# Piratecat's Updated Story Hour! (update 4/03 and 4/06)



## Piratecat

Campaign web site: www.piratecat.org

Defenders of Daybreak: the Early Years: Storyhour thread or archive

Archived _Piratecat's Story Hour_ to this point: Head here to download the 210k zip file!

Defenders of Daybreak character sheets (still a work in progress):  http://home.comcast.net/~dorian.hart/DefendersMain.html

Story Hour campaign art by David Hendee (Littlejohn): The art thread! and his gallery page.

A picture that looks a fair amount like Eversink: head right here!

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Well, I can't copy over my old story hour until the old boards re-open, so here's the first of 4-5 updates.  Reminder: Tao has inadvertently inherited the island that Eversink's prison is built on, and a lot of people in Eversink are quite unhappy with this potential change in the power structure....

I'm going to temporarily close my other thread until I can copy the story hour over into it.  Make all comments here in the mean time!


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Note: Agar is Nolin's new cohort, a happy-go-lucky halfling alienist/diviner with a tentacular familiar named "Proty." He was actually designed by Dr. Rictus, Palladio's player, to give him something to play when he's in town on game day. Agar has his secrets, but so far has proved to be quite loyal and friendly.


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## Piratecat

Merchants hurry along slippery stone paths, slapping mosquitos and mopping the streaming sweat off of their faces. The stone mansions echo emptily, inhabited only by servants whose masters have gone somewhere bearable for the summer. The sweating sailors and dock workers sing strange, melodic songs as they unload trading vessels. 

This is Eversink in high summer.

The Defenders of Daybreak deserve a break.  They’ve had a hard spring and summer, and for a period of several weeks they separate to pursue their own goals. Raevynn is unable to travel, as she’s stuck doing menial jobs at the whim of someone on the Council, but almost everyone else has some freedom.  TomTom creates psionic items in a meditation chamber/lab at House Meridian, Nolin checks in with his own bard’s guild and interviews adventurers who have been to the Underdark, Tao seeks out and trains new potential members of the Knights of the Horn.  Finally, when the Council is preparing to return to session and the matter of the prison reemerges, the Defenders have their solicitor Daedalus Tellingstone broach the subject in Council, and the brisk negotiations begin.  Will Tao end up owning the prison itself… and if so, at what cost?

At a strategy meeting with Tellingstone, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want any bodyguards?”  This question makes Velendo nervous, and he casts a _divination._  “During the next week, when and where will people try to assassinate or assault us?”  In a vision he sees the answer, “Look to the rooftops if you prefer to live.”

Huh.

So they work out a plan.  With TomTom and Agar invisible and flying, Nolin will maintain a complicated illusion of all the Defenders around him in two gondolas.  Meanwhile, the rest of the Defenders will be covered with a _seeming_ spell, following in two more separate gondolas.  _Mind linked_, they hope to surprise the assassins before they ever have a chance to spring their trap.

A very nervous trip home from Tellingstone’s office revealed no one, and several trips through the canals the next day didn’t reveal any observers either.  However, the following morning the group hit pay-dirt.  Heading towards Tellingstone’s office once again, TomTom and Agar spot three invisible people on one of the moss-covered old rooftops overlooking the canals, one of whom is casting spells. As the boats approach, TomTom warns the Defenders, and gets into position to blast the people as soon as they reveal themselves.

He never really gets a chance, as he and Agar held their action instead of readying it.

Above the narrow and twisting canal, two of the men point wands at Nolin’s real gondola (along with the illusory gondola next to it, filled with illusory heroes all singing “Row, row, row your boat” in harmony).  Hasted, the two men fire their wands at the area twice each, while the older man in the middle unleashes two spells. All six spells are the same, a spell unique to Eversink named _Althea’s Hammerblows_.  Designed to pummel the target area with fists of force, Nolin (and his illusions) take more than 100 points of subdual damage in the surprise round alone.  Before TomTom or Agar can even act, the two men with the wands fire them yet again, and Nolin drops unconscious.

Agar responds with _chain lightning_ and TomTom with _greater biocurrent_, crisping one of the two wand wielders where he stands. The other wand wielder throws himself over the ledge into the canals below, and the wizard – terribly hurt – uses his _fly_ spell to swoop down on Nolin’s gondola  and _teleport_ him away.  The gondolier lies unconscious in the sinking boat.

Swearing, the rest of the group saves the gondolier and searches for the wand wielder who jumped into the canal. Tao spots him and dives into the water after him.  He’s swimming desperately under water, lungs bursting, and his air bursts out of his lungs in huge bubbles as Tao grabs his leg… and reality rips in two, shrieking, as Tao uses her new powers to open a _gate_ to the Beastlands. Tao and the man are swept through, along with a massive amount of canal water. Dripping in the hot sun, Tao asks, “Do you want to knock yourself out?”  Boggled and terrified, he doesn’t answer quickly enough, and Tao smacks the flat of her sword against the side of his head.  He drops like a bag of potatoes.  She then grabs his body, _plane shifts_ to the Prime  (arriving far to the north of her target), and _teleports without error_ back to the ambush site.  Her attacker, a weak wizard or sorcerer of some type, remains thoroughly unconscious.  “Why didn’t you just knock him unconscious while underwater, Tao?  Overkill!” TomTom asks.  “Shut up!” Tao answers.

It’s about this point when KidCthulhu reminds me one of Nolin's prestige class abilities: one round after he falls unconscious, the phoenix in Nolin's body lets off a 10-dice fireball that doesn’t affect him.  The look on my face must have been something, as everyone started cheering. “We don’t really need to search for Nolin,” TomTom says. “Let’s just look for the smoke and flames.”

-- o --

“Oh,” thinks Nolin, “that hurt. My head hurts, my chest hurts, even my eyes hurt.  Where am I?”  Still disoriented and woozy, he takes a shuddering breath of air.  Is someone cooking some meat?  He smells burnt flesh, smoking wood, hot metal.  Then he hears the voice of Rides The Sun, the phoenix who shares his soul.  _You were in danger,”_ she says in her quiet voice.  _”I defended you.”_

“Thanks, Rides,” answers Nolin inside his aching head.  “Is anyone still standing?”

_”No.”_

Nolin opens his eyes. He’s lying on a charred table. Around him, the crisp and blackened bodies of a half-dozen men lie flung about a small room. The glass in the window has half-melted, and nothing but the smoke-laden air is moving.  Then one of the men twitches a bit and groans, apparently still alive.

From somewhere outside he hears voices, and tries to drag himself onto his feet, staggering as he moves toward the window.  The door smashes open ~ and it’s Mara and Malachite, along with the rest of the Defenders. Malachite looks around the small room and clucks his tongue.  TomTom slips through the door and starts looting – err, examining the bodies, looking for insignia, items and clues.  “Where am I?  What happened?”

Velendo enters the room.  “You’re in some shack on the grounds of the Eversink prison. You got teleported here by,” and he pauses as he examines the charred corpses for a moment, “him. I think they meant to kidnap all of us. We cast a spell to find you, _wind walked_ over, and here we are.”

Velendo _heals_ Nolin, and the efficient machine that is the Defenders of Daybreak shifts into gear. Half the group examines the bodies. They find one person alive, and several items, including a wand of _Althea’s Hammerblows_ (which is illegal for anyone other than a designated representative of the law to possess).  The wizard who teleported Nolin is tattooed and tanned, with a fair assortment of scars. Although it’s hard to tell after his injuries, he seems like he was the adventuring type.

A groundskeeper approaches; he is intercepted by several of the heroes, who grill him unmercifully. The man seems to think that the Defenders (still disguised by a _seeming_) are the same people who are doing business in the shack, and he wants them out as soon as possible.  It turns out that it’s fairly standard practice for the prison groundskeeper to rent out “temporary access” to the shack and several other prison facilities to people who wish to smuggle... ah, import… goods into Eversink without paying the standard tariffs.  This practice seems to be tacitly approved by the guards, suggesting that bribes are common.

The groundskeeper runs to get guards at Velendo’s assistance, and he soon explains that they were attacked and then defended themselves.  Luckily, he had the foresight to register a complaint and fill out the appropriate paperwork days ago, back when he first did the _divination_, so with any luck the Defenders won’t be tied up with a lot of red tape when the attack and subsequent death of the attackers is investigated.

Questioning the groundskeeper and the one living man from the hut, the Defenders learn that the person who reserved the space was a weasel-faced man with greasy black hair, lots of tattoos, and pink, almost new skin. This suggests the same people that the Defenders rescued from the trillith’s Library of Screams, and with some thinking they conclude that only one of those victims might fit this description. That would be Brindle; the same psionic assassin who possessed Tao’s dead body, the only person who was able to stay sane while being tortured by the trillith, the man who is wanted by Eversink’s Assassin’s Guild (The children of Lethe) for betrayal.  

They track Brindle from the shack to a small boat dock on the back side of the prison’s island. It’s clear that a small boat was launched from here not long ago.  Irritated and angry, Velendo casts another _discern location_, and discovers that Brindle is currently on a ship about to leave Eversink’s harbor.  Grinning with anticipated revenge, the group contacts Raevynn via _sending_, and shifts back into _wind walk_. Time to show people that you don’t try to kidnap the good guys!

_To be continued…._

Next: the Defenders attack!  The attackers defend!  The attackers attack back, the Defenders try to defend, much confusion ensues, and people die!  And I'll point out the the only deaths aren't on the part of the bad guys....


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## Plane Sailing

Do you know what my favourite line is:



> Luckily, he had the foresight to register a complaint and fill out the appropriate paperwork days ago, back when he first did the divination,




What a lovely idea, and so in keeping with the Eversink Ethos!


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## Piratecat

Plane Sailing, they've become incredibly careful about this. They report all of their fights, they try to anticipate trouble, and they make sure that their lawyer files the paperwork far in advance.  That way, when the law comes after them, they can properly demonstrate that they made a complaint days ago and the local guard wasn't able to help.  The fact that their lawyer registers the paperwork with minor clerks, so that it _isn't_ registered in time, hardly matters....


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## Piratecat

Raevynn the druid is getting mightily sick of scraping algae off of the sides of canal walls. Leeches, filth, the hot sun, annoying overseers…. So when the _sending_ from Velendo arrives, she is more than happy to shirk her civic duty.  Dumping an armload of algae into a rain barrel, Raevynn leaps into the canal, following it out into the inner bay.  She _wild shapes_ into a huge dire shark and speeds across the harbor, seeking the ship that Velendo told her about.

Meanwhile, Tao has slid down the visor of her magical helm and activated its _clairvoyance_ effect, trying to find the ship. She sees a likely candidate, and activates the _clairvoyance_ once again to get a better look.  Now her gaze hovers over a 40’ long masted vessel, with a motley collection of people up on deck: a sea elf, a minotaur, two half-orcs, a lizardman with a trident, several humans, a dwarf, a halfling, a kobold… along with a number of sailors working the rigging. And there, tied to the mast, Tao sees the psionic assassin that they’re hunting: Brindle.

Tied to the mast? Odd.

She reports what she’s seen, slips into mist form along with her friends, and lets the magical wind blow her out towards the bay. The consensus is that Brindle must have done something to anger his cohorts, and was captured as a result.

Approaching the ship, the Defenders observe from above. Several of the people previously seen on deck can be seen no longer, probably because they’ve gone below-decks. Now, all the Defenders need is a distraction to slip their misty forms into the hold, allowing them the thirty seconds that they need to reform into physical shape! The approach of Raevynn in dire shark form gives them that opportunity. The sailors are lining the rail, pointing at the huge fish. Pleased that she’s served as a distraction, Raevynn still needs to get on board, so she dives out of sight.  Underwater, she changes back to elven form, and uses _thousand faces_ to make herself appear to be a mermaid. She then surfaces and feebly pleads for help. The sailors haul her up onto deck as she feigns unconsciousness, secure in the knowledge that she’s providing an awfully good distraction. A man kneels over her as she lies on the smooth deck, water dripping from her, eyes still shut. He gently cradles her head in his hand…. And jams a long knife into her throat.

Meanwhile, the Defenders have reformed in the crate-stuffed hold of the ship. They aren’t sure whether or not they were observed.  Gathering at the end of the shadowy space and already _mass hasted_, Nolin puts his ear on the wall between the hold and the Captain’s cabin.  He carefully concentrates and listens. And although the cabin on the otherside of the wood wall is silent, he hears from above, “Ready now? On the count of three.  1, 2, 3!”  As he yanks his head away and shouts a warning, the trapdoor over their heads rises slightly, and the hold fills with the choking fumes of a roiling, yellow-green _cloudkill_.

TomTom’s first instinct is unfortunate. He _dimension slides_ through the wall into the Captain’s cabin, but feels hideous pain as he materializes inside of something else. The psionic feedback flings him tumbling into the astral plane. Mists boil around him as he tries to overcome the pain enough to concentrate and reemerge back on the ship.  It will take him four rounds before he succeeds.

Within the gas-choked hold, Tao grabs Mara, Malachite and Agar and _dimension doors_ up to the poop deck.  Nolin sprouts fiery wings and smashes open the trap door, rising like a phoenix (conveniently enough) into the air above the ship. And Velendo stands in the hold, surrounded by gas, shouting, “Hello? People? I don’t suppose anyone would like to offer me a little help? I can’t fly, I can’t levitate, and there’s nothing to climb! Hellooooo?”  And then he sighs heavily, leans on his stone shield, and shakes his head.

Up on deck, the man pulls his dagger from Raevynn’s throat. She’s unable to scream without choking on her own blood, so she does the next best thing; she _wild shapes_ back into a dire shark, healing herself somewhat while knocking a piratical minotaur and a male half-orc with a great sword off the deck of the ship. The human leaps clear as the Raevynn-shark rolls off the deck into the water, setting the ship to rocking horribly.

Nolin addresses the sailors. They’re a mean-looking disreputable lot: half-orcs, a tattooed lizardman, assorted other scum.  Only a prim dwarf looks out of place.  “We have no argument with you yet,” Nolin says in ringing tones.  “We just want Brindle.  What’s your business with him?”

“Well,” answers the man who just stabbed Raevynn. “He promised us a no-lose situation. We help him, we get all of your magic items. You have some _nice_ magic items.”  He wrinkles his nose. “But he lost, and now we’re going to turn him over to the Children of Lethe. They want him _reeeeal_ bad.  But y’know,” he says as he rubs his chin with his hand, “I think we might be able to keep your things after all.”  His voice rises into an authoritative snarl. “Kill them all!”

Nolin the bard is flying, fiery wings beating the air as he keeps pace with the gently rolling ship. The alienist Agar stands at the back of the raised poop deck, just a few feet away from the Defenders front-line fighters: Mara the paladin, Sir Malachite the Hunter of the Dead, and Tao the Divine Agent.  TomTom the psion/rogue is trapped in the Astral Plane. Raevynn the druid is _wild shaped_ into the form of a dire shark, in the water next to the ship.  And Velendo the cleric is stuck in the ship’s hold, unable to climb out.

Visibly arrayed against them are a mated pair of half-orcs (one knocked into the water), a small kobold, a minotaur (also knocked into the water by Raevynn) wearing the religious regalia of the God of War, a lizardman with a trident, a primly dressed dwarf, and a non-descript human (possibly the captain).  Previously seen but currently unaccounted for are a halfling, a sea elf, and a human woman.  A dozen or more sailors also crowd the deck.

At the human captain’s command, the demi-human mercenaries leap into action.  The kobold whips a scroll out of his belt and reads it, greasy black smoke rising as the words burn, his long fingers caressing a disturbing holy symbol. Hand crackling with black fire, he then leaps over the rail right onto the dire shark’s back. Slapping Raevynn squarely by the dorsal fin, she feels the remorseless cold of a _harm_ spell ripping away her life force. Raevynn fights off most of the effect and dives, stranding the kobold in the water along with the minotaur and one of the half-orcs.  In the water, Raevynn can smell her own blood; she’s badly hurt.

Up on the poop deck, Tao, Malachite and Mara advance to the stairs leading down to the main deck. There they take a stand, opposed by the female half-orc, the lizardman with the trident, and the dwarf. Unfortunately, they also make a perfect formation to be blasted by surprise _lightning bolts_ – four of them, to be precise, coming from two or more invisible casters. One of the invisible casters has the fluid accent of a sea elf, and has the same voice that Nolin heard counting down to their ambush. The lightning bolts are followed up by crossbow bolts coming from the rigging, fired by someone _improved invisible_ and doing sneak attack damage.  “Who has _true seeing_ up?”, Agar calls desperately.  His clothes are smoking from the electricity. The answer, unfortunately, is TomTom – stuck in the Astral – and Velendo, stuck in the hold.  Down in the hold, Velendo shakes his head and summons an air elemental, trying to decide what to do.

The half-orc flies into a rage, her spittle flying across Mara’s face as she hammers her greatsword home through her defenses.  The lizardman attacks Malachite, but instead of stabbing him with the trident, he catches Malachite’s holy blade “Aleax” in between the tines of his trident – and twists. Aleax screams as he bends slightly, razor-sharp edge chipping. Grinning a toothy grin, the lizardman then spins the trident and buries it in Malachite’s belly.  The dwarf, looking panicked, cowers. The Captain coolly observes the combat.  

Back in the water, Raevynn  has circled and approaches the floundering minotaur at high speed. She leaps into the air, breaching and then slamming her full body weight down on top of the minotaur. He takes less damage than he would have on land, but he’s unable to attack her as she continues to circle. The kobold is sputtering and treading water, and the male half-orc is swimming towards Raevynn with powerful strokes, a knife between his teeth.

A few seconds later, Raevynn closes in on the half-orc, teeth ripping and tearing as she tears a chunk of flesh off of his side. He doesn’t even seem to notice as he twists his body and slices his knife across Raevynn’s back. He slams powerful fingers down into the gash he’s just made, hanging on for dear life as Raevynn accelerates to full dire shark speed, diving, in an attempt to shake him off.  She is down to single digit hit points.  The half-orc unthinkingly refuses to let go, though, and even as Raevynn dives deeper and deeper into dark water, he clings to her back, actually trying to bite her himself.

On deck, Agar unleashes attack spells as Tao, Mara, and Malachite attack with their swords, easily hitting their lightly-armored opponents. Three lightning bolts shatter the air this time, along with a disintegrate spell that Mara shrugs off.  The invisible wizards are still out there.  Nolin tries to find them, despite crossbow shots from the rigging that pierce deep into his vital organs.  Combined with the savage attacks from the female half-orc and the lizardman, who continues to try to sunder Aleax, Malachite, Mara and Agar are all badly hurt; only Tao, with her _protection from lightning_ spell up, is still feeling fine.

The dwarf looks up at Mara as she looms over her. “Oh please,” he whines, “don’t hurt me! I didn’t want to be here, I don’t want to do this, I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time!”  Mara feels the equivalent of several strong hands trying to rip her brain apart; she marshals her faith and resist it, and the dwarf looks more worried than before. “That wasn’t an attack!” he squeaks. “I would never attack someone like you! Honest! I was just trying to defend myself!”  He tries to “defend” himself yet again, this time with a _dominate_, and Mara decides that she doesn’t especially like lying psions.  An air elemental whirls past her as it moves to attack her enemies.

Nolin has _inspired greatness_ already, and he uses is preternatural hearing to detect where the wizards are casting from. Blanketing the area with _fireballs_, he tries to play a dangerous game of hit-and-run, as he tries to kill the invisible casters before they can kill his friends.

In the hold, Velendo is getting more and more frustrated. He can hear the lightning bolts, hear the combat… and he’s useless! From where he’s standing, through the acrid fumes of the _cloudkill_ he can even see the coiled rope ladders 10’ out of his reach, right up on deck.  Where the heck is TomTom?  Velendo _summons_ another huge air elemental; he can’t speak with it, so he can’t tell it to do anything but attack his enemies, but he sends it up to do exactly that. Maybe if he’s lucky, this one will take down one of the flying spellcasters.  Then, finally out of other options, Velendo draws on that core of wild faerie magic that he had acquired almost a decade ago as a gift from the Queen of Faerie. “I can’t believe I have no way to get on deck,” he proclaims disgustedly, and a shuddering roll of the ship flips the rope ladder right down into the hold. Sighing, hearing the faint tinkle of fairy laughter, and trying not to choke on the fumes, Velendo (and his six strength) prepare to make the long climb up the ladder onto the main deck.

Over on the bow of the ship, the Captain smiles, and yawns, seeing that his troops have an obvious advantage.  He’s realizing that he Defenders’ reputation is badly overblown.  Kicking Brindle for luck, he leans forward, delighted by the combat.  His warriors are doing well; he can sense their triumph from here.  Those two damn paladins are worried and look almost dead, and that blasted wizard can’t be too healthy. Ah, the minotaur has cast _water walk_ and is rescuing the kobold. But where’s the half-orc and the dire shark? The Captain shakes his head regretfully; _if I had just pushed a little bit harder with the dagger in the throat, _he thinks, _she wouldn’t be a problem. Oh well, live and learn. _ Another two lightning bolts arc through the air; _my, _thinks the Captain, _they just won’t get out of convenient formation, will they? How useful for us._  Then the situation shifts, and he begins to frown.

Velendo hauls himself onto the deck at almost the same time Tao whirls both her blades through the female half-orc, unexpectedly gutting her almost in two with several perfectly-aimed blows. Malachite, almost dead, _lays on hands_ on himself and then manages to finish off the blasted lizardman that keeps trying to shatter Aleax. “I can’t take another lightning bolt!” says Agar, trying to maneuver….

And two more lightning bolts arc down at him from near the whirling air elemental.  Nolin fires off another _fireball_ into the area, and he hears yelps of pain, but he’s too late.

Agar only screams briefly, the world full of exquisite agony, before everything goes black. Malachite also drops, only saved by Aleax _laying on hilt_ before he actually dies. Mara is staggered, but she still manages to plant her holy mace _Lightbinder_  right in the middle of the unctuous dwarf’s face. The dwarf drops, and Mara manages to barely stay on her feet as another crossbow bolt hits her from somewhere up in the rigging.  “That’s it,” says Velendo. “We’re retreating.”  

Nolin descends and TomTom finally manages to rip himself out of the Astral. He appears shuddering, covered in ectoplasm, and splashes into a puddle of his friends’ blood. Velendo encloses the entire group other than Raevynn in a _flexible wall_. “How bad off are we?” he asks.

Nolin answers with a tired voice. “Agar is dead. Dead! Malachite is unconscious, Mara is on her last legs, and I’m badly hurt. Tao looks okay, TomTom looks unhurt, and I have no idea where Raevynn is.”  

A disgusted-looking half-orc bobs to the surface a hundred yards away, having finally lost his grip on Raevynn.

Tao, looking grim, says, “They wanted our magic items? Well, we got theirs!”  She picks up the magical trident from the dead lizardman and enunciates carefully through the _flexible wall of force_, waving the trident as she does so.  “We. Have. Your. Magic. Items.  You. Don’t. Have. Ours!  Ha! Ha!”    “Tao!” rebukes Velendo, but then he notices the angry Captain – and exchanges glances with TomTom.  “That’s a doppelganger,” says Velendo.  Half the group rolls their eyes with worry. “I hate doppelgangers,” someone says.

So with the three bodies of their dead foes, and the unconscious or dead bodies of their allies, Velendo activates the _rod of security._  And in a heartbeat, they move from the deck of a rolling ship to the warm sunlight and gentle grasses of Haven.  “Paradise.  I wish I was less angry so that I could enjoy it more.  I wonder how Raevynn is doing?”

Good question.

Near death, Raevynn had finally managed to shake the half-orc free from her side. She is still seething with anger, though, and she has a vengeful side. Surfacing far from the ship and turning back to elven form, she casts _fire seeds_. Should she? She shouldn’t. But she is furious, and she’s going to whether she should or not! _Wild shaping_ into a bird, she picks up the _fire seeds_ in her talons and flies over the ship. She sees that the air elemental is gone, so she craps on one of the mercenaries, drops her cargo on the sails and keeps flying. The seeds explode into a tremendous conflagration, consuming most of the sails and rigging.  Success!

Then Raevynn realizes that she’s being pursued.

Two people, a man and a woman, are flying after her faster than she can fly herself. Not good. Using her last _wild shape_, Raevynn turns into a fish, and plunges into the ocean. Muscles aching, still bleeding, she makes her way back to Eversink.

“One thing is for sure,” the rest of the group agrees, back in Calphas’ paradise where they have sheltered.  “Those bastards are going to pay. We heal, we bring Agar back to life, we use divination spells, we file the right paperwork, and then we kick their asses.”

_To be continued…._


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## KidCthulhu

What PC hasn't mentioned is exactly how F-ing big a dire shark is.  They boggle the mind.  Ravevyn was over 40' long, and weighed upwards of a ton.  Picture that thrashing around on the deck of an average sized trading vessle, and you have some idea of the chaos she caused.

Big shark.  Too bad Nolin doesn't really have the bass range to sing the "Jaws" theme.


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## Sagiro

Fade said:
			
		

> *Couldn't Velendo cast Summoning spells to summon things that can fly, and participte in the battle that way? A Greater Air Elemental could certainly lift Velendo out of the hold, and thats a Summon Monster VIII. If he only has a VII prepared (what he used to summon the Celestial Elephant) a Huge Air Elemental has a strength of 18, which should be enough to lift the frail Velendo. * (original question deleted by PCat)




Well, you're mostly right.  Finding himself alone in a Cloudkill-filled hold, with nothing better to do than complain over a _mind link_, Velendo _summoned_ Air Elementals.  Unfortunately he hadn't memorized _tongues_, and he doesn't speak air-elemental, meaning he couldn't instruct the elementals to lift him out of the hold; they simply attacked his nearest opponent.

To address other points raised recently:

1. Velendo has a +31 to his Concentration checks; 19 points in the skill, +2 for Con, and a psionic item crafted by Tom Tom that gives him +10.  So casting in the Cloudkill wasn't a problem.

2. In Velendo's opinion, yeah, our tactics _have_ suffered recently, particularly since the battle against the Voice of the Tree.  There are a couple of explanations for that.  Once is simple over-confidence generated by recent victories.  Another is (and I mean no offense to any of my party-mates) a subtle shift in party composition from people-who-plan to... er...  people-who-plan-less.    In particular I note the absence of Palladio, our most steady thinker. 

Here's Velendo's take on party personalities/tactics:

Tom-Tom (psion/rogue): tactically and strategically sound; a real asset.
Tao (ranger): also a shrewd character, tactically speaking, occasionally (as we've seen recently) prone to over-kill. 
Malachite (paladin/hunter-o'th'dead): doesn't do dumb things, but generally just kicks the nearest evil butt.  Hey, that's what he's good at.
Mara (paladin):  Tactics?  Bah!  There's Evil to be Vanquished!  CHARGE!!!!!!!
Nolin (bard/wacky-custom-fiery-phoenix-prestige-class): Sometimes brilliant, other times completely baffling.  Usually more inclined to do the fun thing than the right thing... fortunately, sometimes, they're the same thing!   Plusl, he casts _mass haste_, which makes up for any number of sins.
Raeveynn (druid): Utterly baffling.  Has amazing abilities and firepower, uses them in a seeming random fashion, seldom optimized.  
Agar (wizard): Velendo has no sense of his tactical abilities yet.

And in the battle you're about to read about, Tom-Tom's player was absent, and anyway he (Tom Tom, not his player) was trapped in the Astral Plane the whole time due to a misfired _dimensional slide_.  

You can bet Velendo was _not_ happy being left in the hold of the ship!

Anyway, it's Velendo's opinion that if the Defenders head into the Underdark without some serious re-consideration of tactics, group strengths and weaknesses, etc., they'll last about 30 seconds before something eats them.  Hopefully the sequence of battles you're about to read will have taught the group some valuable lessons!

-Sagiro


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## Piratecat

Note: this just goes to show that Encounter Level or CR is never a really accurate portrayal of challenge. These pirates/mercenaries were on average 4-5 levels less than the Defenders' average level; I expected this to be a cakewalk. Bad luck and some errors in tactics made all the difference in the world.  

Next update: Agar bounces back! Lawyers earn fees! Divination spells get abused! Babies get used in unique and innovative ways!  And in the Smugglers' Tunnels beneath the city, a trap is laid....


----------



## Swack-Iron

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *Hopefully the sequence of battles you're about to read will have taught the group some valuable lessons!
> *




My. The Defenders (and Abernathy's Company) are held up by my group as the paragon of high-level adventuring, and those of us that read these story hours have a good time relating their tales to those we game with. Ever since the trillith fight, the cleverness and raw firepower of the Defenders has been legendary amongst us.

So it's quite startling to see them almost get their butts handed to them by a rag-tag bunch of pirates. Either it was an off day, or their tactics really are slipping!


----------



## KidCthulhu

This was not an example of the Defenders at their tactical best.  I blame our overly permissive society.

I think we were really pleased with our new trick of _Discern Location_ combined with _Windwalk_, and hadn't really stopped to think about tactics or possible situations.  And we were guilty of some VERY bad positioning. 

Consider it a learning experience.


----------



## Piratecat

It’s another perfect day in Paradise. 

The sun is the ideal temperature, just a little warm, but balanced by a cool wind that smells like hope itself. The sweet-smelling flower petals are lifted by the breeze and cascade across the meadow, landing on the turned earth of three freshly-dug graves. Fruit trees, heavy with divine fruit, provide shade and nourishment. The dark blue lake by the waterfall is cool, deep, inviting, and empty.

In this tiny fragment of heaven, voices can only be heard from the bower atop the low hill. There, thunder ripples over the chanting and prayers, and pure light streams out from somewhere within. For a few seconds, the observers are deafened by the voices of angels.

And Agar rises from the dead.

Later, once Velendo has wiped the sweat from his brow and Agar has had a chance to reacquaint himself with life, the Defenders sit around and plan. They heal, discuss what they did wrong, suggest what to do next, examine the belongings of the deceased ruffians, and talk tactics.  The general consensus is that they should return with a _wind walk_ active, fly to the Temple, and use it as their base as they _scry_ and _discern location_ on Brindle and his “allies.”  

The items which they recovered from their foes are examined by Nolin. Several of their tattoos were psionic, crawling off the dead flesh and onto TomTom’s arm as he exerts his will on them. The most interesting object is the trident, which speaks in Nolin’s mind. “You are weak. I wish to be wielded by the creature that destroyed my former wielder. _He_ is strong. He can destroy.”  It is soon revealed to live for destruction and shattering, and the paladins confirm that it is intrinsically evil. The group gives it a taste of its own medicine and sunders its shaft, leaving the weapon head until later.  As a further taunt, Aleax the sword _lays on hilt_ upon itself, and the bent blade straightens. It’s clear that the two weapons strongly dislike one another.

Nolin and TomTom also examine an intelligent rock. “Please help!” it pleads. “I think I’m dying! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be alone. Don’t let go of me; I can’t sense people any more, and I’m scared.”  It turns out to be the dwarven psion’s psicrystal, and the group watches sadly as the pathetic stone slowly dwindles away, its interior light fading along with its personality and intelligence.  “Oh well,” quips Tao. “Anyone want a gem?”  Everyone gives her a dirty look.

Finally, after a night’s rest, the group is ready to go back to Eversink. They pluck or eat all the sacred fruit from the trees, leaving only a single orange.  Everyone but Tao shifts into _wind walk_, and Tao plucks down the last fruit.

The world dissolves, and the group feels themselves being ripped apart by wind. A storm is raging, rain pelting down and a strong breeze blowing in off of Mistrinith, the inland sea. Tao has on her _slippers of water walking_ but has trouble maintaining her balance on the rough waves. Still, it isn’t hard for her to see the ship anchored nearby. Its sails are lowered in the rough weather and it is anchored, but it is flying the colors of House Meridian. Agar can pick out a figure standing on its bowdeck, staring out into the tossing ocean, wet blond hair whipping back in the wind to reveal storm-colored eyes: Shara. Quickly, the group _wind walks_ over to her, and comes inside. Delightfully, not only is Shara there, but Kiri came with her.

Ordering the Captain to return to the docks, Shara explains. “Raevynn visited me yesterday. She told me what happened, and explained that she has had a druidic summons at the worst possible time. She wanted me to help you since she couldn’t. And luckily, Kiri is in town as well. So with directions from Raevynn, we thought we’d come meet you.”  It’s hard to have a proper reunion on the small, tossing ship, but they do what they can.

Taking a small longboat to shore, the group ducks out of the driving rain into the offices of a building that House Meridian owns. Shara commandeers the interior office (and demands mulled wine and pastries), and the Defenders add Kiri and Shara into their strategy.  Nolin leaves to report the attack to the Dock Guard. Finding the guard alone, he decides to _charm person_ him. His new friend explains that the Defenders must have fought a group known as The Dockside Royals. They’re the most powerful gang down on the docks, responsible for making sure that the other gangs and miscreants stay in line. The guard doesn’t think that they work for a specific house, although he knows that they’re a thorn in the side of House Clearwater.  He’s clearly afraid of them and the power they wield, even though “they’re all a bunch of cruel, ex-pirate or ex-mercenary scum. You’re best off avoiding them, my friend. They mean bad news.”  Nolin confirms that the guard isn’t bribed by them, and asks the man to file a report that the Dockside Royals were involved in two attacks upon the Defenders, and that the Defenders are requesting assistance from the city.  “Do you want me to come with you, Sir?” asks the _charmed_ guard gamely. “No,” answers Nolin. “You need to do your duty, and right now your duty is here.”  

Returning to the group, Nolin recounts what happens and says that the paperwork should be filed for “letting us kick these bastards’ asses.”  Velendo is appalled by the _charm_ spell, but Kiri explains that it isn’t uncommon for guards to wander around with that special daze that you only get from having three or more _charm_ spells cast on you at once.  Hearing that, Velendo worries a bit less, and he can’t deny that Nolin was efficient.

Shara casts _scry_ and looks for Brindle. She sees a dimly lit cabin on a ship. The cabin is empty except for a cage with two seagulls.  An empty hammock swings back and forth, papers sit on a desk, a ship in a bottle sits on a shelf… very nice, but where is Brindle? Probably _polymorphed_ into a seagull, they decide, especially when a _detect magic_ cast through the scrying mirror shows that the seagulls are radiating alteration magic. The ship in a bottle is also highly magical, radiating primarily alteration magic as well.

Shara then casts _scry_, looking for the minotaur that the group had fought the day before. She finds him, gathered in a small stone room with a number of other people and (oddly enough) the sound of a crying baby. Almost instantly, though, one of them shouts out, “Silence! We’re being watched!”  Then Shara feels a mind *forcing* itself back through the scrying link. She resists it, but it breaks through, and Shara realizes that her _scry_ is now showing all of the Defenders to their enemy! Shaken, she drops the spell, and the Defenders scramble in a near panic out of the office back into the rain.  Within minutes, they all have successfully _wind walked_ or _teleported_ to the Temple of Calphas.

Inside the temple, Velendo casts _Discern Location_ on the minotaur.  He learns that the creature is “in the passage of the Smugglers Tunnels, below Pillar Island, here in Eversink.”  One more _scry_ (via a scroll) reveals the location and shows five people standing in a tunnel, even though (once again) someone with tremendous strength of will mentally forces their way back through the link, revealing the Defenders’ position. The second _scry_ is dropped, and Tao and Kiri prepared to teleport everyone in.  “What did you see?” TomTom asks.

Shara answers, “Five people with their back to a wall, including a bullywug, a half-orc, a minotaur, a sea elf and a kobold. Odd group.  Errr….” Her voice trails off.  “I could have sworn the half-orc and the bullywug were holding hands.”

The group exchanges glances. “Reincarnation of that female half-orc?” someone asks. “No,” someone else answers. “Needs the bodies, and we took them.”  Mystified, the group casts their preparatory spells and then touches either Tao or Shara.  With a disorienting jolt and a slight splash, the familiar conference room is replaced by a dank tunnel.  Four inches or so of water cover the floor, and the walls make this look like it was once a hallway in someone’s home, long since sunk beneath the mud.  All all the Defenders of Daybreak, only Sir Malachite is not invisible.

Down the tunnel, illuminated by torches, nine people are standing in tight formation. In the front row is a bullywug, a male half-orc, and a sea elf. In the second row is a human male (the doppelganger), another sea elf, and an older human woman. And in the last row is a halfling, the minotaur, and the kobold.  “Decided to return, have you?” needles the doppelganger with a smirk. “We were getting tired of waiting for you.”

Then the sound of a crying baby splits the air, and the Defenders realize with a shock that three of the mercenary pirates in front of them have babies strapped to their chests: small, pink wiggling armor, and presumably a defense against area attack spells!

"Babies?" sputters an outraged Velendo.  And the battle begins.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Mishihari Lord

Babies?!!!  Mwa ha ha ha ha ha!  I love it!

So let's see ... 

The defenders can't use area attack spells but their opponents can.

Everyone is in a narrow tunnel with no room to dodge or hide.

12th level opponents or not, I think they're about to get smacked down again.  I wonder if they'll have sense enough to immediately retreat?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Strange you should mention _Raising_ the babies.  Velendo's words something to the effect of "We're not going to try and kill the babies, but if that's what we have to do to get these bastards, then I'll _Raise_ them later.  No way are we going to let scum like this think that you can take innocents hostage and get away!"

