a concoction of the Prince’s own…delectable tojbasarrirge for all!  This turned out to be a curious dish involving an entire tojanida, stuffed with numerous gritty basilisk steaks, which were in turn stuffed with tangy arrowhawk breasts, which were finally in turn stuffed with an entire boned stirge with three olives impaled on its proboscis.  It was brought out on a huge platter slung between two manticores, upon which rested a great tojanida shell, halved and filed with a descending mass of meat.
Unfortunately, it was disgustingly foul.  Most of the guests could not mask their distaste of the vile concoction, with Faust going so far as to spit his first bite back onto his plate with a curse.  Only Giovanni and Havok, somewhat accustomed to the rules of court, managed to maintain impassive looks on their faces as they struggled to choke down the rancid meat.  Grubber ate none.
Abruptly, Embuirhan slammed one fist on the table, staring daggers at the goliath.  
“Do you find my table distasteful?” he demanded.
“Not at all my lord,” Grubber replied, his eyes going wide.  “I am simply in the midst of a fast, as required by my faith.”
“Then you have no reason to remain here further!”  Embuirhan shouted.  “Guards!”  In an instant, a dozen armed soldiers appeared, man-handling Grubber from his seat and hustling him out of the hall.  
“Nighty-night,” the heads intoned.  The rest of the hall was silent.  The Prince stared at the mountain of meat, then ordered the servants to clear it away.  As he resumed his seat, Giovanni and Storm noted something very disturbing…the four Blessed Angels were gone.

As the fourth course began, huge covered tureens were brought out.  Within shuddered a strange purple jelly.  The Fabler observed that purple worms were a notorious menace in certain areas of the world, and their propensity for eating everything that moved was known to adventurers far and wide.  He went on to say that the tribesmen of old learned a way to cook the poisonous tail sections of the worms so that the poison was neutralized, but the recipe had to be precise in its preparation.  As the bowls of purple glop were placed before each guest, the Fabler wondered aloud if any present were brave enough to taste the dish before the Prince put his health at risk.
Faust stood.  “I will dare this for you, my Prince!”  The psion dipped a large spoon into the concoction and slurped it down his throat.  It was quite tasty, though for a brief moment, Faust felt his stomach burning, and his throat close, but the sensation quickly passed.  He saw Embuirhan looking at him intently.
“Delicious!” the élan said, smiling through purple stained teeth.

Finally, as the last bowls of purple worm aspic were cleared, the smell of cloves, honey and cinnamon wafted through as a single manticore entered with a nearly eight-foot tall cake.  The cake itself was shaped like a ziggurat, but crowned with a marzipan figure of Embuirhan surrounded by light and with angel’s wings.  Everyone applauded loudly as the cake was levered onto the table, but as they did, the cake began to fall apart.  Large rents appeared on the side, and the marzipan Prince began to list.  Suddenly, the figure toppled, sliding down the side of the cake in avalanche of delectable frosting and struck the table hard enough that its head snapped off and rolled across the table to land in Faust’s lap.  A few stifled chuckles and giggles came from the assembled.  The hate in Embuirhan’s eyes was palpable, but just as he was about to order the execution of his entire cooking staff, the Fabler stepped in, observing that “the cake is not made of stone and iron, and I’ll eat it if no one else will!”  The joke went over well, and the mood was broken as the guests laughed along with him.  Everyone settled in to the dessert, chatting amiably…all except Embuirhan, who sat in brooding silence.

With the conclusion of the great feast, the Fabler called for the traditional Dance of the Dead, which closed all important ceremonies in Starmantle.  The help began clearing the table as the fool led the guests into the palace ballroom.  There, the skeletal performers from the Harlequinade Mortificatio, now dressed as the dead founding fathers of Starmantle, performed the bizarre ritual.  The guests joined in, whirling about the dance floor, constantly changing partners.  Embuirhan sat in silence upon his throne, merely watching the festivities.

Faust made a beeline for Lashonna as the dance began.
“May I have the honor of the first dance my lady?”  He asked, extending his hand.  The sorceress smiled and curtsied, accepting his offer.  
“My friends and I have been anxious to make your acquaintance,” the psion said quietly as he led, rather clumsily.  “You are a hard woman to track down.”  Lashonna said nothing, merely continuing to smile slightly.  “Do you know a man named Balakarde?”  Faust finally blurted out bluntly.
“Save your questions for later, my curious friend,” Lashonna whispered in a silky voice.  “There are too many ears in this place.  You and your friends will come to Mistwall Manor at midnight, two nights hence, and all will be made clear.”  Faust nodded, and bowed out as the next dancer, Giovanni, took his place.

“My lady,” he said as he spun her about with considerably more grace than his cohort.  
“I have already told your friend to save your queries for now,” she replied, mildly annoyed.
“Yes,” the warlock persisted, “but I must tell you that I saw the Blessed Angels depart after our colleague was escorted out.  Can you intervene on his behalf?”
“It’s already too late,” she replied.


Grubber walked in silence down the Toil Road, making his way back towards the Deluxury.  He was consumed with guilt, afraid that his actions might have jeopardized the safety of his friends and their mission.  So preoccupied was he, that at first he failed to notice the uncharacteristic silence of the usually busy highway.  Despite the festivities still going strong throughout the city, there was not another living soul within three blocks.  The goliath skin began to prickle with unease, and a soft gust of wind washed over him.  Suddenly, four crimson-haired women appeared around him, seemingly from thin air.  Large, black-feathered wings sprouted from their backs, and they were clad all in black, spiked leather.  Crossbows hung at their sides, and each gripped a long sword in one hand.  Blessed Angels.

“You should be careful whom you offend in the future, mortal,” one of them intoned, “assuming, of course, that you have one.”
Abruptly, all four of them raised their free hands, and a greasy, black miasma surrounded Grubber on all sides, washing over him like an oil slick.  He felt waves of nausea churn through his guts as his skin seemed to burn like acid fire.  Desperately, he counter-attacked, conjuring a Shard Storm, which tore through the infernal guardians.  They shrieked in anger and pain, but as the goliath stumbled away from them, they struck at him with their blades, opening several gaping, bloody wounds.  As one, they closed with him, speaking in their dark tongue, summoning black energy to surround their swords.  Again they struck, and Grubber felt darkness enveloping him.  But then, just as he felt the pull of the void, the Contingency he had put in effect upon first entering this accursed city took effect, and a blast of powerful healing magic coursed through his battered body.  As his strength returned, Grubber took a step back, and then spoke a single Word, whisking him from the midst of the Blessed Angels, to the safety of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.


Embuirhan rose from his throne and moved to leave, applauded by his guests as he went.  Giovanni’s enhanced vision showed him that the Prince’s four bodyguards had returned as he left the room.  It was over then.

The guests were escorted back to their carriages, and returned to their domiciles.  Pavel and Faust were let off at the Ogre’s Hideout just as V’juss entered the inn.  When the pair followed, they eyes of every hobgoblin in the common room fell upon them.
“That’s right,” Pavel growled.  “Take a good look, boys.  I’m the one that killed yer honcho.  Just ask his lap dog over there.  Now, if any of ya knows what’s good fer ya, you’ll haul yer sorry arses out of here tonight.  If I lay eyes on a single one of ya tomorrow, you’ll be joinin’ B’kruss.”  The dwarf turned and stomped up the stairs towards B’kruss’ private suite.
“Yeah!”  Faust said to the silent crowd as he followed his companion.

No sooner had Giovanni stepped into his room at the Deluxury, than he heard a familiar voice inside his head.
‘This is Grubber.  Angels attacked.  Alive and well.  Hidden by Helm.  Bring gear.’
Giovanni recognized the Sending for what it was, and replied in kind, ‘Glad you are alive.  Your decision was unwise.  Will deliver your gear to Rhorsk in morning.’  Assuming the Blessed Angels don’t find you first, he added silently to himself.


Two days passed, and life returned to what passed for normal in Starmantle, now that the celebration was over.  At midnight on that second evening, a black carriage pulled up before the Deluxury.  It was driven by a tall, gaunt half-orc, who walked with a limp.  All the members of the League, save Grubber, climbed aboard the coach, and were taken with haste to Mistwall Manor.  They disembarked, and where escorted through a luxurious courtyard of fountains and topiaries, into a front parlor, and then up a spiraling marble staircase to a private study and reading room.  

The walls of the spacious, tastefully decorated study were filled with shelves of leather-bound tomes on a wide variety of topics.  A large desk sat against the far wall, its surface empty save for a stack of tattered pieces of yellowed paper.  The carpet was a deep shade of crimson, and arrayed on it in a semicircle before the desk were several high-backed chairs fitted with velvet cushions.  Lashonna waited here, wrapped in a gold-trimmed gown of the very latest fashion, and cut to accentuate her near perfect figure.  A delighted smile danced upon her scarlet lips as she dismissed her manservant.
“You won’t be needed any longer Kelgorn.  I’m sure I’ll be quite well attended to, with such pleasing guests to keep me company.  Good night.”  The half-orc withdrew with a stiff bow as Lashonna gestured to the chairs before the desk.
“I apologize again for the late hour,” Lashonna said, seating herself behind the desk, “but I assure you that what I have to tell you will make the loss of your beauty sleep worthwhile.”  She slid the tattered pages on the desk towards Faust.
“Balakarde’s journal,” she said, “or what’s left of it, in any event.  You’ll see he’s quite mad.  Obsessed, the poor dear, and with worms no less.  Tiresome.  But please, look it over, and then we can talk.”

Hawk took the papers and read them aloud to his companions.
“’It is as I suspected.  The ancient undead dragon Dragotha is the herald of Kyuss.  He was granted his unlife by the Wormgod well over fifteen centuries ago, after he found the monolith in Kuluth-Mar and brought it to his lair in Skull Gorge.  When Dragotha was slain by Tiamat, Kyuss repaid him with the gift of undeath, and in so doing bound him eternally to his will.
The Rite they performed obscured Dragotha’s phylactery from thought, history and sight…as if it never existed at all.  But the Order of the Storm were no fools.  They suspected Kyuss would one day rise again, that his worms would learn to walk once more.
Dragotha’s presence in the world has been quiet for the last several ages.  The loss of his phylactery fifteen-hundred years ago left him a coward.  Yet my research proves he stirs from his long sleep, that he now intends to waken Kyuss after all this time.  Why now?  What has changed?  I fear that a journey to Skull Gorge to confront the dracolich is my only remaining option.’”

“It seems obvious,” Lashonna said once Hawk had finished, “that Dragotha intends to release Kyuss from his prison, and in so doing, usher in the Age of Worms.  The solution seems obvious.  A king without his commander is powerless.  It’s taken Dragotha nearly fifteen-hundred years to reach this point.  Remove him now, and it will certainly be centuries before anything has a chance to release the Wormgod again.
Of course, one cannot simply waltz into a lich’s lair, kill him, and be done with it.  Dragotha may not know where his phylactery is, but that doesn’t mean it’s useless to him.  Destroying him before you destroy his phylactery is as good as finding it and handing it over to him.
So your first order of business should be to find his phylactery and destroy it.  And that’s where it gets complicated.  I have no idea where it may be hidden.  Obviously, neither does Dragotha, and that’s a good thing.  Certainly, his doubt to its location is the main reason he hasn’t tried to simply destroy himself as a desperate way to discover its location.
Balakarde left for Skull Gorge, against my advice, intending to learn more about Dragotha.  He never returned, but at least he had the foresight to leave his journal fragments with me.  His journal and his disappearance have become something of a minor obsession of mine, I must confess.  I’ve spent the last sixteen years, on and off, studying the lore of Kyuss, of Dragotha, and associated matters.  And while I haven’t managed to determine where Dragotha’s phylactery is hidden, I do believe I know where that information might be found.
As Balakarde mentions in his journal, the Age of Worms and Kyuss’ resurrection were stopped fifteen centuries ago by the Order of the Storm.  Historians believe that the Order died out not long after this victory, hunted down and destroyed by the last surviving members of the cult of Kyuss.  These records are incorrect.  The Order instead retreated to their stronghold on a remote island in the Shining Sea called Tilagos.
On this island there is a library of sorts, a repository of the Order’s lore.  It has been sought for centuries by wizards, scholars, and explorers, for it is said to be filled with hundreds of years of history, memories, dreams, and of course secrets.  Secrets are so valuable, aren’t they, my darlings?  Seems the longer they are kept, the more they’re worth.  If a written account of the secret of what happened to Dragotha’s phylactery exists, it must certainly be there.
Of course, there are complications…there always are, right?  Before they built this library, the Order of the Storm drove a lasting bargain with primal elemental forces.  They sacrificed their lives to whisk the island’s interior off the Material Plane.  In its place is a barren rock surrounded by an ever-raging storm of such intensity that ships that approach within ten miles are invariably lost.  The island itself appears on no maps, but the stories hint that the druids left a way for those in need to reach their secrets while at the same time warding the place away from the prying eyes of Kyuss’ undead fanatics.
Worse, I’m afraid others have learned this as well, in part as an unfortunate result of my own research.  I have a fair amount of competition in the arena of gathering and keeping secrets, and invariably word gets out that I’ve made a discovery.  My enemies are always quick to nip at my heels.  I speak in particular of a simpering dog of a man named Heskin, who once served me.  I’m afraid Heskin has been wooed from my side with promises of wealth and power, and has taken word of this discovery to a disreputable man indeed, a powerful priest of Velsharoon named Darl Quethos.”

“Why can’t you go to Tilagos yourself?”  Giovanni asked as she paused.
“I have reasons of my own,” she replied.  “Any allies that I have simply wouldn’t be of any help against the type of things that might be faced there.  To tell the truth, I can’t think of anyone other than your group that could have a chance against Dragotha.  Now, would you like to have a peek at Heskin and his new friends?”  She produced a small lock of hair tied with a gold wire on a fine gold chain.  She then produced a scroll, and began to chant a litany of arcane words.  A tumultuous scene faded into view in the middle of the room for all to observe, along with the howling sound of an oceanic tempest.  The image cleared to show a deathly pale man lashed to a ship’s mast with several coils of rope.  Although details beyond a ten-foot radius around Heskin were hazy and unclear, it was obvious that the ship was caught in a tremendous storm…the decks were awash in foamy water as both waves and driving sheets of rain tormented the terrified man.  Sounds of gruff sailors shouting commands and curses in Orc could be heard under the raging tumult of the storm, and now and then, frantic orc sailors moved quickly into view, and then back into obscurity as they busied themselves at securing the ship.  At one point, two lithe, cloaked figures dropped to the deck from the rigging on either side of Heskin.  They were identically dressed in tightly wrapped silken scarves, and small devilish horns sprouted from their heads.  The cloaked figures spared condescending glances at Heskin, their eyes glowing faintly with infernal fire before they moved out of sight towards the ship’s unseen bow.  Soon thereafter, a blazing red-skinned humanoid with an immense, bulging frame strode almost casually through the scene.  The rain sizzled into steam as it struck his burning skin.  As he reached Heskin, he looked down at the man, and then looked toward the bow, crying out, “Darl!  It looks like your pet might be taking on water!”  With that, the creature exploded into a tremendous belly laugh.  A few moments later, another two figures stepped into view.  The smaller of the two was a shifty-eyed humanoid bird who wore a hooded cloak and carried a repeating crossbow.  The other was a towering man clothed in flowing blue robes.  His cowl protected his face from the wind and his hands were obscured by long, rain-soaked sleeves.  He squatted before Heskin and spoke to him in a low voice, “Only a few hours more, Heskin, and we shall see if you live or die.”
Suddenly, the blue-robed man’s head whipped around to look directly into the scrying sensor.  His face was pale but commanding, and twisted into a snarl as he stood.  “It seems we have guests, my friends,” he said.  “Perhaps allies of this cur?”  He turned back to the bound man, and as he did he pulled back his left sleeve, revealing a rotten, black-nailed appendage that seemed to writhe and twitch with its own life.  “We can’t have your friends watching us, so it seems your journey comes to an early end, Heskin!”  The putrid hand unfurled and reached out to caress Heskin’s brow.  Heskin shrieked in mortal pain as the fingertip froze the skin it touched into an angry black scar.  The blue-robed man then made a fist and uttered a single unintelligible word.  As he spoke it, Heskin’s eyes bulged, the cords in his neck throbbed, and he slumped against his bonds, dead.  The scrying link was broken, and the image faded from view.

Lashonna returned to her seat, visibly shaken.   “The Hand of Velsharoon,” she murmured.  
“Where is Tilagos?”  Hawk asked into the silence.
“It is in the northern reaches of the Shining Sea,” Lashonna replied, regaining her composure.  “It doesn’t appear on most maps, but I happen to have some that give its location.”
“We appreciate your help in this,” Hawk said with finality.  “We will leave as soon as possible.”  With that, he turned to go.
“Just one more thing,” Giovanni said to Lashonna.  “We know you are undead.”  
Lashonna looked at him with piercing eyes.
“What I am shouldn’t matter,” she said levelly.  “I’ve spent years getting where I am, and I’m not about to see all that washed away by Dragotha, and neither should you.  Take care of Dragotha and if you still feel that I can’t be trusted, you know where to find me.”
Giovanni nodded.
“I would leave town quickly,” Lashonna concluded, “and take your goliath friend with you.  I can only insure his safety for so long.”


----------



## gfunk

IT AIN’T FANTASY ISLAND

Lashonna’s coordinates proved to be very precise, and it was a simple matter for Storm to transport the team first to Calimport, and then to the location where Tilagos was supposed to be.  They found themselves on a beachhead, its sands littered with driftwood, and the splintered ruin of well over a hundred ships.  These skeletal wrecks crowded the rocky shoreline, a veritable city of barnacle-claimed vessels peopled with dead sailors.  Broken skeletons wrapped in threadbare rags hung out of yawning breaches in the ships’ hulls, and tattered sails whipped in the fierce wind sweeping the shoreline.  One ship stood out from the weathered hulks…a recent victim of the wind and rocks, although a victim nonetheless.  This gigantic sailing cog lay broken in two against a jagged rock on the eastern edge of the beach.  Beyond the shore, the rocky beach angled up slightly to an ancient maze of ruined walls and standing stones.

Unsure of what they would find upon their arrival, the group had placed several preparatory magics and defenses about themselves.  In Faust’s case, he had assumed his familiar stone giant form, and manifested Touchsight.  With the latter, he was immediately able to discern the orcs hidden within the recent wreck, watching silently and unseen by the others.
‘We’re not alone,’ he said through their Mindlink, informing them of their watchers.
‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ Hawk said.  ‘I want to try this my way first.’
Aloud he called out, “We know you’re there!  We have no wish to fight you!  We seek to parley!”  Silence reigned for a moment, and then a single orc stepped out of the wreckage.  Dressed in sailor’s garb, he carried an axe in one hand and a clutch of javelins in the other.
“If you speak truth,” he replied in guttural Common, “then come and put away weapons.”
‘My way!’  Hawk said warningly through the link, already sensing Pavel’s agitation.  Sheathing his sword, he started down the beach, Faust right behind him, looking ridiculous with his hands raised high above his head and his eyes tightly shut.  Giovanni and Storm hung back, and Pavel did as well, though the dwarf made no move to stow his axes.

“How did you come here?” the orc asked as the pair approached.  “Magic?”
“That’s not important,” Hawk answered.  “We’re here seeking something.  What of you and the rest of your crew?  How did you come to be here?”
The orc gestured towards the wrecked ship as if the answer should be obvious.  
“You should speak with the Captain,” he grunted.
“Where is he?”  Hawk asked.
“Inside,” the orc replied.  “Take you to him.”
Hawk hesitated.  “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.  My friends are a bit jittery, and I don’t trust them to keep our truce if I’m not here.  Can he not come forward?”
The sailor pondered this for a moment, then shrugged and disappeared inside the broken hull.  A few moments later, he returned.  
“The Captain says you come in,” he said, “alone.  All of us will come out until meeting done.  That way, no tricks.”
Hawk nodded, “Agreed.”  ‘Keep in touch,’ he said mentally to Faust.  Stepping inside the cracked wall, he found himself in the ruined hold of the ship.  Sitting on a crate was a large orc dressed in steel-studded leathers with a greataxe on his back and a large shield propped nearby.  
“I am Senior Civilar Hawk Veritas,” the paladin said, stepping forward with his hand extended.  The large orc stared at him for a moment, before slowly extending his own calloused hand.
“Grogriss Spit-Eye,” he said, “Captain of the Secret Hand.”  
“What has befallen you and your crew, Captain?”  Hawk asked.
Grogriss shrugged, and sighed heavily.  “We hired by priest to bring him and his men here.  Paid good money, and promised more once we reach island.  Didn’t tell about storms.  Ship wrecked two days ago.  Priest and his men go to ruins.  Say they come back in few days and help us get back to Calimport.  Bah!”  The Captain spat.  
“Can you tell me anything about his men?”  Hawk pressed.
Grogriss forked the sign of the evil eye.  “Big red man with horns.  Dark twins…always quiet.  Bird woman…sneaky.  Demon…sharp horns…long chain.”
“Really…”  Hawk said, relaying the information to the others.  
“Now you,” Grogriss said, “Why you here?”
“Probably for the same reason as your employer,” Hawk said truthfully.  “We’re looking for something of great value on this island.  
“You come here with magic,” Grogriss said matter-of-factly.  “You take us off island with same?”
“Perhaps,” Hawk nodded, “for a price.”  At this, Grogriss raised one scarred brow.
“Not money,” Hawk continued, “simply a favor.  Should the priest return, say nothing of our presence here.  When we return, we will deal with him, and then take you and your crew to Calimport.”
Grogriss looked doubtful at this, but shrugged.  What did he have to lose?  Spitting in his palm, he extended his hand once more.


The ruins were a maze.  The walls were ten-feet thick, and sixty-feet high at least, disappearing into the raging tempest overhead.  The only thing the group could be certain of was that they were still heading generally north, towards the island’s interior, or so they hoped.  

Abruptly, the twisting pathways led into a relatively open area.  Here, the ruins were complicated with a new feature…numerous spindly stone stalagmites.  They were carved with strange, slash-like glyphs along vertical lines, but seemed to have no other purpose.  A small tangle of green, glowing crystals grew from the base of one stalagmite near the center of the area.  It was Faust who entered the clearing first, and so it was he, by virtue of his Touchsight, that determined that the stony pillars were actually alive!  He shouted a warning through the Mindlink to the others just as the stalagmites, six in all, sprouted numerous ropy appendages and fang-filled maws.

Acting purely on instinct, the psion unleashed a powerful blast of mental energy in the form of a great cone of fire.  The conflagration washed over four of the creatures, and instantly incinerated them where they stood.  One of the remaining two lashed out with one of its tentacles from a full thirty feet away, wrapping it around the stone-giant, where it stuck fast, as if by some sort of glue.

Some distance behind Faust, Havok could see that the psion was in trouble.  Powerful though he might be, he was not suited for melee combat.  Pulling a thin wand from his robes, the warlock pointed it first at Pavel, and then at Faust before speaking the command word.  In an eye-blink, the pair switched locations.  Now Faust was safely out of reach of the odd creatures, while Pavel was right where he belonged, in the fore.  

With a roar of challenge, Pavel rushed ahead, swinging his axes in a flurry of whistling, deadly metal.  Deep rents opened in the tough hide of the nearest monster, and a viscous ichor oozed out in rivulets.  Hawk was right on his heels, ignoring the flailing tentacles that tried to latch onto him, but fell away limply due to the ring bequeathed to him by Malchor, the magic of which resisted any efforts to immobilize the civilar.  As he reached Pavel’s opponent, Hawk’s blade flashed and flared, and with four swift strokes, the beast toppled to the ground.

Havok stepped to the edge of the clearing, well beyond the reach of the last creature.  The warlock recognized the odd beings as some variation of ropers, though unlike any he’d ever read about.  He knew they were innately resistant to magic, but he had to try nonetheless.  Palm extended, he unleashed an emerald blast of acidic energy.  The roper’s flesh began to boil and sizzle where it struck, and the beast roared in fury.  It lashed out with all six of its tentacles, two of them striking Pavel as he moved towards it.  The dwarf cried out in agony, and he momentarily stumbled, a debilitating weakness overcoming him.  The stout warrior did not pause for long, however.  Though physically drained, he rushed head-long at the monster, slashing at it with one axe.  Once more, Hawk backed him up, lending his own strength where the dwarf’s flagged.  One final thrust from the civilar’s ancestral blade ended the roper’s threat.

“Those gems are magical,” Giovanni said after the battle had ended and he had time to scan the battlefield.  “Though the nature of it is strange.  It is some sort of a conjuration effect, but one I am not familiar with.”  Nevertheless, he collected all of the stones, a dozen all told, and then turned his attention to the glyphs inscribed on the bodies of the ropers.  They were in a language he did not recognize, though a quick tap of another of his ubiquitous wands quickly remedied that.  As it turned out, the runes were written in Druidic, and their topics varied wildly.  Some of them detailed aspects of the natural world such as local weather patterns or the eating habits of sharks, while others were simply gibberish.  The ropers around the exterior of the clearing contained various narratives like chapters in an ongoing history, but on the ones toward the center the glyphs were arranged in chaotic, nonsensical patterns, and many of the ideograms seemed warped, their meaning difficult to discern.  This was obviously not the library they were searching for, and so the party continued on, deeper into the ruins.

Somehow, they must have gone of course in the tortuous maze of menhirs, for they found themselves able to hear the tide once more, a sure indication that they had turned either too far east or too far west.  Ahead, a murky tidal pool, thick with moldering driftwood and clumps of seaweed, filled a bowl-shaped opening in the ruins.  Growing from the tangle of wood and water was an immense black plant.  Its roots coiled out through the surrounding water and its twisted trunk supported eight rubbery-looking dark branches that swayed gently in the wind.

Faust motioned the group to a halt while they were still some distance away from the pool.  Something about the plant seemed familiar to him.  It was the unceasing sound of the tide crashing against the shore that jogged his memory.  The plant was an octopus tree, an intelligent, carnivorous predator that was often found floating on ocean currents near shipping lanes.  This one must have gotten caught in the storms surrounding Tilagos and become trapped on the island.  
“It doesn’t seem to have noticed us yet,” Havok said quietly after Faust had warned them of the danger.  “Perhaps we can neutralize it from here.”  The warlock raised his hand, and a sizzling, vitriolic blast of energy arced across the intervening yards, splattering across the top of the tree.  The acidic fluid simply shed from the plant like rain water.
“I forgot to mention,” Faust said apologetically, “they are unharmed by organic acid.”
“Now you tell me,” Havok groused.  “Let’s try this then!”  Concentrating, he hurled a concussive bolt which exploded against the tree with a cacophony to rival the thunder rolling overhead.  The tree shuddered at the impact.
“Can it burn?”  Storm asked as she began an incantation.  Moments later, her question was answered as her fireball struck, and scorch marks appeared on the plant’s trunk.

The tree shuddered again, but as it did, a veritable wall of vines and sword-like thorns sprouted behind the group, completely enveloping Havok and Faust, and cutting off any means of retreat.  
“Looks like it wants ta play fer keeps!”  Pavel growled, hefting his axes and heading towards the tree.  He was still twenty feet away when one of the rubbery branches whipped out, striking him across the forehead, and then wrapping tightly around his chest.  The dwarf was lifted into the air, straight towards a gaping mouth which had suddenly appeared in the center of the branches.

Havok quickly stepped between dimensions to reappear on the far side of the wall of thorns.  Unfortunately, he had been unable to reach Faust, and the psion remained imprisoned in the briars.  Not wishing to waste his precious mental energies, the stone-giant psion heaved against his shackles, but it was no use.  He was stuck fast.

“Storm, get me over there,”  Hawk commanded as he watched Pavel being drawn ever closer to the octopus tree’s maw.  The sorceress did not hesitate.  With a few quick words, she touched the civilar lightly, and at Hawk’s mental command, he rose into the air, streaking towards the gargantuan plant.

Though Pavel struggled mightily, he was no match for the great strength of the tree.  Almost casually, the sharp, splinter-like teeth of the creature sank into his thigh.  He barely stifled a cry of agony, when suddenly, he was whipped through the air again like a rag-doll, and then he was in free-fall.  The tree had dropped him…directly over the tidal pool!  Never a good swimmer anyway, Pavel’s equipment now dragged him beneath the surface like a stone.  He disappeared into the murky depths.

Hawk reached the evil plant just as it released Pavel.  The civilar struck, slashing into the bark-like skin of the trunk, and releasing a surge of electrical energy as he did so.  In response, two of the tree’s tentacles struck him like battering rams, though again thanks to Malchor, they couldn’t keep hold of him.

Havok ducked and dodged between the menhirs until he was able to reach a vantage point where he could see the tree and Hawk, but still be out of reach of those deadly branches.  Once he was lined up, he loosed another mighty eldritch blast.  Simultaneously, Storm lobbed a crackling orb of lightning at the plant, having seen the effectiveness of Hawk’s blast.  Hawk flew like a humming bird amid the flailing appendages of the octopus tree, but deft though the civilar was, he could not avoid every blow, and already he felt his endurance flagging.  Calling upon Helm’s power, he raised his ancestral blade and then drove it right into the heart of the plant, at the exact same time that a second blast from Havok struck.  With a groan that sounded like wood splintering, the great tree heaved to one side, coming to rest against one of the menhirs, its branches limp upon the ground.

As Hawk landed heavily, Grubber rushed to his side.  The civilar’s wounds were grievous, and the ugly bruising of his skin suggested several cracked bones.  Quickly, the priest began a prayer of healing, trying to stop the internal bleeding.  Suddenly, the goliath’s eyes grew wide, as he saw over Hawk’s shoulder the octopus tree moving once again!  It heaved itself upright, then hammered Hawk from behind with two of its arms.  Another of the long tendrils slapped Grubber, knocking him away from the civilar.  Hawk turned, reaching for his sword, but he knew it was already too late.  The tree loomed directly above him, all eight limbs raised to strike.  He raised his shield in a futile warding gesture, but just then a brilliant green blast filled his eyes, and the plant collapsed again.

“Move away from it!”  Havok shouted as he leveled burst after burst of eldritch energy at the tree.  “Faust!” he called.  “Stop playing around and get out here!”
With a final surge, the psion tore himself loose from the thorn wall, and looked around bewildered.  “Playing?  Who’s playing?”  
“Why the Hell won’t this thing stay dead?”  Havok cursed in between blasts.
“Oh…” the psion said, slightly embarrassed.  “It regenerates too.  Here, I’ll handle it.”  He plodded over to the now inert plant, and focused his mind.  A current of fire erupted from his forehead, setting the tree aflame, and continued to burn it until it was just a charred husk.

A loud splashing sounded from the pool behind the group, and as one they whirled, prepared to strike out at this latest threat.  A thoroughly bedraggled Pavel hauled himself from the water, spitting and sputtering.  In his hands, he clutched a number of glowing red gems.  
“I think I found somethin’,” he grinned through seaweed stained teeth.

“Looks like we’re too late,”  Grubber mumbled.  What once may have been a collection of four impressive statues of marble and basalt had been reduced to a pile of shattered rubble.  Fragments of the statues lay in heaps throughout the area.
“It looks as if our one-handed friend took care of these guardians for us,” Hawk agreed, kneeling down next to one of the broken statues.  The vest he wore buzzed dimly, alerting him that what he was looking at were the remains of golems.  “All the better for us.  Pity the constructs didn’t take one or two of their party with them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Giovanni said, concentrating on the beheaded torso of one of the golems.  “There is a magical aura underneath that one.  Faust, if you would be so kind?”
“I’m not exactly suited for such menial work,” the stone-giant muttered as he lifted the five-hundred pound stone with one hand.  Beneath it was what appeared to be a swath of shattered blue crystals.
“Again with the crystals,” Giovanni said, speaking mostly to himself.  “Green…red…now blue.  What is the significance?”
“Whatever the significance was of these, they’re no use to us now,” Faust observed.
“Perhaps…perhaps not,” the warlock said pensively.  “A flicker of magic yet remains.  It may be that we can restore at least one of them, given time.”
“I only need a few minutes,” Grubber interrupted, bending over to scoop up a handful of the broken stones.  “Grumbar likes things unchanged.  He has provided me with the means to remake things as they once were.”

After a short time spent in prayer, the priest cupped the gem fragments in both of his large hands, speaking quiet words over them.  Finally, he blew a puff of air into the cup, then slowly opened one palm.  The gem was flawless…as perfect as the day it was first made.

“Well, I guess we have our answer,” Faust said, staring down at a circular disc hewn from obsidian that lay on the ground.  The clearing they had entered seemed to lay at the far northern end of the ruins.  A solid, unbroken wall stretched as far as the eye could see east and west, while above, the storm raged on.  The rim of the disc was decorated with strange runes.  At three points around its circumference, stylized eyes had been carved, each with a shallow, hollow at its center to represent a pupil.

With a tap of his wand, Giovanni translated the Druidic writing:  “Return my eyes to me, and I shall gaze through the storm.”  
“Seems fairly self-explanatory,” Faust said.
“Yes,” the warlock agreed, “now the conjuration nature of the gems makes sense.  They are keys to a portal.  Gather around.”  
Carefully, he placed one gem of each color in the three pupils.  Immediately, the entire group felt a surge of power from the disc.  For Hawk and Giovanni, this feeling was accompanied by a great sense of unease.  Perhaps it was an added ward placed by the druids, but it made both of them want to get away from the black circle with all haste.  One-by-one, each of the party stepped onto the disc, and promptly vanished.


The sudden shift in environment was shocking and overwhelming for a moment.  The sound of the raging tempest was gone, replaced by a gentle wind carrying birdsongs and the drone of buzzing insects.  The sky above was overcast, yet it did not seem ready to storm.
The edge of a sprawling, black forest, dense and overgrown, filled the view in one direction.  Tall trees sagged with branches heavy with moss, their dark eaves dropping to the ground in some places.  From within came a cacophony of insects and singing birds.  Now and then, a ghostly green glow appeared in the trees, only to fade moments later, as if whatever creature was generating it was afraid to be seen.
In the other directions, grassy hills rose.  Opposite the forest, these hills eventually became a range of rocky, barren mountains.  A flash of brilliant lightning ignited the sky above the mountains for a moment, and the distant peal of muted thunder echoed down from the slopes a few moments after.

As the last of the group stepped from the disc, four beings suddenly materialized at the edge of the forest.  They were tall, gallant figures bedecked in glimmering, gossamer armor, with cloaks of vicious nettles draped across their shoulders.  Halos of churning insects swirled about their heads.  They wielded wicked, barbed spears in both hands, and four poles fanned out from the plates of armor across their upper backs.  Attached at the end of each pole was a banner, one fiery red fringed with bright, crimson flames, another translucent white leaving a trail of cloud in its wake as it danced on the wind, a third deep brown and cracked like parched earth, and the last blue as the ocean on a cloudless day and frothing with bubbles.  In silence, the quartet approached.  

They stopped some ten paces away, and one stepped forward.
“I am Tylanthros, guardian of this realm.  We are the Last Resort, as surely as the trees and stones and sea and air around you.  We protect the secrets of this island from all trespassers.  You have mastered the portal of storms, and therefore must be brave, but it remains to be seen if you belong here at all.  Why have you come to Last Resort?”
“We seek knowledge of the phylactery of the dracolich Dragotha,” Hawk answered.  The four guardians simply stared at him with their penetrating eyes.  Several long minutes passed.
“We were told there was a great library to be found here,” Giovanni said finally in exasperation.  A smile played across Tylanthros’ lips.
“You seek the Fountain, although you do not yet realize it.  The Fountain of Dreams is linked to all things in Last Resort.  The earth, the dark trees of the Doomshroud, the clouds above, my life and that of my brothers are a part of it.  If the waters are consumed, the Order of the Storm’s rite is undone.  The secrets kept from the world will be released, and the great creatures of legend imprisoned here on this isle shall be unleashed upon the Material Plane once more.  You say you are heroes?  This remains to be seen.  Accomplish four tasks and prove yourselves to be the heroes of old returned.  The Fountain shall not be despoiled lightly.”
The strange creature looked at his three brothers, then back to the group.  
“The Fountain of Dreams shall know those destined for its gifts in but one way.  It will know them by the Trials of Tilagos.  Survive these trials, and you may slake your thirst on what you seek.  Fail, and Last Resort shall be your grave.  I am Tylanthros, and the first trial is the Claiming of Krathanos’ Golden Belt.”
A second of the quartet spoke next.
“I am Beskawahn, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song.”
The third spoke, “I am Thadimar, and the third trial is the Death of the Thorn Vale Nightmare.”
Finally, the last creature spoke, “I am Sayren-Lei, and the final trial is the Harvest of the Living Feather of the Roc King.”  
Tylanthros spoke again, “These trials complete, return here and we shall show you the Fountain of Dreams.  Until then, we shall watch.  And wait.”  In silence, the four turned and walked back towards the forest, disappearing beneath its eaves like shadows.

“Sounds simple enough,” Faust smirked, clapping his hands together.
Grubber scowled at him.  “We don’t even know where to begin.”
“Sure we do,” Giovanni said, nodding.  “Tylanthros said something about the dark trees of the Doomshroud, and the second trial is the Silence of the Doomshroud’s Mournful Song.  Those are the only trees I see,” he pointed towards the forest.  “I say that’s our starting point.”
“At least allow me to consult Grumbar on this before we go off half-cocked,” Grubber pleaded.
Giovanni shrugged.  Grubber pulled a handful of fine dust from his belt pouch and sprinkled it in a circle around him.  Raising his hands to the sky, he intoned “Lord Grumbar, Earth-Father, hear my plea!  Show us your wisdom and grant your blessing upon the road we travel.”  The others watched while the goliath stood as still as stone for several moments, his eyes closed.  Then, his whole body seemed to sag, and he lowered his arms.
“Well?”  Faust asked.  “What did old doom-and-gloom have to say?”
Grubber looked at him from beneath his lowered lids, “He told me to continue upon my chosen path.”
“A wise one that Grumbar!”  Pavel laughed.  “You might just make a convert out of me yet!”
The dwarf was still guffawing as the League entered the darkness that was the Doomshroud.


----------



## gfunk

THE TRIALS OF TILAGOS

It was on their third day of travel through the darkness of the Doomshroud that the League first began to notice the silence.  It had been a gradual thing, which is why the steady decrease in the normal forest sounds did not immediately come to their attention.  In fact, it was not until the trees began to thin, and the gloom to lighten that the overall pattern started to register.  No birds sang.  No wind sighed through the boughs.  Nothing scurried in the underbrush, and no insect buzzed.  Silence.  Until the song began…

The thinning trees finally gave way to an immense clearing, fully a half-mile or more in diameter.  Nothing larger than a blade of grass grew in the great open space save for a solitary tree.  It was massive thing, nearly fifty feet in height.  Its black trunk was gnarled and twisted, and no leaves grew from its skeletal branches.  At first glance, it appeared to be dead, but closer inspection revealed a massive, intertwined root structure surrounding it.  As the group paused at the edge of the clearing, studying the monolithic tree, a mournful breeze began to rise among the trees of the forest, though not a single leaf stirred.  Soon, they thought they could hear whispers in the wind, disembodied voices, which rapidly turned to cries of anguish, or wails or sorrow.  Each of them turned to the others, questioning looks on their faces…all save one.

Giovanni stood rigid, staring intently at the tree at the center of the clearing.  Then, without a word, he began walking stiffly out into the open, his face collapsing into a rictus of despair, tears flowing freely down his face.  
“Where ya goin’ boy?”  Pavel called after him, and moving as if to follow.
“Something’s wrong,” Hawk said warningly.  “He’s not himself.  Pavel, stop him!”
Suddenly, the enchanted armor gifted to the warlock by Malchor Harpell cried out shrilly, “Save my master!  He won’t answer me!  Help!”
“I’ve got’im!”  Pavel shouted, sprinting after Giovanni.  The burly dwarf tackled his friend from behind, wrestling him into a choke hold.  Though Havok didn’t speak a word, he fought like a dervish, actually managing to break Pavel’s hold for a brief moment, before the dwarf tied him up again.  By this time, the others had moved to follow, and Grubber stood in front of the warlock as he struggled to free himself.  Seizing Havok’s face in both hands, the goliath forced him to make eye contact, and then he began to pray.  It was a prayer which called upon Grumbar to grant strength of will to his companions and himself, and as he held Havok’s gaze, he gradually began to see clarity returning to the eyes of his friend.  

“I’m ok,” Havok grunted against the pressure being placed on his throat by Pavel.  “Let me go!”  Pavel looked at Grubber, and the priest nodded.  Slowly, the dwarf released his grip.
“What happened to you?”  Hawk asked.
“I’m not sure,” the warlock said, massaging his neck, “I felt such overwhelming grief, and it seemed the only way to make it stop was to go to the tree.”
Suddenly, the grass around their feet began to writhe and twine its blades around them, trying to anchor them in place.  Pavel was the only one caught flat-footed, and before he knew what was happening, he was stuck, entangled by the undergrowth.  The others rapidly moved to get clear of the area of animate grass, with Havok and Hawk taking to the air via fly spells imparted upon them by magical scrolls and potions respectively.  Once Grubber was clear, he turned back to the affected area and cast a dispelling field over it.  As quickly as it had started, the effect ended.

Faust turned towards the great tree again, studying it intently.
“I know what it is that we are dealing with,” he said coldly.
“What?”  Hawk demanded.  “What is it?”
“A Night Twist,” the psion answered, “an intelligent, malevolent plant which uses its song to lure prey to their doom.”
“Does it have a weakness?”  Hawk asked.
“Yes,” Faust replied, smiling grimly, “It burns.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, and as he did so, a swirling, glowing ball of energy began to form in mid-air before him.  As the flaming sphere grew larger, the psion opened his eyes, and with a mental nudge, hurled it fully four-hundred yards straight at the Night Twist.  As the projectile struck, the tree burst into flames, and its song became one of agony.  Instantly, a globe of darkness surrounded the plant, and the group heard ripping sounds coming from within it.  Then the darkness began moving towards them.

“I can do this all day,” Faust muttered to himself.  “Can you take it?”  With that, a second energy ball formed, and then streaked away towards the Night Twist.  As it vanished into the globe of blackness, the shadow flared with the explosion, and again the Night Twist screamed.  Now the black cloud began to move more rapidly.  The tree was actually running towards them, desperate to reach its assailants.  One last time, Faust repeated his assault, and this time the Night Twist’s song became a shrill keening that slowly died as the tree toppled, crashing to the ground with a trunk-splitting impact.  The mournful song of the Doomshroud was silenced.


The League members had no idea where to begin searching for the Golden Belt of Krathanos, though Faust did recall vague tales of an ancient titan by that name.  If this Krathanos was one-and-the-same, he wasn’t sure that he was in such a hurry to find the tyrant.  The tasks involving the Roc King, and the Nightmare Vale both seemed to denote mountainous regions, and since the only mountains they had seen on the island lay northwest of the Doomshroud, it was decided that they would leave the forest along the path they came, and make for the mountain range thereafter.

Three more days passed before they emerged from the dark forest, and another two after that was spent crossing the barren plains to the foothills of the mountains.  During this trek, they saw only wildlife, and relatively mundane ones at that, though Faust and Giovanni both noted that the colors of the flora and fauna seemed somehow brighter, the calls of animals louder, and sensations in general slightly more intense than on their home plane.  Faust commented that the effect seemed indicative of a Positive energy influence, and thought it unlikely they would be encountering any undead on the journey.

They climbed higher and higher into the hills, until at last they reached a long, narrow valley which seemed to lead up towards a distant pass.  The vale teemed with wild underbrush bedecked with vicious, irony thorns growing as long as six inches each.  They grew to a height of ten feet, making further progress on foot all but impossible.  At the far northern end of the valley, about a half-mile distant, a large cave opening could just be made out, clouds of mist or steam billowing from its mouth.  There was no choice but to fly over the impenetrable mass of thorns.  Giovanni, through his constant study and meditation, had recently unlocked another aspect to his dark powers:  the ability to take flight at will, though he could do so no faster than he could walk.  Grubber imbued Pavel, Hawk and Storm with the aspect of winged celestials, while Faust transmorphed himself into a small pebble, which Giovanni carried in his pocket.  As for Grubber himself, he would not forsake his vow to Grumbar, and so the goliath began a slow climb along the walls of the vale, utilizing the spider-like ability granted him by his magic cloak.


Harrowdroth knew he had visitors.  He could sense the echo of their dreams.  It wasn’t the first time creatures such as these had come to his vale.  It would not be the last.  The great nightmare beast had been responsible for the ruination of entire kingdoms when he was free to roam the prime material plane.  That was until the druids had imprisoned him here.  Now, every once and again bands of humans would come to him, seeking his death.  He was Harrowdroth.  He had nothing to fear.


Grubber clung to the cliff wall just beyond the mouth of the cave, while his companions hovered in the air, out of direct line of sight from the opening.  Havok reached into his cloak, and drew forth the stone that was Faust.  The psion had informed the warlock that he could see and hear while so transformed, but he could not communicate.  
“I hope you’re getting all this,” Havok said, feeling utterly ridiculous talking to a rock.  Cocking his hand back, he hurled the pebble just inside the cave.  “Go get’em tiger!”

‘Idiot!’  Faust thought to himself as he bounced and tumbled along the cave floor.  ‘Why on earth would I want to be thrown into a cave containing the gods-know-what?’  He was not about to assume his normal form now.  Peering into the cave, he could see only a strange, drifting fogbank, which seemed to fill the entire entryway.  Even with his Touchsight, he could perceive nothing living beyond it.  

Grubber crept over the lip of the cave mouth while Hawk and Pavel glided above him near the roof of the cavern.  He too saw the fog roiling before him, but to his eyes it was all too familiar.  He knew instinctively that it was a Cloudkill, the same deadly gas generated by the alkilith demon in the catacombs beneath the Waterdeep arena.  Before he could do more than acknowledge this fact, however, the vapors rolled over him.

Pavel and Hawk did not take note of Grubber’s plight, so intent were they in getting past the cloud and seeing what threat might lie behind.  Once past the fog, however, little more was revealed, for two great crevasses in the cavern floor belched forth veils of steam.  Undeterred, Pavel soared on, feeling only a mild twinge as the boiling clouds engulfed him.  He had Grubber to thank for that, as the priest’s defensive magics protected him and his companions from the intense heat.  Finally, the mist parted before him, revealing the back of the massive cave…and the horror that crouched there.  It was a creature straight out of a nightmare, enormous in size, with four legs like tree trunks.  Its face was comprised mostly of a huge maw filled with curved fangs, and flanked by large tusks on each side.  Its hide seemed to be as thick as stone.  Pavel back-winged furiously, trying to break his forward momentum and turn aside.  As he did so, Harrowdroth rushed forward, bellowing a cry that shook the very stones around him.  Pavel began to dart back into the steam, but one of the beast’s tusks raked across his back like a branding iron.  At that moment, Hawk burst from the clouds, and found himself face-to-face with the behemoth.  A quick toss of Harrowdroth’s head sent the civilar tumbling back several feet before he could right himself and beat his wings fast enough to arrest his fall.

Faust heard the sounds of battle and quickly assumed his stone giant form.  Hugging the cave wall, he avoided the fog cloud as it drifted past him, and then stepped into the steam.  Finally, his Touchsight showed him the details of the battle beyond the clouds.  Both hands went to his temples, and a writhing rope of fire sprang from his brow, disappearing into the mist and striking the nightmare beast.

Harrowdroth roared furiously.  The fire burned him and muddled his thoughts.  He could not concentrate to bring his own magic to bear against his opponents.  Then the human and the dwarf were on him, stabbing and slashing with sword and axe.  He whirled towards the human, driving one of his tusks deep into the man’s guts, and then tearing at him with his scythe-like talons.  He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction as the frail creature flew from him into the steam, cowering and only delaying his inevitable death.

Coughing and retching, Grubber staggered out of the Cloudkill, weakened, but still hale.  He found himself standing on the edge of a twenty-foot wide crack in the earth, with Faust several yards to his left.  The psion had a look of intense concentration on his face, and an energy current arced from him into the steam.  The goliath could not see its target.  Suddenly, a winged figure burst out of the mist above him, and Hawk landed with a grunt.  The civilar was literally gushing blood from a belly wound, and deep lacerations laced his arms and legs.  Grubber knelt by him quickly and began a prayer of Healing.  

Pavel was playing a game of cat-and-mouse.  He would spring in, slash once at the beast and dart back, drawing it after him.  It seemed, however, that the brute was tiring of the baiting.  It also seemed to have lost interest in the dwarf.  Roaring again, it ran under him, vanishing into the steam.  Pavel beat his wings as fast as he could, pursuing the monster before it could reach the others.  He found it straddling one of the crevasses, not five feet in front of Faust.  The psion, showing more balls than brains, stood his ground, channeling fire into the ravening thing.  Pavel dove for it, driving his axe into its stony flesh.  At that moment, he saw Hawk step to Faust’s side.  The civilar looked completely unharmed.  With a cry to Helm, he raised his glowing, crackling blade and plunged it again and again deep into the monster’s chest.  With one final strike, Harrowdroth roared his last, a combination of pain and disbelief at this unimaginable turn of events.  So died the Thorn Vale Nightmare.


Two more grueling days were spent climbing higher and higher into the cold, thin air of the mountains, until at last they stood at the base of the highest peak in the range.  Surely, they reasoned, the King of the Rocs would nest in such a place.  Once again, there was no option for the ascent but flight.  The cliffs were much to sheer to scale, and such a climb made with rope and pitons would be both dangerous and time consuming.  With the Velsharoonian priest still unaccounted for, time was becoming more and more of a factor.  Once more Grubber imbued his companions with wings, but it was decided that he would stay behind.  Even with his ability to spider-climb, his ascent would be much too slow.  So he stood, watching his companions disappear into the clouds which masked the top of the peak, silently praying to Grumbar to watch over them.

The Roc King was dead, and apparently had been for several days.  The magnificent creature lay sprawled in its nest, in a tacky, shallow lake of its own blood.  Feathers lay everywhere, but the Wild Watchers had been specific in their instructions.  The required feather must come from the living bird.  

“We’re too late,” Pavel muttered.  “The damn priest beat us to it.”
“True,” Giovanni nodded, “but we can still complete this trial.”  In answer to the dwarf’s puzzled expression, the warlock drew a scroll from beneath his robes.  
“With this, I can return the creature to life.”
“Then what?”  Faust scoffed.  “You don’t think it’s just going to give us one of its feathers out of gratitude, do you?”  
“Why not?”  The warlock reasoned.  “After all, when Grubber has recalled someone from death before, that person always knew who was responsible for their resurrection.”
“The key word there is person,” Faust said.  “This is an animal we’re dealing with.  For all it will know, we were the ones that killed it in the first place.”
“Do you have another suggestion?”  Giovanni snapped, his voice rising.  When Faust had no immediate response, he nodded tersely.  “It’s settled then.  We raise the roc, and deal with the consequences as they come.  Everyone stand ready.”

As Havok began reading the scroll, Storm began a spell of her own, enabling her to communicate with animals.  Hawk knelt beside the rock, his hands placed gently on its neck.  When Havok’s spell was complete, and the civilar felt the great bird begin to stir, he immediately began to imbue some of his own Holy energy into it, healing some of its grievous wounds that still existed despite its resurrection.

As the roc regained full consciousness, it heaved itself to its feet, and spread its nearly two-hundred foot wings, screeching and snapping its colossal beak open and shut.
‘Have no fear,’ Storm soothed, speaking in a series of squawks and shrieks.  ‘We mean you no harm.  We are here to help you.’  It wasn’t working.  The majestic bird was too agitated.  Storm began to back slowly away, Havok right beside her.  
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Faust growled, stepping forward.  The roc’s eyes locked on the stone giant, and its head darted forward, preparing to strike.  In an instant, a wave of psychic energy burst from the psion like a whip, sapping the great avian’s will, and causing it to collapse into a comatose heap.  
“See?”  Faust shrugged.  “Bird’s still alive, and we can take as many feathers as we want.  Pavel, if you would be so kind.”  The dwarf smiled as he tugged loose a feather larger than himself, remembering the psion’s trick with B’kruss’ boar.  Thus was the Living Feather of the Roc King harvested.  Only one trial remained…Krathanos’ Golden Belt.


----------



## gfunk

CLASH OF THE TITANS

Prologue:

Krekie watched from within the illusory rubble pile which concealed her campsite as the last of the strangers stepped onto the portal and vanished.  Her master, in his infinite wisdom, had told her they would come.  It was the reason he had left her behind, to her annoyance, while he and the others had journeyed on to Tilagos.  Now her wait was over.   Several minutes before she crept forward cautiously to examine the now-quiescent Portal of Storms.  The gems which had been placed by the strangers were gone, but the kenku did not need them.  She had learned much about the workings of magical items through the years, and she could easily manipulate them for her use even without the proper keys or command words.  Once more the druidic runes began to glow and Krekie did not hesitate to stand upon the obsidian disc.

When she arrived on Tilagos, she caught a glimpse of those she pursued as they disappeared into a dark forest to the south.  Like a shadow, she vanished into the high grass of the surrounding plain, and followed after, careful to keep a safe distance where she could still keep her quarry in sight, and yet avoid detection herself.  When they camped for the night, she went to ground as well, waiting for her master to contact her, as he did every evening.  Krekie could not see the magic sensor which allowed Darl Quethos to scry her, but she could hear his voice speaking in her mind, and she knew that he, in turn, could hear her.  He was surprised on this night to find her on Tilagos, and not still in the menhir ruins, but when he heard her news, he congratulated her on her ingenuity.  Krekie enjoyed pleasing her master.  He told her that she must follow the agents of Lashonna, and monitor their every move.  He would contact her nightly for reports.

And so it was that the assassin tracked the League, day after day and night after night.  She watched with great interest as they made quick work of the Night Twist, taking note of the role each member played within the whole.  She followed them into the Thorn Vale and witnessed the demise of the nightmare beast.  She watched them ascend Bloodfeather Peak, and return with the roc feather.  This puzzled her at first, as she knew that her master had already procured a feather and slain the bird, but when she had reported to Darl that evening, he explained to her that the others had probably returned the roc to life, and then slain it again.  Her master was wise beyond measure.  She told him in painstaking detail every tactic she had seen the strangers use, and their defenses as well.  She knew their weaknesses, for instance, the reluctance of the goliath to leave the ground, fool that he was.  She knew that her master would know best how to exploit this information.  

With the third trial complete, Krekie understood that all that remained was for the intruders to defeat the titan.  Midas, that oaf of a minotaur, had failed in his attempt to bargain with the godling, and had paid for it with his life.  Krekie felt that the strangers would fare no better, but if they did, her master would be waiting.  His final instructions to her were to follow the strangers to the titan’s keep, and meet him there.  The servants of Lashonna would unwittingly be serving Darl Quethos as well.


The weathered walls of the keep were torn and ragged.  They appeared to have been battered down on more than one occasion, their chipped stone blocks rebuilt haphazardly into makeshift structures with little integrity.  Four crumbling towers overlooked the outer courtyard.  The archway providing entrance into the compound loomed empty, its iron portcullis nothing more than a heap of twisted black metal lying on the ground nearby.

Grubber had again consulted Grumbar to lead them to this place.  The earth god’s words had been cryptic:  “Those who are imprisoned often seek a view of the freedom that is just beyond their reach.”  It had been Giovanni who had hit upon the idea that a titan, even an imprisoned one, would still choose to live above those around it.  It would likely construct a keep or castle for itself.  So Grubber had utilized a divination to lead him to any unnatural construct on the island.  The path had led here, to this ancient ruin overlooking the sea.

The League fully anticipated that Krathanos would not willingly give up his belt, and they would be forced to take it from him.  When they were still several hundred yards from the keep, they had begun their preparations, casting their defensive spells, and making their plan of attack.  It was then they had spotted the gargoyles.  Six of the creatures, all armed with bows winged their way towards them.  Their bows, however, where not knocked, and they did not seem intent on attack.  Havok and Storm disappeared from view as their invisibility spells took effect just before the gargoyles landed.

One of the creatures stepped forward and called out in guttural common, “Krathanos the Conqueror, exiled by the gods for his designs to rule all of creation, and shackled by the treacherous druids of Tilagos until such time as brave stalwarts arrive to free him, bids you welcome, and invites you to partake of his hospitality.  You will be given food and shelter as you desire.”  Puzzled by this unexpected turn of events, the group regarded one another, and then looked to Hawk.
“We will accompany you to meet your master, for we would have words with him,” the civilar responded, “but if this is treachery, you will be made to pay dearly.”
The gargoyles did not reply, but simply turned and began flying back towards the keep, assuming their guests would follow.

The gargoyles alighted atop the massive, thirty-foot high stone walls that overlooked the inner compound, crouching there silently with their bows near to hand.  Apprehensively, the League passed through the broken gates.  Inside, several large foundation stones of the original structure still stood, but nothing else.  It was little more than an open-air, walled courtyard.  Against the west wall, dozens or iron poles had been driven into the ground, and a large, flat slab of stone placed atop them to form four crude cages.  Within these pens stood four large, white-furred brutes with ape-like faces and four arms…girallons.  As soon as the company entered, the animals began roaring and screeching, shaking the bars of their cells.  Slumped against the opposite wall was a huge humanoid male, perfect in form and feature.  He wore rich, yet tattered clothing under battered half-plate armor.  Around his waist was an emerald-studded golden belt.  Gripped in one hand was an immense spiked warhammer.  When he saw his guests, he hastily climbed to his feet, a brilliant smile creasing his flawless face.
“Welcome to the Keep of the Shackled Conqueror!”  he boomed in a sarcastic voice, gesturing expansively at the ruins around him.
“We appreciate your generosity in deigning to meet with us,” Hawk replied, bowing.  After a moment, Pavel, Grubber and Faust followed suit.
“We have come to you with a dilemma,” the civilar continued.  Krathanos’ eyebrows rose in interest and he motioned for Hawk to continue.
“There is a prophecy known as the Age of Worms, which denotes an apocalypse the likes of which our world has never seen.  This doom is being brought about by the god Kyuss, who has been imprisoned for more than a millennium.  We are trying to prevent this event from coming to pass, and we have learned how to defeat his chief general, the dracolich Dragotha.  The knowledge of how to find and destroy his phylactery lies somewhere here on Tilagos, but in order for the Wild Watchers to reveal this information to us, they have decreed that we must complete three tasks for them.  The last of these is the procurement of your belt.”
Krathanos let out a prolonged sigh, waving one hand absently, “Yes, yes, I do remember a worm priest causing quite a fuss with the green beards ages ago.  As you say, Kyuss is imprisoned now, not unlike myself.  Someday we shall both be free, and your world will tremble at our power!”  Hawk glanced uneasily at his companions.  No one had told them that the titan was insane.
“So it’s my belt you want, eh?  That’s what the minotaur wanted too.”
“Minotaur?”  Hawk asked.
“Yes,” the titan replied.  “He came here several days past, asking to purchase my belt on behalf of the Hand of the Lich-Lord.”
“If I may be so bold as to inquire,” Hawk said cautiously, “what was your reply?”
Krathanos smiled coldly, and then reached into a large bag that hung at his hip and pulled out the severed head of a bull.
“I hate things whose heads don’t match their bodies,” he said quietly.  Then his piercing gaze locked with Hawk’s.  “What do you offer me for my most prized possession?”
Hawk looked puzzled, “What could such as we offer one so mighty?”
“The one thing I cannot grant myself,” the titan snapped, “freedom.  Free me from this place and the belt shall be yours.”
“Can’t you just open a Gate yourself,” came the disembodied voice of Havok.  Instantly, Krathanos’ head whipped from side to side.  
“Who said that?”  he demanded.  “Who dares come unseen into my home?  Show yourself!”  A tense moment passed before both Storm and Havok dismissed their invisibility spells.
“How dare you?”  Krathanos roared.  “How many more of you are there, eh?”  
Hawk put his hands up placatingly, “We apologize.  Please forgive my rude friends.  This is in truth our entire company.”
“Hah!”  Krathanos scoffed.  “We shall see about that!”  He snapped his fingers, and magical power hummed in the air.  Havok knew that the titan has just created an invisibility purge within the compound.  There would be no hiding now.
“Now,” Krathanos boomed, clapping his hands together, “will you meet my demands or not?”
Faust stepped forward.  “Are you saying that if we provide you a means off of this plane that you will leave your belt here for us?”
“Hah!”  the titan laughed.  “Not likely!  You will accompany to my home in Gehenna, and there I will give you the belt.  From there, you may go where you will.”
Hawk was already shaking his head.  “I’m afraid we can’t do that.  We must remain here until our task is complete.”  By this time Krathanos was pacing furiously about the courtyard.
“So you refuse my magnanimous offer?  What else will you give me?  Wait!  I know!  I will accept one of you in trade so that I may be entertained in my solitude.”
“No way!”  Havok blurted out, and immediately regretted doing so.  Krathanos eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Twice now you have insulted me in my own home,” he growled.  “It is obvious I do not have your faith nor trust.  If we can reach no accord, then you leave me no choice.  I will not suffer fools to live!”

Havok was in motion before the titan had completed his sentence.  Sprinting for cover behind a nearby pillar, he loosed an eldritch blast of acidic power over his shoulder.  Grubber was not caught totally unaware either.  Raising his hands above his head, he spoke several words in Terran, causing a glowing radiance to flow from them and over his companions, warding them with a magical shield of pure Law.  The League members were not alone in their anticipation of Krathanos’ wrath, however.  From the walls, the gargoyles opened fire.  Most of their arrows missed, or bounced harmlessly off of protective magical barriers, but one managed to find a chink in Hawk’s armor, lodging itself above his clavicle, and another lucky shot pierced the stone-like skin Storm had conjured about her, and the sorceress cried out as it sank into her upper thigh.  All the while, Krathanos was moving closer to the group.  As he closed, he unleashed a sizzling bolt of lightning targeted at Faust.  Fortunately, the psion had prepared for just such an assault, and the discharge rebounded off of him and back towards the titan.  Unfortunately, the bolt also split into a chain of four smaller beams, striking Pavel, Storm, Grubber and Hawk.  Storm, despite the arrow protruding from her leg, managed a graceful diving roll to one side, evading the deadly shock.  Pavel seemed to simply absorb the spell, as Grubber’s shield made him impervious.  Grubber himself had encased his body in living iron, grounding himself and sending the bolt harmlessly into the floor.  Hawk was not so lucky.  He took the full brunt of the blast, causing his military brush-cut to stand on end.  Krathanos bellowed in rage, raising one fist to the sky.  Instantaneously, four flaming meteors streaked from his hand, three striking Faust, and one Storm.  As each one hit, it exploded into a large ball of fire.  When the flames cleared, smoke billowed from the psion’s scorched flesh.  Storm lay on the ground unmoving, her clothes a charred ruin.

Faust knew he had to act fast to avoid suffering the same fate as the drow.  With a moment’s thought, he caused time to literally slow down around him, bringing everyone in the area to a complete standstill with the exception of himself.  The effect would only last for a few moments, so he took the opportunity to temporarily heal himself somewhat, and then move a safe distance away from the combat.  Just before the flow of time resumed, he manifested two small walls of fiery energy directly where Krathanos was standing.  An instant later, the titan howled as the flames that were not there a second before now began searing his flesh.  Before the titan could react, however, the psion had one more surprise in store.  Manipulating time again, he drew memories from Krathanos’ mind of his own death at some future point.  Bringing these to the surface would ordinarily overwhelm the psyche of a lesser creature, causing its death to occur prematurely.  In this case, Krathanos saw an image of the paladin who was currently standing before him, the one called Hawk, driving his sword through the titan’s heart.  Enraged, the titan forced the thoughts from his mind, but the mental trauma still caused him terrible pain.

As Pavel and Hawk closed the distance to the raging despot, Havok warned them back, just as he created a nest of writhing, wormy tentacles around the giant.  Krathanos was, at least temporarily, unable to extricate himself from the burning walls Faust had created.

Grubber hastily called another prayer to his lips, this time summoning a huge maul of pure energy.  At his command, it slammed into the titan, unleashing a wave or righteous power that staggered him.

“Kill the magic wielders!”  Krathanos roared at his minions, and at his command the gargoyles unleashed a hail of arrows upon Faust and Havok, but the mundane projectiles had no hope of penetrating the magical wards the psion and warlock had woven about them.  

By this time Krathanos was in a blind fury.  The image of Hawk’s killing blow replayed itself over and over in his head, and now the paladin and his dwarf ally stood at his feet.  Gripping his hammer with both hands, the titan swung with all his might.  Instantly, one of Pavel’s hammers exploded.  On the backswing, the dwarf’s second weapon shattered as well.  Laughing maniacally, Krathanos then turned on Hawk, and raised his maul again.  Hawk knew what was coming, but could do nothing to stop it.  When the hammer struck Quaero, his ancestral blade, the civilar felt the shock of the blow all the way down his arm.  When the second blow fell, his arm went completely numb.  In his mind, he heard the sword groan in pain, as its metal neared its breaking point.  Next to him, he saw Pavel’s face go white with fear, an emotion he had never seen the dwarf exhibit.  Taking to the air with the magic of one of his ubiquitous potions of flight, Pavel made a line for the keep’s exit.  As he moved, however, Krathanos’ brought his hammer down one final time upon his spine.  Hawk heard the audible crack, and Pavel cried out, but did not waver from his path.  In a moment, he was gone.  Hawk stood alone.  He knew that if he gave the titan another chance, Quaero would be destroyed.  If he tried to retreat, he probably wouldn’t get very far.  Steeling himself, he made the only decision he could.  He attacked.  Calling on both the power of Helm and Quaero, he smote the titan with holy wrath, causing Krathanos to double over in pain.  As he did so, Hawk drove his blade straight thru the giant’s chest and deep into his heart.  Krathanos sagged to one knee, spat up a great gout of blood, and fell with ground-shaking impact.


“The titan is dead,” Malhazar said as he rematerialized from his gaseous form.  The efreeti had been observing the battle unseen from high above the ruined keep.
“Then it is time,” Darl Quethos intoned.  “We must take the belt and rid ourselves of these interlopers.  Malhazar, you and Nalhazzarath will go over the walls first.  Seize the belt and kill any who stand in your way.  Be most wary of the psion and the warlock.”  The elemental prince nodded, as did the infernal cornugon who stood beside him.
“Jalagar and Sabir,” the priest continued, turning to the twin tieflings, clothed all in back, with only their eyes and the tips of their small horns showing, “you will provide support.  Harry the warriors and keep them occupied.  Krekie and I will follow.  Remember, all of you, I will not tolerate failure.”  The Velsharoonian flexed the withered hand attached to his left wrist for emphasis.  

Malhazar and Nalhazzarath started up the hill towards the castle, the efreeti whistling sharply to an immense black stallion that grazed nearby.  The cauchemar had flaming hooves, and smoke billowed from its nostrils as it snorted and approached its master.  For his part, Nalhazzarath waved one hand before him, where the air rippled and coalesced into a huge, black-skinned giant, its features blank except for two glowing eyes.  ‘This should give them pause,’ the devil chuckled to himself.

Pavel streaked out of the castle, his back burning in agony from the wound Krathanos had inflicted.  An unreasoning panic had seized him the moment his weapons had been sundered.  He had never felt so…helpless.  He had no thought for where he was going, or what he would do until he saw the newcomers approaching.  The efreeti he recognized from Lashonna’s scrying spell.  The other creature he had never seen, nor did he remember spying a damned giant horse, or the other giant for that matter!  In that moment, reason returned, and he knew that he could not leave the others to their fate.  Whirling in mid-air, he turned back towards the keep.  He had to warn them.

Though Krathanos was down, his minions did not falter in their relentless volley of arrows.  Grubber couldn’t be sure if Storm was dead or alive, and he was afraid that one of the missiles might strike her at any moment, ending any chance he might have of saving her.  With a sweep of his arm he hurled a storm of razor-sharp shards towards the nearest three gargoyles.  As the shards struck, they exploded in a brilliant white light, and all three archers dropped their bows, clutching at their eyes.  Panic seized them, and they took flight, disappearing out of sight over the wall.  One of the three remaining gargoyles leaped off the wall, gliding to the ground in a full charge towards the goliath.  When he reached Grubber, he raked his talons across the priest’s back, but he might as well have been striking an iron golem.  Grubber didn’t have time to waste sparring with the brute.  He had to get to Storm.  It was only then that he noticed that the gargoyle had placed himself between him and the sorceress.

At that moment, Pavel streaked back through the shattered gate of the keep, landing at Hawk’s side.
“Sorry boy.  Don’t know what came over me.”  Then he called out so that all could hear, “Ye’d best prepare yerselves!  Our one-handed friend’s sent his lackeys to pay us a visit!”
Hawk cursed, and then did something that completely stunned the dwarf.  He handed him Quaero.
“Take it,” the civilar said.  “I’ll use my shield if necessary.  For now I need you to watch my back.”  Hawk then turned towards the lifeless titan and crawled up his torso to stand on his back.  Once there he set about unbuckling Krathanos’ golden belt.

Three things happened simultaneously a moment later.  Nalhazzarath alighted atop the wall to the west of the gate, while Malhazar flew onto the east one.  Through the gate itself came the ebon giant.  Pavel braced himself, holding the unfamiliar weapon before him, but there was no way he could ward against the fireball that the devil hurled at him and Hawk.  Though the flames seared their flesh, the dwarf did not waver, and Hawk never hesitated in his task.  Their pain was even greater, and their resolve stronger when the efreeti sent his own scorching blast of fire at each of them.  On the heels of these attacks, two black-clad figures darted inside the gate, maneuvering between the legs of the giant and moving to flank Pavel before he was more than aware of their presence.  The Sinfire twins had arrived.

Grubber was torn.  On one side, Storm’s life might hang in the balance, while on the other Hawk and Pavel where fighting for their own lives.  In the end, though it agonized him to do so, he had to do what he could for those who might still survive.  As he finished the words to the powerful prayer, all of the dwarf’s and the civilar’s wounds vanished in an instant.  Suddenly, from behind him, Grubber heard an evil laugh.  When he turned back, he saw that the gargoyle had picked up Storm and slung her limp form over its shoulder.  It crouched, and then leaped into the air.

Malhazar’s command to Blackfire had been clear…kill the stone giant!  Now the cauchemar sailed over the wall and ran through the air towards the psion, who was sheltered behind a distant pillar.  The hooves of the nightmarish horse sent up gouts of flame as they pounded on empty space, and its nostrils poured steam and ash.  Faust seemed unconcerned.  He simply stood with his arms folded, right up until the moment that Blackfire landed, rearing in front of him.  Then he reached out one hand and placed it on the great horse’s chest, and with a simple mental command, sent the beast back to its home in the Abyss.  Smiling to himself, the psion darted from behind his cover, heading across the courtyard for a better vantage point.  As he did so, he saw the ebony-skinned giant standing in the gate.  A nightwalker!  Fear gibbered in his head as he realized their danger, but it took only a moment for a small detail to occur to him.  He couldn’t ‘see’ the creature with his Touchsight.  ‘Damn clever,’ he had to admit.  An illusion.
“’Ware the giant!”  He called to his allies.  “Don’t believe what your eyes tell you.  It isn’t real!”

Pavel heard Faust, but he had more pressing issues to deal with.  Roaring a battle-cry, he swung at the nearest tiefling, Sabir.  Though the weapon connected solidly, and the monk bled satisfactorily, Pavel could not help but notice the difference between the sword being wielded by his hand compared to that of its true master.  He only had a moment to ponder this though, as the weapon was suddenly snatched from his grip by Sabir.  Immediately Jalagar struck from behind, his fists moving with blinding speed, pummeling the dwarf about the head.

Nalhazzarath nodded in satisfaction when he saw that the twins had the situation with the dwarf well in hand.  Now he could have his own fun.  The goliath priest stood alone in the middle of the battlefield and the cornugon had not tasted holy blood in a long time.  With a roar, he leaped from the wall, landing heavily right behind Grubber.  Cracking his chain like a whip, he flayed it across the goliath’s back.  Shock filled Grubber’s eyes as his mind registered the pain he felt.  The devil’s chain had actually managed to penetrate the iron casing that protected his flesh!

Malhazar was not as pleased by what he was seeing.  The cursed civilar had managed to remove the titan’s belt and was even now buckling it around his chest like a bandolier!  The Exiled Flame flew from the wall, drawing his flaming falchion as he moved.  As he landed, he sent another sizzling burst of fire at the dwarf, this time striking the foul little brute squarely in the face.  He was pleased by the mortal’s scream.  

Havok knew a bad situation when he saw one.  Though the others desperately needed his help, he wouldn’t be of much use to them dead, and at ground zero he was a sitting duck.  Willing himself invisible once more, he darted into the sky, reaching a height some hundred feet or more above the melee.  It was then that he saw the newest arrivals on the scene.  Darl Quethos and his kenku minion were moving through the gate, cloaked by invisibility, just as he was.  Only his demon-touched eyes allowed him to see them at all.  He prayed it was not too late.

Havok wasn’t the only one to take note of Darl’s arrival.  Thanks to his permanently imbued ability to see the unseen, Grubber saw the priest’s approach as well.  Not that he could do anything about it, not even when the Velsharoonian targeted him with a dispelling field, ripping asunder several of his lesser protective charms.  Worse, even after his attack, Darl remained invisible!

Faust was too far from the gate for his Touchsight to reveal Darl’s presence.  What he did notice, however, were the remaining two gargoyles closing on him from either side.  Again, he was unconcerned, even when one of them tackled him, grabbing him in a mighty-bear hug.  It’s brother soon joined in, both of them laughing all along.  Faust’s own smile was the last thing they saw, though, as he mentally banished them both to whatever gods-forsaken plane they called home.

Grubber was in a near panic.  The gargoyle was getting away with Storm.  Pavel and Hawk were surrounded, he was facing a chain wielding cornugon all alone, and Darl Quethos stood poised to end them all at his leisure!  The goliath did the only thing he could think of…he spoke a Holy Word.  The results were instantaneous and dramatic.  The gargoyle, Nalhazzarath, and the Sinfire twins were all struck deaf and blind.  Unfortunately, so was Pavel.  Grubber had forgotten that the dwarf’s world-view, though not evil, might not necessarily be what one might consider good.  Malhazar seemed unphased, much to the priest’s dismay.  

For Pavel, things were quickly going to Hades in a hand-basket.  Unarmed, deaf and blind, he was at the mercy of his enemies.  He had to get clear.  He leaped into the air, striving for altitude, but Malhazar’s falchion slashed at him as he fled.  A parting scorching blast from the efreeti solidified the dwarf’s decision to quit the field a second time.

Malhazar let the dwarf go.  He was of no consequence now.  His immediate concern was the belt, and the paladin who held it.  As Hawk was securing the final straps in place, the efreeti struck, his blade cutting deep into the civilar’s back, and then sending fire exploding through the wound.  

Havok watched the chaos continue to unfold below.  Even now, Krekie was creeping unseen behind Hawk’s back.  The civilar was under attack from all sides!  He was crippled without his blade.  Quickly the warlock fired back-to-back eldritch blasts at the tiefling who held Quaero.  Both bolts were direct hits, and the monk was dead before he hit the ground.  

Nalhazzarath was infuriated that his prey had eluded him so easily.  He lashed out in fury, hurling another fireball where he had last seen the dwarf and the paladin, heedless of the fact that his own allies might be caught in the blast.  As it was, both Krekie and Jalagar managed to dodge the worst of the explosion.  Malhazar’s fiery nature protected him from the flames.  Grubber and Hawk were not so lucky.  Their wounds were becoming grievous.  

“That damnable mud-worshipper!”  Darl cursed, seeing the effects the Grubber’s ruinous spell had wreaked upon his minions.  Calling upon the Liche Lord, he cast his own prayer, one identical to that Grubber had used to heal Pavel and Hawk, only this time, not only did it heal the wounds of Darl’s cohorts, but it also removed their afflictions, returning their sight and hearing.

Grubber’s fear was not subsiding.  Despite his best efforts, his team was losing ground fast.  Desperately, he loosed a second Storm of Shards, wounding Nalhazzarath and Malhazar, but failing to blind either of them.  The fleeing gargoyle also suffered, but he was still blinded, Darl’s magic not encompassing him.  The beast continued to gain altitude, Storm still firmly in his grasp.

Jalagar Sinfire was all that stood between Hawk and Quaero, and even now the tiefling stooped to recover the weapon, prying it from his brother’s cold, dead fingers.  Enraged that the filth would dare lay hands upon his family blade, and ignoring his own horrendous wounds, Hawk charged, slamming into the monk with his shield.  Again and again the civilar hammered at the tiefling, catching him under the chin with a final uppercut, and snapping his head back with a loud crack.  As Jalagar staggered backwards, two more blasts from Havok streaked from the sky, nearly bowling the monk over with their impact.  

“Fools!”  Darl cried, incensed at the ineptitude of his ‘crack’ team.  “Jalagar!  Take the goliath!  Malhazar!  Nalhazzarath!  Kill the paladin now!”  
With practiced synchronicity, the combatants changed targets.  Jalagar rushed towards Grubber, who was in the act of raising his maul in defense when the monk almost casually plucked it from his hands.  Jalagar now held Quaero in one hand, and Grubber’s maul in the other.
For their part, Nalhazzarath lunged at Hawk, sinking his fangs into the civilar’s free arm, while Malhazar slashed at him with his falchion, before scorching him with another fiery ray.  

Darl nodded in satisfaction.  Now that the pawns were being dealt with, it was time for him to confront the true threat.  The warlock was too far away, but it was no matter.  Once his friends were slain, he would either flee or perish if he stood his ground.  No, it was the psion that Darl was concerned with.  He could just glimpse the élan, now in his stone-giant form, cowering behind one of the pillars.  A glimpse was all he needed.  With a voice that boomed like thunder, the Velsharoonian priest unleashed his most powerful spell…a Disjunction.  Like a holocaust wave, the magic swept across the battlefield, engulfing both friend and foe alike.  In an instant, every single magical effect on every individual was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.  Even several magical items, weapons and armor were stripped of their enchantments, becoming mundane again.  

Faust’s giant-form vanished, replaced by his natural, weaker one.  The psion couldn’t believe what has just happened.  In one fell swoop, Darl Quethos had robbed them of all of their defenses, while keeping his own, if not those of his allies, intact.  It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.  There was no way that Faust could replace his wards.  His mental energies were nearly exhausted.  He had just enough power left for a few offensive abilities, and he knew that he had to strike now, while some of his foes were similarly weakened.  Concentrating, he conjured a massive orb of frigid cold, hurling it towards the knot of opponents.  It detonated with cataclysmic effect.  When the mist and frost cleared, Krekie, Jalagar Sinfire, and Malhazar, the Exiled Flame all lay dead on the ground.

Hawk didn’t know what all had just transpired, but he knew one thing…Quaero was free.  The sword lay on the ground near the dead monk, and Hawk dove for it.  As he did so, the cornugon struck, his spiked chain flaying the skin from the civilar’s arm.  Still, as he rolled to his feet, Quaero was his once more, and he now stood back to back with Grubber.  Uttering a quick prayer, Grubber laid one hand on Hawk’s shoulder, once again healing all of his wounds.  It was the last act the goliath would perform in this battle.  Darl Quethos strode boldly forward, the Hand of Velsharoon raised as he approached.  He uttered a single, vile word and an explosion of unholy power ripped through Hawk and Grubber.  Hawk’s head swam, and he felt his strength leave him.  He could barely raise his shield as Nalhazzarath took the opportunity to press his attack.  His chain lashed out again, rending Hawk’s flesh, and then his barbed tail struck the civilar across the face, leaving a wound that gushed blood as if it had struck an artery.  When Hawk’s vision finally cleared, he saw that Grubber had fared far worse than he.  The goliath was paralyzed, rooted in place by the foul power of the Hand.

“Do you see how easy that was?”  Darl asked Nalhazzarath.  The cornugon shrugged as the priest laid his whole hand upon him, healing his wounds.  He was not sure that the loss of over half your forces could be called easy, but who was he to contradict the Chosen of Velsharoon?
“I am feeling particular benevolent today,” Darl said, smiling at Hawk.  “Give me the belt now, and no more of your friends have to suffer.”
“Over…my…dead…body!”  Hawk snarled through a mask of gore.  
“So be it,” Darl said coldly.  As he began to move forward once more, though, he saw, through the enchanted Robe of Eyes that he wore, Havok land suddenly behind the civilar.  The warlock had a scroll in hand, and as he read it, his hand glowed blue.  Quickly he grabbed Hawk’s shoulder, and the paladin’s wounds were healed a third time.
“Futile,” Darl drawled.  Then he began to pray.  When he had finished his prayer, there seemed to be no immediate effect…until he walked brazenly up to the paladin and the warlock.  Only then did Havok realize the enormity of what the priest had done.  He had surrounded himself with a null-magic field.  No magic of any kind would operate within it, including that of Darl himself.  At first glance, this seemed like suicide, until Havok saw Nalhazzarath twirling his chain and grinning.  The cornugon did not rely on magic to kill.  A moment later, the devil was upon him.  The whirling chain flensed him like a hot knife through butter.  This was followed by a savage lash from the cornugon’s tail, inflicting a bloody wound similar to the one bestowed on Hawk, and then a vicious bite.  Giovanni Vito felt his life’s blood leaving him.  He staggered back and abruptly felt his magic return.  In his current condition, though, he still wouldn’t last long.  Quickly pulling another scroll from his belt, he read the magic contained therein and sent an orb of pure force hurtling at the devil.  

Hawk felt Quaero grow quiescent in his grip, but he also saw that Darl had become visible.  He didn’t waste the opportunity.  Stepping forward, he slashed repeatedly at the priest, unable to bring the full magic of his sword to bear, but dealing telling blows nonetheless.  
“Kill him!”  Darl screamed, and with that, Nalhazzarath turned his attention to the civilar, beating him mercilessly again and again.  Only then did Darl speak a single word, dismissing his spell, and vanishing from view once more.
“Not…so…fast!”  Hawk hissed, pushing the agony he was suffering at the hands of the cornugon from his mind.  Though he couldn’t see the priest, he knew where he had just been, and it was there that he struck.  Twice he felt his blade connect with something solid, the second time sinking deep into soft flesh.  Twice he had the satisfaction of hearing Darl scream.

“Faust!”  Havok shouted.  “We need to end this…now!”  
“On my word!”  The psion cried.  “One…two….three!”  Simultaneously, Havok used the magic from another scroll, hurling a second orb of force at Nalhazzarath while Faust manifested a crackling orb of electricity.  As the twin globes exploded, the cornugon was literally blown out of existence.  Havok saw Darl moving away, and called out to Hawk to follow.  Pulling another scroll, he summoned an orb of fire to strike the priest.  Still Darl Quethos stood.  He glared balefully at the warlock.
“This is not over,” he whispered.  “We will meet again.”  With that, he snapped his fingers and a planar rift opened around him, whisking him from Tilagos forever.


----------



## demiurge1138

Wow. Another very nice and timely reboot of one of my favorite story hours. It's good to see it back. The loss of all the comments, witty banter, and psychotic powergaming, though, is kind of depressing.

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

*Post Database Crash Update*

1. The party returns to Longsaddle for some R&R and chats with the archmage Harpell about the impending destruction of the world.  He directs us to Kongen-Thulnir and we head that way . . . eventually.

2.  We 'port into the Rift to see the mother of all battles between Giants and Dragons.  Deciding (for once!) that discretion is the better part of valor, we cautiously try to avoid conflict.

3.  Despite our best efforts we meet a colorful cast of characters along the way including the rampaging Old Fiendish Green Dragon Necrozyte (who meets the proverbial Borg Cube), the "Fabler" (who neglects to mention that he is, in fact, a Spawn of Kyuss), and a bunch of sissy-pansy Hill Giants in a guard tower.

4.  We are assaulted, repeatedly, by Dragons.

5.  We decide to enter a nearby guard tower to converse with the Giants inside when we are trapped in the middle of a Dragon/Giant battle.  The Giants, turning aside our diplomatic overtures, attack us savagely (though our causing structural damage to their tower probably had something to do with it).

6.  Tired of role-playing the League declares war on all Giants and Dragons and the gorefest begins.


----------



## demiurge1138

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Post Database Crash Update*
> 
> 1. The party returns to Longsaddle for some R&R and chats with the archmage Harpell about the impending destruction of the world.  He directs us to Kongen-Thulnir and we head that way . . . eventually.
> 
> 2.  We 'port into the Rift to see the mother of all battles between Giants and Dragons.  Deciding (for once!) that discretion is the better part of valor, we cautiously try to avoid conflict.
> 
> 3.  Despite our best efforts we meet a colorful cast of characters along the way including the rampaging Old Fiendish Green Dragon Necrozyte (who meets the proverbial Borg Cube), the "Fabler" (who neglects to mention that he is, in fact, a Spawn of Kyuss), and a bunch of sissy-pansy Hill Giants in a guard tower.
> 
> 4.  We are assaulted, repeatedly, by Dragons.
> 
> 5.  We decide to enter a nearby guard tower to converse with the Giants inside when we are trapped in the middle of a Dragon/Giant battle.  The Giants, turning aside our diplomatic overtures, attack us savagely (though our causing structural damage to their tower probably had something to do with it).
> 
> 6.  Tired of role-playing the League declares war on all Giants and Dragons and the gorefest begins.




Ooh. I do like the sound of Number 6. That module, incidentally, was the one time I've ever thought to myself "am I capable of DMing this?" Haven't gotten to it yet to find out, either.

Demiurge out.


----------



## themind

Excelent update, especially after the database hiccup.

I can't wait to see how the deal with Havok being a Spawn of Kyuss, or descendant of one goes.  I take it that's where he gets his powers from.


----------



## hbarsquared

In response to *demiurge1138*'s comment:







			
				demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> That module, incidentally, was the one time I've ever thought to myself "am I capable of DMing this?"



This is one thing I have noticed with the Adventure Path series (as well as with all the recent _Dungeon_ adventures, in general): not only do they test the skills of players, but DMs, as well.

Many of the adventures offer unique, complex, and enjoyable situations that are a challange for players, but also stretch the skills of all DMs.  I like that.  The DM isn't just "following directions," or what have you, but gets to participate, to some extent, in the challenge of the adventure.

_Dawn of a New Age_ is another one of those "Can I DM this" type of adventures.


----------



## Joachim

Great job collecting all that, Gautam.  Now all we need to do is repost our characters and we will be set.  I will go ahead and retype my character block tonight, and then the other players can use it as a template.

Yeah, it's said to see the banter gone, but it shall return.  Nothing wrong with a clean slate every now and then.


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## Ika_Greybeard

Glad someone had a copy of all those post. Good job on reposting it and hope everyone enjoy's the story hour.


----------



## R-Hero

*Character Sheet*

Hawk was 1600+ XP away from 18th level before the Giants vs Dragon superbowl that we crashed.  I will assume after all that death Hawk walked away with enough to level..

Forgive any glarring errors in spelling or facts.  Night shift ended a couple of hours ago.

*Senior Civilar Hawkins Veritas 
A.K.A  Captain Hawk  (PalCW 6/Annointed Knight 10/Fighter 1)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Aasimar (Outsider)*
*Hit Dice:* 17d10+68 (174 hp)
*Initiative:* +0
*Speed:* Move 20ft  (W/Divine Vigor) 30ft  
*Armor Class:* 32 (Base 10+0 Dex, +17 Armor/Shield: Nat +3: Def +2), 
19 touch, 30 flat-footed  [Divine Shield = AC 42, Touch 29]
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +17/12/7/2 
*Full Attack:* +25/20/15/10/25/(+25)
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Daylight
*Special Qualities:* _Outsider Traits_ 
Cold, Electricity and Acid Resistance 5 
Darkvision 60ft, Damage Reduction 3/-, No Dual Nature, Subtype: Native

_*Paladin*_ Smite Evil, Remove Disease, Special Mount, Turn Undead 17x a day 
Lay on Hands (60hps), Aura of Courage, Aura of Good, 
Blessed Weapon, Detect Evil, Divine Grace, Divine Health.

_*Annointed Knight*_ 
Unbroken Flesh (DR 3/-), 
Inspired Strike, Free Action Extra Attack at Highest Attack bonus 3x a day
Deep Strike, Free Action 2d6 Extra Damage 3x a day
Divine Clarity: Charisma +1

*Saves:* Fort +30, Ref +18, Will +23

*Abilities:* Str 20, Dex 10, Con 18, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 30

*Skills:* Bluff +11, Concentration +15, Diplomacy +20, Gather Info +11, 
Knowledge (Arcana +4), (Religion +18) (Royalty +5) (Kyuss +22)  
Spellcraft +5, Use Magic Device +11

*Feats:* Innatentive (Flaw), Armor and Shield Proficiency, 
Blind Fight, Cleave, Parrying Shield, Power Attack, Improved Shield Bash, 
Ancestrial Relic, Exotic Weapon Proficiency; Bastard Sword, Flay Foe, 
Ranged Precision (Team Feat)
*Divine Feats * Divine Might, Vigor and Shield 17x a day
*Environment:* Anywhere I Please (as long as Helm O.K.s it.)
*Organization:* Company C.O. (WaterDeep) or Special Forces (The League)
*Alignment:* Lawful Good

*COMBAT*
*Quaero:* 
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
+25/20/15/10/25/(+25 w/ Inspired Strike 3x a day) 
Damage 1d10+8. Divine Might +10 per hit,  Flay Foe +1d6 for each hit after first
Quickened Holy or Lightning Damage 2d6, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day

*+3 Bashing Spiked Shield* +25/20/15/10/(+25 Inspired Strike) 
Damage 2d6+8. Divine Might +10 per hit, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day


*EQUIPMENT* , 
+6 Headband of Charisma, Dusty Rose Ioun Stone  
+3 Amulet Natural armor 
+3 Cloak of Resistance
+2 Soul Fire Full Plate Armor
+4 Bracers of Health 
+5 Bashing Spiked Shield, +3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed and Burst x3
Golembane Gloves, Glove of Storing, 
Rings, Freedom of Movement & Protection +1
+4 Belt of Strength (Copy of Champions Game Belt)
Winged Boots
Rivivify Diamond
Nightstick
Potions: Fly x5, Silversheen x3, Cure Serious x5, Cure Mod x3, 
Non-Detection x3, Undetectable Alignment x3


*Quaero Veritas 
Awakened Ancestrial Relic *
Int 14,  Wis 14,  Cha 10  _Ego 12 _ 
Communication. Speech, Telepathy with Hawk only
Languages.  Giant, Abyssal, Common
Primary Abilities: Zone of Truth 3x a day, Locate Object 3x aday
Minor Ability: Can let Hawk know if he has taken over the body of a long dead ancestor.


