# Talislanta - Tales of the Bloody Hell



## xnosipjpqmhd (Oct 22, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 1 (from 16 Aug 2003)

Cymril, the majestic capital city of the kingdom of the same name and arguably the centre of all the Seven Kingdoms, was fashioned over time with a blend of magic, gossamer, and glass, or so it seemed to visitors. And if visitors could tarry in this wondrous city only two weeks a year, undoubtedly they would choose to arrive during the annual Magickal Fair. For everything about Cymril and the Cymrillians was imbued with magic, and the festivities of the Fair, the wares, the famed windship regatta, and even the much-feared yet highly anticipated wizard duels were the greatest in all Talislanta.

So it was that the Magickal Fair brought together old friends, among them the young Cymrillian windship pilot Vidian, the hardy Arimite mercenary Motar, and the Thrall warrior Gann. Their compatriots and henchmen were a gypsy woman named Delilah, a Zandir swordsmage named Dunmer, a Jaka named Ra Icza, and another Thrall. They were all tossing back a few drinks when they were approached by a shady Farad merchant named Tarriod, accompanied by a comely Batrean wench named Silva, who seemed to be his slave. 

Tarriod wished to hire the heroes to find and recover ancient texts from ruins within Werewood. Tarriod led them to a Sarista gypsy named Valu, who told a tale of a lost city within the woods that had been recently uncovered by a band of Aamanian knights. This was the location wherein the texts would be found. A deal was struck: in addition to monetary reward, the merchant would lend his tiny windrigger to speed the effort, and the hired swords would return with their plunder before the end of the fair. 

After loading the rigger with supplies, the crew climbed aboard, Vidian took the wheel, and the intrepid heroes departed from beloved Cymril on their way to Werewood, a dark and wild land overgrown with forests. Far above the ground, Vidian steered the flying ship on a northwestern course, passing over the ramshackle mining town of Shattra on the Axis River and navigating through the peaks of Motar's homeland, Arim. In a sparsely populated valley, the heroes paused to pass an uneventful night.

The following day was spent crossing Arim and the woodlands of Zandu to reach Matre, a small farming village north of the Zandir border and the last civilised locale where supplies could be gained and the windrigger housed. Naturally the more iniquitous of the ship's crew were drawn to the town's sole tavern--the Inn of the Dreaming Cloud--for their fill of liquor, lotus powders, and other delights offered by the locals.

The next day, the adventure continued on land to the edge of Werewood. Upon entering the forest, the heroes were attacked by ferocious beasts. Although they fended off the attack, the heroes were bloodied. Soon thereafter the discovered the sought-after ruins, a jumble of stone buildings huddled together as if to ward off the ancient trees. In the centre of the clearing was the largest of the buildings, and the trackers of the group could tell that others had been here recently, either the Aamanians or other folk.

The heroes entered the main building, cautious but eager to discover the secrets hidden within the stones. When they reached what appeared to be a large worship area in the centre of the building, censors of burning oil gave off a foul stench that most of the heroes found difficult to stomach. Yet Vidian braved the malodorous air to reach the rooms beyond. In what once passed for a dining hall, he discovered scrawled words on its defiled walls: “Long Live the Tirshata! He shall pillage and slay.” 

After penetrating deep into the ancient ruin, the adventurers were surprised by a company of Za bandits that burst through a door just as Vidian approached it!  

Trapped among the bloodthirsty submen, Vidian nearly lost his life in the ensuing battle. Luckily the Za could not overcome the skill of Motar, Gann, and their henchman. This was not Vidian's first encounter with the vicious Za, nor would it be his last, but it was certainly the most threatening. Sheer force of will alone allowed Vidian to cling to life until his battered body could be recovered and an elixer of balmroot was administered.

It took an exhaustive search of the ruins to uncover the secret door that led into the inner depths. In the rubble-strewn and graffiti-defiled dining hall, Vidian discovered and drank a magickal potion that shrank him to the diminutive size of a mere Durnish tunnelmouse. He was then able to slip through a crack in the wall of the kitchen, enlarge to normal size, and open the hidden door to allow the rest of the heroes to enter.

On a lower level of the building they discovered three secret rooms fed with air purified by wondrous machinery. Many rows of dust- covered stone shelves held all of the promised texts, just as the merchant had said. In one corner of the final room, the heroes even discovered a shade from the distant past, a vision of an elder Phaedran whose mind yet functioned. Although the heroes could not understand the speech, the vision confirmed that these ruins-- and indeed the ancient texts sought by the merchant--were Phaedran in origin.

The heroes carted the valuable scrolls and books back to the small town, loaded up the windrigger, and returned to Cymril on the final day of the Magickal Fair.

Although he knew little of their contents, Vidian felt unease growing in his heart about the ancient Phaedran texts and the purpose to which Tarriod would put them. The battle with the Za had brought back bittersweet memories of his years in the service of the Seven Kingdoms, patrolling the eastern reaches of the Sapphire Mountains and battling Za. The Cymrilian now wondered how came the bandits to Werewood and what intelligence had sent them thither.

Thus Vidian resolved to present Tarriod with the ancient texts only upon his acceptance of two conditions. The first condition was that the books and scrolls recovered from the ancient temple complex remain forever a part of the Lyceum Arcanum’s Phaedran collection; the second, that Tarriod release from her bonds the Batrean concubine that seemed bound to him as by an invisible chain. Perhaps this latter condition was imposed for no other reason beyond Vidian's natural antipathy toward slavery, yet in some unknown way it seemed of great import, though Vidian could not discern the reason.

On both counts the merchant refused, and though embittered by this betrayal, he could do little, and so made ready to leave the city of glass by windship.

Ever flighty by nature, Dunmer and Delilah made off together without so much as a fare-thee-well. They were soon followed by the Jaka and nameless Thrall. Motar and Gann agreed that it was a good riddance.

Meanwhile, Vidian took his concerns about Tarriod to Boldtooth, an official of the Lyceum Arcanum, Talislanta's foremost repository of learning. Boldtooth expressed great interest in Vidian's tale, and he warmly accepted the Phaedran texts on behalf of the Lyceum. One of the Cymrillian wizard-king's men was contacted, and Vidian was placed on the payroll of the Kingdoms with instructions to follow the merchant. Rumour held that Tarriod was headed for Carantheum and thence northward to an unknown destination in the Sinking Lands.

One perquisite granted to Vidian was a windskiff dubbed the Bloody Hell. Although unarmed and unarmoured, the skiff was light and quick. Furthermore, an unusual crossbow was discovered in the ship's hold. The three bolts that fit this weapon were tipped with small globes of an unknown liquid. Taking on supplies for another long journey, Vidian, Motar, and Gann departed once more into the wastelands.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## Hairy Minotaur (Oct 22, 2005)

Are you playing 4th edition or the d20 version?

and BTW I love Talislanta, I shall be eagerly watching how the story progresses.


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Oct 23, 2005)

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Are you playing 4th edition or the d20 version?



Actually we used a modified version of 3rd ed. I've been trying to convince our GM to go to 4th ed, specifically because the magic system looks pretty cool. I haven't seen the d20 version yet. What is your opinion of it?

ironregime


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Oct 23, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 2 (from 30 Aug 2003)

The Bloody Hell sped eastward across the rolling dunes of Kasmir. When it reached the capital city of that land, the heroes stopped to spend a final night in civilised company before striking out into the forbidding Wilderlands of Zaran on the morrow.

That night, Vidian slept very little. Restlessly he paced the open balcony of the tower room in which he stayed, casting his eyes ever eastward across the Dead River Chasm that guards the Seven Kingdoms from the belligerent nomads of Zaran. Could it be that the words on the wall of the Phaedran temple--long live the Tirshata--had begun to haunt him? His knowledge of Zaran customs--and especially of their quasi-religious prophecies--was admittedly lacking, but he had gleaned from his military days that all tribes of Za awaited the day when their fabled messiah called the Tirshata would come to lead them in victory over their enemies. To any Cymrillian, that day would seem the beginning of a long and bloody nightmare.

The next morning Vidian piloted the ship along the Wilderlands Road on the way toward the red desert of Carantheum. When the suns had reached the height of the sky, Motar eyed the smoking remnants of a caravan that had come under attack by bandits. One poor soul remained to fend off the handful of Za who had not yet departed with their booty. Vidian dipped the Bloody Hell and went down for a closer look, but in so doing he clipped the top of an overturned wain, sending the skiff toward the dunes! A last desperate tug on the wheel allowed Vidian to set the ship down with only light damage.

This landing would prove merely the first in a long series of treacherous manoeuvres by the Cymrillian. Dockmasters in particular rued sightings of his windskiff, and it is said that even after the deeds of its crew were forgotten, the name of the Bloody Hell long remained a catch-phrase uttered in situations of shock and disappointment, as in, "Bloody hell, not them again!"

Amid the cloud of dust thus created, Motar and Gann tumbled from the ship and charged into the fray, surprising the remaining Za. The lone caravaneer, a Yitek by race, was glad for the aid. The trio dispatched the bandits without delay.

Gann and Motar salvaged what they could from the remaining caravan goods and offered the Yitek passage to Carantheum. He agreed. His name was Maylek.

A day later the ship docked within the sprawling desert city of Dracarta. Actually, docked is too kind a word, for the landing caused considerable damage to both the ship and the buildings that broke its fall. However, it was a mixed blessing, as the dockmaster was well met. Not only did he have considerable talent in the working of windships, but he himself sought the merchant Tarriod for unpaid debts. In trade for moneys and the promise of Tarriod's return, the dockmaster replaced the Bloody Hell's small wind machine with one normally reserved for much larger ships. In addition he sheathed the skiff in red iron bracings, cleverly shaped to resemble bright crimson flames issuing from the prow.

Vidian scoured the city for traces of the merchant Tarriod. The Farad had been sighted recently in the city but had flown north with many mercenaries in his employ. Ambassador Mynok, a representative of the Seven Kingdoms to the Dracartans, was supportive of the heroes' quest to return Tarriod to the city, for he wished to question the merchant himself.

Meanwhile, Gann and Motar accompanied Maylek on one of the tomb-robbing ventures for which his race is infamous.

Before departing, the heroes reviewed the repairs with the dockmaster. To them he gave two additional crystals with which to power the mighty engine. One crystal placed the engine into overdrive, allowing the ship to travel as swift as the desert wind, while the second crystal placed the engine into an even more impressive and dangerous mode known as ofucoverdrive.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## Hairy Minotaur (Oct 24, 2005)

ironregime said:
			
		

> Actually we used a modified version of 3rd ed. I've been trying to convince our GM to go to 4th ed, specifically because the magic system looks pretty cool. I haven't seen the d20 version yet. What is your opinion of it?
> 
> ironregime




It's clunky, almost forced and of course the magic system does not translate well to d20. I think 4th ed. really shines, it most reminds me of 1st ed. which I still have all the books for.


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Oct 27, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 3 (from 13 Sep 2003)

Vidian and his comrades, eager to test the Bloody Hell's newfound speed, rocketed into the sky in pursuit of the Farad. Soon they spotted the windship hovering above the ruins of the city of giants. Here it had let down its payload of mercenaries to pillage for treasures among the enormous stones.

The heroes were loath to make their presence known, lest this raid be only a brief stay in an otherwise longer journey. But other events forced their hand. From the east came an army of araqs mounted on land dragons. Tarriod and his men immediately began to retreat to their ship, loading what treasures they could with great haste. But the dragons belched fire, and many men perished.

Without further delay, Vidian positioned the Bloody Hell on the far side of the windship, away from the threatening fires of the dragons. Gann, Motar, and Maylek sprang into action, boarding the ship and killing many men in the confusion. The poor mercenaries were beset by two enemies and were overcome. Tarriod and Silva were soon captured by the heroes. Then Vidian landed his skiff on the deck of the larger ship, removed the crystal from the engine, and sped across the planks to the helm of the windship. With much struggle he turned it away from the marauding araqs and flew away from the battle.

The ship was found to contain crates of empty scrolltubes, an Kharakhan knife of ancient and unknown origin found hidden near the merchant's bed, and a map marked with both the ruined city of giants and a location somewhere within the Sinking Land. Both Tarriod and his slave refused to shed light on the mystery, claiming that the Sinking Land was never their destination, but the heroes remained unconvinced. Tarriod denied any knowledge of the Kharakhan blade.

In need of rest, repair, and supplies, Vidian turned the ship toward the forests of Tamaranth where the Ariane dwelt, nestled in their black-stoned maze city of Altan. Here the heroes were addressed by representatives of the griff, who bade them peace. During a brief respite within the city, the heroes attempted to learn all they could of the fabled Sinking Lands and of the Kharakhan knife.

The Ariane recounted the legends of Elonde, the city of four winds, that was rumoured to float above the Sinking Lands. They also imparted the knowledge that the Kharakhan blade was over 1,000 years old. Its curious etchings were of an ancient speech, now spoken only by the Dhuna. Furthermore, the previous owner of the knife had been a woman, and it had been used in a recent murder.

