# Carnifex's SH - Updated July 24th, Light and Questions



## Carnifex (Jan 30, 2004)

Welcome to the second thread cataloguing the adventures of the players in _Acrozatarim: Fire & Ice_, an online game that I run on a message board. It's been over two years now since I started the first story hour relating the tales of their troubles and achievements, and with that thread having gotten rather long, and having reached an excellent point to start afresh from, I decided it was time to move into a new one! 

This story hour joins the party just as they reach the _*Arcanist's Tower*_. Most of the PC's, except for Cazamir, were hired by a nobleman called Ecurius Tarravus of the land of Naseria, where sorcerous bloodlines rule the country, to investigate the tower, for it was reputed that a thaumineer - a mage melding wizardry and machinery - from the rival country of Carthagia had taken up residence there many years ago. By now he would surely be dead, and hopefully the party will be able to scavenge thaumineering lore from the tower, for it was said that this particular thaumineer was truly a genius and at the cutting edge of his field. They set forth eastwards from Naseria into the mountainous Sarokean region, where they were held hostage by a solar beholderkin, fought hiveminded ghouls, met a divine servant of the sorceror-god Naskha, lost their veteran leader Wolf Kieresane to an assassination attack by evil Red Talon cultist-warriors, and finally met with a party of wizard-scholars from the lands west of the Sarokeans, who were seeking the same tower - because it is a relic of an ancient civilisation, the Umbrals, from before the Dawn War when the Elder gods and Younger gods battled. A tentative alliance has been forged - the party bringing their combat capabilities, the wizards bringing their scholarly knowledge of just what tricks and traps the Umbral tower may contain. And now they approach the tower itself, not knowing just what lies in wait within...

*Style:* This game is played on a message board online and I am extremely lucky to have some truly awesome roleplayers in the group. As a result, the game itself often includes considerable amounts of character development and thought in posts, and I want to try and bring this as fully into the story hour as possible - along with the fair share of brutal, bitter fighting they undertake as well, of course . As a result, as much as possible I use as a base the actual text written in the game, edited to flow better as a story hour. This means that there may well be points where you get a particular event seen or pondered upon from several different points of view in turn, using the perspectives of different characters.

*Campaign Feel:* See the links below to get a proper feel for the campaign  There's horror and grit in places, but also the wondrous and fantastic things that are inherent to a world made by Elemental Lords and with life brought to it by the Elder gods, the dreams of the Lords. It's got typical pseudo-medieval fantasy feel in plenty of areas, but I've tried to be innovative and interesting with the campaign world. It's also a world with a bit of a steampunk feel in places, such as thaumineering to blend magic with technology, and Manipulation, the art of bio-thaumaturgy and genetic manipulation. There are evil cults of ancient and insane Elder gods, plots against the nations and worshippers of the Younger gods that have arisen since the Dawn War, and great power just waiting to be unleashed.

*Crunchy Bits - Under the Hood:* I've got lots of homebrew material for this campaign - new monsters, feats, spells, prestige classes etc. Where these come up in the story hour, I'll try and make sure to post up the crunchy bits too, so that others can make use of the concoctions of my imagination  Note also, that the steam-tech elements in this campaign resulted in my writing *Steam & Steel: A Guide to Fantasy Steamworks*, which I may reference as a source for some of the stuff you'll see in this SH from time to time. I'm also now writing a sourcebook for the biothaumaturgical side of magic in the campaign world - rules for flesh-twisting, arcanogenetic manipulation and similar 

*The Cast of Characters:*

And here they are...

_PC - Melisande, Aasimar Sorcerer 4/Paladin 1_

Carthagian by birth, her mother was a minerologist who after an unknown event in some deep mine became pregnant and gave birth to Melisande. She's an aasimar with blue skin and natural magic in her veins, as well as being rather naive and having a fascination with nature and living things. She ended up being trained as a Manipulator - basically a bio-thaumaturgist. They're common in Carthagia, where they do things such as the selective breeding of fang dragons to create a stupid, placable breed, the flesh-twisting of goblin slaves to cerate tough mine workers, the Manipulation of animals like horses to create steeds with more muscle (sometimes directly surgically implanted) and things like that. Of course, Melisande really didn't like the rather sinister and disturbing side of the work she was carrying out in the labs.

As a result of this, her mother sent her north to the land of Naseria, a land ruled by sorceror-nobles, to make her way there - the senior Manipulators were not going to just let her leave the labs with the knowledge of their techniques that she had, so she had to flee into exile. Since then, during the adventures she underwent to reach the Naserian capital of Tarravus and to be employed by Ecurius, she has become both a more capable spellcaster, but has also become enthralled by Naseria itself, the noble bloodlines of sorcerers who are said to have descended from great Naskha himself. She feels she has gained a purpose, a quest, to fight evil in the name of Naskha, and she has taken to that notion with great enthusiasm. Some might, however, call Melisande naive, and she certainly has a lot to learn about the world and how it works, and when to not tell people you've only just met important facts and details about your mission...

She has a two-headed toad familiar called Pierre that she Manipulated herself.

_PC - Wyshira, Water Genasi Cleric 5_

Wyshira was born in a small village in the cold northern country of Cryosia, where powerful magocracies of cryomancers rule. Her mother was the village priestess of Ishrak, the Storm Lady, and long ago their bloodline was blessed through union with one of the water servants of that goddess. From then on they have carried that touch in their blood, and hence Wyshira has faintly blue-green skin and pale hair, giving her a slightly sickly pallor (though she is in fact quite resilient) - she is a water genasi. Her sister was groomed to take the place of being the next village priestess in line, so Wyshira set out on her own, soon meeting with Wolf Kieresane and Kale Amegrion. From there her adventures led her with them to the Corinthian port-capital of Iril, across the wilds of the Drakkath and to Ecurius's employ. She is a competent spellcaster and healer in her own right, perhaps not aware of quite how much so.

_PC - Kale Amegrion, Human Rogue 3 / Guerilla 2 (likely to soon be reworked as an Unfettered)_

Hailing from one of the minor merchant families of Corinthia, Kalehad a priviledged childhood but couldn't settle down doing any one thing. Eventually his exasperated parents entolled him in a military school. He railed against this but at the end of it realised that, in fact, he really did want to be a soldier. However, he had such a reputation as a troublemaker by then that he didn't have the connections to become an officer, instead joining a mercenary band. Exasperated by their lack of competence he then left - without their consent - looking to make his own way in the world. Wolf Kieresane, a grizzled veteran and mercenary, took him on under his wing, and before long they had met up with Wyshira and then Burl. Kale's an inventive fighter, to say the least, always looking for new tricks and ploys to use in combat, and has been described by Sebastion as 'talking a better fight than he ever had a chance of actually putting up'. He is a competent warrior, but perhaps overly eager for risky ideas.

_PC - Sebastion Cornell, Human Fighter 4 / Telepath 1_

Born in a border-town between Carthagia and Huron, Seb is the son of the local farrier, who once was a soldier in an elite unit for the Huronese army but due to some disaster he was involved in - he wont speak of what - he retired and became a mercenary for a while, before finally settling down. Sebastion himself had been a member of the town guard for a while, but wanted to ses more of the world, and had recieved proper military training from his father. When the Blood Raven mercenaries rode through on their way to the service of a Carthagian border lord, he jumped at the chance and joined up. Ending up entangled with Melisande, Meg'anna, Ebri and Sandslipper in the mayhem after a battle with dreadspawn and ogres, he made his way with them into Naseria, and the rest, as they say, is history. He's a light fighter, wielding his father's two-bladed sword - which recently seemed to awaken with innate magic after he used it to slay a Red Talon cultist-warrior. The vision it gave him is giving hints as to just what happened to his father's military career, and he also thinks it's responsible for the headaches he seems to have been getting recently. He has yet to realise that he is developing the talents of a mind warrior - his brain has awakened with latent psionic power. Sebastion also has aspirations of greatness as a war leader, not to mention a distrust and suspicion of magic that he's only slowly overcoming. He prefers the solid reality of battle and conventional weapons to spells and sorcery.

_PC - Ebri Zol, Human Cleric 2 / Monk 3_

For a long time, Ebri has posed as a cleric of the god of travel, Immar, but it's really a ruse. She is in fact a Nephian, one of a secretive community to dwell in monasteries high in the mountains, and who are feared as assassins and infiltrators. The Nephians keep to themselves most of the time, but have information gathering networks extended into many nearby countries, for they serve the mystical Old Masters, shadow-shrouded beings of great power who follow the Plan, some sacred path that follow. With stealth, guile and the occasional required assassination, the highly trained and disciplined Nephians, practicing the Way of the Shadow, are as tools for the Old Masters to deploy in their battle against the Dreamweavers, their ancient enemy who are a peril not just to the body but to the mind.

Ebri has been assigned to keep Melisande safe - not that her ward actually realises this, as Ebri has thus far managed to do a fairly good job of her pretense. She _is_ a cleric, just of the Great Prophet, the deity that the Nephians - and perhaps the Old Masters, though this is unclear - worship. The Old Masters want Melisande protected because she is of a 'shadow-touched' bloodline, and it seems they neither foresaw nor are very happy about the way in which her aasimar heritage might interact with the bloodline. Every so often, though, Ebri's facade slips a little, and others have long suspected that she is not what she tells them...

_PC - Cazamir Jan'Zhat, Human Monk 2 / Savant 2_

Hailing from the huge empire of Huron, Cazamir is noble by birth but entered a monastery at a young age - he was manifesting psionic abilities and his mother sent him there for his and his families safety and reputation. There he trained to control his rebelliousness and to focus his mind, becoming a devout follower of the Huronese patron deity Urazel, lord of fire, battle and horsemanship. When eventually the elder monks decided there was little more he could learn from them, they sent him out into the world; not needed by his family, since marriage alliances had cemented the line, he took up the path of a wanderer. Travelling north from Huron into the expansive area called the Drakkath and into the nations within that locale, he hired himself out as a mercenary, taken on by a band of Drakkath guild scholars seeking protection for their expedition to an ancient Umbral tower, somewhere in the Sarokean mountains. With the sages and Ecurius's party now allied, he still watches the adventuring band with suspicion, his uppermost priority being the safety of the scholarly wizards he is supposed to protect.

_PC - Meg'anna Liadon, Human Druid 5_

Meg'anna's village was slaughtered by fleshtearers when she was a tiny child. Fleshtearers are the shock-troops of the Church of Toran in Carthagia - they are made by Manipulators, then some closely-guarded ceremony by priests of Toran brings them to life. A druid found her and took her into his care, bringing her up.

The druids of the area live in harmony with the gnoll tribes (IMC gnolls are not slavering evil psychopaths), and there is a lively political arena amongst the druids, especially over the split between those who follow the nature goddess Lliras and those who simply believe in the fundamental force of nature. They all answer to the High Druid though (currently a gnoll). Meg used to be very active and vocal in such debates, but then she and her mentor were trading at a gnoll village when a fleshtearer squad was deployed by the Carthagians (who border the area the gnolls inhabit) and killed her tutor and most of the gnolls, while one tore at her throat and ruined her vocal cords.

She fled back to her grove, and lived there in isolation and mourning. Oddly she found she no longer needed to speak the words of spells, now that that she was mute, but instead strange sounds would be invoked when she cast them (basically the character manifests audible 'displays' psionic-style instead of having verbal components to spells). Eventually she moved on from the grove, wandering in search of purpose, where she met with Melisande, Sandslipper and Sebastion, and accompanied them north into Naseria. Yet she was called away from them, searching for answers to a terrible phenomenon - a sickness of the earth itself, causing crops to wilt and fail and nature to fall ill. She travelled to the druidic council in the heartlands of the gnoll-inhabited woods, where she found that they too had yet to fully discover the secret of what was causing this affliction to the very earth itself. They asked her to help them find out by following a potential lead - a gnoll ranger of the Knights of the Thorn, guardians of nature in the servive of the life deity Lliras, had travelled to some ancient tower in the Sarokeans, apparently believing something related to the problem was there. Yet the ranger had never returned, and Meg'anna agreed to seek out the tower and discover what had befallen the Knight, as well as why he had gone to the tower in the first place.

_NPC's:_

Burl Overton - an ex-PC necromancer from Corinthia, plucked from danger in Iril by Wolf, Wyshira and Kale and accompanying them on their adventures. The player drops out a little way into this story hour, sadly 

Cord - another ex-PC, who left towards the end of the last story hour thread. A dwarven monk of the earth god Grumand, who departed to attend the Council of Stone, where the clergy of Grumand will meet and discuss the terrible sickness of the earth that they have all felt.

Sandslipper - another ex-PC who dropped out a long time ago, a desert-nomad earth genasi psion, a pathfinder who had been banished from her own people and headed north into the lands of Huron and the Drakkath. She is currently in Naseria where she fell ill and had to remain to be tended to by priests of Naskha.

Wolf Kieresane - a veteran mercenary and mentor to the group, as well as member of the secretive Azure Blades, an organisation dedicated to fighting the cults of the Elder gods. Slain recently by Red Talons, warrior-cultists of the Elder god Gilamesh.

Ansas'Turi - an Ironjack rogue, hired on by Kale. The Ironjacks are a people chased from their homelands by foul blood-sorcerers, bringing their great knowledge of mechanics with them to their new home, the nations of the Drakkath. Ansas is along to help with any mechanisms or traps they might encounter in the Tower.

Jarvis, Johanne & the Sages - the band of wizard-scholars Cazamir is accompanying, who often argue with one another on points of theory and archaeology. Johanne is their de facto leader, the most powerful actual spellcaster of their number and the wisest too. Jarvis is a Naserian pathfinder, another hireling of the scholars like Cazamir, and a sharp-eyed and agile man.

Lots of other NPC's as well, of course - there's literally a cast of thousands  More details on all these characters and their pasts, and lots of other characters, are in the previous SH thread, chronicling events up to this point. Read of their encounter with the vicious werewolf pack, fighting alongside an Inquisitor and Solar Templar, their battle with an insane alienist mage deep below Tarravus and his Gilamee cult cell, or the hostage-taking beholderkin. Yet all these will pale compared to what they have yet to encounter...

*Links:*

The message board on which the game is actually played:
http://www.roleplayinggames.net/cgi-bin/viewboard.cgi?&board=60

The Campaign Details, giving a brief overview of the homebrew campaign setting:
http://www.roleplayinggames.net/cgi-bin/details.cgi?&board=60

The Game Notes, including more detailed character equipment lists, recent events, and a write-up of the gods:
http://www.roleplayinggames.net/cgi-bin/notes.cgi?&board=60

The actual character write-ups:
http://www.roleplayinggames.net/cgi-bin/chars_view.cgi?&type=details&game=60&display=entirelist

Of course, the previous Story Hour thread 
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=1202

And the previous 'crunchy bits' thread for the Story Hour:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=39102



The first actual story hour post for this new thread will be coming soon!


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## Horacio (Jan 30, 2004)

It seems I've chosen a good moment to come back, just as one of my favorite stories begins a new chapter... 

Go, Carnifex, go!


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## Ruined (Jan 30, 2004)

Wow, Horacio's back! And hey, got my subscription set boss. =)


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## Angcuru (Jan 30, 2004)

Wheeee!

I've been catching up with the flow of the events with the actual postings of the game, and I'm just itching to see how you piece it all together.


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## Carnifex (Feb 1, 2004)

To help give an idea of certain important prior invents, I thought I'd post up the recent world events from the Game Notes:

*[size=+1]World Events:*[/size]​
_Note that all dates are reckoned from the end of the Dawn War:_
_1136 Late Autumn_ - Huronese soldiers defeat large sarsnik horde in Myrmecia.
_1136 Winter_ - Church of Toran deploys a number of fleshtearers into the Sudokan valley, the border between Carthagia and the wild Drakkath.
_1137 Early Winter_ - Merchant shipping on the Azure Coast begins to suffer greater than normal levels of piracy.
_1137 Early Spring_ - The campaign begins!
_1137 Early Spring_ - Domain of Mirayek established in western Drakkath by a local warlord, aided by the Church of Kevayek.
_1137 Spring_ - Expeditionary force of Cryosian troops sent over the Azure Sea, destination undisclosed by the authorities.
_1137 Late Spring_ - King of Corinthia overthrown in coup by merchant houses. Period of confusion and anarchy breaks out.
_1137 Late Spring_ - Adbar begins to annex lands to the east of its borders.
_1137 Late Spring_ - Inquisition destroys entire coven of lycanthropes in southern Adbar with the aid of mercenaries (the PC's).
_1137 Early Summer_ - Chapter 1: The Arcanist's Tower begins! The party are hired on by Lord Ecurius Tarravus, a sorcerer-noble of the royal family of Naseria and Truth-Seeker, to investigate a tower once inhabited by a Carthagian thaumineer that stands in the Sarokean range of mountains.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Mercenaries (the PC's) working for a Truth Seeker in Tarravus eliminate a dragon-cult running a slavery operation underneath the capital city.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Mercenary company working for the Truth Seeker departs for the Arcanist's Tower in the Sarokean Mountains.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Influx of Ironjacks from over the Azure Sea. Ironjack enclaves set up in Iril and Dar'Urazel.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Gifts of Ironjack knowledge used by Huronese thaumineers. Work on the first Huronese dreadnaught class warship begins.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Skyrunner craft begin to appear in the skies above Huron, Carthagia, Naseria and Ascaria.
_1137 Early Summer_ - 1137 is declared by scholars as *The Year of the Sickened Earth* due to the innatural sickness of the earth. Rumours of the Pyre, the focus of the Flame Guild's magical energies, as being corrupted in a similar way to the earth, begin to circulate. Finally, word spreads of a foulness in the seas along the Azure Coast, once more of unnatural origin.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Rumours of the disappearance of a large number of Carthagian Manipulators several months pervious begin to circulate.
_1137 Early Summer_ - Wolf Kieresane, Azure Blade co-leader and hero of the Dusk campaign, is slain by Red Talons. News of this filters out when the body is buried at a Grumandic monastery - mercenaries there recognise him and carry the tidings with them into the surrounding lands.


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## Horacio (Feb 1, 2004)

If you think that such a short update will be enough, you're wrong. Go back to write, we want more story


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## Carnifex (Feb 1, 2004)

Just a short little post to help set the scene for the first proper SH update to this thread, but don't worry, there'll be more hefty ones to follow over the next week 



The party, now consisting of both Ecurius's band of mercenaries and the Drakkath scholars with their hirelings, headed for the rise that angled up before them, the rugged landscape steep and difficult. Jarvis, the Naserian pathfinder, was already perched up there, signalling that it was safe for them to come up; as they approached, Sebastion skirted slightly ahead to check for anything dangerous that might be awaiting them in the gullies of the slope. After their encounter with the solar beholderkin, they had realised that it paid to be cautious in such mountainous terrain. Glad to be moving again - not personally, but as a group - Sebastion appreciated the slightly more difficult target they now presented as he wondered whether the cluster of scholars and students would be an aid or a hindrance in the event of an ambush. 


_I wonder how many of them are wizards?_ he thought idly, trailing up the hill slowly on horseback._ I wonder if any of them are better than Mel?_ That was probably a question that would stay in his mind, he decided, rather than make the trip to his tongue.


When they finally all made it up to the top of the rise, the valley below was revealed, the vista rolling away to be framed against the clear blue sky. 


* * *​

A grassy slope spread away ahead of them, the valley stretching before them lengthways, caught between two more ridges. The lower part of the valley was rocky and broken ground, but trees studded it nonetheless. And there, some mile or two away, the tower broke up out of the ground. 


It looked almost... organic in nature. A melding of metals and stone that seemed to naturally spear up from the rock rise it stood on, the dark structure curved and wound upwards, the bulk of the central structure punctured by gloomy receses and swirling daughter spires. The lower third was a cacophony of protruding pipes and outlets, twisitng amongst each other and venting out a drool of liquids and vapour. 


And here and there more recent construction was apparent. Rusted metal and rivets seemed to have been used to tack on new little balconies and vanes, the very top of the tower bearing a crown of copper spikes. 


Yet the tower seemed quite, quite dead. No movement nor noise, no light nor sound. 


Johan gave a wry smile. "Oh yes, this is Umbral, but not what I expected exactly. See that bulge in the main structure about two thirds of the way up? Probably indicates a large chamber within, specially crafted and formed. This is a war tower."


_...to be continued..._


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## Horacio (Feb 2, 2004)

Small update, but a good beginning. Go, Carnifex, we want mooooooooore


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## Carnifex (Feb 2, 2004)

"A _war tower_..." Mel mouthed quietly, staring across the valley at the tower. It reminded her immediately of the machine-people, these Ironjacks, in that it grew in organic twists and bulges from the stone, but had apparently been added to in mechanical ways, like the man with the clockwork eye she'd seen at the monastery. It wasn't quite right. And it wasn't typically Carthagian, she thought, to tamper with things in this precise way: the Manipulators took things which lived and forced them to grow and metamorphose into more useful forms, while this tower had been added to incongruously with tacked-on bits here and there, such as the shining crown of copper spikes it now wore. "Looks like a serious lightning hazard," she commented dreamily, more to herself than anyone else, even while her mind wandered around the subject of why the Carthagian arcanist had left his homeland in the first place. He did not seem to have quite the same mentality as his comrades, if his residence was any clue.


Her mare shifted and snorted with fatigue. She had tried to weave close to Jarvis on the ride toward the tower with the intention of asking him a couple dozen questions, and had only now managed to draw up close by the wizard as they paused before their first view of the tower. He'd been too busy consulting with his companions until now. Her mind snapped back to his last comment suddenly.


"A war tower! Will we find traps and pitfalls on the perimeter, do you think? Whom were they fighting? I'm very curious to find out more about this thaumineer. He was not a typical Carthagian, I get the impression. But it does look empty, except for those ducts and clouds at the base. I wonder what those are. It's almost like the tower itself is alive!" This was obviously silly, so she stopped talking abruptly, with a sheepish smile at Jarvis.


Johan gave Melisande an odd look. "I don't know what defences we might meet, but if this Carthagian survived for long enough tp modify the tower with those additions, then he probably found a way to circumnavigate or deactivate any traps. The tower looks pretty dead anyway, though some residual systems might still be active..." There was some discussion from the other sages, including a muttered "_will be active_".


"But to be honest I think we have at least as much to fear from whatever defences the Carthagian might have put up to ward off unwelcome visitors. And then there's the rather worrying possibility he might still be alive. It's a pretty big structure though, so I really can't predict what we'll find in there."


And it _was_ a big structure when looked at in the scale of the surrounding trees. The magnitude of the rolling vallies made it look less imposing, but the truth was that it was massive, a behemoth of a building.


"From the vents it looks like something inside is still active, but it's hard to tell what. It might just be basic systems ticking over, or it could be whatever the thaumineer did within. For a practitioner of thaumineering I can imagine such a tower would be a great thing for altering to suit his own needs." Johan's eyes suddenly gleamed eagerly, as if something had just occurred to him. "And I can only hope that it might, just might, have a still active mother spirit. If those effluents indicate still active Umbral machinery there might be one still alive. We've only recovered the engine-shells of their containers before, and clues as to their existence - they're a kind of machine spirit that the Umbral's harnessed into some of their structures." After a hasty debate with another scholar, he amended, "May have done, anyway. We still can't be sure. But this could be a real treasure trove of Umbral artefacts. I don't think I've ever seen such a complete structure before, it's just a shame that some Carthagian came along and tampered with it. I hope he hasn't done too much damage to the innards."


"Oh yes, Carthagians are terrible for doing damage to innards," Melisande sympathized. Then she went on in a tone not unlike that of an eager six-year-old: "But whom would they have been fighting in their war tower? Does this date back to the wars of the Elder Gods? Who were the enemies of the Umbral people? And _what_ were the Umbral people, anyway? Human, or something else?" 


A feeling of unease had overcome Wyshira as the party topped the rise and she saw the Tower for the first time. She directed her horse closer to where Johan and Melisande rode together, and listened to their conversation about Umbral traps and Carthagian defences. She didn't like what she was hearing, and she didn't like what she could see of the structure either. Vaporous emissions from rusted and bent pipes coiled in lazy tendrils around the base of the Tower. Wyshira eyed these false, ground-hugging 'clouds' with distaste.


Then something Johan said caught her attention.


"Mother Spirit?" she repeated after him. "I don't understand. You mean, the Umbral people made _living machines?_"


* * *​
As Sebastion had crested the hill, all the questions in his mind about the arcane abilities of the scholars they now travelled with had disappeared like so much mist in the morning sun. The tower emerged slowly as he drew over the rounded top of the crest: first the thrusting, jutting spire, then more and more of the curiously flowing, dynamic sculpture of the breastworks, and finally the billowing, expectant mists of the footings. He didn't listen, as such, to the muttered conversations behind him, but he heard the words.


"...This is a war tower......Umbral people made living machines..."


He could see the dangers in it, see the _power_ that spoke of conflict and struggle, the dynamic strength as it surged up from the ground, hauling itself above the rock upon which it stood. Towers had always seemed ponderous and immense, but this spoke of speed and strength as well as sheer size - and the froth of mist spurting from its base gave the impression of some vast iron bull snorting at the dust as it prepared to charge across the paddock.


He wanted to see inside, to know what it was and what it could _do_...


[size=-1]"Wow!"[/size] was all he could manage, quietly, as he gently nudged the mare into motion, and began a slow walk down towards the glen in which it sat, turning back to be sure the others were coming. 


* * *​

Johan looked somewhat uneasy in answering Melisande's question. "Well, truthfully, we don't know who they were fighting... but... well, the indications are that the Umbrals date back to before the Dawn War between the Elders and the Youngers. As to _what_ the Umbrals were, I cannot say for sure, but some of the artefacts we have recovered indicate they were similar in form to humans, though there are certain... discrepancies. Pieces of armour that fit wrong, certain devices of odd styling for hands of human shape. Other oddities that indicate that they were alike men but not men. Their language seems to be the root form of Drakkath though, which has some rather worrying implications. Still, we can do little as yet but piece together the evidence left in their wake. We have recovered very few intact relics, located few sites in good shape, and found no writings of theirs that shed any more than a vague light on them. This tower though... I think we might really be onto something here."


In response to Wyshira's question, Johan stumbled over how to explain it. "Well, no, not in an organic sense. We believe a mother spirit is not a living, breathing creature, but rather a machine spirit-overseer, an intelligence of gears and steel, that they bound into some of their creations. We've found some indications that the Umbrals were on good terms with spirits from a realm of order and law, and it was this that let them bind mother spirits."


"Sounds possible to me," butted in Ansas'Turi, the Ironjack woman coming up level with Melisande. "In my homeland, the Praefectors of Grual Rig knew how to bind minor spirits to machines to safeguard and maintain them. The Lore that the Praefectors guard..." She paused, then corrected herself. "...guarded... told us that the spirits came from a realm of the gods of order, where they existed in abundance. These Umbrals must have been mechanists of great skill to have made something like this tower though, so their binding techniques would most likely be far ahead of what little we have achieved in the field."


Slightly ahead, Jarvis had clambered onto a rock that punctuated the valleyside, and from a pouch drawn a delicate spyglass, peering through it at the tower ahead. He turned with a look of slight worry. "Someone's got there ahead of us," he shouted with a tone of puzzlement. "I can see tents, and horses tethered. No people in sight though."


They had been beaten to the tower.


_But by who?_


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## Carnifex (Feb 2, 2004)

*Background - The Drakkath, Draconic & Ara Languages*

In the above update, the wizard mentions the 'Drakkath' language, so to explain for the readers...

The Drakkath is both the name of a very large area of wildlands within which several countries are nestled - such nations as Corinthia, Adbar, Killanon, Mirayek, and non-human domains as well - and it is also the name of an ancient language. The 'common' tongue of the area where this campaign is taking place - the north-east of an expansive continent, with knowledge of another large continent to the east over the Azure Sea - is called Ara, though usually just referred to as Common. There are variations and other languages, especially amongst the non-human races, but Ara is certainly the dominant tongue.

Drakkath takes the usual place of Draconic in being the language of magic and the arcane. Draconic is used by dragons, Gilamesh cultists and clerics, and some other religions for ecclesiastical texts, but Drakkath is the tongue used for the scribing of scrolls, spellbooks and other sources of lore. The religion of Naskha the Sorcerer-God makes extensive use of both Drakkath and Draconic in writing their holy works - this is actually the cause of something of a schism, because some of Naskha's clerics assert that Drakkath is the truly 'magical' language and should be used for all sacred scribings, while others point to the draconic links that Naskha has and thus state that all His canon should be written in Draconic.

The origins of Drakkath are hazy, and is believed to be an ancient language of the area before Ara ever became dominant, possibly before Ara was ever spoken. Certainly, particularly archaic forms of Drakkath are found in some of the ancient ruins and tomb-sites that are scattered across the Drakkath region and the surrounding areas, which are believed to be the work of a truly ancient culture, often identified as the 'Umbrals'. Some find this to have rather worrying implications about the history of this part of the continent, especially since so much is simply myth and legend when a historian attempts to put together an account of the centuries just after the Dawn War. The role that the Umbrals played in the past has yet to be revealed and fully understood, and few people other than scholars and wizards have much interest in finding out anyway.


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## Carnifex (Feb 3, 2004)

_If this is an outpost,_ Kale had thought while regarding the huge structure,_ I'd like to see the Capitol._ Fine cut walls climbed into the sky on precise angle, it would be the envy of Naserians. And even the tower of Zhatan was the very heart and pride of Huron. _An_ outpost! _Where had those Umbrals gone off to?_ And he had resumed his survey of the woods, almost expecting something nasty and alien to pop from the bushes. 


The sudden interest and excitement had served to revive Kale a bit. Even his eyes seemed to perk up, despite having been silent and strictly about his business on his way up. Resisting his urge to range up ahead with Jarvis, Kale instead hung behind to learn what he could from conversation. 


Johan had a lot to say, and sadly, Melisande had more. _That woman needs to learn a bit about discretion,_ Kale had thought as he winced for the third time. For some reason, he felt only a spectator, riding along with his old crew, exploring new terrain and odd peoples. 


The tower rose slowly on the horizon; slowly, too slowly it loomed closer. Escaping the eye, each time Kale reached to give the tower scale, it stretched longer and taller- still out of reach, still growing. So huge it commanded time, against it a man could feel nothing but small and fleeting. The structure was smaller, younger than the hills, but as the party stopped within view, its walls called out with purpose. It would have been inspiring, but that the purpose had nothing to do with Kale. A missing race of incredible power, wars long dormant- what were these to a young son of a merchant? 


How badly he wanted it to go back to a simple smash-and-grab._ I just wish Wolf were here…_


"Someone's got there ahead of us, I can see tents, and horses tethered. No people in sight though." Of course. Kale hadn't reacted to the news, though his last hopes dissolved, the last chance for a straightforward job. 


”Someone should go have a look,” Kale said to himself before he advanced to where Jarvis crouched. ”There might be people about,” he turned and said to Wyshira and the rest as a reminder to keep alert.


Sebastion turned in his saddle as Kale spoke. _Good to hear his voice._ he thought, with a grim half-smile. _He's been too quiet since... lately. _


"I agree." he nodded in Kale's direction. "I'll head down with.. Johan, was it?" he nodded to the more talkative of the scholars, "And you flank us to keep an eye out. Mel, Wyshira, you stay back a little with the others in case we need a line to retreat to." 


Wyshira looked at Melisande to see how she would respond to being left behind. "We'll get there ourselves eventually," she said placatingly.


* * *​

Sebastion, Johan, Kale and Jarvis thus headed the movement towards the camp. Wyshira, suspicious of possible magical spying, could discern no scrying prescences, and after peering carefully she also found that what she could see of the camp didn't bring forth any recognition. There certainly weren't any emblazoned flags or icons visible, anyway. 


It took some while for the forerunners to reach the camp, winding their way down the valley towards the base of the increasingly looming tower, its shadow cast far by the sun. The camp itself, nestled amongst copses of trees, seemed to be genuinely deserted, for they saw no movement nor met any resistance as they slowly approached. 


Yet there was some life there. A cluster of horses were tied to the trees of one copse, solid and strong-looking, with plenty of feed having been placed nearby to them and the ropse that kept them there loose enough for the horses to wander a few metres. One of the horses had clearly been manipulated, bugles of additional muscle evident beneath its skin, and it watched the newcomers with a suspicious and intelligent gaze. Over by another copse, some other horses had been tied, thin and scrawny creatures. 


Some of the tents in the camp were carefully arranged, well made from tough material, and supply boxes and sacks stacked in an orderly manner. Yet searching amongst them revealed that the tents were empty of all but very basic interior fixtures, bedrolls and supplies all stripped out, and the crates emptied of their innards. A short way away, the wreckage of some other tents and containers were scattered, made of poor tattered cloth and stripped of anything of value. 


"Looks like two groups, one took what they could from the other camp," muttered Jarvis, emerging from a tent having been looking around inside. "And whoever set up the second camp seems to have taken everything with them except for outdoors wilderness survival equipment, like the tents. Now my guess is, and it's just a guess, that they went in there planning to stay for quite a while." He gestured to the imposing tower. 


"What of the first group?" Sebastion asked, quietly, dismounting near the camp, though he didn't go and second-guess Jarvis' assumption. The lack of corpses implied that either they'd come together - which seemed unlikely given the stark contrast in equipment, or... 


"Went in before the second, do you think? That would make us the third group heading in; popular place all of a sudden, wouldn't you say?" 


Frowning at the possible implications of that, Sebastion turned a slow circle, surveying the scene, trying to make out what he could of the surroundings and make sure it was safe before gesturing for the others to come down. 


* * *​

It had been a long journey for Meg'anna, but at last her destination was ahead of her. The valley swept away before her, the strange tower tearing up from the ground in the middle of it, surrounded by a carpet of trees on the valley floor. This was it, then. 


* * *​

Her path had taken her from her newfound friends in southern Naseria deep into the wilds of the Drakkath. The young druid had felt the upsurge of sickness in the land, the vile tide that seemed to be rising throughout the bones of mountains and the roots of forests. Something horribly wrong had happened, and she had felt no choice but to seek out what. 


She had known of one place that might provide an answer for her; she had never been to the domain of the archdruid of the entire Drakkath, even though theoretically she was part of the hierarchy. Yet it was the only possibility she could think of to solve the mystery. All other venues she tried failed her; other druids she knew were equally disturbed about the sickness of the land, and equally unable to explain it. So she had begun the long trek to the verdant court. 


* * *​

The sheer massiveness of the trees, the might and grandeur of the father oaks, sweeping up around her, had been dazzling in its magnificence. The place had been like a beautiful, natural garden, life allowed to grow free yet somehow forming patterns of colour and giving the place a calming aura. 


The inhabitants of the place had been a surprise. The court was in the heart of forests where gnolls held sway, and she had been given passsage by many of their tribes to reach the place. It was guarded by a fierce breed of the hyaena-men who called themselves the Glade Wolves, the distinctively-warpainted warriors an elite and loyal core of warriors at the command of the archdruid. Many of the druids were themselves gnolls, with some few men and elves there. 


And they had had answers, though only a few and only incomplete. 


She had asked the druids there of the sickness, and they had told her what they knew of it. The cause was uncertain, though the archdruid was apparently most troubled and had organised the forest-kin and druidic seekers to discover what the source of the taint was. It came from within the Drakkath, they knew, and it did not reach outside the area, but they could not pinpoint the exact cause. Some druids worriedly muttered of Elder gods or dark powers, while a number of the gnoll adepts spoke of their suspicions of Carthagia, for in recent times a virtual war had sprung up between the dark nation and the gnoll tribes along its eastern border, the clerics of Toran unleashing fell Manipulated beasts into the wilderness to dive back the forest-kin. 


But there had, in truth, been nothing there for Meg'anna. No final answer to the problem, no confident solution, and neither was there seemingly any guidance as to what she, Meg'anna, was supposed to do now. 


* * *​

Meg'anna had sat herself down on the bank of a bubbling brook that wound its way nearby the verdant court, tired from a day of trying to find out what was going on and what her course of action should be. A sudden noise made her start, turning her head to see an elderly gnoll druid, his fur grey-white, slowly making his way down the path towards the brook with the aid of his quarterstaff. He quietly padded up beside her, and seated himself down by the brook as well. 


"Meg'anna, yes? Ah, young druidess, I have heard you are a recent arrival to this place, and like all the arrivals, want to know what causes the illness within the earth. And like most of the others I doubt you are satisfied with what you have heard. The archdruid plans to do this, the archdruid has sent out people to do that, eh? But you can do something yourself for the druidic council, young woman, if you are willing to take the burden of a task from us." 


"These are bad days. The illness of the Drakkath is not all. Have you heard of the Knights of the Thorn, Meg'anna? An order of holy warriors who fight in the name of Lliras, defenders of nature and warriors of the goddess of life. A brave and powerful band of warriors indeed, and most respected. It was over a month ago that one of their number, a young gnoll knight errant by the name of Storm Dancer, left the verdant court, on a most urgent quest to a place in the Sarokean mountains. He seemed to believe that something important, something related to the sickness, was there, at this dark tower deep in the mountains which was built by an ancient race. He left with haste and with few words, and never returned." The gnoll's words were slow, patient and measured, matching the peaceful environment they sat in.


"We have sent envoys to the Knights of the Thorn to discover what they know of the sickness, but we are most worried by the fact that the gnoll warrior never returned. He was a capable traveller and soldier, and thus we fear something unfortunate has befallen him at the tower, and that indeed something related to the sickness really is there. We have few more we can spare to investigate this matter though, and thus I ask you, Meg'anna, would you do this for the council? Would you investigate the matter, and discover the fate of Storm Dancer?" The aged druid's old, wise eyes settled on her, awaiting her acceptance or refusal.


* * *


And thus she was here now, at the tower, after many long days of travel. She had approached the apparently deserted camp, observing from a nearby coppice. There were tethered horses, one clearly Manipulated, but no other signs of life. 


And then, others had come. While she had assumed the camp inhabitants weere either dead or had ventured into the tower, she had not been prepared for new arrivals. They had approached carefully and cautiously, and several were now poking around the camp. 


The next shock was that she recognised some of their number. While she might have thought herself mistaken when she thought she saw Sebastion and Ebri there, well... there was definitely no mistaking Melisande with her blue skin. It was them.


It was her old friends. Here, at a mysterious tower deep in the mountains, it seemed that fate had re-united them...


_Next time, surprise at Meg'anna's return and speculation about those who reached the tower first..._


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## Carnifex (Feb 5, 2004)

Mel drifted down the valley, her mind too overflowed with the tower to take offense at Sebastion's macho strategy to approach without letting the girls stray into harm's way. 


As the ancient, snaking stone grew to fill her field of vision, a mystic case of goosebumps rushed over her blue skin. What weird customs and unworldly rituals lay still imprinted in the arcane fabric of this place? Surely such an old and learned race left its footprint on the magic weave of the world. She strained her mind to sense it, to pull gingerly on the strings of arcana she held tenuously in the mental fingers of a sorceress, and see what might happen. The temptation was to enhance her vision, but this would be counter-productive until a moment when she could stand still, close by the breathing bulk of the tower, and concentrate. She wondered if the stone would feel warm to the touch. 


Soon she had ridden up into the very midst of the abandoned camp, mostly oblivious to the implications the others were discussing--these were a mere formality as far as she was concerned. She wanted to explore the tower. It didn't matter to her who else had explored it or when.


* * *​

Strangely enough, the camps seemed deserted, or they appeared to be that way. No movement, save for that from the horses, had been seen at all. The strange and alien smell of the manipulated horse assaulted Meg'anna's nostrils, causing her to manuever around to a position where the smell was not so potient. 


A slight rustle behind her instantly put the druidess on the defensive, her spear springing into her hand. Taking a silent step backwards, Meg called a simple defensive spell to mind. To her relief, a small red fox appeared from the undergrowth. 


_Micah! You scared me nearly to death! What am I going to do with you, huh? Not that you could understand me anyway. We'll see if after we finish this little errand, we can do something about that. _


The small fox merely cocked its head at the druidess in a look of confusion before pressing forward through the thicket. Meg'anna merely smiled and stepped forward, looking for what had caused the little canine to move ahead. 


_Probably a shiny beetle or a shrew. He might as well be a stomach with red fur. _


Propping her spear against the tree, Meg'anna eased the bough out of her line of sight, peering around the campsites, seeing no more than she had all morning. The horses had moved around somewhat, but that wasnt the strange thing. The druidess gasped inaudibly as she saw another group approaching the tower as well. She jockeyed around in the thicket to get a better vantage point, looking for some sort of insignia or device that might identify the newcomers. Not that she would have been able to identify one if it were present, but something would have been better than nothing. 


The newcomers swept down the road, moving cautiously, yet with measured force towards the campsite. They had begun poking around when Meg'anna had finally gotten a good look at them. Most were of no real circumstance to her, they had the look of rugged scholars, one or two carried weapons that introduced them as the vanguard of this group. But there was something strangely familar about a pair of the company. Meg couldn't quite place what exactly it was about the man and woman that was familar, that was until Melisande walked into view. 


Her skin flushed cold for a moment as the dreadful though that her former companions were behind this strange illness that faced the land, and even worse that they were somehow linked to the mysterious fate of Storm Dancer. She quickly dismissed the thought, as she watched them poke around the campsite, seemingly looking for the former occupants. They were here looking for answers too. 


_What should I do? I could eaily reveal myself to them, though I fear that they might have betrayed our trust. Perhaps I should merely watch from afar. Or even follow them. _


Her thoughts were deliberate, as she tried to remind herself that not everything was as it seemed. Her former friends had brought a lot of firepower with them to this tower, and they were prehaps involved with the denizens therein. 


But, in the pit of her stomach, Meg yearned to be re-united with her friends, to call out to them and talk about all the time they had been apart. But she could never do that, not before and certainly not now. Taking a deep breath, Meg'anna made her decision. 


Taking a moment to shoulder her hidden pack as her spear, Meg pushed her way out of the thicket and approached the campsite with slow, deliberate steps. 


* * *​

When a stranger stepped into the campsite from the nearby copse Mel did actually stop wondering about the tower abruptly. The tall, dusky woman was staring straight at her. She gaped, double-gaped, and then flew off her horse laughing. 