----------



## gfunk

*Faust "Holocaust" Cenodoxus (Kineticist 17)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------

*Medium Abberation (Elan)*
*Hit Dice:* 17d4+68+12 (124 hp)
*Initiative: *+2
*Speed:* Move 40' (8 squares)
*Armor Class:* 14, 12 touch, 12 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +8/+7
*Attack:* None to speak of
*Full Attack:* See Attack
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Psionics
*Special Qualities:* Naturally Psionic, Resistance, Resilience, Repletion
*Saves:* Fort +13, Ref +12, Will +16
*Abilities:* Str 8, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 28, Wis 14, Cha 8
*Skills:* Autohypnosis +22, Concetration +34, Knowledge (Arcana) +29, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +29, Knowledge (Nature) +29, Knowledge (The Planes) +31, Knowledge (Religion) +31, Psicraft +16, Spellcraft +12
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Psionic Mastery, Privileged Energy [Fire], Power Penetration, Greater Power Penetration, Psionic Meditation, Psionic Body, Overchannel, Expanded Knowledge (Contigency (Psi)), Expanded Knowledge (Evade Burst), Expanded Knowledge (Banishment (Psi)), Maximize Power
*Environment:* Rifts chock full of Giants and Dragons
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Joachim, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 17
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* True Neutral

_Resistance is futile. You will be Assimilated (Psion/Wilder 9)._

*Naturally Psionic:* Faust gains 2 bonus power points at 1st level. This benefit does not grant him the ability to manifest powers unless they gain that ability through another source, such as levels in a psionic class.

*Resistance (Su):* Faust can use psionic energy to increase his resistance to various forms of attack. As an immediate action, he can spend 1 power point to gain a +4 racial bonus on saving throws until the beginning of his next action.

*Resilience (Su):* When Faust takes damage, he can spend power points to reduce its severity. As an immediate action, he can reduce the damage he is about to take by 2 hit points for every 1 power point he spends.

*Repletion (Su):* Faust can sustain his body without need of food or water. If he spends 1 power point, Faust does not need to eat or drink for 24 hours.

*Psioncs (Sp):* Faust has a power point pool of 328. His DC to resist powers is 19 + power level (subject to augmentation) (20 + power level for psychokinetic powers)

*1st:* _Inertial Armor, Vigor, Precognition Defensive, Crystal Shard, Synchronicity_

*2nd:* _Energy Missile, Damp Power, Psychoportive Shelter, Ego Whip_

*3rd:* _Energy Cone, Energy Wall, Dispel Psionics, Touchsight_

*4th:* _Control Body, Energy Ball, Dimension Door (Psi), Energy Adaptation, Telekinetic Manuever_

*5th:* _Power Resistance, Anticipatory Strike, Energy Current, Celestial Conduit_

*6th:* _Disintegrate (Psi), Dispelling Buffer, Temporal Acceleration, Banishment (Psi), Contingency (Psi)_

*7th:* _Mind Blank (Personal), Reddopsi, Evade Burst_

*8th:* _Recall Death, Stygian Veil, Greater Teleport (Psi)_

*9th:* _Assimilate_

*EQUIPMENT*

_Headband of Intellect +6, Gloves of Health +4, Bracers of Dexterity +4, Psionatrix of Psychokinesis, Third Eye of Concentration, Robe of Resistance +5, Ring of Force Shield, Ring of Power Preservation (Gift from Melchor Harpell), Dojre of Mindlink (8th level, 32 charges), Several CLW/CMW potions, 1 Scroll of Greater Spell Immunity, Boots of Striding and Springing
_
-------------------------------------------------

Possibilities for Level 18:

1. _Tornado Blast_ (Kineticist 9) -- 150 hp damage?  40' radius?  1080 ft range?  Untyped damage?  No SR?  Targets are randomly strewn about the battlefied?  -- in case you were wondering . . .Yes, Yes, YES, YES, YES, YES!!!

2. _Timeless Body_ (Psion/Wilder 9) -- Immune to everything for one round?  I'll hit that.

3. Expanded Knowledge Feat to get _Ethereal Agent_ (Psion/Wilder 5) -- Like _prying eyes_ but better --> this baby goes through solid objects too!


----------



## Joachim

Havok subjected himself to Faust's Psychic Reformation, so there are a few changes of note, mostly that I rearranged my feats.  I dropped Sudden Maximize and Mortalbane and picked up Greater Spell Penetration and Arcane Mastery (I can bust SR 31 with no roll baby).  I also dropped Noxious Blast in exchange for Wall of Perilous Flame.  I have traded in my master blaster status in exchange of master of battlefield control!

*Giovanni Vito, aka "Havok" (Warlock 17)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Humanoid (Human)*
*Hit Dice:* 17d6+51 (118 hp)
*Initiative:* +9 (+13 with _Sign_) 
*Speed:* Move 30' (6 squares)
*Armor Class:* 20 (+5 Dex, +5 Armour), 15 touch, 15 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +12/+12
*Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +17 ranged touch (10d6)
*Full Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +17 ranged touch (10d6)
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Invocations, Eldritch Blast
*Special Qualities:* Human traits, _Detect Magic_ (Sp) at will, Deceive Item, DR 4/cold iron, Fiendish Resilience 2, Fire Resistance 5, Electricity Resistance 5, Imbue Item, 3 Fate Points remaining, +1 inherent bonus to CHA, -1 penalty to all strength skill checks
*Saves:* Fort +11, Ref +13, Will +18
*Abilities:* Str 10, Dex 20, Con 16, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 21
*Skills:* Concentration +28, Knowledge (planes) +22, Knowledge (religion) +22 [+26 regarding Kyuss or his cult], Knoweldge (arcana) +22, Spellcraft +24 (+29 to identify scrolls with _detect magic_), Use Magic Device +25 (+32 for any check involving scrolls)
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Absent-Minded (Trait), Sudden Still Spell, Spell Penetration, Greater Spell Penetration, Arcane Mastery, Maximize Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Empower Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Quicken Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Improved Initiative, Ranged Precision (Team Feat), Superior Flank (Team Feat)
*Environment:* Urban
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Gfunk, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 17
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* Chaotic Good

_Before you stands an unarmed and unassuming bookish young man of no more than twenty years, complete with thick spectacles.  As he clenches his fist, you swear that his hand is bathed in a sheen of dark emerald energy. _

*COMBAT*
*Eldritch Blast (Sp):* The first invocation acquired by all warlock is the _eldritch blast._  The eldritch blast is a ranged touch attack that is treated as a 1st level spell and has a range of 60 feet.  At Giovanni's current level of power, his eldritch blast deals a base of 8d6 damage (10d6 with his _Greater Chasuble of Fell Power_).

*Invocations (Sp):* Giovanni has acquired a small number of invocations that he can use.  Invocations are identical to spell-like abilities, with the exception that they have somatic components (only).  Invocations can be used at will with no limit in uses per day.  Giovanni has access to the following invocations:

*Least:*
_Eldritch Spear (Blast Shape):_ The range of _eldritch blast_ increases to 250 feet.
_See the Unseen:_ Grants Darkvision 60 feet and _see invisibility_ (24 hour duration).
_Dark One's Own Luck:_ Grants CHA bonus to one save (included with Will save above, 24 hour duration).

_*Lesser:*_
_Eldritch Chain:_ Eldritch chain bounces into 1 additional target for every 5 levels (secondary targets take half damage).
_Flee the Scene:_ Use _dimension door_ with close range (25 feet + 5 feet every 2 levels) at will, and leave behind a _major image_ of self in its place.
_Fell Flight:_ Fly at land speed with good maneuverability, 24 hour duration.

*Greater:*
_Wall of Perilous Flame:_ Use _wall of flame_ at will, but half of the damage is fire and the other half results from arcane power.  Targets that are taken to 0 hit points by a Wall of Perilous Flame are _destroyed_.
_Chilling Tentacles:_ Use _Evard's black tentacles_ at will, but creatures also take 2d6 cold damage.
_Vitriolic Blast:_ Eldritch blast deals acid damage, ignores SR, and deals 2d6 additional damage for next 3 rounds.

_*Dark:*_
_Retributive Invisibility:_ Use _greater invisibility_ at will, and deals 4d6 damage in 20 foot radius if dispelled. 

_*Detect Magic (Sp):*_ Giovanni can use _detect magic_ at will.

*Deceive Item:* Giovanni can always take 10 on Use Magic Device, even if stressful situations would not normally allow him to do so (such as combat).

*Fiendish Resilience (1):* As a free action once per day, Giovanni can call upon the dark forces to heal his wounds.  He gains fast healing 2 for a duration of 2 minutes.

*Energy Resistance:* At 10th level, a Warlock selects two types of energy (in Havok's case, Fire and Electricity) to gain resistance (5 points).

*Imbue Item:* A Warlock with the proper item creation feats can use his Use Magic Device skill to simulate spells required in the making of items.  The DC for arcane spells is 15 + spell level, and the DC for divine spells is 25 + spell level.

*EQUIPMENT*

*General:* 
_Greater Chasuble of Fell Power, +3 Cloak of Resistance, +3 Belt of Charisma, Gloves of Fortunate Striking, Tunic of Steady Spellcasting, Spellsight Spectacles, Headband of Conscious Effort, Ring of Feather Falling, Talisman of the Sphere, Bracers of Health +2, Boots of Dexterity +2, "Dawn's Light" (intelligent +1 Soulfire Mithril Chain Shirt, can cast Cure Moderate Wounds 3/day and maintains a continual Deathwatch), Ioun Stone (+2 Intelligence), Ioun Stone (+2 Strength), Heward's Handy Haversack, Staff of Ghostform (25 uses)

*Wands:* 
Wand of Cure Moderate [23 charges], Wand of Cure Light [35 charges], Wand of Restoration [26 charges], Wand of Mirror Image [35 charges], Wand of True Strike [49 charges], Wand of Enlarge Person [36 charges], Wand of Sign [46 charges], Wand of Benign Transposition [49 charges], Wand of Comprehend Languages [44 charges], Wand of Detect Secret Doors [49 charges]

*Scrolls:* 
2 Scrolls of Silence, 5 Scrolls of Knock, 2 Scrolls of Assay Resistance, 10 Scrolls of Solid Fog, Scroll of Teleport, 2 Scrolls of Ghost Trap, 2 Scrolls of Time Stop_

-----------------------------
Possibilities for Level 18:

1)   I will most likely pick up _Dark Foresight_.  We will never be surprised again!

2)   Feat selection:  Quicken Spell-Like Ability (Wall of Perilous Flame).  I will let Faust deal with the removal of bad-guy hitpoints...I will make it my job to make them sit still and like it!


----------



## LordVyreth

Aren't you missing a few entries still?  I don't see the one w/ the Titan and round two against the Anti-League.


----------



## gfunk

DAYS OF FUTURE PAST

“Let her go.  I’ll ask you this one last time, and then you die.”  
Gorbag, captain of Krathanos’ gargoyle minions heard the disembodied voice coming from somewhere below him.  Moments before, he had felt a gentle bump nudge the still-unconscious drow slung over his shoulder.  Unbeknownst to him, Havok hovered beneath, invisible, and had used a healing scroll to bring the sorceress back from death’s door.  Thanks to Darl Quethos’ Blasphemy, however, she still remained paralyzed and helpless.
“Whoever you are,” Gorbag growled, “if you could do anything to stop me, you would’ve done so by now.  This little lass is mine, and I intend to keep her.”  With a burst of speed, the gargoyle flapped onward, though his pace was still sluggish due to the effects of the protective shield of Law Grubber had woven about himself before the creature had attacked him.
“Why do they always have to do things the hard way?”  Havok sighed, and then sighting down one extended finger, he released a spear of acidic, eldritch energy, specially attuned to the blood of mortals.  The gargoyle shrieked as the beam struck him, and reflexively loosened his grip on Storm.  The drow plummeted towards the ground, fifty-feet below, while Gorbag flew on as fast as he could, desperate to escape his unseen foe.  Havok let him go.  Streaking down, he landed at Storm’s side.  Though battered from the fall, the sorceress was in no imminent danger of death.  The warlock lifted her gently into his arms and started back towards the Keep of the Shackled Conqueror.

Grubber walked slowly towards Pavel.  The dwarf sat on a stone, away from the others, his head bowed.  
“Here,” the goliath said in a low voice as he approached.  “I’m sorry I could not do more.”  Pavel looked up, and for a moment his eyes went wide, for the priest held in his hands both of the dwarf’s waraxes, whole once more.  However, as he looked more closely, he could tell that Grubber had only managed to mend the physical damage.  The powerful enchantments originally borne by the weapons were forever gone.
“Thank ye lad,” the mercenary mumbled, taking the axes and slipping them into their loops at his side.  Then he turned his eyes to the ground once more.  He couldn’t face his comrades just now.  In fact, he thought that he might never be able to look any of them in the eye again.  Once they were shed of this gods-damned island, he planned on returning to Longsaddle and resigning from the service of Malchor Harpell.  Surely the archmage could find someone better suited to this task.  Grubber waited a moment longer and then walked away.  The others still needed healing before they set out again.  With all three tasks completed, there was nothing left but to return to the Portal of Storms.


After four days of uneventful travel back through the Doomshroud, the League finally reached the obsidian disc, right where they’d left it weeks before.  No sooner had they spotted it, than the four wild watchers emerged from the shadows of the trees.
“You have done well,” said Tylanthros as he approached.  Beskawahn and Thadimar nodded in agreement.  “No one has ever succeeded in all of the Trials before.  You have proven yourselves worthy.”
“You have proved nothing!”  Sayren-Lei suddenly interrupted, stepping forward and shouldering past his brethren.  “Slaughtering beasts and Velsharoon-worshipping dogs!  Worse, you allowed the Roc King to perish!  The trial asked specifically for his living feather, yet he was nonetheless killed!”  The other three watchers stared at their brother in shock.  The League members were equally taken aback by the unexpected outburst.
“We were not responsible for the roc’s death,” Hawk said in a calm, placating voice.  “It was Darl Quethos and his followers.  In fact, we returned the bird to life when we found him thus.”
“Yes, and then you left him helpless as a hatchling after assaulting his mind!”  The wild watcher spat.  “You are no heroes and I declare that none of you shall taste the waters of the Fountain of Dreams.  I contest your doubtful accomplishments, and demand trial by blood!  Only if you pathetic mortals can defeat me shall I consider you worthy of the final secrets of the Order of the Storm.”
“What is the meaning of this?”  Giovanni said, turning to the other three watchers.  “You gave your word to us, and now you go back on it?”
“Sayren-Lei has the right,” Tylanthros sighed.  “We may not interfere.”  Then, bowing, he, Beskawahn and Thadimar retreated some hundred paces away to watch.

In an instant, Sayren-Lei vanished from sight, though Storm and Havok could see that he had only rendered himself invisible.  A heartbeat later a column of fire roared from the sky, engulfing the warlock, Faust and Grubber.  Havok dove to one side, though not quickly enough to avoid all of the scorching flames.  Rolling to his feet, he fired a powerful blast at the wild watcher.  Sayren-Lei staggered back a half-step, but his expression remained grim.  As Grubber struggled to suppress the pain from the fire, he quickly wove a spell of his own.  Suddenly, the wild watcher reappeared as the effects of his invisibility were purged.

Hawk began advancing on the druid, but as he drew close, the cloud of insects that circled Sayren-Lei’s head darted towards him, enveloping him in a stinging, biting swarm.  Pavel closed as well, trying to ignore the buzzing cloud as he swung both axes at the fey.  The blades did little more than chip the druid’s glossy armor, but then the thorny cloak Sayren-Lei wore whipped out as if it had a life of its own and plucked one of the axes from the dwarf’s hand.

“So you have a few parlor tricks, do you?”  Faust said as he concentrated on the druid.  “Well, so do I.”  Suddenly, Sayren-Lei found himself seized by an unseen force which held his arms to his sides, locking him in place.  
“I’ve got him!”  Faust cried.  “Strike now!”  Before any of his allies could obey, however, the wild watcher furrowed his brow, and the telekinetic grip was abruptly dispelled.  Turning his gaze on the psion, he hissed, “Now I shall turn you into the snake your soul already mirrors!”  Faust felt a wave of power wash over him, and for a moment, his limbs felt like jelly, and his vision blurred, but then it passed, his powerful will pushing the enchantment away.

As Sayren-Lei retaliated against Faust, Havok struck again, his blast once more rocking the druid back a pace or two, but not slowing him in the least.  Hawk lunged forward as the eldritch blast faded, but as he did so, the druid stuck his spear in between the civilar’s feet, tumbling him to the ground.  Rolling onto his back, Hawk swung at the wild watcher’s legs, but once more Sayren-Lei’s cloak snapped out, ripping Quaero from the paladin’s grip.  The druid raised his spear high, preparing to plunge it into Hawk’s chest, but then he abruptly loosed his grip on the weapon, which vanished as soon as it left his hands.  Clutching at his head, eyes wide, he gasped, “No…not like this…it wasn’t supposed to end…like this…”  He fell to the ground next to the bewildered paladin, his heart stilled as the memories of his own death, drawn from his mind by Faust, overwhelmed him.

Tylanthros and his two remaining brothers seemed disappointed, but returned silently to the group.  Tylanthros then gestured to the Portal of Storms, and the obsidian platform shimmered and transformed into a remarkable fountain, its waters cool and sparkling with a rainbow of scintillating light.  Each member of the League abruptly experienced a nearly overwhelming rush of nostalgia for things they had cherished in their childhood and a strange, gnawing fear of long-forgotten nightmares.  As they gazed at the fountain, Tylanthros spoke once more, “And so you have earned the right to return the lore of the Order of the Storm to the world.  The Age of Worms is upon us, and what the powers of old began so long ago now falls to you to complete.  Drink deep and remember.  Dream the dreams of the ages.”  One by one the heroes stepped forward, cupping their hands and drinking from the fountain.  As they did, all of them became overwhelmed by the sudden rush of alien, yet strangely familiar memories.  The world around them swirled away into a vortex of lightning and wind, fire and rain, ending in the utter darkness of nothingness.  They floated adrift in this silence, feeling the cold perpetuity of the infinite weighing down upon them…


After several moments which seemed like an eternity, the companions found themselves standing on a windy bluff overlooking an immense canyon.  Trees grew right up to the canyon’s rim, and far to the south could be seen the faint, looming specter of a solitary mountain, a plume of white-smoke drifting from its peak.  Then, the din of distant battle found their ears and, as if rising from the ground on ledges and mesas both near and far, armies of creatures faded into view.  In the distance, cities smoked in ruin, and the sky was cast with a dark pallor.  The cacophonous moans of the undead rode the wind.  The armies consisted of huge numbers of humanoids fighting against what seemed like an endless wave of undead.  Some of these were familiar…spawn of Kyuss of all shapes and sizes, Wormcallers, mohrgs, eviscerator beetles, overworms and ulgurstastas.  Yet there were other, stranger creatures as well, such as enormous worm-dripping centipedes that caused the ground they walked on to boil, immense black scorpions whose mere presence seemed to turn the living on their allies, and horrific worm-like dragons that breathed out swaths of writhing green Kyuss worm swarms.  Wheeling in the distant skies above, attended by numerous smaller dragons, was a horrifying beast…a skeletal red dragon of great size…Dragotha!  For all of the humanoid’s numbers, it was obvious that they fought a losing battle.

At this point, each member of the League noted that all of their wounds had been healed, and all of their magic restored.  Still, something was different.  When Giovanni looked at Hawk, the civilar’s face was familiar in its features, but obviously not the same.  Also, the armor that he wore was archaic in its design.  Likewise, the man who wore the warlock’s robes was not the Giovanni Vito that his companions knew so well.  The dark hair and aquiline nose were similar, but only in the sense of a family resemblance.  Last, the élan that was Faust, though most looked alike to outsiders, was not the same that had journeyed with the League these past months.  Only Grubber, Pavel and Storm seemed unchanged.  
“You have arrived,” a voice said suddenly from behind them.  Turning, the League found themselves facing a group of several men.  The four in the front were known to them, for they were none other than Tylanthros, Beskawahn, Thadimar, and Sayren-Lei, the wild watchers, though they appeared completely human now.  “The heroes of prophecy,” Tylanthros continued.  “Your timing is perfect.  We can hold them no longer, but we have been successful in our task.”  He indicated the druids who stood behind him.  They clustered around a large package, a strange container with its sides carved in the shapes of leering demonic and draconic faces.  “Dragotha’s phylactery is ours,” Tylanthros said, “yet at a great price.  His minions even now come for us to reclaim it, and soon he himself shall learn of its theft.  We must hide it forever from his reach, for I fear its destruction at this juncture would only drive him to an unstoppable frenzy.  But if we can take it from this land, he will sense its loss.  He will abandon the army of Kyuss and they will be lost, without leadership.  You must hold off the spawn that even now scramble at the edges of the cliffs around us.  Our trusted ally will stall his aerial forces while you must hold off the rest of his spawn long enough for us to transport the phylactery.”
As the druid mentioned an ally, a familiar figure stepped forward, a young and vivacious woman dressed in ornate silver armor who could be none-other-than Lashonna, her eyes bright and burning with determination.  She spoke, but there was no sign of recognition in her eyes.  “I shall engage Dragotha and his children myself, but I cannot defend against his Swords.  They come too, scrambling up to our location even now, along with…something else.  Something most unnatural…an abomination.  You must hold them off, for all is lost if you fail…especially you, son of Kyuss.”  She nodded at Giovanni, and the warlock’s eyes went wide with shock.  With that final pronouncement, she spread wide her arms and transformed into a magnificent silver dragon.  With a single, tremendous beat of her wings, she launched into the air and soared off towards the distant dracolich.  As she winged away, Tylanthros spoke again.  “We go now, to hide the phylactery within its cradle in Kongen-Thulnir.  Save us from the Swords of Kyuss, or the Age of Worms shall doom us all!”

“What did she mean…son of Kyuss?”  Hawk asked, turning towards the warlock as the druids lifted their burden and began retreating across the plateau.
“I…I have no idea,” Giovanni stammered, though even as the words left his mouth, the images of the worm-like tentacles, and the emerald hue of his manifestations flashed into his mind.  Silently, he communed with the intelligent armor gifted him by Malchor.  ‘Who am I?’  
‘Master,’ the armor replied, puzzled, ‘have you hit your head?  I sense no injury in you.  You are whom you have always been, Vincente Vito, adopted heir of Tomasina Vito.”  Stunned, Giovanni looked up at Hawk.
“Ask Quaero,” he said, “Ask him your name.”  Hawk looked confused, but aloud he spoke to his blade, “Name me Quaero.”
The sword’s voice spoke for all to hear, “You are Throm, First Son of House Veritas.”  All of the League members were bewildered…all except for the élan, who thought he finally had a grasp on what had happened.  Alas, he had no time to explain to his companions, as suddenly, at the far side of the mesa, ten Swords of Kyuss scuttled over the rim, howling in triumph.

Half of the undead warriors charged forward, rapidly closing the distance across the open rock.  As they came, the remainder of their number each raised their verdigris blades into the air and shouted as one, “Kyuss!”  Crackling black energy gathered about their swords, and then surged outward, erupting into five massive explosions centered upon the League.  Instantaneously Havok’s and Hawk’s armor shone with light as bright as the sun, as the enchantments woven into the metal fought to stave off the negative energy.  Their companions had no such protections.  As the aftershocks passed, Faust lay motionless on the ground, not a mark on him, but his skin as pale as death.  Storm lay beside him.  Pavel reeled, barely able to stand, wracked with pain and weakness from the onslaught.  For the briefest of moments Grubber had felt himself succumbing to the attack, but at the last instant he had been healed of his injuries by the contingent prayer that he had placed upon himself to ward him in such an eventuality.  It had saved him this time, but its protection was spent.

Hawk spared a quick glance towards Faust and Storm, but he was a soldier first.  Companions fell in battle.  That was a fact.  The only thing he could do at this point was prevent further loss of life.  Remembering their last encounter with the Swords of Kyuss, the civilar drew a vial filled with a silvery liquid from his haversack and quickly poured it onto his blade.  

Havok also mourned the loss of Faust and Storm, but more for reasons of self-preservation.  With both of them down, he was the only arcanists left.  It would be up to him to stem the tide of the undead before the others were completely surrounded.  Acting quickly, he raised a nest of worm-tentacles around two of the Swords, stopping them in their tracks.  An instant later, he sent a sizzling chain of eldritch energy leaping among four more.  

Grubber was horrified.  Two of his friends were down, and Pavel was mortally wounded.  He would not be able to help them all before the Swords unleashed another onslaught of their dark power.  That was his first priority.  Chanting quickly, but precisely, he wove a warding spell about himself and Pavel, protecting them from any further such attacks.  As he did so, Pavel set about tending his own wounds, quaffing a healing elixir pulled from his belt pouch.

At that point, three of the charging Swords ran head-long into the group.  Hawk was struck a glancing blow as he struggled to raise his shield.  Simultaneously, the remaining five unleashed their invocation a second time.  Though all of the League members were now protected, the dark magic had the unexpected effect of healing the damage dealt to the three attacking Swords by Havok’s eldritch chain.  Snarling in frustration, Hawk lunged at the nearest Sword, slashing at it again and again, calling upon Helm to smite his enemy.  Havok stepped back from the clashing warriors, and summoned another chain of power, instantly destroying the warrior engaging Hawk, and searing one of his brethren.

Grubber quickly knelt beside Faust and murmured a prayer, this time calling upon Kelemvor’s name as well as Grumbar’s, for it would be the God of the Dead who would grant this favor.  Faust’s eyes opened, but there was no rise and fall of respiration to his chest.  He existed half-way between life and death…a revenant.  At that moment, however, the Swords invoked the name of the Worm a third time, and once more, Faust’s life was snuffed out.

Pavel fought like a dwarf possessed.  Though still gravely injured, and deprived of the powerful magic of his axes, he whirled and danced like a master, striking one of the Swords five blows, and taking only one in turn.  However, without their enchantments, his weapons were of little consequence.  Only minor chips appeared in the undead’s skeletal form.  Just then, Pavel felt a hand on his shoulder, but as he whirled to confront this new threat, he felt warmth and health flow into him as Hawk called upon his divine grace to heal his wounds.  Then the civilar dropped his pack to the ground, before moving away to draw the Swords after him.
“In the pack!”  He called over his shoulder.  “There is Silversheen and healing droughts!”  

Grubber cursed at the undead, shaking his fist.  Then, tears in his eyes, he turned back to Faust again, this time using a revivification prayer.  Now the psion was truly alive, but unconscious.  Before the goliath could begin to heal his friend, however, the Swords struck again, this time the ones trapped by Havok’s tentacle-worms.  Though immobilized, they could still bring their dark powers to bear, healing their comrades, and for the last time, ending Faust’s life.

Havok was too busy to watch the drama unfold with the priest.  The second half of the Swords was preparing to advance.  As they began to move, he loosed back-to-back vitriolic chains among them, utterly destroying one in the process.  The others came on.  Worse, ten more climbed over the edge of the mesa behind them.  Now the odds were eighteen against four.  Havok quickly raised a second nest of worm-tentacles, adjacent to the first.  Two more Swords were trapped within, but more importantly, the others would have to go around the nests to reach him and his companions, buying them a few more precious seconds.

Diving for Hawk’s pack, Pavel dumped the entire contents, seizing one of the silvery vials as is it fell, and quickly applying it to one of his axes.  Regaining his feet, he awaited the next wave.  The next few minutes were a living nightmare for the members of the League.  On the Swords came, some wading right into the midst of the worm-tentacles, heedless of the grasping tendrils, using their dark invocations to heal their brothers-in-arms.  Havok placed a third forest of the appendages, yet still some of the undead warriors managed to break through.  These, Hawk and Pavel engaged with a vengeance, Grubber lending what aid he could by casting healing spells upon the undead, which opened great wounds in their already-dead flesh.  Two more of the Swords fell, one to Hawk’s blade, and the second to Havok’s eldritch blasts, but the undead warriors were relentless.  Grubber was forced to encase his body in living iron to fend off the blows of the Swords that had gotten through.  His companions needed his healing power.  Without him, he feared, all would be lost.

Suddenly, the Swords literally stopped in their tracks.  Weapons still poised to attack, they turned in unison towards the far edge of the mesa.  There, rising above the rim, was a huge, serpentine creature whose form was composed of interlocking bones, its head the skull of some unnamed and long-dead beast.  It was a boneyard, an undead abomination made entirely from the bones of other creatures.  As it heaved itself onto the plateau, four sections of its body began to writhe and move of their own accord, forming themselves into draconic skeletons which struggled to free themselves from their host.

In desperation, Havok placed a fourth tentacle nest across the mesa, which now was completely bisected by the writhing, worm-like appendages.  Behind him, Grubber spoke the words to a prayer, and a whirling, slashing wall of blades appeared in the middle of the tentacle wall.  Several more swords were caught by the worm-tentacles, and a small group of them was trapped within the blade barrier as well.  The League’s efforts were in vain.  By some unseen means, the boneyard lurched into the air, taking flight and easily soaring over both the grasping tentacles and the deadly blades.  

Pavel and Grubber were still besieged on all sides by Swords.  Though they fought like tigers, the odds were against them.  Grubber’s priorities were again divided.  The boneyard was closing fast, but his friends were in more immediate danger.  Quickly, the priest summoned a storm of shards, engulfing every Sword of Kyuss on the field, as well as the boneyard.  Though none of their enemies fell, all were sorely damaged by the assault…until they began chanting their invocations, healing themselves and the boneyard.  

‘Crunch time,’ Havok thought to himself as he took to the air to gain some distance and a momentary reprieve from the battle.  Seizing two scrolls from his belt, he quickly read each in succession.  The first bestowed spirit-like incorporeality upon him, a defense which would make his enemies’ attacks pass through him like mist.  The second spell would allow him to change his shape at will…into virtually any form he could imagine.

The boneyard landed with a sickening crack of marrow.  Grubber was too close.  He tried to back away, but his ironclad form slowed his movement considerably.  The boneyard snapped its jaws around him, lifting his massive form bodily into the air.  As Grubber screamed, Hawk and Pavel tore themselves away from their undead attackers, suffering wicked strikes from the blades of the undead as they passed.  Now the pair focused all of their efforts upon the behemoth before them, desperate to save the goliath.  Suddenly, a thin, green beam of light struck the boneyard from above.  Instantly, hundreds of the bones that comprised its body simply disintegrated into dust.  Looking up, both warriors were stunned to see the creature which floated above them.  Its body was spherical, ten-feet in diameter, with a tooth-filled maw and a single, closed eye.  Atop its head sprouted several stalks, each bearing a smaller eye.  It was a beholder!  And it was on their side!  Now a second, larger green beam came from the mouth of the eye tyrant, lashing into the boneyard with an acidic hiss before arcing to three of the Swords the were approaching Hawk and Pavel from the rear.  It was then that Hawk realized what had happened.  It was Havok.  He had changed himself into a beholder!  The civilar whooped a battle-cry, raising his sword and pumping his fist.  His joy was short-lived, however, as the mass of Swords trapped within the tentacles began manifesting their invocation once more, removing every mark of damage that the warlock had just inflicted upon the boneyard.

The battle raged on.  Hawk and Pavel were forced to divide their attacks between the boneyard in front of them, and the Swords behind them.  Havok continued to use his new powers to great effect, simultaneously making some of the Swords sluggish with a purple-hued eye-beam, hurling others into the tentacles and the blade barrier with a telekinetic yellow one, and disintegrating more of the boneyard’s body with the green.  The Swords were not about to allow their champion to be overcome so easily.  For every blow the League struck, the Swords would heal, and all the while Grubber struggled to free himself from the boneyard’s maw.  Suddenly, the boneyard raised its head high into the air, and then slammed it back down, pinning Grubber to the ground.  As his friends looked on in helpless horror, the undead abomination literally tore every bone from the goliath’s body.  Lifting its dripping jaws from the priest’s body, it then snapped Pavel up, the dwarf too stunned to react.  The boneyard’s teeth bit down, sending a fountain of blood from the warrior’s mouth as it shook him like a rag doll, and then threw him carelessly to the side.

Only Hawk and Havok remained.  All was lost, yet the heroes would not submit.  The druids of the Order of the Storm were almost out of sight.  They just had to buy them a few more minutes.  With grief and rage driving them, the warlock and the paladin resumed their assault.  Four more Swords fell to Hawk’s blade and Havok’s magic.  Havok kept up his relentless barrage of disintegration beams against the boneyard, knowing that the remaining Swords could only use their power to heal the monstrosity a finite number of times.  Yet it seemed that Fate itself had turned against the League, for at that moment, the four skeletal dragons finally tore themselves from the boneyard’s body and rushed into the melee.  Hawk spoke a word, and small wings appeared on the side of his boots, lifting him into the air.  Quickly, he flew out over the tentacles, hoping to lure the dragons after him.  His plan worked too well.  The lumbering undead charged straight into the mass of worm-tentacles, their great size and strength preventing the appendages from holding them in place.  They began to bite and tear at Hawk, slapping at him with their boney tails and skinless wings.  

Havok knew Hawk needed his help, but something about the boneyard had caught his attention.  The last wave of invocations cast by the Swords had failed to heal all of the creature’s wounds as the previous ones had.  It was weakening.  The Swords were running out of power.  Now was his chance!  One last time, his disintegration ray lanced into the boneyard, followed by a vitriolic chain of eldritch power.  With a roar that ended abruptly, the boneyard collapsed into powder.  The ghostly, beholder-warlock then turned its attention to the draconic skeletons, lashing out at them, one after another with a combination of disintegration rays and eldritch blasts.  In a matter of moments, they too had returned to the dust from which they had been spawned.

From that point, the outcome of the battle was a foregone conclusion.  The remainder of the Swords were still trapped within the tentacles, while Hawk and Havok hovered safely above them.  One-by-one Havok dispatched them.  As the last one succumbed, however, his eyes were drawn to the sky.  There he saw Dragotha and Lashonna locked in mortal combat.  Suddenly, the gut-wrenching sensation of reality and time being warped again seized him, but just before darkness overtook him, he witnessed the dracolich deliver a killing blow to the silver dragon, and she fell from the sky into the canyon below.


Perception returned slowly.  Indistinct colors gradually resolved themselves into shapes, and Hawk and Giovanni found themselves returned to Tilagos.  The island was not as they remembered it.  The storms that had surrounded it were gone, and the barren rocks were covered with grass and a few copses of trees.  The Portal of Storms was weathered and ruined, as if it had lain inert for centuries.  

“What happened?”  The pair turned in surprise at the voice behind them.  There stood Pavel, Grubber, Storm and Faust, whole and unscathed.  They were alive.  All of them.  
“It was a vision,” Faust said, answering Grubber’s question.  “To reveal to us where Dragotha’s phylactery is hidden…Kongen-Thulnir.  I realized this just before the Swords of Kyuss attacked, but by then it was too late.”
“So none of it was real?”  Havok asked, stunned by the revelation.
“I didn’t say that,” the psion replied.  “In some way, we each played a part in that battle fifteen-hundred years ago.  For some of us, it was our ancestors…Faust I in my case, Lord Throm Veritas in Hawk’s.  And you…” he pointed at Giovanni, “who would have thought it?  You are literally the Spawn of Kyuss!”


----------



## gfunk

Good call LordVyreth, you are right.  I added the omitted update and changed the table o' contents.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Still enjoy it.  Still love the player and DM commentary.  Still reading no matter what the thread is called.  Really glad you guys haven't thrown up your hands at the temporary setback.

I'm really looking forward to the updates that Gfunk has outlined as most recent.

GW


----------



## Corbert

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Still enjoy it.  Still love the player and DM commentary.  Still reading no matter what the thread is called.  Really glad you guys haven't thrown up your hands at the temporary setback.
> 
> I'm really looking forward to the updates that Gfunk has outlined as most recent.
> 
> GW




All I can really say to that is ditto!


----------



## gfunk

Hey thanks a lot guys, we appreciate it.

Corbert, you'll be happy to note that your name will be featured prominently in the next update (well, sort of).  You see Faust gets bull-rushed off a guard tower by a really angry Fire Giant and falls straight . . . straight into Corbett Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon . . . 

For those who don't get the referecne, it's a wine ad that occasionally worms its way into our games when canyons are involved.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Hi guys,

time to get your CR up - I don't know when I will be able to post and/or read up the the SH for the next few weeks... 

I managed to sneak a peak at Dragotha's stats...no comment, just want to say good-bye to several of the PCs...


----------



## Hammerhead

Hey, gfunk, was the missing section omitted from my PDF or was there simply an error in posting it?

BTW, Havok's HPs are wrong.


----------



## gfunk

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Hey, gfunk, was the missing section omitted from my PDF or was there simply an error in posting it?
> 
> BTW, Havok's HPs are wrong.




No, it was completely my bad.  I guess I was scrolling too fast and I must've missed that update.  Havoc's hp should be about 113, if I'm not mistaken.


----------



## Joachim

gfunk said:
			
		

> No, it was completely my bad.  I guess I was scrolling too fast and I must've missed that update.  Havoc's hp should be about 113, if I'm not mistaken.




118...oops.


----------



## Corbert

gfunk said:
			
		

> Hey thanks a lot guys, we appreciate it.
> 
> Corbert, you'll be happy to note that your name will be featured prominently in the next update (well, sort of).  You see Faust gets bull-rushed off a guard tower by a really angry Fire Giant and falls straight . . . straight into Corbett Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon (echo) Canyon . . .
> 
> For those who don't get the referecne, it's a wine ad that occasionally worms its way into our games when canyons are involved.




Heh, and my first thought was the fire giants name was Corbert


----------



## JollyDoc

GIANTS AND DRAGONS AND…GOLIATHS?  OH MY!

The maze of menhirs was much as they had remembered it from their previous visit and beyond, the beach was still a ships’ graveyard.  One other thing had not changed…Grogriss Spit-Eye and his crew were still marooned.  They denied having seen Darl Quethos return that way.  All they knew was that the storms had suddenly ended.  True to their word, the League returned them to Calimport via Faust’s use of Teleportation…no questions asked.  Then the team took their leave of Tilagos for the last time, with Longsaddle as their destination.

Malchor Harpell was very pleased to see them again, and eager to hear all that they had accomplished and learned.  To their surprise, and to his own, he knew all about the Order of the Storm and the exact location of Kongen-Thulnir…it was an ancient city ruled by giants, located in Skull Gorge.  The arch-mage confessed that he had not known this information the day before.  In fact, he had suddenly found himself in possession of much knowledge that he had not previously possessed.  New books and scrolls had mysteriously appeared in his library.  He thought these phenomena to be a direct result of the League’s use of the Library of Last Resort.  Much that was lost had been returned to the world.  Even the very nature of some forms of magic had changed, he explained.  The school of Polymorph, which had allowed Faust to travel in the form of a stone giant, and Giovanni to win the battle against the Swords of Kyuss by virtue of his beholder aspect, had been radically altered.  Arcanists the world over had discovered that use of that particular magic now truly turned the user into the subject creature, stripping him of all of his own magical abilities.  This was in all likelihood only the first of such revisions that would be discovered, for better or worse.  This would be a great boon for the forces of Good in the world, but also for those of Evil.  Specifically, if the League now knew where Dragotha’s phylactery could be found, it was a good bet that the dracolich also knew.  Malchor urged them to make all haste to Skull Gorge, and the group resolved to do just that after a few days of much-needed rest.  Most of them.  When the League had finished their tale, Pavel stepped forward, and laid his axes upon Malchor’s desk.
“I’m done,” the dwarf said with a tone of finality.  “I wasn’t able to do what you hired me for, and I’ll not be acceptin’ yer money.  These folk are truly heroes, and I’m in awe of’em.  They deserve better.”  Despite the protests of the others, he said not another word, instead simply turning and leaving.  Malchor sighed.
“A man’s personal demons can be a far greater foe than any of flesh and blood.  Let him go my friends.  This is one battle that no one can fight for him.”
_________________________________________________________

It was during this respite that a servant informed Grubber one morning that he had a visitor.  Puzzled, the priest followed the man into the lush gardens of the Ivy Manor, where to his amazement, he found another goliath awaiting him.  He was bulkier than Grubber, and taller by almost a foot, and though his features looked younger, he was disfigured by heavy outgrowths of liths, stone-like deformities not uncommon among goliaths.  Something about him seemed familiar to Grubber.
“It’s really you,” the younger goliath said in a strangely cultured accent.  “After all these years.  Do you not remember me?”
Grubber shook his head slowly, “It seems that I should, yet I cannot say why.”
“It’s been almost twenty years since last we met,” the other replied.  “I was only a small boy.  Grubber, I am Makaleth…your brother.”  
Grubber was stunned into silence.  Indeed he had once had a younger brother by that name, though like the rest of his family, ‘Big Mak,’ as they’d called him, had been lost to him when he was exiled.  “How?”  The priest whispered.
Makaleth sighed, “It is a long story, and a difficult one for me to tell.  Not long after you…left, our tribe was attacked by a band of mountain giants.  Our people were wiped out except for me and one other.  Do you remember Ike?  The one they called Dark Uncle?”
Grubber did remember the taciturn warrior.  He had once been an adopted member of their tribe, having been orphaned as a child and raised by humans.  He had disappeared for several months when Grubber was just a boy, and when he had returned, he was greatly changed.  He barely spoke at all, and refused to take up arms when the tribe was threatened, claiming only that he was waiting for his doom to find him.  In time, he had been left to his own devices, still a member of the tribe, but living in almost self-imposed exile.  
“He did not fight when the giants came,” Makaleth continued, “but he took me to a safe place until the battle was over.  Afterwards, we journeyed north.  Through many lands we passed, finally reaching the cold lands of the north.  There, he left me on the doorstep of a temple to Helm, claiming that his own faith had abandoned him.  I never saw him again.  The priests took me in, and cared for me, sharing with me their beliefs and doctrine.  In time, it became obvious that I had been…touched by the Watcher.  Though not a priest like them, I could still access the divine power of Helm simply by meditating.  They called me Favored, and so I have been.  In time, through study and Divination, I remembered the truth of my past, and remembered also that I still had family…you my brother.  I have devoted the last several years of my life to finding you, and in doing so, I also know of the road that you are now upon.  The time has come for us to be family again, and for me to join you on your quest…if you will have me.”
Grubber was at a loss for words.  He never dared dream that he would ever see any of his family again, and now Grumbar had blessed him and brought his little brother back to him.  Solemnly they embraced, words no longer necessary.
_________________________________________________________

Malchor was, of course, able to provide a realistic portrait of the skyline of Kongen-Thulnir as seen from the lip of Skull Gorge.  Using this as a reference point, Storm teleported the League, along with their newest member, to that spot, thus beginning the hunt for Dragotha’s phylactery.  

When they arrived they were greeted by the vista of an arid wasteland broken only by the occasional rock formation or copse of scrub oaks, stretching to the horizon in all directions save one.  In that direction, the land dropped away into the immense gulf of Skull Gorge.  It stretched as far as the eye could see to the east and west, a boggling gash in the face of the world.  The wind blowing over the strange rock formations perched on the canyon’s lip made a hollow, moaning sound.  
One-hundred feet below the top of the cliff, an immense, ruined city of stone lay nestled in a wide, open cavern.  Hundreds of multi-leveled buildings and towers rose inside this cave, creating a vertical cityscape of spires, battlements, and stone bridges.  Spires of rock protruding precariously from the cliff’s lower face rose up before the cityscape.  Some of these spires were barren, capped only by the odd bush or rock formation, but two supported large castles of their own, and connected to the main city via slender bridges of stone.
Smoke rose from several parts of the ruined city, and many of the buildings were recently damaged or destroyed.  The source of this damage was readily apparent, for the city of Kongen-Thulnir was under siege by dragons!

“Looks like we arrived just in time,” Hawk said.  “Dragotha’s forces are already here.  The fact that they are STILL here makes it a good bet they haven’t found the phylactery yet.  We still have a chance.  Faust, can you get us down there?”
The psion peered cautiously over the edge.  In several areas of the city he could see giants active in the ruins, some manning various siege engines, while others ran for cover.  There was a narrow trail that wound down from the rim of the canyon to a single gate far below.  That section of the city seemed relatively abandoned.
“There,” he said.  “That’ll be our insertion site.  Gather round me.”  The others formed a tight circle around the élan, and in the blink of an eye found themselves standing just on the city side of the gate, a forty-foot tall, two-story structure made of bronzewood poles bound with heavy chains.  A sixty-foot tower with a battlement roof and many loopholes watched silently over the area.  Nearby, water flowed from a cistern into an aqueduct that traveled under a bridge and over the cliff’s edge.  There was nothing living in sight.
_____________________________________________________

Necrozyte crouched like a spider on the cliff face high above the city.  From that vantage, the fiendish dragon had a clear view of the newcomers’ arrival, though she herself remained unseen by virtue of the magical ring that she wore.  Brazzemal had told her that Dragotha suspected others would be searching for the phylactery, and that she should stay posted near the main gate for just such an eventuality.  Perhaps by slaying these would-be thieves she would be able to further ingratiate herself with the dracolich, so that she might learn his secrets for eternal life, and thus have all the time she needed to take her revenge on the Chromatic Dragon.  Gathering herself, she sprang into the air, and glided silently downward, towards the unsuspecting fools.
______________________________________________________________

Grubber’s skin began to tingle a split-second before Storm cried out her warning.  The goliath had woven a spell of foresight over himself before they had left Longsaddle, and it now screamed at him of impending danger.  Storm, he recalled, had permanently ensorcelled herself with ability to see the invisible.  Before he could react, the drow began the words to a spell, conjuring an orb of crackling electricity into her hand.  She hurled it straight up, seemingly at nothing, but suddenly there was a deafening roar, followed by a tremendous crash.  Mak, who stood several yards away, abruptly collapsed to the ground, the wind driven from his lungs, and twin streams of blood spraying from his nose.  What in Grumbar’s name was happening?  

Quickly, Grubber chanted, purging any form of invisibility with the words of his prayer.  In horrified amazement, he took an involuntary step back as the form of a huge, green-scaled dragon suddenly materialized directly in front of him, on top of Mak!  A smoking hole pierced the dragon’s hide near its chest, and though its sides heaved with respiration, its tongue lolled as if it were stunned.

Makaleth was bit stunned himself.  One moment he had been standing in the midst of his new allies, and the next it felt as if a house had landed on his back.  Fortunately, one of the rings that he wore allowed him to wriggle free from his predicament, though the sight of the dragon, as well as its impact, left him a bit shaken.

Necrozyte held no such mesmorization for Hawk.  The civilar lifted Quaero and drove the blade into where he thought the dragon’s heart should be.  Steaming, green blood spurted from the wound.  Behind him he heard Storm’s voice raised in the tell-tale cadence of another spell.  A second sizzling ball of lightning sailed past him, striking the still-addled wyrm in the skull, obliterating its right eye.  The next thing Hawk knew, Faust was beside him.  The psion hurled his own ball of energy, this time fire, onto the helpless beast, and then immediately knelt down beside the barely breathing dragon.  Extending one finger, he touched the dragon’s snout, and the moment he did so, the digit turned black.  An instant later, the entire dragon crumbled to dust, leaving behind only a silver ring and an emerald amulet.  As Faust stood, he seemed to literally swell with power.
“You have been assimilated,” he spoke in a cold, clipped tone, and it was then that Hawk noticed that his eyes had turned bright green, and his skin appeared almost scale-like.
________________________________________________________

Grazzilfek watched the scene unfold with a combination of awe and loathing.  He had heard of, and to a small extent witnessed, the prowess of these mortals, but he would never have believed they could have bested Necrozyte so easily!  Well, where strength had failed, guile would triumph.  He stepped from the shadows of the alley and called out…
__________________________________________________________

“My lords!  Over here!”  The group turned, prepared for another attack.  What they saw was a cloaked and hooded figure standing in the deep shadows at the mouth of what would be a narrow alley for giants.  
“It is I!”  The shadowy, diminutive creature shouted.  “Your friend!  The Ominous Fabler!”
“The ominous what?”  Mak asked.
“It’s the fool!” Giovanni said, surprised, “Prince Embuirhan’s court jester!  What is he doing here?”
Hawk held up a hand to keep any of his band from approaching.
“Something doesn’t seem right,” he said quietly.  “Hold your positions.”  He then called out across the square, “If you are who you say you are, then why are you here?  How do you know this place?”
“I have been searching for you, my lords!”  The Fabler called back.  “When I saw you at the Prince’s gala, I recognized the stuff of heroes right from the start!  It has taken me all this time to track you down, and now that I have, I wish to make you an offer.  I wish to accompany you as a chronicler of your adventures, so that future generations will know every detail of your fight against the Age of Worms!”
Hawk glanced suspiciously at his comrades.  “That still doesn’t explain how you found this city,” he called back.
“Fair enough!”  The Fabler answered.  “You deserve an explanation.  My true name is Grazzilfek.  My real master is the a thane of the stone giants named Kolvant Granitebones.  His tribe once ruled this city.  My liege experienced a terrible vision not long ago, wherein he beheld Kyuss’ return.  While he prepared a pilgrimage here to recruit the aid of the Gorgelords, he sent me into the world to learn what I could of the Age of Worms.  My journeys took me to Starmantle, just as you were drawn there.”
“Who are these Gorgelords that you speak of?”  Hawk asked.  
“They are a group of hill and fire giants who remain faithful to the current King of the Gorge, Achaime Silvereye,” Grazzilfek replied.  “They comprise one of three groups operating within the city.  The second are the Gorge Crawlers, a group of hill giant dissidents who split from the Gorgelords.  The last are the Tiamikal Nul-Shada, the hunters of Tiamat’s children.  They are a secretive order dedicated to the slaughter of dragons.”

Hawk turned to his friends.  “I’m not sure if we can trust him or not, but he seems to be fairly knowledgeable of this area.  Perhaps we can pry some more information from him.  Quaero can place him within a Zone of Truth.”  The others nodded their agreement, and they began to cross the square to where the Fabler waited.  They were still several yards away when Giovanni heard a familiar voice in his mind.  ‘Master,’ it was Dawn’s Light, his armor, speaking to him telepathically, ‘beware!  He is not among the living!’  
“Wait!”  Storm hissed, stopping abruptly just as the warlock was preparing to warn the others.  “Grubber!  Do you see?”  The sorceress knew that the priest had placed a True Sight spell upon himself, just as she had.  At her words, he looked closely at Grazzilfek.  At first, he appeared to be a somewhat sinister-looking gnome-like humanoid, with a prodigious nose, beady eyes, and pointed ears, but as Grubber’s Sight pierced that illusion, he saw what was beneath.  His eyes were actually empty sockets with fat green worms writhing within, his flesh sallow and rotten.
“He’s a spawn!”  The goliath shouted.
“No!  Wait!”  The Fabler stammered, as he started to back away.
“Stop where you are!”  Havok commanded, and at his words, familiar worm-like tendrils erupted from the ground all around Grazzilfek, wrapping around his arms and legs and holding him firmly in place.  Far from being distraught by this, the creature actually smiled.
“Another time then, my friends,” he said, and then he simply vanished.

“It’s Dragotha!”  Faust said, “If he knows of this place, then surely he must have expected that we would come here also.  His minions are going to be after us at every turn.  We have to find that phylactery quickly!”
“Agreed,” Hawk said, “but this place is huge.  We can’t search every building.  We don’t have time.  If these Gorgelords are as loyal to their king as the Fabler implied, then perhaps they will agree to help us if we plead our case to them.”
“But how will we be able to tell them from the other factions?”  Giovanni asked.
“A good question,” the civilar replied, “but if I were in charge of a military unit loyal to a ruler under siege, I would make sure that I held onto the cities main defenses.  I say we start with the gatehouse.”
____________________________________________________________

“Hello the Gate!”  Hawk called out as the group stood before the brooding tower.  “We come in peace!  We are here to aid you in your struggle against the wyrms, but we need to speak to your king!  Will you hear us out?”
The silence persisted for a few moments more, but then a gruff voice called from somewhere within the tower, “We not coming out!  Dragons waiting for us!  If you want king, go to palace in King’s Enclave!”
“What about the undercity?”  Hawk called back.  “We saw the stairs leading there on our way here!  Who holds it?”
“Slaves!”  The giant called back.  “Not worth saving!”

“What do you think?”  Hawk asked, turning back to his companions.  
“It looked to me like the palace was under heavy attack when I saw it from the canyon’s edge.”  Faust said.  “However, I saw another large structure, closer by and accessible by a bridge from the undercity.  It too was under attack, but by a smaller group of dragons.  Perhaps we should start there.  If its occupants are besieged, they might be more agreeable to aiding us if we first help them.”
The others agreed, and the group made their way back to the large handholds carved into the cliff face that acted as a giant ladder descending to the undercity.  When they reached  the bottom, they found the body of a blue dragon lying in a bloody heap at the base, its teeth, horns and claws removed.  The undercity itself was filthy and reeked horribly.  It seemed to have been spared the brunt of the dragons’ attack, however.  The buildings formed a hive of overlapping walls, zigzagging alleys and claustrophobic tenements.  They seemed to have been modified for use by normal-sized creatures, and many of their roofs scraped against the low cavern ceiling.

Nearby, a natural stone bridge, twenty-feet wide and ten-feet thick, connected to a stone pinnacle, atop which squatted a one-hundred foot tall tower.  The building appeared heavily fortified, with catapults and ballistae visible upon its battlements.  As the League watched, a flight of four large black dragons, led by a huge green dragon swooped and dove around the tower.  At that moment, however, one of the blacks spied the company as they stood on the edge of the precipice, and as one, the flock wheeled towards them.

The dragons were still over one-hundred feet away when Havok drew first blood.  A spear of emerald, eldritch energy lanced out at the lead green.  The wyrm howled, but beat its wings faster, streaking towards the group.
“Grubber!”  The warlock called over his shoulder.  “We could use some help here!  In about five seconds we’re about to be covered up in acid!”
“I’ll handle it,” Mak said, placing one hand on his brother’s shoulder just as the priest was preparing his spell.  Nodding, Grubber instead drew his maul, stepping to the fore with Hawk to meet the assault.  Mak began chanting, his voice a thunderous cadence.  As he completed his prayer, the skin of his new-found friends took on a lustrous sheen as the protective barrier settled over them.

At that moment, the black dragons reached the ledge.  Two of them dove right for Hawk, one of them sinking its jaws into his sword arm, while the other tore into his leg.  The two remaining lunged for Grubber, but the goliath met them head on, his maul crushing the foot of the nearest.  Suddenly, a wall of green fire roared up out of nowhere, the flames within it looking like a mass of writhing, green worms.  The perilous flames caught three of the dragons in their midst, and they shrieked as their skin began to crackle.  Havok looked down at his hands, which had conjured the fire, wondering what it was that he was becoming.

By this time the green dragon was hovering just beyond the edge of the cliff, a safe distance from the wall of fire, but not so safe from the arc of lightning that Storm cast between it and two of its black minions.  The green’s wings were tattered shreds, and its skin was charred.  Screaming in rage and agony, it folded its pinions, and dove into the canyon, disappearing into the mists below.  One of the blacks whipped its head towards the drow who had dared attack its leader.  Hissing, it sprang at her, seizing the sorceress in its jaws, crushing her mercilessly.

Hawk wrenched his arm free from the grip of the dragon in front of him, bringing his shield up to deflect its counter attack, and then slashing three quick blows across its neck.  With a gurgle, the wyrm collapsed.  Never pausing, the civilar turned on the beast still worrying his leg, and hammered Quaero into its skull, forcing it to release him.

Seeing Storm’s predicament, Havok hurled an eldritch blast at her assailant, blowing a hole through one flank and out the other.  The drow nodded her thanks as she tumbled free.  The warlock then turned and produced a nest of worm-tentacles around the two remaining dragons.  Though they struggled mightily, the wyrms could not free themselves from the rubbery appendages, leaving them as sitting ducks when Grubber unleashed a radiant burst of energy, burning one of them to cinders in a flash, and blinding the other.  The goliath closed on the remaining black dragon, Hawk moving to flank.  Both of them struck simultaneously, as Havok released one final blast, slaying the beast instantly.

The way to the tower was momentarily clear.  “Go!”  Hawk commanded, and he started across the bridge, the others following.  They were half way across the span, and could see the giants manning the siege engines atop the fortress, when a great gust of wind rushed up from the canyon below them.  Five huge shadows in the mist below rapidly resolved themselves into ascending green dragons!  
“Run!”  Hawk shouted.  Havok had other plans.  Pulling a scroll from his belt, he quickly read the words.  As he spoke the last one, his body became translucent and indistinct.  He then sank out of sight into the very stone of the bridge.

Grubber was the first to heed Hawk’s advice, and ran full out to the massive iron doors of the tower.  Unfortunately when he reached them, they were shut tight, and locked.  
“Move!”  Faust shouted from behind him, and the goliath didn’t hesitate.  Suddenly, a thin green beam of light struck the door, and it simply vanished, leaving a gaping hole in the wall.  
“Quick!  Get inside!”  Faust cried, but this time his voice came from INSIDE the building.  The resourcefulness of the psion never ceased to amaze Grubber.  As Mak came up behind him, they both stepped to the doorway…and abruptly came to a halt.  Standing inside the large room beyond were six very angry looking giants, four of them brutish and wearing hide armor, the other two black-skinned with fiery red hair dressed in chain shirts.

Storm rendered herself invisible as Hawk held the bridge, making sure all of his companions were safely across.  Then, from behind he heard a large ‘thunk’ and a whistling in the air.  Looking up, he noted two things.  First, far above the fray circled an enormous red dragon.  Second, a large bag of some sort had just been fired from one of the catapults on the tower roof…and it was coming directly towards him.  It landed a few feet in front of him, and exploded into a great gout of greenish-yellow ichor that appeared to issue from severed insectile heads that were contained within.  The fluid completely covered the civilar, and for a moment he felt his limbs seize up.  The sensation passed quickly, and he was on the move.  It seemed the giants were not as happy to be rescued as they had hoped, and he didn’t intend to stay where he was and be a target for artillery practice.

The dragons had reached the level of the bridge, and Storm still stood alone in its midst.  Hawk had assumed she had fled once she disappeared, but she hadn’t had the time.  Now the nearest of the huge wyrms turned its massive head towards her, sniffing the air, its heightened senses detecting her presence though it could not see her.  Opening its mouth, it breathed forth a cloud of noxious, yellow gas.  Quickly the sorceress dove forward, rolling away from the fumes.  As she regained her feet, she pelted full speed towards the tower.

Within the tower itself, the giant welcoming committee moved to greet their guests.  Two of the hill giants blocked Grubber and Mak at the door, while the other two boxed Faust into one corner.  At that moment, the beating of wings drew the attention of the goliaths to their rear.  There, a dragon hovered only a few feet away.  It breathed its toxic breath, engulfing them completely, as well as the hill giants opposing them.  So potent was the cloud, that it managed to pierce the protective magic Mak had woven upon himself, and great boils began to rise on his skin.  The giants had no such defenses, and they howled and shrieked as their flesh blistered.

Hawk closed to the goliaths just as the acidic breath of the dragon was dissipating.  No sooner had he reached their side than one of the fire giants moved to aid his wounded brethren.  The squat giant slammed his greatsword down at Hawk’s feet, missing the civilar by bare inches.  Across the room, the second fire giant had joined the pair of hill giants hemming in Faust.  The psion was trapped.

Havok, now invisible as well as in spirit-form drifted up from the stone to find himself alone.  He could see the battle raging at the tower base, and there were dragons all around him.  On the roof of the tower, a pair of fire giants was opening fire on the dragons with the ballistae.  The harpoon-like missiles ripped through the thin membranes of the dragons’ wings, but otherwise inflicted little damage.  It just so happened that three of the dragons were hovering on the left side of the bridge at approximately the same level.  Havok used the opportunity to manifest another wall of worm-like flames in mid-air, catching all three.

Grubber didn’t like the way the odds were stacked against him and his companions.  Six giants in front of them, and five dragons behind.  It was time to level the playing field.  Praying to Grumbar, and earning himself a mild sneer from Mak, he unleashed his trademark Storm of Shards, catching all of the giants, and three of the dragons in its blast radius.  Three of the hill giants went down, their already grievous wounds from the dragon’s breath making them vulnerable.  Grubber smiled with satisfaction as he saw one of the dragons shaking its head violently, and the three remaining giants suddenly clawing at their eyes.  They were all blinded.

Faust nodded his approval at Grumbar’s tactics.  Now he only had a blind fire giant and an equally blind hill giant to contend with.  The bigger problem, in his estimation, was the dragon at the door.  The psion reached into the wyrm’s mind and pulled out the memory of its own death, which just so happened to be imminent.  As if pole-axed, the dragon dropped from the sky, plummeting into the gorge.

Mak and Hawk now faced only one opponent.  The big goliath drew his bastardsword and rammed it into the giant’s gut, while Hawk stepped deftly behind and severed its spine.  Only two more remained.

Outside, another green dragon swooped to take the place of its fallen comrade, while two more began winging towards the roof.  Storm, still invisible by the doorway, targeted the approaching dragon with a bolt of searing lightning, which immediately arced to the second, blind dragon, and then to the pair of giants harrying Faust.  The blast momentarily stunned the hill giant, leaving it addled.  The same happened to the blind green dragon, but the effect was much more dramatic.  Unable to keep itself aloft, it began to fall, disappearing into the mists below.

Havok was proud of the coordinated effort his friends were providing.  They were like a well-oiled machine.  Only one dragon remained in their immediate vicinity, and the warlock quickly targeted it with a searing eldritch blast.  He then summoned a second wall of green flames across the bridge, directly between the dragon and his own comrades.

Havok’s flame wall proved only a temporary respite.  Enraged, the dragon rushed through it, but Mak and Hawk were waiting for it.  As the goliath met its charge with his blade, Hawk drove Quaero into the sensitive area between its right foreleg and its chest, piercing its heart.

Meanwhile, Grubber charged Faust’s position, slamming his maul into the base of the hill giant’s skull, and dropping it in one blow.  He then whirled to face the last fire giant, breaking both of its knees.  As the giant fell, the goliath delivered a fatal uppercut with the hammer to its chin.

On the roof, the battle between giants and dragons raged.  A group of four hill giants released one of the catapults, scoring a direct hit on one of the charging wyrms.  As the heads in the bag exploded, coating the dragon with their vile contents, the beast suddenly went rigid, its body completely paralyzed, and it fell into the gorge, its race run.  The remaining dragon unleashed its breath upon the catapult crew, engulfing three fire giants as well, who were manning ballistae.  Despite their burning flesh, the fire giants still managed to open fire on the dragon, driving two more bolts into its hide.  Below, Havok decided to aid the giants in their struggle, launching a spear of eldritch energy into the dragon.  Roaring in rage, the dragon folded its wings and dove towards the spot from which the blast had come.  Unfortunately, it passed harmlessly through the ghost-like form of the warlock.  Havok blasted the brute with a second energy bolt, and then calmly floated completely thru the dragon to emerge on the far side.  There, he saw Faust calmly step through his wall of fire, seemingly oblivious to the flames.  The psion, however, did not see him, and so did not exclude him from the blast of the enormous energy ball he dropped onto the dragon.  Fortunately for Havok, the fiery explosion swept harmlessly through him.  Just then, another catapult load from the rooftop struck the dragon, paralyzing it as it had its sister.  The helpless wyrm was easy prey for one final fire wall courtesy of Havok.

Back in the tower, Hawk and Storm, closely followed by the goliath brothers, made their way quickly up the stairs to the trapdoor leading to the second level.  The barracks there was empty, and a second stair led to the roof.  The foursome rushed up it.

Two ballista bolts, each as long as his body, skipped off the stone bridge at Faust’s feet.
“This is the thanks I get?” the psion shouted, shaking his fist at the giants on the roof.  To repay their courtesy, he created a massive ball of ice and frigid air on the battlements, engulfing one of the catapult crews as well as the two fire giants manning the forward ballistae.  Both of the latter toppled from the roof, bouncing off the bridge before tumbling into the chasm below.  Two of the hill giant catapulters met similar fates.

At that moment, the roof door blew open, and Storm flew up through it, gaining altitude rapidly, and then dropping a massive fireball, that spread across the entire area.  Two more hill giants succumbed to the blast.  Two more giants, one fire and one hill, quickly moved to the door to prevent any more enemies from coming through.  Seeing Hawk on the stairs below, they hammered at him, but the civilar absorbed their blows easily with his shield, before counter-attacking, delivering a flurry of lightning-fast blows to the fire giant, which toppled backwards, spilling its entrails on the ground.  Above, Storm loosed a second ball of energy, this time electrical, and the four remaining hill giants fell, their hearts suddenly stilled.

When Faust transported himself to the roof via Dimension Door, he found only one enemy remained, a single fire giant.  He was momentarily disappointed…until the giant charged towards him, slamming into him and sending him plummeting over the edge of the roof, and into the abyss of the gorge.

“No!”  Hawk cried, as he, Mak and Grubber surged up through the door.  They rushed the giant, surrounding him as he struck madly at them.  A glancing blow caught Hawk’s arm, momentarily numbing it, but the veteran recovered quickly, and he and his goliath companions made quick work of the tower’s last defender.

Faust fell, and fell, and fell.  He could not see the bottom of the gorge, but what he did see was the dragon rushing up directly beneath him.  It was the one Storm had stunned, now recovered and rejoining the fray.  
“Remember me?”  Faust said as the dragon drew close, and he plucked the memory of its death at his hands from its psyche.  It was then that the psion finally saw the floor of the gorge approaching, and when only fifty feet remained between himself and a bloody impact, he stepped between dimensions again, reappearing on the tower roof.


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## demiurge1138

...Wow. Excellent update. Open season on dragons indeed.

I also like how you worked the polymorph errata into continuity with the lore unleashed from the Library. A nice touch.

Demiurge out.


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## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Makaleth sighed, “It is a long story, and a difficult one for me to tell.  Not long after you…left, our tribe was attacked by a band of mountain giants.  Our people were wiped out except for me and one other. * Do you remember Ike?*  The one they called Dark Uncle?”Grubber did remember the taciturn warrior.  He had once been an adopted member of their tribe, having been orphaned as a child and raised by humans.  He had disappeared for several months when Grubber was just a boy, and when he had returned, he was greatly changed.  He barely spoke at all, and refused to take up arms when the tribe was threatened, claiming only that he was waiting for his doom to find him.  In time, he had been left to his own devices, still a member of the tribe, but living in almost self-imposed exile.
> “He did not fight when the giants came,” Makaleth continued, “but he took me to a safe place until the battle was over.




Very nice.  Good to see that Adimarchus left bountiful psychic trauma in his wake.



> The next thing Hawk knew, Faust was beside him. The psion hurled his own ball of energy, this time fire, onto the helpless beast, and then immediately knelt down beside the barely breathing dragon. Extending one finger, he touched the dragon’s snout, and the moment he did so, the digit turned black. An instant later, the entire dragon crumbled to dust, leaving behind only a silver ring and an emerald amulet. As Faust stood, he seemed to literally swell with power.
> “You have been assimilated,” he spoke in a cold, clipped tone, and it was then that Hawk noticed that his eyes had turned bright green, and his skin appeared almost scale-like.




Ah . . . there's nothing quite like attempting to _Assimilate_ a Huge Fiendish Old Dragon and rolling a crit.  40d6 temporary hit points and a +4 unnamed bonus to all stats?  Why yes, thank you very much!


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## gfunk

*Sunday Night Update*

1. Due to family obligations, Grubber and Havoc were indisposed.  We chose to struggle on with only 4 PC's . . . THAT WAS OUR FIRST MISTAKE.

2. After the debacle @ the guard tower, we do a little investigatin'.  
Undercity -- check.
Gorgelord Palace -- check. (but mysteriously empty)

3. We relax in the Palace only to find that it magically fills with Giant hordes in the middle of the night.  We parlay and manage not to upset them further.  They direct us to the Citadel of the Weeping Dragon.

4. While convincing the sentries of the Citadel that our intentions are friendly we are attacked by Vermirox and pals.  We manage to hold them off, but not until they give us a severe, unmitigated thrashing (some wounds can never be healed  )

5. FINALLY, we convince Kagro Thundersmiter that we want to help.  But see, they have this thing against letting non-watchers enter the Vault.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .


----------



## demiurge1138

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Night Update*
> 
> 4. While convincing the sentries of the Citadel that our intentions are friendly we are attacked by Vermirox and pals.  We manage to hold them off, but not until they give us a severe, unmitigated thrashing (some wounds can never be healed  )



Pride, or another so-called "castration"?

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Pride, or another so-called "castration"?




Both as it turns out.  But one of each to different characters.  JD likes to spread the wealth. :\


----------



## Joachim

gfunk said:
			
		

> 1. Due to family obligations, Grubber and Havoc were indisposed.  We chose to struggle on with only 4 PC's . . . THAT WAS OUR FIRST MISTAKE.




I didn't really have a 'family obligation'.  It was my first anniversary with my wife, and I had chosen D&D over her there would have been a third castration (no quotation marks) that night.

Sounds like y'all had it rougher than we have had it in the past few weeks.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

It was not as bad as it sounds but there are still fates worse than Death. 
Let us just say the Dice were not kind at all very bad rolling. Great Update and if anybody is wondering I dumped Pavel and Made Big Mak for more versatility and to help heal the rest of the guys   Since Grubber has so many Buffs spells on him he has none left for Healing  
JK Grubber NOT


----------



## gfunk

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> It was not as bad as it sounds but there are still fates worse than Death.




Fortunately, in his old age, JD has turned into something of a benevolent DM.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

gfunk said:
			
		

> Fortunately, in his old age, JD has turned into something of a benevolent DM.




If that is the case I am glad he is Getting Old   Or he was tired of seeing me pout at the table. Yea thats Right I did I admit it and am ashamed too


----------



## JollyDoc

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> If that is the case I am glad he is Getting Old   Or he was tired of seeing me pout at the table. Yea thats Right I did I admit it and am ashamed too




Exactly.  There was a palpable feeling of doom over the table after this one particular event.  The old me would have laughed with glee...sigh...old DM's never die....they just fade away...


----------



## R-Hero

Joachim said:
			
		

> ...It was my first anniversary with my wife, and I had chosen D&D over her there would have been a third castration (no quotation marks) that night...




You realize if you start doing it the way she wants now, she'll expect the anniversary thing every year!?!  Probably on the same day, too.

_(Woman are funny that way.  I'll prove it next Sunday and bring copies of my two divorce decrees.)_


----------



## gfunk

R-Hero said:
			
		

> You realize if you start doing it the way she wants now, she'll expect the anniversary thing every year!?!  Probably on the same day, too.




Like I mentioned at the gaming table last weekend, you just have to plan ahead.  In Alabama where college football is insanely popular, married couples will never have the big date on the same day as an Alabama or Auburn game.  Otherwise no one will show up to your wedding.

I took this concept to its logical conclusion.  I looked @ my wedding date and carefully made sure that it didn't fall on a Sunday for the next decade or so*.  By the time it does, I'll either have stopped gaming or my wife will have stopped caring about anniversaries. 

*P.S. I'm joking


----------



## JollyDoc

THE HUNT BEGINS

The tower proved to be a dead end.  It was really nothing more than a fortified garrison.  Why the dragons had expended such effort on it was unclear.  Perhaps they, like the League members, had assumed that any place so heavily guarded must contain something of value.  A clever ruse on the giants' part, perhaps.  In the end, the company returned to the undercity, thinking that perhaps some of the slaves might be anxious to throw off the yoke of their cruel masters and provide information in exchange for their freedom.

The first several buildings they explored appeared hastily abandoned, as if their former occupants had simply dropped what they had been doing and bolted.  Finally, in one particularly run-down tenement, they came upon a family of bugbears cowering in a small bedchamber.  
“We mean you no harm,” Faust said, standing in the doorway with his palms up to show they were empty.  “Whom do you call master?”
For a moment they said nothing, but then the largest, a male, spoke in rough Common, “Gorgecrawlers.”
Faust nodded.  “And who is their leader?”
The bugbear continued to stare at the psion, defiance in his eyes, but hiding a deeper terror.  “Charlgar,” he said flatly.
“Last question,” Faust said in a soothing voice.  “Where might we find Charlgar and the Gorgecrawlers?”
The bugbear looked suspicious, as if Faust were asking something he should already know.  “Gorgecrawler House…north wall,” he said, huddling closer to his family, as if afraid that his words might be the death of him.  Instead, Faust smiled.  
“Thank you.  You have been of great service to us.  If you wish to, you may leave the city.  The giants are…occupied.  You should be able to get out without being seen.”  He then turned to leave, motioning his friends to follow.  Behind him, the bugbears continued to stare, unmoving.  The madman and his lies only made a bad situation worse.
_____________________________________________________________

The so-called House of the Gorgecrawlers turned out to be a rather shabby structure with crude fortifications made of rubble and discarded garbage.  All of the entrances and windows were boarded up.  Hawk motioned for the others to hold position, and he cautiously made his way towards the main door.  Using his shield, he hammered on the barricade several times.
“We come for parley!”  He shouted.  “We propose an alliance between ourselves and Charlgar of the Gorgecrawlers against the hordes of Dragotha.  Will you hear us?”
Silence.  Then, from somewhere on the second level came a giant’s voice.
“Charlgar dead!  Go away!”
“How did he die?”  Hawk called up.  “Who leads in his absence?”
“Fire dragon kill!”  The disembodied voice replied.  “I leader of Gorgecrawlers now, and I say Gorgecrawlers stay put!”
“If you won’t join us, then at least tell us where we can find the phylactery…the item the dragons are searching for!”
“Not know what…filacktree is…” the giant said uncertainly.  
“What about the Gorgelords?”  Hawk asked.  “Would they know?  Why do you stand against them?”  The civilar thought he heard spitting and a loud curse.
“Charlgar lead us to overthrow king,” the giant said, “but Gorgelords tricky.  Know about attack.  Gorgecrawlers forced into undercity…until dragons come.  Now all giants be dragon food!  We stay here!”
“What of the Tiamikal Nul-Shada?”  Hawk asked again.  “Where do they stand in your coup?  Where are they now that the dragons have attacked?”
“Kagro Thundersmiter and his oh-so-proud warriors not leave Citadel of Weeping Dragons,” the giant said, sarcasm in his voice.  “We all die while they stand watch!”
Hawk turned back to his allies.  “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere here.  This group seems defeated and resigned to their fate.  I suggest we go to the Gorgelords or the Tiamikal Nul-Shada.”
“The palace and the citadel are not far from each other,” Faust said, recalling what he’d seen from the top of the rift.  “Why don’t we try the palace first?  The king might listen to reason.  These ‘Slayers of Tiamat’s Children’ seem a bit fanatical to me.”
_________________________________________________________

Faust locked hands with the others, and in the speed of a thought, he transported his team through the astral plane to emerge on the front steps of the palace.  This part of the city had suffered heavy damage.  Bodies of giants littered the ground alongside a few dragon corpses.  The entire area was split into terraces and ten-foot deep fighting trenches.  Guy lines hung thick in the air between the buildings.  The façade of the palace itself was heavily damaged, and its great doors were sealed tight.  Once again, Hawk approached the entryway and called out his plea for truce.  This time he remained unanswered.  
“Faust, can you get us inside?”  He asked the psion as he returned to the group.
“You mean the way I got us inside the guard tower?”  Faust asked, smiling.
“I was thinking of something a bit more subtle,” Hawk replied.  “We want to look like potential allies, not brigands.”  

Once more, the psion gathered the others around him in preparation to Dimension Door, this time transporting them only ten feet…from outside the palace doors to a point just on the inside.  The entry hall beyond was intact, and well decorated, if one was a giant.  Halls and stairwells branched off from multiple exits, but there was not a soul in sight.  The torches along the walls were unlit.  The League began making their way through the large, empty halls and chambers of the main level of the palace.  Everywhere they went, there was the appearance of a hasty departure.  All doors stood open, and rooms were in disarray.  Yet they still found no sign of life.  The upper levels proved equally abandoned.  Outside the palace, night fell on Kongen-Thulnir, and the sound of battle retreated.  Their search having proved fruitless, the League members decided to make their camp in the relative safety of the castle.  Finding an out of the way servants’ chamber, Faust erected a psychoportive shelter…an extra dimensional space where the company could rest undetected, with a door invisible from the outside, but allowing the occupants within to see through.

Deep in the watches of the night Hawk paced restlessly about the dimensional bubble.  Suddenly, guttural voices and the clink of mail brought his attention to the room beyond their shelter.  There, a fire giant and a hill giant had entered, and seemed to be actively searching for something.  The hill giant was dressed differently from the ones they had encountered at the tower, wearing breastplate and carrying a heavy shield and warhammer.  Quickly, the civilar woke the others.  
“What do we do?”  Grubber asked as the giants continued to tear apart the room.
“We came here to sue for peace,” Hawk replied.  “This is our chance.”  On the civilar’s word, Faust dismissed the shelter, leaving himself and his comrades abruptly revealed to the two surprised giants.  Hawk quickly held up his empty hands as the giants reached for their weapons, and he began to speak rapidly.  
“Please, we are not here to fight.  We seek the king to plead our case.”  The hill giant, who seemed to have authority over the fire giant, kept his hand on the haft of his weapon, but did not draw it.  Instead, he called out in his native tongue over his shoulder.  In a matter of moments, the chamber filled with giants…three more hill giants clad as the first, plus six wearing more mundane, hide armor.  There were also three more fire giants, and one particularly large hill giant wearing banded mail and carrying a great axe.  It was this one who spoke next.  His voice was still as rough as his brethren, but was a bit more cultured.
“Who are you?  Where do you come from?”
“I am Hawk Veritas, Senior Civilar of the Waterdeep Guard, and spokesman for the League.  We have come here seeking a means to destroy the undead dragon Dragotha.”
“Who is this Dragotha that you speak of?”  The hill giant snapped.
“He is the one who has sent these dragons against you.”  Hawk replied.  “They are seeking the same thing we are…Dragotha’s phylactery.  It is a repository for his spirit.  As long as it exists, he can never be destroyed.”
“Bah!”  The giant spat.  “We know nothing of this thing.  How do we know you are not spies for the wyrms?  We know that you slaughtered our brethren earlier this day!”
“That was an unfortunate mistake,”  Hawk sighed.  “We were trying to approach them and reason with them as we are with you, but they would not hear us.  They left us no choice.  Tell me, if you do not know of the phylactery, what of the king or the Tiamikal Nul-Shada?”
“The king is old and feeble,” the hill giant said tersely, “and we do not speak for the Tiamikal Nul-Shada.  They are the sworn defenders of the Citadel of Weeping Dragons.”
“Can we not meet with the king?”  Hawk asked.  “If he is ill, perhaps we can offer assistance.”
“We are at war!”  The hill giant roared.  “The king cannot be bothered with such things, and we have no need of your assistance.”
“I see,” Hawk said, hanging his head.  “If you will not aid us, will you at least agree not to hinder us in our quest?  We truly mean your people no harm.”
“Our lines of communication are broken,” the hill giant replied.  “We are cut off from our troops.  You are on your own.”
“As you say,” Hawk nodded, and then turned to Faust.  “Take us out.”  Faust moved to the middle of the group, and each reached out a hand to touch him.  Again the psion transported them through the astral plane, arriving in one of the abandoned tenements in the undercity.  There, he erected another shelter, and the team waited out the night.
______________________________________________________

“The Citadel would seem to be the next logical option,”  Faust explained.  “What is it that the Tiamikal Nul-Shada are guarding so closely?”
“I agree,” Hawk replied, “but I don’t want to leave any avenue unexplored.  Giovanni, I want you and Grubber to remain behind.  Look around the undercity, and perhaps the ruins above.  See if there is anything that we missed.  Come to us if you find anything.  Don’t investigate on your own.  If we have any luck reasoning with the giants, Faust will come for you.  If you haven’t heard from us within the hour, assume the worst and do what you think best.”  The warlock and priest agreed, and Faust locked hands with Hawk, Storm and Mak.  In the blink of an eye, they vanished.

A stone bridge from the city proper lead to a ledge that wrapped around the southern edge of the pinnacle of stone upon which sat the Citadel of Weeping Dragons.  It was at the head of this bridge that the League appeared.  A battlement overlooked the bridgehead, and behind it loomed the bulk of the rocky promontory and the fortress above.  Two startled fire giants stood before a pair of stone double doors, each twenty feet high.  Both giants wore full plate armor, and carried greatswords strapped to their backs.  Large, composite longbows were clutched in their hands, and despite their surprise, they were already knocking arrows, and shouting out a warning.  Hawk rushed forward, his sword sheathed, and began to speak.
“We were told by the Gorgelords to come to you!” he shouted.  “We seek a truce, and wish to speak with your leader, Kagro Thundersmiter.  We are the enemy of your enemy.  We seek to see every dragon in Kongen-Thulnir destroyed!”  The giants kept their arrows knocked, but did not draw back their bows.  Slowly, they lowered their weapons.
“Hawk watch out!”  Storm suddenly screamed, her gaze looking towards the sky.  The giants quickly stepped back, their eyes following Storm’s, as did those of her companions, yet none of them could see what the sorceress saw with her magically enhanced vision.  None of them saw the three invisible blue dragons descending rapidly from the bluffs above.

The lead dragon spat a small bead of fire from its mouth as it came, and abruptly the entire area below was engulfed in an explosive ball of fire.  Immediately on the heels of this attack, the still invisible dragon, Vermirox by name, unleashed the fury of his breath upon the League.  A cone of electricity enveloped the entire group.  Storm dove nimbly to one side, while Faust relied on his mental defenses to protect him from the energy blast.  Hawk and Mak were not so lucky.  The civilar managed to deflect some of the barrage with his shield, but the goliath took the full brunt of the attack.  As he jittered and shivered from the jolt, his skin began to scorch, and most of his clothing, magical and mundane, as well as his rings and headgear erupted into flames, or simply melted into slag.  As the storm passed, the smoking giant sank to his knees.

As Storm rolled to her feet, she hurled her own fireball up at the hovering wyrm.  The resulting explosion covered the dragon’s head, but when the fire cleared, only minor singe marks indicated that the beast had even felt the blast.  Not so Faust’s attack.  Using his Touchsight, the psion could now clearly see the dragon, and in doing so, he manifested a raging inferno of fire that enveloped Vermirox from head to tail.  The mighty blue dragon had never felt such heat and pain, and he roared in anguish.  

Mak struggled to control his own pain.  Focusing through the agony, he called upon Helm’s power to heal his wounds.  However, just as he struggled to his feet, Vermirox’s minions attacked.  The pair of blue dragons became visible immediately upon breathing forth bolts of electricity at both the goliath and Hawk.  

Finally, the giants could see their assailants.  One of them called up to a nearby rampart, where a third giant stood manning a ballista.  All three of them pulled large flasks from their belts and began dousing their weapons with the oil contained within.  Storm immediately saw the glow of magic begin to shine from the bows and ballista.

Several things happened at once as the battle kicked into high gear.  Hawk leaped into the air, his boots sprouting small wings that carried him aloft towards the hovering dragons.  Simultaneously, Storm tossed a second ball of energy at Vermirox, this one exploding with pure concussive force.  The blue dragon knew that the two spell-casters were his greatest threat, and he called out in his alien language for his underlings to focus on the pair.  For his part, he sent a thin, blue beam from one claw streaking at Faust.  As it struck, the psion felt all of his strength leave him, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to even support his own body weight.  Faust knew exactly what had befallen him, but he was helpless to do anything about it.  Fortunately, he did not need to use his hands or speak words to kill.  His mind was still fully functional.  A ray of fire lanced out from the center of his brow to strike the blue dragon.  Then Faust did something truly amazing.  Concentrating, he peered a few moments into the future, enabling him to anticipate Vermirox’s next move.  In so doing, he was able to strike preemptively, bombing the wyrm with a second ball of volcanic fire.  They didn’t call him Holocaust for nothing.

“Kill him!!”  Vermirox roared, but that was the last command the old wyrm would give.  His wounds were grievous, and he dared not risk his long life.  Speaking a word, he vanished.  One of his underlings dove towards the helpless psion, and snatched him up in one claw.  Faust could not resist.  Leaping into the air again, the dragon sailed out over the rift, and unceremoniously dropped its prey into the abyss.
Meanwhile, the second dragon meant to try the same tactic with Storm.  Sweeping in, it shrugged off a blow from Hawk as it passed, and seized the sorceress in its talons.  All three giants opened fire on the wyrm, but their shots bounced harmlessly off of its scales.  
Hawk dove towards the dragon, his blade glowing with brilliant fire.  His stroke tore deep into the flesh of the brute, but it still did not relinquish its hold on the drow.  Storm, however, was not without resources of her own.  Concentrating, she spoke a single arcane word, and whisked herself into the astral, willing herself to reappear behind the great doors of the citadel.  She found herself in a hallway which ran straight to another set of stone doors.  It was otherwise bare, and devoid of giants.  She quickly began casting another spell, transforming her svelte form into that of a blocky, female fire giant.  With effortless ease she lifted the heavy iron bar from the outer doors, and threw them wide, resuming her normal shape as soon as she had done so.

As the dragon stared at its empty paw, Mak hefted his sword and brought it down on the its other foreleg.  The wyrm snatched its injured limb back, rearing on its back legs and roaring in fury.  Another bolt of lightning sizzled from its throat, blasting through the goliath again.  The fire giant guards knocked arrows once more, and were preparing to fire when Hawk shouted from above them…
“What kind of soldiers are you??  Are those swords just for decoration??  Drop those useless toothpicks and get your asses in there!!  That’s an order!!”
With pure reflex stemming from years of military training, the guards let fall their bows, and quicker than Hawk could follow, drew their blades and charged.  They separated at the last second, moving to flank the blue, and then hacking away.  The dragon howled and whirled, trying to defend itself from its attackers, but as it moved, the giants moved easily with it, not allowing it to escape their pincer maneuver.  As it turned to snap at its nearest foe, it found itself eye-to-eye with Hawk.  With one thrust, the civilar plunged Quaero through its left eye and into its brain.  Death was instant.

Just then, the second dragon returned.  Soaring in low, it breathed a blast of electricity straight at Mak and one of the giant guards.  Hawk was in motion a moment later, meeting the blue’s charge head-on.  The dragon snapped at him as he approached, tearing a large rent in his left arm, but the paladin didn’t slow.   Right on his heels were the fire giants.  All three warriors struck with the force of thunderclap, causing the dragon to reel in mid-air.  It tumbled to a halt at the edge of the gorge, crouching low and hissing at its foes.  Its brother was dead.  Its leader fled.  Not so slow-witted as the greens, the blue knew when discretion was justified.  With one final defiant roar, it dove into the gorge.
__________________________________________________

Using a flight elixir, Mak found Faust lying battered, but still alive one-thousand feet below the lip of the gorge.  The psion had managed to use his mental powers to absorb the brunt of his fall, but he was gravely injured nonetheless.  The goliath quickly and efficiently tended his wounds, and then used a prayer of restoration to return his sapped strength.  He then flew the élan back to the main gate.

“Will you now summon Kagro Thundersmiter for us?”  Hawk asked the guards as his companions rejoined him.  
“As you wish civilar,” one replied, bowing.  “Wait here.”  
Several minutes passed before the giant returned, this time with another fire giant following.  The imposing figure had flowing hair and a beard of deepest crimson.  He was clad in breastplate of gleaming mithral, and carried a large greataxe in one hand.  Dark purple robes covered his armor, and bracelets and necklaces of dragons’ teeth adorned him.
“My guardsman tells me that I owe you my gratitude,” he said without preamble.  
“A debt that can easily be repaid by granting us a simple boon,” Hawk replied.
“What would you ask of me?”  Thundersmiter asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“We seek the phylactery of the dracolich Dragotha,” Hawk explained.  “We have reason to believe it is secreted within your citadel, and we ask that you give us access to it.”
The giant’s visage grew dark.  “The stewardship of the Citadel is our sacred trust!  No outsider may enter!”
“I understand,” Hawk said calmly, “but you must understand something as well.  Dragotha serves the worm-god Kyuss, who seeks to return to this world from his imprisonment.  The dracolich is his greatest general.  If he is defeated, Kyuss will be crippled.  We must destroy the phylactery!”
Thundersmiter shook his head vigorously.  “We have kept watch for over a thousand years, and the Citadel has never been breached.  We will continue to keep its secrets safe.”
“Are you insane?”  Faust interrupted.  “Your city is under siege!  It is only a matter of time before it falls, and then the dragons will turn their full fury upon you!  You will all die!”
“Then we shall die with honor, defending our Trust.”  With that, he turned and strode back into the citadel, the doors closing behind him.  The guards took up their positions before the portals.  Though their eyes bespoke their regret, their stance made it clear that they would uphold their duty unto their death.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Great update one small nit pick "Mak hefted his hammer" Mak uses a Bastard Sword other than that was good. Liked all the slag I was wearing


----------



## JollyDoc

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Great update one small nit pick "Mak hefted his hammer" Mak uses a Bastard Sword other than that was good. Liked all the slag I was wearing




Problem fixed


----------



## gfunk

Sweet update JD.  This was a quickie 5 hr gaming session.