After the heroes made ready to leave, Vidian flew toward a darkening sky, raising the windship ever higher to pass above the surrounding mountains. Yet the large ship was much slower than the Bloody Hell, and Vidian became fatigued. As he attempted to set the ship down in a small area of flat stone, the ship careened to one side and was sorely damaged. Luckily the Bloody Hell, tied to the larger ship's masts, suffered little. Tired, despondant, and clueless about their quest, the heroes were at a low point. Nothing more could be done except to return to Carantheum with what little they had gained.

The return to the desert city was anti-climactic. Tarriod was turned over to the dockmaster as part of Vidian's agreement, but no further light could be shed on the Farad's schemes.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Oct 31, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 4 (from 4 Oct 2003)

After deep rumination over the events of the previous month, Vidian and his comrades began to suspect more devious involvement by the Batrean than had previously been thought. They devised a plan whereby her intentions might be discovered. After securing a room at the Red Desert Inn, Maylek announced that he saw no alternative but to sell the Kharakhan blade to a fellow Yitek who, Maylek claimed, had an eager buyer already lined up. At this, Silva's face lit up, though she quickly attempted to hide her interest. Then taking up the large dagger and wrapping it in a cloth, Maylek and Motar exited the room and hid in an alcove nearby. Vidian bedded down for the night, allowing Silva the opportunity to leave the room unnoticed, or so she believed. But Maylek tracked her through the darkened city to the sky docks. There Maylek lost the trail, and no trace of the Batrean could be found.

The following morning, Maylek confirmed with others of his race that the Batrean had not been seen and nothing unusual had occurred during the night. The Yiteks imparted only a rumour that Cymrillians had attacked a Farad merchant near the Kharakhan ruins far to the north, and Maylek did not correct the inaccuracies of the report or hint at his part in it. Instead he thanked the fellow robber and gave him some jewels recently liberated from the tomb of a wealthy Dracartan.

Later the heroes came to the docks to inspect the repairs to the Bloody Hell. The work had been done with care and skill, and no defects could be found. The dockmaster was questioned about the Batrean but could provide no clues. Tarriod was bound still to the mast of a nearby ship and remained a prisoner of the dockmaster. The only other news of interest was the departure of another windskiff during the night, the Son of Tarune.

Vidian bid the dockmaster farewell, and the Bloody Hell ascended into the air and headed west. In the city state of Danuvia it halted for the night, and news came that the Son of Tarune had gone before them, also heading west. The friends took counsel with each other. Maylek urged Vidian to steer a course to the lands inhabited by the Dhuna, wherein someone could be found to speak the runes on the Kharakhan knife. Vidian countered that they should first go to Boldtooth at the Lyceum Arcanum in Cymril, for the sages of the Seven Kingdoms are unsurpassed. Yet Maylek said that this was a mistake, and those things which came into the possession of the Lyceum would not be returned. To prevent this, he placed a parchment over the blade, and taking a charred coal in his hands, made an impression on the page of the inscription.

The heroes returned to Cymril, and after reacquainting themselves briefly with the city's amusements, they entered the Lyceum Arcanum to visit Boldtooth. But his welcome was not as warm as Vidian had expected. He indicated that translations of the Phaedran texts were proceedly slowly and no gleanings from them were available to the heroes. Curiously, he slid some papers into a drawer as he spoke these words. Boldtooth's interest was piqued at the mention of the Kharakhan dagger, and although the drawing of the inscription was freely proferred to him, he insisted that the blade itself must be inspected if its true meaning was to be revealed. On this point Vidian disagreed, and the heroes left the room knowing no more than when they had arrived. Now all of them suspected that the representatives of the Seven Kingdoms, or at least of the Lyceum Arcanum, were not revealing all that they knew, but whether for good or ill intent no one could say.

While in Cymril, Vidian chanced to see the gypsy talespinner, Valu, who had told of the Phaedran ruins when last they met. Vidian greeted the gypsy cordially and pressed him for the name of a trusted member of the Dhuna race. The gypsy said that he could lead them to such, if they would travel northwest with him to those lands. Vidian agreed instead to meet Valu and his kin at the little village of Matre in two days' time, since travel by windskiff was more than twice the speed of the gypsy caravan. They parted well, and the heroes immediately left Cymril in the Bloody Hell, deciding to reach Matre and ensure that the windskiff could be left there in safety.

When they came within sight of the village, however, the sight was not one of safety. A war column of Za could be seen travelling north from the village, leaving it in smoke and ruin. The Za were perhaps a hundred strong, so the heroes decided to head for Matre to save what they could from the fires. On the outskirts of the village, a line of more than a dozen Za bandits were pushing a small group of villagers before them. This appeared to be the rearguard of the Za raiding party, instructed to destroy all that could not be plundered from the village, then force the few surviving prisoners into slavery or a slow death at the hands of the cruel bandits.

When the Za saw the ship, they pushed their captives back into the ruined village and took refuge in what remained of the buildings there. Vidian brought the windskiff to a halt above the road, but few bandits could now be attacked at range. Therefore he brought the ship low, and the Bloody Hell kicked up a storm of dust as it landed. Into this storm charged eight Za armed with barbed scimitars. A desperate fight ensued. Motar's knives flashed with deadly accuracy. Maylek stabbed at the enemies as best he could. 

Vidian unsheathed his black iron longsword. It bit into the subman's flesh, and the power of the arcane sword revealed itself when, in a split-second, a brilliant blue spark traced an invisible pattern of runes along the blade and then was gone. But it was Gann, with his many-spiked thrall garde and mighty greatsword, that was most fearsome in battle, slaying Za with unmatched skill and ferocity.

Vidian slammed the windskiff into a nearby hut, but the Za held their footing, and the wind engine coughed and died in the choking air. There would be no escape by air. Yet hope still remained when the heroes managed to defeat those Za who had boarded the Bloody Hell. Yet the fight was not easily won, and both Motar and Maylek showed terrible wounds from the curved sawblades that the bandits wielded as swords. 

Gann finished the last two bandits, slamming the foot-long spikes of his shoulder garde into the chest of one Za even as he hewed down another with a two-handed chop from his broadsword. But even as these two fell and the dust cleared, hope began to fade. For there standing in a circle round about the ship were nine more Za, undaunted by the defeat of their fellow marauders. The Za glared with hatred at the heroes.

Desperate to break the will of the submen and avoid another set-to, Vidian summoned forth a burst of arcane energy, focused it into the form of a jet-black arrow, and sent it shrieking forward at the largest of the Za. The bolt struck the bandit square in the forehead, and his skull exploded, showering the other nearby Za with fragments of bone and brain. But rather than depair, the Za became enraged and charged the ship! It was clear that this would be a battle to the death.

While Maylek descended the stairs into the ship's hold to retrieve the mysterious crossbow and its three globe-tipped bolts, Vidian turned to the thrall beside him and uttered words of power. The tatooed body of the thrall came sharply into view for a moment, then disappeared entirely. Though he could not now be seen, Gann grinned with bloodlust and walked forward to do battle.

The first two Za that approached were slain before they were aware of their invisible foeman. Then Motar and Vidian began to ward off attacks from the remaining six bandits. Maylek returned to the deck in time to see Gann reappear--seemingly from nowhere--behind the crowd of Za pressing forward against his Cymrillian and Arimite allies. Gann began hacking at the Za from the rear, as Motar and Vidian dodged to and fro.

Yet luck remained with the Za. Maylek nocked one of the odd-shaped bolts, cocked the crossbow, and levelled it at the centre bandit, but his aim with the unfamiliar weapon was wild, and the dart landed amid the deck, exploding a great hole in it. In addition, several of the Za turned on the thrall and began wearing him down with their attacks, and Motar screamed with agony as a Za broadsword slashed across his face, darkening his right eye with blood and torn flesh. Maylek fired another bolt. This one struck its target, blowing limbs from the body of one of the Za that had attacked Motar. Desperately the Arimite quaffed a restorative potion to give him the strength to continue the fight.

Meanwhile, Vidian and Gann fought on, while the final mystic bolt from the crossbow flew untrue yet again and enlarged the hole in the Bloody Hell's foredeck. Finally, Vidian ran his opponent through and sped to the assistance of Gann, who, although he slew his attackers, now lay bloodied on the planks. A healing elixer was administered, and Gann was saved.

Weary of battle, Vidian, Motar, Maylek, and Gann spent the remainder of the day salvaging what they could from the ruined village. Then they bedded down for the night, their bodies discomforted with the pain of poorly bound wounds and their heads filled with dreams of murderous submen fingering cruel swords.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Nov 8, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 5 (from 25 Oct 2003)

As the larger of Talislanta’s two suns broke upon the horizon and cast its first pale rays on the ruined town of Matre, Vidian awoke to find the corpses of Za bandits still littering the deck of the Bloody Hell and the ground around it. Gingerly, he pried a sawtoothed broadsword from the clutches of one of the marauders who lay sprawled against the ship’s ladder. He used the bloodied weapon to snag the dead subman’s battle harness and drag the carcass away from the windrigger.

When Vidian gained the main deck, he stepped over the dead body of another Za to reach the cabin. To his chagrin he found the larder empty but for a few mouldy scraps of mossloaf bread, which he refused to eat.

A brief assembly of the heroes determined the morning’s duties. While Vidian cleared the ship of the bodies of their fallen foes, taking care as best he could to avoid getting blood on his overtunic, Gann, Motar, and Maylek searched the village for what little foodstuffs the Za had not plundered or defiled. A short while later they returned with half a dozen casks of beer and grog, along with a couple armloads of bottles full of tipple from around the western half of the continent. It seemed obvious to Vidian that great effort had been focused not on searching out meats, breads, cheeses, and other staples, but on rescuing “liquid loot” from deep within the hidden cellars of the Inn of the Dreaming Cloud.

By mid-afternoon, Motar heard the approach of equs riders from the southeast. The vanguard of the gypsy caravan had arrived. They could see for themselves that Matre had recently come under attack by the Za, and within minutes the riders left to scout the northern edges of the forest.

When Valu arrived, he took counsel with Vidian, and the facts of the previous day were related to all who were there. Yet before much lore could be shared, Vidian was eager to barter with the gypsies. He offered a king’s share of the liquor that had been found in Matre in exchange for seats at the dinner table when the Sarista held feast that night, plus nine weeks of good trail food loaded onto the Bloody Hell before they left on the morrow. Valu agreed.

Among the caravan was a Sindarin traveller who seemed to take a keen interest in Vidian’s tale. His name was Dar Lotis, and though he was no warrior, he offered to join the crew of the Bloody Hell to aid their quest as best he could. In token of his friendship, he offered two elixirs with healing properties. Vidian gratefully accepted.

As day stretched into evening and the gypsies began to settle into their encampment, the other heroes sought out the services of various merchants within the caravan. They stocked up on additional supplies that would prove useful in the days ahead.

When all was made ready, the feasting began, and the dancing of the women was a fine sight. But the night’s festivities soon turned to more serious matters, such as where the heroes would travel next. For when the riders returned to the town, they told that parties of Za ranged far and wide through Werewood, and they doubted that safe passage could be found through it to any northern land.

The Sarista therefore decided to turn south at first light and travel the safer roads of Zandu. Vidian pressed Valu for more information about the Dhuna and where they might be found. If a very large tree near the northern shore of the Green Lagoon was sighted, said Valu, so to would be the settlement of the Dhuna. Valu said that the heroes should seek one named Lenatha. She was of the Laeolis coven, which revered the moon of sorrow.

But to follow these woefully inadequate directions the five heroes had little choice. And so when morning light next broke across the horizon, the Bloody Hell sped northward toward the Green Lagoon in the heart of the forest.

For much of that day the heroes searched the northern coast of the lagoon for some tree that might pass for that described by Valu. Just when it seemed they would give up all hope, Dar spotted an unusually large and gnarled spideroak standing head and shoulders above its companions. Within a few hundred paces was a convenient clearing beside the calm waters of the lagoon, and Vidian set the ship down onto the root-softened earth as best he could.

The heroes gathered their gear and set off to the tree. Once there, they began to canvas the surrounding woods for any sign of habitation. It was Maylek who found the Dhuna first, or perhaps they found him. It was a stony-faced man in clothing of grey that stepped forward, accompanied by armed compatriots a few paces from either shoulder. He demanded that Maylek discard all weapons and go into the forest with them to see Lenatha; no one else would be permitted to follow.

Soon thereafter Maylek returned. He had indeed spoken with the witch Lenatha and shone the runes of the Kharakhan knife in her firelight. Lenatha said that the knife was given to the giant Malenok, protector of King Modor of the giants. “In service and protection, to Malenok” read the ancient letters.