"Meg'anna? Meg'anna! It's you! What a coincidence! I never dreamed we'd see you again!" Digging awkwardly for her naturalist's book and a pencil, she rushed over at once to embrace her old friend--her _first_ friend from the outside world, who had reappeared miraculously here at the tower. She thrust out the book and pencil, changed her mind, and embraced the tall druid, then eagerly handed over a blank page. "You'll have cramps in your hands, dear, because I want you to tell me _everything!" _


Though she was expecting some sort of welcome, Meg'anna could not be prepared for the sight of Melisande toppling off of her horse and bounding towards her, tearing through her pack the entire way. Meg'anna flushed a deep crimson and smiled at her, hoping to get an equally receptive response from the others in Mel's group. She opened her mouth to speak, and as she tried, the memory of her inability to communicate verbally hit her hard. There was little in the way of talking to in the forest by oneself, so the memory tended to fade while traveling alone. Thats why Melisande was getting a notebook out, because she remembered the druidess' handicap. Her smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of hopelessness. Eventually, she would find a way to talk to others. She just had too. 


The completely confident tone of Melisande's voice put Meg in a better mood. She was still depressed by her issue, but there _was_ a way to communicate with others. She was still intelligent, after all. Nodding to the young woman, the druidess took the sheafs of parchement and in a very neat, fine script she began to detail her journey to the south, to seek advice from the druid elders.


_"Having no need to seek out information in the city, I turned to the south, seeking out my own answers for why the illness is spreading, and what I could do to stop it. I found, however, that there was little that my meager knowledge would allow me to do. Having experimented with some rather rare reagents, I found that perhaps if certain extracts were augmented with the power of natural energies, that we may have a chance to combat this illness. 


Knowing that I did not have the strength to pull these energies on my own, I traveled to a conclave of my peers. Here I presented my work before them, trying to pry out anymore information or garner some sort of help. As it turned out, my works had been presented some dozens of times before the Council Members, and each time the theory had been disproved. I was congradulated for my work, however, and allowed to seek out some of the elders for more information. 


This also got me no where. Apparently, there is no magic that can combat the sickness, and in some circles, it is thought that any attempt to curb the spread of the illness will, in fact, curse the one attempting it. Most of all this is simply hearsay, and I don't believe it for a moment. Yet, there is something that I was not being told, I could feel it. Perhaps I am just in denial. 


Regardless, I found myself contemplating what my next move should be. I figured that I should probably continue my search back where I left off. Nature always has a tendacy tol right itself during these things, yet the sway of magics over nature often overturns that balancing act, stunting it for years or longer. Other times, nature simply falls into a chaotic retinue, letting the more destructive forces of nature to be allowed to run rampant. Perhaps that is what this blight is. Though I highly doubt it. Hurricanes, typhoons, and drought are all within nature's grasp, these things rage for a brief period of time, annihilating everything in their path, thereby allowing the natural course continue on with things. Blights and poisons are often the handiwork of man-kind. They find no reason to protect what provided for them, often viewing nature as an obstacle to overcome, rather than work with. I hold my suspicions that this blight is created by the hands of men. 


So, I traveled north, finding myself seeking out suspected niches of evil men. Those whom would have the capacity to do soemthing so evil. Through my sources, I had been told that this is such a place. And, here I am. 


What have you been doing this whole time? Why are you here?" _


Though she had written most of the truth, Meg was still unsure about whether to tell Melisande the entire reason for her being at the Tower. She had agreed to look after Storm Dancer, and to report his fate. But that was her mission, not that of her friends. And it would be better to know what she was doing here first, before giving up the complete truth.


* * *​

Jarvis nodded at Sebastion's appraisal, looking over the tracks of the camp. "First group turns up, heads in. Second group turns up, probably ransacked the first group's camp by the look of it, and headed in themselves. It seems others have an interest in this place as well as us..." 


It was at this point that Meg'anna emerged from the trees and Melisande so eagerly greeted her. The suddenly tensed poses of a number of the ragtag band who did not know Meg'anna subsided again as it became clear that she was a friend and not a foe, though the druidess could not help but notice many eyes remained suspiciously trained on her.


_That's got to be some coincidence! _Wyshira thought when she realized that she was witnessing the reunion of two old friends. Afterall, she knew how long a journey Melisande had made, just from the Truthseeker's home, to reach this tower. How odd that an earlier companion of the sorceress had made the same journey, but by a different path. 


She wouldn't intrude on the friends' meeting, although she made herself available to be introduced to the newcomer just in case it occurred to Mel to make introductions. 


Meanwhile, she looked around the two camps a bit, making sure to avoid the manipulated horse. She was especially interested in the lesser camp, the one that had apparently been destroyed by the usurping second-comers. She examined the remains of the threadbare tents, looking for some recognizable insignia or something. There didn't seem to be anything of any of value left here whatsoever. 


* * *​

Melisande read along eagerly as Meg'anna wrote, and pronounced the words aloud so that the others who might be interested could hear. 


"Oh, what we've been doing--it's a very long story. I'll tell you everything later on. We went on to Tarravus and met Lord Ecurius, who is a Naserian sorcerer and Truth-Seeker (and you should meet him, he's a real dreamboat), and he asked us to explore this tower for him, and we joined with some other er, adventurers--Kale, Wyshira, and Burl, there. It's all very exciting. But right now I guess we need to find out who went into this tower before we did and how long ago, and why, and all that. Do you know anything about them? Look at that horse! He's Manipped for sure." 


Gesturing for Meg'anna to follow, and not waiting for an answer to her own questions, Mel started across the copse toward the unnatural-looking horse. She approached him warily, knowing it was no ordinary animal and probably trained to display its mistrust for strangers with reinforced hooves and teeth. 


Meg'anna nodded to Melisande as she began to leave for the strange manipulated horse, but stopped in horror as she watched the sorceress approach the creature. The manipulated beast had a feint odor to it, making it nearly unbearable for the druidess to go near. Motioning for Melisande to continue on her own, Meg'anna began quickly, but carefully going through the campsite, looking for clues as to what happened to the former residents. As she moved from tent to tent, a small rust coloured blur raced from the confines of the trees to wrap itself around the druidess' legs. A small fox made it rather adamant that he was not leaving her side, at least for the moment. 


Oblivious to Meg'anna's disgust at the flesh-twisted horse, Melisande spoke confidently to the creature. "Hello there, boy. You're a long way from Carthagia, just like me. Want an apple?" She rummaged for one from her pack. "...Or some jerky? Are you _that_ kind of horse?" She stood out of his range, testing his reaction with an apple in one hand and jerky in the other. He didn't look Manipped enough to talk, but then again she never worked with the horses; still, even his tack might reveal something of his origin.


* * *​

Stood in the midst of the two contrasting sets of tents, Sebastion watched Mel's enthusiastic, ebullient display with equal parts amusement and despair. The soldier in him cast numerous looks about the site, wondering who - or what - might be attracted by the noise, but he couldn't help but be buoyed a little by her seemingly unquenchable drive to babble. 


Despite the return of a familiar face, however, there was still work to be done, and he quickly turned his eyes about to see what it was. 


"Kale, you and Jarvis take a good look through this lot, see what you can make out. Wyshira, see if you can't get Mel to quieten down a little. Why she needs to shout at a deaf woman I'll never know."


"I'm going to circle the site - and the tower - make sure neither of these two groups is still out and about. I'd appreciate some company?" he finished, looking at Cazamir, with a querying expression.

* * *​

After Melisande went off to make friends with the strange, manipulated horse, Wyshira followed Meg'anna as she began to search the campsite for clues. 


"I already looked through all that," Wyshira said in a helpful tone as the druidess began to open a ramshackle crate. "Although maybe you would find something in it that was meaningless to me. 


Meg jumped slightly as the blue-tinted woman appeared up beside her. Her face flushed pale, before a nervous smile appeared on the druidess' face.


"I'm Wyshira, by the way, priestess of Ishrak." Wyshira offered Meg'anna a pale blue hand, and serenely dipped her head in greeting. "Mel rather hurried through the introductions, didn't she? But that's Melisande! I'm afraid I can't relate to her interest in those unnatural creatures," she added with a slight shudder and a glance toward the manipulated horse. 


For once, Meg'anna felt like someone finally understood her problem. Manipulated creatures were inherently evil. They were abominations, with no place on the earth. They are creatures that should be put out of their misery. 


Unfortunately, Meg could only shake her head.


"I hope you don't mind my curiosity, but is what Melisande read true? Your sources warned you that this Tower might harbor men of evil? Do you mean currently, or in the past?" 


"I'm sorry... I don't have any paper or a pen......" She lapsed into awkward silence as she waited to see how Meg'anna would communicate with her. 


Slinging her pack over her shoulder, Meg'anna quickly produced a small slate board and a piece of phosporescent chalk. 


_Unfortunately, I have no way of telling whether my information was meant ot be past or present. I, however.... _


Giving her a moment to read what Meg'anna wrote, the druidess then wiped the slate clean and continued. 


_...believe that whomever is here, has to be somehow aligned with the blight. I came here simply as it was thought to be a place... _


Wiped clean once more. 


_...where I could find some answers. Perhaps, we will find out soon whether or not I am correct in my assumption._



_Next Time: A shocking discovery for Melisande, and preparations to enter the Tower itself..._


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## Horacio (Feb 5, 2004)

Good! 
I really like the way you keep updating almost daily


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## Carnifex (Feb 5, 2004)

_Some kind of accident......_ thought Wyshira, as her glance fell on the terrible scars on Meg'anna's throat. A wild animal attack, possibly? That didn't seem likely, since the woman was a druidess. Perhaps some evil, unnatural creature had done it. 


Well whatever it was that had caused Meg'anna to lose the power of speech, it had likely been a traumatic experience. Especially if it had happened in childhood. Wyshira couldn't tell for sure how old the scars were. For a moment, she could clearly visualize how the wounds must have looked when they were freshly made, and her heart filled with compassion. 


When Meg'anna produced her slate and began writing on it, Wyshira read the words out loud. 


"And you would have gone in the Tower alone, in spite of the danger if these men truly are evil?" she asked the druidess, astonished. "It really is a good thing that we came along then!"


Meg'anna paused, looking around. The camp was, in all actuality, deserted. Not that she couldn't see that previously, but it was verified by the completely empty capsites. Here there was signs of former habitation, an empty tankard here, a bit of discarded parchment there. All in all it was a disgusting mess. Bits of char and burnt wood lay scattered amid the ring of rock that once contained the campfire, yet now the living fire was now dead, a distant reminder of what once was. 


As if by habit, the druidess began picking up the small bits of refuse, piling them all in one of the hide tents. It was the least that she could do, for otherwise, the trash and bits of refuse would scatter about into the wilds, thrashing what is all natural and good. There was little that she could do to save all the wilderness from the trappings of man, but she could at least make a small difference here. 


With the final bit of trash picked up, Meg found there to be little else to do but venture to the tower. That was, orignally, why she came here in the first place. She had found nothing mentioning the gnoll she was sent to find, nor was there really any trace of those denizens that where here previously. 


She stopped for a moment and pulled out her slate again, and Meg'anna quickly scribbled a message upon it. 


_I am going to the Tower now. What is your company here for? Are you seeking entry as well? _


She thrust the tablet towards Wyshira, hoping for some sort of answers. 


"Well, yes... yes we are planning to enter the Tower," Wyshira answered Meg'anna somewhat hesitantly. Next to the reason that the druidess had for being here - searching for the source of the evil blight upon the land - her company's purpose for coming to the Tower seemed much less worthy. 


"Like Melisande said, we're on a mission for a Truthseeker." That sounded noble enough on the surface. Actually, Wyshira knew less about what they were doing here than she should. She was here because Wolf had decided to take this job. And when Wolf was lost, she had continued on with the others. She didn't really care what they were here for; she only cared about keeping them all healthy. 


Which only served to remind her of her recent failure. 


She turned to where Kale stood watching the Tower, and found him talking quietly to Melisande. She considered Kale to be Wolf's chosen successor. He had been closest to Wolf afterall, and the one most likely to know the fallen mercenary's intentions. He seemed to be coming around a bit finally, and with this new serious side to his nature becoming more evident, she trusted him more than anyone else to make the best decisions about what to do next. With fierce determination she swore again to herself that she would let nothing happen to him, or to any of the others, if she could help it. Maybe it was time that she took a more active role in the decision-making process...... 


"I don't know what to tell you about these scholars," Wyshira went on to Meg'anna in a low voice. "They were ahead of us on the road. They say this is some sort of ancient Umbral outpost that they want to study." She shrugged to show that it made little difference to her, Shadows or no Shadows; but Meg'anna could see that her expression was grave. 


"The Tower is dangerous, Meg'anna. Strange, Umbral spirit-machines..... And there are likely other traps laid by the last inhabitant, a Carthagian wizard. Now we find this camp and that.. that _horse_; they can only mean more trouble. Don't go in alone. Wait and see what Kale decides to do and go with us."


* * *​

Rather than going for either of the proffered foods, the Manipulated horse continued to watch her suspiciously, moving itself so as to always be facing her head on as she approached. From where she stood now, several feet away, she could see an impressive bridle and other pieces of riding gear attached, all red cloth and decoratively inscribed metal. Hanging from the bit dangled two golden emblems, and from peering as well as she could, the sorceress recognised the symbol emblazoned on them. It was, in her memory, associated with two things; firstly her Manipulator tutor, Professor Akarsis, the foremost biothaumaturge of the laboratory-fortress she attended at; and also with the school itself, which used the professor's personal insignia as its own more general emblem, playing on the famous achievements in flesh-twisting and genetics that the wizard had achieved to enhance its reputation against those of rival laboratories. Whether this meant the Professor himself was here, or just a member of that establishment, she could not tell. 


"Oh." Mel took a couple of steps back from the horse. It was her turn to stare warily at it. She lowered her hands slowly, stuffing the jerky in the first pocket it found its way to, and took a thoughtful bite of the apple. 


Maybe he just sold the horse to some mercenary. No, he wouldn't have sold his precious personal tack along with it. Maybe someone stole the horse? Mel smirked grimly. You didn't just walk off with a Manipulated horse. 


If it was indeed Akarsis or someone from the lab, she realized, there was likely to be trouble. Mostly because of her. Of course, she could try to bluff them, to pretend she'd been sent on this ultra-secret mission by someone over their heads like the Toranite church, long before they'd heard of it themselves.... Yes, it might work... except who would believe Melberry as some sort of secret agent? She could pretend the whole nitwit thing was a charade to keep them in the dark. Hm.... 


Deep in her pocket, roused by a stab of unidentifiable jerky, Pierre stirred. He sensed her disquiet and began automatically to worry, and then went stiff with horror as he caught a familiar mental whiff of something foul--something sinister! 


_Akarsis! _


Pierre did not form words, but the concept of this personage rang out as clear as a name in his mental cry of terror. He began to kick uncontrollably in his clingy pocket as if swimming in despair. 


_Tadpoles.... Tadpoles.... Swimming to and fro in a panic that gave a sour smell to the water.... Hundreds of monstrous tadpoles, like an amphibian's demon phantasmagoria.... One with implanted stingers festering in its back, another with the front end of a toad and the back end of some sort of newt, one with long, spidery legs, one with swollen venomous tongues lolling, one with five heads and no tail, like a hideous cartwheel spinning in the water. There had been electric shocks, scalpels under hot lights, bitter chemicals, cauterizing irons--evil things, and through the green surface scum the same face hovered thoroughout the torture. Akarsis! _


_She_ had been there too, of course; he remembered Her. But She was the one who turned the hot lights down and lifted all the struggling things from the water gently to clean their tub, and gave them fresh red worms. Pierre knew it was She who had spliced him together but that had been before he was even a tadpole, and he didn't recall any pain, and now he was glad because he always had company. Some of the others weren't as lucky. And then She had spoken to him. She was kind. The other humans were cruel to Her. Pierre had sensed an ally, and they both cringed together when Akarsis approached. He thought that was over. But now! What treachery was this? 


_Pierre! Settle down!_ Mel felt herself begin to hyperventilate in empathy. Floating images of pollywog hell reached her through Pierre's panic. 


_Ugh, stop it. It might not even be he. Calm down! Even if it is, he won't hurt you. The experiments are over. I promise! _


_Besides, it's me he'll be interested in seeing, not some dud of a Manipulated toad._ Mel shivered, even though she was trying to soothe Pierre with a pat to the pocket. His thrashing slowed, more from exhaustion than anything else. 


She was looking around at her companions and feeling like a liability, and wondering whether she should tell them, and wishing she were invisible. Hm.... 


No. She would not hide. Once, when she was young and inexperienced--months ago!--she had run away from this evil. Now, it was time to stand! 


...But carefully. Feigning nonchalance, she wandered over to where Kale stood in the camp. "Kale, I was just thinking--I could make a couple of us invisible if you wanted to scout the tower undetected. It wouldn't last an hour, but maybe that would give us a chance to see who else is in there before they see us. Alternatively we could send Pierre and Spike in...." 


She trailed off. There were still goosebumps from the thought of Professor Akarsis, but something told her she should be able to sense a presence so foul.... 


Head to one side, brow knit, she gazed up at the weird tower and concentrated.

_DM's Note: Melisande trying out her Detect Evil gained with her 1st level of Paladin _

* * *​

Sebastion's quick circling of the area showed up nothing; no signs of movement except for the local wildlife, and certainly nothing suspicious that might indicate that anyone from the camp was prowling around. Equally the renewed search of the camp showed up nothing new. "Nothing," was all Jarvis could say with a shrug when Sebastion had returned from his patrol.


Coming back to the gathering with a serious but not concerned expression, Sebastion wasn't surprised at all by Jarvis' findings, and simply nodded as he dismounted. Eyeing the manipulated beast warily, he searched the area to see if anything had been left out for it in the way of feed. Perhaps someone was intent on coming back. 


"We should be heading in soon, anyone in there will likely know we're here by now." he offered, catching up to the end of Mel's comversation with Kale. 


"Invisible? Will that stop anyone setting traps off?" Swallowing, despite himself, and suppressing the shudder he felt at asking, he continued with the line of thought. "How... how many of us could you inv... make invisible?" 


* * *​

As Melisande gazed up at the massive tower, looking intently for any trace of such foul presences as might reside within, she didn't particularly get any sense that there was anything evil there. Obviously the tower itself was rather foreboding but she couldn't see or feel anything more about the place than she had already observed. 


Then, a few seconds after she had begun concentrating... it was almost as if the tower reacted to her thoughts. High up in the structure, part of a vane-sprouting toweret that branched off the primary trunk crackled with dancing electricity, grinding into revolving motion with a screech of rusty metal before settling into a high-speed hum. Her concentration broken by the odd device high above, it seemed to turn off once again, slowing to a stop once again. Why it had begun to spin in the first place, and what it had done, was unclear, but with the sudden mechanical noise having subsided an eerie silence descended once again across the landscape around the tower. 


Mel smiled sheepishly as she came out from behind Sebastion, in whose shadow she had instinctively taken refuge when the tower started to rev up ominously. The sound reminded her of the kobold machine they's come across in the caverns, but much more refined. It was not good. 


"Strange, it was almost like it knew I was looking--or _prying,_ that is. But unless I'm mistaken, there isn't anything consciously menacing inside. 


"Still," she concluded, turning back to Sebastion, "invisibility will not protect us from the traps--only from being seen. I can make two, maybe three people invisible for a little more than a half an hour each. 


"Then again, not only is there nothing consciously menacing but the previous parties may be watching us from up there right now and thinking, 'Ha, they're going to make themselves invisible.' Wouldn't that be stupid? You're right, we probably should get out of this open campsite soon." 


Hand on the hilt of his sword, staring up into the sky alongside the tower Sebastion felt slightly foolish when nothing happened, and only settled when he looked down and saw the alert postures and skyward glances that everyone else displayed. 


"I shouldn't blame myself, if I were you," he offered, quietly, as Mel emerged from behind him, "we were all looking." 


Settling his gear with a slightly nervous jangle, rearranging his mail-shirt on his shoulders, he cleared his throat and looked once more at the tower. 


"We don't actually know anything about the people that beat us here - they could just as well be students and scholars like... well, scholars, anyway. Let's be careful, but just head in and see how they are." 


The sages seemed to be nodding amongst themselves as Sebastion's words. Most seemed both eager to be on into the huge tower, while equally to be out of the wide open and away from the eerily empty campsites they had found. The tower's movement had only further settled and exceited them. 


Jarvis gave a shrug. "Not a lot we can do out here for the time being. There's plenty of the day left after all, so I'm sure we can at elast begin to make some headway in exploring the tower." 


* * *​

_Ruin. Death. Caution. _


Ebri kicked at the long-dead embers again, sending them scattering across a wider space. The hard black bits re-formed into a new set of patterns. She read them idly, musing. She listened to her comrades, but her eyes were cast firmly upon the ground. 


_Good Fortune. A Birth. Drought. _


These 'auguries' took no effort to recall, and it did not surprise her that her mind had retained them this long. Once they had been second nature to her, a part of each day's beginning and end. Her clan had set much store by them.  Fortunately for them, in Ebri they had had someone intelligent enough to interpret the random nonsense into something resembling guidance, if not actually wisdom. 


It had been service, of a kind, she reflected. They were unenlightened folk who asked for nothing more. Certainly her childhood had given her skills that served her at the monastery and here, today. It would be pointless to think otherwise. 


She brushed her sandal across the ground once more; three had been the 'number of completeness'. From a statistical point of view, it served her as well, offering a chance to display the disconnected and meaninglessness of such things. 


_A Birth. Travel. Death. _


Such vague things. Meaningless, but useful to the weak-minded. No doubt if she explained what she was doing at this moment, and the supposed 'answers', her companions would shudder, and spend the next hour pondering... 


She turned back, walking over to them as the tower made its odd motion, taking in the horse, and her ward's increased blue color. _Consternation? Anxiety?_ Surprise, of course. And possibly the proximity to Sebastion... 


That was... rather interesting..." she commented mildly, as she approached. "I do not say it is unwise, but I wonder how useful invisibility will be to us. For it seems probable to me that the tower, if it has a _mother-spirit_ as these gentlement suggest, is already aware of our presence. It is likely any intelligent occupant therein is also alerted to us. But still, it may prove useful." "_Or comforting, if nothing else._" If you wish, I will join you in scouting. I have a way of becoming invisible myself, without need of your spell, Melisande. But I would also suggest that we simply go now, all of us, and find what may be there. I would not wish to split our strength on unknown ground. "


"We're all here to explore, right?" Sebastion noted, facing the door with a thoughtful expression. 


"There's no reason to suggest they aren't here for the same thing - sneaking in on them will most likely just get their backs up. Let's just go in, and try to talk to them?" Despite the words, he took the time to buckle on the black-blade sword, and reached over his shoulder to re-arrange the three axes sat on their baldric as he waited for a response. 


* * *​

Mel tightened a leather strap that held her spear alongside her saddle. It would not be of much use in close quarters and she was ever more eager to baptise her new sword if it came down to it. And it was likely to. 


She bit her lip as she tore a couple of sheets from her notebook and folded them into a pocket along with a quill pen, in case she wanted to converse with Meg'anna; the book would stay in a saddle bag, along with much of the rations she was carrying. She should not be burdened in the tower. With cold dread she realized she was planning for another struggle against death. Could one ever become accustomed to fighting for one's life? Would her heart, adrenal glands, bladder and the rest ever become hardened to mortal fear? she wondered wistfully as she finished tying up her horse and located a convenient bush in order to address these over-stimulated physiological sensibilities. 


Emerging ready as she'd ever be, she joined the gathering group and faced the dark entryway. Whatever it held for her friends, it held one thing she would have to address alone. If she told them what she suspected, certain people would surely instruct her to remain outside. There was no way she'd let that happen. It was risky, but this was something she had to take care of someday, one way or another, ready or not. She was unusually silent as they began their ascent from the campsite, her mind and Pierre's communing in dread. 


Professor Akarsis. She'd feared him even when they were on the same side. 


_Oh, let it be one of the snotty necromancers! Just not_ him!


* * *​

It seemed most of those assembled were in agreement with Sebastion - they might as well go in and find out just what was waiting for them within with the minimum of fuss. "They might be looters or somesuch, of course; just avaricious treasure-hunters, in which case I advise everyone to be ready for trouble... though I still hold out hope for a reasonable reception..." Johanne said quietly as they approached the dark entranceway, metal arcing overhead as if it had writhed into place, a tangle of curved steel of unpleasantly organic appearance. It funnelled down to a dark pair of what seemed to be double-doors, the complex gear-lock seemingly having already been dealt with for one of the looming doors was slightly ajar. 


Jarvis wordlessly indicated what looked like three small cairns of stones on the rugged ground just outside the entrance of the tower, each marked with a piece of deadwood and some small talisman placed on them. The scout walked quietly over to the stones and gingerly picked up one of the talismans, a tiny emblem on a leather thong. "The symbol of Toran. Looks like someone has already experienced a definite danger within the tower. If they've lost people they're more likely to be edgy, jumpy... we should continue with caution..." 


Staring for a moment at the commitments to the fallen, Sebastion's face set a little into a frown, before he looked back up towards the tower. 


"Or, perhaps, a group that has already lost men may be willing to accept help." he offered, quietly. "Either way, we won't know until we're in. Kale, Jarvis, you go first, overlapping runs. I'll take the van of the group. Ladies, if you settle in with our learned brethren, and Casimir, was it? Could you cover the back?" 


Cazamir stared into the eyes of this man again. It was fine to see someone active about this situation, but Cazamir didn’t care for his orders. This Sebastion had paid him no coin. And of course, he was pulling Jarvis and Cazamir away from their charges. 


Cazamir glanced back at Johan. “I’ll be glad to investigate the dangers of the cairn, but I would not leave you unguarded. Should Jarvis or I stay here?” He nodded to indicate the scout. 


Then he turned back to the group, his jaw clinched tight. They had conveniently met another of their ‘party’ at this destination. What surprises would they be hiding inside for him?


* * *​

Though she had wanted to start towards the tower, the priestess had kept her from going, at least for the moment. Meg screwed her face at the thought of waiting much longer, though she knew that if she wanted the help of those she had traveled with before, she would simply have to wait. 


Patience, however, was not one of Meg'anna's virtues. She paced around anxiously, awaiting the decisions of the others. The diminutive red fox scurried about the ends of her robes, Though the fox did not know what was troubling his mistress, the small canine could tell that something vexed her. 


It was then that those she both knew, and those she had recently met started towards the tower suddenly. Meg quickly shouldered her pack and followed them, keeping most of hte group ahead of her, as it was that she did not know all of the members therein. She kept Melisande in view, as she was the best known. Strangely enough, she kept fingering the blade she kept on herself, as if the woman was itching for a fight. Why though, Meg'anna could not say. 


The huge tower doors stood ajar slightly, and the stone cairns sent a ashiver down her spine. This was a place of strange magics and unnatural emminations. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up with the close proximity to the tower. Near her feet, Micah whined, while figeting back and forth, tattoo-ing the ground with his tiny footsteps. 


_Toran!!! There are buried the men of Toran! And now we go into this place willingly? We must tread lightly, for whatever caused this destruction is most likely not to enjoy more company. _


Grasping firmly to her spear, Meg'anna fought down the shivers one last time before steeling herself against whatever they might find inside. Taking a tentative step forward, she slipped through the door. 


* * *​

It had been some time, Melisande realized as she moved into the cool shadow of the tower doors, since she'd felt the stern, accusing gaze of Toran weighing on her from above. After crossing into Naseria that burden had slowly lifted, until the moment she met Klavius and found Naskha and felt at last fully shielded from the Carthagian god's judgment. Now, standing over a cairn dedicated to the god she had disdained and betrayed, she felt a rush of goosebumps across the back of her neck. Not only had Iron-Handed Toran been invoked here,--was he watching?--but Carthagians had died. Might it be people she once knew? Some of the young necromancers from her lab, cut down by a trap they set off at the tower door? In spite of herself, she felt sorry. She'd never liked those necromancers much, but she didn't want them _dead. _


Her first day in the lab she'd been guided into the upper level work area by a skinny, black-clad and black-fetlocked wart of a boy, only to discover a handful of other boys just like him, practically identical but for various heavy silver jewelry, more or less white matte makeup and a pimple or two. They looked up from their thick books and dissecting tables and scrutinized her for an uncomfortable moment before bursting into peals of nasal laughter. One asked her if she'd recently been strangled, and they all seemed to think that was terribly funny. Necromancer humor. They never included her. She never got it anyway. 


On evenings off they would gather to play some sort of trading card game in a candlelit vault, but they never invited Melberry. She was like a weird mascot for their sinister team, and they got no end of amusement from her. They slipped goblin guts into her pockets and forced her to clean up after their cruel experiments. When she'd first made Pierre they tried to put him down the outhouse hole. One of them brought to life a disembodied human hand and hid it in her workbench drawer. Mel stared down at the cairn and resisted feeling even the least bit satisfied. That wouldn't be nice. 


But what made her writhe the most was the memory of Akarsis. She hadn't hated the man by any means--he'd earned her profound respect, in fact. But the mere thought of his regard gave her a chill. A cryogenic knife of a man, with an icy, dissecting stare, Professor Akarsis had instantly inspired Melisande with deep adulation. She remembered showing up bright-eyed nearly an hour early for her interview and finding the professor in full lab regalia, looking like some huge dragonfly with his bulky magnifying goggles and long, thin frame hurrying from bench to bench. The interview was short, pointed and terse (at least on his end), just like every interaction they had had after that. He was as exact, brilliant and cold as the North Star. She knew how he would react to seeing her here. Interested. 


_No! The goggles! The horrible goggles! _Pierre had begun to squirm again. She squeezed her pocket with a clammy palm. Their nervousness was feeding on itself. She was nearly hyperventilating. 


_Keep this up and I'll send you ahead to scout, _she threatened, to which Pierre replied sulkily, but did at last settle down. Mel sidled forward warily, silently, waiting for the scouts to move ahead first. 


"Just let me know if you need light," she breathed. 


* * *​

The talismans on the cairns were familiar, of course. Wyshira would have known the symbol of Toran from the lessons she'd learned at her mother's knee, even if she hadn't just seen the exact same symbol, up close and personal, in her recent travels. 


How could she forget those horrible fanatics that had demanded that Burl be handed over to them back at the inn in Haltstath? The symbol of Toran would forever be etched deeply into her memory, right next to the sight of that menacing, spike-armored cleric towering over Kale, his black-mailed fingers closed tightly around the helpless rogue's throat. (As it turned out though, Kale hadn't been completely helpless in that zealot's grasp, had he?) 


Wyshira looked around nervously, as if clerics of Toran might be popping into existence all around the party: materializing out of the deceptively empty tents behind them; or reaching with iron-clad determination from the shadows beyond the Tower doorway. 


Well of course, there were likely to be a few clerics of Toran with a party of Carthagians. _Her_ party had a cleric, didn't it? Any group of travelers probably would, and Carthagians would have Toranites. 


But that didn't mean that any Toranites inside would be after Burl, or recognize him on sight even if they were. And what were the odds that the clerics they'd encountered back in Halstath had gotten here ahead of them? Still, there was so much she didn't know about Burl....... So many things that might be connected in ways that she just couldn't fathom. 


Wyshira squeezed Kale's arm, and whispered a warning for him to take care, before he disappeared into the stone mouth of the Tower entrance. Then she took up a position just ahead of Burl, making sure that he was well ensconced in among the scholars. She held a prismatic javelin in her hand and peered into the darkness ahead, preparing to follow along with the others. 



_Next Time: The Rusted Entryway..._


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## gerg_861 (Feb 6, 2004)

Jee!  Great posts.   It's good to have the game moving along so quickly again.


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## Carnifex (Feb 6, 2004)

Thanks gerg! Here's another update for today - probably wont do one tomorrow as I'll be spending the day gaming 




The doors loomed over them, close now, strangely out of place with the dark metal of the tower that constricted around the entrance. Stone and brass, covered in confusing eddies of patterns, ridges and markings. Despite the rather sinister impression this gave to the approaching infiltrators, as far as any of the sages knew it was nothing more than decorative - no hidden meanings or Umbral language. And then there was the large and very functional, but extremely complex-appearing, mechanical locking mechanism. That, though, had already been dealt with, its innards broken open and the guardian cogs tampered with. The great doors, each eight feet tall, were slightly ajar. 


As prepared and ready as they intended to be, the party began to file through the doors. Wyshira's crystalline javelin caught the light from the so-distant sun, refracting multicoloured hues in a splash across the metal door as she approached it, and around her a number of the scholars were showing their less pacifistic side, spell components quietly selected from pouches as they made ready for any trouble. "You keep close," Johanne nodded quietly to Cazamir, the tall wizard selecting a silvery wand from his belt and reaching over to tap the monk on the shoulder with it. There was a spark, and Cazamir felt an involuntary shiver run across his skin, accompanied by a dim pulse of blue energy. "That should help protect you if we run into any trouble, but we'll need you to be close by. Most of my companions are old men, for all their arcane lore. Jarvis, do as that man says, keep ahead. I know we can trust on you to make it back quickly if we need you, and he's right, your skills would be well suited at the fore." 


The pathfinder nodded, slipping two short swords from their sheathes as he stalked forwards to the vanguard with Kale. The light caught on one of the weapons momentarily, revealing a vein of crystal to seemingly have been forged into the blade. 


A couple of the Drakkath wizards muttered the arcane words for spells of light, their staves glowing with the heatless illumination. 


And then they were through the doors, unassailed, stepping from the warm day outside and into dark, cool gloom within. 


* * *​

For a moment, as their eyes adjusted, it looked like there were just fragments of a room before them, slices of splashed light playing across rusted metal, debris, support struts and girders arcing above, panels of dirty glass high above. After a little bit of blinking they saw the rest of the room, the dark majority of it where the beams of light shed from the apertures above did not illuminate. It was like the walls had bled, rust everywhere, the ceiling a nest of the supporting girders. Some of the windows had not withstood the passage of time, their contents scattered instead across the dusty, rusty floor, shards of sparkling glass. This large entryway felt, in some way, like a cathedral; the way the struts soared overhead magnificently, despite the marring of oxidised metal. 


Debris lay across the floor, scattered. Bits of twisted, warped metal. Glass, clumps of rust, gears and tangled girders surrendering to the carpet of orange as if the rust was alive, a mold trying to devour the metal. In places the walls of metal seemed to have buckled. It was old, ancient. The air was thick with moisture and the tang of metal. 


Doors led from the room, appearing like organic tubes naturally flowing outwards from the room. Some had doors, some had the remnants of doors, some had no doors at all, just corroded hinges. The largest exit lay straight ahead of them, the sizeable door there having seemingly just fallen backwards off its hinges, lying in the carpet of rust. 


Across the floor paths and disturbances of the rust were clear, scuffled areas and footprints. Some lead to the sidedoors, most went straight forwards. Crumpled, in the midst of a patch where the rust had been heavily disturbed, lay what looked like a massive suit of armour, some ten-foot tall behemoth of tangled, broken metal and gears, crystal tubes and pipes. The construct looked like it had been destroyed in battle, the bulky, plated form rent by weapon-wounds, and recently too. "That's not Umbral," Johanne said, quietly but with enough force for everyone to hear. "Design's all wrong - must be the work of that Carthagian wizard you were talking about." 


Amidst the patches of rust on the metal floor around the destroyed construct, other dark red splashes had yet to completely dry out, still slightly resinous and sticky, mixing with the black oil that flowed from the iron warrior's form. 


Cazamir frowned as he stepped into the metallic tower. The rust permeated the air, leaving the taste of copper in his mouth. That, coupled with the bizarre feeling of Johanne’s spell washing over him, made Cazamir decidedly uncomfortable. 


He kept his eyes upon the lifeless hulk on the floor as he moved to allow the greybeards into the chamber. He would rather the sages have remained outside the tower while others investigated it for dangers, but he knew they would never allow any prizes to be stolen from them. The experience of what was inside was most definitely a prize to their learned minds – even if it held their deaths.


* * *​

As he stood looking at the giant machine, Burl felt the inadequate crossbow in his hands. It was here he decided that, if this was to be his adversary, the crossbow he carried wasn’t going to be of any help to him. With care, he unloaded the bolt, returning it to its case. He would need to rely on his stock and trade.


Wyshira could see the spatters of blood on the floor near the wrecked construct were still slightly wet. _The humidity in here probably helps keep it sticky,_ she mused, stooping over the spots and reaching out with her finger to test one drop. She guessed that it had been this huge metal creature that had made the graves outside necessary; before it was brought down, of course. How long ago had that been?


"Looks clear," said Jarvis. "I think we can assume the construct was trying to stop whoever came through this door, but they overpowered it. Can't be sure whether it was destroyed by the Toranites or not though. So... what now?" He looked over, questioningly, to Johanne. 


Before the wizard could reply, the quiet chamber was rent by the screech of metal and a clunking whirr of gears. Over to their left, a patch of the wall was moving - a plate, some twelve feet by twelve feet, pushed out of the wall and began to move upwards. Beyond it, whatever alcove or passageway lay beyond was still dark and hidden by gloom, though further noises could be heard. The progress of the plate moving, grinding upwards on the power of gears, was slow - even now it had only raised two feet from the floor.


"Hold the door!" Kale spoke urgently to the mages at the entrance, making sure that whatever the rusty din hailed would not meet a party with no escape route. Unsure of the grinding panel and what may hide behind it, the mercenary strode alongside the doorway and found cover in the sills, fallen beams, and natural folds of the walls. The chaotic rumbles and confusion caused uncertainty among the mage's party, but somehow, for Kale things seemed more clear. Like a burden lifting, he felt more alive, aware- not nearly like the drooding weight of the last few days. It was exhilerating in a smooth way- his hands did not shake as he drew forth his blade. 


_-Umbral?-_ Kale mouthed to Johanne, indicating the construction of the panel. Hoping the surprise would be more friendly than their predessesors', he coiled like a spring to strike... or flee.


* * *​

Mel walked in awe among the ancient rust and debris, every fiber of her superstitious mind abuzz. Not only had she thought she felt the heavy glance of Toran at the cairns outside, but now she was treading on something so far beyond her puny self she couldn't help glancing up guiltily, as if the thing, Umbral or whatever else it was, would be offended by her very presence and move to squish her like an ant. 


Beside Wyshira, she bent over the mutilated construct and studied it for a baffled moment. Was that sticky red stuff blood? Was this some sort of half-living, half-machine monstrosity like Anas'turi and her folk made? What kind of Carthagian had constructed this? Before she could mouth her questions, she and all the others were startled by the ear-shattering echo of grinding metal. 


Around her, among her companions, the atmosphere suddenly became charged as if with lightning. Kale in the front was already gliding his sword from its sheath. Everyone stood staring in dread at the sliding panel. She looked from tense face to tense face and then shrugged. 


"Hello? Hello! Whoever is there, announce yourself, please!" 


* * *​

Despite Kale's urges to keep to the door, the collected assortment of scholars seemed far too fascinated by the prospect of what might lie beyond the rising wallplate, even in the face of such potential danger. Ansas 'Turi stopped trawling through the fragmented mechanical innards of the dead construct with her fingers, letting gears clatter to the floor as she peered intently into the darkness being revealed, and her gaze was the same as everyone elses. What lay beyond was the focus of their attention. Those with sight more attuned to such environs, Melisande and Wyshira, could make out a bulky figure slowly being unveiled from the feet upwards. Then the plate clanged to a halt and the figure stepped forwards. 


A beast of steel and steam clomped forwards, two powerful metal haunches moved by massive pistons with hisses of heated vapour escaping out with every step. The triangular torso of steel-shod brass plates was studded with vents, and sprouted two powerful arms that ended in a myriad of slender claws; the head of the construct slender and long, slung forwards on a neck of pistons, an impassive faceplate marked only with the two glowing blue eyes that marked its vision sensors. Underslung of the faceplate, two fiercely powerful lights flickered on, sending a powerful flood of actinic blue-white flowing over the scene as those who fell under the glare could not help to wince from its intensity and brightness. 


The design of the brass creature was delicate for such a massive thing, towering nine feet tall as it did. Elegant runes flecked the construct's surface, a spiny ridge of crystal growths studding its back. The engines, stowed within the armoured shell, were given away by the low growl and snarl of machinery with every step and movement, and with the twin smokestacks that protruded up from the base of the neck in elegant but twisted arcs. 


"Looks like nothing I've ever seen... not Umbral..." Johanne said quietly, before Melisande issued her challenge of words. 


Instantly the head swung round to face her, glowing eyes fixing on the blue woman as the headlights washed her down with white light. 


"Identify yourselves." The voice was metallic and reverberating, issuing not from the head of the beast but from a shoulder-mounted grill-speaker that rattled out the noise. With a rustle of metal, the construct flexed its powerful claws. "Who are you, and what do you want here? Your patterning is not the same as previous trespassers - the master considers you may be non-hostile. Nonetheless, this arcanofex is prepared for battle - if you are an unwelcome visitor, be warned to leave now." 


Ansas 'Turi was muttering something under her breath, which she then said again, louder, for the others to hear. "Arcanomechanical engine. This is an arcanist's creation - a mixture of magic and metal." 


The arcanofexes head swung round to focus the headlights on the Ironjack. "Perceptive. This arcanofex was constructed by combining arcane and mechanical expertise. It is fully capable of causing injury and death to opponents. You are advised to identify yourselves immediately." 



_Next Time: Conversing with the Arcanofex, learning more of the tower's secrets, and heading in deeper..._


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## Horacio (Feb 9, 2004)

Good and long updates, cool!

BTW, Carnifex, have you thought about compiling your story in a handy .rtf or .pdf document easily downloadable?


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## Carnifex (Feb 9, 2004)

Horacio said:
			
		

> Good and long updates, cool!
> 
> BTW, Carnifex, have you thought about compiling your story in a handy .rtf or .pdf document easily downloadable?




I have, but I am too lazy/too busy to have done so so far  It would certainly be handy though, I have to admit...

Anyways, possibly an update later tonight...


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## Horacio (Feb 9, 2004)

Don't be lazy...
or use your friends  If you email me a txt
version of all, I will begin to slowly put it in a .pdf document


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## Carnifex (Feb 10, 2004)

I might well take you up on that, Horacio 

Anyways, another update...





Melisande blinked in the flood of white light. She hadn't had enough time to look the Arcanofex over as much as she would have liked before it burned its beam straight into her. She flinched and raised a hand to shield her eyes--and to prepare a spell.


But the Arcanofex replied, rather than attacking. Mel breathed out one long, slow breath.


Her voice wavered a little, but she saw some room for hope here, and would not be daunted. "Your master is correct, Arcanofex, that we are not hostile. We are scholars and emissaries of the Truth-Seekers, sent here to study, not to pillage. We would very much like an audience with your master, if he is disposed. I gather he's not dead, then? That's wonderful news. And of course, we'll lay down all our weapons. They're only for defense anyway."


"Melisande!" Wyshira couldn't help exclaiming. She stared at the other young woman in disbelief.