And as for the half orc and the bullywug, Nolin goes off on that subject in great length during the next post.  I must say I excelled myself with rude innuendo and outright insult.  Caused the half-orc to come out of the (mumble, mumble, mumble-spoiler) and charge me, it did.

Taunts and insults.  Two more arrows in the quiver for the bard who's not afraid to piss off a barbarian.


----------



## Vurt

I wouldn't normally post this, but since it sounds like the action has already played out, well...

If someone were charging my character with a baby strapped to their chest, I think I'd "polymorph other" the baby into a grey ooze or some such.  Turn your disadvantages into advantages! Then after the fight, change it back, and raise or heal as necessary.  

Hmmm...  What strange childhood memories that person would have...

-- Vurt


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> And incidentally, next post will show you a truly rat-bastardy combat technique for your bad guys to use. Fun, fun, fun!
> *




I cannot even begin to stress just how much Piratecat's bastardness is only beginning.

He did, however, strike a perfect balance.  The Defenders had a righteous head of mad built up, and we were going against a group of lower level foes that we knew we could take easily (as long as we didn't a) screw up , or b) have really crappy die rolls, both of which were the contributing factors to the last debacle).

Despite the level difference, PC threw us an incredibly challenging encounter.  This was not the easy mop up, satisfying ass-kicking payback encounter we'd been expecting. He definitely kept us on our toes.

Though I would have liked the chance to cast at least one Chain Lightning.  >sniff<


----------



## Jobu

> Taunts and insults. Two more arrows in the quiver for the bard who's not afraid to piss off a barbarian.




Of course this only happens after the valiant Bard has already cast "Meatshield".  He may be dumb, but he doesn't like to get hit in the face.


----------



## Fajitas

nemmerle said:
			
		

> *Personally, I think purposefully killing babies is an evil act - whether you have the power to raise them or not. *




Velendo's argument was that we needed to send a message that using baby-shields was *not* a viable strategy. It does not stop the Defenders. It just makes them madder.

And it wasn't so much a question of purposefully killing babies as it was of not letting their presence prevent us from stopping the bad guys. We're not the ones who brought them into this.

I was a little surprised to hear it from Velendo, truthfully. But lord knows Shara had had the same thought.

And Fede, it's not so much that Shara didn't have a Chain Lightning memorized.  It's more that....

...well, you'll see.


----------



## Piratecat

Luckily, Velendo had cast a _water walk_ just before they teleported in, so the Defenders are only leaving ripples in the low water instead of invisible foot-shaped holes.  “That’s an illusory wall behind them!” exclaims TomTom and Velendo, whose _true seeing_ shows the truth.

Shara smiles a tight, frightening sort of grin; she knows that if the Dockside Royals are removed, that will leave a power vacumn in the control of the docks. And who better to fill a power vacumn than….? Moreso, she has a debt to pay on the behalf of the Defenders. She prepares to pay it with a _chain lightning_, but Agar actually beats her to it.  He lets loose with a _chain lightning_ of his own.  The lightning crackles out from his hands, the ozone smell overwhelming in the 15’ wide tunnel as it arcs towards the non-baby-carrying thugs. It hits the first one….

And stops.

No *pop* of spell resistance, no arcing, nothing. The bolt just winks out of existence.

Kiri’s _lightning bolt_ and _polymorph other_ spell do the same. Then, all sound disappears from the area where most of the Defenders are standing. A _silence _ spell? But none of the people in front of them cast! Velendo casts a nervous look behind him down the long, dark corridor, and decides that discretion is the better part of valor. One or more people must be down there, somewhere in the darkness, casting spells at them.  Moving until he is out of the _silence_, he creates a _Calphas’ Reflecting Wall_, similar to a _wall of force_ but only see-through from the near side.  Now they won’t have to worry about guarding their backs, and nobody back there can see them.

Not moving forward, the Dockside Royals fire missile weapons at Malachite, the only person who is visible.  They pepper him with painful, well-aimed arrows and crossbow bolts. The slightly older human woman then tosses a small bead  up the hall. As it hits, it balloons into a huge ball of flame, roasting many of the heroes who had anticipated lightning bolts. “Damn!” shouts Nolin. “She has a _necklace of missiles!”_  Most of the group, still in the _silence_, hear him through the _mindlink_ instead of with their ears. The doppelganger does hear him, though, and targeting on his voice (and perhaps using his ESP) he flings a crystal globe at Nolin. Glass shatters, and invisible or not, Nolin finds his front covered with green slime. The slime quickly begins to eat through his shirt.

Malachite and Mara both rush forward to fight the front line, the sword Aleax singing a quiet hymn of triumph. Malachite swings the glowing sword forward, and is surprised to see its radiance snuffed out as it approaches the armored sea elf fighter. Despite the sudden dead weight and poor maneuverability of the weapon, Malachite manages to slash the sea elf, and pulls his sword back to hear Aleax groaning and disoriented. “It was as if…” the sword says, but is interrupted by the sea elf. “Look at what you’ve done!” it hisses to the paladin. "I was the apex of creation, one of the scaled folk. And now? Now I’m an… an *elf.*” He practically spits the words in disgust.  “You will pay for that, scum. And where is my trident?”

Malachite smiles. “Shattered.” And pulls Aleax back into a guard position. 

Next to him, Mara is attacking the bullywug, her holy mace Lightbinder extinguishing every time it dips towards her enemies. The half-orc, however, has a weapon that leaps into purplish radiance every time it extends out to slice at Mara. 

Through the _mindlink_, Shara and Kiri put it together.  “There must be an _antimagic field_ centered on the sea elf in the middle – the one with one of the babies,” Shara explains. “They can throw things out of it or attack out of it, and their weapons become magical as they leave the field. Ours stop being magical as they enter the field. Nice. The only way we can take them on is with missile weapons or direct combat, and we still have to worry about hurting the infants.”

“Don’t worry about the infants,” says Velendo. “If we kill them, I’ll raise them. We can’t let these people get away with the notion that it ‘s “okay” to use despicable tactics like this. They’re just sealed their fate, and they’re going to have to pay, babies or no.”  Everyone looks at him with surprise, but another wave of missiles is flung from the piratical mercenaries, and the group desperately tries to come up with a strategy that will work.  Malachite, Mara and Tao are better swordsmen than their opponents – but not if they’re getting hit with missiles while they try to fight, and not if the rest of the Defenders are effectively powerless.  Tao _dimension doors_ into the darkness behind them, preparing herself to take out some of the people in the back row.  Shara prepares a _telekinesis_ spell and readies an action; as soon as one of her opponents sticks a limb out of the _field_, she will grab it with the _telekinesis_ and *pull*.

Then from behind the group, through the _Calphas’ Reflecting Wall_, a man appears, dropping into a fighting stance even as he tries to clear his vision from the aftereffects of a _dimension door_.  He is carrying an open cage with two seagulls in it with his left hand, and has a large puppy-sized rat under his right arm. 

Before he can react, TomTom drops a _greater concussion_ on him and Kiri hammers him with a _lightning bolt._ “Aieeeeee!” screams the rat, dropping from his grip.  “Don’t hurt me! Don't hurt me! This isn’t my idea!”  The group exchanges looks; the rat’s voice is that of the dwarven psion that Mara slew the previous day. 

As the seagulls leap aloft from their cage, Velendo spins around. “You people use babies as shields,” he growls, voice shaking. “You deserve no restraint from me.” Then, voice raised high in a holy chant of power, he casts _destruction_ on the stranger.  Screaming, before he ever moves a step, the man erupts into a pyre of greasy flames. In seconds he is reduced to ash in the water, his soul dammed by Velendo’s  judgement.  

The rat squeals in horror. And TomTom, spinning his head, shouts to Mara, “Those aren’t seagulls! They’re _polymorphed_ rust monsters, and they’re heading for your weapons!”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Blackjack

coyote6 said:
			
		

> *Poor rock.  *




You have no idea.  PCat gave the stone a pathetic, frantic, desperate high-pitched voice.  As its essence drained away it got more and more sad, its pleas for help stronger and stronger.  I found myself having more sympathy for the rock than for most humanoid NPCs.

Then again, I play Malachite, so this is no surprise...


----------



## KidCthulhu

Don't worry about the Gull-rusts.  They'll get theirs.  As soon as Nolin gets this green slime off his chest.


----------



## Sagiro

Fade said:
			
		

> *Sure the dim door was a suicide move, but the Royals are no stranger to death. He can always be raised later.
> 
> Or maybe he wasn't a Royal at all but a dominated townsperson, and someone else cast the door on him. Puts a new light on Velendo's judgement doesn't it? *




Two things to consider:

1) You cannot cast _teleport_ or _dimension door_ on someone else.  It affects yourself, and you can take others with you if you want.  And since Velendo had _true seeing_ cast, he would have seen any invisible casters who were also there.  And to counter the argument that the enemy might have been given a magic item and been ordered to use it,

2) the guy looked and moved like a high-level adventuring type.  He arrived, dropped immediately into a fighting stance, and looked like trouble.  After 16 levels of adventuring, Velendo can tell the difference in body language between a _dominated_ peasant and a high-level adversary.  And as if that weren't enough, the divine _true seeing_ lets one tell alignments at a glance... and the guy was eeeeeeevil.

-Sagiro


----------



## Tremere

*Anti-magic*



			
				Dawn said:
			
		

> *If the Anti-magic shield is playing havoc with the Defender's weapons, wouldn't it also do the same for the bad guys' armor and protection devices? *




The anti-magic did negate their own armor/protections, but they were stading in 3x3 formation lobbing missiles or stabbing out at us.
Very difficult to counter, particularly when 2/3 to 3/4 of your abilities are negated by the Shell.

As for the D-door man carrying presents: he had no armor or obvious weapons, yet dropped into a very competent fighting stance...


----------



## Blackjack

coyote6 said:
			
		

> **Say, a trident's a piercing weapon, and piercing weapons can't normally be used to strike at other weapons. Probably a special ability of the trident.*




Don't worry about the trident for too long.  Malachite *despises* this evil thing, and periodically takes it out of his pouch to mock it.  (Before removing its shaft entirely, Malachite carved "I LOVE AEOS" into the wood.)  The trident is not long for this world.


----------



## Piratecat

_Back from Texas! My work went really well, but the coolest thing was that I got a chance to hang out with “~D” of Talon Comics and buy out half his stock of gaming books. Consider this my gratuitous plug for him; if you need gaming stuff mail order, he’s absolutely the guy to get it from.  Sorry I didn’t post before I left, but the server was hiccupping when I tried, and I was already late leaving for the airport.  

So where were we?  _

The sea elf fighter swings his weapon at Malachite, and Shara leaps at her chance. Her _telekinesis_ seizes his wrist; he tries to resist, but is inexorably flung forwards out of the _anti-magic field_.  Both Malachite and Mara slash at him as he flies past them towards the seagulls.

The air elemental that Nolin had just _summoned_ as support for Tao can’t reach the seagulls in time, so Nolin reaches inside himself and calls on the power of the phoenix. As he does so, a flaming pillar of holy energy slams down like a juggernaut, badly frying both _polymorphed_ rust monsters and the sea elf. TomTom follows this up with a _greater biocurrent_ arcing from one creature to the next, and both seagulls transform back into rust monsters as the energy kills them.  The sea elf isn’t looking especially good either, bleeding and smoking as he struggles against the telekinetic force.  Malachite and Mara both turn on him, and he drops into the shallow water, dead once again. Whether he goes to the elven or the lizardfolk heaven, no one is sure.

Unfortunately, Nolin was summoning when he should have been worrying about the green slime eating into his chest. He takes six points of constitution damage, ensuring that his next action will be setting his entire body on fire in an attempt to burn away the slime. 

TomTom uses his hasted action to _dimension slide_ to the other side of the _field_, right next to Tao and Nolin’s summoned elemental.  Tao has a moment of surprise as she tries to figure out if the invisible creature next to her is her friend or not, but the mental link helps immensely, and she hammers her sword into the kobold. He screams, and spins to try and defend himself. The halfling and minotaur turn as well, but Tao gets six attacks with her weapons, and the kobold isn’t well armored. The results is messy, and the tide of battle turns.

As the halfling and the bullywug both drop, Nolin begins to taunt the half-orc barbarian. Nolin’s voice is rough due to the constitution damage, but he calls the half-orc every name in the book, inventing amazingly inventive insults about his parentage and just-killed mate.  Frothing with anger, the barbarian snaps and charges out of the _anti-magic field_ at Nolin.  Unfortunately, he takes three steps – and vanishes completely. The Defenders are mystified.

On her way to attacking the sea elf wizard, Tao steps forward and grabs the older woman in an iron grip. With a casual twist of her body, Tao flings the woman behind her, directly into the vaporous arms of Nolin's air elemental.  Tao then steps forward and attacks the sea elf wizard, blades cutting above and below the baby he is carrying. Within seconds she kills the elf and leaves the baby unharmed, almost cutting the wizard in two despite non-magical weapons.

Trapped by the air elemental, the older woman watches her companion cut down, and she finally decides enough is enough, what with five members of her group dead or missing. Ignoring the elemental as best she can, she musters her concentration and casts a spell.  She - and the baby strapped to her chest - vanish completely.

The rest of the Dockside Royals panic. The minotaur and the doppelganger both rush forward to where the minotaur went and likewise disappear, taking the third baby with them.  The rat psion is already dead, killed by Kiri and Shara, and the Defenders realize that the only creatures left alive are their allies.  “Where did they disappear to?” asks Malachite.

Shara thinks to the group, “Be careful where you stand! There must be a _teleport circle_ inscribed under the water there, perhaps meant as a trap for us. We’re water walking, so we didn’t set it off.”

“A _teleport circle_? Isn’t that a little… powerful?” asks Velendo, but Shara just shrugs.  Velendo continues, “We’ve got to follow them, now! Otherwise they’ll just try this again.”  Quickly healing those who need it most, Velendo and the others look down at the unremarkable patch of watery ground.  

Tao takes off her _slippers of water walking_. “Well, lets hope they don’t have a trap set!” she says, and takes a step forward… and disappears.  Still linked to the group mentally, her first thought is, “*Glub.. auggh.. underwater! Can’t breath!*”

_To be continued…._

Tomorrow! A guest player, a deadly underwater trap, giant grappled lobster-things, and the amazing iron missile!


----------



## Rel

Another drawback to the "strap on a baby" strategy just occurred to me.  In addition to it being an express elevator to hell after you die, wouldn't that screaming kid cause a Concentration check when spellcasting?

I've got a kid and when I'm holding her and she's screaming, I can barely work the buttons on the microwave to reheat my coffee (FYI, you never again get to enjoy an entire cup of coffee before it gets cold once you  have children) much less perform any arcane rituals that require words, precise movements and material components.

Besides, how long do you have to stand around with three screaming babies strapped to you while you wait for the Defenders to show up.  I mean, those guys could take hours or days running around Eversink with their silly roleplaying before they showed up for the fight.  Trust me, more than about an hour of that screaming and you'll be begging for the Defenders to put you out of your misery.

DISCLAMIER:  I love my daughter very much.  Especially when she isn't screaming like a banshee.


----------



## KidCthulhu

*Re: ...  I don't trust babies*



			
				Bronz Dragon said:
			
		

> *my question is "Where the heck did they get those babies?!"  I mean, someone would probably report it if their baby got swiped by a pirate, wouldn't they?  Wouldn't the guard at least have heard of it by that time?  There aren't many places you can hide with a screaming infant, that's why mothers never play hide-and-go-seek *




We thought this too.  But poverty does funny things to people, and the Dockside Royals are very powerful and very rich.  And Eversink is not a nice place.


----------



## Piratecat

One by one, the Defenders get ready to hold their breath and sit down in the watery circle. *Fwssh!*  Each of them vanishes one by one.  Mara borrows Velendo’s _necklace of iron body_ first, turning herself to unbreathing metal.  Velendo waits nervously in the tunnels; he doesn’t want everyone to be trapped underwater with no means of escape, so he refuses to go through the magical teleportal until he knows the group is relatively safe.  Velendo fidgets, and then summons a water elemental, sending it through the teleportal to help the Defenders after first instructing it to find pockets of air and lead the party to them.

Other than Velendo, only Kiri stays behind, taking the extra baby and making sure that all valuables and interesting clues are stripped from the bodies. 

The rest of the Defenders are holding their breath in cold, dark water.  They find themselves at the bottom of a large flooded stone chamber. It is totally dark, with one obvious door (locked) on the north wall, and no obvious inhabitants.  Tao uses her small magical hammer to burst the obvious door open, and the water elemental rushes down the hallway it conceals, accompanied by an _arcane eye_ conjured by Agar.  About this time someone remembers that they found _potions of water breathing_ and a _necklace of water breathing_ on several of the Dockside Royals, and they use them with embarrassed grins on their faces.  Luckily, they remember before anyone drowns!  Upon the assurance that people can breath, Velendo joins the rest of the group.

The water elemental still hasn’t detected air, and Agar’s _eye_ shows that the long winding corridor seems to be a trap; it doesn’t lead to any exit, just to a grinning sculpture on a wall, near several dead and floating corpses.  

Still holding his breath, Nolin can't sing or play his instrument... but he uses the time effectively by drumming on the stone wall. The noise echoes beautifully through the water, _inspiring greatness_ as the primal beat throbs and reverberates.

Meanwhile, Tao has discovered two secret doors. She thought she had seen some bubbles by one of them, so she tries to open it, and fails – setting off an ineffectual _glyph_ in the process. Malachite and Mara also try to open it, but Malachite can’t get any kind of leverage while swimming, and Mara’s iron body is slowed somewhat by the water. Agar checks the other secret door, setting off another _glyph_, and concludes that it is nothing but a false door.

TomTom joins Tao and manifests _clairtangency_. He sees the other side of the secret door in his mind’s eye, and uses the power of his thoughts to lift the iron bar holding the secret door closed. Pushing the door ajar, TomTom checks for more traps, and detects a glue-covered trapdoor, counterweighted to sink you farther underwater and hold you there until your air runs out. Everyone manages to avoid it, even the clumsy iron Mara, and the heroes file out into an underwater corridor.  Using a _clairvoyance_, TomTom discovers that the tunnel that the trap covers leads farther down into the rock before opening up, and they file that fact away for future exploration.

At the end of the corridor the group can see a horrible insectoid, lobster-like monster… almost as if you crossed an Apparatus of Kwalish with a demonic scorpion. It is chained, and its chain doesn’t appear to be long enough to reach the group. Mara approaches it cautiously, and Nolin amuses himself by activating his _ring of incontinence._ The monster succumbs, and the water near it is filled with a cloud of foul-smelling ordure as it voids itself. Then Nolin finds out the hard way that it has an _extremely_ long chain, and was just trying to draw them closer.

Whoops.

It swims madly for Nolin, claws snapping in anticipation. However, Mara stops it cold, grappling it around the tail and squeezing. It fights with her, freeing itself, only to be hit with magical attacks from Shara and Agar. Tao and Malachite swim forward to attack while Nolin moves back, and Mara manages to grapple the large beast once again. Its fearsome claws snap ineffectually at her iron body, sliding off the polished metal of her face, and Mara grins as she stabs it with a _gutroot_ spear and then once again grapples it in place.  As seaweed bursts from the creature's orifices (thanks to the _gutroot_ spell on the spear), Tao swims through the blood-clouded water and invokes a prayer to Galanna against abominations that Should Not Be.  The creature quivers and spasms, slain by the _slay living_, and everyone smiles with relief.

“Nolin? *What* were you thinking?” asks Velendo. “Why’d you use the ring to make it… to make it empty its…?”  Velendo gestures uselessly, the effect partially lost underwater. Nolin can’t stop grinning, though. Nothing’s more fun than magical diarrhea, even in godless abominations.

The elemental helps people swim up a 40’ tall shaft, exiting out of a rock outcropping on the sea’s floor. Above their heads, a storm still rages, and they can see several ships at anchor in the murky water.  TomTom is the first to reach the surface, and he sees the minotaur pulling himself up onto a nearby ship.  Tao is next up, and she dives underwater and starts swimming for the ship.  Everyone else uses their _water walking_ to precariously pick their way across the rough seas.

Agar decides to take the initiative.  Sending a _prying eye_ ahead, he sees that the minotaur, the half-orc and the doppelganger are in the captain’s cabin, a cabin they have seen before while scrying for Brindle. They have with them two of the three babies, and the minotaur and half-orc are loudly arguing while the doppelganger stares deeply into a large gem.  “Can’t have that!” decides Agar….

….and without any backup, he teleports into the cabin.

_To be continued…._


----------



## KidCthulhu

PC is right.  Nolin gets more damn amusement from making bad guys poop themselves.  tee-hee.  That never gets old.  And hey, he's not a front line fighter, so he seldom has to deal with the consequences.



			
				Dawn said:
			
		

> *What are the consequences of Nolin’s ring?  I mean other than the obvious……release, what sort of disadvantage does it put on the victim?  Seems like it would require at least some sort of Concentration check. *




Well, for starters, you should be standing well back.

And it's best if you aren't really attached to your current shoes.

Oh, and nose plugs.  Nose plugs are key.

Wait, did you mean game effects?  Dunno.  I leave that stuff up to Pkitty.

I just use it 'cuz it's funny.


----------



## Sito Rotavele

Sure when Nolin uses it, it's fun.  But when the Torazian (ptuh!)  Deathgranter (also ptuh!)  uses it to split up the party and take them one-by-one...well, then it's not quite as funny.  

That's how PCat used it originally Dawn.  Dunno what the combat-whoopsie consequences are, but it certainly was a crafty way to split the party.  There are some things even the Defenders don't do together.

Course that's the beauty of Nolin - what others deploy fiendishly, he uses for slapstick.


----------



## Piratecat

Bronz Dragon said:
			
		

> *What would the effect of the ring be if the target creature had some unusual physiology?  Say they had Iron Body or some such spell on them at the time? *




Iron body negates all pshysiological effects. Thus, it'd negate the ring.  It probably wouldn't work on undead or constructs, either.

Rules-wise, it necessitates a fortitude save at DC 15. Failure means messiness, with lost actions for several rounds, huge concentration checks, and big penalties to social skills like diplomacy, bluff, and intimidate. Success still causes urgency, but not quite as immediate, with combat and skill penalties as the target becomes... distracted. Lord help me if Nolin ever decides to use the thing at a formal social gathering!

Incidentally, if Agar seems more lively than normal, there's a reason! He was played this session by our old friend Mike Selinker from WotC. Mike (who authored the Marvel Superheroes SAGA game, the Dragon column "Mind Flayers," as well as a ton of other stuff) was in Boston for a puzzle convention.  Similarly, Shara and Kiri's players were in town for the previous game.  

Man, Agar's been played by some of the best! Wulf, DoctorB (who just started a story hour here), Mike....


----------



## Piratecat

Hindered by wind and rain, the Defenders make their way over the rough seas towards the Dockside Royals’ ship. Several people try to run and end up tripping over waves, splashing face-first into the frothing sea.

Meanwhile, Agar has teleported into the cabin. Before anyone can react, he casts a spell and focuses his power on the concentrating doppelganger. Power courses down his arm and out his hand, striking the doppelganger in the small of the back. With a soft *POOF*, the creature explodes into fine dust, its clothes settling to the ground over a large sapphire that it had been holding. “Nice use of a _disintegrate_,” thinks Agar to himself, and then he realizes that the half-orc and minotaur have both stopped arguing. Agar’s tentacled familiar Proty begins to wiggle nervously against his neck, and Agar shrinks back as the two hulking forms draw their weapons and back him into a corner.

Outside, it’s been slow going for Mara, since she’s still made from iron. Shara casts _fly_ on her; elated, Mara takes to the air and flies above the ship. Tao is clambering up the anchor chain as the water elemental lifts several members of the Defenders up on to deck. One _glyph_ after another spit and hiss as the Defenders run across the rocking deck, but the magical wards aren’t powerful enough to have any effect.  Malachite wrenches the cabin door open and piles down the stairs into the minotaur. He’s closely followed by Tao and a _dimension sliding_ TomTom. The rest of the Defenders are close behind, crowding the entrance and trying to get line of sight.  Shara notices that although she’s seen this cabin before in her _scry_, the magical ship in a bottle is now missing.

Once again, the battle is joined.

The Defenders clearly have the advantage now, but the bulky humanoids are putting up a fearsome fight. The minotaur cleric has healed them already, and the half-orc swings his greatsword in lethal arcs as he tries to kill at least one of his opponents. Then mentally, the Defenders hear Mara asking, “Where’s the half-orc?”

“In the far corner at the back right,” someone answers.  “Why? Where are you?”

Mara doesn’t answer. Sixty feet above the deck of the ship, she lets herself fall, aiming her one ton iron body at what she hopes is the correct point. She smashes through the wooden planks of the poopdeck as if they were balsa wood and miraculously comes down directly *on top of* the half orc.  The floor beams groan and bend but somehow hold, and Mara finds herself facing a number of surprised Defenders and one very horrified minotaur. “That went well,” she says, dusting her hands off with soft clanging noises, rain splashing down on her through the jagged hole above. Then she looks around for the half-orc.

She’s standing in his stomach.

“Whoops!” she says primly, and moves her foot. Before long the half-orc is fully dead and the minotaur is knocked unconscious. The Defenders look around with satisfaction, only irritated that the dark-haired woman is still missing.


_ -->  You know how much damage a one-ton paladin does when she falls 60’? I’ll tell you how much: 16d6, that’s how much!  That poor evil half-orc barbarian, already wounded, never had a chance once he failed his reflex save to get out of the way; Mara’s fall brought him down to exactly -1 hit points and triggered a massive damage save. That was all she wrote. Mara’s just lucky she didn’t keep falling out the bottom of the ship as well!  Very, very clever tactic on Mara’s part, and with 50-point damage reduction she barely got hurt at all._

“Oh, I absolutely can’t believe this is happening.” The Defenders spin. A morose man in dark clothing is leaning up against the wall of the cabin. His face reminds you of the kind of animal you’d see poking their snout out of a sandy hole, and he’s pinching his nose in irritation as he looks around the room.  “Is _anyone_ left alive?”  He looks around the room, a pained expression on his face. “What happened to my ship?”

Malachite looks at him and growls, “We were… redecorating.”

“So this is it? You’ve killed all of them?”

“Not *all* of them,” answers Tao, as she kicks the unconscious minotaur in the head. *THUNK*  “Who are you, anyways?”  Mentally, she hears TomTom say, “Whoever he is, he isn’t actually there. See, he’s leaning through the wall! I think it’s an illusion of some kind.”  Silently, Agar slips away, shifting into _wind walk_ form to explore the ship; by his reasoning, anyone using _project image_ must be relatively near by.

Not answering the question, the man looks at the babies with a sneer on his face. “Babies,” he says with disgust in his voice. “I can’t believe they used babies.  I _hope_ you killed them all.  They’re responsible for their own actions, but I have to say I’m quite disappointed.  Oh, what a mess.”  He shakes his head morosely.  “Lady Tao, you should kick him again.”  Tao gladly complies - *THUNK* - thinking, _He knows my name!_  The man sighs.  “I must apologize. You’re visitors in our fair city, and you don’t deserve this sort of rudeness. I hope you’re all alright; none of you badly hurt?” He raises an eyebrow politely, not looking very hopeful.

“Some of us are *dead*,” answers Velendo. “Who are you, anyways?”

The man frowns again, long nose wrinkling. “These people reported to me. They run the docks. Without them things wouldn’t get accomplished. Of course,” he sighs, “I expect we’ll find that out. They were very efficient; they kept people in line, collected the appropriate bribes, kept out the wrong element, and made sure that things flowed smoothly.  Hmmm…. Are you going to keep their valuables and bodies?”

“We might,” Nolin answers over the screaming infants. “We deserve them.  Why, do you want them? And why do you think we aren’t going to simply track you down as well?”

“Me?” the man answers wearily. “You’ll never find me. It’s not as if this is my real appearance.  But I will say you’re thorough. The Dockside Royals were idiots when they thought they could ambush and kill you. I know better. You’re important people, valued guests, not the kind of people I like to annoy. I at least know better.  How’d this come about, you mind telling me?” He looks at them nervously, as if half-fearing the answer.

The Defenders explain what happened to them, and the skinny man becomes more and more morose as they do. Malachite steps forward, fists clenched, looming in front of the image and just _oozing_ intimidation, while Nolin plays good cop, asking polite and respectful questions.  Everyone else contributes in the conversation, except for Agar who is still searching for the originator of the _project image_. The man confesses that there is a bullywug shaman somewhere near the docks that has learned how to _reincarnate_  without a body, although he isn’t cheap. The man never admits his true name, but he does offer to make a deal with the Defenders. They go through several iterations of bargaining as he tries to get the bodies of his fallen associates, including the minotaur (*THUNK* ~ "I could do that all day," says Tao), in exchange for the Defenders keeping what gear they want.  

Interestingly enough, he also offers to trade the large sapphire and the ship for Brindle’s life. The man says that he is just going to turn the rogue assassin Brindle over to the Children of Lethe, the local assassins’ guild which wants him dead. Thinking that Brindle may still be of some use to them, the Defenders agree to the trade, assuming that the man isn’t lying and the sapphire is only useful for communicating back and forth with him.

As the deal is being wrapped up he suddenly disappears, and the PCs regroup. Nolin sings a glorious lullaby to the children, and they quickly fall asleep, nestled in his arms.  He summons his _onyx dog_ Angus to care for them while he helps search, and they systematically scour the ship for secrets.  They decide that the magical ship in a bottle is actually gone; the best guess is that the dark haired woman, who was probably a wizard or sorcerer, took it before fleeing.

Standing on the low-floating ship (“Did Mara spring any timbers? I think we’re taking on water, and that might make the r-r-roaches come out in the open.” asks Agar worriedly), they take any treasure they can find and leave the bodies (including the half-conscious minotaur - *THUNK*) in a pile on the deck.  Then as a group they _wind walk_ back to the Temple.

And there, asleep in a back pew, they find Raevynn, bruised, exhausted, and covered with dried blood.

_To be continued…._

Tomorrow: a heart-to-hart conversation with Tao’s Goddess. Raevynn’s dilemma. Lots of loot! And a conversation with Brindle that no one expected….


----------



## Piratecat

*Re: Baby Armor*



			
				Grover said:
			
		

> *Um, I hate to be a nit-picker, but how did the half-orc's baby live through the splattering the half orc received from Mara?  Had they taken the babies off by then, or is that something you just missed. *




Oh, I forgot to say! The babies had been taken off and placed on the shelf when they got to the ship. Nolin whirled into the stateroom, scooped up both babies (drawing attacks of opportunity in the process), and withdrew. I should edit that into the story.

As for how the babies survived underwater, it's something I did think about (as did the Dockside Royals), but the Defenders don't know the reason.

Regarding the ultimate fate of the Royals... the illusionary man very much gave the impression that Eversink is about business, and that the Royals are a cog in that vast wheel. He promised that if they _are_ reincarnated (which is by no means certain), they would never bother the Defenders again. They would be getting weaker, too, losing life energy as they travel the great circle. In the end, the group decided that speaking to Brindle was more important than anything else.

I don't know if they're going to confront the bullywug or not. They'd probably be on shaky legal ground, and even their moral ground may not be too sound; if it isn't evil per se, what are they going to accuse it of?  It's an interesting dilemma, though.

Good questions!


----------



## Fiery James




----------



## Piratecat

Most of the Defenders are talking to Raevynn inside, but Tao is not with them.

She is outside, leaning against the carved stone wall of the Temple of Calphas. Thunder rumbles and the rain pours from the dull gray sky, sluicing out of the gargoyles above her head, each of them carved to look like a cleric or saint. She ignores the water splashing merrily off of her cloak and focuses her attention inwards. "Galanna," she softly calls within her mind, "Galanna...."

And then she is tumbling inwards, all sense of the rain lost as she whirls through a silvery void. Now dry, she is *there.* Standing under arching trees that dwarf her, before a deer that towers up to the sky. Its antlers are as the pillars of the heavens, its muscles are the strength of the earth, its solid green eyes are the wisdom of life.  Tao is in _Audience_ with her Goddess, and she can't help but drop to her knees in awe and piety.

*"My daughter,"*, Tao hears as the deer looks down upon her, bathing her in radiance. *"You are blessed. Ask me what you wish to know."*

1. "Will my going to the White Kingdom be damaging to the Knights of the Horn?"  *No.*

2. "Is the decision to 'knight' Raevynn acceptable to you?"  *Yes; she will soon be houseless and beset by enemies, and will need My aid.*

3. "Does the rod of the Al'Quith do more than just destroy abominations?"  *Yes.*  (*whump* - the knowledge appears in her mind. see below.)

4. "Will the Knights of the Horn fall to disrepair if I should die in the Underworld?"  *Trust the one you killed, Annela, to follow in your path.*

5. "If you were in my position, given what we did originally to get this 'task', would you go?"  *Yes, but not only out of duty; also out of necessity.*

6. "Is Telay a prisoner?"  *No.  *

7. "Is Telay charmed or otherwise mentally controlled?"  *No.  *

8. "Is the new saint of Aeos what he appears to be?"  *No.  *

9. "Are Knights of the Horn bound to remain virgins?"  *Not once they are knighted. Yes, until they take their vows.  *

10. "Will there be any more assassination attempts upon the group?"  *Yes.  *

11. "Is the choice of Annela, the new Sigilian Knight of the Horn, acceptable to you?" *Yes.  *

12. "Is there any way to free Nolin's father from the family curse?"  *I do not know. I believe so.  *

13. "Is Valdek's spirit in Valhalla?"  *Yes.  *  (For just a few seconds, the faint clinking of mugs and sounds of battle can be heard, before fading on the wind.)

14. "If faced with the situation of either T'Cri or I dying, would it be damaging to the world if it was T'Cri who died?"  *The question is irrelevant.  *

15. "Is Raevynn in physical danger?"  *Not currently.  *

16. "Is the new Saint of Aeos a danger to Mara or Malachite?"  *Not immediately; not directly.  *

17. "Is there anything else that my holy sword does?"  *Yes.  *  (*whump* - the knowledge appears in her mind. see below.)

18. "Is there anything I can do to save Raevynn from danger?"  *In saving the Al'Quith she has damned herself, but she has not fallen from My favor.  *

19. "Is there another task I can do for you?"  *There is more to the Kingdom of Ghouls than anyone knows. Their religion must be stopped, others have failed, and time grows short.  *

20. "Am I living my life in a way that makes you proud?"  *You please me, Tao; celebrate your life, and honor me thereby.  *

With that, Galanna moves her head and the heavens move. Tao has been straining to the utmost to translate the Divine Will into words she can comprehend, and it is almost a blessing as her exhausted form is drawn backwards, away from her Goddess and into the silvery void.  She comes to still leaning against the wall, tears on her face, a dozen people staring at her in awe.

And almost without registering it consciously, Tao notices that the rain has stopped, and a rainbow arches over the city.

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

The *Rod of True Nature*:  This minor relic of Galanna is made from the living wood of the Al'Quith.  It is two feet long, sprouting small leaves, as if it were attached to the tree itself.  The rod constantly acts as _plant growth: enrichment_. Once per day it can cast _plant growth: overgrowth_.  Once per week it can cast _control weather_ and _purity of flesh_ (15d6 damage, only to abominations, in a 100' r.; fort. save at DC 24 for half damage).  The rod does 1d10 points of damage when touched to an abomination.  All effects are at caster level 20.

*Nature's Wrath*: +4 steel longsword glows with a pearlescent, misty glow. Grants _freedom of movement_ when grasped and a short prayer is recited (standard action to activate); undead-bane does +2d6 points of damage to undead. When wielded by a Knight of the Horn in unicorn form, this sword replaces the unicorn's normal horn.


----------



## LightPhoenix

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *9. "Are Knights of the Horn bound to remain virgins?"  Not once they are knighted. Yes, until they take their vows.
> 
> 20. "Am I living my life in a way that makes you proud?"  You please me, Tao; celebrate your life, and honor me thereby.
> *




You know, out of every question asked, these two were the best... and if ever such a thing as an _Audience_ existed in real life, these would probably be the two questions everyone would ask.

Props to Tao's player! 

LightPhoenix


----------



## Piratecat

Raevynn explains that she was “invited” to a secret druidic council, and didn’t have time to heal after the huge fight. She _doesn’t_ tell them that she was the one on trial at the council. In order to learn key information about the Al’Quith, the holy tree recently purified by the Defenders, Raevynn had agreed to trade secret information on her elite druidic organization “The Oakenshield” to the head of House Roaringbrook, himself a druid of a competing circle. 

This has apparently caught up to her, and while the Defenders were fighting in the Smugglers Tunnels under Eversink, she was questioned for hours in a dark grove of trees by hooded strangers.  Eventually she was brought back to Eversink, exhausted and unhealed. The words “Perhaps she has spent too much time around the city-dwellers” still rings in her ears; all in all, Raevynn couldn’t agree more.

Tao takes Raevynn aside for a long talk. Galanna had told Tao some troubling things in her _Audience_, and Raevynn deserved to know. What Raevynn hears doesn’t do very much to cheer her up.

As Agar, Shara and Nolin spend the next day identifying loot taken from the dead Dockside Royals, the other Defenders tend to their business, healing and resting. Tao discusses the results of the _Audience_ with the rest of the group.  The Defenders also discuss tactics, capabilities, and strategies; they go over their magic items to decide what to replace or swap, count their money, and brainstorm what to do next.