			
				JollyDoc said:
			
		

> As it struck, the psion felt all of his strength leave him, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to even support his own body weight.  Faust knew exactly what had befallen him, but he was helpless to do anything about it.  Fortunately, he did not need to use his hands or speak words to kill.  His mind was still fully functional.  A ray of fire lanced out from the center of his brow to strike the blue dragon.  Then Faust did something truly amazing.  Concentrating, he peered a few moments into the future, enabling him to anticipate Vermirox’s next move.  In so doing, he was able to strike preemptively, bombing the wyrm with a second ball of volcanic fire.  They didn’t call him Holocaust for nothing.




*Vermirox*: Casts _Ray of Enfeeblement_ for 8 pts of Str dmg, knocking Faust to 0 (helpless)

*Faust*: As long as mind is intact can manifest psionics

1. _Maximized, Augmented, Overchanneled Energy Ray, Fire _ = 128 pts

2. _Anticipatory Strike_ = Acts again in the same round

3. _Maximized, Augmented Energy Ray, Fire_ = 104 hp

*Total dmg from "helpless" Psion* = 232 hp

*Vermirox*: "Biznitch you later, skater!"




But this one hurt . . .



> . . . but the goliath took the full brunt of the attack. As he jittered and shivered from the jolt, his skin began to scorch, and most of his clothing, magical and mundane, as well as his rings and headgear erupted into flames, or simply melted into slag. As the storm passed, the smoking giant sank to his knees.




Nat 1 on Reflex Save means that your items save or be destroyed.  Mak pretty much lost everything (~140K gp worth of items all told).  Ouch.

Fortunately, we found a solution of sorts to this problem.


----------



## Sollir Furryfoot

Definate Ouch by Faust.  And Ika has the worst luck regarding magical items with his characters ever   I haven't seen the magazine yet, but curiously-is a 1st level Necromantic spell the worst the badguys can pull off to a party that's 18th level?  I know it may have been devestating in this particular use but it seems a bit tame, even if a dragon of the appropriate CR doesn't have the same amount of Sorc levels as someone of an equal level.

Edit-Also, I'm curious as to why didn't Faust just DD his way out of the fall like he did last time?  Being paralyzed doesn't seem to hurt psions too much.


----------



## gfunk

Sollir Furryfoot said:
			
		

> Edit-Also, I'm curious as to why didn't Faust just DD his way out of the fall like he did last time?  Being paralyzed doesn't seem to hurt psions too much.




Mainly b/c it was tactically unwise to teleport into the middle of a raging melee.  Besides, I wasn't sure if Vermirox would come back and I wasn't sure of the positions of the two remaining dragons (they moved around quite a bit).  I didn't want to end up at the receiving end of a Breath Weapon when I was helpless or (even worse) set myself up for a possible coup-de-grace.

Paralyzation really means nothing to psions except for the standard risks of CDG and the inability to make Reflex saves.  In fact being _dazed_ is far worse, including the inability to take immediate actions.  I hate _Blasphemy_ with a white-hot rage.


----------



## Hammerhead

gfunk said:
			
		

> Nat 1 on Reflex Save means that your items save or be destroyed.  Mak pretty much lost everything (~140K gp worth of items all told).  Ouch.
> 
> Fortunately, we found a solution of sorts to this problem.




I'm afraid that at least according to the RAW, most of Big Mak's equipment would have survived. 



			
				d20 SRD said:
			
		

> Unless the descriptive text for the spell specifies otherwise, all items carried or worn by a creature are assumed to survive a magical attack. If a creature rolls a natural 1 on its saving throw against the effect, however, an exposed item is harmed (if the attack can harm objects). Refer to Table: Items Affected by Magical Attacks. Determine which four objects carried or worn by the creature are most likely to be affected and roll randomly among them. The randomly determined item must make a saving throw against the attack form and take whatever damage the attack deal.


----------



## Joachim

Hammerhead is right.  PHB, page 177, bottom of first column, "Items Surviving After a Saving Throw".  1 item, rolled randomly out of 4, is affected, and this is really good for Mak because 3 of the first 4 might not have been destroyed due to electricity only doing half damage before hardness is applied, most of Mak's stuff is adamantine and has big hitpoints.  According to the table, the items to be affected first would be the following:

1)  Shield (Magic Shielded Gauntlet...hardness at least 12, hitpoints at least 30 assuming a +1)
2)  Armor (Adamantine Breastplate...hardness at least 22, hitpoints at least 43 assuming a +1)
3)  Helmet, Hat, or Headband (don't know if Mak has one)
4)  Item in hand (in this case, a weapon) (Adamantine Large Bastard Sword...hardness at least 22, hitpoints at least 37 assuming a +1)
5)  Magic Cloak (Cloak of Cha +6...pretty much fragged if affected)
6)  Stowed or sheathed weapon
and so on....

Magic jewely (amulets, rings, etc.) are way down on the list (9th), so according to RAW Mak's ring of FoM would never have been affected..  IMHO, I think that it would be appropriate to go back and adjust the encounter accordingly.  It had no real effect on the outcome of the battle, but has a far more ranging effect for Mak in the campaign to come.

Great catch, Hammerhead.  There are still a lot of things that we take for granted that they never changed over from 3.0, and probably once a month we have a collective revelation while flipping through the PHB or DMG.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

That was when I pouted   I rolled for everything Headband was toast +6wisdom. Belt toast +6 Charisma, Ioun stone +1 ac toast, Ring FOM toast, and Amulet of Nat armor +3 toast all I had to make was a 10 or better Dice was not on my side. 

Yea I know not good with Items just need to make me a vow of poverty monk so  JD cannot pick on me


----------



## gfunk

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Yea I know not good with Items just need to make me a vow of poverty monk so  JD cannot pick on me




Then we'll probably run into a vampire who _dominates_ you and forces you to buy some beef jerky at the local inn.  Bye-bye Vow of Poverty . . . 

BTW, I'm not sure it all items saving on a Natural "1" is a house-rule or not.  I'm inclined to think that it was.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> Then we'll probably run into a vampire who _dominates_ you and forces you to buy some beef jerky at the local inn.  Bye-bye Vow of Poverty . . .
> 
> BTW, I'm not sure it all items saving on a Natural "1" is a house-rule or not.  I'm inclined to think that it was.




Not a house rule.  Like Rich said, I think our interpretation carried over from 3.0...so, ultimately lucky, and less expensive, for Mak.  Damn you Hammerhead!  I would have gotten away with it if not for you meddling kids!


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

And a Thank You goes out to the meddling Kids


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Not a house rule.  Like Rich said, I think our interpretation carried over from 3.0...so, ultimately lucky, and less expensive, for Mak.  Damn you Hammerhead!  I would have gotten away with it if not for you meddling kids!




IIRC (and I think that I am), the items saving on a natural '1' was a DMG 3.0 variant rule from that we adopted for that campaign.  It never came into play in the Shackled City campaign, so we never looked it up.  I guess when they went to 3.5 they removed the variant rule, and made a firm rule that a natural '1' means that you have to make a save for 1 item.  Now that I am thinking about it, I did notice this when 3.5 came out and mused, "Hmm...that's interesting."  And then I promptly forgot about it.

I spent about an hour this morning dredging through the PHB and DMG trying to find where they stowed it.  You would think that it would be under damaging an item, or under item saving throws (it is mentioned but not expounded under this section), or even in the beginning section of the Magic Items chapter.  No...its actually tucked away in the Spells and Magic section of the PHB, and there is no reference in any index.  And this is why books suck compared to Internet.


----------



## Daag

Great update as usual.

Just another note, Ray of Enfeeblement is a penalty that can't bring your Strength below 1. 

Daag


----------



## gfunk

Daag said:
			
		

> Just another note, Ray of Enfeeblement is a penalty that can't bring your Strength below 1.




 Ah-hah!!  JD, you cheated again!!  I guess that's what we get for gaming w/o Joachim.  Thanks for the heads up Daag.  We want to keep our reputation as rules-lawyers after all.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> Ah-hah!!  JD, you cheated again!!  I guess that's what we get for gaming w/o Joachim.  Thanks for the heads up Daag.  We want to keep our reputation as rules-lawyers after all.




IIRC I informed you that you took 8 points of strength damage, at which poing YOU informed me your strength was zero.  Eat it!


----------



## JollyDoc

Daag said:
			
		

> Great update as usual.
> 
> Just another note, Ray of Enfeeblement is a penalty that can't bring your Strength below 1.
> 
> Daag




Never let the truth get in the way of a good story...in any case, outcome would have been the same.  I don't see STR 1 Faust resisiting the dragon's grapple any better than STR 0 Faust...and he still probably couldn't have supported the weight of his own equipment.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

In any case, great update.  If anyone was just jumping into this thread, and haven't been reading your story hours for a long time.  You might get the impression that you guys are quite adversarial.  I really like the give and take, and player/DM perspective you guys give.

Thanks,
GW


----------



## JollyDoc

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> In any case, great update.  If anyone was just jumping into this thread, and haven't been reading your story hours for a long time.  You might get the impression that you guys are quite adversarial.  I really like the give and take, and player/DM perspective you guys give.
> 
> Thanks,
> GW




You think THIS is adversarial??  You ought to sit at the table with us while we debate rules interpretations (ie...tonight's "discussion" about whether you could touch an incorporeal creature in order to dimension door with them without taking the 50% miss chance)!  Our disagreements aside, this is the best group I've ever had the pleasure of gaming with, and Rich/Gfunk and I are coming up on our 8 year anniversary of gaming together.

BTW....congratulations to Gfunk who officially graduated from medical school today!!


----------



## gfunk

*Monday Late Night Update*

1. Havoc and Grubber rejoin us as we try to brainstorm how best to locate the phylactery vault w/o totally slaughtering all the Giants in the Citadel of the Weeping Dragon (uncharacteristically  benevolent of us, I know).  We decide an _Ethereal Agent_ (Psion/Wilder 5) is the most economical solution.

2. Entry floor of Citadel empty.  Check.
Descent underground = _Ethereal Agent_ spotted and destroyed by mystery _Blade Barrier_

3. Another _Ethereal Agent_ yields more info but meets the same fate as the first.

4. Buff-Scry-Fry strategem makes its glorious reappearance and it is beautiful to behold!!

5. We finally find the Vault and things are going peachy until the League decides Faust should try to _Disintegrate_ the door . . .


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Thanks for the outline.

And Congrats on completing medical school.  Now does that take you away from gaming to the rigors of Interning?

GW


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## gfunk

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> And Congrats on completing medical school.  Now does that take you away from gaming to the rigors of Interning?




Thanks.  I have to stay overnight in the hospital every 4th night for 9 out of the next 12 months so gaming will be affected.  Joachim will be running an alternative campaign, "Red Hand of Doom," on the weekends that I'm out.  Otherwise we will finish off "Age of Worms."

In fact I'm starting with a 2 week vacation so we won't be running AoW again until June 11th.


----------



## themind

Pity you got to miss out on the Red Hand of Doom.  Good adventure.  

And Congrats on Graduating.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Congratulations on graduation Gfunk. Sorry that you're gonna miss out on Red Hand of Doom indeed. Playing in it myself with Ltclnl Brain as DM and I must say it's a great game.

And of course the usual praise for the great updates by JD as well as the character builds you guys are sharing with us.


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## hbarsquared

I would like to chime in my congratulations, as well.  Good job, *gfunk*!

On another note...

Please oh please oh please _oh please_ let there be a *Joachim's Red Hand of Doom* story hour!


----------



## Joachim

jeremy_dnd said:
			
		

> Please oh please oh please _oh please_ let there be a *Joachim's Red Hand of Doom* story hour!




I have been considering it pretty strongly.  Just keep your fingers crossed    .


----------



## hbarsquared

Every pair is crossed, and even _those_ are themselves crossed.

My hands are a gnarled mass awaiting your story hour.


----------



## JollyDoc

Joachim said:
			
		

> I have been considering it pretty strongly.  Just keep your fingers crossed    .




As long as I don't have to write it!!  (or take notes).


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

A Joachim 'Red Hand of Doom' Story Hour! What sweet longing is caused by the mere thought of such a treat. My mind nearly trembles at the idea of having yet another great SH to read. Jeremy_dnd, I'll follow your example and will for good measure cross my arms and legs as well. Trying my toes, but they're not flexible enough


----------



## JollyDoc

STORMING THE CITADEL

“I have an idea,” Faust said to his companions as they stood at the bridgehead, the watchful eyes of the Tiamikal Nul-Shada guards upon them.  Giovanni and Grubber had rejoined them after a fruitless search of the undercity.  Hawk rolled his eyes at the psion’s declaration.
“Trust me,” Faust said smiling, earning him a second eye-roll from the civilar.  “It’s brilliant in its simplicity really.  You see, I shall create an Ethereal Agent, sort of like an animate scrying sensor.  I can send it into the citadel to scout about, all the while allowing me to see through its eyes.  It will be silent, and invisible.  No one will even know it’s there.”
“Famous last words,” Hawk snorted, “but I suppose it’s worth a try if our only other option is to charge in and kill everything in sight.”
“While that would be infinitely more entertaining,” the psion mused, “I believe we should be more circumspect while we can.  Now, stand back while I work.”  With that, he produced a small crystal orb from his belt, and held it before his eyes, concentrating.  After a moment, the crystal flashed briefly, and for the merest second, the hulking outline of a bipedal creature stood before the group before vanishing from view.  Faust experienced an instant of disorientation as he found himself looking back on himself and the others through the eyes of the agent.  On his silent command, it turned and walked slowly up to the giants, and then past them before stepping through the outer gates.

Inside the massive doors, the agent made its way deliberately down the single corridor, scanning the walls, ceiling and floor for any sign of other doorways, hidden or otherwise.  When it reached the second set of double doors, it stepped through them as well, finding itself in an empty, round chamber.  Two alcoves branched from the room, but each one simply doubled back on itself before reaching a dead-end.  Returning to the main chamber, the agent scanned about carefully, but ultimately found no other means of egress.  

Outside, Faust cursed under his breath.  He knew there was probably some hidden exit that he was unable to see.  There was nothing for it but to start searching systematically.  But first, he knew that the citadel itself was built upon a large pillar of rock.  He wondered if that rock was solid, or if there might be a dungeon…or a vault…hidden beneath.  Concentrating once more, he willed his agent to pass straight down through the chamber’s floor.

Down the agent traveled, moving through dark stone as if it were air.  Abruptly, it found itself in an open space once more.  It was an empty hallway.  Behind it, a stairway wound up into darkness, while ahead, a large door stood closed on the right, with a descending stair on the same wall just beyond it.  At the far end of the hall, a second door stood slightly ajar.
_________________________________________________________

Alakora was fuming.  She had heard the sounds of battle above several minutes ago, but nothing since.  She was unsure if the citadel had been breached, not that she particularly cared.  Juroth had instructed her to guard this particular area, and nothing more.  Let the others die as far as she was concerned.  Ordinarily, this would be a relatively easy task.  She would simply transform herself into a tiny spider and wait, crouched near the ceiling in the corridor beyond her room.  Then, when and if intruders made their appearance, she would decimate them with her magic, all the while concealed from view.  That was until the very nature of magic had changed.  Now, she found that when she assumed her arachnid form, all of her innate powers left her.  She was nothing more than a spider, albeit a particularly tough one.  Therefore, she was forced instead to lie in wait like some common sneak, peering through her cracked door, looking for trespassers.  She was just on the verge of giving up and going back to her musings when she saw the ethereal creature appear.  The marilith’s eyes could see into the border plane, and the agent was plainly visible to her.
_____________________________________________________________

The agent was just moving towards the far door, when suddenly a whirlwind or whirring, flashing blades appeared out of thin air.  The blade barrier was constructed of pure force, and as such, it could pierce the fragile barrier between the prime and the ethereal.  In an instant, the agent was torn to pieces.

“Whoa!”  Faust said, lurching back, his hands coming up reflexively to ward off the slashing blades.  It took him a moment to realize what had happened, and that he was in no danger.  “We’ve been made,” he said flatly, and then told his friends what had happened.
“So what now?”  Giovanni asked.  “It will only be a matter of minutes before the whole place is on alert!”
“Which is why we have to act fast,” Faust replied.  “I’m sending another agent in.  This time I won’t have it delay in that hall, in case the blade barrier was some sort of trap it sprang.  I’m sending it all the way down to see if it can find the vault.  If it can, then I can take us directly there before the giants can mobilize their defenses.”

Eyeing the fire giants carefully, the psion brought out a second crystal.  When he was reasonably sure that the Tiamikal Nul-Shada had not yet been alarmed, he summoned his agent.  This time, the scry practically ran into the citadel, heading directly for the circular chamber.  Once there, it too descended through the floor, only not stopping as it passed through the now empty dungeon corridor.  It traveled through several more yards of stone until it found itself in an empty stairwell.  Behind, the stair wound up, while before, it descended further into darkness.  From above, Faust commanded the agent to proceed down the stairs.  

The stairs descended into an oddly shaped room with a ceiling vaulting forty feet overhead.  Great, stone double doors exited to the northeast.  They were carved in a detailed bas-relief depicting a human form trapped in a trapezohedral shape.  All around this form writhed dozens of carved worms.  A strange, pale golden shimmering seemed to dance at times over the doors.  Set into the center of each one was a single, small keyhole.  Standing to either side of the doors was what at first appeared to be a large humanoid statue, but on closer inspection, Faust knew this was merely a façade.  The massive creatures had iron gray skin that looked as dry and weathered as a desert peak.  Their heads were hairless with sunken, glassy eyes and craggy features, seemingly carved from granite.  Their skin receded at their mouths and fingers, revealing blunt gray teeth and long, curving nails.

“This looks like the place,” Faust muttered.  “Now, let’s see what’s behind door number one.”  Since the giant guardians seemed to have taken no notice of his agent, he now commanded it to go forward and through the carved doors, but as soon as the scry attempted it, it found the way barred.
“Thought so,” Faust said, mostly to himself.  “That would have been too easy.”  Seeing that there was no other way to go, the psion ordered the agent back up the stairs.  Once at the top, Faust realized the agent had returned to the hall where his first minion had been destroyed.  Cautiously, he had the scry creep forward, bringing the cracked door into the range of its Blindsight.  There, on the far side of the portal, lurked a creature that seemed to be a lovely woman from the waist up, save for her six arms, each wielding a cruelly barbed scimitar.  From the waist down, however, her body was that of a giant serpent.  It was a marilith, a powerful demon from the lower planes!  Quickly, before it was spotted, Faust had the agent dart through the near door.  Beyond was a large chamber that seemed to be a combination of bedroom and study.  Against the far wall lay numerous furs and cushions heaped in a haphazard nest.  The walls were covered with strange runes and markings, and a large stack of oversized books lay on a cluttered desk to the north.  Flipping through these books at a rapid pace was a frost giant.  He was dressed in robes and a heavy, fur cloak, and he had a large warmace propped against the wall next to him.  Just then, the door burst open, revealing the angry visage of the marilith on the other side.  The giant never even looked up.  Quickly, Faust commanded the agent through the nearest wall.  As it stepped through, it found itself in the stairwell once more, but not far enough down to conceal it from the marilith’s view.  Again Faust sent the scry into the wall, but this time it emerged into a chamber that was rough-hewn from the rock.  A single fissure in the far wall acted as a narrow window, allowing in light and fresh air.  Every inch of the floor was covered with exotic-looking rugs, and silken hangings covered much of the walls.  A bed of cushions lay near one wall, and a low, wooden table, silvery and cracked from age, rested near the opposite wall, also surrounded by cushions.  The far corner of the room held what appeared to be a crudely carved stone idol.  Unfortunately, the door to this chamber was open, and the marilith in the hall beyond had a clear view inside.  In an instant she created another blade barrier, and Faust’s point of view was suddenly cut short.
_________________________________________________________

“Tor!”  Alakora shouted again at the giant sorcerer.  “I know you can hear me!”  Still he ignored her, so focused was he on his books.  Finally, she spoke directly into his mind, causing as much pain as possible.  With a snarl, the frost giant grabbed his head and turned savagely on her.
“What?  Why do you disturb my research?”
“Because, you fool,” the marilith hissed, “in case you haven’t noticed, we are under attack!  Two spies I have dispatched already.  It is a certainty that whoever sent them will come to investigate in person shortly.  I suggest you prepare yourself!”  With that, she slithered out of the room and back into the corridor, taking up a position where she could see both stairwells, as well as her own room and that of Vercinabex Tor.  The frost giant cursed vividly, enraged at the inconvenience.  He knew that he was on the verge of discovering the answer to the riddle.  He just needed a bit more time!  Still, if invaders were truly coming, he’d best be ready.  They were going to pay for interrupting his work!
____________________________________________________________

“That’s it,” Faust said.  “It’s now or never.  They definitely will know we’re here now.  We’re going in thirty seconds, ready or not!”  Quickly, his companions set about readying their defenses, preparing for the coming battle.  Just before the psion gathered them all about him, Giovanni read from one of his many scrolls, again transforming his body to ghost-like incorporeality.  
“Three…two…one…” Faust finished, and then took them all into the astral plane.

When they reemerged a moment later, they found themselves standing in the far corner of the frost giant’s chamber.  The giant seemed momentarily taken aback at their sudden appearance.  It was all the time Havok needed.  Drawing another scroll from his belt, he read its contents aloud, and as the last word left his mouth, time stood still…for everyone except himself, that was.  All around him, friends and foe alike were frozen in time.  Quickly, knowing the effect was of extremely limited duration, the warlock went to work.  First, he read another scroll, this time bringing into being a bank of viscous, semi-solid fog that surrounded the frost giant.  Then, he criss-crossed the area where he knew the giant to be with three walls of the emerald, writhing flames that were now in his power to create.  A moment later, the flow of time resumed.

The screams of Vercinabex Tor reverberated from the walls with ear-splitting intensity.  The giant flailed about, desperately trying to douse the flames that surrounded him, while at the same time trying to move away from them.  Unfortunately, pushing through the gelid mists that engulfed him were like trying to walk through quicksand.  Suddenly, a roaring column of white-hot fire erupted from the ceiling, burning Tor with not only heat, but pure, holy power.  This was followed immediately by an explosive ball of energy that seemed part acid and part electricity.  Maddened with pain, the frost giant stumbled blindly through the misty quagmire, taking no notice of the shadowy figure that lurked just on the edge of the fog bank.  Hawk watched the sorcerer approach, waiting for just the right moment to strike.  Fortunately, Havok’s ploy, coupled with the spells of Mak and Storm, made his job easy.  One thrust to the heart ended the giant, and he fell slowly, almost languidly through the fog, collapsing to the floor.

Alakora felt her mental link with Tor go blank at the same time that his screams were silenced.  She should have known the fool would be useless, so obsessed was he over his research.  If she were to have any hope of defeating these invaders, she was going to need more capable assistance.  Concentrating, she used her mind to open a conduit back to her abyssal home.  “Ak’Nok,” she called seductively, whispering the nalfeshnee’s name.  “Come to me.”  She felt the demon’s attention turn towards here…and also felt his contempt.  “Not today Alakora,” he burbled, laughing.  “I warned you not to bargain with the giant priest.  Now you try to draw me into your folly!  I wish you well, but I fear that I will be seeing you sooner rather than later.  I’ve always wondered what you would look like as a lemure.”  The marilith screamed in rage at the rebuff.  The oaf had best pray to whatever duke he served that she did not return to the Abyss.  She would flay the flesh from his bones, and then heal him just so she could do it again.

At that moment the ghostly, invisible form of Havok stepped through the wall right next to Alakora, but her acute sight saw him immediately for what he was.  The warlock seemed momentarily surprised to see her, but he recovered quickly.  A powerful blast of emerald energy pulsed from his hand, rocking the marilith with its impact.  A moment later he disappeared into the floor.  Alakora knew that the ethereal human could reappear at any moment, so she scuttled quickly back towards her chamber to a more defensible position.  As she passed the door to Tor’s room, she saw the roiling fog inside.  Quickly, she conjured another blade wall just inside the room, blocking the exit and, with any luck, slashing several of her enemies into bloody ribbons.

Within the room, Grubber and Storm did indeed find themselves within the whirling blades, but thanks to a defensive spell placed upon them, granting them a degree of immunity to hostile magic, they remained unscathed by the barrage.  Grubber uttered another prayer, wreathing his hand in silvery light.  If that light touched a creature not of the Prime, it might very well banish it back to its home plane.
“Mak, follow me!” he called to his brother, and then moved through the door.  Mak came behind, the blade barrier passing harmlessly through him as well.  As he emerged into the hall, he saw Grubber reach out and touch the marilith…and nothing happened.  The demon was too powerful.  Hefting his sword, Mak rushed to his brother’s side, but one of the marilith’s slashing scimitars grazed him when he got too close.

Hawk saw the goliath brothers leave the frost giant’s chamber, and he rushed quickly after them.  However, as he passed through the wall of blades, his flesh was sliced by a hundred small cuts.  Ignoring the wounds, the civilar pressed on.  Just then, Havok reappeared from the corridor floor.  He saw that the marilith was cornered, and instinctively, he sensed that she was about to bring her magic to bear.  At the precise moment that Alakora began concentrating, the warlock struck.  As the eldritch blast hit her, the marilith lost her focus, ruining her attempt at escape via teleportation.  Hissing at the still-intangible warlock, she slid quickly through the door to her room, and slammed it shut behind her.  Immediately, she felt her assailants battering at it from the other side, and for a moment, she managed to hold it shut, but then it was smashed inward by the human with the shield and glowing blade.  Alakora was flung back, and then buffeted again by another blast from the warlock.  As she recovered her balance, the smaller goliath suddenly appeared behind her, using magic she had never seen before.  She turned to defend herself, but it was too late.  Grubber’s maul crushed her skull with one mighty blow.
_________________________________________________________

Faust quickly scanned the books and ledgers that lay scattered on Tor’s desk.  Most of the writing was nonsensical rambling, but several passages mentioned “the Vault,” and a “Ritual of Opening.”  It seemed the frost giant was looking for a way to enter the citadel’s vault, and was foiled by exactly how that might be done.  
“They don’t even know what it is that they’re guarding,” Faust said, half to himself.  
“How can that be?” Hawk demanded.  “Didn’t the druids charge them with the phylactery’s safe keeping?”
“They charged giants with it,” Faust replied, “but not necessarily these giants.  Perhaps the guardianship was simply passed from generation to generation, until at last it was the duty itself that remained sacred, not the actual item being tended.  The Order of the Storm intended for Dragotha to never find the phylactery, and that is why they erased the knowledge of it from memory, but now that the Library of Last Resort has been opened, that knowledge has returned.  We must find a way to penetrate the vault, and quickly, before the dracolich’s minions beat us to it.”

The company regrouped, and descended the stairway to the level below.  They entered the chamber that Faust had seen through the eyes of his agent, and found it just as before.  The guardians remained immobile, though their eyes fixed upon the group as soon as they appeared.
“Perhaps they are some sort of test,” Mak whispered to his companions.  “The Ritual may involve finding the way past them.”  The others shrugged, having no better suggestion to offer.  The goliath stepped forward several feet and called out, “We seek to open the vault!  I command you to open it for us, or stand aside!”  The giants were silent, and impassive.
‘Master,’ Havok’s ensorcelled armor whispered in his mind, ‘they do not live.’
“They’re undead,” the warlock relayed to his friends.
“Well, that answers that then,” Faust said, clapping his hands together, and then pointing his index fingers at the vault doors.  A thin, green beam of light shot from them, striking the portals.  For a moment, the golden light that danced upon their surface flared, but when it faded they remained unscratched.  At that moment, however, the undead guardians lurched into motion.  As they approached, Havok quickly wove a chain of vitriolic power between them, searing their dry flesh, but on they came.  Hawk stepped in front of the nearest, slashing at its legs and abdomen with Quaero.  Then the brute was upon him.  Head down, it trampled over the civilar and Grubber, rushing past them to their comrades still in the stairwell.  On its heels came the second, it too bowling over Hawk and Grubber as if they were toys.  From the relative cover offered by the stair, Havok brought a wall of his worm-like flames up from the floor of the chamber, catching both guardians in its wake.  Grubber quickly regained his feet on the other side of the first giant, and slammed his hammer into its spine.  He felt it crack like a dry twig, and soundlessly, the guardian sagged to the floor.  Whirling about, he saw the second brute lining up for another run.  A ball of fire, courtesy of Storm, momentarily stalled its charge, but not for long.  It ran forward again, but as it came, Hawk and Grubber both struck at its knees.  As it fell heavily, the civilar and goliath attacked again, and it joined its fellow, returning to the dust from which it came.

Cautiously, the rest of the party filed into the chamber, slowly approaching the massive vault doors.  On closer inspection, more details of the carvings upon them became apparent.  Depicted in the scene on the left-hand door were hundreds of stone giants locked in mortal combat with horrific worm-covered undead of all shapes and sizes.  The giants appeared to be taking the worst of it.  Overshadowing all was a massive monolith upon which stood a huge figure of grotesque proportions with writhing worms all over its body…Kyuss!  A circle of a dozen small figures stood before the monolith enacting some ritual.  The right-hand door focused in on the ritual of the small figures, members of the Order of the Storm.  They were gathered in a circle on a ledge overlooking a cliff, obviously protecting something in their midst.  Crawling and clambering up over the ledge were dozens of skeletal undead, and rearing up in the background was an immense bony worm-like creature.  Between the undead and the druids stood a group of brave heroes, single-handedly holding off the advancing undead.  There was no mistaking who the heroes were.
“It wasn’t a dream,” Grubber breathed.  Suddenly, a ghostly form shimmered and rose from the surface of the doors.  The figure was that of a short humanoid, and it had a strange look upon its face, a combination of fear and excitement.  His head lolled on a broken neck, and his fingers ended in long tendrils of ectoplasm that looked almost like claws.  Grubber recognized him immediately.  It was Alastor Land.

“Well met, friends,” the spirit of the dead farm boy said, “Long have our journeys been since our last meeting.  You have come far in your quest to stop the abomination that rises even as we speak, and I have been down long roads in other worlds learning who and what I am.  And now, here at this juncture, our paths cross again.  Oh I know most of you think you do not know me, for your spirits wore other guises when last we met, but search your souls and all will be made clear.  As you have doubtless learned, an age ago the Wind Dukes of Calim fought a great battle against the Army of Fire.  The great pasha Memnon was imprisoned, Kossuth’s influence waned, and the Scepter of Calim was broken into seven parts and scattered across the cosmos.  Tombs were built to inter the honored dead, but the Wind Dukes did not abandon the field of battle entirely.  Certain guardians were left behind to watch and wait for the reemergence of the Army of Fire.  One of these guardians was an order of mortal druids.  The Wind Dukes taught these druids their secrets, and when the Dukes were ultimately bound into the Calimemnon Crystal, this order grew powerful.  They became the Order of the Storm, and they defeated Kyuss nearly fifteen centuries ago.  Kyuss was banished, locked away in a stony prison, but now he threatens once again.
Over long years, the secret watchers joined with the cultures around them.  These guardians forgot their cause, and traditions were abandoned.  My family, the Land family, named for their sacred attachment to the hallowed grounds of the Wind Dukes, were among the last of these watchers.  Though the blood of the Wind Dukes ran thin in my veins, it still called to me and allowed me access to the tomb of Zosiel until my destiny was fulfilled and I fell to a trap.  Likewise, your coming to the Whispering Cairn was no accident.  I can smell the mark of the Wind Dukes within you, heroes.  You may be the last of a long line, the only surviving heirs to the Wind Duke legacy.”  His eyes lingered upon Hawk, and the aasimar felt a tingle of memory pulling at the back of his mind.  “As such,” Alastor continued, “I have come to advise you one more time.
Kyuss’ strength lies in his prison.  When he became a god, he became trapped in the focus of his divine apotheosis…a massive monolith of stone affixed to the peak of the Spire of Long Shadows.  Dragotha stole this monolith long ago and brought it to his lair in Skull Gorge.  Over the centuries, the presence of Kyuss’ monolith transformed this portion of the canyon into what is known today as the Wormcrawl Fissure.  Once, after Dragotha was murdered by the Chromatic Dragon and returned to unlife by the Wormgod, Kyuss managed to escape his prison.  With Dragotha as the general of his undead armies, the Wormgod rose from the Fissure and attempted to begin the Age of Worms, but the Order of the Storm was ready.
You know of this battle.  And now you know that in the room beyond lies Dragotha’s phylactery.  Yet to reach it, you must look into your memories, your souls.  Find the ritual of opening, and use the vault keys.  Yet know also that once these doors open, the phylactery vault will be open to all.  Dragotha and his minions will smell his phylactery and they shall come to claim it.  You must be quick.  If you destroy the phylactery, Dragotha can be truly slain, but as his life-force escapes, he may be able to reclaim some of it from the beyond…destroying the phylactery may make him more dangerous than ever before.  Yet I see little choice.
I must go now.  You shall not see me again, I think, until you join me on the other side.  Good luck, my friends, and farewell…”  With that, a smile crossed the ghost’s lips and he simply faded away.


----------



## Joachim

Sweet update, Joe!  Just imagine, everyone...an entire gaming session in which Faust did not inflict a single point of damage.  Of course, he was in his self-proclaimed 'Power Preservation Mode', but the rest of us had everything under control.  We even managed to take down the Frost Giant sorcerer in 1 round!

This week, we started on the Red Hand of Doom, so there will be no update to the Age of Worms Story Hour.  If I can get my crap straight, there might be a new SH somewhere nearby, however...


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Excellent.  I'll be looking forward to both the next update, and the possibility of a new story hour.

GW


----------



## Solarious

Mmnn... Joachim Red Hand of Doom SH... *drool*... 

In other news, you may regret trying to disintegrating the doors. Those undead giants would have come in handy later on...


----------



## R-Hero

Solarious said:
			
		

> .......Those undead giants would have come in handy later on...




Uhmm.... No.

As the resident paladin, and speaking on behalf of our N.good cleric of Grumbar, we can only turn evil giant undead things (or kill, as the case may be). Not have them join the League.

Besides, what could we use them for that an astral construct wouldn't suffice. 
(On second thought, Dont answer that question. If there is a different or better use do not reply as it could spoil any surprises.)






			
				Graywolf said:
			
		

> Excellent. I'll be looking forward to both the next update...



*...or...*


> _...the possibility of a new story hour._
> GW...



Seems logical since whe AoW game is on hold while Redhand game is active. 
...Then again, I don't write the SH.


----------



## JollyDoc

If Joachim does write the new SH, here's a brief highlight of first session 

Four heroes meet (3 are former slaves...what are the odds?).  Go on a goblin hunt.  Things look bright at first, as hobgoblins and the occasional hyda are dismantled with relative ease.  Things go south rapidly though as they invade the haunted keep and Joachim comes within 1 hp of a TPK on the first night of the new adventure.  On the brighter side, the team finds a mascot


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> If Joachim does write the new SH, here's a brief highlight of first session
> 
> Four heroes meet (3 are former slaves...what are the odds?).  Go on a goblin hunt.  Things look bright at first, as hobgoblins and the occasional hyda are dismantled with relative ease.  Things go south rapidly though as they invade the haunted keep and Joachim comes within 1 hp of a TPK on the first night of the new adventure.  On the brighter side, the team finds a mascot




Well...I have completed the Introduction for the new SH.  I will post later tonight.  Its going to be an undertaking, considering that this one is going to be more story-driven, RP-heavy, with less powergaming.

.....

HAH!!! YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE THAT, DID YOU?!?!


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Joachim said:
			
		

> .....
> 
> HAH!!! YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE THAT, DID YOU?!?!




Not for a second. 

GW


----------



## demiurge1138

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Uhmm.... No.
> 
> As the resident paladin, and speaking on behalf of our N.good cleric of Grumbar, we can only turn evil giant undead things (or kill, as the case may be). Not have them join the League.
> 
> Besides, what could we use them for that an astral construct wouldn't suffice.
> (On second thought, Dont answer that question. If there is a different or better use do not reply as it could spoil any surprises.)



I think they were neutral, actually. But yeah, paladins and undead usually don't get along very well...

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack . . . and looking forward to some King of the Rift action this weekend.  BTW, I like your SH quite a bit Joachim -- great job!


----------



## demiurge1138

Just when you thought it was safe to go to the Rift Canyon...

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Woohoo. I've just come back from my 3 week vacation to find butt-kicking updates and a new SH here! 

Very impressive once more, how the party handled themselves...having looked into the last module of the path, I actually see a little bit of hope for the group - even without the help of Entropy. 

Just one thing, Joachim, I would love to get one Havok journal entry with his resumee about him beeing a decendent of Kyuss and the possible implications.


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Just one thing, Joachim, I would love to get one Havok journal entry with his resumee about him beeing a decendent of Kyuss and the possible implications.




I have been trying to work something in, but each week since the posts have ended in spots that wouldn't be conducive to that.  The whole thing about Havok having a worm somewhere in the family apple (so to speak) has been something that Joe and I have been working on together since our friendly neighborhood warlock joined the group.  I like the idea of playing a warlock that is 'afflicted' with his condition and doesn't know what is happening to him, one who is confused and amazed watching his powers grow as he matures.  That's much cooler to me than the WotC defined warlock...basically your typical "I'm a goth !@#hole who wears all black armor and snarls at people before he shoots his beam of evil at them, RAWR!!".  The whole thing with Kyuss coming back around was just too perfect to me to explain the rise of Havok's abilities...they grow even stronger as the Age of Worms gets closer.

But with the revelation that Havok's great^20-grandfather was actually Kyuss' little boy (which was a complete surprise when Joe sprang that on me) changes that aspect somewhat...maybe Havok's ancestor is reaching from the beyond, granting the younger Vito the ability to combat his evil granpappy.


----------



## Joachim

Just to give a little bump to this thread, I found the following on WotC's website regarding the upcoming Complete Mage:

This D&D supplement is intended for players and Dungeon Masters. In addition to providing the definitive treatise on arcane magic, it expands the character options available to users of arcane magic, including bards, sorcerers, wizards, assassins, warlocks, and wu jen. Herein you’ll find never-before-seen prestige classes, spells and invocations, magic items, alchemical items, heritage feats, and reserve feats (a new type of feat that grants special abilities to those who remain charged with magical power). Alternative class features give other character classes—from the barbarian to the rogue—a little taste of what it’s like to be an arcanist without sacrificing their core identities.

I only saw 1 word...*invocations*.  I know that I said I didn't like the idea of players expanding their own invocation lists, but I have no problem if it's provided by the game publisher.  

There goes $29.95 USD...


----------



## gfunk

Sounds like Complete Psionic + Complete Mage = Complete pain in the ass for Kyuss.  Sweet!


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> Sounds like Complete Psionic + Complete Mage = Complete pain in the ass for Kyuss.  Sweet!




I wonder if they'll have any new Kyusian spells, feats, prestige classes, etc...hmmm.  Maybe Kyuss can make use of Faust's psionic power to exchange all his feats for new ones.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

What? You don't like Kyuss' stats? I thought they were...impressive already...


----------



## gfunk

*Monday Afternoon Update*

Sorry for the late update, had problems getting computer access until late . . .

1. The League is left scratching their heads over what to do about the Vault door.  Obviously, we need to find the keys but we don't have the first damn clue as to where they are.  One school of thought is slaughter all the Giants in the Citadel of Weeping Dragons to search for the key and the other is slaughter all the Giants in the Gorgrelord's castle to search for the key.  Low-level divination spells (the League wasn't spell-prepped for anything other than combat) are inconclusive.  A choice is made . . .

2. The League's battle tactics reach their zenith.  Perfect battlefield control + precise artillery barrages + surgical melee strikes = FLAWLESS VICTORY!  If you were a Giant it would be painful to watch.

3. After our victory we enjoy the spoils when we are rudely interrupted by a Gargantuan Fang Dragon (a crappy development, let me tell you, when you only have 22 Power Points left).


----------



## Joachim

Havok made the big level (18th)!!

*Giovanni Vito, aka "Havok" (Warlock 18)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Humanoid (Human)*
*Hit Dice:* 18d6+54 (125 hp)
*Initiative:* +19 (+23 with _Sign_) [this is not a typo...thanks, Hawk]
*Speed:* Move 30' (6 squares), Fly 30' (good)
*Armor Class:* 22 (+5 Dex, +5 Armour, +2 Insight), 17 touch, 22 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +13/+13
*Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +18 ranged touch (10d6)
*Full Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +18 ranged touch (10d6)
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Invocations, Eldritch Blast
*Special Qualities:* Human traits, _Detect Magic_ (Sp) at will, Deceive Item, DR 4/cold iron, Fiendish Resilience 5, Fire Resistance 5, Electricity Resistance 5, Imbue Item, 3 Fate Points remaining, +1 inherent bonus to CHA, -1 penalty to all strength skill checks
*Saves:* Fort +12, Ref +16, Will +19
*Abilities:* Str 10, Dex 20, Con 16, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 21
*Skills:* Concentration +29, Knowledge (planes) +23, Knowledge (religion) +23 [+27 regarding Kyuss or his cult], Knowledge (arcana) +23, Spellcraft +25 (+32 to identify scrolls with _detect magic_), Use Magic Device +26 (+33 for any check involving scrolls)
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Absent-Minded (Trait), Sudden Still Spell, Spell Penetration, Greater Spell Penetration, Arcane Mastery, Maximize Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Empower Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Quicken Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Improved Initiative, Quicken Spell-Like Ability [Wall of Perilous Flame], Ranged Precision (Team Feat), Superior Flank (Team Feat)
*Environment:* Urban
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Gfunk, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 18
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* Chaotic Good

_Before you stands an unarmed and unassuming bookish young man of no more than twenty years, complete with thick spectacles.  As he clenches his fist, you swear that his hand is bathed in a sheen of dark emerald energy. _

*COMBAT*
*Eldritch Blast (Sp):* The first invocation acquired by all warlock is the _eldritch blast._  The eldritch blast is a ranged touch attack that is treated as a 1st level spell and has a range of 60 feet.  At Giovanni's current level of power, his eldritch blast deals a base of 8d6 damage (10d6 with his _Greater Chasuble of Fell Power_).

*Invocations (Sp):* Giovanni has acquired a small number of invocations that he can use.  Invocations are identical to spell-like abilities, with the exception that they have somatic components (only).  Invocations can be used at will with no limit in uses per day.  Giovanni has access to the following invocations:

*Least:*
_Eldritch Spear (Blast Shape):_ The range of _eldritch blast_ increases to 250 feet.
_See the Unseen:_ Grants Darkvision 60 feet and _see invisibility_ (24 hour duration).
_Dark One's Own Luck:_ Grants CHA bonus to one save (included with Will save above, 24 hour duration).

_*Lesser:*_
_Eldritch Chain:_ Eldritch chain bounces into 1 additional target for every 5 levels (secondary targets take half damage).
_Flee the Scene:_ Use _dimension door_ with close range (25 feet + 5 feet every 2 levels) at will, and leave behind a _major image_ of self in its place.
_Fell Flight:_ Fly at land speed with good maneuverability, 24 hour duration.

*Greater:*
_Wall of Perilous Flame:_ Use _wall of flame_ at will, but half of the damage is fire and the other half results from arcane power.  Targets that are taken to 0 hit points by a Wall of Perilous Flame are _destroyed_.
_Chilling Tentacles:_ Use _Evard's black tentacles_ at will, but creatures also take 2d6 cold damage.
_Vitriolic Blast:_ Eldritch blast deals acid damage, ignores SR, and deals 2d6 additional damage for next 3 rounds.

_*Dark:*_
_Retributive Invisibility:_ Use _greater invisibility_ at will, and deals 4d6 damage in 20 foot radius if dispelled.
_Dark Foresight:_ Use _foresight_ at will, and communicate telepathically with a close target of the effect.

_*Detect Magic (Sp):*_ Giovanni can use _detect magic_ at will.

*Deceive Item:* Giovanni can always take 10 on Use Magic Device, even if stressful situations would not normally allow him to do so (such as combat).

*Fiendish Resilience (5):* As a free action once per day, Giovanni can call upon the dark forces to heal his wounds.  He gains fast healing 5 for a duration of 2 minutes.

*Energy Resistance:* A Warlock selects two types of energy (in Havok's case, Fire and Electricity) to gain resistance (5 points).

*Imbue Item:* A Warlock with the proper item creation feats can use his Use Magic Device skill to simulate spells required in the making of items.  The DC for arcane spells is 15 + spell level, and the DC for divine spells is 25 + spell level.

*EQUIPMENT*

*General:* 
_Greater Chasuble of Fell Power, +3 Cloak of Resistance, +3 Belt of Charisma, Gloves of Fortunate Striking, Tunic of Steady Spellcasting, Spellsight Spectacles, Headband of Conscious Effort, Ring of Feather Falling, Talisman of the Sphere, Bracers of Health +2, Boots of Dexterity +2, "Dawn's Light" (intelligent +1 Soulfire Mithril Chain Shirt, can cast Cure Moderate Wounds 3/day and maintains a continual Deathwatch), Ioun Stone (+2 Intelligence), Ioun Stone (+2 Strength), Ioun Stone (+1 caster level), Heward's Handy Haversack, Staff of Ghostform (24 uses)

*Wands:* 
Wand of Cure Moderate [23 charges], Wand of Cure Light [35 charges], Wand of Restoration [26 charges], Wand of Mirror Image [33 charges], Wand of True Strike [49 charges], Wand of Enlarge Person [36 charges], Wand of Sign [41 charges], Wand of Benign Transposition [48 charges], Wand of Comprehend Languages [44 charges], Wand of Detect Secret Doors [47 charges]

*Scrolls:* 
50 Scrolls of Identify, 5 Scrolls of Silence, 5 Scrolls of Knock, 15 Scrolls of Heroics, 4 Scrolls of Blindsight, 2 Scrolls of Regroup, 3 Scrolls of Assay Resistance, 10 Scrolls of Solid Fog, 1 Scroll of Teleport, 2 Scrolls of Ghost Trap, 2 Scrolls of Time Stop, 1 Scroll of Shapechange (18th level)_


----------



## demiurge1138

Wow. How'd you get the +23 to initiative?

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

*Faust "Holocaust" Cenodoxus (Kineticist 18)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------

*Medium Abberation (Elan)*
*Hit Dice:* 18d4+72+12 (130 hp)
*Initiative: *+2 (+12 w/ Hawk's _Motivate Dexterity_ Aura)
*Speed:* Move 40' (8 squares)
*Armor Class:* 14, 12 touch, 12 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +9/+8
*Attack:* None to speak of
*Full Attack:* See Attack
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Psionics
*Special Qualities:* Naturally Psionic, Resistance, Resilience, Repletion
*Saves:* Fort +14, Ref +13, Will +17
*Abilities:* Str 8, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 28, Wis 14, Cha 8
*Skills:* Autohypnosis +23, Concetration +35, Knowledge (Arcana) +30, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +30, Knowledge (Nature) +30, Knowledge (The Planes) +32, Knowledge (Religion) +32, Psicraft +17, Spellcraft +13
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Psionic Mastery, Privileged Energy [Fire], Power Penetration, Greater Power Penetration, Psionic Meditation, Psionic Body, Overchannel, Expanded Knowledge (Contigency (Psi)), Expanded Knowledge (Evade Burst), Expanded Knowledge (Banishment (Psi)), Maximize Power, Quicken Power
*Environment:* Rifts chock full of Giants and Dragons
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Joachim, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 18
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* True Neutral

_Direct all attacks towards me if you please. (Timeless Body, Psion/Wilder 9)_

*Naturally Psionic:* Faust gains 2 bonus power points at 1st level. This benefit does not grant him the ability to manifest powers unless they gain that ability through another source, such as levels in a psionic class.

*Resistance (Su):* Faust can use psionic energy to increase his resistance to various forms of attack. As an immediate action, he can spend 1 power point to gain a +4 racial bonus on saving throws until the beginning of his next action.

*Resilience (Su):* When Faust takes damage, he can spend power points to reduce its severity. As an immediate action, he can reduce the damage he is about to take by 2 hit points for every 1 power point he spends.

*Repletion (Su):* Faust can sustain his body without need of food or water. If he spends 1 power point, Faust does not need to eat or drink for 24 hours.

*Psioncs (Sp):* Faust has a power point pool of 363. His DC to resist powers is 19 + power level (subject to augmentation) (20 + power level for psychokinetic powers)

*1st:* _Inertial Armor, Vigor, Precognition Defensive, Crystal Shard, Synchronicity_

*2nd:* _Energy Missile, Damp Power, Psychoportive Shelter, Ego Whip_

*3rd:* _Energy Cone, Energy Wall, Dispel Psionics, Touchsight_

*4th:* _Control Body, Energy Ball, Dimension Door (Psi), Energy Adaptation, Telekinetic Manuever_

*5th:* _Power Resistance, Anticipatory Strike, Energy Current, Celestial Conduit_

*6th:* _Disintegrate (Psi), Dispelling Buffer, Temporal Acceleration, Banishment (Psi), Contingency (Psi)_

*7th:* _Mind Blank (Personal), Reddopsi, Evade Burst_

*8th:* _Recall Death, Shadow Body, Greater Teleport (Psi)_

*9th:* _Assimilate, Timeless Body, Tornado Blast_

*EQUIPMENT*

_Headband of Intellect +6, Gloves of Health +4, Bracers of Dexterity +4, Psionatrix of Psychokinesis, Third Eye of Concentration, Cloak of Resistance +5, Ring of Force Shield, Ring of Power Preservation (Gift from Melchor Harpell), Dojre of Mindlink (8th level, 32 charges), Several CMW/CSW potions, 1 Scroll of Greater Spell Immunity, Boots of Striding and Springing, Mithral Chain Shirt of Soulfire, ~ 1000 gp_

Character Notes: Blew 150 XP to go back and change _Stygian Veil _(never used it and it's kind of worthless now that have _Soulfire_ armor) to _Shadow Body_ (much more versatile defense and I don't lose my Con bonus).


----------



## gfunk

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Wow. How'd you get the +23 to initiative?
> 
> Demiurge out.




+5 (Dex) + 4 (Improved Init) + 4 (Sign) + 10 (Motivate Dex Aura) = +23

Plus with Havoc providing _Dark Foresight_ to everybody, nobody will ever likely be surprised or flat-footed again.


----------



## Sollir Furryfoot

I'm curious, how do you make good use out of the Timeless Body power without extend power or similar?  With so many other people in the party, wouldn't it be hard to gather all your opponents' attention?  Thanks in advance 

-Your humble student in the art of min/maxnig.


----------



## demiurge1138

Ah. It was that +10 I was missing. Yeah, one level in Marshal can be very much worth it, isn't it?

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

Sollir Furryfoot said:
			
		

> I'm curious, how do you make good use out of the Timeless Body power without extend power or similar?  With so many other people in the party, wouldn't it be hard to gather all your opponents' attention?




You know, this is really an excellent suggestion and why I like to post my builds in public.  I haven't yet tried _Timeless Body_ having just levelled @ the end of our last session.  However, your suggestion intrigues me.

We set some ground rule for the power, which is not the easiest to interpret.  I think we agree that _Timeless Body_ makes you invulnerable to effects in the same way people are invulnerable to the powers of someone in the midst of a _Temporal Acceleration_.  However, I don't think you could Overchannel (couldn't take damage to pay the cost) and you probably couldn't use any powers on yourself.  I'll have to think about this more, Sollir Furryfoot, and run the numbers.  But I'm seriously considering it now.

Once you may have been the student, but now YOU have become the master.


----------



## JollyDoc

Sigh....once again, you people see what I have to live with...+23 initiatives, never surpised, see invisible everything, Evard's at will, walls of fire at will, paladin's with six attacks per round, clerics with every buff spell known to man (or goliath)...what's a DM to do?


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Sigh....once again, you people see what I have to live with...+23 initiatives, never surpised, see invisible everything, Evard's at will, walls of fire at will, paladin's with six attacks per round, clerics with every buff spell known to man (or goliath)...what's a DM to do?




And he didn't even mention the psion's utterly ridiculous damage in this quote...we've got him where we want him boys!!

Seriously, this AP is built to be tough, and I am sure that we haven't seen our last defeat, or our last death...and not just with the campaign's two big-name encounters that remain (you know, the ones with the undead dragon and the man of worms).  Considering the makeup of the current core group of PC's (Grubber, Hawk, Havok, Faust, and Mack), I would have to say that this is our most potent combination team-wise since the epic days of Entropy and Joachim.  Lots of synergy, there. 

Then again, we are dealing with the potent combination of Jollydoc's ruthlessness and James Jacobs' tendency to make up the rules as he goes along...


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Sigh....what's a DM to do?




Alternatively, two very very very very very evil words that I never want to hear you say again..._Mordenkainen's Disjunction_.


----------



## gfunk

Joachim said:
			
		

> Alternatively, two very very very very very evil words that I never want to hear you say again..._Mordenkainen's Disjunction_.




Unless Faust has _Timeless Body_ up, then feel free to disjunct away!


----------



## Jarrod

I'm looking forward to this. Just had our first two character deaths today... and in a side quest, no less.

Ogre mage with greataxe. 3d6 + 11 damage. Two crits... and two of the squishies had just gotten into range. 

"I have 32 hit points. You're rolling 9d6 + 33. Let's see how negative we get!"


----------



## Solarious

Joachim said:
			
		

> Alternatively, two very very very very very evil words that I never want to hear you say again..._Mordenkainen's Disjunction_.



No spoilers or anything, but let's just say you'll be hearing more of this... Mordenkainen... in the future, shall we?


----------



## JollyDoc

Jarrod said:
			
		

> I'm looking forward to this. Just had our first two character deaths today... and in a side quest, no less.
> 
> Ogre mage with greataxe. 3d6 + 11 damage. Two crits... and two of the squishies had just gotten into range.
> 
> "I have 32 hit points. You're rolling 9d6 + 33. Let's see how negative we get!"




Prepare you players for much, much more pain to come.


----------



## demiurge1138

Solarious said:
			
		

> No spoilers or anything, but let's just say you'll be hearing more of this... Mordenkainen... in the future, shall we?



For which I blame Elminster. If not for his little cross-planar tea parties at some Canadian's house, players in FR wouldn't have to worry about disjunctions!

Demiurge out.


----------



## R-Hero

Some changes are waiting final approval from Faust.  If he's feeling benevolent enough to help Hawk with _"re-training"_, that is.


Note from Daggarford 
_Senior Civilar Hawkins Veritas, You have been officially been charged with the instruction of drill and manuvers to the newest recruits into the Daggarford City Guard upon your completion of your current assignment.

Congradulations on your promotion to Marshal and Helm's Speed to your quick return._


*Senior Civilar/Marshal Hawkins Veritas 
A.K.A  Captain Hawk  (PalCW 6/Annointed Knight 10/Fighter 1/Marshal 1)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Aasimar (Outsider)*
*Hit Dice:* 17d10+68/1d8+4 (190 hp)
*Initiative:* +10
*Speed:* Move 20ft  (W/Divine Vigor) 30ft  
*Armor Class:* 35 (Base 10+0 Dex, +17 Armor/Shield: Nat +3: Def +2, Ring +3), 
19 touch, 30 flat-footed  [Divine Shield = AC 45, Touch 22/32]
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +22/17/12/7 
*Full Attack:* +25/20/15/10/25/(+25)
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Daylight
*Special Qualities:* _Outsider Traits_ 
Cold, Electricity and Acid Resistance 5 
Darkvision 60ft, Damage Reduction 3/-, No Dual Nature, Subtype: Native

_*Paladin*_ Smite Evil, Remove Disease, Special Mount, Turn Undead 17x a day 
Lay on Hands (60hps), Aura of Courage, Aura of Good, 
Blessed Weapon, Detect Evil, Divine Grace, Divine Health.

_*Annointed Knight*_ 
Unbroken Flesh (DR 3/-), 
Inspired Strike, Free Action Extra Attack at Highest Attack bonus 3x a day
Deep Strike, Free Action 2d6 Extra Damage 3x a day
Divine Clarity: Charisma +1

_*Marshal*_ 
Skill Focus, Diplomacy  (Free Feat)
Minor Aura.  Motivate Dexterity.  Add Cha bonus to all allies on dexterity checks and initive
(Yes, I can add +10, by yelling, to Move silenly and Hide checks  )

*Saves:* Fort +32, Ref +18, Will +25

*Abilities:* Str 20, Dex 10, Con 18, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 30

*Skills:* _New Skills are hinged on Faust aggreeing to help Hawk._
Concentration +20, Diplomacy +33, 

*Feats:* Innatentive (Flaw), Armor and Shield Proficiency, 
Blind Fight, Cleave, Power Attack, Improved Shield Bash, 
Ancestrial Relic, Exotic Weapon Proficiency; Bastard Sword, Flay Foe, 
Skill Focus, Diplomacy
Shield Specialization, (+1 to any Shield)
Shield Ward  (Add Shield Bonus to Touch AC, Grapple, Bullrush, Disarm Checks =+7/17)
Ranged Precision (Team Feat)
*Divine Feats * Divine Might, Vigor and Shield 21x a day
*Environment:* Anywhere I Please (as long as Helm O.K.s it.)
*Organization:* Company C.O. (WaterDeep) or Special Forces (The League)
*Alignment:* Lawful Good

*COMBAT*
*Quaero:* 
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
+25/20/15/10/25/(+25 w/ Inspired Strike 3x a day) 
Damage 1d10+8. Divine Might +10 per hit,  Flay Foe +1d6 for each hit after first
Quickened Holy or Lightning Damage 2d6, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day

*+3 Bashing Spiked Shield* +25/20/15/10/(+25 Inspired Strike) 
Damage 2d6+8. Divine Might +10 per hit, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day


*EQUIPMENT* , 
+6 Headband of Charisma, Dusty Rose Ioun Stone  
+4 Belt of Strength (Copy of Champions Game Belt)
+3 Amulet Natural armor 
+3 Vest of Resistance
+2 Soul Fire Full Plate Armor
+4 Bracers of Health 
+5 Bashing Spiked Shield, 
+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed and Burst x3
Golembane Gloves, Glove of Storing, 
Rings, Freedom of Movement & Protection +3
Cape of the Mountebank
Winged Boots
Rivivify Diamond
Nightstick x2
Potions: 
Fly x5, Silversheen x3, Cure Serious x??, Cure Mod x??, 
Non-Detection x3, Undetectable Alignment x3


*Quaero Veritas 
Awakened Ancestrial Relic *
Int 14,  Wis 14,  Cha 10  _Ego 12 _ 
Communication. Speech, Telepathy with Hawk only
Languages.  Giant, Abyssal, Common
Primary Abilities: Zone of Truth 3x a day, Locate Object 3x aday


----------



## gfunk

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Some changes are waiting final approval from Faust.  If he's feeling benevolent enough to help Hawk with _"re-training"_, that is.




OK, I agree to burn XP for you if:
1) Sell your Headband of Charisma +6 for a Cloak of Charisma +6
2) Agree to undergo a Fusion with Faust.

Together we will be unstoppable!!!
BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!

Or for 18-36 minutes anyway . . .

*Captain Holocaust (Paladin 6/Anointed Knight 10/Fighter 1/Marshal 1/Kineticist 18)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------

*Medium Abberation (Elan)/ Outsider (Native) Fusion*
*Hit Dice:* 17d10+1d8+18d4+72+12 (243 hp)
*Initiative: *+2 (+12 _Motivate Dexterity_ Aura)
*Speed:* Move 20' (4 squares)
*Armor Class:* 28, 18 touch, 27 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +17/+22
*Attack:* _+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ +23 melee (1d10+8)
*Full Attack:* _+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ +23/+18/+13/+11 melee (1d10+8)
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Psionics, _Daylight_ 1/day
*Special Qualities:* Naturally Psionic, Resistance, Resilience, Repletion, Outsider Traits, Cold, Electricity and Acid Resistance 5, Darkvision 60ft, Damage Reduction 3/-, No Dual Nature
*Saves:* Fort +33, Ref +20, Will +26
*Abilities:* Str 20, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 28, Wis 14, Cha 30
*Skills:* Autohypnosis +23, Concetration +35, Diplomacy +33, Knowledge (Arcana) +30, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +30, Knowledge (Nature) +30, Knowledge (The Planes) +32, Knowledge (Religion) +32, Psicraft +17, Spellcraft +13
*Flaws:* Noncombatant, Inattentive
*Feats:* Psionic Mastery, Privileged Energy [Fire], Power Penetration, Greater Power Penetration, Psionic Meditation, Psionic Body, Overchannel, Expanded Knowledge (Contigency (Psi)), Expanded Knowledge (Evade Burst), Expanded Knowledge (Banishment (Psi)), Maximize Power, Quicken Power, Armor and Shield Proficiency, Blind Fight, Cleave, Power Attack, Improved Shield Bash, Ancestrial Relic, Exotic Weapon Proficiency; Bastard Sword, Flay Foe, Shield Specialization, Shield Ward, Ranged Precision (Team Feat), Divine Might, Divine Vigor, Divine Shield
*Environment:* Rifts chock full of Giants and Dragons
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Joachim, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* Care to guess
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* True Neutral or Lawful Good

_A heroic knight with unearthly comeliness stands before you fully armed and armored.  A youthful twinkle in his eye belies centuries of accumulated wisdom and unrivaled psionic power._

*Naturally Psionic:* Captain Holocaust gains 2 bonus power points at 1st level. This benefit does not grant him the ability to manifest powers unless they gain that ability through another source, such as levels in a psionic class.

*Resistance (Su):* Captain Holocaust can use psionic energy to increase his resistance to various forms of attack. As an immediate action, he can spend 1 power point to gain a +4 racial bonus on saving throws until the beginning of his next action.

*Resilience (Su):* When Captain Holocaust takes damage, he can spend power points to reduce its severity. As an immediate action, he can reduce the damage he is about to take by 2 hit points for every 1 power point he spends.

*Repletion (Su):* Captain Holocaust can sustain his body without need of food or water. If he spends 1 power point, Captain Holocaust does not need to eat or drink for 24 hours.

*Psioncs (Sp):* Captain Holocaust has a power point pool of 363. His DC to resist powers is 19 + power level (subject to augmentation) (20 + power level for psychokinetic powers)

*1st:* _Inertial Armor, Vigor, Precognition Defensive, Crystal Shard, Synchronicity_

*2nd:* _Energy Missile, Damp Power, Psychoportive Shelter, Ego Whip_

*3rd:* _Energy Cone, Energy Wall, Dispel Psionics, Touchsight_

*4th:* _Control Body, Energy Ball, Dimension Door (Psi), Energy Adaptation, Telekinetic Manuever_

*5th:* _Power Resistance, Anticipatory Strike, Energy Current, Celestial Conduit_

*6th:* _Disintegrate (Psi), Dispelling Buffer, Temporal Acceleration, Banishment (Psi), Contingency (Psi)_

*7th:* _Mind Blank (Personal), Reddopsi, Evade Burst_

*8th:* _Recall Death, Shadow Body, Greater Teleport (Psi)_

*9th:* _Assimilate, Timeless Body, Tornado Blast_

*Worn Equipment*

_ Headband of Intellect +6, Psionatrix of Psychokinesis, Third Eye of Concentration, Vest of Resistance +3, Soulfire Full Plate +2, Belt of Strength +4, Cloak of Charisma +6, Bracers of Dexterity +4, Gloves of Health +4, Ring of Freedom of Movement, Ring of Power Preservation, Winged Boots, Spiked Shield of Bashing +3, +3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst, +3 Bashing Spiked Shield_

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

This is w/o buffs by the way.  When you start throwing psi powers on this, things start getting sick.

The main drawback, of course, is that we are in one body so we are limited to a full-round action on our initiative.  Of course when we start tossing around quickened powers and _temporal accelerations_ and _anticipatory strikes_, things become interesting.  If you agree to this then Faust will reform himself to optimize this build.


----------



## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> 2) Agree to undergo a Fusion with Faust.
> .




Oh my.  I think I just wet myself....  






> *Challenge Rating:* Care to guess




Well... If you take a Psion, and throw on an unrelated fighter/paladin like class, its two for one ain't it?


----------



## Joachim

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Well... If you take a Psion, and throw on an unrelated fighter/paladin like class, its two for one ain't it?




Now...you haven't taken James Jacobs CR Logic 101, have you?


----------



## dungeon blaster

I see a new use for the Leadership feat


----------



## R-Hero

Joachim said:
			
		

> Now...you haven't taken James Jacobs CR Logic 101, have you?




Why not?!?

Captain Holocaust sounds like a J.J. build anyway.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

That fused character is quite a built! Still you give up the independent actions of two different characters, which working together are also extremly potent.



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> Unless Faust has _Timeless Body_ up, then feel free to disjunct away!



Can you sense this one round in advance?


----------



## JollyDoc

THE FALL OF THE TIAMIKAL NUL-SHADA

“It’s no good,” Hawk said, lowering Quaero in disappointment after another fruitless attempt to have the ancestral relic divine the location of one of the vault keys.  The sword informed its master in a patient, long-suffering voice that there was simply no such item in the city, at least as far as it could tell.
“We have no choice then,” Havok said, pulling himself to his feet from where he’d been sitting slumped against the vault doors.  “We’ll just have to tear this place apart until we find one, and woe be to any giants that get in our way.”
“Just hold on a second,” Faust replied, raising one hand and shaking his bald head.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I’m all for slaughtering giants, but I don’t know if this place is where we should be focusing our efforts.  Why not the palace?  That group of giants we ran into there was looking for something before we interrupted them.  And just where were they hiding all that time we spent searching the place?  I say we go there first and root them out and find out exactly what it is they’re being so secretive about.”
“I disagree,” Havok retorted, “and here’s why:  we know there are three giant factions here…Gorgecrawlers, Gorgelords, and the Tiamikal Nul-Shada.  The Gorgecrawlers and the Gorgelords were at war with each other when the dragons attacked, while the Tiamikal Nul-Shada remained neutral.  The vault is in their citadel!  From what we know, the Order of the Storm placed stone giants over the phylactery all those centuries ago.  Have you seen the first stone giant since we came here? I think the original guardians were defeated, and each group of giants that has taken control of this city since has taken on the responsibility of guarding the vault.  But what if, over time, they forgot what they were guarding…and why?  What if the guardianship itself became the most important thing?  You saw in the frost giant’s notes that he was searching for a way to open the vault.  I believe they don’t even know what they have here.  Chances are the vault keys are here in the citadel, but without the ritual to open the vault doors, they are useless.”
Faust pondered the warlock’s logic for a long moment before slowly nodding his head.  “It may be as you say, but we’d better make quick work of this place.  My mental capacities have been pushed almost to their limits today, and I know the thunder twins there have been praying out their spells like mad.”
“It’s settled then,” Hawk said, hefting his shield, “and if any giants oppose us, we will defend ourselves, but as long as I’m alive, any enemy asking quarter shall be given it.”  The civilar then turned for the stairs and began the long ascent.
______________________________________________________

Bram Cleftshank sat alone in the mess hall, sourly munching on an enormous, crisped drumstick.  From time to time the burly, horribly scarred giant would glance out the windows at the distant shapes of circling dragons, and he would curse.  He itched to be out on the battlements, daring the filthy wyrms to come for him.  If Thundersmiter hadn’t insisted that the remaining citadel defenders conserve their resources, that was exactly where he would be.  Cursing again, he threw the charred meat onto the platter in front of him…just as the door on the far side of the hall opened slowly.  To his utter amazement, a human stood there!  Dressed head-to-toe in mail and bearing a shield in one hand and a puny sword in the other, the warrior seemed just as surprised to see Bram as the fire giant was to see him.  Bram was quick to regain his composure, however, and with a snarl he surged to his feet, snatching up the spear which leaned against the wall behind him.  The only thing Bram enjoyed as much as slaughtering dragons was slaughtering anything else.  Cocking his arm back, he hurled his spear.  Reflexively, Hawk ducked behind his shield, but if the giant was aiming at him, he had missed by a large margin.  It was at that point, however, that Hawk noticed the heavy, iron pot of glowing coals hanging from the ceiling beams directly above him.  The spear struck the chain supporting the pot, leaving it dangling by the barest thread.  The giant spat, and dropped the spear which had miraculously appeared back in his hand, drawing a battleaxe from his back and a smaller handaxe from his belt.

Havok, standing in the outer hall with the others, glanced around nervously as the sounds of battle reached him.  Three other doors, as well as an ascending stair exited from the wide corridor, and at any moment they might find themselves surrounded.  Quickly, the warlock drew a scroll from his belt and recited its contents.  An instant later the hall was blanketed in silence, blocking out any sign of the melee.

As the fire giant hefted his weapons, a door to his right which Hawk had failed to notice, suddenly burst open.  A huge, reptilian creature with twelve snake-like heads erupted into the room, a thick chain, attached to a shackle on its hind leg, trailing behind it.  Hawk never hesitated.  He darted fully into the chamber, going around the large, stone dining table on the side opposite the hydra.  Mak and Grubber were only a step behind him.  Before they’d gone a dozen paces, however, Faust poked his own head into the room.  Seeing the ravening hydra, a thin smile creased his lips.  “I do so love dumb animals,” the psion chuckled as he stripped the creature’s memory of its own death at his hands from its feeble mind.  In mid-stride, the lumbering brute collapsed onto all twelve of its necks, twitched once, then exhaled its last breath.

Bram’s attention was momentarily distracted by the abrupt demise of the Tiamikal Nul-Shada’s beloved mascot.  With a roar of outrage, he swung his axe out blindly, managing to just clip Mak on his upper arm as he charged.  Mak brought his own blade up as he closed inside the reach of the giant.  Bram’s momentum was such that he turned his belly directly into the goliath’s waiting sword, impaling himself upon it.  With a snarl he wrenched the blade free, nearly tearing it from Mak’s grasp, and then bringing both of his axes to opposite shoulders, he slashed the goliath with twin cuts across his chest.  Mak staggered back, directly into Grubber’s waiting arms, but as the priest was forced to lower his guard to support his brother, Bram hacked at him as well, his handaxe sinking deep into Grubber’s wrist.  At that moment Hawk pushed past the siblings, Quaero flashing in his hand.  The civilar’s strikes were so fast, and so precise that the giant barely knew what hit him.  He dropped to his knees, clutching at his severed trachea, watching his life’s blood spill onto the table in front of him.

Ignoring the dieing giant, Hawk threw open the door from which the hydra had come, searching for more hidden foes.  The room beyond was small, and befouled by dung and partially eaten corpses.  A long ladder extended to a closed trapdoor in the ceiling above.  When he stepped back out, Mak was busy tending to his wounds as well as his brothers.  By the time he’d finished, Havok and Faust had joined them.  Havok quickly related his tactic for maintaining their privacy, assuring them that they should be able to search the other rooms off of the main hall at their leisure.

Hawk tried the door in the south wall of the hall first.  On the other side was a kitchen and larder, dominated by a large fireplace.  A spit large enough to cook an ox stood within, and barrels of cheap wine and rancid foodstuffs fit only for the uncouth palate of a giant were stacked near the back of the chamber.  Huddled in one corner were six cowering bugbears, kitchen knives gripped in their hands in a futile attempt at self-defense.  Hawk looked at them with a bemused expression before putting one finger to his lips.  “Shhhhhh!” he said, and one of the terrified creatures nodded vigorously.  As the civilar stepped out of the room, Havok was approaching the door on the far, east wall of the hall.  As he did so, he pulled out a small, amber wand.  “Mobilify!” he said, and in an instant, he had switched places with Hawk, who hated when the warlock did that without warning him first.
___________________________________________________

“Did you hear that?”  Gustav asked Fritz.  The other giant cocked his head quizzically.  
“Hear what?” he asked.
“I heard voices from below,” Gustav said as he moved towards the descending stair well.  “Wait here,” he called back over his shoulder to his watch partner.
____________________________________________________

Faust had just positioned himself near the ascending stair when he saw the giant appear on the landing above.  Before he could do more than register his mild surprise, Gustav turned and called loudly over his shoulder, “Intruders!”  
“My friends,” Faust called to his own allies, “I think…how does the saying go?  ‘The jig’s up!’”  Raising his fingers to his temples, he sent a frigid current of mental energy lancing towards the fire giant.  Gustav immediately doubled over in agony as the intense cold burned into his skin, but even in his pain, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had done his duty.

‘Intruders?’ Fritz thought.  Surely not the dragons.  They would have heard them if they had breached the outer walls.  Who then?  The Gorgecrawlers?  Even they would not have the audacity to assault the citadel.  No matter.  The alarm had been sounded, and all he needed to think about was responding to it.  Stomping across the guard room, he threw open the door and relayed Gustav’s warning, shouting at the top of his lungs.
_________________________________________________________

In the Chamber of the Heartkeeper, Kagro Thundersmiter heard the alarm.  His mind, much keener than that of his sergeants, immediately leapt to a different conclusion.  It was the strangers he had met at the gate.  He knew it intuitively.  They had come for the treasure hidden in the vault.  The Heartkeeper’s blood began to boil, both at their temerity, and at his own stupidity for having let them live.  Both situations would be put right in short order.  Reaching for his weapons, he began to prepare.
_________________________________________________________

Hawk moved to Faust’s side just as the fire giant, despite what must have been excruciating pain, and began moving down the stairs, sword raised.  
“Don’t bother,” the psion told the civilar as he increased the energy flow through the mental current.  The giant took one more, staggering step, and then collapsed at the Faust’s feet.  
“Let’s take it to them,” Faust said, stepping over the giant and heading up the stairs.  Hawk shrugged and followed, Mak right behind him.  As they reached the guardroom, they saw the retreating form of a second fire giant disappearing through a door at the far end of a hallway leading from the chamber.  In the small room beyond the door, the giant began rapidly climbing down through a trapdoor in the floor.
“He’s trying to flank us,” Hawk said.  “Go after him Mak.  I’ll warn the others.”  The goliath nodded, and began trotting down the hall, while the paladin turned back towards the stairs.
“You coming?” he asked Faust.
“In a moment,” the psion said pensively, stroking his chin in thought.

In the hall below, Grubber was just making to follow after his brother, when a flash of light and a puff of smoke in the center of the chamber drew his attention.  Turning, he was shocked to see Kagro Thundersmiter standing not a dozen feet from him, a large axe gripped in his hands, fury in his eyes.

Havok also witnessed Kagro’s appearance, but the invisible warlock went unseen by the Heartkeeper.  From his position, Havok could also see into the mess hall, where another fire giant was emerging from the small room that had been the hydra’s pen.  As he watched, the giant headed towards a door in the south wall of the room, and flung it open.  The warlock needed more time if he was to stop both giants, and he knew just how to get it.  Drawing a sheet of parchment from his seemingly endless roll of scrolls, he spoke the words to the spell written upon it…the spell which brought time itself to a standstill for all save himself.  Casually, he pulled another scroll, then a third.  With each of these, he created a stationary fog bank around both Kagro and his underling.  Then, he brought forth twin forests of his trademark worm-like tentacles within the confines of each cloud.  As the flow of time resumed, the giants found themselves engulfed in the viscous fog, which impeded even their massive strength.  In addition, the writhing tentacles reached for them, further rooting Fritz in place.  Though Kagro was not similarly restrained, he found the supernatural cold exuded by the tentacles to be like hot knives pricking his flesh.

Grubber didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he guessed that the sudden appearance of the twin fog banks was Havok’s work.  He had been with the warlock long enough not to be surprised by anything he was able to do.  Though he could not see Kagro, he guessed the giant to be somewhere inside the cloud.  Gripping his holy symbol, he spoke a few brief words of prayer to Grumbar.  Instantly, the goliath grew to twice his size, imbued with the righteous might of his deity, and entered the fog.

Mak reached the top of the ladder descending through the trapdoor to the hydra’s pit below.  Deciding that haste was needed, the goliath simply dropped the twenty feet to the floor below, landing nimbly on his feet.  He rushed into the mess hall, only to be brought up short by the roiling wall of mist and tentacles before him.  From within it, he heard a giant’s voice once more shouting alarm.
_____________________________________________________

Down the southern corridor, Fritz’ cries were heard again, this time by another pair of Tiamikal Nul-Shada sergeants named Adolph and Augustus.  Reflexes honed by years of training went into action, with Adolph rushing to a far door and opening it, emerging onto a battlement beyond.  From there he could see the citadel gates and his three comrades still on duty there.
“Intruders in the keep!” he shouted.  Back in the guard chamber, Augustus exited the room by a second door, and began hurrying down the corridor in the direction of Fritz’ continued shouts.
____________________________________________________

Havok cursed when he heard the giant raising a second alert.  They were going to be hip deep in fire giants in a matter of moments.  Quickly the warlock conjured up a pair of walls, consisting of the rippling worms which served as flames, in the corridor the fleeing giant had been trying to reach.  It would be from that direction that reinforcements would most likely arrive.  Though he knew the heat from the walls would not deter the giants, the pure eldritch power which also comprised the barriers might give them pause.

Kagro’s eyes darted from side to side, fixing on vague shadows that moved within the mist.  His immediate vicinity was shrouded in total silence.  Suddenly, a shape detached itself from the fog, closely followed by another.  Hawk flashed past the giant, slicing deeply with his sword into his bicep as he went.  As the Heartkeeper turned to follow the civilar’s progress, Grubber approached from the rear, slamming his maul into the side of Kagro’s knee.  The fire giant bellowed in pain, though no sound came from his mouth.  Kagro knew that he had been well and fully trapped.  He had no hope of survival if he could not escape the cloud and burning tentacles.  Somehow, his opponents were able to move through both at will.  Limping away, he turned in the direction he knew the larder to be, but every step was a full exertion of all his strength and will, and his progress was glacial.  Again Hawk darted past, slashing as he went.  The giant’s blood fell in rivulets now, pooling on the floor around him.  Grubber saw the direction the Heartkeeper was heading, and he quickly retreated from the cloud and its accompanying silence.  Once clear, he chanted another prayer, picturing in his mind the concealed south wall of the hall.  Instantaneously a wall of solid iron sprang into being before the door to the kitchens, blocking any hope of retreat for Kagro.  The giant halted, twisting this way and that, looking for the direction from which  the next attack would come.  Suddenly, Hawk was there, looming out of the fog like death incarnate.  Desperately Kagro brought up his axe in a warding gesture, but Quaero slipped easily beneath it, sliding under the giant’s breast bone and into his heart.  At Hawk’s mental command, a surge of electricity pulsed through the blade, stopping Kagro’s heart completely.  Hawk silently pulled his sword free as the Heartkeeper slumped to the floor.  Then, a glint of metal caught the paladin’s eye.  A large key hung from around the fire giant’s neck.

Mak circled cautiously around the edge of the fog cloud, searching for any sign of the giant within.  Suddenly, a huge blade scythed out of the mist, slicing deeply into the goliath’s thigh.  Cursing in surprise, Mak brought up his own sword reflexively, narrowly blocking a second strike.  Now he could see the shadowy outline of the trapped giant, and he thrust forward, burying his weapon in Fritz’ ribs just as he turned to counterstrike.  As a result, Mak suffered only a glancing blow, while Fritz’ breath came in ragged wheezes from a punctured lung.

By this time, on the eastern end on the corridor beyond the mess hall, Adolph and Augustus had reached the edge of Havok’s fog cloud and flaming walls of worms, while on the western end, the three gate sentries had done the same.  All could hear the sounds of battle from somewhere beyond the mist and fire, and though they had no idea what awaited them, their duty was clear.  The citadel must be defended at all costs.  One by one they entered, and several things happened at once.  The solidified fog slowed their forward momentum to a crawl, while the frigid, grasping worms pulled at them and seared their exposed flesh.  Though the heat from the fire walls caused them no harm, the eldritch energy of the barriers burned as hot as any flame.  Yet on they came.

At that moment, Faust appeared in the mess hall next to Havok.  
“A nice bit of work you’ve done here,” the psion nodded in admiration.  
“It’s what I do,” Havok replied, shrugging.  “It’s only a matter of time now.”
“Yes, well, let it not be said that I didn’t do my part,” Faust said.  Concentrating, and sensing the location of each giant trapped within the mist, he unleashed a psychic ball of freezing cold.  The energy engulfed them all, killing them instantly.
“That still only counts as one,” Havok sneered.
_________________________________________________________

Methodically, the League searched the citadel, from top to bottom.  They found no other living giant in residence, nor did they find evidence of the second key.  Finally, they opened one final trapdoor, leading onto the tallest battlement of the keep.  There they discovered the mangled remains of a fire giant, long dead.  They began rummaging through his belongings, unaware that they were being watched.

In the clouds above, Xyzanth circled, waiting.  He had heard the sounds of battle from within the citadel cease some time ago.  He knew that the victors would have to emerge sooner or later, and now here they were.  Brazzemal had warned him that agents of the druids were within the city, and that they were seeking the phylactery as well.  He had told the fang dragon that should he see them, he should slay them immediately and determine whether or not they had found one of the keys.  Now, that was exactly what Xyzanth intended to do.

Havok sensed the dragon’s approach a moment before he actually saw it plummeting out of the cloud cover.  It was enormous, all teeth and claws, and of no color he had ever seen before.  Through their mind-link he shouted a warning to his companions, then quickly touched each of them in turn, transporting them all through dimensions to safety.  Xyzanth drew up from his dive in frustration.  They had escaped him…for now.


----------



## R-Hero

Great update, as usual, J.D.  You writing truly articulates the game as played.


So, now the League has a new nemmisis by the name of Xyzanth.
 (Wonder if he's flammable and smiteable,?..smotable?.......whatever!!)


----------



## Joachim

Great update, JD!

I guess that when we meet this Xyzanth again, we are going to need Faust to use Fusion on all 5 of us so that we can merge to form VOLTRON!!


----------



## gfunk

Joachim said:
			
		

> I guess that when we meet this Xyzanth again, we are going to need Faust to use Fusion on all 5 of us so that we can merge to form VOLTRON!!




No problem . . . but I'll form . . . THE HEAD!!



			
				Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Can you sense this one round in advance?



Nope, but I guess I'll just have to use it a lot when facing potential Mages or Clerics with the Magic Domain.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Monday Afternoon Update*
> 
> ...
> 
> 3. After our victory we enjoy the spoils when we are rudely interrupted by a Gargantuan Fang Dragon (a crappy development, let me tell you, when you only have 22 Power Points left).



Nice solution to that ending - very efficient. The thing might come back, though...


----------



## gfunk

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Nice solution to that ending - very efficient. The thing might come back, though...




And so he did . . .  [with buddies]

*The Good*: We finished KotR tonight
*The Bad*: No _Fusion_ for anybody b/c JD rightly pointed out that both recpients must be of the same type (well, I can always try for a Mind Flayer I guess)
*The Ugly*: The last encounter in the module . . . (see below)

*Late Night Preview*

1. After a brief reprieve in Waterdeep, we employ powerful, high-level divination magic to learn the whereabouts of the final key.

2. After a brutal conversation with Charlgar, we learn that the key is actually _inside_ the mother of all Carrion Crawlers.  Quick, direct all your firepower towards that Super Star Destroyer . . .  

3. We open the Vault, see the Phylactery as well as our good friends Xyzanth and the Ominous Fabler.  If that weren't enough, their boss Brazzemal also chips in this time.  We wage the mother of all Dragon battles with PC death (I promise!) involved.


----------



## demiurge1138

Fang wyrm, red ancient and the Ominous Fabler all in one shot? You guys are continually pushing the limits of hardcore. If there wasn't a PC death, I'm not sure if I'd be more amazed or horrified.

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I wonder who bit the dust this time. I trust you were prepared, though.


----------



## war wizard

*Good'un doc*

Excellent post JD, but then the whole story line has been well up to the standards the reading audience have grown accustom to.  

I just wanted to stand and applaud you stepping on the abomination that would have resulted from the Faust/Hawk fusion...the spirits of Paladins long past may rest easier now.


----------



## ltclnlbrain

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Fang wyrm, red ancient and the Ominous Fabler all in one shot? You guys are continually pushing the limits of hardcore. If there wasn't a PC death, I'm not sure if I'd be more amazed or horrified.
> 
> Demiurge out.





Heh, that ain't nothing. My group faced the fang wyrm, red ancient, Ominous Fabler, AND very old blue (Vermirox) all at the same time...and they all lived. If that ain't powergaming, I don't know what is.


----------



## gfunk

I will also add that in that last battle _Time Stop_ was used a total of five times by three different characters.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> I will also add that in that last battle _Time Stop_ was used a total of five times by three different characters.




Not to mention Shapechange, which Havok was forced to bust out near the end of the battle.


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## JollyDoc

war wizard said:
			
		

> Excellent post JD, but then the whole story line has been well up to the standards the reading audience have grown accustom to.
> 
> I just wanted to stand and applaud you stepping on the abomination that would have resulted from the Faust/Hawk fusion...the spirits of Paladins long past may rest easier now.




Thank you.  I couldn't have lived with myself is such a monstrosity were allowed to draw breath.


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## R-Hero

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Thank you.  I couldn't have lived with myself is such a monstrosity were allowed to draw breath.




Of course, Hawk has always felt like an Abberation inside an Outsiders body.
Players Handbook II _does_ have a section on changing ones race...



_After a gruling affair, the first Beholder/Paladin of Helm comes into being..._

Hawk "I feel so strange but I can see *everything*!!"

Faust "Good, pick up Quaero and lets go."

Hawk "Uh-oh!" Hawk suddenly thinks he should have became an athatch...


----------



## JollyDoc

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

“It’s in the Undercity,” Grubber said, opening his eyes.  
“Are you sure?” Faust asked.  “I thought we had searched those slums pretty thoroughly.”
“Grumbar is sure,” the goliath replied.  He had just completed a Communion with his patron, and the taciturn god had indeed informed him that the location of the second vault key was somewhere within the Undercity of Kongen-Thulnir.  Where exactly it was, or who was in possession of it remained in question.  Gods tended to be somewhat fickle and vague in the answers they gave.  
“Well isn’t that reassuring?” Mak muttered.  Though genuinely happy to be reunited with his long-lost brother, the younger goliath could not understand his sibling’s outdated devotion to such a stick-in-the-mud deity.  Grubber simply stared patiently at him, inwardly certain that Mak’s youthful ideals would settle down in time, and he would come to see the pragmatism behind Grumbar’s teachings.
“Alright then,” Faust nodded.  “Everyone gather round me.  We’re not going to chance walking it.  That dragon is still out there somewhere.”  The group had taken refuge in the citadel after fleeing Xyzanth’s assault.  Now, as they all laid one hand upon the psion, he opened a rift in the fabric of reality, and shunted them instantly between dimensions.  They reappeared before the barricaded redoubt of the Gorgecrawlers.

Everyone looked expectantly at Grubber, and the priest closed his eyes and began to pray quietly.  He held the first vault key in his hand, and formed a perfect mental picture of it in his mind’s eye.  Slowly, a dull throb formed in the center of his forehead.  It rapidly became a pulse, irritating but not painful.  As Grubber turned first one direction, then another, the pulse would fade or increase.
“That way,” he said finally, pointing towards the southeast wall of the shallow cavern which housed the giants’ ghetto.  Moving quickly between the shadows and alleys of the huddled buildings, the team made their way across the cave floor until they reached a winding stair, tucked far back in the recesses of the Undercity.  It sported three-foot risers, obviously made for the feet of giants, but a narrow section alongside the main stair had been chiseled into smaller steps to accommodate normal feet.  The steps were stained with dark substances of unknown origin, and the general stench of the Undercity seemed intensified.  Atop the stairs stood a single fifteen-foot tall iron door, its face completely coated in a patina of crumbling, reddish rust.  Cautiously, they climbed the stairs until they stood just before the doors.
“Should we knock?” Hawk asked sarcastically.
“Let’s just surprise them, shall we?” Havok answered.  This time his five teammates laid their hands upon him, and repeating Faust’s transdimensional trick, the warlock shunted them all to a point five feet on the opposite side of the door.  