Wyshira knew for a fact that Kale would never happily lay aside his weapons and go trotting after the Arconfex to meet with its master. She herself didn't feel inclined to part with her javelins in the middle of all this uncertainty.


And as for claiming that they were emissaries of a Truth-Seeker... well, Wyshira wasn't sure that that was a wise choice either. This mysterious master of the Arconfex might well object to his work being the subject of Lord Ecurius' study.


But standing in the glare of the thaumineered creature's headlights, there wasn't much that the priestess could say or do now. She waited tensely for its reaction to Mel's words.


There was a moment of silence as the arcanofex seemed to be considering Melisande's words. "The master's situation is... difficult. If you wish to meet with him, I will attempt to render your passage to the Vault as easy as possible. However, this arcanofex must remain here to guard the entranceway against further intruders."


"Furthermore, I have lost control of large areas of the tower. Systems may be operative within those areas which will consider you as intruders and respond aggressively, but I will communicate with you where possible and give guidance as best I can. Beware also of intruders moving through the structure."


"The master thinks... if you wish to meet with him, please hurry. The Vault may soon be breached. It lies near the top of Primary Spire."


With that, the machine broke into clattering movement again, steam hissing as it clomped backwards to return to the guard alcove it had emerged from, and the plate began to close down again.


"I think the mother-spirit is still alive," said Johanne quietly, awe in his voice. 


"Thank you very much," Mel managed in an oddly strangled voice. As the Arcanofex turned back to its duties she bowed to it, but did not straighten right away, doubled over as she was with hardly stifled, wheezing giggles.


"You should have seen the looks on your faces," she gasped, at last regaining enough control to stand straight and dab her eyes. "Sometimes.... Sometimes 'hello' is mightier than the sword. Ah, me!"


She had to cover her mouth. Of course, not everyone was going to see the humor in it. The place was indeed creepy and there had been, recently, ample reason for tension, but somehow the friendly, helpful Arcanofex struck her in a funny spot, with all these stuffy scholars digging frantically in their linty component pouches and everyone's eyes bugging out. It would be a few minutes before she could stop the corners of her mouth from betraying her while the group re-organized and headed into the tower proper.


She caught Wyshira's eye in search of some shred of complicity, even though the priestess had upbraided her like a child a moment before. "See? And we'll get a lot more interesting information from the Master of the Tower himself than from his remains. I wonder...."


But another muffled attack of giggles broke off the rest of the thought. 


Wyshira shook her head, confounded by Melisande's mirth. "I just wish that you hadn't volunteered to disarm us all," she said, irritation edging her voice. But in the end she relented and gave her friend a small, reassuring half-smile.


"Of course, I'm glad that the - uh, the _ar-cano-fax_ is friendly," she went on, "But what did it mean when it said that it would try to make our passage to the Vault as easy as possible? How are we to find our way?"


* * *​

Relaxing imperceptibly, Ebri replaced the shuriken in the folds of her wrap with its companions. She resisted the temptation to run her fingers over it thoughtfully. Of late, she caught herself more and more slipping in such undisciplined habits. Thought needed no action to accompany it; fidgeting was a waste of energy and a display to others of a preoccupied and unattentive mind. She had mastered the weakness years ago; why did it resurface now?


_The weapon comes into one's hand when needed, and not being needed, is replaced... _she recited to herself._ ...and little good it would have been... _she added. Though perhaps, the eyes were a weakness; a shuriken might have reduced the blinding light....


She returned to a more normal stance from her protective neutral one, and turned her attention to what was far more of interest: her ward. The girl displayed more and more this lack of caution and thoughtlessness. If she were alone, the habits would surely have caused her death by now. _Fortunately for her, she is not alone..._


Obviously, the Old Masters were wise in sending her.


But she thought further. There were several ways to handle such individuals. One was to attempt to kill or change the behavior through negative interventions. Ebri considered this inefficient; it wasted potential, and besides, if several near brushes with death had not modified such behavior in Melisande, then she doubted anything could. In this case, the better option would be what she was already set upon: to study the person, play upon the tendencies, and so manipulate them into the desired behavior. This, after all, was what the idolatrous and superstitious priesthoods did everyday.


"I wonder, as well..." she said slowly. "And it is well for us that we are alive to wonder... I do not think I could have handled that so bravely, or with such optimism..." Ebri allowed approval into her tone. "Thank you."


Obviously, when they camped next, she would have to continue their discussion about the 'sapphire' quest. For now, she pulled her wrap about her more tightly, and adjusted a sandal strap.


"Shall we move on?" 


* * *​

"That was incredible..." Sebastion whispered, almost to himself, as he turned back to the others, then cringed slightly as Mel laughed at his expense.


Clearing his throat he straightened a little more, pulling gently at his suddenly tight collar.


"Alright, let's get ready to move on. I presume this tower is the main structure here... do any of you have an idea about the layout of these places?" he asked, in the general direction of the huddle of mages.


"I've never rescued a building before..." Kale mentioned as he emerged and walked to where Anas'turi crouched over the fallen guardian. Producing a stilletto from his boot, he quickly plucked a crafted eye from the steely corpse. Lobbing the instrument to Anas'turi, he spoke to everyone. "I agree with Sebastion. We should get on. If the arcanist or the tower's powers have suvived, I'd rather not the Toranites and their ilk get advantage. Besides,"  Kale sheathed his thief's tool, "If the keepers of this knowledge still survive, we'd do well to have their favor."


The band seemed unsure where to go next. "Forward and beyond the entrance would be a good start," Kale surmised in common sense, hoping such routefinding was of value in the ancient tower-being. Drawn back to alertness, he moved forward in hopes of finding a way.


Johanne nodded. "Well, we have some vague idea, though it's not as if there is any standard form or structure planning for Umbral sites. I'd imagine Primary Spire is the main tower, so we probably need... to head straight in, try and find access to the upper levels near the core of the building. If we're lucky there'll be still-active transport mechanisms to get us up the tower quickly..."


* * *​

Lit by the fitful wychlights of the mages and sages, the tunnel-corridor they walked along cast odd shadows. Despite the fact it was about ten feet high there was still a sense of claustrophobia and closeness, with damo heavy on the air. The curving walls of the corridor rose up around them, their foosteps reverberating hollowly on the floorpanels.


Ansas'Turi continued to look around her in intense interest, and the sages were engaged in quiet conversation and discussion, marvelling at the structure through which they paced. Jarvis kept alert, blades still in his hands and eyes scouring the winding way ahead.


They passed great round doors of brass, studding the sides of the corridor. Some were heavily locked, others jammed shut. Some were open or sundered, opening up into dark spaces beyond. Johanne, his staff shimmering with blue energy, pointed them onwards further down the corridor at each such juncture. "We should make haste to find the 'master', we can explore the rest of this place later," he said eagerly. "Best to stick on heading down the corridor towards the core rather than wasting time in side-passages and back-rooms." The tall mage would keep pacing straight on, clearly wanting to reach the 'Vault' as soon as possible.


After a few minutes walk, they saw a trap that had been sprung. Apparently someone had then broken it thoroughly. Protruding from an aperture in the side of the corridor, a barbed, twisted piece of machinery drooped down, damaged beyond repair. Ansas'Turi paused to break off a chunk of gearworks from it, slipping it in her pocket for later examination.


* * *​

Wyshira walked along the corridor with the others, stopping occasionally to peer into the darkness of the open doorways away from the light of the mages. Still she glimpsed only hints of large chambers or smaller, winding corridors beyond.


She kept close to Johanne and the cluster of sages, trying to listen in on their discussions. She wondered who - or what - the Arcanofex's 'master' was, and why the master's situation was 'difficult'. She guessed that the master was the arcanist that Lord Ecurius had told them about, and that somehow he had gained at least partial control of some of the old Umbral machinery. Johanne had said that he thought the mother-spirit was still alive ........ Did he think that the mother-spirit had spoken through the Arcanofex? Wyshira didn't understand, and the idea that some kind of extra-planar spirit bound to the heart of this Tower was watching the party's movements from afar made the priestess extremely anxious.


Knowing that a group of Toranites was just ahead of them only added to her anxiety. She expected any moment to run into an ambush.


* * *​

It took them a while, but eventually the corridor broke out into a vast inner chamber.


Their lights seemed pathetic in the gloomy expanse, but aided by those with darkvision they were able to assemble an idea of what the chamber looked like. Tall, reaching high above them, it was dominated by a set of struts that rose from floor to ceiling, bearing an array of machinery and stairs. It sank into the floor, the staircase apparently descending down as well as up.


"This looks like the center of the tower to me. It doesn't look like it has any power though. Probably to our luck, actually, since any defences wont be active, but it means we'll have to trek up the stairs rather than being able to ride any of the machinery up there." The mage peered up into the darkness. "It'll take us up into the upper levels, though no-where near all the way up to the top. well under hafl-way up the height of the building, by my judgement. It's probably a maze of smaller rooms up there, no-where near as simple a design as the area we've just come through. Hopefully we'll be able to navigate our way through it without any problems, but my guess is that's where we'll find the Toranites." He scowled. "Shall we make haste? I don't want to lose out on any knowledge of this place to Carthagians." 


* * *​

Inside the inner chamber, Wyshira felt like a tiny, insignificant speck compared to the vast expanse of machinery and stairways leading up. She had never been in a structure this large before, and felt completely overwhelmed. She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the wall near the entrance to the chamber. She whispered a prayer to Ishrak, beseeching the Lady to grant her courage in the face of the unknown, before opening her eyes again.


A quiet exclamation of "Thank the Lady!" escaped her lips when Johanne declared that the machinery lacked power, and that they would have to walk up the stairs instead of riding in one of the contraptions. But she nodded her assent when the mage asked if they were ready to proceed. 


* * *​

"Let us go up, by all means..."  Ebri murmurred. "Let us go quickly, but carefully... We should space ourselves evenly, so as not to put undue stress on this ancient structure."  Looking up, she eyed those joints and struts the magelight revealed with unconcealed suspicion. Someday, air and space would be nothing to her, she knew. Nor would time, nor distance, nor the solidity of things like walls. As she grew in her understanding of the Purpose and the Way of Shadow, she would gain mastery over the illusions of the world. She would apprehend true reality. Already, she could direct and redirect force energies, had gained more control over the machine of her body than most people ever would. Someday, she would simply rise through the air, more spirit than body, and fly. _But someday is not now. Now, there is the staircase._ She set her foot upon it, testing her weight, and began to climb.


"That," said the priestess of Immar, cheerfully but softly, "was surely one for my Journal of Unusual and Interesting Creatures... if it is a creature, at all. I wonder, would you say it is alive? For if it is not, I should rather list it in my Tome of Curious Things..."


"Or," Wyshira called up to Ebri sweetly, but with a bit of a smirk, "you could record it in your _travelogue_. What's that thing called again? The mimir."


The floating, talking, metallic skull had been on Wyshira's mind ever since running into the Arcanofex. Ebri had never really explained the thing other than to say that she used it to record her travelogue. Wyshira suspected that there was more to it than that, especially since she had never seen Ebri record anything on it, or in fact use it at all. 


* * *​

Not that she needed much more buoying, but Melisande felt gratifyingly uplifted by Ebri Zol's vote of confidence. She'd handled the Arcanofex well! Maybe that was what made her so insanely giggly: it seemed like the last few times they'd run into anyone or anything she'd brought down catastrophe, and this time there was a lifting of tension that went to her head like a bubble of hot air when the Arcanofex did not, like the Solar Beholder, fry her to a crisp.


_I'm learning!_ She thought excitedly. _Let mother call me a nitwit now! Eh, Pierre?_


But the toad's only response was a mental moan of terror.


_Oh, lighten up. You know, I think it's the inspiration of Naskha. Now that I'm dedicated to him my mind must be growing more focused and discerning._


Aloud, she chatted with Ebri as the group of them started up the stairs. The bubble of hot air was not entirely spent, it seemed.


"I'd put the Arcanofex down as a Creature, because it's sentient even if it is a construct and probably not technically alive--can't imagine it eating or--or--reproducing for example. My goodness, what an image!" She giggled again a few moments before the hush of the others around her made her self-conscious.


In a lower voice, she went on. "If we run into those Toranites, let me handle them. I know all about Carthagians." 


"I'll lead." Sebastion's quiet words eased between Mel and Ebri much more easily than he and his bulky armour did, but he nudged through and stood on the third step turning back to survey his charges with an inward grimace.


If he were going to ambush a group such as this, on the staircase would be an ideal place.


"Kale and Jarvis, you back me up, Burl your back-up would help. We'll clear a bridgehead at the top, and then the rest come up in groups. Cazamir, you cover the back."


That, he thought, should keep the weight on the staircase low, and minimise the target on the steps, too.


Loosening his sword's twin scabbards he turned back to face upward and awaited the shuffling behind him to finish. 


* * *​

Meg'anna found it rather interesting that those around her merely accepted the large metal behemoth as a mere greeting and had continued on, leaving the massive construct to its own devices, allowing themselves to get further into the Tower. Not that she had anything against the creature, only that it was rather unusual for her to let anything like that to its owns whims. It was such thinking that had lead to the creation of the Flesh-tearers and other abominations.


Her thoughts strayed to the Toranites that were ahead of them. Though by natire Meg was a rather docile creature, she could feel her blood begin to boil at the thought of catching up with the mutilating bastards and dealing out divine punishment. The goddess of nature would work through her this day, and strike a blow against these vermin. Meg'anna did not realize the tight grip she had on her spear as she walked and thought. Her near white knuckles showed her thoughts rather clearly to those around her, and it was all that she could do to simply smile and shrug.


This would be one interesting meeting..... 


* * *​

The metallic plates of the spiralling staircase creaked and shifted under the feet of the infiltrators, giving the party an alarming feeling of having very little between them and a long drop to the floor below. As they slowly ascended past struts and gears and eldritch but dormant machinery, a faint breeze bringing a fresher tinge to the rusty air swirled around them for a few moments, through vents and pipes studding the side of the high chamber.


* * *​

Kale, Jarvis, Sebastion and Burl, leading as the advance party, moved up the staircase well ahead of the others and entered the darkness that beckoned from where the staircose wove up through the ceiling of the chamber. Jarvis held his crystal-woven blade ahead of him, concentrating for a moment before the mineral strands glimmered with blue light, illuminating the area around them now that they were away from the wychlights of the mages.


The staircase broke up through the floor of the round chamber, the 8 foot high ceiling something of a change after the massive core room. Some sort of elevation machine also terminated in this room, part of the transport engine that, were it active, would have carreid them up in a cage-lift from the room below. The walls and ceiling, rather than metal, were stone - it seemed that the building was something of an amalgam of the two materials.


Four large round portals were equally spaced around the chamber, each studded with cranks and machinery. Three hummed quietly with energy, the fourth dark and dead, immoveable without active gears to shift its heavy bulk open.


* * *​

"Mimir?" Johanne asked, the tall mage ascending the stairs not far behind the three women.They were high up now, their voices and the metal squeaks of the stairs seeming tiny in the dark chamber. "You've really got a mimir?"


_What a foolish thing to say, out loud and in front of everyone too!_ Wyshira thought._ I'm getting to be as bad as Melisande..._


The water priestess shot Ebri an embarassed, apologetic look, then jumped as the staircase let out a mighty screech above them, probably in protest of the advance party's approach. She held her breath while the whole thing swayed beneath her feet for a moment, then continued climbing when it steadied again.


* * *​

The last of the band filed up into the circular room, the four doors seemingly presenting the way on.


"This area must have power, which is good since it means we can actually get through these three doors. That one over there; you'd need a lot of work to get that one open, so I'd suggest we just take on of the others. We're looking for further ways up now, but to be honest I have no idea which direction'd be best. Pot luck really."


Ansas'Turi strolled over to the nearest door, peering at it carefully, before experimentally tugging at a crank. The innards of the door gave a stubborn clank, refusing to open up. "Mechanically locked... which is strange, if the Carthagians came this way. They must have been able to get through, but..." she strolled round the other two active doors. "They're all locked. Um..." She knelt down, giving the mechanisms of the door, now at her head level, a good look over before touching anything. "Okay, no obvious traps." She rolled one sleave of her tunic up, revealing a bulky metal bracer, before reaching over and pulling back a metal plate on the back of it and giving it a shake. A dozen delicate and complex looking tools jingled out, each attached to the bracer by a thin copper chain, and after another moment of thought plucked one away and began to work at prying open the door's engine.


The front-plate fell away to hit the metal florr with a resounding clang. The Ironjack peered intently into the machine guts, and after a few moments of bewilderment she seemed to see something she recognised.


"Okay, I've found the gears that prevent the door opening, but they're pretty old and rusted. I could probably just knock them out on any of these doors, and that should unlock them. I can only assume that the Carthagians had some kind of key, or magic, to get them through these doors. Or they found another way up." She sat herself down properly on the floor, looking up at the others. "So which door do you want to go through?" 


Wyshira sat down to wait while Ansas'Turi examined the doors. She invited Meg'anna to sit next to her, guessing that the druidess was feeling a bit out of her element here in the middle of this man-and-magic-made structure. The young genasi was feeling more than a little lost here herself.


"I don't know which door we should try to open," Wyshira said in a hushed voice to the other woman, pulling out a little of her dry rations to nibble on while they waited. "Does it matter? I suppose it does, really. I was going to suggest asking the mimir - it performs auguries, besides being a recording device - but, well ....... I hate to bring the subject up again. Ebri seems to want to keep the thing a secret."


Face set and serious, Sebastion moved slowly about the room, switching glances from one door to the other, though he felt no likelihood of spotting some sign the others had missed.


"If this were a war tower," he offered, finally, "I'd say the most likely way up is that way." he pointed towards the door to the right of where the stairs emptied out.


"Rule of thumb in designing for defence is keep the enemy turning right, into their own swordarms and... " he stopped short, realising they probably didn't care.


"Anyway, if they had any warrior traditions, I'd say that way." 


"Assuming the Umbrals' enemies weren't all left-handed, of course," Melisande muttered, repressing yet another giggle.


"Let's have a close look at these doors and perform any divination we can before we decide. I don't think we know enough about their customs to guess which is the shortest or safest route up. I wish the Arcanofex had given us directions. Or maybe we should be sniffing for baking cookies, since we are expected now, after all."


Though her ebullient mood had not disspated in the dank air of the upper tower, she was able to set to work fairly seriously.


First, she said a command to enhance her vision, attempting to discern any magical fields in the doors around them.


Next, with great concentration, she tried the same new trick as out of doors: frowning at each door and upwards from it, she opened a sort of newly grown inner eye--or no, it was more like exposing her delicate skin to the elements in order to find out whether it was cold out. Yes, that was more like it, because she knew that if she found what she was looking for it would prickle and burn.


As she did so, Ebri answered the questions of the others. "By all means..."  Ebri answered, forcing a pleasant and harried smile to her lips.  "By all means, let us use the mimir... Indeed, we do have one..." she informed the inquisitive member of the scholarly band. "However, since its augury may be only used once in a day, I hope we shall have no more need of it. Also, it may only answer a question that has a simple positive or negative answer. In this case, I do not see how we can ask it which direction is best. As for keeping it secret, the thing is exceptionally precious and valuable. I do not advertise its presence among strangers and unknown places because it is a thing likely to be stolen. Its worth is so high that many would kill us just for the price of selling it. Although its true value, of course, cannot be set-- that is the information it carries."


She withdrew the mimir, and set it floating in the air.


_Let them take the risk, themselves, then-- _she thought, highly annoyed at having had her hand so forced. _The thing has a record of all our doings and all we have said. And anyone may ask it of us, and get information as to our plans and where we have been._


 For myself, I would take the door directly opposite the stairs. But let us ask-- Mimir, we wish to perform an augury... one moment... " She turned her eyes to the others. "Well?"


* * *​

Melisande's incantation of arcane detection brought a faint glimmer to what she could see of the three doors, some small amount of eldritch energy woven into the machinery within, but not enough to do anything more than confirm that these mechanisms were a fusion of magic and more mundane concepts. Her attempt to discern anything more sinister beyond and above the doors was without a result, detecting nothing no matter which way she turned.


"Fascinating, a genuine mimir... might I ask where you procured such a thing? They're rare finds indeed, since we've long since lost the art of making them. Most date back to the Dawn War..."


As Ebri brought out the silvery skull and let go of it, leaving it hovering in the air, those who ahd not seen it before looked on in interest, awe, or surprise; the sages, Ansas'Turi and Jarvis in particular watching it intently to see what it did next. It rotated round to face the gathering, and the eyes flared with blue light for a moment as it came up to full activation.


It cast its glance around momentarily, as if taking in its surroundings. And as it did so, it muttered something, so utterly quiet it was barely more than a murmur, and so softly that no movement of its jaw was visible. No-one heard what it said, except Ebri, the magical earring she had taken from the dragonkin warrior amplifying and clarifying the sound for her.


"Surely not shadowmen..." it had gasped so quietly. Then it spoke in its normal, metallic volumes.


"You wish for an augury? As you wish, though I remind you that my divinations only reveal an answer to me in terms of 'weal' or 'woe' - irritatingly cryptic, I know, but blame my creator for not having imbued me with a more powerful divination. What is your question?"


"Amazing..." came the mutter, several times, from amongst the onlookers who had not seen this mimir before. 



_Next Time: The party choose a door, find out what is behind it... and meet the Crystal Eye..._


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## Horacio (Feb 10, 2004)

Carnifex said:
			
		

> I might well take you up on that, Horacio




That is the idea, I'm sincere, email me a huge .zip with all chapters in .txt file (or .doc, or .whatever) and I will begin, slowly but without pause. I really like this story and I think it's already big enough to be compiled in a file.


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## Angcuru (Feb 11, 2004)

*squeal with glee*    
Look out Kale, there might be fire!


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## Carnifex (Feb 11, 2004)

Known interlopers within the tower and some of the defenses were active, and yet the sages still insisted on continuing their progress. Cazamir blew an exasperated breath as he waited for the group to decide upon a course of action. They were faced with locked doors and a choice of paths, yet some of the sages were preoccupied with some bizarre floating skull like one would find inside a charlatan’s tent. 


Cazamir narrowed his eyes at Sebastion, trying to determine if he liked him or not. He possessed at least rudimentary knowledge, shown by his comments about towers and staircases. Cazamir had bristled when the man ordered him as he had his own group. He could appreciate decisive action, but Sebastion was not paying his coin, and if he blundered his charges into a large trap… Cazamir would not let it happen that way. 


Yet again, silence and patience would have to serve him for now. He relaxed, letting himself adopt a more casual posture. Years ago, he could not have done this; he would have been at the forefront, leading down a path and damn the consequences. He supposed this way was better. For now.


* * *​

Wyshira almost jumped at the opportunity to ask the mimir her question. 


"We would have to choose a door anyway, so why not choose one and ask if it is a good choice? Your suggestion, Ebri, is a good place to start." Sebastian's observation about 'designing for defense' and keeping the enemy turning to its right (_into their own swordarms??_) meant little to her. 


"Mimir, if we choose the door that is directly opposite the stairs, will the way lead us to the..." she glanced at Johanne for help here, "the top of Primary Spire?"

* * *​

It was quite a scene, the whole lot of them standing about an ancient iron landing, scratching heads and making choices which way to go. Passively, Kale stood with a good view, admiring Anas'turi's short work at the ancient lock, while he fingered the stubble on his chin and wondered how to send power to the lift. 


_With everyone concentrating on getting in, why not have a mind for getting out again?_ he thought just as Ebri spoke. Suppressing a cringe, he had forgotten how bitter he'd grown toward the woman. As she produced the mimir, he wondered just what it was about her. "By all means, by all means," she said, and it seems that anything she spoke was another reason not to trust her. Grimmacing slightly, he had no idea what to do with her. Could he send her off without upsetting the others? And of course, how would she take it- the deadly monk warrior of... Immar? She may be handy with her... hands, but deceit was her prime weapon of choice. _To what ends? To what ends?_ Just another complication he didn't want or need. 


Jarvis had no trail on their quarry, Melisande had no hint of magic... it was a shell game, and standing before the three doors, they could do no worse than guess, save stand around for too long talking. Carefully, he watched the sages' reactions to the floating mimir: a road-dusted mercenary in an ancient shadow-tower watching a field trip of sages examine a curious creepy relic. And things hadn't even gotten interesting yet. 


Having finished his assessment of the situation, for all the attention it seemed to have garnered, Sebastion turned back to see the mystics and magicians eying the Mimir almost hungrily. 


"I don't know," he muttered, quietly, to Kale. "I wonder if they'd listen more to my advice if I had glow-in-the-dark eyes and floated?" 


Kale grinned wryly at Sebastion's comment. The platoon-size group stood in indecision and consulted the silvery head. Brow furrowed in realization, Kale considered that consensus rule might not be the best approach for storming a tower. 


"We could ask the mimir how to get moving when time is of the essence," he replied to Sebastion as he walked to where Anas'turi sat patiently. Her work was smooth and effiecient. As he surveyed the work, a thought had ocurred to him, too late. Turning to peer over his shoulder, he found Jarvis standing over to the side, eyes on guard for gods-knew-what surprises the tower might have in store for them. 


"Any chance of a sign?" he asked curiously, knowing it was a lot to ask, if a scout could find track or sign on metal deck. Yet any oil, any handprint, any passing at all could reveal itself in the tomb-like place. 


_Of course, we could always guess..._


* * *​

"Mimir, if we choose the door that is directly opposite the stairs, will the way lead us to the...the top of Primary Spire?" 


The mimir paused for a moment, eyes flaring with energy. "Weal." 


"Well, I guess that means we can get to it through there then," Johanne said, eyes still focused on the floating skull-construct. 


"Shall I?" Ansas'Turi asked, gesturing to the door in question with a tool.


"Right," Kale drew his blade and directed his glowing light toward the lock works. Taking a knee next to Anas'turi, he offered her a nod to proceed while holding the light steady. 


It didn't take long. Kale wondered if the land across the sea could keep any secrets at all. _They probably have better locks..._


* * *​

Why everyone was waiting for the creepy skull-like thing to finish _talking_ to them, Meg would never know. All she wanted was to simply continue on throughout the tower and find the gnoll that she was looking for. It, however, did not look like it was going to be that easy. Had she not been so unwilling to touch the metal doors herself, the young druidess would have simply continued on, unwilling to wait for the rest of the group. They seemed so indecisive and lacking in strong leadership. It was all a waiting and guessing game. Sometimes, there needed to be a loud voice to quell the hushed mumbles of the masses. Gathering her satchel once more, Meg'anna took to the rear, not wanting to be the first through the metal mouth portal. 


* * *​

Ansas'Turi Set straight to work at Kale's direction, reaching into the guts of the doors mechanisms. A few moments later, she yanked her hand back out again, clutching a handful of broken cogs and gears. Standing quickly, the Ironjack grabbed the crank on the door and pulled down, swinging it open with a creak to reveal the gloomy room beyond. 


Past the door, the passageway quickly opened up into a wide chamber. Roughly circular, from what Kale could see with the magical light shed before him, more doors were spaced around, but they were not the primary features of the large room. 


It appeared that it had been used far more recently than the areas they had already moved through, though relatively still left untouched for qutie a while, for this seemed to have once been a laboratory of some sort. Scattered tables and benches were heaped with oddities, from strange pieces of machinery to piles of chemical compounds and unusual components. Snaking around the floor and from the iron rafters up in the ceiling, ironshod pipes wove around some of the larger steel structures arrayed around. A space had been cleared in the centre of the room, appearing at a glance to be some sort of runic array, but in the very centre of that a large pile of crystal chunks and shards were piled up, as if someone had taken a single crystal of massive size and smashed it to pieces. 


A low hum pervaded the chamber, and a few glimmering wychlights could be made out on some of the objects around the chamber. The crystal pile sparkled in the faint light. 


Over the other side of the chamber, another spiral staircase broke up from the floor, breaching the ceiling of the chamber. 


_Where does the mimir get its answers?_ Wyshira wondered. She understood that arcane magic could mimic divine magic sometimes, drawing on another form of power, but delivering the same results. But in the case of an augury, it wasn't power that the spellcaster required from her deity. It was knowledge and the divine ability to see into the future and interpret events. 


The one and only time that Wyshira had performed an augury, she had felt a connection to Ishrak unlike any she had known before. It was distant, and the voice that spoke the one-word answer in her mind was cold and impersonal, but it was Ishrak's voice, she knew. She had contacted the Lady of Storms directly, not just drawn on a reserve of power. 


So what god or goddess had the mimir just contacted? 


While Wyshira pondered this, Ansas'Turi got the door open. Wyshira filed along with the others into the dim, circular chamber. 


The room reminded Wyshira of Lord Ecurius' laboratory where she had helped Burl with his healing salves. She had little interest in any of the items on the tables; and while she *was* curious about the crystal shards in the center of the room, she was wary of stepping into the circle of runes. She looked around for any hidden threat in the room, and then followed the leaders to the spiralling staircase. 


Leading the bulk of the group, not far from the heels of Kale and Jarvis, Sebastion drew up short as they did not far into the passage and stared at the arcana arrayed before them. 


The low, irritable hum reminded him of insects, but the threat here was more palpable - something had the power to crack the crystal in the centre of the room, whether by force or magic mattered little to him. 


"I don't like it..." he muttered to them, "but I don't think we'll be able to convince them to try another path - not after the Talking Head gave them their answer... You think it's safe, or should we get one of the wizards up here to take a look?" 


"Ooh, now this is interesting!" Mel exclaimed, shouldering past the scouts into the old, broken-down lab and immediately beginning to rummage around the tables, sniffing old alembics and peering into pestles. 


"I wonder what _that_ was for," she exclaimed when she noticed the pile of crystal shards. "A crystal that size could focus quite a lot of energy!" Excitedly, she approached the circle of arcane writing to look at one of the shards.


Kale's jaw dropped as he watched her piruette through the lab to the thrumming tune of mysterious energies.


* * *​

The first clue that something was awry was the change in the lighting as Melisande approached the centre of the room. The humming noise of the arcane machinery increased for a moment, and then there was a hiss as a series of gas lamps lit up around the work area, apparently triggered into life merely by her movement. At this point the sages began to push forwards past Sebastion, some motivated by wanting to get a better look at the contents of the laboratory and the pile of crystal, and others steeping more cautiously, scrutinising the area for whatever had lit the lamps, if it was some automated detector or something else.


Jarvis too seemed intrigued by the mass of mineral glittering in the gaslight, though he remained well-back for a few moments, hands at his sides; then seemingly remembering that his employers might need his protection, he started forwards. Ansas'Turi watched the gas lamps suspiciously from by the entrance. 


Kale was now moving rapidly though with an eye for danger across the room; Melisande looked over the laboratory contents through eyes that picked out streams of arcane energy glittering like crystals, the actual pile of crystal in front of her seemingly laced with latent magic still. 


Johanne had pushed past the people at the doorway now, throwing his gaze left and right over the chamber with a stern visage; though he seemde fascinated like his fellows over its contents, he seemed disapproving of their speed to investigate it. Looking further into the chamber, where only Kale and Melisande had reached, his face rippled with shock, his own vision augmented like Melisande's. 


"Watch out, Kale," he shouted over, "Magic in the chamber is shifting, something is..." 


With a wrench of movement and a cascading noise of tiny pieces of crystal tinkling to the floor, the pile of mineral shifted. 


"...starting..." he finished weakly. 


Only a few feet away from Melisande, the *Crystal Eye* surged upwards.




_Next Time: People get set on fire. Can you guess who? _


----------



## Horacio (Feb 12, 2004)

An update with a mimir is always a good update


----------



## Carnifex (Feb 12, 2004)

The creator of the Crystal Eye had clearly been inspired by the form of a beholder, for the massive chunk of crystal that formed the core orb of the construct was hewn into a spherical shape, a great eye etched into its front and a jagged-toothed maw of sparkling, multi-hued mineral splitting a crack across it. The eyestalks jutted out, wrought of glittering angles, but the entire thing seemed to move and shift as if the crystal was alive and flesh.


Yet it had suffered from the tests of time - or perhaps it had never been finished, the craftwork never perfected. Jagged chunks had broken off, splits and fracturelines lacing the construct. Some of the eyestalks had snapped off entirely, or were merely half-stumps sticking pitifully out of the sphere; many of the teeth had fractured or shattered. It was not whole, and it was easy to see where at least some of the crystal debris on the floor had come from.


It rose into the air, five feet wide, and was for the merest moment still, as if it were a marvelous sculpture hewed from crystal and suspended up for the admiration of viewers. But then it twisted quickly, sinisterly, sending more little pieces of crystal shuddering off to clink on the floor. Its movement was precise, measured, and the eyestalks moved to locate their targets with terrible purpose. It stared down at Melisande.


With a pulse of glaring light, energy beamed forth from the eyes, lashing out to scourge and burn. The searing light caught two of the sages, burning through their robes, and another lash from a crystal eyestalk caught Kale, igniting cloth and broiling skin. Melisande experienced a moment of great fortune; two burning rays cut down towards her but perhaps by some internal miscalculation of the construct, maybe wrought by its damage, it missed her closely.


*"Guardian Orders Initiated"* the great crystal beholder grated out of its jagged mouth, shifting its bulk forwards towards the sorceress, fangs almost beautiful in the dim, flickering light.


* * *​

_oh no._


It was a familiar smell, by then. The stench of singed hair, punctuated by a waft of baked flesh, it drifted up in a flash of searing heat. Standing braced and burning in the beam of the guardian's attack, Kale grunted and grit his teeth: the pain, it was never possible to get used to the pain.


All too quickly, the entire party had burst into a trap. The sages stood wide-eyed, his own party a bit shocked as well, though these sorts of things were becoming more and more expected by the mercenary party. And that wasn't a good thing.


Turning about in the iron-sided room, the crystal orb made its bid for Melisande. Kale responded in painful motion. "Forward! Forward! To the staircase!" Urging the party on to the passage the beholder-construct could not clear, Kale hoped there weren't further surprises waiting for them upstairs. Or a dead end.


_Weal, my ass._ Somehow, his mind found time to cast aspersions at the gods of poor insight.


Springing a few steps, Kale slid and crouched behind one of the many lab workbenches. Grabbing hold and making a heave, he upended the bench with a noisy glass-metal clatter as many unknown odds and ends toppled from their places. A few steps toward the beholder, and he braced himself, his shoulder protesting in pain against the bench surface.


* * *​
Wyshira took a split second to wonder how it was that Kale always seemed to be the one to catch fire ........


...then she whirled around to give her full attention to the Crystal Eye.


She had at first been in awe of the glittering orb, exclaiming softly - "A-ah!" - and staring wide-eyed at its crystalline beauty. But then she had noticed the jagged line of its sharp teeth, and the deadly focus of its all-too-beholder-like eyes. Moments before the thing had attacked she had realized that Melisande was not going to be able to make friends with this guardian. But realization had come too late.


Now her thoughts turned to finding the best way to disable the thing. She decided that, for the time being, Kale and the sages would have to take care of their own injuries. She was going to use the power of Ishrak to enhance the aim of her allies.


She cast her spell, whispering softly; then shouted in a surprisingly resonant voice, "*Shoot at it!*"


* * *​

Mel stood rooted in dumb wonder, her brain filled with the sharp cascade of crystal ringing as it gathered itself together and rose up, choosing a form that awoke the most unpleasant memories as it did. She wasn't able to move, even when it started shooting. This may have been a boon, however, as it seemed to have expected her to dodge, and shot wide at least twice before she snapped her jaw shut and sprang to action.


She may have been miffed at Kale for nearly yanking her cloak off a moment before, but he was right when he shouted to everyone to clear out, and for the briefest instant self-preservation had Mel prepared to follow. But something new was in her heart now. She would not give in to the urge to fly mindlessly from the least threat, not while her friends remained within the guardian's radius. She was closest to it, and more its target than anyone.


In fact, it was bearing straight down on her.


Terror went through Mel like a bolt, but she brought her hands up and faced off against the waving, glittering eyestalks, gathering the threads of magic in her mind and twining them into a destructive spell.


* * * * * * *


Like a rat fleeing a sinking ship, Pierre trundled at surprising speed out of her pocket and made adrenaline-powered bounds to take cover among the upturned tables. With any luck, one of the other bloody insane mammals (but less bloody insane than _She_) would scoop him up on the way out. He hoped fervently she would live, but having a toad in her pocket wasn't going to make a difference against _that_, and he reasoned that at least something of her would survive if he could escape. An abject excuse, perhaps, but the wise one of a toad who had been through an awful lot.


* * *​

With a rush of wind flurrying outwards from Wyshira, her prayer for _blessed aim_ manifested, reaching far enough to affect all of the gathered allies present. Even as she was maintaining her concentration on channeling the divine energy, Kale was causing more mess as he heaved over a nearby table to protect himself behind.


From the doorway, Meg'anna began a summoning spell, seeking a magical connection to the living earth so far below, while Cazamir rushed forwards to assault the massive crystalline construct with a flurry of fists. As he surged forwards, it seemed his hands were shimmering with ephemeral flame, and twice his strikes hit true, crushing into vulnerable fractured areas of the Crystal Eye and sending a spray of pulverised shards sprinkling away from its glimmering facets. Larger cracks wormed their way through its structure from the point where the Huronese man was attacking it. Then the noise of a howling wolf echoed through the chamber as Meg'anna's ritual finished and a great wolf materialised close to the Eye, leaping towards the floating orb with fangs bared, growling and slavering as it tried to get a purchase on the thing with its teeth. Unfortunately its bites did little more than scratching the surface of the thing.


Then Sebastion reached the Eye, blades arcing through the air in a series of attacks. The blades kept on turning against the hard, mineral facets of the huge crystal orb, but one stab caught in a crack and jarred, breaking off a chunk and further damaging it. Melisande, standing right before it, sent two sapphire bolts pulsing out of her hands; the energy crossed the short distance between her and the guardian in a fraction of time, but to her shock they didn't smash off any crystal. They just seemed to be _absorbed_ into the facets, their direction distorted within the crystal body, and another faction of a moment later...


... they were flung back out of the Crystal Eye, smashing right into her.


It followed up the assault by blasting out another broadside towards the assailants all around it. Melisande proved lucky again as the searing beam of light widely missed her, scorching a blackened line across a laboratory bench instead. Two eyes turned to focus on Cazamir, assessing him as a significant threat to the Guardian's structural integrity. Though he managed to avoid one arcane bolt of light, the other caught him squarely, horrendously scorching his chest and cooking skin and flesh. Sebastion too had earned the construct's attentions and though he avoided one searing light, the other lashed down his arm with the smell of burning flesh. Of the rest of the beast's armament, a single beam lashed out towards one of the already injured sages, who crumpled as his robes caught fire.


Jarvis moved to stand with the others going toe-to-toe with the construct, yelling "At least the room's too low for it to float up!" as he struck out with his blades. Both were turned aside by its crystal facets. Ansas'Turi watched from near the door with shock, seemingly not sure what she could do to help against such a foe. The remaining sages had been ready to unleash a flurry of magical missiles, but seeing Melisande's attempt to do the same had literally backfired, they faltered, not sure what to do. One lashed out with a conjured bolt of acid, which hit the Eye with a splash and began to dissolve into the mineral, but another attempted a shimmering beam of frosty chill, and as with Melisande's sorcery, he found it reflected straight back at him, cursing and swearing as rime gathered across his robes. Another ran to the aid of their fallen companion, doing his best to beat out the fire.


Seeing the chaos, Johanne searched his repertoire for a useful spell and decided to chance on one of his more potent incantations, thrusting out one hand to let loose a fierce gout of sonic energy. It struck with a thunderclap of noise, shimmering air the only mark of its passage as the sonic bolt passed over the heads of the ground-bound combatants and blasted a large crater into the side of the Eye, showering the struggling warriors with little pieces of crystal. The Eye lurched sideways through the air from the impact, but even this powerful hit was not yet enough to bring it down, though now hairline fractures were pervading most of its structure.


* * *​

Cazamir let loose with a angered cry as the beam struck him in the chest. He had been fluid enough to avoid one, but two blasts made it very difficult. _This is what you wanted,_ he thought as the smell of his own burning flesh choked his breathing. _To provide a distraction, to protect the others..._


He had given ample distraction, but he knew he could not withstand much more from the Eye.


Insistent urgings from the crystal in his vest pocket kept telling him to stay and lash out at the guardian, yet he looked for an opportunity that might be less suicidal. One of the warriors was arming his short bow while keeping a bench in between him and the Eye. Maybe that would do. Cazamir leapt back from the side of the Eye and swiftly moved over to Kale’s position. He spared a withering glance at his employers who were engaging in the battle instead of moving steadily through the room.


“Here, I’ll hold it for you,” Cazamir offered, hoping the mercenary would realize his intentions.


* * *​

Sebastion hissed in pain as the heat seared through the metal links of his armour, fusing some of the small chain pieces together. His hand snatched back from the handle of his weapon, though he did manage to turn the reflex into a clumsy spin of the blade, and took up his grip again as he sidled about the creature, moving to interpose himself between it and Mel.


"Move!!" he snapped at her, not able to take his eyes away from the target. "Everyone, _get moving!"_


* * *​

Mel let out an involuntary scream as her reflected bolts struck her, the bruising impact beginning to burn painfully. Small satisfaction to discover just how much her own magic hurt.


So magic was not going to work. The sages were quickly discovering the same thing, even as their bodyguard--more dedicated than Mel might have expected--took a hit with a blast to the chest. It made her mad to see someone so loyal suffer for it. She was sure there were others behind her, judging from the haze of cooking leather and cloth that was quickly gathering in the old lab.


Secretly, it was with some grim pleasure that she realized she was going to have to draw steel. A chance to put her training to the test! She unsheathed her sword and drew up into a water stance.


_"Move!"_ Sebastion, her instructor in the martial arts, was shouting over the din of crashing and shrieking crystal.


She moved, flowing with the blade as she struck out at the Eye.


_"You_ move," she shouted back peevishly.


* * *​

"It's *not* going to let us pass," Wyshira muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. She feared that while they might finally make it all the way across the room to the staircase and beyond, the Guardian Eye would probably kill at least one of them in the process. What they had to do was disable the trap first - take the Eye out of the picture. It was already damaged, so Wyshira thought they had a good chance to finish it off.


Nonetheless, Kale was leading the party, not her. She could only do as he ordered.


"Forward to the staircase!" he shouted.


Wyshira moved slowly along the edge of the room while trying to maintain her spell. She wished that she could wield a weapon herself, but the spell required all of her attention.


"My javelin!" she called out to anyone nearby. She held one in her outstretched hand - a prismatic spear, it's multi-facets glittering in the mage-lit room. It was useless to her at the moment, but not forgotten. "Here! Take it, one of you!"