Furthermore Lenatha imparted news of a more immediate and troubling nature. The Batrean had been seen with the armies of Za now roaming Werewood. Even now she was encamped with the bandits in the forest many miles west. And her evil ran deeper than that of mundane women, for she was more than just Batrean, though precisely what else Lenatha could not—or would not—reveal. Finally, she charged Maylek with a great duty: to return with Silva’s dead body. Only then could the witchfolk of the Dhuna reveal more information about the extent of her evil.

When Maylek related everything that the witch had told him, the heroes held council. They could fly directly against Silva, risking a pitched battle with a great host of vicious bandits. They could return to civilisation in an attempt to gain strength. In the end, Vidian decided to return briefly to the Phaedran ruins where the mystery began, hoping that Maylek could converse with the ghostly Phaedran visage with whom he could not. Yet it was a fateful decision.

The ruined city had changed since last they had seen it. More Za had arrived and were busily fortifying the perimeter of the site. At least eight of them could be seen in various parts of the city.

Vidian confidently steered the ship toward the largest building, the temple, while Motar aimed great bolts from the ship’s ballista. The Bloody Hell swooped down from the cloud-swept sky and landed abruptly in front of the temple doors. Within seconds, wild submen were charging from every direction. 

Gann’s task was to hold the ship against the assault of the eight Za surrounding it, while Vidian led the rest of the crew into the temple. But all did not go according to their wishes. The temple doors were fiercely defended by hordes of sword-wielding bandits, and four Za had taken up positions atop nearby buildings and were raining arrows onto the Bloody Hell.

Though valiant fighters, the crew knew they were outmatched and could not win the day. They retreated to the ship and managed to hold it against the onslaught of the Za long enough for Vidian to build enough wind to fly away.

After a safe haven was found for the ship that evening, the heroes nursed their wounds as the last dying rays of the smaller of Talislanta’s two suns faded into the purple night.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Nov 19, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book One: Long Live the Tirshata 
Session 6 (from 8 Nov 2003)

The heroes returned to the safety of Kasmir to recuperate. New armour and weapons were purchased, and though it emptied the crew’s purses, the Bloody Hell was fully repaired. While in the company of the Kasmirans, Vidian and the others held council. There seemed no alternative but to confront the Batrean—or whatever she was—and discover the truth behind her charade.

After four days in Kasmir, Vidian and his crew set out once more, armed with new-found resolve. They found the main encampment of the Za west of the Green Lagoon, as Lenatha had said. Vidian landed the ship on the fringe of the encampment. He then shouted the details of a cunning plan to the crew, and everyone sprang into action.

First to act was Gann, tying a rope around his waist and leaping from the side of the ship onto the leading group of charging Za, killing one and throwing the rest off-balance. He rolled to his feet, whipped his broadsword from its sheath, and took on nearly two dozen bandits at once.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the heroes descended the ship’s ladder on the other side of the ship and skirted the forest clearing until they were able to enter the bandits’ camp unchallenged. As they rushed swiftly forward, Silva parted the flaps of the largest of the tents. Beside her stood several enormous Za men.

Immediately Vidian formed an arcane bolt in the air and levelled it at the Batrean’s head. The magick streaked through the misty morning air and exploded right in front of her. The Za were knocked back and had no chance to intercept Motar’s two knives that thudded into Silva’s body. Silva fell to the ground. The enraged Za jumped to their feet and charged the heroes.

While Dar, Maylek, and Motar beat a hasty retreat toward the ship, drawing the Za bodyguards after them, Vidian placed his hands together before him and chanted ancient syllables of power. Within seconds he had faded into the mist and was no where to be seen!

When the others returned to the Bloody Hell, they found Gann holding the ladder of the ship against desperate odds. He had suffered several gashes and cuts from the bandits’ swords, and rivulets of blood distorted the patterns of his tattoos into a terrifying crimson camouflage. The heroes fought their way back onto the ship; several Za had already climbed aboard and were prowling the decks in search of victims. Dar and Maylek slashed and beat at them, while Motar rained death on the foes of the Thrall below.

For what seemed like hours the heroes struggled, though for certain it could only have been a handful of minutes. No one noticed the doubled-over body of the Batrean woman as it floated silently up the far side of the ship and across the deck to the captain’s cabin. The door of the cabin opened as if by itself, and the woman’s body glided into the room and came to rest in a crumpled heap in the corner.

An unusually large and broad-shouldered Za was bending over Vidian’s winelocker in the small cabin; he would have easily been nine feet in height had he been able to stand up without stooping. He had been ravenously chugging aquavit and dashing the half-empty bottles against the wall. When he heard the muffled noise of Silva’s body being placed in the corner, he turned suddenly, drew his jagged weapon, and walked over to inspect the woman’s body.

Behind the bandit, a misty cloud began to coalesce into the form of a Cymrilian windship pilot with a black iron longsword resting on his shoulder. In seconds Vidian came fully into view, and a glint ran down the silver runes of the dark blade as he struck. The blade buried itself deep into the subman’s back as if it were a hot knife melting butter. The Za screamed and cursed as he fell to the ground, smoke issuing from the gaping wound in his back! Vidian stood back, ready to strike again, but there was no need. The Za was dead.

Vidian emerged from the cabin to take stock of the situation. The crew was in terrible shape, embattled on all sides and nearing death.

Vidian ran to the helm and engaged the wind engine. In a few moments, the funnel roared to life, and the skiff lifted into the air, then lurched forward into the tops of the nearby trees in a sharp ascent. Several of the Za lost their footing and slipped over the side. Maylek also slipped over the edge but managed to grab hold of the railing just in time. It seemed he would haul himself up, but a Za bandit on the upper deck lost his footing and slammed into the Yitek. They fell from the ship a hundred feet above the forest! 

All this while, Gann had been knocked to the ground and was rolling this way and that to avoid the blows of the mob of Za gathered around him. With kicks and sweeps of sword, the thrall had been knocking over enemies and amputating limbs in a wild fury. Yet it seemed that his luck had run out, for he was exhausted and battered, and he could not parry every strike aimed at him. A Za chieftain with a deep scar across his forehead rushed up to where Gann lay and raised a thick- shafted spear above his head to strike, and Gann could do nothing to avoid it!

At that moment, the end of Gann’s rope was reached, his body was jerked violently into the air, and the long blade of the chieftain’s spear struck only the cold ground where the thrall’s head had lain a second before. With a groan of pain, Gann went flying up into the air, swinging this way and that like a blood-stained pendulum, as the Bloody Hell gained altitude. 

The rope to which Gann had tied himself saved more than one life in that moment, for Maylek managed to catch of it with a wild thrash of his arms as he fell. He had just enough strength left in his thin frame to hang on for dear life. The Za who had fallen from the ship beside him was not so fortunate. Meanwhile, Vidian steadied the ship, giving Motar time to end the lives of the two remaining Za who remained on board.

When they had returned to the clearing near the great spideroak, Gann and Maylek dropped gently into the shallow water as the Bloody Hell hovered above the lake. Vidian then landed the windskiff in the clearing, and the heroes gathered to tend their wounds. Gann was in terrible shape and would require much assistance if he were to survive. The rest of the heroes gave him food and drink and what comfort they could, but it was clear that he needed more aid than they could give.

Vidian brought out Silva’s body and carried it into the forest to meet with the Dhuna. Maylek led the way. Within a few moments, the stony- faced man appeared once more. Vidian laid the Batrean’s body on the ground. Then Maylek approached and said they had brought Silva’s body as requested and that the thrall in their company was in dire need of the ministrations of a healer. Would Lenatha meet with them?

The stony-faced man held his hand above Silva’s body. Suddenly he took a step back and yelled, “She lives yet! Her evil is not ended!”

Silva’s eyes snapped open. She held up a hand, and Maylek was flung backwards against the trunk of the great spiderwood tree. He tumbled to the ground and did not rise. 

Vidian drew his sword. Motar flung knives. Gann ran forward to do battle. Dar cheered them on.

Silva got to her feet just as one of Motar’s knives struck her in the chest. Her face was expressionless as she yanked it out of her body and tossed it aside. Vidian struck at her with his arcane blade, and she knocked the blow aside with her hand, as if she knew no pain. Surprisingly, no blood issued from her wounds!

“Your weapons are useless against her,” called the stony-faced man. “Within her frame is a terrible power against whom only the ancient ones may strike blows!” The representatives of the Dhuna retreated further into the woods.

Silva pointed a finger at Vidian, and like Maylek, he saw shoved backwards by an invisible force. He flipped over in the air and landed face down in a tangle of thorn bushes. Silva walked confidently past the spiderwood tree toward the remaining heroes. 

Behind her, Maylek stumbled to his feet, pulled the 1,000-year-old Kharakhan knife from the folds of his shirt, and buried it in the Batrean’s back squarely between her shoulder blades. She stopped in her tracks, still as a statue. Maylek half-cringed, expecting to be knocked aside once again. 

A green light shone from Silva’s eyes, and a shudder ran through her body. Maylek dove out of the way as blinding bolts of green lightning arced from her body to the surrounding trees, and a great cloud of dark smoke began to roll and boil about her. Those still standing dove for cover.

By the time the heroes recovered the courage to peer out from behind their shelters, the lightning had ceased and the black smoke was already beginning to dissipate. The body from which it had issued lay motionless on the ground, but it was not Silva’s. 

Instead of the beautiful form of a young Batrean woman, before them lay the naked flesh of a man. His skin was pale and nearly translucent, as if he had lived in darkness for many years. His bearded face was frozen in an expression of both shock and agony at once. The great dagger of the giants jutted from his back.

Later, when the Dhuna had been summoned and their fears put to rest, the body was shown to Lenatha, who confirmed that this had been a powerful Phaedran wizard. He had discovered a passage that led back from the world of the dead, and his spirit lived once more within the Batrean woman known as Silva.

Epilogue

What evil schemes had been set in motion during the long-dead wizard’s return to Talislanta may never be fully uncovered, but with his passing, two facts remain certain. The first was that the wizard had begun to breed an advanced race of submen who still infested Werewood. These superhuman legions of evil would continue to wreak havoc as long as they thrived in the north, and only a war would end their rampage.

The second was that the crew of the Bloody Hell had delivered only a brief check--not a total defeat--in the war against evil. Someone close to the wizard still lived, though whether a servitor, a colleague, or a master no one knew. Even now, in some dark corner of the continent, they sit brooding in the cabin of a windship named the Son of Tarrune, dreaming of the next step in the conquest of the civilised world.

NEXT UP... BOOK TWO: THE TREE OF LIFE


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Dec 24, 2005)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 1 (from 28 Nov 2003)

A gloom hung about the crew of the Bloody Hell. Of late they had foiled a plot by a long-dead Phaedran wizard to engulf the Western Lands with an army of mutated submen. But for all their troubles, they ended up as unwelcome guests in Werewood, lying bloody and penniless among the grim Dhuna.

To raise spirits, Vidian proposed a return to civilisation, perhaps to be followed by some profitable mercenary work. So the heroes set out for the Seven Kingdoms. Motar requested a layover in his hometown of Shattra, where his family lived. Vidian agreed.

Within a few hours, the windskiff approached the valley where Shattra lay nestled near … The Bloody Hell hovered a few feet off the ground while the heroes descended the starboard ladder. Dar elected to remain aboard to guard the ship.

Perhaps the fact that no villagers could be seen should have been the first clue of trouble. All of the residents were gathered in a large communal hall in the centre of the cluster of ramshackle huts that made up Shattra. Determined to find out more, the heroes entered the building.

“You!” shouted an old crone. “You are bewitched!” She pointed a crooked finger at Motar. “And the sorcerous ones around you are to blame!”

“Mother, you are—” Motar began, but before he could protest, a gap-toothed old man spoke in a deep, booming voice. He described three omens which had befallen the town before Motar’s return. In each case, a single eye was seen as having evil significance. Motar’s return to Shattra bearing only one good eye seemed to be the final piece of evidence needed to brand his compatriots as witches. 

When the old man’s accusations were finished, the mob forced the heroes out of the hall and into the muddy street.

“If anyone lays a hand on me,” muttered Gann, “they lose it.” Gann placed his hand on his broadsword, but a look from Vidian urged caution.

“Lock them up with the other one!” shouted the gap-toothed man. Younger Arimites bristling with knives approached the heroes and herded them backwards toward a trapdoor set into a paved section off of a winding mountain road. Vidian reassured the others that they should appease the mob for now; escape was still possible. Beyond the trapdoor, they descended a wide stone stairway into a common cellar packed with barrels of chakos and crates of hard bread and dried meats.

Yet the heroes were not the only witches sent to that dark place. A Zandir swordsmage was seated on a barrel in the corner. He told, after greetings and introductions were completed, of his capture the day before on charges of witchery. His name was Phantarl.

Before the conversation in the dark cellar could turn into an uneasy silence, the angry Arimites returned and threw open the trapdoor. The early evening light was just beginning to create shadows of the great mountains all around the town as the heroes emerged.