Beyond the red door, a hallway disappeared into darkness.  Arches opened straight ahead and to the right, though the one to the right was sealed by a heavy stone door.  The acrid stench of an open cesspool wafted from the passage and stung their eyes.  No sooner had the group gotten their bearings, however, than three adamantine portcullises slammed down around them, caging them inside.  At the same time, dozens of tiny vents opened in the ceiling above them.  Havok and Storm didn’t hesitate.  Each of them seized two of their companions by the hands and shunted them through dimensions again, reappearing in the right hand alcove just as steaming, bilious fluid began pouring from the vents into the cage where they had stood moments before.  Just then, the door to their right was thrown open, revealing a large chamber literally filled with troglodytes, each one bearing a long spear.  The reptilian creatures were just as surprised to see the League members as the latter were to see them, but the trogs were much more dismayed.  They had expected to find helpless prey, paralyzed by the distilled brain juices of carrion crawlers that was still pouring into their failed trap.  They had intended to kill their victims at their leisure, but fate had dealt them a bitter hand.  Though, all things considered, the troglodytes put up a valiant defense, the outcome of the confrontation was never in doubt.  Less than two minutes later, with Havok’s sickly green flaming worm walls illuminating the room, only one cowering trog remained, its hands held protectively over its head.
Faust walked slowly around the pitiful creature, clucking his tongue.  “What a waste,” he said, speaking in the trog’s own draconic tongue.  “Did you honestly think you stood a chance?  How long have you been waiting here to spring this pitiful trap of yours?”
“We not soldiers,” the trog hissed, “We workers.  Told to kill anybody trapped in cage.”
“Told by whom?” Faust asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Boss,” the trog replied.
“Does your boss have a name?” the psion pressed patiently.
“Charlgar,” said the trog.  Faust looked meaningfully at his comrades.  They had been led to believe that Charlgar, the leader of the Gorgecrawlers, had met his death at the claws of a red dragon early on in the siege.  Apparently those reports had been…exaggerated.  
“And where is Charlgar now,” Faust asked, turning back to the troglodyte.
“In him room at end of hall,” the trog gestured towards the hallway beyond the cage.
“Thank you for your assistance,” the psion smiled.  “Now I suggest you scamper along before you get yourself in more trouble.”  Not waiting to see whether or not the trog obeyed, he turned and stalked out the door, his colleagues right behind him.
__________________________________________________________
Charlgar heard his trap being sprung, and the subsequent shouting and sounds of steel on steel.  The battle had been surprisingly brief, however.  Had the Tiamikal Nul-Shada, for he was certain it was they who had finally come for him after discovering his treachery and that of Vercinabex Tor, been such easy targets for his underlings?  The hill giant didn’t think so.  Just the opposite in fact.  He was certain his guards were all dead, and he would be next.  He banged loudly on the crawler cage, alerting Wilmot Coldtooth that trouble was on the way, and then he hefted a crawler load bag and positioned himself so that he could see the door across the room.  

Suddenly, a group of six individuals simply appeared in front of the door from out of thin air.  One of them, a bespectacled young human, saw him immediately, and pointed one finger at him.  A searing pain stabbed through Charlgar as a blast of emerald energy leapt from the man’s outstretched appendage.  A moment later, the hill giant found himself engulfed in burning flames of the same green color, only they seemed to be made entirely of writhing worms!  Screaming, he dropped his weapons as he frantically struggled to extinguish himself, but abruptly he stopped.  He felt a presence inside his head, speaking soft words to him, sifting through his thoughts like a deck of cards.  It quickly found what it was looking for and drew the memory to the forefront of Charlgar’s mind…the memory of his own death!
____________________________________________________________________

“He doesn’t have it,” Grubber said in irritation as Mak and Havok rummaged through the dead giant’s belongings.  “It’s down there.”  He nodded towards an archway on the far side of the room.  The vista there was as startling as the gagging stench.  Extending outward into a large cavern was a great cage composed of an iron grillwork that arched to a height of thirty feet.  Through the gaps in the floor, only darkness was visible.  The cage seemed to be suspended against the side of the cavern, secured to the wall by iron support struts below and heavy anchoring chains above.  A burning bundle of small tree trunks strapped together served as a massive torch wedged into the southeast corner of the cage.  The exact dimensions of the huge cavern were not discernable in the torchlight, but it descended some ways down into the darkness below.  The most startling aspect of the strange tableau was the seething hordes of large, writhing green worms.  The fat, tentacled monsters swarmed all over the cavern walls as well as the cage exterior, filling the cave with a nauseating slithering.

“Down there?” Havok asked, a look of disgust on his face.  
“Well, at least in that direction,” Grubber said.  “More specifically, the southeast corner, and yet, it still seems distant somehow.”
Havok sighed, and then drew a scroll from his belt.  “The rest of you wait here.  It will be safest for me to investigate on my own.  I’ll be back as soon as I find anything.”
“Just a moment,” Faust said, and then he stared hard at the warlock, concentrating.  Havok felt the psion’s thoughts touch his.  “There,” Faust nodded.  “Now, through the Mindlink, you can let me know what you see…or I can know if you’re dead.”
“Thanks,” Havok smirked.  He then read the scroll, the incantation rendering his body ghostly and incorporeal.  Then, calling upon the dark powers of his bloodline, he willed himself invisible.  Thus cloaked, he drifted between the bars of the cage and down into the darkness below.

The cavern was vast, with the floor lying some hundred feet below the suspended cage, and every surface literally crawled with carrion crawlers.  None, however, marked the warlock’s passing, consumed as they were with devouring the mounds of refuse and filth which covered the floor of the cave.  At the lowest point of the cyst, Havok spotted a large tunnel leading away to the southeast.  He slipped quietly inside and followed it down its spiraling course.  Over a half-mile he reckoned his travel, until finally he emerged on a cliff overlooking another, even more massive cavern, this one comprised of sloping floors and several colossal stalagmites.  It was lit by swaths of phosphorescent fungus, which clung to the walls and ceiling.  Mats of rancid, decaying fungus bubbled and seethed in a thick carpet on the floor, filling the air with a hazy, green taint of spores and stink.  In places, huge mounds of fungus rose like hills, and scattered throughout them were the bones and skulls of long-dead giants.
‘Can you hear me Faust?’ Havok thought to himself.
‘As if you stood by my side,’ the psion replied.
‘I’ve found another cave.  There are no crawlers here.  If I give you a mental picture, do you think you could bring the others here?’
‘Child’s play,’ Faust said, and Havok could almost hear the disdain in his voice through the Mindlink.  Concentrating on every detail that he could see in his immediate area, the warlock shared the image in his mind with his comrade.  Suddenly, a flash of light flickered behind him, fading to reveal the other members of the League.
“It’s down there all right,” Grubber rumbled, peering out into the gloom.  “Not far now.  I’d guess somewhere on the far side.”
“Well, we didn’t come here to sightsee,” Hawk said, and then he spoke a brief word, causing small wings to sprout from the sides of his boots.  Havok and Storm likewise took to the air via their own magics, while Mak quaffed an elixir to give him the power of flight, smirking at his land-locked brother as he did so.  Grubber shrugged, wrapping  his spider silk cloak around him, and then began scaling the walls like a giant arachnid himself.  Faust closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his body had taken on the dark hue and blurred outlines of a shadow.  Stepping to a nearby wall, he seemed to melt into the darkness there, traveling along its surface as easily as he might the floor.

The troupe made their way across the cavern, seeing and sensing no signs of life, until finally they reached the far side and began descending towards the floor.  Grubber was the first to reach the spongy surface, and no sooner had his feet touched it than the entire floor seemed to erupt in a geyser of fungi and spores.  Rising up out of the muck to a colossal height of forty feet was a carrion crawler of immense proportions…the Mother of all Worms.  An instant before she appeared, Havok sensed the impending danger and quickly warned the others through their shared mental link.  The warlock quickly unleashed a scathing blast of eldritch power, and the monstrous aberration shivered and shrieked in pain.  Her writhing tentacles reached up towards Havok, and he realized that he was too close to dart away, and his ghostly enchantment had expired long ago.  However, at that moment, from somewhere above him, a crackling, hissing ball of acid and electricity shot past.  It struck the Mother Worm full in the face, exploding in a deafening cacophony of sound and fury.  The scream from the crawler was ear piercing, and when the smoke and haze faded, over half of the beast’s head had simply melted away into a mass of gore and bone.  Havok looked up and saw Storm hovering above him, looking like an angel of death.  He made a mental note never to anger the sorceress.  Abruptly, a second ball of energy struck the great worm, this time originating from Faust, never one to be shown up by a woman.  Though the resulting explosion of fire was nowhere near as powerful as Storm’s, it was enough to put an end to the already mortally wounded crawler.

One by one the group came to ground, surrounding the massive behemoth.  They knew they had been fortunate.  Had it not been for Storm’s expertly timed strike, the beast would have had them all.  Grubber circled around the crawler, his head turning left and right.
“I think the key’s inside it,” he said finally.
“Stand back,” Hawk ordered, drawing Quaero and stepping to the worm’s exposed belly.  Like a hot knife through butter, the enchanted blade sliced through the crawler, spilling entrails and bile into a knee deep pool around the civilar.  And there, gleaming in the midst of the mess, was a single, large key.
____________________________________________________________

Once again the League stood before the doors to the vault of the Citadel of Weeping Dragons.  Faust had Teleported them to the exact location, and now Havok and Hawk each held one of the keys.  Nodding silently to each other, they stepped to the portals, and inserted the keys into the locks.  Instantly, a flood of memories came upon each of them, a millennia and more of history compressed into an eye blink.  They saw the rise of the stone giant guardians who first warded Kongen-Thulnir, and their subsequent defeat by a tribe of cloud giants.  Through the centuries, band after band of giant- kind laid claim to the city, each drawn by the sacred pact laid by the Order of the Storm.  Over time, what they guarded and how to access it was forgotten, only the compulsion of guardianship remaining.  Now, however, Hawk and Havok both knew precisely the ritual that would open the long-sealed vault and reveal the treasure within.  In unison, they spoke the words, and as they did so, the great doors swung silently open.

The ceiling of the vaulted chamber beyond was lost in shadows above.  Flanking stairs rose ten feet to a platform across the room, and atop it stood the statue of a rampant dragon, wings spread, fore claws extended, and mouth agape.  Its chest was open, revealing its rib cage, wherein floated a ruby-red box, its faces carved with leering dragons.  Dark striations of rock traveled vertically through the walls, creating the illusion of pulsing blood veins in the light given off by the glowing red box.  A susurrus echoed through the chamber like dark secrets long hidden.  As the doors swung wide, the flickering light pulsed once, and then faded.  It was only a matter of moments after that Havok sensed danger…imminent, lethal danger.  A split second later the entire north east section of the vault wall melted into a pool of mud and ooze, revealing startling sunlight and the open air of the rift beyond.  Hovering in the breach were two gargantuan dragons.  The first was the fanged horror from which the League had narrowly escaped just hours before, and perched on his back was none other than the Ominous Fabler, now in his true form, with empty eye sockets fat with green worms writhing within, his flesh sallow and rotten.  The second wyrm was even larger than the first, with scales the color of blood…Brazzemal the Burning.  Dragotha’s chief general had been circling above the citadel the moment the vault doors were opened, having guessed that it concealed his master’s phylactery from the news brought to him by Xyzanth.  As the enchantment concealing the Heart was broken by the breaching of the vault, the great wyrm instantly sensed the proximity of his goal.  And now it was before him, barely a claw’s reach away, and all that stood between him and it were a few, pitiful mortals.

Once again, Havok’s foresight saved the group from instant death.  Whipping a scroll into his hands, the warlock read the spell and slowed time to a crawl.  This tactic had served him well in previous battles, and if a plan worked, a good tactician didn’t alter it.  Working quickly, he placed a wall of perilous green flame before Brazzemal, blocking the dragon’s line of sight.  Then he put another wall straight through the plane occupied by Xyzanth and the Ominous Fabler, followed by a third perpendicular to that one.  Next he used his old trick of placing a nest of tentacles within a wall of solid fog directly in the center of the vault, hoping to keep the dragons from charging his comrades and tearing them to ribbons.  Just before the flow of time resumed, the warlock rendered himself invisible and resumed his ghostly form.

Gazzilfek, the Ominous Fabler, former vassal to Kolvant Granitebones, former spy within the court of Prince Tarnheel Embuirhan of Starmantle, and in the end, unfortunate victim of Dragotha, never knew what hit him.  One moment he was sitting triumphantly upon Xyzanth’s back, Dragotha’s phylactery within his grasp, and the next he was literally consumed by twin walls of flame.  The last things he ever saw were the green worms of Kyuss reaching out to embrace him.

Faust recognized what Havok had done when he saw the results that had not been there a moment before.  Unfortunately, realization came too late to recall the power he was preparing to unleash.  A cyclonic vortex or wind blasted from the center of his forehead, reaching out to completely engulf the phylactery.  As it struck, the tornado exploded into a devastating hurricane, tearing Havok’s solid fog apart as if it were paper, and blowing the corpse of the Ominous Fabler from its saddle.  Xyzanth rolled to one side, performing a perfect wing-over that took him out of the blast radius.  When the storm cleared, the phylactery was gone.  With a moment’s thought, Faust proceeded to alter the flow of time itself, but this time only long enough to place his own body in a timeless state, incapable of being affected by any outside force, either hostile or friendly.  When the brief temporal blip ended, the psion walked boldly across the vault to stand before Brazzemal.  
“The phylactery has been destroyed,” he said coldly.  “Surely you can sense it.  We offer you this one chance to leave now and tell your master of your failure.”
Brazzemal could indeed sense the truth behind the élan’s words, and he knew that Dragotha’s wrath would be terrible, but his own fury overwhelmed any thoughts of the future or self-preservation.  He knew that the creature before him must be warded in some way to present himself so brazenly.  The red wyrm was an accomplished practitioner of magic in his own right, and he quickly wove a dispelling field around the psion.  Nothing happened.  Faust just smiled.

The battle was joined in truth at that moment, and things began to happen very rapidly.  Grubber chanted to Grumbar, hurling a hammer of righteous energy at the fang dragon.  To his amazement and dismay, his spell was turned back upon him, dissipating in a harmless blast of holy power.  From behind the goliath, Storm conjured an arcing bolt of lightning.  It streaked towards Xyzanth, but again the dragon’s amazing reflexes saved him, and the bolt ricocheted off a wall, bouncing towards Brazzemal.  The red dragon winced slightly as the electricity singed his fore leg, but he had not come to this battle unprepared.  His own wards were potent as well. Xyzanth launched himself into the vault, clearing the clutching tentacles in the center easily.  He landed like a crouching cat directly before Grubber and his neck whipped forward like a cobra.  His sword-like teeth sank deep into the goliath’s thigh, and Grubber screamed.  Then his eyes flew open even wider as he saw Brazzemal leap over the tentacle nest as well and land just behind the fang dragon.  

Faust cursed as the dragons called his bluff.  The protection he had created was fleeting, fading away even as he turned towards the attacking wyrms.  Desperately, he flung a psychic tendril out towards Xyzanth, attempting to sap the dragon’s will, but as with Grubber before, the power was turned back upon him, dissipating against his own psychic barriers.  Grubber was equally desperate.  He could not stand toe-to-toe against Xyzanth, and the entry chamber behind him was a dead-end, especially since he had walled off the only exit with iron prior to the vault opening as protection against any last defenders of the Citadel.  He may very well have sealed his own fate, he realized.  Uttering another prayer, he brought into being a wall of whirling, flashing blades, which materialized right through the space currently occupied by the fang dragon.  To the goliath’s disbelief, the dragon did not dodge aside as he had so easily done before.  Instead, the blade barrier cut deep rents into his scaly hide.  From behind his brother, Mak tried his own desperation move.  It seemed likely to him that the dragons were spell users as well, otherwise how could they so easily weather the magics being thrown at them?  He wove his own version of a dispelling effect, this time a chain that arced between both dragons.  Brazzemal and Xyzanth snarled in anger as they felt several of their protective spells dissolve.

Xyzanth turned expectantly towards Brazzemal.  He knew the red dragon was a more powerful arcanist than he, and he waited to see if his superior would endeavor to free him from the cutting blades he was trapped within.  Predictably, the red was not so magnanimous.  He vanished from sight, only to reappear a moment later in the antechamber behind the two goliaths and the drow woman.  As the mortals registered their shock and fear, Brazzemal opened his great maw and breathed forth an inferno, engulfing Storm.  When the flames cleared, only a charred skeleton remained where the sorceress had stood.  The other members of the League each felt their mental link with Storm evaporate.  While impressed with Brazzemal’s tactics, Xyzanth was still disgusted that he would be forced to help himself out of his predicament.  Leaping to one side, he jumped free of the blade barrier, then sank his teeth into the wretched goliath that had cast it again.  This time, as the dragon’s teeth ripped Grubber’s flesh, the priest felt noticeably weaker, as if he had lost something of himself more vital than blood.

As Grubber staggered under the fang dragon’s assault, Havok stepped from a wall behind the wyrm, unleashing another eldritch blast.  Xyzanth yelped and whipped his head around, but at the same time a fiery beam of energy struck him from Faust’s outstretched hand.  
“Move aside!” Hawk commanded, shouldering his way past Grubber and rushing towards the distracted dragon.  Xyzanth turned towards him as he approached, but Quaero’s descent caught him in the center of his serpentine neck, neatly decapitating him.

Grubber’s vision blurred and he felt darkness groping at him.  Holding on to consciousness a moment longer, it was his turn to stop the flow of time.  Quickly, he used his most powerful healing magic, closing all his wounds, but failing to restore his lost vitality.  Still, his head began to clear, and he used the time remaining to prepare himself for battle, fortifying his body with divine power and righteous might.  His size grew to that of a giant.  Lastly, he placed a second blade barrier across the entire antechamber and through Brazzemal.  Time resumed.

It was Brazzemal’s turn to smile as his own innate resistance to magic rendered the blade wall ineffective…except now he could use it as a shield between himself and his foes.  Xyzanth’s death did not concern him.  He knew the mortals were weakening, and it would be only a matter of time until the five remaining joined the drow.  He would hurry that process along by removing more of their own protections.  Since the goliath was somehow miraculously larger, the red dragon assumed he had woven even more charms.  All the better.  A dispelling wave washed over the priest.  Grubber knew this battle had to end soon…one way or another.

Faust stepped through the doorway between the vault and the antechamber.  He had one last chance to finish things.  Accelerating the flow of time for himself again, he manifested three intersecting walls of freezing cold energy to encase Brazzemal.  When time slowed back to normal for him, he saw with dawning horror that the dragon was only mildly injured.  That was it then.  The psion was spent.  All of his mental powers were drained.  He moved back into the relative safety of the vault, praying to gods he did not believe in to watch over his fellows.

Magic wasn’t working, Grubber saw.  This was to be a battle of strength and steel.  Lowering his head, he hefted his maul and charged.  He brought himself up just short of the blade barrier, but swung his hammer through it, connecting solidly with the red dragon’s chest.  This was the chance Brazzemal had been waiting for.  Like a lion, he pounced, ripping and tearing at the goliath with both front claws, a vicious bite, beating wings, and the whip-crack of his tail.  Grubber staggered under the blow.  Even with his body toughened by his magic, the wounds were grievous.  He needed help desperately.  That help came when a word was suddenly spoken from behind Brazzemal.  “Mobilify!”  Instantly, Hawk disappeared from where he had stood by the doorway, and then reappeared behind the dragon.  Grubber knew that Havok had managed to maneuver himself unseen near Brazzemal, and then transpose himself with Hawk using that clever wand of his.  Would wonders never cease?

Brazzemal hissed as he saw the warrior that had slain Xyzanth now on his flank.  He quickly cast his own spell, transporting himself to the far side of the blade barrier with Mak and Grubber, leaving Hawk on the opposite side.  
“Not so fast,” a disembodied voice spoke from beside the wyrm.  “Mobilify!”  Once again, the paladin stood before him, a grim smile on his battle scarred face.  
“Check mate,” the civilar said, and then he brought Quaero slashing down, brutally ripping into Brazzemal’s flesh.  Havok, still invisible and incorporeal knew that the dragon would keep hopping from place to place at will if he didn’t do something to stop him.  From his belt, the warlock drew his last scroll bearing the Time Stop spell.  He barely noticed the now-familiar feeling of time slowing for everyone and speeding up for him simultaneously.  He had other things to tend to.  He first read from a second scroll to encase Brazzemal in a zone of silence, thus negating the dragon’s ability to speak the words to his spells.  Next he read a third scroll, weaving another bank of solid fog around the wyrm, and last he brought forth a tentacle forest in the midst of the fog.  When time returned to normal, Brazzemal found himself trapped, mute, and all but blind.

‘Way to go Havok!’ Grubber crowed through the Mind Link when he saw the results of the warlock’s latest salvo.  Quickly moving to a point outside of the silenced fog bank, the goliath did something Brazzemal could no longer do:  he cast a spell.  Instantly, a storm of glass-steel shards tore through the mist, ripping into the dragon.  Hawk, still within the fog and close enough to Brazzemal to still see him, witnessed the effects of the spell.  The red dragon was bleeding profusely now, and he began heaving his massive bulk south, towards the blade barrier and the relative safety beyond it.  Hawk wasn’t about to let that happen.  He followed the dragon’s tortuously slow progress easily, leaping in to strike, and then disappearing back into the mist.  At that moment, Mak and Grubber entered the fog bank as well, Mak’s hand glowing black with power from a spell he had cast prior to stepping into the supernatural silence.  Grubber’s maul struck at the same time Mak reached out and gently touched the dragon.  The spell, once delivered, sucked a great deal of Brazzemal’s life force out of him in an instant.  For the first time, the great wyrm felt the first twinges of fear.  He opened his jaws again, silently breathing forth another crematorium of flame on Hawk, Mak and Grubber.  He then lurched south again, desperate to escape the clinging fog and debilitating silence.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Havok whispered as he saw the dragon’s silhouette approach the edge of his fog bank.  Pulling a final scroll, the warlock used its magic to transform himself completely into a ghaele eladrin…an angel.  Drawing upon the innate power of the celestial, he created a wall of pure force directly behind Brazzemal.  Now there was truly no escape.  Brazzemal howled in fury, but no one heard.  He struck at Hawk with tooth and claw, but it was a final act of futility.  Grubber stepped free of the silent mist once more, and called upon Grumbar’s power to smite his foe a final blow.  The hammer of Grumbar’s righteousness fell, and with it fell Brazzemal the Burning.


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## R-Hero

WhooHoo... what a good read!!



			
				Jollydoc said:
			
		

> _Gazzilfek, the Ominous Fabler, former vassal to Kolvant Granitebones, former spy within the court of Prince Tarnheel Embuirhan of Starmantle, and in the end, unfortunate victim of Dragotha, never knew what hit him. One moment he was sitting triumphantly upon Xyzanth’s back, Dragotha’s phylactery within his grasp, and the next he was literally consumed by twin walls of flame. The last things he ever saw were the green worms of Kyuss reaching out to embrace him._




Truly an epic obituarty.


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## demiurge1138

Pity poor Gazzifek. He already died in unimaginable agony once, and never even got to use all the horrible gifts Kyuss gave him! At least his allies managed to put the hurt on. Poor Storm - she actually got to do stuff this update... and get burninated in the end. Let's hope she comes back.

Demiurge out.


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## Joachim

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Pity poor Gazzifek. He already died in unimaginable agony once, and never even got to use all the horrible gifts Kyuss gave him!




Considering that Wall of Fire (and thus, Wall of Perilous Flame) deals double damage to undead, I saw no better use than to fry that bastard.  If nothing else, I managed to 'blick' him (an old term from my MUD'ing days) and prevented him from using his 'gifts' in that fight.


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## recentcoin

*Poor Storm*

Perhaps if Grubber prays hard enough, the gods will return her.  

Poor little crispy critter...


----------



## demiurge1138

Joachim said:
			
		

> Considering that Wall of Fire (and thus, Wall of Perilous Flame) deals double damage to undead, I saw no better use than to fry that bastard.  If nothing else, I managed to 'blick' him (an old term from my MUD'ing days) and prevented him from using his 'gifts' in that fight.



It does, doesn't it! Always forget that... much to my chagrin when my players point it out, grinning, and my spellstiched bone warlocks explode into so much dust and wasted potential...

Also, I may be stealing the expression "to blick".

Demiurge out.


----------



## JollyDoc

By the way, in case you are all wondering where Gfunk's Monday morning teaser is, we played Redhand yesterday because Joachim was out of town.  Gfunk DM'd (God help us all).  So, no AOW update this week.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Close call there - the league once again proves that tactical genious can win the day against seemingly overwhelming odds! I hope that the fabric of time will hold together around this group, since they pull on it so much.

JD, sadly there is also no Redhand teaser for your Sunday session.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Close call there - the league once again proves that tactical genious can win the day against seemingly overwhelming odds! I hope that the fabric of time will hold together around this group, since they pull on it so much.
> 
> JD, sadly there is also no Redhand teaser for your Sunday session.




I think Gfunk has taken care of that.


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Night Preview*

1. With the phylactery destroyed and Dragotha's top lieutenant dead, we plunder what we can from the Vault and return triumphant to Longsaddle.

2. We discuss our next move with Malchor Harpell and decide to return to the Wormcrawl Fissure after a shopping spree @ Waterdeep.

3. As we head into the Wormcrawl Fissure we find ourselves inconvenienced over and over and over again by Grubber's insane religious beliefs.  To our chagrin we spend 10 hours slogging into Dragotha's lair (wasting a lot of spells and power points re-casting buffs over and over) w/o actually finding something.  It got so bad that we, a party of 18th and 19th level characters, actually engaged in a forced march . . . 

4. We finally reach our destination and meet many new, interesting friends like Mind-Killer Scorpions and Advanced Ulgastrasta's w/ 17 non-associated levels of Sorcerer.  _Did you know that according to the idiotic "non-associated" class level rules a Girallon w/ 30 levels of Sorcerer has a CR of 20, yet a human w/ the same class levels has a 30 CR?_

5. Havoc performs a nearly unfathomable act of charity.

6. Someone says their final farewell to the League.

Faust to Mak, the night before the League enters the Wormcrawl Fissure,

_So I ask you; when Grubber goes into meditation and he falls on his knees and prays to Grumbar that his friends will prevail over the minions of Kyuss or that the Realms isn't destroyed by the Age of Worms or that he doesn't have to fly or use a boat, who do you think he's praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Book of Exalted Deeds, Mak, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in Temporal Acceleration on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God._


----------



## demiurge1138

Actually, that's a common misconception about the non-associated levels. The character class counts as non-associated until the class levels surpass the racial hit dice of the monster. So that girallon sorcerer would be non-associated until it had 6 sorcerer levels, then each sorcerer level beyond that counts as a +1 CR.

Too bad ulgursastas have 17 Hit Dice...

Demiurge out.


----------



## Joachim

At the end, I believe that the Ulgursasta (sp?) was a CR 21, and I guess that was about right.  Now, I am surprised that they didn't give him Unholy Grace (or whatever that ability that substitutes CHA for CON to hitpoints) to get those hit points into the stratosphere.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

gfunk said:
			
		

> 2. We discuss our next move with Malchor Harpell and decide to return to the Wormcrawl Fissure after a shopping spree @ Waterdeep.



Especially getting some more scrolls for little Kyuss, I presume. Is there a limit on the number of scrolls of highest level spells available for purchase? Ah, no, I forgot, you're playing in the FR. 



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 3. As we head into the Wormcrawl Fissure we find ourselves inconvenienced over and over and over again by Grubber's insane religious beliefs.  To our chagrin we spend 10 hours slogging into Dragotha's lair (wasting a lot of spells and power points re-casting buffs over and over) w/o actually finding something.  It got so bad that we, a party of 18th and 19th level characters, actually engaged in a forced march . . .



Kudos to Grubbers player & the party for sticking with his flaw/deity. A munchkin would have switched to a more "convenient" god long ago!



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 4. We finally reach our destination and meet many new, interesting friends like Mind-Killer Scorpions and Advanced Ulgastrasta's w/ 17 non-associated levels of Sorcerer.  _Did you know that according to the idiotic "non-associated" class level rules a Girallon w/ 30 levels of Sorcerer has a CR of 20, yet a human w/ the same class levels has a 30 CR?_



"Non-associated" class levels are stupid. I guess the adventure designers use them to be able to adjust the stats/bend the rules to the story... 



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 5. Havoc performs a nearly unfathomable act of charity.



He didn't do IT, did he? 



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 6. Someone says their final farewell to the League.



I would guess Storm got the message that she doesn't have hit points to stay with the group...


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Night Preview*
> 
> 1. With the phylactery destroyed and Dragotha's top lieutenant dead, we plunder what we can from the Vault and return triumphant to Longsaddle.
> 
> 2. We discuss our next move with Malchor Harpell and decide to return to the Wormcrawl Fissure after a shopping spree @ Waterdeep.
> 
> 3. As we head into the Wormcrawl Fissure we find ourselves inconvenienced over and over and over again by Grubber's insane religious beliefs.  To our chagrin we spend 10 hours slogging into Dragotha's lair (wasting a lot of spells and power points re-casting buffs over and over) w/o actually finding something.  It got so bad that we, a party of 18th and 19th level characters, actually engaged in a forced march . . .
> 
> 4. We finally reach our destination and meet many new, interesting friends like Mind-Killer Scorpions and Advanced Ulgastrasta's w/ 17 non-associated levels of Sorcerer.  _Did you know that according to the idiotic "non-associated" class level rules a Girallon w/ 30 levels of Sorcerer has a CR of 20, yet a human w/ the same class levels has a 30 CR?_
> 
> 5. Havoc performs a nearly unfathomable act of charity.
> 
> 6. Someone says their final farewell to the League.
> 
> Faust to Mak, the night before the League enters the Wormcrawl Fissure,
> 
> _So I ask you; when Grubber goes into meditation and he falls on his knees and prays to Grumbar that his friends will prevail over the minions of Kyuss or that the Realms isn't destroyed by the Age of Worms or that he doesn't have to fly or use a boat, who do you think he's praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Book of Exalted Deeds, Mak, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in Temporal Acceleration on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God._




All Mak says is Helm gives you Wings.


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Just one thing, Joachim, I would love to get one Havok journal entry with his resumee about him beeing a decendent of Kyuss and the possible implications.




Because you asked for it several weeks ago....

*Excerpts from the Journal of Giovanni Vito, aka "Havok" - Starting with the Final Day at Kongen-Thulnir*

_…The great red beast collapsed in a heap, smashed by the hammer of Grubber’s faith.  With the death of the last dragon, the only sounds that I could make out in the room were the hard breathing associated with exertion, excitement, and exhaustion.  Hawk, specifically, looked particularly grisly with his armor spattered with gobbets of the dragons’ ichor.  Even though his face was covered with the visor of his full plate armor, I knew that he was wearing some form of a weary smile.

As has been the case since Mak joined our group, Storm’s death was merely a temporary annoyance.  Using the powers granted to him by his patriarch, the goliath brought the wizardess to the state of semi-life and semi-death of a Revenant.  Upon the end of the revenance, and Storm’s repeated ‘death’, he quickly revived her using another of his many restorative prayers.  Quite the nifty little trick, I must admit.

After collecting our spoils from the corpses of our fallen enemies, the remaining members of the League linked hands, and Storm whisked us through the Astral plane back to the Forum of Waterdeep.  Here we were able to sell any unwanted loot, split our wealth accordingly, re-equip ourselves, and plan our next move.  It also afforded me the opportunity for some quiet contemplation of our ‘mission’, our goal, and my link to it all.

The revelation that I am a direct descendant of the Scion of Kyuss, and thus the Worm-God himself, has left me dumbfounded.  Largely since our witness of the ancient battle with Dragotha I have busied my mind with other thoughts.  As we prepare ourselves for the coming venture into the dracolich’s lair, I realize that I must come to grips with where I come from and, thus, where my eldritch powers find their origin.  All that I can surmise is that Kyuss sired a child that he was completely unaware of, or one that he had no need of.  Somehow, whether by Lashonna’s work or otherwise, this ancestor of mine made its way to the House of Vito in Sembia.  Upon Kyuss’ ‘ascension’, it would seem that the child would have become infused with some form of the Worm Lord’s power…

The warlock’s curse must have lain dormant for many succeeding generations, until the time of the Kyuss’ release was nigh.  At that time it awoke in me, much like it must have in Tomasina Vito centuries before.  Since this revelation, since the moment where I knew that Tomasina played a key role (if not ‘the’ key role) in allowing the Order of the Storm druids to escape with Dragotha’s phylactery, I feel the power within me growing.  No longer do I fear it.  No longer am I a slave to it.  It is mine to control, and I will use it as I see fit.

Bring on Dragotha!  By the gods, bring on Kyuss!  There will be no so-called Age of Worms.  With my burgeoning power, I will see to that!!

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

My hand shakes as I pen this entry.  Again, I am forced to write in the middle of the night, before the memory fades away with the coming dawn.  Something has awoken within me.  Something…else.  I feel myself at conflict, and as my abilities grow in strength so does this conflict.  And, then, there was my dream tonight.

Another dream.  When will these cursed nightmares end.  So vivid in detail, so wide in scope, and so terrible in their implications.  Tonight, however, was by far the worst.

The setting of the vision is quite simple.  A circular arena a hundred feet across, but instead of walls the boundaries are actually raging walls of fire.  At one end of the arena stands the League, battered and exhausted, and on the other end stands a giant cloaked figure covered in writhing worms…Kyuss!  By everyone’s posture it is obvious that this is not a diplomatic encounter.

As the combat begins, I act first.  I hear a voice in my head, booming through my psyche, and there is no question as to its source.  The Worm God is calling to me, with promises of power granted only to his Chosen.  ‘The world as you know it is doomed’, he says, ‘Why not join the new world as one of its ruling princes?’  The conflict within me rises again.  A decision is made, and I know what I must do.  Quickly, I retrieve another of my scrolls and read it.  Time slows for everyone by myself and I set to work.  Again solid fog, chilling wormlike tentacles, and numerous walls of green flame are conjured.

As time resumes, I find that I am kneeling on the floor of the arena, my eyes locked on the form of my great-great-grandfather.  The only sound that I hear, the screams of my comrades as their flesh burns from their bones, is like a music to my ears.  The Fog and Tentacles will keep them in place while my father sets about his work of dispatching them.  When the brutality is completed, Kyuss approaches me, arms outstretched.  ‘Welcome to the Dawn of a New Age.’  I am consumed by worms.  For a fleeting moment, I feel as though I have finally found where I belonged.

I awake in a cold sweat, panting.  It was a dream.  I would never make such a decision.  It was a dream.  I would never betray my friends.  *It was a dream*.  I would never join Kyuss.  *It was a dream*.  I would never turn over this world to such a fate without dying first myself.  *IT WAS A DREAM*.

It was a dream?_


----------



## demiurge1138

Oooh. Very nice. 

The final encounter, and the lead-up to it, should prove to be _very_ interesting.

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Sweet! Well, the decision might be up to you, Joachim.  Thanks for the this journal entry!

Another thing that Havok's dream shows us again is that situations where a party member defects or is dominated to do so are the situations that most often lead to TPKs.


----------



## JollyDoc

Very nicely done Rich.  It flows very well, and gives me...ideas... 

Could Havok become the new Entropy?


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

It would make an excellent match...


----------



## JollyDoc

INTO THE WORMCRAWL FISSURE

Malchor Harpell sat behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin as he bowed his head in thought.  The members of the League sat or stood before him, having just completed their report of the events that transpired in Kongen-Thulnir.  
“So at last we come to the end-game,” he said at length.  “Dragotha by now knows of the fate of his phylactery and his emissaries.  He will be on the move soon.  You must stop him before that happens.  You must go to the Wormcrawl Fissure.”
“The what?” Hawk asked.
“It is Dragotha’s home.  This knowledge came to me, along with much else thought lost, after your discovery of the Library of Last Resort.  It is a massive underground rift located at the far northeast reach of Skull Gorge.”
“What about Lashonna?” Havok asked.  “We know that she is undead, and a silver dragon at that.  Shouldn’t we deal with her first?”
“Lashonna’s motives and allegiances are unknown to us at this point,” the archmage replied.  “Dragotha is very much a known factor.  My advice to you is to deal with the devil you know.”
“Can you tell us the way?” Faust asked.  Malchor smiled, “Yes, but alas I have never been their myself.  Perhaps when you return, you can provide me with the details to add a new painting to my collection?”
____________________________________________________

“I don’t believe this!” Faust shouted.  “Again?  Again we have to cater to these silly beliefs of yours?”
“These ‘silly’ beliefs, as you call them,” Grubber answered, unperturbed, “have saved your life and that of everyone here on more than one occasion.”
The League members stood on the rim of Skull Gorge, once more overlooking Kongen-Thulnir.  The city seemed abandoned.  Nothing living, save for carrion birds, moved through its ruined streets.  The group had arrived with the intention of making use of another of Havok’s plethora of scrolls which would allow them to transform into substanceless air and travel with the speed of the wind to the far end of the gorge, which lay some hundred miles distant.  That was until Grubber reminded them of Grumbar’s prohibitions against flying.  To one side Mak rustled a pair of leathery, bat-like wings that had mysteriously sprouted from his back over night.  They were a gift, he said, from Helm.  
“Look,” Hawk said, stepping between the livid psion and the goliath, “this is nothing new, and Grubber has a point.  We each have ideals that we hold dear, and none of us would relish being asked to compromise them.”
“Speak for yourself,” Faust snorted.
“Present company excluded,” Hawk snapped.  “Be that as it may, we will have to find another way for Grubber to accompany us, and I think I have the solution.  Grubber will wait here while we fly to the entry of the Wormcrawl Fissure.  We should be able to make it within an hour or two.  Once there, I will use the powers of the helm I took from the Ominous Fabler,” he rapped his headgear with one mailed fist, “to transport myself back here, and then the two of us will transport to the rest of you again.”
Though Faust continued to grumble about savages and superstitions, the group as a whole could find no flaw in the civilar’s plan.  Havok unfurled his spell parchment, and in an instant Grubber watched his friends transformed to mist and be whisked away in a gust of wind.  Silently, he asked Grumbar to forgive them, and watch over them.
_______________________________________________________

The gaping maw of the Wormcrawl Fissure was actually a chasm, stretching for miles in either direction, and descending into the depths of Skull Gorge.  Still constrained by Grubber’s refusal to fly, and not knowing where exactly they where headed, or what they might find, the League members decided to travel on foot, or at least on elephant foot.  Hawk summoned Big Alice from her extradimensional jungle home, and he, Giovanni and Grubber sat astride her, while Faust and Storm strolled briskly beside them, and Mak soared a few yards above, exulting in his new-found ability.

Hours passed as they descended endlessly along the steep, downward slope into the mists of the Wormcrawl depths.  In time, even the nature of the ground and rock walls seemed to change, with the latter becoming encrusted with strange fungus, while the former began to feel spongy to the touch.  Periodically, the group encountered strange effigies in the form of skeletons tied to wooden frames and wrapped with fake worms made of leather or wood.  Giovanni recognized these as primitive warning symbols, encouraging those unfortunate enough to travel these depths to turn back.  

After what seemed like an eternity of walking, the party reached what appeared to be a brackish lake.  Its shore stretched away north and south beyond vision, and its far eastern shore could not be seen either.  Faust volunteered to scout the way ahead, transforming his body into the substance of shadows, and literally running across the surface of the placid water.  The far shore proved to be only a mile distant, and Storm was able to teleport those unable (or unwilling) to fly to the other side, including Alice.  At that point, Giovanni suggested the group turn south.  He argued that they were out in the open, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  If they could find one of the chasm walls, they could follow it and keep their bearings better.  The others simply shrugged, and changed course.  By the time they actually reached a wall, they had been traveling for over eight hours, forcing themselves to go on past the point of exhaustion in the hopes they would reach some…any…destination.  

They followed the wall east, but in time, it began to curve away to the south again.  Though Giovanni recommended continuing to follow its course, his companions were weary and irritable, and decided to proceed on due east.  It was approximately an hour later when Grubber’s mind was invaded.  A sudden rush of images swirled through his psyche.  The first was of a mist-shrouded gorge, the floor a maze of rifts and pits in which immense vermin squirmed.  The next image was of a towering worm, its head a tangle of eyes and its pale body shrouded in a haze of writhing filaments.  As the immense creature lunged forward to consume the goliath, the vision faded, only to be replaced by a third.  This last was a stately-looking man dressed in an explorer’s outfit, and sporting a distinctive high beard and moustache.  Suddenly, his expression became one of abject horror as his flesh rotted away and a storm of green worms consumed him from within.  As the final vision passed, Grubber spent a strange compulsion in his mind, almost an urge, compelling him to travel to the northeast.  There was something there he had to find.

Reluctantly, the League agreed to follow Grubber on his quest, for they had no other real choice.  An hour more they walked before finally reaching the entrance to a small canyon.  Beyond, the ground fell away into a treacherous maze of smaller chasms and rifts.  Mist filled the air.  Grubber still felt the compulsion, guiding him through the labyrinth like a compass until he and his cohorts stood before the opening of a large cave.
______________________________________________________

N’vesh-n’kar was jolted from his meditations by the silent alarm signal which sounded in his head.  Someone or something had just crossed the threshold to his lair…and without his permission!  Who would dare?  Even the minions of Dragotha feared to disturb the Apostle without his leave, and the mindless creatures that wandered the Earthcancer gorge had long ago learned to stay away from the caves.  It would seem that another lesson would have to be taught this day.  He called out with his thoughts to his thralls, and he could feel their hunger and their eagerness as they began swarming towards his uninvited guests.20
_________________________________________________________

“Watch out!” Mak warned, just as Grubber and Hawk were about to blunder straight into a ravine.  Thanks to the spell of True Seeing he had placed upon his eyes, the goliath was able to see through the illusion of a solid floor which covered the gorge.  As he peered deeper into the gloom of the cave he saw that the large crack stretched as far as he could see.  Periodically along its length, a cave opened on one side or the other.  
“Thank you my brother,” Grumbar said.  Now that his sibling had pointed out the deception, he found he could just make out the faint outlines of the gulf beneath the mirage.  
“I suppose we’ll have to find another way around, since some of us are aerodynamically challenged,” Faust said snidely.  “Gather round me.  I’ll get us to that near opening.”
“Be careful,” Havok said as he drew near the psion.  “I sense danger beyond.”

A moment later the group stood at the entrance to a large, bare cave, the gorge yawning directly behind them.  Havok’s instincts proved accurate.  Six gargantuan, pale green and white centipedes scuttled sinuously over the floor.  Their dark green eyes peered above a nest of long antennae writhing on their faces.  Tiny green worms dripped from their mouths and cracks in their chitonous armor, and where the creatures stood or touched the rock walls, the earth had turned gray and boiled into nasty, tumor-like growths of pale fungus.  Almost immediately Storm and Faust found their stomachs rebelling against them as they began vomiting uncontrollably at the nauseating sight.  Havok, who had been hovering several feet above the cancerous floor, was not similarly afflicted, and when the familiar warning of ‘undead’ filled his head, courtesy of his mail, he leaped into action.  Twin walls of noxious green fire, filled with writhing worms, erupted from the floor, engulfing all but one of the giant vermin.  The creatures shrieked, but as a unit, they scattered in all directions, some burrowing into the floor, only to appear moments later directly in front of the League members, while others simply scaled the walls to flank the group on both sides.

Hawk lunged towards the nearest bug, interposing himself between it and the still retching Storm.  However, even as he struck, the sorceress heaved once more and then drew a deep breath, levitating herself above the bulging floor.  As her stomach settled and her head cleared, she drew upon her magic, her hands crackling with electricity.  A bolt of energy sprang from her palm to first one centipede, then another and another, until all but one were encompassed by it.  The first one she struck collapsed into a smoldering heap.  On the heels of this assault came a similar chain of emerald eldritch fire, this time from Havok.  Another bug fell, and then two more as the warlock conjured a third wall of perilous flame.  The remaining two centipedes closed in, but they were met head-on by the slashing blades of Mak and Hawk.  In a matter of seconds the battle was ended.

“What where those things?” Mak asked to no one in particular.  “Have any of you encountered their like before?”
Havok shook his head.  “They are obviously Kyuss spawn, but not of a kind I have ever seen or read about.  I can only wonder at the horrors and abominations that my ancestor has created and is preparing to unleash upon this world.”
On the far side of the gorge from where they stood was another cave opening.  The one in which they stood proved to be a literal dead-end, and Havok prepared to transport the group across the chasm.  Just as he drew upon his power, alarm bells went off inside his head once more, but not before he had already made the jump between dimensions.

No sooner had they appeared than a wave of magical power washed over Hawk.  The civilar felt several of his protective magical wards being stripped from him.  Before he could react, a bolt of black energy sizzled from the ceiling of the cave, striking him.  Had it not been for the inherent defenses of his armor, Hawk knew that he would have been dead where he stood.  
Havok could sense the magical trap immediately, but could not pinpoint its source.  His sixth sense screamed at him in warning, and he knew the effect was about to be triggered again.  Desperately he clawed one of his most powerful scrolls from his belt, ripping it open and uttering the words before he had time to think of the repercussions.  A palpable concussion of force ripped through the air, and an instant later, the sensation of danger quieted.

“Are you crazy??” Faust shouted, for he knew exactly the nature of the spell the warlock had loosed.  It was a Disjunction, the same magic Darl Quethos had used against them to devastating effect.  If any of them had been caught in its area, it would have been catastrophic.
“I had no choice,” Havok said, a slight tremor in his voice as he thought of what might have happened had his aim been even slightly off.  “That death trap would have kept hitting us until we were wholly defenseless.  I had to stop it, or else whatever set it would have picked us off easily.”  As if on cue, his head throbbed again, warning of danger approaching, this time from around a corner of the cave in which they stood.
____________________________________________________

N’vesh-n’kar couldn’t feel emotions such as joy or satisfaction, only cold logic, and his logic told him that his defensive preparations had been effective, and had thus rendered his intruders easier prey.  He could hear them approaching, and he rose silently into the air, thousands of rope-like tendrils spreading out from numerous pores in his bloated, pale skin.  Below him, his mindkillers moved to greet his guests.
_____________________________________________________

Faust stepped around the corner and was momentarily rendered speechless at what he saw.  An immense cave opened off of the one he stood in, and floating in mid-air there was an ulgurstasta…an Apostle of Kyuss!  On the ground below it, and closing fast where a pair of hideous scorpions, each easily twenty feet in length, and jet black.  Their chitonous armor was a tangle of cruel, hooked spikes and cracks that leaked ichor.  They had three tails instead of one, and the tips of each tail sported several long, green, crystalline stingers and plates, looking like some sort of dangerous fanged flower.  With the speed of thought, the psion unleashed a wave of fiery energy from his mind.  It washed over both of the charging scorpions as well as the ulgurstasta, scorching all of their hides with deep burns.  

N’vesh-n’kar could not feel rage either, but once more his logic told him that these were dangerous foes that he faced.  As such, they would have to be dealt with quickly and decisively.  The ulgurstasta had spent centuries studying the mysteries of the arcane, and he now drew upon that knowledge to smite his enemies.  Around the members of the League the air went suddenly dry and stale, as if every bit of moisture had been suddenly sucked out of it.  Then they felt the sweat on their skin begin to evaporate, and next the saliva in their mouth.  Only Faust and Storm were unaffected by the wilting magic, the psion by virtue of a reflective ward he had woven about him, and the drow by her race’s innate resistance to magic in general.  The others were not so lucky, and when the magic passed, they felt themselves physically drained, and parched as a desert.  

At that moment, one of the scorpions rushed past Hawk, who stood in the forefront of his comrades, and seized Faust in one of its massive pincers.  The psion tried to scream, but all the breath was crushed out of his lungs as the claw began to constrict around his chest.  Farther back, Grubber struggled to regain his strength, but he managed to speak a prayer to Grumbar, and a storm of slashing shards erupted around his team mates and the attacking arachnids.  At the same time, Mak rushed forward to Faust’s aid, but though the goliath’s blade pierced the armored hide of the scorpion, he suddenly felt his mind reel under a barrage of horrifying images as the crystal’s on its tail pulsed with dark enregy.  He staggered back, clutching at his throbbing head.

Havok could see the ulgurstasta preparing to loose another spell upon them as its minions distracted his friends.  The warlock’s tactic was almost becoming second nature.  Time slowed as he pulled and read another scroll.  Working calmly and unhurriedly, he prepared the undead behemoth’s demise.  First he wreathed it in a net of silence, negating its ability to speak the words necessary for its magic.  Next came solid fog, keeping it immobile within the absence of sound.  Finally, a pair of flame walls, intersecting each other at right angles right in the midst of the fog bank.  When time resumed, N’vesh-n’kar was roasted before he could even register what had transpired.  His corpse floated slowly out of the cloud and to the ground below.

An arc of lightning sprang between the two scorpions, courtesy of Storm.  Though Faust was trapped and incapable of movement or speech, his mind still worked just fine.  A second blast of mental fire swept over his captor, and he was dropped in a heap as the beast died.  Its cohort was only a moment behind in joining it in the afterlife as Hawk’s blade split its head in two.
_____________________________________________________

“It’s coming from there,” Grubber said, pointing at one of the large chests they had discovered deeper in the ulgurstasta’s lair.  The mental pull that had led the goliath and his friends was now a steady pulse.  Giovanni gently released the latch on the chest, and lifted the lid.  Inside was only a simple, leather pouch.  The warlock glanced curiously at Grubber, who only nodded.  Giovanni leaned over and retrieved the purse.  Suddenly, he felt a presence in his mind.  It did not speak, and the warlock could not even be sure it was capable of doing so.  It felt somehow…incomplete.  What he did feel from it, however, was a thirst for knowledge.  He felt his own vast store of information abruptly…expand, for lack of a better word.  He knew things he never recalled studying.  It was as if the information had  always been there.  Then there was something else.  A pull at the back of his consciousness, telling him that he must go.  He must travel to the south and west.  There was something he had to find there.  At that moment, the warlock’s eyes fell upon Faust, and he knew what he must do.  Summoning all his will, he stretched out his hand to the psion, dropping the pouch into the hands of his friend.
“I think you will know best how to deal with this,” Giovanni said, tacitly acknowledging the élan’s centuries of accumulated lore.  Faust smiled as he felt his own mind come in contact with the entity.  
“This is going to be fun,” he said.

EPILOGUE

As the company departed Earthcancer Gorge, Storm stopped, and turned to them.
“This is where I leave you, my friends.”
“What??” they said, almost in unison.
“Leaving?” Hawk continued, a look of shock upon his face.  “What are you talking about?”
Storm stared off into the middle distance.  “I know you cannot sense it, but this place, the Wormcrawl Fissure, it is part of the Underdark.  Granted, it is just at the surface, but it still bears the unmistakable taint of Faezress.  I came to your world seeking answers, but I have found only more questions.  It is time for me to go home.  I cannot run from my past any longer.  There are matters I have to put to rest once and for all.  Perhaps our paths shall cross again.  You have been as family to me, and for that you will never know the depths of my gratitude.  I have faith in all of you that you will complete this task set before you, and goddess willing, I will be there with you, in spirit if not in flesh.  Goodbye.”  Before the others could protest, she spoke a few arcane words, and vanished.


----------



## demiurge1138

Aw. Did Storm's player just retire the character, or are they leaving the game for good?

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

Well Storm's player's wife had her pregnancy induced this week so Storm will likely be out of the picture for the rest of this campaign.  However, I would not rule out a return for "Savage Tide."

Again, a thousand thanks for Joachim for giving me _Balakarde's Everful Purse._  Though the 25 gp a day it generates is hardly impressive for its "minor artifact" status, the other additional abilities are priceless.  +2 luck to Int and Wis and not to mention a +10 luck to Knowledge and Spellcraft checks bring Faust one more step closer to his goal of omniscience.  In return, Joachim was given Faust's share  of treasure for an idefinite amount of time.

Very nice update JD, though I'm not sure why I finally cracked under the weight of Grubber's "no fly, no boat" rule.  Strangely enough, Grubber's player's was out of town so Ika was playing him.  I guess I used his absence to take out my frustrations on him  .

Also, on a related note, I guess making the entrance to the Fissure so long adds to the atmosphere and story somewhat but it was booooooring.  Maybe we took the express route but it was kind of surprising we didn't run into anything.


----------



## R-Hero

jollydoc said:
			
		

> _Giovanni leaned over and retrieved the purse. Suddenly, he felt a presence in his mind. It did not speak, and the warlock could not even be sure it was capable of doing so. It felt somehow…incomplete. What he did feel from it, however, was a thirst for knowledge. He felt his own vast store of information abruptly…expand, for lack of a better word. He knew things he never recalled studying. It was as if the information had always been there. _





Quotes like this, is the main reason why I haven't tried my hand at writing.  
If I was writing a story hour, I would have got to here and panicked and said "Havok felt his brain get gooder..." or some thing as brilliant as "Giovanni's stats went up.."  

Bravo, J.D.


----------



## JollyDoc

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Quotes like this, is the main reason why I haven't tried my hand at writing.
> If I was writing a story hour, I would have got to here and panicked and said "Havok felt his brain get gooder..." or some thing as brilliant as "Giovanni's stats went up.."
> 
> Bravo, J.D.




I'm just glad all that book-learnin' I got has finally paid off!!


----------



## Joachim

Havok levelled again...this is what he will look like going into Day 2 of the Wyrmcrawl Fissure!!

*Giovanni Vito, aka "Havok" (Warlock 19)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Humanoid (Human)*
*Hit Dice:* 19d6+57 (131 hp)
*Initiative:* +19 (+23 with _Sign_) [this is not a typo...thanks, Hawk]
*Speed:* Move 30' (6 squares), Fly 30' (good)
*Armor Class:* 22 (+5 Dex, +5 Armour, +2 Insight), 17 touch, 22 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +14/+14
*Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +19 ranged touch (10d6)
*Full Attack:* _Eldritch Blast_ +19 ranged touch (10d6)
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Invocations, Eldritch Blast
*Special Qualities:* Human traits, _Detect Magic_ (Sp) at will, Deceive Item, DR 5/cold iron, Fiendish Resilience 5, Fire Resistance 5, Electricity Resistance 5, Imbue Item, 3 Fate Points remaining, +1 inherent bonus to CHA, -1 penalty to all strength skill checks
*Saves:* Fort +14, Ref +18, Will +21
*Abilities:* Str 10, Dex 20, Con 16, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 21
*Skills:* Concentration +30, Knowledge (planes) +24, Knowledge (religion) +24 [+28 regarding Kyuss or his cult], Knowledge (arcana) +24, Spellcraft +26 (+33 to identify scrolls with _detect magic_), Use Magic Device +27 (+34 for any check involving scrolls)
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Absent-Minded (Trait), Sudden Still Spell, Spell Penetration, Greater Spell Penetration, Arcane Mastery, Maximize Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Empower Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Quicken Spell-Like Ability [Eldritch Blast], Improved Initiative, Quicken Spell-Like Ability [Wall of Perilous Flame], Ranged Precision (Team Feat), Superior Flank (Team Feat)
*Environment:* Urban
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Gfunk, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 18
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* Chaotic Good

_Before you stands an unarmed and unassuming bookish young man of no more than twenty years, complete with thick spectacles.  As he clenches his fist, you swear that his hand is bathed in a sheen of dark emerald energy. _

*COMBAT*
*Eldritch Blast (Sp):* The first invocation acquired by all warlock is the _eldritch blast._  The eldritch blast is a ranged touch attack that is treated as a 1st level spell and has a range of 60 feet.  At Giovanni's current level of power, his eldritch blast deals a base of 8d6 damage (10d6 with his _Greater Chasuble of Fell Power_).

*Invocations (Sp):* Giovanni has acquired a small number of invocations that he can use.  Invocations are identical to spell-like abilities, with the exception that they have somatic components (only).  Invocations can be used at will with no limit in uses per day.  Giovanni has access to the following invocations:

*Least:*
_Eldritch Spear (Blast Shape):_ The range of _eldritch blast_ increases to 250 feet.
_See the Unseen:_ Grants Darkvision 60 feet and _see invisibility_ (24 hour duration).
_Dark One's Own Luck:_ Grants CHA bonus to one save (included with Will save above, 24 hour duration).

_*Lesser:*_
_Eldritch Chain:_ Eldritch chain bounces into 1 additional target for every 5 levels (secondary targets take half damage).
_Flee the Scene:_ Use _dimension door_ with close range (25 feet + 5 feet every 2 levels) at will, and leave behind a _major image_ of self in its place.
_Fell Flight:_ Fly at land speed with good maneuverability, 24 hour duration.

*Greater:*
_Wall of Perilous Flame:_ Use _wall of flame_ at will, but half of the damage is fire and the other half results from arcane power.  Targets that are taken to 0 hit points by a Wall of Perilous Flame are _destroyed_.
_Chilling Tentacles:_ Use _Evard's black tentacles_ at will, but creatures also take 2d6 cold damage.
_Vitriolic Blast:_ Eldritch blast deals acid damage, ignores SR, and deals 2d6 additional damage for next 3 rounds.

_*Dark:*_
_Retributive Invisibility:_ Use _greater invisibility_ at will, and deals 4d6 damage in 20 foot radius if dispelled.
_Dark Foresight:_ Use _foresight_ at will, and communicate telepathically with a close target of the effect.

_*Detect Magic (Sp):*_ Giovanni can use _detect magic_ at will.

*Deceive Item:* Giovanni can always take 10 on Use Magic Device, even if stressful situations would not normally allow him to do so (such as combat).

*Fiendish Resilience (5):* As a free action once per day, Giovanni can call upon the dark forces to heal his wounds.  He gains fast healing 5 for a duration of 2 minutes.

*Energy Resistance:* A Warlock selects two types of energy (in Havok's case, Fire and Electricity) to gain resistance (5 points).

*Imbue Item:* A Warlock with the proper item creation feats can use his Use Magic Device skill to simulate spells required in the making of items.  The DC for arcane spells is 15 + spell level, and the DC for divine spells is 25 + spell level.

*EQUIPMENT*

*General:* 
_Greater Chasuble of Fell Power, +3 Belt of Charisma, Gloves of Fortunate Striking, Tunic of Steady Spellcasting, Spellsight Spectacles, Headband of Conscious Effort, Ring of Feather Falling, Ring of Resistance +5, Talisman of the Sphere, Bracers of Health +2, Boots of Dexterity +2, "Dawn's Light" (intelligent +1 Soulfire Mithril Chain Shirt, can cast Cure Moderate Wounds 3/day and maintains a continual Deathwatch), Ioun Stone (+2 Intelligence), Ioun Stone (+2 Strength), Ioun Stone (+1 caster level), Heward's Handy Haversack, Staff of Ghostform (21 uses), 2,688 platinum pieces.

*Wands:* 
Wand of Cure Moderate [23 charges], Wand of Cure Light [35 charges], Wand of Restoration [23 charges], Wand of Mirror Image [32 charges], Wand of True Strike [49 charges], Wand of Sign [35 charges], Wand of Benign Transposition [46 charges], Wand of Comprehend Languages [44 charges], Wand of Detect Secret Doors [47 charges]

*Scrolls:* 
5 Scrolls of Silence, 5 Scrolls of Knock, 12 Scrolls of Heroics, 4 Scrolls of Blindsight, 2 Scrolls of Regroup, 3 Scrolls of Assay Resistance, 11 Scrolls of Solid Fog, 1 Scroll of Teleport, 2 Scrolls of Ghost Trap, 5 Scrolls of Time Stop, 2 Scrolls of Mordenkainen's Disjunction (18th level), 2 Scrolls of Shapechange (20th level), 2 Scrolls of Dragonshape (20th level), Scroll of Gate (20th level)_


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Night Update*

1. Havoc tries to _gate_ in some help.  He is successful . . . sort of.  He is very tactful and not at all demanding.

2. The party follows the trail of _Balakarde's Everfull Purse_ to . . .

3. A remote fortress populated by hydras.  The owner of said fortress tries to parlay w/ the League but Faust responds.  He is very demanding and not at all tactful.

4. High level combat ensues; some highlights:

a) Grubber gets owned by a table (a mere nightstand mind you, not even a full dining set)

b) Lots of holes are _disintegrated_ in the fortress

c) We see a half dozen _dispel magics_ bandied about not to mention a couple of _time stops_, a liberal dash of _timeless body_, and walls galore including _blade barriers_, _prismatic walls_, _walls of force_, and _walls of perilous flame._

5. Faust returns to his undead lovin' ways but the League puts a quick stop to that.


----------



## gfunk

*Faust "Holocaust" Cenodoxus (Kineticist 19)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------

*Medium Abberation (Elan)*
*Hit Dice:* 19d4+76+16 (141 hp)
*Initiative: *+2 (+12 w/ Hawk's _Motivate Dexterity_ Aura)
*Speed:* Move 40' (8 squares)
*Armor Class:* 21, 12 touch, 19 flat-footed
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +9/+8
*Attack:* +11 ranged touch, +6 melee touch
*Full Attack:* +11 ranged touch, +6 melee touch
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Psionics
*Special Qualities:* Naturally Psionic, Resistance, Resilience, Repletion
*Saves:* Fort +16, Ref +14, Will +20
*Abilities:* Str 8, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 30, Wis 16, Cha 8
*Skills:* Autohypnosis +25, Concetration +36, Knowledge (Arcana) +46, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +43, Knowledge (Nature) +43, Knowledge (The Planes) +43, Knowledge (Religion) +46, Psicraft +22, Spellcraft +24
*Feats:* Noncombatant (Flaw), Psionic Mastery, Privileged Energy [Fire], Power Penetration, Greater Power Penetration, Psionic Meditation, Psionic Body, Overchannel, Expanded Knowledge (Evade Burst), Expanded Knowledge (Contigency (Psi)), Maximize Power, Quicken Power, Extend Power
*Environment:* Somewhere fiighting monsters w/ a lot of non-associated class levels
*Organization:* Solitary or Murder (Joachim, Ika et al)
*Challenge Rating:* 19
*Treasure:* Goods
*Alignment:* True Neutral

_Despite his repulsive exterior and atrophied body, this humanoid-shaped, cloaked figure has an intellect that eclipses even that of the eldest wyrms.  And power to match . . ._

*Naturally Psionic:* Faust gains 2 bonus power points at 1st level. This benefit does not grant him the ability to manifest powers unless they gain that ability through another source, such as levels in a psionic class.

*Resistance (Su):* Faust can use psionic energy to increase his resistance to various forms of attack. As an immediate action, he can spend 1 power point to gain a +4 racial bonus on saving throws until the beginning of his next action.

*Resilience (Su):* When Faust takes damage, he can spend power points to reduce its severity. As an immediate action, he can reduce the damage he is about to take by 2 hit points for every 1 power point he spends.

*Repletion (Su):* Faust can sustain his body without need of food or water. If he spends 1 power point, Faust does not need to eat or drink for 24 hours.

*Psioncs (Sp):* Faust has a power point pool of 408. His DC to resist powers is 20 + power level (subject to augmentation) (21 + power level for psychokinetic powers)

*1st:* _Inertial Armor, Vigor, Precognition Defensive, Crystal Shard, Synchronicity_

*2nd:* _Energy Missile, Damp Power, Psychoportive Shelter, Ego Whip_

*3rd:* _Energy Cone, Energy Wall, Dispel Psionics, Touchsight_

*4th:* _Control Body, Energy Ball, Dimension Door (Psi), Energy Adaptation, Telekinetic Manuever_

*5th:* _Power Resistance, Anticipatory Strike, Energy Current, Celestial Conduit_

*6th:* _Disintegrate (Psi), Dispelling Buffer, Temporal Acceleration, Contingency (Psi)_

*7th:* _Mind Blank (Personal), Reddopsi, Evade Burst, Energy Wave_

*8th:* _Recall Death, Shadow Body, Greater Teleport (Psi), Telekinetic Sphere (Psi)_

*9th:* _Assimilate, Timeless Body, Tornado Blast_

*EQUIPMENT*

_Headband of Intellect +6, Gloves of Health +4, Bracers of Dexterity +4, Psionatrix of Psychokinesis, Third Eye of Concentration, Cloak of Resistance +5, Ring of Evasion, Ring of Power Preservation (Gift from Melchor Harpell), Dojre of Mindlink (8th level, 22 charges), Several CMW/CSW potions, 1 Scroll of Greater Spell Immunity, Boots of Striding and Springing, +1 Mithral Chain Shirt of Soulfire, +5 Mithral Buckler, Balakarde's Everful Purse_

*Balakarde's Everful Purse*
Crafted by the great Mage Balakarde, this minor artifact always starts the day with 25 gp if a single gold coin is placed in it the day before.  In addition, its owner enjoys a +2 luck bonus to Int and Wis as well as a +10 insight bonus on Knowledge and Spellcraft checks.


----------



## gfunk

Did Havoc use a _silence_ scroll on this thread?  Where is all the witty banter?  Advice from readers for further powergaming optimization?  Rules we overlooked?

I like pie.


----------



## Tearlach

Hmm I thought replies were deleted anyways 

Okay witty banter...Isnt it spelt Malchor Harpell....

Oh golly that was lame.

Keep up the good work lads


----------



## demiurge1138

Tearlach said:
			
		

> Hmm I thought replies were deleted anyways



Quiet, you. That was an accident. The entire ENWorld board crash was not a conspiracy by SH writers to clear the clutter from their threads. No sir. Not at all...

No, really, it wasn't.

Why are you looking at me like that?

Demiurge out.


----------



## R-Hero

20th Level Hawk.

*Senior Civilar Hawkins Veritas, Daggerford Marshal 
A.K.A  Captain Hawk  (PalCW 6/Annointed Knight 10/Fighter 2/Marshal 1)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Aasimar (Outsider)*
*Hit Dice:* 18d10+77/1d8+4 (225 hp)
*Initiative:* +10
*Speed:* Move 20ft  (W/Divine Vigor) 30ft  
*Armor Class:* 38/48 (Base 10+0 Dex, +18 Armor/Shield: Nat +5: Def +2, Ring +3), 
23/33 touch, *Divine Sheild + buffs = A.C. 50+/-*
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +25/20/15/10 
*Full Attack:* +28/23/18/13/28/(+28)
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Daylight
*Special Qualities:* _Outsider Traits_ 
Cold, Electricity and Acid Resistance 5 
Darkvision 60ft, Damage Reduction 3/-, No Dual Nature, Subtype: Native

_*Paladin*_ Smite Evil, Remove Disease, Special Mount, Turn Undead 17x a day 
Lay on Hands (60hps), Aura of Courage, Aura of Good, 
Blessed Weapon, Detect Evil, Divine Grace, Divine Health.

_*Annointed Knight*_ 
Unbroken Flesh (DR 3/-), 
Inspired Strike, Free Action Extra Attack at Highest Attack bonus 3x a day
Deep Strike, Free Action 2d6 Extra Damage 3x a day
Divine Clarity: Charisma +1

_*Fighter*_
Weapon and Armor proficiencies,  Fighter Feats x2

_*Marshal*_ 
Skill Focus, Diplomacy  (Free Feat)
Minor Aura.  Motivate Dexterity.  Add Cha bonus to all allies on dexterity checks and initive
(Yes, I can add +10, by yelling, to Move silenly and Hide checks  )

*Saves:* Fort +33, Ref +19, Will +26

*Abilities:* Str 20, Dex 10, Con 18, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 30

*Skills:* 
Concentration +20, Diplomacy +37, Sense Motive +8, 

*Feats:* Innatentive (Flaw), Armor and Shield Proficiency, 
Improved Toughness
Blind Fight, Cleave, Power Attack, Improved Shield Bash, 
Ancestrial Relic, Exotic Weapon Proficiency; Bastard Sword, Flay Foe, 
Skill Focus, Diplomacy
Shield Specialization, (+1 to any Shield)
Shield Ward  (Add Shield Bonus to Touch AC, Grapple, Bullrush, Disarm Checks =+7/17)
Ranged Precision (Team Feat)
*Divine Feats * Divine Might, Vigor and Shield 21x a day
*Environment:* Anywhere I Please (as long as Helm O.K.s it.)
*Organization:* Company C.O. (WaterDeep) or Special Forces (The League)
*Alignment:* Lawful Good

*COMBAT*
*Quaero:* 
_+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst_ 
+25/20/15/10/25/(+25 w/ Inspired Strike 3x a day) 
Damage 1d10+8. Divine Might +10 per hit,  Flay Foe +1d6 for each hit after first
Quickened Holy or Lightning Damage 2d6, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day

*+3 Bashing Spiked Shield* +25/20/15/10/(+25 Inspired Strike) 
Damage 2d6+8. Divine Might +10 per hit, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day


*EQUIPMENT* , 
Helm of Teleportation (Greasy and Soot stained from the Anonomous Fabler)
+6 Cloak of Charisma (Headband sold, Room for Helmet) 
+4 Belt of Strength (Copy of Champions Game Belt)
+5 Amulet Natural armor 
+3 Vest of Resistance
+2 Soul Fire Full Plate Armor
+4 Bracers of Health 
+5 Bashing Spiked Shield, 
+3 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed and Burst x3
Dusty Rose Ioun Stone (A.C.)
Pale Green Ioun Stone  (+ to d20 rolls)
Golembane Gloves, 
Glove of Storing, Sold 
Rings, Freedom of Movement & Protection +3
Cape of the Mountebank Sold
Winged Boots
Rivivify Diamond
Nightstick x2
Potions: 
Fly x5, Silversheen x3, Cure Serious x??, Cure Mod x??, 
Non-Detection x3, Undetectable Alignment x3


*Quaero Veritas 
Awakened Ancestrial Relic *
Int 14,  Wis 14,  Cha 10  _Ego 12 _ 
Communication. Speech, Telepathy with Hawk only
Languages.  Giant, Abyssal, Common
Primary Abilities: Zone of Truth 3x a day, Locate Object 3x aday


----------



## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> Did Havoc use a _silence_ scroll on this thread?  Where is all the witty banter?  Advice from readers for further powergaming optimization?  Rules we overlooked?
> 
> I like pie.





I have found out what makes powergamers.  Scientific proof that it is *Genetic*.

My 15 y/o son came down to 'Bama for the summer visit.  Told me he was gaming with some freinds from school.  I asked how he was liking it.  
His quote was, without any input from me, 

"Its a fun game, but the role-playing part...kinda sucks."

Brings a tear to my eye...Just like the day he started getting interested in girls.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Hopefully one Day soon I can Find the Time to Post Makaleth Grubber's Favorite Flying Goliath.


----------



## Hammerhead

R-Hero said:
			
		

> I have found out what makes powergamers.  Scientific proof that it is *Genetic*.
> 
> My 15 y/o son came down to 'Bama for the summer visit.  Told me he was gaming with some freinds from school.  I asked how he was liking it.
> His quote was, without any input from me,
> 
> "Its a fun game, but the role-playing part...kinda sucks."
> 
> Brings a tear to my eye...Just like the day he started getting interested in girls.




So what's he playing? Can we help optimize his character?


----------



## Tearlach

I must say, I do love the name of Hawks Sword

"Truth Seeker" is the translation if my rusty Latin is good for anything.


----------



## R-Hero

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> So what's he playing? Can we help optimize his character?




He's just getting started. He has said he likes wizards/spellcasters. 
I've promised him my old 3.0 core rulebooks and he's been bugging me to find them. 
(_and_ a battle map _and _ some dice _and_ some mini's...etc)  

With him here til the end of July, I don't think he is in a current module.

He _has_ been reading bits of this Story Hour.  It's bound to rub off.
I think I'll surprise him with an Expanded Psionics before he goes back.


----------



## R-Hero

Tearlach said:
			
		

> I must say, I do love the name of Hawks Sword
> 
> "Truth Seeker" is the translation if my rusty Latin is good for anything.




Veritas = Truth  (Can cast Zone of Truth 3x a day)
Quaero = Search (Can cast Locate Object 3x a day)

I've used Veritas as the last name of (almost) every paladin I've played.
When I rolled the intelligent abilities and came up with them, I had to find the latin name for Locate/Search.

Seems an appropriate side arm for a law enforcement officer, yes?


----------



## Schmoe

Wow, judging by the party levels (and number), it looks like the party is a bit ahead of the power curve.  So JollyDoc, any thought on scaling the adventure?


----------



## JollyDoc

Tearlach said:
			
		

> I must say, I do love the name of Hawks Sword
> 
> "Truth Seeker" is the translation if my rusty Latin is good for anything.





Wait a minute!  Are you sh**ing me??  Fred actually speaks Latin??  The boy can barely speak English!!


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:
			
		

> Wow, judging by the party levels (and number), it looks like the party is a bit ahead of the power curve.  So JollyDoc, any thought on scaling the adventure?




Well, there are now officially five members of the League left, and most are EL 19, but character level 18.  Looking ahead, I don't think scaline, per se will be needed...That said, I did add some interesting "loose ends"  to the encounter they just finished.


----------



## Joachim

Schmoe said:
			
		

> Wow, judging by the party levels (and number), it looks like the party is a bit ahead of the power curve.  So JollyDoc, any thought on scaling the adventure?




We are actually behind the level curve...but probably about right as far as the power curve.


----------



## Zaruthustran

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Night Update*
> 
> 
> a) Grubber gets owned by a table (a mere nightstand mind you, not even a full dining set)




A _mere_ nightstand? Do you not know that the nightstand is the most dangerous of furniture?

http://elothtes.pbwiki.com/Nightstand

http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/26 (that's from a story arc started here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/19, or more specifically, here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/11/07)


----------



## JollyDoc

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> A _mere_ nightstand? Do you not know that the nightstand is the most dangerous of furniture?
> 
> http://elothtes.pbwiki.com/Nightstand
> 
> http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/26 (that's from a story arc started here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/05/19, or more specifically, here: http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2005/11/07)





Especially when they can...well, you'll find out


----------



## JollyDoc

Editor's Note:  The reason there has been no update this weekend is because we did not game today (the 17th), so I'm taking a little longer time to get the current update ready.  It will be up sometime this coming week.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Your updates are worth waiting for, JollyDoc! 

(Not that we like doing it, though...  )


----------



## R-Hero

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Wait a minute!  Are you sh**ing me??  Fred actually speaks Latin??  The boy can barely speak English!!





*Me fail english, That's unpossible!!*


Seriously, hurry up and update.  Didn't play last week _and_ no S.H.  
I've got d20 withdrawl.  

(REEEEEELY lookng forward to this update!!  Should be a good'un.)


----------



## JollyDoc

R-Hero said:
			
		

> *Me fail english, That's unpossible!!*
> 
> 
> Seriously, hurry up and update.  Didn't play last week _and_ no S.H.
> I've got d20 withdrawl.
> 
> (REEEEEELY lookng forward to this update!!  Should be a good'un.)




It's coming.  With any luck, up by Friday.


----------



## JollyDoc

BE OUR GUEST

“Our numbers may be dwindling, my friends,” Giovanni said to his four remaining companions, “but never fear.  I am nothing if not resourceful.”  The warlock swept open his cloak, where no fewer than two dozen rolls of parchment lay tucked into small sleeves.  Picking one, seemingly at random, he unfurled it and began to read.  As the words faded from the scroll, a shimmer appeared in the air.  It began to swirl and widen until a large rip in the fabric of reality hummed before them.  Blinding white light poured from it.
“Come, Lord of Angels,” Giovanni intoned.  “I have need of your service, and offer you service in kind.”  Music seemed to swell from the portal, the beautiful mingled voices of a heavenly choir.  As it faded, the sounds of battle, steel on steel, echoed in the distance.  Suddenly, a large being stepped through the Gate.  He was, quite simply, perfect in every way.  His golden skin shown like a crown, and his white, feathery wings were free of any stain.  He wore a simple robe, but a gleaming, razor-edged sword was gripped in one hand, black blood dripping from it. 
“I am Augustine,” the angel intoned, his voice at once melodic and hard as iron.  “Why have you called me from the field of battle?”
“My lord,” Giovanni said, kneeling, “these dark times require the most desperate of measures.  I have called you to this plane to beg you for assistance in our struggle against the coming Age of Worms.  Kyuss is going to return to our world, and with his rebirth will come the death of untold millions.  We five are all that remain of those who can stop the Worm Lord and his minions from invoking the coming slaughter.  But we cannot succeed alone.  The foe between us and an end to the threat is the mighty dracolich Dragotha, a Wyrm of Legend.  It is through Dragotha that we believe Kyuss will be restored to power.  We have destroyed the dracolich’s phylactery, and now all that remains is to destroy his physical form.  Join us in our fight to save Faerun.  Several days may be required to find and defeat our enemy.  Before you I have placed a sum of two-thousand pieces of platinum, more than the normal fee for the services of one of your power.  I ask that you travel with us as our companion, our defender, and our angelic sword, for no more than the next two tendays.  Once Dragotha has been laid to rest and we are certain that the Age of Worms has been stopped, our contract will end, and you may return to the Heavens knowing that your efforts helped save millions of mortals.”

The solar considered the warlock’s words for several long moments before speaking again.  “I am no mortal’s lackey or hired sword.  You speak of world-altering events on your home plane, but know that there are many such variations of planes, and the hosts of Celestia cannot be concerned with the needs of the few.  However, your plea has touched me, and I offer you this bargain.  I will accept your token, and in exchange, you may speak my name once, and only once.  At that time, wherever you may be, on this plane or another, I will hear, and I will come to you, and I will stand with you against any foe.”  The angel gestured and the platinum coins disappeared.  Without a backwards glance, he returned through the Gate from which he’d come, closing the portal with a loud ‘pop.’

“Be wary of the bargains that you make,” Faust said in a low voice.  “The lines between angel and devil sometimes blur when such powerful forces meddle in the affairs of mortals.”
________________________________________________________

Faust still felt the purse pulling him south and east.  Weary of slogging through the endless miles of the fissure, he requested for Giovanni to again provide swift aerial transport.  Before Grubber could protest, the psion assured him that as soon as they reached their goal, Hawk would come back for him.  Grubber wasn’t pleased, but was outvoted, and so was forced to await his companions outside the Apostle’s cave.

Moving on a blowing zephyr, the companions followed the path chosen for them by Faust, finally reaching a towering mesa in a matter of minutes, but having covered a distance of several miles.  To the top of the mesa they continued, climbing some two-thousand feet above the rift floor.  There, on its far eastern edge, was a strange, squat fortress made of red marble, its low walls smooth and polished.  There were few sharp corners on the keep, giving it an almost organic look.  
“This looks like the place,” Faust said as Havok dismissed the air walking spell.  “Hawk, we’ll wait here while you go and fetch our land-locked friend.”  
The civilar nodded and vanished with a touch to his helmet.  Moments later, he reappeared, Grubber at his side, and the team set out towards the distant fortress.

As they formed up before a pair of lowered portcullises, the group could just make out the details of a ruined courtyard beyond.  On its far side stood the main keep, its twin entrances similarly barred.  A pair of narrow arrow slits gazed darkly from the walls on either side of the entryways.  Faust and Havok had assumed their usual defensive forms, the former’s body clad in wispy shadows, and the latter invisible.  Both of them were positioned, however, so that they could see the far corners of the courtyard through the gates, and so it was they who first noticed the watch dogs.  The pair of creatures was monstrous, fully thirty feet or more in length.  They had four legs, and pincer tails, and they were red in coloration, deepening to a darker orange on their underbellies.  They were vaguely draconic in shape, save that in place of heads, they had enormous central maws, each surrounded by a ring of eight snake-like heads.  As they leaped to their feet, they let out rumbling, bone-shaking roars.
‘I know these creatures,’ Faust said through the mind-link he shared with each of his companions.  ‘They’re called thessalhydras, named for the liche Thessalar, who has been credited with the creation of chuuls, owlbears, gricks, rust monsters, and mimics, along with various and sundry other aberrations.  This just might prove very interesting.’
_____________________________________________________

Thessalar’s attention was drawn from his study of the enormous vat of protolife in the center of his lab.  The din raised by his pets meant that he had guests.  He detested guests.  They interfered with his research, and were a general waste of time.
“It would seem our experiment will have to wait a bit longer,” he said to his colleagues.  “I’ll see what they want and see them off, but just in case they prove to be the stubborn types, you two had best prepare yourselves.”
The two men nodded, and each one moved to one of the arrow slits as they began casting preparatory spells upon themselves.
_______________________________________________________

A spear of emerald, eldritch energy lanced through the nearest hydra as it charged the gate.  Another deafening roar emanated from its jaws, followed by an obscene gurgling sound.  Suddenly, the creature spat out a glob of bilious, steaming fluid between the bars of the portcullis.  It struck Grubber full on, and the goliath immediately felt his skin begin to blister and burn.  Worse yet, his armor and shield also began to pit and dissolve in places.  Then, the priest felt an intense burning sensation upon his brow.  Brushing his hand across his forehead, he knocked a melted, oozing mass of metal to the ground.  As comprehension dawned on him, Grubber felt his gut tighten in knots.  It was Zosiel’s headband.  It was ruined!

Just then the second thessalhydra charged the gate, ramming its massive bulk straight into it.  The bars groaned, but did not give, and the monster retreated a few steps, preparing for another run.  At that moment, a figure appeared in the center of the courtyard.  It was human in shape, but the bones protruding from beneath its stretched, parchment-like skin, and the twin green flames glowing in its hollow eye sockets identified it as anything but.  It was garbed in the ancient ruins of once-fine robes, and a diadem sat upon its bald brow.  Instantly the thessalhydras ceased their roars and bowed low before the liche.
“I am Thessalar,” the creature said in a raspy, yet powerful voice, “and this is my home.  Why have you come here?  You disturb my peace!”
“We have come seeking to forestall the coming Age of Worms,” Hawk replied stoically.  
“And how would this concern me?” Thessalar demanded.
Faust eyed the liche with curiosity, and then closed his eyes.  As he’d suspected, he could not detect the creature’s presence with his Touchsight.  It was an illusion of some sort.
“We are here to kill you and then take everything you own,” the psion stated flatly.  As one, his companions gaped at him in stunned silence.  “Now, be gone!”  A wave of mental null-magic emanated from élan, and as quickly as he had appeared, the liche vanished.  Immediately, the hydras turned their attention back to their out-of-reach prey, and began bellowing once more.  
“I grow bored of this,” Faust said, and in a whip-flash of blue light, the nearest beast howled like a whipped cure and curled into a ball on the ground, its ego crushed by the psychic attack.
“It was merely a projected image,” the psion said in explanation to the others.  “The liche is in there somewhere, and I figured this would be the best way to flush him out.”
“You certainly have a unique way with people,” Havok said, rolling his eyes.

Since Faust had declared open war, the other members of the League had no choice but to follow.  Havok quickly divided the courtyard in half with a crackling wall of green fire, catching both Thessalhydras in the midst of the conflagration.  Spreading his wings, Mak leaped to the top of the wall, and then glided to the ground on the other side.  Hawk was only seconds behind him, his winged boots carrying him aloft.  As the goliath touched down near the hydra still capable of defending itself, the beast lashed out at him, but Mak easily evaded the clumsy attack.  His own assault found its mark, however, slashing off two of the writhing, snake-like heads.  The hydra began retreating slowly back, removing itself from the burning flames and placing the wall between itself and Mak.  Suddenly, a second wall erupted behind the hydra, cutting off its line of withdrawal.
__________________________________________________________

“I told you they would not be duped by your diplomatic overtures,” Thessalar’s guest said.  “They’re zealots!  They are only capable of seeing their own narrow-minded point of view!”
“He’s right,” came a second voice from the shadows, “They cannot be reasoned with, at least most of them.  The psion, however…He’s a wild card.  When the time comes, I may be able to make him see the light.”
“Be that as it may,” Thessalar said with a dismissive wave.  “I will not brook such insolence, especially not in my own home!  If there are any survivors, you may do with them as you wish, but until then, I will spare no effort to destroy them!”  With a gesture, the liche conjured a shimmering, rainbow-hued wall of pure energy at the far side of the lab, blocking the twin gates which were the only ways in.  Then he walked casually over to a small, wooden table tucked into a far corner.  
“This will do nicely,” he chuckled.  
____________________________________________________________

Just as Grubber began scaling the outer wall, like some grotesque, hairless spider, he felt a tingle of magical energy behind him.  Turning his head he saw a huge, purple-skinned giant standing not five feet from him.  He was positive the behemoth had not been there a moment earlier.  Hawk saw the giant appear as well, just as he reached the top of the wall.  Mak seemed to have things with the hydra well in hand, and so the civilar leaped into the air again, and dove at the newest threat.  The giant glanced up at the last second, but Hawk was already on him, slashing with Quaero at his unprotected head.  Blood poured from the savage wounds inflicted by the blade, and the skin around the cuts was blistered and burned from the electricity coursing through the ancient sword.  Throughout the devastating attack, the giant did not utter a sound, nor wince in pain.  Even when two violent eldritch blasts from Havok scorched even more of his flesh, he remained stoic.  Instead, he maintained his focus on Grubber, gesturing at the goliath almost casually.  Grubber’s eyes went wide as he felt his precious magical defenses vanishing, one after the other.  A Dispelling field!  It was only then that the giant finally raised his huge sword.  Two blows he struck, the second almost amputating the goliath’s leg at mid-thigh.  Desperately Grubber clung to the wall, waiting for the next blow that would end his life.
“Why won’t you die?” Hawk cursed, whirling and chopping with Quaero again and again.  His final blow severed the large strap muscle on the left side of the giant’s neck, and his head lolled limply in that direction.  Soundlessly he collapsed, but as he did so, his body shimmered and changed.  Lying on the ground at the base of the wall was a simple, wooden, table.

Mak continued to spar with the Thessalhydra, landing several blows while easily avoiding the creature’s counterattacks.  Suddenly, the beast’s central maw opened wide and a gobbet of acidic mucous was spat out.  Mak leaped aside, suffering only a glancing blow.  At the same time, the hydra retreated several steps…backing directly into Havok’s second wall of flame.  It screamed as the flames engulfed it completely, leaving nothing but a pile of ash where it had stood.

Faust felt his Mindlink with Grubber wink out the moment the giant’s spell had gone off, and he knew from Hawk what had transpired.  He smiled to himself as he made his way around the far right side of the fortress, knowing that the goliath would never live this down, especially not with Mak.  The psion finally reached a narrow arrow slit and peered cautiously into an empty room beyond.  A door stood closed on the far wall.
‘Time to crash this party,’ he announced to the others through the mental link.  Concentrating, he sent a thin, green beam of energy lancing through the window, striking the wall and door beyond.  Instantly, they vanished, disintegrated into a pile of fine rubble.  Beyond, he saw several things at once.  First, in the center of a large laboratory of some sort, stood a large cylinder, ten feet in diameter, and reaching all the way from floor to ceiling.  Within, blood, flesh, eyes, mouths and less identifiable organs churned and swirled in a vortex of organic color.  The gentle tug in his mind suddenly intensified.  Nearer to hand, standing just on the other side of the vanished wall, was a tall, gaunt creature.  Where its abdomen should have been, instead was held the twisted form of a small humanoid, trapped in the creature’s rib cage.  It was a devourer.  Faust had heard of the undead creatures before.  They fed on the life force of those they killed, using it to channel their own magical abilities.  It turned towards him, and the imprisoned homunculus pointed one stubby finger at him.  An emerald ray streaked towards him, but he managed to duck behind the cover of the wall before it struck.
_________________________________________________________

“Ah, our guests have arrived,” Thessalar hissed as the far wall of the lab disappeared.  His companion’s minion was already taking the offensive.  
“Why don’t we let them have some time alone together?” he chuckled, creating an invisible wall of pure force directly behind the devourer, sealing it inside the guard chamber with whomever had been stupid enough to try and enter.
__________________________________________________________

‘Jackpot!’ Faust crowed through the Mindlink.  ‘If the rest of you aren’t to busy, would you care to join me?’
Grubber did not hear the psion’s words, as he quickly called upon Grumbar to mend his wounds before he lost consciousness.  As the soothing balm of the spell washed over him, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Are you ok?” the civilar asked.
“Now I am,” the priest replied, glaring evilly at the inert table on the ground below.
“Good,” nodded Hawk.  “Faust needs us.”

Mak had just delivered a coup de grace to the helpless thessalhydra Faust had mentally devastated when he heard the psion’s call.  He flew from the courtyard, to the roof above where his comrade stood, watching Hawk and Grubber’s approach.  He had to put a hand discreetly over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as his brother walked past him, eyes never meeting his.

Havok had his own plan.  ‘I’ll meet you inside,’ he told the others.  ‘Just give me the word.’  Clutching his staff, he spoke its command word, transforming his body into the ethereal form of a ghost.  Then, he whisked himself between dimensions, appearing just beneath the ground below a second arrow slit of the main keep.

Faust joined Grubber, Mak and Hawk on the roof, walking up the wall as if it were horizontal ground in his shadowy form.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll make a hole,” he said.  Hawk nodded, gripping Quaero tightly, and readying his shield.  Again Faust concentrated, and another disintegration beam pierced the roof at his feet, opening a ten-foot wide hole into the chamber below.  Not hesitating, the psion dropped down.  The large room was indeed some sort of research workroom, with most of the wall space covered by shelves filled with all sorts of alchemical apparatus.  It was then that Faust noticed the two figures standing nearby, one of them invisible, just in front of the large vat he had seen earlier.  Recognition dawned on him instantly, and the barest hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Filge and Moreto,” he said, nodding to the necromancer and the ghoul noble, while simultaneously transmitting everything he saw to his comrades.
“I told you we would meet again,” Moreto said, smiling as well.  “It doesn’t have to be as enemies, you know?  Our agenda does not necessarily conflict with your own.  Leave now, I beg you, or I cannot be held responsible for your fates at Thessalar’s hands.”
“Bah!” spat the disembodied voice of Filge.  “I told you they were zealots!  They won’t be satisfied by anything save bloodshed!  They are uncouth simpletons, always leading with their swords instead of their heads!”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Master Filge,” Thessalar’s voice came from the far side of the room.  Faust felt the tell-tale tingle of magic around him, as he was suddenly encased in a cage of force.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, wagging his finger.  “Now you’ve just gone and made everyone mad.”

Havok’s insubstantial form abruptly stepped from the wall.  A scroll was already in the warlock’s hand, and as he unfurled it, time stopped.  He quickly took note of the positions of both his enemies and his allies.  Filge and Thessalar stood in relative proximity to each other.  It was around them that he wove an area of silence, utilizing a second scroll.  Quickly, he conjured two interlocking walls of putrid, green flame, catching the liche at their intersection.  The last thing he did before time’s flow resumed, was to conjure a nest of waving, tentacular worms in the same area where he had placed the silenced zone.  Between one eye blink and another, Thessalar was seized by one of the hawser-sized tentacles.  The strange, worm-ridden flames seared him, but did not inflict near the damage they might have, due to the his own wards.  Nevertheless, he was trapped, unable to bring his magic to bear.