While Wyshira kept her concentration on the flow of divine energy coursing through her, Ansas'Turi's attention was drawn from shocked observation of the suddenly animated crystal monster to the crystal javelin the priestess was waving for someone to take. The Ironjack nodded and began to move towards the Ishrakite. Meanwhile Kale had drawn his bowstring tightly back, finding his aim seemingly clearer and easier with the magic that Wyshira was weaving, and let loose an arrow that struck the Crystal Eye to chip off a chunk of its constituent mineral.


Ebri had by now stepped up to the construct and lashed out with a fist, but though she could see good places to strike at weakened cracks and fractures, her knowledge of anatomy simply didn't apply to this thing, and she wouldn't be able to stun it. She could at least try to break it though, but her fist missed the weak point she was aiming for and instead hit a flat facet straight on, achieving nothing more than bruising her hand. Meanwhile Cazamir had withdrawn to Kale's position, helping the mercenary with the table. Again, Meg'anna's massive dire wolf tore at the Eye, the hulking, feral animal snarling and growling, but once more the slavering jaws failed to get a purchase on the orb to tear away at its crystalline form. Its mistress quickly stepped up to Sebastion, who now was the nearest of those wounded, and with a surge of natural energy and the noise of wind rustling through leaves, she channeled healing magic into him.


Bolstered by the druidic renewal, Sebastion swept his blades into the construct again, one slice deflected off its impressive natural armour but the other sending a fresh wave of fractures spilling away from its impact point. He found, however, that Melisande was resisting being pushed away, and indeed she had drawn her own sword and lashed out at the Crystal Eye, though it glanced off the hard surface of the thing.


The Eye itself retaliated once more, a fresh barrage of burning light spilling forth. One bolt scorched into the table kale and Cazamir were shielded behind, sending tendrils of smoke wisping upwards from its impact. Sebastion managed to avoid the eyestalk that was tryin to focus on him this time, but Melisande was less lucky, and for the first time the construct managed to score a hit on her, fiercely burning at her skin. Beside her, Ebri avoided the beam that seared towards her, but Meg'ana's summoned wolf found an eye igniting the fur down its flank, cooking the skin beneath.


* * *​

Melisande found herself suddenly flat on her back. She could not breathe. An intensity of pain was spreading unbearably from her midsection to every edge of her consciousness. So much for bravery and sword training. Her mind reverted to animal survival instinct.


Scrambling, half-crawling, she dashed for cover. Her breath came back gradually in gasps but pain and oxygen deprivation threatened to knock her out. Another blast like that and it would all be over, she was all too aware.


Flexing her bruised hand, Ebri dove in the direction of Melisande, interposing herself directly between her ward and the crystal thing. Widening her stance and her wrap to present a broader target, she reached down to the injured woman, and a thought occurred to her--


"Do not move-- the thing may sense motion--" It was possible, at least-- Mel's entry into the room and movement near it seemed to have activated the thing without any other action on their part. And although it might be the work of some remote intelligence, the thing that the Arcanofex Guardian had reported to, she could not know. She did know that many animals hunted by tracking motion; _That is why instinct tells animals to freeze when threatened--_ It was a guess, but a logical one: if she were to design such systems, she would base them upon systems which already existed and had been studied...


This abstract thought passed in less than a quarter breath. She murmured the words of healing, and let the Great Prophet work through her...


* * *​

Ansas'Turi grabbed the prismatic javelin from Wyshira and hurled it with all her strength at the great orb. As it arced through the air, the javelin shimemred with bright energy playing around it, suddenly energising into a bolt of incandescent flame that impacted into the Crystal Eye with a flash, sending chunks of hot crystal skittering away and leaving a smoking crater in the construct. Fractures within the beast began to fully meet up, more chunks dropping off of it to smash on the floor. It began to list dangerously to one side. Wyshira had to shield her eyes when it smashed into the crystal Guardian with a brilliant flash of orange light. But she noted with satisfaction the tinkling of shattered glass which indicated the weapon had done some damage.


"Here Ansas'Turi!" she called out with a note of triumph in her voice. "Take another one!"


Jarvis managed to send another piece spinning off with his short blades, but the sages held back with their spells, unwilling to chance any more incantations beign launched straight back at them, though the acid bolt one had previusly launched continued to hiss and melt into the mineral construct. Two of the men grabbed their fallen comrade under the arms and hurriedly dragged him over behind the lab table that Kale had upended, the rest also moving with cautious haste towards the stairway.


* * *​

Kale ducked as searing flame gouted the tabletop, just on the other side. Popping back out quickly, he returned to a scene of showering crystal, fur-burned wolves, and Ebri, of all people, thrusting herself between Melisande and the crystal guardian. Unbelievable.


* * *​

Cazamir watched as a sizzling hole opened in the table he was holding. This guardian was very effective, and had not fallen yet. Were the blows he and the others dealt doing any significant damage to the construct? Feelings of shame and disdain emanated from his crystal, directed towards his cowardly moves.


The sages dragged over their fallen friend behind the table. Cazamir lent some assistance, seeing if he could provide more cover to them while not sacrificing any for the archer. He glanced over at Kale, who fired off arrow after arrow at the construct. The plan seemed to be working fine for now, but if the Eye did not fall soon, he would prepare for one final assault.


* * *​

Another of Kale's arrows whistled through the air towards the looming shape of the Crystal Eye, hitting the construct with a crack as its shaft splintered without any appreciable effect on its target. As Ebri moved to cover the thing's line of sight to Melisande, and Cazamir moved to aid the sages, Wyshira continued to focus on maintaining her spell.


Meg'anna joined the fray beside her summoned wolf, the massive beast finally getting its jaws into the cracks of the Crystal Eye and tearing away a chunk of mineral with a triumphant snarl, more fragments cascading off the orb to clamour on the floor - the sound of the crystal chips landing was the only sound the Eye made when not releasing scorching beams, for it moved and turned in the air completely silently. A fearsome strike from Meg'anna's spear shattered off another crystal shard that crashed down to break apart on the floor, though the flash of fierce flame that the enchanted weapon smote the construct with on its impact didn't seem to do much. Nonetheless, the construct was now critically damaged, wrought with internal fractures; its rapidly diminishing capabilities were evident as its searing beams were less and less accurate and it began to drift with little control over its own movement. Finally, another of Sebastion's flurry of sword-strikes hit a vulnerable point, and the new crack send jarring through the construct's structure was all that was needed to permanently shut it down.


The great orb simply dropped from the air, crashing to the ground and rolling a couple of feet before it stopped, inactive and bizarrely angled with the rest of the world.



_Next Time: The aftermath, healing and heading on up..._


----------



## Carnifex (Feb 12, 2004)

*Crunchy Bits - The Solar Beholderkin*

Now I was going to take this moment to post up the actual stats of the Crystal Eye (note that in the fight above it was severely damaged already, thus not as tough an encounter as a fully operational one would be), but I'm not entirely sure what I've done with 'em. Whil searching around I _did_ manage to locate the stats for the solar beholderkin, the type of creature that the creator of the Eye was inspired by, as well as being something that the party have already had one very nasty meeting with 

So without further ado...


*Beholderkin, Solar*
Large Abberation (Fire, Earth)
Hit Dice: 13d8+39 (98 hp)
Initiative: +0
Speed: 5ft, fly 20 ft (good)
AC: 22 (-1 size, +13 natural)
Attacks: 10 Searing Eyes +9 ranged touch, bite +12 melee Damage: Bite 2d6+3
Face/Reach: 5 ft by 5 ft/ 10 ft
Special Attacks: Solar Orb, Searing Eyes
Special Qualities: All-around vision, flight, fire subtype
Saves: Fort +7, Ref +4, Will +9
Abilities: Str 16, Dex 10, Con 17, Int 16, Wis 13, Cha 14
Skills: Hide +14, Listen +11, Search +23, Spot +21
Feats: Alertness, Great Fortitude, Flyby Attack, Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Toughness
Climate/Terrain: Warm mountains
Organisation: Solitary
Challenge Rating: 11
Treasure: Standard
Alignment: Usually neutral evil
Advancement: 14-24 HD (Large), 24-40 HD (Huge)

Solar beholderkin are a mutant strain of beholders that harness the power of heat and fire as weapons. A solar beholderkin is often mistaken for a ten foot wide, roughly spherical piece of orange coloured sandstone, since it spends large amounts of its time stationary as it quietly feeds of stones and rocks. Up close, the small eyestalks can be seen, each with a fiery orange pupil, and the fiersomely large mouth full of large, blunt teeth is visible. The creature's main eye is almost always closed. Solar beholderkin can speak common and beholder, but rarely have reason to do so.

_Combat:_ Solar beholderkin are physically slow moving but quick to anger at anyone disturbing them They fight with simple tactics, firing with their searing eye rays to take down as many targets as possible and trying to close with the enemy to use their Solar Orb ability and to make use of their powerful bite attack.

Searing Eyes (Su): Each of the beholderkin's eye rays pulse out beams of searing hot light, inflicting 5d8 fire damage to the target if struck.

Solar Orb (Su): Each round during its turn, a solar beholderkin decides whether to have its main eye open or closed. When opened, the blazing gold main eye blasts out a cone of incinerating heat, inflicting 14d6 fire damage on all within the area (a 60 ft cone) unless they succeed a Reflex save (DC 18) in which case the damage is halved. However, the fiery torrent prevents the beholderkin from using its searing eye rays on any individuals within the cone that round.

All-around vision (Ex): Solar beholderkin are exceptionally alert and their many eyes gain them a +4 racial bonus to Spot and Search checks. In additon, they cannot be flanked.

Flight (Ex): The beholderkin's body is exceptionally buoyant and can fly as the spell, as a free action, at a speed of 20 feet. It also has a permanent feather fall effect with personal range.

_Solar Beholderkin Society:_ This breed of beholder spends much of its time quietly eating rock for the mineral nutrients it needs to survive, or else sitting in the sun absorbing heat, which they love. This fairly sedentary lifestyle means that they are less actively evil than other beholders, though they are quick to attack any dangerous or sentient creatures that persistently enter their territory. They find treasure intriguing and often keep a little cache of what they have retrieved from victims, though they have no need for money or goods. If a solar beholderkin is left undisturbed it is usually not much of a threat, but unfortunately its similarity to a large boulder means that often adventurers don't realise they are actively provoking it by approaching close.


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## Horacio (Feb 12, 2004)

A long update!

Thanks


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## Ruined (Feb 13, 2004)

Ah yes, the smell of my burning flesh. A great wakeup intro into the game.


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## Angcuru (Feb 13, 2004)

I wonder if there's some kind of 'Frequently Burned Persons' association that Kale can join....  maybe he, Melisande, and Cazamir can start one up if the flames become mroe and more frequent.  I can just Imagine it:


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## Carnifex (Feb 13, 2004)

I just got a little pic that Angcuru sent me via email...     Sadly it's too large for me to add as an attachment to a post on the boards, which is a shame...


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## Angcuru (Feb 13, 2004)

Well, maybe you can post it up as an OOC thingy on the actual gaming board.
or someone could host it and you can link it to here.
I think Mel's Player (Easter I think?..or something) would get a kick out of it.
oooohhh....I so want in this...  

OH WAIT JUST ONE MINUTE!!! I'll just change it from bitmap to jpg. 

Gonna try and post it here, if it doesn't show up, it didn't work.


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## Stinky (Feb 13, 2004)

*Wow!  My words in Angcuru's Sig!*

Hi Angcuru, CajunMan here.  AKA Stinky, AKA Kale.

I would have to say it's about the coolest thing to see somethign I wrote as a person's sig.  Props to you for stoking the ol' ego.  

As far as the frequently-toasty club, I definately think Kale should be a member.  He's been set aflame so many times.  I don't know how that should play out game wise, but I would say that he is wise and wary of fire spells, but unbroken anymore by the horrors of flames.  Anyone flinches at the notion of getting burned up, but it would be cool if he had an encounter with a flame guildsman or something.  Maybe they could see in his eyes that he has truly Been There.  It'd be a cool, respectful exchange, like the cocky ass old guy in We Were Soldiers who gave that private the time of day... only AFTER he had endured an entire night under fire.  Anyway, I really dig those hell-and-back transformation stories.  Maybe as Kale gains experience, he'll be less bluster and more of the cold-staring real thing... let's hope he lives through chapter 2!


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 13, 2004)

Great to read these again!

Plus I needed to review some details about a certain druid's journey


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 13, 2004)

Also... 

Will be on board soon and very excited to play in Carnifex's very cool world. Still wish that I had a map


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## Angcuru (Feb 14, 2004)

So I decided to create a crap Angelfire account so everyone could see this pic.





 - Property Of Mellisande


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## Horacio (Feb 14, 2004)

Carnifex, I've sent you an email about your story hour


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## Easter (Feb 14, 2004)

LOL      Now we just have to come up with one for Kale.

*GOT FIRE?*

Looking forward to having you along Broccolihead--I've been checking the characters board daily for the last 2 weeks, and finally struck gold this morning.... 

Also looking forward to some more character interaction with Kale, Wyshira, Cazamir and Meg'anna.  Kale's been awfully quiet since Wolf died, and Meg's always, well, quiet.  Wyshira's on the warpath now which should be fun to watch, but we still need to make some connection with Cazamir--although Johanne and Jarvis may give him the option not to renew his contract sometime soon.

Hats off to Carnifex one more time for this most excellent campaign!


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## Angcuru (Feb 14, 2004)

Easter said:
			
		

> LOL      Now we just have to come up with one for Kale.
> 
> *GOT FIRE?*Hats off to Carnifex one more time for this most excellent campaign!



But I don't have a hat.... 

Hmm.....




- Property of Kale Amegrion

Any other requests?


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## Stinky (Feb 15, 2004)

*Oh, yeah*

GOT FIRE?

Rock Awn!

I think an amulet of fire resistance would be quite coveted by Kale.  Heh, and you haven't even read about the crystal beholder yet.  

I agree with Easter- it will be important to find ways for our characters to draw in Cazamir and Meganna.  It's most common for the newer players to post last, and I think it's in part because they don't have the same amount of ownership as the rest of us.  Once we draw them in, they'll be as addicted as we are!

I'm wondering what will happen when we do the ceremony according to Wolf's letter.  Anyone have ideas?  I think we're going to end up sommoning some naturey thing who ends up giving us some sagely answers.  We might even learn something about the Blades.  I guess Wolf was their coleader (acording to news Kale doesn't know yet), if they're a big arganization then maybe they can all become known as The Ones Who Got Wolf Killed.  Sweet.

That Red Talon guy is so toast.


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## Stinky (Feb 15, 2004)

*Oh Yeah...*

Oh yeah, and I saw the Char profile for Dances With Gnolls  =)

Good stuff, I look forward to seeing DwS in the campaign!  Maybe he'll bring some boots of striding and springing as a goodwill gift to Kale!  Maybe he's also a Korean fighter pilot!


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## Angcuru (Feb 15, 2004)

Just a bit of a reminder, Stinky.  Have you forgotten about that blood tooth summoning ritual thingy that Wolf left Kale in his 'In case I bite it.' letter?  I'd think that Kale would be thinking about that, seeing as it would lead to important information for him, both personal and professional.

I also wonder where the tension between Sebastion and Melisande will lead to.  Somehow, I picture a really complicated love pentagon involving Sebastion, Melisande, Kale, Wyshira, and Meg'anna (or Ebri).

*sigh*  I wish I could get into this game.  Hurry up and kill off Burl so there's a spot to fill.    
[/semi-serious joke]


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## Carnifex (Feb 15, 2004)

Stinky said:
			
		

> I think an amulet of fire resistance would be quite coveted by Kale.  Heh, and you haven't even read about the crystal beholder yet.




Who knows, one day Kale might get his mits on such a magical item    As for the crystal beholder, that was in the last update I posted - the reason I put up the solar beholder stats was because I couldn't find the Crystal Eye ones to put up 



			
				Stinky said:
			
		

> I'm wondering what will happen when we do the ceremony according to Wolf's letter.  Anyone have ideas?  I think we're going to end up sommoning some naturey thing who ends up giving us some sagely answers.  We might even learn something about the Blades.  I guess Wolf was their coleader (acording to news Kale doesn't know yet), if they're a big arganization then maybe they can all become known as The Ones Who Got Wolf Killed.  Sweet.
> 
> That Red Talon guy is so toast.




Always good to know that the players are into the game enough that they want revenge on NPC's 

I'm certainly looking forwards to when the party finally get round to summoning Blood Claw, though to be fair with the tower and everything there really hasn't been spare time for them to do so thus far. Doubtless it'll be up on the agenda once you get yourselves out of the bowels of the place (or should that be *if* you get out!     ).

Also, Horacio has done something absolutely amazing and incredibly cool related to the story hour, but more on that as it progresses   

Anyways, off to write a new SH update!


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## Carnifex (Feb 15, 2004)

Spinning his blades to a halt, gently, Sebastion paused for a moment on the ball of one foot, ready to strike again should the crystal begin to move. Silence held sway for a breath, and then the moans of the injured sage started again, breaking the spell. 


"Everybody move through the room, get clear of here before we stop - there may be others. Kale, you lead them... *Stay behind Kale!*" 


So saying, he moved around the thing, grasping his scabbards up off the floor, and offering a hand to Mel where she had stumbled to the floor. 


"You had the courage to stand against it," he offered, with a sombre grin, "Everything else can be learnt....are you alright?" 



Wyshira slumped with relief. She wondered briefly about the crystal beholder's life-force and where it had come from. The thing had been built, created (like the Arcanofex), and that concept was strange to her. Had it been truly 'alive'? And if it was, how did the creator make life?  But it was just a passing thought. There were some in the group who had been wounded, including Melisande, and Wyshira turned her thoughts to triage. 


Sebastian was urging them to move on however. Wyshira looked at Kale who was in the lead, and offered a recommendation. 


"There may be more dangers ahead on the stairs. We should heal our wounds before we go further," she said, taking out her basket of healing supplies. 



Ebri nodded to Wyshira, who was correct in her assessment. "This will only take a moment," she told the rest of them, and turned to crouch down by Melisande. Laying her hands on the injured woman, she put herself mentally in the place where the Great Prophet could work through her, and said the proper words, channelling a cure spell into the blue sorceress. 


"You realize, it would hardly be worth joining a worthy and useful quest if its leader were to throw her life away needlessly and carelessly..." she murmured, raising an eyebrow and standing up again. "It would do the world little service."


As welcome as Sebastion's words of encouragement might have come, Mel could hardly stomach them. In fact, she felt seriously queasy as she struggled to her feet, wincing with pain and mortification. She'd had the courage--the foolishness--to stand against the Guardian, yes, but not much else. Her magic backfired, her sword proved useless, and her diversionary tactics hadn't prevented several of her companions (including Sebastion) from being badly hurt. And it was her own impetuous curiosity that had awoken the thing in the first place. (Had he been about to say _"chicken-brained"_ again as she plunged forward into the lab? Probably--and he would have been right.) 


She was a paler shade of blue as she stooped gathering her cloak around the smoldering wound in her midsection and Ebri Zol approached to offer both healing and some more not-so-comforting words. Even as Ebri's healing touch took the sting away from her skin, "needlessly and carelessly" stung much deeper. 


She opened her mouth to say it wasn't needless and then realized it was. Her friends didn't need her protection. They would be doing just fine without her. In fact, they'd be in rather better shape right now. Silently, she glanced around to take stock of the damage. Two of the sages were down and their bodyguard looked a lot worse for the wear. Good thing they had Ebri Zol and Wyshira, at least. She could hardly look the bodyguard in the eye. He was probably furious. 


"Ebri Zol," she murmured, turning back to the priestess, "I am not suited to lead any quest. I don't want you throwing your life away needlessly by putting yourself between me and danger again. My quest is not to lead people to their deaths but just the opposite--in fact, Ebri, my quest is to put _me_ in danger instead of you. So next time everyone yells to run for it, let's do each other a favor and do as they say. There are people among us who have a lot more sense than we do." 


It did occur to her briefly that Ebri might not appreciate being lumped into the nitwit category with her blue companion, but Mel figured if Ebri was ready to die for her she wouldn't mind that much. Yet there was something very strange about that. Mel wondered if she was really that inspiring. Even Pierre had abandoned her. Ebri Zol had been nothing but supportive of everything Mel undertook, even knowing that almost everything she undertook was an unqualified disaster. Odd.... 


Mentally she beckoned for her yellow-bellied toad of a familiar, and avoided the gaze of her companions. 


Edgy, watchful, Sebastion kept a firm eye on the broken chunks of crystal, willing them to remain static and inert, even as Meg'anna stooped to sweep up a section for a momento. It wasn't an uncommon thing, battle-trophies, though not one he'd ever felt inclined to join in with himself - maybe she'd learnt it from some group of savages somewhere, the legacy of a lifetime staring at tooth-necklaces... 


Through the nervousness - and the watchfulness - he heard Melisande's words, and grimaced slightly, recalling his own feelings of wretchedness and ineptitude after his first battle on the road. The Scyther had taken two of the mercenaries he'd been travelling with that day, and his efforts had seemed paltry - they still did, in truth. 


"All the training in the world cannot instill courage. Courage is something that you either have, or you don't. So long as you look over what happened here later, and try to learn from it, it hasn't been in vain." he offered, trying to convey more than simply the words. 


_Those that live by the sword, die by the sword.
What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
For each of us there is a day to die. _


These were more than just epithets, more than just fancy words spouted by the fops that attended the fencing schools then went back to their parents guild-payed houses. These were words to live by, words that defined the life of those that depended on a quick blade, quick feet, and a quicker mind to keep them alive, and to make a difference. 


Coralling mages as he went, Kale stood a moment next to Johanne. "That could have been better. If we want to avoid this in the future, we need to be clear. When it comes down, you all need to listen." He said as he looked at the wrecked room once more. "Hesitation is messy." 


Regarding the sage respectfully, after a moment Kale beckoned Burl to talk for a moment. "You ok?" He asked, with more than one meaning. The dark mage seemed unscathed, but he was behaving oddly. Toranites ahead... could he be dreading company that awaited them? "You need to help me with your mage sight, if we are to encounter something like this again." That bit he said to make sure Johanne overhear. As in, everything is being attended, no need to stick your neck out and get it burned off. Sometime, these mages would have to start pulling their weight. But given the iron walls, shadow magics, and mysteries up ahead, provided they all lived long enough, the bookmen could well come in handy. 


A slight motion at his feet drew Kale's attention down to Pierre. The two-headed pet thing was having trouble navigating the landscape of broken glass and unknown liquids spilled on the ground. A wounded frog would just be insult to injury. Scooping the thing up, he sincerely hoped he wouldn't get peed on. He stopped by Melisande only long enough to hand over the animal- the blue woman was going through things Kale shouldn't be a part of. 


Pierre was thinking something toadishly similar to _There's a fine line between courage and brainlessness_ as he was passed back to his mistress' trembly hands. She was already busy sheepishly avoiding Kale's gaze when the thought from her familiar came through, and she might have sat right down in the heap of crystal shards and cried except that Sebastion seemed so very determined to be nice to her all of a sudden, and this was raising her spirits more than it probably should have. 


After dumping the toad into her pocket none too carefully she gave Sebastion's arm a quick, furtive squeeze. "Thank you." 


And then she needed to find something helpful to do, quickly. Wyshira had suggested the group pause to heal and patch up what they could before moving on. The first sore spot--a human-shaped sore spot, in fact--that caught Mel's eye was the mages' bodyguard, Cazamir. It seemed the group's healing energies were concentrated among Mel's own friends, who were distributing them with some predjudice to those they knew and trusted. Although she expected him, like Kale, to be slightly ill-disposed toward her, she bucked up what courage remained and headed over. Something told her she should help--she _could_ help. She wasn't sure how. Perhaps Naskha could offer some small token. 


"You'll need more than what I can do," she said, hesitating, "but it's a start--if it works." She could not even look at the pink and black gnarled wound, so she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders. Timidly, aware how very blue her hands looked, Mel raised a meek inner plea to her adopted god. _Naskha? Is this all right? Am I allowed to heal in your name? It's just that--he was so brave--and it is my fault...._


* * *​



Cazamir rose to his feet slowly. The crystal guardian was destroyed, and at least one of his charges was gravely hurt. He was hurt. Pain danced along his chest like a razor-edged sword. He would survive for now, but what of the next bad encounter? He glanced over at Kale as the warrior mentioned tending to his wounds. His group alone may not have made it past the guardian without these mercenaries help, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that their misstep had activated it. 


“You fought well,” he said to Kale, although his meaning applied to the entire group. Then Melisande was behind him, offering to help with his injuries. “I appreciate the healing, but if there is anything you can do for him…” he pointed towards the fallen sage lying on the floor. He doubted if they could – death was a finality even most magicks could not move beyond.


Now that the party wasn't being rushed out of the room, Wyshira was able to take stock of her charges. Mel wasn't too badly off, at least not after Ebri Zol had cast her cure spell. That still bothered Wyshira - she felt the resentment like an ache in her bones - although she tried not to let it show.  She glanced at Cazamir's wounds, wondering how he managed to stand the severe pain of the massive burns. She was about to dig through her basket and offer him some herbs to chew, when he asked for aid for one of the fallen sages. _Do they not have their own healer with them?_ she wondered, even as she knelt down to see if there was anything she could do for the man.


* * *​

Cazamir felt a stinging sensation across the scorching that Melisande placed her hands over, and the aasimar herself felt a faint surge of power not unalike that which she experienced when drawing upon her innate ability to evoke light. When she brought her hand away, he saw that, though still the wound was painful and the skin raw, the oozing blood had stopped and congealed, the injury scabbing over and making a start on the way to healing. 


Unfortunately, beside her, as Wyshira knelt by the prone form of one of the mages, the two who had dragged him to cover behind the table shook their heads. "Hit by his own spell and then the eyebeast," and indeed the aged man was unmoving and his robes stained with blood. It seemed the bolt from the Crystal Eye had killed him outright befoire his comrades could give him any of their precious few healing elixirs.


The others of their band seemed unsettled but not all _that_ worried. "He knew the potential risks," said Johanne as he wandered the now quiet chamber, observing some of the pieces of laboratory equipment. "We all do. Umbral ruins often have traps and newer denizens within them, and it's never a safe venture. And..." he leaned over one of the desks to peer at the delicate alchemical array upon it, amazingly undamaged in the melee. "This is human work, this laboratory, not Umbral, though I can't tell who made the crystal construct. My guess is that this is the handiwork of our Carthagian thaumineer. I fear to think as to why, if he is the 'master' of this place, he no longer has control over all of his building and experiments..."



Meanwhile, Meg'anna pocketed a chunk of the crystalline creature even as the last vestiges of the nature magic which had held her summoned wolf here dissipated; Kale took one of the pitted, cracked eyestalks as well, though he found that the crystal had lost its previous, life-like ability to move and was now as stiff as a statue. 


* * *​
Ebri watched the transformation of Melisande with a mixture of frustration -- it was a setback, of a sort, in her progress with the quest idea-- and interest that grew by the moment... She did not reply outright, but only stared intently as Melisande moved from fear to pain to loss of confidence to guilt to self-pity to obvious pleasure at Sebastion's dubiously motivated words of comfort, to guilt again, to delusions of divinely inspired healing... all in the space of thirty breaths. 


_The woman is a wonder--_ she thought, and then reaffirmed the statement to herself incredulously, as the injured Cazamir indeed appeared to be somewhat healed. Another instance of the mysterious phenomenon by which people were able to heal in the name of false deities and supersitious beliefs... this time spontaneous, apparently. _Her faith in Naksha must be more than trifling, then... she decided. Healing by mutual, charismatic belief; by force of will? Using her innate magical skill without her own knowledge?_ It was a subject debated at length every season in the monastery; Ebri knew she could not solve it now. Whatever its cause, it was real, and Mel must now be doubly watched. 


Sighing inside, she cast her mind in many directions, trying to predict the effect of this new factor on their relationship and her ward's state of mind and behavior. 


_Giddy with confidence..._ she predicted, hazarding a guess. _That next, and still troubled. And slightly more cautious... today-- _


She had said enough for now, so she confined herself to just a few more words. They could discuss things further when the guilt rankled less. 


"_I_ will choose the road I walk--" The words were quiet and informational, and she made her way back into the hall.


* * *​


Mel drew her hands back and gaped at them in wonder. She had channeled Naskha's power! He had healed through her! She was truly a vessel of the blue Sorcerer-god, blessed among his faithful! A beatific smile passed across her face and she blinked happily over at Cazamir. 


Oh. Well, it wasn't much. But it _did_ happen, and she knew she could do it again eventually--like the light that welled up from inside, from a different, more visceral spring than her arcane talent--and also that it would grow stronger with her faith. Regular prayer and meditation, but most of all courage in the name of her god, would feed the healing power within-- 


_--and, with some luck, teach You a little common sense. _


_--and teach you a little common guts,_ she shot back at Pierre testily, even though it was she who was putting words to the strong sense of annoyance she felt emanating from her pocket. 


"Are you all right, Melisande?" Wyshira asked in passing, truncating what promised to be a nasty sorcerer-familiar quarrel. 


"Oh, I'm fine Wyshira, thank you--I'm fine!" She was forgetting her own pain, radiating the grace of Naskha (if Pierre would just quit sending her grumpy vibes), although her own wounds were far from gone even after Ebri Zol's intervention. None of that mattered at the moment. 


The priestess, reassured, was moving on at Cazamir's request, and now as Mel watched her she was hit with another shock. One of the wizards had actually _died._


Johanne was casual about it, but Mel wasn't. The guilt was back, its fangs worrying her heart like a chewtoy. All right--she hadn't been the only one who pushed ahead. The wizards were also curious. She only happened to be the first to approach the crystal shards, and another would have done it shortly if she hadn't. Wouldn't they? 


"He knew the potential risks," Johanne said. Mel shrank away from the sight of the corpse, forgetting now her impulse to sieze Ebri Zol and tell her all about Naskha's intervention and what she saw as the divine validation of their quest. There was a strong and childish urge to make herself invisible instead. _If he knew the potential risks in any detail, then he probably wouldn't have approached the pile of crystal shards as carelessly as I did. _


"... I fear to think as to why, if he is the 'master' of this place, he no longer has control over all of his building and experiments..." Johanne trailed off, his face distorted in the bulb of an alembic as he peered at the alchemy equipment. _The arcanofex warned us that not all the defenses could be deactivated. It's no wonder its Master welcomes us. He's probably trapped in here. _


Meekly folding her over-curious hands in front of herself, Melisande gave the lab an apprehensive glance. _He wouldn't have allowed us in if he didn't want something from us.... _


* * *​

Wyshira quickly determined that the motionless sage was beyond help, and looked up at Cazamir, shaking her head sadly. She stood with a sigh, wondering what Johanne would choose to do about the body. "I can perform burial rites if you wish it," she told him. "Or cast a spell to preserve the body after we rest." 


Johanne gazed solemnly at the body for a few moments. "If you could give him some rites to tide his soul over for now... I don't think we should really turn back now to give the man a burial when there'll hopefully be plenty of time to do that once we've met the tower's master."


From there, she went back to Cazamir and Melisande. "I think 'fine' is an overstatement," she told the sorceress. "Those burns require more attention. Yours do too," she added to Cazamir. She retrieved a small bowl from her pack and filled it with water. Then she began to simultaneously clean the wounds and cast healing spells. She finished with clean linen dressings, and offered them each some herbs for the pain. 

She saved Kale for last, repeating the treatment she had just performed on the other two. While she worked she talked in a low voice. "If they knew the potential risks, you'd think that they would've been better prepared for them. _*And*_ that they would've been more cautious. I know, I know... it was our dear Melisande that triggered the trap. But they were only a few steps behind her. It could've been one of them just as easily." She finished tying Kale's dressing and began to put away her supplies. "I just don't like having to use our resources to heal them up!"


Kale nodded in agreement with the genasi preistess. Healing was a precious resource. "But he jumped in quick enough to make himself a target... played right, this will be a good bargain." he spoke softly to Wyshira. "I think way may be in need of these mage's expertise..." he said, still not completely sure. They were not a part of the band proper, and the professional distance the mercenary kept from them was evident. No particular loyalties to them, save what was profit to the team. 


The searing burn on Kale's left side was soothed by another timely healing... he stood at the stairwell, a little less crispy. Surprisingly, Ebri walked to the fore, and Kale hesitated for a moment, unsure what she was up to. To the stairway and listening, her effort seemed a ridiculous contribution, were it not for that silver ring in her ear. What a handy device. She could be useful, too, though the young mercenary was more suspicious of Ebri than of the unknown mage trouppe. 


_Nothing to be done about it now..._ Kale waited for a report from Ebri's investigation, and he was smoothly on his way.


* * *​

As Ebri listened carefully to the looming silence of the structure around her, straining to pick up some thread or whisper of noise, her enchanted earring tingled faintly and, from the path of the staircase ahead, she heard what might have been the faintest hint of a brief moment of conversation. It was definitely not from anywhere nearby, and sounded like it came from far ahead, beyond the darkness of the stairs ascending up. 



"There are others ahead of us, beyond the staircase above..." she reported, as Kale eyed her with suspicion. "Two or more people are talking quietly." 


_I have no reason to hide such..._ A corner of her mouth quirked upward briefly, acknowledging Kale's paranoia.


"Two groups of two, overlapping and covering at each corner. Kale and I, Cazamir and Jarvis..." Sebastion suggested, after a few seconds thought, reaching to his hip to ensure his quiver was in place. "If any of you... wizards... have something that could aid with stealth at a time like this it would be a help..." 


Ebri spoke up again. "If the mages cannot assist us with stealth, I have that which will make me invisible for a time. I or another of us should scout ahead. Unless we wish to take another path. In any case, we should not go on so injured. I have more healing energy to give, if need be." 


"We'll go this way, quietly," Kale said in response to Ebri's report. She had means of invisibility? Full of surprises, everybody. And the farmboy Sebastion suggested bounding overwatch and small unit tactics... "These halls can be quite small for overwatch," Kale began, only speaking as loud as he had to. "Anyone we can hear now must have heard the din as we fought that thing. If they suspect we're coming and dig in, we may never be able to root them out. We have to be as sneaky as possible. Ebri, you and I will scout ahead- Sebastion will direct the others forward as we advance." He said levelly, pouring every bit of confidence in Sebastion with hopes to keep the mages from second guessing the farmer-soldier's judgement. As for Sebastion's judgement about what he and Ebri were to do... 


_Shut up_ Kale told himself, knowing he himself didn't even like the idea of having Ebri watch his back, and she his. 


Surveying faces, Kale looked for anything that resembled consensus. But this wasn't committee, and they hadn't time. "Let's go." He said to Ebri as he tread the first stairstep. "And if you hear any fighting, we're not likely pulling back." He said frankly, conscious of his still-cooked left side.
"We can't give them any chance to strengthen any defence- we're going to push through, or give up entirely." That one had to sink in. As much as Kale thought about it, it certainly didn't seem like there were any other options.


Wyshira mirrored Kale's look of surprise at Ebri's announcement that she could make herself invisible. Sort of a surprising trick for an Immarian priestess. But perhaps she only had a (relatively) common potion that she'd picked up in her travels.

She nodded in support of Kale's plan, and moved to hand over two small crystal globes when Kale asked for a means of detecting magical traps. "These lesser eye charms need only be crushed to release a spell that will detect all forms of magic. You should be able to use them just fine, Kale, but if you'd rather, I can give them to Ebri to use." 


Then she turned to Melisande and Meg'anna. "Let's stay together," she suggested. "And keep the mages behind us."


Sebastion paused a moment, contemplating Kale's suggestions. It had certain merits, not least of which was eliminating his own and Cazamir's noise from the equation, but it did leave Ebri and Kale a little exposed. Still, if they were as willing to put their ability to sneak to the test as he was to put his ability with the blade to the test, he could hardly fault them. 


"Very well, if you're sure. We'll be close by, if you call..." He dropped back alongside Mel and Wyshira, tying the scabbards of his blade to his belt, keeping the steel bared in case it was needed as he tried to figure out the problem with the plan... 




_Next Time: Scouting reveals what lies ahead, and Melisande reveals something she probably should have told the others before..._


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## Horacio (Feb 15, 2004)

Carnifex said:
			
		

> Also, Horacio has done something absolutely amazing and incredibly cool related to the story hour, but more on that as it progresses






 Thanks, 'Fex!

I hope you all will like it


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## Angcuru (Feb 15, 2004)

That's the putting it into the PDF format thingy right?


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## Horacio (Feb 15, 2004)

Maaaaaaybe...
but it is more than that


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## gerg_861 (Feb 16, 2004)

Maybe a map?  Pleeeeze a map?


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## Easter (Feb 16, 2004)

Hmm... Is Horacio a bit of an artist, perhaps?  

Just for fun I've been running a Mel prototype through Neverwinter Nights.  Obviously it's not exactly like the campaign (and NWN does not support two-headed toad familiars, so she has a bat named Maurice instead), but I'm finding lots of things out about the peculiar combination of sorcerer/paladin, especially since I'm not well versed in the rules.      Even I could have guessed though, in a combat-heavy situation she goes through healing potions like I go through Junior Mints.  At higher levels (right now I've got her up to Pal 5/Sor 6) she might start getting tough, but in the meantime she'll just have to get used to pain.

That is, without Ebri and Seb as human shields.  Anyone ever consider that as a subsidiary bonus of high charisma?  AC (human shield) bonus.    

Besides, it sounds like Seb's souring on that job.  And Mel (if NWN is any measure) will need training in ranged weapons more than melee if she's going to stay alive long.  If, of course, she survives the Tower in the first place...


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## Angcuru (Feb 17, 2004)

*sigh*  I just KNOW that I could add so much to this game were I to get in on it.  I have so many ideas in mind for so many things.  But then again, observing is about as good as partaking. (most of the time)  

Mel going solo in NWN?  Well, at least they let you go with the blue skin.


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## Carnifex (Feb 17, 2004)

While the rest of the band loitered in the gloomy, gaslit laboratory, Kale and Ebri sloped away ahead up the staircase. The mages continued to wander around the alchemical and arcane equipment that littered the room, though more wary and alert in their actions now, while Ansas 'Turi curiously hunkered down by the wreckage of the Crystal Eye and sifted through it. Jarvis stood quiet and still like a statue as they waited for the scouts to return. 


* * *​

The staircase ascended into deep gloom as they paced quietly up it, but soon it opened up into a large, shadow-shrouded room bereft of any features other than doors leading off and a walkway running high across one wall. Ebri could hear, through her earring, more faint noises that indicated conversation, echoing through from one of the metal doors that led onwards. Tracks wound through the dust on the floor; heavy passage was evident, and it appeared a fair amount of movement had gone between some of the doors of this room. The door from which Ebri could hear others was one such entrance that seemed to have been travelled through frequently. 


Putting on the umbramantic ring, the heavy shadows shifted and wrapped themselves around Kale, a protective, cool cloak of darkness following his movements and diffusing his shape. Ebri took one of the shadowskins out, the globe feeling slick and cold to the touch, and pressed it against her arm; quickly it spread across her skin like dark mercury, completely covering her in the shifting layer of shadows that made her almost invisible in the darkness of the chamber. Looking at her, the only part that Kale could distinguish was the two lighter patches of shadow that must have been her eyes. 


Onwards they crept through the dim, cold interior of the tower, moving through several rooms and corridors, staircases and galleries as they approached the source of the noise. Some rooms were damp and metal, encrusted with rust, others consisting of chill stone. Some were lined with hissing, searing pipes of brass and steel, radiating warmth as they conveyed steam to the upper reaches of the structure and its arcane machinery. Strange and eldritch engines sat bulkily in the corners of forgotten chambers, occasionally humming or glimmering. 


And as they moved through the confusing honeycomb of rooms in the upper levels of the war tower, they came closer to their destination, the source of what Ebri could hear. Somehow it seemed, she had picked up the faintest strains of conversation that echoed and whispered its way all the way down to the crystal laboratory. And then they found them. 


The passsageway opened into wide stairs leading forth into a dark but large room, stone debris scattered across the floor where it had fallen from an ornate stone gallery looking over it. Further portals lead forth into other corridors, but in the center of the room were a dozen Carthagians, the scene lit by flickering lamps that they had brought with them. 


Ten were in the garb and dress of scouts, light leather and chain armour and bearing crossbows and spears. They sat and lounged around on a number of supply crates and pieces of camp gear, resting on fallen stone blocks and strolling around the place. Another man stood with more authority and importance than the rest, clad in tough travelling garb and with a longsword strapped across his back and a short sword on his hip. Also hanging from his belt were the various pouches, charms and paraphernalia that many arcanists carried with them. The final man was huge and his features hidden, clad as he was in red and black heavy plate armour that sprouted an array of barbs and blades, and the double-axes of Toran emblazoned on the breastplate. It was very similar to the priest that Kale and Burl had encountered in Halstath, though this warrior clenched a massive barbed mace in his armoured gauntlets. 


The warrior-mage was speaking to his subordinates who were gathering up their equipment. Directions were being handed out to pack up and move the supplies through a large, round metal door that was wide open across the other side of the chamber, more stairs leading up beign visible through it. Men were hurriedly now arming themselves in readiness for action of some sort. All the while the massive armoured warrior simply stood as if unperturbed by the activity all around him. 


Yet they did not see either Ebri or Kale watching them from the entrance into the chamber, garbed in shadows as the pair were.


_Twelve..._ Ebri counted silently. _And unsuspecting, apparently._ One arcanist; one cleric of Toran. 


Her eyes moved upward naturally towards the gallery above the room. A natural place from which to stage an attack-- if the Carthagians were merely resting. Unfortunately it seemed that they were on the move, or about to be... 


_Upwards._ Toward the upper part of the tower, where it was most likely their quarry lay. 


_With so much bustle of crates and packing, we are unlikely to be heard if we remain quiet... _


And that led to the question... For whom were the crates? Had the others looted the Tower already? Were they bringing supplies to the tower's occupant, in collusion with him? Were they also doing 'research'? These questions flitted through her mind in orderly fashion as she watched, observing the Toranite cleric in particular. Was he meditating? Or, had he, like her, achieved a certain amount of stillness and discipline and control? 


She drew near to Kale, drawing him back from the door with a slight pressure on his arm, and breathed in his ear. 


"Observe the gallery... We must prevent them from reaching the upper regions before us... Shall we engage them and draw them back towards the others? Follow and pick them off? One of us go back while the other remain?" Ebri deferred to the leader's expertise in tactics, undecided as to what she would prefer. For the Tower, interesting as it was -- it made her intensely curious, particularly about the Umbral culture-- was not as important as her mission regarding Melisande. Yet the Carthagians were a definite risk, if not handled well... 