“Motar, we have reached a decision,” said the old man. "You must be freed from your bewitchment. To do this, we must kill those around you.” The younger Arimites approached with drawn weapons.

Battle commenced. The heroes cut down their foes. As more Arimites entered the fray, the crew beat a hasty retreat to the Bloody Hell. Phantarl followed.

The windskiff was still hovering right where it had been parked. Luckily the Arimites had not been able to board the ship while the heroes had been imprisoned. When he saw the rest of the crew approaching, Dar lowered the ship’s ladder and ran to the fight.

The heroes spent a night hovering over Viridia. The following day, they docked in Cymril, and the young clerk recommended an inn called the Crystal Stroke. Then he handed a note to Vidian from Boldtooth, indicating that he had found something dangerous and Vidian should visit him first thing. Yet Vidian delayed, and this was to have dire consequences.

The heroes checked into the Crystal Stroke and received some much-needed R&R. The innkeeper, named Dravin Har, treated them well, and they heard many things. One rumour that came to their ears was that the Phantasians have been riding aerial beasts called nizrini lately.

Late at night, Vidian, Gann, and Motar visited the Lyceum Arcanum but were turned away by guards.

The next morning, the heroes went to the Lyceum again to visit Boldtooth. His apprentice, an adept named Otep, said he may be found in his tower.

The heroes found Boldtooth dead in his chair on the second floor of his tower, killed by an assassin. A note marked in the dead man’s palm read, “My key unlocks the mystery in my hard heads.”

The heroes searched the tower and located a secret staircase to the third floor.

Inside they found many unusual items, translations from Phaedran, and some magic equipment. Among the items found were a small silver gong, a ceramic jar full of amber beads, a jar with a severed paw in it, an old silver armband with red iron filigree of dragons, 800-year old Arduan scale mail and helm fashioned of bronze in the late Phaedran style, an exomorph hide, and a magical red leather robe. 

One of the translations was found sitting alone on the table. It is transcribed here in full: 

---top of page---

From the Chronicles of Ar’tec the Father……..

Through time forgotten we have bloomed from this that men and those 
beasts that walk on two legs believe as legend.
It’s roots run deep through all of us, it’s fruit nourishes our 
world and is the well spring of the gods.
Yet a dangerous thing, this Tree of Life which can bestow many 
gifts. For some it brings enlightenment, for others the portal to 
thrust their evil back onto the world once more.
I dream of rain that washes away the sand of time and runs into my 
single silver eye. The eye which guides my way to many doors in the 
slumbering hall of the sad children of Talislanta and their watch.
But my eye is closed and hidden from view
a mere seed in the great fruit of Viridian where bridges span
to the Archaens that see all
L’raat and his truth
P’tog and his blood
Sl’zan and his beauty
For their souls were lost
They were men and fragile in their grace
the chords of their life dangle from pale limbs still
supporting the shard
awaiting the darkness
But the torturous sweetness that is the Tree of Life endures

---bottom of page---

While leaving the tower, the heroes were attacked by Vird and a powerful female warrior. The attackers were defeated, and a large bug was found on the back of the female’s neck. Guards arrived and placed everyone under arrest.

In a guardroom somewhere in the city, a captain of the guards presented the heroes with an ultimatum. They must clean up the mess at the tower and leave the city forever.

Vidian protested, but the heroes finally agreed. They put all of the dead bodies into carts, along with everything from the third floor of the tower. They loaded these onto the Bloody Hell, then departed for Sindar, hoping that Dar may have some contacts there who could help decipher the mystery.

TO BE CONTINUED


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## xnosipjpqmhd (May 16, 2006)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 2 (from 27 Dec 2003)

After the heroes docked in Nankar, they met a friend of Dar’s family, a Kasmiran named Rebadep. His house in Nankar was richly appointed. Among the many items he possessed were 80 swords collected from around the continent. A twelve-year-old Marukan named Lichen Puddleglum served as his houseboy.

The conversation with Rebadep turned to the mystery of Boldtooth’s fate. Rebadep had heard that several members of the Lyceum faculty had taken “extended leaves of absence.” He could shed little light on the mystery. When the riddle of the Tree of Life was recited to him, Rebadep thought that the sad children might be a race of beings. Viridan, he claimed was a magician-god of the Ardua, still worshipped in Ardune. There also was talk of the ancient Phaedran practice of breeding insects that would attach themselves to people in order to enhance their abilities, but at a terrible price of sanity.

He referred the heroes to Tarog, a merchant who deals in unusual objects. His shop is a large striped building near the center of Nankar. The man appraised the items the heroes had rescued from Boldtooth’s tower, and a few of the less important items were sold to him.

When the heroes returned to Rebadep’s house, dinner was prepared. Rebadep presented each of the heroes with a pipe as gifts. However, dinner was interrupted by a knock at the door. Lichen answered it and returned to the table with a note for Rebadep, who promptly arose and excused himself. He went into the next room, donned armour and weapons, and said that he must go alone to attend to certain matters.

The heroes, of course, followed. In an alleyway in the city, the heroes found Rebadep’s dead body. Near him were three Sindaran townsfolk raving like animals. The beastial Sindarans threw themselves at the heroes but were quickly killed. Small symbols were stamped on their foreheads in blood. When the guards arrived, the matter was sorted out, but no explanation could be found for why the townsfolk had committed the crime or acted the way they did.

The heroes returned to Rebadep’s house and searched it from top to bottom. Many treasures were discovered, protected by traps, of course. The most useful items were carted aboard the Bloody Hell, including a Kasmiran trap box, twenty traplocks with keys, and a number of very well crafted swords, including five adamant swords of various sizes, three red iron duelling swords, a black iron duelling sword with fine filagree work, and eight swords of various sizes forged of blue iron, one of which, a greatsword, was quite ornate though of dubious battle-worth. 

Arrangements were made to inter Rebadep’s and Boldtooth’s bodies in the Nankar Catacombs. Lichen agreed to serve as the cabin boy for the Bloody Hell.

More to come...


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Jun 8, 2006)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 3 (from 10 Jan 2004)

Before leaving Nankar, the heroes went shopping to pick up some much needed supplies.

Soon after the heroes passed through a pass in the mountains from Sindar to Cymril, a black windrigger flying a red flag attacked the Bloody Hell. It was commanded by a Kang. An Arimite and a female Arimite mage were also aboard. They attacked with ballistae and magic. The heroes escaped, but only barely.

Upon reaching the borders of Vardune, windships crewed by Blue Ardua stopped the Bloody Hell. After some questioning, the Ardua reluctantly allowed us to pass into the Kingdom.

The ship docked at Vashay. There the heroes noticed a company of thrall. Gann struck up a conversation with Third Sword Rann, discovering that six brigades of thrall had been ordered to defend the borders of Vardune and Taz in all directions, while the Cymrilian forces had been recalled to Cymril. Rann referred Gann to an Ardua named Veeroc. 

After securing lodging, the heroes met with Veeroc. Veeroc shared with them that all thrall had been ordered out of Cymril. He said that the pirate ship we had encountered is called the Nuthchak. He said that the sad children were Kharakhan giants, who guarded the Tree of Life along with other guardians of various races. The bronze Arduan armour that the heroes had found in Boldtooth’s tower presumably had belonged to one of these. 

During the conversation, Vidian began to formulate the idea that the “silver eye” referred to in Ar’tec’s poem was an item, perhaps located in a Phaedran tomb near Vashay that may have been Viridian’s burial place.

That night, the heroes located a squat stone tomb in the Southwood. They pushed the stone door ajar, and Motar squeezed in through the opening thus created. Vidian used magic to cause Motar’s knife to glow. Inside he saw two skeletons of individuals who had been killed in a gruesome manner. Tatters of white robes still clung to their bones. A downward-sloping corridor led down into the tomb. Stone carvings of single eyes watched everything. More pushing allowed the rest of the heroes to enter.

At the end of the hall was a 40-foot room with a large stone slab in the centre. Before Vidian could light the torches in the room with a quickly conjured tinderbox, they sprang into flames. The body within the sarcophagus stood up and attacked! Phantarl attempted to flee, but the skeletons from the entryway blocked his path. Combat ensued.

The corpse was struck by Gann’s sword and Vidian’s arcane bolt, but he responded with a necromantic strike against the Cymrilian that sent him to the floor. A healing elixir saved Vidian’s life and put him back into the fight. Meanwhile, Motar snuck around behind the dead man and attacked with two daggers.

Yet it soon became apparent that no normal blade could pierce the creature’s cold grey skin. Thus, using their magic weapons, the heroes were finally able to dispatch he whose long sleep of death they had disturbed. Likewise were the skeletons who guarded the grave destroyed.

When the heroes examined the slab upon which the body had lain, they saw it was carved with a large Aamanian eye. At the end of the slab, resting on the floor of the tomb, was a small stone chest. Cautiously Vidian opened the lid. Within he found a moulded tome emblazoned with a single eye on the cover, a silver dagger, and a pendant of silver in the shape of an eye.

“Could this be the eye we seek?” pondered Vidian. He examined the pendant closer. It appeared to be quite old. Next he opened the rotting tome. Its pages were covered in orthodoxist scribblings. He handed the book to Dar, then looked at the silver dagger. Its hilt was formed to represent various orthodoxist symbols and iconography, and the blade thinned quickly before flaring out into a diamond shape near the tip.

To be continued...


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Jun 19, 2006)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 4 (from 7 Feb 2004)

“This tomb is over nine hundred years old,” said Dar. “That would be within the Phaedran Age.” He carefully touched the pages of the orthodoxist tome.

At those words a low moan came from the battered form of the long-dead Phaedran. As the body began to move, Phantar seized a torch and walked toward him. 

Before Phantar attacked, four uninvited guests strolled confidently down the sloping passage and into the chamber: an enormous Arimite dressed in red, a Kang pirate who had commanded the black windship encountered in the eastern lands, a warrior clad completely in blue iron plate mail, and the partially nude Arimite woman whom the heroes had first encountered outside Boldtooth’s tower so long ago.

Phantar paused long enough to look them over while absent-mindedly touched fire to the undead Phaedran. The dead man knocked the torch aside, unaffected by the flame, and stumbled toward the Zandiran.

The woman, dressed in leather armour, seemed to be in command of the motley band of villains, and she spoke with a voice of power. “Give me the eye, and I will make him stop. What is your answer?”

Seeing that the heroes had no intention of obeying, the Arimite woman raised her hands to form symbols in mid-air, summoning a swirling cloud of necromantic energy.

Motar flung an adamant knife that struck her in the side, but she ignored the pain and directed a black bolt at Vidian, who held the items recovered from the sarcophagus. Vidian deftly summoned an arcane shield that saved his life but was shattered in the process.

As if according to some prearranged strategy, the warrior in blue plate pulled an adamant long sword from its sheath and walked forward to strike Vidian as well. Vidian pulled his silver-runed blade just in time to parry.

“Rollenar,” muttered Phantar as he sprung into action, tossing his duelling sword at the woman in an attempt to throw her off balance. But her magic was quicker. She threw up a barrier of grey mist, and the sword clattered to the floor before reaching her. Then she produced a black bag from her belt and reached inside.

The huge Arimite in red turned toward Phantar, slipped two barbed daggers of green glass from his bandolier, and tossed them at the Zandiran. One of them pierced Phantar’s sword hand and remained stuck there, but the Zandiran gritted his teeth and retained his grip on the weapon.

---BEGIN QUOTE MODE---

ERIC: Okay, he’s making a called shot.
QUENTIN: To what?
ERIC: To the hand. Your hand.
QUENTIN: Oh.
JIM: He wants to shake your hand.
QUENTIN: The one with the dagger or the rapier?
ERIC: Hmm?
QUENTIN: The one with the dagger or the duelling sword?
ERIC: Duelling sword.
QUENTIN: The left hand then, because I just picked it up, so I 
   have the dagger in my right.
ERIC: Let’s see. Right. [rolls] Missed and [rolls] hit. Full.
QUENTIN: I’ll dodge it.
ERIC: Okay. You have to get a nineteen.
QUENTIN: [rolls then rolls again]
JIM: Nineteen.
ERIC: What a minute. What happened to that eleven--
QUENTIN: It was against the friggin’ sandwich! Any time--
ERIC: It was laying flat!
QUENTIN: No, no, no, any time--
ERIC: No!
QUENTIN: Any time it goes on the plate--
ERIC: No!
QUENTIN: It does not work. That is the rule. Any time it’s on a 
   plate or in a bowl... I made it.
ERIC: Shut up. Shut up.
PJ: He did make it. And he does get multiple attempts.
QUENTIN: You shut up.
JIM: The plate rule. You forgot about the plate rule.
ERIC: Six. Six. Roll your sword to see if you hold it.
JIM: Oh, you’re killing me, Quentin.
QUENTIN: I did.
ERIC: Okay, you’ve got a dagger sticking out of your hand. 
   It’s green, and it’s made out of glass.
PJ: Who did that? The Arimite?
ERIC: Uh-huh.