Finally, Nolin, Shara and Agar have _identified_ or _legend lored_ everything that they’ve found.  It’s a fairly sizeable list!


Tom-Tom got a *Power Stone of Control Sound*, a *Potion of Water Breathing*, and five various *psionic tattoos*.

Velendo got a coral *Necklace of Water Breathing* and the *Grimrod*, a rod of metamagic that allows him to maximize three spells per day, and quicken one spell per day.

Tao got a feathered *Cloak of Feather Falling*, a *Nosering of Natural Armor* (+4; she’ll probably use it as an earring), and the *Greatsword +1 "Neckslitter"* (effective against creatures with +5 Damage Reduction.)

Mara received a *Belt of Giant Strength +4*, a *Potion of Water Breathing*, and a *Potion of Endurance. *

Nolin took the psionic *Ring of Dragonfire* (manifests _breath of the dragon_ once per day), and a *Quaal's Token of an Anchor. *

Malachite got a *Ring of Swimming* (actually bringing his swimming score up to positive numbers!), a *Cape of the Mounteback*, a* Potion of Water Breathing*, and a *Potion of Endurance.  *

Raevynn received a *Quiver of Greater Magic Weapon* usable once per day, giving her a renewable supply of +3 arrows for her bow.

Agar received an almost-Used-Up *Necklace of Missiles*; as the cohort, he offered to wait for a better pick next time.

Shara took a *Wand of Unexpected Love*, a wand with a Valentine heart on the end that trails golden sparkles when swung through the air. It casts _charm person_ on a target of the same gender, and an improved version of the spell (a lot like the old 2e _philter of love_ on people of the opposite gender. It’s worth noting that it will affect targets based on their own personal gender preferences.

Undistributed:  *Scrolls* of _Water Breathing, Water Walking, Greater Magic Weapon, Harm,_ and _Jumpcircle._ (_Jumpcircle_ is a _dimension door_ variant of _teleport circle_, with a much shorter range and a much shorter duration.)

Selling: *Heavy Crossbow +1, Leather Armor +4, * and a *Greatsword +2*

Possibly Selling, Possibly Using To Arm Dwarves: *Chainmail +2, Leather Armor +1, * and a *Longsword +1*

Destroying: *Ring of Urchins*, *Evil Trident Head*.

Handing Over To The Authorities:  *+2 Short Sword of Disease*.

The _Ring of Urchins_ was especially disturbing to several people; when Nolin put it on during the _identify_, several children down the street started robbing strangers, only to dazedly deliver the ill-gotten gains to Nolin at the Temple of Calphas. The paladins and Velendo were horrified, and although Nolin and TomTom thought it was kind of cool, it went on the “to be destroyed” list.

At long last, everything was sorted and distributed, when another knock sounded on the door.  “What is it _again_?” asks an aggrieved Velendo. “Another child to see you, your Grace,” answers the cleric, and a small boy enters the room.

“Hi there!” he says.  “I understand that you have something to deliver, and I’m supposed to tell you where something is.  Are you waiting for something called a ‘Brindle’?”

_To be continued…._

Next game: Confronting the assassin!


----------



## Piratecat

The young boy isn’t charmed or enchanted, and explains that someone has paid him a pittance to deliver the message and pick up a package.  Deciding to trust the mysterious man that they’ve made a deal with, they place the large magical sapphire in a bag and hand in to the boy. In turn, the boy gives them an address of a warehouse in Eversink. “Your brindle should be there!” he says cheerily, and leaves the Temple. The Defenders watch him magically for a few minutes to make sure he isn’t mugged, and then prepares to go and collect Brindle.

Ahhh, Brindle. First met in the trillith’s Library of Screams, strapped to a table and flayed raw, he was perhaps the only victim to have preserved even a fraction of his sanity. His psionic power had managed to preserve his mind under torture, and he used those psionics to possess Tao’s dead body after the trillith’s astral constructs had killed her.  Brindle had been a rogue assassin, on the run from the Children of Lethe, and the Defenders had given him a new lease on life when they had his battered body taken from the demiplane and healed.  The next they knew of him was when his hired wizards tried to kidnap the Defenders in a canal ambush. And now? Now with any luck, he was delivered to them in a nice safe package.  Luckily, the Defenders’ negotiations had demanded a means to nullify psionics, and it had been promised to them.

The Defenders took an hour or so to prepare specific spells. Soon they were standing in front of a row of dingy warehouses, moss-covered and work-stained. Above their heads one of the city’s two massive stone bridges arched across the sky, more than fifty feet up. An occasional workman walked by on business, giving the Defenders odd looks, but there was no sign of guards or assassins.

TomTom popped the lock on the warehouse door with scarcely a second thought. In the dark, musty space stood stacks of crates, rising up towards the ceiling. On them, placed carefully, was a rolled up carpet.

Unrolling the carpet on the warehouse floor revealed a bruised and unconscious man with pinkish skin and pinched features: Brindle. His arms were bound with oddly silver manacles, a linked silver neck-manacle clamped around his neck as well.  Velendo prepared for questioning by casting seven _zones of truth_. Of the Defenders, only Nolin is affected, but the hope is that Brindle had succumbed.  Velendo heals him back to consciousness, and Brindle’s eyes visibly widened and contracted as he recognized his “rescuers.”  “Oh thank the Gods,” he started, “You’ve saved me!”  He tries to activate a psionic power; electricity arcs along the manacles, and Brindle screams.

“Saved you?” answered Velendo, “That remains to be seen. We’re going to ask you a lot of questions. You can’t use psionics and you can’t lie; but how helpful and complete you are is going to make a big difference in what happens to you.”

“A *big* difference,” echoes Malachite in an intimidating growl, fists clenched and looming over the recumbent assassin.  “Your life is solely in the hands of the people who saved you once and who you then betrayed. I recommend you make the correct decision.”

Brindle does.

He throws himself on the mercy of the Defenders and confesses everything. Working backwards under sharp questioning, he explains that he had been blackmailed by Caladone Markworthy, the missing Lord Griggan Clearwater’s second-in-command, the protégé who once had been considered the heir apparent to House Clearwater. His plan had been to kidnap the Defenders and hold them in high-security cells in the basement of the Rakers Prison. That would require bribing guards, but Brindle had already taken care of that. With the Defenders captive, Markworthy could then blackmail Sharala to renounce her claim to House Clearwater and to admit what she had done with Lord Griggan.

Brindle swears that he has no great love for Lord Griggan.  He had been on the run from the local assassin’s guild, the Children of Lethe, when the trillith had taken him. He had been running from the assassins because they wanted him dead; they wanted him dead because he had done three free-lance assassinations in Eversink, and that was strictly against the assassins’ code. The assassinations were free-lance because Brindle had fled the Children of Lethe; he fled from the Guild because he had killed another member over a woman. “I guess I’ve made some bad choices,” Brindle says miserably, “and I was trying to get away from this city and make a fresh start somewhere else when Markworthy contacted me. But my past… my past keeps dragging me back.”  Revolted by the reluctantly-confessed trail of murders, the Defenders can’t help but agree.

The Defenders have a purely mental discussion, standing around the nervous assassin, silently debating his fate as they stand over him in the shadows. They could kill him; they could turn him in to the authorities; they could turn him over to the Children of Lethe; they could let him go.  They lean towards turning him over to the authorities until someone realizes that he knows all about the demiplane in the basement of House Clearwater.  Not only is Griggan still trapped in the demiplane, it’s a source of Eversink information that could precipitate a local civil war if the other Houses learned about it. It’s a secret that should be kept, and Brindle is absolutely capable of talking about it in order to save his own life.  What to do?

“TomTom,” asks Velendo mentally as Brindle fidgets nervously at Tao’s merciless stare, “Can you change Brindle’s memory?”

“Oh yeah,” answers TomTom. “I have a psionic helm that should be able to do just that. We took it from those githyanki on the Astral Plane.  It should do the trick, if we do it right.  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”  All of the Defenders confer a bit longer, and then turn back to Brindle.  

“Brindle,” they begin, “do you really want another chance?”

“Yes!” he squeaks excitedly, clearly already having accepted the fact that he was about to die – or be handed over to the Children of Lethe, a fate worth than death. “Anything you’ll consider! I’d love to restart, to leave Eversink and never return!” (_”Take me with you,”_ mutters Raevynn.)  If it helps, I’ll give you the money I’ve saved. Will it help?”

Eyes light up.  “Really, take it, whatever you decide to do with me!”  Brindle tells them where it is hidden, underwater in a canal, and describes the traps keeping it safe.  

“Treasure or not,” says Velendo, “We’re going to be merciful and give you another chance. But you’ll need to start a new life, and choose a new profession.”

Brindle’s face falls. “But killing people is all I know how to do,” he says. Seeing the Defenders faces at that statement, he quickly adds, “But I’m willing to learn!”

TomTom continues, “It will probably be best if you start with a new identity, as well.”  Brindle nods in agreement.  “We’re going to give you new memories to make it easier. You must have alternate identities?”

“Yes,” answers Brindle, clutching at the only straw available. “A few.  How about a merchant named Roodlin?  I… you’ve been merciful to me, better than I deserve. My life is in your hands. I… I guess I trust you.”  The _zone of truth_ is still active; clearly, he’s telling the truth.

Malachite, with Mara at his side, interrupts.  “Not so fast.  First you must vow to give up your old ways. This is a memory that’s going to remain; you must swear.”

Brindle looks up at the two paladins, fearful, his eyes wide. “I swear to live my life… to live my life in a manner that I think would make you proud.”

“That will do.”  Mara and Malachite nod at each other in approval, and TomTom slips the psionic helm over Brindle’s head. His eyes roll up in his head, and TomTom goes to work altering his memories. They implant the new identity, confusing his memories of the location of the demiplane and (while he remembers having killed people in the past) imparting a new repugnance of murder and violence. With luck, he’ll be a new man.

“Where shall we leave him?” someone asks. “How about Mechanus?” answers Raevynn, thinking of the worst place she knows.  “Good idea!” says everyone.  At Tao’s suggestion, Velendo casts _quest_ on the unconscious assassin ~ errr, ex-assassin and new merchant.

“I think he’ll stay busy,” says the elderly cleric, smiling. “He’s going to be filled with an overriding urge to discover why the modrons are all marching early.”  

And with the casting of a _planeshift_, Tao delivers Brindle to the gears of Mechanus, and the start of a new life.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

theRuinedOne said:
			
		

> *Hmm, using a psionic helm to affect someone who has their own psionics inhibited by special manacles?  Not sure if I'd trust that, but that's the players' choice.  [Remember the Rat Bastard part!!] *




Whoops! They stripped off the manacles first. Brindle was cowed enough that he didn't try to flee when they did so.  If they hadn't taken off the inhibitor, the feedback would have killed him.

That whole twist surprised me. TomTom has never used that helm, and actually trying to redeem Brindle hadn't even occurred to me!  They handled it beautifully, and even though Sito's old character Claris (a pilgrim of Vindus, the God of Vengeance and Justice) wouldn't have approved, I think the Defenders were quite proud of themselves. They solved several problems at once, and didn't create any new ones.


----------



## Artoomis

I rarely post in the Story Hour to avoid discussions taking over from the story, but I really wanted to say that the latest forgiveness of an assassin is what good characters *do*.  Too cool.  A reformed assassin.  MAJOR brownie points (though taking the law into their own hands might count against paladins).

Piratecat:  I love you, man.  (I know, I know, I still can't have your Bud Lite.)

P.S. Piratecat - have you ever played a computer game called "Captain Claw?"  An arcade-style computer game about a pirate who also happens to be a cat (and a good guy, more or less).  Complete wth dog bad guys, of course!

edit:  P.P.S.  Check out:

Captain Claw 

For more details and a picture of Captain Claw himself

P.P.P.S.  An animated gif of Captan Claw shooting his pistol.

Shooting


----------



## CRGreathouse

*Re: Oh for the love of...*



			
				Hatchling Dragon said:
			
		

> *I've seen mention of Modrons and Mechanus quite a few times so far, yet I still don't know what they are, Modrons that is.  I've caught a little bit about Mechanus while paging through a Manual of the Planes at a local game shop, but didn't have time (and forgot) to look for/at any possible entries on Modrons.*




http://www.wizards.com/dnd/article.asp?x=dnd/we/we20010921a


----------



## Piratecat

There is a delightful pair of Planescape adventures by Monte Cook named "The Great Modron March" and "Dead Gods."  I don't want any spoilers in this thread, but suffice to say that the modrons (creatures of pure law that do everything like clockwork) began their march around all of the outer planes more than a hundred years early.  The Defenders started the adventure and went to go watch hundreds of thousands of modrons marching across the Outlands.  Watching all the hangers-on and other tourists, they looked at each other and said, "You know, I don't really _care_ why the modrons are marching. There's lots of people here; I bet one of them will figure it out."  Then they went back to Sigil, and eventually home.

I could have cried.

So now, when things get slow, one of them turns to the others and comments, "I wonder what those modrons are doing about now."  Bastards.

- Piratecat


----------



## coyote6

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *So now, when things get slow, one of them turns to the others and comments, "I wonder what those modrons are doing about now."  Bastards.*




Maybe the modrons can march through the White Kingdom.


----------



## Piratecat

We played tonight, with fellow board-member Gargoyle (James Garr, of Chainmail Bikini Games) guest-starring as a great Agar.  This game had combat, puzzles, loot, roleplaying, and diplomacy ~ everything you could ask for!  Highlights include:

- KidCthulhu rolling FOUR consecutive natural 20's in a row (that's a 1 in 168,000 chance, incidentally) with her PC's new rapier!

- TomTom with a bad psionic headache

- Raevynn with "canal cough"

- Agar peering into an endless void

- Nolin surrounded by rings of field mice, bunnies, birds, deer, hyenas, and dire lions as he sings to the animals on the Beastlands

- Beaching a pirate ship

- A visit to Ioun's tower

- And some extremely disturbing news about the new undead General in charge of the church of Aeos!


----------



## Piratecat

Fade said:
			
		

> *
> Isn't that fact that he's, well, an undead priest of a sun god disturbing enough? *




That's pretty disturbing. To Mara, who had a 20 minute meeting with the skeletal knight, it's even _more_ disturbing that his name is General Aleax. Presumably the original.  And now Mara has to make a choice: support her friends, and be deemed a heretic, or support the church, and betray her duty. Especially since it appears that Sir Malachite has had his holy order disbanded, and might technically be a heretical knight himself....

Things are about to get interesting.

- Piratecat


----------



## KidCthulhu

In response to the comments

1. Yes, the undead formerly known as Aleax is indeed a distubing, and inconvenient occurence.  We know PC is up to something, but don't know quite what yet.

2.  The impromptu concert for the animals was fun, although the dire rhinos and dire lions did get into a bit of a fight after Nol finished.  We sang "we're going to the zoo (where we'll rip the bars open and free all the animals)"

3.  I think the "pay to watch" thing is a great idea.  If only PC hadn't signed on with Bugaboo's franchise.  But now we have to give him a cut of the take...

4.  Four 20s.  It was miraculous.  I'll probably fall down the stairs and break my leg today, having used up all my luck.


----------



## Piratecat

> *Originally posted by Alaric
> 
> What i want to know is the story behind the name Defenders of Daybreak? Was everyone's favorite adventuring party saving a commune full of idealist priestesses?*




Got it backwards; the town was named after the group!  Cadrienne founded the town with the survivors of a shrinking orb that had left them shrunken for two generations (Dungeon Magazine's _Chadrathar's Bane_. This is also the adventure where Nolin was killed by inch-tall goblins while wearing the _cloak of the phoenix_, precipitating his rebirth and future phoenix-hood.)  When they broke the orb, all the creatures affected by it returned to full size, most of whom had NEVER been full size before. The ratriders were especially confused.

"The Defenders of Daybreak" name came from the group's repeated confrontation with a nasty little Imbindarlin cult known as the Brotherhood of Night. Obsessed with extinguishing the sun and bringing on endless night, this group was the Defender's primary bane for years. They sacrificed TomTom's bodyguard (and almost his uncle!), they opened up a gate to shadow underneath the capitol, they started a civil war using doppelgangers as agents, they parleyed with mind flayers, they killed the King, and ultimately they pulled a star from the heavens and sent it hurtling at the planet.  Not nice folks.  The Defenders have led a movement amongst the other churches to once again eradicate the cult, and it seems to have been quite successful.

Of course, Nolin's legend lore indicates that the people who first unleashed true ghouls in the underdark were Imbindarla (Goddess of undead and the dark things in the night) worshippers. Cult members too? Unknown.


----------



## Sialia

Piratecat, please edit the above post. The pronoun "they" has an unclear antecedent.

Just for the record, it was the Brotherhood of Night who did all the bad stuff, not the Defenders. We stopped them from doing those horrible things. 

It took us five or six years of real time to play, which is a long time to focus on a particular task and had a lot to do with the original group's sense of identity and purpose,and PC threatened to complete the campaign at the end of the comet cycle because he foolishly thought we were done.

I'm not sure what changed his mind, because I left after about year five, but I think his solution was to realize that while we were done saving the world from endless night, there were still a lot of other things to save the world from out there. That was about five years ago by my count.

One of my most favorite moments of the campaign against the Brotherhood of Night was when Arcade Deltarion, fresh young mage and chief puzzle solver of the group,(and something of a social climber--naming the group so we could get good PR was his Big Idea) spent a desperate 15 or 20 minutes trying to unravel one of PC's puzzles, (while the rest of the Defenders sat around admiring the scenery) only to realize that the villain's name, Nostradis Ghend, was an anagram which we needed to unravel in order to activate the black portal. 

At truly amazing speed he unanagrammed it, only to cry out, "Dread Night Snos?" whereupon Glimmer blipped him over the head and said "Dread Night's Son, you blockhead."

Dread Night Snos.

I still get a good chuckle out of that one.

Also, just of for the record, the town of Daybreak isn't exactly a commune. It swears Fealty to the Duke of Beryl and is run by an elected Town Council which reports to him and is responsible for paying the taxes. Cadrienne acts as an advisor to the Council, but is primarily occupied with founding the University of Daybreak, an institution wherein any person can find instruction in any study. But the town does have  certain unusual policies with regards to communal property, and group living arrangements, and the university has a liberal admissions policy that does not discrimminate on the basis of alignment or species.


----------



## Piratecat

With Brindle taken care of, the Defenders loot his cache, disabling the trap and clearing out a strong box packed with golden trade bars. They then return to the bay, heading back to the harbor to see what else the Dockside Royals were hiding in their underwater trap.

Underwater, they trigger the trapdoor that TomTom had detected, and watch horrified as it sinks 30’ and activates spiked gates; anyone stuck to the gluey surface of the falling stone trapdoor would have found themselves underwater and impaled by rusty spikes. 

Swimming down, they move through a twisty passageway and enter a large, dark cavern. In it are two Large force bubbles. Filled with air, they bob near the ceiling, one holding five chests and one containing a large, paper-filled desk.  Unfortunately, the force bubbles are much too large to fit out through the narrow entrance, and somehow magically popping them would expose the contents to water.

“No problem,” says Tao. “I’ll open a _gate_ to the Beastlands and move us, the water, and the giant bubbles of loot right through to someplace warm and dry.”

“You can do that?” asks the party members (and the DM!) incredulously.

“Oh yeah,” she answers smugly, and the fabric of space rips shriekingly open. Water surges forward along with the force balls, and the Defenders find themselves sprawled on the grassy veldt, under a shockingly blue sky, in a realm of clean air and pure nature. A loud *SNORT!* makes them look up….

To see four Huge rhinos, covered with wild hair and pulsing with the rainbow-colored energy of pure chaos, charging right for them. The ground shakes as their feet hit the ground, and the Defenders suddenly know what it feels like to be in the path of a juggernaut.

_…to be continued…_

Next (longer!) episode: Dire Lions vs. Anarchic Rhinos! Loot aplenty and a famous ship! A new guest star for Agar!  And religious developments of an unsettling sort….


----------



## Piratecat

The rhinos charge, heads down, horns gleaming, breath steaming in the fresh air.  Before they get close enough to trample, Raevynn _wild shapes_ into a dire lion. She thinks this might intimidate the rhinos into veering off. Unfortunately, it seems to have the opposite effect, and the rhinos veer *towards* her instead of away from her.  Agar fires an _acid orb_ at the alpha male, and Velendo casts _tongues_ and then uses a _greater command_ to command the rhinos away. It doesn’t work; apparently the rhinos aren’t smart enough to be affected, and they smash into both Malachite and Raevynn’s dire lion.  The rhino attacking Malachite _smites law_ as it impales him on the spike, chaotic energy spiking through his body as the huge horn crumples his armor.  Raevynn is also hurt, hit by two of the other three beasts.  Tao lifts her head from where she was flung by the water, sees the combat and swears. “I guess we won’t bother trying to talk to them, huh?”  She shifts into unicorn form and tries to talk to them anyways, but they ignore her; Galanna isn’t the only God on the Beastlands, and wherever these chaos-creatures are from, they don’t seem to care about what kind of divine power she represents.

Nolin casts _mass haste_, and within seconds lightning flashes. Acid sprays and smokes. Swords and maces slash into rippling gray rhino hide. Impaled on a horn, Malachite slashes his sword into the rhino’s head again and again, and with a thunderous snort the rhino throws him off, staggering on its feet. The other rhinos concentrate their attacks on Raevynn. She tries to use her dire lion form to pounce on one of them, but the other beasts do their best to gore her, and within seconds she has blood streaming down her flanks. She roars in pain, and even as the bull rhino goes down, the Defenders turn to help her.  As soon as she can, Raevynn wild shapes back to normal form, hoping that it might confuse the beasts. It works; one of them stands there for a few seconds, prodding her gently with its horn, trying to understand where the humongous lion went.

Then _flame strikes_, _biocurrent_, and _fireballs_ slam down, along with a fiery blast from Nolin’s new psionic _ring of dragon’s breath._  As Mara, Tao and Malachite move forwards swinging their weapons, two more of the anarchic rhinos fall with rumbling crunches; even in death, their bodies ripple with chaos-energy.  The last beast is still healthy, though, and Nolin makes a radical decision: “I’m actually going to use a weapon!”  Flying above the rhino with his new rapier out, he swoops down and stabs the anarchic rhino twice.

He then rolls *four* 20’s in a row.  One chance in 160,000, right there in front of me. And the KidCthulhu reminds me that Nolin’s new rapier is a Knight of the Horn weapon that can _lignify_ on a successful critical, turning an opponent into a plant.  I roll the rhino’s saving throws…. And the rhino gets the opposite end of Nolin’s luck.

It freezes for just a second, lifting its head, and then a huge brown trunk sprouts out of its belly and buries itself deep into the fertile ground. The iridescent horn becomes a thick branch, and its rippling gray skin shimmers and explodes into a profusion of leaves.  Nolin is still hovering on his fiery wings, and below him stands a tremendous Rhino Tree.

Looking up at it in awe, someone mumbles, “I wonder what kind of fruit it will sprout?”

After healing and cleaning themselves off, the Defenders examine the huge force bubbles full of objects.  One of them has five tumbled chests in it, and the other one has a desk covered with spilled papers.  Checking with _true seeing_, TomTom notices that the bubbles seem to be filled with some kind of vapor invisible to the naked eye.  Concerned about what it may be, Nolin casts _legend lore_ on it.

While waiting, TomTom strolls up to the force bubble with the desk and manifests _clairtangency_. Using the sheer power of his mind to grasp them, he picks papers up and holds them up to the edge for everyone to read.

It takes him a minute to realize what he has.  “Holy cow!" he says.  "This whole desk is full of blackmail materials for people in Eversink!”

_…to be continued…_  Thanks again to James Garr, Gargoyle, who played Agar!


----------



## Piratecat

A _detect poison_ spell reveals that the globes are full of poison gas. Nolin’s _legend lore_ reveals what kind, when he learns,


* “Lungbane shrivels,
   Not from nature,
      Chokes the flesh and
         Slays the soul.”*
Good thing they figured it out, too; they were very close to _dimension dooring_ into one of the force globes, which might have been disastrous.  After several plans are checked by Tao’s use of divination magic, an easier solution is conceived.  Velendo casts _neutralize poison_ on one of the globes.  A _detect poison_ orison indicates that the spell has apparently made the air inside completely safe. Agar _disintegrates_ the globe surrounding the five sea chests, and the gleeful looting begins.

Meanwhile, TomTom’s research using _clairtangency_ on the desk papers is producing slow results. He finds dirt on three of the major Eversink houses, including House Clearwater. He finds proof that the youngest son of House Roaringbrook attempted to have the trade delegation ship first carrying the Defenders (and a hold full of flowstone) to Eversink sunk by minotaur pirates; apparently, he was acting to disrupt the trade negotiations between the two countries. TomTom also finds commodity bonds, a deed to a dockside bar and adjoining flophouse, a sea rutter detailing navigational instructions, a spellbook, and several other odds and ends.

When the other globe is _disintegrated_, TomTom begins experiencing a disturbing psionic buzzing. He quickly tracks it down to the smallest of the five chests, and he orders Mara to take it hundreds of feet away.  Tao uses her helm to cast _clairvoyance_ inside the chest, and using the _darkvision_ granted by Agar’s spell  sees a large, hairy spider surrounded by some sort of crystallized goo, almost like a fly trapped in amber. The group decides not to open the chest.

The other chests are full of interesting things, once TomTom disarms the poison needle traps protecting them. One is full of a shimmering, sliding heap of 6000 golden coins, more than 120 lbs of foreign treasure. Another contains rare antiquities from around the world: a magical tinderbox, ivory statuettes of warriors, an exquisite jade statue of a naked woman with lobster head and claws, beaded gnomish vests, halfling wooden carvings, an infernally-forged pirate hook, and various other trinkets.  The fourth chest is extremely large and radiates conjuration magic; when opened, Agar and TomTom stare down into an endless void as butterflies launch themselves from the inside of the lid. In the miles of empty space they can see clouds, birds, and a deep blue sky.  “Elemental plane of air,” says Agar definitively. “This is a free-standing portal. Quite valuable!” He takes a pull on his pipe, the aromatic smoke being blown away by the sharp breeze blowing from the open sea chest. “Fascinating….”

The last sea chest contains swashbuckling clothing, a parrot skeleton, a magically sharp hook, a treasure map depicting an unknown island shaped like a shark, and a solid wooden box wrapped in a Jolly Roger flag and marked with the symbol of Psorga, God of the Seas. Excited, the group tries several things with the box including getting it wet, and steps back hurriedly as it begins to expand: chunk! chunK! chuNK! chUNK! cHUNK! *CHUNK!*  Within seconds, a huge two-decked pirate ship named “The Bloody Grail” eclipses the sky, before slowly toppling sideways on the sun-drenched grass of the Beastlands, still covered with barnacles and the ragged scars of her last battle. Nolin has heard of The Bloody Grail before – she’s infamous for striking fast and then disappearing – and if the Defenders can fix her, they now own her.  

About this time the group’s attention is caught by the nearby standing stones, which serve as a _portal_ to Sigil, the city in the center of the multiverse. The portal hums, crackles, and a man steps through. No, not a man… golden skin, huge white wings, pure white robes, and golden eyes like the wrath of God itself: an angel.  His eye is caught by the rather unusual sight of the pirate ship toppled over on the veldt.  Tao strides towards him as he turns, and he almost starts at the aura of divine radiance coming from her as well. * “Greeting, sister,”* he rumbles; his voice is like the clarion call of a hundred trumpets. *“May I be of assistance?”*

“No,” answers Tao matter-of-factly.  “We have everything under control.”

*“Very good,”* says the angel. *“My greetings to your Goddess, and my blessings on your endeavors.”*  With a thankful smile from Tao, he beats his wings once and swirls into the air in a hurricane of wind. Within seconds he has flown out of sight, and everyone lets out a long breath.  

“Wow,” says Agar. 

No one can figure out how to close the pirate ship back up, though, so they expand their unique _Daern’s Instant Fortress_ (known as the Flickering Needle) and try to grab some sleep.  They agree that in the morning a few people should walk through the nearby portal to Sigil, with the intention of selling the _elemental air chest_ and several other items, and commissioning or buying several items that the group would like to have.  Their sleep is interrupted by a group of planewalkers leaving Sigil and intending to investigate the beached ship; warned off by a Defender trying to be intimidating, they hastily head somewhere else. And eventually, although the sun has not changed position in the ever-blue sky, morning comes.

_…to be continued…_

Next: Bursting a bubble, a brief trip to Sigil, a visit to the Aeotian Mother Church, and a very unpleasant surprise for Mara!


----------



## Piratecat

With new spells prepared, Agar pops the second force bubble, and TomTom confiscates most of the blackmail documents to bring home to his own King. (At home, TomTom is the head of The Shadowhands, an organization of psionic spies who specialize in rooting out treason and keeping the kingdom safe.) The group debates whether or not the documents should be returned to the people they are about, but it is decided that the people might be suspicious instead of full of goodwill.  

“Also,” says Mara, “They might be suspicious if we try to turn over this sort of information.  We don’t want them to think we’re spies. “

TomTom looks aggrieved. “Mara,” he says patiently, “I *am* a spy.”

“Oh, right,” she answers, looking surprised. “Exactly.” She gives him a funny look.

A trip to Sigil by several party members takes all day. They are forced to track down their factor in Sigil, a Guvnor and lawyer who they met during the great Modron March. He gladly agrees to help them, offering to find buyers for their items and to hunt for the items that they need.  Nolin also hunts down his tiefling lover Telay’s old apartment; her old landlady in the bakery downstairs says that they sold most of her belongings at auction when Telay’s pre-paid rent ran out. “Can’t have the place empty forever,” the fat woman says sadly, “but we do miss the dear.”

Back on the Beastlands, Nolin tries to _scry_ Telay, but fails. He’s worried about her. What’s she doing wandering the Underdark, anyways?

After divinations reveal the command word to close The Bloody Grail back up into a small box, the group _plane shifts_ back to the Prime.  They aim for a spot a thousand miles from Eversink, a part of the continent most of them haven’t been in for years.

Half the group (including Nolin, TomTom, Velendo, and Agar) _wind walked_ to see their acquaintance Emperor Congenio Ioun. Five years ago, the Lord Shaper Ioun (inventor of the Ioun Stone) was discovered by the Defenders when they entered a time-trapped pass that had been relatively undisturbed since the time of the great Mage Wars thousands of years before. They had disrupted the curse and freed the Lord Shaper from essentially a permanent _time stop_. Since then the wizard had acted to become an Emperor, fighting a war against orcish and skeletal threats while absorbing dozens of cities into his Protectorate. The Lord Shaper still owed the Defenders a debt of honor, though, so Velendo and TomTom hoped that he would supply the Defenders with powerful resources.

The other half of the group heads south, to the magical trading city of Corsai. Corsai was originally built by genies before being abandoned, and a number of the buildings and fountains are still magical. This is the new home of the Mother Church of Aeos, moved here after its original home was overrun and decimated by nomadic orc barbarians known as the Mang.  Malachite and Mara plan to see the church and learn more about the new “undead saint”, and Tao plans to hunt for her missing _girdle of giant strength_ stolen a year ago from her by the Skaven monk T’Cri.

Coming in to the city, it is apparent that a vast army of many thousand warriors is encamped outside. The three Defenders split up; Malachite investigates the army, Tao searches for her property, and Mara heads for the Mother Church itself.   She knows that a new holy writ has changed church canon regarding the inherent evil of undeath, and she doesn’t like it one bit. Learning more seems to be in order. She plans to ask the church for assistance and magical items that will help the Defenders fight the ghouls of the White Kingdom.

Mara’s eyes widen at the sight of Corsai. She passes a pyramidal building balanced on a tip and slowly rotating, a fountain spurting flame, a tower made of ice. Approaching the Mother Church, she sees that the entire *Book of the Sun* is engraved in the wide alabaster steps that surround the huge church. She enters reverently, and prays before asking an Acolyte to find her a priest named Tolliver.  She hears the distant sound of construction.

Father Tolliver is a lean, gangly cleric with a warm smile.  He gives her a tour, explaining that a chapel is being ripped down to make way for a new chapel to a saint.  “It’s created quite a problem in the church,” he says sadly. “With the furor caused by the…undead nature… of the Saint, the Knights of the Emerald Chapel have joined some clerics in rebelling against church policy. The Knights have thus been declared heretical and dissolved, either to be brought under the aegis of the Church Militant or excommunicated. It’s very sad.” He shakes his head.  “But undead or not, he is blessed by Aeos, and we must respect His divine decree.”

“But who is this new Saint?” asks Mara. “I know he’s undead, I’ve heard that, but what is his name?”  Father Tolliver opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t get a chance, because a metallic and cold voice rasps out from behind Mara.

*“Sir Aleax.”*

Mara spins to see a… knight?... clad in gleaming golden armor, flashing in the mid-day sun coming from the skylight. The polished helm is clutched under one arm, a huge sword across his back.  Nevertheless, Mara can’t drag her gaze away from the bone-white skull rising from the armor.  The eyes are deep pits of shadow, the teeth gleam, and not a scrap of flesh remains on the old bones.  *”I am he.  I’ve heard reports about you.  Come to my office.”*  The skeletal knight turns abruptly on his heel and strides away, as Mara gapes at Tolliver.  

“Aleax?” she thinks to herself. “But if that’s Aleax… who’s in the sword?”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Sagiro

Rashak Mani said:
			
		

> *Just checked out Velendas and Malachite "character sheet"... they are very very normal... thru the PC storyhour one would think they are uberpowerful... but hey they are normal
> 
> I might even add that then dont have much magical stuff... nothing over the top... I know PC has another thread worried about their item choices/shopping.   Their AC is quite low for their level I thought... hehe *




For fun, I did a quick-n-dirty valuation of Velendo's magic items.  Oddly enough, that value is much _higher_ than it should be "by the book."   According to the DMG, a 16th-level PC should have 260,000 gp value, and a 17th-level PC should have 340,000 gp.  Velendo is most of the way to 17th level, so let's say 300,000 gp is about right for him.

By my calculations, he's got 383,000 gp worth of magic items alone, and that doesn't include a 48,000 gp _necklace of iron body_ on semi-permanent loan to Mara.   It also doesn't include the fact that his shield can serve as a _talisman of pure good_, which you could argue raises the value upwards of half a million!

Granted, almost half the value comes from one recently-acquired item.  The _grimrod_ lets you Maximize 3 spells per day, and Quicken 1 spell per day.  It has a market value of about 150,000 gp!  In order, the value of his best items are:

Grimrod: 150,000 gp
Rod of Security: 61,000 gp
Bracers of Armor +6: 36,000 gp
Rod of Thunder & Lightning: 23,000 gp
Rod of Authority: 21,000 gp
Shield +3, acts as an Immovable Rod: 17,000 gp (not including its power as a minor artifact!)

Those six items right there account for _more_ than what the DMG says is the expected value of loot for a PC of Velendo's level.  

No, I don't have any issues with PCat scrimping on the magic items.  But I still think we're underpowered for a "typical" party of our level.  We're not streamlined for offense; note for instance that of the 6 items above, two are AC enhancers, one is an escape hatch, one is only useful against undead, and one is basically a source of one easy-to-save-against _lightning bolt_ per day. 

We sure are streamlined for role-playing, though!  

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

DoctorB said:
			
		

> *I am constantly amazed at how PC manages to challenge his high-level party in spite of their incredible abilities.*




Heh - I know how you're challenging the PCs in your game and in your story hour. Generous praise!

It's really easy in 3e. Combat-wise, it took minutes to take rhinos from the MM, boost their hit dice somewhat, and slap the "anarchic" template (from the Manual of the Planes) on them. Voila! Instant challenge, and since no one knows the details of the anarchic template, not much meta-game thinking.

The real trick is challenging both the players and the characters. That is the primary reason the game has turned more towards politics in the last few years; I need challenges that are going to make the *players* have to think, plot and plan. I used to use riddles and puzzles, as Arcade (Bandeeto) loved them, but they tended to end up being something that one person works on while five people discuss out-of-game stuff.  Nowadays, I raise the stakes and make it personal. 

For instance, Mara and Malachite can have a fundamental effect on their religion's future, as well as the future of several countries... and their relationship between themselves, if you think of Mara as a more "orthodox" paladin and Malachite as part of a "heretical" or splinter group.  It's all about hard choices. Even better, there are not necessarily any "right" choices, as every action has consequences.  That kind of risk makes it fun for me as a DM! 

It's sort of liberating to say to yourself, "this point is a fulcrum; what the PCs do has far-reaching effects. They will decide the future of the campaign, and the world will change based on what they choose to do." It keeps my world from becoming static and totally predictable. This same sort of choice happens with NPCs too, so it isn't entirely PC-centric.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *an exquisite jade statue of a naked woman with lobster head and claws*




I would _Strongly_ recommend against anyone holding this statue and saying Blibdoolpoolp... 

Cheers


----------



## Sito Rotavele

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> 
> It's sort of liberating to say to yourself, "this point is a fulcrum; what the PCs do has far-reaching effects. They will decide the future of the campaign, and the world will change based on what they choose to do."
> 
> *




Actions have consequences.  Not to increase his hat size, but this is one of the things that PC knows best and does best - for the world at large, for the party, and for individual characters.