* * *​

"What are they going to do if they find anyone?" Sebastion muttered, almost to himself, as he finally beckoned for the group to start moving. "They can hardly just charge in to attack, for we've no more right to be here than anyone else. But if they are attacked, we are a long way behind to offer support...." This, he decided, pacing relentlessly up the staircase, is why he preferred the clean environs of a well-defined battlefield. 


"Let's try not to let them get too far ahead then," Mel concluded, moving up the stairs with Wyshira and Meg'anna close by, just as she'd been instructed to do. "If they run into another defense mechanism they'll need us, and if it's the Carthagians I hardly expect less. My ex-compatriots are unlikely to want to share the secrets of this tower with any old group of adventurers who happens along at the same time. Say, that is a strange coincidence, don't you think? It could be that the Truth-Seekers are up to more than just seeking truth, if they're vying with Toranites for certain technologies. Gosh, I wonder if there's another big war brewing. Oh, sorry." Suddenly she bit her lip, realizing a few moments too late they were supposed to be moving with some degree of stealth. Hopefully they were far enough behind Kale and Ebri that her voice would not carry. But presently she started up again, in a whisper this time: "I wouldn't be surprised if it was another Naseria-Carthagia war in the making. And think! The whole outcome may depend on us, right now! Whoever brings home the secrets of the Arcanist's tower will make the critical difference that tips the scales. We're historical!"


"We're on the right side of this, I think. It's more likely Naseria will use the technology for peaceful purposes. I wonder if there's any way to stop the Toranites without having to kill them."


"If we could find out exactly what they think they're looking for and then trick them into thinking they found it, maybe they'd go away. The Master of the tower might be able to help us do that. We have to reach him first!"


Her light, clear whisper was a soothing comfort in the background of Sebastion's adrenalin heightened senses; he smiled slightly at the vague hints of romanticism that came through, one person's action setting off an entire war between nations. 


There was a moment's pause in Melisande's stream of words.


"Er, you probably ought to know--I think one of the Carthagians here may be my old mentor from the Manip labs, Professor Akarsis. That was his horse outside. I think he'll recognize me. We could turn that to our advantage, or it might make him really mad. I'm not sure." Mel found herself biting a sheepish lip again. She might have told them earlier--like before Kale and Ebri Zol went off alone--but at least she was telling them now. 


_CHICKEN BRAINED BLOODY WOMAN!!!!_ Sebastion screamed in his head, only the tension of the situation keeping his jaw clamped shut as his nostrils flared slightly. 


"You didn't think to mention this before we came in? To perhaps share what you know of him with the rest of us?" he asked, jaw cletching his teeth together in frustration. For a moment he was tempted to send her to the back of the line where she would not be seen, but that served no-one. 


"Quickly, then... I'll assume he is of sufficient rank to likely be the leader. What sort of man is he? Thoughtful, flamboyant, impulsive...? You should talk to the wizards about his magic, too - they might be able to come up with something to neutralise him." 


It was the way you dealt with a swordsman, after all - analyse his personality, analyse his technique, and adopt a strategy... if he didn't use his magic as a weapon so much the better, but if he did it would be nice to at least be close to ready. If it degenerated to a fight at all. Somehow, that thought didn't feel particularly reassuring. 


"I was worried you'd make me stay outside or something," Mel mumbled sullenly, taking Sebastion's terse tone to heart. _I can almost _hear_ him thinking how chicken-brained I am, the chauvinist. _


"But the fact is, I don't know how he'd react to seeing me and until I decided how to deal with him I preferred to be along with you in here, instead of relegated to camp watch, which is exactly what you'd have done with me and don't try to deny it."


"I've been thinking it over. Professor Akarsis is a hard man to read. It's like he never showed any emotion at all while I worked with him--he was never angry but never happy either. In fact I don't think he sees things in terms of good or bad, just in terms of _efficient_ and _inefficient._ So on the one hand, he might find it useful for me to show up and offer to 'help', but he might still be annoyed about the big mess I made the day I got fed up and decided to leave the lab. It's really impossible to predict how he'll react." 


She turned slightly, hanging back, to be sure the wizards could hear. 


"At any rate he is a Manipulator, and quite a good one, which means he knows a wide range of spells that can affect physiology, offensively and defensively. If he is here with some of the lab staff there may also be necromancers and even priests of Toran with him."


"I could try to make the Carthagians believe I was sent as backup or to check on them, as some sort of secret service agent from the Church of Toran, but then again they're not stupid." 


_That didn't sound right. _


"I mean, it would be complicated and dangerous. But it would be a chance to find out what they're after, and maybe lead them off the track." 


* * *​

The shadow trick was a nice one, Kale wondered if Ebri thought the same of his little ring. He almost forgot the tension between himself and the mysterious woman, with the intriguing challenge that waited below. 


"The light doesn't help," Kale quietly whispered rhetorically. "We can bring the crew up closer, and wait until they encounter more defenses from ahead before we show ourselves." 


He hardly even gave breath to the words, hiding as the two were in the dark iron hallway. But that powerful earring... was sure to cause trouble later. 


Kale's mind snapped back to the present. Wait for the Toranites to find bigger trouble. Rock and a hard place- Kale had no big inclination to talk before attacking, but if the Toranites wished to surrender unconditionally... 


"Send for the others, and we can wait for our chance to act..." he whispered to Ebri.


She nodded. "If you are detected, shout--I will hear, and we will all come with due speed." 


With that, she was gone, travelling back down the hallways as quickly and quietly as she could do both. 


...​

"We have found the Toranites... she announced, giving a brief summary of their numbers and location. "They are moving upwards and carrying crates of some sort. Kale would like us to meet him, and we will encounter them from a place of advantage. Quickly..."


Cazamir frowned at the mention of followers of Toran, who were never pleasant to deal with. They were a dark reflection of Lord Urazel, mixing the dedication of warfare with their sinister practices. He had heard many stories of the wars waged by the Carthagians. 


“This could end in a pitched battle. Is there no way past them?” He frowned, weighing the choices. He turned, speaking more to the sages than the female. “If they have numbers, we will need a show of strength to make them think against conflict. Otherwise they’ll look to capture or kill those they find.”


"Frankly, I do not know what Kale's plans are: we had little time for discussion. Ebri replied, taking advantage of her shadow-shrouded invisibility to observe Cazamir unguarded. And his tattoo. Her order had given up tattooing as a sign centuries before in favor of more subtle markers, but they kept records of those of other groups. 


She described the nature of the room and the gallery above quickly. "But they are moving upward, if not now, then shortly. To me the issue is one of speed. For we do not know their intentions, but in all likeliehood their plans either counter or equal ours-- and so we must either prevent them from reaching the upper parts of the Tower, or reach it before them if we are to accomplish our goal." 


_Or goals,_ she thought. There were clearly several aims among this band. But unity of purpose was what was to be stressed at the moment. 


Sebastion listened to both the words of both Cazamir and Ebri before replying. "Will it come to a pitched battle? Perhaps, perhaps not. Mel's description of this Akarsis makes him sound calculating, and I doubt he'd want to risk a pitched battle until he knew something about us - which gives us the opportunity to do the same, I suppose."


"Make an issue of being on the stairwell, send in a small group openly to greet them, and the rest of us remain out of sight as a back-up... if things turn ugly we can be there quickly, if they are friendly we can confess to having been cautious." 


"Well, we were just discussing what to do with the Carthagians, actually," Mel added conversationally, poking at the dark patch where Ebri Zol's voice had come from, and thinking she had an even better surprise in return. 


With that, she proceeded to explain to Ebri all she had just told the others about her former mentor. "Did you see a tall, thin man with goggles and a sort of contraption on his back? I'm sure that was his horse outside."


"I'm sure they wouldn't just shoot me if I showed up, if it is my old mentor. He'd at least want to know why I was there. I could pretend to have been sent to keep an eye on them, or to help out or something, and then I could find out more about why they're here and even maybe slow them down. I hate to have to lie, but if it's to avoid a futile fight, I could at least leave out certain salient bits of truth."


"What do you think, Ebri? Sebastion and--and Cazamir could come with me and pose as my bodyguards." She smiled eagerly, feeling brave and useful again, but one hand slipped into her pocket and gave a gentle but firm _pinch_ to the woefully lamenting amphibian within. 


"_No_ bodyguards could help you, with such a plan..." Ebri answered, taking a moment to digest the news and the current situation... _If they were proper bodyguards they would restrain you until good sense returned..._ she thought, wondering once more how _she_ was to be a proper bodyguard to this bewildering woman. "In short, I think _no_. How many times have I said that to plan in advance of information is both misleading and a waste--" She broke off, letting them hear her frustration. "There is not time for that discussion. I saw no such man. Their arcanist is a warrior. And they are getting ahead of us. Whether we fight them or find a way round them, it will be meaningless if they reach the Tower's Master before us--"


Melisande stiffened, Ebri's sharp tone bringing back an uncomfortable memory of her acid-tongued mother. Which of course triggered a sullen, girlish shrillness to her defiance.


"Then we have to push ahead quickly and _do_ something. And--and--I hope Akarsis is with them, but even if not I am Carthagian and we _will_ have to face them on some terms at some point, and I mean, I mean, it's less likely they'll shoot at me than at someone obviously un-Carthagian... Er, I know most Carthagians aren't blue, but--but--some of them may know me if they were Akarsis' colleagues at least."


"And unless you plan on just killing them all, somebody's going to have to talk to them, and I think it should be me!" 


Four bulbous and desperate eyes appeared at the lip of her pocket then. If one of those cairns they'd seen was for Akarsis, that changed things. That changed a lot of things for Pierre. But it didn't change his instinct for self-preservation, and all he really understood was that she was up to something she considered "brave" again. A flipper flailed out, as if flagging for help. 


"Ladies," Sebastion whispered, raising a hand to be sure he had their attention, "the volume?" Having got their attention, he paused a moment, and then continued. 


"If we lie to them we will spend the rest of our time either on edge, or fighting with them. If we all pile in together and state our purpose, we expose everything and give them the advantage, if they are hostile. I say we send representatives to let them know we're here, and keep people in reserve. After all, we have no more right to be here than they."


"Except me!" Melisande retorted. "As far as they're concerned, I have no right to be outside Carthagia. I'm a deserter. Even if Akarsis is not with them, someone may recognize me--you know, for some reason, people don't seem to forget my face--and I have to have a story. Or else I have to be invisible, or wait outside."


"Which is why," Mel concluded, flushed from annoyance, "I didn't want to tell you he was here in the first place. So we either lie or keep me concealed. Because I'm not waiting outside." 



* * *​

As Kale watched, the Carthagians finished stowing away their equipment, men lugging crates through the far door and up the stairs into the highest reaches of the tower. As the last of their equipment was carried up, the mage and the Toranite followed, casting suspicious and wary glances behind them; yet they still failed to see the shadow-shrouded form of the Corinthian man. 


By the time that the rest of the band arrived once more, the darkly glimmering form of Ebri in her shadowskin leading them up, the wide chamber was empty, its former inhabitants having moved on. 


"We're near the top of the structure now," Johanne said quietly, his pathfinder nodding at this assessment. "Not much higher up we can go. So those Carthagians really can't have gotten very far ahead of us. There just isn't much more building for them to travel through. Which also means they must be close themselves to the master of this tower, assuming he is at the top..."



_Next Time: A surprise from the shadows, and frantic negotiations..._


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## Horacio (Feb 17, 2004)

Great update, as usual 

_Horacio, who still works in his "secret" project_


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## Carnifex (Feb 18, 2004)

"Doesn't really seem as though anything has changed." Sebastion muttered, quietly. "I say we do the same again - Ebri and Kale sneak up to see what you can find out, and we'll back you up."


Suddenly, there was movement above.


From the gloomy recesses of the gallery above, hidden in shadow and osbtructed from the direct sight of those below, a cloaked figure moved forwards to look down over the gathered group below, hands resting on the ornate stone balustrade. The hands looked human, but the face of the shrouded man could not be seen, even by those with sight that pierced the darkness; the hood simply kept his features secret as yet.


"So... we have more interlopers, then." The voice of a young man, but confident. Carthagian in accent, carrying well across the open space between himself and the party. And... there was something about that voice that caught Melisande's memory, though she could not recall exactly where she had heard it before...


The gathered sages looked up in alarm, a number squinting to peer at the robed man intently. The magically augmented vision that several possessed, their magesight incantations still in effect, brought whispers of alarm. "It's a Manipulator," said Johanne quietly, while besides him Jarvis seemed to be looking for quick ways up to the gallery, though none were apparent.


A moment longer and Melisande would have gone invisible. She wasn't sure if that would have been better. Maybe this way she had a chance....


She'd been mulling it over all the way up. She had to admit it: no one would ever believe Melberry had been assigned to a top secret spy mission on behalf of the Church of Toran to keep on eye on Professor Akarsis, even if she tried to make it seem her blundering nitwitedness had been but a disguise. Great gods, even the nerdy necromancers at the lab didn't want her at their parties. Some spy. She felt herself turning dark blue with shame and anger. Whoever it was, he probably knew enough about her already.


Who was it? She could not place the voice--one she had heard, but perhaps not often enough. Cold flippers of amphibious anxiety groped in her mind, making it hard to think.


Her heart was beginning to pound. If she said the right thing right now, it might save everyone a lot of pain and bloodshed, if not death. If she said the wrong thing--


--it would just accelerate the process a little.


"Hello! My goodness, you're hard to catch up to."


Melisande held up a fist in the symbol of Toran, even though her whole arm seemed like it went icy with the gesture. "We weren't sure we'd make it in time. I see you've taken a few losses, in fact--ironic, that if you hadn't been so quick and efficient we would have been there to help, maybe saved some resources. Hold on, we're coming up."


* * *​

Turning to look upward, Sebastion instinctively stepped backward and to the right, ready to shield his face with his left hand if he needed to, but nothing came down except words. He recognised the accent well enough, having seen more than his fair share of Carthagians passing through his home-town, talking down to anyone and everyone they met. And here it was again - figuratively and literally, being spoken down to. He was about to reply when Mel whipped out some emblem and began to babble, bringing forth a resigned sigh from Sebastion.


_We're in for it now..._ he thought, lowering his face for a moment. _I hope to the Nine Hells she can pull this off._


He waited a moment, watching Jarvis' eyeing the walls for an avenue of attack, and pitched his voice low, counting on proximity to carry his words only as far as those he was talking to.


"Kale, Ebri... see if you can't get somewhere close to him in case we need to act..."


* * *​

"_More_ interlopers?" Wyshira muttered almost inaudibly. So had the Carthagians encountered opposition from outside the Tower before now? Did he mean the people who had made the less organized camp outside, the camp that they had effectively sacked? It seemed that the Carthagians dealt harshly with perceived interlopers.


She scowled when she heard that the cloaked figure above was a Manipulator. _Those fleshtwisters!_ she thought with distaste. She had no wish whatsoever to ally or cooperate with people like this. Of course, Melisande had been on her way to becoming a Manipulator herself at one time, hadn't she? The sorceress had fled that life, but she still carried around a two-headed toad with her. Wyshira shook her head, not liking the way things were going.


She liked them even less after Melisande spoke up. What was the crazy girl doing now? Pretending that the crew had business with the Carthagians? That they were _trying_ to catch up and join with them?


"Is this the one you were talking about?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth to the sorceress. "Your mentor?" 


* * *​

The hooded figure above shifted slightly, and Melisande could feel his gaze fall upon her. "_Melisande_?" the man asked incredulously, and from the tone of his voice, perhaps caught a little off-guard. "No, stay _right_ where you are. I certainly wasn't expecting to meet one of the rogue Manipulators here. What on earth are you _doing_ here, aasimar? What is your purpose here? Are you..." He hesitated, almost... fearfully. "Are you in league with the Hashrukkites? Is that the truth, where the rogue mages went? Move, make one wrong move, and I'll fireball you all. Tell me... now." His voice had taken a dangerous edge.



* * *​

Much like Jarvis, Cazamir was scanning the walls for ways to reach the Manipulator. Perhaps if he could leap and reach the balustrade, he could flip onto the gallery. No, he grumbled, the time and effort in that would be better spent standing by the mages. He knew little of the Manipulators, but guessed that they relied more on enhanced servants than actual blasting magicks. He stood firm beside Johanne, ready to interpose himself yet again if more searing flames came his way, as the mage above was threatening to deal out.


* * *​

For all her faults, Melisande wasn't slow. Very rapidly, in spite of her growing discomfort, she pieced together the situation. It was what to _do_ about it that was the puzzler. And who _was_ he? It was on the edge of her mind, maddeningly out of reach. If only she could recall his name!


She forced out an icy, solid voice through a genuinely humorless smile. "Ah. I suppose we're at an impasse, then."


"I was not a rogue for long."


_Whoever the rogue Manipulators are.... I wonder...._


"As you may imagine, I was re-captured very soon after defecting and taken back to the Church for re-education. The iron hand of Toran set my mind straight. And lords know it needed it. Some time after your departure it was decided your mission was even more important, and more imperiled, than foreseen, and I was among the detachment of reinforcements sent. A courier rode out to warn you of our arrival but I gather now that he never reached you. Since most of the detachment was lost in a regrettable encounter with a Solar Beholder in the mountains, Captain Cornell and I were forced to hire mercenaries and try to catch up to you. It is understandable, in the circumstances, that you would be prudent. Captain Cornell and I will come up to join you, and the mercenaries will remain behind to watch for any further interlopers. What else can we do, I wonder, to reassure you that we are not Hashrukkites, so that we can get on with this and avoid any further waste of Carthagia's time and resources?"


She realized then that Pierre was going to bail out again and placed a hand firmly over her pocket. _We'll be fine. And I may need you. _


_Captain Cornell?_ Sebastion had spent the few moments since the threat had arrived looking for a way out, and just as he'd been about to speak, Mel blurted out more unbelievable drivel to compound the problem.


It was like the sudden rush of the spring floods that poured down the rivers near his home when the mountain ice and snow that had dammed the flows suddenly let go. You could either get out of the way, or ride the flow and see where it took you.


"Where's the staircase?" he asked, gruffly. The corridor was too narrow to get out the way of a fireball - going with the flow was the only choice, now.


The Manipulator had remained coldly silent for a moment, then shook his head, the cowl shadowing his features rippling with the movement. "I don't think so, Melisande. Captured and re-educated? If they'd caught any of the rogues, somehow I doubt they'd be willing to send you back out again, oh no. If the Manipulator's Guild had caught a rogue, I don't think anyone would see them again at _all_."


"If you really want me to believe that you're telling the truth, then show me some proof, eh? Until you do, don't try to go running anywhere, certainly not the stairs up. I know enough battle magic to immolate the lot of you."


With the man above threatening to hurl fireballs down at the party if he didn't get some answers to his questions, Wyshira was afraid to let Melisande say anything more.


"I give you my word as a priestess of Ishrak that we are not in league with the Hashrukkites." Wyshira stepped forward in order to let the Manipulator see her better. She wondered at his fear, for she was not aware that the Daemonflesh had any followers to speak of anymore. "I am Wyshira of Cryosia, one of the mercenaries that Melisande mentioned. May I ask your name? Melisande has not spoken to me of you before."


What Mel did then was to take an even greater risk--but Wyshira had provided her with a vital opportunity she hardly hoped for.


Turning her head to look at the short priestess, she angled her face away from the hooded figure above. Using the (albeit strained) bubbling-brook sound of Wyshira's voice as cover, she muttered a single word, and performed a gesture as if sweeping back the hang of her rabbit-fur cloak. It might not fool him.


She needed the "proof". A timely _alter self_ spell on her arms could do the trick. With the distraction provided by Wyshira, Melisande's incantation took effect without her words reaching the ears of the hooded Manipulator on the gallery above. 


Then suddenly she turned on Wyshira sharply.


"And nor shall I, presumptuous fool. You are paid to fight and keep your chattering mouth shut. Another question and I'll Manipulate it shut for you."  Her tone was iron. She'd learned it from her mother, and it was effective. Melisande's mother scared priests of Toran into giving up burning her blue baby, just with that voice. Mel did not dare make any apologetic gesture to the priestess, as cold as it made her feel to talk like that to such a dear friend, only turning her icy stare from Wyshira back to the hooded Manipulator above.


"Apologies," she offered him. And now the flush of deep blue in her cheeks came in handy. "I regret you insist on humiliating me in front of my servants, but I have to concede. I was never a rogue Manipulator."


She sighed. "I threw a tantrum in the lab and tried to defect to Naseria. I didn't even make it past the border of the Drakkath before they took me back. I was indeed re-educated -- mildly -- and _enhanced_ as penance."


With this she threw back the sleeves of her gown to reveal two grossly disproportionate muscled arms, laced with very precise but ugly dark blue scars.


"Now may we proceed?" she asked through gritted teeth, feigning wounded pride before her retinue. 


The mage shook back his cowl now, revealing the features which finally jogged her memory as to who this man was.


Gaethras, that was it. She'd known him back in the labs; a biothaumaturge not attached to her own group of trainees, but the guild fortress had been a pretty massive place and had held more than her class of apprentices, after all. The young man had not had the same unpleasantly superior attitude to her that her classmates had possessed, even actually being mildly pleasant to her. He seemed to have lacked the cruel streak that many of the other thaumaturges possessed. Professor Akarsis had mentioned once in passing that Gaethras was destined for greater accomplishments than most of the lesser Manipulators precisely because of this, his view and outlook more scholarly and detached. He was a highly talented conjurer, if she remembered correctly.


Gaethras's features were slightly gaunt and tired, and he had a fuzz of hair growth across what was obviously normally a shaven scalp. As he looked down at the collection of people below, seeing Melisande's magically changed arms, she saw a flicker of revulsion cross his face at the twisted limbs. Now he seemed more confused than anything else, but still possessing a healthy dose of suspicion.


"Wait... if these people are your _mercenaries_, then why is there a priestess of Ishrak? And why..." he gestured at the various members of the band who looked decidedly less mercenary-like, the sages and Burl, "are they here? They don't look much like mercenaries to me. And what in the Nine Hells are _those?_" he demanded harshly, pointing to the two shadow-shrouded figures of Kale and Ebri. Though they had been well-hidden from the Carthagians when scouting the place out, now the mage had had ample time to survey the chamber and see them clearly. "One looks like a man shrouded by spells, the other like some actual shadow-native. _What_ are you up to, Melisande?"


Mel felt a warm wave of relief wash over her--not just because she'd managed the sleight of hand, so to speak, without being instantly grilled, but because he was not one of the apprentices she remembered as snotty and obsessed with power, and as much as she hated her memories of that lab it still was a sort of home, to a former self perhaps, but still as comfortable in some ways.


It was a dangerous wave of relief, however. Pierre was still having a silently screaming post-traumatic seizure, which helped keep her alert, and clearly Gaethras was not yet comfortable with _her_ presence. She fought the treacherous sense of security, tucking her misshapen arms back under their sleeves. There were still questions to be answered.


_What are you up to, Melisande?_


It sounded so intimate, so conspiratorial, that she felt a strong desire to answer him honestly.


She didn't, but she did make a concession. Her voice was softer now, having given in to one painful confession and making another. Strange, that the deeper she went into the lie the closer she came to the truth. "We hired the first people we found. I hardly know them. Some truly are mercenaries; others are mere adventurers, and these gentlemen are scholars--they are not so much here to serve us but to benefit from our protection in order to study these ruins, and since their wizardry has been of use to us we struck up a bargain. We lost a _whole detachment_ to that flaming Beholder. We'll probably both be re-educated again when we get back. That's why I'm sincerely hoping we can be of use to you, because maybe someone will put in a good word...."


Mel let her voice trickle away, having lost its ice. "Let me do something for the Homeland, Gaethras."


She was pleading. He did have the cold detachment of a great mage, she remembered, but she'd seen the flicker of revulsion in his features just now. Surely he was capable of some sympathy.


* * *​

_An actual shadow-native..._


Gaethras' words cut through the mantle of dread that lay on Ebri more closely than the shadowskin. _If we were not about to be 'immolated', that would be fascinating..._


He seemed to imply that the Umbrals, if that was what he meant, were not entirely extinct. Or perhaps their descendants still remained...


But the immediate question was whether they were to survive. If she spoke up now, it might upset the balance if the other Manipulator believed Melisande. On the other, if he were about to dispatch them all magically, it might change his mind. _In any case,_ she thought, though she knew it was rather cold, _it will buy time for me to get her out of the way--_ If the others had to be sacrificed to save Melisande, Ebri would do just that.


_This is heaping crazy story on crazier story... _she realized, but Gaethras had given her an opening...


She stepped forward, away from the others, and turned her face up to the gallery. "I am _not_ a mercenary, though I have pretended to be thus far. And now that we are met, I have a message for you, Gaethras. And for the aasimar, too. But I will not have this rabble hear it. Shall we send them out of the room, or shall we come and meet you where we can speak more privately?"


The flickers of suspicion at Melisande's tale were still visible on the Manipulator's face, but at least now, he did not seem immediately disposed to hurling a fireball down into their midst. Then Ebri had stepped forwards and said her piece, and the wizard seemed to sag, suddenly letting the tiredness and fatigue to the surface. He looked especially haggard - whether this was because of what the woman had just said was unclear.


"I can't say I believe all of what you've been saying, Melisande, but for now, come on up, all of you - including the shadowman. We'll be ready and waiting in the upper chamber; try anything underhand and I won't hesistate to have you all killed. And you, shadowman, if you've got something to say, you can come up and say it in front of us all. There's no way I'm going to go off alone with two of your band. Now, up. It's the stairs across there."


"Like I said, we'll be waiting."



_Next Time: More bluffing, more negotiations, and sudden, shocking events._


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 18, 2004)

I thought there was going to be a fight there! I still don't trust the Carthagians, though...

You know what they say..."The only good Carthagian is a dead Carthagian."

 

*Stinkin' Manipulators!*


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## gerg_861 (Feb 20, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> I thought there was going to be a fight there! I still don't trust the Carthagians, though...
> 
> You know what they say..."The only good Carthagian is a dead Carthagian."
> 
> ...



Yeah, kill the manipulators...


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## Carnifex (Feb 23, 2004)

Woah, wierd new board look! Anyways, I'm incredibly busy with dissertation work at the moment, but with any luck I should be able to put up another update in the next few days. Brace yourselves for some serious carnage!


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## Carnifex (Feb 26, 2004)

*The Upper Chamber*​


The steps rose up into a broad, open room, light brightly; not from torches but from the sunlight. Much of the domed ceiling here was blue-tinted stained glass, playing soothing shapes across the ivory tiles of the floor. Other metal doors, including a sizeable mechanised steel iris, led away; the iris was tightly closed, two Carthagians crouched nearby and attentively examining the workings of the door.


Large metal pipes criss-crossed around the ceiling-dome and around the walls; a steady breeze blew threw vents and a whirring fan that pierced the blue glass, its rotating form shedding spinning shadows. Various pieces of mechanical equipment and tables, looking like the paraphernalia of another laboratory, had been cleared towards the walls. The centre was now taken up by the crates and equipment that had been moved up from the lower chamber.


Most of the Carthagians were carefully watching the top of the stairs as the party come up through it; crossbows and spears were readied. Their mage-captain had a longsword carefully gripped in one hand, the other glimmering with the arcane sparks of some prepared spell. A little to the side, Gaethras stood, one hand gripping a light crossbow whose bolt seemed slick with some dark substance. His other hand held the chain leads of two eager manipulated warhounds, skeletaly thin yet their frames wrought with wiry muscles, metal parts worked into the flesh.


"Talk, shadowman." He gestured for the shadow-clad Ebri to step forwards and speak.


On the very edge of her augmented hearing, she caught noise from below; from lower in the tower, and approaching, the sounds of movement. Above the noises of the fan and the faint humm of machinery that permeated this part of the tower, she was surely the only one who could even vaguely hear it; the Carthagians' attention was still all focused on her and the party. And if they were all up here, all of the Manipulator's band and the Truthseeker's band... then who was below them?


"Charming hounds..." she observed, with a thin though not unappreciative smile, and sounding like it. "It's not our way, but we nonetheless remain impressed at the research going on in your Carthagian labs..."


Pausing, she listened again for the sounds from below, wondering what it could mean. _Aid?_ In which case, she should draw this out. And yet, if it were more enemies... _If this fails, our chances are less than good..._ She consoled herself that her wit, discipline and training were superior to any of the others'; it seemed there were few good plans from which to choose.


Thankfully, she had had some practice at projecting unconcerned confidence.


"The message..." she began. "We have reliable intelligence that this mission, --your endeavor in this Tower-- is crucial to the ultimate victory of your 'Homeland'. Let us say that we are, for reasons of our own, interested in the victory of Toran. My superiors foresaw that the risk would be particularly great for the aasimar, and I was dispatched to guard her until the two of you could join forces. At that point, I was to reveal my purpose, and offer you our -- and by our, I do not mean this motley crew-- collective aid in whatever you require. As I have now done. "


* * *​

_Isn't that funny,_ Melisande would have said to Ebri Zol. _He thinks you're a shadow-man!_


But as the conversation continued, Melisande realized Gaethras believed it, and realized how little she was able to find out about the Umbral people and how they seemed to be shadowing her (so to speak) for a long time now, and how she had suspected before that Ebri Zol knew more than she was saying about such things. Could some of what she said be true? Could she really have been sent by some "Order" to watch over her? No--no--that was just a clever cover lie to let Ebri take over the negotiations, for which Melisande was actually grateful.


But the camouflaging effect the priestess wore really was odd--Mel had never seen anything like it. It reminded her of the little vial of shadowy black potion that had stayed in her pocket since she woke up in the gnolls' grove with the dream of the shadow-demon (shadow-man?).


She patted around until she found it, but refrained from bringing it out while Gaethras and the other Carthagians could see. She had a few more questions for Ebri Zol, if they survived joining forces with Carthagia.


For a moment she saw a pained expression pass over Gaethras' haggard features, and she smiled to herself because where he stood his face bathed in the light from stained glass overhead looked nearly as blue as hers.


* * *​

Ebri's smile was of course lost on the Manipulator, cloaked entirely as she was with shadows. The rest of her words seemed to, if anything, rather confuse the mage. "But surely this is _your..._"


He stopped.


"Can you hear that?"


The manipulated warhounds sniffed and drooled, giving low growls. The Carthagian warriors paused to bring still quiet to the room, listening carefully.


Now everyone could hear the faint clamour that Ebri had already noticed. The sound of movement over metal; the pipes that pierced the room brought faint vibrations of noise along them. Whispers of sounds floated up the stairway. Sounds that were getting closer.


Gaethras looked around wildly. "Must be the Hashrukkites, finally coming up from the bowels of this place for a fight!" As his men scrambled for cover, he snarled, "Try and capture one alive, I'll wring information out of them. You!" he gestured at Ebri and her band. "If you think my mission is so important, now's the time to prove it! The Hashrukkites have foul diseased beasts with their mangy cultists, and they'll be as eager to slay you as us!"


Suddenly there was a crack and a puff of miasmic smoke, as a diminuitive figure materialised out of thin air, perched up on one of the pipes above them. Some three and a half feet tall, its humanoid, squat body was clad in dark cloth robes, but its head was uncowled; a head of toadlike features, scraggly hair sprouting out in bunches and a ludicrously wide mouth full of large, sharp teeth; it was grinning insanely.


"Daemon!" Gaethras yelled.


In response, the daemon started cackling and giggling insanely; the noise jarring the minds of the listeners like the sound of scratching glass.




> _DM's Note:_ The little daemons have a nasty ability, their cacophonic laugh. Anyone who can hear it and tries to cast a spell or take an action requiring concentration has to pass a Concentration check of DC 10 or fail. Unfortunately, the DC gets higher the more daemons there are...





Ebri reacted fast and first, hurling shuriken that scythed through the air at the diminuitive fiend; one striking true but simply bouncing off the grinning, maniacal creature. Melisande gritted her teeth to overcome the cacophonous, distracting laughter and hurled sapphire bolts of energy at it; this time the beast really _was_ hurt, the impact almost knocking the daemon from its perch, and it began to spit and curse vituperously at her. A couple of the Carthagians also loosed crossbow bolts at it, but it easily dodged such mundane atacks, moving with worrying speed and swiftness as it scampered around atop the metal pipe.


The noises of incoming beings were growing louder, animalistic bellows and hoots echoing confusingly up from the staircase and resounding through the metal pipings that laced the structure.


Kale moved with speed down the stairs, liberally dousing them with caltrops before seeking cover. Thus he was the first to see the enemy coming.


Two hulking monstrosities led the Hashrukkite assault. Each massive and bulked with immense muscles, the broad-chested beasts seemed like some nightmare reshaping of an ape, appearing like exotic creatures called gorillas yet sporting four arms, not two, each tipped with rending claws; the feral, snarling faces bore mouths filled with barbed fangs. Their fur was thick and white, but diseased and scabrous in many places, and in others instead there grew patches of tough scales. They drooled and slobbered viscous ichor, which also exuded from their claws.


Each loped forwards with alarming speed for something eight feet tall, and behind the four-armed abberations came the cultists, over half a dozen robed and cowled men hissing and shouting threats and warcries as they waved barbed flails with enthusiasm. Behind them two more cultists came, these clad in the scabrous, toughened hides of some foul beast, the face of each man covered in scars as if they had been repeatedly cut across their features. Both carried flails with hollow heads, incense within burning and filling the air with putrid, miasmatic smoke. They spoke firmly and loudly in litanies and prayers to Hashrukk as they strode forwards.


The occasional puff of smoke and echoes of insane giggles indicated that more of the little daemons were accompanying this group.


It took mere moments for the massive monsters to sense Kale, even shrouded in shadows as he was. One sniffed the air with savage interest, picking up the scent of the man right away, and the entire entourage broke into a charge, forcing the scout to retreat as fast as he could back up into the main chamber.


Even as the bulk of the assault was about to boil up the staircase to assault the Carthagians and mercenaries, two more of the daemons appeared in the room, amidst the confused bunching of sages and soldiers, laughing deliriously as they ran about, tripping and disorientating the bigger beings around them. Then there was an almighty scream of tortured metal as, from the largest of the metal pipes that protruded into the room, another of the four armed creatures appeared, simply tearing its way out and snarling with bloodlust, claws reaching out for the nearby men.


Melisande had seen a girallon before; creatures created through biothaumaturgy, fleshtwisting gorillas into vicious, four-armed killing machines. But these were different, as if they'd been even further fleshtwisted, and they looked ridden with disease and infection. As the others charged up the staircase, it was apparent that being diseased wasn't making them any less angry than usual. Kale's caltrops hadn't hindered the beast's either, it seemed.


To add to the confusion, the massive steel iris began to grind open...



_Next Time: A liberal dose of carnage..._


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## Broccli_Head (Feb 26, 2004)

Yes! This was one of my favorite battles! Gotta love girallions   

Carni's almost caught up to the action....and the introduction of my character


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## Carnifex (Feb 26, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Yes! This was one of my favorite battles! Gotta love girallions
> 
> Carni's almost caught up to the action....and the introduction of my character




Which will be happening _very soon_... just as soon as tactics for the final assault are put together  Should be quite amusing to watch...


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## Carnifex (Feb 27, 2004)

We are in fact relatively close to being caught up, with only a single fight after the current one between where the SH is and where the players have gotten to right now. Hopefully I'll have the time to put up another update today, so look out for one later on... 

While I'm at it, I may as well also put up the picture by Brom which inspired the appearance of the fleshtwisted warhounds. Hopefully there are no legal problems with doing so, since its a damn cool pic.


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## Carnifex (Feb 27, 2004)

Without hesitation, the hulking, armoured Toranite warrior bellowed his defiant warcry and countercharged towards the oncoming Hashrukkite assault, metal clashing as he stomped forwards with the massive bladed warmace prepared to strike. With a grisly crunch he swept it down into the foremost girallon, the weapon rending the flesh of the monster badly and sending glistening arcs of blood scattering across its diseased fur. Behind him, Jarvis moved to fend off the abberation that was pulling itself out of the shattered metal pipe, blocking its access to his wards; his crystal-bladed short sword flickered out and scored a deep strike into one of the reaching arms, but the beast didn't even seem to notice.


At the back of the pack of festering disease-worshippers, the two flail-carrying clerics paused to utter more loudly their prayers, moving their hands in ritual gestures through the thick, incense-filled air around them and invoking the power of Hashrukk. With a shimmer of divine energy, an unholy wash of magic spread across their allies, bolstering them with the blessing, and then they imbued the nearest of the girallons with even more divine power, calling on the aid of the Daemonflesh to sustain it and to crush their foes. The massive beast roared with the invigorating power rushing into it.


Shifting through the band like a skittering shadow, Ebri dove over towards her own ward, Melisande, where with quiet but holy incantations she called upon her deity to protect the aasimar from further harm. With a quiet hum, the air around the woman took on a dulled hue, slightly more shadowy than the rest of the room even in the light through the glass above.


Meanwhile, Gaethras the Manipulator was yelling orders and cursing. He let go of the chain leads that kept the warhounds close to him; with snarls of delight, the twisted creatures leapt forwards towards the girallon that was already assailed by the Dread Slayer, but the ape-like beast easily fended them off with its powerful arms. Then, finally with his hands freed up properly, Gaethras fell back into an invocational gesture, one arm held high and the other out in front, and with an actinic gleam of light, sharp electricity began to dance down from his hands to his shoulders, highlighting his grin as the energy ran through him. Then he let the build-up loose, and the energy danced across the charging cultists and girallons. Two of the berserk men simply toppled, their corpses twitching as their robes caught fire, while others screamed in agony or jolted bizarrely. One girallon was seared badly by the bolt, but the other seemed virtually unharmed.


Ansas'Turi was feeling more than a little out of place in the insane combat breaking out all around her, and backed off, trying to find a corner to hide in until this was all over. Nonetheless, she kept her weapons-bracer up and tried to keep an aim on the flitting movement through the mob that signified the diminuitive daemons, just in case one came her way.


Recovering from their former surprise, the Carthagian militiamen now moved to fight back. Those with crossbows let loose a flurry of bolts into their attackers; another cultist fell, transfixed by a quarrel through the neck, and one of the girallons looked like it had arrows growing out of its shoulders, though even now the beast still seemed more angry than anything else. Led by their mage-captain, who conjured up a glowing shield of energy to protect himself, the remaining warriors swept forwards with swords and spears to engage their foe in melee, the girallons swatting at the assailants all around them with enraged bellows as their flesh was struck again and again.


"I'll see if I can slow them down," Cazamir barked as he moved away from Johanne. "Be wary of that steel door!" Pushing through the melee, he forced his way to the front, and brought up his foot to stamp down and send out a shockwave of mental force... only to find his concentration broken by the damned daemons! The little fiends giggling seemed magnified by the increased number now running around the place, and it reverberated around the metal pipes, grating against his mind. At the critical moment, his concentration - his focus of will - had failed.


Then the entire place resounded not with the daemons laughter but with the empowered speech of Wyshira, raising up a powerful prayer to Ishrak herself for aid and protection. All around her, her allies gelt suddenly bolstered and strengthened by the prayer, while all her foes seemed to shrink back in fear for a moment; all, that was, except the berserk girallons. But even the daemons seemed to falter for a moment.


But it was only a moment, before they sprang back into action, quite literally. One danced through the confusion, scurrying through people's legs up to the Ishrakite priestess, and with a moment's evil cackle, bit her leg with its quite considerable row of teeth. Wyshira felt the little fiend tear through the skin, biting down hard before... it was gone again, laughing and giggling as it dove away. Blood flowed freely from the injury, as did pain.


Another, grinning insanely as it went, saw Sebastion loose off an arrow into the Hashrukkite mob, and pointed towards him menacingly, sending a stream of dark magic whispering out at him. Suddenly, the Huronese man found the laughter of the daemons infectious, hilarious, and saw no reason not to collapse into a pile of mirth himself. Sobbing with laughter, he fell to the ground, helpless. Meanwhile, the remaining cultists fought back against their assailants frenziedly, howling calls to Hashrukk as they swung their flails with abandon; under the sheer ferocity of the assault, the bloodied Carthagians could not help but falter and step back.


At Cazamir's shouted warning about the iris, Johanne stepped away from the melee to watch it suspiciously, himself and many other of the wizards casting lesser protection spells; a host of shimmering shields and ethereal armours sprung up around them. As the metal aperture finally finished opening, revealing the gloom beyond, a massive metal figure strode through with a hiss of steam escaping pistons - another arcanofex, much like the one they had met in the tower entranceway; in fact, nearly identical. The head swept from left to right, assessing the situation, then began to stride towards the melee, pushing Carthagians out of the way with ease.


Melisande brought up her hands to fling more sapphire bolts at the capering daemon atop the pipe that she had hurt before; but this time, even as she began to cast, it gibbered some insane incantation of its own, and with a push of abjuration magic, disrupted her spell. Its laughter at this minor triumph was even more irritating than before.


Meg'anna too stepped up to bring battle to the enemy, her hands weaving nature magic together even as around her the air resounded with the cold hiss of glacial winds and the tinkle of ice falling to the ground; she let loose a blast of icy cold air that snapped and frosted across the cultists and a girallon; one cultist fell, literally frozen to death, and the girallon's fresh wounds crusted over with frozen blood as it staggered from the chilly assault.


And then the girallons gathered their wits together and struck back. The beast assailed by the Dread Slayer, warhounds and numerous Carthagian warriors lashed out in pure rage; one of the Manipulated hounds was sent flying towards a wall where it lay, still and crumpled, in a pool of its own blood, and a punishing punch to the Dread Slayer left a permanent dent in the Toranite's heavy armour, blood seeping through the rent metal as the man staggered. Then it leant forwards and sunk its teeth into the shoulder of a nearby Carthagian, hoisting him up into the air as it worrried at the flesh until the entire arm came free and the screaming man dropped to the floor. The other girallon that had born the brunt of the spells, bolts and spears screamed and piled forwards, smashing men aside like ragdolls, leaving them limp and broken. The final beast managed to get itself free of the pipe at last, and unable to hit the dodging form of Jarvis, simply reached over him and rent one of the wizards behind him in two. Seeing the carnage they were wreaking, Burl flung out a spray of magical missiles towards the most injured one; even in its pure rage it stumbled now, badly injured. Then the arcanofex met with it head on, and with a resounding punch knocked it back, stunned; the impact of the attack pulverised flesh and bone, and one of the abberation's shoulders was left useless and crushed. Its animal eyes glared out at its attacker, but the impassive construct just moved in for more.