---END QUOTE MODE---

“The Red Viper of Arim,” cries Motar in alarm. “It is Keatu, the legendary revenant who slew his family and laundered his garments in their blood!” Dar looked questioningly at the awe on Motar’s face. “That was two hundred years ago,” explained Motar.

Despite this realization, Motar pulled two adamant knives and threw them at the Red Viper while his attention was focused on Phantar. The knives bit into the Arimite’s armour, and he turned back to face Motar. With a gloved hand he drew forth from its scabbard an ornate long sword, and as he did so, the blade burst into bright red flames! He stepped toward his adversary and shoved the blade into Motar’s side. 

Motar let out a yell of pain and dropped the knives he had intended to throw. The Red Viper attempted to follow up with a second strike, but he misjudged the distance and careened off balance, dropping his flaming sword to the ground.

Motar used the brief respite to fish a healing elixir from his pouch and quaff its contents.

Meanwhile Vidian riposted against the blue iron clad warrior, connecting twice with his arcane longsword. But the warrior struck back, bypassing Vidian’s attempts to parry and slicing a gash into his arm. Another quick blow from the warrior sent Vidian crashing to the floor.

The Kang, dressed in leather pants with a silver buckle set with a black pearl, a ragged shirt, and big gaudy rings, hefted a black iron war axe and faced off against Gann. The Thrall grinned at the challenge and swung viciously, only barely catching the Kang’s leg.

From within her bag the Arimite woman produced a dark orb, but before she could react, Phantar dropped his dagger and clutched the paradoxist symbol hanging from around his neck. It must have provided him some luck, for he sidestepped the barrier between them and struck her hand with his duelling sword. She dropped the orb, which hit the cold stone floor with a leaden thud and began rolling toward the Zandiran.

The Arimite woman recoiled in pain and sent an immediate bolt of evil energy directly into Phantar’s chest, knocking him to the floor. 

As she turned toward Gann and struck him with a necromantic bolt as well, Phantar struggled back to his feet, switched his sword to his one good hand, and lunged toward the woman once more.

Gann growled in anger as the necromantic bolt hit him. He continued to attack the Kang, landing more half-hearted blows that only served to enrage the pirate. The Kang struck back with his own axe, landing a mighty blow on the Thrall’s shoulder.

The woman turned back to Phantar, casting a spell that filled the air with the putrid smell of urine and rotten eggs. Phantar reeled back in agony, unable to create a barrier in time. He fell back to the ground, unable to defend himself.

Gazing into his eyes, the sorceress leaned over Phantar and performed an act of extreme disrespect to him. Within his heart a horrible rage welled up, but not for the woman who demeaned him so. With his teeth and hair growing before everyone’s eyes, giving him the look of a wild animal, Phantar screamed and rose to his feet, eyeing the rest of the heroes with bloodthirst.

Lying on the floor with the blue-clad warrior over him, Vidian fumbled in his bag for a healing elixir, though he knew his foe could dispatch him before he could even uncork the bottle. Yet luck was with him. Motar unslung his bow, nocked an adamant-tipped arrow, and fired it at the warrior in blue plate, forcing him to react to this new threat.

This gave Vidian enough time to drink the restorative potion, roll to his feet, and shove his long sword into the Arimite woman’s back.

She gave a cry, waved her hands in the air, and vanished, leaving Vidian holding his sword in mid-air where she stood. The Red Viper and his flaming sword disappeared as well. The undead Aamanian fell lifeless to the floor.

Stunned and confused, Phantar sat down, wiped off his face, and began to return slowly to his normal visage.

The Kang stopped to look around at the suddenly changed odds of the battle, allowing Gann to back away and sip a medicinal mixture. When he regained his composure, the Kang turned back to Gann and slamming into him with incredible force. Gann was thrown to the ground, bleeding profusely.

Motar turned his bow toward the Kang. In response, the Kang stepped over Gann’s fallen body and reached his long-handled war axe over the stone slab between them to strike Motar with two massive swings. Motar crumpled to the floor as his blood splattered across the room.

Phantar summoned his remaining strength and directed an arcane bolt at the Kang’s back. It streaked across the room and connected, knocking him back against the wall. He did not rise.

Meanwhile, Vidian turned his attention to the warrior in blue iron, but a wild swing with his arcane longsword struck the stone slab at full force. With a terrible thunderclap, the silver-runed sword snapped into many pieces and the spirit trapped within the sword fled.

The plate mailed warrior swung his own sword at Vidian, but the Cymrillian dodged away and reached for the spare adamant longsword strapped to his back. With a well-placed thrust, Vidian slid the blade between two of the plates in the warrior’s armour. A high-pitched wail came from the visored face, and the warrior fell lifeless to the stone floor.

Vidian rushed to save their fallen comrades. Then after a moment’s rest, he stepped to his defeated foe and removed the blue iron helm. Within he saw the face of a Zandiran. On further examination of the body, however, he discovered a magical ring. When the ring was removed from the Zandiran’s body, his visage changed to that of a member of the Cymrillian royal family! Vidian took the ring for himself. Suddenly Vidian began to understand the odd policies of Cymril.

Phantar looked numbly at the glass dagger still protruding from his sword hand. He picked up the dark orb that the sorceress had dropped, then struggled to his feet.

Vidian turned his attention to the large rectangle of stone that dominated the room. On the top of the slab was carved an Aamanian eye, in the center of which was a slit. Vidian pulled out the silver dagger he had found in the small stone box nearby. He inserted the dagger into the slit in the top of the stone slab, and it fit perfectly. When he turned it, the great stone slid open, revealing a small silver orb inlaid with tiny runes of black iron that spiralled around a small black circle. In size and shape it resembled an eye.

Motar, now recovered, reached into the opening and took the silver eye, and before anyone could dissuade him, he discovered that it fit nicely into the socket of his own missing eye, giving him unnatural sight and recognition of that which is magical. There it became a part of him and could not be removed again without cutting into Motar’s flesh.

Finally the heroes departed from the tomb, returned to the Bloody Hell to stow their equipment, then met with Viroc to discuss the situation. Viroc applied to the heroes what meagre healing he had available to him.

“Nasty business,” said the Ardua as he removed the revenant’s glass dagger from Phantar’s hand. Pain shot through Phantar’s arm, but the wound was quickly bound.

“What happened to you?” asked the birdman. “You look like--”

“Hell?” Phantar suggested.

“Yes,” nodded Viroc. “Bloody hell.”

The heroes recounted the story of their struggle in the tomb.

“So the legends are true, then?” inquired Phantar. “About the eye, the tree, and so on.”

“I do not know much about it,” answered Viroc, “if truth be told. It seems you are deep within the legend. That much is so. You must speak with someone who knows much more than I.”

“Whom do you suggest?” asked Vidian.

“I recommend that you seek the Lord of Conjuror’s Point, a wizard named Salizayn Brakteem.”

So upon this recommendation, the heroes travelled the next day to Conjuror’s Point, a promontory on the far western shore of Zandu. There they met the wizard, who confirmed for them that the eye is the key that will unlock Modor’s Tomb and the resting place of the tree of life. 

“Ah, the eye!” cried Vidian. “Of course, the prophecy states that the eye may lead us among the many doors.”

“And this woman of whom you speak,” said Salizayn. “Tell me more of her.”

“She is an Arimite woman, and yet not,” said Vidian. “She has an ancient soul.”

“Yes, it is a soul that has not stirred for many ages,” said Salizayn, as if he knew the woman. “When last that soul walked Talislanta, it had the name of Mordante. I felt the passage of that power through the portal of the dead, and I knew dread would come upon the world. Your enemy is dire indeed. I will help you, if I may.”

Salizayn allowed them to stay in a guest house his servant Much had prepared for them.

In the town below the wizard’s tower, the heroes sold some of the treasures they discovered, including many items of jewelry recovered from the bodies of the Kang and Cymrillian. They used this cash to re-equip themselves with new clothing, weaponry, and medicines.

When Phantar tried to drive a hard bargain for a magical garment from the local tailor, the merchant agreed on one condition: that the Zandiran accept the hand of his daughter in marriage on the morrow. The girl was beautiful beyond description, but when she spoke, it was with the voice of a husky, well-built man of many years. Phantar slyly accepted the offer, reasoning that he would be far away toward Modor’s Tomb when the time of the wedding came. He grabbed the enchanted jacket for which he had bargained, and departed for the sky dock. It was there he learnt that the ship’s repairs would take three days. Feverishly his mind worked through various plots and deceptions to get out of the wedding, but it was to no avail, and in the morning, the ceremony was performed. Man was wed to woman, and that night the union was consummated. The heroes had not heard two manly voices groaning in such pleasure since Gann presented Dar Lotis with a lovely string of beads.

To be continued...


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Jul 30, 2006)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 5, Part 1 (from 28 Feb 2004)

“Who the hell sent me this?” scowled Motar.

“The wizard in the tower,” came the humble reply. “I must go.” The woman who had been speaking turned and left without further explanation.

Motar examined the bottle with suspicion. It looked like chakos, smelled like chakos, tasted like chakos. He looked back to watch the mysterious woman depart. She was very comely, and as he watched her, she turned and smiled back at him as she walked away.

Motar smiled back and drank the chakos. In a short while he began to feel tired, as if the weight of his recent travels had finally caught up with him. The people celebrating around him continued to dance and swirl around in his mind as the beautiful woman came again into his view. She approached him, caressing her cheek as if to say, “You can touch me if you want.”

Motar turned and slowly staggered through the crowd toward the wizard’s tower. The woman followed.

When he reached the stables at the foot of the tower, Motar entered the pitch black within. The young woman hastened in behind him, running her eager hands up and down his body, undoing the clasps and ties that fastened his clothes. Motar felt her gentle caresses mix with overwhelming fatigue as he slipped off into unconsciousness.

Some time later, Motar awoke tied up in a room on a windrigger, his head pounding with pain. After a moment, the door opened, and a familiar girl entered. It was the same one that had brought him the chakos during Phantar’s wedding feast.

“I’ve brought you food and water.”

Motar made no response. His hands were bound fast to a stout wooden chair.

“Shall I feed you?” she asked.

“Will you knock me out again?”

“No.” Sensing that Motar would not resist, the woman gave him food and drink.

As she lifted a morsel of mushroom loaf to his lips, Motar noticed her ring. It had a similar design to the ring which Vidian recovered from the body of the Cymrillian noble, the ring that had changed his visage to that of a Zandiran. He turned his gaze fully upon the comely woman for the first time in the sunlight, and the silver eye slowly revealed that she was not all that she appeared to be.

The woman, noticing that the silver eye was been focused upon her, removed her ring, and at once the magical veil dropped, revealing her true appearance.

“You will stay here and rot,” she said. Her voice had the chill of one who had been long dead. “Then you will be my slave.”

 * * *

The morning after the wedding celebration, Salizayn’s servant, Much, sorted through the various gifts that had been given to the bride and groom, including of all things, a female erd. The repairs to the Bloody Hell had been completed, and the gifts (except the erd) were loaded aboard.

Later Salizayn invited the heroes to a late breakfast. Dar, Gann, and Vidian accepted gratefully and ate their fill. Phantar slumped himself wearily into a chair as if he hadn’t slept all night. He neither ate nor drank. Motar was not in attendance. Gann muttered that the Arimite was probably off playing with his beads.

When breakfast was finished, Vidian investigated Motar’s room. There he found all of the Arimite’s weapons and possessions but no notes or clues to his whereabouts. Vidian returned to the dining chamber to report that Motar was not in his room. Vidian left immediately to check the Bloody Hell.

Phantar and Dar left the chamber and strolled into town, looking for signs of the Arimite. Everyone he asked said they had seen no one like that today. Finally, Phantar was directed to a small tavern called the Lucky Monkey, while Dar continued to make inquiries among the villagers.

In the Lucky Monkey, a short, obese man sat in a green-panelled room playing a long stringed instrument.

“Are you the monkey?” asked Phantar.

“No, I am the owner of the Lucky Monkey!” said the man in a thick foreign accent.

“Is your name monkey?”

“No, I am Lucky.”

“Oh. We seem to have misplaced our Arimite, and he may have wandered in here.”

“No, none today. Thank you, bye!”

“Last night?”

“Hmm,” he paused to think. “I saw one!”

“Where?” asked Phantar.

“At your wedding.”

“That’s him!” Phantar’s excitement grew.

“Yes, congratulations! She is a very beautiful woman.” When the little man spoke the last words, he dropped his voice to a low baritone in imitation of the bride, then he returned to his playing.

“Did you see where he went?” interrupted Phantar.

“I saw him walking around with some servant girl, drinking heavily.”

“Do you know this servant girl?”

“Never seen her before.”

“Zandiran?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see where they went?”

“He was staggering through the crowd, and she was following him. He had quite a purpose. He was very drunk, on purpose!” Lucky’s face beamed with joy for the Arimite.