Sometimes the actions and consequences are planned.  Velendo was ordered by Calphas (was this a direct order, Sagiro?)  to release an evil cleric that had been imprisoned in the temple of Calphas.  That cleric caused a critical distraction to our enemies at a critical time.  

The whole White Kingdom adventure is rooted in how we, as a group, handled an encounter that wasn't part of the main mission at the time (If we open that can of worms again, I promise to move it to Siala's early DOD thread at the appropriate time).  And furthermore, that encounter happened (wait for it)  FIVE YEARS AGO in real time.  Waiting that long to drop the other shoe adds realism - actions have consequences in his world and those consequences multiply and get bigger over time, just like they do IRL.

Without pumping his ego too much, that's a big part of the reason I still like to tag along vicariously with the group.  PC tells stories with creativity AND realiasm - that's hard to do by itself.  But the real trick is patience.  Letting his players get around to some cleverness he's created on their schedule - that make you feel like you're writing the story too.


----------



## Piratecat

Kosh said:
			
		

> *
> What exactly is Sigil?...  By my guess, it's a plane of some sort...  At first I thought it was a place on the prime, but I'm doubting that now...  This whole time I've been reading the references to Sigil, but never did it occur to me that I didn't know what it was...
> 
> So fill me in!...*




Sigil is from 2e Planescape; it's the city at the center of the multiverse. If you picture the outer planes in a  great ring, with the Outlands (the plane of neutrality) in the center, Sigil is a city shaped like the inside of a tire floating above the top of a infinitely tall mountain spire.  Accessible only by portals and forbidden to the Gods, Sigil is a place where creatures from all over the multiverse congregate. Devas and demons may pass each other on the street - warily - and almost anything can be found there, for a price.  Sigil is largely controlled by factions, philosophically-oriented power groups that act to further their own causes.

It's a damn cool place. Follow the link in Ashy's .sig for the Planescape 3e site. In addition, you can download ESD's from WotC, with .pdf's of all the relevant planescape material.

And to get back on topic, time to link more of Littlejohn's art (from www.davidhendee.com)! 

*Aleax*


----------



## Piratecat

The skeletal saint strides into a beautifully appointed office, with tapestries depicting battle scenes and religious tableaus lining the walls. Mara follows closely behind him.

“Those are very beautiful,” says Mara, looking at the tapestries.  “What are they of?”  Sir Aleax’s head swivels to see if she is joking. She doesn’t appear to be. It’s hard to tell when a skull is frowning, but Aleax manages to give that impression.

* “Those two are excerpts of the Book of the Sun,” * he says, sounding disapproving. * “This is the Angel Aubros with his fiery shield. This is his Holiness Lantic at the battle of Nar Veglin.  These on the far wall are scenes from my own history. There I am entering the caverns at Abrundin; that’s a bad likeness of Morak next to me. There is an image of me as a boy, first hearing the call to service.  Perhaps religious education is not what it used to be, Mara Thornhill, but I was trained to know my history and religious lessons.” *  Sir Aleax sits down behind a large mahogany desk, his armor clanking as he pulls himself into the chair. The noon sun coming through the skylight reflects off of his armor, sending golden fragments of light across the room.

*"I've heard reports about you. You have the title of Commander.  You have led armies against the Necromancer Kings in the Sephanic Plains.  You were instrumental in acquiring funding for the Church through the great lending houses of Eversink.  You travel with Sir Malachite, of the former Emerald Chapel. On the battlefield you have the reputation of being brash, aggressive and fearless.  Why are you here?"*  The shadows where Sir Aleax's eyes should be hold Mara's gaze, and his voice is precise and steely. 

"Well," Mara stalls, thrown off balance and picking her words carefully. "I’ve never been to this Mother church before, and I wanted to meet you.  We’re planning a dangerous campaign against undead, and I wanted the church’s advice.  But first, if I may ask, why is there an army camped outside of the city?”
*
“I am now the head of the Church Militant, and that army is made up of the elite from our flock,” * he answers. * “Clerics, paladins, warriors, devout mercenaries, all recruited from the Church or from the standing armies of Lord Ioun. Soon we will launch the military campaign that will eradicate the Necromancers and their skeletal hordes for once and all.” *

Mara knew that a few years back the lands near Corsai had been overrun with orcish barbarians named the Mang, until the entire orcish army – more than 100,000 soldiers and war ponies – were struck down in the space of two weeks by a disease that affected only orcs. This happened too late to save the three countries that the Mang had overrun and burned to the ground, but early enough that the Mang didn’t cut a swathe across the entire continent. After the “orc rot plague” decimated their forces, outside necromancers noticed what was happening and moved in… harnessing the massive death energy to build themselves skeletal armies of deadly bow-using orcish skeletons riding on bone ponies. The necromancers chose a defensible home, settled in, and slowly expanded their borders while striving to wipe out the Church of Aeos once and for all.  Led by Lord Ioun, the refugees counter-attacked, and the war has raged since. Mara used to be a Commander in that war until the Church Militant detached her from duty and sent her to Eversink on a mission to acquire funding.

Now Aleax has commanded that the final push is coming… a strike at the heart of the Necromancer Kings’ city states themselves. For Mara, who had planned to ask for help in the form of undead-fighting magic items and war clerics, the timing of the Church Militant’s crusade is extremely poor.

Mara explains that she had intended to ask for help for her own mission, against the ghouls of the subterranean White Kingdom.  * “I know them well.”* Removing his armored gauntlets, Sir Aleax makes one skeletal hand into a fist.  * “I died stopping them the first time. But this, Commander, is more important.” *

Mara wrinkles her eyebrows at him, and asks, “But why? Can you help me understand? It certainly doesn’t seem so from our perspective. The ghouls are driving out most underdark races and are gaining momentum. If they aren’t stopped now, they’ll soon break out onto the surface.”

The skeleton leans forward, and Mara can see the polished bone of his spine descending down into the darkness of his armor.  He looks at her for a moment, as if weighing a decision. * “You deserve to know. What I’m about to tell you is a military secret. Spread it inadvertently, and you risk the failure of the entire military campaign.  The ghoulish advance at this time is nothing more than a distraction, engineered through communication between the Necromancers and the King of the Ghouls in order to divert our attention and dilute our forces.  As a result, you are needed here, not there.

“The Necromancers have an orb sacred to Imbindarla, the forever cursed Goddess of Undeath.  It is a foul object of power that allows them to directly control many thousand of undead at once. We have learned that if this orb is destroyed, it is likely that all existing undead will be destroyed for thousands of miles. Not just the skeletons, but the ghouls as well.  It is a weak chink in their armor, a vulnerability, and the ghouls appear to be desperate that we don’t exploit it.  In destroying the orb, I myself will most likely be destroyed, but that is a small price to pay. Aeos has altered his own teachings in the Book of the Sun to allow us to accomplish this task, and we, the church, shall not fail him.”*

Sir Aleax leans back into the sunshine. *“It is unfortunate that the Knights of the Emerald Chapel have picked this time to challenge church doctrine. As a result, the Chapellars has been dissolved. The members of the Order have been given a choice: stand in the light of the sun, or be riven from the faith and stand in shadow.  The Knights may join the Church Militant with full rank and honor, and many have.  Some have chosen to resign their commission and leave the Church’s service, forsaking their powers and duties. None will be permitted to represent the Church otherwise.  They, like you, Mara Thornhill, will have to make a choice: do you follow your faith in the Church, or do you choose to disregard the Holy Writs, and be banished thereby?”*

Sir Aleax looks at Mara.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Sagiro

But the question that should be on everyone's mind is:

How did the ponies die?

I mean, the plague only killed orcs, but now there's an army of orc-skeletons riding pony-skeletons.  I'd think the ponies would have been fine.  Plenty of good grass out there what with all the fertilizer, so they didn't starve.  Ioun should have swooped in and claimed all that good pony stock for himself, in the weeks/months before the Necromancer Gang moved in. 

So who cares about "Sir Ghouleax" and his army and all.  What's the secret behind the Mystery of the Pony Massacre?



-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

The ponies, Mr. Wise-ass Sagiro, were herded and captured by both refugees and the Necromancers. The Necromancers got the lion's share of them. They then killed them en masse, using the life energy to power more spells. When that was done, they reanimated the corpses to give the skeletons something to ride!

So there. Nyah.

The Book of the Sun has a passage in it unilaterally decrying all undead as an abomination of the faith. This has been rewritten to account for Sir Aleax. One can only imagine that he has passed the most rigorous tests possible, administered by the clerics of Aeos, before such an extreme step would even be considered. The Knights of the Emerald Chapel, at their heart, refuse to consider the change in the Book of the Sun as legitimate. Thus, while they consider the rewriting of scriptures to be heretical, the Church feels the same way about their refusal to follow holy edicts.  

So far (in the story hour), Aleax's skeletal origin - and how he can be in both his body and the sword at the same time - hasn't been explained. Perhaps it will be soon!  As for Malachite's powers, when we start the game tomorrow night, he's on his way upstairs to confront Sir Aleax himself....


----------



## Piratecat

No update today; we're playing tonight, and I have a bunch of prep work to do, in addition to actually trying to work! So in lieu of that, here is an email Sagiro sent me the night after Mara's player (Sagiro's fiancee') came home from our one-on-one role playing of the meeting. I think you might enjoy it. I'll neither confirm or deny any conclusions he makes, but it's fun to read.

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


You... you... rat...  Bastard!

Mara's player and I spent all night and most of this morning speculating about what's up with this new "Sir Aleax" leading the Aeosean Church Militant.  If you ask Velendo, the whole thing smells as rotten as a 'sinkish summer.

Consider:

* hundreds of years ago, Aleax was killed down in the Underdark, but the main strength (and driving force) behind the White Kingdom was not destroyed.  Thus, some pretty powerful undead leaders and/or necromancers have had HUNDREDS OF YEARS to work foul magic upon Aleax's bones.  Then, suddenly, an Aleax skeleton shows up "wandering the plain," passes some tests, and gets put in charge of the war effort against the Necromancers.  Hmmmm.

* Coincidentally, "Sir Aleax" decides (and I'm sure he *claims* it was a hard decision) to disband the Knights of the Emerald Chapel -- the church's strongest anti-undead force.  At a time when they *should* need all the anti-undead mojo they can muster!

* Galanna herself has proclaimed that "Sir Aleax" is not what he seems.  Well, he *seems* to be the spirit of a great Aeosean hero reborn just in time to lead the faithful.  If he's not that, then what?  And what *good* purpose could come of deception here?

* Furthermore, IIRC, Tao cast Commune and asked if the new undead Aeosean was a danger to Mara and Malachite, and the answer was "not directly, and not yet."  Given that Commune answers are specifically non-misleading, it's clear from that answer that "Sir Aleax" is indirectly a danger to one of our Paladins now, and is going to be a danger to the other at some time in the future. If "Aleax" is really legit, why would that be?

* And even more Galanna evidence: in Tao's Audience, she was told that her mission to destroy the White Kingdom was now one of necessity, and not just of "duty" to T'Cri.   How can that be reconciled with "Aleax's" claim that we'd be "wasting out time, pursuing a diversion?"

* The timing seems funny.  "Aleax" claims that the advance of the White Kingdom in the Underdark is a diversion, to draw strength away from the Necromancer's stronghold on the plains.  But we know from our experience with the Skaven that the White Kingdom's underground steamroller was moving long before the Necromancers even *had* a ground force near Corsai.  There's no way they could have known at that time that we'd eventually free Congenio Ioun, and that Ioun would then wipe out the Mang with a disease and create a huge surface undead army.  Given the chronology of the events involved, it seems *much* more likely that "Aleax" is the diversion, syphoning resources away from a potential underground assault.  (Question: Nolin's vampire warned the White Kingdom 6-8 months ago.  When was the first recorded sighting of "Sir Aleax?")

* We have Sir Aleax with us right now!  Why would Aeos countenance something as warped as dividing Aleax's soul into two vessels, one of them undead?


Here are the arguments I can think of that support the legitimacy of "Sir Aleax":

* Surely *somewhere* in the Aeosean church is a 9th level cleric who has cast Commune to get answers about "Sir Aleax."  If the answers indicated he's a fraud, wouldn't that have been made public?  [Counter-argument: If Mara or Malachite could cast Commune right now, and did, and learned "Aleax" was a necromancer's puppet, who would they tell?  Who would believe them?  They'd probably be arrested as a heretic and their words hushed up or denounced as heresy.  For all we know, this may have already happened within the church to others.]

* When Galanna said that Tao's "task" was "necessary," she *could* have meant "Breaking the Spine of the White Kingdom in any possible way, including helping "Aleax" in his ground assault."  (And not necessarily via our impending subterranean plunge.)  [Counter-argument:  Why would Galanna be vague in such a potentially disastrous way during an Audience with one Her more powerful mortal servants?]

* The most powerful wizard we've ever met, Congenio Ioun, seems satisfied enough with Aleax's authenticity. [Counter-argument: we have first-hand experience that Ioun is neither omnipotent nor omniscient.  A scam that could fool the most powerful leaders of the Aeosean church could probably fool him as well.]

Given all that, Velendo is leaning toward this conclusion:  "Aleax" is an elaborate Divination-proof construction of the leaders of the White Kingdom, worked on for centuries, at best meant to distract the Church of Aeos from the real underground danger, and at worst meant to lead the armies of Aeos into a trap wherein they'll all be slaughtered to bolster the undead ranks.  In all likelihood, "Aleax" *thinks* he really who he says he is, to better foil any possible discovery of his true purpose.   Given Galanna's warnings, I think it's vital that Velendo arrange a meeting with Ioun, to warn him that "Aleax" may very well be leading them into a trap.

Did Velendo ever get his Commune results from those questions about Dylrath and Teliaz?   He desperately wants to cast a Commune to learn the truth about "Sir Ghouleax," but doesn't want to pester Calphas more than he has to.

Nothing's ever simple, is it?  ;-)


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

Interesting, eh?


----------



## The Crimster

One thing I can't help but think of in your 'Sir Aleax is a secret creation of Evil' theory.  If they worked on him for centuries in order to fool the good guys - why wouldn't they work on some way to give him false flesh - so as to not raise *any* suspicion?

The Crimster

_PS:  I am now a dyed in the wool fan of this Story Hour.  Good work here, P-Cat (and the players!)._


----------



## Galfridus

*Re: Re: Questions*



			
				Blackjack said:
			
		

> *That certainly is the question of the hour, indeed. *



The question of the hour is, "What are the Pre-requisites for the Speaks in Bold Text feat?" Do you get +2 to Bluff and Intimidate for speaking in bold? 

Just think how differently this encounter could have gone:

“*Those are very beautiful*,” says Mara, looking at the tapestries. “*What are they of?*” Sir Aleax’s head swivels to see if she is joking. She doesn’t appear to be. It’s hard to tell when a skull is frowning, but Aleax manages to give that impression. 

“Those two are excerpts of the Book of the Sun,” he says, sounding disapproving. “This is the Angel Aubros with his fiery shield. This is his Holiness Lantic at the battle of Nar Veglin. These on the far wall are scenes from my own history. There I am entering the caverns at Abrundin; that’s a bad likeness of Morak next to me. There is an image of me as a boy, first hearing the call to service. Perhaps religious education is not what it used to be, Mara Thornhill, but I was trained to know my history and religious lessons.” Sir Aleax sits down behind a large mahogany desk, his armor clanking as he pulls himself into the chair. The noon sun coming through the skylight reflects off of his armor, sending golden fragments of light across the room.

Who's got the more commanding presence now?!?


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

The simplest answer is Sir Ghouleax is exactly who he claims to be.  His undead nature is intended to provoke a schism in the church when their united strength is most needed.  The only fake detail is the importance of the undead orb of power thingy.  I bet it exists, but the White Kingdom is using it to distract their enemies, smashing a potential rival at the same time.

The most effective lies are those that are mostly true, save one or two key details.  But the lie is structured to force the target to doubt the truth, and therefore waste energy following dead ends.

If you want to create a schism in a church ideologically opposed to undead, the logical choice is to create a undead being out of one of their most revered saints.  It makes perfect sense.


----------



## Sagiro

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> *I know this must have occurred to the Defenders, but... a Saint of Aeos died trying to hold back the White Kingdom - and they have had 300 years to rebuild and grow...
> 
> Still, I suppose Velendo has already been a proxy of Calphas, which must rank higher than a saint  - and Tao has a bit of a hotline to Galenna nowadays
> 
> As for the church of Aeos... well, there is nothing like having your support structure kicked away just when you need it, eh?
> 
> *




Yeah, it has occurred to us that a party of adventuring types at least as powerful as us tried this quest 300 years ago and failed.  Velendo is _acutely_ that it was one of Calphas' great champions who doomed the expedition to failure, despite the warnings of Calphas himself beforehand.

That said, Aleax wasn't considered a saint (I assume) until _after_ his death.  Before that he was "just" a really stoked Paladin.

Note that Velendo is no longer a proxy to Calphas.  It's possible that Calphas will make him one again, depending on the true magnitude of this quest.  Remember that last time, _all life on the planet_ was in jeopardy from either an incoming comet, the release of world-consuming giant worms, or both.  It will probably take a threat of similar gravity (no pun intended) for Calphas to reinstate Proxihood on one of his servants.

And Velendo is absolutely in agreement with Ridley's Cohort concerning the suspicious nature and timing of Aleax's return.  One point I think was left out of Velendo's ramble PCat posted:  A vampire of Nolin's acquaintance went and warned the White Kingdom that the Defenders were planning an expedition to wipe them out.  It was soon after -- about two months -- that "Aleax" was found wandering the Sephanic plains.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

Well, the entire church of Aeos, including the High Elders and the most suspicious inquisitors, have all concluded that the skeletal St. Aleax is the real one. Some members of the Knights of the Emerald Chapel have disagreed, and have been riven from the church thereby. 

Aleax (the sword) was found in the hoard of a dracolich's lair. It had been there for hundreds of years, and could no longer remember its origins; nevertheless, it did remember its identity. I think its pretty clear that the sword has true paladin abilities; it can _lay on hilt_ and _detect evil_, for instance.

The original expedition to the White Kingdom was undertaken by Aleax, Morak of Calphas, and others. The story isn't well known; according to a _legend lore_ and what the skeletal St. Aleax told Mara, their group had the ghouls trapped in an area that served as the only access point from the ghoul-controlled caverns to the rest of the Underdark. If they could have held them there, the ghouls would have soon run out of both victims and boltholes. When it became clear that they were losing the battle, Morak brought down the ceiling of the cavern. He killed himself and his entire party, along with many thousands of undead, sealing them into a stony prison for centuries. They eventually carved their way out, though, and have advanced through the underdark since. For some time their progress was checked by a city of mind flayers. Ironically, Nolin and the Defenders had a _cubic gate_ that led to this city, and they sold rights of access to a rrakma (hunting party) of Sigilian githzerai who proceeded to lay waste to the illithids. By the time the githzerai departed for their own plane, the mind flayers were no longer strong enough to hold back the ghouls, and they advanced once again.

We played last night, and saw some truly spectacular role playing on everyone's part - especially Malachite's. I'll finish Mara's conversation with St. Aleax, and write up Malachite's, this weekend. Look for an update on Monday!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Ironically, Nolin and the Defenders had a cubic gate that led to the mind flayer city, and they sold rights of access to a rrakma (hunting party) of Sigilian githzerai who proceeded to lay waste to the illithids. By the time the githzerai departed for their own plane, the mind flayers were no longer strong enough to hold back the ghouls, and they advanced once again.
> *




Yep.  The whole white kingdom is an elaborate revenge by Pkitty on me for coming up with a way to eliminate a city of mind flayers without having to go there ourselves.  He'd been reading The Illithiad just about the time he told us about the cubic gate, and we were sure we'd end up going there at some point.

So I came up with the Githzerai plan, which was one of those lovely moments when I got to surprise PC.  And he's been plotting his revenge ever since.

Ripples, my a**.


----------



## Dr_Rictus

The Crimster said:
			
		

> *If they worked on him for centuries in order to fool the good guys - why wouldn't they work on some way to give him false flesh - so as to not raise any suspicion?*



*

Oh, that's easy.  They want suspicion, and the attendent doubt and strife that come with it.  Think how much harder it would have been to rive the Emerald Chapel from the mother church if ol' Ghouliax were not known to be undead.  It could have taken years, instead of weeks, for him to orchestrate such a division.*


----------



## KidCthulhu

Plus, after all those years underground, they had _no_ idea of the fashions above ground.  Their first try at Sir Ghouleax came above ground wearing platform heels and a purple paisley leisure suit. 

He was spotted as an evil abomination right away, and wiped out by a first level party of halflings and 12 year olds.  Very embarrassing for the White Kingdom.

They decided to stick with bones.  Very classic.  Never go out of style.


----------



## Fade

So tell me Nolin, what _are_ well dressed evil undead abominations wearing this season?


----------



## Number47

You mean Kate Moss?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fade said:
			
		

> *So tell me Nolin, what are well dressed evil undead abominations wearing this season? *




Shiny gold suits of armor covered with symbols of Aeos, last we saw.


----------



## Piratecat

> * They, like you, Mara Thornhill, will have to make a choice: do you follow your faith in the Church, or do you choose to disregard the Holy Writs, and be banished thereby?”*




“I have made a vow. I have obligations to the church, but I have obligations to others as well. Without me, they may be lost, and many people perish. Isn’t that important?  I stand before the same quest that you yourself set upon many years ago.”  Her voice is convincing.

Mara changes the subject.  “If I may ask, your Grace, how did you come to be brought back in your current form?”

Aleax answers, more quietly. *“More than four months ago I found myself standing on the Sephanic Plains, thoughts muddled, with neither armor or blade. I knew who I was, but I could not believe it. 

“I should have believed it. 

For some time I suspected that I was some sort of ruse, some sort of trap, forged by the Necromancers to betray the Church. The theological issue has been debated, the divinations and tests have been done, and they have proven what I know in my soul: I am Aleax. For better or worse, I have been brought back to do my God’s will, and I shall not fail.”  *

“Perhaps you’ve heard. My companion Sir Malachite of the Emerald Chapel has a sword that… well, that also claims to be Sir Aleax.”

*“Formerly of the Emerald Chapel. I have heard such a thing. Perhaps it is my own sword. Perhaps it is a ruse. Perhaps it is another miracle of Aeos, although,”* and he folds his arms across his armored chest, *”I certainly don’t feel as if my soul is diminished. I look forward to seeing the weapon and having it examined. It is a holy weapon belonging to the Church, and will not stay with him if he proves to put his former organization’s loyalties over those of the church Militant itself.”*

His eye sockets stare at Mara. *“Commander, your loyalty to the church, to the cause, is not in question. I will not force you to join the army we have gathered, but I strongly urge it. Every warrior will make a difference, and you are experienced and practiced in the craft of war. The Church looks to you to set an example and lead its flock. The mission you have set before yourself is a distraction from the true task; you can delay them, no more, and it will be our strike into their lands that decides the true victory in the war. If you do not act to win that war, if you simply act to counter their diversion, you ultimately do your church little credit. Think hard on this, Mara Thornhill; Aeos will judge you harshly if you make your decision based on cowardice, or fear, or disloyalty.”*

Sir Aleax stands up.  *“Our meeting is over. I wish to meet your companion Sir Malachite as soon as possible, and his sword with him.”*

As Mara is escorted out of the office and down into the Hall of the Sun, she sees movement by the front of the temple below her: Tao and Malachite, striding in. Malachite has a look of tight, cold fury on his face… and the sword Aleax in his sheath.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Blackjack

Sagiro said:
			
		

> * And it's occurred to me that we may be able to round up a few hundred disaffected Emerald Chaplars who'd be psyched to come with us.*




It occured to me as well.  Hats off to Piratecat for coming up with a very good answer to the question "Why doesn't the whole of the Chaplars come with us?  We're going to the _White Kingdom!_, after all!"  Well, the Necromancer kings, and the rift in the church, answer that quite nicely, so the story flows believably.

That said, there should be more than a couple members of the true and orthodox Church of Aeos here and there, and once Malachite has a spare moment he intends to find and rally them.


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

Dawn said:
			
		

> *I'm at a loss to understand why the White Kingdom would release Ghouleax (nice renaming) other than to be a distraction.  Logic would say that, if he really is for real, that once he defeated the Necromancer kings, he would then take the Church armies to defeat the White Kingdom.
> Why release a potential enemy - unless you are a villian in a James Bond movie. *




<wild-eyed raving mode on>
Because the White Kingdom is working with a surviving cabal of PsiCor^H^H^H^H^H^H Ithilid who have planted a baby mind flayer in his head to be activated at the correct time...
<raving mode off>

My explanation...

The information Sir Ghouleaux has about the Necromancers may be essentially correct: destroying the Evil Artifact will nuke undead for miles around, including Sir Ghouleax.  It is Sir Ghouleax who insists hitting this artifact will also be a substantial blow to the White Kingdom.  If that detail is incorrect, then everything makes sense, all motivations are accounted for.

If the Evil Artifact does exist, it may well be a long term Ace against the White Kingdom.  It is quite conceivable that no undead army could ever successfully seize it from a Necromancer who knows its secrets.  Therefore the White Kingdom needs someone else to remove this obstacle to undisputed world domination, a _living_ army that cannot be swayed by its powers.

The White Kingdom may consider the Underdark locked up and they are just moving on to disrupt their next opponents.  Sir Ghouleax, with certain information carefully spilled into his hands, is an interesting wild card calculated to cause headaches to both the Holy Mother Church and Necromancers.  Such a powerful wildcard may indeed have some risk of backfire.  That is the nature of the game when you play with the big boys.

I must admit PC has got me with the sword.  I am _dying_ to find out what happens when they meet themselves...


----------



## RangerWickett

It will cause a time paradox that will _destroy_ the universe!

Because, of course, see, Swordleax is a version of himself from an alternate timeline.  In the current time stream, Ghouleax tries to save the day, but just before his victory, his beloved Malachite is turned into a ghoul, and thus both of them die horribly.  In the last instant before he passes on, Ghouleax sends his consciousness back in time to inhabit a sword that he knows Malachite will eventually recover.  Unfortunately, he gets amnesia, and doesn't recall who he is until the last second.  So Swordleax, in the alternate timeline, must kill Ghouleax before he destroys the evil artifact.  Unfortunately, this causes a time paradox. . . .  So everyone dies.


But at least they're not ghouls.


----------



## KidCthulhu

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> *It will cause a time paradox that will destroy the universe!*




That's it, young man.  No more Star Trek for you.


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite demands the attention of an Acolyte, and older man.  “Where is the Commander?”

“I’m sorry, Sir? Who?”

“The Commander. The undead one.”

“Saint Aleax? He’s not a Commander, Sir. He’s a General, the head of the Church Militant. I can find someone who may let you see him if you….”

Mara’s voice echoes down from the balcony above. “Malachite, Tao! Saint Aleax is here. He’s very eager to see you _and the sword!_ In fact, he’d like to examine the sword _extensively_!”  Mara’s companion Father Tolliver looks her suprisedly, and his brow wrinkles. He hurries down the white stairs towards Malachite.  He’s checked slightly by Tao; she’s clearly a power in her own right, radiating an aura of divine energy, her solid green eyes looking at him curiously.  He addresses Tao before Malachite, perhaps thinking her some sort of divine servant made flesh.

“Lady, you honor us with your presence. Make yourself at peace in the Home of the Sun. May I help you?”

Tao answers “I’m accompanying Sir Malachite,” and Father Tolliver turns at last to Malachite. The Knight’s emerald green surcoat seems to glow in the angling sunlight, but Tolliver just looks at him with worry on his face. 

“Come with me, please. Mara, will you please give your friend a tour of the temple while I speak with Sir Malachite?’  Mara nods acquiescence, even though Tao looks irked that she doesn’t get to meet Saint Aleax, and Tolliver and Malachite leave the two of them behind as they climb the stairs.

Settled comfortably in Tolliver’s office, Tolliver begins in a compassionate voice. “I’m aware that you must be upset about what has happened. I think that…”

Malachite’s voice interrupts him, frozen like ice and as tightly stretched as a steel hawser.  “Who authorized the rewriting of the Book of the Sun?”

“It was authorized after long theological de…”

He interrupts again.  “WHO authorized the rewriting of the Book of the Sun?”

Tolliver is clearly annoyed at the rudeness, but keeping his temper. “Aeos himself indicated tha….”

Another interruption. “So the God’s Avatar strode up the steps and said ‘change this verse?”

“No, of course not, but…”

“So you changed a divinely inspired text based on the word of priests.” He tries not to make the final word sound like a synonym for sewage, but he doesn’t entirely succeed.

“Sir Malachite, if you’d understand h…”

“I am *trying* to understand. Answer the question, please.”

Tolliver looks affronted. “There are precedents. It has been changed before.” Malachite nods his head; he knows that it was last changed 238 years ago, to correct the misspelling of a disciple’s name. 

“When?” demands Malachite.

“Well, I’d have to look it up.”  

Malachite nods again.  “Indeed.  You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I was trying to. Based on divinations, prayers, portents, and the hard fact that our Lord Aeos has created a miracle that clearly involves undead, we had to make the change in order to allow Saint Aleax to fulfill the role for which our Lord has intended him.”

Malachite snorts, his voice still icy. “Ah. So you changed it at his behest.”

Tolliver shakes his head.  “No, he was quite opposed to the alteration, bu.…”

Malachite’s voice drops another few degrees.  “I’m sure he was.”

Tolliver’s temper snaps, and his face flushes.  “You, Malachite, will *stop* interrupting me. You will treat me with the respect to which I am due, or you will leave. I understand that you are hurt, angry, and perhaps feeling betrayed due to the decision affecting the Chaplars. That is no reason for rude impertenance!”

Malachite eyes him up and down.  “I will, Father, treat you with the respect to which you are due.”

They lock eyes, and Father Tolliver speaks first. “We are very interested in the rumors regarding your sword. Does it truly contain a piece of Saint Aleax’s soul?”

“I have not said that, Father.”

“Yes, I know you haven’t. But does it?  Is that it on your hip?”

“I have not said that, Father.”  Still bitter cold and strictly formal.

Tolliver rolls his eyes in frustration. “Malachite, pay attention. I am asking you a direct question. Is that sword you wear the sword in question?”

No pause at all.  “Yes, Father.”

Father Tolliver sighs and sits back.  “Well, good. May I see it, please?”

Malachite keeps him fixed in his intense stare. “I will tender it only to those qualified to examine it properly. Are you one such, Father?”

“Well, no but….”

“Then I will retain possession of it until then.”

There is a long silence.  Tolliver finally sighs.  “I’m not your enemy, Sir Malachite. The church needs you; it needs your loyalty, it needs your strength. It _doesn’t_ need division in a time of war. You’re a soldier; you must know how that affects morale. Please, try to keep an open mind. Saint Aleax *is* the Saint of legend. He *is* the beloved of Aeos. And he *is* your superior in the Church Militant. Challenging him in the name of old loyalties will only bring you ruin and excommunication. Don't let your faith crumble, as other members of your old order have done.”

Malachite sits rigid as a board. “My loyalties to the Faith are as strong as ever, Father.”

Tolliver sighs once again. “I see. I’ll take you to him, then. And I’ll pray for your soul and for your faith, that you will see the light.”

Malachite stands. “I say again, my soul is clean and my faith in Aeos is as strong as ever. Nothing will change that.”

They leave the room, and walk towards Saint Aleax’s office.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Malachite keeps him fixed in his intense stare. “I will tender it only to those qualified to examine it properly. Are you one such, Father?”*




I believe my exact quote was "I will be happy to tender it to qualified members of the faith."  Nothing's more fun than the truth, when it involves telling your foes exactly what they want to hear and the reality is something they'll hate.


----------



## JacktheRabbit

Hey PC

In your world can a church strip its Paladins of their divine power or is that merely an action the God can do directly.

It would seem obvious that if the Emerald Paladins still have their powers then they were right not to follow the arrogant skeleton.


----------



## Nail

*Simplicity is best*



			
				Eraslin said:
			
		

> *This is a bit of a stretch, but ....
> <snip>
> What, do you suppose, would be the results of a spell, cast on Sir Ghouleax, which is a modified cross between Spell Immunity, Permanancy, and Nystul's Undetectable Aura? *




Too complicated.

Actually, this seems pretty simple.  Ghouleax is the real McCoy, with perhaps part of his soul residing in the sword.  He was animated by the White Kingdom uber-lords in an effort to distract the Defenders.  How, exactly, that happened, and what kind of undead he is, is irrelevant.  He's distracting them (and half the kingdom) quite nicely, and removing most of their resources.  Mission accomplished.

That he has few memories, except that he must destroy the Necromancers (or whatever), is interesting....even "telling".  How did he find out about the "Evil Artifact(tm)"?  Why does he think that moving "now" is best?  Etc.  All sort of interesting questions.....

-Nail


----------



## Piratecat

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *Nice job by the way getting the clerics to admit they changed the writing on their own without any real authority to do so. *




Actually, from a neutral perspective, this isn't the case at all. The conservative Church would never have made the changes if they didn't think that they had both the divine authority and just cause to do so. Malachite might not agree, mind you; but although controversial, the changes were made with full church sanction. 

The issue surrounding whether or not the church can strip a paladin or a cleric of their powers is a tricky one.  It has a lot to do with the God, the character's own beliefs, the player's ulterior motives (if any), and the character's degree of faith. The vast majority of people would end up losing their powers if cast out of the Church.  Their belief in the ultimate authority of the church would probably cause them to doubt their justification of their own actions.  

In rare cases, a person could be banned from the church and still believe so strongly, so fervently that they follow the holy cause - _and if I as DM believe that the character truly believes this, AND is still in the good graces of the God_ - then they might retain their powers. It partially comes down to whether the person is rebelling against the political strictures of the church, or the tenets of the faith itself.  Do they deny their God-given responsibilities?

Mara has many more traditional church ties than Malachite does, for the church has been her family for most of her life. She would be far more crippled by excommunication than Malachite would, I'd guess.

In addition, highly lawful churches have an easier time stripping clerics or paladins of their powers than chaotic churches would.

In the eyes of the church of Aeos, if a cleric or a paladin is cast out but still supposedly retains their powers, then they _aren't_ receiving those powers from Aeos (unless proven otherwise.)  They're receiving them from somewhere else - another God? A dark power? A sorcerous bargain? In any case, it usually is enough to brand the outcast as a heretic, which is never a good thing.  Such a person's soul is no longer still in the possession of the Keys to Heaven, and thus is probably damned upon their death.  Societal pressures work against such people, as you can well imagine.


----------



## KidCthulhu

*Re: Religion in Piratecat's World*



			
				Tuerny said:
			
		

> *How does this work?
> 
> Do you have families of gods, panetheons,  individual, indie gods, or what.
> Each post about these churches makes me more curious. *




Spira (PC's world) has its own pantheon.  PC made up some of the initial gods.  A great many others have evolved from choices made by the players.  Vindus is a great example of an deity who came along later.  The church of Aeos was also shaped a great deal by player input.  The three sects of Aeos were built by PC and Mara's player.  The Emerald Chapel is BlackJack's work.

PC has always held the very wise opinion that it's easier to get a player to care about their deity (and far less work for the DM) if they have a hand in designing the faith.  

If people are really interested, I can post the Spiran pantheon.  Also, I have the world creation myth around here somewhere.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 
> I don't know if the story about having to do penance for killing a bunch of skaven who detected as evil has made it to the boards.  If not, someone who was there and recalls the details better than I should probably chime in on it. *




While the full story hasn't been told, PC has told us quite a lot about the situation (it may have been on this storyhour in the old boards, it may have been in a discussion about the use of Detect Evil in D&D rules forum - but I think it was storyhour)

Basically the issue was the Skaven all praying in their temple about what to do about the awful White Kingdom, the defenders see the ratmen, detect evil - hey, the're evil! and smite them mightily - another nail in the coffin of the underdark races who might have held the white kingdom back. This also led to a Skaven monk coming after the defenders and embarrassing them mightily (and something about the "three deaths"? The Defenders negotiated with him before he got to the last one).

Of course, we now strongly suspect that this Skaven Monk is now one with the white kingdom... Alongside everything else. 

Shudder.

Between responsibility for the Skaven and the downfall of the mind flayer city, it may be that the Defenders have done more for the White Kingdom than Ghouleax


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite hears the door closed behind him. He stares at the General, the supposed Saint. The skeleton stares back.

The sword stays silent. Malachite checks; Saint Aleax is undead, isn’t evil. His aura is one of warmth, like warm sunshine, but his manner is cold and formal.

*“Sit.” *

They lock eyes, or the closest thing to it. The staring lasts for 30, 45 seconds as each paladin tries to see the mettle of the other. Aleax’s bones creak as he plants his bony hands on the table and leans forward. 

*“I’m not what you’d want to see.”*  Aleax’s voice is factual.

“I have not said that, Commander.”  

Saint Aleax looks at him , considering; respond to the deliberate insult of the title or discuss the emotions behind the impertinence? Whatever he decides, he doesn’t rise to the bait and correct Malachite’s use of the honorific.  “*Malachite. Honored Knight. Bane of undead. Elite soldier of our God. I welcome you here. Your Order is dissolved, but your cause lives on. You are given the same choice your brethren received: join the Church Militant proper, or walk free of church responsibilities and benefits. Whatever you decide, you will no longer wear the Emerald Tabard. Others will have briefed you; what do you decide?”*

Long silence.  “I serve the True Faith, Commander.”