* * *​

Deeply tempted to stay by Melisande, Ebri nonetheless felt conflict over her next course of action. Normally she might trust to Sebastion to protect Melisande, but the man had now lost all shred of mental discipline--


For herself, she could not help but feel a small shock at having seen their scholar companion torn in two. It was over for him now, however, while she must survive this less physical rift--


Protected and less visible as she was by the shadowskin, it only made sense that she move forward to the offensive...


She reached into her wrap for one of the shadowskin globes, pressing it into Melisande's hand. "If the spell is insufficient--" she said, and darted towards the melee.


* * *​

Melisade found it impossible to keep track of what else was going on around her; the vast hall echoed deafeningly with hideous roars, screams, demonic giggling, pounding, crashing and worse--ripping and splashing. She was aware Ebri had cast some sort of spell on her, and had noticed the light dim around her--another shadow-spell?--as well as the appearance of another tower arcanofex. She now implicitly trusted that if the arcanofex downstairs was their friend, then this one would be too, and decided to concentrate her energies on the daemons again.


Then something smooth and cool was pressed into her palm.


"If the spell is insufficient...."


Mel looked at the dark little globe in suprise. There was no time to stop and wonder. She stuffed it into her pocket and turned another blast of magic at the daemon up in the pipes. Surely it couldn't do that twice....


* * *​

In the midst of the chaos, Cazamir believed he was losing his sanity. Deadly fires and lightning, hulking beasts, and the unceasing laughter of those little daemons swirled all around him, distracting him and causing the flames inside to falter.


_Concentrate, Caz… Concentrate. You will help no one if you cannot conquer the mind!_ To drive the point into his mind, Cazamir watched as one of the four-armed beasts casually slew one of the sages. It was subsequently punished by the Arcanofex, but that did little for his piece of mind.


He quickly surveyed the scene, looking for the nearest opponent. He found one of the gorilla-beasts, and set off towards it. He couldn't allow it to grab him, so he would have to bring it down with quick, sharp kicks.


* * *​

As Sebastion continued to roll around on the ground in helpless mirth, the savage battle continued all around him. The Toranite warrior's heavy mace struck true again and again, the massive bladed head of the weapon empowered further since the Dread Slayer seemed to have entered a state of berserk rage; Ebri and Wyshira could feel the dark energy roiling off him, divine power filling him with furious energy as the blood of the girallong before him spattered far and wide. The massive creature, besieged by men, howled in agony and thrashed around it, slaughtering more of the Carthagian warriors and the last warhound but unable to get its claws through the thick, heavy armour of the berserker. Jarvis continued to lash out at the lumbering behemoth that stood now before him, the blood of one of the men he was supposed to be guarding all over its claws, and desperately tried to get its attention onto him. Blades flashed and struck, one skittering off the diseased creature's toughened skin while the other brought forth a stream of blood, but it simply wasn't enough, for the beast seemed to have learned that the pathfinder was just too evasive to strike, and reached out once again for the wizards behind him. It was met with a hail of arcane attacks; bolts of energy and force, a host of minor hexes and curses, all cascading over it, and the assailed creature echoed its brethren's howl of pain, but charged into the band with pain-fuelled strength. Like a reaper it scythed through the aged men, claws and teeth flashing as it cut through them like corn, eyes glazed with insane rage.


The foul ecclesiastics supporting the Hashrukkite assault wove forth new prayers and beseechments to their dark lord, and a blanket of cursing magic fell forth across their foes. All beneath the influence of the sinister spell felt their strikes falter and their morale waver, but then the superior of the two clerics stepped forth and thrust forth his hands, and with a grotesque ripple of the skin, they sprouted forth heavy barbs. Those who had faced the crazed wizard Cancer beneath Tarravus had a moment in which to recognise the spell from when it had been used then; and like a hail of darts, the barbs blasted forth. Most of the remaining Carthagian warriors fell beneath the assault; the thick press of combat turned out to be advantageous for those behind the front-runners, the corpses of those in front of them protecting them from the bulk of the agonising spray. Even so, both Wyshira and Meg'anna found themselves caught in the blast, both injured but Wyshira especially so. Every movement she took, the spines that had bitten through her flesh and protruded from her as if she was a pin cushion caused absolute agony.


But then, darting from the shadows once more, Ebri struck forth at the censer-wielding zealots; her kama flashed in the blue light shed through the glass above, and with a gasp of pain the lesser of the two clerics fell, clutching at the slash across his throat.


Angered at the death of his fleshtwisted warhounds, Gaethras prepared to hurl another powerful incantation, but the closely packed battle prevented him from being able to do so without striking his own side. Instead the Manipulator flung forth a flurry of force, arrow-like projectiles arcing in to strike unerringly the nearest of the girallons, the one assailed by the Dread Slayer; the bolts tore into it with small bursts of gore, and with a gurgling groan the beast finally toppled into a blood-sodden heap.


Now the only one of the Carthagian warriors left was the mage-captain, who leapt gleefully forwards to join Ebri's assault on the last cleric, his glimmering magical shield filling the air around him. With a flash of steel, his blade bit, scoring a painful strike on the Hashrukkite who staggered and was now caught between two foes.


The nearest of the girallons to Cazamir was now the one butchering his wards, and he set off towards it at pace, launching into the air at the final moment to assault it with a flurry of kicks and strikes. Repeatedly he struck true, rewarded with the noise of cracking bone several times, and the blood-soaked monster turned its fearsome eyes upon him, staring down with animal ferocity.  “Face me, you overgrown _kurg_!” he said to the towering girallon, using the colorful Huronese term.


Nearby, Wyshira quickly ran to the side of the incapacitated Sebastion, hoping to protect him from any attention diverted his way. She drew forth a prismatic javelin and held it ready; her pose seemed to ward off the mischievous daemons and they stayed clear of her. In fact, with the tide of battle seemingly turning, the little monsters disappeared completely, seemingly shifting out of existence with little puffs of smoke and fire. Melisande found herself deprived of a target just before she was about to hurl more arcane missiles in the daemon's direction. Instead she redirected the spell towards one of the girallons, the sapphire bolts biting into it. Nearby, Burl conjured forth a magical knifeblade of freezing ice, hurling it at the girallon assaulting the scholars; yet his aim was poor in the confusion of battle, and the arcane weapon shattered against the wall of the room.


Meg'anna's creeping cold continued to work its magic, and the final of the berserk cultist warriors fell, frozen to death in its icy grip; the girallon facing the arcanofex, who had also been caught in the spell, also continued to suffer as the rime continued to expand across its skin, coating much of it in a layer of ice. Then the druidess moved forwards to engage it in melee, flanking it and striking out with her enchanted spear; the flames of _Rhaeygar_ flared up brightly, but even so injured, the monstrosity managed to evade her attack. It retaliated, the bulk of its ire directed at the arcanofex, but managing to sink a claw into Meg'anna as well, slashing deep wounds into her. With its other arms it sought to rend the construct before it apart, claws sparking across the metal foe. It managed to catch them on one of the construct's plates and with a scream of tortured metal, the panel tore off, revealing the pistons and gears of one of the arcanofexes shoulders beneath. In retaliation, the mechanised warrior struck back with hammer blows, repeatedly pummelling the corrupted abberation before one final punch shattered its skull and it toppled.


* * *​

Pain engulfed her; it was all Wyshira knew. How many of the magical barbs had struck her? It felt like a half dozen or more, mostly in her upper body, although none had lodged in a vital area. Her eyes swam with tears, and the slight movement of wiping them away sent another wave of agony through her.


When she could see again, she looked for a target for her javelin. Death was everywhere. Sebastian was still wracked with hysterical laughter on the floor, but at least no enemies were near enough to threaten him. One of the four-armed monstrosities still stood a distance away, and Wyshira steeled herself to launch the javelin at it.


More pain than she had ever imagined possible followed. It was too much, and with a cry she fell to her knees. Sebastian's laughter echoed in her ears.


* * *​

The berserk armoured Toranite; his first opponent crumpled before him, turned and ploughed into the last remaining girallon. A pulverising smash from his bladed mace reduced half of the monster's bestial face to red ruin, and then with a flicker of his shortsword, Jarvis darted across in front of it and sent its guts spilling out to the floor. It gurgled pathetically as it too hit the floor.


Caught between the mage-captain and Ebri, the last Hashrukkite cleric was quickly finished off, his flanking foes hitting him repeatedly before the scarred cultist could recover.


With the berserk howling of such fiendish monstrosities once again quelled, the chamber was dominated by the quiet sounds of the whirring fans, the quiet hiss of the arcanofex's steam vents, and the groans of the dying.



_Next Time: The aftermath. So many dead..._


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## Carnifex (Feb 27, 2004)

*Crunchy Bits - The Arcanofex, Baatezu Barbed Blast, and Flesh-twisted Beasts*

_The Arcanofex:_ This warrior construct, crafted by the current master of the tower, is simply a _steel sentinel_ with an arcane source engine (from the forthcoming _Steam & Steel: A Guide to Fantasy Steamworks_). There is a specially modified _spirit matrix_ in every arcanofex, allowing the tower's mother spirit to directly take control of one as and when it is needed.

_Baatezu Barb Blast:_ I thought I might as well repost the details for this spell again in the new thread. Note that a revised and slightly renamed version of this spell will be included in the _Biothaumaturgist's Handbook_, which I am currently in the process of writing.

*Baatorian Barb Blast*
Transmutation [Evil]
*Level:* Sor/Wiz 3 , Clr 4
*Components:* V, S, M
*Casting Time:* 1 action
*Range:* Close (25 ft + 5 ft / 2 levels)
*Area:* Cone
*Duration:* Instantaneous
*Saving Throw:* See text
*Spell Resistance:* Yes

This spell was created by the fiendish inhabitants of Baator, and reflects their evil and torturous ways. The spell causes the casters hands to sudden sprout vicious, barbed spikes, which are then launched out in a cone of barbs that cause great pain to anyone hit and stick into the flesh to further agonise and torture. Anyone caught in the blast of barbs takes d6 damage for every 2 levels of the caster, to a maximum of 8d6. Further, they suffer d6 temporary Dexterity damage from the barbs lodging in their flesh and impeding their movements. A successful Reflex save results in only half damage and no Dexterity damage.
The divine version of this spell may only be cast by clerics whose deities are on good terms with baatezu.
*Material Component:* A small metal barb.

_Flesh-twisted Beasts:_ The flesh-twisted horses that have previously appeared in the SH, the flesh-twisted hounds, and the modified girallons, all make use of a new template that will also be appearing in the _Biothaumaturgist's Handbook_, which represents magical tampering with their form and biology.


Edit: Oh, and at some point I'll also post up the Dread Slayer prestige class that the Toranite zealot has taken  It's pretty nasty...


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## Angcuru (Feb 27, 2004)

Ah yes, so close to being caught up.   

Can't wait to see the close encounter with the Lords of the Flies.


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## Easter (Feb 27, 2004)

The Biothaumaturgist's Handbook?

Man.  How long do we have to wait?


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## Carnifex (Feb 27, 2004)

Easter said:
			
		

> The Biothaumaturgist's Handbook?
> 
> Man.  How long do we have to wait?




A fair while yet  It's in its early stages, with several chapters in first draft form, but uni work is currently getting in the way.

The Templars (yet to appear in the story hour) used some stuff from it, like the incense and feats. I'm also constructing an option-based flesh-twisting system, whereby the difficulty and cost of flesh-twisting is based on exactly what modifications a biothaumaturgist wants, and the girallons were an example of this (improved Con, improved natural armour, and disease carriers     fairly low-level adjustments and fairly easy to apply).

Anyways, Easter, you'll be getting a preview of it well before its finished, since I'm using several spells in there based on the original ideas you came up with ages back


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## Carnifex (Mar 2, 2004)

Slowly, amidst the dripping blood and the faint, feeble, faltering cries of the fallen and falling, Sebastion's laughter faded to giggles, to a stifled chuckle, and finally to a painfully embarrassed silence.


Slowly, regaining his breath - and giving up hope of retrieving his dignity - the warrior stood, checked his untarnished armour and weapons, walked to the nearest of the fallen Hashrukkite clerics and kicked the corpse solidly for several minutes, swearing sulphurously beneath his breath.


* * *​

Melisande lowered her hands slowly as the din of battle died away. Her breathing was ragged with horror. The scene under the dome finally reached her in its full gory, nightmarish, appalling violence: fleshtwisted monstrosities, diseased priests and many of her own allies lay twitching in spreading pools of blood and body fluids. Red flecks on her own gown were the only damage she herself had sustained, but she felt suddenly weak and ill as if also bleeding.


She gaped at Sebastion where he stood savagely kicking the hideous ragdoll of a Hashrukkite corpse, not really wanting to do the same thing (the sound of his foot was making her stomach heave), but relating to the sentiment.


Her ruse with the Carthagians temporarily forgotten, she turned to Wyshira, who was standing nearby struggling with some kind of black, barbed projectiles that had pierced her in several places. She took the priestess' arm and guided her gently. "Here, find somewhere... clean to sit and I'll help you with those. I have a potion if you want it. You've been busy healing everyone else."


Glancing up over her shoulder, she stared a moment at Gaethras. Something about him still reminded her of home and comfort in spite of everything--in spite of who and what he was, what he represented, and what she had become.


"Is that what you meant by 'rogue Manipulators'? Gaethras, _where is Professor Akarsis?_" Her voice rang harshly in the sudden silence.


Gaethras was looking around the carnage with an expression somewhere between disgust and disbelief, but his head snapped back round to the azure sorceress as Melisande made her demand with piercing tone. The mage had fallen out of the ritualistic stance of a spellcaster, looking if anything more bedraggled and tired than before. With one hand he wiped away at the flecks of blood that had spattered across his features, while the armoured Toranite strode over to stand defensively by the Manipulator, face still hidden by the impassive visor of his heavy plate. The mage-captain, doubtless a simple military man who had benefited from natural arcane talent, walked over to stand by his superior as well, his breath ragged and a haunted look about him as he took in the extent to which his soldiers had been mangled by the massive girallons.


"What?" Gaethras said distractedly. "Oh, the rogue fleshtwisters. I don't know, it might be."


"Professor Akarsis? He isn't here... did you think he was? He sanctioned this expedition but he remains in the Guild fortress in Carthagia... you thought he was here? But I thought you had said you had been sent here to help us." His eyes narrowed with renewed suspicion.


Mel stood up and wiped her hands on her dress, trying to look casual. The only thing she could think of was to pretend she knew something Gaethras didn't (even though she had just admitted to knowing nothing of the rogue Manipulators). She sent him a long, suspicious, appraising look, eyes as narrow as his. Then she shrugged. "You really _don't_ know where he is, do you? Hm. Well."


It was good, at any rate, that Akarsis was not one of those who had defected. Not that she expected it of him anyway--these Hashrukkites were precisely the sort of thing he disdained (not to say 'frowned upon', since he rarely showed that much emotion in Mel's experience). But then again, she could hardly believe _any_ Toran-fearing Carthagian Manipulator would turn to--to _this_. She stepped carefully away from the gaping, pock-ridden face of a dead priest of Hashrukk. Manipulators were valued citizens in Carthagia. They had prestige, comfort, and a wider range of freedom than most other people, with the exception of priests of Toran and warrior orders. Why would they choose this risky, hellish path of disease and corruption? What had been offered to them?


Though still rigid with tension, Mel shuddered to think of it. Hashrukk was supposed to be dead. What kind of evil, twisted power and luxury could he tempt Manipulators with, if he was near to non-existant? The question came to her again, as it had when she and her friends had defeated Cancer and burned the chapel of Gilamesh: was she simply ignorant in the past of the surreptitious doings of old gods, or were they really popping up more often and in more alarming ways all of a sudden?


She stopped in front of Ebri Zol. It was as if she were seeing the priestess for the first time. "I think we should talk... to the Master of this Tower as soon as we can. Shadow-man." 



Meg'anna winced as the pain from the gash the girallion gave her. She leaned heavily on her spear, realizing that the battle was over for the moment. She had no idea what to do next. Her magics were nearly exhausted. None of the spells that she had left would work for wounds that had been recieved already. While the others were talking, Meg tore a strip of fabric from one of the fallen, and bound herself, hoping to staunch the flow of blood for a few moments while she figured out what was going to happen next.


Sebastion calmed himself and looked down at the carcass he had been mishandling, feeling more than a little ashamed. _To lose my mind to the magic was bad enough,_ he told himself in what he called his scolding voice - it sounded like his father's most of the time - _To lose it to anger and embaressment is just foolish._ Straightening himself up, he turned to look over his companions, feeling the flush on his cheeks as he saw them treating wounds and the like. With little else to do at the time, he bent over the fallen figures and began to search for anything useful - as much to fill Mel's description of a mercenary and Gaethras' expectations as anything else. The prospect of scavanging from the dead still left him more than a little uneasy... 


There was little for Sebastion to scavenge. Most of the Carthagian warriors had little more than basic equipment and a few coppers and silvers on them; the Hashrukkites had nothing of real worth, and obviously neither did the girallons. The remnants of the sages might have yielded up something of more use, but as he headed towards that area where the old men lay crumpled as if discarded dolls, he saw the critically injured Johan, propped up against a wall with the gash of a claw wound across his midriff; his breathing came weakly and raggedly as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with shredded parts of his robes.


* * *​

Wyshira shook her head in response to Mel's offer of a healing potion. She allowed the sorceress to help her pull out the barbs, but used her own spell to heal herself. She briefly inspected the nasty wound she'd received from the teeth of the little shrieking demon, sickened by the thought of its filthy mouth touching her; but cleaning that one up would have to wait: there were many, many wounded for her to tend.


She made her way around the room, looking for survivors. Thank the Lady that all of her own crew were on their feet! She found Johanne leaning weakly against the wall, and set to work on cleaning and bandaging the gaping wound in his belly.


He barely heard her, tsking softly at the tone Melisande took with Gaethras. _I wish we need not play these games!_ she thought unhappily as she applied an herbal ointment to the sage's torn flesh. But she would play her role - mercenary healer - and stay out of the way.


On one knee beside Johanne's crumpled form, offering the little comfort he could as Wyshira actually did something useful, Sebastion tensed at Gaethras' tone before his mind ever had the chance to absorb the words. Once he had, he prepared.


The nice thing about a two-bladed sword, he realised, as his outstretched right hand clasped tightly on the handle, was that there was no real way to carry except in hand. He didn't appear ready, on his knee, off to one side, but the _Shortbowman's Stance_ was as familiar to him as any of the others his father had taught him, and from here Gaethras was in just about exactly the right place for the _Rising Shadow_ strike, should it be required.


If it was, things were about to get ugly. Keeping his senses alert, he could do little but hope that Mel's always quick tongue would prove to be quick enough.


* * *​

Cazamir dropped down by the fallen form of Johan. He did not want to interfere with Wyshira’s work, but he needed to speak with him.


“Johan, I…” Cazamir struggled to find the right words. He respected this man. Johna had constantly elevated himself above the bickering of his fellows. And he lay here dying, partially because of Cazamir. “I have failed you. I am sorry.”


The accusations spoken by Gaethras reached Cazamir’s ears. He levelled his gaze at the manipulator for a moment, then turned back, muttering a comment only he, Wyshira, and possibly Johan would hear. “Someone had best shut him up before I decide to.”


* * *​

"You don't either, do you..." Gaethras replied coldly to Melisande's words. "No idea. You genuinely don't have a clue as to what's going on, do you? I can't say I'm fully informed, but you're a glowing beacon of ignorance compared to me." The creak of leather and metal as the heavily armoured Toranite turned his visor to look at the sorceress seemed sinister, the gaze of the man hidden behind it impossible to discern as it was. The mage-captain looked tense, highly-strung, on edge. Gaethras just looked depressedly scornful.


"And yet you've got what looks like a shadowman with you," he continued, as nearby, Wyshira muttered spells of healing that salved much of the injuries she had suffered from the storm of barbs, and stopped the free flow of blood from the gash across Johanne's torso.


"You haven't failed me, lad," Johanne said groggily in reply to Cazamir, as Jarvis knelt down too to help the wizard sit up. "Just was expecting a ruin, not a battleground. We didn't make the right preparations for this," and he coughed in pain. "Not your fault, ours."


Before anything more could be said, the arcanofex moved, from being as still as a statue to a source of light and sound.


The whitelights beneath its head flared brightly, a fresh cough of energy from the construct's engine flaring within and sending crackles of electricity dancing along the crystal rods that protruded along the spine of its frame. It clomped over to the still-open iris, head turning to wash the survivors of the carnage in light.


"The Master will see you now. He has determined that the Carthagians may also enter the sanctum - he judges you no longer of threat to him. He wishes me to tell you all, that now you have seen the Hashrukkites, you must understand they are the real threat here. He wishes me to tell you all, that the Hashrukkites have plans for the tower. The Master understands the tower structure well, and what it might be used for."


"The Master wishes me to ask you to enter the sanctum with all haste to see him, because I have sensed within the structure the presence of a being of power, an outsider with a foreign source signature, other than the carnoloth daemons that the Hashrukkites brought with them. He believes this outsider is also a fiend..."


"A devil."



_Next Time: Further Elucidation..._


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## ledded (Mar 3, 2004)

Finally stopped by to take a read, and have to say I like this a lot.

Your combat sequences are done very well with a very engaging story.

Keep up the great work, I'm loving what I've read so far.


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## Felikeries (Mar 4, 2004)

i was interested in seeing if some of the stranger aspects of the unregular damage might be written with their die scores,such as the thornes,or even claw damage for the half-unreal multi-being monsters

also is there the chance that a class coflict rather than religion or intentions might take place,even as they go to the tower keeper,you know 'i don't like arcane spell casters!' 'rangers with spells are skullywag abysall worms,what do you think about that!!'

just enjoying that maybe humour could go with this entertaining assed story hour


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## Carnifex (Mar 4, 2004)

@Ledded - Thanks!  I often feel slightly unsure about how I put together the conbat sequences, since they usually pretty much describe the actual round-by-round actions of the players and NPC's rather than being abridged for dramatic purposes, but I still try to keep 'em as interesting as possible 

@Felikeries - I'm not quite sure what you're asking with your first question, but the Barbed Blast spell that sprayed the characters with the thorns inflicts both normal damage and, on a failed save, temporary Dexterity damage as well (it's not easy to be agile when every movement causes pain!). The little teleporting cackling daemon guys, the carnoloths, have relatively low damage die for their actual physical attack (only a d4) but they make up for this by the fact that the attack also inflicts disease, and they've got an armoury of spell-like abilities to back them up as well.

In terms of class conflict? Oh yes, that's been laced through the story so far, mainly in the form of the fighter Sebastion who really, really doesn't trust magic. Early on in the game he made few friends by continually referring to the female spellcasters he met as 'witches', but now he's a little more accepting of magic users after their spells have proved so useful time and again. He's still not to happy about magic though, and prefers technology such as firearms, and simple swordsmanship. Then there's been general attitudes to clerics from certain individuals seeing 'em as all misguided idiots, and suchlike.

Anyways, hopefully another update should be done before too long!


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## Horacio (Mar 9, 2004)

I've been fairly busy last two weeks, but I'm still here, and I still love your story...

And I've continuated our "secret project", first part is almost done


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## Carnifex (Mar 9, 2004)

Good to hear!  I'm currently so bogged down with dissertation work that I'm unlikely to be able to make another update until next week, unless I get lucky and find some time to write up the events of the tower's inner sanctum before then


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## Carnifex (Mar 17, 2004)

...And the dissertation is now done, bound and handed in, so expect an unpdate soon.


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## Carnifex (Mar 19, 2004)

Turning smoothly up from the floor Sebastion cast a quick glance around at the others, seeing the same looks of slight fear and worry on their faces, generally, that he felt himself. No-one moved for a moment, so he stepped forward, all traces of his previous ineptitude lost. He spoke with quiet authority.


"Ebri, Mel, help Johanne. Wyshira, gather up the rest of the mages and start them moving. Ebri, you lead them up, make sure the way's clear. Cazamir, Kale and I will follow you up when there's space. Master... Gaethras, was it? You're welcome to join us covering the rear, if you wish?" He tried to keep out of his voice how likely he felt it to be that the offer would be accepted - he had to offer, though.


* * *​

Melisande's glowing beacon of ignorance, as Gaethras put it, shone midnight blue as she gathered her robe and stepped cautiously among the rivulets of assorted bodily seepage, keeping her head down to hide the azure glare of her humiliation.


Yet, as she went toward Meg'anna with a healing potion in hand, some of the tension in her shoulders eased. It didn't matter now what Gaethras thought--or what anyone thought, for that matter, of her ruse. It may not have been brilliant, but her friends and her countrymen had not turned against one another. Now that they had fought side by side and now that the Carthagian ranks were badly depleted, it was unlikely they would choose further bloodshed. And that had been the whole point. Clumsily done, perhaps--but done.


She opened her mouth to say as much to Gaethras when the Arcanofex erupted.


As it spoke she watched the living machine, even while holding out the healing potion to Meg'anna in case Wyshira's attentions had not been sufficient.


The grinding, mechanical voice ended on a sinister note. All the deep blue blood still radiating in Mel's face suddenly drained out of it again.


"A devil," she murmured, eyes wide.


Although she moved quickly to obey Sebastion's instructions, she paused before reaching Johanne's side. If it were true that a real devil from the planes of hell were here, would not Naskha let her sense its abominable presence? Her head to one side, Melisande tried to probe through the walls and floor of the Tower around her, searching fearfully like for the source of a strange noise in the dark, afraid what her hand might land on but unable to resist the need to _know._


_A fiend..._  Ebri drew her kama forth, examining the blade briefly-- although what she was really checking for was that it remained silver. Although Karbal had said that Dreamweavers went in human guise, still, she had no idea what they were when they were not in human form. Perhaps devils?


She was not afraid for herself; only that she would fail somehow, and that her efforts would not be sufficient to save Melisande. The Great Prophet shaped all the ends of his Chosen; no doubt all such plans were integral to the Purpose. And although there were of course entities of great evil in the world, there were beings of great enlightenment as well-- the Old Masters, for instance. _Even fiends are still part of the world's illusion--_


"Let us go up, then--"she suggested, adding for Gaethras' benefit, "This too has been foreseen." 


"Can you move?" Cazamir asked Johanne. "The construct says we should move with haste, and I would prefer your knowledge to just that of the manipulators." He looked at the man with concern, sparing occasional glances at Jarvis. Cazamir still did not know how the other sages fared. Perhaps it would be best just to get their charges out of this tower. No, he had been through too much just to let Gaethras and the others reap the benefit of their sacrifices. "If you cannot, then at least one of us should go hear what it's master has to say about this devil."


* * *​

In the blue-tinted light of the upper chamber, Ebri's kama flashed silver still. The magics within the weapon did not seem to have detected the presence of a Dreamweaver nearby, at least for now. Even as the shadowclad woman examined her implement, the nearby Melisande found that her attempt to sense the presence of a dark evil or abomination gave her little information, except a faint stirring of disgust when her gaze lingered on the bloodsoaked corpses of the girallons. Indeed, the metal and stone structure of this place itself seemed to oppressively withstand letting her get any notion of what might lie beneath them in the bulk of the tower.


"I think I can move," Johanne said painfully as he shifted, before dragging himself to his feet, Jarvis quickly moving to support the mage. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."


* * *​

The band cautiously moved through the large metal iris, Gaethras and his subordinates heading in with the rest of them - the Manipulator's features now struck with intense curiosity and interest as to what lay within the tower's sanctum.


Satisfied that Johanne could move and would accompany them into the tower master’s lair, Cazamir walked ahead with the others. The Hasrukkites and their daemonic consorts were the true enemy here, but he would not trust Gaethras one inch after his earlier threats. He purposefully kept close to the man, should he need to restrain him.


The sanctum opened up before them, a wide, domed chamber of stone held up by metal gridwork and supports. Arcane machinery filled the place with a low hum, the area being lit by a mixture of eldritch fires and beams of sunlight piercing down through the dusty air through several small windows above. The curving walls were affixed with many shelves and containers, laden with alchemical vials, timeworn tomes and strange components. Dominating the place was some sort of large edifice of machinery, sprouting great lengths of copper pipes, crystal rods, pumps and smokestacks that threaded their way upwards to tangle into the metal girders above. Part of its upper surface was flat and marked as if there was an aperture or lid that currently was closed. The entire thing was still and lifeless.


The arcanofex strode over to stand aside the machine, and fell still.


* * *​

Mel entered the chamber still attempting to arrange her mussed clothing as well as scrape up what thin scum of her pride remained.


She had healed in Naskha's name only hours ago. It was not so unreasonable therefore to think she could draw on some of His divine spirit within to sense something demonic approaching; yet there was nothing. Her mind lay in doubt like an infested mattress. It itched. Maybe the walls of the Umbral fortress itself, as she half-suspected, resisted scrying; or maybe Naskha did not deem her ready for certain powers yet. Or maybe He was mad at her about the Toranite gesture and all the feebly improvised lies.


_I'm sorry! I only wanted to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed,_ she pleaded silently.


The only reply was a grumpy, amphibious _Hrmph_ from her pocket.


Or maybe there was no demon. But somehow, all things recently passed considered, she doubted it. She even glanced back fearfully over her shoulder through the iris as the arcanofex took its position.


<Center>* * *</center>


As the motley band moved cautiously closer, Cazamir at the fore, a sudden surge of energy crackled through the previously dormant contraption ahead of them. Electricity danced between pipes and crystal rods, whipping up and down in hypnotic patterns, and then a thread-thin bolt of energy lashed out with a crack of sound. It ran through Cazamir's form, momentarily jolting him with electric force, and then the machine once again fell still.


"The master required a small spark of bioelectric energy, to fully extract himself from his current predicament and complete the circuit to transfer his conciousness," the arcanofex grated as way of explanation in the short moment of silent confusion that followed the strike. Then the lid of the machine creaked. Something within was moving. After a moment, with a sudden hiss of hot steam and a snarl of gears, the lid was sent toppling off, clattering noisily to the floor.


And from within rose what had once been a human, the Carthagian thaumineer that had made this tower his home.


He pulled himself to his impressive full height with a chittering of cogs and pistons, and strode out of the sarcophagus. Seven and a half foot tall, the steamwork figure was crafted from steel and rivets, gears and pipes, the framework designed akin to the human skeleton though heavily reinforced with blacksteel armour plating. The grinning skull of a head was familiar in structure to the mimir the band carried, though the eyes of this one were filled with glimmering lenses of green glass through which the lich looked out at those that had entered its territory. Both graceful, mechanical arms ended in powerful claws that could delicately pick up a glass or vial or other fragile object, but could doubtless pulverise and rend flesh, bone and metal just as easily. From its back rose a series of smokestacks arranged like the pipes of a mighty temple-organ, thin threads of smoke drifting up from the firebox that had finally ignited deep within the construct.


It shifted its head from left to right to cast its gaze across all gathered before it, gears spinning and pistons hissing.


*"Welcome,"* it said. 




_Next Time: Tales of a Steamwork Lich!_


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## gerg_861 (Mar 26, 2004)

Pleaaaase more, I want to find out what the master has to say.


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## Carnifex (Mar 26, 2004)

Ask, and you shall recieve... 



Sebastion felt himself jump a little as the spark danced out, touching briefly on Cazamir. A quick, flicked glance left and right assured him that his nervousness hadn't been noticed as other attention was rivetted on the figure rising from the sepulchral container.


As was his own... There was something harmonious about the figure, an almost mathemetical grace and precision that reminded him - to an extent - of his pistols, and the strange, bulky, black-armoured figure he'd seen in the vision he'd received from his sword.


At the same time, though, there was something unsettling about the way the still vaguely human figure at the heart of it no longer appeared human. Perhaps it was the eyes - for it was certainly the green-tinted lenses that seemed to draw Sebastion's attention - but he appeared to have lost something to the machine in order to do whatever it was he had done.


*"Welcome"* it said, bluntly, and Sebastion wasn't sure he felt welcome at all.


"I'll keep an eye on the door...." he muttered, in case anyone cared to listen, and turned his back on the whole arrangement, unable to block out the assortment of mechanical noises that accompanied their host. 


* * *​

For Melisande, the itchy mattress of doubt was flung aside as the lich came to life. 


She stared in slackjawed amazement. There were books about this, but she never dreamed it could be real. That a wizard could preserve his spirit eternally through arcane machinations was hard enough to swallow--but with actual machinery! 


"How did--how could it--" she began, stopping abruptly at a mental wail from Pierre. The toad was right. There was no time for all the questions. 


"Thank you. Um, how soon do you expect the demon? Because some of us are injured and I gather you expect us to help defend the tower from it. Not that we mind, of course--anything to foil evil cults of Hashrukk is right up our alley! But if there isn't much time we'd better deploy our resources first and talk later." 


She thought this sounded very professional, up until the moment she realized Gaethras would be adding that to what he suspected and what she had told him and coming up with an headachingly unbalanced equation. Well, it was too late to try to clear any of that up now anyway. She gave him a sheepish shrug and turned back to the gently whirring lich, clasping her hands in eager anticipation. 


As far as Ebri was concerned, the thing was an abomination. Fortunately, the shadow-stuff that covered her did not show the contempt and disgust she felt; she did not have to hide it. She took up a position carefully behind Gaethras, in view of the mage and Melisande. 


No doubt the Immarian priestess she had been supposed to be would be eagerly filling her travel-log right now; she was spared that pretense as well for the moment. _A curiosity, another expression of the world's abundant life and diversity... a new type of person/creature/object..._ That would be the traveler's viewpoint. Were any of them left, anyone from her family and clan would be cowering in terror at the moment, prostrate on the floor. _Or more likely, preparing to worship it as a god, and wondering why the ancestors never mentioned this one-- _ But she, Ebri-- the one of the many personalities that was most truly herself-- felt only loathing. It was vile, a perversion of life and all of its potential. It was a dismissal of the philosophical outlook that humanity contained the intrinsic matter and the wherewithal to improve itself; a denial of the eternal spirit in favor of a body that was artificially furthered by machines... it would mire a person down into the grip of worldly illusion, rather than free them --- _Why not just shackle oneself to a cart and push it off a cliff?_ Ebri wondered. 


_Surely the Prophet ordained that I should be in this form to serve him; had we been better suited in another form, we would be in that form-- it would be folly and an insult to waste the gifts we were given, tossing them on a trash pile and choosing something else... _


But as its creature had said, the 'Master' had knowledge of the Tower and its functions-- which meant that he might possibly have knowledge of the Umbrals, if they were the shadow people that Gaethras believed she represented... 


She could not help but feel curious, intensely curious, about the People of the Shadow. Yet anything she said now would compromise the fragile illusion that held Gaethras in check-- and they would need his talents if a demon was moving towards them... 


"We will defend this Tower, of course, 'Master', and certainly we will work against the deluded followers of Hashrukk-- yet we might do the task better if all of us understood the nature of this place and your... accomplishment... somewhat better. " she suggested.


Behind her, the druidess Meg’anna could not manage to do anything but stare up at the monstrosity with wide eyes. What had see gotten herself into? This was supposed to be a fact finding mission about a disappearing gnoll, and it had turned into a demon and machinery fight-fest. Wringing her hands around the warm haft of her spear, Meg'anna spat on the floor of the room, showing her obvious distaste for the machine-man-thing. She knew, though, that this thing was beyond her meagre powers. Even the combined effort of her friends could not bring this thing to its knees. She would simply have to wait. Perhaps the manipulators would foul up and irritate the creation, allowing it to rend them limb from limb. A slight smile crept onto Meg's face with that thought....


* * *​

While much of the assembly, even Johanne and Gaethras, seemed struck dumb at the sight of the steamwork lich, the steel framework shifted to address the questions that Ebri and Melisande put to it.


*"I suppose I cannot expect you to have all the pertinent information."


"This tower was constructed by the beings known as Umbrals prior to the Dawn War - its purpose seems to have been that of a sentry tower, a fortified structure garrisoned with warriors and possessing of a magical node within it - a node of unparalleled size in anything built by human hands. The entire building is structured such that it channels the node."


"The source of power is concentrated in the lower, subterranean levels of the tower; from where the umbramantic energies are channeled upwards. The Umbrals could have used the node to tap into shadow magics, using it as a defence, a source of power for spellcasting, or even a weapon. It also served as... an emitter. Which is what the Hashrukkites wish to use it for."


"You have already met the tower's mother-spirit. She has only a fragmentary memory of past events, since when I arrived the tower had already suffered considerable damage and wear from the centuries and some past battle. Thus even she and I do not know the full secrets of the tower, and her access to parts of the tower has degraded; not all of the crystalline matrices are still accessible to her spirit, especially in the lower levels where the Hashrukkites have started to... corrupt the structure. From what we have gathered they plan to make use of the tower's function as an emitter, by harnessing it and routing it through a subject. They are present in the subterranean levels, a number of cultists, twisted beasts and minor fiends; certainly, a priest of their vile faith is leading them. But they have also received into their number of late a devil."*


The lich's voice sounded hollow, metallic, with little modulation to the tone. Its glimmering eye-lenses swept across the assembly.


*"The devil is of a nature that during my long lifetime as a wizard, I had never heard tell of. The lower levels of the tower are filled now with dry breezes and choking miasmas periodically sweeping through the passages - the effect of the presence of the devil, which seems to... twist the nature of purest Air. It corrupts and perverts the noblest and swiftest of the four elements in its vicinity; I have come to the conclusion that given more time, for it only arrived here recently, escorted by a strong contingent of Hashrukkite cultists who came to join their brethren already here, the devil would affect the entire valley around the tower with its corruption."


"The cultists plan to route the flow of the magical emitter through the corrupter of Air. My calculations would indicate that, if this works - and if I do not have a full understanding of Umbral arcane machinery the cultists certainly don't - it will magnify the devils aura. It will blanket a considerably larger area, the exact deliniations of which I cannot be sure, since I have never seen the emission machinery in operation."*


The lich strode over to one of the nearby tables at the side of the room, pistons hissing, where it scooped up a threadbare but impressively crafted cloak of faded purple and red, sweeping the garb up and throwing it over its shoulders, pinning it in place with a brooch of copper, the object sheened with verdigris.


*"Better. It has been a considerable period that I have languished here; my studies required further time than my body was willing to give, and the logical solution was thus to construct myself a superior form. Unfortunately I did not perfect the process sufficiently, hence my requirement for bioelectric energy. I was worried that, should the Carthagian expeditionary force have penetrated the sanctum, my sarcophagus would have been destroyed before I could complete the circuit ritual." Gaethras's features had become unreadable, the Manipulator reverting to a neutral expression.


"The Hashrukkites will plan to put the node into operation relatively soon. They have been preparing for the arrival of the devil for some time now, but have yet to finish their work in the subterranean levels entirely." *



_Next Time: More Revealed, Questions & Answers, and Preparations for Descent..._


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## Carnifex (Apr 3, 2004)

Sorry about the very slow updates at the moment, I'll be putting a new one up before too long. After the few weeks of my dissertation work it's being a tough time getting the energy back up for the game and getting it moving once more, but it *is* happening, and I have no intention of letting this story hour fade away  I will probably have a new post up tomorrow.


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## Carnifex (Apr 4, 2004)

Umbrals ... Nodes ... Emitters ... The words of the Master washed over Wyshira as she stood dumbfounded in the presence of the metallic monstrosity. She wasn't making sense of anything it - or rather _he_ - said, until he mentioned the demon, the Corrupter of Air. 


She listened attentively then, and soon found herself becoming accustomed to the odd mechanical voice and flashing green eyes. On the surface, the being seemed almost completely, abhorrently inhuman; and yet..... somehow Wyshira managed to overlook all that as the threat that the demon posed to Air became clearer. 


"What does it do to the air?" she interjected without preamble or introduction. "The demon, I mean. It corrupts the air, but in what way? And how does that fit in with the Hashrukkite's plans to spread their diseases? 


"No, no, NO! We cannot let them pervert the air!" she went on vehemently. "We must stop them before they finish getting the 'emitter' ready!" 


Turning away from the door as he began to understand that the mechanical wizard was intent on actually leading them down to the depths, Sebastion laid a hand on Wyshira's shoulder gently. 


"I don't think there was ever any doubt of that..." he offered, quietly, before clearing his throat loudly. 


"Uh... I know... I know you said that your knowledge of the tower was incomplete, but do you have any sort of map or chart of the layout down there?"


* * *​

It was strange company, and strange talk about elements and elder gods and devils. The earth was sick. The air was being corrupted. Rumors circulated about the sickening of the oceans and weird fire magics... it didn't leave much room for comfort in the land. _One man's trash Wasteland is another elder god's vacation paradise,_ Kale mused as it became more and more clear that the horrible forces of old were not content to remain the ghost stories and scapegoats of younger years. 


Who were these elder gods, and how can they be stopped? What do they want? Are other regions being polluted in the same way as the air? Kale was awash with questions, but saw fit to ask none of them. He didn't much relish his present company. Secretive teammates and ambitious fleshtwisters and dark zealots and elder powers and powerful wizards who don't know when to die. Whatever happened next, it likely wouldn't be good for the hapless crew. While he waited for events to unfold, the young mercenary tried his best to remain obscure and out of the way.


* * *​

Mel glanced over at Gaethas. She'd made up a number of heavy-handed lies to cover the reason for her own presence here, but unfortunately that included the ruse that she already knew why _he_ was here, which precluded asking him. Which was frustrating, because now she really wanted to know. Why did the lich fear that the Carthagians would destroy his sarcophagus? Why would any good wizard or Manipulator wish to destroy something before having studied it? What did they fear here? 


Then she turned to Wyshira. Of course the priestess, part elemental herself, would be especially horrified by what the lich said was happening in the bowels of the tower. Mel herself was horrified as well--even a little sick to her stomach at the thought--but also a little curious. What other kinds of magic could be "emitted" using the "node"? If they could just dispose of the Hashrukkites and the demon, there would be much to learn from the lich and his tower. 


That would be the catch, though. 


She added her own request to that of Sebastion. "Well, sir, you're the only one of us who doesn't need to breathe. What kind of protection can you provide us with?"


The lich turned to respond to Wyshira's question. *"The air in the lower levels of the tower has become befouled, a mixture of dry, lifeless air and miasmas moving amongst the subterranean passages. However, the devil has not, I believe, been here for long enough for it to corrupt the air as badly as it potentially could, and as yet it remains tolerable for living creatures such as yourself - and the Hashrukkite cultists. Futhermore, I believe the devil has managed to corrupt several minor air elementals, though from where they came I do not know." 