Hawk was in motion as soon as he saw Havok’s handiwork.  He dove through the hole, and into the waving tentacles, ignoring the bone-chilling cold that emanated from them.  He stabbed once at the entangled liche, wishing only that he could hear the horrid creature’s screams.

Effortlessly, Faust disintegrated the walls of his prison, stepping casually towards Thessalar.  The smile never leaving his lips, he then opened a mental conduit between the liche and the Positive Energy plane, filling the undead wizard with the life-giving energy that was anathema to his kind.  

Filge moved easily through the tentacle field.  Moreto had warned him long ago of the tactics of the League, and he had prepared himself accordingly.  He stepped just to the edge of the zone of silence, and then turned back towards the paladin menacing Thessalar.  Drawing upon the innate dark magic imbued upon him with his ever-deepening immersion in necromancy, he wove a spell around the civilar, using only his mind.  Hawk had felt the sensation before:  moisture being drawn from his body, his mouth and eyes going dry, the sweat evaporating from his skin.  

Moreto knew the League, and he knew that if he and Filge were to have any chance at all, they would need Thessalar’s help.  The true ghoul therefore concentrated his efforts on the magic binding the liche.  He wove a dispelling field through the area, causing one of the flaming walls to be snuffed out.  Sound also returned, and with it, Thessalar’s ability to cast spells.  The liche struggled to put the pain from the flames and the crushing strength of the tentacles out of his head.  He spoke a single arcane word, expecting to be instantly whisked free of his predicament.  Nothing happened.
“Time’s up,” Grubber said as he dropped into the room.  He stretched both hands out and then brought them together with a loud smack.  A screen of whirling, slashing blades appeared out of thin air, tearing through Thessalar.  The wizard wailed, his cries disappearing as if down a deep hole as his body crumbled.

“I’m sorry old friend,” Moreto called to Filge, “but this is where we part company.”  The ghoul lord leaped into the air, flying through the hole in the ceiling.  
“I’m on him!” Mak called from above, spreading his wings and taking off in pursuit.  Below, Filge, still invisible, scowled.  He hadn’t expected any better.  After all, it was what he would have done had the roles been reversed.  Ah well, he thought, perhaps now he would be able to pierce that final veil and see death from the other side…but not without a fight.  At that moment, the cursed warlock hurled a blast of eldritch power at him.  Filge rocked back as a second forest of tentacles erupted around him.  Fool, he thought, as he walked casually out of the trap…and came face to face with Faust.  
“Quite the defensive arsenal you’ve provided for yourself,” Faust said.  “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that!”  The psion dropped a dispelling net directly on top of the necromancer, but as he did so, a ring flashed on Filge’s hand.  Incredibly, Faust felt his own spell turned back upon him.  Fortunately, he had fully expected such a spell to at some point be targeted on him, and his own defenses dissipated it easily.  
“Can you do that twice?” he smirked.  The look on Filge’s face was all the answer the élan needed.  
“Game over,” Havok muttered, as a blast of acidic power streaked from his hand and enveloped the necromancer.  Skeletal remains were all that hit the floor.

Moreto had also rendered himself invisible, but Mak’s prescience had caused him to request Helm to gift him with the blind sight of a bat.  Thus he homed in on the fleeing ghoul easily.  As he flew, the goliath spoke another prayer to his god.  Four streamers of red ribbon shot from his fingers, surrounding Moreto.  The ghoul was brought to an abrupt halt.
“Surrender,” Mak said as he closed in.  “There is nowhere else for you to go.”  In response, Moreto unleashed a titanic blast of electricity at the goliath, but the moment he did so, the red streamers struck at him, whip-like.  To Mak’s amazement, none of them found their mark.  Though he could see the ghoul, he realized that the ribbons could not.  Cursing, he hefted his blade and rushed forward, slashing at Moreto and opening up several deep wounds, though not so much as a drop of blood spilled.
“Moreto!” a voice suddenly called from the roof of the keep.  Both opponents turned as one and saw Faust standing there.  “Filge is dead.  Once again, I offer you clemency.  You have my word of honor that if you tell me all that you have learned from the liche, I will spare you.”
“I have your vow?” Moreto asked.
“Absolutely,” the psion replied.
“What of your friends?” Moreto nodded towards Mak.
“As before,” Faust shrugged, “I do not speak for them, but come to me, and I will make good on my word.”  
Moreto nodded and flew towards the élan, Mak’s mouth hanging open as he watched his prey go.  Suddenly, a glittering, metallic form streaked from the hole behind Faust, shoving the psion to one side.  
“Not this time,” Hawk said coldly as he slammed into Moreto with his shield.  As the ghoul reeled from the impact, the civilar drove Quaero into what was once his living heart.


----------



## demiurge1138

A few things:

1. Faust is always so tactful, isn't he?
2. Nice use of the recurring NPCs.
3. Polymorph any object now might be my new favorite spell.
4. What happened to the devourer? Once the party actually ran into Filge, Moreto and Thessalar, it was seemingly forgotten.

Demiurge out.


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## JollyDoc

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> A few things:
> 
> 1. Faust is always so tactful, isn't he?
> 2. Nice use of the recurring NPCs.
> 3. Polymorph any object now might be my new favorite spell.
> 4. What happened to the devourer? Once the party actually ran into Filge, Moreto and Thessalar, it was seemingly forgotten.
> 
> Demiurge out.




1.  Faust is definately the wild card of the group.  You can always count on him to keep things interesting.

2.  Thanks...we perhaps haven't seen the last of such folks

3.  I KNOW it's mine!  One eldritch giant with quickened Greater Dispel at your service.

4.  Well, it was sort of locked in when Thessalar put up the Wall of Force.  It's still in the fortress at the moment.


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## demiurge1138

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> 4.  Well, it was sort of locked in when Thessalar put up the Wall of Force.  It's still in the fortress at the moment.



Ah, OK. Thought Faust got locked in with him. I see what I missed.

Demiurge out.


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## ltclnlbrain

It's interesting that you brought Filge and Moreto back for this encounter.  When I ran it, I had Filge with Thessalar as well, but his ally was the Vecnan priest Darl Quethos instead of the true ghoul sorcerer.

My players absolutely hate Darl.  WE finished the campaign and they never caught him.  Perhaps he shall make a return appearance once Savage Tide rolls around?


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## JollyDoc

ltclnlbrain said:
			
		

> It's interesting that you brought Filge and Moreto back for this encounter.  When I ran it, I had Filge with Thessalar as well, but his ally was the Vecnan priest Darl Quethos instead of the true ghoul sorcerer.
> 
> My players absolutely hate Darl.  WE finished the campaign and they never caught him.  Perhaps he shall make a return appearance once Savage Tide rolls around?




Our group hates Darl as well, especially since they didn't let him go.  He wreaked havoc, and then took off.  He may make a reappearance in Savage Tide as well.  There was not a compelling reason to bring him back this late in the game.


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## Neverwinter Knight

I was expecting the League would win through this encounter, but not this easily! But Faust... Did he not learn from the last time he made a deal with the ghoul? The group was trapped at the other side of the wind duke portal a few thousand miles away from Diamond Lake. (True, that didn't pose a problem for the League.)

Well played by everyone! I especially liked the strategic use of the spells/invocations like disintegrate. Certainly altered the playing field with that!


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> I was expecting the League would win through this encounter, but not this easily! But Faust... Did he not learn from the last time he made a deal with the ghoul? The group was trapped at the other side of the wind duke portal a few thousand miles away from Diamond Lake. (True, that didn't pose a problem for the League.)
> 
> Well played by everyone! I especially liked the strategic use of the spells/invocations like disintegrate. Certainly altered the playing field with that!




The League is fairly optimized for one, no-holds barred encounter, where they can prebuff and then just unload.  It's difficult for such a one-shot encounter to thouroughly challenge them.  Thessalar all by himself would have been a cake-walk.  That's one reason I brought in some of his friends.  The coming days might bring a few more challenges.


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## Quartz

Did they get Thessalar's phylactery?


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## JollyDoc

Quartz said:
			
		

> Did they get Thessalar's phylactery?




That's a negative   

Oh, and welcome to First Level Mr. Quartz!


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> The coming days might bring a few more challenges.



Yep. I definately expect at least one PC death within the next two of your sessions.  :\ It is a deadly path they're on...


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## recentcoin

I hate it when the DM starts acting all pleased with himself.  It never means anything good....

2 cents,

RC


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## gfunk

*Sunday Night Preview*

1. As a Lich, one is granted many powerful abilities.  The most powerful, of course, is immortality -- you come back in d10 days after you are slain if your phylactery is intact.  Certain circumstances may come to pass, however, when one probably feels they would be better off dead.  Principle among these is returning to your abode in d10 days to find all your personal magic items looted, your life-long research in ruins, and, perhaps worst of all, discovering that your entire set of spellbooks was pawned at a Thayan Enclave . . .   

2. Faust has the wisdom to use Diplomacy when it is required (e.g. when he's low on PP's).  The League is thus rewarded w/ the final piece of Balakarde's soul and a long discussion ensues.

3. Dragotha's Maw awaits, but Kyussian Chimeras arrive to greet us.  Since you mentioned it recentcoin (DM's acting all pleased with themselves) you'll be happy to note that the following dialogue took place in game,

DM: OK, the Chimera goes for a full attack.
*rolls 5 d20's*
DM: So, the Chimeria hits AC 53, 51, 48, 49, and 50.
Hawk: 5 swings and 5 misses.  **EAT IT!!!!**


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## JollyDoc

Gfunk forgto to mention one other highlight.  We'll call it The Last Temptation of Hawk...


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Gfunk forgto to mention one other highlight.  We'll call it The Last Temptation of Hawk...



 I think I know what you're getting at. This should be fun!


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## Sandain

Did you house rule Polymorph any Object? according to the SRD;

Unlike polymorph, polymorph any object does grant the creature the Intelligence score of its new form. If the original form didn’t have a Wisdom or Charisma score, it gains those scores as appropriate for the new form.


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## JollyDoc

Sandain said:
			
		

> Did you house rule Polymorph any Object? according to the SRD;
> 
> Unlike polymorph, polymorph any object does grant the creature the Intelligence score of its new form. If the original form didn’t have a Wisdom or Charisma score, it gains those scores as appropriate for the new form.




I gave it the giant's stats....it was just the strong, silent type.


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## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Night Preview*
> _2. Faust has the wisdom to use Diplomacy_



Gotta thank Faust for re alignment of the skills.  Rolled 60+ on Diplomacy





			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 3. _Dragotha's Maw awaits..._
> DM: OK, the Chimera goes for a full attack.
> *rolls 5 d20's*
> DM: So, the Chimeria hits AC 53, 51, 48, 49, and 50.
> Hawk: 5 swings and 5 misses.  **EAT IT!!!!**



Gotta love Divine Shield at +11.


----------



## gfunk

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Gotta thank Faust for re alignment of the skills.  Rolled 60+ on Diplomacy.




Well, let's be honest.  You rolled the d20 but did you really do the talking?


----------



## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> Well, let's be honest.  You rolled the d20 but did you really do the talking?





Hawk just sets up the meetings and schedules the appointments.

He has others to handle the paperwork.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Finally caught up again. Been reading like mad and now I'm once again joining the legions of the waiting. Only one difference this time: Now I finally appreciate what work goes in writing a good story. I can only dream of ever lifting my own story to this level of quality writing. So all I can say is: "Keep up the good work JD and may the muse never leave your side"


----------



## JollyDoc

A'vandira Silvermane said:
			
		

> Finally caught up again. Been reading like mad and now I'm once again joining the legions of the waiting. Only one difference this time: Now I finally appreciate what work goes in writing a good story. I can only dream of ever lifting my own story to this level of quality writing. So all I can say is: "Keep up the good work JD and may the muse never leave your side"




Thank you very much for your appreciation.  This story hour is definately a labor of love, but the main reason I stick with it is because of the enthusiasm of the readers for our group's tale.  Even now, the spectre of Savage Tide looms on the horizon, and I know that Ika and Joachim have already picked their characters.  I'm certain, despite my better judgement, that a third story hour will follow this one, as long as you guys keep wanting to read.


----------



## Wish

Oh, we want to read.  We definitely want to read.  It's just cruel, however, for you to post to your storyhour thread when it's not an update.  I see "JollyDoc" as the author of the most recent addition to the thread and I start twitching with anticipation.

I propose that you use a psuedonym for your psuedonym when posting non-update comments.


----------



## demiurge1138

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I'm certain, despite my better judgement, that a third story hour will follow this one, as long as you guys keep wanting to read.



Don't worry, JD. We do. Your AoW story hour has given me plenty of ideas to spice things up for my own players on this path, and your Shackled City story hour was enough to inspire me to pick up the Shackled City hardcover (I had about half the Dungeon issues in question, so it was a bit of a tough decision). Keep up the good work!

Demiurge out.


----------



## hbarsquared

I am certainly glad that beginning this _Age of Worms_ story hour was such a turning point.  I loved your _Shackled City_, but I could tell that it was becoming a drain to keep the thread updated for you, gfunk, and Joachim.  This one hasn't seemed to be nearly as wearing on you.

And I an just going to assume that you will start a _Savage Tide_ story hour, and look forward to it.  I will also assume that gfunk will be participating in that campaign.  Mr. "I'm going too be to busy to participate in the _Age of Worms_."

And I am _definitely_ looking forward to you next update!


----------



## JollyDoc

Wish said:
			
		

> Oh, we want to read.  We definitely want to read.  It's just cruel, however, for you to post to your storyhour thread when it's not an update.  I see "JollyDoc" as the author of the most recent addition to the thread and I start twitching with anticipation.
> 
> I propose that you use a psuedonym for your psuedonym when posting non-update comments.





Twitch no more, my friend....

UNIFICATION


It was the work of only a few moments for Havok, still in his ghostly form, to track down the errant devourer servant of Filge, and dispatch the creature with a few well placed walls of perilous flames.  Afterwards, he gathered with the others in the liche’s lab.  Faust was closely examining the large vat of protolife.  After a moment, he stepped back, ordering the others to do the same.  Concentrating, he sent of mental shard of purest crystal lancing towards the container.  It bounced off and dissipated, leaving not a mark in its wake.  Faust tilted his head quizzically.
“Hawk, Mak,” he said, “if the two of you would be so kind and smash the glass for me.”  
The pair looked at him dubiously, but stepped forward nonetheless.  Standing on opposite sides, they each swung their blades with all the power they could muster.  Both swords were nearly jarred out of their wielder’s hand at the impact.  The vat was unharmed.
“Just as I thought,” Faust nodded.  “Force effect.  Stand clear everyone!”
Once more, the others withdrew a respectful distance as the psion loosed a pale green disintegration ray.  As soon as it struck, the walls of the container vanished, leaving the churning pillar of goo momentarily suspended in mid-air.  Then it began to collapse on itself, but as it did, it seemed to coalesce and change shape before their eyes.  In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the protolife had transformed into another thessalhydra, standing right in the middle of the cramped laboratory.  It roared in rage, its bellow near deafening in the confined quarters.

Sensing danger the moment the protolife was released, Havok was the first to act.  An eldritch blast of emerald energy lanced from his hand and struck the hydra, and then the warlock quickly flew up to the ceiling and through it.  He knew his own limitations, and close-quarter melee was among the top three.

Grubber was far more pragmatic.  Remembering what had happened the last time he’d stood toe-to-toe with one of the hydras, he spoke the words to a prayer, and wove a protective ward around himself, Mak and Hawk, shielding them from the creature’s acidic spittle.

Faust rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know what all the concern is about,” he sneered as he sent a whip-like tendril of mental energy at the hydra.  He was genuinely surprised when, unlike its brother, the hydra did not curl into a fetal, whimpering ball.
“Um…perhaps I spoke to soon,” he mumbled.
At that moment, a gurgling sound emanated from the thessalhydra’s central mouth, and a wad of viscous sputum was coughed up, splattering Hawk and Mak.  The civilar and goliath nodded their thanks to Grubber as the vitriolic slime rolled harmlessly off of them.  The duo then closed on the brute, Mak’s sword slashing into its thick hide.  The wound, however, began to close almost immediately.  As the goliath started to retreat a step, one of the hydra’s snake-like heads lashed out, sinking its fangs into his arm.

At that moment, Havok reappeared in one of the small guard rooms adjacent to the lab.  From there he had a good view of the battle, yet still at a safe distance.  Lifting his hands, he raised a wall of worm-ridden flames through the hydra’s flank, well away from his companions.  The hydra roared again as the eldritch fire began searing its flesh.  Hawk seized the momentary distraction to strike, Quaero a blur of motion as it thrust and stabbed again and again, severing one of the hydra’s heads completely.  Mak struck simultaneously, landing two staggering blows with his bastard sword.  
“Wait!” Faust cried, as he rushed towards the critically wounded behemoth.  “Don’t kill it!  Let me assimilate it!”  Just as he closed within range of the pain-maddened beast, however, another of its heads lashed out at him, seizing him in its jaws and then dropping him straight into the gaping central maw and down the thessalhydra’s gullet.
“Sorry old friend,” Havok smiled.  “Maybe next time.”  He loosed one last eldritch blast, and the hydra collapsed, liquefying once more into inert protolife, leaving Faust lying on the floor, drenched in reeking slime.

No sooner had the hydra vanished, than Giovanni suddenly felt a presence in his mind.  It spoke to him of rage and bloody revenge.  It thirsted for retribution against the one that had imprisoned it…Dragotha.  
“I think we found what we were seeking,” the warlock said to his companions.  “Can you feel it Faust?”  
“The only thing I can feel is snot!” the psion snapped, but then his eyes grew distant, and he turned his head south.  “Wait…yes, I sense it now.  The final piece.”
“South,” Giovanni confirmed.
_________________________________________________

Before departing, the group thoroughly searched Thessalar’s abode, turning up mountains of information on the liche’s research.  It seemed that Thessalar had come to the Fissure two decades ago, drawn by rumors of how Kyuss had somehow managed to use a living creature as a vector for undeath.  Thessalar hoped to expand on this research, but it proved fruitless.  At this point in the journals, the liche mentioned someone named Zulshyn.  The person was apparently female, and it was equally apparent that the liche was obsessed with her.  The past decade or more that he had spent in the Fissure had been used to research a way to magically transport protolife directly into Zulshyn’s body, thus binding her to Thessalar forever.  The whole, sordid tale made for repulsive reading, at best.  Also among the wizard’s belongings, the League came across his veritable library of spell books.  These they hastily stuffed into an extradimensional portable hole for safekeeping, certain that they could sell the trove of knowledge for a tidy profit to the Thayans if they ever made it back to Waterdeep.

As the hours wore towards evening, the group decided to attempt to seek out the final piece of the strange puzzle they had stumbled across.  Giovanni once more imbued his companions, save Grubber, with the ability to travel on air, borne by the winds.  Miles passed by in minutes, and soon they came upon a second, vast lake.  On a cliff high above it, sat an exotic looking tower, shaped to look like a large dome with a gracefully hooked spire rising over the top like a claw.  A balcony halfway up the spire provided a breath-taking view of the mist-laced lake below.  The dome and tower seemed to be made of a single piece of polished obsidian, pierced by elaborate stained glass windows depicting the riders of the Apocalypse.  

Alighting a safe distance from the tower, the team waited while Faust and Mak used their respective magics to teleport back and retrieve Grubber.  Once they were all together again, they made their way across the plateau to the vaguely unnerving structure.
“I know you are all going to think I’m crazy for saying this,” Faust said as they approached the front doors, which seemed to be made of slabs of semi-transparent rose quartz, “but I’ve nearly reached the limits of my psychic capabilities for the day, and I know the rest of you are similarly exhausted.  Why don’t, for once, we not assume everything and everyone we meet here is out to kill us?  We can at least try a diplomatic approach.  Worst case scenario, we end up in a fight for our lives.  What else is new?”
Hawk stared at the psion for a moment before nodding, “You’re right,” he said.  “You are crazy.  Nevertheless, I’ve never been one for senseless bloodshed, so let’s run this idea of yours up the flagpole and see who salutes.”  With that, using one mailed fist, he knocked on the crystal doors.

Several minutes passed until the huge portals at last swung silently open.  Standing in the plainly decorated foyer beyond was a beautiful woman, yet unlike any woman any of them had ever seen.  At first, each of them reached reflexively for their weapons, for the woman bore more than a passing resemblance to the marilith they had fought at the Citadel of Weeping Dragons.  A closer look, however, revealed that she had only two arms instead of six, and beautiful, multi-colored feathered wings grew from her back.  The cruel eyes of the marilith were also absent, though she bore a distinct expression of annoyance on her lovely face.
“Well?” she asked as the uncomfortable silence stretched on.  Hawk stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“Your pardon, my lady,” he said, sketching a formal bow and removing his helm.  “We regret this intrusion, but we…well, there is no other way to put it than to say that we were led here.”
“Led?” she asked, her delicately arched brows rising, “By whom?”
“We are not sure,” the civilar replied.  “We have come to this…place,” he swept one arm wide, indicating the Wormcrawl Fissure as a whole, “seeking to stop the coming of the Age of Worms.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the term,” she said coolly.
“The cult of the worm-god Kyuss is attempting to release him from his imprisonment,” Hawk explained.  “If this happens, it would herald the dawning of an age of despair for the world.  We intend to stop this from happening, but first we must destroy Kyuss’ general, the dracolich Dragotha.”
The woman looked pensive for a moment, as if recalling a long-forgotten memory.  “Are you speaking of the worm priests?” she asked at length.  Hawk nodded.  “I must confess,” she continued, “though I have lived here for over a decade, I have taken little interest in the local denizens.  My art consumes me.”
At this point Faust stepped forward.  She frowned at the trollish élan.  “I am Faust Cenodoxus,” the psion said, bowing low.  “If I may be so bold, my lady…what is your name?”
“Zulshyn,” she replied, and Faust’s eyes briefly cut to his companions.
“And you are a lillend, if I’m not mistaken?” he asked.  Zulshyn nodded.  Faust knew that, by nature, lillends were servants of the celestials, and generally tended towards high morals.  He also knew that they were whimsical creatures, almost completely involved in artistic pursuits, often to the exclusion of the world around them.  He knew that he and his companions had to tread lightly here.
“Do you know the name Thessalar?” he asked.  Instantly, Zulshyn’s visage darkened.  “I see that you do,” Faust continued.  “Would it please you to know that he has been, ah, neutralized, at least temporarily?  His hospitality left much to be desired, and we were forced to use other means of diplomacy.  After he was dispatched, we found many of his notes, including his plans to turn you into one of his thralls.”
Zulshyn’s anger palpably increased.  “He is a monster!” she snapped.  “I am indeed pleased to hear of his defeat, and should he ever return to the Fissure, I shall take a personal interest in making him live to regret it.  This, then explains why you have come here.  You seek a reward.”
“Not true,” Faust said holding his hands up placatingly.  “We only seek information.  Do you know of a man named Balakarde?”  
Zulshyn’s expression became guarded, and her eyes narrowed.  “Why?” she asked, a dangerous tone creeping into her voice.  Hawk spoke before Faust could reply.
“He was a mage of great power.  He disappeared sixteen years ago while searching for Dragotha.  We have reason to believe that he was killed, but his soul has not departed this plane.  In fact, we believe that we have come into possession of two fragments of his soul, and we seek a third.  With his spirit reunited, it is our hope that he may aid us in our quest to destroy Dragotha.”
Zulshyn regarded the civilar for a moment, and then turned, beckoning.  “Come with me,” she said, and the group followed.

She led them into a large gallery, filled with stunning works of art, though many were somewhat morbid in their subject matter.  They included onyx sculptures of monstrous denizens of the Wormcrawl Fissure, jade masks of fearsome, worm-eaten visages, and paintings depicting dozens of different iconic locations and persons throughout the multiverse, such as a portrait of Ehlonna, a city-scape of Sigil, a frighteningly realistic depiction of the demon prince Graz’zt and his lover Igwilv, and a massive landscape of the tangled and mind-boggling ways of the Infinite Staircase.  She drifted casually over to a large, unworked blocked of clay, picked up carving tools, and began to sculpt as she spoke.
“Assuming I have this information that you speak of, such a thing would be of great value.  What do you offer?”
The League members looked at each other questioningly for a moment, and then Giovanni reached into his haversack and pulled out a black, silk vestment, embroidered with silver thread.  
“We took this from a necromancer called Filge who was assisting Thessalar.  It was made by the archmage Dyrr.  It grants the wearer a degree of imperviousness to physical harm, but it may also conjure up a wall of blades that none but the wearer may pass thru unscathed.”
Zulshyn regarded the item with a bored expression, and then shrugged.  “Acceptable.”  She then turned to Hawk, and it was at that moment that the civilar realized that the bust she was sculpting was him.  He swallowed hard.
“You, and you alone will accompany me.”  She began moving towards a curving stairwell.  Hawk looked at his friends.  Mak, Giovanni and Faust nodded enthusiastically, motioning for him to go.  Only Grubber looked dubious.  Reluctantly, the paladin followed.

The lillend led Hawk to a lavish bed chamber, dominated by a large, circular bed with silk sheets.  A gilded mirror was attached to the ceiling above.  Next to the bed was a small niche, and it was there that Zulshyn went.  She passed a hand over the alcove, and there was a brief flash of blue light.  Then she reached inside and drew out a statuette, carved in the likeness of a stately-looking man dressed in explorer’s garb.  It was Balakarde.  She offered it to Hawk.  As soon as the civilar touched the smooth stone, he felt a rush of sensation in his mind, conjuring images of beautiful artistry, the sounds of poignant music, and lines of heart-felt verse.  Hawk knew he had found what they were looking for.
“Our bargain is complete,” Zulshyn said, looking wistfully at the statue, “and I offer you and yours the hospitality of my home for the night.  They will find the accommodations to their liking.  As for you…” her eyes smoldered, and a faint smile touched her lips, “You may sleep here…if you wish.”
Hawk felt heat rise to his cheeks, and from the lillend’s grin, he knew that his face must have turned three shades darker.  
“I…I…” he stammered, “I am…flattered, my lady, but I must humbly decline.  I am sworn to Helm, and in his service I must be steadfast.  I cannot allow myself…distractions.”
“The god of Duty binds you, does he?” she purred.  “Are you not to be rewarded for your unswerving loyalty?”
“ I seek only the rewards of service itself,” Hawk said quickly, moving slowly towards the stairs.  “I thank you again for your kindness.”  He bowed, then turned hastily and left.  He could hear Zulshyn’s throaty chuckle behind him.
___________________________________________________

“Well?  How did it go?” Faust chortled as Hawk descended the stairs.  “You weren’t gone very long, but then I suppose it has been quite awhile, what with chasing the minions of Kyuss from one end of Faerun to the other.  Doesn’t leave time for more…wordly pursuits.”
A dangerous look from Hawk cut short any further gibes from the psion.  He settled for a knowing smirk and the occasional rude hand gesture.  However, as Hawk drew near, Faust’s expression changed, as did that of Havok.  A glazed look also passed over the paladin’s eyes.  A strange stillness settled over the area.  Sounds grew muted, colors dull, and the air itself felt thick and chilled.  Giovanni slowly removed his chasuble.  At the same time, Faust raised Balakarde’s purse and Hawk lifted the statue.  To Mak and Grubber, it seemed as though they did this not of their own volition, but instead as if it was just a reflex.  As the three objects touched, a brilliant flash of light filled the room.  Zulshyn, who was descending the stairs at the time, flung one arm over her eyes against the glare.  The sense of oppressive menace and muted reality was swept away in that instant, and a ghostly figure of a man floated serenely in the air with an expression of joy etched on his face.

‘My unending thanks to you all,” a voice spoke into the minds of all those present.  ‘As I’m sure you have deduced by now, I am Balakarde.’
‘Malchor sends his regards,’ Giovanni replied respectfully.
A smile brightened the spirit’s face even more.  ‘Ah, I have missed my old friend.  If only I had heeded his advice, things might have turned out differently.  But what is past is past.  There is still the future to look to, and I have much to tell you.  I feel that time grows short.’
‘Yes,’ Giovanni agreed, ‘Lashonna told us how to discover the location of Dragotha’s phylactery, and we succeeded in destroying it.  Now we fear the dracolich will put his plans in motion sooner rather than later.  The Age of Worms is nigh.’
Balakarde nodded, frowning.  ‘It is well that the devil-wyrm’s heart has been cut out, but know that you cannot trust Lashonna.  It was she who also sent me to my doom.  She is a vampire.’
‘We suspected as much,’ Giovanni said, ‘yet we had little choice but to follow her advice at the time.’
‘You must always bear in mind that she acts in her own best interests,’ the ghost-mage said.  ‘She is one of Kyuss’ greatest minions, second only to Dragotha himself.’  His visage twisted in rage as he spoke the liche’s name.  ‘No doubt she wants the dracolich eliminated so that she may take his place at Kyuss’ side.  Now, I must tell you my tale, so that you will not make the same mistakes that I made, and with luck, you may succeed where I failed.’

Balakarde’s tale was one of sorrow, and misfortune.  Forty years past, he encountered the spawn of Kyuss for the first time.  The resulting battle was grueling, and by the time the spawn lay dead at his feet, the ravenous worms had claimed the life of his adventuring companion and sister, a bright-eyed and vivacious woman named Maralee.  Balakarde took his sister’s death hard, and fell into a depression that lasted for two years.  He emerged changed for the better (or so those close to him thought), and went on to become one of the most powerful wizards of his generation.  Yet he never forgot the terror and despair of his sister’s death.  He vowed to do something about it, and when he reached the peak of his powers, he did.  Abandoning his responsibilities, his work, and his friends, he dedicated himself to one task…destroying Kyuss.  He hoped to spare others the pain the Wormgod’s spawn brought him by eradicating all remaining trace of the cult.  He soon realized that something larger than scattered cultists was afoot.  Bit by bit he uncovered evidence that the cult of Kyuss was very much alive and working to bring about a terrible apocalypse.  His fears and rage grew, but instead of relying upon others for aid, he grew paranoid and secretive.  He trusted only a few, and even to them he gave only hints of what he’d discovered, fearful of just how deeply Kyuss’ taint had reached.  It was thus an ironic twist of fate that led him to Lashonna.  In his obsession with Kyuss, he failed to recognize the mark of the Wormgod on the woman’s soul, and blindly followed her advice and clues into the Wormcrawl Fissure, where Dragotha captured him and tormented him for months.  Eventually, the hateful dragon revealed a final depravity to the wizard; he had recovered the remains of Maralee’s corpse and had transformed her into a Kyuss Knight.  It was at the hands of his undead sister that Balakarde breathed his last, and in death his soul shattered.  That was sixteen years ago.

‘So you know where Dragotha is?’ Giovanni asked as the mage finished his story.
‘Yes,’ Balakarde replied.  ‘He dwells within the Tabernacle of Worms, a fortress which lies beyond Kyuss’ Maw at the far western end of the Wormcrawl Fissure.  He lairs in its lowest depths, the Writhing Sanctum, crouched atop the ziggurat where Kyuss’ monolith once stood, but you must not beard him there immediately.  That was my mistake.  He called all of his minions to his aid, and I was overwhelmed.  My advice to you is to first destroy his servants, and then face the wyrm alone.’
‘Won’t he come after us when he learns we are within the fortress?’ Hawk asked.
‘He may be old, wise, and powerful,’ Balakarde scowled, ‘but he is also arrogant.  He will not expect you to win through.  With luck, that will be his undoing.’
‘We thank you for the information you have provided,’ Giovanni said, bowing.  
‘One more thing I may be able to give,’ the ghost said.  ‘When you finally reach Dragotha, I shall endeavor to come to you again.  If at all possible, I might aid you when all hope seems lost.’  As his last words faded, so to did his form, yet Giovanni, Hawk and Faust still felt his presence in their thoughts.
__________________________________________________

The following morning, the group took their leave of Zulshyn and traveled via teleportation to the coordinates Balakarde had given them.  They found themselves standing before a vast, yawning cave entrance.  Beyond, a fungus-lined tunnel coiled deep into the bowels of the earth.  However, the way was guarded.  Perched on ledges some fifty feet above the Maw were four creatures, which the League at first took to be huge chimerae.  Closer inspection, though, revealed their eye sockets to be filled with writhing, green worms.  As the monstrous undead took flight, Havok tore a scroll from his cloak.  As he read it, his body began to enlarge, and his skin reddened.  Horns curled from his forehead, and great, bat wings unfurled from his back.  In moments a pit fiend, greatest of the devils, stood in the warlock’s place.

The worm-ridden chimerae landed in a loose circle around the group, and immediately their draconic heads roared forth great gouts of flame.  Though Havok’s fiendish form rendered him impervious, Hawk, Grubber and Mak were badly singed.  Faust had managed to retreat several dozen yards away before the beasts landed, confidant that his companions could handle the threat.  His powers were meant for greater things this day.  

Havok’s new guise robbed him of his innate, eldritch abilities, yet it gave him others, equally destructive.  He unleashed a ball of fire on the nearest two chimerae as they approached closer.  Hawk whirled towards the chimera on his flank, Quaero a blur of motion.  Knowing they would most assuredly be facing the spawn of Kyuss within the Tabernacle, and knowing as well the vulnerability of the creatures to silver, the civilar had coated his blade with the metal prior to departing Zulshyn’s tower.  Now the chimera reaped the whirlwind, its putrid flesh flayed open.  Mak had taken the same precaution, and he brought his own sword to bear on one of the brutes flanking Havok.  

Grubber ached to call on his magic, but like Faust, he knew that his abilities would be sorely taxed in the coming hours, and so he resolved to rely on his martial skills.  Unfortunately, his maul lacked the silver sheen of his comrades, and his blows did little to slow his own opponent.  The reverse, regrettably, was not true.  With a roar, the chimera pounced upon him, its leonine and draconic heads biting savagely, while its goat head rammed its horns into his chest.  Simultaneously, its claws ripped into his flesh.  As he staggered back from the onslaught, he saw that one of the green worms had dropped onto his skin, and was burrowing beneath it as he watched.

The other three chimerae were just as frenzied in their attacks on Mak, Havok and Hawk.  Only the civilar managed to ward off their blows.  The goliath and the warlock also found worms had been transferred to them, but the supernatural toughness of their hides prevented the wretched vermin from burrowing.  Havok returned his foes savagery with his own, bringing his own claws, teeth, wings and tail to bear, and following the barrage with a second fire ball.

As Hawk threw off the chimera’s attacks as if they were nothing, Quaero struck again, and this time the beast succumbed to the holy artifact, collapsing into a pile of putrid flesh and worms.  Mak also downed his opponent, and then he and the paladin rushed to Grubber’s aid.  None too soon.  The chimera struck again, and blood flowed freely from the priest’s wounds.  Another worm began burrowing into his flesh, and the pain was almost unbearable.  He fumbled in his belt pouch for a potion flask as Hawk slammed into the chimera, hammering it to the ground with a flurry of precision strikes.  As Grubber quaffed the potion, Havok wrestled the last beast to the ground, ripping and tearing into it until it moved no more.  Grubber felt the draught fill his system, purging it of the filthy vermin before they could reach and devour his mind, but it had been a near thing.  Heaving great gasps of air, he turned and stared forlornly at Kyuss’ Maw, wondering at what further horrors awaited them in the Tabernacle of Worms.


----------



## demiurge1138

Good update! And good idea being diplomatic for a change. Seemed to work well.

Oh, and... psst. Elhonna isn't in FR. She's Greyhawk specific. I'm sure you were talking about Mielliki, and that just slipped. Right?

Demiurge out.


----------



## JollyDoc

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Good update! And good idea being diplomatic for a change. Seemed to work well.
> 
> Oh, and... psst. Elhonna isn't in FR. She's Greyhawk specific. I'm sure you were talking about Mielliki, and that just slipped. Right?
> 
> Demiurge out.




Ah, but Zulshyn was once the guardian of the Infinite Staircase.  I'm sure she visited Oerth from time to time...


----------



## demiurge1138

Hm... good point. I'm guessing you're one of those types who let their FR and Greyhawk exist in the same multiverse like in the good ol' days? I know I am.

Even if that means Elminster gets to have cross-planar tea parties in Greenwood's kitchen. Keeps him from mucking around with goddesses.

Demiurge out.


----------



## Wish

Yay!  Thanks for the update, JollyDoc.


----------



## recentcoin

Yay!  

Anyone who kills bugs is fine with me...

Anyone who kills nasty supernatural undead bugs gets a beer...

RC


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Great update - especially the roleplaying of the last tempation of Hawk. Faust's remark hits the spot!!!

Too bad Hawk and Zulshyn didn't hit it off. It might have had...interesting consequences.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Great update - especially the roleplaying of the last tempation of Hawk. Faust's remark hits the spot!!!
> 
> Too bad Hawk and Zulshyn didn't hit it off. It might have had...interesting consequences.




Yeah, Hawk's already aasimar.  Bunch of half-lillend celestials running around, with 35 charisma scores.


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Night Update*

Spells are cast, weapons are drawn -- the party marches boldy into the Wormcrawl Fissure to the Tabernacle of Worms!

* We set off the alarm as a matter of course.  Since we can't find a touchpad to deactivate the alarm system we proceed to obliterate the proverbial "speakers" that are making all the noise.

* The . . . ummmmm . . . aerially-challenged stays behind while the party enters melee and is greeted by a Derro and his Wyvern buddy.  Sadly, Grubber is once again taught the value of flight and consequences of "role-playing."

* With the welcoming committee dispatched, the League tries for the tactical entrance and thereby learns . . . 

_The First Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not attempt to destroy the walls, lest ye be sprayed with worms fortwith_

* The front door it is . . . where the party is greeted by more wormy goodness.

* We try the "high-level" approach to dungeon mobility only to discover . . .

_The Second Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not dimension door into strange places, lest your friends wind up in solid objects and be painfully shunted fortwith_

* Moving through the Tabernacle the more mundane way, the Leauge learns . . .

_The Third Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not move ethereally through the walls, lest ye be covered with worms fortwith_

* OK, we experiment a little more and learn . . .

_The Fourth Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not immerse your appendages in pools of strange green liquid, lest the owner of the offending member suffer continuous Constitution damage forthwith_

* Finally, we figure out a little tidbit about the doors . . .

_The Fifth Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou may move through the DOORS ethereally and you will only suffer a smidgen of worms_

Aren't high level dungeon crawls grand?


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Thank you very much for your appreciation.  This story hour is definately a labor of love, but the main reason I stick with it is because of the enthusiasm of the readers for our group's tale.  Even now, the spectre of Savage Tide looms on the horizon, and I know that Ika and Joachim have already picked their characters.  I'm certain, despite my better judgement, that a third story hour will follow this one, as long as you guys keep wanting to read.




You can rest assured that if not one other of your avid readers is going to read Savage Tide, I will. If only to learn how to be a better writer of my own story. And besides, I already signed up for LtClnl Brain's upcoming Play-by-Web version of Savage Tide. It's great to play in a campaign and read about how others are doing in the same campaign. And a nice challenge to keep my characters from using player knowledge ;-)


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

And so it was written that Gfunk delivered the laws that all others must follow, should they play in the Age of Worms.  All should be read and enjoyed and promptly forgotten, so that Meta-gaming shall not enter into the gaming table, and the joy or sorrow of learning these laws can be experienced anew for each player.

GW


----------



## Schmoe

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Night Update*
> 
> _The First Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not attempt to destroy the walls, lest ye be sprayed with worms fortwith_
> 
> _The Second Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not dimension door into strange places, lest your friends wind up in solid objects and be painfully shunted fortwith_
> 
> _The Third Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not move ethereally through the walls, lest ye be covered with worms fortwith_
> 
> _The Fourth Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou shall not immerse your appendages in pools of strange green liquid, lest the owner of the offending member suffer continuous Constitution damage forthwith_
> 
> _The Fifth Law of the Tabernacle of Worms: Thou may move through the DOORS ethereally and you will only suffer a smidgen of worms_
> 
> Aren't high level dungeon crawls grand?




Woohoo!  Sounds like fun for the guy behind the screen   

So, does this mean that next week you get to fight a certain iconic undead dragon, whose name shall be etched in lore, forevermore?


----------



## gfunk

Schmoe said:
			
		

> So, does this mean that next week you get to fight a certain iconic undead dragon, whose name shall be etched in lore, forevermore?




Well, I kind of doubt it since the League is taking Balakarde's advice re: Maximum Carnage before fighting the big D.  But then again, we are pretty much stumbling blindly around the Tabernacle so who knows if we take a wrong turn and wind up in the Writhing Sanctum.   

Oh, and one more teaser for the next update . . . an old friend is re-united w/ the League.


----------



## demiurge1138

gfunk said:
			
		

> Well, I kind of doubt it since the League is taking Balakarde's advice re: Maximum Carnage before fighting the big D.  But then again, we are pretty much stumbling blindly around the Tabernacle so who knows if we take a wrong turn and wind up in the Writhing Sanctum.
> 
> Oh, and one more teaser for the next update . . . an old friend is re-united w/ the League.



Entropy?   

Demiurge out.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Entropy?
> 
> Demiurge out.



 Nope not Entropy she is no Friend of the leagues or anyone else for that matter.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Entropy?
> 
> Demiurge out.



 Only if she was visiting her pet dracolich... 

No, I'm guessing it's more along the lines of old evil NPCs, like Prendergast Brokengulf or the Hand of Vecna carrying priest (what's his name?). But I recon whoever that is will bite the dust...


----------



## JollyDoc

THE TABERNACLE OF WORMS

A voice spoke softly but urgently into Giovanni’s mind.  He recognized it immediately as that of Malchor Harpell.
‘I need to scry your location.  Stay where you are.  I have a gift for you.’
The communication was curt and to the point, all the hallmarks of a Sending.  The warlock trusted the archmage implicitly, and he opened his mind to the probing fingers of the scry.  A moment later, a bright circle of light appeared on the ground in front of the group, and a shadowy, blocky figure stepped out of it.  As the light faded and their eyes readjusted to the gloom of the Fissure, the members of the League gazed upon the distinctive rock-like features of Grim.  For a moment, everyone was speechless.
“Don’t get all gushy on me,” the mineralized dwarf rumbled, “I think I’m startin’ ta tear up.”
Hawk stepped forward, stripping his gauntlet from his hand and offering it to his old friend.
“It is indeed good to see you, and you could not have come at a more opportune time, but I think I speak for us all when I say we are more than a bit surprised to see you.  Last we heard, you were returning to your people in Citadel Adbar.”
“And so I did,” Grim nodded, “but I’ve since learned that you can’t outrun your responsibilities.  Not long after I got back, reports started coming in from outlying patrols of some sort of zombies roaming the hills.  I was suspicious right away, and when I went to check things out for myself, sure enough the little buggers were full of worms.  Well, with the way those things reproduce, it wasn’t long until we had a full-scale infestation.  I did what I could, gave the elders the information I had, but any victory we won was temporary.  Finally, I realized that the only way to stem the tide was at its source.  I went to Longsaddle looking for you, and Harpell told me where to find you, so here I am.”
“Again, welcome,” Hawk said.  “I’m not sure if Malchor told you what we are doing here, but the short version is that we managed to destroy the phylactery of Dragotha, Kyuss’ dracolich general.  Now we’ve tracked the wyrm here, and we intend to destroy him once and for all, thereby stalling Kyuss’ return further, if we are lucky.”
“I’m with you till the end,” Grim said, putting out his hand.  One-by-one, the others laid their own hands atop his.
_______________________________________________________

Havok remained in his fiendish incarnation, and drawing on that forms abilities, he rendered the entire group, including Alice, whom Hawk had called to transport the slower members of the party, invisible.  Traveling thus, the League made their way down the twisting tunnel until at last they saw a grisly, green glow ahead, and heard the haunting sound of a strange hissing.  The passageway opened onto a relatively narrow ledge that overlooked an immense circular cavern lit by the nauseating green light.  The cavern seemed to be roughly ovoid in shape.  The walls, ceiling and floor shimmered here and there with phosphorescent fungi, but the predominant source of lighting was a sloshing lake of thick, green slime at the far end of the cave.  Several turgid waterfalls of the stuff drooled from openings high up on the far wall of the cave, and every so often thick shapes of the things that dwelled within the slime lake rippled against its surface.  The lake’s beaches were a horrific mix of dried, crusty slime and millions of writhing worms that feasted on the stuff, the sound of their rasping mouths working in unison filled the cavern with a strangely soothing hiss.
On the closest shore of the nightmare lake, yet still nearly a half-mile from the ledge, loomed an immense pile of stalagmites and up thrust pillars of green rock that formed a natural castle.  A huge central pillar of stone rose up from the fortress to merge with the roof above.  Six smaller stalagmite-like towers rose around the structure’s perimeter.  Coiled around each of these spires were immense green worms, their fanged heads twitching lazily to and fro like sentinels, observing the cavern around them.  A moat of green sludge surrounded the structure, and a single, crooked bridge arched up over it to a pair of massive stone doors.

The companions debated how best to approach the fortress for several minutes.  While it was obvious that the overworms were the watch-dogs, and would certainly sound an alarm if they revealed themselves, it was also true that Balakarde had warned them to leave none of Dragotha’s minions alive, lest he should call upon them when at last they faced the wyrm.  In the end, it was decided to heed Balakarde’s advice.  Faust would transport the bulk of the group to the front door, via dimensional hopping, while Havok would teleport himself simultaneously within range to strike at the same time the others arrived.  The plan seemed fool-proof, but as was true of even the best-laid plans, that assumption would prove false.

No sooner had Faust and the others, though still cloaked in invisibility, appeared before the massive gates of the Tabernacle, than the nearest pair of worms, on the southeast and southwest towers, swiveled their heads towards them and began bellowing roars that shook the pillars of the cavern.  Mak whirled towards the one to the southeast and brought his hand down in a chopping motion.  Instantly, a column of flame engulfed the behemoth in holy fire.  At that same moment Havok, hovering some five-hundred feet away over the sea of slime, called upon the dark powers of his fiendish form to unleash a swarm of meteor-like balls of flame.  One after the other they struck the overworm, threatening to knock it loose from its precarious perch.  Suddenly, the second worm began uncoiling from its spire and slithered towards the group.  En masse, Mak, Hawk and Grim drew their weapons, all gleaming with a silvery coating, and charged towards the oncoming brute, each utilizing their individual powers of flight.  With a force almost equaling Havok’s assault, they struck the worm, stopping it in its tracks.  While the first worm still reeled from the fiendish warlock’s opening salvo, Havok struck again, this time with a simple fire ball.  Slowly, the creature began to slip from the spire, but not before Faust rushed towards it, one hand outstretched.  As he touched it, its entire body crumbled to black dust as the psion assimilated its essence with his own.
_______________________________________________________

In a shallow niche on the far east side of the fortress, Zyrinth was roused from his slumber by the sounds of explosions.  The wyvern came fully awake, whipping his head this way and that, searching for the source of the assault.  He quickly determined that the main gates were under attack.  Slipping quietly from his cave, he swooped silently around the northeast tower, hovering near its apex.
‘Venk,’ he called out in his mind.
‘I am here,’ his rider replied immediately.  ‘I’m coming.’
_________________________________________________________

Again the goliath, civilar and dwarf struck, with deadly precision, their silver weapons tearing through the overworm’s hide as if it were paper.  With a final shriek, the monstrous worm tumbled down the side of the castle and into the viscous moat below.
‘Keep moving!’ Havok called out through the Mind Link.  ‘We’ve got them by surprise!’
With that, he teleported to the western side of the Tabernacle, directly opposite a third overworm.  Faust, Mak, Grim and Hawk quickly followed, closing quickly upon the worm…leaving Grubber behind.  The priest watched the others disappear around the battlements, wishing he could join them, but knowing that Grumbar must have some other plan for him.  Instead, he called upon the powers of his spider silk cloak, and crawled beneath the bridge, watching for any signs of defenders from the keep.
__________________________________________________

Venk appeared out of thin air astride Zyrinth’s back. 
‘Go!’ she commanded and the wyvern wheeled in a tight circle, back towards the front of the keep.  As they rounded the southeast spire, noting that its overworm guardian was no longer there, they had a clear view of the bridge and the front gates.  They also had a clear view of the goliath, luminous armor shining like a beacon in the dark, clinging to the underside of the span.
____________________________________________________

At first Grubber thought he was only hearing echoes from the distant battle, but after another moment, he was certain that what he had heard was the beating of wings.  Large wings.  Much larger than Mak’s.  Peering out from his concealment, he saw the dragon hovering near the top of the near spire.  On its back was a short woman, with bone white skin, hair and eyes.  She held a golden trident clutched in one hand…and she was looking right at him.
‘Um, sorry to interrupt,’ he spoke through the Mind Link, ‘but I think I might be in trouble.’  
Looking below him, and seeing the moat of slime, he knew that he did not want to be in his current position should the dragon rider attack.  Hastily, he scrambled back to the top of the bridge, just as the dragon began to dive.
_____________________________________________

The third overworm fell amidst a frenzy of whirling blades, and slashing claws as Havok, Mak, Hawk and Grim made quick work of it.  At that precise moment, Grubber’s warning came through.
‘I’ll go,’ Havok told the others.  ‘Keep going.  Silence the other worms.  I’ll call if we need back up.’
‘Yer gettin’ it anyway,’ Grim grumbled as he turned and began flying back towards the castle entrance.  Havok nodded, before vanishing as he teleported away.  Though Mak looked troubled, he knew that if Havok, Grim and his brother could not handle the newest threat, then it might well be beyond them all.  He followed Hawk and Faust, making for the next guardian worm.

A hammer-shaped burst of force struck Venk and Zyrinth as they descended.  The blow rocked the pair, but did nothing to truly slow their charge.  Venk’s body, by virtue of her unholy ancestry, immediately began mending the burns on her skin.  Suddenly, the air shimmered next to the goliath, and a huge, horned and winged devil stood beside it on the bridge.  Was this some new servant of the master? Venk wondered.  If so, then the goliath would be dead before he even knew what hit him.  Still, she wanted to share in that glory.  Extending her free hand, she unleashed a burst of emerald light.

‘An eldritch blast?’ Havok gaped in astonishment as the bolt struck Grubber full in the chest, knocking the priest back to the edge of the bridge.  ‘Another warlock?’  He had never in his life met another such as he, and her fire was green…like his.  What could it mean?  He had no time to ponder the question further, as the wyvern hammered into Grubber at full speed.  As it passed, Havok lashed out with his tail, wrapping it around the little warlock, and ripping her from her saddle.  He raised her up before his eyes, squeezing as hard as he could.  He felt his blood begin to boil.  He would have answers, or he would crush the life out of her.  It was only then that he saw Grubber toppling over the side of the bridge, hurtling towards the moat below.

As Grubber fell, he managed to twist his body just enough so that he struck the rocky ground instead of the viscous sludge in the moat.  The impact hurt…a lot, and it was made even worse by the fact that he had landed in the midst of thousands of writhing, biting Kyuss worms.  Fortunately, he had imbibed a potion prior to the battle, making his skin as tough as the bark of an ironwood tree.  The little vermin could not burrow in.  Quickly, he scrambled to his feet.  Then, taking three quick strides, he leaped across the moat, slamming into the wall on the far side, his hands and feet sticking fast.  Once again, his cloak had saved him.  He began scurrying up the side of the keep.

“Who are you?”  Havok hissed into the face of the derro.  “What are you?”  When she refused to answer, he slammed her to the ground, then backhanded her with one clawed fist as she struggled to rise.  Again and again he struck her, but still she refused to fall, a bitter smile playing across her bloodied and bruised face.  Just as he prepared to deal a killing blow, she vanished, fleeing the scene, just as he had done so many times himself.  Suddenly, the wyvern shrieked, a blood-curdling sound, and it rose into the air, slashing at Havok as it passed.  It struck again at Grim as the dwarf rounded the southwest spire, and then it swooped into a low, lazy circle, preparing to come around for a second pass.  Havok gestured at it, once more drawing on the pit fiend’s innate powers.  Abruptly, all of Zyrinth’s muscles froze, even his wings.  Paralyzed in mid-air, he fell, hurtling to the ground one-hundred feet below.
‘Venk, help me!’ the wyvern called silently to his companion.
‘Relax,’ he heard her respond, ‘you are in no danger.’  Then, as Havok, Grim and Grubber watched, the wyvern simply vanished.

It was only a matter of time before the other League members brought down the three remaining overworms, and the cavern fell silent once more, save for the endless hissing of the Kyuss worms.  At Faust’s suggestion, they regrouped on the eastern side of the fortress, between the southeast and eastern spires.
‘I suggest we make our entry point here,’ the élan spoke into their thoughts.  ‘Call me superstitious, but I believe going through the front door after the entire fortress has been alerted is a singularly bad idea.’
‘I can’t argue your logic,’ Hawk answered.  ‘What do you propose?’
Faust smiled.  ‘Instant lock pick.’  With that, a familiar green beam lanced from his forehead and struck the stone wall before them.  Instantly, a ten-by-ten cube of material simply vanished…but there was more beneath it.  The disintegration ray had failed to penetrate to the interior.  A split-second after the section of wall was destroyed, the stone began to knit itself back together, and a geyser of greenish particles erupted from the wound, covering Grubber, Mak and Havok, who were closest to the wall.  In horror, they realized that the spray was composed of thousands of Kyuss worms, and undeterred by their various magical protections, the vermin were already burrowing into their skin.  Frantically, Grubber fumbled a potion flask from his belt pouch and gulped it, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt the worms within him cease their movements.  Mak quickly wove a powerful healing spell over himself, effectively destroying his own infestation.  With the speed of thought, Havok’s fiendish form transformed to an angelic one…a green skinned, white-winged planetar.  Calling on the angel’s divine power, he purged the tunneling horde from his body, and then just as quickly, resumed his previous incarnation.
‘Thou shalt not attempt to destroy the walls, lest ye be sprayed with worms forthwith,’ Faust muttered.

It seemed their options for entering the tabernacle were limited, and that was to either simply walk in the front door, or teleport inside.  Both seemed equally dangerous, but ultimately, the latter was chosen.  With Faust as their guide, the team appeared at a point just beyond the main gates.  They found themselves in an immense hall, with a vaulted ceiling that rose to a height of nearly eighty feet.  The floor was of highly polished stone.  To the east, a flight of stairs led up to a passageway, while a single door, apparently comprised of writhing worms, sat in the west wall.  Numerous alcoves lined the walls, each of which glowed with golden light and contained some sort of free-standing portal.  A bank of stone pillars supported the vaulted ceiling in the east portion of the chamber, while to the west, the room was open.  There, a fifteen-foot wide fountain of green liquid churned and sloshed.  Standing on a pedestal in the center of the fountain was a ten-foot tall humanoid statue dressed in tattered robes.  The figure’s hands and part of its face were visible…and appeared to be made of hundreds of worms.

The group had barely taken in these details, when six of the glowing portals suddenly flashed brighter, and from each of them stepped a creature, ten feet in height, that seemed to be some amalgam of worm, snake and humanoid.  Around each of their necks hung the symbol of a skull with worms coming from its eye sockets…the symbol of Kyuss.  They were avolakia, walking worms, and they served as the Wormgod’s priests.  
“Hit them now!” Hawk shouted aloud, and his words jolted his companions into action.  He, Mak, Grim and Grubber each rapidly closed the distance to the avolakia nearest to them.  As Hawk struck his opponent, a surge of energy jolted through Quaero, stunning the monstrosity like an electric shock.  Grubber and Grim both hacked at their own foes, but Mak’s blade sliced through several of the tentacles of the worm priest he had chosen.  Black, bilious blood spurted like a fountain.  Despite their wounds, the five coherent priests drew themselves up to their full height, and began to hum an inhuman chant.  Suddenly, columns of green fire roared down from the high ceiling, engulfing Mak and Hawk at their periphery, but completely enveloping Grubber.  When the flames cleared, the goliath stumbled to one knee, gasping.  His skin was scorched and blistered, and smoke rolled off him like a fog bank.  

Focusing his mind, Faust quickly strung an energy current of blue flame between the avolakia standing over the wounded Grubber, and the still addled priest that Hawk had struck.  Both of them jittered as the power pulsed through them, and Hawk used the opportunity to plunge Quaero into where he thought his foe’s heart should be.  The abomination crumpled into a wet mass on the floor.  In rapid succession, Mak and Grim also dispatched their respective targets.  At that point, Havok joined the fray, his fangs, claws, wings and tail quickly overwhelming the avolakia before him.  Only two remained.  Again they began their alien prayer, this time causing walls of stone to sprout from the floor, dividing the team in three.  Mak found himself alone, facing one of the worm priests across the fountain of its god.  Grubber, Grim and Faust were similarly isolated between the two walls, while Hawk and Havok squared off against the remaining avolakia.  Almost casually, the warlock fiend reached out and ripped out the creature’s throat, or what passed for it.
“Nice try,” he chuckled, feeling the devil’s blood thirst pulling at him.  On the opposite side of the wall, Faust placed a hand on Grubber and Grim, and shunted them to stand beside Mak.  The goliath brothers and the dwarf advanced menacingly on the last avolakia.  As they raised their weapons to strike, the priest hastily stepped into the alcove it had emerged from, disappearing into the glowing portal there.
“Not so fast,” Faust said, and he easily dispelled the magic of the doorway.  Instantly, the avolakia reappeared, and just as quickly, it went down in a hail of steel.
___________________________________________________________

Havok stood pondering the ‘door’ before him, his chin resting on one clawed, red hand.  The portal in question appeared to be nothing more than a solid sheet of living, writhing worms.  There was no handle, no hinges, and no obvious means of opening it.  Finally, he shrugged and simply hurled a ball of fire at it.  It didn’t even leave a scorch mark, but it did provoke another nauseating blast of worms.  Fortunately, the team had learned their lesson from their last attack on the keep’s architecture, and were all standing a respectable distance away.  The worms evaporated into smoke as soon as they touched the floor.
“Anyone have any better ideas?” the warlock asked, turning to his companions.  
“Why not just go past it?” Faust said.  “It worked last time.”
“I don’t like the idea of traveling blindly,” Havok replied.  “It’s only a matter of time before our luck runs out.”
“Yes, but until then, I think we have to rely on our old standbys,” the psion said.  Slowly, the others gathered around him, and once more he willed them to appear just beyond the door of worms.  It was then that their luck ran out.

This time, they found themselves in a narrow hallway, which turned a sharp corner onto an ascending stairway.  Another worm door stood at the intersection.  Havok was forced to squeeze his massive body into the cramped quarters, while Mak and Grim…were simply gone.
“Damn!”  Faust cursed.
“What?” Hawk asked, alarmed.  “Where are they?”
“They shunted,” Havok explained.  “It’s what happens when you materialize inside a solid object, like a wall.  The spell randomly spits you out somewhere else.  Can you find them Faust?”
“If they’re on this plane I can,” the psion snapped, and then he called out through the Mind Link.   ‘Are you ok?  Can you tell where you are?’

The goliath and dwarf were a bit preoccupied to respond immediately.  They had appeared in a small, bare chamber, its high ceiling reaching fifty feet overhead.  They stood literally nose-to-nose with another, equally surprised, avolakia.  Grim swung at the priest, but it quickly scuttled backwards, seeming to simply flow through another worm door, this one on the far side of the chamber.  
‘We’re in a room,’ Grim said in disgust.  ‘Nothin’ here, ‘cept another walking worm, but its gone now.  Slipped through another of those wormy curtains.  We got one in front of us, and one behind.’
‘Yeah, and I’m going through the one the worm priest just did,” Mak chimed in.  ‘I’m going after him.’
‘No wait!’ Havok cried, but it was too late.  Mak tried to pass through the door as the avolakia had done.  He might as well have been trying to step through a stone wall, except that most stone walls didn’t leave your skin crawling with green worms.  Fortunately, they did not immediately start burrowing into his flesh, and he managed to quickly brush them to the floor.
‘I have an idea,’ Grim said, and he touched a plain, silver ring on his left hand, speaking a guttural word as he did so.  Instantly, his body began blinking in and out of Mak’s sight, there one second, gone the next.  What the goliath did not know was that the dwarf was literally blinking into the ethereal plane and back.  He waited for the right moment, and then tried stepping thru the wall beside the worm door.  He came up against a solid barrier, which somehow extended into the ether where he was.  Worse, when he reappeared on the prime, he felt the worms crawling beneath his skin once again.  Quickly, he grasped a golden bead on the strand of prayer beads he wore at his belt.  The magic of the charm purged the vermin, but he could still imagine that he felt them crawling through him.
‘No luck,’ he told the others.

‘Everyone, stay where you are,’ Havok said.  ‘I’m going back to examine those priests we killed.  Maybe they have some sort of key on them that allows them to pass through the doors.’  He then teleported himself back into the Temple of the Worm, where his search came up empty.  Besides their holy symbols, the creatures had no obvious keys in their possession.  It was then that his eyes went to the fountain.  Maybe that was it.  Perhaps some property of the liquid there would allow passage.  Cautiously, he approached the basin, and slowly dipped one hand into it.  Agony tore through his hand, and when he pulled it out, he saw his flesh slowly dissolving.  In moments, he could see the sinew and bone beneath.  In a flash, he shifted to the form of a planetar once again, and again used his angelic powers of healing.  His skin reknitted itself, leaving not a trace of the wound, and the viscous, green slime turned to a dry crust, and flaked away.

The League found themselves at an impasse.  Faust transported Hawk and Grubber back into the temple with Havok, and they were joined shortly by Grim and Mak, the dwarf having utilized an amulet he wore that allowed him limited teleportation.  They were back where they had started from, at a loss for which way to proceed.  The Tabernacle was undoubtedly on full alert, and somewhere within, Dragotha waited.


----------



## demiurge1138

Grim's back!

...or is that old friend supposed to be Big Alice? 

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

As expected, progress is slow and taxing! Will they reach the big undead dragon with enough resources to actually pose a threat to him? 

I hope we'll get an answer to that in gfunk's preview! 


On another note, since there has not been a compilation of your Shackled City SH (at least I remember it that way), I have copy/pasted the articles together and tried to give them a standardized format in a Word document (RAR-compressed for better downloading). Maybe someone else with more talent than me can put it into a nicer, more DnD style format?!?

The only edit I made was in JD's summary of the final fights in Secret of the Soul Pillars, since they could not be left as they were - storywise. I put them into a "Grimm's journal excerpt" form like the end of SoS. Feel free to edit that part to your likings, JD, gfunk & Joachim.


Edit: Corrected an error. BTW, this story has more than 285k words! Kudos guys.


----------



## R-Hero

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Grim's back!
> 
> ...or is that old friend supposed to be Big Alice?
> 
> Demiurge out.




Alice is a bit out of her league (Pardon the pun) without Hawk advancing in Paladin levels.  She is only used for transportation now.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> As expected, progress is slow and taxing! Will they reach the big undead dragon with enough resources to actually pose a threat to him?
> 
> I hope we'll get an answer to that in gfunk's preview!
> 
> 
> On another note, since there has not been a compilation of your Shackled City SH (at least I remember it that way), I have copy/pasted the articles together and tried to give them a standardized format in a Word document (RAR-compressed for better downloading). Maybe someone else with more talent than me can put it into a nicer, more DnD style format?!?
> 
> The only edit I made was in JD's summary of the final fights in Secret of the Soul Pillars, since they could not be left as they were - storywise. I put them into a "Grimm's journal excerpt" form like the end of SoS. Feel free to edit that part to your likings, JD, gfunk & Joachim.
> 
> 
> Edit: Corrected an error. BTW, this story has more than 285k words! Kudos guys.




Thanks alot for putting this together, NWK.  I really appreciate it.  Haven't had a chance to read it myself yet, but G says you did a great job!

BTW, there will be no regular update this week, as Gfunk, Joachim and I are road-tripping to GenCon.  The three of us will be running the first annual JollyDoc's Ironman championship on Friday.  Any of you readers out there have time, and are in attendance, stop by!  Joachim and I will also be competing in the Open again, hoping to reclaim our title.  We'll have laptops with us, so we'll post the doings during the trip.  Hope to see you at GenCon!!


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Night Update*

This'll be a short one.  In reality, about seven rounds of game time passed between the end of the last update and the end of this one.

Let's just say it involves a CR 20 creature _gating_ in a CR 25 creatures who in turn _summons_ two CR 20 creatures.  Not do be outdone, the League brings in its own CR 23 monstrosity who is countered by a random CR 19 that kind of shows up to make mischief.

There's a whole lotta CRs going on tonight . . .


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

No prob, JD. 

Best of luck to you on your GenCon Road Trip! We're all looking forward to you bringing home the Champion's Belt.  I think it's great that you'll be posting your progress for us!


----------



## gfunk

Greetings from GenCon!  This is JD posting under Gfunk's name, since I'm using his computer.  Today was day one, and the D&D Open was this morning.  Joachim and I once again joined our teammates from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and the event seemed to go well.  We made it to the final encounter, but time ran out before we fully completed it.  We had no PC deaths, so we feel our chances of advancing our good.  We'll find out by 8 am tomorrow.  Gfunk joined a group of young upstarts and under his excellent guidance, no PC's died, but they didn't make it to the last encounter.  

Later in the day, Gfunk and Joachim competed independently in the Dungeon Crawl Classics tourney by Goodman Games.  Joachim pronounced it bogus, mostly due to his playing companions, which incidentally I gamed with in the same tourney last year, and I agree...they were pretty lame.  Gfunk's group, however, did quite well, and stand a good chance of advancing.  Again, they'll find out in the am.

Tomorrow is the first annual JollyDoc's Iron Man!  We're chomping at the bit.  Should be very entertaining.  We'll keep you guys posted as events unfold.


----------



## gfunk

JD again.  Well, we found out today that Aqua Teen Hunger Force ended up as first alternate for the semi finals tomorrow, however the news is not all bad, as we have been told that most alternate teams will be allowed to compete, so all is not lost.

The Iron Man took place today, and first place went to a guy who's power gamin skills brought a tear to even Gfunk's eye.  He exploited a feat allowing the crafting of contingent items, in this case tattoos, and proceeded to own every round.  Congratulations to the character who won...Veritas!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Congrats as well! You wouldn't mind posting those stats, would you?


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Congrats as well! You wouldn't mind posting those stats, would you?




We would if we could, but it would be impossible to recreate all of the contingencies he had on him.  He had 2 levels of Paladin, and the equivalent of 18 levels of sorceror.


----------



## recentcoin

I guess it goes without saying not to drink the green koo-aid...

2 cents,

RC


----------



## gfunk

JD coming at you once again on Day 3 of GenCon!  Well, Aqua Teen Hunger Force did in fact get to play in the semi's and we did quite well.  Accomplished all our goals in the alloted time with no character deaths.  We feel like we're a shoe-in for the finals.  Won't find out 100% till 5 am. 


Gfunk had a kind of downer day, starting with an RPGA game he played in with included an eight year old girl as a player.  She played a CE drow priestess.  Write your own jokes here.  Tonight at 10 pm, we play D&D For Cash, a game in which two teams of four choose from among 20 7th level iconics, with the goal being to kill the other team in the shortest time possible.  There are a total of 32 slots.  The top team wins $1000.  So far, the time to beat is three rounds, tic 18 on initiative.  We'll see.

More later.

JD


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

You better Bring that 3rd place home you need to add that 3rd place Handbook to your collection. We expect no less and no more please no more


----------



## gfunk

Gfunk here.  Quick update on the D&D for Cash -- w/ a little bit of luck (not to mention a generous serving of Evard's Black Tentacles) -- our team (aka PWN3D UR AZZ) managed to take down the opposition in round 2, initiative 16.  Will this be enough to snag one of the top 3 prizes?  We shall see.

More importantly, JD/Joachim & Co (aka Aqua Teen Hunger Force) are currently competing in the Open Final to reclaim their first place title.  I was eagerly watching but apparently they want strict security to maintain fairness since I was "invited to leave." 

Stay tuned . . .


----------



## JollyDoc

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> You better Bring that 3rd place home you need to add that 3rd place Handbook to your collection. We expect no less and no more please no more





Sorry to dissapoint you, but you're just going to have to settle for..........





















































another 1st place win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   Yeah!!!!!!!  Aqua Teen Hunger Force does it again!!  It was a squeaker folks.  The final encounter was with an aspect of Tiamat.  In the end, we had two PC's dead, and one unconscious.  The second place team also had two dead, one unconscious, and one who fled the encounter...counted against them.  Top prizes for us amounted to approx. $1000.00 worth of swag for each team member!!  This included a plethora of manuals, all of the Fantastic Location series, Dungeon Tiles, a Dungeons and Dragons chess set, a gargantuan black dragon mini....oh, and a video ipod engraved with the D and D logo!!  Boo Yaaa!!

As for D&D For Cash, our team ended up in a tie for third place.  We each took home a whopping $12.50 in cash.

All in all a productive four days!!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Congratulations! By your description, it was a close call for 1st place, but you did it again! Is there an article at WotC yet?


----------



## Rugger

Congrats Guys! As a former (2001) Open winner, I am left speechless at the prizes (we got $100 at the WotC online store and a pat on the back   )  Well played!

...and now back to the death and the maiming of Wormy-rific baddies!

-Matt


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Crap now we have to listen to them Brag and talk for the next year  . Your books will not match either.  No really congrats I really really mean it :\  Why oh Why oh the horror we shall endure at the Table. Great Prizes by the way.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Congratulations! By your description, it was a close call for 1st place, but you did it again! Is there an article at WotC yet?





Thanks everyone!  It was a great time, and every one of the competitors was tough.  And Ika is right, all of my players needs to prepare themselves for a year of being regaled with tales of our exploits and accomplishments!  

No articles from WoTC yet, but I'm sure they'll get one up eventually.  We'll look for it and let you guys know.  In the mean time, a company called Silven Publishing interviewed us, so you might check their website from time to time.

www.Silven.com


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Someone called JollyDoc did post a review of their victory on the Gencon boards... 

http://community.gencon.com/forums/post/45863.aspx


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Thanks everyone!  It was a great time, and every one of the competitors was tough.  And Ika is right, all of my players needs to prepare themselves for a year of being regaled with tales of our exploits and accomplishments!
> 
> No articles from WoTC yet, but I'm sure they'll get one up eventually.  We'll look for it and let you guys know.  In the mean time, a company called Silven Publishing interviewed us, so you might check their website from time to time.
> 
> www.Silven.com



Please first place in open does not mean nothing I read the Gencon forums there was not enough role playing to be named 1st place  . Acording to those guys the last real open was 4 years ago before you guys started your run   . You should have done Nascrag that was where the real Gamers where at role playing in the tavern drinking and chasing imaginary tavern wenchs. Geez you powergamers need to get a clue  .















Really Congratulations great win.


----------



## Joachim

Thanks for the congratulations, guys.  It was a lot of fun, even if I carried a stress headache all the way from the awards ceremony to Birmingham.  JD gave you a partial list of the prizes...here is the compiled list that each of us received:

60 GB Video iPod with the Dungeons and Dragons logo laser-etched on the back
As-yet unreleased Dungeons and Dragons Limited Edition Chess Set
3.5 PHB trophy with 1st Place embossing (to go next to our trophy books from 04 and 05)
D&D Icons - Gargantuan Black Dragon
Tome of Battle - The Book of Nine Swords
Dragons of Faerun
D&D Dungeon Tiles
Monster Manual IV
Secrets of Xen'drik
Fiendish Codex I - Hordes of the Abyss
Player's Handbook 2 (I own, so one of my Sunday companions is going to get it)
Complete Psionics  (ditto the the PHB II)
Tome of Magic - Pact, Shadow, and Truename Magic
Player's Guide to Eberron
Magic of Eberron
Fantastic Locations - Dragondown Grotto
Fantastic Locations - Fields of Ruin
Fantastic Locations - Fane of the Drow
A book satchel with the D&D logo
And most importantly...the D&D bumper stickers!! Coming to a stranger's car near you!!


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Someone called JollyDoc did post a review of their victory on the Gencon boards...
> 
> http://community.gencon.com/forums/post/45863.aspx





Er...umm...must by some other JollyDoc.  The net's full of 'em.  Bunch of hacks!


----------



## Wish

Congrats guys, and welcome back.


----------



## recentcoin

Congrats!  

*humbled before greatness*


----------



## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> ...Congratulations to the character who won...*Veritas*!




HeHeHe!!!
A paladin named Veritas, at least Hawk was there in spirit.


----------



## JollyDoc

R-Hero said:
			
		

> HeHeHe!!!
> A paladin named Veritas, at least Hawk was there in spirit.





Oh, he was no paladin.  He was an arcane caster who exploited the hell (legitimately) out of contingent item.  He may have carried the Veritas name, but something tells me Hawk would not have welcomed him into the fold  

As far as updates go.  I'll be working on the next one steadily, but since we'll be playing Red Hand for the next two weeks, I don't feel especially pressed for time, but I'll try not to drag my feet either.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Which reminds me...isn't there still an update to come for Red Hand?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Which reminds me...isn't there still an update to come for Red Hand?




That question has plagued the great thinkers of our time for many an age.


----------



## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> That question has plagued the great thinkers of our time for many an age.




While we ponder the curious lack of Red Hand of updates (BTW Joachim, drop me an email and let me know how the raid on the swamp went!), what's up w/ the Age of Worms update?  

Surely, six rounds of combat can't be so hard to put in prose . . .


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> While we ponder the curious lack of Red Hand of updates (BTW Joachim, drop me an email and let me know how the raid on the swamp went!), what's up w/ the Age of Worms update?
> 
> Surely, six rounds of combat can't be so hard to put in prose . . .




Bite me!

THE SPAWN OF DRAGOTHA

‘This is becoming tedious,’ Havok thought to himself.  The dilemma of the worm doors still had them stymied, though they had made some progress.  The warlock had cycled through several different forms via his Shapechange spell, including that of a lillend, whose Knock ability had no effect, until ultimately he had assumed his current shape, that of a beholder.  The null-magic effect of his central eye had not phased the portals, but the Disintegration ray from one of his eye stalks had destroyed one of the doors completely…for about thirty seconds, by which point the horrid vermin had repaired the barrier completely.  Still, it had given Grubber just enough time to quickly investigate a small chamber off of the large corridor which exited the eastern side of the Temple of the Worm.  Of course, before blundering into this hall, Mak had to warn his brother that the shimmering, green light which blanketed the hall was merely an illusion, underneath which was a seething mass of Kyuss worms, covering the walls, ceiling and floor.  The small chamber turned out to be bare, save for a small hole high in the ceiling, through which a gentle updraft flowed.  

At the end of the illusory hall stood a massive pair of worm doors.  Once more Havok blasted apart one of the portals, and when Faust had assured them that his Touchsight revealed no living enemy beyond, the psion transported them all transdimensionally past the tunnel of worms, and into the chamber.  Havok followed, after first reforming himself as a tulani eladrin, one of the most powerful of the celestials.  The stony walls of the vaulted room rippled with the burrowing passage of thousands of hissing green worms.  Above, the ceiling was a dome of green light that illuminated the chamber with a nauseating viridian shade.  To the west, the wall curved and featured five tall windows that looked out into a large cavern.  The floor near these windows rose up to form a lip or rim around a five-foot wide hole in the floor from which delicate tendrils of green mist rose.  A cage made of writhing green metal hung from a stalk of green affixed to the ceiling above, its empty confines twisting lazily in the air above the misting hole.

Faust and Mak stepped cautiously around the gaping hole, and moved to the windows to peer into the cavern beyond.  The ceiling of the immense cave rose up to a point nearly seventy feet above a ledge that overlooked it from a southern entrance.  The ledge wound upward along the northern wall, around a corner to the east.  The cave floor itself dropped away in three shelves, each ten feet lower than the last.  The room they stood in protruded, balcony-like, into the cavern.  The cavern was filled with a green glow from a huge circular pit to the south.  It was at that moment, as they were taking in the vista, that Mak caught a flicker of movement to his right.  Turning that way, he beheld a horrific sight.  A forty-foot long, green, wormlike behemoth was uncoiling itself from beneath the balcony room.  It had four, large draconic wings, and its eyeless head looked almost draconic as well, with a ring of horns that protruded back in a circular array around its neck.  It had no arms or legs, but its wings sported large claws on the tops and tips of each joint.  Its tail tapered down into a hook-studded member that ended in a set of large spikes.  Faust drew in a hissing breath as Mak shook his shoulder to get his attention.  It was a wormdrake.  The psion had read of them in the apostolic scrolls, and had hoped never to meet one.  Unlike the other minions of Kyuss, this creature had been created by Dragotha.  It was a fusion of dragon and overworm, combining the worst and most ferocious features of both into one monstrous, chimerical menace.  
‘We have to move, now, before it’s too late,’ Faust whispered, almost to himself, through the Mind Link, but as he saw the tell-tale shimmer of a Gate forming at the far end of the cavern, he knew it already was.

From the mystic portal stepped a creature straight out of nightmare.  It stood nearly thirty feet tall, and its broadly muscled body was covered in skin the color of a frost-bitten corpse.  Monstrous, red bat-like wings flared from its back, and its four arms constantly twitched and flexed.  Its face resembled a cross between a mule and a snarling orc, and spines covered its head, neck and upper shoulders.  Its most hideous feature was located in the middle of its abdomen:  a large, gaping mouth filled with a slobbering tongue and rows of blunt, powerful grinding teeth.  Just above this obscene maw sat a pair of massive, sharp pincers the size of large scythe blades.
‘A klurichir!’ Faust gasped, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.  He had heard of the fiends before, but had never seen one.  They were reputed to serve as generals under the greatest Abyssal lords.  If balors had nightmares, then surely they were of these powerful tanar’ri.
“Destroy the enemies of the Worm God!”  the wormdrake croaked in the demon’s own Abyssal tongue.  The fiend nodded grudgingly, hatred in its eyes at being bound so.  Still, reluctant or not, it would carry out its commands with all the powers at its behest.  Raising its hands above its head, it conjured twin columns of black fire, and from these stepped two slavering, demonic forms almost as hideous as itself…balors.

As the two demons rose into the air on their mighty wings, Faust gathered his companions around him.
‘I’m staying,’ Havok spoke through the Mind Link.
‘Are you crazy?’ Faust snapped.  ‘Even you can’t take on two balors on your own.’
‘I can be more help to you from here for now.’  Havok said.  ‘Go!  Now, while you still have time!’
Faust nodded, and swept the others up in a dimensional vortex, depositing them on the far side of the cavern, only a few yards from the klurichir.  Their escape was none to soon, as a wave of dark magic washed through the room.  Havok leaped back, just managing to avoid the tendrils of evil that would have incapacitated him had they touched him.  He could see one of the balors hovering just outside the window, glaring at him.  The second one, however, caught a glimpse of the other members of the League as they reappeared from limbo.  Altering his flight course, he hurled a wave of dispelling magic over them before they had a chance to recover from their transdimensional hop.  Each of them felt one of their precious protective spells ripped from them, leaving them even more vulnerable.

Grim was the first to recover, and never hesitating, he hurled himself towards the klurichir.  As he ran, he heard a melodious voice rising above the din of the monsters around him.  It was Havok, using his celestial powers to inspire renewed hope and courage among his comrades.  Shouting a dwarven battle cry, the mineralized warrior slammed into the tanar’ri, reigning blow after blow with his axe.  His greatest efforts barely scratched the beast.  It looked down at him, and both of its tongues lolled in a sadistic grin.  Grim took a hesitant step back, his shield raised to ward himself as best he could from the coming assault.  Then, he felt a presence beside him.  Glancing to his left, he saw the shining form of Hawk.  The civilar struck like a thunderbolt, his holy blade tearing deep gouges into the demon’s hide, but even so, Grim could see they were merely flesh wounds to the great fiend.

Grubber shook off the effects of the transdimensional jaunt, and looked around him to take stock of the situation.  The klurichir seemed momentarily preoccupied with Hawk and Grim, while the wormdrake watched the scene passively.  The balors, however, were wheeling towards him and his allies, black fire crackling around them.  Raising his hands, the priest shouted Grumbar’s name, and with a deafening rumble, a surge of null-magic blasted the demons, instantly sending them back to the Abyss from which they had been summoned.

Mak rushed past Grubber, closing to aid Grim and Hawk, but just then the klurichir stepped back from the warriors, putting distance between itself and its attackers.  Then, slamming its hands together, it sent a torrent of unholy power through the entire group.  Each of them felt a moment of vertiginous disorientation, and their limbs suddenly felt ten times heavier.  At that precise instant, the wormdrake opened its great maw and breathed forth a blast of frozen acid, which enveloped them all.

Havok watched this all unfold from the balcony room, and he knew the time had come.  He had hoped to avoid this drastic measure until they faced Dragotha, but he knew that if they were to ever have that chance, he must play his hand now.  He spoke a single word, “Gabriel.”  A moment later, he Teleported across the chamber to join his companions.
Suddenly, the entire chamber was filled with blinding white light, and the voices of ten-thousand angels brought tears to the eyes of the League members, and caused fear to clutch at the hearts of the klurichir and the wormdrake.  As the heavenly choir went silent, and the unearthly light faded, the great solar stood revealed in all his splendor in the center of the cave.  Raising his mighty, golden blade above him, he smote the klurichir, severing both the pincers from its abdominal jaws.  Black blood spewed, and the tanar’ri stumbled back, a combination of hatred and terror in its eyes.

A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye caught Havok’s attention.  Whirling that way, he saw an avolakia step from a previously hidden doorway down one of the corridors leading from the cave.  Before he could react, the creature spoke several guttural words, and a wall of invisible force sprang up beside the warlock and Grubber, separating them from their friends and the battle which raged beyond.

Mak had been the only one of the group not affected by the blasphemous spell cast by the klurichir.  He had expected such tactics from the hordes of Dragotha, and had warded himself accordingly before they had entered the Tabernacle.  Now, as he moved to aid the solar in whatever way he could, he was spared a second time as the tanar’ri unleashed another blast.  Once more his friends were stunned into immobility, but the demon’s intended target, Gabriel, was unphased.  The wormdrake, however, was completely focused on the members of the League.  Again its jaws opened, only this time they spewed an obscene cloud of Kyuss worms!  The vermin began burrowing into the skin of the company as soon as they struck.  Mak was horror struck.  He quickly turned back towards his friends, weaving a powerful healing spell around the entire group, instantly killing the parasites within them.

Gabriel’s golden eyes burned as he advanced on the klurichir.  The demon brought up its hands in a futile warding gesture as the solar’s sword severed them both, and then the creature’s neck.  Never breaking stride, he closed towards the wormdrake.  The dragon struck as he drew near, sinking its fangs into his thigh.  The angel allowed himself a brief smile as he drew on the might of Heaven.  In a blur of motion, he instantly grew to twice his already impressive size, now facing the great wyrm on equal ground.  For the first time in its existence, the wormdrake knew fear.

Havok rapidly closed the distance between himself and avolakia, unleashing a sizzling arc of lightning as he charged.  The jolt jarred the aberration, but only for a moment.  In response, the creature loosed a blast of freezing cold and ice, which washed harmlessly over the celestial warlock, but took Grubber with its full force, slamming the goliath into the wall behind him.  Then, the avolakia stepped back through the door from which she’d come, pulling it closed behind her, leaving only a blank wall in its place.
‘Not so fast,’ the warlock thought, and then he vanished, reappearing just on the other side of the wall.  The decadence of the chamber he found himself in was nearly overwhelming.  Thick carpet covered the floor, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and high-backed padded chairs and couches sat against the walls.  A low marble table in the middle of the room was covered with an array of tantalizing drinks and foodstuffs.  Soft music filled the air with a relaxing, soothing melody, and even the air itself felt warm and comforting.  Havok’s celestial sight, however, allowed him to see that much of this was illusory.  The furnishings were real, but not so food.  When he saw what the bowls and dishes really contained, he felt his gorge rise.  Twitching, writhing body parts slithered out of their containers and around the table.  His attention, however, was quickly drawn back to the avolakia.  She stood in the center of the room, halfway between two doors on opposite sides.  Havok quickly threw up a wall of flames to block the northeast exit, but the avolakia immediately countered with her own spell, placing a second force wall between herself and the warlock.  She then stepped through the southern worm door.  Havok cursed, preparing to pursue her again, but just then he heard Grubber speak to him through the Mind Link.
‘She’s out here!’ the priest shouted.  ‘She just appeared out of thin air, but she’s on the other side of the force wall!  I can’t reach her, and the others can’t disengage!’
‘I’ll be right there,’ Havok answered.

Indeed, the remaining members of the League, along with Gabriel, were fully engaged with the wormdrake.  Once more, the dragon breathed its blast of acid and ice, but only Mak suffered any ill effect, the others scattering out of the line of fire.  Immediately after, the drake stretched its wings and body out to their full length, and then slammed down on the ground forcefully.  A tremor grew into a low rumble beneath the feet of the defenders, and suddenly, from all sides, great, purple worms erupted from the ground.  Gabriel didn’t give them a second glance.  With one swipe of his blade, he disemboweled the dragon.  Then, pivoting on one foot, he let his momentum carry him towards the nearest worm, slicing its body neatly in two.  Grim quickly aborted his planned assault on the wormdrake, and instead closed to a second worm.  His axe hewed deeply into the behemoth’s hide, covering the dwarf in viscous, green fluid.  The great worm fell into a boneless mass.  

Just then, Havok appeared high in the air, directly above the avolakia.  Drawing on the eladrin’s magic, he launched a veritable swarm of flaming meteors at her.  She was engulfed, as was the last of the purple worms.  As the fires burned out, both lay dead, but just for an instant, Havok saw the avolakia’s form shift to that of a handsome, red-haired woman…one that he recognized.  It was Mahuudril, the leader of the Red Blades Merchant Consortium in Starmantle.  
“You should have listened to my offer when you had the chance,” he said to himself.  

The battle ended, Gabriel strode purposefully towards Havok, eyeing his celestial form with a jaundiced eye.
“Our agreement is at an end, mortal,” the solar said.
“And you have my eternal thanks,” the warlock replied.
“You have no idea of what comprises eternity,” Gabriel replied, almost to himself.  “In any event, I wish you success in your coming trials.  A great onus is upon you.  Your world will become a Hell on earth should you fail.  My prayers are with you.”  Then he was simply gone.
“We’ll need them,” Havok whispered.


----------



## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Bite me!




The correct terminology is _eat it_, thank you very much.

The cynic in me says that you completed this update before GenCon and purposely sat on it.  The release was probably timed for maximum effect (e.g. so a whiney reader could get his comeupance).

Nevertheless, I forgive you -- this was a great update and a very tense fight.  I've got to hand it to Grubber (_dispelling_ those Balors was critical) and Havoc (who, as usual, pwn3d the battlefield after wisely staying out of those darn Blasphemies).

When we game next, I predict a tense debate on whether we continue on or take a 24 hr rest (so that we can level up!!!!).


----------



## demiurge1138

You know, I had no idea that wormdrakes had gate as a spell-like ability until this update. Good to know. That'll teach me to read statblocks more thoroughly.

Excellent installment. I think Dragotha might have good reason to be worried 

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Cool action! Too bad, though, the party had to use their Gabriel card so soon! He might really have proven usefull in the end.

Still, seeing as the Solar had no problem whatsoever in dealing with the bad guys it makes me wonder about the CRs... The klurichir did not really come across as CR 25, except in JD's introduction of it.

I agree with gfunk. The two Balors could have been a diciding factor in the battle.


----------



## Joachim

I had no qualms with using the 'Gabriel' card so soon.  We didn't want to have to burn so many resources in that fight, and the Solar will not be as useful in the fight with Dragotha.

Besides, Havok is packing a lot more where that came from.


----------



## ltclnlbrain

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Still, seeing as the Solar had no problem whatsoever in dealing with the bad guys it makes me wonder about the CRs... The klurichir did not really come across as CR 25, except in JD's introduction of it.




I believe in "Fiendish Codex I," many demons received an overhaul on their CR. The kulrichir is now a more appropriate CR 19 instead of CR 25.  They realized it's nowhere near as deadly as its original CR suggested.


----------



## JollyDoc

ltclnlbrain said:
			
		

> I believe in "Fiendish Codex I," many demons received an overhaul on their CR. The kulrichir is now a more appropriate CR 19 instead of CR 25.  They realized it's nowhere near as deadly as its original CR suggested.




Really?  I will have to look at that.  Their insta-summon is deadly, plus Blashphemy at will.  They are not combat heavy at these levels.  CR 19 you say?  Hmm...I love the smell of xp drain in the morning.  It smells like...victory!


----------



## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Really?  I will have to look at that.  Their insta-summon is deadly, plus Blashphemy at will.  They are not combat heavy at these levels.  CR 19 you say?  Hmm...I love the smell of xp drain in the morning.  It smells like...victory!




I believe this monster has been re-statted extensively in the Fiendish Codex.  Somehow I doubt  a monster that can summon Balors and has an SR of 35-36 would qualify as a CR 19.  So if you used the one in the Fiend Folio, you'll have to used the listed CR . . .

EAT IT!!!

Edit: It seems that *I* will be the one who is eating it, courtesy of James Jacobs.  Link is here.  Man if Jacobs is not screwing the League w/ his made-up game mechanics and broken non-associated class levels, he's stealing our hard-earned XP.  WEAK!!! :\

Edit #2: So it seems that SR ~35, DR 20/cold iron and good, and the ability to summon 2 Balors was not taken into the equation when the Klurichir was weakened to CR 17.  Yes, you read correctly . . . this is not a typo.


----------



## Quartz

Was the Klurichir _Summonned_ or _Called_? If the former, isn't their ability to _Summon_ other monsters curtailed for an hour?


----------



## gfunk

Quartz said:
			
		

> Was the Klurichir _Summonned_ or _Called_? If the former, isn't their ability to _Summon_ other monsters curtailed for an hour?