“*As do I, Malachite. But how do you serve it? You are an experienced Commander and you may make the difference in our holy quest,  the one whose presence determines success or failure. You do not have the luxury of sitting upon the wall, waiting to see which side is most advantageous. You are too important for that. *”

In the silence, you can hear the Sound of Sir Malachite’s knuckles cracking, fists clenched.  “As I said, I serve the True Faith, Commander. I follow the will of my God on the mission to which I have been set.”

*“Ah. So you choose the path of the distraction. You choose to fight small battles against a foe unbeatable by normal tactics, instead of choosing to burn them from existence once and for all. We have an opportunity, Malachite; an opportunity to rid Spira of the taint of undeath. Not for all times, but all that currently exist. You choose to spurn that chance.”*

Steely silence.

*“Very well. You will not be hindered if you act under the mantle of the Church, but you will not receive aid that can be used elsewhere. You may have a quest, Malachite, but it is not The quest, and Aeotian troops will be deployed where they will be the most effective.”*

“I expected nothing else, Commander.” Hard, cold, proud.

*“I understand that you have a sword that may contain a piece of my soul. Let me see it.”*

For the first time, Malachite hesitates.  “We are alone here.”

The General looks annoyed. * “So?” *

Malachite answers, “I must caution you. The sword is powerfully opposed to undead. If you were inadvertently hurt, I would be blamed.”

* “No one will blame you, and I doubt I will be hurt, especially if the sword contains a piece of me. I am formed by Aeos from the steel of the sun. Give me the sword.” *

“Commander, I caution you….”

* “Yes, you did. And I ordered you. Give me the sword.” *

Malachite pauses, but only for a second. He pulls Aleax from its sheath and whirls it around his head. Pure, warm sunlight pours out of the triumphant sword. Then Malachite spins the pommel in his hand and lays the sword out in front of him, on display, but just out of the skeleton’s reach.  “Here it is, Commander.”  The skeletal Aleax reaches out for it, but Malachite pulls it out of reach.  “I don’t think that would be wise, Commander.”

St. Aleax pulls back his hand, crosses his arms, and looks at Malachite. * “Your opinion is irrelevant. Hand me the sword.” *

“I don’t think so, Commander.”

* “Do you realize that you are disobeying a direct order?” *

“I do, Commander.”

* “Do you understand the consequences for doing so?” *

Malachite answers grimly. “I understood them when I chose to disobey them.”

Suddenly, the sword itself speaks. _“I can not tell whether he is a part of me or not. He is not evil, but he does not resonate with me.”_

Aleax looks at the sword. * “What is the first thing you can remember?” *

_”I spent hundred of years in the lair of a dracolich. My memory is hazy beyond that. I know who I am, though; I am Aleax, and I was a paladin.”_

Malachite smiles bitterly as he sheathes the sword.  “Indeed you were.” He looks up.  “Commander, if there is anything else…?”

* “There is.  Malachite, former Knight of the Emerald Chapel, you are cast from the Church for insubordination. Heresy as well, perhaps.  You may leave your tabard with a cleric below. I will not take the holy sword from you, though, as much good as it will do you now. I recognize it; it used to be mine.  When I was alive I wielded that blade, but then it called itself Velios, and it claimed to be the soul of a paladin from the Dawn Times.”* Aleax leans on the desk. * “Perhaps he died with it as well. I will pray for your soul, Malachite, that you are granted the wisdom to guide your soul to the true light.”*

The echoes of his voice in the room fade away. 

Malachite, headed for the door, looks back. “My faith is strong, Commander,” he says simply, and walks out.

*  *  *

_”Perhaps I would have known if he had touched me,”_ muses the sword as they stride through the sunlit temple.

“I wish you had said that before,” says Malachite.

_”But I think… I think that if that was me, and I found out that I had come back as a skeleton? If it were me, I think I would have destroyed myself immediately.”_

*  *  *

Downstairs, a prelate is waiting. “You have something to leave here, Sir?” he asks.

“No,” growls Malachite, and turns to leave.  He stops as Tao’s eyes begin to glow and a trembling aura bursts from her body without warning. 

Tao's voice fills with preternatural beauty, the sound of the wind and living things, the sound of a Goddess Incarnate.  *“Tao Camber.  Four hours from now, in the town of Hundle’s Crossing, they will reach the surface for the first time.  They are coming.”*  The light fades, and Tao returns to normal.

Everyone trades glances, and someone asks, "WHO is coming?"  But everyone knows who Galanna meant.  Almost a thousand miles away, in a little town, the White Kingdom is about to gather food.



_To be continued…._


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Oh, for the sweet love o' pie. I would have let him touch the sword. Pleasepleasepleaseplease touch it. 

If he is NOT Aleax, it would have been... bad... for him, and answered a lot of questions.

If he IS Aleax, it's his sword AND his soul-- I don't see how Malachite could lay claim to it.

I wonder if Malachite was more afraid of hurting Aleax, hurting his own reputation, or if it was just as simple as not wanting to lose his nifty sword.

Hmm... Well. You keep that sword, Malachite. You deserve it. It's better off in your hands, where it can do some good. I'm sure you'll save the Faith with it. 

It's so easy to topple a paladin with Pride-- always, always their achilles heel.


Wulf


----------



## Piratecat

I'll be the first to say that Blackjack caught me off guard with Malachite's decision - I never expected him to withhold the sword - and that's always a fun thing. Just like that, he changes my expectations, and a piece of the campaign reacts in response. Whether that's a good response, or a bad response, remains to be seen! But it'll be fun, no matter what.

Once again, kudos to Mara and Malachite for these scenes. At one point Blackjack and I were locked in an icy stare across the gaming table from one another. "He's got no eyes. You can't outstare him." I mutter.  Blackjack, who loves Malachite's magical _gauntlets of intimidation_, mutters back, "That's okay. I have the gloves."  

By the way, there have been a ton of really perspicacious, clever observations regarding the "Sir Ghouleax" problem... and I have to deelete a bunch of them if I'm going to keep this thread under 200 posts. Sorry about that, but believe me, they're appreciated!

Next update: An interlude in Ioun's Tower, and readying for invasion!


----------



## Blackjack

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *I wonder if Malachite was more afraid of hurting Aleax, hurting his own reputation, or if it was just as simple as not wanting to lose his nifty sword.
> *




It wasn't concern for his reputation.  Malachite does not value his own reputation -- if he did, he'd have stayed with the mainstream church, after all.  And it didn't occur to me that Aleax might be hurt, although the Commander might have been hurt, sure.

Malachite didn't let the Commander touch the sword because he no longer trusts the mainstream church, nor does he trust the leader of its army -- and he's not about to hand over a vital tool of the Faith to someone who may very well be a foe.  When an undead says, "Hey, will you hand me over your undead-smashing holy artifact with the soul of a saint in it?", you say _no_.  

Malachite wasn't sure he would get it back, and wasn't about to lose one of the most viable pieces of evidence that Ghouleax may not be all he says he is.  Pride?  Not really.  _Tactics_.


----------



## Blackjack

Henry@home said:
			
		

> *Well, like PCat said before, two opposing forces can still serve the same god, and not lose any status by it. Only by falling personally from your deity do you lose your powers. Malachite hasn't betrayed his god - just the official church. *




Malachite has under no circumstances renounced his vows, his faith or his god.  In fact, from his point of view, he's the one who's remained true to the faith -- while the mainstream church has rewritten its holy text, put an undead in command of its army, and veered away from the true path.

Of course, I could be totally wrong, and come next session will be a 15th level fighter.  Time will tell!


----------



## Atticus_of_Amber

Blackjack said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Malachite has under no circumstances renounced his vows, his faith or his god.  In fact, from his point of view, he's the one who's remained true to the faith -- while the mainstream church has rewritten its holy text, put an undead in command of its army, and veered away from the true path.
> 
> Of course, I could be totally wrong, and come next session will be a 15th level fighter.  Time will tell! *




I think the point is that if you're wrong, come next session, you *won't* be a 15th level fighter, you'll be a "featless fighter" - that is, effectively, a 15th level Warrior (the NPC class). That's gotta suck.

In fact, come to think of it, does Piratecat have it in for your paladinhood?  I remember a while ago the Defenders were blocked by a magical wall that could only be passed through by people who were infected by disease. But paladins are immune to disease. It looked as if the only way Malachite could get through was to renounce his palidinhood and get infected. PC confirmed in a later post that this *was* the dilema he'd intended to put you in. 

(IIRC, the defenders came up with the innovative solution of polymorphing Malachite into a tape worm and having Tom Tom swallow him. That way, Tom Tom could get through because he was infected with a disease - Malachite the tape worm - and Malachite could get through because he *was* a disease.)

Maybe PC is a closet Paladin-hater?


----------



## Blackjack

Atticus_of_Amber said:
			
		

> *In fact, come to think of it, does Piratecat have it in for your paladinhood?
> 
> Maybe PC is a closet Paladin hater?  *




No, Piratecat is fine with paladins.  It's just _me_ he can't stand.


----------



## Jairami

Atticus_of_Amber said:
			
		

> *(IIRC, the defenders came up with teh innovative solution of polymorphing Malachite into a tape worm and having Tom Tom swallow him. That way, Tom Tom could get through becasue he was infected with a disease, Malachite the tape worm, and Malachite could get through because he was a disease.)
> *




  Thankfully TomTom didn't have to swallow Malachite, someone just held the little worm in their hand, stuck their hand temporarily in the bag of holding, and walked through while he was in there.

Else TomTom would have gotten a taste of Nolin's wonderful ring to get Malachite back out.


----------



## Atticus_of_Amber

*So what's the plan?*



			
				LightPhoenix said:
			
		

> *
> 
> So I suppose it's good you're not an arcane caster then, aye?  You'd probably be dead seven times over.  Oh, and live on the east coast... of China.
> 
> LightPhoenix *




So, Blackjack, what's the plan?

For what it's worth, if I were in your shoes and had come to the same conclusion about Sir Ghouleax being a distraction from the White Kingdom, I'd have simply ignored him and gone about my business. But, then again, there is the possibility he's leading the Church Militant into a huge trap. But what can you do about that?

Are you going to gather all the former Knights of the Emerald Chappel? Sort of like one of the Three Musketeer movies where Cardinal Richelieu bans the musketeers and they all keep their old tabbards and turn up at the critical moment.

I imagine, a whole bunch of Hunters of the Dead would be useful right now.

Question: To become a Hunter of the Dead, a character must have been previously energy drained by an undead. So: 

(1) What was Sir Malachite's "critical experience"? and 

(2) Are all the Emeral Chappelars Hunters of the Dead? If so, that's one *nasty* initiation requirement!

And BTW, if they arent all Hunters of the Dead, are they all paladins?


----------



## coyote6

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *If he is NOT Aleax, it would have been... bad... for him, and answered a lot of questions.
> 
> If he IS Aleax, it's his sword AND his soul-- I don't see how Malachite could lay claim to it.
> 
> I wonder if Malachite was more afraid of hurting Aleax, hurting his own reputation, or if it was just as simple as not wanting to lose his nifty sword. *




Nah. You left off the most obvious possibility -- there's no reason to think that the White Kingdom _wouldn't_ know about St. Aleax the sword. So, if Ghouleax is really part of a White Kingdom plot (whether or not he's actually Aleax at all, and whether or not he knows the truth), then it would be quite reasonable to assume that they _had a plan_ to deal with the sword. In that case, handing the sword over might be a good way to lose a valuable weapon against the White Kingdom. 

Hand it over to him, and zap! A _contingency_ triggers _Mordenkainen's disjunction_, a curse, or even a mere _teleport_ -- goodbye sword. 

Hell, who knows -- maybe the sword is one of the Kingdom's big targets -- maybe it's the undead-destroying artifact, or the key to some such thing.

Hmm -- combine some kind of teleportational swap with an illusionary light show (as the sword & the saint "reunite" or whatever), have Ghouleax announce that "You, Malachite, are worthy of this blade" and hand it back -- now Malachite's carrying a ringer sword, some sort of intelligent evil blade that'll fool one and all into thinking it's the holy blade. Then, when the chips are down, the sword turns on the Defenders, and things really go to hell.

Or, hey, Ghouleax really is Aleax, or at least some part of him -- but he's still the White Kingdom's creature. So skeletal saint touches sword, sword recognizes saint, and sword announces that Mr. Bones is the guy that ought to be wielding him. But as soon as Ghouleax touched the sword, the sword became theirs, too. Now, when the time was right, the Kingdom would just flip the off switch, and Aleax (sword and saint both) would go away. Oops, hope nobody needed 'em.

Plenty of ways for sneaky evil undead guys to rig the game. So -- nah. Not letting him touch the sword was the smart play. Though I would've been direly tempted, just to see what happened.


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## Magnus

i've only discovered this story a few weeks ago, in this incarnation. the huge number of pages in most of the story hours seemed too daunting for me to catch up, having only joined the boards since around December. i haven't posted here before, because i mostly felt like an outsider reading over someone's shoulder, plus wittier members usually beat me to anything i wanted to say. 

but i just _have_ to say:
OH! MY! FREAKING! GOODNESS!
in addition to the obviously brilliant DMing, PCat's writing in this Story Hour is superb! when i got to the point where the sword was demanded, i had to pause and take a breath before continuing. i have *very* vivid images of _every_ scene that i read in this story.

i want to offer some kind of congratulations to you, PirateCat, and of course to the stellar players you have, for an amazing story, breathtakingly told (literally). but nothing that i can think of, can accurately convey just how much i'm impressed with your game/story/writing. the best i can manage, is:

thank you.


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## Piratecat

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *How many CN types though say they are speaking for their God and basically threaten to strip away your Diety granted powers for not kissing their arse?
> *




In my game? None. CN's are lucky to have anything resembling an organized church; they tend to have many small chapels and hundreds of variant religions, all following different religious dogma.

What you describe, someone with ulterior motives threatening to strip a cleric's stature simply because the cleric is not flattering the superior, is lawful evil in my game. I'd rather not discuss it here, though; if anyone wants to start a thread in General Discussion, feel free to post a link here in the story hour.

Thanks!


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## Blackjack

*Re: So what's the plan?*



			
				Atticus_of_Amber said:
			
		

> *Are you going to gather all the former Knights of the Emerald Chapel?*



Tune in next week, same PCat-time, same PCat-channel.




> *
> What was Sir Malachite's "critical experience"?
> *



This story has yet to come up in-game, so I probably shouldn't go into it here.




> *
> Are all the Emeral Chappelars Hunters of the Dead? If so, that's one nasty initiation requirement!
> 
> And BTW, if they arent all Hunters of the Dead, are they all paladins? *



My working assumption has been that the Chaplars, as with most religious groups in PCat's world, are not defined by one character class (which is, after all, often an out-of-game concept more than an in-game one.)  Take, for instance, Velendo, who has always been a priest, but didn't realize he was a _Cleric_ until his first adventure with the Defenders.

One can assume that most Chaplars are Hunters of the Dead, but presumably they have a few clerics, vanilla paladins, and the like among their ranks as well.


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## Number47

It's no use to say that Aleax is this or Aleax is that. I know how minds like Piratecat's work. As long as the possibility is open, he isn't going to be one thing or another. It will only be found out when something happens to force the issue. Essentially, Ghouleax is Schrödinger's cat.

Heh. Although that situation might have been forced already if Malachite had let him touch the sword.


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## Wulf Ratbane

Number47 said:
			
		

> *Essentially, Ghouleax is Schrödinger's cat.*




Yep, it's a great analogy. I run my campaign this way-- do as much on the fly as possible. Only paint the broadest of strokes. 

It makes the difference between having your players "ruin your story" (I see a lot of DMs complain about this) and having the players help _create_ the story.

As for your other point, I called Aleax by his name (not Ghouleax). I think Malachite knew that and was just poking back at me in his response.

Wulf


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## Piratecat

Okay, I have to say I love the "Schrödinger's cat" concept. It's a brilliant description of a common DM phenomena: never decide until you're forced to.  

It isn't case here, though!  I know all about Aleax, who/where/why and how he is. Changing the story on the fly for metagame reasons just wouldn't be fair.

We game tonight. My next writeup, on Monday, will detail the meeting between Velendo, Nolin, and TomTom with the civic minister of Emperor Congenio Ioun, Master Artifacer. You'll see rapid travel, hasty explaining, full scale evacuation and sneaky tactics.  And then later in the week, you'll see what happens when the Defenders of Daybreak face off against several hundred ghouls!  Stay tuned.

As to whether or not I hate paladins/Malachite, I'm looking forward to tonight's game. If there's anywhere where hunters of the dead get to shine, it's against hordes of undead. I'm expecting some excitement!

Incidentally, I'm amused at the view count, too; we get a hit roughly every minute and a half, 24 hours a day. At this rate, we're due to hit 100K in three months!  But really, that's not important; the only thing that matters here is the story and the game. Hopefully you're having as much fun reading it as we do playing it.  This is like a 1920's movie serial in the pacing: climax and lull, climax and lull.


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## RangerWickett

Schrodinger was a physicist who came up with the idea that if there are multiple possibilities that can happen, the one that actually happens is in flux until we actually check.

The example is this:

You have a sealed box, and inside this box there is a cat, and a vial of poison gas.  Due to a mechanism of some sort, there is a 50% chance that the vial will break, and the gas will kill the cat.  There is also a 50% chance that the vial will not break, and thus the cat will be alright.  Thus, there are two possibilities, and we can't know which one is the truth until we open the box to check.

What Schrodinger said, that makes this all important, is that until we do check, the cat is _both_ dead and alive.  Only when we open the box does the universe have to choose one, but until that point, no choice has been made.

So they're basically saying that St. Aleax could be a badguy, or could be a goodguy, and that Pcat is just waiting for the right moment to decide, based on what would be coolest for the plot.  From the players' perspective, Aleax is like the cat: he could be either possibility.

. . . . . .

As a further note, this ties in with Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, which is actually applied in an interesting way.  Assume that we're trying to measure the location and temperature of a given molecule of gold in a huge mixture of other atoms.  Heisenberg's theory helps us understand that if we shoot a light beam at the gold atom to figure out where it is, we'll change it's temperature ever so slightly, and if we measure it's temperature by touching it with the physics equivalent of a thermometer, we'll change it's location, ever so slightly.  Thus, you can never know more than one attribute of an item with total precision at any given moment.  This doesn't bother us from day to day, but it makes life fun for physicists.


----------



## Number47

*Have to post because I'm a stickler*

Schrödinger was a physicist. He came up with a metaphor that is stilled used today in quantum physics (actually, it was more than a metaphor then, but things have changed). If an effect has a 50% probability of changing a particle's quantum state (basically, chance of particles to interact or change), then quantum physics state that the quantum function (read: particle), exists in both states until measured. So, in Schrödinger's thought-experiment, you put a cat in a box. The cat is undetectable from outside the box (sight and sound-proofed). Underneath the box is a canister of cyanide. The canister can be broken if a particular element decays and fires a neutron at it. The particular element has a 50% chance to decay in the time alloted. No quantum physics states that element both does and does not decay in the time alloted until measured, so the canister both does and does not break, so the cat is both alive and dead until measured. This is just one example of "quantum weirdness". I won't bother to go into details about why physicists know that this does happen on a quantum level (been shown in experiment), but does not happen on a macroscopic level (a cat is either alive or dead, period).

Sorry for the hijack, Piratecat.

No, I'm not a physicist. I just read.

Edit: I see that RangerWickett has posted before I did. Couple things to note: Schrödinger put together the mathematical formulas that still used, largely unchanged, to describe a quantum system. Heisenberg's Uncertainty principles touch on that, but you have it slightly off. To solve for a particle's location with increasing precision, the precision of the measurement of it's momentum becomes increasingly imprecise. Solving for momentum leaves imprecise location. Achieving perfect precision in either means knowing nothing of the other value. The best metaphor is this, imagine a guy running a race. You can choose to measure either his speed or his location with a single measurement. To measure his speed, you could use a radar gun. You shoot the gun at him and the wave travels to him and back. You know precisely how fast he was going in that instant, but it's hard to say exactly where he was at the instant the speed was measured. Conversely, you could instead take a photograph at a specific point in time. At that instant, you know exactly where the runner is, but because the photo is static, you have no idea how fast he was going. The tricky thing about quantum mechanics is that you cannot hook up your radar gun to a camera. A particle can only be subject to one measurement at a time, after which the act of measurement itself has changed the particle.

"Temperature" has nothing to do with Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, because that has no meaning on a quantum level.


----------



## Sagiro

Yikes!

We just finished our big battle with the ghouls emerging from the graveyard.  It was full of peril, paralysis, nasty surprises for both sides, and a few near-death experiences.  

I won't spoil Piratecat's forthcoming story hour too much, especially concerning the horrible giant [details expunged] that took us all by surprise, and the super-powerful undead that nearly killed two party members by [details expunged].

But I will provide the following list detailing what happened to the many "normal" ghouls who erupted out of the ground:

217 were killed by _positive energy bursts_ from Malachite (who is clearly still in the favor of Aeos).

58 were killed by _flame strikes_ from Nolin.

25 were killed by Fire Elementals summoned by Velendo, Nolin and Agar.

20 were killed by a combination of _healing circle_ from Nolin and an _acid fog_ from Agar.

18 were killed by a combination of a _healing circle_ from Nolin and an erupting tree thrown by Mara.  Yes, you read that last part right.

8 were killed by Mara _turning undead_.

8 were killed by a _chain lightning_ from Agar.

4 were killed by Tao in melee combat.

2 were killed by Mara's mighty bow.

That's 360 ghouls down, and most of the White Kingdom still to go.

Astute observers may have noticed that Velendo did very little in the battle, despite his ability to _turn undead_, cast _mass heal_, etc.  That's because he was [details expunged] and [details expunged] by a [filthy expletive redacted]  [details expunged].

He was useful at the very end, though.

Whew.  

-Sagiro


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## Wulf Ratbane

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *4 were killed by Tao in melee combat.*




Slacker.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Malachite does indeed rock the kill board.  Then again, it's what he does.

Nolin was pretty pleased with his body count.  For a guy not optimized for combat, Nolin racked up (a distant) second in kills and lead the team in assists.  Not bad for a guy with a lute.

Also, Malachite took quite a bit of damage during the fight from [spoiler deleted].  If it hadn't been for Nolin's Inspire Greatness, Malachite would be dead.  Really dead.

Go me.  It's nice to know you're helping.  Nolin spends a lot of time ineffectual, so useful is good.

Now resume your previous Malachite love fest.  He deserves it.


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## Wulf Ratbane

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> * Not bad for a guy with a lute.*




Aye, the terrifyin' unbridled fury of perfumed foppery!


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## KidCthulhu

Jairami said:
			
		

> * While I believe she still has the amazing longsword collection, isn't Tao more cleric now than ranger melee monster she once was?  Maybe she too busy doing something more important then to waste time with her blades? *




(sorry this is posted by Jobu but I am on KidChtulhu's computer)

Ahem.... Slacker?  Great cleve stops once there is nothing left within 5 feet, not to mention that just when Tao was surrounded by 20 ghouls she had to (can't say).  That's why she only got 4 kills.  Jesh, some people.


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## Wulf Ratbane

Jobu said:
			
		

> *Ahem.... Slacker?  Great cleve stops once there is nothing left within 5 feet, not to mention that just when Tao was surrounded by 20 ghouls she had to... *




... watch in amazement as her enemies were cut down by a perfumed fop?

Maybe if yer did a little less mincin' about with the unicorns, sniffin' flowers and rollin' around in the clover, yer'd make a bigger contribution to the pile o' dead bad guys.

Well, don't worry yerself about it. Nothin' wrong with leavin' the fightin' to the menfolk. And Nolin.

Wulf


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## Blackjack

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *Well, don't worry yerself about it. Nothin' wrong with leavin' the fightin' to the menfolk. And Nolin.*




Do not taunt Happy Fun Divine Agent.


----------



## Sagiro

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *
> 
> ... watch in amazement as her enemies were cut down by a perfumed fop?
> 
> Maybe if yer did a little less mincin' about with the unicorns, sniffin' flowers and rollin' around in the clover, yer'd make a bigger contribution to the pile o' dead bad guys.
> 
> Well, don't worry yerself about it. Nothin' wrong with leavin' the fightin' to the menfolk. And Nolin.
> 
> Wulf *




Oooh, I can't let this one slide.  Tao desperately wanted to slaughter those ghouls.  Instead, she ran to the aid of Velendo.  Without said aid, Velendo would have [details expunged] and never been able to [details expunged] the [details expunged] that was [details expunged]-ing us with her [details expunged].

So lay off.

-Sagiro


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## Sito Rotavele

*Jumping on the bandwagon*



			
				Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Maybe if yer did a little less mincin' about with the unicorns, sniffin' flowers and rollin' around in the clover, yer'd make a bigger contribution to the pile o' dead bad guys.
> 
> Wulf *




Somebody's crusing for a one-way ticket to the Beastlands.


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## Kesh

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *Without said aid, Velendo would have [details expunged] and never been able to [details expunged] the [details expunged] that was [details expunged]-ing us with her [details expunged].*




Oooh! Are we playing Mad-Libs now?


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## coyote6

Kesh said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Oooh! Are we playing Mad-Libs now?  *




Without said aid, Velendo would have *baked a dead weasel pie* and never been able to *alphabetize* the *Calphas's sock drawer* that was *sauté*-ing us with her *staff of the seven dwarves*.


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## Sialia

Right.

So if the peanut gallery will just pipe down until yonder storyteller finishes his composition, I'll stand the room to a round while we wait. 

Those of you who fancy you have clever tongues can put them to work devising the toasts for the heroes who are no doubt about to be shown worthy of them.

Where would we be without our storytellers, eh?


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## Kesh

Sialia said:
			
		

> *Where would we be without our storytellers, eh? *




Probably out getting dates.


----------



## Piratecat

Man, I ought to go away more often. You guys are *funny.*

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

*INTERLUDE*

Meanwhile, Velendo, TomTom, Nolin and Agar _wind walk_ to the site of Lord Ioun’s tower. This relic of an earlier age stands at the top of a difficult mountain pass, looking westerly onto Kanach Hur (the desert of the screaming sands) and easterly onto what were once the Sephanic Horseplains.  Now, of course, they’re a huge battlefield, scorched and littered with corpses from the year-long war against the skeletal armies.

Expecting no real opposition as they waft up the mountain in mist form, the group is surprised to find themselves challenged by invisible soldiers. They solidify, and begin to explain themselves; TomTom tries to manifest _true seeing_, is warned, tries it anyways, and is summarily blasted by a wand wielded by one of the soldiers. He reels from the substantial subdual damage, but shakes it off.

“TomTom, are you okay?” asks Velendo, concerned.

“Fine,” answers TomTom, in massive pain but keeping a blank face. “Those things don’t pack much of a wallop.”  The guards look nervous.  One of the guards communicates magically with someone, whispering into the wind, and after a brief pause the group is escorted up the trail with full honors. Apparently, someone remembers their role in liberating Ioun from his millennia-long magical curse, even though it has been a few years since they were here last. The guards provide them with horses, and they start up the path.

The group passes an inordinate number of guard posts as they climb the pass, more than they expected; questioning the guards, Velendo learns that the Necromancer Kings periodically attempt to send in invisible, flying, or insubstantial undead troops to make lightning-fast attacks. The guards paint a fairly horrific picture of some of the ambushes, and soon the security used against the _wind walked_ heroes doesn’t seem so severe.

It’s a strange ride. Odd bird calls fills the air, and the tracks of unusual beasts parallel the mountain trail.  Some animals here are unique: creatures that have died out everywhere else in the world, inadvertently preserved by a magical curse that once froze time in this vicinity for millennia. Velendo points out things the Defenders had seen the first time they had come here.  “There were dead body parts here… oh, and there, and there. Tao got swallowed by the monster about... hmmm… here. Oh, and there’s the spot that several party members were completely frozen in time.” Agar looks at him doubtfully, but Nolin fills in detail, and retelling the story passes the time quickly.

Finally the horses wearily turn a final corner, high enough up the mountains that breathing is slightly difficult and the sighing wind is cold. Rising abruptly up from a flat plateau is a massive black tower looming more than a hundred feet tall. Brutally plain, vertiginously tall, unnaturally constructed, the tower is a tribute to the magical construction techniques of a time long gone.  A platoon of soldiers stands at attention outside of the tower's massive gates, accompanied by a woman not wearing a uniform. She’s short, with a narrow face and short brown hair, and the groups' attention is immediately drawn to the dozen or so _ioun stones_ whirring and humming around her head. She walks forward firmly as the group dismounts.

“Welcome. Lord Ioun isn’t available at the moment.” Her voice is a deep contralto.  “He’s crafting magical items.  Are you here to see him on a military, civil or magical issue?”

The group looks at one another.  “All three, really,” decides Velendo.

“Perhaps I can help nevertheless. If we need one of the others, I will summon them.  My name is Veridain.  I am Ioun’s Minister of Civil Affairs here in our growing Empire.  If we can help you, we’ll be pleased to.”

She gestures up the stairs towards a heavy iron portal.  One by one, the group troops up towards the dark door, and as they walk through it into darkness they feel a slight tingle.

Anyone expecting a hallway is probably surprised. Walking out the other side, they find themselves immediately in a comfortable study. It reminds them quite a bit of Velendo’s office back in the temple of Eversink: full of stacks of papers, old trophies, warm wood and comfortable chairs. Drinks and food sit on a table by the wall.  Velendo looks round appreciably while Agar runs over to the window and looks out.  “We’re more than sixty feet up!” he squeaks, and Minister Veridain smiles.

Velendo and Nolin, between bites of delicious food, explain that they’re involved in an assault on a kingdom of undead. “We imagine you may have your hands full here, but there is some specific aid that might help.”

Veridain shakes her head. “You may not know it, but we’re involved in a similar assault ourselves. The Church of Aeos in our new protectorate of Corsai is leading an army against our foe. Thousands of clerics, warriors, mercenaries, and professional soldiers, all trained and equipped to win the war against those blasted necromancers. Most of our aid is dedicated to them; the Emperor has said we’re going to win that fight, and he’s committed to their success.  As a result, I’m not sure how many resources we can divert to your own cause.”

Nolin does his best to be charming. “Any help you can offer will be more than we have now. Thank you for your kindness and consideration.”

She smiles. “Old debts. We’ll do what we can without endangering our primary goals. Do you know what it is you’re looking for?”

Velendo nods. “We do.”

She reaches into a pouch and pulls out a sparkling crystal gem. Holding it above her head, she releases it, and it spins and dances as it joins the others orbiting her head. “Just think them,” she says. “It will be faster.” 

Nolin speaks up. “Do you have any kind of scrying device? There are some people we’d like to try and find.”

Veridain pushes her chair back and stands up. “Of course. Come with me.”  She walks back to the same door they had entered from. She walks through it and disappears from sight. Trading glances, the others follow.

A step away, they emerge in a room lined with crystal mirrors. They catch the Defenders’ reflections and bounce them back and forth, arcing away into infinity. In the center of the room is a massive crystal sphere, suspended in a band of mithral. Agar and Nolin can’t help but gasp.  “Feel free to use this. You might find it easier than most scrying devices.”

Stepping up, Nolin casts his mind into it, and feels his thoughts whirled up and magnified. He thinks of his lover Telay, exploring the Underdark thousands of miles away, and feels his consciousness streaming out across the world. Spread whisper-thin, he seeks for her in the caverns below and the lands above, but minutes of concentration fail to find her. Reluctantly, he pulls his consciousness back. “Either she’s dead or protected from scrying,” he says worriedly. “How about we try and find one of the Imbindarlan worshippers that our _legend lore_ told us about?”

“I don’t know,” says Velendo worriedly. “We might be alerting them when we shouldn’t be.”  The group debates the wisdom of information gathering versus inadvertent warnings, when TomTom suddenly interrupts and changes the subject. 

“Crap. I just heard Tao’s voice through my earring. She says they’re coming in four hours.”

“Who’s coming where?”

TomTom looks aggrieved. “How should I know? I only hear four seconds. But I think she’s gotten Dylrath, and I think she’s coming for us. It must be the ghouls.”

Nolin and Agar look almost perky, but the old cleric’s face falls. “Oh boy,” worries Velendo. “Today? I’m not ready for undead today, damn it.”  He casts his eyes skyward, addressing his God Calphas the Wallbuilder.  “Ha ha, very funny. I bet this is your idea of a big joke. I’m hoping I’m going to laugh.”  He then looks at Veridain. “Is there anywhere in here where someone can teleport in or out?”

She leads them out of the scrying room and into a huge circular room, just on the other side of the same door they entered through. A magical circle is imprinted on the floor, runes glowing slightly in the dim light.  TomTom and Agar both do their best to memorize the room in case they ever need to _teleport_ into the Tower. “This will do,” she says. “So I take it you have to leave?”  The group nods.  “In that case, I’ll see whether we can be of any help. I’ll be in touch. When….”  She trails off, staring at blank air, and is then interrupted by a gesturing arm sticking out of empty space. 

“Ah,” says Nolin. “There’s our ride. Good luck, thank you, and we’ll be in touch.” One by one, the Defenders step into an invisible portal, and Ioun’s Tower disappears behind them.

Alone in the Chamber of Transport, Veridain shakes her head slightly before smiling. She walks alone from the room, already making notes on a sheet of parchment.

_To be continued…._

Coming up: Dylrath cuts class. Raevynn redefines her loyalties. And Hundle’s Crossing meets their nightmare!


----------



## KidCthulhu

I go away for a weekend, and suddenly Nolin is a perfumed fop?  What gives?

First of all, it's pomade, not perfume.

Second of all, despite the fact that Nolin wears a cloth of gold cloak set with rubies, golden bracers, also set with rubies, and a flame proof hat with a feather in it, he is not a fop.

So there.


----------



## Piratecat

Tao hasn’t wasted any time. Still standing in the entranceway of the House of the Sun, she tries to alert Dylrath using her magical _clasp of crown eternal_ (a medal that doubles as a magical signaling device.)  When he doesn’t immediately respond or show up to claim her, she grabs Mara and Malachite by their hands.  “Come on,” she says. “We’re leaving.”

“Where to?” asks Mara.  “I still have to….”

Mara never finishes her sentence, because the smell of Corsai’s dusty heat and exotic spices is suddenly replaced with the smell of the ocean and the stench of a large city. Tao has _teleported without error_ to the outside courtyard of the Academe Sorcere in the coastal city of Oursk. Without pausing, she sets off at a run for the massive bronze doors of the main entrance. The two paladins trade a look that speaks volumes about certain women who don’t communicate their plans, and follow gamely along. 

They catch up to her in one of the stone hallways of the classroom wing. Dylrath is standing there next to a matronly teacher. As they approach, the teacher is saying, “…clearly not ill, and you have class responsibilities. I simply don’t think that I….”

Tao loses her temper. Her solid green eyes flash, and the holy aura that surrounds her sweeps outwards, chilling the teacher’s blood. “I am Tao Camber,” she intones, “Knight of the Horn. Dylrath is needed for something *much* more important than schoolwork. A village is about to be destroyed, and Dylrath’s skills *are* required.”  

The teacher pales, and Dylrath looks at her with a cheery grin.  “Extracurricular project?” he suggests. Backing away from Tao, the teacher nods dumbly until she bumps into a classroom door. She slides behind it, using it like a shield, still staring at Tao like a hypnotized stoat.

“Well, that went well,” says Dylrath happily. “What’s up?”

“They’re coming.” Tao lifts her gaze from the teacher and focuses it on Dylrath.

“Oh. Oh boy. Okay. Ummm… go outside. Someplace inconspicuous, you know?”  _Sure, like these three would be inconspicuous anywhere they went,_ he thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns on his heel and trots down the corridor towards his dormitory.

Outside, the three heroes wait until a hand beckons them forward, emerging from thin air. They step forward into a large extradimensional room, redone in teak flooring with cloaks and disguises hanging on ancient alabaster statues. “Mara, Malachite, it’s a demiplane with its own _mirror of mental prowess_ in it. Not a normal one, y’know. Don’t mess with the statues – they may summon something – and I wouldn’t poke around with the _gates_ over in the corners. They lead to paraelemental planes, and I don’t need a magma elemental in here messing up the décor. Where to, Tao?”

“The town of Hundle’s Crossing, or as close to it as you can get.”

They pick up Raevynn, fresh from a lunch with the Patriarch of House Roaringbrook, where Raevynn has been exploring mutual goals and possible alliances. They pick up Velendo, Nolin, TomTom and Agar, in Ioun’s Tower.  “Who was that woman?” asks Dylrath, and files the name of Ioun’s Civil Minister away for future use. Then he focuses the mirror room on a merchant he knows in a town upriver from Hundle’s Crossing. Some of the group slips out in _wind walk_ form, and Dylrath waits until they arrive in the village before he focuses the mirror on them once again. The other Defenders exit, and Dylrath heads off to get Mara’s horse Luminor.

They have three hours.

Hundle’s Crossing is a beautiful little riverside village, peaceful and relatively naïve; no powerful heroes retired there, no insidious political plots, just honest farmers and friendly merchants and an inn with excellent beer. The Mayor, who they find tilling his fields, actually believes them; how could he not? He organizes the evacuation of the farms, of the local iron mine, of the businesses. There is much complaining, confusion, and fear. Nolin draws out lagging villagers with his music, and gives them a tremendously inspirational speech that boils down to “You aren’t a coward if you let us handle this. Protect your loved ones, and be strong for the town.” It’s difficult for some of them to swallow, but it seems to do the trick.