“Which way was he going as he staggered?”

“Forward and listing slightly to the left!”

Phantar seemed unamused. “No, which road was he on.”

“Ah,” said Lucky. “He was heading for the tower.”

“Salizayn’s tower?”

“Yes.”

Suspicion of the decrepit wizard grew in Phantar’s heart. Could Salizayn be responsible for Motar’s disappearance? As Phantar turned to leave, Lucky stopped him with a final thought. “Always remember this: a monkey that cannot speak walks silently through the woods.” The little man then returned once more to his music.

Meanwhile, Dar met with much less ‘luck’ than had Phantar. Many of the villagers held the Arimite in low regard for his vulgar statements to small children, his challenging innocent women to fistfights, and other indecencies. Yet some of them related that they saw Motar staggering through the wedding crowd as drunk as a Gao rum-pensioner.

At the sea docks, Dar met the dockmaster.

“No,” he replied in answer to Dar’s inquiries. “No ships departed last night, and none depart today.”

“Is that odd?”

“No. They trade on week ends and travel during the week. Most likely, the ships you see here will leave tomorrow to distribute their goods. But last night nobody docked, and nobody left. Oh sure, a small skiff or something like it may have gone out, but I do not regulate those.”

“The reason I ask is that an Arimite in my company may have decided to leave town by sea.”

“He’s probably drunk,” said the dockmaster. “Good luck. I know if you find a good Arimite and train him well, he’s hard to replace.”

Phantar and Dar returned to the tower to find the other heroes discussing what to do.

“Can’t we just find another Arimite?” he asked Vidian.

“No, this one has the eye. We have to get this one back.”

Phantar cursed. “When I find him, I’m plucking that eye out, killing him, and finding ourselves another Arimite. I have one in mind, actually,” he said as he recalled painful memories from the trip to Vardune.

“Let us ask Lord Salizayn if he may scrye into the whereabouts of our companion,” suggested Vidian.

“Can that be done?” asked Phantar.

“If he cannot locate a particular person, perhaps he can read the emanations of such an object of power as the eye.”

The heroes gathered in the wizard’s reception chamber. Salizayn sat in his chair, reading a book and eating slices of a purple apple. A dagger floated in the air beside his head, and after turning a page, he took the dagger from the air, sliced another piece of apple, and placed the utensil back into its aerial position.

Vidian cleared his throat. “My Lord,” he began. “We are missing a companion. It is the Arimite.”

“So it is,” said Salizayn with little concern. “He’s probably drunk.”

Phantar spoke up impatiently. “It is imperative that we find him... or at least part of him.”

“Do you have any way of locating him,” asked Vidian. “Do you have servants you can send out, scour the village and surroundings, at the least?”

Salizayn pointed to a bell, and it rang. Much entered the room.

“Yeah,” said the manservant gruffly.

“The Arimite. Have you seen him?” inquired the wizard.

“He’s probably drunk.”

Vidian whispered to Phantar: “It seems Motar’s reputation has preceeded him.”

“But have you seen him around?” continued the wizard.

“No, I haven’t seen him,” said Much with disdain for the guests in the room. “I’ve been doing my work! I have enough to do around here anyway... for what I’m getting paid. Should have two or three people around here doing this!”

There was an uneasy silence. The heroes stared at the manservant.

“Well?” barked Much in their direction. “Do you have any other questions? I’m out back milking that erd, and it’s taking forever! It’s got some big ol’ teets on it! I’ve gotta use both hands! Every time I touch it, it gives an enormous belch! Sort of reminds me of that girl down there in the village, you know, the tailor’s daughter! Every time I touch--” Much stopped short, recognizing Phantar’s presence. “Well, never mind. Is that all you need of me?”

There is no response.

“Alright,” said Much and left.

Salizayn turned back to the heroes. “Well, apparently, Much doesn’t know where he’s at. And I haven’t seen him since last night, staggering around in the crowd. I saw him stumble into an old lady and stammer, ‘Hey grandma, do you wish to see my beads, for I see yours.’ I do not know what he meant by that, however.”

“Well,” said Phantar suspiciously, “Lucky said Motar staggered in this direction.”

“Hmm,” intoned the wizard. “Perhaps he got... lucky.”

“If so, he would have returned this morning to brag, I am sure. Besides, Lucky said he didn’t recognize the woman Motar was with, and this is a small town. So you see our worry.”

“Yes,” said the wizard.

“You wouldn’t know,” asked Vidian, “of another way to locate what has been lost?”

“Possibly,” said the wizard. “I have ways.”

Dar looked up. “We only need one way, if it works.”

Salizayn put down his book, folded his arms, and closed his eyes, still speaking to the heroes. “If he is in the village, I can find him.” Everyone in the room became deadly quiet as the feeling of magic entered the chamber. After a brief moment, the sensation was gone, and Salizayn said, “He is not here. Even if he had stumbled into the ocean nearby and drowned, I would know it.”

“Right,” said Vidian decisively. “Mount up.”

The heroes looked at each other sheepishly.

“I mean, let’s gather our things and board the ship.” Vidian rolled his eyes.

“And go where?” asked Phantar.

“We’ll fly around the edge of town--”

“And look for a dead Arimite with one eye?”

“Only as long as it takes to circle the village, and then we head to the tomb,” said Vidian. “If he was taken from us, that is the direction his captor will go.”

“What tomb?”

“Modor’s.”

“We cannot take that chance. That is half way across the continent.”

“Who would kidnap an Arimite for any other reason than to use the eye?” interrupted Dar.

“I agree,” grunted Gann. “He’s been bushwhacked.”

“We know he’s not in the village,” reasoned Vidian. “His captor would’ve had probably twelve hours of travel by now.”

“What if they sailed the sea?” argued Phantar in frustration. “They could be anywhere.”

“No,” said Vidian. “She must go to Modor’s Tomb.”

“I say only that we must seriously consider all options before we fly that far.”

“Fine. Consider the options.”

Phantar left the tower and headed once more for the Lucky Monkey. The place wasn’t crowded, and only a couple of patrons were in the building. Lucky sat in a corner smoking a hookah. Phantar kicked the hookah from the little man’s mouth.

“What did you do that for?” he yelled.

“My friend was with a woman last night, correct?”

“Yes,” he said indignantly.

“What did she look like?”

“Oh, a very pretty woman. Her breasts were very...” he thought for a moment, “erd-like.”

“Was she Zandiran?”

“Yes. This I told you before.”

Phantar turned to the villagers in the room and described Motar, asking if anyone had seen him. A small-framed woman seated nearby nodded.

“Did you see him last night at the wedding?” asked Phantar.

“I did see him,” she croaked. “He was just walking around.”

“Drunk?”

“Horribly.”

“Was he accompanied?”

“No.”

“Did you see where he was heading?”

“Forward and listing slightly to the left.” She nodded solemnly.

Meanwhile, everyone headed to their rooms to collect their possessions. Dar stopped at Motar’s room to get the Arimite’s things as well.

At the sky dock, Vidian paid the repair bill of three and a half hundred lumens. “Were you here last night?” he asked the master of the sky dock.

The master nodded.

“Did anything out of the ordinary occur?”

“The ugliest windrigger I ever laid eyes on. It came and went.”

Vidian stared at the Zandiran with keen interest. “What did it look like?”

“Black as pitch. Shifty crew. We wouldn’t let ‘em off,” said the master. “’cept for that poor girl what was with ‘em.”

“Did they pick her back up again?”

“Yes, her and her lover. Poor drunk bastard.”

Vidian’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stared hard at the man. “Which way did they head?”

No sooner did he reply “east” than Dar ran down the steps and toward the Lucky Monkey. When he burst in, Phantar was about to assault an elderly lady.

“Come, now!” cried the Sindarin. “We know where they went!” They both returned to the sky dock, Dar urging Phantar to make haste the entire way. “A windship of pitch black set down a young girl last night,” said Dar between gasps for breath. “Later they took her back on, along with Motar. And then they left.”

When they arrived, the Bloody Hell had been made ready to leave, and everyone took their positions. Vidian pointed the prow east and pushed the ship forward at considerable speed away from Conjuror’s Point.

Phantar approached Vidian at the helm. “Is it possible that the dock master was not telling the truth?”

“Would you have reason to question his word?”

“Everyone I have questioned said that Motar headed for the tower. What if our new found friend wanted the eye for himself?”

“Lord Salizayn?” asked Vidian.

“He is Cymrillian, you know,” said Phantar, as if that alone was damning evidence.

“We didn’t say anything to him about--”

Phantar interrupted. “We’re talking about the most powerful wizard on this side of the continent and he could not locate Motar? Perhaps he saw him but decided not to reveal the location?”

“We would be wasting our time,” said Vidian, “to stay here and try to prove him wrong. If he does have the eye, then it is lost to us beyond hope, for he could conceal it from us with ease.”

“But is it wise to fly against a fully armed pirate ship that has twice bested us, when we are down a crewmember?”

“When all clues point to the most logical solution, it is folly to pursue those that are less likely.”

“Yes, but Modor’s Tomb is half way across the continent,” argued Phantar.

“And that is where she must go--”

“If indeed she has the eye.”

“What makes you think she does not?”

“I know nothing more than you,” admitted Phantar, “but I believe we should remain here for a few more days.”

“In a few more days,” said Vidian, “she will be at Modor’s Tomb. Once there, she will use the eye to navigate the many doors, and she will find the Tree of Life. And within her body, Mordante would regain the full powers he once held on this world.”

Phantar looked unconvinced.

Vidian continued. “The time between her departure and ours is the only time we have to stop her plan. If we delay, all will be for naught. The seriousness of the situation demands 
action.”

“Do you recommend that we get to the tomb before them, or will we attack at first opportunity? My concern is that they are powerful enough even without the Tree to destroy us.”

“Then we shall delay the confrontation to the last moment... at Modor’s Tomb.”

The debate had at last come to an end, and Phantar skulked away. Gann watched from the crow’s nest. Below decks, Dar continued to work on his alchemical creations.

Vidian piloted the ship at full speed toward Arim, skirting the mountains and crossing into Urag. As the suns began to set behind them, the crew spotted a dark spot floating above the horizon to the east. Vidian slowed to match its speed and course, and the Bloody Hell followed the black ship through the night.

In the bowels of the black ship, Motar struggled against the ropes that bound him to the chair. He strained, and the ropes bit into his flesh. He could not know how close his companions were.

To be continued...


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Aug 3, 2006)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 5, Part 2 (from 28 Feb 2004)

Up in the crow’s nest of the Bloody Hell, Gann felt the urge to relieve himself. Bracing himself against the mast, he let a stream of urine fall to the starboard side, narrowly missing Phantar’s head. 

Memories of the Aamanian tomb flooded into Phantar’s mind. Enraged, he rushed to the forecastle and spun the ballista around to face the crow’s nest. When he pulled the lever, the bolt flew into the air, destroying the underside of the crow’s nest. Gann tumbled to the deck below.

Phantar was already running to meet him, slipping his duelling sword and sword-breaker from either side of his belt. “Did you think that was funny, boy?” he mocked.

Gann didn’t waste words. Instead he sprung at the Zandiran and lifted him into the air, but he was unable to slam him to the deck. Phantar landed on his feet, and the fuming warriors faced off against each other.

Phantar stabbed at the Thrall, drawing trickles of blood on the tattooed man’s body. In response, Gann pulled his war axe and swung it at Phantar’s head, but the Zandiran slipped in close and redirected the shaft with his swordbreaker. The sword in his other hand clanged against the Thrall’s garde.

Gann smashed headlong into Phantar, the spikes of his garde finding holes in the Zandiran’s partial plate mail.

Unamused, Vidian watched his crewmembers struggling to kill each other. He calmly diverted the Bloody Hell toward the nearby maze city of Altan nestled within the Amethyst Mountains, allowing the black ship ahead of them to proceed unhindered toward Modor’s Tomb.

Phantar again attacked with both of his weapons, cutting into the thrall’s skin again and again while Gann struggled to subdue the Zandiran. Unable to stop Phantar’s attacks, Gann let go and backed away, pulling a healing elixir from his pouch. 

Phantar planted a firm kick squarely on Gann’s hand, but the thrall’s grip held true, and he drank the potion. Strength flowed once more into Gann’s body, and he lunged forward. This time he lifted Phantar into the air, flipped him over backwards, and dropping him onto the deck head first. Phantar was out.

Gann took a moment to catch his breath, then dragged the Zandiran’s body to the main mast and lashed him to it.

When Phantar came to, the blade of Gann’s axe rested against his throat.

“Do that again and you die,” growled Gann.

“What’s wrong, big man?” Phantar’s scornful tone had not changed. “Were you knocked down by a little Zandiran?”

“Who’s tied to the mast?” countered Gann, and he ran the edge of his war axe down Phantar’s cheek, sending a tiny stream of blood down his chin and onto his armour.