Called (gated in, to be precise).


----------



## JollyDoc

Thanks to Gfunk (who will be on call and unavailable to play next Sunday), our AoW game will not resume until the week of Sept 10, so no new posts until the following week.  Sorry loyal readers, but it just keeps that tension taught.  Dragotha is just around the corner...


----------



## recentcoin

Undead dragon thingys....WOOT

RC


----------



## JollyDoc

recentcoin said:
			
		

> Undead dragon thingys....WOOT
> 
> RC





Indeed.  You will all understand, of course, why I don't want a single player to miss out on this exciting climax, both for the party's benefit...and mine...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I don't want to think about the party reaching Big D. without Faust. Or without anyone who can help for that matter. 

Just think about the authors note of that module...


----------



## JollyDoc

Can you feel it in the air?  Can you smell it?  That musty aroma that is a combination of some large animal and rotted meat?  It's growing stronger.  The time draweth nigh...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Could tomorrow be the day? Ah, say it is!


----------



## Solarious

In other words, it's time to greet the spider in his own parlor, said the DM to his players. We've all waited for this for much too long.


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Afternoon Update*

Soooo . . .

We decided to play Saturday night this week and went into the wee hours of the morning.  Needless to say, we met Dragotha and it was an epic battle w/ five PC's representing the League: Havoc, Faust, Mak, Grubber, and Hawk.

As we went into the battle we all had palpitations -- not just for us, for this was the culmination of months of play, but in fear of how it would look for the Story Hour.

And let me just say this . . .

YOU. WILL. NOT. BE. DISSAPOINTED.

'nuff zed.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Where was Grimm? You could have used him as bait, ah cannon fooder, I mean tank!


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Where was Grimm? You could have used him as bait, ah cannon fooder, I mean tank!




Grimm's player was unfortunately absent, but don't worry, I have a particularly evil way to write his...ineffectiveness...into the SH.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Grimm's player was unfortunately absent, but don't worry, I have a particularly evil way to write his...ineffectiveness...into the SH.



 So many possibilities...


----------



## Solarious

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> So many possibilities...



 So many deaths... and worms.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

The anticipation is killing me, almost as effectively as Dragotha must be at killing opponents.
And seeing how long you guys have taken to get this far playing table-top I cannot even start to imagine how long we are going to need on Play-by-Web. We have only recently entered the Labyrinth of Vecna and we started playing I think in May/June 2005. Talking about taking the express lane ;-) But I wouldn't want to miss it for the world.

*Edit:
Forgot to congratulate you guys on a job well done! So, a belated but still highly deserved congrats on coming out on top again at the GenCon Open. Wish I had been there. But maybe next year I'll be coming over with a few friends to see 'The Powergamers' at work ;-)*


----------



## JollyDoc

A'vandira Silvermane said:
			
		

> The anticipation is killing me, almost as effectively as Dragotha must be at killing opponents.
> And seeing how long you guys have taken to get this far playing table-top I cannot even start to imagine how long we are going to need on Play-by-Web. We have only recently entered the Labyrinth of Vecna and we started playing I think in May/June 2005. Talking about taking the express lane ;-) But I wouldn't want to miss it for the world.





Yeah, it's hard to believe that we will be starting Dawn of a New Age this coming Sunday (which lets you know that Dragotha was at least not a TPK).


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Hey JollyDoc, please don't leave us too long with this teaser out in the open. Although you probably need your time to write down the epic confrontation in due form...


----------



## Solarious

The masses demand Dragotha beatdown of the League! Hideous, painful, beatdown involving screaming, suffering, and wormy doom! 

Oh, and the giant horde that the Dracolich left behind. I'm sure a few of the piles of gold will pay for the diamonds (or scrolls ) needed to _Ressurect_ anyone turned into Kyssus flunkies.  Speaking of which, have you made your personal modifications to the finale gfunk? I certainly hope a lot of the Spire's most interesting inhabitants make a comback.


----------



## Joachim

Must...not...respond...to...Solarious...

Must...not...taunt...

<CTRL><ALT><DEL>


----------



## Solarious

You disappoint me Joachim. You didn't get half-owned by Dragotha? *BLASPHEMY*! 

Well, there is always Kyssus.  I mean, you never did manage to take down Adimarchus, even with Entropy helping out with her massive selection of spells and 2 artifacts. 

And thank you for spelling out my username correctly. You wouldn't believe how many people say 'Solarius' to me.


----------



## JollyDoc

Solarious said:
			
		

> Speaking of which, have you made your personal modifications to the finale gfunk? I certainly hope a lot of the Spire's most interesting inhabitants make a comback.





Gfunk?  GFUNK???  Who's Story Hour is this anyway????


----------



## Solarious

Clearly it isn't yours, or else I would say JollyDoc. 

But seriously. How can I make it up to you? A kiss?


----------



## JollyDoc

Solarious said:
			
		

> Clearly it isn't yours, or else I would say JollyDoc.
> 
> But seriously. How can I make it up to you? A kiss?





Nah...you can just read...and weep...

THE DRAGON REBORN

As Hawk, Faust and Giovanni brought their totems together again, the ghostly form of Balakarde manifested in the air above them once more.  The spirit looked about the vast chamber, taking note of the carnage.
‘I do not recognize this place,’ he spoke, without words, ‘but the wormdrake I remember well.  It was that foul creature’s presence at my meeting with Dragotha that was my ultimate undoing.’
“We are drawing nearer to the dracolich’s sanctum,” Giovanni said aloud.  “We have slain most of his minions that we have come across.  Only two that we know of escaped…a wyvern and its derro rider.  Do you know them?”
Balakarde shook his head, ‘No, but remember that it was sixteen years ago when last I walked these halls.’
“Can you tell us anything more of the Writhing Sanctum or the enemies that we might face there?”  Giovanni asked.
‘It was a large, cavernous place,’ Balakarde answered, his eyes growing distant, as if he were actually seeing the place of his doom again.  ‘A ziggurat stood at one end, and atop it sat the monolith that was Kyuss’ prison.  Three great worms prowled the tunnel leading into the Sanctum…nightcrawlers, undead abominations.  Several of the avolakia priests stood on ledges around the perimeter of the place.  This is all I can tell you.’
“Our thanks again,” Giovanni nodded, “but one last thing.  You mentioned that you might be able to aid us when we face Dragotha.  What must we do?”
The ghost smiled, ‘You will know when the time comes,’ and with that, he faded away once more.

The group stood adjacent to the glowing pit on the southern side of the wormdrake’s lair.  It was a twenty-foot wide shaft extending up through the ceiling and down into the depths of the earth.  Dozens, if not hundreds, of alcoves lined its walls.  Some were empty, but just as many contained the desiccated remains of avolakia.  The shaft itself faded into darkness above and below, and a thick rain of green fluid cascaded down the center, filling the air with an oily haze and coating the walls with moisture.
“So what now?”  Faust asked.  “If it is our intention to proceed on to the dragon’s lair, I must warn you that I am mentally exhausted.  I will be of little use to you in my current state.”  
Grubber nodded in agreement, “I too have drained most of the powers that Grumbar has granted me for this day.  My support will be related to hand-to-hand fighting.”
“Then we can’t win,” Giovanni said matter-of-factly.  “If we leave and return tomorrow, there is no assurance that Dragotha will still be here, and if he is, he might have any number of new allies with him.”
“I may have a solution,” Mak said quietly, “but it will cost me dearly.  Allow me a few minutes.”  His companions watched him questioningly as he withdrew to a far corner, knelt on the ground, drew his sword and laid it before him.  Softly, so that none of the others could hear, he began to pray.
“Helm, Watcher over us all, hear my plea.  My brothers and I find ourselves in an impossible situation.  We must stop Kyuss’ general if we are to have any hope of halting the coming Age of Worms.  Yet, we lack the ability to do what must be done.  Our hearts and our determination our strong, and we will go forward if we must, but I fear we will only waste our lives in the attempt.  I ask your blessing upon us.  Grant us your divine grace to restore our strength to us.  I know the boon I seek is great, but I am willing to pay the price.  I ask this as your humble servant.”  The goliath bowed his head.

Suddenly, Faust grabbed his head and gasped, his eyes growing wide.  Next to him, Grubber’s face showed astonishment and disbelief.  As Mak dragged himself to his feet and stumbled back towards them, his brother grabbed his shoulders, supporting him.
“What have you done?”  Grubber whispered.
“What had to be done,” Mak answered.  
“What’s going on?” Giovanni asked.  “What’s wrong with all of you?”
“Nothing,” Faust grinned, “Absolutely nothing!  My power has been restored…well, the major part of it!  It is truly a miracle!”
Grubber nodded soberly, “My own magic has returned to me as well, and I believe that of my brother is also whole, but the sacrifice he has made…”  The goliath trailed off, shaking his head.  Mak waved him away.
“Enough!” he snapped.  “What is done is done.  Do you all intend to stand here talking about it until Dragotha himself comes to welcome us, or will you accept what has been given, and lets us do what we came here to do?”  Hawk placed one hand on Mak’s shoulder and nodded.  
“Well spoken soldier…and well done.  Let’s go.”
_______________________________________________________________

“If I were an undead dragon,” Faust said, peering over the edge of the shaft, “I think that I would be as far down in the bowels of the earth as I could be.  I vote we descend.”
“We will not leave my brother this time,” Mak said.  “If the dracolich is indeed down there, then we may not have time to come back for him, and I won’t leave him on his own in this vile place.”  
Faust looked pensive for a moment, and then snapped his fingers.  “I have it!  Group close together, all of you.”  The psion placed his fingers to his temples, and in an instant, a softly glowing sphere of blue energy surrounded the entire group.  They all felt lighter than air floating within the globe, and under Faust’s psychic command, the orb lifted gently into the air, and began to float slowly downed the darkened shaft.  The cascade of green liquid rolled harmlessly off of its surface, never reaching those inside.

The descent seemed interminable.  Faust reckoned they had traveled almost two thousand feet into the earth before Grubber finally announced that he could see an end to the shaft, some hundred feet or so below them.  They drifted out the ceiling of a mammoth cave.  The floor was barely visible well over a hundred feet further down…and it was filled with worms.  Millions of them, ranging in size from mere threads to overworms larger than any dragon they had seen.  With a mental command, Faust brought the telekinetic sphere to a halt in mid-air.  
“Do you think this is it?” he asked.  “This doesn’t look like the place Balakarde described.”
“Maybe we went the wrong way,” Giovanni offered.
“Or maybe Dragotha has changed the trappings of his lair since Balakarde invaded,” Mak said.
“There is one way to find out,” Grubber said, and this time it was he that beseeched his god, but for information, not power on the scale Mak had performed.  In a moment, the goliath looked up.  “He is not here.  His lair is above, at the pinnacle of the Tabernacle.  Also know this…Dragotha is not alone, and it is more than nightcrawlers, avolakia or wyvern-riding derro that attend him.”  
Faust looked back up towards the shaft.  “The ascent is going to take at least ten minutes,” he said skeptically.  
“Many of the wards I have woven about us will expire by then,” Grubber said pointedly.
“Then we have no choice,” the psion said, looking Grubber in the eye.  “I Teleport us to the top of the shaft, and we see what we find.  I needn’t remind you that all of us, save you, have the ability to fly.  If we find ourselves in mid-air…” he let the statement trail off.
“I accept that,” Grubber said, his mouth tightening.  “Take us.”
_______________________________________________________

Grubber’s greatest fears were realized when the team reappeared at the top of the wormvent.  Though a large tunnel opened off the shaft, there was no solid ground below their feet.  Immediately, the goliath began to fall, but to his amazement, he floated gently down instead of plummeting.  However, without the protection of Faust’s telekinetic sphere, Grubber and his companions could now feel the bone-numbing cold that permeated the shaft, and where the viscid green cascade touched their skin, they could sense it seeping into the very marrow of their souls, sapping them of their life’s energy.  Havok prepared to dive after the falling cleric, but at that moment, his eyes caught a flicker of movement in the circular tube which wound through the rock to one side of the shaft.  Its walls were glassy and smooth, as if burned with great heat or acidic force.  Swarms of writhing green worms clung to the walls and ceiling in horrific defiance of gravity, although every so often clumps of the green menaces would drop down like chunks of snow falling through the boughs of a tree.  A river of thick, green fluid rushed down the tube towards their position, before cascading over the edge of the pit.  The frigid air smelled heavily of corruption.  Yet it was not the small vermin which had captured the warlock’s attention.  Further down the tunnel, yet moving rapidly in their direction, was an immense worm covered with plates of dead, black, chitonous armor.  Its toothy maw was wider than a human was tall, and its teeth and gullet were black as pitch.  It was as Balakarde had warned them.  It was a nightcrawler.

Grubber knew what it was that his companions faced.  Havok communicated it to him through the Mindlink.
‘Go!’ the priest commanded.  ‘Don’t worry about me!  I will follow!’
Havok nodded, and immediately faded from view before streaking to a position near the top of the tunnel, and out of the deadly rain of emerald liquid.  No sooner had he moved, than a wave of mental fire coursed down the tube.  Faust’s energy cone washed over the nightcrawler, and the behemoth writhed in pain.  Simultaneously, Mak and Grubber flew down the corridor, rapidly closing with the undead worm.  All of this Grubber glimpsed through the mental bond he shared with his team mates, and he knew he had to reach them quickly, not only for their benefit, but to prevent his own life from being sucked dry by the leaching, green river.  Calling upon Grumbar, the goliath performed a truly miraculous feat, which allowed him to momentarily call upon arcane magic rather than divine, and transport himself instantaneously to a point directly behind the attacking nightcrawler.  Unfortunately, he found himself standing ankle deep in writhing, biting green worms.  To make matters worse, he heard a deep rumble from the tunnel behind him, and when he turned that way, he saw the second nightcrawler approaching.

The first nightshade opened its great mouth and expelled a cone of freezing air, which lowered the already frigid temperature in the tube even further.  Faust managed to leap behind a rocky outcropping at the last minute, but the blast caught Mak, Hawk, Grim and Havok full force.  
‘These undead brutes seem to thrive in the cold,’ Havok said to his friends.  ‘Let us see how they fare against the purging flames of eldritch fire!’  Instantly, a viridian wall of worm-filled fire arced down the passage, slicing through both nightcrawlers, sending them into convulsions of pain and howling rage.
‘I’ll go you one better!’  Faust grinned, and with the merest mental shrug, he opened a small conduit to the Positive Energy plane, which proceeded to pour pure force that was anathema to the undead, causing both to explode spectacularly.
‘Very nice,’ Havok nodded appreciatively.
‘Oh boys,’ Mak called, ‘if you’re through congratulating yourselves, we’ve got more company.’  The goliath quickly proceeded to weave a protective ward about himself, Grubber and Hawk against both the frigid air in the tunnel, and the equally freezing breath of the nightcrawlers, for a third one of the monstrosities was slithering towards them.  Immediately, the creature breathed, but this time the blast rolled harmlessly over the League members.  Hawk and Mak rushed forward, each taking a flanking position on the beast.  As they slashed and cut at the worm, Havok summoned two more walls of emerald flame, cutting off the creature’s escape, and immolating it in a matter of moments.  A haze of fine, black dust covered the writhing vermin on the tunnel floor.

“Come on!”  Hawk cried aloud.  “Dragotha knows we’re coming!  We must strike now, before he can prepare further!”  The civilar soared around a curve in the tunnel, just ahead of his fellows, but then abruptly came to a halt.  Ahead, the tube-like tunnel opened into a vast cavern lit by the undulant green glow of a huge ziggurat built of worm-infested stone.  It appeared that a small structure once stood atop the pyramid, but nothing remained save a great, jagged hole.  The green liquid that flowed down the passageway gushed from this wound, cascading down the front stairs of the ziggurat in a chain of miniature waterfalls.  Two ledges overlooked the cavern.  The northernmost one rose fifteen feet above the floor, while the southern one rose thirty.  In the southwest corner of that ledge lay heaped an amazing mound of treasure.  The ceiling of the chamber vaulted to a height of nearly one-hundred feet.
By far the most imposing feature of the cavern, however, was the gargantuan dragon perched atop the ziggurat.  Dragotha was even more horrifying than Hawk could have imagined.  It was obvious that his scales had once been deepest crimson, but now the flesh hung in rags over the dried bones beneath.  His great wings bore rents as well, and where his eyes should have been were two pinpoints of green fire.  Spaced around the surrounding ledges were four of the avolakian priests, while hovering in the air above Dragotha was the wyvern-riding derro they had met outside the tabernacle.  One final creature was present within the Writhing Sanctum.  It bore a human head, but had the bloated body of a Kyuss worm…a worm naga.  It was none-other than Sruggut, the pathetic creature the League, or more specifically Faust, had allowed to go free from the Spire of Long Shadows.

Just as Hawk’s  companions joined him in witnessing the terrible tableau, Dragotha roared in a voice that sounded like thunder in the enclosed space.
“Finally you are here,” he said in a voice that sounded like dry leaves crackling.  “The unwitting lapdogs of the very evil that you seek to stop!”  He began to chuckle evilly.  “Does it come as no surprise to you to learn that Lashonna, the one who sent you on this suicide mission, is manipulating you more than I could ever have dreamed of doing?  She seeks to supplant me as Kyuss’ right hand, and she sent you to do her dirty work, to eliminate me.  She sent you to your deaths, but I will show you more mercy than she would.  Leave now, and go to Lashonna.  Slay her, and let my name be the last sound she hears.  Do this, and I will forget all that you have done in affront to me.  This will be my once and final offer.”
At that moment, Hawk, Faust and Havok each felt Balakarde’s presence in their mind.  Instinctively, Hawk knew that the spirit’s gift to him was total immunity to Dragotha’s fiery breath, and some of that protection was also conveyed to those around him.  Faust became aware that his own potent mental abilities were now even more deadly, and his allies near to him would not fall under the fearful awe of the dracolich’s presence.  Havok felt that his attacks against the dragon would strike almost unerringly, and his allies would not be affected by the paralyzing effect of Dragotha’s gaze and touch.  Each of them also knew they could pass these gifts among themselves, and to their comrades.  Above all, though, each of them felt an almost overwhelming, blinding urge to kill the dracolich.  There would be no bargain, and no quarter given.

“By your silence, you have sealed your own doom,” Dragotha hissed, and then he began uttering the guttural words of a spell.  Mak, and Grubber, with their divinely-enhanced senses saw the invisible wall of force spring up behind Hawk, separating the paladin from the rest of the team.  Through the Mindlink, they made the others aware.
‘It is of no concern,’ Faust responded.  An eye-blink later, the psion stood mere feet away from the dracolich, though no one had seen him move.  No one knew that he had accelerated the flow of time in relation to himself only, disintegrated the force wall, clothed his body in a shield of timelessness, and strode boldly up to Dragotha, daring the fiend to strike at him.
“Kill them!”  Dragotha shouted to his minions.  Sruggut’s eyes went wide with fear when he saw how close Faust had gotten.  The worm naga remembered all-to-well the psion’s power.  Quickly, he rendered his body intangible, much in the way Havok’s own ghostly form appeared.  Meanwhile, from above Zyrinth shrieked, diving straight towards Hawk.  The paladin raised his shield, feeling the wyvern’s claws scrape across its surface as he swooped past.  At the last moment, Hawk struck the passing dragon, Quaero biting deep into Zyrinth’s flank.  Simultaneously, two of the avolakia’s summoned columns of green fire to engulf Faust.  The élan stepped clear without so much as a singe to his cloak.  The other two priests tried a different tactic.  Walls of stone sprang instantaneously from the ground at their bidding, once more sealing the other members of the League away from the melee, and away from Hawk and Faust as well.  Dragotha towered above Faust, regarding the psion cautiously.  ‘What sort of being was this?’ he wondered, ‘and what kind of power must he possess to feel so secure?’  The dracolich wasn’t taking any chances.  Speaking the words to another spell, he quickly encased Faust in a complete cage of pure force.  The psion smiled, and then blew the cage apart with another blast of mental power.  On the heels of this, Faust hurled a powerful dispelling charm against Dragotha, but a ring on one of the dracolich’s large fore claws flashed, and the élan felt his own power turned back upon him, only to be absorbed by his own wards.  He was just preparing to strike again, when Zyrinth landed right next to him, reaching out one large, clawed foot to grasp at him.  Eel-like, Faust slipped through the dragon’s grasp.

On the far side of the wall, Havok called out mentally to Grubber, ‘The time is now, my friend.  Just as we planned.  Have no fear.’  The goliath nodded, and he and his brother moved adjacent to the stone wall just as the warlock blasted a hole through it with his eldritch fire.  Before either of them could move, however, Grim darted past them.  The dwarf rushed to Hawk’s side just as Dragotha leaped from his perch, and landed heavily right beside the civilar.  For the briefest of moments, Grim’s eyes locked with those of the dracolich, but that was all that it took.  The mineral warrior felt his limbs seize, and his muscles lock in place.  He became rooted to the spot, paralyzed, and too far from Havok to benefit from Balakarde’s gift.  Havok cursed as he saw Grim’s predicament.  His plan would have been foolproof if not for the headstrong warrior.  Before anything else could go wrong, the warlock pulled a scroll from his cloak and, reading it, stopped the flow of time for all but himself.  Stepping into the room, he pulled a second scroll, this time casting a spell that erected a larger version of the cage of force Dragotha had imprisoned Faust with, only this time it was around the dracolich, and its walls were barred rather than solid, much like a jail cell.  In rapid succession, the warlock then erected three intersecting walls of eldritch fire within the cage.  As time resumed, Dragotha found himself burned, not by the fire of the walls, to which he was naturally immune, but instead by the eldritch energies which powered them, which were especially deadly to the undead.  Abruptly, time stopped once more, only this time it was Grubber who was responsible.  The goliath’s heart pounded as he moved quickly into the chamber.  As Havok had instructed, he began to quickly weave his divine magic.  Around Dragotha’s prison, he placed a dimensionally locked energy field, which would prevent the dracolich from teleporting himself free of the cage.  Then, following Havok’s lead, he conjured three walls of whirling blades made of force.  These, he knew, would harm even a spirit-creature, like that which Sruggut had transformed himself into, and so Grubber made the barriers long enough that they would intersect with the space occupied by the worm naga.  When time resumed its normal flow again, both the dracolich and his lackey suddenly found themselves on the receiving ends of a world of pain.  

Faust whistled in admiration as he saw the devastating result of Grubber’s and Havok’s expertly coordinated attack.  With the main threat otherwise occupied, he could now turn his attention to the second course.  Turning towards Sruggut, the psion opened his mind.  
“I owe you for your betrayal of my trust,” he said coldly to the worm naga, “and I always repay my debts.”  Suddenly, a cyclonic blast of wind flowed from Faust, blasting the semi-corporeal naga.  As it struck, hurricane force winds spiraled out in all directions.  Unfortunately, Sruggut was blown clear of the whirling blade barriers.  One of the avolakias on the ledge above, however, was swept into the blades.  Venk and Zyrinth were caught as well, with the derro tumbling from the wyvern’s back, while Zyrinth rolled head over tail thru the blade walls, and one of Havok’s worm-fire walls as well.  Faust winked at Havok.  ‘Touché’’ he jibed.  

Sruggut was panicking.  This wasn’t going as planned at all!  Dragotha had been neutralized, and their offensive was in shambles.  He had to do something to free his master.  Hastily, he cast a spell, sending a dispelling field designed to reave the protective wards from his enemies at the dimensional barrier surrounding the dracolich.  Havok sensed the worm naga’s intent immediately, and using the ring he had taken from Filge, he instantaneously countered the spell, directing it instead towards Dragotha, hoping that it would tear away all of the dracolich’s protective wards.  Instead, Dragotha’s own ring flashed, turning the spell back towards Sruggut.  The naga hissed as the spell struck him, but as each of his defensive spells were sucked from him, he used the reaving ability of the magic to replace them immediately.  The net effect was nil.  Dragotha remained trapped.

Venk had a plan.  The derro warlock was also fully aware that without Dragotha, the battle was lost.  Sprinting across the battlefield, she vaulted onto Zyrinth’s back just as the wyvern extricated himself from the burning, ripping walls.  Zyrinth then leaped into the air, sweeping in a great arc across the room, rending at Hawk’s armor as he passed.  Ultimately, he landed near one of the avolakia priests, who quickly began mending his wounds.  On the far side of the chamber, one of the other priests was pouring negative energy into Dragotha, trying to heal him just as quickly as his flesh was being rent.  Dragotha himself could feel his life force fading.  He knew that his minions would free him, if given enough time.  He had to keep himself alive until then.  Opening his great jaws, he breathed a cone of pure darkness onto his own body, where it clung like a second skin.  The devastating Death Wind was capable of snuffing the life out of any living creature…any living creature not warded against its negative energy as his accursed enemies obviously were.  However, these same energies served to revitalize his own flagging spirit, and as long as he could continue to exist, there was hope yet for victory.

Grubber saw that Sruggut was preparing another attempt at dispelling the spells he had woven around Dragotha, and he knew that Havok’s ring could only function once in a day.  He realized that was up to him to stop the naga.  He spoke the words to his prayer as Sruggut chanted those to his spell.  Grubber’s tongue proved faster, and a hammer forged of white energy struck the worm naga in the back of the skull, and he collapsed bonelessly to the floor, his body resuming its corporeal form, and leaking black blood onto the stone.  The priest didn’t pause to congratulate himself.  Instead, he spoke another prayer, and a virtual storm of holy blades spread throughout the chamber.  The projectiles pierced the flesh of all the remaining enemies, and Zyrinth and two of the avolakias gasped as the light from the storm struck them instantly blind.
The other two avolakias continued to tend Dragotha’s wounds….a situation that Faust intended to put an end to.  Opening his mind once more, he unleashed a sonic bombardment into the walking worms, shattering their bodies as they were hurled into the walls.

Venk curse the luck that had blinded her companion, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.  Guiding the wyvern, she urged him across the room, towards Dragotha’s horde.  Once there, the quickly dismounted and began rummaging through the mound, until she pulled free a plain, iron coffer.  Dragotha watched her, sensing her intent.  Abruptly, he called out to his enemies.
“A truce!” he roared.  “Free me now, and I swear to you that I will help you to slay the traitor Lashonna!”
‘Grubber!’  Havok shouted through the Mindlink.  ‘Stop the derro!  She’s trying to free Dragotha!’  The priest whirled towards the little warlock, shouting words to Grumbar, as a thin, green beam of light streaked from his finger.  At the last moment, however, Zyrinth leaped between the ray and his mistress.  The spell struck, and instantaneously vaporized the wyvern.  Mak charged towards Venk just as she pulled a small, plain stone from the coffer in triumph.  Her victorious grin turned to one of shock, however, as the goliath drove his sword completely through her.  
“No!!!”  Dragotha shrieked, as his last hope died.  The ancient dracolich roared in disbelief and rage.  His body shuddered, thrashed, and then clattered to the ground in a rain of ancient bones.  When they struck the floor, they exploded into clouds of crypt dust.  The ominous shape of a ghostly dragon lingered for a moment in these clouds, but then faded, and was gone.  The remaining two avolakias, blinded and leaderless, followed their master into eternity moments later.

Dragotha’s destruction brought a sudden burst of light and energy from Havok, Faust and Hawk.  Once again, the ghost of Balakarde materialized before them.  
‘Thank you my friends,’ he said, smiling.  ‘But know this…the true battle remains ahead.  It is now up to you to find where Kyuss’ monolith has been taken, and destroy the Worm God.  I leave a gift for each of you, in appreciation for all that you have done for me.’  As the spirit faded from view, a number of spinning gold coins, one for each of them, and each bearing the image of Balakarde, wafted down from thin air.  As each of the League members reached out to capture the coins, they vanished, and a surge of hope filled them all.  Perhaps all was not lost.  Perhaps there was still a chance at victory…


----------



## Wish

Woohoo!  Sweet update, JD.  Thanks.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Solarious said:
			
		

> You disappoint me Joachim. You didn't get half-owned by Dragotha? *BLASPHEMY*!
> 
> Well, there is always Kyssus.  I mean, you never did manage to take down Adimarchus, even with Entropy helping out with her massive selection of spells and 2 artifacts.
> 
> And thank you for spelling out my username correctly. You wouldn't believe how many people say 'Solarius' to me.





I will say this much Entropy Never Helped She Hindered us more than she helped. All I am going to say about the Adimarchus Quote. 

Great Update JD


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I...don't...believe...it !!!    What tactics! 

This has got to be the most amazing victory of the league, yet. And they didn't even need Grim...


In your face, James Jacobs:


> from the end of Into the Wormcrawl Fissure:
> _James Jacobs apologizes in advance to all the PCs destined to be killed by Dragotha. They probably did something to deserve it, though._


----------



## demiurge1138

...

That was _crazy_ awesome. Excellent use of tactics, and I'm sure a little blessing from the Dice Gods didn't hurt there, either.

Now, who's next? Lashonna? The Big K?

Demiurge out.


----------



## gfunk

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> I will say this much Entropy Never Helped She Hindered us more than she helped. All I am going to say about the Adimarchus Quote.




 Right . . . 



			
				Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> This has got to be the most amazing victory of the league, yet. And they didn't even need Grim...
> In your face, James Jacobs:




Yep, we were all very excited when Joachim ran over his plan before the final battle.  It was well thought out and there only a few things that could've prevented it from working.  Jacobs did a good thing (for the DM) by putting Dragotha @ the end of a tough gauntlet of enemies.  This way we didn't meet Dragotha, roll initiave straight up (meaning he would be toast w/ Havoc's 40+ initiative), and have at him.

Thing worked out when Hawk and Faust went in the room early and got all offensive fire directed @ them so that Grubber/Havoc could get into position and unleash the plan.

And, of course, the whole thing would've been nigh impossible w/o Mak's timely (and creative) _miracle_.



			
				demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Now, who's next? Lashonna? The Big K?




We got so much experience from this encounter that it put us over Level 21.  By the rules though, our XP resetted to one less than we needed for 21st.  Looks we'll have to find some kobolds to kill . . .  

We also got > 300K of gold from Dragotha's liquidated hoard.  We'll see if there is enough time to spend it.  I have a feeling that we will collapse Waterdeep's economy w/ all the influx of cash!


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Hindered as in was more worried about her Killing us than adimarchus


----------



## Solarious

Ah, Miracle-resting. It's almost like I'm playing BG2... where a _Wish_ would grant you the full benefits of 8 hours of sleep. 

You guys are certainly rich now. But you're going to need the wealth... Kyuss and his minions await! I wonder how much of this module is going to get tweaking from Jolly. It's pretty clear from my readthrough that it got lots of cutting and gutting from the original manuscript.

This is gonna be good. 



			
				Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Hindered as in was more worried about her Killing us than adimarchus



Sissy. She tags him with a pair of _Energy Drain_s from her artifact-crown, tries to _Gate_ in Cronos to finish off a fleeing Adimarchus, and you worry she's going to kill you? Granted, should she have finished the job, you might have, but Entropy had problems of her own, as you will recall if you tried hard enough. 

Speaking of which, remember what Adi's CR was? Somewhere around 27, right? Kyuss is... somewhere beyond that. 

I also point out you have no minor artifacts to speak of.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

gfunk said:
			
		

> Yep, we were all very excited when Joachim ran over his plan before the final battle.  It was well thought out and there only a few things that could've prevented it from working.  Jacobs did a good thing (for the DM) by putting Dragotha @ the end of a tough gauntlet of enemies.  This way we didn't meet Dragotha, roll initiave straight up (meaning he would be toast w/ Havoc's 40+ initiative), and have at him.



Do you plan your tactics without JollyDoc first and surprise him or is he present when you do it? Anyway, Kudos to Joachim for the plan. You might have added a Silence, that way you would not have had to listen to the whinings of Dragotha. 



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> We got so much experience from this encounter that it put us over Level 21.  By the rules though, our XP resetted to one less than we needed for 21st.  Looks we'll have to find some kobolds to kill . . .
> 
> We also got > 300K of gold from Dragotha's liquidated hoard.  We'll see if there is enough time to spend it.  I have a feeling that we will collapse Waterdeep's economy w/ all the influx of cash!



The rules / JD won't let you gain two levels at once? 



			
				Solarious said:
			
		

> I also point out you have no minor artifacts to speak of.



Maybe something can be done about that!


----------



## gfunk

Solarious said:
			
		

> I also point out you have no minor artifacts to speak of.




*COUGH*staff of the magi*COUGH*
*COUGH*talismans of zagyg*COUGH*



			
				Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Do you plan your tactics without JollyDoc first and surprise him or is he present when you do it? Anyway, Kudos to Joachim for the plan. You might have added a Silence, that way you would not have had to listen to the whinings of Dragotha.
> 
> The rules / JD won't let you gain two levels at once?




We actually asked JD to leave the table while we talked turkey.  He graciously obliged . . . 

No, two levels @ once would be a blatant rules violation . . . but the DM has been known to bend the rules ever so slightly in the past for the benefit of the story line. . .


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> No, two levels @ once would be a blatant rules violation . . . but the DM has been known to bend the rules ever so slightly in the past for the benefit of the story line. . .





Oh I may bend the rules this time...just not in the way you expect...


----------



## Joachim

gfunk said:
			
		

> *COUGH*staff of the magi*COUGH*
> *COUGH*talismans of zagyg*COUGH*




And a major artifact called the Crown of Horns, too.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Hey, no weekend teaser? I thought you had started Dawn of a New Age?

Or did nothing eventful happen?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Hey, no weekend teaser? I thought you had started Dawn of a New Age?
> 
> Or did nothing eventful happen?




Oh, it was eventful...and fun...for me    But I'll let G have the honor of doing the teaser.


----------



## Hammerhead

Any chance we can see the epic or soon-to-be epic iterations of the League?


----------



## gfunk

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Any chance we can see the epic or soon-to-be epic iterations of the League?




Yep.  Once we rest again, most of us will hit 21st level.

*Monday Afternoon Update*

The dust has barely settled from our battle w/ Dragotha and we're just starting to stuff our faces w/ his bountiful treasure when we recieve a _sending_ from Archmage Harpell.  *sigh* The League's work is never done . . .

After being brought up to date on the "Dawn of a New Age" we realize we have six days before the poop hits the fan:

Day #1
- Chillax

Day #2
- _Teleport_ around major cities in the Realms, attempting to purchase powerful magic w/ our ill-gotten wealth.  Of course, some cities have a small problem w/ Kyuss infestations . . .
- We pay homage to the Tomb of Acerack the Demi-Lich and a certain green-faced demon . . .
- We return to Starmantle and end up in the middle of a riot.  We try to "take the power back to the people," but are frustrated in our efforts by genocidal Kyuss Knights.  Will we kill them before they butcher the innocent crowd?
- We pay a visit to the Boneyard and are rudely smacked down by a Brood Fiend (*damn fog!!*) in a fight which I'm sure JD enjoyed -- mainly b/c he got to bitch slap Faust real good. :\


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Well, it's nice to see that the League won't be able to casually   walk through this module.  



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> - We pay homage to the Tomb of Acerack the Demi-Lich and a certain green-faced demon . . .



A nice story arch, eh? This is why I prefer AoW to the SC adventure path: All the oldschool DnD stuff that makes its reappearance here: Hand of Vecna, Tomb of Horrors, ...


----------



## JollyDoc

DAWN OF A NEW AGE

The size of Dragotha’s horde was staggering, and the League members were just getting started with it when Hawk heard a familiar voice in his head.
‘This is Malchor.  Please return to Longsaddle soonest.  Urgent news to relate regarding Kyuss.  Time is of the essence.’
‘Isn’t it always,’ Hawk sighed to himself before acknowledging the wizard’s Sending.  “I hate to cut our victory celebration short,” he said aloud to his companions, “but the Harpell is calling for us.  Something’s up.”
“Really?”  Faust said sarcastically.  “You mean something besides the destruction of a two-thousand-year-old dracolich, and the impending ascendancy to godhood of his master, aided by a vampiric silver dragon?”
“No, I think that about covers it,” Hawk grinned.  “In any event, let’s gather up what we can and get moving.”
________________________________________________________

Malchor Harpell looked haggard, as if he’d not slept in days.  He rose to greet his guests as they were ushered into his study.
“Welcome back friends,” he said with a tired smile.  “I’ve recently had a visit from an old friend.  Balakarde appeared to me a few hours ago.  He told me of your victory over Dragotha, and of the release of his own spirit from years of torment.  I can’t thank you enough.  I’m afraid, however, that your celebration must be short-lived.  Starmantle is besieged.  Strange clouds of green mist have risen from the ground, engulfing whole city blocks, and undead and immense worms stalk the streets.  Worse, the tower that Prince Embuirhan was building has been completed with amazing speed, and a vortex churns in the sky above it.  My divinations have revealed to me that Kyuss will soon emerge into our plane, and when he does, the Age of Worms will begin.  This new Spire of Long Shadows will serve as a focus for the unholy energies that the Wormgod needs to escape from his prison.  His agents have made no attempt to hide this monolith.  It rests atop the Spire.  This implies to me that they fear no chance of failure.”  At this point he paused, and moved towards one of his many paintings, this one of Waterdeep.
“I have also been informed by Khelben Blackstaff that a colossal undead creature infested with green worms has formed from the dust of the avatar of the dead god Myrkul, which formerly littered the sea floor west of Mount Waterdeep.  Downstream of the Boareskyr Bridge, a mammoth water elemental, also worm infested, has formed from the waters poisoned by the death of Bhaal.  Both of these creatures are leaving wide swaths of death and destruction in their wake.”
“Myrkul…” Giovanni whispered quietly, and then he reached into his haversack and pulled out a black, spiked crown.  “We found this in Dragotha’s horde.”
Malchor’s eyes went wide.  “The Crown of Horns!” he cried.  “This was worn by Myrkul when he still lived!”
“Yes,” Giovanni nodded, “and Grubber and his colleagues encountered a cult devoted to the worship of Bhaal, Myrkul and Bane before I met them.  The Ebon Triad was bent on some mad plot to unite the three into an Overgod.”
“And remember the visions,” Faust chimed in.  “The ones we had at the Spire of Long Shadows.  In each of them, we witnessed a shadowy aspect of Jergal, the Netherese god of the dead.  He once held the portfolios of those three deities, and in one of the visions, we witnessed aspects of all three climbing from the ground, dripping with green worms.  One by one, they were consumed by the image of Jergal.  And don’t forget the final image we saw.  Jergal plucking a green worm from his ear and placing it in a jeweled box…the same box given by Mak’ar to Kyuss when he was still mortal.”
“Jergal?”  Malchor said, horrified realization etched on his face.  “Could all of this be some insane plot by a forgotten god to bring about his own rebirth?  If all this is true, then Kyuss is still the key!  Now more than ever, he must be stopped!”  The wizard began pacing the floor in agitation.  “I believe that Kyuss can emerge from his prison for short periods of time already, but I doubt that he can travel far from the monolith.  It will only be a matter of time, however, until he is wholly free, and he will not be able to be imprisoned again.  Destruction is the only answer.”
“Destroy a god?”  Grubber asked, mouth agape.  “How do you propose that we do that?  Will you aid us?”
“Do not despair,” Malchor said, holding up his hands.  “The task is not as impossible as you may think, and you already possess one of the tools which can assist you in it.  Do you still hold the talisman?”  Giovanni nodded, reaching into his haversack again, and this time pulling out a plain wire loop.
“Excellent!” the mage said, nodding.  “I have been doing some research into the nature of the object this was meant to control…a sphere of annihilation.  I’m not sure exactly what effect contact with a pocket of pure nothingness would have on a deity, but at the very least, it would weaken Kyuss greatly.  Furthermore, I have learned of the location of one such sphere.”  He moved to a covered easel in one corner, and drew the sheet aside, revealing a lifelike painting of a green devil face carved into a stone wall.  Its mouth gaped open, revealing inky darkness.  
“This is a depiction of a carving within the ancient tomb of the demilich Acerak.  Within its mouth is the sphere.  The tomb lies some eighteen-hundred miles south of here, but with this portrait, you can teleport to its exact location.  Do not fear…the lich was destroyed years ago by a young priest of Tyr and a powerful sorceress.  I must warn you, though, that you should be circumspect in your use of the sphere.  While it would certainly aid you in your efforts against Kyuss’ minions, its presence would also draw much attention.  Some of Kyuss’ minions would be capable of destroying it.”  Next he moved to an intricately carved cabinet, and opened the doors.  “I also return this to you.”  He drew out the fragment of the Shattered Scepter of Calim that the League had recovered from Zosiel’s tomb.  “It’s uses are limited when not joined to the other pieces, but it may still be of some aid to you.  Now, to answer your last question Grubber…I cannot accompany you, but along with several of my kinsmen, I do intend to travel to Starmantle, but on the Ethereal Plane.  Once there we intend to erect a powerful dimensional lock.  We will be able to maintain it for no more than one week, but while it is in effect Kyuss and his minions will be incapable of escaping the city via teleportation.  This is the last gift that I can give you…besides advice.  Kyuss’ faithful are still small in number, yet a deity must have followers in order to exist.  Once the Age of Worms begins, there will be no shortage of these, but until then, I believe he is drawing upon the fear and despair of the citizens of Starmantle.  If you can give hope to these poor souls, you may weaken the Wormgod before confronting him.  Also, I mentioned the vortex surrounding the Spire.  This is an immense build up of negative energy.  It seems to be originating from a point somewhere beneath the Starmantle boneyard.  Find this source and destroy it, and Kyuss should be weakened even further.”
For several moments the individual members of the League remained silent, each deep in contemplation of these new revelations.  Finally Hawk lifted his head.
“When each of us embarked upon this journey, each for our own reasons, we swore to see it through to its conclusion.  If Kyuss is allowed to live, and the Age of Worms to come to pass, then our lives are forfeit.  If we are to die any way, let it be in the line of duty, and let no one say we stood by while the world suffered.”  One by one his comrades raised their eyes to meet his, and the civilar of Waterdeep saw no sign of weakness or doubt in any of them.
__________________________________________________________

The League members stared about warily.  They stood in a dusty, dry hallway.  A faded, cracked tile mosaic covered the floor, and strange bas-reliefs adorned the walls.  Several doors stood ajar along the length of the corridor, and weak sunlight leaked in from its far end.  Before them was the carving depicted in Malchor’s painting.  Giovanni positioned himself in front of it, the talisman extended.  He could feel a faint pull from the mouth of the devil face, like a magnet tugging at the metal loop.  The warlock closed his eyes and concentrated.  At first he felt resistance, but then there was a sudden release of tension, and he heard his comrades gasp.  Opening his eyes, he saw a perfect sphere of blackness hovering not two feet from him.  He could sense the power emanating from it.  As he continued to concentrate on the talisman, Faust unfolded a square of black cloth on the floor, until it formed an actual hole…a ten-foot diameter pit.  Slowly, Giovanni guided the sphere into the pit, and then Faust hastily folded the extradimensional space closed again.  Sighing deeply, and mopping sweat from his brow, Giovanni stowed both the talisman and the portable hole in his robes.
_____________________________________________________________

Starmantle was in chaos.  The team had teleported into the middle of the Street of a Dozen Smiles, which ran beside both the temple of Kelemvor and the boneyard.  In the distance, they could see mobs of people running down other streets, screaming.  Some nearby buildings burned, while others would suddenly shudder and collapse as immense, green worms burrowed up through their foundations.  Plumes of foul green fog boiled and churned throughout the city, obscuring entire blocks.  There was no sign in the skies above of the once ubiquitous Blessed Angels.  The most impressive sight, however, was Embuirhan’s completed Great Project.  When last they had seen it, it had been little more than a squat ziggurat.  Now, an enormous tower rose from it, stretching over seven-hundred feet into the sky.  Dozens of strange pods and balconies lined the edges of the tower, many of which were crumbled and ruined, and in the sky above, the clouds spiraled and churned like muddy water around a drain.  Even the light seemed wrong…gray and muted, as if the sun itself were loath to look upon this corner of the world. 

As the group took all of this in, the sound of church bells began to ring out across the city.  The peels seemed to be coming from the temple of Tempus, which lay only two or three blocks away from their current location.  Amazingly, several groups of rioting townsfolk suddenly stopped in their tracks, looking towards the source of the bells.  Slowly, in small groups, they began walking in that direction.
‘Something’s up,’ Hawk spoke through the Mindlink.  ‘Seems as good a place to start as any.’  The others shrugged and nodded, and Hawk began leading them down the block.
___________________________________________________________

Storm heard the bells as well, and also began making her way towards their source.  The drow sorceress had come to Starmantle by a circuitous path.  She had indeed returned to her home city of Ched Nassad in the Underdark, only to find it overrun by the spawn of Kyuss.  In despair, she had returned to the Wormcrawl Fissure, but could find no sign of her companions.  She had instead encountered a lillend named Zulshyn.  When the celestial had heard her tale, she told Storm of the League’s victory over Dragotha, but did not know of their destination after they had left.  She, however, had become very interested in Kyuss and the coming Age of Worms in the wake of what she had learned from the League.  She told Storm that if she wished to find the Wormgod, she should travel to Starmantle.  And so here she was, alone in a city gone mad.  

She filed into the square before the church of Tempus, along with a couple of hundred other hollow-eyed souls.  It was the high priest, Lanthis Chax, who was ringing the temple bells.  Storm remembered him from Embuirhan’s party.  As her eyes roamed over the crowd, she suddenly spotted two figures that looked distinctly out of place, towering at least two-feet above even the tallest townsman.  They were goliaths, and her heart leapt as she recognized them instantly.
________________________________________________________

Grubber didn’t think anything of the elven woman making her way towards him through the crowd until it was obvious that she was heading straight for him.
‘Heads up,’ he warned the others silently.
“Well, well, if it’s not Frick and Frack, the oddest pair of brothers ever to chant a prayer.”  She winked playfully, and it was then that Grubber placed her voice.
“Storm??” he asked incredulously.  “Is it really you?  What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story,” the sorceress said, “but suffice it to say that you can’t go home again, and you can’t run from your responsibilities.  By your presence here, Grim, I’d say you learned the same lesson.”  The dwarf simply grunted.
“Welcome back, no matter the reason,” Hawk said, reaching out to embrace the drow he had come to love as a sister.  

Their reunion was abruptly interrupted by the voice of Lanthis Chax calling out over the tumult of the crowd.
“Hear me people of Starmantle!” the priest cried.  “In this dark hour we must try and remain calm!  Panic and chaos will only hasten our deaths at the hands of the evil which has taken our city!  Heed my words!  The Prince’s madness has unleashed this terrible catastrophe upon us, and we should let him burn in the Hell that he has created!  My advice to you all is to leave this doomed city!  Leave now, by the Toilway, while it still remains clear of the killing mist!”  
Many in the crowd nodded in agreement, and started pushing towards the priest.  Suddenly, a second voice rang out from the back of the square.  There, several mounted soldiers stood massed around a bald man in black robes.  It was Vierias Spatlepate, the high priest of the cathedral of Bane.
“This is heresy!” he shouted.  “And you are a traitor, Chax!  The Prince himself will soon come to Bane’s House to lead mass and to call upon our Lord to deliver us from these dark times!  There will be salvation for those of you who join us there, and there were most assuredly be doom and wrath upon those of you who would so cowardly flee your homes!”  The Banites words did not exactly have a calming effect upon the mob.  Several of those gathered jeered and shouted him down, and his retinue drew in closer about him.  Then, the shrill, intense voice of a woman came from just behind the members of the League.  Turning in that direction, they saw Almerah Kosen, the high priestess of Kelemvor, and several of her acolytes.
“There is only one sanctuary from the death which hunts our streets,” she called, “and that is through the Lord of the Dead!  Kelemvor offers his protection and sanctuary to those willing to sacrifice to him!  Now is no time to be miserly!  Only through giving can you be delivered!”  Her attendants appeared quite uncomfortable at their mistress’ words, shuffling their feet and casting their eyes at the ground.

More cries and shouts sounded from the crowd, as neighbor argued with neighbor over the merits of each priest’s offer.  Soon, the mob began to fragment, with everyone pushing and shoving towards one faction or another.  Within moments, tempers flared, and punches were thrown.  The mass of humanity threatened to dissolve into violence.  Almerah Kosen and her priests began to retreat away from the melee, while Lanthis Chax tried to call for order and calm.  Vierias Spatlepate’s men began urging their horses into the crowd, drawing nightsticks from their belts.  Just when the situation seemed to be spiraling out of control, a single, powerful voice roared from the steps of the church.  Silence fell momentarily on the startled assembly as they searched for the speaker.  Hawk stood, Quaero raised in one hand, magnifying his powerful presence.  
“Citizens of Starmantle!” he called, his voice calm but resonating.  “You are afraid, and rightly so, but know this:  your fear only feeds those that prey upon you!  Your city is indeed in peril, as the Age of Worms begins on your doorstep, but evil can only prevail when all hope is lost!  If you leave now, you give in to your fears, and concede defeat!  Defend your homes and families!  Fight despair and know that Helm has sent His defenders to your aid!  You of the cloth!” he called to the three priests.  “Your duty is to help your flocks!  Be their shepherds, and tend to their suffering, and know this:  it matters not what god you pay homage to, for if Kyuss is allowed to ascend, all will bend to his will!  Unite now, for the good of your churches and your followers, or you will all pay the ultimate price!”  As the civilar spoke, more and more of the townsfolk moved towards him, drawn by his charismatic words.  Even the priests nodded slowly in agreement and acceptance.  Then all hell broke loose.

Screams rose from the back of the square, and the people there began surging forward.  Entering the square from nearby streets and alleys were a dozen knights dressed from head to toe in dark armor.  Small green worms infested their gear, and they bore weapons which seemed to be an amalgam of mace, morningstar, and battleaxe.  From within each of their visors, a pair of bloated worms would occasionally protrude, their mouths gaping and filled with razor-like teeth.  Kyuss knights.  They immediately waded into the crowd, laying about them with their weapons, and several of the people fell beneath their blows.  Havok reacted first, erecting an emerald flame wall between two ranks of the knights, trying to stall their advance.  He had to be careful, however, of the placement of his barrier, so as not to catch any innocent bystanders.  As it was, the eerie green flames, coursing with worms, sent those nearby into blind panic.  
‘Grubber!’ Faust mentally shouted.  ‘Can you do anything to ward the people?  I can dispatch the knights, but my powers are not subtle.  There will be collateral damage.’
The goliath understood all to well what the psion meant.  Faust was a pyrokineticist.  Fire was his stock in trade.  Grubber closed his eyes, and began praying to Grumbar, beseeching his patron to grant him a miracle…to protect all two-hundred of the townsfolk from fire.  The priest knew that the boon he asked was great, and came with a great price, similar to that which Mak had made in the Tabernacle of Worms.  He accepted it readily.
‘Go!’ he said to Faust when the spell was complete.  Instantaneously, Faust moved outside the flow of time.  One after another, he conjured three walls of fiery energy among the knights, before reentering the time stream.  His self-satisfied grin faltered, however, when he saw each of the knights emerge from his barriers completely unscathed.  Cursing, he focused his thoughts violently, and tore a conduit into the Positive Energy plane.  The nearest four knights received the brunt of the assault, and they reeled from the light that was anathema to them.  One of them turned towards the psion, and swung his mace.  The blows glanced harmlessly off the élan’s armor, but then one of the worms which had replaced the knight’s eyes darted out, sinking its teeth into Faust’s cheek.  Pain ripped through him as he felt his mind being invaded.  Hastily he tore himself free and backed away.

Seeing that Faust’s gambit had failed to stop the advance of the knights, Havok tried a different tactic.  Lifting the staff he had procured from Dragotha’s horde, he spoke a word of command and the ground began to rumble.  Crawling out of the earth, came five, thirty-foot tall creatures of rock and dirt…elementals.  As the lumbering giants moved to engage the undead, the warlock unleashed a chain of eldritch energy thru a half-dozen of them.  No sooner had the emerald cascade dissipated, than Faust loosed another barrage of positive energy, this time imploding a quartet of the Kyuss knights.  He followed this with a thin, green beam which reduced a fifth knight to a pile of ash.  

Seven knights still stood, and several of them continued to slaughter innocents wantonly.  Over two dozen townspeople were down already.  One of the knights turned its attention to the nearest elemental, hammering at the behemoth with devastating blows from its mace.  Then it sank both of its worm eyes into the creature, reducing it to the mental capacity of a cockroach.  Storm raised her hands to the sky, and thunder rolled through the square as four bolts of lightning lanced from the clouds, striking four knights…to absolutely no effect.  Havok struck again with his eldritch chain, while at the same time commanding his elemental slaves to press their assault.  Meanwhile, Faust continued doing what was effective.  A sixth knight fell to his energy conduit, while a seventh succumbed to a hammer blow of holy power from Grubber.  Four of the five remaining seemed intent on causing as much death as possible.  A dozen more commoners fell, while the fifth knight engaged another of the elementals, quickly reducing it to a mindless hulk with its horrid eye stalks.

The battle raged on.  Storm changed her tactics, lobbing balls of acid at the undead, to great effect.  Havok continued blasting away with his eldritch power, while his remaining elementals did what they could to stop the knights in their tracks.  Grubber destroyed another with back-to-back holy hammers of righteous might.  At one point, Faust seized control of the bodily functions of one of the knight, commanding it to drop its weapon and stand still while Storm hurled acid orbs at it, and Havok’s elementals rained blows upon it.  The psion then released the creature, only to destroy it utterly with another disintegration beam.  Hawk and Mak moved in close to the remaining knights, hammering at them with their swords.  Hawk received a vicious bite from one of his opponents for his trouble.  At Havok’s command, the elementals formed a circle around the combatants, and under their mighty fists, another knight fell.  The last two fought till the end, but it was only a matter of time before they too succumbed.  The square had cleared, with most of the survivors watching from the shadows of nearby buildings.  All twelve knights were destroyed, but no fewer than forty townspeople lay dead as well.  Hawk turned to Lanthis Chax.  “Can you offer shelter to these people?  Get them off the streets?”  The priest nodded, and under the civilars direction, the citizens began filing into the church.  The Banites watched with open contempt before turning and riding away towards their own sanctuary.  Hawk approached Almerah Kosen, who still hovered on the fringe of the crowd.
“We intend to go into your cemetery,” he said.  “There we will search for a way to destroy the source of that vortex which surrounds the spire.”  The priestess shrugged.  
“You will find only your own doom,” she said bitterly.
“Then I trust I will see you at the gates of your Lord’s domain, and then we shall see how the worthy are judged.”  The old woman’s face flushed in anger, and she spun on her heel, her acolytes following after her.
______________________________________________________

The Starmantle boneyard was completely enveloped in a thick, green fog-like mist.  None of the headstones or monuments could be seen from the street.  From within the murk came disembodied, inhuman howls and screams…the cries of the dead.  Grubber muttered a quiet prayer to himself as his companions peered into the gloom.  His body began to shine like a bright, sunny morning, illuminating the fog, though failing to pierce it.
“What are you doing?”  Mak snapped.  “Do you want to bring every walking corpse in there down on us?”
“On the contrary, little brother,” the older goliath said patiently, “I intend to keep them at bay, or make them pay if they become too curious.  The celestial light will burn the flesh from their bones.”
“Well, if we’re going in, we’d best get going,” Faust muttered, eyeing the viridian vapors skeptically.

The mist stank.  It reeked of death and attar, and its cloying tendrils threatened to choke the breath out of those who inhaled it.  Each of the League members felt their gorge rise at the nauseating stench.  Yet they pressed on.  The shrieks and wails ebbed and flowed as they progressed, and every now and again, they would come upon a smoking corpse, its skin crisped and burned.  Quite abruptly, the screams stopped.  It was Havok who first became aware of an oppressive pall in the air…and it was coming closer.  
‘Spread out,’ Hawk communicated silently to the others as he too picked up on the danger.  Gripping Quaero tightly, he continued forward, while Faust disappeared into the fog to the right, and Storm cast a quick charm of flight upon herself and rose into the mists above.  Suddenly, something large loomed out of the shadows directly in front of the civilar.  It was an almost headless creature that was a grotesque mix of worm, lizard, bat and ape.  It stood on short, clawed hind legs, and had a baggy belly, leathery wings, and boneless, tentacle-like arms which ended in teeth-filled mouths.  Between the beast’s shoulders gaped a large, smoking orifice surrounded by a writhing nest of tendrils.  Before Hawk could react, a cloud of grayish-brown gas exuded from this hole, quickly enveloping the civilar, as well as the goliath brothers, Grim and Havok.  As it touched their skin, it burned like acid, leaving great welts on any exposed flesh.  Havok recoiled in agony.  The pain was almost unbearable.  He quickly spoke a word, and the staff in his left hand glowed for a moment, transforming his body into intangibility, and easing his wounds somewhat.  In an instant, he vanished into the ground.

Though too far away from his companions to see them with his eyes, Faust’s telepathic Touchsight showed him everything that was happening.  Something about the creature struck him as familiar.  Then he had it.  It was a broodfiend.  He had read about them in the Apostolic Scrolls, though the information on them had been sketchy.  They had been created by the avolakia, yet they were not undead.  They had features of both demons and constructs.  One thing he knew very well…they did not have their fiendish kin’s resistance to fire.  A ray of scorching flames lanced out from his hand, pinpointing the creature with deadly accuracy, and burning a fist-sized hole in its chest.

Grubber recovered from the acidic breath of the creature soon after Havok.  He took a moment to ward himself, Mak, Grim and Hawk from any further such attack, and then unleashed what was fast-becoming his signature assault…a Hammer of Righteousness.  The fiend staggered back a pace, creating just enough of an opening for Hawk to duck inside its defenses.  The paladin plunged Quaero into its gut, simultaneously issuing a mental command to the blade.  The sword responded with a violent pulse of energy which set the creature reeling, momentarily stunned.  In a moment, Mak and Grim were by Hawk’s side, adding the might of their steel to the civilar’s.  

Faust saw an opportunity.  He charged through the fog, channeling dark power into his hand.  He hoped that the fiend had been weakened enough by his companions, so that he would be able to assimilate what remained of its life-force into himself.  However, when he was no more than ten feet from the creature, he felt his stomach suddenly clench as a wave of nausea seized him.  Falling to his knees, he began to retch and heave violently.  At that moment, the broodfiend recovered.  A jolt of negative energy passed through its body, and the worst of its wounds began to heal.  Then, sensing easy prey, it stalked towards Faust.  Each of its worm-like arms struck the psion, and as their teeth sank into his flesh, Faust felt as if his head was going to implode.  He could feel his thoughts and knowledge being scrambled like a raw egg.  The beast was literally feeding off of his mind.  Abruptly, he was buffeted back like a rag-doll by the demon’s wings.  Suddenly, time slowed to a crawl around Faust.  He had planned long ago for just such a contingency.  If ever he were to be gravely injured, his mind would automatically accelerate the time stream for him alone.  Using the opportunity, the psion scrambled away to a safe distance, and then manifested a pair of fiery walls of energy in front of and behind the broodfiend.  When time returned to its normal pace, the beast found itself burning.  Hawk, Grim and Mak struck quickly, just as Havok emerged once more from the earth, alerted to the situation via the Mindlink.  Two eldritch blasts later, the broodfiend collapsed into a steaming, gelatinous pool.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Good start into Dawn of a new Age! Protecting the innocent missions like that can be quite frustrating, although I think the group did OK.

Did the group realize that the new Storm is Entropy? And why is she not affected by Celestial Brilliance, this time?


----------



## demiurge1138

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Good start into Dawn of a new Age! Protecting the innocent missions like that can be quite frustrating, although I think the group did OK.
> 
> Did the group realize that the new Storm is Entropy? And why is she not affected by Celestial Brilliance, this time?



Nah, they've fallen for that one before. Entropy's Lashonna this time around 

Demiurge out.


----------



## JollyDoc

In case you didn't pick up on it, there was one reference to Entropy, as the sorceress who aided Joachim in destroying Acerak.

Entropy and her buddy Adimarchus are sipping margaritas on Occipitus, just kicked back and enjoying the show.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> In case you didn't pick up on it, there was one reference to Entropy, as the sorceress who aided Joachim in destroying Acerak.
> 
> Entropy and her buddy Adimarchus are sipping margaritas on Occipitus, just kicked back and enjoying the show.



 Damn, I can't believe I missed that!


----------



## R-Hero

Quick update, have not posted Hawkins' stats for a while.  
Here are what they are now in the shadow of epic level.

*Senior Civilar Hawkins Veritas, Daggarford Marshal. 
A.K.A  Captain Hawk  (PalCW 6/Annointed Knight 10/Fighter 3/Marshal1)*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Medium Aasimar (Outsider)*
*Hit Dice:* 19d10/1d8 (252 hp)
*Initiative:* +12
*Speed:* Move 20ft  (W/Divine Vigor) 30ft   
*Armor Class:* 40 / 26 touch / 39 flat-footed  [Divine Shield = AC 51, Touch 37]
*Base Attack/Grapple:* +27/22/17/12 
*Full Attack:*+33/28/23/18/33/(+33 w/ Inspired Strike 3x a day) 
_+4 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stun and Lightning Burst, Ghost Touch and Undead Bane_ 
*Space/Reach:* 5 feet/5 feet
*Special Attacks:* Daylight
*Special Qualities:* _Outsider Traits_ 
Cold, Electricity and Acid Resistance 5 
Darkvision 60ft, Damage Reduction 3/-, No Dual Nature, Subtype: Native

_*Paladin*_ Smite Evil, Remove Disease, Special Mount, Turn Undead 17x a day 
Lay on Hands (60hps), Aura of Courage, Aura of Good, 
Blessed Weapon, Detect Evil, Divine Grace, Divine Health.

_*Annointed Knight*_ 
Unbroken Flesh (DR 3/-), 
Inspired Strike, Free Action Extra Attack at Highest Attack bonus 3x a day
Deep Strike, Free Action 2d6 Extra Damage 3x a day
Divine Clarity: Charisma +1

_*Marshal*_ 
Motivate Dexterity (+11)
Skill focus, Diplomacy

_*Fighter*_ 
Fighter bonus feats, weapon and armor proficiencies

*Saves:* Fort +33, Ref +19, Will +26

*Abilities:* Str 24, Dex 12, Con 20, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 33

*Skills:* Bluff +16, Concentration +19, Diplomacy +42, Gather Info +16, 
Knowledge (Arcana +10), (Religion +12)(Kyuss +16)  
Spellcraft +5, Use Magic Device +11

*Feats:* Feats: Innatentive (Flaw), 
Alertness, Ancestral Relic, Blind-Fight, Cleave, Exotic Weapon Proficiency: Sword, bastard, Flay Foe, Improved Shield Bash, Improved Toughness, Power Attack, Shield Specialization, Shield Ward, Skill Focus: Diplomacy, Ranged Precision (Team Feat) Armor and Shield Proficiency, 
*Divine Feats * Divine Might, Vigor and Shield 22x a day
*Environment:* Very Wormy and evil places, as of late...
*Organization:* Company C.O. (WaterDeep) or Special Forces (The League)
*Alignment:* Lawful Good

*COMBAT*
*Quaero:* 
_+4 Intelligent Bastard Sword of Speed, Holy, Stunning and Lightning Burst, 
Undead Bane, Ghost Touch Weapon_ 
+33/28/23/18/33/(+33 w/ Inspired Strike 3x a day) 
Damage 1d10+11. Divine Might +11 per hit,  Flay Foe +1d6 for each hit after first
Quickened Holy or Lightning Damage 2d6, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day, No miss chance for incorprial, 2d6 damage vs Undead.

*+3 Bashing Spiked Shield* +32/27/22/17/(+30 Inspired Strike) 
Damage 2d6+11. Divine Might +11 per hit, Deep Strike 2d6 Free action 3x a day


*NEW EQUIPMENT*
_Ioun Stones:
Dusty Rose: +1 Insight to AC
Pale Green: +1 Competence to D20 rolls
Deep Red: +2 Enhancement Dex. 
Clear: No food or Water needed
Dark Blue: Alertness Feat
Incandescent Blue: +2 to Wis.
Iridescent: No air needed
Scarlet and Blue  +2 to Int
Vibrant Purple: Stores 3 levels of spells_
Standard of Heroism (40k gp); +2 Morale attacks-saves-skills-+4 to fear 30’ range
Stone of Good Luck (20k gp); +1 luck bonus to Skills-Saves-Ability Checks
Skin of 



Spoiler



Gloves of 



Spoiler



Boots of 



Spoiler



Cloak of 



Spoiler



(Can't tell Joe everything  )














Spoiler






Spoiler






Spoiler






Spoiler



*OLD EQUIPMENT*
Vest of Charisma +6 (36,000 gp); 	
Bracers of Health +4 (16,000 gp); 
Belt of Giant Strength +6 (36,000 gp);
Helm of Teleportation (73,500 gp);
Amulet of Natural Armor +5 (50,000 gp);  
Heward`s Handy Haversack (2,000 gp); 
Rings: Freedom of Movement (40,000 gp); Protection +5 (50,000 gp);



*Quaero Veritas 
Awakened Ancestrial Relic *
Int 14,  Wis 14,  Cha 10  _Ego 12 _ 
Communication. Speech, Telepathy with Hawk only
Languages.  Giant, Abyssal, Common
Primary Abilities: Zone of Truth 3x a day, Locate Object 3x aday

Hawk also picked up a couple of things for Big Alice, if she's needed.
Saddle of Inspired Mount, Better Barding and a couple of enhancing items.


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Night Update*

1. Using divination spells, the League makes its way underneath the Boneyard in search of the Negative Energy Nexus.

2. The investigation is going peachy until the League accidentally triggers a multi-energy trap . . . and goes even more swimmingly when an errant _dimension door_ lands Faust in a magic circle, hedged in by an _anti-life shell_.

3. Not wishing to lose out on valuable XP, Havoc joins Faust in his "prison."  We quickly  demonstrate, once again, that liches (and undead in general) are our bitches.

4. With all the nasty undead dispatched, we evaluate the mechanical contraption creating the vortex.  After several minutes of observation and consideration we decide to take off and nuke the entire site from orbit.  It's the only way to be sure . . . 

Just kidding . . . or am I?     

5. After more encounters with Kyussian undead we learn two important lessons.  (1) Sometimes 1000 hp/round of damage output just isn't enough and (2) we need to focus less on killing these things and more on helping people.

6. With that in mind, we once again decide to return to our original theme -- "take the power back to the people."  Without giving too much away, let's say our plan involves extra-dimensional spaces and powerful extraplanar creatures.


----------



## Hammerhead

Why help people? They're just a bunch of ungrateful bastards anyway. Besides, if they're dead, you can loot them for spare change.

So where's the character sheets of our favorite psion and warlock?


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

1000hp output of damage isn't enough? Well, I guess then it's your fault with your weak character builds... 

And please don't tell us Faust and Havoc did the Vortex quest thing all by yourselves, 'cause that would make me weep. It's such a nice and deadly module.


----------



## gfunk

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> So where's the character sheets of our favorite psion and warlock?




As you wish . . . using the new MMIV stat block . . . presenting EPIC FAUST!!

*Faust "Holocaust" Cenodoxus (Kineticist 21)*
Always TN Medium abberation (elan)
*Init* +2; *Senses* Listen +2, Spot +2
*Languages* Comman, Ignan, Abyssal, Infernal, Draconic, Orc, Undercommon, Giant
---------------------------------------------
*AC* 23, touch 12, flat-footed 21
(+2 Dex, +5 armor, +6 shield)
*hp* 155 (21 HD)
*Immune* death spells, magical death effects, energy drain, and any negative energy effects
*Fort* +16, *Ref* +14, *Will* +20
*Weakness* Noncombatant (-2 on all melee attacks)
---------------------------------------------
*Speed* 40 ft. (8 squares)
*Melee* Melee touch +8 or ranged touch +13
*Atk Options* Psionics
*Space* 5 ft.; *Reach *5 ft.
*Base Atk* +11; *Grp* +10
---------------------------------------------
*Abilities* Str 8, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 34, Wis 14, Cha 8
*SQ* Naturally psionic, resistance, resilience, repletion, evasion
*Feats* Psionic Mastery, Privileged Energy [Fire], Power Penetration, Greater Power Penetration, Psionic Meditation, Psionic Body, Overchannel, Expanded Knowledge (_telekinetic manuever_), Extend Power, Expanded Knowledge (_psionic contigency_), Maximize Power, Quicken Power, Empower Power, Epic Psionic Focus
*Skills* Autohypnosis +28, Concentration +38, Knowledge (arcana) +37, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +37, Knowledge (nature) +37, Knowledge (religion) +39, Knowledge (the planes) +39, Psicraft +27, Spellcraft +24
---------------------------------------------
*Naturally Psionic* Faust gains 2 bonus power points at 1st level. This benefit does not grant him the ability to manifest powers unless they gain that ability through another source, such as levels in a psionic class.
*Resistance (Su)* Faust can use psionic energy to increase his resistance to various forms of attack. As an immediate action, he can spend 1 power point to gain a +4 racial bonus on saving throws until the beginning of his next action.
*Resilience (Su)* When Faust takes damage, he can spend power points to reduce its severity. As an immediate action, he can reduce the damage he is about to take by 2 hit points for every 1 power point he spends.
*Repletion (Su) *Faust can sustain his body without need of food or water. If he spends 1 power point, Faust does not need to eat or drink for 24 hours.
---------------------------------------------
*Psioncs (Sp) *Faust has a power point pool of 485 and manifester level of 22. His DC to resist powers is 22 + power level (subject to augmentation) (23 + power level for psychokinetic powers)
*1st *_Inertial Armor, Vigor, Precognition Defensive, Crystal Shard, Synchronicity_
*2nd* _Energy Missile, Damp Power, Psychoportive Shelter, Ego Whip_
*3rd *_Energy Cone, Energy Wall, Dispel Psionics, Touchsight_
*4th *_Control Body, Energy Ball, Dimension Door (Psi), Energy Adaptation, Telekinetic Manuever_
*5th *_Power Resistance, Anticipatory Strike, Energy Current, Celestial Conduit_
*6th* _Disintegrate (Psi), Dispelling Buffer, Temporal Acceleration, Contingency (Psi)_
*7th* _Mind Blank (Personal), Reddopsi, Evade Burst, Energy Wave, Divert Teleport_
*8th *_Recall Death, Shadow Body, Greater Teleport (Psi), Telekinetic Sphere (Psi), Bend Reality_
*9th* _Assimilate, Timeless Body, Tornado Blast, Reality Revision_
---------------------------------------------
*Equipment* Headband of Intellect +6, Gloves of Helath +4, Psionatrix of Psychokinesis, Third Eye of Concentration, Boots of Striding and Springing, 2 potions of Invisibility, 7 potions of Cure Moderate Wounds, Ring of Evasion, Ring of Power Penetration, Dojre of Mindlink (manifester level 8th, 17 charges), Cloak of Resistance +5, Scroll of Greater Spell Immunity, Bracers of Dexterity +4, 9 potions of Cure Critical Wounds, +1 Mithral Shirt of Soulfire, Pale Green Ioun Stone, +5 Mithral Buckler, 3 potions of Fly, Psicrown of Cautions Warrior (396 PP), Psicrown of Evader (365 PP)


----------



## LordVyreth

I dunno about that new writeup, especially for characters.  Where does it list his level?


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> I dunno about that new writeup, especially for characters.  Where does it list his level?




Faust is 21st level now....let the world tremble!!


----------



## Wish

I think Hawk's selling himself short on his saves.  Which is pretty scary considering he has 33/19/26 listed.


----------



## Hammerhead

Faust is getting scarier. Nice to see you getting rid of Psionic Banishment...but Telekinetic Maneuver? I was never too impressed in my own experiences with a psion. It was mainly about the Energy Missile (before the nerf, of course).


----------



## Hammerhead

Ever notice how it's the tough cleric who seems to last the entire game? Grubber, Rusty...


----------



## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Ever notice how it's the tough cleric who seems to last the entire game? Grubber, Rusty...




It'll be an even greater feat for Grubber, having made it from 1st to 20th level, single classed, AND....not being capable of flying!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Yeah, go Grubber! With all the flying sacrifice he has made, I wonder why he's not yet the Chosen of Grumbar.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Yeah, go Grubber! With all the flying sacrifice he has made, I wonder why he's not yet the Chosen of Grumbar.




I guess you could say he is the chosen one since he is the only Cleric of Grumbar on Torill.


----------



## Hammerhead

Why would Grubber be the only cleric of Grumbar on Toril? Did the rest of them get sick?

What benefits does Grubber's "No Flying" feat give? I would hope its a lot.


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Why would Grubber be the only cleric of Grumbar on Toril? Did the rest of them get sick?
> 
> What benefits does Grubber's "No Flying" feat give? I would hope its a lot.




 Would you worship a god that would not allow you to fly!!!! I think that is why he is the only cleric of Grumbar atleast we have not ran into any others in our travels from across the realms.   

He got one Bonus Feat for not Flying (Even though we had to Adjust everything we did to get him around so it really did not effect him but us) We got nothing   

It has actually been entertaining at the table the player takes alot of Ribbing and Taunts from the rest of us.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I'll take a shot at it. Behold the


*CHOSEN OF GRUMBAR TEMPLATE*

Divine Enhancements: Weight +200 kg (keeps you rooted in the earth)

Earthfire: as the archmage ability arcane fire, except with a range of 100 feet, and damage of 1d6/spell level used plus 1d6 per epic level against any type of fire or fire creatures. 

Spell-like Abilities (each 1/day unless noted): speak with earth (at will), resist airy taunts (saves vs. flying jokes +10) (3/day), earth blade (shovel of force), earthern path (ability to move over any soil)


What do you think?


----------



## gfunk

A little something to bring a smile to your face . . .


----------



## Hammerhead

Bah, we all know the League was victorious.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I can understand how this could happen to a lazy party...such a nice and deadly module!


----------



## gfunk

Just to clarify, we are off of Age of Worms this weekend -- playing Red Hand instead.  This is probably why the update is delayed.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> Just to clarify, we are off of Age of Worms this weekend -- playing Red Hand instead.  This is probably why the update is delayed.





Yes, exactly.  I'm about half-way through this week's update.  I hope to have it up by first part of the week.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Hey, no problem, we'll just read up on your Red Hand exploits in Joachim's story hour!


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Hey, no problem, we'll just read up on your Red Hand exploits in Joachim's story hour!




Yeah, that next update should be ready about the time we finish Savage Tide.


----------



## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Yeah, that next update should be ready about the time we finish Savage Tide.




BA-ZING!


----------



## JollyDoc

NEXUS OF EVIL

“It’s in that direction,” Grubber said, pointing off into the gloom towards the eastern side of the cemetery, back in the direction from which they had come.  The goliath had asked for Grumbar’s guidance in finding the hidden source of the malevolent vortex which surrounded the Spire of Long Shadows.  
“That figures,” Faust grumbled.  “We probably walked right past it in this murk.”  The group retraced their steps, the cries of the dead becoming more distant.  Though they all kept looking about them, they saw no signs of other broodfiends in the vicinity.  Soon, they came upon a walkway of stepstones branching from the main path and leading down a short, muddy path to a grove of sour apple trees.  Within the copse stood a tomb, not much different from the hundreds of others in the boneyard.  The doors were mortared shut, and would not budge, even with the strongest effort from the goliath brothers.  Waving everyone aside, Havok hefted the staff he had stolen from Dragotha and spoke a guttural word.  In an eye-blink, the doors simple vanished, leaving a perfect, round hole where they had been.  The interior of the tomb consisted of a diamond-shaped antechamber and two, symmetrical square crypts.  Four desiccated corpses, dressed in the tattered remains of fine clothes, lay on stone slabs in both crypts, beyond wrought iron gates.  Both the gates, and the walls themselves bore intricate carvings and flourishes of a human skull wreathed in fire.  Havok’s armor whispered to him that no spark of undeath existed within the bodies.
“Myrkulites,” Mak spat, as he examined the carved symbols.  “Though the Kelemvor priests have tried to cover it up,” he pointed to drawings of a set of scales set beneath each carving,  obviously more recently placed.  There seemed to be no exit from the tomb, yet Grubber felt pulled towards the back wall.  Once more Havok summoned the power of his staff, opening another hole, and revealing a narrow, rough hewn passage beyond.

The tunnel led to a darkened, octagonal chamber.  A central column, carved to resemble a gnarled tree trunk, supported the low ceiling.  On the north side of the room, a broad stairwell descended deeper into the earth.  Above the stair, the vaulted ceiling was decorated with stone latticework.  A series of brass flat-reliefs on the side walls depicted the leering countenances of fanged dragons in threatening poses.  Single-file, the group started down the stairs, with Hawk and Mak in the lead.  Grubber, Grim and Faust followed, leaving Storm and Havok to bring up the rear.  The warlock and sorceress had not yet moved onto the stair, when abruptly, the entire well was filled with scorching flames, crackling lightning, steaming acid spray, and chilling blasts of cold.  Grubber and Faust, forewarned by the precognitive magic Havok had woven about the party in case of impending danger, managed to dive and roll just before the trap was sprung.   Grubber ended up back in the antechamber, while Faust’s momentum carried him all the way to the bottom of the stairs, where he fetched up against a heavy wooden door.  Hawk, Mak and Grim were not so lucky.  Though many of their defensive wardings protected them from some of the damaging elements, the assault showed no sign of letting up, and they couldn’t withstand that kind of punishment for long.  Hawk darted towards the door, and jerked on the handle.  It didn’t budge.  Faust jumped quickly to his feet, placing a hand on the shoulders of Mak and Hawk, who were nearest to him.  His intent was to dimensionally hop the three of them just to the other side of the portal, but when the paladin and the goliath turned around, only the psion had vanished.

Havok sensed Faust’s departure through the Mindlink, and knew that the others were still trapped in the deadly conflagration.  Closing his eyes to prepare himself for the pain, the warlock thrust his hand into the raging energies.  He felt agonizing pain, which was a combination of burning and freezing, but still he maintained his concentration.  Summoning his dark powers, he began absorbing the magics of the trap into himself.  In short order, there was silence.  Opening his eyes again, he saw that the stairwell was clear, and his friends safe…all except Faust.
__________________________________________________________

Faust found himself in spacious underground hall.  The humid, heavy air reeked of mold and death.  The chamber itself was a seventy-foot wide octagonal platform under a fifty-foot high domed ceiling.  Thousands of blue and green semi-precious stones were embedded in the tiled, stone floor to form a thirty-foot wide magical circle of arcane ciphers in the platform’s center, and it was within this circle that the psion stood.  Two diametrically opposed arcades led to grandiose chambers to the northeast and southwest.  The one to the northeast was spangled by strange, green bonfires, and seemed like some sort of domed warehouse, containing a colossal crane-like machine.  Four massive, mechanical arms extended from niches in the walls at the cardinal points to the center, where they connected to a thirty-foot wide platform with a chain and pulley system.  In the space above the central platform floated a whirling vortex of black wind shot through with red lightning.  
The southwest chamber was lit by reddish glass lamps, and looked like a bizarre workshop.  Models of building components and body parts carved in white marble and greenish granite lay scattered about.  Among the heaps of discarded and raw materials near the middle of the hall, stood a large sculpture of a humanoid figure.  A huge bookshelf of stone stood against the far, southwest wall, while several, large workbenches with alchemical equipment and sculptors tools sat at the foot of the pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling.  Standing at these benches were eight, robed, skeletal figures.  As one, they raised their grinning faces and flickering eyes to stare at Faust.
_____________________________________________________________

‘Where are you?’ Havok shouted through his mental link to Faust.
‘Ummm…in a very bad place,’ Faust responded.  “When I tried to open a Dimension Door, I ended up here, and I’m not alone.  Don’t worry though, they’re just liches.  Eight of them.’
‘Hang on,’ the warlock responded.  “Mak!” he called to the others.  “I’m going to try and get to Faust! Get through that door!”  The goliath nodded, then turned to the door and began hammering at it with his sword.  When he happened to glance over his shoulder, Havok was gone.

At first, Havok was still present, only he was moving so fast via Temporal Acceleration, that his companions could not see him.  Then, the warlock attempted his own dimensional travel.  Immediately, he felt as he had been seized by a large hand and yanked sideways.  After a brief moment of disorientation, he found himself in the room Faust had described, standing next to the immobile psion.  Time continued to flow rapidly for Havok, and he began moving towards the group of undead in the southwest room.  Abruptly, he was stopped short by some sort of invisible barrier, just at the edge of the mystic circle.  Allowing himself to sense the lines of magic that were present, he determined that ring was producing an Anti-life Shell, which prevented any living creature from breaking its plane.  Havok reached out his hand, and easily absorbed the dweomer, temporarily disabling the prison.  He then stepped onto the platform, and began conjuring.  A worm-ridden wall of flame sprang into existence, engulfing three of the liches.  When the flow of time resumed an instant later, the undead wizards wailed in agony.
‘Took you long enough,’ Faust smirked, then, seeing the emerald fire, he chuckled.  ‘How quaint, but allow me to show you how to make things really burn.’  With that, he unleashed a violent mental blast of cleansing fire.  The wave swept through the workroom, and in its wake, nothing remained of the liches save piles of ash.
‘Nice work,’ Havok nodded, ‘but what about them?’  Faust turned around to look in the direction the warlock was pointing.  From out of the machine in the northeast chamber, stepped four ghostly apparitions…avolakia.
_____________________________________________________

The door finally burst asunder under the combined assault of Hawk, Mak and Grim.  It had been walled over on its opposite side, which was why it had given them so much trouble.  As Grubber and Storm moved up to join them, the group stepped into the room beyond.  They found themselves in a vast chamber, the ceiling of which was supported by a square array of green, marble pillars set ten feet apart from each other.  The stone floor was covered in a multitude of dragging scores and dents.  The area was almost empty, with just a few strange statues against the walls.  These sculptures resembled stubby-winged monsters curled into fetal positions, with boneless limbs and oversized, sphincterial mouths…broodfiends.  Two closed doors led from the room, on the east and west sides.  In the far wall, a wide corridor led away into darkness.  Suddenly, from that direction came a dull rumble and explosion.
_______________________________________________________

The roaring columns of fire created by the avolakia vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.  Havok had been singed a bit by the two which struck him, but Faust had dodged nimbly aside, avoiding the flames entirely.  At that moment, another Flamestrike appeared, this time enveloping one of the avolakia.
‘Bullseye!’ Mak shouted through the Mindlink.  ‘Don’t worry boys!  The cavalry’s here!’
‘I feel safer already,’ Faust replied dryly.  Meanwhile, Havok quickly erected another wall of eldritch fire, centering it on three of the spectral aberrations.  The ghosts passed right through it, apparently unscathed.  

Hawk dashed up the angled passage, making for the large room at the far end and the ghosts that he could now see clearly.  Suddenly, the sound of his comrades following behind abruptly ceased.  When the civilar turned, he saw a stone wall where a moment before there had been none.  Just then, twin pillars of fire struck the paladin, but the flames rolled harmlessly over him, thanks a recent acquisition he had purchased on Faust’s advice.  The psionically enhanced ‘skin’ clung to him like his own flesh, yet at his mental command it could compress itself into a ball no bigger than the palm of his hand.  At that particular moment, however, he liked it just where it was…between him and a very bad sunburn.

‘ I do so love the dead,’ Faust said, smiling.  ‘They’re so predictable.’  With that, he once again opened a conduit to the plane of positive energy, sending it arcing through three of the ghosts, destroying them instantaneously.  Hawk charged towards the last one, ducking under one of its flailing tentacles, and plunging Quaero into its incorporeal body, the mighty blade’s enchantments piercing it as if it were flesh and blood.  With a chilling wail, the specter vanished from view.
_______________________________________________________

“Do you have it figured out yet?”  Havok asked for about the tenth time in ten minutes.  Faust had been tinkering with an intricate set of controls at the base of the platform generating the vortex.
“As a matter of fact,” the psion responded, for the first time since Havok had started asking him, “I have.  The vortex is actually a pin-point sized portal to the Negative Energy plane.  This machine seems to be amplifying and directing the energy directly to the Spire.  We basically have two choices:  I can deactivate the portal, but there is nothing keeping someone from just reactivating it later, or I can cause it to overload.”
“And what would that do?”  Havok asked.
“Basically, it would send everything within about a one-hundred yard radius directly to the Negative Energy plane, and then seal the portal.”  Hawk wandered over, listening to Faust’s explanation.
“Do it,” the civilar ordered.  Faust nodded.
“I suggest the rest of you vacate the area first.  Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be right behind you.  I figure I’ll have about forty or fifty seconds to get clear.  More than enough.”

Faust waited until Havok notified him through the Mindlink that he and the others were back on the surface, across the street from the boneyard.  He then flipped a series of switches, and heard a high-pitched whine begin from somewhere within the machine.  Wasting no time, he ran from the chamber as fast as his feet would carry him.  He had just reached the tomb’s exit when he heard a muffled implosion in the distance.  Then all was silent again.  He turned to look in the direction of the Spire of Long Shadows just in time to see the dark funnel around it wink out of existence.  The psion smiled to himself, imagining the Wormgod’s wrath, and realizing that, if they weren’t already there, the League had just jumped to number one on Kyuss’ hit list.
_____________________________________________________

“We’re going to Mistwall Manor,” Hawk announced once they had regrouped.  “I know it sounds to obvious, but if Lashonna does not fear us knowing about her plans and schemes, then she might just be arrogant enough to be at her home.”  The others couldn’t argue, and it was either that, or head for the Spire, and none of them wanted to face Kyuss while his chief lieutenant yet lived.  They had just started walking up the Street of a Dozen Smiles, when suddenly a nearby building lurched to the staccato sound of bursting timbers.  Plumes of dust sprayed into the air around the house’s foundation, and then again the structure shuddered.  The roar of the façade crumbling away paled in comparison to the roar of the pair of immense, green worms that burrowed up through the building’s core and now spilled out into the street.  Several citizens in the area began scrambling for cover.

Havok’s anger seethed at the sight of the worms.  Everywhere he turned, at all times, these wretched spawn of his forbear were there as a constant reminder of the sins of his fathers.  The rage seethed to the surface in a torrential outpouring of eldritch energy.  The great overworm lurched from the assault, and then again as a second blast struck it, but then it lowered its massive head and seemed to look directly at Havok, as if to say, ‘You are nothing compared to Kyuss.  All of your efforts will amount to nothing.’  As if to punctuate this fact, falling rubble and debris crushed four of the fleeing townsfolk right before Havok’s eyes.

The overworm coiled itself to strike, but even as it prepared to do so, it was struck by an overwhelming attack from all sides.  From storm came a crackling sphere of electricity mixed with acid.  From Grubber, a glowing hammer of righteous force, and a whirling vortex of force-spawned blades.  Finally, from Faust, a scorching ball of volcanic fire.  The overworm toppled like a felled ironwood, crushing several more buildings in the vicinity.

But there were two worms.  Hawk turned towards the second, just as it struck.  It’s massive jaws clamped solidly around the civilar’s torso.  He felt several ribs crack, and blood spurted from his lips.  The worm began lifting him from the ground, but the magic in the ring given him by Malchor allowed him to twist free at the last second.  As he rolled free, another devastating barrage of magic washed over the behemoth, courtesy of his allies.  The overworm thrashed and raged, hurling debris in all directions.  Two more commoners went down beneath masonry and wooden timbers.  Hawk leaped to his feet, and charged the worm, Mak right beside him.  As the worm struck again, the pair’s blades sank into its head just below its jaw.  They dove for safety as the monstrosity crashed to the ground.  

The remaining citizens stared dumbfounded at the carnage, and at their dead friends and neighbors.  Hollow eyed, they turned and shambled into the surrounding streets, taking their tales of unstoppable, house-eating worms to the rest of the panicked populace of Starmantle. 
_______________________________________________________

Mistwall Manor turned out to be a dead-end.  There were no guards, and the house was unlocked and unwarded.  It was also completely unoccupied.  The vampiric dragon might be arrogant, but she was not stupid.  The League would have to search elsewhere.  Yet a more immediate problem troubled their minds.  Though they had killed the overworms, innocent life had also been lost in the collateral damage.  The more tragedies like that occurred, the more hope would be lost by the people.  Kyuss had to be stopped, true, but what good would such a victory be if Starmantle was destroyed in the process?  At Hawk’s urging, the group made for the temple of Tempus.  They had asked Lanthis Chax to shelter those he could there.  Hawk wanted to see what more could be done.