The group suspects that the ghouls will surface through the mine, but Raevynn’s _commune with nature_ shows otherwise.  There are horrible problems underneath the town’s small cemetery.  Tao’s _clairvoyance_ reveals that the earth beneath the cemetery has been hollowed out, and hundreds of creatures wait there: chewing on spare bones, shambling back and forth, staring at the earthen ceiling with undisguised hunger.  Not good.

So the townsfolk are lead to the mines, where Velendo’s _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ shelters most of them. The farms are mostly clear, the town is totally clear, and there are no innocent bystanders left nearby to serve as ghoul food.

Half an hour left.

The group gathers on the hill overlooking the cemetery. Dylrath has gone off to try and find Arcade, who has a _ring of free action_ that his familiar wears.  The rest of the group prepares. Velendo surrounds the cemetery with _walls of force_ and _positive walls_, hemming in the escape routes to channel the ghouls up the hill, towards the Defenders. People pace back and forth. The sun sets in a beautiful blood-red sky, the light making the white tombstones almost glow in the gathering gloom. The evening birds fall silent.

Down in the graveyard, a tombstone sinks slightly, and falls over.  Then another one topples. A mausoleum sags. Then, with a growing roar, a 20 ft. hole in the center of the cemetery collapses in on itself, dirt falling into the ground like an earthen waterfall.  A flock of birds take flight from nearby trees, cawing cacophonously as they take to the air in fright.

As the cave-in stops, a sound can finally be heard: the growling, gurgling sounds of very, very hungry creatures. The smell that wafts out is even worse.  And like fire ants out of a kicked-over nest, a multitude of gray shapes swarm out of the ground into the growing darkness of Hundle's Crossing.

_To be continued…._


----------



## KidCthulhu

I was particularly pleased with Nolin's speech.  It was basically the polar opposite of the "St Crispin's Day" speech from Henry V.  Saying "When you're old and grey, you can look at your grandkids and be happy, because you didn't throw your lives away now."  

Sheesh, the things I tell people in the name of being a hero.


----------



## Piratecat

The ghouls swarm upwards, probably eighty or a hundred scrabbling into sight. Most seem to have once been dwarves or gnomes; their small hands now sport long claws, and sharpened teeth can be seen through the rat’s nest of sparse dwarven beards.  With them come tiny flying balls of fire, swooping and spiraling out of the pit as if alive. Scrying devices? Impossible to say, and the _hasted_ Defenders don’t waste any time trying to find out.

Tao prepares to slow them down by casting _plant growth_ on the short grass of the cemetery, and Raevynn  follows up with the exact same thing. Velendo summons a huge fire elemental, which wades into the advancing ghouls and sears them with its fiery arms.

From up on the hill, the group waits until close to a hundred are in sight… then Malachite, _levitating_ slightly, slams his bracers together. 

*“Lux Smaragdi luceat eis!”* Emerald light bursts from his bracers as Malachite becomes the heart of an emerald sun. For just a second, the shadowy battlefield is lit up in a flash. And then, before the light fades, everyone sees the sight of dozens of undead blasted out of existence instantaneously. Flesh flies from rotting faces, bones shatter and disintegrate like ice in hot water, shrieks fill the air as the breath is driven from four-score sets of lungs. The tiny flying balls of fire seem unaffected, but the ghoulish tide is slowed; perhaps eighty or so undead perished instantaneously.

Everyone looks at Malachite with new-found respect. He might, just barely, be smiling.

While TomTom places _inertial barriers_ on people, Nolin flies high above the battlefield, and then swoops down. Hovering above a company of ghouls that survived the blast, he can see down into the pit, and sees more than a hundred more starting to climb out. Nolin casts _healing circle_, destroying more than ten, and then flies upwards as Agar drops an _acid fog_ neatly over the entrance to the pit.  “That’ll hold ‘em,” says Agar with pleasure, and summons his own _extended_ fire elemental to be on the safe side.  Velendo, upset that the ghouls might now decide to wait - thus causing all the spells that the Defenders have active to expire - stops grumbling at Agar long enough to notice that the ground is shaking. 

“What the…?”

Before he can do anything, the hillside under their feet erupts into a shower of dirt and a rising juggernaut of slimy, rotting gray flesh. At first the group thinks it’s an undead purple worm; as both Tao and Velendo disappear into its huge mouth, that’s certainly their first impressions. But as the creature engulfs them, they realize that they’re wrong.  Like grasping cilia, the inside of the worm’s mouth is filled with ghoulish arms, clutching and tearing, and dozens of screaming heads that barely poke their way out of the fleshy wall and tongue. 

Someone screams.

To the horror of people watching, the outside skin of the worm pulses grotesquely and then _turns_… shuffling itself around and revealing that each 5 ft. section of the worm’s body is the torso of a ghoul, somehow flesh-merged together. Now the worm looks more like a humongous centipede, only with ghoulish arms clutching anything nearby, instead of a centipede’s legs. The monster throws its blind snout skywards, and hundreds of half-seen gibbering mouths slobber and drool in hunger.

Inside its gullet, Tao manages to lock one hand around the razor sharp bone-like protrusion of the lip; Velendo, who has never been terribly strong, isn’t as lucky. The raising of the snout breaks his grip, and dozens of clawed arms grab him and force him down the long throat, tearing at his flesh as he goes.  He feels negative energy coursing through his body, and his screaming muscles lock in place.

_to be continued…._

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

*The Necropede* by David Hendee (Littlejohn)


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *This is indeed a rat bastardy monster. It gets even better.   *




During the combat, PCat starts looking over my shoulder at the shelves where he keeps the miniatures and other figures that we use to represent larger critters.  "Can I get you something?" I ask.

"Naah," says PCat, slyly keeping the secret until the last minute, when he stands up and grabs the sand worm.

FYI, the sand worm toy in question is about 30 cm (12") long and about 5 cm (2") in diameter.  The PCs, by contrast, are represented using standard lead figures.  You could hear the collective "ulp" from around the table.

The sand worm's mouth is big enough to hold 2 or 3 lead figures.  Unfortunately, this feature came in handy...


----------



## Rune

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> Before he can do anything, the hillside under their feet erupts into a shower of dirt and a rising juggernaut of slimy, rotting gray flesh. At first the group thinks it’s an undead purple worm; as both Tao and Velendo disappear into its huge mouth, that’s certainly their first impressions. But as the creature engulfs them, they realize that they’re wrong.  Like grasping cilia, the inside of the worm’s mouth is filled with ghoulish arms, clutching and tearing, and dozens of screaming heads that barely poke their way out of the fleshy wall and tongue.
> 
> Someone screams.
> 
> To the horror of people watching, the outside skin of the worm pulses grotesquely and then turns… shuffling itself around and revealing that each 5 ft. section of the worm’s body is the torso of a ghoul, somehow flesh-merged together. Now the worm looks more like a humongous centipede, only with ghoulish arms clutching anything nearby, instead of a centipede’s legs. The monster throws its blind snout skywards, and hundreds of half-seen gibbering mouths slobber and drool in hunger.
> 
> Inside its gullet, Tao manages to lock one hand around the razor sharp bone-like protrusion of the lip; Velendo, who has never been terribly strong, isn’t as lucky. The raising of the snout breaks his grip, and dozens of clawed arms grab him and force him down the long throat, tearing at his flesh as he goes.  He feels negative energy coursing through his body, and his screaming muscles lock in place.
> *




Oh.  My.  FREAKIN'.  God!

Piratecat, prior to this post, I had been able to convince myself that I was a somewhat creative guy and that I could run horror reasonably well, but you have once again reminded me how this stuff is _really_ done!

Thank you, to a true master of the craft!  I will go weep in fear and resignation, now.


----------



## Sagiro

Rune said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Thank you, to a true master of the craft!  I will go weep in fear and resignation, now. *




Funny... that's just what Velendo was doing at that moment.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

As Velendo and Tao disappear into the necropede’s gullet, the Defenders leap into action. TomTom, who is virtually useless against undead, _schisms_ his mind and runs over to manifest _inertial barrier_ on Mara as well. She smells hot metal as he does so, as for just a few seconds the smell of his psionics masks the reeking taint of dried blood and rotting flesh. 

Inside the creature’s maw, Tao strains every muscle she has, and barely manages to pull herself free. It isn’t easy, and the clutching undead arms almost drag her back inside, but she rolls clear and makes it to her feet. Near her, Malachite levitates downwards and sprints towards the monster, determined to help Velendo.

Unfortunately, the beast sees Malachite with hundreds of half-rotten eyes, and smells the irresistible odor of flesh. It rises slightly, twists its snout, and swallows him whole. 

Inside its throat, Malachite ignores the dozens of clawed hands trying to pull him apart. Instead, he focuses his eyes on what little he can see of Velendo as he concentrates, focusing his will through the lens of his faith. He releases another _positive energy burst_.  In the glare of the emerald light he feels arms searing away into stumps and watches ghoulish eyes boiling in their sockets within the worm’s rotting throat.  

From outside, the Defenders watch as the necropede shudders, emerald light pouring from rents in its skin. The positive energy streams past them, destroying even more ghouls back in the graveyard behind them.  For a second or two, the air smells clean.

“I’m coming, Blessed One!” Malachite calls to Velendo, and forces his way farther down the creature’s throat.

Outside, Mara’s eyes light up with a clever idea. She can’t get close to it without being swallowed, but….  She digs in her pouch and pulls out a tiny token shaped like a perfect tree. With a flawless throw, she sinks it right into the monster’s mouth. It tumbles past Malachite.  Velendo, paralyzed, can only watch as it is lands near him and is grasped by an undead hand. The token is blindly passed, hand to hand, past him down the long slimy throat into the depths of the worm itself.  Velendo notes, out of the corner of his eye, that the _Quaal’s Tree Token_ is already starting to grow roots.

Raevynn tries to cast _gutroot_ on the monster, with no effect, and Agar casts a _rope trick_ for people to use as a sanctuary.  He clambers into it himself and dangles out upside down, casting spells from a nice safe place. He still remembers his recent death, and would rather not repeat the experience.

Tao gets to her feet next to the necropede. As she does, though, the worm starts to slither, and the hill around it begins to collapse. Mara and TomTom jump back, but Tao doesn’t have time, and she falls downwards along with sliding dirt and rocks. She doesn’t fall far before her _ring of feather falling_ kicks in, and she gets the first horrified look at what’s below her. The worm is slithering upwards, and clinging to its outsides are scores more ghouls, mostly dwarven. They’re using it as transportation to the surface… and Tao’s falling right on top of them.  

The worm surfaces and ghouls drop from it with slavering glee. Tao is still balanced on its back, swinging her swords around her as she clears herself a place to fight, plunging her weapon into the beast itself.  Mara opens her mouth in a prayer as she dismounts Luminor….

And finds her head snapped backwards. Someone – something – riding on the back of the worm has shot a bone arrow at her, shot it with such precision that it flew into her mouth and punctured the back of her throat and the back of her skull without touching any of her teeth. She begins to choke on her own blood as she fights off the darkness. All she can hear around her is the gurgling screams of the hungry undead.

_to be continued….


DM's Note: One arrow, 85+ points of damage! She liived through it, partially due to the inertial barrier, but she (and Velendo, and Malachite, and Tao) are in a bad spot right now. And who's the archer, and what's up with the ghoulish worm, and what about that tree?  Next update Sunday!
_


----------



## madriel

Oh.  My.  GOD!

That was too cool.  Seriously.  That necropede is nasty biscuits.  It just gets worse and worse.  Not only is it swallowing every party member it can get its hands on, it's piggybacking ghouls and a very nasty sniper.  What a shot.  85 points of damage.  Great way of writing up the arrow shot that took out Mara.  I'm still stunned.

Suddenly Sunday seems a very long way away.


----------



## Blackjack

*Re: Wow*



			
				Darklone said:
			
		

> *How did you manage that?*




+5 DM of Paladin Hating.


----------



## J'quan

Deepworm Sniper?  *shiver*

Add a few rogue levels to that DS, and shooting from invis... likely a sneak attack for some more loving.


----------



## Samnell

Piratecat said:
			
		

> “I’m coming, Blessed One!” Malachite calls to Velendo, and forces his way farther down the creature’s throat.




If I were in Malachite's shoes I don't know that I'd be calling a paralyzed guy stuck in the maw of a giant undead worm filled with ghouls (made of ghouls?) blessed. He might not appreciate the irony if he survives.

"Blessed One? Ha ha ha, very funny. You'll see just how blessed I am once I get this smell out of my clothes."


----------



## Blackjack

Samnell said:
			
		

> *If I were in Malachite's shoes I don't know that I'd be calling a paralyzed guy stuck in the maw of a giant undead worm filled with ghouls (made of ghouls?) blessed.  *




  Alas, this was actually a typo on PCat's part.  Malachite always calls Velendo "your Holiness";  the title "Blessed One" is for St. Aleax.  (The _sword_.)

Malachite is very precise with titles, much to Velendo's chagrin -- Velendo has repeatedly asked Malachite to stop calling him "your Holiness", but Velendo might as well be talking to a wall. 

Which, given his faith, makes a lot of sense, actually.


----------



## Samnell

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Malachite is very precise with titles, much to Velendo's chagrin -- Velendo has repeatedly asked Malachite to stop calling him "your Holiness", but Velendo might as well be talking to a wall.
> 
> Which, given his faith, makes a lot of sense, actually.




Being told to stand in the corner must have special significance in the religion. You get Calphas in stereo.


----------



## Piratecat

We're headed off to the incredibly important climax of Sagiro's game, the encounter that we've been building towards for five years... and we're really excited.  But between that, chores, and a fun couple of days at ConnCon (where I saw some EN Boarders!), I haven't had time to update yet. I do have a special feature for you, though; want to see stats on the necropede?  

If you aren't an active player in my campaign,  follow this link!  If you are in my campaign, I trust you not to look there. 

So enjoy, and expect a story hour update on Monday!


----------



## Piratecat

Mara manages to keep consciousness. She watches in pain as Nolin activates his new psionic ring and breaths a gout of fire down upon the creature.  He swoops over to the injured paladin and casts _healing circle_.  As he does so, he’s silhouetted against the flickering light of burning, wriggling, undead flesh; it would make a _wonderful_ portrait. The warm energy of Nolin’s spell flows through Mara, and she feels the bone arrow dissolve.

Malachite pulls his way through a sea of ghoulish limbs, ignoring their imploring wails and clutching fingers. Undead flesh pressing in at him on all sides, he sees Velendo’s horrified face. He reaches out… stretches as much as he can… and his fingers barely latch on to Velendo’s paralyzed forearm. As he does so, he activates his new _cape of the mountebank_ acquired from the Dockside Royals, and both he and Velendo vanish. 

With a flash of colored smoke, the two Defenders appear 50 feet away, right next to Mara. They’re covered with slime and saliva that seeped from dozens of gaping mouths, but they’re alive. 

“Who can remove paralysis?” asks Malachite, gasping.

“I can!” calls Tao. She is still standing on the necropede surrounded by partially dismembered ghouls, balancing there precariously as she tries to pull her sword free of the beast’s spine. She thinks she hit something important; it’s quivering and squirming. She _dimension doors_ over to Velendo, pausing for a few seconds until her head clears. 

Meanwhile, everyone who can fly or levitate has risen into the air, trying desperately to identify the archer who shot Mara. One armored dwarf with a rotting bow is a possibility, and he’s quickly taken out of action by Agar, but even the levitating TomTom can’t see anyone else standing out in the chaotic tangle of undead.

Then the giant worm thrashes, screams with a hundred voices.  A ragged split forms across the gray jelly of its back. Sections of undead flesh shear off of the body with a nightmarish sound of "shlupurplurp".  Some dissolve into cloudy sludge that sinks into the upturned soil, but many more – too many – regaining their previous ghoulish forms. Now there are almost 200 ghouls on the battlefield, clawing their way out from the dissolving corpse like maggots from a burning corpse. They turn towards the Defenders, the closest source of warm, fresh, tasty meat.

Malachite releases another _positive energy burst_, blasting scores of them out of existence. Mara _turns undead_ and watches as her faith disintegrates half a dozen that are running towards her. Nolin drops two _flame strikes_ in perfect synchrony, and Agar’s tentacular fire elemental wades into a company of ghouls and begins to lay waste.  

Once again the ground vibrates.  Mara’s tree token has sprouted, and with the sound of a hundred summers compressed into six seconds, a 60 ft. tall oak tree springs up from the burrowed hole.  The tree blocks the opening and flings almost twenty ghouls high into the air.  Gravity then takes its normal course, with splattering results.  Mara grins, and Raevynn - still hunting for the archer - almost cheers.

With a prayer, Tao cures Velendo’s paralyzation, and gleefully wades back into the battle. There isn't much for her to do, though, other than mopping up.  Within twelve seconds, more than a hundred and fifty of the undead on the battlefield have been completely and utterly destroyed. 

"Not too bad," someone says.

Then an elf stands up from the charred shadows of a dozen blasted ghouls. She is not terribly tall; her armor is made from the skin of a flayed elf, and her bone bow is as big as she is. She looks around, almost as if she knows Hundle’s Crossing herself.  TomTom's keen ears catch a fragment of a muttered remark: "It's good to be home."  

And then, with a terrible smile on her sunken face, she licks a handful of bone arrows with her long, forked tongue... and sends all four arrows – Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! - hurtling through the air at Malachite. 

_to be continued…._


----------



## Magnus

*i've bee nmeaning to ask ...*

*magnus shows his ignorance*
 ... KidCthulhu, what _does_ your sig mean???


----------



## KidCthulhu

In the original short story "The Call of Cthulhu", by HP Lovecraft the cultist of great Cthulhu summon and invoke the dread elder god by chanting "Ia, Ia, Cthulhu Ftagen."  So the sig is a play on words.

It's also a really funny mental image, Pkitty and I came up with one night in a fit of giggles.  Picture Great Cthulhu on a sled, with a big red and white striped stocking cap flapping in the breeze behind him, and his tentacles all being blown back into his face.

Makes me wish I had any artistic talent and could draw it.  Chronosome?  Sialia?  Contact? Anybody?


----------



## blargney

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *Picture Great Cthulhu on a sled, with a big red and white striped stocking cap flapping in the breeze behind him, and his tentacles all being blown back into his face.*




That's funny, I'd actually pictured it with Great Cthulu AS the sled!  Face-down in the snow, a jubilant kid with a big red and white striped stocking cap flapping in the breeze behind him on Cthulu's back using the tentacles for steering.

-blarg


----------



## Plane Sailing

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *
> 
> It's also a really funny mental image, Pkitty and I came up with one night in a fit of giggles.  Picture Great Cthulhu on a sled, with a big red and white striped stocking cap flapping in the breeze behind him, and his tentacles all being blown back into his face.
> 
> Makes me wish I had any artistic talent and could draw it.  Chronosome?  Sialia?  Contact? Anybody? *




Hey, KidC - is this one any good (just drew it)?


----------



## drnuncheon

Nail said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Yah, but...what kind o' lumber is the sled made out of?
> *




It's made of the grotesque, cyclopean, non-Euclidian trees of the Far Plains of Leng, a stygian pit where dwell the gauntfins and the inhumanly chuckling Deep Things.

Duh.



J


----------



## Piratecat

We just played! One person killed 94 ghouls with one attack... and it *wasn't* Malachite and his _positive energy burst!_ The group hunted down and killed 189 more ghouls, but Malachite was responsible for two of them. He was busy saving the life of one of the three people who could _raise dead._

It was quite the game.  Clever tactics, tunnel-crawling, with ghouls aplenty and experience galore! Everyone gained a level - Velendo now gets 9th level spells - and a bunch of undead got their comeuppance. Read it here, next week!

By the way, a bone arrow is simply an arrow made from a creatures arm or leg bone; Blackjack's reply was funny, but there really wasn't anything special about them beyond what you'd expect.


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite tries to dodge, but there’s no time. One of the arrows is blocked by the githyanki crystalline armor he wears, shattering into splinters of bone. The other three arrows hit, two of them striking his torso and the third piercing his throat. He gags and clutches for the arrow, but it has already passed through his throat and out the other side, leaving burning pain caused by the ghoul’s saliva. Blood fountains down Malachite’s front, and with a shock he realizes that without TomTom’s _inertial barrier_ slowing the arrows down he would probably be dead. As it is, the only thing keeping him alive now is the flame of his faith, buoyed by Nolin’s inspirational music.  Aleax would heal the paladin, but Malachite isn’t holding the sword, so there’s little that the steel saint can do. Instead, Malachite holds his own hand to his throat, and sunlight blazes from between his fingers as he heals himself.

TomTom is one of the first people to react. Levitating over the combat, he spots the archer with his _true seeing_; already, she’s starting to disappear back into the shadows, her form incredibly difficult to follow. Then TomTom draws on a resource that he’s used only a handful of times over the last six years; he lifts his hand up in front of him, focuses his will, and with a grimace unleashes the strongest magics of his _ring of shooting stars._

Moonbeams play about him for a few seconds, a sign that the ring is invoking the power of Celian, God of the Heavens.  Then three fiery meteors shoot from the ring with a thundering burst, blazing across the battlefield's darkness to strike the ghoul solidly in the chest. She is blown backwards as celestial flames sear into her, and an echoing *BOOM* rolls back and forth across the sleeping valley of Hundle’s Crossing.  The ghoul's scream sounds almost two-toned, both high and feminine and low and masculine, but that's probably a trick of the acoustics. She rolls to a stop in a shallow crater blasted from the surface of the hill, most of her hair and flesh charred from the impact.  

“Wow!” someone says in an awed voice. “I didn’t know he could do that.”

Raevynn seizes the opportunity. She changes into a 20 ft. long dire bear and charges the archer as quickly as she can. The ghoulish woman is _fast_ – incredibly so – but Raevynn is huge, and that makes all the difference. 

Raevynn’s buckler-sized paw slams down, knocking the dodging ghoul to the ground. The archer is wearing armor made from a flayed elven skin, some man who had apparently crossed her in the past, and as Raevynn's massive paw slaps into the ghoul the armor opens its eyes, looks at Raevynn with a look of incomprehensible pain and madness, and shrieks.  As it does so, Raevynn recoils, but the archer smiles with a toothy grin as wide as her entire face.

The ghoul tries to escape from underneath Raevynn's paw, but Raevynn’s claws hold fast and the druid uses her substantial weight to keep the ghoul pinned to the ground. Members of the Defenders who aren’t healing Malachite rush over, but Velendo is faster. Flying from a previously cast spell, he swoops over and sees the female ghoul wiggling her way free. 

Velendo shakes his head, scared and angry and yearning for some payback. With his jaw set, he holds out the _grimrod_ that he had recovered from the Dockside Royals, and uses its power to focus a spell.  He sends a maximized _searing light_ into the woman’s upper chest, just about the same place that she shot Mara and Malachite. 

She screams for a few seconds, her armor screams louder… and then the holy energy burns away her head, setting her flesh afire and cutting off her inhuman voice.  

A few more squads of ghouls are _turned_ and blasted, and then the Defenders pause and look around the battlefield. The last glow of the setting sun lights up the western sky, and the once-beautiful cemetery is a mass of steaming bones and sulfurous vapors. Two fire elementals make the _acid fog_ in the charnel pit light up with an odd reddish glow, and the huge oak tree silhouetted against the darkening western sky still has a few undead impaled upon its upper branches. Charred bones litter the ground.  Nothing is moving but the branches of the tree, waving slightly in the gentle breeze that is slowly carrying away the stink of death.

It appears that the Defenders have won.

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

_To be continued!


*Notes:*  TomTom’s ring did a whole 88 points of damage; who coulda guessed? Not me, that’s for sure.  I guess that makes up the more than 100 points that Malachite took from the ghoulish archer’s critical and two hits.  Blackjack may claim I’m a +5 DM of Paladin Hating, but the truth is that the female ghoul had a grudge against humans. Not the same thing at all!

Incidentally, Raevynn made her grapple check by *1*. If she had failed it, this combat may have been very different indeed.
_


----------



## Piratecat

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *Do you "cheat" a bit and keep copies of all of the characters sheets handy so you can peruse them at will? Or do you do the much more dangerous hope you remember routine?
> 
> At least to me it seems that once a party gets over 10th level on the average the DM just needs a copy so that his ideas don't get totally smashed by something completely unexpected. Like say a Ring of Shooting Stars someone may have. *




This session it was even worse than that; Tremere (TomTom's player) is a brand new daddy, so he wasn't there. I was NPCing TomTom, and I recalled that he had a _ring of shooting stars_ that he didn't often have the opportunity to use. "I wonder what it does?" I mused, and then I looked it up. Holy cow! It's potent in 3e!  So TomTom unleashed Hell, and I found out that I'd grown too attached to my own NPC baddie.    I think it's good for the players when their ideas and abilities trump something that the DM dreamed up; they're heroes, damn it, and if they're creative they deserve to reap the (usually positive) consequences.

I seldom review the sheets and abilities; I prefer that the players surprise me with stuff that I didn't know they were capable of. For me, that's half the fun of playing.  That said, Sagiro recently undertook a project (now 80% done, waiting for some info from me) to put all the character sheets on the web so that they're clear and easily accessible. He's done an amazing job. When his character got XP last night, some of it was due to that!

I'll point out that now I'm officially nervous. The PCs leveled up last night, and now Velendo has 9th level spells! Other PCs are similarly buff, with Nolin gaining _fire seed_ and Tao gaining a new level of spells. I've never tried DMing at this power level before, and I still have some concern about being able to sufficiently challenge the players by using something that the DMG says is bad: lots of low-lvl foes with decent-to-good tactics and a few clever people leading them. Will it be fun? I have no idea! But we'll find out. They'll leave traditional politics behind when they enter the underdark, and that makes for a campaign with a different feel to it.

There are all sorts of things to think about: what if the PCs spend all their time _wind walking_? What if they plane-shift to the ethereal and travel there? What if Velendo decides to cast _true resurrection_ on Aleax, or on St. Morak, Aleax's Calphasian companion on that long-ago illfated journey?  What about powerful divination spells? What if Tao uses her _gate_ ability to summon something with 30-odd hit dice?  Lots of stuff to consider! But we'll run with it, and I have contingencies and different plot branches and all sorts of interesting things planned, so I'm trusting that this will be fun for some time to come.


----------



## Sialia

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Yay! Sialia, drop a link in here when you put up the thread in the (brand new) art gallery forum. *




http://www.enworld.org/messageboards/showthread.php?s=&threadid=8495&perpage=15&pagenumber=1

More pictures than just the originals--check in daily!

End of digression.

Everybody, that was a fantastic combat!  very glad to read this.


----------



## Piratecat

The Defenders stand in triumphant silence around the smoking bodies of almost 400 ghouls. Someone whistles softly, a rising tone of impressed admiration. The fire elementals crackle merrily as they try to get through the _acid fog_, and vile humours drip from Velendo and Malachite’s armor. Everyone takes a big sigh of relief.

The moment is broken by the sound of applause from behind them. Everyone spins, expecting the worse and raising their weapons. Instead of evil (Mara checks) undead (Malachite checks), they see a group of people standing at the base of the hill, looking up at them excitedly.  There’s a dwarven woman, several bodyguards, some clerks and a servant or two. The dwarf is wearing cloth of gold decorated with lace and silk, jeweled chains adorning her slight beard, and she’s leading the applause by clapping her silk-gloved hands.  

“Get out of here!” snarls Nolin, his voice carrying. “You’re in terrible danger!”

The female dwarf answers, her voice a rich contralto. “There was no one in town to accept our goods, and we saw the light from our boat. We heard the fight, too! What happened here?”  She holds a silk cloth up to her nose; apparently, her sense of smell is enough to tell her that the Defenders were slaughtering some sort of foul monster instead of hapless townsfolk. 

“Ghouls,” the Defenders answer, “hundreds of them, and it isn’t safe yet. Please return to your boat.” The dwarven woman twitches her handkerchief in dismissal, and TomTom’s keen ears hear her whispering to a clerk beside her “…ones I was telling you about, that the Council…”  

TomTom sighs. When the Defenders quickly decide that they need to head underground to assure that the problem is dealt with, he volunteers to stay up on top, to watch the civilians and keep his eyes out for any more tunnels appearing. Tao sinks briefly into a _clairvoyance_ thanks to her magical helm.  “There’s more down there,” she reports, “with more tiny glowing eyeballs. And they’re retreating!”

A little more than a minute has passed since the beginning of the combat, and everyone is still _mass hasted_.  Most of the Defenders gather around the huge oak tree that Mara created, and Nolin is the first person to crawl down the tunnel it has grown up through.  He is preceded by Agar’s _prying eyes_ spell (serving as an advance scout to seek out fleeing undead), and he's followed by his fellow adventurers.  

At the bottom of the necropede-carved tunnel, Nolin crawls around the huge roots of the magical oak tree into a largish cavern. He has _darkvision_ up, but he’s still surprised when what he thought was a boulder in front of him rises up to a height of almost ten feet. Startled, Nolin stares at it, and his gaze takes in the half-rotted eyeballs in its insectoid face. Wait! Are those eyeballs? Because there are smaller eyeballs farther in… but those big eyes must be eyes, they’re leaking fluids… but those little eyes could be eyes, too…. Four eyes, more and more and more….

_Confused_, Nolin doesn’t snap out of his daze until the ghoulish umber hulk grabs him around the neck with one massive claw and tries to peel his face off with half-rotted mandibles. Nolin screams a warning as blood streams down his face, but his muscles don’t freeze up from the intense cold seeping through his bones.

The Defenders rush down the narrow opening, and Malachite’s descent is aided by his githyanki-crafted _boots of skating._  Moving at high speed as he reaches the tunnel’s bottom, he cannons into the monster and hits it with his sunsword Aleax one, two, three times. Aleax shouts in exultation – it’s the first time that Malachite has ever used him against undead - and glows with the heat of the sun as the blade shears through tendons and rotting flesh. Malachite skids to a stop, the beetle-like monster in three pieces in front of him, and gives Nolin a steely look as the bard fully snaps out of the _confusion_ effect.  

Moving as quickly as they can, the Defenders advance across the cavern and into another burrowed tunnel dug by the necropede from the earth itself. They move in three horizontal battle lines through the 15 ft. wide tunnel, the two paladins and Tao in the lead, the spellcasters and rogues taking up the middle.  Raevynn is in dire bear form, taking up the rear.  “Watch out,” warns Malachite. “There's another undead within 60 feet. I can sense it.”  Everyone slows, weapons out.

Tao is the first one to see it: another ten foot tall insectoid monstrosity, moving from an alcove into the middle of the tunnel ahead. Its two huge claws swing forward… but instead of attacking the Defenders, it rips at the walls and ceiling. Tao reacts first.  “It’s trying to collapse the tunnel on our heads!”  She charges forward, even as clods of dirt begin to fall from the weakened tunnel ceiling.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

_Hasted_, she charges the monster with both swords drawn. It isn’t hard to hit, as its shell-like carapace is cracked and flaking, and Tao’s swords seek out the weak patches in its natural armor. Within seconds she hits it a full five times, and with a hideous croak it collapses backwards. Chunks of dirt shower down on Tao’s head, but the ceiling doesn’t seem like it’s going to collapse just yet. Tao must have destroyed the thing in time.

She looks back at Malachite. “You cut that other one in pieces in just three swings!” she accuses. “I had to hit this thing five times, and even then I just barely….”

“Come on,” says Malachite brusquely, and pushes past her with Mara beside him. The rest of the Defenders follow, and the dire bear shrugs at Tao as if to say _What are you going to do?_ 

Tao shrugs back and pushes her way back to the front of the battle formation.  She stops for a second to stare at Agar; he had summoned two celestial bears. Unfortunately, he’s an alienist, and so the bears both have spider-like tentacles instead of legs and eyes on stalks. Agar is riding one of them. “This is Proudclaw,” he says happily, patting the bear he’s riding upon its wriggling head, “and this is Mightyfang.“ Tao and Raevynn trade another horrified glance as the tentacled bears scuttle forward.

The tunnel winds slightly to avoid rock outcroppings, and then takes a sharp dip downwards. The group is highly aware of the tons of earth above their head that could collapse at any time.  There is no light, as the heroes are relying on a _mass darkvision_ spell, and noise seems amplified down here below the earth. Ahead of them down the sharp incline, Nolin can hear Them waiting.  There’s no breathing, just the sound of scores of mouths salivating at the scent of living flesh, the faint scrape of talons on stone, the scattered moan of hunger or giggle of delight.  “Heads up, guys,” he warns. “There they are.”  Mara raises her mace _Lightbinder_ and calls forth a _daylight_ spell; in the hundred or so foot radius of pure light, she can see the first line of ghouls far down the tunnel. It looks like they’re mostly deep gnomes, rotting bald heads and powerful stubby legs, bone javelins clutched in greasy claws. Behind the four rows of twenty ghouls, another group squats, tower shields raised to provide full cover for whatever is behind them. Forked tongues dart in and out of bloodless mouths, licking sores, as the gnomes almost mewl in anticipation of the fresh food in front of them... but they hold their formation.

From somewhere in the darkness, something streaks towards the group, and the air is suddenly alive with razor-sharp jabbing bones. As the energy passes, most of the Defenders are bleeding badly.  “What was that?” Tao asks. No one knows. Agar sends his two bears forward to attack, eager that they act as a distraction while they soften up the foe.

Nolin pulls forth the “_Shara Ball_,” a magic item created by Shara that contains a little piece of her soul and her power. “What we need,” declares Nolin as he shakes the ball to activate it, “is some fire power.” Then he gazes down into the ball.  “Hello, Shara! We’re battling hordes of undead, and we’re in need of your assistance. Can you please aid us?”  

A tiny image of Shara appears inside the ball. Her voice sounds tinny as she answers tartly. “Of course I will. Hold me up.  I wouldn’t want you to get *hurt*, Nolin.” There is just a calculated trace of amused sarcasm in her voice. _Your sister wouldn’t forgive me if I did,_ thinks the magic item to itself, and as Nolin holds the ball upwards a _chain lightning_ streaks out of it to decimate the front line of foes. The thunder is deafening in the narrow tunnel, and the smell of ozone overpowers the reek of rotting flesh. The ball goes dark, its energy spent.

Velendo casts _true seeing_ and then _summons_ a Huge fire elemental named Conflagratis. The elemental ignites into life and gladly crackles across the rock and dirt towards the ghouls and the two tentacular celestial bears. It leaves a trail of dying fire in its wake, and the flame from its body casts hellish illumination upon the undead. It strikes an undead, incinerating it.  Insects rise up and buzz away from the burning body, disturbed from their home in the undead flesh.

Malachite unleashes another _ positive energy burst_. Instead of the wide-spread damage from before, however, the emerald green light causes only three of the six visible ghouls explode. The other three remain upright, smoking, and the creatures behind the line of shields seem uninjured.  

“There must be something special about those shields!” offers Velendo, and then the shield bearers make a remarkable maneuver. Someone behind them yells “Now!” in a croaking, hideous dwarvish voice.  As one, the shield bearers pull aside, revealing the faint glimpse of more creatures behind them. A massive bone ballistae bolt streaks forward, slamming into Conflagratis and ripping a rent in his flaming body. At the same time, a dull gray line of energy shoots forward from the darkness, exploding into an ice-cold ball of shrieking spirits that seem to rip life energy away from the Defenders caught in the blast.  Then the shieldbearers close up ranks, closing off the view and reestablishing full cover.

“Split up! We’re in fireball formation!” Mara cries. 

“Split up *where?*” Nolin answers. “It’s a 15 foot wide tunnel. Let’s hope they don’t have a lightning bolt.”

Malachite is taking it in stride, but Velendo and Nolin are goggling at the ghouls' tactics. "Can stupid undead DO that?" Nolin asks to no one in particular. No one answers him, as the answer seems obvious: these don't seem to be mindless undead.

Raevynn has shifted into dire bat form, and flies forward near the ceiling. She’s at a high enough angle to be able to “see” over the shields with her blindsight. She realizes that there’s some eighty more undead back there, along with a ghoulish flying dwarf and some sort of horrible bone construct that looks like a ballista with legs.  Raevynn flies back towards the Defenders, a plan forming in her head.

Velendo is injured, but quickly realizes that he needs to remove the shield wall. Flying, he swoops close. His intent is to _turn undead_ at a high enough angle to affect the ghouls holding the shields, thus destroying the formation, and then _fly_ 90 feet backwards to safety. The first half of his plan works beautifully. He moves into position, summons his faith, and _turns_. The ghouls are blasted from existence, and their shields – made from some hardened mushroom fiber – clatter to the ground.

Velendo didn’t anticipate that eighty ghouls would be readying their actions, poised to throw their bone javelins at the first enemy that revealed itself.

The hail of sharpened javelins rains down upon Velendo, and even his armor and powerful shield can’t fully protect him. With eight weapons sticking out from his body, he drops and bounces off of the cold dark earth, blood fountaining up from his body. 

Squealing with delight and unrestrained hunger, the army of ghouls surges forward.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Velenne said:
			
		

> *What else do they need to do in Eversink? *





Finagle their way out of slavery (half the group are technically slaves for the next five years, as a sentence for a crime.)