Vidian spoke up. “Phantar’s actions may not be his own.”

Gann stopped and lowered his axe. Everyone turned to look at the captain. 

“In the Aamanian tomb,” continued Vidian, “I watched the actions of Mordante closely. She cast a spell upon Phantar, and he became bestial. When she vanished, Phantar appeared to recover, but the less obvious effects of the spell may not have worn off.”

“Can I have my weapons back now,” Phantar asked, visibly more calm than before. Everyone turned to see him standing unbound next to the mast, the coil of rope at his feet.

“Take them from me,” challenged Gann through clinched teeth. Then he turned back to the captain. “Next time I throw him off the ship.”

Phantar shrugged and pulled a medicinal elixir from his pack.

Vidian steered the Bloody Hell to a flat clearing near the maze city. There the heroes were received by a representative of the Ariane, and they were ushered into the city for rest and refreshment.

Beneath the majestic dome of the traveller’s wayrest, the heroes bedded down for the night after supping upon the simple food and drink offered them. When they were finished, an Ariane brought them cups of water from Altan’s blessed fountain. This they drank, and felt restored and peaceful. Vidian, Gann, and Dar stayed awake in shifts, watching the unpredictable Zandiran as he rested. None of them saw him sleep.

When the first light of morning came, the heroes assembled before the city elders, who sat around a stone obelisk housed within a large, simply adorned building.

“We wish to inquire of your knowledge,” spoke Vidian.

“Of course,” said the chief elder, a glint of wisdom in his eye. “Knowledge is free here. How may we help you?”

“One of our number was violated in a most crude and inhuman fashion, a method that may have been magical in nature, evoking within him the feral element that all civilised beings keep restrained.”

Though Phantar’s name had not been mentioned, the eyes of the elders fell upon him.

“That bestial element,” continued Vidian, “may still be active, perhaps even controlled by she who brought it forth.”

The chief elder stood up from the stone pedestal upon which he had sat and approached Phantar. He raised his hands and mumbled something in an unknown tongue. Then he addressed Phantar directly, “No spell that has been cast remains with you. Bathe in the waters.”

“No,” said Phantar.

“That will purify your body of any poisons.”

Gann took a step toward Phantar, but Vidian held up a hand. “Let us see what he wills.”

“It has been over a week,” continued Phantar. “Any poison would have left my body already.”

The elder looked from one hero to another. “Any sickness, poisons, any vile substance affecting your body it will cleanse.” He throws his arms wide. “All may bathe in the waters.”

Phantar looked unconvinced.

“Your weapons will be returned,” said Vidian, “if only you do as they ask.”

Following these words the heroes exited the building into the courtyard of the blessed fountain. Phantar reluctantly entered the pool, followed by the other heroes. In moments, the atmosphere of the heroes changed, and laughter filled the air. Once again the heroes were jovial among themselves, and even the bitterness between the thrall and Zandiran seemed to be a distant memory.

“I do feel better,” said Phantar.

Ready for the final leg of their quest, the heroes returned to the ship and climbed aboard. Phantar rearmed himself. Vidian started the wind engine, and the Bloody Hell moved slowly off to the southeast.

Once they passed through the mountains, Vidian increased the speed of their flight, and within moments, the ship approached the jumbled structure of stone that was called Modor’s Tomb. A black windrigger hovered near the entrance. 

“To arms, mates,” said Vidian to his crew, “and prepare to board the Nuthchak.”

The ground outside the tomb was crawling with warriors. Fifteen Vird in veiled costumes were locked in combat with vicious spear-wielding Araq. Also in the fray were the Red Viper and the Kang pirate the heroes had killed several days earlier in the Aamanian tomb! 

Standing precariously atop the ship’s railing with unearthly balance was the scantily armoured Arimite sorceress in whose body rested the soul of a long-dead necromancer. Behind her in a chair sat Motar, bound with thick ropes.

Vidian steered the Bloody Hell alongside the pirate ship, and Phantar leapt across to the enemy deck.

As Vidian steadied himself, an old Zandiran with a long grey moustache stepped out from his hiding place behind the main mast. He wore ragged grey leather, ripped in many places. Scars covered his face and limbs.

“I have no quarrel with you,” said Phantar. “I come to return something to your mistress.” In his right hand he drew his sword. In his left he produced the dark orb that the sorceress had dropped in their earlier encounter.

The old man spoke no words but took a throwing axe from his belt and flung it at Phantar. The head of the axe buried itself in the Zandiran’s shoulder before falling to the deck of the ship.

Phantar stumbled back in pain, then he flung the orb at his attacker. It struck the old man square in the chest.

At the same time Gann jumped across to the black ship and charged the old man, knocking him down. No sooner had the old man struck the deck than he sprang back to his feet again. Gann continued running toward the Arimite woman.

When the Bloody Hell halted and the wind engine stopped, Vidian chanted words of arcane power and vanished into thin air.

When Dar struck the Arimite woman with a throwing knife, she turned to see Gann charging forward. Raising her hands, she sent a necromantic bolt at Gann. The thrall stumbled but kept his feet. As he approached her, she threw up a shield of swirling black mist in front of her. Gann swung his axe but failed to penetrate the shield.

Phantar formed an eldritch bolt and sent it at the old Zandiran, but the grey clad man raised his hand and created a barrier to absorb the magic. Phantar charged forward and lunged with his sword, shattering the barrier. 

Dar switched ships long enough to cut Motar free. Motar then headed to the pirates’ ballista on the forecastle of the black ship, while Dar returned to the Bloody Hell. 

Finding the ballista loaded, Motar spun the ballista around and aimed it at the old Zandiran on the deck. The bolt glanced off the old man’s side.

Phantar backed away from the elder Zandiran, dropped his weapons, and began walking toward the Arimite sorceress, while Gann turned and charged the grey-haired Zandiran once more.

At the helm of the black ship, Vidian reppeared and engaged the wind engine, spinning it around to connect the prow with the top of the stone tomb and pushing the Bloody Hell away. The ship shook. Motar lost his footing and tumbled from the forecastle. He stood up and climbed the steps to the ballista again.

The Arimite sorceress also lost her balance and fell over the side.

When the ship struck the tomb, the Araq on the ground below broke off their fight with the Vird and retreated into the stone structure. The Vird pursued, while the Red Viper and the Kang rushed to their leader, the fallen woman. Shaking her head, she rose slowly to her feet, and her companions helped her through the doorway into the tomb.

On the black ship, the elder Zandiran lost his balance and fell to the deck, then rolled to his feet and jumped over the railing, landing feet first on the ground. As the man turned away, Gann struck him with his war axe, but the blow was too weak to pierce his armour.

Phantar dove over the rail after the old man, and Gann followed.

Motar loaded another bolt into the ballista and fired it at the grey-clad Zandiran running for the tomb. The bolt struck him sidelong but failed to slow him.

Vidian left the helm, pulled a healing elixir from his pouch, and took it to Motar on the forecastle. “Drink this,” he said, “Your gear awaits you on the Bloody Hell. It now becomes a race to the Tree.” Motar gave the captain a weary nod, and the two headed for the Bloody Hell.

When Vidian and Motar reached the ship and climbed aboard, they found Dar loading the ballista and aiming it at the elder Zandiran. That bolt too struck him, and this time he stumbled, slowing him enough for Phantar to close the distance, following him into the darkened entrance of the tomb.

Gann, Dar, Vidian, and Motar also made their way to the entrance of Modor’s Tomb. Within they saw a large circular arena. The centre of the chamber was twenty feet lower than the perimeter, and around the lower level were arranged seven round doors. 

In the midst of the arena on a floor of many-coloured tiles, seven Vird faced off against an equal number of Araq. Along the higher perimeter were a lesser number of Vird and Araq battling each other. On the far balcony stood the Arimite sorceress, flanked by the Red Viper and the Kang. The grey-clad Zandiran was rushing to join them.

Phantar ran into the room following the right wall. Before him an Araq fended off a scimitar-wielding Vird. Phantar struck the Vird from behind, slicing through his robes. The Vird spun around in surprise, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. Phantar moved quickly past the fallen Vird but was stopped short by the Araq’s spear.

Next into the chamber came Gann and Dar, moving along the left wall with their weapons at the ready. Gann and Dar teamed up on the Vird in front of them, but the veiled warrior saw the heroes’ approach and defended himself. The Araq beyond the Vird accidentally jammed his spear into the wall and lost his grip on it.

Finally Motar and Vidian entered the tomb. Motar untied his grappling hook and rope, hooked it into a crack in the floor of the balcony, and climbed down to the arena level. While Motar stood scanning the walls and floor, Vidian summoned an arcane bolt in the direction of the Arimite sorceress, but she raised a barrier in time to block it.

Gann swung his axe at the Vird, spitting him in two and splattering guts on the wall. Dar moved toward the Araq, but the reptilian picked up the spear he had dropped and jammed it into Dar’s side. Gann turned his axe on the Araq, cutting into his chest and knocking him down. Dar backed away, slipped on some Vird entrails, and fell to the ground.

Phantar ducked under the Araq’s spear and charged past him, heading around the edge of the room toward the Red Viper.

---BEGIN QUOTE---
QUENTIN: Okay, who’s in front of me, the Arimite, the Kang, 
   or the woman?
ERIC: The Arimite.
QUENTIN: What’s he doing?
ERIC: Standing there waiting for you with his sword flaming.
QUENTIN: Swordbreaker... sword... Is there an Araq or 
   anything coming at my back?
ERIC: Are you going to turn around and look?
QUENTIN: I’m going to look over my shoulder, but I’m not 
   going to take my eyes off the Arimite.
EVERYONE: What?
ERIC: Uh... he’s going to look over his shoulder, but he’s 
   not going to take his eyes off the Arimite. Hmm.
---END QUOTE---

As Phantar passed the Araq, the reptilian turned and stabbed the Zandiran with his spear, but the strike failed to penetrate the armour.

Gann landed his war axe squarely on the head of the Araq before him, slicing cleaning into his skull. The reptilian’s spear clattered to the floor, and Dar scooped it up while following behind the advancing thrall.

When the dark barrier protecting the sorceress dropped, Vidian launched another bolt of energy at her. She quickly raised another shield, but it disappeared in a shower of sparks as Vidian’s arcane bolt slammed into it. The Arimite woman immediately waved her hands in the air again, flinging a necromantic bolt at Vidian that took the form of a skeletal hand streaking through the air and throttling his neck.

Meanwhile Motar raised his bow and fired two adamant-tipped arrows at the elderly Zandiran. Both missiles slammed into his chest, and he tumbled to the floor.

At that moment, an awful bellowing echoed into the chamber from the entrance. Three enormous Kharakhan giants stormed into the tomb from behind the heroes, hefting great axes in their massive hands. One of the giants lowered himself down into the centre section of the arena, while the remaining two split up and advanced along the balcony, eager to crush everyone in their paths.

As Motar lowered his bow, he noticed a faint glow outlining a jumbled mosaic of green tiles in the centre of the arena. “Vidian,” he called, “The door is beneath those centre tiles!”

As one of the giants approached him, Dar threw down the Araq spear he had claimed, then dove off the balcony to the floor below. He clattered onto the stones and pulled himself to his feet among the duelling Vird and Araq, then ran to Vidian and Motar, who were examining the green tiles in the middle of the room.

On the other side of the room, the Kharakhan giant smote the Vird that stood in his way with the broad side of his axe, crushing the enemy against the wall. Continuing on, the Kharakhan swung his axe at the Araq facing Phantar. With a noise like the squashing of a melon, the giant’s axe obliterated the Araq, leaving no recognisable pieces of its body behind. Phantar now stood between a Kharakhan giant and a giant Arimite, both wielding long-handled war axes. With his back to the wall, Phantar eased closer to the Arimite. Each combatant swung his weapon in challenge to the other.

The Kharakhan giant who had lowered himself into the middle of the arena lumbered toward Motar with his axe raised, but when he approached, he suddenly turned to attack a nearby Vird, knocking it across the chamber and into the far wall.

Dar, on the other side of Motar, thrust his bladestaff into the face of an advancing Vird. As he pulled the spear free, the blood-soaked veil came with it, revealing the mutilated face of the dead Vird.

Below Motar’s feet, the floor tiles began to shake.

As the Kharakhan giant approached Gann, the thrall decided to follow Dar’s lead. With a daring backspring, the thrall leapt onto an Araq in the arena level below. The giant behind him continued on to meet the Kang in battle. The Kang sprang to the attack, slashing the giant’s abdomen and dodging the resulting counterattack.

The Arimite woman summoned a necromantic orb of force and threw it at Vidian. The orb struck him and knocked him to the floor with a thud, his face contorted in pain.

With his back to the wall, Phantar lunged at the Red Viper, but he was unable to do more than scratch him. The red-clad Arimite struck back with his flaming long sword, nearly setting Phantar’s clothing alight.