When they reached the temple, they were quickly ushered inside by one of the acolytes.  Over two-hundred people huddled within the main sanctuary of the church, their wounds and needs being tended by the clergy.  Lanthis Chax approached the League members from across the nave.  
“The vortex?”  He asked.  “Was that your doing?”
“Yes,” replied Faust, “but apparently it wasn’t enough.  The clouds of green mist still linger over the city, and the minions of Kyuss still run the streets.  We’re fighting a losing battle if we try and save every individual person.  What have you heard?”
The bald priest shook his head.  “Things are not going well.  The undead are taking more people by the hour.  I estimate we’ve lost at least five-hundred of our populace today alone.  Folk are giving in to despair.  There is no hope for them.”
Hawk stepped forward and looked the priest directly in the eye.  “Your patron glorifies strength and battle.  I know there is steel in you and your followers.  Tell me, for you know this city and its people better than I, what will give them back their hope?”
“They must be protected,” Lanthis replied, “but at the same time, like in any soldier on a battlefield, heart can be taken by seeing one’s enemy destroyed.  The mists seem to be areas where the spawn of Kyuss concentrate most densely.  I would seek their first.  Then, if you have the power, the Spire itself.”
Hawk nodded, then looked around at the crowded sanctuary.  “That we can and will do,” he said, “but in the mean-time, where can others find shelter?  You are already well beyond your capacity, and I imagine the other churches have opened their doors as well.”
Lanthis seemed at a loss.  “I…do not know.  They cannot stay in their homes, and all roads out are blocked by now.  There is no place to go.”
“You’re right…” Grubber said distractedly.  “Not in the city…but perhaps there is another answer….”
“What do you mean?”  Hawk asked urgently. 
In answer, Grubber turned to his brother.  “Mak, does this god you speak so much about grant you the ability to create extra-dimensional dwellings?”
“Do you speak of the intangible mansions?”  Mak asked.  Grubber nodded.  “Of course,” Mak laughed.  “What god wouldn’t?  Except maybe one who would not allow his clergy to fly.” Grubber ignored the jibe, turning to Lanthis instead.  “Do you know of what I speak?”  The priest nodded, but Hawk shook his head.
“I have no idea what you are talking about?  Perhaps you can enlighten the rest of us heathens.”
“I’m sorry,” Grubber said, “ I’m getting ahead of myself.  With our magic, we can create huge dwellings, mansions if you will, that are located between dimensions.  Each of these that we create could comfortably house and feed two-hundred people?”
“How many can you create?”  Hawk asked.
“Two,” Grubber answered.
“And I can create two as well,” Mak added.
“Then that’s eight-hundred more souls that can be saved,” Hawk said, “assuming we can convince them to come here.”
“That’s all well and good,” Lanthis said, “but how will we protect them if the undead attack en masse?  The mansions will only hold for so long.”
“I have the solution to that as well,” Mak said, smiling.
___________________________________________________________

The glowing Gate coalesced above the main altar, and from it stepped a being that was familiar to the assembled members of the League.  To the others within the temple, it was overwhelmingly awe-inspiring.
“Again you have called me, mortals,” Gabriel said in a voice that was at once beautifully harmonious, yet filled with implied menace.
“And again, we offer the required sacrifice,” Mak said.  “The task we ask of you is a small thing to one such as you.  Watch over the souls gathered upon this hallowed ground, and ward them from any harm or evil intent.  We ask this of you for four days only.  If we have not returned by then, then the Age of Worms will be upon this world, and all the hosts of Heaven won’t be able to stop it.”


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Excuse me but I think Mak was the one that came up with the Dimensional Space thing Not Grubber Just wanted to Clarify that point other than that Great Read. Man what does it take to get some credit around Here Grubber this and grubber that  . 

But I do like the way you wrote it works fine just like that.


----------



## demiurge1138

Love it. It's huge. It's epic. It's what the coming of the Age of Worms should be. 

I look forward to the climb up the Spire. Should also be nice and _epic_ 

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> “When I tried to open a Dimension Door, I ended up here, and I’m not alone.  Don’t worry though, they’re just liches.  Eight of them.”



Impressive! 

Also, good solution with the extra space and Solar guardian. Plus, the people might turn towards Tempus when they realize that only there they'll have protection from Kyuss' (s)pawns.

Thanks for the update, JollyDoc. I could also feel the urgengy and the impending doom in the air, which I think the module is all about!


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Tempus may be Supplying the Building but Helm is Giving the Miracle's for the Mansions and Helm for the Solar. The Sermons From Hawk about the Protection Helm offers all who worship him  

They better get used to being Helmites


----------



## R-Hero

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Excuse me but I think Mak was the one that came up with the Dimensional Space thing Not Grubber Just wanted to Clarify that point other than that Great Read. Man what does it take to get some credit around Here Grubber this and grubber that  .
> 
> But I do like the way you wrote it works fine just like that.





Yes, but without this tiny nitpick, the line of...



			
				Jollydoc said:
			
		

> _...Mak asked. Grubber nodded. “Of course,” Mak laughed. “What god wouldn’t? Except maybe one who would not allow his clergy to fly.” Grubber ignored the jibe,.. _




...wouldn't work very well, would it.

(Who doesn't enjoy a jab at Grubbers expense??  I know Hawk does!!)


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Yeah, that next update should be ready about the time we finish Savage Tide.





			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> BA-ZING!



I noticed that Joachim hasn't posted here in a while. Are we being too hard on him?


----------



## Joachim

Sorry...college football season is back, and now that I am married I am only to have one obsession at any given time.  If Auburn starts to suck, then you might hear more from me.

Until then, War Eagle.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I hear you, Joachim!  

Are you planing AoW this weekend or is a certain doctor on call again?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> I hear you, Joachim!
> 
> Are you planing AoW this weekend or is a certain doctor on call again?





It's all AoW this weekend!  It's on baby!!


----------



## war wizard

Joachim said:
			
		

> Sorry...college football season is back, and now that I am married I am only to have one obsession at any given time.  If Auburn starts to suck, then you might hear more from me.
> 
> Until then, War Eagle.





We'll Auburn just lost by 17 to a team that only beat Alabama by one point in OT. So quit Kveching and get to updating....


----------



## gfunk

*Monday Afternoon Update*

1. The children are all tucked snug in their _Magnificient Mansions_ so the League decides to BRING IT ON** to Kyuss!!

2. We launch a frontal assault on the Ziggurat and we quicky mow down many of Kyuss' weaker minions.  Lashonna is on the run and things are looking great until . . . well . . . a Blessed Angel manages to pull off a brilliant flanking move.  At this point, words utterly fail me.  So I will instead quote from the brilliant poem "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll:

"One, two! One, two! And through and through
The _vorpal blade_ went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back."

3. Of course we are all high level, right?  So unlike low levels where we have to wait days or weeks to scrap enough $$$ for a _raise dead_ spell, coming back from the dead is just six seconds away.  Well, as it turns out, six seconds was a little too long and League member #1 becomes a Favored Spawn of Kyuss.

4. The battle plan shifts abruptly at this point -- stop the Favored Spawn before he kills us all!  Things would not be dramatic however, without League members #2 and #3 also being intelligence-drained to nothingness and also rising as Favored Spawns.

5. A TPK was looming while the two final non-Spawn members fought against their former comrades . . . all the while becoming more and more stupid with each passing Brood Fiend slam.

BEST AGE OF WORMS UPDATE.  EVER.

**KYUSS: OH!!!  IT'S ALREADY BEEN BROUGHT!!!


----------



## hbarsquared

_*salivating*_

Reload.  Reload.  *Reload.* *RELOAD!!!*


----------



## Schmoe

Dear lord.  This is almost better than sex.


----------



## Felix

"We're going to need bigger guns."


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Bigger guns would help but in the meantime James Jacob Suxs


----------



## demiurge1138

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Bigger guns would help but in the meantime James Jacob Suxs



Psst... James Jacob's didn't write this one. Tito Leati did.

Also... AWESOME. I can't wait to see the horrors of the Age of Worms brought home in the worst possible way.

Demiurge out.


----------



## Solarious

You don't even need Kyuss to TPK the League, his minions are doing just fine on their own. Then again, I think his instant conscription policy helps a lot.  I wonder which League members survived the 'initial' onslaught. It would be terribly ironic if Havoc is among the last ones standing. Of course, from Greybeard's posts, I think Grubber isn't among those still breathing. 

We also see the Blessed Angels are as deadly as when Grubber first met them.


----------



## dungeon blaster

I figured it was Faust who went down.

Gee, who'd a thunk that the answer to "Who will Kyuss kill?" would turn out to be _no one_ cuz they never made it to him!


----------



## JollyDoc

Oh Constant Readers...even I was floored by this one.  The situation went quickly from League-routine, to Holy Sh**!!  It all started with one little ole' nat 20 on the die roll, and it went downhill from there!  

My fingers are itching to get typing on this one, so I hope to have the update by the weekend.  Like Gfunk said, this should be the best one yet...but there's still Kyuss...or is there??


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Well James Jacobs allowed this   He is a secret powergamer I tell you. 

Grubber is not me Mak is so it matters not to me if Grubber lives or dies


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

OMG, the league TPKed. 

Damn you, Kyuss! I guess the party should have continued to fight despair in Starmantle. That and finding and using Baalphegor's Grace could have come in handy here.

Must read update soon!!!


----------



## Quartz

And no-one has a _Wish_ or _Miracle_? Oh dear...


----------



## JollyDoc

Quartz said:
			
		

> And no-one has a _Wish_ or _Miracle_? Oh dear...




"If wishes were horses..."  

Wishes were used...several...but alas...


----------



## Solarious

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Grubber is not me Mak is so it matters not to me if Grubber lives or dies



Okay then... Mak is amongst the non-breathing, and Grubber is int-drained into either stupidity or wormslavedom. 


			
				Quartz said:
			
		

> And no-one has a Wish or Miracle? Oh dear...



They're supposed to get several scrolls of _Wish_ at the beginning from their mutual benefactor. But....


			
				JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Wishes were used...several...but alas...



... RBDM + Wish = phail!


----------



## R-Hero

Oh settle down, all of you!!  It ain't over till the fat worm sings...  

One would think that there are some of you in reader land who *want* the Age of Worms to come about!?!

(In my mind, I keep hearing the Green Goblin's speech from the first Spiderman movie.  
The exact line eludes me but its about people loving a hero, but loving to see a hero fail even more.)

I can say no more...at least untill the next update.  So to any who want the League to go down in a blaze of glory, Choke On A Biggun'


----------



## Solarious

That depends. Did you guys eliminate the dispair from Starmantle?


----------



## JollyDoc

Solarious said:
			
		

> That depends. Did you guys eliminate the dispair from Starmantle?




Despair is such a broad term.  After all, one man's despair is another man's (or god's) euphoria


----------



## Solarious

Ah. Then all is well then.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

R-Hero said:
			
		

> Oh settle down, all of you!!  It ain't over till the fat worm sings...
> 
> One would think that there are some of you in reader land who *want* the Age of Worms to come about!?!
> 
> I can say no more...at least untill the next update.  So to any who want the League to go down in a blaze of glory, Choke On A Biggun'



C'mon, two remaining league members against the rest of their brethen and Kyuss' forces...not much hope left, is there?!?

But, R-Hero, if they go down, we are expecting nothing less than a blaze of glory!


----------



## Supar

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Would you worship a god that would not allow you to fly!!!! I think that is why he is the only cleric of Grumbar atleast we have not ran into any others in our travels from across the realms.
> 
> He got one Bonus Feat for not Flying (Even though we had to Adjust everything we did to get him around so it really did not effect him but us) We got nothing
> 
> It has actually been entertaining at the table the player takes alot of Ribbing and Taunts from the rest of us.




Yes i will admit that with out my group Grubber would not be possible. But HAVE I NOT BEEN USEFULL?!?! Just Because i cant cast 7 miracles a day. All i hear out of ika at the table *whine* My DC is to low my i can't bust SR *whine* Helm may give you wings but he sure hasn't given you divine spell power 



			
				Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> CHOSEN OF GRUMBAR TEMPLATE
> 
> Divine Enhancements: Weight +200 kg (keeps you rooted in the earth)
> 
> Earthfire: as the archmage ability arcane fire, except with a range of 100 feet, and damage of 1d6/spell level used plus 1d6 per epic level against any type of fire or fire creatures.
> 
> Spell-like Abilities (each 1/day unless noted): speak with earth (at will), resist airy taunts (saves vs. flying jokes +10) (3/day), earth blade (shovel of force), earthern path (ability to move over any soil)




JD i like this  gimme! Can i also add my widom mod to saves vs flying jokes. There is a sorta chosen of grumbar prestige class in pantheons of faerun but i never took the knowledge nature for it.
The Grubster has been a kick to play although the constant grumbar jabs have to be lived with How can you not love time stop and contingency(Time Stop again!!!!) and Arcane sight and see invis permanent(compliments of miracle and permancy domain spell)

I will post Grubbers stats some time i am  not straight cleric btw only 19 lvls


----------



## JollyDoc

Hey man, Kyuss made Grubber the ultimate offer.  Become a worshipper of Kyuss, and he promised to make Grumbar his righ-hand man!  Think of it!  Only two religions left in the world...Kyuss and Grumbar!  In fact, Grumbar would be given the worm portfolio, since worms live in the earth!  Then Kyuss would ban any mortal from ever flying again, AND...no sailing either!  Oh...and no swimming!!  The Worm God and the Earth God...what a team!!  Grubber would be the high priest of the New World Order!!!   Mwaaahahahahahah!!!


----------



## Solarious

Oh, Jolly. Let the Age of Worms happen before you start making elaborate plans, will you? Then we can discuss any plans of unimaginable cruelity you can to inflict, just like you did with Adimarchus.


----------



## Supar

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Hey man, Kyuss made Grubber the ultimate offer.  Become a worshipper of Kyuss, and he promised to make Grumbar his righ-hand man!  Think of it!  Only two religions left in the world...Kyuss and Grumbar!  In fact, Grumbar would be given the worm portfolio, since worms live in the earth!  Then Kyuss would ban any mortal from ever flying again, AND...no sailing either!  Oh...and no swimming!!  The Worm God and the Earth God...what a team!!  Grubber would be the high priest of the New World Order!!!   Mwaaahahahahahah!!!





well then JD i will just have to wait till we make it to kyuss before i start casting destruction and implosion on my team one good chain dispell ought to make my party a little softer  but ultimately nah Grumbar hates change and i do think undead worm ridden corpses would be a major change.


----------



## Hammerhead

Grubber: Guardian of the Status Quo!

I think JollyDoc has waited this long to post the momentous update where the League gets its ass kicked just to torment us further.


----------



## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Grubber: Guardian of the Status Quo!
> 
> I think JollyDoc has waited this long to post the momentous update where the League gets its ass kicked just to torment us further.




You want to know torture??  We won't even be playing AoW THIS weekend or NEXT weekend.  If/when we resume AoW (assuming it hasn't already come to pass), it will be two weeks from now!!  So, in theory, I have two looooooooong weeks to post this current update.  I can just sit back, relax, and take my sweet time....

Can you feel the water dripping on the middle of your forehead yet?


----------



## JollyDoc

Ah, who am I kidding?  I can't be that cruel...



THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Author’s Note:  the characters of Storm and Grim are not mentioned in the following excerpt.  The former’s player was unable to make this week’s game, and the latter’s player has been MIA for the past three weeks.

Time until the Age of Worms:  T-3 days.
Dead in Starmantle:  1,800 souls

The League members passed the night in Tempus’ house, tending to the needs of the refugees gathered there.  Throughout the evening, the acolytes and priests would periodically return from their sojourns into the dying city, bringing with them more lost souls.  By morning, the Mansions were filled to capacity, and the church as well.  Grubber and Mak prayed silently before the altar, each revering their own patron while taking advantage of the hallowed ground of Tempus.  Faust also sat quietly, though in meditation, not prayer.  Giovanni and Hawk were busy readying their gear when Lanthis approached them.
“So what will you do know?” the priest asked.  
Hawk looked at him with his piercing blue eyes, his gaze one of pure determination.  “The only thing left to do,” the civilar replied.  Lanthis drew in a long sigh, and then nodded his shaved head.
“You go to the Spire.”  He raised his eyes to meet Hawk’s.  “Though we do not share the same faith, I am honored to call you brother, and if you should fall and your mission fail, your name, and those of your companions, will be spoken with awe and admiration for years to come.  May the Lord of Battle bless you this day.”  Hawk gripped the man’s hand, then lifted his pack and turned for the door.  The others joined him, and Mak and Grubber began weaving a plethora of protective wards about the group.  With a mental shrug, Faust willed his form into one of shadow stuff, while Havok disappeared from view entirely.  The League then gathered in a circle about the psion, and then they were gone.
_____________________________________________________

The massive spire towered more than seven-hundred feet into the air.  Its foundation was a squat, stone ziggurat, with the monolith itself consisting of a three-segmented tower of granite topped by a cylindrical, greenish spire bristling with protruding balconies.  Green bolts of electricity danced on pyramidal obelisks mounted on the balconies, and the churning clouds danced around the spire’s peak like the dying waters of an ocean draining into Hell.  The base of the ziggurat bore four large archways, one on each face, and it was in front of the east-facing of these that the League appeared.  With no fear, and no hesitation, they moved towards the pyramid’s interior.  As they passed beneath the arch, a strange ululation filled the air from somewhere above.

A forty-foot high colonnade opened into an atrium beyond the arch.  Two twelve-foot high statues of Kyuss in all his worm-eaten glory stood on large daises at the sides of a second archway that led to a central chamber.  This chamber was illuminated by dozens of crystal lanterns affixed to the walls, and by faint rays of light that penetrated from ducts in the walls under an almost thirty-foot high vault.  A canopied shrine stood in the middle of the chamber, its circular altar decorated by multitudes of lit candles.  Immediately, Faust’s and Mak’s magic-enhanced senses allowed them to see two shadowy figures crouched behind tall pillars in the atrium, while two other beings, these in heavy armor, stood motionless in darkened alcoves.  Simultaneously, Havok’s mail coat began whispering to him that the living dead were all about.  Yet all these things were not what immediately caught the attention of the League, for standing before the altar, arms raised high, was none other than Lashonna.  She was dressed in a fashionable green velvet gown embroidered with dozens of red gemstones.  Standing in a loose semicircle around her where three of the Blessed Angels, their piercing, red eyes locked on the new arrivals.  At that moment, Lashonna turned, a cruel and haughty smile of contempt on her beautiful face.
“Ah, the conquering heroes,” she laughed.  “I do owe you a great debt.  Your removal of that dusty, tired dracolich was just the distraction I needed to bring our Great Lord’s prison to its final resting place.  Since I always repay my debts, I make each of you this offer:  kneel now and submit to the Wormgod, and I promise you that you shall each become a captain in Kyuss’ army, answering only to me!”
As she spoke, each member of the League felt her words tickling subtly at their minds, suggesting to them that she was a friend to be trusted implicitly.  Fortunately Mak had anticipated just such a tactic.  He had rendered the minds of each of his companions, and himself, a blank slate to any mental intrusion.  Lashonna’s ploy was a wasted effort.  Yet even so, the League members felt a crushing sense of despair emanating from the very air and walls around them.  Kyuss was near, and his power was incalculable.  When none of them responded to her offer, Lashonna’s smile became cold and brittle.
“So it is to be war then,” At that moment, a torrent of green worms began writhing from the ground before each statue of Kyuss.  Within seconds,  each condensed and transformed into a large, fiendish brute with wicked-looking horns protruding from its brow.  

Calmly, almost casually, Havok pulled a scroll from his cloak.  Time slowed to a crawl around him.  The warlock’s battle tactics were elegant in their simplicity, if a bit routine by now.  However, if a plan worked, why change it?  This time he employed the same strategy he’d used for Dragotha.  If it could slay one undead dragon, why not another?  First, though, he decided to see to his own safety.  Using the magic in one of his two staves, he rendered his body incorporeal, as well as invisible.  Then he encased Lashonna and her three fiendish lackeys in a barred cage of pure force.  After that, it was only a matter of filling the interior of the cage with criss-crossing walls of eldritch, green flame, with most of them intersecting right where the vampiress stood.  When the flow of Time resumed, Lashonna screamed as her gown caught fire, and writhing worms of flame seared her flesh.  The Blessed Angels turned towards their mistress, unsure of what was happening.  One moment they had been preparing to take apart the interlopers, and the next they were engulfed in emerald fire on all sides.  Though the she-devils felt no pain from the heat of the walls, the eldritch energy that powered them scorched even their hell-touched flesh.  
‘I’ve got her on the ropes,’ Havok spoke through the Mindlink, ‘now I suggest everyone target her with everything you’ve got.  We need to finish her quickly!’ 
Grubber immediately began casting, but as he called upon Grumbar’s righteous wrath, he felt a mental barrier slam shut in his mind.  Instantly, the spell was snuffed out.  Cursing, the goliath called upon another prayer, this time sending a whirlwind made of shards of force throughout the chamber.  Again he felt the barrier, but this time, with great effort, he pushed past it.  Lashonna and her minions were caught by the force of the barrage, and one of the beings which lurked in the shadows of a nearby pillow simply evaporated into a plume of mist.  It seemed Lashonna was not the only vampire present.  
Seeing the effects that Havok’s walls were having on Lashonna, Mak knew she was not protected against fire as her minions were.  He spoke the words to a powerful prayer, and great sheets of fire began sweeping the room.  The second concealed vampire quickly tumbled from his cover, rolling and somersaulting like a dervish, evading the fires with supernatural speed.  The creature rolled to its feet right next to Mak and attempted to wrestle the goliath’s sword from his hands.  With a great shove, Mak through the creature back, just as a great explosion shook the chamber.  A massive fire ball erupted around Lashonna’s prison, and as it dissipated, the vampiress’ body faded into mist and began flowing towards one of the archways at the opposite side of the ziggurat.
‘Is that what you had in mind?’ Faust sneered to Havok.
‘More or less,’ the warlock answered, ‘though she’s getting away, which I don’t intend on seeing happen.’

Just then, there was sudden movement around the perimeter of the central chamber.  From each of the other three arches emerged a pair of shadowy vampires, almost blurs of motion, so fast were they.  Lumbering behind each of these groups, came a pair of Kyuss knights, their eye worms writhing and snapping.  Meanwhile, one of the horned devils in front of the League slammed both its hands together.  A concussion of energy swept past the heroes, and from thin air, a third devil appeared.  Simultaneously, all three of the Blessed Angels disappeared from inside Havok’s makeshift prison, only to reappear in the midst of the League, with two flanking Faust, and one facing Grubber.  She seemed very familiar to the goliath, and her smirk showed that she was acquainted with him as well.
“Why don’t we finish what we started when last we met?” she purred.
“Now things are finally getting interesting,” Faust replied, an evil grin on his ugly face.

A second scroll appeared in Havok’s hands, and once again, Time slowed.  The warlock streaked across the large chamber to where Lashonna’s misty form hovered in mid-air.  When he reached her, he used another scroll to erect a second force cage, this one solid, and only large enough to contain himself and the vampire.  Finally, he unfurled the handkerchief-like portable hole on the ground below him, and then drew the simple, wire talisman from his belt.  Concentrating, he called to the sphere of nothingness secreted inside the hole.

Faust was starting to enjoy himself.  Sighting along a straight line, he mentally tore a rift to the Positive energy plain, creating a conduit that pierced two of the horned devils, one of the approaching vampires, and the Blessed Angel that stood directly in front of him.  With very satisfying screams, the horned devils disintegrated, and the vampire became mist.  Though pain etched the face of the erinyes, the smile never left her lips.  Raising her sword, she slashed at Faust, striking like a cobra.  To the psion’s amazement and surprise, her blade actually struck him…and it hurt.  Then, from behind, her sister also attacked.  In his shadowed form Faust was not capable of bleeding, but his wounds gaped like mouths, and they burned like a brand.  An unfamiliar emotion began to tickle the back of the élan’s mind…fear.

Grubber rapidly spoke the words to another prayer, and instantly his body began to glow with celestial light, as bright as the sun.  The vampires hissed, and shielded their eyes, while the last horned devil simply collapsed into a pile of ash.  At that moment, the angel before him lunged.  Her sword cut deeply into the goliath’s side, and he hissed in pain.  Pushing through the wall that still tried to block his magic, he unleashed a wave of righteous, holy power.  The Blessed Angel screamed as her flesh was ripped from her bones.  Three of the oncoming vampires evaporated as well, and even one of the stalking Kyuss Knights withered under the onslaught.  
“Grumbar always settles his debts,” the goliath growled.

Hawk was surrounded.  One of the undead knights came at him from the front, while a shadowy vampire dodged around to his flank.  As the civilar turned to follow the vampire, the knight slipped past his defenses, the strange mace it carried just nicking his arm, but burning like acid where it touched his skin.  The paladin whirled, catching the Kyuss spawn with his shield, then delivering three lightning-fast slashes with Quaero.  The knight collapsed into a mass of writhing worms.  Not pausing, Hawk turned back to the vampire, thrusting his blade into the middle of its throat.  With a wet gurgle, it dissipated into smoke.  

“You look a little worse for wear,” Faust jeered at the wounded erinyes in front of him.  “I can fix that for you.  Just come a bit closer and I promise you won’t feel any more pain.”  Suddenly, the psion’s hand flared with black light, and he reached out and seized the fiend by the arm.  She hissed in pain, and Faust felt her life-force flowing into him, but at the last moment, she broke free.  Snarling in rage, she raised her sword again.  Faust, exultant with his new-found power, never saw it coming.  With one stroke, the Blessed Angel separated the psion’s head from his shoulders.  Without a sound, Faust fell to the floor.  For an instant, time seemed to stand still for his companions, for they all felt the Mindlink suddenly severed, and knew it could only mean one thing.  Faust was dead.

A moment later, the collective look of shock on the faces of the League members turned to one of horror.  The psion’s body quickly reverted to its natural state, but then just as rapidly, it began to putrefy.  The flesh began to shrivel and blacken, and the eyes of the disembodied head collapsed in on themselves, only to be replaced a moment later by writhing green worms.  Slowly, with a sickening creak of rotten sinew, Faust sat up, one hand reaching out absently to collect his head and hold it cradled in the crook of his arm.  He climbed jerkily to his feet, a horrible grin splitting his skull-like face.  
“Helm’s blood,” Hawk whispered, gazing at the abomination his friend had become, somehow tainted by the proximity of the Wormgod.  
“Not only his,” laughed the erinyes who had decapitated the psion, “but the blood of all of your so-called gods shall soon stain this world!”  With a shriek, she flew at Grubber, her blade seeking his neck, but the goliath brought up one mailed fist, deflecting the deadly blow, but suffering a deep score for his effort.  

Havok watched the terrible tableau with the same sense of revulsion as his companions, but being a warlock by birth, he had been cursed with visions of darkness all his life, and he had learned to live with horror.  He was also nothing if not pragmatic, and he knew what Faust would do if their situations were reversed.  Almost as an afterthought, he willed the floating sphere of darkness at the trapped, mist-form of Lashonna.  The centuries old vampire simple ceased to be.  In the next moment, Havok moved the sphere to the wall of the force cage, obliterating it as well.  Then he called aloud to his friends:  “Kill him!  Now, before it’s too late!  He’ll kill us all if you don’t!

Tears of rage and frustration filled Grubber’s eyes as he heard the truth in Havok’s words.  The Faust he had known was gone.  This creature was not his friend, but it still had the deadly powers the psion had possessed at its command, and it would not hesitate to bring them to bear, given the chance.  It served a new master now.  Choking out the words to a prayer, the goliath priest brought down a hammer-blow of righteous, holy power on the Kyuss spawn.  From behind him, Grubber heard his brother begin his own prayer.  Once more a Fire Storm swept through the chamber, incinerating all of the remaining vampires.  Faust, however, dove to one side, unscathed, and rolled to his feet, never dropping his severed head.  Unfortunately, he came to his feet directly in front of Hawk.
“Sorry, old friend,” the civilar said, “but I know you’d do the same for me.”  With that, he plunged Quaero into the undead psion’s chest, and straight out the other side.  A sigh, which might have been contentment, came from Faust, and then he disintegrated into a pile of green dust.

“Aren’t the bonds of friendship touching, sister?” one of the Blessed Angels asked the other.  
“Truly,” her companion nodded.  “Let us see if we cannot reunite them with their fallen comrade.”  Then they both gazed, smiling into the open air beyond the archway.  A rush of wind whipped their red tresses about their faces, and the ululation the League members had heard earlier came again, only this time much closer.  A sickening, greenish brown mist began to form just beyond the arch, accompanied by the sound of flapping wings and heavy bodies hitting the ground.  Mak’s magic-enhanced vision allowed him to pierce the gathering mist and see the monstrosities hidden within.  Broodfiends.  Three of them.  Simultaneously, all of the demons opened their huge maws, and spewed forth torrents of acid.  The caustic sprays washed over Hawk, Grubber and Mak, but also engulfed both of the erinyes, and several of the Kyuss knights.  One of the she-devils screamed in agony as she realized that her supposed-saviors were now her destroyers.  She dissolved into a gory pool of liquefied flesh.  

Grubber quickly began a prayer of healing that encompassed himself and his companions, mending their horrible burns.  The positive energy of the spell, however, proved lethal to a nearby pair of Kyuss knights, and they exploded under the onslaught.  Two more stepped up to take their place.  The disgusting worms that occupied their eye sockets lashed out, biting into the flesh of both Grubber and his brother.  Each of them felt their minds grow dull and muzzy.  Then, a sizzling chain of eldritch fire arced between the two knights, burning them instantly to ash.  Grubber lashed out instinctively, a deadly storm of power-filled shards slashing the last remaining knight into shreds.  He then began staggering away from the broodfiends, trying to put some distance between himself and them just as Hawk charged forward to engage the new, deadly foes.  Grubber’s dulled wits turned out to be his undoing.  He forgot about the prodigious reach of the broodfiends’ worm-like tentacles, and one of them latched onto him as he retreated.  Blinding pain filled his head, and  he collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

“Grubber?”  Mak shouted as he watched his brother die.  He had taken two steps towards his fallen sibling, when he saw Grubber twitch once, and then jerk upright into a sitting position.  There were worms were his eyes had been.
“No!!”  Mak shouted, furiously.  He whirled towards the broodfiends, but as he did, a second tentacle struck like a coiled viper, covering his face.  The winged goliath jittered and twitched as the demon fed on his psyche, and then dropped his lifeless husk to the floor.  A moment later, he and his brother were reunited.

Hawk saw it all happen in the blink of an eye, yet he never paused in his attack.  Quaero ripped into the nearest broodfiend with a bloodlust to match its master.  The demon shuddered briefly under the assault, but then it steadied itself and retaliated.  Three times it struck the civilar, and each time Hawk felt his mind fading.  He could barely remember his own name, or what he was doing in this place.  Pure instinct kept his sword arm swinging.

Havok’s battle-hardened resolve was starting to crack.  He watched, momentarily stunned as the creatures that had been Mak and Grubber began shambling towards Hawk, who was battling for his life.  How could things have gone so wrong so fast?  Had they come so far, so close only to know all of their efforts had been in vain?  No.  He would never accept that.  He was a scion of Kyuss, and he knew that fate and destiny had brought him to this moment in time for a reason.  He had been chosen, and the balance that had been shifted fifteen-hundred years earlier was going to be restored…starting here and now.  Not pausing to think about the consequences of his actions, the warlock lashed out.  Eldritch energy coursed between Mak and Grubber, burning the taint of Kyuss from them as quickly as it burned the flesh from their bones.  

Hawk was confused.  Why was Havok attacking Mak and Grubber?  Why did his mind feel so clouded?  He was tired…so tired.  He needed to rest…just lie down for a few minutes and clear his head.  He needed to go home.  Absently, he reached up and touched one of the relief carvings on his helm…and then he disappeared.
______________________________________________________

The last remaining Blessed Angel, Dahlia by name, stared at the now-empty battlefield.  She wasn’t sure what had killed the goliaths, but she assumed it must have been some magic possessed by the paladin.  A last, futile gesture before he fled.  She was sure there had been another of the mortals, but perhaps she was mistaken.  No matter, if there was another, he had wisely fled as well.  Let him hide while he still could.  When her mistresses’ plan finally came to fruition and Kyuss was free, she and her other sisters would engage in a great, fine hunt, until they had flushed out and killed every pathetic mortal in this wretched city.  For now, though, she planned on availing herself of the spoils of battle.  Mentally, she ordered the broodfiends to begin the salvage.

All of this Havok witnessed, incorporeal, and invisible.  Hidden from the eyes of his foes.  He waited until they were engrossed in their ill-gotten booty, and then he uttered a word of command.  The boots that he wore suddenly accelerated him through the time stream.  Calling the sphere to him again, he sent it towards the nearest broodfiend.  When the temporal acceleration ended, the demon had a split-second to register its imminent destruction.  Then it was gone.

The remaining broodfiends saw their brother vanish, and the orb of darkness which had taken him.  With a thought, they attuned their senses to see things that were hidden, even things which might be on the Ethereal.  Then both of them drew in deep breaths, and held it, ceasing to exhale the noxious mists which constantly surrounded them, clearing the air around them.  It was then that they finally beheld the warlock.  Dahlia saw him as well, now that the cloying mists were gone.  Quickly, she sent a ripping claw of black energy at her enemy, and Havok felt the magic tear into his incorporeal flesh.  He didn’t let it break his concentration, however, and the last thing Dahlia ever saw was the rapidly approaching orb of death.

The broodfiends saw their chance.  With the deadly sphere out of the way, they had a clear path to the human.  Both of them roared, charging ahead in a rage.  Their tentacles struck, and Havok felt their bite.  White light flashed in his head, and he lost all coherent thought.  Reflexively he called the sphere to him, and it passed right through one of the demons as it came, wiping it from existence.  Still in mental agony, the warlock struck out again and again and again with his eldritch powers, green fire enveloping his world.
____________________________________________________

“Why have you returned so soon, paladin?  Where are your companions?”  
Hawk stared up at the giant angel in bewilderment, not comprehending the nature of the question.  Gabriel sighed, looking at Lanthis.
“His mind has been afflicted,” the solar said.  “ It is easily remedied.”  He laid one large hand upon Hawk’s brow, and the civilar’s eyes lost their fog.  Everything came flooding back to him.
“No…oh no!” he shouted, realizing what had happened, and that he had abandoned Havok.  Offering no word of explanation to the solar or Lanthis, he touched his helm again, and vanished.

When he reappeared in the central chamber of the ziggurat, the only living, or unliving creature he saw was Havok.  The warlock was on his knees with his head pressed against the floor.  A wand was gripped tightly in one hand.
“What is it?  The word…the word!!”  Havok wailed, tears streaming from his eyes.  Hawk hurried over to him, and gently helped him to his feet.
“I…I know you,” the warlock said as he peered up at Hawk.  “Don’t I?”
“It’s me, Hawk,” the civilar replied.  “You’ve been injured.”
“I need…the word…” Havok stammered, looking down helplessly at the wand he held.  Suddenly, Hawk understood.  He knew that the warlock had in his possession a wand capable of restoring lost vitality, or in this case, intellect.  
“No, you don’t need it,” he said.  “You just need to want it to work.  Concentrate.  Make it work!”  Havok nodded slowly, lifting the wand’s tip to his temple.  He squinted his eyes shut, his face a mask of focus.  Suddenly, a white flash of energy pulsed from the wand, and when he opened his eyes, Hawk could see that his mind was whole again.
____________________________________________________________

Havok stood over the pile of ash that had been Grubber.  Uncorking the crystal vial he held, he carefully poured its contents over the soot.  Before his and Hawk’s eyes, the dust began to stir, then rearrange itself until if formed a vaguely humanoid outline.  In rapid succession bones began to form in the ash, then muscles over the bones, and finally flesh over the muscles, until at last, Grubber lay naked upon the ground.  Then, with a great intake of breath, the priest opened his eyes.

Havok pulled two scrolls from his cloak, those which were given to him by Malchor when they last saw the archmage.  Inscribed upon them were powerful Wish spells, and the warlock now used them to create new bodies out of the dust that had been Mak and Faust.  Grubber then leaned over the psion’s body and spoke a soft prayer and breathed into his mouth.  Faust’s eyes flickered open, and he looked about in momentary confusion.  
“You’re only going to be with us a short time,” Grubber said, explaining that the prayer of Revanance he had performed would only restore life for a brief period.  Faust nodded in understanding.  The others gathered up Mak and stood near the psion.  He concentrated, transporting them instantly back to the church of Tempus, where Grubber performed a second Revanance on his brother.  Both Mak and Faust died again a few minutes later, allowing Grubber to perform a lesser, but more lasting spell of Revivification on both of them.  With rest, they would be whole again.  Against all odds, the League had survived.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Dammit, that's the best update, ever! I think I forgot to breathe when I read through this! 
That was so close...I was sure the league was lost. But Havok, again, proved to be much more resourceful than I thought!!! Last man standing...

This time, JollyDoc, you have truely outdone yourself! But didn't you make the encounter a bit more difficult? And a heavy kudos to the league, for this is the greatest victory, yet. Dragotha looked more difficult on paper, but the closer the battle, the greater the victory. 

Also, JD, I think it's wise not to reveal Storm/Entropy before the final encounter. 


Too bad we have to wait two weeks for the next preview & three for the next update, but I think we'll chew on this battle for a while. 


I almost forgot: Supar, thanks for joining in and giving a voice to Grubber. You'll find a lot of Grubber fans here, despite the occasional flying jokes.


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## gfunk

A truly epic update, truly unsurpassed in this story hour -- for the readers anyway  . . .

However, you missed a couple of points which could've elevated this update from awesome to Tolkien,

1. Instead of writing,


> “Grubber?” Mak shouted as he watched his brother die. He had taken two steps towards his fallen sibling, when he saw Grubber twitch once, and then jerk upright into a sitting position. There were worms were his eyes had been.
> “No!!” Mak shouted, furiously.




You could've gone with,


> “Grubber?” Mak commented as his vacuous stare followed his brother's corpse to the ground.  He sternly looked at the Broodfiends, "You ought not killed my little brother . . ."




2. Also, recall that the so-called "favored" spawn of kyuss (faust, gurbber, mak) were defeated by the so-called "unfavored" spawn of kyuss (HAVOC!).


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## Joachim

Very nice, JD...very nice.

All told, after you do the math, this was around an EL 28 encounter.  The Blessed Angels were just a decapitation waiting to happen.  The Broodfiends, while not very versatile, are hyper-effective at what they do.  While the vampires were less than effective they still choked up the battlefield, and the Kyuss Knights touch attacks for INT drain were brutal.  And then there was poor Lashonna, whose abilities (outside of gaseous form) we never got to see in action.

The battle was flowing just the way we liked it.  Havok was off skirmishing and harassing the back ranks, and the rest of the group was engaged with the main enemy force.  Everything was working brilliantly.  Then Faust went down and the flow of the battle changed; not only was our artillery removed but it was going to be turned against us.  INT drain, and not hp loss, began to take its toll, and the deaths started to cascade.

There was even a point where it was obvious that JD had become resolved to at least a partial-TPK with only Havok remaining on the battlefield against three Broodfiends and a Blessed Angel (with only 1 of the Broodfiends having taken a substantial beating), and basically asked me what my exit strategy was going to be.  I have played D&D for about 20 years, and this is the first character EVER that has had possession of a Sphere of Annihilation...I wasn't going to let the campaign go down in flames without at least trying to use it.

The last round of combat was very, very close to ending everything.  Both of the broodfiends hit and both rolled high on the incorporeal miss chance (DAMMIT).  I had a 16 Int, and JD rolled a 14 on 2d8 (we have a policy that everyone rolls openly, even the DMs, so JD wouldn't be allowed to fudge rolls to keep PCs alive), so Havok was made as stupid as a displacer beast.  Good thing charisma powers all of Havok's abilities, except for the sphere.

HOORAY FOR CHARISMA!!!


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> This time, JollyDoc, you have truely outdone yourself! But didn't you make the encounter a bit more difficult?





Actually I ran it as written.  The adventure calls for the broodfiends to reinforce the Kyuss Knights after three rounds of combat...bitter.


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## Supar

Great Update JD i really enjoyed it as i have all of them. But int drain shouldnt be a problem anymore i found the chea... i mean uhh buff spell that will negate that next kyuss knight that wants to drain me will get a maul in the face instead of my humble int score. but as JD says at the table "only one dispell magic away from doom my friends"


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## JollyDoc

One small house-rule note to those who wondered why Kyuss spawn Faust, Mak and Grubber went down so easily.  In our game, when a PC or NPC dies, all spells currently in affect on them go away.  No buffs.  Also, when the trio gained the undead template, they lost their CON scores.  Each of them had in the neighborhood of 130 hp when they were reborn.


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## demiurge1138

That was _incredible_. Best update of any of your story hours, I think. Lots of great tactics on both sides. The Sphere of Annihilation skirmish was amazing.

I don't know how you're going to top that, JD, but I have a feeling you will.

Demiurge out.


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## Gold Roger

Let me just tell you that your storyhour really makes me really itch to play high level.

Both the action itself and the way you describe shows just how cool and yet flavorful high levels can be.


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## Solarious

I feel the pain the Leauge went through. It's almost like the Arena episode, but with the Leauge taking as many names as their names were taken!  The obligitary suffering has been dealt: time to go for the the top worm! I wish you guys luck, because you seem like you're going to need it.


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## Wish

Well, that's one way to get rid of a vampire.  Saves all the tedious coffin searching.

I also just LOVE the revenance/revivify trick.


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## A'vandira Silvermane

*I'm out of superlatives*

I just don't know words to truely do justice to this awesome story hour. My own group is still stuck at the 'God in the Pool' and we're getting our @sses handed to us, royally. You guys are redefining powerplay. And I'm glad we all get to be a part of that through updates that keep improving with every new one.


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## JollyDoc

I just want to thank all the readers for their wonderful feedback.  I thouroughly enjoy bringing our group's exploits to life in the SH, and it's great to know that there are so many others who enjoy it as well.  We're looking forward to the grand finale as much as the rest of you.  You all will be able to see what the next chapter in our campaign world holds in store for us at about the same time that we do.  Stay tuned, and keep your commentary coming!


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## war wizard

JollyDoc

this was by far one of your better efforts, I won't slobber over it to much lest you have start greasing your head to get through the door


----------



## JollyDoc

war wizard said:
			
		

> JollyDoc
> 
> this was by far one of your better efforts, I won't slobber over it to much lest you have start greasing your head to get through the door




And yet I count that among the highest praise


----------



## CrusadeDave

*Hmmmmm*

Okay, so after the Throwdown did Hawk and Havok level up? Did the rest of the party lose their Epicness? or something inbetween?

For the record, although the writing and characterization is amazing, I'm always drawn back here to see exactly how your players powergame their characters in new and creative ways.

I suppose there's a reason y'all have won the open 2 out of three years. 

-Wondering what kind of an Epic Feat the Warlock takes....


----------



## JollyDoc

CrusadeDave said:
			
		

> Okay, so after the Throwdown did Hawk and Havok level up? Did the rest of the party lose their Epicness? or something inbetween?
> 
> For the record, although the writing and characterization is amazing, I'm always drawn back here to see exactly how your players powergame their characters in new and creative ways.
> 
> I suppose there's a reason y'all have won the open 2 out of three years.
> 
> -Wondering what kind of an Epic Feat the Warlock takes....




Leveling up remains to be see.  I haven't awarded xp yet.  The others lost no levels since they weren't Raised.  They were Revananced, then Revivifyed...clever little loophole to be exploited.

Thanks for your kind words.  I too am repeatedly amazed at the tactics these guys manage to pull out of their as....er...hats.  I'm chomping at the bit to get to the grand finale of this game.  I can't wait to see how it turns out as much as the rest of you!!


----------



## JollyDoc

Just a brief update:  Looks like the gang is getting together this coming Saturday for a marathon session of AoW.  With any luck, we'll finish the campaign, one way or another.  Stay tuned!


----------



## Felix

> Stay tuned!



My dial is, and has been, tuned-in to _11_.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Looking forward to more Gaming goodness, or is it badness. You pick the generation.

GW


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Your group wouldn't be the powergamers you are, if you hadn't already experimented with character builds for Savage Tide. Any spoilers or thoughts as to what we can expect there? 

PS: Some say, the world will end in fire. Some say, in worms...


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Will you use a theme again?  Like transformers, or Avengers, brotherhood of evil mutants, carebears, Power Rangers, Justice League, Muppets, or Teen Titans? 

I'm sure it will be fun to read about, no matter what you guys come up with.  There will be a story hour about it right.   

GW


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Will you use a theme again?  Like transformers, or Avengers, brotherhood of evil mutants, carebears, Power Rangers, Justice League, Muppets, or Teen Titans?
> 
> I'm sure it will be fun to read about, no matter what you guys come up with.  There will be a story hour about it right.
> 
> GW




I think this one is going to be BYOC(Bring your on character) I am making a martial(tank) Class atleast starting out.


----------



## Supar

although having Joachim make chars worked out for me  i have a rogue in mind for savage tides. I am skeptical as to his life span though so i will pull an ika and have 3 more chars ready.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Supar said:
			
		

> so i will pull an ika and have 3 more chars ready.





Can't help to be prepared! Who'll play the warlock?


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Can't help to be prepared! Who'll play the warlock?




No one I think. I could not play a warlock now anyway with Havoc so fresh in the mind it would just be a clone to Joachims character.  I am going to Atempt to use the book of nine swords and see where that goes. If not I have a couple of backups in mind.


----------



## demiurge1138

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Will you use a theme again?  Like transformers, or Avengers, brotherhood of evil mutants, carebears, Power Rangers, Justice League, Muppets, or Teen Titans?
> 
> I'm sure it will be fun to read about, no matter what you guys come up with.  There will be a story hour about it right.
> 
> GW



Muppets would be awesome. Gnome chaos mage with a chicken familiar, bullywug bard, half-orc monk, some sort of feral beastman barbarian...

Demiurge out.


----------



## Tearlach

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> Muppets would be awesome. Gnome chaos mage with a chicken familiar, bullywug bard, half-orc monk, some sort of feral beastman barbarian...
> 
> Demiurge out.




Or Sesame Street <_<...that yellow feathered Kenku


----------



## Hammerhead

Imagine the Count


----------



## Solarious

Yes! Do Sesame Street! It would be hilarious.


----------



## Felix

Would Oscar live in a Can of Holding, or a Portable Can, I wonder...?


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Cookie Monster was done here, and a couple others, but no Oscar the Grouch yet.

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=60733

GW


----------



## JollyDoc

Help!! My SH has been hijacked by Jim Hensen cultists!!  It's the Age of Hensen...flee!  Flee for your lives!!


----------



## Felix

Can you tell me how to get to Sesameftaghn Street?


----------



## Joachim

We have all been working up characters, and have decided that we are going to try a new tact with the PC's:  All neutral alignments.  The Pros for doing this is that the party, while not evil, has a moral ambiguity to it.  The Cons, of course, are that we won't have our access to BoED cheese that has been so prevalent in the Age of Worms campaign.

I will be playing a Beguiler who dabbles a little too deeply into the magic of Shadow.  As has been said before, when you look into the Abyss sometimes the Abyss will look back.


----------



## hbarsquared

Joachim said:
			
		

> We have all been working up characters, and have decided that we are going to try a new tact with the PC's: All neutral alignments.



Considering how well WotC's release schedule has followed JollyDoc's story hour in the past, I would not be surprised to see the release of the _Book of Perfect Balance_ soon after you guys start.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Nice touch, Joachim. It'll be nice to see how having fewer (or no) morals will affect your tactics! I am looking forward to a more Faust-like way of thinking (making deals with demons, etc.).


----------



## Felix

You know, NWK, this:



> This knight posts *with safety off*




Brings back fond, fond memories. Appropriate too; I could see Vek Mormont fitting right in with these guys.


----------



## Hammerhead

Bah, the bar was set pretty low with that group. His one trick was just casting 3.0 Harm...it's not really powergaming to exploit one broken thing.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Vek's player was the only one of that group who did some powergaming & had some interesting character builds - the rest were pretty much too straight forward for all the 3E possibilities. Still, it was the story that got me hooked.  I'm glad that Doc Midnight & his stories are still remembered!

But let's not forget, that here we've been getting some years of powergaming galore & great storytelling from JollyDoc & Co (not forgetting all of gfunks & Joachims updates in SC & all of these guys' posts with gaming background and character stats). 
And, of course, always the amazement of what they come up with next, be it tactics, exploits or character optimizations!!! 

On that note, thanks again for doing it!


----------



## Joachim

jeremy_dnd said:
			
		

> Considering how well WotC's release schedule has followed JollyDoc's story hour in the past, I would not be surprised to see the release of the _Book of Perfect Balance_ soon after you guys start.




Argument against you here:  today over at wizards.com they released a bunch of Epic Warlock feats.  All of them very nice.  All of them too late to be used in this campaign.


----------



## hbarsquared

Joachim said:
			
		

> Argument against you here: today over at wizards.com they released a bunch of Epic Warlock feats. All of them very nice. All of them too late to be used in this campaign.



Actually, it proves my point.    Isn't your final marathon session today (Saturday)?  And the epic warlock feats came out last night.  Talk about perfect timing.


----------



## Joachim

jeremy_dnd said:
			
		

> Actually, it proves my point.    Isn't your final marathon session today (Saturday)?  And the epic warlock feats came out last night.  Talk about perfect timing.




Considering that I burned mny own wish out of a Luck Blade (not shown in the Story Hour) to rebuild Faust's destroyed body, I think that I am going to get him to do a Psychic Restore on me in payment.

Eldritch Sculptor, here I come!


----------



## Solarious

Eldritch scupltor? It must be for the double blast ability. The range abilities usually aren't quite worth it... at least, not against a single, powerful target anyways.

Dare I say this is the return of blast-focused Havoc?  I had almost gotten used to a Timestop/Solid Fog/Silence/Wall of Perilious Flames-Havoc.


----------



## JollyDoc

As always, I'll leave the teaser for Gfunk, but let's just say that we gamed for 7 solid hours tonight...and the grand finale still ain't over.  To be continued...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> As always, I'll leave the *teaser *for Gfunk, but let's just say that we gamed for 7 solid hours tonight...and the grand finale still ain't over.  To be continued...



Well, if that isn't one right there...  Didn't the Adimarchus fight take longer than one session, too?


----------



## Hammerhead

Hopefully it means that the League took out all of the minions before heading for the BBEG.


----------



## gfunk

*Sunday Afternoon Update*

No more fooling around baby!  We prep up, spell up and _greater teleport_ to the top of the spire.

Before the final encounter
1. Havoc is re-optimized using epic Warlock feats courtesy of a _bend reality_ from Faust.
2. Hawk joins the epic-level club.
3. We spell-up (keeping in mind the lessons we learned in our last nearly disastrous battle).  In terms of # spells on them, Faust >> Mak/Grubber > Havoc, Hawk

THE BIG FIGHT
1. Kyuss is already out of the spire with all his buddies surrounding him.  The first thing we notice is that there are many familiar faces among Kyuss' minions.
2. This battle heralds the introduction of several new magic items (_skin of the celestial_, _boots of temporal acceleration_) and the first-time use of new spells/powers (_rain of embers_, _reality revision_).
3. Everyone (well except Mak   ) enters a _time stop_ including Hawk!!  (oh, and Kyuss too . . . several times   )
4. We witness the death of a couple of artifacts, like a certain sphere being . . . well . . . annihilated, not to mention a certain staff being broken in half.
5. Kyuss takes well > 1000 hp of dmg but, I assure you, he is still very much alive.
6. Towards the end of the night, things were swinging in the League's favor but then things started going fubar.  Without being excessively specific let me just say that things went downhill rapidly following an _extended time stop_, a _gate_, and a new Spawn of Kyuss being formed (guess who won the bet?).
7. Finally, no epic level encounter would be complete w/o a _mordenkainen's disjunction_ (or three).


----------



## Quartz

Oh dear. When I read through the adventure, Kyuss not being alone looked to be a near guarantee of being a TPK. And the party are supposed to get 1-2 rounds of free attacks on Kyuss if they play things right. Obviously they didn't. I'm very much looking forward to the write-up.


----------



## Solarious

Bwahahaha. I see Jolly took a good number of suggestions to heart. 

I contributed. Feel free to hate me. 

Can't wait to see what goes down... write faster, darnit!  *cracks the Jolly whip*


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

gfunk said:
			
		

> 1. Kyuss is already out of the spire with all his buddies surrounding him.  The first thing we notice is that there are *many familiar faces* among Kyuss' minions.



 Many does not sound good. Guys, what did you do to annoy your DM so?   



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 4. We witness the death of a couple of artifacts, like a certain sphere being . . . well . . . annihilated, not to mention a certain staff being broken in half.



 As long as you accomplished your purposes beforehand, it's just stuff! OK, it's really, really cool stuff...



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 5. Kyuss takes well > 1000 hp of dmg but, I assure you, he is still very much alive.



 That would be too easy a victory, considering you can dish that out in 1/2 round. Did JollyDoc tell you, what kind of deity you are up against? 



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 6. Towards the end of the night, things were swinging in the League's favor but then things started going fubar.  Without being excessively specific let me just say that things went downhill rapidly following an _extended time stop_, a _gate_, and a new Spawn of Kyuss being formed (guess who won the bet?).



 I'm guessing it's Faust again. Fellow tends to draw attention (and aggression) towards him.



			
				gfunk said:
			
		

> 7. Finally, no epic level encounter would be complete w/o a _mordenkainen's disjunction_ (or three).



 Turning you into worm-lovers is one thing, but destroying your precious items is just, well, mean. Bad Kyuss, bad Kyuss. NO (WORM)SOUP FOR YOU!!!


----------



## Schmoe

gfunk said:
			
		

> *Sunday Afternoon Update*
> 
> THE BIG FIGHT
> 1. Kyuss is already out of the spire with all his buddies surrounding him.  The first thing we notice is that there are many familiar faces among Kyuss' minions.
> 2. This battle heralds the introduction of several new magic items (_skin of the celestial_, _boots of temporal acceleration_) and the first-time use of new spells/powers (_rain of embers_, _reality revision_).
> 3. Everyone (well except Mak   ) enters a _time stop_ including Hawk!!  (oh, and Kyuss too . . . several times   )




Sweet!  I've been waiting for this moment (and this moment, and this moment, and this...)



> 4. We witness the death of a couple of artifacts, like a certain sphere being . . . well . . . annihilated, not to mention a certain staff being broken in half.




Yikes.  Well, any DM worth his salt knows that artifacts are meant to be destroyed/imprisoned/stolen/etc.



> 5. Kyuss takes well > 1000 hp of dmg but, I assure you, he is still very much alive.




He is a DEITY, after all.  For those who remember Ren & Stimpy and the "Log" song:

_"Kyuss,
Kyuss,
He's big, he's wormy and green.

Kyuss,
Kyuss,
He's better than you, he's mean."_

I can't wait for the update


----------



## Solarious

Maybe we'll enlighten gfunk and co about what kind of insurmountable horrors we've pitted them against after this is over.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

OK, a quick poll. Who do you think is joining Kyuss in his last stand? 

- Entropy
- Prenderghast Brokengulf
- Darl Quethos

Anyone got anyone/thing else?


----------



## Solarious

Actually, I think by familiar faces, gfunk refers to the fact that many Kyuss Knights in the endgame are supposed to be people who have been encountered before by the League. They're supposed to be there in the module.

I also find it amusing they haven't bothered to find and loot Lashonna's horde.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Friendly _*BUMP*_ to start ringing in a certain Age.

BTW, this battle ended somewhat similar to the vision-battle at the end of the Trials of Tilagos module: Havok last man standing, Hawk alive but out of the fight & rest of party dead. 
JollyDoc, if this constallation arises in the final fight, will you offer the son of Kyuss the option of upsurping his forefather's power?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Friendly _*BUMP*_ to start ringing in a certain Age.
> 
> BTW, this battle ended somewhat similar to the vision-battle at the end of the Trials of Tilagos module: Havok last man standing, Hawk alive but out of the fight & rest of party dead.
> JollyDoc, if this constallation arises in the final fight, will you offer the son of Kyuss the option of upsurping his forefather's power?




Funny you should mention that...


----------



## Lonely Tylenol

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Funny you should mention that...



The man really has a talent for keeping us hanging on this thread, doesn't he?


----------



## Solarious

Well, why do you think we're here instead of browsing the other threads?


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

works for me...


----------



## JollyDoc

APOTHEOSIS

Time until the Age of Worms:  T-2 days.
Dead in Starmantle:  2,220

Once more the members of the League gathered in the narthex of Tempus’ temple, making their final preparations.  Gabriel stood like a statue near the altar, arms folded across his broad chest, his gaze taking in nothing and everything.  This time there were no goodbyes, nor wishes of good fortune from the acolytes and priests.  Instead, tension filled the church.  All of those gathered within knew that today would be the last stand of the League, Starmantle, and quite possibly all of Faerun.  Luck would have no bearing on the outcome.  It would be all or nothing, and all that the bystanders could do was await the outcome.  

Storm walked purposefully towards her comrades, her robes rustling in the quiet chapel.  
“I’ll ask one last time,” she said as she approached Hawk.  “Are you certain you do not want me to accompany you?”
“It’s not a question of want,” the civilar replied.  “It’s like I told you yesterday.  If we fail, someone has to be able to take news of our defeat to Malchor and the rest of Faerun.  He and the others might have a slim chance at success if Kyuss has been weakened from our assault.  You can get the word to him swiftest.”
“Yes, but you almost died without me!” the sorceress protested.
“Your being there wouldn’t have affected the outcome,” Hawk said calmly.  “If five of us can’t succeed, one more won’t make a difference.  We’ve already lost Grim due to foolish risk-taking.  He thought he could single-handedly save those poor souls at the Deluxury, and look what happened.  We can’t afford any more mistakes.  You’ll know how we fare through the Mindlink.  Use your best judgment if the worst comes to pass.”
The drow hung her head, but nodded nonetheless.  “Goodbye then, my friends.”  She turned and walked away without another word.
“So what’s the plan this time, fearless leader?”  Mak spoke into the uncomfortable silence.  Hawk nodded towards Faust and Havok.
“No more delays,” he said.  “Faust will take us directly to the pinnacle of the Spire.  If Kyuss is going to reenter the world, that’s where he will arrive.  Let his minions come, if any still live.  If we cut off the head, the body will follow.”
Mak shrugged.  “Sounds like as good a plan as any.  I can’t think of any better way to die at the moment.”

The five heroes exited the temple into the empty square beyond and gazed across the mist shrouded ruins of Starmantle towards the Spire of Long Shadows, and the storm that gathered there.  
“It’s time,” Hawk said.  They circled around Faust, linking hands one last time, and then they were gone.
_______________________________________________________

The League found themselves on a large balcony, hundreds of feet above the ground.  In the center of the platform stood an obelisk engraved with arcane runes and symbols.  Suddenly, a greenish bolt of lightning struck the obelisk from the rotating clouds in the sky above.  The bolt then arced into Mak, sending electricity coursing through his body.  
“Move!”  Hawk shouted, grabbing the goliath by the arm and shoving him towards an archway leading to the Spire’s interior.  Quickly, the others followed, and they emerged onto a narrow landing overlooking the hollow interior of the tower.  Stairs spiraled up and down from the landing, disappearing into darkness below, but opening into a chamber a short distance above.  Without hesitation, the companions hurried upwards, towards the apex of the Spire.

The room in which they found themselves consisted of a one-hundred foot wide circular platform.  At its center stood a square pedestal surrounded by four L-shaped pillars, and atop the pedestal stood a fifteen-foot tall trapezoidal monolith of black rock, its surface writhing, as if a vortex of thousands of worms burrowed just beneath its glossy surface.  Several creatures were gathered around the perimeter of the room and on the far side of the pedestal.  Three were immediately recognizable as broodfiends, their fetid breath billowing out before them.  Directly in front of the pedestal stood a humanoid creature dressed in archaic armor and ragged skirts, identifying it as female.  A full visor covered its face, but writhing worms protruded from the eyeholes, and rank, green hair spilled from beneath it.  A large shield floated in mid-air before the creature, and it clutched a large executioner’s mace in its skeletal hands.  It was obviously a Kyuss Knight, as were eight similarly armed and armored warriors positioned about the chamber.  Something about the others, however, was disturbingly familiar.  With dawning horror, the assembled members of the League realized that, though terribly disfigured, the Kyuss Knights were well-known to them.  There stood Shay Jones, who had left them to escape a death-mark, one which had obviously caught up to him.  Nearby was the once-corpulent, but now emaciated form of Balabar Smenk, flanked on one side by the fallen gladiator Prendergast Brokengulf, and on the other by the dwarf mercenary Pavel, his sundered axes now replaced by a much deadlier weapon.  The remaining faces were equally, agonizingly recognizable:  Vladius, his once fire-red hair now putrid green; Gideon, his wings now hanging in ragged tatters; Dwilt, the remains of his war-chain dangling from his wrists; and finally, Drasek, his shining holy symbol replaced now by the grinning, worm-ridden skull of Kyuss.  Friends and enemies, dead or missing, now brought back to them, a deliberate desecration of all of their ideals and goals, perverted by the Worm God.  He sought to fill them with despair before the battle was even joined, but his efforts only made their anger burn deeper.  They advanced into the room.  One final figure skulked in the shadows of the pedestal, suddenly revealed by Grubber’s holy nimbus of celestial light.  The hunched back and slightly misaligned facial features identified her as Hemriss, the daughter of Embuirhan.  She clutched a bow in her hands, yet something in her eyes spoke of fear rather than defiance.

Abruptly, the roiling clouds in the sky beyond the pinnacle suddenly took on a horrific green discoloration.  The spiraling pattern writhed and began to uncoil, forming a slowly moving tentacle of mist that reached down towards the Spire, but did not quite touch its apex.  At that same moment, a chilling wave of energy burst from the monolith, causing a visible sheen of power to distort the air for a brief moment.  Then, the surface of the monolith began to ripple as two torrents of green worms began to spew from its face.  It became immediately apparent that these were in actuality large hands, tightly gripping an enormous executioner’s mace.  These were followed by a towering giant whose flesh was made of large, green worms.  His face was partially hidden by a ragged hood, but his eyes, red and burning with malicious anger, were clearly visible.  As Kyuss emerged fully from his prison, he raised his writhing arms and uttered a terrible cry of triumph.

Havok’s blood went cold.  As he beheld the terrible glory of Kyuss he knew in his being, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he looked upon both his own past and future.  He also knew instinctively that any hope of salvation for his tainted soul could only be gained by destroying his ancient ancestor.  As he had done on so many occasions before, the warlock stopped time.  Working quickly, while those around him, including he noted with mild disbelief a god, stood frozen, he unfolded a black kerchief from his cloak, opening a hole into an extradimensional space.  Next he drew the talisman from where it hung by a silver chain around his neck, and began to concentrate.  The sphere of nothingness responded to his call, rising out of the hole to hover before him.  At his mental command, it streaked across the room, coming to a halt at a point where it just touched the Worm God’s verminous flesh.  Time flowed once more, and for the second time in as many heartbeats, Kyuss screamed, but this time it was a cry of agony as the artifact, though not powerful enough to snuff him from existence as it would any lesser creature, began to absorb his divine essence.  

Before the Worm God good recover, Grubber followed Havok’s lead, as planned, and halted the time stream for everyone save himself.  Immediately, he began conjuring shimmering, whirling walls of force-made blades, placing two of them directly in the path of Kyuss and the foremost of his broodfiends.  The priest of Grumbar then called upon his deity to send him a force of magic that he had never before attempted.  Suddenly, the air in the chamber filled with a torrential downpour of burning embers.  When time returned to normal, several of Kyuss’ minions, as well as the god himself were caught in the rain of fire.  Though the slashing blades and searing embers took their toll on the broodfiends, the knights of Kyuss took no notice of the burning coals which touched their skin.  Indeed, the Worm God seemed only mildly discomfited by any of the magics which raged around him, though he moved swiftly back from the greedy maw of the Sphere of Annihilation, putting one of the broodfiends between it and himself.  Then he took the offensive.  Instantly, another wall of blades, these emerald green and resembling worms, erupted around Grubber, slashing the goliath’s flesh to shreds.  Kyuss then raised his hands, his deep, basso voice uttering arcane words.  Havok recognized the spell that was coming…a disjunction!  It would strip them of all their magical defenses, and possibly their equipment as well.  Instantly the warlock raised his own hand, and the ring he had taken from the necromancer Filge flashed, countering the magic as soon as it left the Worm God’s lips.  Slowly, Kyuss lifted his cowled face to the ceiling where Havok had concealed himself, invisible and incorporeal.  Despite this, his ancestor seemed to see right through him.

Kyuss’ minions began to move.  The knights converged on Mak, Grubber and Hawk, with Pavel reaching Grubber first as he struggled to extricate himself from the blade barrier.  The worms which had once been the dwarf’s eyes sank their fangs into the goliath’s flesh, and though their bite burned, Grubber’s mind remained intact.  He had prepared this time, and had fortified himself and all of his allies with a potent magic that rendered the deadly, intellect draining bites of the knights and the broodfiends impotent.  As for the broodfiends themselves, two of them moved into defensive positions before the Worm God, while the third flicked one of its wormlike tentacles, producing a slender, metal rod from its mouth.  Horrified, Havok looked on helplessly as the fiend touched the rod to the sphere.  A concussive explosion of energy shook the room violently, momentarily dazing the mortals, and even causing the undead to stagger.  When the air cleared, the sphere was gone, and with it, possibly all hope of destroying Kyuss.
As the combatants struggled to regain their bearings, the remaining two broodfiends moved close to their master, and laid their tentacles upon his wounds.  Instantly, they began to close, and in a matter of moments, the Worm God was whole again.  

Havok was still in a state of shock at the sudden turn of the tide.  He fumbled quickly inside his cloak for another scroll.  The situation was becoming desperate, and he had to even the playing field.  Hastily reading the words on the parchment, the warlock invoked the same spell that he had prevented Kyuss from casting…a disjunction.  The wave of null-magic washed over Kyuss and his minions, and though it instantly erased Grubber’s blade walls and fiery rain of embers, Havok knew that their enemies had just been divested of their defensive wards and, with any luck, the evil power of their weapons as well.  As if in answer to his prayer, the floating shield of the female Kyuss Knight suddenly clattered to the floor.  The undead creature stared at it for a moment, and then stepped past it, stalking towards Hawk once more.  On the far side of the room Hemriss gasped as the spell struck her, her hands clutching at her throat.  
“Thank you,” she said in a breathless voice, and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

Grubber and Hawk stood back-to-back as Pavel, Brokengulf and Drasek closed on them.  The goliath swung his maul, clipping the undead dwarf when he darted in too close.  Above them, Mak circled about, the words of a prayer upon his lips.  A burst of healing energy flowed out of him, erasing his wounds and those of his two companions.  In the process, the anathemic magic caused Pavel and Brokengulf to swell with positive energy, until they exploded in a wet mass of green worms.

Kyuss watched the drama unfolding before him with amusement.  How Dragotha and Lashonna had been bested by these weaklings was baffling.  He would have to be much more discriminating in his next choice of general.  Already, a likely candidate had revealed itself to him.  Still, every moment wasted with the vermin that infested his domain was a moment taken from the Age of Worms.  Once more, he began weaving his magic.  The warlock’s trick ring would not save them this time.  For the third time in less than a minute, a disjunction was cast, only this time, the League members were on the receiving end.  As it was, both Havok and Faust managed to avoid its devastating effects, the former having stepped into the stone of the ceiling in his incorporeal form, while the latter had used his mind to place his body in a temporary, timeless state, one in which nothing could harm him.  For the rest, however, the aftermath of the spell was, to say the least, debilitating.  Mak, Grubber, and Hawk all felt their powerful layers of protection simply vanish, including their Mindlink to each other and to Faust.  Before they could do more than register this, however, the Worm God struck again, calling down a column of worm-infested green fire to engulf Hawk and Grubber.  Instantaneously, the magical second skin that Hawk wore under his armor activated, absorbing the searing energy, and leaving the civilar with only minor burns.  Grubber was not so lucky, and his flesh erupted in boils and blisters.

Faust knew that his invulnerability was of limited duration, and when it ended, his life might be snuffed out in an instant by the Worm God or his minions.  He had to neutralize as many as he could before then.  Concentrating, he unleashed a wave of psychic fire across the chamber, enveloping all three of the broodfiends as well as Kyuss and Shay.  When the blaze vanished, all that was left of his former comrade was ash.  Two of the broodfiends immediately touched their burns with their tentacles, causing them to vanish without a trace, while the third did the same for Kyuss.  Once again, the Wormgod was unharmed.

Hawk spun his sword back-handed as Drasek moved towards him, decapitating the knight.  Pivoting on his heel, the civilar then hurled his shield like a flying disc at Vladius.  The shield left a large dent in the former sorcerer’s helm before returning to the hand of its owner.  As Hawk lifted it back into place, two more of the knights closed in.  One of the worms which had replaced the eyes of Dwilt darted from his visor and bit into Grubber’s face.  This time the goliath felt his thoughts grow hazy.  Thanks to Kyuss’ spell, he was no longer protected from the mind-numbing bites of the worms.  Mak realized the same thing as Balabar Smenk’s eye-worms snapped at him when he flew too close.

Havok cursed, and cursed again.  Things were going from bad to worse.  He needed more time…and he knew how to get it.  Again, he pulled a scroll from his cloak, and again time ceased.  The warlock prayed that his own disjunction had weakened some of Kyuss’ defenses enough so that his own magics might actually be able to wound the god.  He created twin walls of worm-ridden fire where the Worm God and his broodfiends stood.  When time resumed, he was rewarded by startled cries of pain and anger from all four.  Then another cry reached him…this one of pure anguish…and it belonged to Mak.

The goliath had glanced up, sensing the approach of the female knight of Kyuss.  When he did, his gaze met her own worm-cursed one squarely…and then everything went black and all he knew was pain.  As he screamed in agony, the eyes of his comrades turned towards him…only to see that Mak’s own eyes were gone, replaced by ravenous green worms.  As they watched in horror, the vermin began chewing into the soft flesh of the goliath’s eye-sockets.  Still howling in pain, Mak streaked into the air, flying completely blind, only trying to get away from the horrid Kyuss Knight, and the terrible curse she had inflicted upon him.

‘Excellent,’ Kyuss thought to himself.  Soon the ranks of his followers would be swelled by these powerful, yet frail mortals.  Chuckling because he knew the warlock thought himself so clever by repeatedly altering the flow of time, the Wormgod performed his own bit of magic, bringing the temporal river to a screeching halt…for all but himself…and his familiar.  In rapid succession, the deity placed several key wards upon his person, before ripping open a transdimensional portal to the Abyss.  Meanwhile, the broodfiend which served the Worm Lord as trusted servant and familiar began to heal his wounds again, before moving towards the frozen, beleaguered forms of Hawk, and Grubber.  When time wrenched itself back into motion, Kyuss stood directly before Grubber, while the broodfiend flanked the civilar.  At that moment, a fiendish creature standing twelve-feet tall was ripped from Hades.  Before it floated a massive greataxe carved with jagged runes, with a glittering red ruby set into the base of the shaft. The demon had crimson skin, clawed hands, and the head of a leering, hyena with silver eyes and great, slavering fangs.  A writhing snake protruded from the side of its neck, coiling and hissing menacingly.  It was a molydeus, a powerful enforcer for the Lords of the Abyss.  It looked about in anger and confusion for a moment, before its eyes locked on those of Kyuss…its new master.
“Destroy them!”  The Worm God commanded, “ Or I shall allow my pets to feast on your still-living flesh!”  The demon bowed briefly in fearful acknowledgment…and then launched itself at Hawk.

“My turn!”  Faust snarled as he seized control of the time stream for himself.  He then began weaving a lattice of energy curtains made of pure sound about Kyuss.  When he was finished, he created two psychic spheres of telekinetic force around two of the broodfiends.  Kyuss doubled over in pain as the sonic walls bombarded him once time resumed.  At that moment, Havok stepped from his concealment within the ceiling, mentally alerted by Faust.  Once more, the warlock stopped time.  “If it worked for Dragotha,” he hissed into the silence, “it should work for you!”  Plucking two more scrolls from his sash, he placed identical cages of force around both Kyuss and his familiar.  Next he created two more walls of perilous green flames, bisecting the Worm God’s prison, and extending the walls to encompass the haggard knight that had once been Gideon.  Before time resumed, he attempted to slip back into the ceiling, but found it rock solid and impenetrable.  Gazing down at the still-motionless form of Kyuss, he spat.  “Bastard!”  The thrice-cursed worm spawn had indeed been kept abreast of their tactics.  He had created a ghost-trap, preventing Havok from turning incorporeal again.

When the time stream unfroze this time, Gideon succumbed instantly.  Not so Kyuss.  Though in obvious pain, he stared defiantly at the warlock.  
‘You are blood of my blood, little one,” the Worm God spoke into Havok’s mind.  “You have proven yourself worthy of your birthright by slaying Dragotha and Lashonna.  Now it is time for you to finally fulfill your destiny.  Abandon this foolishness and these simpletons.  Embrace your heritage, and join with me.  This world shall be yours, and your powers shall be great and terrible to behold!’
‘You claim to be a god,’ Havok said, ‘so you should already know the answer to your question before it has been asked.  I am fully aware of my destiny, and it shall be by my hand, your own bloodline, that you shall be laid low.  I swear it!’
‘So be it,’ the Wormgod nodded, and then he lifted one clawed hand, and from it sprang a writhing spray of worms.  As the blast struck the bars of the force cage, they shattered, but it did not stop there.  Instead, it struck Havok full-on, boring into his flesh, burning him with pure, unadulterated divine power.

Hawk spun away from the molydeus, his shield easily deflecting the demon’s axe.  When he turned back, however, he saw that the female Kyuss Knight had rapidly closed the distance between them.
“Do you not know me, mortal?” she asked in a rasping voice.
“I know what you are!” Hawk snapped as their blades clashed.
“I am what you will become,” she said, “and what my poor, dead brother hated my Lord for making me.”  Hawk’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him.
“Maralee?” he asked, briefly dropping his guard.
“ I was once called that,” she said, “before my brother, Balakarde, sacrificed his life in a futile attempt to win my salvation.  You have freed him now from his bondage, and his vengeance has been sated, yet ultimately it comes to nothing.  Kyuss lives, and the Age of Worms will dawn.  His efforts were wasted, just as yours will be.”
“You are not the sister Balakarde knew,” Hawk said as their deadly dance continued.  “That good woman died years ago.  Just as these other shells are not the friends and comrades who once fought at my side.  Your twisted master attempts to instill doubt in us, just as he did with Balakarde.  But like Maralee’s brother, we too shall have our vengeance…the vengeance of the Light, and of the free peoples of Faerun!”
Back and forth they battled, each landing telling blows.  Nearby Grubber fought his own battle with Dwilt and Smenk.  Each time one of their horrid eyes bit into his flesh, his mind grew dimmer, and more detached.  The flow of the melee carried him near Hawk and Maralee, and for a brief moment, the priest’s eyes met those of the Kyuss Knight, and in that split second, he suffered his brother’s fate.  Grubber screamed as his eyes turned into ravenous worms, and acting on pure instinct, he transported himself between dimensions to the far side of the chamber, leaving Hawk alone against the three knights.

“Kill the Favored of Helm!”  Kyuss commanded as the molydeus advanced on the beleaguered Hawk.  “Leave the paladin to Maralee.”  The demon looked up skeptically at the still screaming form of Mak circling madly in the air.  It didn’t seem to be as much of a challenge as the swordsman, but blood was blood.  It shrugged, and then leaped into the air, hurtling towards the goliath.

Hawk was running on pure adrenaline.  The Kyuss Knights had him hemmed in on three sides, with his back to the stairwell, but Maralee was by far his biggest threat.  Dwilt and Smenk were merely distracting him, but Balakarde’s sister was matching him blow-for-blow.  Crying out in fury, he redoubled his efforts, beating back all three of the undead for a brief moment.  He took the opportunity to hurl himself down the stairs, but Maralee was right behind him, landing in a crouch a few steps above.  A heavy thud behind him caused him to turn reflexively, where he saw that Vladius had rejoined the fray.  Dwilt and Smenk gazed down from atop the stairwell.  Suddenly, Kyuss’ demon familiar, still imprisoned within the force-cage Havok had trapped it in, stepped up to the bars of its cell, which stood just at the head of the stairs.  Inhaling deeply, it spewed forth a hissing spray of acid, not caring that it drenched the undead knights as well as Hawk.  The civilar suppressed a groan of agony.  He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, and neither of the goliath brothers were going to be helping him any time soon. 

Mak reeled about in crazed somersaults, his fingers clawing at his eye sockets.  He could barely remember his own name, and all he could think about was ending the pain, and escape.  Desperately he called out, “Helm!  Help me!”  Just like that, the nightmare ended.  Mak found he could see again, though his mind was far from clear or coherent.  He didn’t know what had happened…a miracle of some sort, but something more immediate caught his attention:  the charging fury of the molydeus!

‘Faust!’ Havok cried through the Mindlink.  ‘We have to do something to end this!  Now!’
‘Tell me something I don’t know!’ the psion shouted back.  ‘I’m doing all that I can and trying to stay alive at the same time, in case you haven’t noticed!  Still, if you can distract Kyuss, I might have a plan!’
Distract Kyuss, the warlock thought to himself.  Drawing the full attention of a god was hardly his idea of a sound battle tactic.  Just then he glanced down at the staff that he held in his left hand…the one he had taken from Dragotha’s horde.  A plan began to form in his head…a potentially suicidal one, but a plan nonetheless.  Once again he drew forth one of his plethora of scrolls, and again time ground to a halt.  Speaking a word of command, Havok then used the staff to summon a denizen of Celestia, a lion-faced gardinal.  The outsider appeared in a flash of light, yet remained motionless, as frozen in time as the other occupants of the room.  The warlock next proceeded to create a cross-hatch of worm-fire walls all about Kyuss.  His last action before time continued was to drop the staff at the gardinal’s feet.  
“Pick it up!”  He commanded as the celestial looked at its surroundings in puzzlement.  Nevertheless, it obeyed without hesitation.
“Now I will return you to Heaven,” Havok shouted, “and all I require is that you break the staff that you hold.”  The gardinal didn’t even try to guess at the rationale of his summoner’s request.  It mattered not to him the purpose of such an act.  The sooner it was done, the sooner he could be freed of this demeaning servitude.  Raising one knee, he snapped the rune-carved staff in half.

The next instant, the celestial was consumed in a massive explosion of arcane power as all of the remaining magic held within the Magi’s staff was released at one time.  The blast rolled over Kyuss, who was momentarily trapped within Havok’s maze of fire walls.  Quickly, the warlock unleashed a cone-shaped blast of eldritch fire, further weakening the god.  To his amazement, the Worm God actually seemed to waver for a mere heartbeat.  It was at that moment that Faust struck.  First he tore open a conduit to the plane of Positive Energy, flooding the fledgling god with its power.  As Kyuss reeled, the psion focused all of his mental energy, grimacing with the effort of the psychic might that he called upon.  A shimmer, like a wave, rippled throughout the entire chamber, and for a bare instant, Faust actually saw time flow in reverse, as he literally bent reality to his will.  When the moment passed, the psion had succeeded in restoring some measure of his mental power, as well as that of his comrades, by reaching into the past and drawing upon the reserves of their past selves.  But he wasn’t finished yet.  With the speed of thought, he accelerated himself through the time stream.  Mimicking the pattern of fire woven by Havok, he overlaid the flames with walls composed of sonic energy.  Still moving at the relative speed of light, he created two more telekinetic spheres, one around the molydeus which menaced Mak, and the second around Kyuss’ demon familiar.  With that, he was spent.

As Faust returned to the normal flow of time, events began to unfold very rapidly.  Kyuss howled in rage and pain, the first the Worm God had known in centuries.  He dropped to one knee under the magical onslaught.  At that same moment, Maralee hesitated as she sensed her master’s peril.  In that instant, Hawk struck, impaling her upon Quaero, and then withdrawing and reversing the blade to spear Vladius behind him.  Both knights crumbled to dust.  
“We’ve got them!” Havok shouted, seeing most of Kyuss’ minions neutralized, and the god himself on the verge of destruction.  But as so often occurs, his prediction proved to be premature.  Drawing on his still-potent power, Kyuss seized control of time once more.  He quickly extricated himself from the trap Faust and Havok had woven about him.  Then he proceeded to use his divine might to heal his wounds, one after the other, until he was completely whole again.  When he released time, the League members saw that in the space between two breaths, their victory had been snatched from them.  Then, as if things could not get worse, a soul-wrenching scream split the air.  All of the League members turned towards the sound…all save one.  The battlefield had seemed momentarily free of the minions as the Wormgod, but as the heroes looked on, a new spawn of Kyuss rose from where it had fallen a moment before…and this one also bore a familiar face…


----------



## JollyDoc

Editor's Note:  To my players,

The latest update ended on what we in the literary world refer to as a cliffhanger.  This was intentional.  Please keep it that way lest the wrath of the Worm God be visited upon you next!!!


----------



## hbarsquared

_*breath is bated*_


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## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Editor's Note:  To my players,
> 
> The latest update ended on what we in the literary world refer to as a cliffhanger.  This was intentional.  Please keep it that way lest the wrath of the Worm God be visited upon you next!!!




True, but our play session ended exactly where the update did.  So there are no spoilers to give.  Everything from this point literally has to be played out.  The Age of Worms ends/begins (one way or another) on Nov. 12, 2006 . . .


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## demiurge1138

Wins. Hard. Kyuss is played _really_ well. A tactical genius of few words. No taunts, no threats, merely commands and waves of magic and death. 

Can't wait to see the grand finale.

Demiurge out.


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## Solarious

Word, demiurge. Word.

The fact that Kyuss is still truly divine helps him a lot. Immunities, DR, SR, SDA, Familiars, Domain SLAs...

The Leauge really dropped the ball on that one. If they stopped the despair, he would most likely be initiating the fireworks. Instead, they're fighting for their lives as Kyuss simply endures their assaults and begins the instaborgination of the Leauge.

Waiting for the last game to push through so we can either see a TPK... or a phyrric victory.

Game on.


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## demiurge1138

Solarious said:
			
		

> The Leauge really dropped the ball on that one. If they stopped the despair, he would most likely be initiating the fireworks. Instead, they're fighting for their lives as Kyuss simply endures their assaults and begins the instaborgination of the Leauge.
> 
> Game on.



"Instaborgination"? I'd go for "wormification", meself, but your coinage does have a certain flair.

Demiurge out.


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## Monkey Boy

Go phyrric victory!


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## Neverwinter Knight

Damn, this is seriously good stuff, but too bad you aren't gaming this weekend!!! Can't wait for the big finale. JollyDoc, it might be necessary to make some adjustments to Savage Tide, Kyuss-wise. 

My guess is that Mak is the new Kyuss spawn, since he still had a fierce oponent and was a little...inconvenienced, what with his eyes being eaten. 

But JollyDoc is not giving away the victory easily. As DM, I might have not equipped Kyuss' gang with the Rod of Cancellation (they managed to kill all oponents of the last fight, after all), but with it, things might have been too easy. Tough choice - although if you guys can't handle it...

Once minor thing, how did Kyuss summon the demon? I thought Malchor & friends were trying to prevent that from happening...


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## Quartz

Yes, I felt that the Rod of Cancellation was a bit mean - after all, how much have the PCs used the Sphere? But I thought that in the adventure as written the Sphere was supposed to be destroyed by contact with Kyuss. And summoning the molydeus...

You've made the fight significantly harder already, *Jollydoc*, and now you've made it harder still. But that's your perogative. If they are victorious, it will be a very well earned victory.


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## Joachim

A couple of notes to the contrarians out there (yes, Sol, I am speaking to you) saying that the players 'really dropped the ball on that one':

1)   To make the final battle more challenging, JD made the removal of despair have no effect on Kyuss' stats.  Ergo, we decided that we weren't going to waste time on a boring, frustrating scavenger hunt through the streets of Starmantle that would have no effect on the final combat with Kyuss.

2)   The module allows 2 rounds of Kyuss-free combat as he withdraws from his prison.  To make the fight harder, JD allowed Kyuss to be active at the beginning of combat.


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Damn, this is seriously good stuff, but too bad you aren't gaming this weekend!!! Can't wait for the big finale. JollyDoc, it might be necessary to make some adjustments to Savage Tide, Kyuss-wise.
> 
> My guess is that Mak is the new Kyuss spawn, since he still had a fierce oponent and was a little...inconvenienced, what with his eyes being eaten.
> 
> But JollyDoc is not giving away the victory easily. As DM, I might have not equipped Kyuss' gang with the Rod of Cancellation (they managed to kill all oponents of the last fight, after all), but with it, things might have been too easy. Tough choice - although if you guys can't handle it...
> 
> Once minor thing, how did Kyuss summon the demon? I thought Malchor & friends were trying to prevent that from happening...





The module as written says nothing about the sphere being destroyed once it touches Kyuss.  That was a suggestion from someone on the Paizo boards.  The sphere removes half of Kyuss current hp per hit, and if he is at less than half his total when hit, it destroys him.  To quote the sidebar in the module:  "If Kyuss' minions have the time to react to this development, one of them can certainly procure a rod of cancellation (a blessed angel can teleport to any large city, where the item can be purchased after 1d4 hours of searching)."

Technically the Blessed Angels were Lashonna's servants, not Kyuss', so they are not restricted by the Dimensional Lock.  So, the PC's used the sphere to wipe out several of Kyuss' major minions, and then left for a day.  Kyuss, via Remote Sensing, can perceive everything within a one mile radius around any of his worshipers, holy sites, or other objects or locales sacred to him.  So, he knows a Sphere of Annihilation is coming his way, and he has 24 hours to do something about it.  BTW, Wish can also create a rod of cancellation, or several of them.  Also, within that period of time, a broodfiend could simply fly beyond the city limits, and then Teleport.  So, not much of a stretch for Kyuss to have obtained one or more rods.

As for Gateing in the molydeus, the Dimensional Lock applies only to Kyuss and his minions.  The molydeus is not one of his minions.  Now, Kyuss could not use the Gate to transport himself or his servants somewhere else, but he can bring anything he wants to him, as long as it is not a follower.


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## JollyDoc

Joachim said:
			
		

> A couple of notes to the contrarians out there (yes, Sol, I am speaking to you) saying that the players 'really dropped the ball on that one':
> 
> 1)   To make the final battle more challenging, JD made the removal of despair have no effect on Kyuss' stats.  Ergo, we decided that we weren't going to waste time on a boring, frustrating scavenger hunt through the streets of Starmantle that would have no effect on the final combat with Kyuss.
> 
> 2)   The module allows 2 rounds of Kyuss-free combat as he withdraws from his prison.  To make the fight harder, JD allowed Kyuss to be active at the beginning of combat.




Slight correction here...the removal of Despair would have had some other effects.  Destroying the Negative Energy Vortex nullified some of the Spire's effects, and would have lowered some of Kyuss' abilities, ie, to hit, dmg, AC.  I have since had time to rethink this, and when the battle resumes, these things may come into play, o/w I believe a certain TPK is looming.  This just levels the playing field.


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## Neverwinter Knight

I can understand that all of you wanted a truely epic fight! You've been a group for so long that DM & players know how to challenge each other.

About the rod of cancellation, JollyDoc, I have come around to your way of thinking. Since Kyuss must have noticed everything that went on in the battle with Lashonna, it would be naive to think he would not take one of the measures you described.


Please don't feel like you have to justify your actions, you've proven your skills time & again. And even, if you hadn't: It's your game!  It's just nice to get your rational behind some decisions that aren't obvious.


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## Hammerhead

Joachim said:
			
		

> A couple of notes to the contrarians out there (yes, Sol, I am speaking to you) saying that the players 'really dropped the ball on that one':
> 
> 1)   To make the final battle more challenging, JD made the removal of despair have no effect on Kyuss' stats.  Ergo, we decided that we weren't going to waste time on a boring, frustrating scavenger hunt through the streets of Starmantle that would have no effect on the final combat with Kyuss.
> 
> 2)   The module allows 2 rounds of Kyuss-free combat as he withdraws from his prison.  To make the fight harder, JD allowed Kyuss to be active at the beginning of combat.




Well, win or lose, you guys did it with style. Congrats.


----------



## Solarious

Joachim said:
			
		

> A couple of notes to the contrarians out there (yes, Sol, I am speaking to you) saying that the players 'really dropped the ball on that one':
> 
> 1)   To make the final battle more challenging, JD made the removal of despair have no effect on Kyuss' stats.  Ergo, we decided that we weren't going to waste time on a boring, frustrating scavenger hunt through the streets of Starmantle that would have no effect on the final combat with Kyuss.



Well, it wasn't a scavanger hunt, the encounters simply rolled over you! Saving the citizens from the Overworms would have been one act, and stopping the church slaughter would have been a second. I'm pretty sure I remember what happened there.  You Annhiliated Lashona, which is a third act, but 1 act out of a neccessary 3 or so didn't make the cut, unfortunately.

The adventure still lets you wiggle out of your predicament though, because there are families within the green mist waiting to be saved. You could have combined that with hunting for Lashona's horde, which contains, among other things, a fully charged Ring of 3 Wishes. 

And, as Jolly has said... removing despair would have a number of effects on Kyuss. I don't think Jolly would have Malichor outright lie to you. Would you, Jolly? 



			
				Joachim said:
			
		

> 2)   The module allows 2 rounds of Kyuss-free combat as he withdraws from his prison.  To make the fight harder, JD allowed Kyuss to be active at the beginning of combat.



Granted, that upped the difficulty of the finale a bit. Of course, you thus far have managed to steamroll most of the other signature encounters, including the souped-up Dragotha encounter. You can almost ignore death (barring enslavement to the wormgod, of course) with no level loss. You guys can throw quite a few Time Stops around there, despite having no actual arcane casters (except for Faust, he was completely legitamite in his abuse of the time/space continum). I think Jolly was just a little bit justified in giving Kyuss a few edges over you...

Don't worry though. I think you can still kill Kyuss (I'm being sincere here). Just watch out for that avalanchce 25 dice of damage, alright?


----------



## Joachim

This is problem Solarious.  You have read the modules, and we as JD's players haven't.  The majority of your posts hint at or directly reveal information that the players don't know.  All of JD's players (except for Storm) read this board regularly, and every one of them does not appreciate the thinly veiled told-you-so's that we regularly see from you.  Quite frankly, it is largely because of your behavior here that my activity on this board has lessened.  I do read the weekly posts that Joe puts up here, as well as some of the weekly back and forth banter, but I find it grating when I come across your negativity directed at our group of PCs.