 Find out whether or not Tao legally owns the city's massive prison and the island it stands on, as per a deed she inherited; and if she does, whether she gets to (or has to) keep it, and whether she owes back taxes on it, and whether the city owes her rent for it, and whether she's responsible for the prisoners, and whether or not this can be leveraged into obtaining freedom for people enslaved to the High Council of Eversink.

 Dispose of a minor relic they hold from the church of Korok, God of Luck.

 Collect the small army of 30 dwarves that is marching towards Eversink.

 Deal with training; everyone went up a level, but Nolin (for instance) needs 9 weeks of down time to achieve this. Uh oh....

 Deal with fallout, if any, from the destruction of the Dockside Royals.

 Make sure that the baby-shields were returned to their mothers, or at least to good homes.

 Make sure that the evil weapon-breaking trident was destroyed.

 Find out if Lord Griggan is still trapped in a demi-plane, sealed off by a _forbiddance_ spell and totally without food.

 Get ambushed and eaten by Brinedeath, the massive black dragon.

 Pick up any magical items they're having commissioned.

 Find out whether Mara intends to keep her ties to the Church of Aeos.
I'm probably missing a few things, but that's the heart of it!


----------



## Piratecat

> *
> Get ambushed and eaten by Brinedeath, the massive black dragon.  *




Whoops! How'd that dragon thing get in there? Sorry, ignore that, it's a complete mistake. Not relevant at all. Seriously.

I do training time as taking one half your level in weeks. They're looking for a magical way around this; they know Hagiok the lich has invented potions that cut the time to several days, while your mind replays and absorbs everything that has happened to you. They're hoping that Lord Ioun can create something similar. Velendo is also considering rigging a _Calphas' Comfortable Castle_ up as a training facility to allow them to train on the road. 

The Shara Ball didn't cast _control undead_ because Nolin asked for blasting (and because I didn't think of it!). There's always next time!

The dwarves are led by a dwarven fighter named Splinder, a former follower of Tao's back in the 2e days. He was given a tremendous amount of treasure from the dracolich's hoard, with which he left to pay the dowry on the girl he wanted to marry. In exchange, he offered to raise as many dwarves as he could into a small army for taking on undead. Denied entry to the Kingdom of Gaunt (which has a dim view on mercenary forces ever since one tried to conquer the capitol), they've set off to find the Defenders the long way.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 
> Get ambushed and eaten by Brinedeath, the massive black dragon.
> *




Hold on just a moment there, bucky!  (Checks Palm Pilot) I don't remember scheduling a claw/claw/bite.    I'm not showing any appointments for a Mr. Brinedeath.  And I don't care how many hit dice you have, if you don't have an appointment, you don't see the Defenders!

Remind me to post the 47a/410-c form "Requisition for Enemy Engagement - Evil" for the Defenders.  This is the form our enemies have to fill out if they want us to spend some of our valuable time kicking their a**.


----------



## Piratecat

Velendo, lying unconscious on the rough ground 40 feet in front of anyone else, is in terrible danger. If the quantity of blood pouring out of him is any guide, Velendo is seconds from death, and any more damage will surely kill him.  Malachite moves towards him, but he’s afraid that he may not be in time.

He ducks as two fireballs and two lightning bolts flash out from the _hasted_ Nolin and Agar, battering both the flying dwarven wizard and the huge skeletal construct with red-hot flames and crackling arcs of iridescent electricity. The fireballs also blast away dozens of ghoulish troops and leave cracked flesh and sooty corpses behind. Ozone, and the odor of spoiled, burned meat, fills the smoky air.  

The wizard still hangs in the air, skin smoking.  He barks an order to the scores of ghoulish troops that remain, and they begin to surge forward. Too far back for the others to easily see, Raevynn watches through her dire bat form’s _blindsight_ as the undead siege engine plucks a massive bony projectile from its own body and begins ratcheting back its tremendous bone ballistae.  She tries to shout a warning, but is still _wildshaped_.

Tao focuses on the wizard, prays, and points.  Her first _searing light_ ever streaks from her finger. The brilliant beam of light sizzles down the tunnel and strikes the flying dwarf square in the belly. Already weakened badly from the _fireballs_ and _lightning bolts_, his wispy beard and his stomach all disappear in an incinerating flash.  Decomposed innards spray the ghouls beneath him, and he drops.

Several squads of deep gnome and dwarvish ghouls rush forward, but only ten or so are able to get past the huge fire elemental and tentacled bears. The ghouls are clearly focused on Velendo and the smell of his blood; the Defenders, however, are waiting for them.  Malachite reaches the cleric in time and spins Aleax in his gauntleted hands.  The holy sword _lays on hilt_, its healing energy flooding through the elderly cleric’s frame. Not a moment too soon, either; the front line of gnomish ghouls leaps upon Velendo’s body, burying him with their maggot-riddled flesh as their mouths begin to rip and tear. Mara, standing next to Malachite, _turns undead_; a handful of the ghouls are blasted into steam, but not nearly enough. Velendo tries his best to _fly_ away from the clutching and clinging undead, but they’re too strong for him.  “Bugger this,” he thinks, and casts _mass heal._

The ghouls are hanging on him, pinning his arms and legs as they try to chew souvenirs off of his body, but the crystal belt that TomTom constructed for him keeps Velendo’s mind exquisitely focused. He shrugs off the distraction, finishes the spell, and the wounds of everyone nearby close completely as Calphas’ blessing pours forth. The ghouls nearby aren’t so lucky; the positive energy blasts most of the remaining flesh from their bones, leaving them horribly injured.  They’re quickly destroyed by the other Defenders, but there are still close to a hundred undead surging forward in a rotting wave that threatens to overrun the Defenders’ front line.

And then Raevynn acts.

Switching back to elven form, she casts one of her most powerful spells: a _fire storm_, using her knowledge of metamagic to switch the fire for acid. She can feel the energy swirling around her, drawing from some unknown plane as she transmutes the fire into acid, filling the tunnel’s smoky air with telltale shimmers before snapping into life. And just like that, the area just beyond Velendo and Mara becomes a maelstrom of acid-choked death, stretching hundreds of feet back down the necropede’s tunnel!  

When the storm of acid passes, the skeletal construct is just a half-broken pitted hulk, and there is little left of the ghoulish army other than acid-eaten teeth, bits of fingernail, and the powder of bone. Even the tiny flying orbs seem to have been destroyed.  It took two minutes from start to finish, but the Defenders have managed to finish off every single ghoul in the invading force.  All of them, returned to the earth.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” offers Agar.

“Hah!” shouts Velendo. He gazes skyward, hands spread, as if daring Calphas to comment as well.

Later that night, the townspeople are back in their beds. Observers are posted, but the menace seems to have been destroyed. Oddly enough, the people watching the graveyard claim to have seen the ghostly forms of hundreds of people, drifting up towards the sky, but no one is sure whether to believe them or not. The heroes might have been able to tell… but after a feast, they’re sleeping the well-deserved sleep of the just.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *The ghouls are hanging on him, pinning his arms and legs as they try to chew souvenirs off of his body *




I can see Pappa Ghoul now, returning home to his clamouring ghoul children.  "What did you bring us from the surface?"

Smiling, he hands them each one of Velendo's ears.

"My parents went to the surface world, and all got was this lousy gobbet."


----------



## Piratecat

Ancalagon said:
			
		

> *You see, our party is undeground (kinda stuck) and we too are fighting ghouls.  we killed about 30-40 in one battle (level 6, 7 PCs).*




That's _really_ good! Remember, it's easier to kill low-HD undead when you're 15th level... even when they have turn resistance and a competent commander. 

The really delightful thing about this session was when Raevynn's player thought of the acid storm. I look over from dealing with Velendo (who was at -7 hit points) and Blackjack and Raevynn are shaking with laughter, chortling and rubbing their hands together.  "What's up?" I ask. "Nothing!" they answer together. Apparently, they were figuring out the area of effect for the spell, and had just figured out that in the 15' wide tunnel it reached from the middle of the battlemap, off the long end of the table, all the way to Raevynn's shirt.  Filling all the space.  Doing 15d6 to everything in the area.  Everything. They wouldn't tell me yet... safer that way, I suppose!

*sniff* Man, that was a cool skeletal siege engine, too. Sigh.

KidCthulhu wishes me to point out that the only other way they could have gotten this effect was to kill Nolin. With the phoenix sharing his soul, he erupts into a 19d6 fire storm the round or so after he gets killed. Standard party procedure is that if Nolin dies, everyone runs.


----------



## Piratecat

Negative Zero said:
			
		

> *Speaking of which, how did Nolin end up with a phoenix inside him? *




He was wearing a unique item called a phoenix cloak when he was killed by inch-tall goblins. Finalist, "most embarrassing death ever."

Mind you, he was only 2" tall at the time. In the adventure Chadrathar's Bane, the whole group was shrunk to the height of two inches. Arcade had been captured by the goblins living on the ceiling beams, who were about to sacrifice another prisoner. Nolin swooped in to save Arcade, fumbled and stabbed himself with his _frostbrand_ dagger, and (since he was considered a flame-using creature when wearing that cloak) really hurt himself badly. Arcade got away with the captured girl, but the goblins closed on Nolin and cut him down. They threw his body off the rafter, and it fell a tremendous sidtance to the floor.

And then, while the party stared in horror, it exploded in a huge gout of flame. When the fire cleared, Nolin was standing there again, naked, his hair on fire and carrying the soul of the phoenix that had been bound into the cloak.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I don't know if Pkitty intended it.  I do remember asking hopefully "Hey, a cloak of the phoenix.  Don't suppose I blow up and get born again."

And the goblin thing wasn't comic at the time.  It was brave and foolhardy, the stuff of legends.  Nolin gave his life to save Arcade.  It only became goofy when we thought about it later.  "Killed by 1" tall goblins?  Maybe I won't write a stirring ballad about that."


----------



## Bandeeto

KidC wrote:


> And the goblin thing wasn't comic at the time. It was brave and foolhardy, the stuff of legends. Nolin gave his life to save Arcade. It only became goofy when we thought about it later. "Killed by 1" tall goblins? Maybe I won't write a stirring ballad about that."




Here follows a brief thread-hijack by the "Defenders of Daybreak, the Early Years" thread:

Bear in mind that the Defenders had accomplished mighty deeds before this point in history.  We had slain demons, devils and a mind-flayer, killed a dragon, defeated an archmage, and crushed a superdoppelganger plot.  Understandably, we had gotten a bit cocky.

We were, I believe, on the trail of a cult formed by a Helm of the Hive.  Nolin's brother Eritain (unbeknownst to us) had been possessed by the helm, and was forming a group-mind army to serve as slaves.  

Nothing had gone well on the trip so far.  We had been on a really unpleasant slog through swamps, plains, and generally nasty terrritory for days.  Arcade kept getting little psychic summonings to join the cult.  [P'Cat kept passing me little paper notes that would say things like "We are One," and "Join Us!"  Very irritating, and distracting. ]

Then to top things off, we had to stop at a bleak and abandoned waystation to get out of a massive rainstorm.  We spent the night on the floor, and woke in the morning to find ourselves shrunk to minute size.  We were appalled to find that Velendo had lost his access to his god (no healing spells).  Luckily we had a few potions, and we began to explore a bit.

Suddenly, from the ceiling, a goblin war party on very long ropes dropped down to attack us.  We finished them in moments, but we decided to investigate.  Arcade cast _fly_.  Nolin's cloak permitted him to glide, and Arcade towed him and a psionically- lightened Tom-Tom up to the ceiling beams.  While the other two stayed put, Arcade turned _invisible_ and went to look for the goblins.

He discovered an entire tribe of the tiny humanoids, and saw a cage with a human maiden being prepared for sacrifice.  

The early paragraphs are, of course, a weak attempt to excuse Arcade's somewhat rash behavior at this point.  It seemed a very straightforward rescue.  He quickly notified the party at a distance that there was trouble.  (He used his Clasp of Crown Eternal.  These were magic items gifted to the party by the King of Gaunt that permitted us to send warning signals to others wearing the clasps.)

He then took out the cage guards (with _'missiles_ I think), _knocked_ the lock, cast a _fireball_ into the goblin camp which was *supposed* to deter pursuit, scooped up the maiden, and flew off.

Unfortunately, with the weight of the maiden (Arcade STR: 11), Arcade was unable to gain much height or speed.  In the meanwhile, the entire village had grabbed weapons and streamed after him.  Slowly, they started to close.

The cavalry arrived in the form of Nolin.  Gliding with his cloak of the phoenix, Nolin launched a spell that took out several of the goblins, and moved in to finish off the lead group.  Had he been able to dispatch them we might have gotten away, and then been able to return later to finish the job with no hostage to worry about.

Nolin drew his frostbrand jambiya and swung, slew one goblin, and then with his second stroke fumbled.  As a flame-using creature (with his cloak), he was horribly wounded.  Things went from bad to worse, as a couple of goblins rolled criticals.  Nolin slumped onto the beam, unconscious.  The goblins closed, and slit his throat.  

An ignominious death for the bard of the Defenders, at the hands of inch-high goblins.

The first that the rest of the party knew of the disaster was Nolin's body falling the hundreds of inches to the floor and landing in their midst, dead.  His body was smoldering.  The Defenders leaped for cover as a huge gout of flame erupted from the corpse.  Blearily, Nolin rose from his own ashes and stood, his hair burning merrily.

The "rebirth in flame" bonded the souls of Nolin and the phoenix.  The cloak disappeared, and ever afterwards Nolin's hair was perpetually on fire.  Over the years, Nolin learned to commune with the phoenix, and tap its powers of flame and flight.  

So, after all, it came out OK.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled thread.


----------



## Piratecat

There was one hilarious game, the very first playtest game we played after we converted the Defenders to 3e, where the Defenders went to a carnival! Nolin decided to be mischevious and spread the rumor that Velendo, living saint, walked through the crowd. Velendo, disgusted, stalked away... and as soon as he was out of sight of Nolin, started using his influence to get people to light cigars off of the head of Nolin Benholm, bard to the crowned heads of Spira. For the entire adventure, Nolin had to deal with people trying to light their smokes off of his scalp. It was great.

I don't think Velendo ever fessed up, either.


----------



## Blackjack

A recent face-to-face discussion with someone who reads this thread made me realize that not all the proper nouns in the campaign have self-evident pronunciations.  Hence, a quick (and incomplete) list:

Velendo - veh-LENN-doh
Mara - MARR-ah (not "MARE-ah")
Nolin - NOLL-inn (not "NOH-linn")
TomTom - TOMM-TOMM (duh)
Tao - TAY-oh (not "TAH-oh")
Malachite - MAL-ah-kite (not "MAL-ah-chite")
Raevynn - RAY-vinn
Agar - AY-garr (not "AH-garr" or "ah-GARR")
PirateCat - RAT-BASS-tarrd (not "PIE-rat-cat")
Shara - SHARR-ah (not "SHARE-ah")
Dylrath - DILL-rath
Aleax - AY-lee-ax


----------



## Piratecat

The heroes do their best to sleep late, but it isn’t easy; dozens of people are bustling around the outside of the inn, trying to get a glimpse of them. Finally they rise and have breakfast. The innkeeper has been kind enough to forbid anyone else entry, but their meal is still interrupted by curious people. Tomtom tells them that the dwarven woman that they met last night was Tursa Coskeep, granddaughter of Lord Coskeep, head of the beer and wine brewing House in Eversink. She wasn’t hurt, at least, so no harm done.

The group splits up. Raevynn and Mara stay in Eversink, Mara to speak calmingly to the locals and Raevynn to resanctify the graveyard. No one thinks to somehow fill in the tunnels, and Mara gets asked almost two dozen times what the town is supposed to do. Mara stalls them, expecting that someone with an earth elemental or two will be back to help. In fact, Arcade shows back up later that day, and uses _move earth_ to solve the problem. The hill becomes lower, but the huge hole is closed up, and a new _wall of stone_ blocks access to the narrow tunnel around the oak tree. Arcade assures Mara that if the Defenders want to reenter the Underdark via this method, he can easily reopen it.

Nolin, Agar and TomTom head to the huge trade port of Oursk, where they find the temple of Korok, God of Chance. His temple is filled with people gambling, a holy casino where visitors can find redemption through risk. Amused, the Defenders play a few dice games in order to purify themselves, and are brought to see the excitable High Priest.  He leaps up when they enter, greeting them.  Once they’re seated and given refreshments, Nolin starts to speak. “We have something that….” He’s interrupted by the cleric, who holds up his hand to stop him.

“No no no! Not yet!” he exclaims. “You'll jinx my luck.  My horoscope today said, ‘Today will be filled with unexpected surprises. Do not be greedy, and your gifts will be returned four-fold.’  This must be what it was referring to. Here… roll this die.”  He hands everyone a die. Agar rolls a 1, and both Nolin and TomTom roll 2s.  

“Now draw that many chits from this bag.”  He holds open a pouch. Everyone draws a numbered chit, and the high priest sends a lackey out with the numbers.  “They’re cubbies in our vaults, you see. If you’re going to give me something – something big, I can feel it in my bones! – then you should have the chance to make an exchange. You may receive a dusty bone, or a magical catapult… there are a lot of things down there.”

The lackey returns and distributes items. There is a bone rabbit figurine that rattles, a roll of old leather, a beautifully filigreed rod, a set of goggles, and a small spyglass.  The items aren’t all _undead-bane weapons of disruption_, but the Defenders accept them gratefully, and pass over the _Chancestone of Korok_. This dangerous luck-related item is no longer their responsibility, and everyone heaves a sigh of relief. Nolin also gives a magical _rod of misplacing_ to the ecstatic cleric, and in return he gives Nolin a _coin of the cat_, an apparently non-magical coin that always lands the way that the person flipping it chooses.

Back in Eversink, everyone meets up.  Tao is just back from visiting her family, and Nolin has been busy _identifying_ the new items.  “I’m going to do the _commune_” announces Velendo. Everyone troops into a _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_, and just to be safe Agar looks about with _zone of revelation_, a spell that allows him to peer into nearby planes.

He sees someone.

In the temple they just departed, there is a hideous creature crawling on the floor. He is unnaturally gaunt, the skin of his face pulled taut against his cheekbones, and his eyes are afire with madness. Huge open sores pock his face and arms, and Agar is fascinated to see signs of creatures – slugs, maybe – moving under the man’s skin.  It looks like the man was observing them, clawing at them ineffectually from his alternate plane of existence.  Then, without fanfare, he vanishes.

Agar describes the sight to the other Defenders. Possibilities are considered… a manifestation of Yorrine, the God of Disease?  The ghost of Alix?  Hagiok the lich?  One of the White Kingdom?  But the man seemed to Agar to be alive, albeit in terrible pain and possibly insane.

And then someone describes Lord Griggan to Agar.

_To be continued. . . ._


----------



## Piratecat

Badly disturbed, Velendo heads into the inner temple and lowers himself to his knees in front of the altar. Praying, he casts _commune_ and speaks to Calphas.  The rest of the group waits quietly behind him.

Casting the spell, he feels his God's presence fill the room, solid and reassuring as a pillar of faith.

1.  "Is there magic at work that prevents or obscures Divinations targeted at any Aeosian historical figures?"


 (after a long pause, and a shaking of the walls around him):   *I BELIEVE SO*
2. "Could my casting of a Miracle get rid of the effects of the magic preventing or obscuring Divinations targeting Aeosian historical figures?"


(again, after a long pause):   *YES, BUT YOU RISK A HOLY WAR.*
 3. "Is an alliance of Necromancers and Ghouls using the ghoulish advance in the Underdark as a distraction to draw forces away from those who would bolster the Aeosian and Ioun's forces?"


 *NO.*
4. "Is an alliance of Necromancers and Ghouls using the Necromancers as a distraction to draw forces away from those who would stop the advance of the Ghoulish forces of the Underdark?"


 *YES.*
5. "If the Orb of the Necromancers is destroyed, will that destroy all undead for thousands of miles?"


 * YES, BUT ONLY ON THE SURFACE.*
6. "Will we have a better chance of breaking the spine of the White Kingdom by assisting the aboveground assault on the Necromancers, as opposed to by our planned quest into the Underdark?"


 *NO.*
7. "Is it truly the will of Aeos that the Scriptures be changed to allow for the change in His church's attitude toward undead?" 


 *YES.*
8.  "Are the armies of Aeos and Ioun being led, wittingly or unwittingly, into a trap?"


 *NO.*
9.  "Would the holy war you mentioned be between the churches of Aeos and Calphas?"


 * MOST PROBABLY.*
10. "Is the Divination-blocking magic the product of Aeosian casters?"


 *NO.*
11. "Is the Divination-blocking magic the product of undead forces?"


 * YES.*
12. "Do we currently have the means to break the Maradine family curse?"


 * I DON'T KNOW.*


----------



## KidCthulhu

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *You know the Aeos clerics I would think would the same answers to a Commune as Valendo got. So as long as they are not intentionally being dense they should know that there is magic blocking the divination of Sir Ghoulex. *




Well, it's kind of an Emperor's New Clothes situation.  The inital divinations were all thwarted by the magic covering Aleax, which is to say they confirmed him to be good, not evil.  The church certainly cast _Commune_, but if they mentioned Aleax by name, their results were skewed by the interference.  Having gotten a few positive results, the clerics of Aos weren't going to go against their god's will, and were therefore less willing to probe and ask tricky questions.

We only got this information because we asked really tricky questions.  The clerics of Aos asked different questions, and so they got different answers.  And having bought into the situation, they're not going to thank us for showing up wearing our "Ghouleax is an evil abomination, ask me how I know" buttons.

As for the re-writing of the book, I must admit that Nolin is curious, but not very.  I mean, it's Aos' will, so it's not my problem.  We're already into Aosian church politics as deep as we ever wanted to be.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Krellic said:
			
		

> *Probably me just rambling while I'm desperately waiting for the next installment.  Is PC really so convoluted? *




He is indeed full of nooks and crannies to catch the butter of evil.  But I think that idea might be a bit much, even for him.  He has wheels within wheels, but usually not wheels within wheels within wheels.


----------



## Piratecat

Following the _Commune_, the Defenders discuss plans.  What to do about Griggan? Leave him for now, they agree, and deal with him within the week.  What’s the best way of training?  They desperately need to train, but they can’t afford the nineteen weeks it will take for Nolin to do so… and even Velendo needs almost that much time.  Velendo is thinking of designing a _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ that is filled with training gear: practice dummies, alchemy labs, crystal meditation rooms, music rooms, and so forth. He’s not positive it would work, however, as every time the spell was recast any unique items would have to be brought into the new _Castle_.  The group is pondering this when Agar speaks up.  “I know a place that might help. How do you feel about planar travel?”

“We like it,” Nolin says.  “Why?”

Agar’s eyes shine. “I know a place,” he says, “known as the Citadel of Kodali’s Retreat. It’s named after a warlord who transported his entire army there. It’s in a place where time moves *faster*.”

Agar picks up a paperweight and gestures with it.  “If I tied a string to this and swung it around, the paperweight would be moving much faster than the string at the top. My hand would just be moving a little bit to make a circle, but this paperweight would have considerably farther to travel in the same amount of time.”  Agar absentmindedly slaps an invisible bug on his neck. “Kodali’s Retreat is like the paperweight… it’s at the end of the infinite planes, near the places where the multiverse grows thin. Time there moves about….”  He considers for a moment, puffing on his pipe. “About 160, 170 times faster than it does here. An hour on the Prime is equal to about a week in the Citadel. You could train and be home within a day!”  His cherubic face grows serious. “There’s probably other creatures and people there, of course, but it’s unlikely that they’ll try to fight us. When I was there before, I saw signs that creatures who come to fight go… elsewhere.”  He shivers, flicks an invisible ant off of his sleeve, then smiles. “A _legend lore_, a _plane shift_, and we’re there!”

First, though, Velendo does a _sending_ to Splinder. Splinder is a former follower of Tao’s, a dwarf who is leading a company of dwarven warriors to meet the Defenders and descend into the Underdark. Casting the spell, Velendo asks him where they are.

_“We’re a little busy right now fighting river trolls,”_ the answer comes back, _“but we should make it to Eversink within four days.”_

Concerned, Nolin swings an ornately carved mirror towards him and casts _greater scrying_. He sees three squads of dwarves in a defensive position, using tactics and long spears to hold back eight drooling, scuttling trolls. No one has been killed – except for one of the trolls – but a number of the dwarves look hurt.  “Grab your gear, everyone!” exclaims Nolin. “We’re going in to help!”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Martin

*Of course PC has it in for paladins.*

PC is a DM. It is a DM's job to perplex and torment the heroic players. A DM must concoct and develop schemes and monsters and tactics and strategies against the wiles of the player characters who try to restore a level of buttery goodness to the world the DM presents to them. A DM is evil, and thus hates the self-righteous paladin characters. A DM is neutral, appreciating the hard work, but offput by the extremist personality and religious beliefs of a paladin. A DM is good, inspiring and loving the rapturous joy that is the paladin. Yes, a DM is all of these things; this is the nature of a DM. 

But when push comes to shove, you know that the DM is creating his evil creations, laughing maniacally with glee as he envisions the torments that he puts them through and schemes of ways to wipe that smug grin off of those blessed paladins. Oh sure, they think they're better than everyone else, don't they. Oh, he'll show them. Yes, he'll show them and their little intelligent sword Aleax too. 

(By the way, my money is on this: The sword has been magicked with the abilities of paladins or picks up the personalities of the paladins who have wielded it at the point of their deaths. Ghouleax is, as far as he himself can tell, the real deal, however he was indeed raised by the White Kingdom with certain information leaked to him in order to throw the church of Aeos into turmoil and off of the proper trail. The soul that was rejoined to the undead body is the sainted soul of Aleax, regardless of how it came to be, and thus cannot be damnable by Aeos. This is the reason for the change in the scripture. This also explains the source of the potential holy war between the two churches, as the Calphites will see the Saint as an abomination that must be destroyed regardless of soul, whereas the Aeosians will fight to protect him.

Then again, I could simply be talking out my ass. After all, I only started reading this thing after PC got 70k odd page views. <grin> )


----------



## Piratecat

Warm blood dripping into his eyes, Splinder the Dwarven Captain grimaces.  His thirty troops are arrayed in a half-square around him, each front rank equipped with shield and oil, each back rank equipped with sharp-bladed long spears. “Keep yer guard up, boys! They’ll break before long… they’re hungry. Try to kill the one in armor first.” 

“Tell us somethin’ we _don’t_ know,  Captain,” spits Rogon bitterly.  He has claw marks across his throat, as he was “lucky” enough to be the first one attacked by the nine aquatic trolls. He shifts his spear slightly and glares at the trollish leader, the monster with wormlike hair dangling from its rusted helm, patched-together metal armor, and a look in its eyes that says it knows it’s already won.

“Discipline, Rogon,” growls Splinder with a hiint of anger.  “First rank: ready oil. Torchbearers, be ready to light.  Rea….”  The splintering of light from behind him catches him off guard.  Spinning his head, he sees the heroes that he first met thousands of miles away, in the middle of a desert, next to a mountain that ate anyone living who tried to climb it.  With them is a handful of people he doesn’t recognize. “’bout time!” he tells Tao by way of greeting. Tao smiles… and the _mass haste_ goes off.

The trolls don’t stand a chance.

The _flame strikes_ hammer down from the skies as _fireballs_ roll outwards. _Searing lights_ rip through regenerating flesh, and magical weapons slice through green and warty skin. The beasts howl in pain and counterattack, but the dwarves have their strategies straight; they use their shield wall and long spears to keep most of the beasts at bay as the Defenders take them apart piece by piece.  

The troll leader, a loathsome and hunched male with rusted armor and sharpened claws, gives the most challenge.  He fights fiercely, spittle flying as he throws himself at the Defenders in an insane rage, but he’s clearly outclassed. Thirty seconds after the Defender’s arrival, troll corpses are being cooked with oil and fire, and the dwarves’ wounds are being treated by clerics.

“Efficient,” notes Splinder. “You’ve been practicing.”

Velendo surveys the well disciplined dwarves. “You have too,” he says jealously. “I wish we had a fragment of your tactics.”

Splinder slaps him familiarly on the small of the back.  “We’ll teach you,” he offers, and they sit down to discuss strategy.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The Defenders send the dwarves on to Eversink, and make a whirlwind trip back to their home country of Gaunt. Nolin says goodbye, for what seems like the fifteenth time, to his daughter. “I may not be coming back,” he explains, as the ten year girl eyes him skeptically. “Uh huh,” says Tasha. “You always say that. Aunt Cadrienne says it’s just to get attention, and Aunt Kiri agrees.”  As he hugs his daughter and his aging mother, Nolin makes a mental note to have a word with his old adventuring companions.  

Meanwhile, TomTom and Agar have gone to see the King to deliver the blackmail materials that they found and to offer a report on the current political situation. Unfortunately, they are intercepted by their least favorite chamberlain. “Thousands of gold pieces on clothing alone!” he screams at them, his thin voice rising like a fishwife's. “And hundreds of thousands for bail. And the entire reputation of our country soiled, and.. and… that _woman_ possibly marrying the Prince, and you killing the most important person in the city, and….”  His face goes red with rage as he turns apoplectic, and Agar and TomTom finally have a chance to get a word in edgewise about their mission and report.

Finally back in Eversink, Velendo raises the subject that no one wants to talk about. “We’ve got to do something about Griggan,” he states flatly. “He’s miserable in there, and we’ve left him to suffer.”

Malachite and Mara look surprised. “What’s this? I knew nothing of this.” 

The party members who did know of Griggan’s unfortunate fate look around a little guiltily. “Well, he’s stuck in a demi-plane, and we have to get him out. He’s been there three or four months with nothing to eat, so he’s probably pretty hungry.”

“And crazy,” adds Agar.

“And crazy,” admits Velendo. “We have to help him. But after we do, how can we stop him from poisoning the city against us, or using all the information he’s learned against his political foes, or sabotaging Shara’s bid for his house, or…?”

“Or doing something awful to his wife, Lady Brea,” adds Nolin. “She’s carrying a half-elven baby. My half-brother, thanks to my no good philandering can’t-keep-it-in-his-pants father. Griggan knows, and he’ll certainly have it killed.”

“Huh.”  Everyone thinks.  And then a plan is hatched.

_To be continued!_


----------



## KidCthulhu

We just finished playing.  Special guest star tonight - Aeos himself!  

Lux fulgebit hodie super nos.
Verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis
Fecit potentiam in bracchio suo;
dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.

And then some...

Translations to follow, but extra geek master points to any Latin scholar who beats me to it.


----------



## Henry

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *We just finished playing.  Special guest star tonight - Aeos himself!
> 
> Lux fulgebit hodie super nos.
> Verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis
> Fecit potentiam in bracchio suo;
> dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.
> 
> And then some...
> 
> Translations to follow, but extra geek master points to any Latin scholar who beats me to it. *




OK, my rusty Latin will give it a try:

_Light shines over us still.
The word is made flesh, and lives in us
making power in his hands,
and dispersing it to the proud hearts of his people._

As I said, I'm rusty; but did I get the gist?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Henry, you get 200 Geek Master Points.

Google translator, on the other hand, gets no points and is denied a copy of the home game.

Yep, Light did indeed shine upon us, and the word was made flesh (or at least made our flesh crawl), and he did scatter the proud with his ass kickin' right arm.  

But who's ass got kicked?  And what did the Word say?  And did we survive?  Well, that's for PC to tell you


----------



## Piratecat

A discussion about clever disguises ensues (“I need to rub fish on myself!”  “Why?” “I want to smell like a fish seller!” “Uh… okay.”), but is cut short when Agar reminds the group that he has prepared _seeming_, a superb disguise spell.  Disguised as dwarven engineers, half the group mistily slips out of the temple through a one-way secret door in the back, _wind walking_ over to the Clearwater mansion.  The mansion itself is gorgeous, of course, a marvel of architecture that is built around the theme of running water and nautical design.  Like all buildings in Eversink, though, it is slowly sinking into the island beneath it, and from the air it is apparent where levels have been built on top of older construction.  It’s a cloudy day, the wind flinging sporadic raindrops against the towers of House Clearwater, but at least the wind keeps any insects away from the phobic Agar.

Rematerializing, the group moves around to the estate’s kitchen entrance and hammers on the door.  It’s opened by the second assistant cook. She looks out, and then down, taking in the group of rough-and-ready dwarves with their jangling tool belts. “We’re here ta fix da pumps,” says Velendo, desperately trying to bluff. 

The second assistant cook crosses her arms and looks doubtful. “I don’t have anything scheduled. Let me get someone in charge.” She returns with a large, dour looking woman who repeats the fact that no pump maintenance is scheduled. “No appointment, no need for your services, no need for us to pay you, good day, gentledwarves.” 

TomTom elbows Velendo and takes over. “It’s quite simple. This wuz scheduled by a Lady Brea some time last week, I dunno why the paperwork just got to us now, probably some mistake somewhere, but we got told to come and here we are and you probably got yerself a half-socketed pump spanner in yer basement you should deal with.”  

The cook looks confused. “Do you have the paperwork? Lady Brea has been out of the mansion at a friend’s island estate for several days now.” The substantial woman leans in close. “She’s in a family way, you understand, and her husband is missing. The poor dear.”  She pulls back.  “Well, let’s see the paperwork.” She holds her hand out expectantly while the Defenders mentally kick themselves for not forging documents.

TomTom extemporizes.  “Don’t got ‘em. They’re back at the office.  Of course,” he shrugs, “we just get paid no matter what, you know? So if your pumps stop and you turn us away now, we just charge you more and you deal with the resulting flood.  And your angry mistress.  No problem for us.”  He turns away.

“No, no,” says the large woman in exasperation. She takes off her apron and hands it to the younger girl.  “Marjorie, keep stirring the left-most pot, and I’ll tan your hide if the sauce scorches.  Let’s go, gentlemen.”  Self-importantly, the cook leads them to a back stair, and they start moving down into the ancestral mansion. It’s almost like traveling through time; down three levels of stairs, rivulets of water dribbling down the walls as they walk, slowly flooding the floors as their footsteps echo through long-empty chambers in pitch blackness.  Only the lanterns carried by the group casts a small circle of light in the watery stone darkness around them.

“Oh yes,” says Agar, upon first hearing the rhythmic throbbing of the dwarvish pumps. “You hear that? I’m glad we were called before that flange separates.”

The cook looks up startled as a rat swims in front of the group. “Auggh!”

“It’s just a rat,” opines the dwarven-disguised Tao.  “There are a lot of them down here.”

“R-r-really?” asks the cook. “I don’t suppose you know your way from here?”

“We certainly do,” assures TomTom. “We’ll check in with you before we leave.”  She doesn’t waste any time; the cook’s footsteps echo back through the abandoned stone rooms in the underground section of the house, and everyone smiles in satisfaction. They backtrack a room, cut through an old library, and head down a narrow stair case. Within minutes, they’re back in the grand chamber where Tao and Valdek were killed by the trillith.

Tao looks white, almost physically sick.  “I’ll stay back here and guard the outside,” she offers. No one disagrees with her.  Velendo examines the _forbiddance_ which he had put up three months ago. Its warding threads were still quite strong, shimmering under the gaze of a _detect magic_ spell.  Velendo casts his mind out into the intricate web of holy wards, looking for the single knot that acts as the center point for the spell.  Finding it, he casts _dispel magic_ to sever the magical thread. Within seconds, the entire spell unravels with a whooshing sound, and the chamber is once again safe for anyone to enter.

TomTom, Agar, and Velendo walk over and examine the entrance to the demiplane. It hangs there, bounded by a low stone wall, looking upwards through water that seems to hang in open space. “Well, no point in waiting,” says TomTom. “I’ll go first.”  He steps through the gate into water, paddling his feet to get his nose high enough to breath. Thus, he has trouble defending himself as the first of the squid-like slugs latches on to his body, starting to burrow under his very skin itself.  

It’s gelatinous, almost milky in color, and the size of a young kitten. It’s coated with a familiar slime.  Four more swarm TomTom, tiny tentacles probing his skin as they try to rupture and slide underneath his _ectoplasmic skin_. One succeeds, starting to squeeze itself into his neck as TomTom screams out in horrible pain, and the halfling feels his vitality ripped from him as the creature absorbs both his blood and psychic essence.  No one outside of the demi-plane can hear him, though, and at least four more of the creatures move to latch on to his body. 

Velendo, Agar and Tao watch from outside through the cloudy lens of the planar gateway. Agar and Velendo exchange a frown. “Does he look a little… agitated… to you?”

_To be continued!_


----------



## Piratecat

“I’m going in,” declares Agar, and heads through the portal with Velendo close behind him. Treading water, Agar surfaces and hears TomTom’s scream. “I can’t swim worth a darn,” he says, “ and I wish the water in here would drain away!”  As the _limited wish_ duplicates the effect of _lower water_, the four feet of water quickly lowers, allowing everyone to stand securely on the floor. TomTom is clutching at the thing burrowing into him; it’s now most of the way underneath his skin, and TomTom is pale and sweating.  Velendo grabs it with his bare hands and pulls, and manages to yank it away from TomTom’s neck. It’s slimy under his fingers… gelatinous, sort of like a slippery bag of water and pus. 