"My knowledge of the way down is sufficient enough for us to reach the subterranean levels and locate the base of the node structure, where the Hashrukkites have based themselves. However, I am unaware of whether they have altered the tunnel structures in any way, perhaps by barricading or blocking some areas. It is possible that they have done this, and certainly they will not be unprepared."*


For Meg'anna, it was more than stiffling in the room with the large mechanism looking back at her. Ever fibre of her being yearned to lash out at the lich ans all of his mechanical workings. She knew that there was no chance at her even being able to penetrate the liches defenses, nor even perhaps getting close to him. The Arcanofex had dealt all kinds of damage to the girallions earlier that she had witnesses, and she could only assume that this monstrousity was capable of the same. 


Gritting her teeth, Meg continued to stand at the rear of the others, wincing every time the eye lenses of the machine settled upon her. She could not understand what the machine spoke of, yet there was a dire look in the eyes of all in the room. She could sense the fear, yet there was a sliver of resolve among those more introspective of the group. Meg'anna could only respect the priestess resolve, something which she was not full of at the moment. What was she to do? It wasnt like she wanted to talk to the thing anyhow. 


However, there was something pressing that needed to be asked. Either no one had thought of it, or no one had the brass to say it to the hulking machine-man. Taking out her notepad, Meg'anna quickly scribbled down a few sentences and thrust it toward Melisande, hoping she would understand. 


It read: "If you are able to muster these "machines" to protect your tower, why havent you sent the Arcanofex to drive out the demon and its cultists? Machinery is not effected by poisoned air, while we are. If these cultists are beyond your power and resources, then how are we to accomplish this task?" 


Meg'anna wanted badly to ask about the gnoll she was sent here to find, yet she knew that this was neither the time nor the place. If the lich-thing knew, then she would just have to find out later. 


The lich took the proferred item with one steel gauntlet-hand and read it carefully. *"A wise question, and one to which the answer is easy. When the Hashrukkites first assaulted the tower, I sent a number of my steel sentinels against them, but all were quickly destroyed. The Hashrukkite leader and a wizardly accomplice in the attire of a thaumineer both wove entropic magics that rapidly rusted and damaged my servants to a non-operative level. Were I to attack them myself I would most likely fall victim to the same. Sadly my Crystal Eye, the device most suited to dealing with these intruders, was incomplete and entered into attack routines automatically when you encountered it. I do not blame you for destroying it, but it would have proved useful." *


_DM's Note: Yep, the PC's trashed the Crystal Eye, the crystal construct crafted in mimicry of a beholder. Oh well... _


*"I shall accompany you down and support you with what magics I can, but my proficiency in battle magic is not strong, and I fear to approach the leaders of the cultists lest I be reduced to rust. Now, perhaps, if your questions are answered, we should begin to move down, or at least those of you who are coming." *


"We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath," rumbled the heavily-armoured Toranite warrior, the first words he had spoken since they had met him. "'T'would be a disaster for Carthagia and all peoples of this place. They must be stopped." His armoured visage turned to Gaethras. 


"Yes," the Manipulator said after a moment's pause, nodding. "We'll aid you with this. It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence." 


Johanne, the worst of his injuries slightly salved by the healing magic of a potion that Kale had handed to him, also agreed. "I'm not going to stand around doing nothing while Hashrukkites desecrate a place like this with their foul rites. Think of all the precious relics down there, all the remnants of ancient Umbral history! No, I can still stand and I've got a few spells I can use against them, though it wont be much." 


Burl tapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't have a chance to cast the most potent of my spells back there; the closeness of melee meant I might have injured some of you. This time I'll be ready though, and I think I can help Johanne be of use too." The dark-haired man reached into one of the pouches of his inconspicuous garb, drawing forth a scroll. "_Fireball_. If you get a chance to light a large group of the cultists up with it, don't hesitate to use it. The combined might of our magical attacks should at least serve to drive back the lesser of the foes that will face us down there." The Drakkath mage nodded thankfully, gripping the arcane scroll tightly in one blood-stained hand.




_Next Time: The Final Preparations before the band of intrepid adventurers descend beneath the tower, into the shadowy gloom of its subterranean chambers... to face the evil of the cult of Hashrukk, Elder God and Daemonflesh..._


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## Angcuru (Apr 4, 2004)

Ooh, it looks like you're just about caught up.


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## Easter (Apr 16, 2004)

Just biding my time while the game gets back up to speed--thought I'd give this thread a little nudge...

I'm tearing my hair out about the mimir.  Anyone else figure it out yet?


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## Angcuru (Apr 20, 2004)

Figured what out?  That it's the disembodied spirit of Mellisande's Ancient great great (to the 192837th power) grand-uncle whom had a horseradish fetish?


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## Carnifex (Apr 21, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Figured what out?  That it's the disembodied spirit of Mellisande's Ancient great great (to the 192837th power) grand-uncle whom had a horseradish fetish?




Heheh, no, I think Molly's worked out something of a little more significance than that 

Will try and get another update done before too long, but right now the game is quite literally at crawling speed


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## Angcuru (Apr 21, 2004)

Yeah, I'm following along as it gets played.  It should pick up some steam soon.  That little slow spot you had seemed to kill the player's engines, and now they have to get started again.


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## Easter (Apr 28, 2004)

Actually, Mel just realized that this is very likely THE limited offer as-seen-on-TV *Ginsu Mimir * with five handy, retractable, slicing & dicing blades, beholder peeler, zealot melter, kobold skewer, Gilamesh temple blowtorch, long-range Nephian detector and air purifier in attractive new Spring Flower scent (very useful against those annoying infestations of Hashrukkites!).

Exactly what every ditzy blue paladin needs, and absolutely FREE with every purchase of the Asak-Atak(TM) Fire Serpent Rod!


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## Carnifex (Apr 29, 2004)

Mel - how did you know?     

Anyways, the game actually does seem to be beginning to pick up a little more speed again, so yes, there will actually be updates coming from me again at some point! The past few weeks of holidays I was working a lot on the BH, and this uni term I have my final exams coming up, but I intend to get back into updating this at a decent rate again.


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## Angcuru (May 16, 2004)

Just wondering when you're going to post an update.  The PBP is fun to read, but the story hour is a different experience in and of itself.


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## Carnifex (May 16, 2004)

Exams are really catching up with me now, I'm afraid. Two exams this week, then a short break before my last two. Unless I find a sudden burst of energy amongst my exams I'll have to wait until after them to update this again, I'm afraid 

But an update will happen eventually, rest assured!


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## Carnifex (Jun 15, 2004)

_Yes, that's right, it's actually an update! _





It was all so surreal. They'd be the disparate band venturing deep into the iron bowels of an ancient tower to rout the evils of an elder horror. Hired by a dead man. Allied with freaky zealots in black armor. Certainly the holy purple monkey men would soon make their entrance and save the day. The merchant lifestyle felt more and more appealing to Kale. 

But the beat goes on. "We cannot allow the vile Hashrukkites to corrupt the air of the Drakkath." For all his moonbat-itude, the armored man spoke wisdom for once. Kale wondered if he should mention to the man that his armor might get rusted solid during the ensuing combat. _We'll see._ His mind wondered to the Toranite band they'd encountered months ago... Burl was surely still a draw for these men, even if this one didn't seem to recognize the dark mage... Thoughts of factions and secret agendas spun in Kale's mind. 

"It is to no-one's benefit at all for cultists of Elder Gods to gain power and influence." The words did not sooth. The bloody Manipulator seemed amenable as well. Kale believed the robed man about as far as he could throw him. 

It was nice that the dead man would go down to help, as well- also convenient for him that he had very little combat magic. When everyone under the sun was signing up for the altruistic mission, it sure seemed the kindly homeowner was getting off awfully light. 

Kale spoke up, and said something to that effect. "Everyone under the sun is signing up for this altruistic mission," Kale said sardonically from behind Gaethras and his Toranite buddy. He regretted speaking up from the relative anonymity of the corner, but it was negotiations time. "But it sure seems the kindly homeowner is getting off awfully light." 

Kale didn't like that the man-machine's lifeless orbs, along with every other eye in the room, were now on him. Regardless, he forged ahead. "It's a tragedy, the destruction brought to this tower, your home," Kale sympathized with the undead mechanized mage-lich. Suppressing a shiver, he continued. "I'm sure you would be grateful for our help in ridding your tower from these pests," talking about like a rat extermination made it seem for the moment a somewhat possible task. Air devil. Gave a new meaning to ‘What the hell?’ "But when we're _not_ out saving the world, we all have day jobs." Sarcasm multiplied as the absurdity grew. Kale paused while he got a hold of himself. For the last few days, everything felt like futility. With effort, he let the emotions drain from his thoughts. He took a calm breath of iron-tang air. 

"When this task is completed," Kale resisted saying 'if',"We’ve helped you, you can help us... we all come off the better. I am seeking the secrets of thaumineering. This one here is an Ironjack pursuing her trade..." He intentionally skipped the rest of his crew with a slight and respectful nod to Melisande and Sebastion. We’ll leave them to pursue their ‘hidden agendas’ without help or disclosure. Let the Carthagians chew on that one. Let Gaethras guess any other conspiracy he can think of, so long as he doesn’t guess the truth. Kale continued smoothly "These sages seek the ancient lore of Umbramancy." He turned at last to the Manipulator and his minion, mission unknown. "While Gaethras and Skippy over here..."

Kale couldn't resist taking a dig at the Toranite warrior. He hoped the man fumed under that black helmet. The armored hulk was just like those cocky blowhards on the practice field- always quick to delight in pounding a lesser foe, then even quicker to cry foul when the small guy broke the rules. _I’m making the rules now: either declare your intentions for all to hear, or expect no cooperation or obligation to help you once the Hashrukites are sent back where they came from. You and your buddy can try to take what you want, but between my crew and the mechanical mage…_ He hoped that baiting the Toranite warrior would take the attention off the barely-hidden fact that he had no idea what the Carthagians were up to. 

The young mercenary looked squarely at the Toranite zealot. This wasn’t like the practice field- the black armored man could pound him for sure. Kale didn’t budge. _Here’s another rule: you’re ugly._ That, as his sarcastic friends on the Academy Green would have pointed out, wasn’t actually a rule at all. But it sounded cool to him. If only he’d said it. No, things were very different this time. 

He waited for reactions to his proposition. The idea was intriguing, one Kale hoped would work out in one way or another. When they walked in the room, they were a small band with two possible enemy forces, no way to achieve their objective, and a crazy cult surging up to kill them. As Kale spoke, he pondered the new possibilities. Kale gets help sharing thaumaneering secrets. Anas'Turi learns more about ironjacking... which she subsequently shares with kind old Kale and Ecurius out of the goodness of her heart... and an offer from Ecurius to help her people settle. Johanne would learn his Umbramancy, whom the amenable and friendly man would share with his saviors with just a bit of ego stroking. They may even glean some clues to the intrigue going on all about the lands. Lastly, and most delectably, they might get a good hint into what in the world the Manipulators and Toranites are up to. Win, win, win, win, win. Were even one of these scenarios to fall Kale's way, he would be pleased. All that was left was the ‘crazy cult surging up to kill them’.

The heavily-armoured Toranite didn't seem to pay any attention to Kale's barbed words, though it was hard to tell under all that black and red metal. The thaumineer-lich, however, entirely crafted from metal, seemed more responsive. *"I can provide you with such information as I have about what knowledge you seek, indeed, if you can stop the Hashrukkites from corrupting the tower and engaging the emitter. Certainly, should they manage to do so and extend the devil's evil wide and far, I don't know if you would manage to make it far enough away before succumbing to the changed Air. Now, perhaps we should proceed to the subterranean levels of the tower, to ensure that such does not come to pass."*

Kale was quiet for once. He nodded simply, as the gravity of the situation sunk in. This was much worse than saving some village in Adbar. Much more was at stake. And if death was certain then, the cost of failure here had multiplied beyond what any one person should be responsible. Or any group of people. Notwithstanding the Toranite warrior who paid him less than no heed, the machine-mage who cheated death, or even Sebastion, who took a rather unadorned view towards his antics. The young mercenary had counted many times on appearing small and unnoteworthy; in the mage's tower that moment he felt quite small indeed. 

Stubbornly, he refused to let reality get the best of him: he had lied to Fate plenty of times in the past. _Maybe she won't catch on..._ Kale hoped simply, like a toddler willing himself invisible enough to sneak another cookie from under mother's eye.

* * *

Seperated from the discussions by his previous vigil over the door, Sebastion snorted disgust at Kale's tactic, and quickly covered the reaction by hastily drawing the pistols from his belt and beginning the task of checking they were loaded correctly. Whatever the soundbite-soldier was up to - and despite his ability with the Brineblade Sebastion's firmly held contention was still that Kale talked a better fight than he ever had any chance of actually putting up - facts were facts. 

Death was coming, riding side-saddle on her three-headed skeletal wolf, and she'd be feasting for a while tonight. The pistols were ready, the sheathes on his blades were loosed but not ready to fall, and he turned to checking the links in his armour as he shrugged his shoulders to releave the tension. 

This, his father had said, was the Hour of the Dog. Battle was due, and swords would be crossed. The field was set, the armies in place, and all that was left was for the blood to be spilt, and fate and luck to favour the bold. It made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up, a dog's hackles sounding warning that war was approaching...

* * *

Melisande was not paying much attention by the time Kale started to try to bargain with the lich. It was good to have someone so practical-minded on hand, when there were other, larger things to consider, like arcane nodes and entropic magic. So much to ponder, and so little time for questions or research! 

It looked like they were about to descend into pandemonium again with but the vaguest of notions what they were up against. Last time it had been a cult of Gilamesh, and Mel shuddered to recall the unexpectedly powerful magic unleashed by the priest Cancer then; now it was Hashrukk, and she refused to allow her imagination to speculate on what deadly surprises the disease-cultists and their demon would have waiting. So entropic magic could accelerate the oxidation of metal--what else could it do? The Hashrukkite thaumineer would have to be the group's first target. 

Suddenly out of her ruminations she heard Kale call the Toranite priest "Skippy" and began to wonder what she'd missed. But before a giggle could make its way out, she saw Sebastion grimly checking his pistols and all desire to laugh instantly evaporated. 

He was probably about to die. Of course, since they met there was rarely a moment when he was not likely to die, but that didn't make it any easier on Mel. On an impulse she went to him, turning herself to shield what she was doing from Ebri Zol's perspective, and drew out the strange, dark orb the priestess had given her. Mel had no idea what it did, but she did suspect Ebri Zol had some hidden, profound interest in keeping her alive. Furtively, she handed it to Sebastion. 

"I know you hate magic, but please use this if things get bad." She tried to smile and failed. 

Staring at the orb for a moment, wondering if he was imagining the black swirls gradually circling over the black surface between pools of black, Sebastion blinked once, twice, and pulled his gaze away back to where Mel was now making an offer of magical assistance through invisibility spells from the centre of the room. Reaching over his shoulder, he slipped the last of his axes into place in their rack on his back, and settled his shoulders slightly, calming himself once more, despite the continued headache that just wouldn't quite seem to go away. 

Casually, unconsciously, flicking the black orb from hand to hand, he stood back a little and watched Mel for a moment. 

_She's.... grown?_ he thought to himself. It wasn't just the change of the spear she used to carry for the sword that was now strapped near to hand, nor the balanced poise she showed, ready to bring it to bear. He took a little pride in having helped her acquire those, nonetheless, though he wondered sometimes how much Wolf's input in those lessons had helped. 

Her night-blue hair was still kept tugged back in two braids from her temple - too inviting a hand-hold in close quarters, he now realised, looking at it. Her pearlescent skin still carried the slight azure hue - a little more pronounced now with the flush of battle approaching - and even the changes in her clothing didn't account for it. 

It had been in the sapphire blue of her eyes as she'd looked up slightly to pass him the orb - she was ready to fight, now. Nodding with the slightest of smiles, he stepped towards her slowly, reaching behind his neck to strip away the thin leather cord with which he'd tied his own hair back into a small tail. 

"Here." he offered, holding out both hands with a slight smile, the cord first. "You'll need to keep your hair out of grasping hands... I don't know if this will help. 

And..." - he eased the other hand forward, the black sphere settled in the midst of his calloused palm - "It's not the magic... not just the magic.... I don't think either of us is the sort to hide in the shadows, really... are we? Perhaps it best if you give this back to Ebri? Or to Kale or Burl, perhaps."

_Bloody chicken-brained man,_ Mel thought wryly. This was not a time to argue, however, so she accepted the orb reluctantly, murmuring, "Don't you make me regret taking this back." 

On the other hand she wasn't sure what to make of being offered a hairband as a protective measure before a battle. Was he being cute, or was he mocking her? She decided to take the gesture at face value, offered as candidly as it was, and pulled her hair back into a snug ponytail before setting off. Let him laugh, since that seemed like his way of dealing with battle-tension. 

A surreptitious glance told her Ebri Zol had not noticed her mysterious gift changing hands. _There will be a lot of explaining, if we all survive this, and not just from the lich,_ Mel decided, uncharacteristically willing at the moment to let a few details slide and stay focused on the dire task at hand.

* * *

Wyshira felt her face flush grayish-blue. Anger churned inside her, building in strength, finding no outlet. The accursed Hashrukkites were corrupting the air! They had summoned some foul outsider - a devil, a defiler - and planned to augment its powers somehow with the strange umbral machinery of the tower. The very idea was unthinkable, unbelievable really. Except that Wyshira knew that the earth had already been partially corrupted - Cord had felt it in his bones as he'd walked the land of the Drakkath. If Earth could be perverted, then so too could Air. 

_Ishrak, Lady of Storms, goddess of Water and Air, please help us! _

Sebastian laid a hand gently on her shoulder, stilling the torrent of emotions that whirled inside her, at least for the moment. Yes of course, almost everyone here was ready to do what they could to stop the Hashrukkite plot. She was glad to know that she had many allies close at hand.

But first they must talk. And talk some more. Wyshira grew impatient, especially with Kale and his bargaining. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cast upwards as if calling on the gods to give her strength. She did not look at all like her usual self: she was tense and restless, her normally serene brow darkening like storm clouds in the winter sky.

* * *

_Great Prophet,_ Ebri prayed, deeming this an appropriate moment for that, _as you have led your servant this far, lead her still. Let this creature of flesh prove worthy of your Purpose. Lead her beyond light and darkness to Truth... _

Before the words finished sounding in her mind, her magically enhanced hearing  picked up the low exchange between Melisande and Sebastion. She did not turn,  but waited tensely for a moment, wondering if she would have to intervene in what seemed to be a significantly private moment. Fortunately, the soldier  gave the shadowskin back, relieving her concern. 

_There is no one to be concerned for me..._ she reflected, now. Like so much else, this set her apart from other people. No one would grieve for her passing, and the thought did not distress her. Far from it; had she felt anything about this isolated state of hers, it was most likely a sort of pride. _I have put aside all that which previously chained me to this illusory sordid world. And my brethren will rejoice that I acted in obedience to the Prophet's ends._ What more could be wished? 

It was not that she doubted that the bonds that existed between lesser individuals were real or useful; indeed, she had both suspected and confirmed 
by observations that such emotional connections - love, friendship, trust, oaths, indebtedness, and the like-- were quite useful, bringing strength,  motivation, and perseverance to those who needed such things. 

But she, to put it simply, did not. And never had, that she could recall. In her living memory, there had never been a time that she had needed something that she could not provide of her own action or choice. And that being the case, bonds with others were yet one more limitation, one more opaque curtain drawn between oneself and Reality. 

So comforted, she focused her awareness, readied her body and her weapons, and indicated that she was prepared to move on as well. 

* * *

Meg'anna simply nodded at the steel creature's explanation of why he could not defeat the cultists beneath his tower, yet it still wore on her that a wizard capable of weaving magics to bind himself to machinery could not overcome the spellcastings of lesser zealots. Still, it sounded somewhat honest, and though he was a machine, Meg would have to let it go at that. Her main concern then changed to that of having the vile manipulator with her party.

She knew that the others might have some reservations about the man, but there was somethings that she could not simply abide. Perhaps the foul creator would be killed in the ensuing battle, perhaps she would strike him while they fought, whatever the outcome of the next fight, the Manipulator would not see the light of sun again, she would make sure of that, even at the cost of her life.

Hopefully the Toranite would perish too, but that was truely asking for a miracle. With any luck, her party would survive to deal with him later. She now needed to deal with augmenting those whom needed it for the upcoming battle. Her main problem was letting those who might benefit from her spellcastings know about it. 

_I believe that Kale relies on his agility rather than brute strength. Perhaps Sebastion does as well. It is rather difficult to tell which might benefit from my enhancement more. Perhaps I should merely cast it upon myself. Perhaps it is simply better if I have someone ask for me. _

Scribling on her pad once again, and letting those in the company see what was written there, Meg'anna hoped to find out who might benefit from the spell she had in mind. Written upon the pad: 

"I have the power to augment one's personal strength above normal,
though it comes at a penalty to one's agility. 
The lasts for some time, so I should think that it would be useful for any here. 
Is there someone whom would reap the benefits from such before we leave?"

* * *

They began final preparations for the descent. Johanne gripped the scroll Burl had given him tightly in one hand, weaving another _mage armour_ spell over himself to ensure he was well-protected from what was to come. Jarvis checked his weapons and tightened the straps that held his short blades. Burl shifted uneasily in his dark, nondescript clothes, making sure his wands and scrolls were close to hand before giving Melisande the Fire Serpent rod at her request. "Well, it is yours after all," the necromancer said as he handed it over to her. 

Gaethras the manipulator too was running his hands over his bandolier of spellc components and vials, pausing to reapply a thick, slimy poison to the tips of the crossbow bolts he carried and tightening the string of the mechanised weapon he carried. "Hiern, keep close to me," he said quietly to the Carthagian mage-captain, who cast _mage armour_ over both himself and his superior in preparation. Gaethras didn't seem to issue any orders to the hulking Toranite though, who simply paused to clean off some of the gore that still adhered to his heavy, viciously barbed mace, the jagged metal spines glitning with crimson stains as he set about it. A few straps tightened and armour plates shifted, and the warrior seemed ready to go once more despite the wounds he had suffered from the monstrous girallon before. 

Johanne walked over stiffly to Cazamir, signs of pain flickering across his face with every step as he propped up his weight with his staff. "The armouring spell we cast on you earlier should still be fine, Cazamir, so hopefully it will help ward off the Hashrukkites. You, and you," he said, nodding at Jarvis, "shouldn't be too worried about protecting me now. This is more important than unearthing lore about a dead civilisation for the guilds back in Adbar. These Hashrukkites pose s serious threat to a lot of people, though I fear this may only be a fraction of their plans. I never expected to be facing daemons and veils when I started on this expedition," he said with a strained laugh. "Nor to be talking with metal men or fighting beholders crafted from crystal. But here I am. You know, whatever happens here, I can't help but feel at least I'll have done something worthwhile in fighting the cult of the Daemonflesh rather than picking up pieces of the past. I'll try and give what spell support I can if we...when we end up fighting, but I've gone through most of my repertoire today already." He brandished the _fireball_ scroll. "Not completely toothless yet though."

“Johanne,” Cazamir said, sparing a look at Jarvis, “Hashrukkites or not, I am duty-bound to protect you on this journey. The daemon cultists must be destroyed, and we will see to that, but it should not stop us from seeing you out of this tower.” 

* * *

They began the descent, walking through dusty corridors of stone and metal through which gashes of light filtered from outside, sparkling on the motes drifting through the air. Through halls held high by creaking metal girders they passed, down spiralling stairs, through dark passageways and heavy, mechanised doors of brass and iron. Strange paraphernalia of the Umbrals lay scattered here and there; strange pieces of armour that were not shaped for human forms, tattered, motheaten and faded banners and tapestries hanging lifelessly, bizarre and alien pieces of metal inscribed with ancient Drakkath language. Johanne's eyes sparkled with interest as he saw these relics, but they had not the time to look at them closely. 

They were taking a different path down that the one through which they had ascended in the first place, and it led them through a room into which a nest of thrumming copper pipes tangled, past a dark room which looked like a barracks in which rusted iron frameworks hitned at what had been furniture. One echoing, ancient space had clearly been an armoury, a mass of rusted weaponry piled up against the walls. Mighty swords and axes of exotic design, heavy crossbow-like mechanims that sprouted vicious barbs, large and fanged glaives and spears, and more besides. 

As they moved, Ansas'Turi, who had tried to stay out of harms way throughout the battle at the summit and had been quiet, though amazed, during following events in the heights of the tower, now quickened her strides to keep apace of the tall steamwork lich, the metal trinkets in her hair clamouring at her speed. "Sir thaumineer," she began deferentially, "I am an Ironjack, from across the seas. Our people have been chased out of our ancestral lands and fled to those of your kin, and I have to admit that we expected little in the way of mechanical knowledge here. It... surprises me to see such advanced handiwork as your own - we have never managed anything so intricate, so... advanced as your steel form! Our mechanists work towards melding flesh with metal but even they are not so skilled as to manage a complete transfer of conciousness. Perhaps, after this is over, we might speka of such things?" she asked eagerly. 

*"Ironjacks. I have heard of your people, in my studies. Perhaps we can discuss after the Hashrukkites have been dealt with." *

"These... Hashrukkites..." Ansas'Turi continued, "I know of the clashes between the Elders and the Youngers in the Dawn War, and that these cultists worship one of the foul Elders. I know little of the culst of the ancient gods though, for we have had little contact with them in Avoria. What troubles me though is something I heard mentioned earlier - that their idol is called the Daemonflesh?" she asked tentatively. 

Jarvis, padding quietly along nearby, broke in with an answer. "He is indeed - Hashrukk, the Daemonflesh. One of the foulest of the mad ancients - they say his form is that of formlessness, just a mas of insane, oozing flesh. He's the source of monstrosities and the foulest abberations like the dreadspawn - I'm surprised the Carthagians," he nodded, spitting the words venomously as he indicated the Carthagian trio with the band, "weren't quicker to answer since Hashrukk's right up their avenue. It's common rumour that the manipulators offer prayers to the Daemonflesh, after all." Clearly the Naserian had little like of the Carthagians. 

"It worries me, you see, because the Sanguinials, the scourge of my people, spoke of the Daemonflesh with reverence..." the Ironjack said quietly. 

* * *

They made their way further down, reaching the nexus room at the top of the main staircase, the door swigning open willingly before the touch of the steamwork lich. One of the other doors, that which the party had passed through earlier to access the room in which the crystal eye had lain, still stood wide open, and the iron lich seemed to give an almost... longing look in that direction, valves and pistons giving off a hissing sigh of steam. *"The crystal eye would have been useful..."* he said in as wistful a tone as his mechanical voice could inflect. 

Down the creaking staircase they went, seemingly hanging in the darkness of the huge central chamber of the tower as they descended. Then they reached the point where the staircase met the ground floor. Around them, the metal surface stretched away to the distant walls of the chamber. Before them, the stairs continued down, the darkness yawning ominously open. 

They went down, into the shadow, to meet whatever awaited them below. 

* * * * * *


_Next Time: Chapter 2 - The Shadows Beneath_


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## Angcuru (Jun 17, 2004)

Yay!

ENJOY YOUR NON-BROKEN SELVES WHILE YOU CAN MUAHAHA!

 

Lots of introspection on the players' parts is good, but I must say that having too much of it takes away from the value of introspection in general.  Just for once I'd like to see Ebri say "Y'know, today I feel like killing something without writing extensive notes for my memoirs at the same time."  And I'm wondering where Kale has gone to.  (referring to the PBP)  Cazamir, too.  Have you contacted the players at all?  Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?


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## Carnifex (Jun 17, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Yay!
> 
> ENJOY YOUR NON-BROKEN SELVES WHILE YOU CAN MUAHAHA!
> 
> ...




You have to remember that Ebri is a zealot and not particularly mentally stable, hence all the introspection 

Cazamir and Kale - well, I'll wait until later in the SH to reveal what has befallen them


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## Broccli_Head (Jun 17, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Have you contacted the players at all?  Or does it seem as though they have dropped off the face of Acrozatarim?




It doesn't matter where they've gone! It doesn't matter who they are!

All that matters is that the Storm approaches and you better be prepared for the carnage.


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## Angcuru (Jun 18, 2004)

Well, if you've got any holes in the party that need patching, I've a few character concepts stored away and WAY too much free time...   Besides, we need to toss in some rough & tumble types, stir things up a little!


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## Carnifex (Jun 28, 2004)

*[size=+1]Chapter 2: The Shadows Beneath*[/size]


The subterranean levels were dark and dank. Shrouded in thick gloom, it was stifling, claustrophobic. Small creatures scuttled in the shadows, mould clung to the walls, and a faintly unpleasant odour that mixed the tang of rust with... something else... haunted the air. 


The stairs led down into a tunnel, some twenty feet wide and high, a semicurcular curve of wall and ceiling that dripped with moisture. It seemed entirely crafted from stone, carved from the rock, rather than the amalgams of metal and stone that the uppre levels were made from. Disappearing into the darkness in two directions, the passage ran straight and purposefully. 


The party still had several wychlights to aid their sight down in the depths, and with an arcane spark Gaethras added another, the green-white actinic _light_ spell keeping the area around them illuminated. Jarvis drew and held out his crystal-threaded short sword, concentrating for a moment before it broke out in gleaming blue light. Both Cazamir and Sebastion felt a faint tinge in their heads, not pain but a sense of something, as the blade activated. 


*"This way,"* said the steamwork lich, his merchanised arm indicating one way along the tunnel. *"The arcane machinery of the umbral emitter is reached by heading in that direction. This is quite a warren of tunnels, from what little I have explored down here before. It would be unwise to get lost,"* he warned. 


"I can imagine, Jarael," Gaethras said quietly. 


That was the first time the name of the undead thaumineer had been mentioned, and it seemed Gaethras had already known it... The lich however did not seem to notice. 


*"The mother spirit has indicated to me that the Hashrukkites have somehow accessed the crystalline network through which she monitors the tower down here, and thus can most likely detect our approach. We should expect resistance to be marshalled against us fairly soon after they realise we are down here. Since a number of the daemons survived your previous encounter, they will be forewarned, and doubtless prepared to some extent." *


With haste, they moved on.


* * *


Wyshira listened as Burl and Johanne discussed using _fire_ to fight the Hashrukkites. The thought made her cringe, but as long as they kept the flames well away from her, she didn't object. She also noted that Melisance had the Fire Serpent Rod in her keeping again. The water priestess reminded herself to watch out for the creature it summoned, especially since Mel was apt to the let the thing loose anywhere. 


As they walked down the ancient, echoing corridors, and descended the rusting staircases once more, Wyshira also overheard the conversation between the iron lich and Ansas'Turi. She heard them speak of the Sanguinials, which she remembered the ironjack mentioning before. For some reason, Wyshira was reminded of the Bloodkin. 


* * *


As they marched down through the tower, Melisande's mind had time to wander a few intriguing mental paths, cataloguing questions for a more relaxed moment--if one was ever to come. 


The mimir had declared _weal_ for the passage they had taken; yet what could possibly have been worse than the crystal eye? Not only did it nearly kill half of them, but now it was destroyed and the lich clearly wished it were intact to help against the Hashrukkites. Was the mimir really on their side? Could it be on anyone's side? What kind of clairvoyance did it use--arcane or divine--and could it simply be mistaken?


What was Ebri Zol's connection with the shadow-people? Mel now wondered if there was some link between her and the shadow-man who had visited her in a dream in the gnoll's glade. There were certainly a lot of coincidences. 


And then there was talk of Hashrukk the Daemonflesh. Melisande listened, wishing there was time to consult the mimir (if it could be trusted!) on that subject and on element corruption by demons. She wished they'd taken a few more minutes to prepare before heading down here, but that couldn't be helped now. 


Presently Gaethras had thrown her another scrap, by casually letting slip the name of the lich. Now she wondered again why Jarael, as he seemed to be called, had been so worried about the Carthagians arriving first at his sanctuary: their mission appeared to be neither scholarly nor defensive, but personal. Did they think the defector had something to do with the other lost Carthagians, these 'rogue Manipulators'? Now that they knew they were wrong, did they intend to let him live, or would they turn on him the moment the Hashrukkites were taken care of? Would they turn on _her_ and her friends? Her eyes could have bored holes in the back of Gaethras' ill-shaven head. There was much she needed to know, and there was a small chance Gaethras would bargain for his own share of information about her, since it was clear he didn't believe much of what she'd made up before. If they both survived this.


* * *


Sebastion was aware of the noise around them -the mechanisms of both the tower and their 'host', the stones in the base of Kale's boots, the gentle hiss of steel links over one another as he himself climbed step after step... 


Loudest of all, though, was the silent disapproval in the back of Sebastion's head. At this time before other fights it had been his father's voice he'd heard, his father's lessons he recalled to prepare himself. They were still there, but there was the imagined ghost of another voice there too - Wolf. 


_I know,_ he thought, placatingly, _Be ready. 


The little black sphere? Well, it's... it's... no, it's not just that it's magic, it's... well, it's dishonourable, hiding like that and striking from the shadows. 


I know they do it, but we're supposed to be better than they, that's why we fight. If we were just like them we'd join in, wouldn't we. 


No, that's different. Pitched battles with armies is a different set of... 


No, I know the tactics are the same. The accepted behaviour's different. 


Why? I don't know why... no, I don't suppose it does make a lot of sense, but... 


It will mean a lot if we lose, yes. More than I think I probably understand. 


Yes... yes, I might just do that. _


He slowed a little, dropping in between Melisande and Meg'anna and clearing his throat gently. The sorceress turned distractedly away from staring at Gaethras, Sebastion interrupting her attempts to read the mage's mind by sheer will power. "Uh, Mel... that... that little black orb, do you still have it? When we get down there, perhaps it would be a good idea if you wore it. It will give you some defence if you need to stop to cast anything. Striking from that sort of cover... well it's no more dishonourable than archers using the advantage of a hill in battle, really, is it?" He pointedly ignored the silent laughter of the wiser voices in his head.


"Dishonourable! Is that what you're worried about? Against _Hashrukkites?_ Sebastion. If they strike at us first, any method we use to prevent them from killing us is perfectly honourable. I wish you'd keep it. I have other ways of making myself unseen if I need to get out of trouble." 


Sure of herself as she may have sounded, now there were more questions, questions of honour and what was acceptable and what wasn't, that she would have to address later. She still felt a certain pang of guilt for the lies she'd told Gaethras, even if they had (she thought) helped prevent him from fireballing them all. What would Naskha, sorcerer-trickster god, think of that? And how could she know, having so little to base her faith on?


Sebastion turned to Meg'anna then. "And if..." His voice trailed off slightly, and he cleared his throat again. "If that offer of a boost of power is still available... what exactly does it do?" 


Meg'anna had been keeping to herself, knowing that she did not want to draw more attention to herself than possible. She had begun to put together in her head exactly what had happened to the gnoll that had come here, and she was pretty sure that either Gaethras' group had gotten a hold of him, or that whatever was waiting for them in the bottom of this tower had the remains of the trepid explorer. She would have to keep an eye out for him. It was the least that she could do.


She turned from her thoughts to look at the man standing in front of her. Sebastion had never been one much to talk to her, though it was probably something to do with his rather odd feelings towards magic-users in general. However, his question was still unanswered and she was still simply looking at him. Shaking her head for a moment, Meg'anna pulled her tablet from her satchel once again and began scribbling quick notes to the best of her ability as to what the spell did, or at least what she had felt when using it in the past. 


_The sensation is hard to explain. However, it is best described as heightening one's physical strength at the cost of agility. Your blows would fall harder, causing more damage, though you would loose some ability to dodge those blows that came your way. It is akin to gaining the strength of an oak, but also gaining its rigidity._


* * *


They walked some short way, the air in the tunnel breezing past them slightly and carrying on it an increasingly foul smell, causing the organic members of the band to wrinkle their noses in disgust and sometimes cough from the thin miasma. Then, ahead in the gloom, noise.


Ebri, with her magical earring, and the steamwork lich Jarael were the first to hear the foe. The sound of feet and metal, shouts and orders, and a faint and distant hum. Soon it was loud enough for the others to hear as well; it sounded like many were approaching them at high speed, running footsteps echoing along the stone passageway. 


The lich, Gaethras, Burl and Johanne began to push through to the front. "Sounds like there are many of them coming," said Burl quietly, tensely. "In these confinsed tunnels they should provide a good target for our spells. We'll see how cultists fare against magic," he added with uncharacteristic fierceness.


"If there are any Air creatures with them - like those elementals the l-, uh, the Master told us about," Wyshira looked sidelong at the steamwork lich as she said this, "leave them to me. I may be able to take control of them," she explained. Then she readied herself to face the oncoming host, clutching a prismatic javelin in each hand.


Kale could smell a taint, a foulness ushering towards them on in the air. It was time. "Melisande, make me invisible, if you would." He offered to the blue woman. Curious, she was. Small, but firey. No doubt she was anxious to use the sword that swayed at her side. Oblivious that her woolen robe and dress were the only barriers between her and her enemy's blades. If only she had some protection... 


"Wait!" the mercenary said quickly in a revelation. "Burl, it's about time to use that armor wand." 


All magicked up, Kale finally got his wish and was truly invisible. It was a marvel. Magic didn't seem half-bad. He threw a glance at the Manipulator and lich ahead. No, half bad. At least.


The party readied themselves for the oncoming assault, weapons and spells prepared. Meg'anna finished casting the _might of the oak_ on Sebastion, the faint noise of creaking boughs and leaves in the wind whispering in the tainted air around her wordless gestures. He felt empowered by the strength, infused with living energy that brought strange reminders to him of bark and sap, sunlight and unyielding timber. Nearby, the invisible Kale slipped on his magical ring and the shadows shrouded round him; so shielded, he slipped a short way ahead to lurk in the gloom, unseen and unheard. 


The first wave of foes came forth from the darknes, howling and chanting. 


The cultists were clad in heavy, ragged robes of dark green cloth, draped over hardened plates of boiled leather and straps that acted as armour. Simple wooden shields and spiked metal flails made up their armaments, what was visible of their features underneath their heavy cloth cowls being contorted with battle rage and bloodlust. The mob swarmed forwards, flails swinging, accompanied by the cackling cacophony of the little daemons that had aided the previous assault higher in the tower as the diminuitive fiends bounced in and out of reality with short teleportations, puffs of smoke tracing their movements. 


Even as the air around the party began to ring with the insane laughter of the daemons and the warcries of the zealots, the mages opened fire. 


Johanne recited the arcane formulae on the scroll he had been given, voice strong with magical power as warm wisps of energy began to dance around his hands. As the parchment finally gave up in the face of the fiery magic burning within it, crumbling into ash, his chant rose to a strong crescendo and he thrust out both hands, for a moment unfeeling of the ache in his limbs. With a bright pulse of flame, the tunnel was lit by the explosion of the _fireball_, the inferno devouring cloth and skin, searing flesh and igniting hair. The flare of orange light, so powerful against the darkness, was accompanied by the structure of the tunnel shaking from the detonation, and a roaring blast of noise and air. Men staggered, caught by the blast, flames licking across them. 


Burl narrowed his eyes and wove dark strands of energy from the air before him, coalescing into dark bands of magic around his fists. With a last muttered word, he unleashed a necromantic pulse of negative energy into the midst of the reeling crowd, a muted, quiet wave of death after the roaring blaze of the ball of flame. Some of the zealots simply dropped dead, others paled and gasped as if deprived of air. 


Both Gaethras and Jarael followed this up with their own blasts of crackling, roaring lightning, sending sparking tongues of electricity coursing through the mob. Limbs jolted with shock, spasms running through flesh as it seared again. 


After the crack of such thunder unleashed, the tunnel seemed suddenly quiet, except for the snap of static energy slowly discharging. Almost all of the cultists had toppled, dead and lifeless, except for one last man who staggered forwards, flames dancing across his robes as he frenziedly tried to get to grips with the party. The twang of Sebastion's bowstring marked an arrow sent to flight, hitting the man full in the chest; he clawed at it for a moment as blood bubbled from the wound before falling to lie amongst the rest of his kindred. 


The small daemons paused in their manic activity, gazing surprisedly over the slain mob of cultists. One of them gave a nervous, tentative giggle, only managing a few moments of the mind-scratching noise before Wyshira was able to draw a bead on it and hurl one of her prismatic javelins. The weapon energised in flight, shifting to a bolt of pure electricity that slammed into the daemon, sending crackling tendrils of light dancing across its body before it discorporated into a foul mess of black smoke and tar-like goo. 


The other daemons stared at the remnants of their comrade, and then disappeared away, fleeing back down the tunnel with short warps through reality. 


Yet another background noise, that of the low hum, was growing louder and stronger, resolving itself into a loud buzzing punctuated by the clamour of armoured footsteps on stone floor. A new wave of enemies was following up to the foiled attack by the cultists. 


From the darkness, a seeming wall of noisome flies emerged, a cloud of them thick in the air as they whirred and darted, their tiny dark bodies arcing erratically around. Kale was caught in the cloud as it moved forwards, unable to react quickly enough from the emerging miasma of living insects, and flies smacked against the invisible man, massing on him, stupidly bouncing off him and trying to fill his eyes and mouth, nose and ears. The nauseating cloud of flies filled him with revulsion as he tried to brush them away and fend them off. 


And from the gloom emerged the new foe; three tall, figures that gripped the hafts of great, two-handed flails. Each was clad in plates of heavy, thick armour, the metal rusted and corroded, and they wore some strange amalgam of helms and filter masks, perforated nodules and great glass eyeplates letting the warriors within see out across the tunnel before them. The flail heads were hollow and perforated, spikes stabbing out and holes opening up from within, where foul incense burned with a dark glow; and from the censers poured the cloud of flies that filled the air. Each bore upon their breastplates a dark emblem; yet not that of Hashrukk, but Kevayek, the deity of disease and plague. 


With the heavy flails swinging intimidatingly through the air in slow arcs, shedding trails of buzzing flies as they went, the three began to stride menacingly forwards, the spots of rust and drools of corrosion that pockmarked and etched their full plate clearly evident as they closed in.



_Next Time: Embroiled in battle against the chosen of Kevayek..._


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## clockworkcrab (Jun 28, 2004)

Mmmm. Updatealicious. I love the atmosphere of this story hour - I haven't seen a 'generic' encounter yet.

Question: Do all the introspective comments come from your players via the PBP correspondence? Or is there extra flavour you're putting in when you write the SH up?


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## Carnifex (Jun 29, 2004)

clockworkcrab said:
			
		

> Mmmm. Updatealicious. I love the atmosphere of this story hour - I haven't seen a 'generic' encounter yet.
> 
> Question: Do all the introspective comments come from your players via the PBP correspondence? Or is there extra flavour you're putting in when you write the SH up?




They're all from the players. Occasionally I summarise bits of it in my own posts to the game, but it all originates from them.