Getting to your specific comments, the only street-side encounter that was a failure was the one with the Overworms, and that was by only 1 or 2 citizens.  The church 'slaughter' went down as a success for the party, but I understand that it's not convenient for for your argument here.  None of the encounters 'rolled over us', until we ran into the debacle at the base of the spire which was, admittedly, an unmitigated asswhipping.

And again, we were told OOC that the removal of despair would not have a real effect on the end, so we as a group chose to just go straight to the endgame.  It wasn't that Malchior was lying, it was just that JD felt that these effects would likely have made the end anticlimatic for 6 characters of our relative power level, none of which we are complaining about.

Don't get me wrong.  Based on what I have seen on other Story Hours, you don't limit this kind of smarmy behavior to this board, so we don't feel like we are receiving special treatment or anything.


----------



## Schmoe

Wow, that's an awesome update.  Some really great role-playing in the midst of the carnage, especially between Hawk and Maralee.  Whatever happens, win or lose, this has been epic.  In fact, I'm amazed that the group still has a chance of victory.  That right there speaks to how well they've planned and worked together.  Great gaming, everyone.


----------



## gfunk

Joachim said:
			
		

> Quite frankly, it is largely because of your behavior here that my activity on this board has lessened.




Ouch.



> ...but I find it grating when I come across your negativity directed at our group of PCs.




Double ouch.



> ...you don't limit this kind of smarmy behavior to this board, so we don't feel like we are receiving special treatment or anything.




Served!  Joachim, seriously . . . haven't you heard the phrase "the customer is always right?"

I do agree that JD pretty much told us that he is not going to lessen Kyuss' power (except for the Vortex) so, as Joachim said, there was little point in saving people in Starmantle.  

I argued a bit against Kyuss _gating_ in his own allies but was over-ruled by JD.  It's kind of a judgement call, I don't mind it too much.

Let me be plain with you all . . . Kyuss will die.  Kyuss will absolutely bite the dust.  At no time in our encounter with him did I even feel somewhat threatened.  By healing himself up, Kyuss is merely delaying the inevitable.  

There, the gauntlet has been thrown down . . .  

Oh, and one final note.  IMHO, any further magic items are essentially worthelss to us with the three following exceptions:

1) "Made up" items that make the final battle easier -- e.g the Circlet of Zosiel (long since destroyed)
2) "Epic" items, +6 weapons, +8 ability enhancers, +6 resistance bonuses
3) Major artificats

Since, I'm somewhat sure, none of these were present in Lashonna's horde I'm not concerned about missing it.  In fact, I don't think we would be able to procure any three classes of items in this module (haven't read it, don't correct me if I'm wrong).

A ring of 3 wishes is somewhat redundant when b/w Havoc's scrolls of wish, Mak/Grubber's ability to cast miracle, and Faust's ability to manifest reality revision we have many, many magic of this level available.


----------



## Hammerhead

Bravo...so we can guess that Faust was not Kyuss-spawned? 

Go Mak! Go Mak! Help me win that bet!


----------



## hbarsquared

gfunk said:
			
		

> There, the gauntlet has been thrown down . . .




I have the utmost confidence in you.  Your group of players _and_ PCs are a well-oiled machine, and it has been a pleasure to catch a glimpse of your exploits.

You've done amazing, provided a great read, and I'm rooting for you all the way!


----------



## Quartz

jeremy_dnd said:
			
		

> I have the utmost confidence in you.  Your group of players _and_ PCs are a well-oiled machine, and it has been a pleasure to catch a glimpse of your exploits.
> 
> You've done amazing, provided a great read, and I'm rooting for you all the way!




Hear hear.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

gfunk said:
			
		

> Let me be plain with you all . . . Kyuss will die.  Kyuss will absolutely bite the dust.  At no time in our encounter with him did I even feel somewhat threatened.  By healing himself up, Kyuss is merely delaying the inevitable.
> 
> There, the gauntlet has been thrown down . . .



YESSS!!! Enough flattering the worm god. After all, he is a god of _worms_, how pathetic is that. He deserves nothing more than to be crushed beneath Hawk's gauntleted boots, like a good worm. 

Go gfunk & co !!!


----------



## JollyDoc

*This Is Kyuss!!  I Have Hijacked This Thread!!  I Have Just One Message For The So-called League:  All Your Base Are Belong To Me!!*


----------



## demiurge1138

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> *This Is Kyuss!!  I Have Hijacked This Thread!!  I Have Just One Message For The So-called League:  All Your Base Are Belong To Me!!*



but... your base is only a 15ft square... 

 

Demiurge out.


----------



## Hammerhead

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> *This Is Kyuss!!  I Have Hijacked This Thread!!  I Have Just One Message For The So-called League:  All Your Base Are Belong To Me!!*




Stuff it, Kyuss. Your Spawn are more famous than you are.


----------



## Jason Anderson

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> but... your base is only a 15ft square...



Shhhh... don't taunt the worm god! 

(Oh yeah, first time poster to this thread, but long time reader. Hi!  )


----------



## JollyDoc

*Kyuss Reminds All Of You Pathetic Mortals Out There Of The Score:  Kyuss 1, League 0.  Kyuss Says:  Eat It!*


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> *Kyuss Reminds All Of You Pathetic Mortals Out There Of The Score:  Kyuss 1, League 0.  Kyuss Says:  Eat It!*




You may need to adjust that score to The League 2, or more depending on how many underlings you can count to Kyuss 1/2, because really what did you take out?

Because the way I see it Dragotha your hand picked General= Dead
Lashonna you hand picked second in command = Dead  Lots of Followers and underlings Dead
So be very Afraid very afraid you Worm Freak


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> *This Is Kyuss!!  I Have Hijacked This Thread!!  I Have Just One Message For The So-called League:  All Your Base Are Belong To Me!!*



 In that context, JollyKyuss: You are on the way to destruction. Make your time. 

Honestly, just because you are an invincible, overpowering godling doesn't mean you are going to win this battle... 


All your Smurf are belong to Smurf! 

Smurf out.


----------



## JollyDoc

Ika_Greybeard said:
			
		

> Because the way I see it Dragotha your hand picked General= Dead
> Lashonna you hand picked second in command = Dead  Lots of Followers and underlings Dead
> So be very Afraid very afraid you Worm Freak




*AH, BUT THINK OF MY NEW GENERAL!!  EVEN NOW I AM WATCHING HIM RISE FROM WHERE HE FELL AS MY NEW SPAWN!!  HE SHALL LEAD MY ARMIES TO VICTORY (AT LEAST UNTIL SOMETHING BETTER COMES ALONG)!  KYUSS....OUT!!*


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> *AH, BUT THINK OF MY NEW GENERAL!!  EVEN NOW I AM WATCHING HIM RISE FROM WHERE HE FELL AS MY NEW SPAWN!!  HE SHALL LEAD MY ARMIES TO VICTORY (AT LEAST UNTIL SOMETHING BETTER COMES ALONG)!  KYUSS....OUT!!*




What's the over-under on the unlifespan of your new general?  I would put it somewhere around 6 seconds.


----------



## Quartz

Not long now, I hope.


----------



## gfunk

Quartz said:
			
		

> Not long now, I hope.




On 11/12/06 the League will KILL KYUSS


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Time until the end of the Age of Worms: T-1 days.
Dead in Starmantle: 2,220 + 1 Worm-that-walks


Go get him, boys!


----------



## JollyDoc

*Kyuss Says:  Bring It!!!*


----------



## Felix

... so, how went?


----------



## gfunk

Sadly, I will be a bastard and defer on updating this weekend.  This update is so full of wormy goodness that I couldn't help but spoil it with even a few tidbits of info . . .

 

Naw . . . I'll throw you a few bones:

1. The campaign ended . . . unequivocally
2. There are Spawns of Kyuss created . . . yes, that was plural.
3. A few "friends" intercede on our behalf, including Faust's long lost "brother."   

So that's it.  Will Kyuss triumph or does the League vanquish him?  The answer to that lies in how fast JollyDoc can type.


----------



## Hammerhead

Did Faust manage to clone himself before the final battle, perhaps? Eagerly awaiting the death and destruction.


----------



## Quartz

gfunk said:
			
		

> Naw . . . I'll throw you a few bones:



Gnaw, gnaw.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Oh, the horror! Will the league triumph? Will JollyDoc/Kyuss get to say the dreaded "All your League are belong to us!"? 

Write faster, JollyDoc! Please!


----------



## Felix

JollyDoc, if you finish writing the update by Wednesday night, I'll make sure gfunk gives you your favorite JollyRancher.

Which, of course, will be Watermelon.


----------



## JollyDoc

Felix said:
			
		

> JollyDoc, if you finish writing the update by Wednesday night, I'll make sure gfunk gives you your favorite JollyRancher.
> 
> Which, of course, will be Watermelon.




Alas it will most likely be this weekend.  Busy work week, plus I'm trying to prepare to begin Savage Tide this coming Sunday, but rest assured I will have it posted in as timely a manner as possible, and you will NOT be disappointed!!

The title of the next update is "Dies the Fire."


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*I wonder....*



			
				JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Alas it will most likely be this weekend.  Busy work week, plus I'm trying to prepare to begin Savage Tide this coming Sunday, but rest assured I will have it posted in as timely a manner as possible, and you will NOT be disappointed!!
> 
> The title of the next update is "Dies the Fire."




I wonder. Of course I wonder. How can one not wonder? But what is the wondering about?
Is it about the final installment of this brilliant story?
Or about something else JD said?
Or both?

It is.

It is about the outcome of the battle. And about whether or not my faith in The League will be justifiied.
It is about something JD said.
Something about Savage Tide. Which can only lead to wondering about...

"Will we see more JD/GFunk/Joachim writing goodness come our way when they start Savage Tide?"

My name is not Stevie, but yet I Wonder........


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I think it's time to start asking Morrus to put aside some of ENWorlds database space for the Savage Tide! 

This SH has been one hell of a ride! Even more than in Shackled City, your Age of Worms story had the kind of emotional intensity to it, that you otherwise only get by sitting at the gaming table yourself.


----------



## Eltanin

I'd like to throw in my accolades before this story hour ends. I found it only a few months ago and I found myself glued to the computer screen, riveted by the action. The quality of the story telling has been really excellent. Thanks for the hours of enjoyment. Can't wait for the conclusion. 

Savage Tide! More SH! Wheeee!


----------



## JollyDoc

Thank you all, friends and readers, for all that you have contributed to this SH to help make it what it has become.  This will be my last update for Age of Worms.  Gfunk will be contributing an epilogue soon.  Enjoy, and I hope to see you all again for...JollyDoc's Savage Tide!!!

DIES THE FIRE

Grubber’s corpse, worms dripping from where his eyes had once been, rose lurching to its feet.  The undead goliath began shambling towards its new master as those who it had once called friends and family looked on in anguished horror.  
“No!”  Havok cried, but he could not tell if it was his voice that he heard or Mak’s.  He could not bear to see such an atrocity repeated.  Reflexively he raised an emerald wall of flames in the new spawn’s path, and then fumbled for one of his few remaining scrolls.  Not caring of the potential consequences of his next act, he read the words of the Disjunction spell, hurling it towards the Worm God.  Instantly he felt himself freed from the Ghost Trap as Kyuss’ wards collapsed.  At the same time, the huge executioner’s mace that the god held suddenly crumbled into dust.  The last thing Havok saw before he took cover within the stone cupola of the spire was the burning look of hatred in the eyes of his forebear.  

Grubber passed through the worm-ridden wall of fire, heedless of the hideous boils raised on his flesh by the flames.  When he stood by his master’s side, he felt reality suddenly shift about him.  All about the room, both allies and enemies froze in mid-motion.  Nothing moved save himself and the Worm Lord.  
‘You belong to me now,’ his master’s voice spoke into his mind.  ‘Take this opportunity that I have afforded you to mend your flesh, and fortify yourself.  When we return to the time stream I want you to be fully prepared to kill your brother!’
‘As you command,’ the goliath nodded, wriggling worms spilling down his cheeks.  He then watched as his master began dismantling the prisons that held the broodfiends.

Faust was aware of what Kyuss had done, though only an eye-blink had passed.  Once more, all of the damage they had inflicted on the god had been removed.  By all rights, he should have been destroyed twice over by now.  Once again the psion accelerated himself through the time stream, where he hastily created three rippling energy walls comprised of focused sound.  All three intersected at the point where Kyuss and Grubber stood, with one of them extending through a nearby broodfiend that the Worm God had managed to free.  When he returned to real time, he was dismayed to see that his efforts left not a mark on the god nor his new familiar.  Only the broodfiend appeared to suffer any discomfort, but not enough to end its miserable existence.

Mak, though his mind was almost that of a child, still felt the horrible sense of loss and rage over what had happened to his brother.  Some part of him knew that he could not help Grubber with his own psyche crippled as it was, and acting almost on instinct, he concentrated as hard as he could, squinting his eyes tightly shut.  He implored Helm to aid him one last time, to restore his intellect so that he might avenge his brother, if he could not save him.  When he opened his eyes again, his mind was clear once more, but he was no longer alone where he hovered near the ceiling.  Somehow the molydeus demon had gotten free of Faust’s sphere, and now flapped mere feet from him, its floating axe glinting wickedly in the lurid, green light.  
‘Mak.’  He swore he heard the voice in his mind, though he certainly could have imagined it in his grief.  Just for a moment, however, he thought he heard Grubber call out to him, sorrow and regret in his voice.  His eyes turned to find his sibling, but all he saw were the empty sockets filled with worms.  Then he heard Grubber speak aloud, the words of an incantation coming from his cracked lips.  Mak’s eyes went wide as he recognized the spell.

Hawk cleaved Gideon’s skull in half with Quaero, burying the blade in the undead knight’s chest.  Loosening his shield with his other hand, he flung it high above him, towards the molydeus.  The metal disk collided into back of the demon’s skull with an audible crack before returning to Hawk’s hand, and the civilar was just about to call out to the goliath to finish off the dazed fiend, when abruptly Mak was gone.  He didn’t vanish.  He simply imploded, his entire body turning itself inside-out.  What little was left of him splattered to the floor in a sickening downpour.  An instant later, Hawk found himself fighting for his life, forced to repress what he had just witnessed by the onslaught of another of the broodfiends which had burst free from its telekinetic prison.
_______________________________________________________________

When the Mindlink first went dark with Grubber, Mak and Hawk, Storm began to panic until Havok told her of the Disjunction.  However, with the warlock’s last update, the sorceress was reduced to tears.
‘We lost Grubber and Mak.  Prepare to alert Malchor if you don’t hear from me further.’
But Storm had no intentions of leaving Starmantle.  She had warned Hawk from the beginning that leaving her behind was a mistake, and now there were only three left…against a god!  Malchor Harpell would find out soon enough if they failed, but if the League’s fate was to die at the hands of Kyuss, then it would be the entire League.  Ignoring the worried looks of the priests around her, she began her incantations.  One moment she was standing in the sanctuary of Tempus’ church, and the next, she was gone.

She appeared inside the upper room of the Spire, guided by the mental images of Faust and Havok.  All around her, the combatants were frozen in a terrible tableau.  She had stopped time before Teleporting, and now she saw in vivid detail just how wrong things had gone.  The huge, cloaked form that could only be Kyuss stood on the far side of the room.  Next to him was Grubber, or rather what had once been the goliath.  Three broodfiends were scattered throughout the area, two of which menaced Faust and Hawk.  High above, near the ceiling, hovered a nightmarish creature she had never seen before.  Then there were the bodies.  Hacked, burned, or blown apart, they were strewn from one end of the killing ground to the other.  She could not see Havok, but she knew he was around.  The Mindlink was still active.  She knew also that time was catching up to her.  Casting quickly, she tossed two, pea-sized fiery spheres between two of the broodfiends.  Then she waited.
‘Three…two…one…’
_____________________________________________________________

Two enormous explosions ripped through the Spire’s apex, totally engulfing the broodfiends nearest Faust and Kyuss.  When the glare had vanished, the psion saw that his enemy had been reduced to a smoking husk.  
‘Storm?’ he called.  ‘Is that you?’
‘I’m here,’ the sorceress replied, ‘but you can’t see me.  I wanted to make sure that I would be well-hidden from Kyuss and his minions before I played my hand.  You’ll pardon me for saying so, but I don’t want to end up like Grubber…or Mak.’
‘Smart girl,’ Faust smiled.  ‘Keep you head down, and give us everything you’ve got.  We’re going to need it.’

Havok sensed Storm’s arrival as well, and silently thanked whatever gods were listening for her stubbornness.  Unfortunately, when he moved out of the ceiling and into the room, he once more felt his body resume corporeality.  Kyuss was up to his tricks again.  Hopefully it would make no difference.  In rapid succession, the warlock flung twin chains of eldritch fire, linking Grubber, the molydeus, and another broodfiend by their deadly light.  Though the two demons howled in pain, they did not succumb as he had hoped.  Nothing remained of Grubber, however, save for a pile of ash and worms.
‘My apologies again, my friend.’  Havok thought.  ‘With more than a little luck, I’ll see you in time.’

Kyuss smiled to himself.  His upstart of a scion had revealed himself once again, just as he had planned.  Immediately the Worm God wove another Disjunction, this one large enough to encompass the space in which he knew the warlock to be, as well as the psion.  Perhaps the élan’s damnable powers would finally be quelled.  The psion seemed unaffected, however,  but Kyuss nodded in satisfaction as he saw not only his offspring appear and float gently to the ground, but also the drow sorceress, who had somehow managed to escape his notice…until now.

Storm gasped in horror as she found herself standing visible and completely exposed.  All of her wards had been ripped from her, and all of her magical trinkets and baubles now lay in a broken pile at her feet.  She was helpless.  

Hawk fought on.  The magic blasts that echoed and reverberated around the chamber were not his concern at the moment.  He had enough to contend with in the molydeus and the broodfiend.  As the first demon closed, the civilar lunged forward to meet it, plunging Quaero deep into its chest, and then severing its second, serpent-like head as he pulled the sword free.  Suddenly, he felt a sting as if from a thousand wasps in his back.  As he turned, he felt the mouths of the broodfiend’s worm-like arms tear free from his skin.  Then his mind began to grow foggy.  It was happening again.  Only this time there were would be no divine intervention.  Or would there?  At that moment, two strokes of what appeared to be green lightning lanced into both demons.  For an instant, their skeletons were transilluminated beneath their skin, and then both crumbled to ash.  Hawk turned again, and saw Havok standing alone by the dais.  The mental link between him and the warlock was gone, but the look in his friend’s eyes was enough.  Havok had done all he could.  Now he had to save himself.  With a crackle of emerald energy, the warlock vanished.

Kyuss roared in outrage.  Damn him!  Not only had the warlock destroyed two of his minions, but he had managed to escape as well!  Whatever hopes the Worm God had secretly harbored of converting his descendent were forgotten, replaced only with the images of unending torment that would be visited upon Havok at his hands.  But first, his friends would die.  Kyuss turned, hands raised, preparing to fill the entire chamber with a storm of verdant fire, but as the last words to the spell were leaving his lips, a pain like a scythe ripped through his back.  It was the psion!  The thrice-cursed little troll had impaled him with a huge crystal shard formed completely from mental energy.  His spell faded, ruined.  

‘Now is the time,’ Hawk spoke to Quaero, and the sword hummed with anticipation.  This was what it had been created for.  The civilar hefted his shield before him, raised his ancestral blade, and charged across the Spire’s floor, his only purpose…to kill a god.  As he closed in, Kyuss whirled towards him, his cloak opening wide, as if it were some great maw seeking to consume the paladin.  Hawk darted to one side, and then leaped, stabbing Quaero beneath the Worm God’s upraised arm.  He did not notice the last of the broodfiends moving in from behind.

‘Fool!’  Faust cursed to himself .  What did that stupid human think he was doing?  It was suicide, and yet, it provided the psion with a moment’s distraction.  Opening his psyche, he unleashed torrent of mental fire.  The flames singed and licked at the robes of the Worm God, but they completely obliterated the broodfiend on Hawk’s flank.  Kyuss stepped casually away from Hawk, and raised his arms again.  Faust could sense powerful magic gathering, and he struck again.  A second torrent of fire engulfed Kyuss, and once more the god’s  attack was foiled.  As Kyuss howled in fury, Hawk attacked.  Three times Quaero tasted the Worm God’s blood, its holy power burning hotter than any flame.  Kyuss staggered, but he would not be undone by two mere mortals.  Time stopped, and in the interval, the Worm God repaired all of his myriad wounds.  However, when he stepped back into the normal time flow again, he was momentarily caught off guard, for now their were two psions, where before there had only been one.  His divine vision showed him that this was no illusion or mind trick.  The élan had somehow managed to clone himself!

Faust had also transported himself through time.  There, while all around him were frozen in the temporal void, he had done something he thought he would never have to do.  Focusing all of his considerable mental power, he had literally ripped his psyche in two, performing a Fission, and creating an exact duplicate of himself.  Now his twin smiled at him from across the room, and Faust nodded and smiled in turn.  Double the fun!

Again, Hawk’s reduced mental capacity would not allow him to grasp what had transpired.  He knew only that his enemy still stood before him.  Once more he closed, but this time the Worm God was quicker.  His cowl opened again, and Hawk was sucked in.  The last thing that Storm and Faust saw was the civilar being encased in a living cocoon of worms.  The sight was too much for the sorceress, and her fragile psyche shattered.  Tears streaming down her face, sobs wracking her body, she slowly folded to the floor in a fetal position.
___________________________________________________

When Havok had retreated from the fight, he had not gone far.  In point of fact, he stood on the landing just below the entrance into the Spire’s peak.  There, he had restored what defenses he could, including his incorporeal form.  As he heard the battle continue to rage above him, he lifted into the air, and passed like mist through the floor of Kyuss’ chamber.  

Faust saw his ghostly companion rise from the floor, and he shouted, his lungs straining, “Havok!  We have to strike now!  Together!  It’s now, or it’s never!”  Havok didn’t hesitate, nor did he blink at the sight of two Fausts.  The psion never ceased to amaze him.  Summoning all of the power that remained to him, the scion of Kyuss attacked, sending two blinding lances of eldritch energy into his forebear.  Simultaneously, both psions struck with twin shards of psychic crystal, each one ripping great holes in the Worm God’s malleable body.  What Havok and Faust did not see, and could not know about was Hawk, still encased and trapped within Kyuss’ cowl.  Fighting past the blinding pain of a thousand-thousand worms burrowing into his flesh, the paladin struck out with his blade again and again.  Only when he felt himself finally succumbing to the relentless assault did he finally speak one word, a word which triggered the magic in the helm that he wore, and transported him to freedom.

Faust was drained, both mentally and physically.  With a moment’s thought, he drew his clone back into himself, restoring some of his vitality.  When he looked up again to assess the damage they had done to the Worm God, he felt all hope leave him.  Kyuss was completely whole again.  He had somehow managed to stop time yet again and undo all that they had done.  Worse yet, the walking worm now bent slowly, almost lovingly over Storm, and wrapped her in the embrace of his cloak.  A moment later, the cowl opened, and Storm stepped out, and turned her empty, worm-filled eye sockets towards the psion.  It was over.  There was no point in prolonging the inevitable.  Faust’s vast mental powers were exhausted, and he knew that Havok’s repertoire was equally depleted.  They were all that was left of the League.  His eyes locked with those of the warlock, and a simple nod was exchanged.  They had lost.  Kyuss would ascend, and the Age of Worms would come to pass.  Perhaps Malchor and his allies might yet postpone the apocalypse long enough to save what innocents they could, but it was only a spare hope.  Faust concentrated one last time, and then vanished.

Havok watched Faust go, but he had one final thing to do before he left.  He would not allow one of his friends to exist in eternal torment.  With the last of his ebbing power, he engulfed Storm in eldritch fire, consuming her, and ending her misery.  Then he sank back through the floor, intending to flee.  However, as he approached the landing he was stunned to see Hawk kneeling there, his head bent in prayer over the pommel of Quaero.
“Hawk!” he cried.  “How…never mind!  We have to go!  We cannot win here!”
“Go then,” the civilar said quietly, raising his eyes.  “If I am to die, then I’ll die with my sword in my hand, buried to the hilt in the flesh of that abomination!”
“No, you won’t.”  Havok said calmly, drifting down beside the paladin.  “I know you can’t understand this, but it’s for your own good.  If you die, you’ll only rise as Kyuss’ spawn.  I can’t let that happen.  Forgive me, if you can.”  Then he reached out and rested his hand on Hawk’s shoulder.
“What??”  The civilar shouted.  “Havok! Don’t!  No!!”  Then they were gone.
_____________________________________________________

‘Let them run while they can,’ Kyuss thought as he chuckled to himself and strode out onto the balcony overlooking the ruins of Starmantle.  ‘A new age is dawning, and I shall be its harbinger.  None will stand against me when the worms begin to fall…’


----------



## gfunk

So thus ends the League  . . . 

I played the battle over again a few times in my mind, but with the tweaks that Kyuss was given (Mage's Disjunction in place of Energy Drain/ Improved Metamagic feat in place of Craft Arms and Armor feat), I don't think we could have won.

We inflicted a few thousand hit points of cumulative damage on the Wormgod but this was ultimately no avail against his ability to "insta-heal."  It does kind of suck losing two campaigns in a row and I don't think I'll be around when Demogorgon hands a likely third ass-whupping to the party (will move to CA in 6/07).  Still, it was a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to Savage Tide.

Look for a final epilogue to be posted by me very soon however.  That will be this story hour's last hurrah . . .


----------



## dungeon blaster

You did your best....but what a bummer


----------



## Hammerhead

Can't you ever let the party win JD? I swear, DMs these days...


----------



## Felix

Damn. 

That is the best worst thing I've read.

The League, down, out, wormified. Sucktastic.

JollyDoc, no Watermelon JollyRancher for you!

But great story hour, I'll be reading Savage Tide!


----------



## JollyDoc

These things are always easier to judge in retrospect.  If I'd played the finale as written, with it taking Kyuss two rounds to emerge, the battle would have been anticlimatic.  The League would have punked him before he ever fully emerged.  So that I feel comfortable about having left alone.  I did lower his AC, to hits, etc as written if the vortex was destroyed.  Still, I should have left his feats alone, and his spell selection (ie Mordenkainen's).  Yet even without that, he did have Time Stop, and could spontaneously cast any cleric spell, meaning he could Harm himself back to full health multiple times.  Difficult to overcome that tactic.  

Never fear though.  Gfunk's epilogue will give us closure, and a glimpse into what world of the Savage Tide will be like.  Stay tuned!


----------



## demiurge1138

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Never fear though.  Gfunk's epilogue will give us closure, and a glimpse into what world of the Savage Tide will be like.  Stay tuned!



You know, James Jacobs once mentioned on the Paizo boards that Savage Tide was originally intended to be set in a world where Kyuss won...

Demiurge out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Damn! So close - but I agree that the timestop/harm self tactic was the deciding factor in this battle. Even with all the damage the league could do, they were not able to drop Kyuss in one round... 
It seems like your version of the Forgotten Realms is steadily turning into a darker, not-so-jolly place. I'm looking forward to the epilogue to tell us just how much.

Still, what a great ride, JollyDoc! It was a campaign of superlatives - overpowering enemies, amazing PCs, epic battles and brilliant tactics. 

gfunk, very sad to hear you're not going to be around for the end of Savage Tide! But hopefully you will provide the group with an interesting character for the start of the campaign.


----------



## Joachim

Even with the Kyuss' instaheal ability, it was really the Disjunction that pushed everything over the edge.  If anything was egregious, it was that.  The Disjunction in round 2 effectively took out 3 players at the beginning of the fight (and really ended up being the death of Grubber and Mak by removing their AC and save buffs) by the debuffing of about 20 spells coupled with the fact that Kyuss' will save DC to keep magic items was 35.  If he had not been allowed access to that we could have collectively done the requisite 660 damage in 1 round, insta-heal or not.

If it makes our readers feel any better, the following was changed (to the best of my knowledge...I don't know if there is more) to make the fight more difficult, in no particular order:

*  Removing despair would not lower Kyuss' Divine Rank to 0, which allowed him to cast his divine spells spontaneously (otherwise, he wouldn't have had access to 30 'Heals').

*  Destroying the Vortex had no effect on Kyuss' AC/to hit/etc for the first fight session.

*  Kyuss' was not forced to spend the first 1 or 2 rounds of combat crawling out of the obelisk.

*  Each of the Brood Fiends was given a Rod of Cancellation to destroy the Sphere of Annihilation.

*  Kyuss lost a spell that was worthless against us (Energy Drain) which was replaced with the most powerful spell possible against us (Disjunction)

*  Kyuss lost a worthless feat for combat (Craft Arms and Armor) in exchange for a powerful epic-level feat (Improved Metamagic), which effectively gave Kyuss the ability to cast many more empowered Time Stops.

All that, and we still annihilated all of his allies (and there were a TON of them) are were almost able to kill him.  JD is right...if Kyuss' had been played unchanged then the fight would have been easy.  I would not go so far as to have called it anticlimatic, but the League would have won, hands down, no problem, Kyuss is punked.  If you went through the math (and I haven't) that fight (if unchanged) was about an EL 30 or so...changed that would go probably go up past 32 or 33.

To be clear, I am not upset about the changes made...well, maybe I am a little bit discouraged about the final outcome, but that is more because of the collective losses of the last two AP's and is not directed at our DM in any way.  But, considering how well we have done through a majority of this campaign (drafting the plan that allowed us to punk Dragotha being my crowning achievement) it was a lot of fun.  A wise man once said (paraphrasing), "It is not always the destination that matters most; sometimes it is the journey to get there."

As far as Demogorgon goes, JD has promised not to adjust that encounter and let the chips fall where they may, so I feel confident that our intrepid heroes (or more appropiately, anti-heroes) in the Savage Tides will be victorious.  Stay tuned!


----------



## paradox42

Long-time-reader-first-time-poster here.

As the DM of an Epic game of my own, the thing this proves to me more than any other is the immense value of *Spell Stowaway (Time Stop)*. If the League had had any member with that, Kyuss would not have been able to use his insta-heal tactic, since said League member would be in it with him to negate his spells with countermagic or well-timed attacks (to mention nothing of the fact that said League member would have a shot at personally taking out the nascent god personally). Also, when those League members using the spell did so, there would have been *two* PCs taking actions in it instead of one.

Believe me, there's a reason why that's the most-sought-after feat among caster types in my game. Okay, the fact that I house-ruled it so _Temporal Acceleration_ and _Time Stop_ "count as each other" for the purposes of that feat helps, but honestly- even just the spellcasters or just the manifesters could join in on _Time Stop_ cascades and the resulting damage is ridiculous. Preventing enemies from using _Time Stop_ tactics against them becomes almost just a nice side bonus in light of that sort of tactic. Of course, I've long been giving the feat to enemies who have the ability to use _Time Stop_ as well.


----------



## Quartz

Since when did _Harm_ become _Heal_ for undead? Surely it only heals the amount of damage it would do? (This is a subtle but significant difference).

Anyway, given the changes made, I don't see how the PCs could have won.

Still, an excellent story and you clearly had a lot of fun! Roll on Savage Tide!


----------



## JollyDoc

Quartz said:
			
		

> Since when did _Harm_ become _Heal_ for undead? Surely it only heals the amount of damage it would do? (This is a subtle but significant difference).
> 
> Anyway, given the changes made, I don't see how the PCs could have won.
> 
> Still, an excellent story and you clearly had a lot of fun! Roll on Savage Tide!




Technically, Kyuss wasn't undead.  He was an ooze with negative energy affinity, and you are right, his use of Harm did not instantly remove all his wounds.  It would max at 150 hp, but when you have 3 or 4 rounds of Time Stop and can cast Harm every round, you're healed up nicely by the time Time Stop ends.


----------



## JollyDoc

Joachim said:
			
		

> As far as Demogorgon goes, JD has promised not to adjust that encounter and let the chips fall where they may, so I feel confident that our intrepid heroes (or more appropiately, anti-heroes) in the Savage Tides will be victorious.  Stay tuned!




That being said, I will be scaling the adventures in accordance with the guidelines in the sidebars, since I anticipate having 7 players in this game, and o/w the group will not be leveling appropriately.  However, I will not alter any NPC in any way, and we shall see what we shall see.


----------



## Tony Vargas

What kind of ability was the Wormy Wone's Time Stop?  Something that couldn't be counterspelled or interrupted?  Same with the Disjunction?  It seemed like Faust interrupted his spells once or twice - if someone could've nixxed a Time Stop, that might have done it.

Completely different question.  You do a good job of making your SH readable (round-by-round recountings often aren't), but it leaves me wondering if characters are throwing two and three or more spells per round, or is it that you sometimes combine a few rounds of action?


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> What kind of ability was the Wormy Wone's Time Stop?  Something that couldn't be counterspelled or interrupted?  Same with the Disjunction?  It seemed like Faust interrupted his spells once or twice - if someone could've nixxed a Time Stop, that might have done it.
> 
> Completely different question.  You do a good job of making your SH readable (round-by-round recountings often aren't), but it leaves me wondering if characters are throwing two and three or more spells per round, or is it that you sometimes combine a few rounds of action?




He combine's rounds to make it more Interesting but there are a few occasions that with feats you can do a Quickened cast and then Standard. That has happened quite a few times in this AP but mainly he make's adjustment to the story to make it flow better for the readers.


----------



## Joachim

paradox42 said:
			
		

> Long-time-reader-first-time-poster here.
> 
> As the DM of an Epic game of my own, the thing this proves to me more than any other is the immense value of *Spell Stowaway (Time Stop)*. If the League had had any member with that, Kyuss would not have been able to use his insta-heal tactic...




It's also broken beyond belief, and even _*WE*_ have our limits.


----------



## JollyDoc

Joachim said:
			
		

> It's also broken beyond belief, and even _*WE*_ have our limits.




Or alternatively, if I had been a REAL rat-bastard, I could have given the feat to Kyuss.


----------



## JollyDoc

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> What kind of ability was the Wormy Wone's Time Stop?  Something that couldn't be counterspelled or interrupted?  Same with the Disjunction?  It seemed like Faust interrupted his spells once or twice - if someone could've nixxed a Time Stop, that might have done it.
> 
> Completely different question.  You do a good job of making your SH readable (round-by-round recountings often aren't), but it leaves me wondering if characters are throwing two and three or more spells per round, or is it that you sometimes combine a few rounds of action?




Kyuss was casting Time Stop as a sorcerer.  The only problem with counterspelling is that you have to ready and action to do it, and then you lose your action for that round.  I think the players wanted to deal out as much damage as possible.  Still, Havok did use a ring of spell battle to nix one disjunction, and Faust interrupted both a Fire Storm and a Blasphemy.  It's just that if they'd spent all their time countering his spells, either he or his minions would have overwhelmed them.

Ika is right...to be pedantic in describing round by round can get boring, so I try and string related actions together to keep things flowing.  I also leave out non-essential things such as "Grubber casts Bless."   To much detail is also boring.


----------



## Ero Gaki

Sigh... well, I guess my group has no hope. We are also doing the Age of Worms path, and if Gfunk and company lost, then my group is screwed...


----------



## dungeon blaster

Actually, many groups have had success against Kyuss.  JollyDoc definitely made this battle more difficult than the "as written" version. Considering his players aptitude for powergaming, I don't blame him.  Perhaps, though, it was simply too difficult?

I am seriously considering banning Disjunction's effect on magic items. I'm also considering banning Time Stop, or limiting it to 2 rounds.  It's just too good in my opinion.


----------



## R-Hero

Arrgrr!!  Two in a row!!!  Jollydoc 2---R-Hero 0

Still...., Its been a fun ride.  


(Could you imagine Hawk as Kyuss' new general in a post AoW world? It almost happened.)


----------



## JollyDoc

dungeon blaster said:
			
		

> Actually, many groups have had success against Kyuss.  JollyDoc definitely made this battle more difficult than the "as written" version. Considering his players aptitude for powergaming, I don't blame him.  Perhaps, though, it was simply too difficult?
> 
> I am seriously considering banning Disjunction's effect on magic items. I'm also considering banning Time Stop, or limiting it to 2 rounds.  It's just too good in my opinion.





I've actually been mulling this over as well.  Time Stop seems a bit broken.  I may seriously limit it to two rounds, and the group has also talked about the effects of Disjunction on magic items.  We discussed simply making it a powerful dispel, in which all current spells in the AoE are gone, but magic items are not affected.


----------



## Wish

I usually simply ban disjunction.  It's a broken mechanic, usually resulting in a TPK.

With the Chain Dispelling, it's really not necessary.  You could, perhaps make it a better version of Chain Dispelling, targeting every spell effect and item in the area, or give it a +5 bonus to the roll.


----------



## Victim

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I've actually been mulling this over as well.  Time Stop seems a bit broken.  I may seriously limit it to two rounds, and the group has also talked about the effects of Disjunction on magic items.  We discussed simply making it a powerful dispel, in which all current spells in the AoE are gone, but magic items are not affected.




In a short run situation (like the final battle of a campaign), it seemed like the total dispel effect was actually more powerful than the item destruction.  Some characters are incredibly vulnerable without their magic defenses, and thus can be felled between the disjunction and their next action.  

Humanoid type master baddies usually need their items, buffs, and contingencies to stand against a group of powerful characters as well.


----------



## Joachim

Let me start by saying that I don't think Time Stop is broken for it's level...casting them ad infinitum with spontaneous ad infinitum 'heals' is, however.

If we are going down this road of discussion, however, I think limiting Time Stop to 2 rounds is not appropriate for a ninth level spell, considering that there are lower level spells that would basically let you have 2 standard actions (or two full round actions) in real time (i.e. which allow you to use instantaneous effects against others).  By casting a ninth level spell, you would trading one round in real time for two rounds in stopped time.  Sure, it's possible that you could get just 2 rounds now, but that would require a minimum die roll.

Having said that, I would have no problem with limiting Time Stop to a non-random 3 rounds.  This would give you a reasonable amount of time to do stuff, and you would trade a below average duration (average being 3.5) for the knowledge of how long you actually had to work with.  This would actually bring it closer in line with Temporal Acceleration (which is still far more powerful as it only requires a swift action to cast), which has a set duration around 3-4 rounds at ninth level.

Personally, as written, I hate Disjunction from a mechanical standpoint, and would not shed a tear if it was removed from the game entirely.  No other spell has the concentrated, "Screw you, the campaign ends here tonight" power.  Death is reversible by a spell or two, permanently losing your equipment (with saves) and buff spells (with no chance of parole) is not.  There is pretty well no defense for it (unless you spend your life inside an extended Timeless Body or Ghostformed and hang out in the floor, ahem).  The area of effect is an order of magnitude worse than a regular dispel.  It screws all PC's across the board, from your buffed-up cleric/wiz PC to your low-will save 20th lvl fighter who now is swinging a sword that may as well be made of Nerf and wearing armor made of marshmellow.

If we are dead set on keeping Disjunction around, here is a possible adjustment to it:  Disjunction keeps its area of effect, and all within it are subjected to a targeted dispel magic (i.e. all spells need to be checked) with a max of +25 on the dispel check.  Will saves are given for all items in the area, and if failed their magic is suppressed for 1d4 rounds (a la dispel magic on items).  The flavor of the spell and its functionality is still there, but now it's brought more into line with the power of other ninth level spells.  At the higher levels PCs are dependent on their buffs, and a spell that strips that without any chance of failure is far too powerful in my mind.

In any case, we need to set any changes in stone on this Sunday before we start playing, and not wait until characters are on the cusp of gaining (or encountering baddies with) these abilities.  Also, with high- to epic-level play fresh on our minds, this is a good time for any such discussions.


----------



## dungeon blaster

Problem is, disjunction is the only thing stopping many high level parties from completely dominating every combat with their insane buff spells. Personally, I would like to see a limit on buffs and get rid of disjunction. Just my 2 cp.


----------



## Joachim

dungeon blaster said:
			
		

> Problem is, disjunction is the only thing stopping many high level parties from completely dominating every combat with their insane buff spells. Personally, I would like to see a limit on buffs and get rid of disjunction. Just my 2 cp.




There is always a defense:  Dispelling the buffs.  A high-level targeted dispel magic can be devastating, but like just about everything else in D&D it is subject to chance.  Well-timed in a fight between two equal-level combatants, a dispel magic should remove about half of the enemies buffs.

Disjunction is not subject to SR, caster level checks, or anything...its effect is that all active spells within a 40' radius go away...welcome to Suckland, do not pass 'Go', do not collect $200.

I will agree that with all of the books out there now, the list of potential buff spells is reaching critical mass.  With arcane casters, this is mitigated by the fact that you can only know so many spells.  This is not the case with divine casters, who for the most part know all of the spells on their list (which includes all of the myriad splatbooks).  This is where I see the problem.  Maybe that's something worth looking into in your game.  You could allow your divine casters immediate access to all of the spells (call them 'base' spells) in the PHB, and any spells from additional sources (CDiv, SpC, PHBII, etc.) have to be researched and learned using the cost, time, and Spellcraft check requirements that a wizard has to add spells to his spellbook.


----------



## Felix

Joachim, how about work M's Disjunction like you said, but if the caster chooses to target the spell on one person, it works as written. This, at least, will keep the party from being hosed, but will maintain a 9th-level dear-god-don't-cast-that-on-me flavor.

It will also provide a magic-item destroying spell in the game, though it would affect far fewer items per casting. While it can be tedious, item destroying can also be very handy at times.

Sound fair?


----------



## CrusadeDave

*Disjunction Solution.*

BTW, sorry for not posting regularly enough towards the end but WOW. What a show. Kudos all around.

I kind of like the ending. Hawk, Havok and Faust, survive and retreat. Presumably to rest, and raise their friends while bringing the cavalry. In the Realms, a Kyuss type event probably happens once a week, so I could easily see an epilogue where the age of worms is stopped by some mega force containing Chosen of Mystra, and the long term effect is is that the world looks with suspicion at the league with all their raw power, and their failure.

Imagine:

Epic level party comes into the bar and the bartender mocks them for being "losers". The heroes who did so much have no way to ever break the stigma of having failed; just because someone else succeeded trivially.

Could be an interesting follow up to the campaign. Think of the things that coming that close to success could lead to: Sloth, Greed, Avarice, Fury, Lust. I could easily see multiple stories where the party members all "fall" and try to find a way to gain the fame or reward of being a hero, the quick way.

Of course that's just me pining for Amal and Entropy again though. 



			
				Joachim said:
			
		

> Personally, as written, I hate Disjunction from a mechanical standpoint, and would not shed a tear if it was removed from the game entirely.  No other spell has the concentrated, "Screw you, the campaign ends here tonight" power.  Death is reversible by a spell or two, permanently losing your equipment (with saves) and buff spells (with no chance of parole) is not.  There is pretty well no defense for it (unless you spend your life inside an extended Timeless Body or Ghostformed and hang out in the floor, ahem).  The area of effect is an order of magnitude worse than a regular dispel.  It screws all PC's across the board




In my campaign we have left it untouched mechanically, with one exception: I alter it to disjoin the Weave in the area of effect, creating an antimagic field that has to be repaired.

When my Arcane caster got to level 11 casting, (And cast his first 6th level spell) he recieved a sending. (Credit goes to Sepulchrave)

"Congratulations, on your Arcane Vision and Proficiency.

1. Thou shall not disjoin.
2. Thou shall not interfere with, or offer support to, an army on a politically valid field of battle.
3. Thou shall not murder another Archmage.
4. An infraction of the above will result in an overwhelming, and unfortunate, response from the Conclave.

The Conclave of Archmages"

This way I can keep Disjoin around, but have it be treated like an illegal spell, where the Wizards of the planet hunt you down for daring to have the gall to destroy magic. Casting Disjoin is worse than murdering one of the their members, which immediately told our parties caster that maybe disjoinging wasn't worth it.

After 4 years of campaigning. My party is almost ready for their first Epic Feats. They have slogged through Sunless Citadel, Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, City of the Spider Queen, and the first half of Bastion of Broken Souls, next they just need to get the Soul Totem from the Imprisoned God and head off.

Of course, in my campaign world, the Imprisoned God is named Cthulhu. Still building him too. Yummy.

Your campaigns and story hours have always been a source of inspiration for my campaigns. Can't wait to see you take on Savage Tides.

-That guy who built the Juggernaut, Blob, Spiral, Pyro, Avalanche, Mystique, Magneto, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver: The Brotherhood. (Adding non-associated Monk levels to Elementals is really silly.)


----------



## Joachim

Felix said:
			
		

> Joachim, how about work M's Disjunction like you said, but if the caster chooses to target the spell on one person, it works as written. This, at least, will keep the party from being hosed, but will maintain a 9th-level dear-god-don't-cast-that-on-me flavor.
> 
> It will also provide a magic-item destroying spell in the game, though it would affect far fewer items per casting. While it can be tedious, item destroying can also be very handy at times.
> 
> Sound fair?




That would be more reasonable...and it would also make it subject to Spell Turning so you would have at least some form of defense against it.  The problem isn't Mord's area of effect...It isn't the auto dispel...It isn't the disjoining of magic items...It isn't the % chance of artifact destruction...It's the fact that it has all of the above attributes.  However, having said that, your adjustment would makes it far, far more powerful for PC's who no longer have to worry about how to fit a 40' foot radius effect such that it doesn't effect their comrades...BBEG's with access to this spell are not likely to be saddled with this kind of moral compunction as it relates to their lackeys' buffs and magic items.


----------



## Joachim

CrusadeDave said:
			
		

> This way I can keep Disjoin around, but have it be treated like an illegal spell, where the Wizards of the planet hunt you down for daring to have the gall to destroy magic. Casting Disjoin is worse than murdering one of the their members, which immediately told our parties caster that maybe disjoinging wasn't worth it.




Thanks for the kind words, Dave.  Problem with your plan above (as I see it) is that now you make the spell, as written, even more of an anti-PC effect.

Take it this way...as it is written now you have a spell that has such a large area that every PC caster who uses it fears de-buffing and de-equipping his allies (unless he is an arch-mage with the imminently powerful Mastery of Shaping).  He only uses it in the direst of emergencies, and then only when he has the space and range to do so.  In your world, now he has the threat of an Mega-Arcanist Beat-Down to ensue when he actually does it.

What about Kyuss?  What is he going to care if a bunch of crunchy wizards don't like him disjoining the planet...He's a God...BRING IT, BITCHES!

(I still gnash my teeth when I think about monk being a non-associated class for anything when it would clearly be more powerful than a level in any other class)


----------



## Quartz

Surely, at that level, there's a very effective counter to Disjunction? Namely _Wish_. Something along the lines of, 'I wish that that previously cast Disjunction had no effect'.


----------



## Barge

Great story first of all.

My group has talked about Disjunction recently... and I guess it depends on how you're going to use it. I guess it's kind of a DM PC agreement right now that if one starts using it a lot the other will.

The problem with making Disjunction less powerful is that in a way you make it more powerful because it will be tossed around more frequently.

I see it almost as the Nuke of D&D. I don't want to use it because then someone might use it on me.


----------



## JollyDoc

For right now, we're not changing anything.  Hopefully everyone has learned a lesson about the over-use of such powerful magics, and a cold-war truce can be called.


----------



## Joachim

Quartz said:
			
		

> Surely, at that level, there's a very effective counter to Disjunction? Namely _Wish_. Something along the lines of, 'I wish that that previously cast Disjunction had no effect'.




By precedent, this is not allowed in our game.


----------



## Quartz

Heh. Anyway, the main thing is that you all had a lot of fun. I certainly enjoyed reading about it.

Now, when are you starting Savage Tide?


----------



## Sabriel

Disjunction has a 1% chance per caster level to destroy (and affect those within) an Antimagic Field, a sixth level spell, so I think it quite reasonable that a Limited Wish could give that protection (10' emanation, 10 min/lvl) against Disjunction.

Wish and Miracle should similarly be able to provide (a larger, longer and/or more certain) protection.

Of course, if the first time you go "hey, I should devote some time to figuring out a defence against Disjunction" is when a Divine Ooze is lobbing one at you and your friends while its evil minions beat same to a pulp, you don't exactly have a lot of resources to spare figuring it out!


----------



## Ika_Greybeard

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> For right now, we're not changing anything.  Hopefully everyone has learned a lesson about the over-use of such powerful magics, and a cold-war truce can be called.




heh You pulled the trigger first we never used it untill it got used on us. Truce it is for now though


----------



## Schmoe

First, I'd like to thank JollyDoc and the League for a fantastic story hour.  This story hour has been one of the primary things drawing me back to ENWorld every day.  It's been a fantastic read.  Thanks for sharing, everyone - what a great story!

Second, I think high level D&D, in general, starts to become a bit of a rock-paper-scissors game.  There are just too many situations for my taste where encounters are a cakewalk with the proper spell (for example Death Ward), but nearly impossible without it.  The buffs are too important for success.  Disjunction simply illuminates the problem by making all buffs go bye-bye.  I'm generally not a fan of "rock-paper-scissors" games, because I find it limits tactics and creativity.

In addition, at high levels a significant portion of PCs' power is tied to their equipment.  When that is taken away, a PC will easily function as a character of 2 or more levels lower.  I don't really have a problem with that, but then you need to consider any encounter that PCs will face without equipment (such as an encounter against an opponent with access to Disjunction) as having an EL of 2 or more higher than it would otherwise have.  That's a pretty extreme effect for one spell.  I can't think of any other spell that can have such a dramatic impact on an encounter.  I generally think high-level play would benefit from something like the following:

1.  Remove or re-design most or all "immunity" spells from the game
2.  Balance most encounters so that they do not require a certain foil (buff) for success.  Those that do should be story considerations (werewolves and silver, for example)
3.  Revise Disjunction so that it does not destroy items in the area of effect

There are plenty of opportunities to destroy equipment without Disjunction, and I think the game could benefit from even more of them!  But the blanket, wide-area effect of Disjunction is simply too much for a spell that can be cast 3+ times in any given encounter.

Ok, enough of my rambling.  I'm looking forward to the Savage Tide!  Anyone giving odds on Demogorgon?


----------



## JollyDoc

I'm thinking of creating a new BBEG for Savage Tide...a four-headed horror with two demogorgon heads, one Adimarchus head, and one Kyuss head.  I think I'll call him Demoadimarchakyussgorgon.  Catchy, don't you think?


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I'm thinking of creating a new BBEG for Savage Tide...a four-headed horror with two demogorgon heads, one Adimarchus head, and one Kyuss head.  I think I'll call him Demoadimarchakyussgorgon.  Catchy, don't you think?




I would go with Adimarkyuss-disjunction-gorgon.


----------



## Quartz

I'm actually a great fan of Disjunction. It's great for getting rid of old stuff and for keeping PCs on their toes. They shouldn't be reliant on buffs.

Incidentally, when handling spells like Disjunction, I don't do rolls on the spot. I have a sheet of pre-rolled numbers and start a random way in, determined at the start of the session by the players. Players and characters shouldn't necessarily know which effects are still in place and which aren't and which items are no longer working and which ones still are.

But once again, bravo!


----------



## R-Hero

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I'm thinking of creating a new BBEG for Savage Tide...a four-headed horror with two demogorgon heads, one Adimarchus head, and one Kyuss head.  I think I'll call him Demoadimarchakyussgorgon.  Catchy, don't you think?




Only if we can bring back RustyIkeTarrasqueKikoHoushang and PyroPavelTitanAngelAliceHawk to take care of things...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

In my opinion, the use of disjunction is up to the DM to limit access to for the PCs and make appropriate use off with his NPCs. E.g. we discussed how easy the Thessalar fight would have been without adding Moreto and Filge. Disjunction might be the edge to give a lone spellcaster the chance to put up a good fight. 
And if you use it at a point where the party still has time to regroup and recapture their gear, I think it's OK.



			
				JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I'm thinking of creating a new BBEG for Savage Tide...a four-headed horror with two demogorgon heads, one Adimarchus head, and one Kyuss head.  I think I'll call him Demoadimarchakyussgorgon.  Catchy, don't you think?



If they find a way around the abbarition/aasimar problem, this would be a case for the Hawk/Faust fusion. ( CR: Care to guess?  )


----------



## Joachim

Quartz said:
			
		

> I'm actually a great fan of Disjunction. It's great for getting rid of old stuff and for keeping PCs on their toes. They shouldn't be reliant on buffs.
> 
> Incidentally, when handling spells like Disjunction, I don't do rolls on the spot. I have a sheet of pre-rolled numbers and start a random way in, determined at the start of the session by the players. Players and characters shouldn't necessarily know which effects are still in place and which aren't and which items are no longer working and which ones still are.




You really must HATE your players.


----------



## dungeon blaster

I absolutely loathe how 3ed is so reliant on "buff" spells. I don't recall it being such an issue in 2ed, possibly because many spells didn't stack. For example, let's say barkskin gave you an AC of 7 in 2ed. That didn't stack with your full plate armor.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

How was your first ST session? Any chance someone is playing a drunken swashbuckling pirate in the spirit of captain Jack Sparrow?


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> How was your first ST session? Any chance someone is playing a drunken swashbuckling pirate in the spirit of captain Jack Sparrow?




Nah...no pirates, but still some interesting PC's:

Ricky (Mak) - Goliath Crusader of Savras [what is it with this guy and goliaths?]

Fred (Hawk) - Chaos Gnome Cleric of Oghma

Courtney (Grubber) - Lesser Tiefling Abjurer

Thomas (Storm) - Human Dragon Shaman

Gautam (Faust) - Dwarven Fighter

Me - Lesser Deep Gnome Beguiler

The module, thus far, has started out interesting, but our first combat session was kind of a doozy...never leap before you look.


----------



## Elemental

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> What kind of ability was the Wormy Wone's Time Stop?  Something that couldn't be counterspelled or interrupted?  Same with the Disjunction?  It seemed like Faust interrupted his spells once or twice - if someone could've nixxed a Time Stop, that might have done it.




If it's a spell-like ability, it can't be counterspelled.

As an intellectual exercise, assuming knowledge of the tactic through Commune, Legend Lore etc, how _can_ you defeat someone with the Harm / Timestop / Disjunction trilogy of spells? The best I can think of is using Arcane Sight to discern when a SLA is being used, then constantly readying extremely powerful attacks to break concentration.


----------



## Quartz

Joachim said:
			
		

> You really must HATE your players.



I don't have any at the moment. 

But I look for a decent churn of items. This means giving out plenty of of them. It also means that tactics don't get stale and dependent upon a particular item or set of buffs. It's also a good siphon of XP and money as it gives the excuse for the party spellcasters to enchant new items every so often. The materials for which items are, of course, possible adventure hooks.

IMHO PCs should face Disjunctions from quite an early level. A Ring of Spell Storing with Disjunction in it or some other one-shot item isn't expensive. A 10th level or so BBEG might reasonably have such an item. Equally, a mage-killing sword would quite reasonably have Disjunction as a special purpose power.


----------



## sithramir

*Disjunction Solution*

Just wanted to state that my group typically makes disjunction destroy all spells but only affects items for 1d4 rounds. If that's not enough maybe it's 1d4 minutes, hours, days. Basically, it doesn't totally destroy items. If you need to destroy items multiple disjunctions still give that permanent affect.

We also make this similar for permanency spell so it's not useless at higher levels.

Another option is that the spell shouldn't take 1 standard action. Perhaps a full round? Perhaps even 1 minute casting. This makes it usefull but not a combat spell. Perhaps using this an another dispelling spell that removes all active sell but doesn't affect items is more balanced?

  Since you can't affect targets while in Time Stop it hasn't been overly powerful in my mind except when you have infinite healing capabilities...*cough*. However, i've ruled that overuse of certain magics helps build a resistance to it IE you might not be able to heal yourself 30 times in a row. Of course, god's shouldn't suffer that so I guess, um, don't mess with gods cause well they're gods?


----------



## Tearlach

Regardless on the outcome, it has sure been a wonderous ride (and read).  Thanks very much for sharing the tale with us.

Please ensure you link us to the Savage Tide one as soon as it is started! =)


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

This is the point where I say many thanks again for writing this up, and letting us share in the successes and failures of the group and the campaign.  Three cheers and more for you guys.

And Gfunk, heading out for residency already?  Are you a prodigy or something? Or is my sense of time all skewed from all these time stops.

GW


----------



## gfunk

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> And Gfunk, heading out for residency already?  Are you a prodigy or something? Or is my sense of time all skewed from all these time stops.
> 
> GW




Actually, I'm in the middle of my intern year right now and will move to CA to specialize in my chosen field over the next four years.  Everything was definitely on schedule -- I didn't skip any steps.  Quite the contrary, at age 30 I'm a few years behind most of my colleagues since I chose to do a research stint prior to starting residency.

Besides, I'm obviously not smart enough to defeat Kyuss . . .  :\ 

Look for the Epilogue to be up by this weekend, hope you guys'll enjoy it!


----------



## gfunk

Jollydoc's Savage Tide: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=181237


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Yippie!!!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Really looking forward to your epilogue, gfunk. 

I find it also very interesting, what impact  this ending has on your campaign world. JollyDoc, are you going to use any of the meta-plot outline specified for Forgotten Realms in the web enhancements?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Really looking forward to your epilogue, gfunk.
> 
> I find it also very interesting, what impact  this ending has on your campaign world. JollyDoc, are you going to use any of the meta-plot outline specified for Forgotten Realms in the web enhancements?




Yet another question that will be answered in Gfunk's wrap-up


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I hope FunkyDocDoc has not been hit by those Broodfiend tentacles and forgot to post the mother of all epilogues...


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> I hope FunkyDocDoc has not been hit by those Broodfiend tentacles and forgot to post the mother of all epilogues...




No, but he was hit by the flu and "the worst Thanksgiving ever," which he spent on duty at the hospital due to his wife being away in India.  Hopefully soon.


----------



## Tony Vargas

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Kyuss was casting Time Stop as a sorcerer.  The only problem with counterspelling is that you have to ready and action to do it, and then you lose your action for that round.  I think the players wanted to deal out as much damage as possible.



Clearly, they did dish out an aweful lot of damage, yes - but never quite enough.  If one of them were able to counter or interupt both Time Stop and Disjunction, though, I'm thinking it'd've been worth the loss of his damage contribution (or did they never get to the point that they were even able to do /half/ Kyuss's hps in a single round).  As to the lost action, was there ever a round in which Kyuss didn't cast something worth interrupting?  

But then, it's easy to second-guess after the fact.   And, it is very difficult to challenge a party like that without actually overwhelming it (the line between trivial victory and TPK becomes, well, a line - with less expertly-powergamed and deviously played PCs, the DM has a lot more margin to work with).




> Ika is right...to be pedantic in describing round by round can get boring, so I try and string related actions together to keep things flowing.



It definitely works and I hope you keep doing it.  I just found myself wondering just how many spells/round the PCs (and Kyuss) were belting out.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> No, but he was hit by the flu and "the worst Thanksgiving ever," which he spent on duty at the hospital due to his wife being away in India.  Hopefully soon.



 That's cruel, hope are better by now, gfunk!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Thanks for the link to  the Savage Tide thread. And once again thanks for the maginificent read that you guys provided.


----------



## Kishin

I think you went waaaaay overboard in compensating for the (admittedly significant) power levels of your PCs. You can't close Pandora's Box by hitting it with a hammer, though. There was basically no benefit to combatting despair, nixing the Unlife Vortex, the Sphere of Annihilation may as well have been nonexistent, and Disjunction is just the "I WIN D&D LOLOL" button.

It really seems like you were punishing the PCs for doing the things they were *supposed* to do. I dunno, maybe it just rankles me to see such a great Story Hour come to such a weak end. I understand completely about not making Kyuss take forever to emerge.....but, the other stuff is just too much.

Still, it was a fun read.


----------



## JollyDoc

Kishin said:
			
		

> I think you went waaaaay overboard in compensating for the (admittedly significant) power levels of your PCs. You can't close Pandora's Box by hitting it with a hammer, though. There was basically no benefit to combatting despair, nixing the Unlife Vortex, the Sphere of Annihilation may as well have been nonexistent, and Disjunction is just the "I WIN D&D LOLOL" button.
> 
> It really seems like you were punishing the PCs for doing the things they were *supposed* to do. I dunno, maybe it just rankles me to see such a great Story Hour come to such a weak end. I understand completely about not making Kyuss take forever to emerge.....but, the other stuff is just too much.
> 
> Still, it was a fun read.





Hmmm....well, if you are a long-time reader of this story hour, you should know that I am not the type of DM who trys to stick it to my players.  I always try to walk that fine line between challenging and TPK, the latter of which is never my goal, as it's no fun for me or my players.  There was a benefit for removing the Unlife Vortex, ie...the gang got to keep all their negative energy buff, and weren't randomly targeted by bolts of neg energy every round they remained within the Spire.  I also reduced Kyuss' AC, to hits, etc as per written in the adventure.  
As for the sphere, it clearly stated in the adventure that if the PC's played this card too soon (ie 24 hours before ever reaching Kyuss) that his minions would respond accordingly.  I did make the decision to lessen the effects of fighting despair because if it had taken Kyuss two rounds to emerge, or even one for that matter, he would never have gotten an action off.  The group would have annihilated him.  Anticlimatic for everyone.  Plus, he would have lost his divine rank, which would have put in the same predicament as Dragotha...ie, Havok puts him in a Force Cage, and fills it with wave after wave of walls of perilous flames.  Kyuss can't escape...yay.  Anticlimatic, as well.  In retrospect, I shouldn't have given him Disjunction, but he already had Time Stop AND the spontaneous casting ability for ALL cleric spells.  Hindsight is always 20/20, but I really hope none of the readers believe I was trying to hose my players.  It doesn't make for a fun game, and it certainly doesn't make for a thrilling read.  Perhaps you should hold your final judgement until you read the epilogue.  You may yet not be disappointed.


----------



## Cosmic.Justice

Well, consider how close the party still came to defeating the heavily modified Kyuss, *with* minions.  With the level of buffs available to a party like this, with the power creep they had attained (honestly, the initiative scores alone are insanity, in a game where they who attack first win 90% of the time). 

It's a truly fine line between challenging the players, outright annhilating them, or making a combat a cakewalk when dealing with this level of power game.  Considering that they took out everything except Kyuss and (based solely on the way it read) just barely came short of taking out the God himself, with his annhilation likely had more of the party survived to a minion free zone, I would say the DM did a great job.  

To quote an old saying of bear hunters, the bear has to win sometimes.  And so does the unspeakably evil, corrupt and all powerful god of Undeath.  By the by, great reading, this was very fun to watch develop.  I also liked watching how the characters were built and the level of power they had managed to achieve by the end.  

Also, I was curious, what has your experience as a group, and singularly as a DM, been with the power level of spellcasters VS non spellcasters, particularly on 13th level & onward?  It just seems like the casters utterly dominated the end game of this campaign with the only fighter type useful mainly for the passive benefits and buffs he provided.


----------



## JollyDoc

I'll let the players comment on the benefit of spell-casters vs non, but bear in mind, Havok was not a spellcaster, just a warlock with a heck of a Use Magic Device score.  Also, Faust, not a caster.  Psionics can be devastating.  The two clerics were primarily buff casters, not so much offense.  Storm was the only truly offensive caster, but as you read, she got toasted more often than not.  IMO, Hawk was a truly epic character...annointed knight, pimped to the max.  When he was on a roll, he was a damage dealing machine, with an AC near 50.  My hat's off to him.


----------



## gfunk

*EPILOGUE*


A large crowd of Starmantle’s citizens had assembled underneath the Ziggurat, eager to cheer their champions to victory.  Instead, they were treated to the Wormgod’s victorious exit from the apex of the Spire.

Thrusting his arms upwards in triumph, the deity’s victorious gesture threw the crowd into a blind panic.  Whatever shred of hope they held for the salvation of their city was torn asunder, as they began to flee in all directions.  A scant few made it safely into buildings while most were cut down by rampaging Broodfiends, mammoth Overworms, or by running into the green death fogs that were spread throughout Starmantle.

Prince Embuirhan alone remained.  Only in this late hour did he realize the folly of what he had done.  Only wishing to live a life of decadence, enjoy unquestioned rule over his subjects, and exult in the greater glory of Bane he realized far too late that Lashonna had played him for a fool for years.  While this alone was enough to crush his fragile ego, the weight of the fate he had brought to the Realms left Embuirhan a broken man.

As he fell to his knees in abject despair he never noticed an approaching squad of Kyuss Knights.  Offering no resistance, they cut him down quickly . . . only to have him rise once more as a Spawn of the Wormgod.

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

In the history of Faerun the Three had never met face to face, only through the machinations of their mortal followers.  Even now, given the desperate situation they faced, the Three could not trust one another.  They met, therefore, in the only place in the Multiverse where each would be on equal footing.

Before the Three rose an unimaginably lofty spire, on top of which stood the planar metropolis of Sigil, city of gates.  Here, all magic was annulled -- even those of greater deities.

“The mortals have failed.  Kyuss yet lives to unleash Jergal’s agenda upon the Realms,” the Lord of the Dead stated flatly.  A darkly robed figure with silver hair and pupiless eyes he glanced at his fellows without a hint of emotion.

“Ha!  Though you are a god, you still think as a mortal.  Honorable combat and heroes could never be relied upon to halt a threat of this magnitude.”  A manipulator supreme, the Lord of Lies could still not hide his mounting fear and disgust from his two companions.

“Then we know what must be done, as we discussed.”  The Dreadlord gestured with a jet black gauntlet wreathed in green energy. 

Indeed, the Three would have to walk a hundred miles before their powers were restored.  In an act totally uncharacteristic and, frankly, unbecoming of beings of their station, they ran . . . as if their lives depended on it.
------------------------------------

Through the perpetual haze of the ethereal plane, the Archmage Malchor Harpell and his entire clan of mages watched with increasing hopelessness as the members of the League were slain in turn by Kyuss . . . only to arise once more as spawn of the Wormgod.  First came Grubber, his magic stripped by the fury of Kyuss’ _disjunction_, then the winged Mak – _imploded_ by his own brother.  By the time Storm fell, the League was already in retreat.

Once Faust, Havoc, and Hawk left the Spire, the arcanists knew they would not be coming back.  Kyuss would triumph and herald the coming of the Age of Worms.  They would have to give up their _dimensional lock_ which encompassed all of Starmantle, _gate_ back into the Prime Material Plane and try to finish off Kyuss themselves.

Together they were an awesome force to be reckoned with, not unlike the League.  Unfortunately, weaving their powerful magic had sapped their power significantly.  Indeed, they expected the worst but nothing could prepare them for what happened next.

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

Returning once again to where he had defeated the League, Kyuss paced around the portal that had brought him back to the Prime.

Lashonna, Dragotha, and even Maralee had been utterly destroyed by his mortal adversaries.  Yet with the coming rain of Kyuss worms upon Faerun, the demigod knew that many equally powerful retainers would join his side.  His thoughts thus distracted, he would have hardly noticed the three _gates_ opening around him had it not been for his portfolio sense.

The Black Hand, of course, he recognized.  He had been one of the most powerful deities in Toril when Kyuss himself was mortal.  The remaining two were not immediately familiar, but he could tell that their powers approached that of the Dreadlord.

Sensing the _dimensional lock_ around Starmantle had dissolved, Kyuss immediately began casting a _greater teleport_.

Instead he was struck in the chest by a sickly green ray from the gauntlet of the Lord of Darkness, causing the spell to die on his lips, “You still think like a mortal Wormgod.  The centuries of imprisonment have not been kind to you.”

Simultaneously, the Judge of the Damned struck Kyuss with his deific longsword – its positive energy absolutely anathemic to him.

The Black Sun grabbed the demigod from behind.  Though innumerable Kyuss worms tried to burrow through his divine flesh, they were merely vaporized by deific power.  “You were brought back to the Prime in ignorance, fool . . . now die in ignorance!”  

The combined onslaught proved too much for Kyuss who simply collapsed into millions of worms which dissolved in an instant.

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

The Spire of Long Shadows began to pulse with power despite Kyuss’ destruction.  

The Three glanced at each other with trepidation.  They had discussed the possibility of destroying Starmantle to prevent the Return.  It seemed they had no choice.  In the end, only the Master of the Crystal Spire paused before he completed the incantation to do the horrendous deed.

Slowly, but at an accelerating pace, a rift in the Multiverse was rent.  It expanded to first cover the spire, then the Ziggurat, and quickly to all of Starmantle.

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

When the reality of what was happening dawned upon the Harpell clan, it was already too late.  Whichever regions of the border ethereal and astral planes overlapped with Starmantle were similarly obliterated from existence.

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

In the Church of Tempus, Gabriel the Solar, unwilling to abandon his charges even in the face of death tried to evacuate as many citizens as he could – all in vain.

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

There the Three stood, at the center of a large crater many miles wide.  Not a blade of grass, a single bird, nor manmade structure stood.  Nothing was left in the wake of their divine retribution.

As far as they were concerned, the Three would never see each other directly again.  The Time of Troubles of course was an aberration, a trial brought upon them by the Overgod.  This situation was similarly unique, an occurrence unprecedented in the history of the Realms – the cooperation of three deities who reviled one another.

Though this day was of unparalleled significance, it appeared that the surprises had not yet ceased.  An unknown force pushed all three deities to their knees with a resounding crack as a final grey _gate_ opened above them.

The Lord of the End of Everything had arrived.

Living short lives fraught with peril and despair, there is little in a mortal’s life or experiences to prepare them to comprehend the significance of the same emotions from a greater deity, let alone three.  No words needed to pass between the Scribe of the Dead and his newly appointed Ebon Triad.  

They would live only to serve Him.

Their millions of followers would be subsumed by Him.

All spells and powers granted to their myriad clergy would come from Him.

Yet, despite His triumph, it did not reach the potential He had hoped.  Kyuss, who was to be his divine seed to re-enter prominence in this Crystal Sphere was severely weakened over time.  His followers were butchered, his lieutenants cut down, and his immortal shell itself brought to the brink of destruction.  All thanks to a certain group of impertinent mortals.

Yet, He gave this so-called League a measure of grudging respect.  For though He did not return to supplant Ao, He nevertheless emerged as the single most powerful deity in existence.

Let mortal and immortal tremble alike under Jergal, the new Lord of Strife, the Dead, and Murder.

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

Eastern Toril was, quite simply, an apocalyptic playground for the vile and wicked.  Too many things had occurred in rapid succession, for even the mighty cities of Waterdeep, Hillsfar, and Arabel to continue to operate as normal.  First came the Great Revenant War, followed by the Githyanki Invasion, then the political destabilization of Central Toril from a certain volcanic eruption, and now . . . the military resurgence of the Ebon Triad.

Given the bleakness of their situation it came as little surprise that the Lords of Waterdeep dissolved themselves as an organization and subsequently nominated Hawkins Veritas as both Commander and Warden of the fabled city with absolute military and political power.  Though the rain of Kyuss worms had stopped, it was clear that a leader of unprecedented resolve, political acumen, charisma, and frankly, power was required.

Though flattered by the request, the Paladin flatly declined their offer.  In truth, since the rise of Brokengulf and Queen Vlaakith’s assassinations of Elminster and the Seven Sisters, Hawk realized that the ethos of the City of Splendors had forever shifted.  He was not comfortable with the moral turpitude through which he would have to navigate.  In times such as these, he wanted to lead with clarity of conscience – now was not the time to make ethical concessions.

It was these beliefs that led Hawk back home to Daggerford.  Though relatively large, it was still small enough to have escaped the immediate notice of the Ebon Triad, making it the perfect staging ground for an insurgency.  Here, Master Civilar Veritas created the largest temple of Helm on the continent as well as a new rallying point for the Vigilant Eyes of the God – an order of the most powerful Helmite paladins and clergy.  Over the next several years, under his auspicious and inspired leadership, Daggerford was able to carve out a protectorate through which no armies of the Ebon Triad were able to penetrate.

Later christened by historians as the “Realm of the Watcher” and extending from the Border Forest in the north all the way to Cormanthor in the south, it would be known as a focus of pious worship and divine splendor – at times even patronized by Celestials from the Seven Mounting Heavens.  In time, many other deities of good forced underground by the Ebon Triad found there followers here, under the protection of the Vigilant One.

Indeed, one of the most feared noises an invader could hear was an elephantine blast.  This always heralded a legion of fanatical paladins and templars led by Vertias himself, mounted atop his ever faithful mount Alice.  Let the Ebon Triad beware.

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

If not for acquiring the secret knowledge that his deity had been subsumed by Jergal, Dreadmaster Amal would count his current situation as the best of times.  Following the Githyanki invasion, his ascension to High Impreceptor, and the slavish devotion of red dragonkind courtesy of the Scepter of Ephelemon, Yulash had quickly been absorbed into the new Zhent empire.

Not even the chosen of Sune could turn back his advance this time.

Now, Hillsfar itself was under siege and it was only a matter time.  In a few short years, Amal was on the threshold of accomplishing what Banites had dreamed of for nearly a hundred years – the conquest of the Moonsea.  Not even Fzoul Chembryl nor Manshoon enjoyed success akin to his.

Strangely, his rapid string of victories was precipitated many months ago by the arrival of one Faust Cenodoxus.  The Dreadmaster considered himself a learned man, but even he was baffled by the art of psionics, a supernatural ability somewhat similar to magic practiced by a few denizens of the Underdark . . . which is why Amal was more than a little skeptical when the élan offered his services as a chief lieutenant.  

It was not until several weeks later when Faust returned with the news that he had somehow managed to identify and destroy all of the _stasis clones_ of the Archmage Manshoon that Amal took him seriously.  This was a feat that Chembryl (and Amal) had failed to accomplish despite many attempts to weaken the power of their chief subordinate.  This impressed Amal enough that he sanctioned a duel between Manshoon and Faust for the role of his second-in-command.

Since Manshoon was his current favorite, Amal granted him the choice of venue for the battle.  Not surprisingly, the Archmage chose Citadel Darkhold, former home of his apprentice Sememmon.  Here, he would enjoy innumerable protective wards and abjurations to swing things in his favor.  Giving Faust the choice of the circumstances to start the battle, Amal had assumed the psion would choose to begin the battle miles apart to prepare himself before entering the confines of Darkhold.

Yet, Faust’s request totally baffled the usually unflappable Dreadmaster.  He requested that the duel begin a few feet apart but the participants must be chained, bound, gagged, and placed in a _dimensional lock_ and in a zone of magical _silence_.  Though Amal steeled himself for the longest duel in history, he gained a powerful insight into both Faust’s keen intellect as well as the nature of psionics.

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

Faust incinerated yet another combined arms regiment of Red Plume soldiers and mages.  His increasing mastery of the time stream made counter-attacks largely irrelevant.  

In the end, he would endure.  Unlike his fellows Havoc and Hawk, whom he would never likely see again, he had no natural limit on his lifespan being an élan.  He was alive during the construction of Waterdeep and he planned to live for several more centuries.  His primary goal was always to stop the Age of Worms and, in that, they were successful.

He was adaptable – how could he not be after so many years of living?  

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

The caravan master had ultimately felt sorry for the poor man and allowed him to accompany them on the admittedly dangerous trade route between the Realm of the Watcher and Northern Cormyr.  Though for the life of him, he could not fathom why the young man wanted to wander a place infested by drow, undead, githyanki, and worse.

Staring at the perpetual gloom over the once mighty Arabel, Giovanni had wandered away from the merchant’s camp after several days of travel.  Time had not been kind to him – haggard, with a ring of stubble around his face, and dressed in shoddy clothes --- this once noble-born son of the City of Splendors had fallen far.  

He had retreated with Hawk to Magepoint via _teleportation_ which was the last act of magic he was ever to perform.  He had lost all of his arcane abilities, from the awesome power to generate spontaneous blasts of eldritch power at a whim to even the capability of reading scrolls and manipulating magic items.  Despite days of rest and the research of the finest scholars of Magepoint there was no “cure.”

When Hawk finally returned south to Daggerford he had, of course, insisted that Havoc join him.  However, the once-warlock had fallen into a deep catatonic despair.  Over the next two years, he regained his composure enough to wander continually southward until he reached his current predicament.  Strangely, despite the inherent peril of the times he lived in and his own helplessness, he always seemed to escape unscathed from dangerous situations.  Perhaps it was a curse, his curse.

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

The drow revenants moved slowly but quickly across the wasteland.  Very few living things frequented Arabel anymore and the few that did, such as massive Githyanki Astral skiffs, were unassailable.  Their pace accelerated as did their hunger for mortal flesh.

“To arms my men, they are coming!”

The merchants were bold, but not stupid.  Anybody coming this far south did so with a slew of _undead bane_ weapons and magic.  

Giovanni simply sat as the battle raged, hoping against hope that one of the revenants would end his miserable existence.  Unfortunately for him, his companions easily turned back the revenants, reducing them to dust in few minutes.

The caravan leader addressed his beleaguered underlings, “Let’s pack up quickly and move on, these undead rarely travel . . . . AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Multiple red-black rifts in reality opened up in the camp, each sucking their immediate surroundings into them like maelstroms.  The merchants had survived their initial fate only to be consigned to a far worse one in the Bleak Eternity of Gehenna.

When the raging cacophony stopped, only Giovanni remained, still seated on a dead log.  He did not notice a female in robes stride up to him nor seat herself beside him.

“I would not expect to find the son of the great Wormgod in such meager circumstances.”

Shocked, Havoc looked at the speaker and was momentarily stunned by her alien appearance.  Though she was undeniably beautiful the third eye in her forehead was more than little disconcerting.

“What do you know of Kyuss!? Who are you?”

“Ah, but I know many things young Warlock.  I know that you once wielded the epitome of arcane power and lost it all.  Believe me, I can sympathize.  But all is not lost, you see.  You have tremendous potential in you, the divine spark if you will.  Come with me and I will show you a better way.”

All at once, Giovanni’s fears and doubt melted away as he clasped her hand.  

They both rose and disappeared.
------------------------------------

Kiaransalee had been too aggressive, too melodramatic, and ultimately bit off more than she could chew.  Though powerful, she could not have hoped to win against all of Southern Toril.  She failed.

Adimarchus represented the opposite extreme.  He was too much a manipulator behind the scenes, allowing his minions to do virtually all of his work – even that which could not be trusted in their hands.  Ultimately, it was his undoing.  His glorious return to the minor Abyssal layer of Occiptus was marred by the utter annihilation of his followers not to mention his own abject humiliation.  It would be perhaps centuries before he could regain his former stature.

Kyuss, on the other hand, nearly had it right.  The Wormgod merely used his lieutenants as pawns to evaluate the weakness of his would-be slayers.  In the end, when it really mattered, he intervened directly.  However, his actions were too vulgar, they attracted far too much attention.  And that proved his undoing.

They had learned these lessons well and would not make the same errors.  They had co-existed since time immemorial, one always trying to outdo if not outright eliminate the other.  The recent tension involving the living demonic heart of a certain half-field great wyrm in the Positive Energy Plane put a particular strain on their relationship.

Ultimately, they realized that their eternal conflict was their perpetual weakness.  Until one dominated, their thinking went, they could never truly be whole.  

It was time for a different track – reconciliation.  As alien as it sounded, it was necessary for their ascension.  Therefore the most logical decision was made in Abysm deep beneath the Brine Flats.

For Aamuel and Hethradiah to become whole once again, the Prime Material Plane must feel the fury of the Savage Tide.


----------



## Felix

Joe Camel, man.

Cool.


----------



## Krud

Great Epilogue Gfunk 

<scoots over to the new Savage Tide thread>


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

That sounds promising - all of that. Faust - we all knew where he'd end up. Hawk did not compromise. Giovanni & Entropy holding hands, teleporting into the sunset - cute!  
And I almost forgot - we have encountered the two masterminds behind the Sagave Tide in your SHs before.

Thank you, gfunk. Although the total of Toril is off worse than before, it's great that some legends live on!


----------



## Schmoe

Sweet!  I really like the epilogue and the summaries of Faust, Giovanni, and in particular Hawk.  Great job pulling everything together.

A quick question, though, as I'm not very familiar with Realms mythology.  Who is Jergal, and who are the three deities who become the Ebon Triad?


----------



## hbarsquared

It was your story hour, JollyDoc, that got me into the Story Hour Forum.

Although it would be nice to see your players succeed, just once, the journey itself has been an absolutely fantastic ride.

I've already begun reading your Savage Tide, and truth be told I am already looking forward to seeing your game for AP4!

Have fun.  I know I have.


----------



## Quartz

Sheer brilliance!


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:
			
		

> Sweet!  I really like the epilogue and the summaries of Faust, Giovanni, and in particular Hawk.  Great job pulling everything together.
> 
> A quick question, though, as I'm not very familiar with Realms mythology.  Who is Jergal, and who are the three deities who become the Ebon Triad?




Jergal was the original god of Death, but became 'bored' with his lot, and so divided his portfolio among Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul.  Bhaal and Myrkul were destroyed during the Times of Troubles, when Ao the Overgod forced all the gods to walk Toril in mortal form.  Jergal's ultimate plan was to usurp Ao, but he could make any overt plans.  So instead, he seeded his plan in the first Kyuss worm, gave it to the Harbinger, then promptly erased his own memory.  Over time, the Kyuss worm procreated, and thus Jergal's plans were fragmented millions of times, waiting to come to fruition with the ascension of Kyuss.  Jergal would then step in again and claim ultimate power.  In our situation, a new Ebon Triad, Bane, Cyric and Kelemvor, decided not to let that happen, lest they be eliminated with the rise of Jergal, so they killed Kyuss before Jergal could reclaim his power.  Nonetheless, Jergal has still become the most powerful deity of Toril, second only to Ao, and now the Ebon Triad serve him.


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## JollyDoc

Once again I want to thank all of our readers for you continued support and devotion to our little stories.  Your appreciation and input are what make these a labors of love.  It's almost as if instead of a group of 8, we are actually a group of thousands.  I hope you enjoy watching our game world evolve as much as we do, with the characters from previous campaigns going on to assume roles in the new ones.  You will note already the darker tone of Savage Tide.  I hope to weave in the events that have changed in Faerun, and how they have affected the population of the Realms.  

I also want to again thank my players.  I'm just the narrator.  They are the talent, and the muses for my imagination.  It's been almost ten years that I've gamed with this group, in all its incarnations, and I look forward to many, many more years ahead.  Thanks guys!


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## Cosmic.Justice

Well, when I say caster, I include Pisons, as they simply use a different mechanic to achieve basically the same effect.  Havok may have been a Warlock, but it seems a great deal of his power came from intelligent usage of pure caster items, such as scrolls of Timestop.  The reason I am asking is I'm attempting to design a long term campaign that is equally accessible to all classes, especially after watching and reading about campaigns like this one, which seem to have been a great time for all.

However, the more I examine the system and the classes, the more it seems to me that the Fighter type classes just take a background role to the casters.  They are completely nullified in the out of combat roles, it seems, due to the abundance of versatility spells available to the casters at higher levels, and doubly reliant on them to achieve even close to their level of power in combat, from buffs.  It seems to me that the caster classes will vastly out perform the non caster classes starting at 13th level due to this, and that includes in combat as well.

In addition I have yet to see a Rogue, in specific, be of great or significant use in the late stages of the game, since his out of combat abilities are completely dwarfed by spells that serve the same effect, and his in combat role is markedly limited.  Would you say the Rogue class can be a powerhouse or effective character in the late game when compared to casters?

Setting up a full attack seems to be much more difficult than setting up an advantageous or powerful display of caster abilities, and in addition the casters actually seem to also have a higher chance of survival in lethal combats due to escape abilities/spells, and the fact they can avoid benig the main target with intelligent tactical positioning.

I was just wondering what you and your players experiences have been, as you seem to have a great deal of knowledge and hands on information about how the classes work out at high level.  

In any case, again a great story, and I am very interested in seeing what the Ebon Triad working under the machinations of Jergal will accomplish.  By the way, I had a question about them based on a comment made by a character in the epilogue.  Have the deities of the Ebon Triad been stripped of their personal intellect and personality, and completely subsumed by Jergal, or are they merely forced to serve under him due to the vast powers at his command?


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## war wizard

To quote the evil overlord of the Springfield Nuclear power plant.

“Excellent!”

Joe once again good work on the SH, G man the epilogue was great.

Keep up the good work.


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## JollyDoc

Cosmic.Justice said:
			
		

> By the way, I had a question about them based on a comment made by a character in the epilogue.  Have the deities of the Ebon Triad been stripped of their personal intellect and personality, and completely subsumed by Jergal, or are they merely forced to serve under him due to the vast powers at his command?




I'll let the players address your other questions, since they are the true power gamers.  The new Ebon Triad are still unique individuals, but they are now totally subservient to Jergal.  This will set up many interesting situations, since Jergal is not, strictly speaking, evil, and neither is Kelemvor.


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## JollyDoc

war wizard said:
			
		

> To quote the evil overlord of the Springfield Nuclear power plant.
> 
> “Excellent!”
> 
> Joe once again good work on the SH, G man the epilogue was great.
> 
> Keep up the good work.




Thanks Ed!  There's still a seat saved for you at the table!


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## gfunk

Thanks for the kudos, everyone.  The epilogue was truly a labor of love and I very much enjoyed writing it.



			
				Cosmic.Justice said:
			
		

> I was just wondering what you and your players experiences have been, as you seem to have a great deal of knowledge and hands on information about how the classes work out at high level.




Your analysis is spot on I believe.  Fighter-types tend to be ascendant at low levels and Caster-types at high-levels.  I particularly liked your break-down of the full-attack routine vs. a 9th level spell.  Hawk, in particular, was an extremely well-designed fighter type that had great buffs for the party in addition to good attack rolls.  However, the damage he could do (and to a single opponent) paled compared to the casters in the party.

In 3.5, the problem was exacerbated.  With the advent of many spells that have SR: No, casters can now affect creatures (like golems) that they used to need fighters to protect them against.

I'm not quite sure about your analysis of skill monkeys like Rogues.  Sneak attack is fairly worthelss at high levels (two-weapon fighting Rogue builds at high levels are suicide), but I think high social/searching skills are useful.  We definitely didn't play this way, but I think RP-friendly modules like Prince of Redhand and Dawn of a New Age could've have played out rather differently if we had a Bard or social Rogue in the party.

However, with all the feats (esp. the anti-caster feats) and splatbooks available for fighter-types now I think they are not as worthless as high levels if properly designed.  I would've liked to experiment with Ferox, but obviously I didn't get very far.


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## Joachim

gfunk said:
			
		

> Your analysis is spot on I believe.  Fighter-types tend to be ascendant at low levels and Caster-types at high-levels.  I particularly liked your break-down of the full-attack routine vs. a 9th level spell.  Hawk, in particular, was an extremely well-designed fighter type that had great buffs for the party in addition to good attack rolls.  However, the damage he could do (and to a single opponent) paled compared to the casters in the party.




This is the reason that a lot of the most recent books have had a lot of tweaks to the melee-based classes.  Many of the feats in the PHBII give high-level fixes for fighters, and the Book of Nine Swords has got so much crunch in it that it's the powergamer's dream book.

Having said that, I don't think that the League would have been nearly as successful without Hawk there, and too often people tend to obsess on 'how much damage I can do in a round'.  Hawk was the front line, and allowed the psion and warlock to do their thing in the back.  On a good round, he could do 100 pts of damage by expending a minimal percentage of his resources.  His armor class was in the mid-50's.  He gave everyone a +11 to initiative.  He had over 200 hps.

But, Hawk was optimally built and used 4 different classes.  Grubber, Havok, Faust, and Mak were able to be major contributers and went through the whole module with only 1 class.


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## R-Hero

gfunk said:
			
		

> _Indeed, one of the most feared noises an invader could hear was an elephantine blast. This always heralded a legion of fanatical paladins and templars led by Vertias himself, mounted atop his ever faithful mount Alice. Let the Ebon Triad beware._



Love it! Love IT! LOVE IT!!
Beats Ike's epilouge by a country mile...  




			
				Joachim said:
			
		

> Having said that, I don't think that the League would have been nearly as successful without Hawk there...




 (Blushing Profusly) Thanks!
What can I say, Its been a fun ride with my best character build to date!

Still....I _would _ have like to seen Capt. Holocaust in action.


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## Supar

ditto to joachim. But the league was a team and everyone had there part and hawk Was the tank we would have needed someone to sit up there anhd take dmg


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## carborundum

Amazing story!
I'm new to the place and missed out on the full glory before the crash you speak of. I have therefore a bit of a noob question, namely "are there also larger versions of the first chapters or is the summary all that could be rescued?"
If there is a full version of the Whispering Cairn I'd love to read it, it's one of my favourite adventures, ever.


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:
			
		

> Amazing story!
> I'm new to the place and missed out on the full glory before the crash you speak of. I have therefore a bit of a noob question, namely "are there also larger versions of the first chapters or is the summary all that could be rescued?"
> If there is a full version of the Whispering Cairn I'd love to read it, it's one of my favourite adventures, ever.




Alas, no.  I had not intended to do an AoW story hour initially, but got browbeaten into it, so I ended up summing up the first few chapters.


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## carborundum

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> ... but got browbeaten into it...





LOL!

Thanks for the quick reply, sir! We never played much further than that for all sorts of reasons. I'll have to read through the scenarios at some stage. In the meantime I can start printing the 237 page Word document I put together this afternoon, and nick a nice folder from work for it


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## karianna

*Finally finished! *

Finally finished this after seeing a link from the Savage Tide thread!  Absolutely wonderful guys, it's this sort of stuff that inspired me to write my own


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## JollyDoc

karianna said:
			
		

> Finally finished this after seeing a link from the Savage Tide thread!  Absolutely wonderful guys, it's this sort of stuff that inspired me to write my own




Thanks!  I'll have to check out your thread.  It's definately a labor of love.


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