Gann attacked the Vird with his war axe, cleaving his head in two, then sliced his Araq opponent in two with his backswing.

Dar jabbed his bladestaff into the eye socket of the Vird in front of him, and when he pulled the weapon out again, brain juice spurted from the hole thus created. The Vird collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The tiles in the center of the floor flew up into the air, forming a whirlwind in the air around Motar. Beneath them lay a large round door of wood, onto which was carved the image of a many-branched tree in high relief.

Motar shouldered his bow and set his hands onto the trunk of the carven tree. Pulling with all his might, he flung the twelve-foot wide door open, and a mighty cloud of dust was sucked out into the swirling tornado of tiles around him. Then stooping to grasp the shimmering sleeve of Vidian’s spangalor armour, Motar and Dar dragged the Cymrillian down the dark staircase that lay beyond the door. There, finding that Vidian’s face no longer registered consciousness, Motar stopped on the staircase, rummaged through the pilot’s pouch, and found a medicinal elixir. He uncorked the bottle and shoved it into the Cymrillian’s mouth, letting the bright green liquid gurgle down his throat.

Reeling from the burns given him by the Red Viper’s flaming blade, Phantar tumbled off the balcony and rolled to his feet in the arena below. Crouching low, he set his sword on the stones and formed a bolt of arcane force between his fingers. This he tossed at the Arimite woman, but she cast it aside like a toy.

By this time, the Kharakhan giants had made their way around both sides of the room on the upper balcony and approached the Red Viper and the Kang. Before they could strike, the Arimite woman raised her arms and lifted into the air. Her two companions rose into the air as well, leaving nothing for the giants to attack. They glided silently and swiftly above the spinning mass of tiles, then descended down into the centre of it.

Undeterred, the giants on the balcony climbed down and lumbered toward the door.

As the potion took effect, Vidian opened his eyes and rose uneasily to his feet beside Dar. 

On a lower step Motar unslung his bow and fished in his quiver for two more adamant-tipped arrows. “Can you wave your hands and light this place up?” he asked. 

When Motar saw the red glow of fire above him, he thought Vidian had answered his question. Then he realised it was the harsh flame of the Red Viper’s sword. The enemy was upon them! 

To be continued...


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## xnosipjpqmhd (Jan 24, 2008)

Tales of the Bloody Hell
Book Two: The Tree of Life 
Session 5, Part 3 (from 28 Feb 2004)

Motar turned and began descending steps, going straight ahead at first, then stopping suddenly when he realised that the stairs turned to the right in a tight spiral. Before him was a vast expanse of black. Though his senses gave him no clues, his mind told him the void was unimaginably large. More cautiously then, he began descending the spiral staircase, guessing as best he could were the steps would be. Vidian and Dar followed blindly behind.

Back in the arena, Gann dove through the door and ran down the stairs before the Kharakhan giants reached it. Suddenly the thrall ran headlong toward the Kang, who was guarding the stairs with his greatsword. The Kang was bowled over and clung precariously to the side of the stairs. Luckily, Gann forced himself to stop just in time to avoid running off the sudden edge of the staircase. Then the turned and look back to see that the Kang had crawled back onto the step and was half-sprawled on the stairs. Gann lifted his axe to behead his foe, but the wily easterner buckled his arms and tumbled down the steps into Gann, knocking him over. But Gann grappled with the Kang as he went down, holding the blade of his axe against his foe. With each step the pair tumbled down, the axehead bit ever deeper into the Kang’s flesh, and when they rolled to a stop, Gann alone rose to his feet. For the second time in a week, the Kang pirate had been killed.

At the top of the stairs, the giants reached the door and began their ponderous descent into the darkness, pointing their axe blades before them. Unwilling to be delayed behind the slow warriors, Phantar paused and focused his mental energies. In a short while, he faded from view, then ran down the stairs and past the Kharakhan giants.

Motar and Vidian finally reached the bottom of the stairs and bumped into a large and heavy door. Motar used his free hand to find the handle, then pulled it open to reveal a long hallway beyond. The walls and arched ceiling of the room were covered with ornate stone carvings. Torches, already burning, sat in sconces on the walls. On either side of the hall were three granite statues of Kharakhan warriors. Their sad stone eyes stared at each other across the shadow-filled room.

“The sad children,” mumbled Vidian, looking at the statues.

Sensing a trap, Motar began to examine the nearest one, and the sudden sound of grating stone confirmed his suspicions. The last two statues at the far end of the hall stepped forward, their joints creaking with each movement. With a shudder of dust and splintering stone, their arms broke loose from the position they had held for millenia. In their hands were clutched stone knives the size of swords to normal men. They turned toward Motar and began walking forward.

With foes in front and behind, Vidian rushed forward and rolled between the legs of the statue on the left. He clambered to his feet and kept running. Motar ran forward as well but lost his balance and fell directly in front of the right-hand statue. Curiously, however, the statue made a deliberate effort to step over Motar and continue walking.

Dar ran into the hall with enemies hard on his heels. Seeing the approaching statues, he turned immediately to the left and hoped he could avoid being caught between the Red Viper and the stone Kharakhan. But the ever-vigilant Arimite stepped into the room and immediately noticed the Sindarin. He swung his sword in a fiery arc that ended on Dar’s shoulder. The blade bit deep, but the cloak did not catch fire. Dar stumbled backward against the wall, searching for an exit like a frantic Ferran cornered by pursuers. The Red Viper struck again, and Sindarin blood splattered onto the floor as Dar fell.

The Arimite sorceress walked into the room and turned her attention to the statues. With bolts of dark force, she began blasting large chunks of granite from their bodies.

Gann rushed into the hall and saw the Red Viper standing over Dar’s unconscious body. He struck the Arimite with his axe, but the blow was softened by the large man’s armour.

At the far end of the hall, Vidian wrenched a torch from the nearest sconce and shone its light on the first steps of another staircase like the one he had just descended. He turned to be sure that Motar was following, then headed down the steps. These spiraled downward like the previous set and also ended at a similar door. The two heroes tugged on the large door until it creaked open.

The tomb beyond held six sarcophagi, three each lined up along the left and right walls. At the far end of the room atop a three-tiered dias was a huge throne carved from a single block of stone. Upon it sat a Kharakhan. His body was wrapped in long winding strips of cloth. In several places the cloth was in tatters, and the decaying flesh beneath was plainly visible though untold eons of time should have long since rotted it away. Across his lap lay two giant axes. Upon his head rested a thick circlet of precious metal set with a large diamond. Even in death his gaunt face looked noble.

When the heroes entered the tomb, the thick layer of dust that had lain there for centuries stirred. The six sarcophagi opened with a distant peal of thunder, and six man-sized figures emerged from within. Each was clad in a tabard emblazoned with a many- limbed tree, beneath which they wore ancient metal armour. Each drew a weapon and gazed at Vidian. They took no notice of Motar.

Motar pointed to the throne. Something about that fixture beckoned him. 

The pair of heroes darted across the room as the six guardians climbed out of the sarcophagi and closed in upon them. Vidian looked around for another way out of the room, but he saw none.

When the heroes reached the dias, the arms of the mummified giant shook free from the lethargy of ages. The hands lifted the two great axes into the air as he rose to his feet with a creaking noise. Towering three times taller than Motar, the mummified giant turned and gave a slight, stiff bow toward the bearer of the silver eye. Then he turned toward Vidian and readied his axes for battle.

Motar began examining the throne hastily, looking for any clue about its importance. Vidian waved his hands and constructed a thin grey shield around himself. The guardians quickly bashed their way through the arcane barrier and began attacking the Cymrillian, ignoring Motar completely.

In the hall far above, Gann swung his adamant war axe above his head, striking the Red Viper again and again. The Arimite’s body was knocked first left and then right. A panicked look crossed his face, and he struck savagely at the thrall with his flaming sword. Despite the burning metal searing his flesh, the thrall stood unflinching and continue to slam his axe against the Arimite’s body until the blade was buried deep into the foeman’s chest. The Red Viper lay in a bloody mess amid the rubble of the shattered statues. His sword, no longer burning, lay nearby.

Gann ran to Dar’s side and fed him a healing elixir. Dar awoke with a start, clutching handfuls of dust and broken stone in his fists.

Meanwhile, the sorceress had fled down the second staircase after Motar and Vidian. Behind her came Phantar, eager to exact revenge for the treatment he had received in the Aamanian tomb.

When the Arimite woman entered the throne room, the mummified giant turned toward her. She summoned a powerful necromantic bolt and sent it streaking toward him. He staggered back, then lurched forward toward her, axes at the ready. Again she focused her power and blasted the giant.

Finally Motar and Vidian shoved on the throne from behind, and it slid forward to reveal a passage leading down. The throne tumbled down the steps of the dias. Vidian darted into the opening, and the guardians that had been attacking him suddenly turned toward the Arimite sorceress at the front of the room.

Before Motar followed Vidian into the passage, he let fly two arrows at the sorceress to throw her off guard. But before the arrows were even loosed, she completed a magical spell that gave her the power of flight. As she began to rise into the air, Phantar appeared behind her and struck her leg with his sword. Nevertheless, she lifted into the air and floated over the guardians in the room and down into the passage that had lain undisturbed beneath the throne for uncounted ages.

The passage turned three times then stopped at a door. Vidian and Motar rushed through the door and out into an open sunlit field. It was as if they had been transported to a distant place by magic. Instead of opening on another subterranean chamber, the door took them to a beautiful grassy land. Around them in all directions were grassy plains, but directly ahead was a low hill topped by a small, many-branched tree. The trunk of the tree was pure white, and the branches were covered with glowing leaves of ever-changing colours. Dangling from the lowest branch was a long sword, secured there by three threads: one white, one black, and one gold. 

“L’raat,” mumbled Vidian. “P’tog. Sl’zan. The sword is the shard.”

Back in the tomb, all of the guardians stopped in the their tracks and turned to the throne, staring dumbly as if confused. Phantar, Dar, and Gann took advantage of the situation to pass them by and chase the sorceress into the passage. When they emerged into the sunlit field, they too were dumbfounded.

All who were present watched as Motar walked up the low rise to the tree, grasped the hilt of the Shard with his left hand, and untied the strings that secured it with his right. No sooner had he removed the last string than he was struck from behind by a bolt of vile darkness.

The Arimite sorceress had shaken herself free from the spell of the Tree.

Phantar and Gann dove at the woman, knocking her to the ground. Gann prepared to bring his axe down on her but stopped short. All of a sudden Motar was not next to the tree on the hill but standing over the woman’s body, the Shard balanced evenly in his hand. His face was at peace. He calmly slid the point of the Shard slowly into the sorceress’ chest. Her body shuddered as the tip of the Shard entered her and approached her heart. She looked up at him.

“Stop,” she said. A trickle of red issued from her mouth and ran like crimson sweat down the soft curve of her neck. “I carry your child.”

Motar felt the heartbeat within her body as it pounded against the point of the sword and travelled up the blade to his hand. Nestled within the pulse was an almost imperceptible counter- rhythm, beating fainter and faster.

Memories filled Motar’s mind, visions of shadows that played across the naked body of a nubile young Zandiran woman as she heaved and swayed above him in the darkness of the stables at Conjuror’s Point. In the space of four days, a new life had blossomed and grown with amazing speed.

Overcome with the torturous sweetness of the Tree of Life, Motar knew he could harm no innocent. He stepped back, drawing the Shard out of her body as slowly as it had been thrust in, it’s master’s energy now spent.

The heroes stood powerless as the sorceress sat up with ease and levitated into the air.

“You cannot slay me,” she said in a voice that was no longer her own. “I am Mordante.” She turned and glided silently back through the solitary stone doorway that led to Modor’s Tomb.

A brilliant multicoloured light shone from the Tree of Life when Mordante departed. As the light fell upon them, all of the pain and trouble that had filled the lives of those five individuals was swept away, and peace filled the hearts of the Arimite knifefighter, Cymrillian pilot, Sindarin collector, Thrall warrior, and Zandiran swordsmage.

 * * *

EPILOGUE: THE HAUL

As the heroes made their way back up the winding stairs of Modor’s Tomb, they pondered all that they had experienced and the lessons they had learned. 

Then they pillaged the place.

Overturning all of the sarcophagi in the throne room, they carted away a suit of red iron partial plate, an enchanted black iron long sword (to Vidian), a magical spear with undetermined powers, three large jars with 1,000 gold lumens each, a large 6-karat amethyst, a magical blue iron greatsword, an ivory box containing a magical jade bracelet, a red gold crown, a large 4-karat blue pearl, a large silver axe, and a 7-karat black diamond (to Phantar). 

From the Slumbering Hall of the Sad Children, they took the Red Viper’s long sword made of red iron, magical gauntlet made of delicately articulated black iron plates (to Gann), red iron chain mail, red iron dagger, and red gold ring set with a 2-karat fire opal.

Some things never change.

THE END (FOR NOW?)


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