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## Angcuru (Jun 29, 2004)

Heh, you should see their posts to the PBP lately.  80% introspection, 10% observation of environment, 10% combat tactics.


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## Easter (Jun 30, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Heh, you should see their posts to the PBP lately.  80% introspection, 10% observation of environment, 10% combat tactics.




Angcuru--is that good or bad?


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## Angcuru (Jul 1, 2004)

To be completely honest, not bad persay, but not necessarily good.  Introspection is great.  A WHOLE lot better than just looking at some fighter's gorey description of just how much blood he was covered in when he cut some bandits in half or something.  However, if you have mostly introspection and comparatively little detail and dialogue (on the part of the players) *cough*EbriZol*cough*, then the introspection becomes common, cheapened if you will, while the dialogue and detail are heightened due to their rarity.

So what this has done is to make the charaters' dialogue and descriptions/observations(visual, aural, tactical, etc.) all the more appreciated, while the introspection is significantly lessened in terms of observed quality and importance.  It's great introspection, but too much of anything is never a good thing.  

No complaining whatsoever here, but you asked, and I answered as best I could.  I so want in on this game.  

And BTW, I just have to ask.  What sort of plans does Mellisande have for Sebastian once they get back to more _comfortable_ surroundings? *wiggly eyebrows*


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## Easter (Jul 1, 2004)

Leaping to Ebri Zol's defense just as Melisande is _not_ doing right at the moment, I think the interest of her character is in fact the introspection, which has increased as bits and pieces of her background were revealed to show how dangerously insane she is.  For some the hard detail is pivotal--Sebastion's care of his weapons and knowledge of martial arts or Kale's plotting and sneaking, for example; for others (ok, the girls, might as well say it), introspection is the key to building a convincing character.  Many of us are on the boards to practice and hone our writing skills and in novel form would obviously dose the introspection appropriately.    

True that in story hour form it may become repetitive, since you're reading a month or two's worth of posts in one go.  And personally I am a big fan of crunchy tangible detail (though sometimes I'm lazy about it), so your point is well taken.

Plans?     LOL  Mel's not making plans at this stage, convinced as she remains that blue is not up Seb's alley.  Who says the party will ever be in "comfortable surroundings" again, anyway?  I'm not sure our DM is that big a softie, letting us relax or anything.  (He didn't even let us rest between battles!    )


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## Easter (Jul 2, 2004)

This just in from Ebri Zol's player, Siduri, who is having trouble accessing the site (message is in three parts):


Regarding Ebri's "excessive" introspection:

Well, Angcuru, while it irks me, I don't think your comment is without merit.  It must also irk you, since you've mentioned it twice now. It's rather flattering to have someone care enough to be a critic.  So...

It's true that Ebri doesn't talk much and when she does, that's either short or very long and verbose. For the most part, she remains an observer of the world, trapped in her head. She is limited both by the secretive Nephian codes and by her own antisocial pathology. (While she has a certain "book-learned" insight into psychology and behavior, she has no empathy whatsoever.) She has no need to discuss things with these limited creatures around her. They're incapable of understanding. They have nothing to offer her. 

(Except, just possibly, now that they know her leanings, she might be able to convert them to the Way of Shadow. It is possible that the Great Prophet wants her to do this, after all. Once they are out of combat, if she lives, you may see something change.)

She could never just go into a fight and kill something for fun. Actually, she could do _nothing_ for fun.  Everything she does must be informed by her vision of the religion of the Great Prophet. (Which, as we are coming to understand gradually, is probably a seriously warped vision.) Why? Because that central purpose-- all this internal verbalizing and reiteration-- is literally the only thing holding her _cracked as a coconut _ self together.  This lady is seriously cuckoo.

What I wanted to explore with Ebri was several things: how religion can be used as justification for all manner of horrid and inhumane things; how it can be used to abnegate responsibility for the self...  and this: Ebri is an example of the horrible things that can happen to a person when they are not allowed to be a child. No terrible abuse. No trauma. Just simply that.  No childhood, and reverence in place of love.

She is terribly difficult to write. I do not think I have done her justice. In fact, I have been tempted to kill her several times. (But don't hold your breath.)

I suppose that I will have to give you all a real, live flashback to make up for all the long-winded prose. I guess this is your notice to expect one.

--Sid 


But then I thought: 

Why? Why have a character if she's simply crazy, and I'm playing her to explicate her insanity and its cause? 

Because that would be stupid and pointless, and REALLY not fun.

Though we've been playing for more than two years (do you believe?  Chocolate kisses to you, Carnifex!) we are still only a little ways into Chapter Two.

All this has been to successfully establish who Ebri is as the story begins.  She's a zealot with a unsuited mission, and she's losing her marbles.

There are two things that offer a way out of this tragedy:
1) that there may be a true religion beyond her delusions, something she hasn't even grasped yet, something that she is incapable of seeing, borne down as she is by fear and pride and arrogance.
2) the companions she travels with, if she can make the choice to accept them.

Any combination of divine and/or human grace might save her. 

And thereby hangs the tale.
(Gee, thanks for helping me clarify that, Angcuru. Really!)

Sid.

But to your original point: that there is too much introspection, and therefore it makes it less pleasurable to read as a whole.

Perhaps it does. I concede that. I know I certainly am irritated when I have to wade through too much useless repetition and description in other games just to keep all the players and DM on track. But the crux of it is:

1) I am writing for free at significant cost to my free time
2) this is NOT a novel
3) Though it makes me happy to think that someone else might enjoy it, I am writing this primarily for my own pleasure

So, I write what I like, and if I am pressed for time, I write what comes easily. And on any given day, introspection will be a fair chunk of it. 

Regards,
Sid


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## Angcuru (Jul 2, 2004)

Don't get me wrong Sid, I _like_ Ebri, and the way you portray her.  But perhaps this is best expressed in an analogy.  It's like having a movie star who keeps playing the same role very well, and eventually, the fans want to see the star try something a bit different.  But not too different.  Remember Schwarzenegger's _Junior_?  The transition from hulking death machine to pregnant man was just too much, and the movie bombed.    Hmm... That probably didn't make too much sense did it?  Well, Ebri is a good example of what happens when someone is socialized to a certain mindset that is at odds with most societal mores, and as such, she fits just as well as a square peg into a round hole.  Creates some nice tension, it does.  So just keep doing what you like with Ebri, she's your character, and you portray her well.


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## Carnifex (Jul 14, 2004)

Another update! And yes, I'm afraid to say that this one starts with more introspection from Ebri   and it kinda breaks up the flow of the battle of the bit. But this bit of introspection is actually very important in the story.

Why?

Because Ebri is about to reveal her true nature, as a member of the secretive Nephians, who are surrounded by myth and legend and feared as assassins and spies, to the rest of the group.

Yes, she's chosen the middle of a fight to do so. Good timing, eh? 






All the way down the stairs Ebri had debated with herself, and come to no real conclusion. This was far too dangerous. Far too dangerous. _It would have been wiser to take her into the mountains._ Why they travelled with this ragtag band was a mystery, in any case. _What benefit could this possibly have? _


Knowledge, of course. That, wherever it was found, was a sweet reward and well worth seeking, but it was secondary to her mission now. The ward's protection was the thing she must consider, first of all. 


_Protection in spite of herself?_ For that, as she had turned it over in the depths of her mind night after night, was the crux of the matter. Melisande must be protected, but she, Ebri, could hardly force her into safety. Had that been the goal of the Old Masters, surely they would have instructed her not to find her and guard her, but to find her and _bring her back_, where she could be watched and kept away from harm. 


Their instructions implied that-- whatever her intrinsic value to the Prophet's ends-- Melisande should retain a certain amount of freedom of action. _Is it her_ life _that is paramount, or what she may_ accomplish? 


It was a failing in her not to have considered this point before, Ebri realized now. For each situation required a different, a critically different approach. If Melisande were merely important in the Plan as she was now, as an aasimar with magical power, then protection was the key. But if it were her potential that the Masters recognized as the greatest thing of value to them, the question became _how should that potential best be developed?_ Would it happen naturally, or must she be guided along a certain course? Was this the Purpose unfolding now-- adventuring in the wild with these mercenary creatures...? 


_Blind!--_ she chastized herself bitterly. _Blinded by assumptions and limited understandings. You have not even questioned your very assignment to its fullest extent-- _


Was it important that her ward understand her own position? She had never questioned this either, only habitually keeping silence as to her identity. _Perhaps it would have been more effective...[/i[ To some extent Ebri had thought to keep Melisande unaware, if it were true that Dreamweavers sought to affect her through the workings of the mind. But for the most part, she had simply worn her deception like an outward robe-- with little thought at all. 


If knowledge is power -- and it is, though it is more than that-- then you have rendered her powerless. Ebri accused herself, feeling it sharply. Though you sought to protect her, that is exactly what you have done-- 


Her thoughts broke off, as the sounds of the approaching cultists came to her, and she passed them along to the group. As the magical fury passed over head, the lightning and flame was nothing to the force of her internal recriminations. 


That was pride. Vanity. By keeping her powerless, you sought to remain useful, needful-- imposing your own will on that of the Prophet-- 


As the flies swarmed and the shapes of the three metal clad figures could be made out, Ebri stepped grimly in front of Melisande, taking a defensive stance with her kama in one hand. With the other, she reached into her wrap, drawing forth the talking metal skull and releasing it into the air. Hopefully, it would float above or beyond the melee, and not be damaged. As she eyed the flails of the oncoming foe, she considered what a crushing blow to her body might do to the metal construct. It was just as well to release it. 


"Mimir--" she ordered the inanimate thing, "--record what I say, from now until I instruct you otherwise:" 


She went on, preparing to meet the enemy, and not trying overmuch to keep her voice down. If Melisande or Sebastion heard, it would only serve her purposes. For the others, she did not care; it would likely be irrelevant, in any case. 


"Ebri Zol, initiate of the third rank of the Way of Shadow, to her brethren of the Place of Larch and Alder-- Greetings..."


* * *


With the sound of the buzzing flies muffling all other noise as the flying vermin clogged the air, swarming over the combatants. The noisome insects skittering across faces and skin was immensely off-putting and revulsive, forcing regular coughing and spitting to extract wayward flies from mouths and noses. Through the miasma of tiny, flitting forms the armoured templars strode, their flails arcing through the air menacingly and gouting forth even more insects. 


*[size=+1]"Begone, invaders, or suffer the same fate as those you now walk over."[/size]* Sebastion's defiant challenge rang across the space between the two forces; strangely, a faint smell of burning tin floated on the air as he did so, and a distant sound as if of far-away bells tingled in the heads of those present. The glowing crystal veins in Jarvis's sword seemed to momentarily glow brighter as well. However, it was hard to tell whether or not the enemy actually took note of his words, hidden behind filter masks as their faces were, and they came on regardless. (DM Note: Sebastion manifesting the Demoralise psionic power. He doesn't yet realise he *is* psionic).


With a whumph of igniting flame, Melisande summoned forth the fire serpent, the sinuous elemental of ash and fire slipping between dimensions to manifest into reality. A constant series of pops and hisses sounded as the thickly clouded flies kept on landing on it, immolating immediately. 


The templars were met with a hail of ill-aimed missile fire, the cloud of flies causing problems with targeting them. Meg'anna sent a bola whipping through the air at the nearest disciple of Kevayek, the leather thongs of the weapon wrapping round armour-plated legs and nearly toppling the man, but as he staggered backwards he just managed to keep his balance. A hiss of freezing moisture sounded as Melisande let forth a minor spell, a beam of frost that went wide, dropping more flies out of the air as they froze and fell to the ground; her lack of success was matched by a dark bolt of energy let loose by Burl doing little more than bringing yet more flies to a premature end. Wyshira hurled another prismatic javelin, the crystalline weapon energising into a shaft of flame as it arced towards the templars but missed and scorched a mark across the stone floor of the tunnel instead. Ansas'turi brought her own weapon, a light crossbow, to bear on the advancing figures, actually scoring a hit as the shaft bit through the rusted shoulder armour of a templar and buried into flesh, brought forth a trickle of dark blood. The Kevayek worshipper turned his masked head to observe the wound as if perceiving a minor irritant, then carried on forwards regardless. Then the same foe was struck by a scourging lash of white lightning from the metal claws of the steamwork lich, Jarael's magic flaying pieces of corroded metal off and scorching skin, stopping the templar in his tracks as his limbs jerked and twitched from electrical overload. Regaining his balance, the cleric kept a grip on the haft of his heavy flail with one hand, bringing up the other to touch the patch of ruined flesh that bubbled where armour and skin had been burned; with a glow of green energy, he wove healing magic across it that healed the injury entirely. 


Gaethras hit the same templar with another spell, a bolt of muted colour that Melisande recognised as an agonise incantation from her time in the Manipulator labs. It should have reduced the target to a screaming heap of pain but instead he simply shrugged it off. Rather than sending yet another spell towards the foe, Johanne wove a burning hands spell and unleashed coruscating torrents of fire into the air around him, causing a crisp rain of flies to drift down through the air and momentarily clearing the atmosphere around the band from the irritating vermin. 


Hidden by shadows and magic, Kale chose this moment to strike, launching his grapnel from where he had crept behind the enemy. It caught on the armour of his chosen target, screeching across metal then hooking in between the plates, but as he gave a mighty wrench to try and bring the man down, and as the invisibility spell on him faded, he found himself outmatched in a contest of strength. As the surprised templar reached round to try and grab the rope to reel Kale in, he wisely dropped it, but now he had been spotted. The cleric turned to face him and charged towards him with flail whipping in deadly circles through the air, but fortunately agility and shadowes kept the spiked head from pulverising the mercenary. 


The other templar bulled forwards into the band, heavy flail swiping at Sebastion, but the clumsy strike was easily avoided. Both Cazamir and Ebri engaged him now, Ebri accompanied by the floating mimir that seemed almost eager to record her words. She found herself knocked off-balance by the armoured bulk of the templar though, and ended up reeling away just to avoid being pulped by the flail. Cazamir was more successful, landing a solid hit. 


The Carthagian warrior-mage and armoured Toranite moved to attack the templar who had stopped to heal himself, charging through the humming, buzzing cloud of flies to assail him with blade and mace. The mage's sword simply slid off the armour, seemingly resilient even with the stains of rust and corrosion etched into it, but the bladed mace of the Toranite proved itself again as it tore straight through metal and bit out a chunk of flesh with a spray of blood, and the templar roared in anger at the attack.




More to come..._


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## Carnifex (Jul 17, 2004)

With more flies quickly taking place of those that Johanne had burned out of the air around them, the party once more found themselves besieged by pestering vermin across their faces and skin. Furthest down the corridor, Kale dodged and wove around the hulking armoured Kevayeki who faced him, drawing his weapons and feinting with agile skill to keep the man off balance. 


The Templar who had ploughed into the ranks of the band roared a warcry to the pestilential deity he served, his voice reverberating out of the rusted copper filter helm he wore, and whipped the massive two-handed flail he bore around in a great arc that sent those nearby staggering backwards to avoid being pulped by the spikes it sprouted. Then Cazamir and Ebri came straight back at him, the woman's kama biting through the plate armour into his abdomen, and the Huronese monk's fists battering against his side to produce the desired sound of breaking bone. Still the warrior seemed barely fazed if he noticed the pain of the injuries at all, whipping the flail back round in another great arc that threatened to nearly crush Cazamir's skull if he wasn't nimble-footed enough to duck back at the right moment. Once Wyshira had finished casting a _magic weapon_ spell on Sebastion's sword he was able to step forwards and attack as well, leading with the _Rising Sun_ stance, and pivoting neatly on one heel to lunge with the opposite blade with one of his father's favourite attacks - _Dragon's Tail_ - but his blades merely sparked and slid off the heavy armour the Templar was clad in.


Ebri continued to speak to the recording mimir that floated just outside the vicious melee, her voice surprisingly calm considering she was locked in mortal combat with a hulking plague-worshipper.


"...Greetings... The ward is well. I have revealed nothing as yet--" _Stupidly_-- she accused again, and threw herself forward into the attack, only to misjudge the attempt. She reeled back, gasping, as the pestilent flail whirred by her. 


"She is protected by other companions-- she is not without her own defenses--
Still, more aid would be well--" _Say what is most necessary-- _ "You must seek Karbal--" she added, and moved in for the next attack, shouting over the melee and the flies. "--or any of my brethren. I am a Nephian monk. I serve the Great Prophet--"


Now Melisande turned to stare at the "priestess". Suddenly all her half-suspicions seemed like idle, futile speculation. She should have known. She should have at least _asked_, instead of wondering and shrugging everything off. But what did it mean, "ward"? 


No time. Mel actually shook her head--half to disengage the dozens of flies that had infiltrated her sleeve-barrier, and half to center herself back on the topic at hand, which was survival. The distraction did, on the other hand, help clear her mind of of the useless ideas it had been busy discarding and come up with one that might help. 


Sleeve still pressed over her mouth, she pointed her finger at the rope Kale had thrown at one of the disease-priests where it trailed from his armored shin. With a simple spell she gave the rope a magical nudge, lifting a few feet of it from the floor and causing it to move around in a circle wide enough to entangle the legs of the disease-priest. She hoped he would be too busy with Kale's antics to notice until it was too late. With a crackle of magical energy, the _mage hand_ was able to take advantage of the Templar's distraction to wind the rope further round his legs, but unfortunately the tiny strength of the telekinetic energy was simply too weak to bind the man up tightly with it, though it was clearly hampering his efforts to crush Kale with his fly-spewing flail. 


Wyshira too had noticed the voice of Ebri Zol for the first time. She seemed to be ...... dictating - at the top of her lungs, oddly. Or was she shouting instructions to someone? _Karbal? ...... Nephian monk?! ...... the *Great Prophet*?!?_


Cazamir watched as Ebri faltered and was nearly brained by the templar's flail. He couldn’t comprehend why she was trying to recite her story while she should be concentrating on the enemy before her. He could probably get a few crucial strikes in while his armored foe finished her, but even he acknowledged that as a poor solution. As long as they could keep this one from advancing upon the spellcasters, Cazamir would do his best not to berate her. 


"Keep circling him! Keep him off balance!" He hoped he she would hear that over her own voice. And so Cazamir followed the dance, avoiding the swinging head of the flail as best he could. He waited for the best opening when the templar focused on the female monk. Then he stepped forward with lightning-swift strikes, rapping against the armor.


Meanwhile, Ansas'Turi frantically worked her crossbow to send another bolt arcing out, this time at the Templar facing Kale; the missile just splintered against his armour. With that warrior being the only free target at the moment, the mages directed their firepower in that direction too. Burl sprayed him with _lesser acid orbs_, shimmering green globules hurled from his fingertips that smoked and hissed as they ate through both flesh and metal. Jarael wove more white lightning from his metal hands that darted across to lash the foe, scourging and flaying viciously. Johanne, rapidly running out of useful spells, could merely hurl a _daze_ incantation that way, but the insanely resilient Kevayek worshipper just shrugged it off. With slick blood seeping from his injuries, his plate armour breached in several places, still the Templar seemed unwilling to give up his attempts to pulverise Kale. If anything, he looked bigger, angrier and more determined than before. 


Jarvis dove forwards to assist Ebri, Cazamir and Sebastion against their assailant, one blade punching through the plates covering the warrior's hip but the other finding no weak spot through which to slip. Close by, Meg'anna wove a regenerative spell over herself as the air soothingly sounded with distant birdsong, and she could feel her flesh infused with energy to ward against whatever future damage she might be soon to suffer. 


Even as the Carthagian mage-captain again found the defences of the foe he faced too much to penetrate, the Toranite proved his strength with another massive swing of his bladed mace. The heavy weapon crunched down against the same spot as he had hit before, shattering the shoulder of the Templar with a loud crunch and a spray of crimson blood. The man staggered away with a snarl of anger, one arm drooping uselessly as he struggled to keep his flail swinging with a grip of only one hand. The two religious zealots eyed one another with rage for a moment, and then the injured Templar struck back, bringing the spiked ball and chain in a vertical arc towards the head of the Toranite. A quick sidestep saved the man from a crushed skull as the weapon instead clanged off his heavy shoulder-plates, causing no visible injury. 


Still a little way back from the melee, Gaethras paused to weave another protective spell over himself, an incantation of _endurance_ to increase his own resilience. This looked like it was going to be a tough fight.



_More to come..._


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## Angcuru (Jul 18, 2004)

Two updates in a row?!  Aw, 'fex, you're spoiling us!


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## Carnifex (Jul 18, 2004)

Be spoiled some more then 




The Templar in the middle of the pack of adventurers continued to try and smash those facing him asunder, a torrent of flies still flowing from the barbed censer that he whirled in a circle of lethality. Using his weight and strength to force forwards, he made another sweep with his weapon; while Ebri dodged and Sebastion managed to fend of the weight ball and chain with his blades, this time Cazamir was not fast enough on his feet to avoid the spiked sphere crunching into him and knocking him back. Shedding a trail of blood specks as well as winged insects now, the weapon continued to arc round and impacted into Meg'anna, who had just come to the aid of her comrades, sending her reeling even as her druidic magic began to knit up the injury immediately. The final victim of the terrible attack was Jarvis, unable to withstand the sheer force of the strike as it wove round to hit him in the shoulder, but he was lucky the Kevayek zealot had not brought the weapon up slightly higher for it would have shattered his skull. 


But the furious Templar was still surrounded and his foes quickly regained the initiative. Meg'anna's spear flared with magical flame as it struck his back-plate, punching through to inflict a shallow injury. The fire serpent, which had its fiery coils protectively near to its summoner up until now, decided that the approaching zealot was a threat to Melisande and moved in to attack as well, its white-hot fangs skittering off armour with a hiss and splash of liquid metal. Flies immolated themselves on its incendiary hide as it recoiled for another attack. 


As her kama sliced into the belly of her enemy, Ebri paused in her dictation. As often happened to her in combat, her mind seemed far away, separate from her body, working its own patterns in isolation. What it thought now was _This is odd. Unnatural, even for a religious zealot._ It was not that she did not believe that fanatical idolators could withstand pain and injury-- berserkers were a well-attested phenomenon. Yet these fighters did not seem out of control. Simply very, very resilient. 


_As if, perhaps, the injury we do them only strengthens them. Observe, her mind began,_ as if embarking on a edificatory dialogue, _that they worship disease and foul things, and by implication, death. Might then their normal order of inclinations be reversed? _


If that held, what followed would lead her to a course of action that was a fearful risk, but... 


Ebri tried her calculated gambit, reaching out to not harm but heal, the spell of _cure light wounds_ leaving a trail of shimmering energy as she reached out to touch the man; she could not see any immediate effects for either good or bad, but it certainly didn't seem to have stopped or particularly hurt the Templar in any visible way. 


_DM's Note: Ebri's player rather suspected that the templars might actually be injured by positive energy and healed by negative energy - but unfortunately, she was wrong. Nice idea though - I'll have to steal it and use it at some point  _


Later, Sebastion realised, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he would be irritated at how easily the templar had evaded his initial assault. Reliant on the weighty armour, he hadn't made any attempt to evade the strikes Sebastion sent his way, merely angling his body slightly to take the strikes on the broad expanse of scabrous plate. 


It wasn't a conscious decision - in the forced calm of the Dance of Steel there were no conscious decisions, there was simply the flow of attack, defence and movement - but a shift of the feet took Sebastion from the techniques of the Air style to something more forceful. His feet shifted, his weight settling as he brought the twin blades into a vertical alignment, staring across the narrow vein of steel, and spoke quietly to his companions...  "Take him to the floor..." he hissed through teetch clenched hard against the cloud of insects.


Then, in fearsome combination, Sebastion moved to trip the mighty warrior, assaulting the legs and ankles with a flurry of strikes, and Cazamir, Wyshira and Jarvis all took a part in the endeavour. With the combination of their effort, and with Sebastion's own strength augmented by Meg'anna's druidic magic, he was able to knock the Templar off balance and then with a final leverage they sent the armoured man clattering to the floor, skidding along the wet stone as he fell. 


Slightly further down the corridor, the Carthagians continued their assault on the second Templar. The clogging clouds of flies meant that many of their attacks went astray, distracted by the mass of verminous things clustering over them, but the Toranite connected with another hit that knocked the Kevayeki man reeling, the clang of mace against armour resounding even over the humming of the insects. Now seriously injured, almost incapacitated despite the Templar's seemingly incredible resistance to pain, the man was forced to weave another spell that shrouded his hand in green energy, healing the most recent wound he had suffered. Then Gaethras threw another spell that Melisande recognised at the foe - a _boneshatter_ incantation - that lashed out and crackled with dark energy across the man's form for a few moments. With a resounding crack the energy surged inwards and he began to convulse as it fractured his bones, and within a few moments he toppled onto the floor, incapacitated and unconcious. The Toranite stepped up to grant the final coup de grace. 


Mel quickly left off with the grappling hook and the rope, which were not having as spectacular an effect as she had been hoping for, and decided to opt for something more useful. The part of her mind where the magic lived was already weakening, going numb like an overused limb. She knew she would not be able to conjure much more sorcery and had been conserving what was left of her mental spark for a more important foe, but these putrid priests were turning out more impervious to harm than they looked with their rusted-through armor. 


First, though, she was worried about Kale. Quick as he may have been, he wasn't much of a match for that bladed flail if it ever connected. Mel tumbled Pierre out of her pocket and told him, _Quit with the flies for long enough to take this spell to Kale, will you? _ Then she drew a big breath, held it, and lowered her protective sleeve to prepare another spell.


As Pierre tried to make his way along the tunnel to reach Kale, the diminutive amphibian realised with worry that Kale wasn't hanging around for him to reach. The man made a darting strike with the brine blade against the Templar he faced but was unable to find a weak spot even with the advantage his feint had given him, the acidic exudations of the sword merely etching a line across the armour. Then he easily broke free of the warrior and was backing off down the corridor, seemingly trying to lure the man along. 


Ansas'Turi sent another bolt at the Templar lumbering after Kale, but the thick fog of flies made even seeing the figure difficult and it went wide. The same was true for the minor attack spells that Johanne and Jarael sent off at the zealot, but then Burl fished a vial of alchemists fire out of one of his pouches and hurled it with impressive accuracy. Kale, backing away from the hulking foe and his whirling flail, saw the glass container shatter against the Templar's back and illuminate his outline in a sudden corona of flame. Still, the man kept coming, breaking into a sudden charge that caught Kale off-guard, but the overhead swing that his attacker made with the spiked weapon was easy to see from a mile off and when the barbed head smashed downwards into the ground, sending flecks of chipped stone in all directions, Kale had already easily evaded it.


_Next time: The battle and the aftermath. Sure to be interesting - after all, Ebri's just revealed she's an assassin from the near-mythical community of the Nephians. The others will have something to say about _that_  _


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## Carnifex (Jul 24, 2004)

With a crunch, the Toranite zealot buried his bladed mace into the helm of the fallen Templar before him, spattering blood and shards of bone around as he caved the man's head in. The armoured body shuddered convulsively then fell finally still. The Templar that the mob of adventurers had ganged up on and knocked down also perished, slain by the tumult of strikes and hits from his assailants that quickly finished him off. 


Ebri continued her dictation as the threat from two of the Templars was neutralized, and moved in pursuit to support Kale. She pondered how much she could tell without endangering Melisande's safety. After all, the mimir could repeat this tale to anyone; and who knew where the Dreamweavers sent their spies? She did not worry for her own safety: either her life would end soon, or she could deal with the ramifications later. She decided upon, "The ward is 'shadow-touched'. It may be that she will have an important role to play in a very ancient conflict. This is foreseen: it is why we protect her. Should I fall, you must seek my brethren, though it is likely they will seek you-- "


Only the injured Templar stalking off down the tunnel after the retreating form of Kale was left. The young mercenary, now wary and ready for any more charges by the hulking warrior, kept a good distance well from the swinging arcs of the flail. A hurled axe from Sebastion went wide, the cloying throng of flies in the air making aiming difficult, but a last barrage from the arcane spellcasters, a swarm of stinging bolts that struck true into the man's back, finally brought the Templar to the ground with a resounding crash. 


The sounds of battle had faded but the swarms of flies still filled the space with the noise of their humming wings. The censer-flails of the fallen templars were still pouring forth the vermin, and though he himself was unaffected by such minor concerns as breathing being obstructed by the foul little things, Jarael the steamwork lich led the group forth beyond the clouds of flies into the clearer air further down the tunnelway. 


Ahead it curved slightly, the buzz of flies behind paralleled by a new, low constant sound coming from around that curve. 


*"You can hear the machinery of the war engines ahead; the cultists are progressing in their plans to reactivate the emitter," *Jarael explained. *"There is not far to go now before we reach their base of operations, the node itself beneath the tower. The Umbrals built here, I believe, because of its location over a pool of chemical acids. It seems to act as a source of energy for their steamworks." *


Nearby, Meg'anna's flesh continued to heal from her druidic magic, the tears inflicted by the Kevayek Templar's flail binding and sealing up to leave only faint scars fromt he wound. 


*"Ahead, we are likely to encounter the heart of the corruption. The daemons will doubtless already have informed their leader of the failure to stop our approach. They will be ready. However, the mother spirit is endeavouring to regain control of the warped crystal matrices of this part of the tower. The Hashrukkites influence has thus far prevented her from doing so, but with our intrusion she may be having more success at outwitting the machinations of the cult thaumineers." *


As if in reaction to his words, lights suddenly flickered on, a dim glow emitting along a thin band of crystal on the walls two feet off the ground that seemed to run the length of the visible tunnel. 


*"And it seems that she has progressed." *


Surprise at the sudden illumination wasn't enough to banish certain other questions from people's minds. Ebri was already receiving suspicious, even accusing looks by others. The mimir continued to hover quietly at her side, pinpricks of light in its eye sockets, but as it bobbed there it occasionally shifted and turned to throw what could only be interpreted as worried glances at the people around it. 


Gaethras spoke first. "Not a shadowman, just a Nephian then," he said in a neutral tone.


Ebri had anticipated the relief of throwing off her jolly pleasant role, but the force of the feeling surprised her. How light she felt-- "It was _you_ who made that assertion, not I. What I spoke was the truth. I am here at the bidding of my masters and ancient prophecy. I am assigned to protect Melisande and further her endeavors in whatever path she takes. Our prophecy indicates that she is of critical importance in the success or failure of nations. As she has joined you, and wishes to help your Motherland, that is my purpose, too."


_"Fatherland,"_ Melisande corrected flatly. There was nothing motherly about Carthagia under Toran. She found her hands were shaking as she dumped Pierre (who seemed to have doubled his weight) from the crook of her arm into her pocket, and not from relief at seeing the Templars perish at last--that had been inevitable. What had upset her was not the flies or disease-priests. It was Ebri Zol's confession, sinking in bit by bit. Melisande felt as if someone had yanked a rug out from under her and now they were all standing back smirking to watch her stumble. 


"The lies are as thick as the flies here." Although she knew she was partly to blame for this, she could not keep an sharp edge of accusation from her voice as she turned on Ebri Zol. "So your enthusiasm for my quest didn't come from your heart, but from your orders. 'Whatever path she takes': in other words, 'humor her,' is that it?


"Well, mimir, why don't you add a little message for Karbal and the Nephians from me: first of all, I'm not 'shadowtouched', whatever that means, but 'planetouched', and I worship Naskha, not of some sneaky, spying Great Prophet, so they've got the wrong person. Second you tell them that the last thing I need are false friends to deceive, manipulate and humor me.


"You may not take me seriously, Ebri Zol, but Naskha does! He healed through my hands. I am his paladin, and I don't think _he's_ just humoring me." 


Through the noise of fury, a little alarm bell went off in her head. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced quickly at Gaethras and the towering, inscrutable Toranite priest behind him. There had been a time in her life when she would have flinched and slunk away. Instead she raised a daring blue eyebrow at them as if to say, _"You want to make something of it?" _


"Ahem." She turned her fierce glance on Ebri Zol once again. Melisande's fury, girlish and hurt though it felt inside, came out with a force she was only partly aware of herself. It was unlikely anyone could tell by her stony expression and voice that all she could keep thinking was that she wanted to be away from this stinking dungeon and the hard-hearted, duplicitous people she'd thought were her friends. She wanted her mom. "I will accept your help against the Hashrukk cult, and after that you can go find whoever it is you're really supposed to be spying on and leave me alone. I'm no more your ward than you are my friend."


Sebastion reeled slightly, inwardly, though he gave no sign of it as he gathered up his axe and came close to the others to listen. For a moment his attention was fixed on the blade, seeking signs of damage from the impact with wall or floor - he'd been unable to tell which it had been amidst the swarms. Gradually, however, prompted by the conversation going on about him, he pieced together the fragments he'd heard, without actually _listening_, whilst fighting. 


_A Nephian! 


There was always something odd about Ebri... Hellfire, there's been something odd about just about everyone I've met since I left home... I think Argus was probably the last normal person I met. Kale's the closest to normal I know, now, and that's... that doesn't bear thinking about. _He stepped a little closer, feeling the tension in Mel, seeing the tautness of her shoulders as this compounded on the proximity of battle behind and danger before them. 


_She always seemed to speak with a little too much cleverness and not enough feeling, but.... a Nephian?_ Nevertheless - and despite the strong agreement he felt for the declarations Mel was throwing Ebri's way - this was not the time or the place for such a discussion. 


"Calmly." he whispered in Mel's ear, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't let them see that you're agitated... still like the waters until the time comes...." 


Perhaps it was the time for a reminder of their lessons, and perhaps not, but he hoped that the familiar words and sentiment would remind her that whatever might be happening with Ebri she was still amongst some friends.... 


Adrift in insecurity, Melisande might have been grateful for the anchor Sebastion offered, but now everyone who had happened to appear in the Drakkath forest at a time and place that had seemed accidental then, was now suspect--including Meg'anna and Sandslipper. 


Sebastion's advice could be interpreted more than one way. Hadn't she seen him and Ebri talking quietly together more than once? And now she'd just discovered there was more to him than the average hired blade, as well: like Sandslipper, he'd done something with his mind against the Templars. With all her heart, Mel didn't want to be thinking what she was thinking. Still she could not allow the hand on her shoulder or the soft voice in her ear to quench any of her anger, even though she was dangerously close to tears. It was not a time to break down. There were other, much more vital tasks at hand. This could wait. 


But Mel couldn't. "Did you know?" 


"I thought..." he began, stood alongside her, eyes fixed along the corridor where the battle - the swords and steel battle - awaited. 


_Thought what?
... she cared more than that?
...she knew me better than that? _


"I thought I'd made a better impression." he offered, before clenching his jaw shut and walking stiffly towards the fight, sword in hand. 


"Does any of this really matter right now?" Wyshira interrupted. She sympathized with Melisande's feelings - the young aasimar had been deceived by someone she'd thought of as a friend. But now was not the time or the place to let Ebri Zol's revelation distract from them from their purpose. 


Wyshira turned to Gaethras and the others casting suspicious glances in Ebri's direction. "Whoever she really is, she has so far fought with us, not against us. It seems likely that what she says about being Melisande's protector is true; and in that case I don't doubt that she will continue to be an ally against the Hashrukkites. 


"Let's worry about the rest of it *later.*"


"You are mistaken--" Ebri informed Melisande quietly, "--if you believe that I could hold any purpose nearer my heart than to fulfill my orders." She turned to the other priestess, Wyshira. "And you are correct-- each moment we delay gives the cultists more time to prepare their evil works. Let us go. You need not worry-- if I do not survive the battle-- as I thought a strong possibility-- you will have no need to consider what to do with me." 


"Who cares what she is or where her allegiances lie outside this tower? She's obviously helping us fight against the cultists," Cazamir said as he turned to look straight in her eyes, "and I don't think she's stupid enough to do anything against us here. So leave the interrogations for a time when we can afford them." 


He was heated. This ill-suited group was unraveling as they went. Even he found himself watching for betrayal by Gaethras so they could be dealt with. It would only be a matter of time before they made some move to seize their prize. 


Cazamir walked over to look up at the visor of Jarael. "You said _war engines_. Please speak further on these. If I am to fight them, I would learn what I can in these few moments."


"I'm not sure that just walking away from this and ignoring it for the time being is a... wise move," Gaethras said quietly, the Manipulator brushing his hands over his dark robes to smooth them out and knock tired flies off. "I'm sure everyone here has heard of the Nephians, and their reputation. How can we trust one, no matter what she says her purpose is? Perhaps she plans to turn on us as we fight the Hashrukkites, wanting to doom us all? I for one am not too eager to suffer such a fate."


He paused, looking round at those assembled; Sebastion preparing to stride off, the barely contained emotions on Melisande's face, the calm features of Ebri herself, all the rest in various states of confusion or determination. "Ahem. If I might qualify my fears." Another pause. "Certain... excavations under Carthagia have led us to believe that the Nephians are allied with a species of... shadow demons, would be the best way to describe them. I think that they are the same as, or descendants of, the Umbrals. And, as I am sure you are aware, we are in an Umbral tower. Who knows what trickery a Nephian might be able to wreak on home ground such as this?" 


At last Mel did burst into tears. All her young life, people had mocked and stigmatized her, children and even adults making sport of turning her gullibility against her. The only friend she'd had until striking out into the Drakkath, besides Pierre (but did he count for two?), was her own mother. How did one know when or how to trust someone? Other people still surprised and mystified her--especially right now. 


Ebri's response seemed like a very distant and glacial way of saying she did actually care, besides being ordered to do so. Mel supposed she could accept that--it wasn't all that far off from the way her mother had always treated her. Mel realized then that it wasn't Ebri who'd humiliated her, it was herself as usual, blurting out accusations and wearing her insecurity like a blazon, and now it looked like she'd hurt Sebastion's feelings too. She went from flaming fury to timid hurt and embarrassment in a flash. Even Wyshira was impatient with her. She sniffled, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve before realizing there were blotches of disease-priest fluid and crushed flies all over it. 


Gaethras inadvertently lent her a little clarity, however. 


_Excavations under Carthagia... shadowtouched... Nephians allied with shadow-demons... descendants of Umbrals..._ He was stating the equation and she was putting two and two together. Ebri Zol was turning out to be a pivotal variable. 


Mel looked at him, not an old friend but as close to it as she had in Carthagia--an aquaintance who had never been cruel--and then at Ebri Zol. The Nephian. The assassin. Her heart knew which side she would take if it came to a fight. The thought struck her, as if in answer to her question how one knew when or how to trust, that no one in the world could ever be trusted absolutely. It was a question of faith. 


She waited until Jarael finished his explanation to Cazamir before she spoke, voice thick with emotion but clearing just as her mind was. "None of us can trust any of the others, Gaethras--you, the lich, the Nephian, me--but we still have to work together against a common threat. Since I seem to be the reason for her presence among us, whatever happens I will take responsibility for Ebri Zol's actions. Likewise I will also defend her. I suggest we make use of her unique knowledge and talents, as well as her sincere willingness to help us here, and ask our questions later--of her and of each other." 


Jarael, gaze fixed on Ebri, didn't even turn his head to look at Cazamir as he answered the Huronese man's question. *"The war engines are the pieces of machinery in the bowels of this place that make up the tower's weapon systems. They are not individual devices of battle, though there may be some of those down here as well. The mother spirit is informing me that she may have located a dormant cache of Umbral constructs, slaughterers, nearby. There may be active ones down there as well." *


Ebri had been about to counter Gaethras with a number of responses: _Why should we--_ and how important was the word 'we'-- she noticed how quickly the Carthagian mage had appropriated it-- _trust you any more than me? 


Had I wished to negatively affect the outcome of this expedition, the most effective tactic would have been to effect your death in battle. Your magical aid was crucial in both of these encounters. I could have done it without damaging the inherent unity of this group I have already established a relationship with, whom I would then supposedly lead to their deaths-- 


Of course, the ignorant and uninformed will demonize anything they do not understand. And that is not without use for us-- the rumors of our evil and trickery are in large part spread by us. Terror, misapprehension, and a fearsome reputation are powerful weapons for a relatively small group such as we are... _


But then, she was spared saying anything, as Melisande intervened and said her piece. Although she kept her placid and calm face, Ebri still felt a strange swell of... what? The feeling was hard to define. Accomplishment? Recognition? 


_It is the feeling one has when a part of the Plan, the Purpose is revealed._ By faith, she believed wholeheartedly that the Prophet's Plan was perfect and unfailing; that her judgement could not compare. It was her part to execute her orders faithfully, though not unthinkingly. As she had criticized herself only a small while earlier, to accomplish her assignment well should mean examining that assignment in depth, and all its implications. She had fallen behind in that, though perhaps a chance would be given now to make the distance up. 
She _should_ believe wholeheartedly. Though talented, disciplined, and highly trained, she was still a mortal human, and subject to doubt. The Plan was unfailing; but to the believer the moments of greatest joy would be the glimpses of _confirmation. The marker on the road_, she thought, surprised to think in Immarian terms when she was so glad to be giving up the hated role, _that says 'This is the right path'... _


She had seen glimpses now and again of evidence that Melisande was worth the trouble this assignment entailed, but for the most part, it had been difficult to see why the Old Masters should think this talented but scatterbrained and emotionally volatile girl of such import. Compared to those small revelations, this was like a mustard plant next to its seed. _Wisdom. Leadership._ As some would say it roughly: _Guts. 


Great Prophet, your imperfect servant is grateful for your beneficent gift of revelation--_ she prayed. Outwardly, she nodded, and only reiterated what she had told Melisande. "You are _shadow_-touched." 


To Gaethras she said,"What you say is fascinating. I would be interested to hear more of these excavations, should we both survive. We know as little of Umbral culture as the rest of these scholars. As for demons, I assure you, it is a god that guides us, and not infernal entities." 


With that, she shook her wrap loose of flies, glanced along the length of her kama, and prepared to follow Sebastion's example. 



_Next Time: Sending out the scouts..._


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## Angcuru (Aug 17, 2004)

Just caught something.  In post 101, wyshira casta Magic Weapon on seb's sword.  Isn't it in some way magical already?   Just something that confuses, nothing majorific.


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## Camris (Nov 9, 2004)

*And a BUMP!*

No Text!


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## Carnifex (Nov 10, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Just caught something.  In post 101, wyshira casta Magic Weapon on seb's sword.  Isn't it in some way magical already?   Just something that confuses, nothing majorific.




Well, to be fair, Seb himself doesn't really understand what's going on with his sword (or these strange headaches he's started to get recently)


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## Broccli_Head (Nov 11, 2004)

Am I there yet?


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## Carnifex (Nov 11, 2004)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Am I there yet?




We're getting there! 

Sorry about the game hiatus, I should have net access from home fairly soon now and then - hopefully - we can continue apace...


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