Velendo flings the sluglike creature on the ground, where TomTom begins to arc a _greater biocurrent_ between the five creatures. They don’t seem to be especially affected. “Screw this,” he concludes, and _greater concussions_ one into paste as it slowly tries to wriggle towards his foot.  Velendo and Agar follow his example. Finding that a _lightning bolt_ from his staff is ineffective, Velendo actually kills two by physically beating them to death, the first time in years that he has actually used a melee weapon with any degree of success.  Soon all five slug-things are dead, or as close to dead as things get on the demiplane.  Velendo examines TomTom and shakes his head, grumbling “That was closer than I like to see.” He casts _restoration,_, returning TomTom to better health, and with a grim look at the slug bodies all three heroes step out of the doorway into the greater demiplane.

Once again they find themselves on a representation of the grand bridge that arches over central Eversink. The air is filled with susurration… the mumbling of voices and the noises of daily life, interlaid over each other and stretched over weeks and years of rippling time, creating a roar of background noise that is unsettling at best. Agar looks around, and for the first time he sees the odd effect of Eversink changing over time, pulsing with thoughts and mental images.  “My goodness….” he says, and gives in to temptation.  “I’ll be back!”  And he disappears as he thinks himself elsewhere.

“No!” shout both TomTom and Velendo simultaneously, but they’re too late.  They exchange glances and concentrate on Lord Griggan of House Clearwater. Instantaneously, they find themselves in the mental construct of the Temple of Calphas.  In front of them is a hideous stranger. He is skin and bones, with huge gaping sores in his skin, his hair long and his eyes wild with insanity. Any clothing he once had is in tatters, and as much as they’d prefer not to, they can see lumps sliding under his skin. It bulges and stretches as the immature trilliths move within his body. It looks incredibly painful… but after three months, the man has probably become accustomed to the pain.  “Oh, you decided to join me!’ he cackles in a broken voice. There isn’t much physical resemblance, but the voice is unmistakable; it’s Lord Griggan.

“You have known about me for months!” he sputters. “You look like dwarves but you aren’t. You trapped me here, to torture me, but I know everything. I know ev…urglbrg… rything!”  A creature sliding under his skin slid up his throat and into his mouth as he was trying to talk, before slipping back down into his chest. The Defenders attempt not to become ill.  “It’s all clear here! The thoughts… and speech… and can go anywhere I want! But not to touch, never to touch, except for the pain.” He begins to rock back and forth and whimper.  “Pain.  Pain.  Pain.”

Velendo starts towards him, but his eyes snap open again, wild with hatred. “You took my wife. She loves another, and is bearing his father’s whelp! I’ll destroy her, and destroy your friend, and destroy the traitorous slut who seeks to take what’s mine! If you…”  TomTom has heard enough. He _mind blasts_ Griggan, but the immature trilliths inside of him seem to give him some protection. At the psionic blast, Griggan’s body quivers with activity, and it takes another _mind blast_ to knock him fully into unconsciousness.

“We’ve got to get these things out of him,” says Velendo, looking sick.

“I know,” says TomTom, looking sicker. “They’ve burrowed all through his body.”

They set to work with TomTom’s _jambiya of sharpness_. Only the knowledge that nothing can truly die on this demiplane makes the task even remotely bearable.

Eventually an amazed Agar rejoins them, shortly before Velendo uses a _heal_ and a _restoration_ spell to repair the damage that was done to Lord Griggan.  Realizing what is happening, Agar helps where he can. The three finally take Griggan’s unconscious form back to the bridge and then the entry way, moving with just a thought. TomTom triggers the gate with a psionic thought, and then all four are back in the basement of House Clearwater, away from the horrible mental hum of the overlaid plane.

Using fire, the group kills the immature trilliths that they found, destroying them once and for all in a place where they _can_ actually be killed. Then TomTom slips the psionic helm of memory alteration over Griggan’s head.  They discuss what memories to change; TomTom settles for a few specifics. He fogs the memory of the demiplane, making the time he spent in it harder to recall, and implants a memory that the demiplane was destroyed as Griggan was rescued. He also makes Griggan believe that he was rescued by dwarven engineers, and removes the knowledge that Griggin’s wife Lady Brea was made pregnant by Nolin’s father.  

At long last, sweaty and mentally exhausted, TomTom has done as good a job as he knows how. “It will have to do,” he says. “Let’s go find a servant, turn him over, say we found him wandering, and get out of here.”

“First,” says Velendo firmly, “let’s seal this thing off once and for all.”

_To be continued!_


----------



## Piratecat

Another _forbiddance_ followed by a _wall of stone_ ensures that anyone, including the covetous Shara, will have a hard time reaching the demiplane. The illusion-clad heroes then carry the unconscious Lord Griggan up towards the first floor. They hand him off to the first servant they find, and hightail it for an exit. It’s unlikely that their ruse will hold up under heavy investigation, but it’s good enough to carry them through the next few weeks. After that, they’re more likely to be underground than in Eversink.

Meanwhile, Nolin has disguised himself as a fish-seller and gone to chat up the cook. He is charming and understanding, and wrangles a cup of tea from her as he subtly questions her about Lady Brea.  He leaves with the suspicion that the cook knew who he really was and didn’t care. He also leaves with the knowledge that few tears would be shed if Lord Griggan never returned – fat chance of that now - , that Lady Brea had an unrequited love for a certain master bard in the city, and that she was currently visiting a friend on an island outside of the city.  Off Nolin goes, to sweep her away physically if not romantically. His plan is to take her with the Defenders when they go to the Citadel of Kodali’s Retreat, the extraplanar fortress where time moves much faster than normal. There she can spend four months of pregnancy and have her half-elven baby, all in the equivalent of less than a day back on the Prime. Nolin has already arranged for someone to foster the child, and then Lady Brea can return to House Clearwater and claim that she lost the baby.  It isn’t a perfect solution… but Nolin is convinced that Griggan would have the baby killed as soon as he found out it wasn’t his.

<> <> <> <> <> <> <>

The next day, Lady Brea is safely hidden in the Temple of Calphas, everyone has gotten a good night’s sleep, and the group splits up once again. This time, they use _teleport without error_ and _wind walk_ to head more than a thousand miles to the southeast. Velendo, Agar and Nolin are headed to the Tower of Lord Emperor Congenio Ioun, to warn him of the _commune_ results and to ask him again for help.  Tao, Mara and Malachite are headed for the exotic desert city of Corsai; Tao seeks to retrieve a stolen _girdle of giant strength_ that she knows is somewhere nearby, Mara intends to talk to an old friend of hers in the Temple of Aeos, and Malachite intends to seek out the ousted members of his Holy Order.  And then it’s back to Eversink by the end of the day, to sleep in preparation for the planar journey the following day.

No one ever claimed that the Defenders were lazy.

_To be continued…._

Next couple of updates: the terrifying battle that was a lot less terrifying because the DM forgot something important! The meeting with Ioun, and a horrible realization! Mara arranges what no one else could… and a trip to the inner sanctum of the Knights of the Emerald Chapel!


----------



## (contact)

> He leaves with the suspicion that the cook knew who he really was and didn’t care.




Well, he's:

1) Handsome as Hell
2) Paying attention to _me
3) Extremely Handsome
4) Famous
5) Flirting with lil' ol' me, and
6) Rich

  Works for me!_


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yeah, but Nol actually had really good reasons for trying to be incognito.  I guess I really blew my Disguise roll.  And after I'd rolled in those fish and everything.


----------



## Piratecat

This time, the Civic Minister decided that the group’s news was worth alerting Ioun about directly, and so she dispatched a manservant to summon him.  Thus, Velendo, Nolin, and Agar have settled down to wait in the comfortable meeting chamber.  Three times in this magical iron tower, all through the same door, and they hadn’t ever been in the same room twice!  In the three years since the Defenders had saved him from time stasis and effectively brought him back to life, Archmage Congenio Ioun has built himself a small empire in the war-torn western plains, but he doesn’t seem to be a very hands-on leader; otherwise, it’s more likely that he would be inspecting armies or surrounding himself with flouncing sycophants instead of isolating himself in a hard-to-reach tower.

Most emperors would demand that visitors enter their throne room in the midst of much pomp and circumstance.  Not Ioun. He silently _teleports_ into the meeting chamber, suddenly appearing in his throne-like chair as if he had been sitting there all along.  “It’s pleasurable to see you again after these three years,” he remarks dryly. He’s aged a bit; there are more wrinkles around his colorless eyes, and his pale hair seems a bit thinner. More than a dozen _ioun stones_ orbit his head, and to Agar’s magically enhanced vision, the Archmage is surrounded with crawling enchantments that shimmer around his body.

Velendo starts things off.  “Thank you for seeing us. I know how busy you must be.” 

“Indeed. But I owe you a debt that has not yet been repaid.” He coughs dryly, politely. “What concerns you?”

Velendo and Nolin explain what they’ve learned about Sir Aleax, using the politest of diplomatic language: that there seems to be a divination block, that _communes_ from several churches have pointed to inconsistencies, that the army led by Aleax may be misguided or more vulnerable than it at first appears.  They do not share any of the conclusions that they have drawn from this, just the bare facts.

Ioun leans back in his throne and eyes them.  “And what would you have me do with this information?”

The Defenders exchange worried glances before Velendo answers.  “We make no recommendations and have no suggestions, Sir. We merely thought that you would wish to see for yourself the results of our _communes_, and draw your own opinions.”

The Emperor raises one eyebrow. “But surely…. Smoketallow, Benholm. Your opinions, please. What would you do if you were in my throne and were presented this information?”

More worried glances.  “No opinions, Sir. You know the state of the church of Aeos, and the state of the armies, better than we do. We simply wished you to have this for planning purposes.”

Ioun steeples his fingers in front of them and regards them drily.  “I see. This information is appreciated.  At worst, I have a double agent in charge of my armies who is leading them into ruin. At best, someone appears to be trying to play me for a fool, confounding my own divinations on the matter.” He taps his fingers together, a minor gesture which Nolin senses is hiding his extreme irritation.  “Irksome.”

Suddenly, Ioun is on his feet with his purple robes billowing, although no one really saw him stand up. “We had promised you aid if we could spare it. We can't, but you deserve it nevertheless.  I have several items – an ioun stone that increases your wisdom, one that creates a deflective force around your body, a few other tactical aids – which you are welcome to. They were crafted by me, and with luck they should serve you well.  

“Now, I will bid you good day, as you have introduced an added level of complexity into my strategies that I need to account for. Please help yourself to food and drink," he gestures at a sideboard that instantly becomes laden with a seven course meal, "and take rest if you need it  before you depart.”  And with one last look at the group, he smiles slightly, nods, and disappears.

An hour later, full of ancient wine and delicious fruits and freshly roasted meat, the group sets off in _wind walk_ form back to their rendezvous point. One major power group formed… two to go. Nolin voices what everyone is thinking.  

“I wonder how the others are doing?”


_*Note: *as far as I know, Sagiro went into this meeting with Ioun expecting to ask him to contact the church of Aeos and personally ask for them to perform divinations about both Aleax and a “Aeosian historical figure currently active in the church,” in the hopes that the church would also get contradictory results. I believe that he was also going to ask Ioun to push for an Aeosian miracle to dispel the divination block.  However, this didn’t happen!  I’m still not sure why.

As far as I know, something very interesting happened when I left the game for ten minutes to talk to my sister on the phone. No one will tell me what their conversation was about, but they all looked horrified when I came back to the game. They all shut up, too, afraid of making a gratuitous Rule One violation.  Nevertheless, I *think* their chain of logic went like this:

*a. * A spell that could block divine divinations is more powerful than any we’ve ever heard of.
*b. *  As far as we know, Ioun is the most powerful spellcaster alive today.  He might be able to craft such a spell, if he had a reason to.
*b-1. *  He has a reason to. If the Aeosian army went to attack the ghouls instead of the Necromancer Kings, that would leave Ioun’s new empire without a trained and capable force that is both willing and able to wipe out the threat to his borders once and for all.
*c. *  Ioun has a history of making short-sighted choices that seem to be a great idea at the time, but which may create new problems.
*Conclusion.* It isn’t inconceivable that Ioun engineered the divination block for his own purposes, either purposefully or inadvertently aiding the ghouls in the process.  We ought to be very, very careful.

That’s what I think they discussed, but *no one will tell me.* This is just guess-work on my part, which may or may not be accurate (and which may or may not be correct.)  Interesting theory, eh?_

To be continued!


----------



## Piratecat

Ummm... it's still Tuesday in the US?

Wow, how lame! I'm trying to write a complicated bit, and need to go back to the players for details. That'll show me for waiting, swamped with other stuff or not.  In the mean time, here's two pictures of the Defenders. 

Standing, left to right: Malachite (ie Blackjack), Shara (ie Fajitas), Raevynn, Arcade (ie Bandeeto), The Crawling Chaos, Dylrath/Cadrienne (ie Sialia), Me, Rofan, and Claris (ie Sito Rotavele).

Crouching, left to right: Kirisandra (ie wisdomlikesilence), Palladio (ie Dr. Rictus), Nolin (ie KidCthulhu), Tao (ie Jobu), and TomTom.

(Guys, if any of you object to me posting these pictures, let me know and I'll delete them.)


----------



## Sito Rotavele

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *  In the mean time, here's two pictures of the Defenders.
> *




You can tell those were happy times.  Malachite and Claris are both breaking out their biggest grins.


----------



## Piratecat

Tao stands in a thirty foot wide ring of guffawing soldiers. She’s stripped herself of weapons, as has the 6’ 6” mercenary in front of her. The man clearly has some orc or ogre in his heritage somewhere, and he’s smiling evilly as he cracks his knuckles. The hot sun glints off of the magical belt he’s wearing. It used to be Tao’s belt, before the Skaven Monk T’Cri stole it from her a year ago while administering his version of justice. Apparently he gave it away to this man.  It had taken Tao months to track him down.

Using divination spells, Tao had finally found him in a camp on the outskirts of the Aeotian army camped outside of Corsai. “You want what?” he asked her mockingly. “This belt? MY belt?”  He had looked down at her with scorn; she was clearly a warrior but she was also a cleric of some pansy nature religion, and he outmassed her by a hundred pounds and a foot of height.  "Time for some fun," he thought.

“My belt,” Tao corrected him calmly. “Stolen from me. I’d like it back now, please.”

The merecenary had shaken his head. “Uh uh,” he said lasciviously. “You want it, we wrestle for it.”  He looked her up and down rudely.

Tao smiled grimly, her solid green eyes flashing with undisguised anticipation as her divine aura suddenly rippled outwards to cut through the man’s self assurance like a sudden splash of ice water.  “Absolutely.”  So now they faced each other under the still heat, weaponless, flies buzzing about them as they slowly circled.

The mercenary makes the first move. Clearly an experienced bar fighter, he rushes her, punching her in the face and elbowing her in the throat as he attempts a trip.


----> _It is at this point that Tao’s player looks at me and says, “Did you forget? As a 10th level divine agent, I’m an outsider.”  “So?” I answer.  “Outsiders have damage reduction.” The “I-can’t-believe-I-forgot-about-that, and-now-this-challenging-fight-just-got-a-lot-easier” look on my face must have been priceless._
Completely uninjured, Tao raises an eyebrow at him and taps a toe in impatience.

The mercenary tries several different combinations of moves, but Tao barely flinches, at one point deliberately yawning. When he finally catches her in a grapple, she shapeshifts into a unicorn and looks at him again. His friends begin to out-and-out laugh, and the mercenary realizes that he’s badly outclassed.  She throws him a few times, never hurting him badly, but making him look extremely incompetent. 

Attempting to get a headlock on the blasé unicorn, the mercenary whispers out of the side of his mouth. “I’ll sell it to ya.”  “Done,” says Tao, and changes back to her normal form. 

"It’s a tie!” announces the man to his jeering campmates, and then spins and plants a heavy fist right in the middle of Tao’s face. He yelps, nursing his bruised knuckles, and Tao’s eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she growls, and moves in to hammer him in the belly.

“I thought….” He gasps. “I’m sorry!”

“Forgiven!” says Tao cheerfully despite wanting to beat him to a pulp, and unlaces her new Belt of Strength from the man’s belly.  Pulling it on, she feels its familiar magics streaming through her, and she grins. “I wonder what the others are doing right now?” she thinks to herself.  Raising her holy symbol, she casts _sending_ to Malachite, and asks him "I'm finished. Where are you right now?"

_To be continued...._


----------



## Piratecat

Mara walks up the inscribed white stairs, past the initiates scrubbing the alabaster to a brilliant sheen, past the exquisitely carved pillars, past the beggars plying their trade and the pilgrims sweating in the blazing sun, up into the rotunda of the Corsai Mother Church of Aeos. It’s cooler there, but no darker, as the architecture glorifies Aeos and magnifies his light. Initiates bustle hither and yon, moving through the temple in silence compared to the street noise outside. Somewhere a gong rings, and Mara can smell incense. Her throat is dry, because what she’s about to do may cause more trouble than it solves. 

Catching the attention of an initiate, she is soon led to the quarters of a Basker High Priest named Whalter. It was Whalter who first encouraged Mara to take up a life of adventure years ago; he’s a friendly and unambitious senior priest who worships Aeos in his role as the life-giver, not the taskmaster. Surprised to see her, Whalter’s face lights up in an undisguised smile.

“It’s been years! And yet, I hear you’ve been making quite a name for yourself. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

After five or ten minutes of small talk, Mara refocuses the conversation, desperately trying to rein in Whalter’s inevitable conversational ramblings.  “Father, I understand that General Aleax is planning to take the army and strike east, eliminating the Necromancer Kings and shattering their Orb.”

Whalter looks confused. “Their orb? What orb? I don’t know anything about that.” Mara kicks herself, remembering suddenly that Aleax had confided it as a military secret. 

“Perhaps you’d better not talk about that,” she gently suggests.

“”Nevertheless,” continues Whalter, “I know very little about the Church Militant. I have heard the rumors about you and your friend Malachite, of course. You know that he’s now wanted as a possible heretic and criminal?  If you know where he is, it’s very important that you arrest him and bring him here for trial.” The small priest looks worried. “*Do* you know where he is?”

Mara thinks fast; Malachite came to Corsai with her and Tao, but immediately departed from them. “No, Blessed Father, I don’t precisely know. But I’ll be sure to do my duty when I do see him!”  That seems to satisfy the priest, so Mara hurriedly rechannels the conversation. “In any event, we’ve had some very disturbing divinations that contradict divinations done here, and we think we know why.”  The young paladin then shows Whalter copies of every _commune_ and divination that the Defenders have done. She shows him how the result changes when you substitute “Aleax” for “historical Aeotian figure active in the church today.”  Whalter’s happy face gradually becomes more and more serious as the import becomes clear.

“Oh my,” says Whalter. “this means that either Saint Aleax isn’t who he thinks he is, or somehow – somehow – our Lord god Himself is being excluded from these divinations. I’ll need to confirm these…?”

“Of course,” agrees Mara, and waits for twenty minutes while Whalter prepares and casts a _commune_. As he does so, his face becomes unlined and almost beatific, his body outlined in shimmering sunlight. When he’s finished, though, he looks almost angry.

“I’ll need to bring this to the attention of The Clarion. As the speaker of Aeos Himself, he’ll need to know this.  And you think a _miracle_ may solve the problem?”  Mara nods. “Then he should know that too. And we’ll need Saint Aleax’s opinion on this. Oh my,” he sighs as his round face wrinkles, “I hate church politics. But sometimes they’re necessary.”

As Whalter escorts Mara out, he reassures her. “You did well, my friend. I’ll be sure to let you know what the church discovers, when I can communicate such a thing. In the mean time, make sure you bring that rogue Sir Malachite to justice. He will need to appear in front of an Adjudicator to explain his actions, before he makes things even worse for himself.”

Mara wrinkles her nose and rolls her eyes as she walks down the stairs, wondering what she's going to do.  She shifts into _wind walk_ form and heads to the place where Tao, Malachite and she had agreed they'd meet.  As she feels herself buoyed by the magical wind, she thinks, "I wonder where Malachite is right now?"


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite makes his way through Corsai. He’s undisguised, wearing the forbidden emerald surcoat of the Chaplars.  He goes from shrine to shrine, from tavern to tavern, hoping to find a friend who can tell him where to find the hidden temple of his Order.

He finally finds an old man, retired from the chaplars, who glares at him from rheumy eyes. “What er ya, stupid?” the old man asks. “Yer a wanted man. There’s word fer yer arrest. And here ya are, parading through th’ streets like it was holy day. What’er ya up to?”

Malachite responds stiffly, his back straight. “I am seeking the True Church and the remnants of our Order.” Then he falls silent and looks at the elderly knight expectantly.

The old man wriggles nervously on his bench, crinkling his wild eyebrows and picking his ear.  “Fine, fine, don’t get yer scabbard all a-tangled,” he says uncomfortably.  “I’ll tell ye who to go to. But make sure ye aren’t bein’ followed. I imagine they’ve set trackers out after ya.”  He tells Malachite the name of a small outlying village an hour outside of Corsai, nestled up closer to the mountains. Malachite thanks him, strides out of the tavern, and looks carefully around….

And having picked something up from his nature-oriented friends, realizes that the hawk swooping overhead has been visible for hours.

About that time he hears a whisper in his ear, the result of Tao’s _sending_ spell.  “I'm finished.  Where are you right now?”  Malachite answers quietly. “On the western edge of Corsai on the Street of Retribution, near the Temple of Vindus. I’m being watched by a bird.”  He waits a few minutes in the reflected heat of an empty alley, and then decides to expedite matters. He _levitates_ into the cloudless sky, hoping that the bird will come into the range of _searing light_. It doesn’t, though, carefully staying hundreds of feat away.

Tao (along with pointing street urchins and curious merchants) sees Malachite’s tiny form silhouetted against the sky, and soon joins him as he lowers himself back down to the street.

“Greetings. As I said, I’m being followed by a bird.”

Tao stretches, glancing down at the unfamiliar pressure of her returned belt of strength. “That I can fix,” she says, and casts fly. She leaps into the air, making her way towards the hawk.
Tao soars above Corsai. From her vantage point, she can see two people on a flying carpet scudding between several temples, as well as a mounted griffon over on the other side of the dusty city. Her attention is mostly taken up by the hawk, though.

She finally closes within voice range, and calls out in hawk. “Hello there!”  She’s using what animal empathy she can, mimicking its movements and flight.

The hawk wheels around in surprise. “_You can speak!_” it screeches. 

“Of course I can. How is the flying? Have you seen much prey?”

The bird seems pleased to speak. “_The flying is good. Can you not feel the updraft? There has been little prey. I have a task._”  The bird turns again, keeping Malachite in sight, and Tao turns with it.

“A task?”

“_Yes. I must watch that two-legs down on the ground. My Master is watching through my eyes, so I must follow him wherever he goes.  He is certainly watching you right now._”  

Tao digests this for a moment.  “Who is your Master? What do you do when you tire?”

The bird looks at her, confused. “_My Master is my Master, he who feeds me. He owns the aviary. And when I tire, at sunset, he will send another to take my place._”

Knowing birds, Tao doesn’t hope for much, but she asks the hawk to describe where the aviary is. “_By the pointy building in the city of men, of course._” Tao looks down at the city of minarets, shrugs, and wishes the bird well.

Back down on the ground, Tao reports her findings to Malachite. After Malachite explains that he can’t be followed, Tao _teleports_ the two of them to just outside of town, and then they slip back into _wind walk_ form. Within fifteen minutes, they’ve arrived at the small town Malachite was warned about.

The Shrine of Aeos there is small, just a white-washed wooden building with a southern exposure and a shoddily made stained glass window. It is impeccably kept, however.  Seeing no one on the street other than a mangy stray dog, Malachite and Tao open the wooden door and step into the shadowy interior.

An older man approaches them, weighed down with the years and his heavy religious robes. He stops short when he sees Malachite wearing his emerald surcoat, and then nods. Without a word, he directs them to an interior room.

The small room that the two heroes walk into is empty of people. A desk has a few scrolls on it, copies of the Book of the Sun; a quick look indicates that the cleric had been crossing out certain sections with ink and writing in the new church-dictated text in the margins. Malachite looks around the room, but doesn’t see anything odd, other than a small holy symbol of Aeos hanging from the door jamb of a dusty store room. He thinks for a moment, then uses his faith as a lens, focusing positive energy from his body into the holy symbol. As he does so, he and Tao are illuminated by sunlight, and there is the quiet sound of silk ripping. Seconds later, instead of a partially filled storeroom, Tao and Malachite are standing in front of a doorway rippling with golden energy.

As one, they walk forwards into the light. They emerge on a cloud, white and fluffy, cold wind ruffling through their hair. In front of them are two burly paladins standing next to two golden statues of griffons, and beyond the guards rises a green malachite and crystal tower that glows like emerald fire in the late afternoon sunlight. Malachite stands in shock as he realizes that he’s found the secret stronghold of his Order, a place only hinted at in rumors.

Even as the guards recognize Malachite and stands aside, Malachite turns to Tao. “You realize, that if you ever speak of this to _anyone_, I will have to kill you.”

Tao looks amused at his obvious statement. “Of course you will,” she answers agreeably, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the two walk forward across the cloud. 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Tao is seated in the anteroom and guarded, and Malachite is escorted up winding stairs to the presence of Lord-General Coronis, Commander of the Knights of the Emerald Chapel. He’s a burly man with a square face and a black curly beard that’s finally starting to go gray; a vivid pale patch scars his cheek, a trophy of a fight against undead.  He stands as Malachite enters the room, and his resonant voice echoes slightly.  “Malachite. It’s good to see you. I was wondering when you’d make your way here.”

They talk for more than an hour, as Malachite informs the Lord-General of the current state of the church. He explains the White Kingdom, the altered divinations, his concerns about Saint Aleax, the history of his sword Aleax, the Defenders’ suspicions, and the destruction of the Chaplars’ sacred chapel in the Mother Church.  In return, Coronis tells Malachite about the two dozen Chaplars who rebelled against the dictate of the Church Militant, of the danger inherent in the proximity of the Necromancer Kings, of the safety of the sacred emerald that is the heart of their order, and of his connections that he still maintains within the church itself.  “I am still friends with enough important people that I can get this information into the right ears,” the Lord-General concludes. “With luck, I’ll be able to stir up enough worry that they’ll question their assumptions and try the divinations themselves.  I’ll contact you as soon as I hear back.”

Malachite frowns. “You understand the importance of the expedition to the White Kingdom, Sir?”

Lord-General Coronis leans forward.  “You made it clear. Likewise, we can’t allow the expedition against the Necromancers to fail for lack of our support, whatever the false saint may feel about our Order and our services. I’ll make the determination of who to assign where once we know how the church responds to these revelations.”  He leans back and tugs on his beard. “Nice work, by the way. I know you’re currently a wanted man. I’ll see what I can do about that as well, but I don’t expect miracles. Keep me informed.”

Tao and Malachite depart together, and Malachite is almost cheerful. They return through the gate to the small church, then _wind walk_ to the rendezvous point.  Mara is waiting for them there.

There is an uncomfortable silence as Mara and Malachite face each other in the heat, the slight desert wind ruffling their hair, the shadows under their feet small in the brilliant noon sunlight.  Tao steps back.

Mara is the first to speak as she looks at the Hunter of the Dead worriedly.  “You’re wanted by the church,” she ventures.

“Yes.” Says Malachite flatly.

“It’s my duty to arrest you and bring you to them,” she continues, looking him in the eye.

Malachite’s stance shifts subtly to a battle stance, and his gauntleted hand slides over to rest on the hilt of Aleax.  He looks at Mara.  “Do you intend to?”

Mara looks at him, frustrated. “I have to! It’s my duty to the Church.”

“To the False Church,” interjects Malachite.

“To the Church,” corrects Mara. 

“Then do your duty.”

Mara regards him. Then she smiles as an idea strikes her.  “Malachite, you are under arrest, as ordered by the Church Militant. I am personally unable to take you in. Thus, you are now my responsibility and under my protection until such point as I deliver you to proper authorities.”

Malachite stays in battle-ready stance, thinking over the consequences of Mara’s action. He slowly removes his hand from his sword hilt.  “That may be a while.” 

Mara nods. “I know it might be. Until then, though, you are my prisoner. As befits your rank, I will not ask for your weapons.”

Malachite nods back and his body language begins to relax. “As long as you don’t hinder me in what I must do."  

Mara relaxes as well. "We’re in this together, as we knew we must be.”  Then, the demands of duty satisfied, they both turn their eyes towards Tao.  Together, all three _teleport_ across the continent back to Eversink.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Court is in session for the King of Gaunt.

Seated in his high-backed chair in the throne room, High Magus and Court Wizard Arcade Deltarion barely stifles a yawn. It’s been years since he’s gone on an adventure with his old friends. Nowadays, he spends his time creating magical items, dealing with minor wizardly concerns in the kingdom, and inspecting the kingdom’s defenses. Boring. The pomp and circumstance is nice, of course, but it’s hard to keep your edge when you aren’t regularly challenged.

On the far end of the gilded chamber, a woman slips in the door past the guards. She looks like a scullery wench, but Arcade can’t help but notice that the guards didn’t even seem to notice her. He catches just a glimpse of steely gray eyes….

Claris?

Sister Claris of Vindus is a pilgrim of Vindus, God of Justice and Vengeance. She has been missing for months, as she descended into the Underdark to scout out the path and progress of the advancing ghoulish army.  If she’s here, then there’s probably a reason.  Even as the woman slips out of the throne room, Arcade stands and makes his apologies to King Josric. The King looks at him jealously – he must be bored as well – and grants his permission. Instantly, The Master of Space and Time twists in Arcade’s hand, and the Court Wizard disappears in a pyre of green flame.

Arcade reappears just outside of the throne room, his intelligent staff warm in his hand. There is no woman anywhere in sight.

“Ahem.”

The noise is cold, precise, and directly behind him. Arcade spins – and there’s no one there.

“Behind you.”

He spins again, and Claris is standing in front of him.

“Don’t _do_ that!” he complains.  “How are you? Well? And Purity, your daughter?”

A thin sliver of a smile crosses Claris’ lips. “Well, thank you. We need to get the others. I have information to report.”

One _teleport_ later, the two are standing outside of the Academe Sorcere in Oursk, hundreds of miles to the east. The air is fragrant with the smell of the endless sea, chilly in an early autumn gloom.  Arcade and Claris stride into the school, passing the Guardian Wyrm stone statues (currently _arcane marked_ with school colors) and moving onto the magically polished flagstone floors. It only takes them a few moments to find Dylrath's classroom.

Arcade opens the door and harrumphs self-importantly. The professor, in the midst of a lesson, pauses and raises an irritated eyebrow at the interruption.  19 year old Dylrath, the oldest student in the class by several years, sinks his face into his hand in anticipation of what he knows is coming.

"My deepest apologies for the interruption," says Arcade smoothly, "but I am Sir Arcade Deltarion, High Magus of Gaunt.  We need to borrow young Master Birdhouse for an important matter."

The professor looks disgusted. "Very clever, Master Birdhouse," he says, "your stunts are becoming that much more impressive. Is this an illusion, or did you pay a visiting sailor to put on this charade?" He glares at Arcade suspiciously. "In any case, Master Birdhouse is in a lesson. Permission denied."

Arcade bristles, tossing back his chest to reveal his royal Clasp of Crown Eternal, to better display his owl-like eyes, to glare imperiously down his pointed nose at the suddenly wide-eyed professor.  "Perhaps you didn't _understand_. Dylrath must play an essential role in an international conflict, one that could save hundreds or thousands of lives and earn him - and your Academy - substantial acclaim. I presume that with these stakes, he can miss half a session of," he squints at the chalk board, "intermediate conjuration."

Behind Arcade, Claris rolls her eyes at his lack of subtlety. Dylrath turns somewhat red as his classmates begin to chortle. And the professor's face flushes a stormy red before he gives in.  "Fine!" spits the Professor. "Master Birdhouse, if you expect to pass this course, I expect your treatise on variant conjuration on my desk in two days. _If_ you aren't too wrapped up in so-called 'international conflict'."

Dylrath says "Thank you, Professor," as he grabs his books and leaves the room .  His classmates mutter all around him. He catches the phrase "..best illusion yet!" from several of his fellow students as he leaves the room.

The old friends greet each other in the hallway.  Claris barely smiles at him, and Dylrath looks honored.  “Oh, hi!” he says. “That lesson was boring. What’s up?”  Then he stops, startled, staring at Claris for a second. He raises one eyebrow in a question, but thinks better of it.  Instead he runs down the hall to his dormitory, and appears a few minutes later, his face emerging from thin air.  "All set," he says, and backs away as both Arcade and Claris step through the invisible gate into his demiplane. 

Dylrath’s mirror room.  A small demiplane in the ethereal, it has a variant _mirror of mental prowess_ permanently affixed to its insides. Thus, Dylrath can enter through the portal, scry someone he knows, and step out in an entirely different location. Once it was the inner sanctum of a fire mage’s academy; now it’s slung with hammocks and covered with teak flooring, lined with display shelves and cluttered with books and trophies. Ever since Dylrath gave up roguery and decided to study wizardry, this has been his secret study room.

“Can you find Nolin?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Hang on a sec.”  He faces the mirror frame which shows a hallway, and suddenly it shimmers and reveals a reflection of Dylrath instead. “Hi, Htarlyd.”

“Oh, hi, Dylrath,” says his reflection as it scratches itself. “Who do we find now?”

“Nolin.”

“Sure! Let me concentrate….”  Both Dylrath and the mirror concentrate as they scry for Nolin’s distinctive mental patterns.   Within a few seconds, the mirror image of Dylrath disappears, and ‘Rath can see Nolin seated at a table, gesticulating with food.  Dylrath turns to Claris and Arcade, gallantly waving an arm. “After you.”

_To be continued…._

Coming soon: A trip to the end of the multiverse! A hall full of demons! Mysterious fey! And a world that’s dying before your very eyes.

_
Blatant plug: if you can, go read Sialia's Cthulhu A-B-C's, at the end of this thread!  You'll laugh, you'll gibber, you'll drool. Piratecat recommended, deep one approved.
_


----------



## KidCthulhu

> *Oh, hi!” he says. “That lesson was boring. What’s up?” Then he stops, startled, staring at Claris for a second. He raises one eyebrow in a question, but thinks better of it.*




Would this be Rath discovering that he can "see" Claris?  He never could get a soul impression of her before, but I seem to remember that he could get her in the mirror this time, which was certainly a first.


----------



## Piratecat

The room is a babble of excited conversation, old stories, obscure in-jokes. Agar shows Arcade the fascinating possibilities of his tentacled familiar Proty, while Arcade looks on with a polite smile and a trapped expression. Nolin dangles shiny baubles in front of Claris’ daughter Purity.  Mara tries to avoid reminding anyone of the painful time she tried to charge twenty skilled archers, a tale which never fails to get a laugh when Nolin tells it. She fails miserably; and the good-natured teasing moves on to Mara’s habit of repeatedly disarming herself by fumbling in combat.  Dylrath greets Tao awkwardly, studiously avoiding the fact that they were once engaged to be married, and gleefully tells everyone how he’s been making money recently.  He reports that he has been using his Mirror to sell tickets to his friends at school, so the fans of the Defenders can peek in on their adventures and watch them in action. 

"Do you mean to say that folks from all over the world have been watching us like some opera, or a sporting event?" Velendo says, horrified. 

"A kid's gotta buy textbooks," Dylrath says. "And where's the harm? Your fans love you guys!"

Everyone looks around self-consciously, as if strangers were watching them even now.

For a time, the clock has been turned back five years, back before anyone gave a damn about politics and the biggest worry was whether or not Arcade would decipher the obscure prophecy before the Imbindarlan Brotherhood of Night did something truly despicable. The rogue Alix Loial is missing, of course, his soul damned to the Abyss for his betrayal of the party to the God of Murder. . . but he is still remembered fondly as the heroes talk amongst themselves. 

Over in a corner, Velendo, Tao and Malachite are discussing the wording of a _commune_ designed to clarify the situation with Aleax even further.  Dylrath tries to catch Malachite’s attention to suggest a solution to their problem, but fails as the focused paladin studiously deflects him. “Now’s not good, Dylrath,” says Malachite coldly, and Dylrath shrugs as he turns to chat with Agar.  If the paladin doesn’t want his idea, so be it.  Malachite, working on the questions, never learns that Dylrath wanted to do more than just gossip.

All good things must come to an end, unfortunately, and supplies are gathered as Agar begins his _legend lore_ on the Citadel of Kodali’s Retreat. He has already explained that time in the Citadel runs much faster than normal, so that an hour here is a week there. Although the group is somewhat concerned, they learn the ground rules: no fighting, no permanent habitation, no conjuration, and an informal truce with other inhabitants.  In order to _plane shift_ there, the caster must use divination magic to discover its exact location.  By the time that the pregnant Lady Brea of House Clearwater joins the group and Dylrath unloads enough food supplies for five months, Agar is almost done with his spell.  “Here we go!” he cries out, and strikes a tuning fork at a bizarre vibrating musical note.

The world disappears.

Instantly, everyone in the room is whirled upwards and *outwards* into a different reality. For what could be seconds or hours, they rush through a silver wasteland of stars and writhing whirlwinds, tumbling faster and faster. The transitional time is longer than any planar travel that the Defenders have made before. Then there is a ripping sound like fabric tearing, the smell of blood and brimstone, and the abrupt cessation of motion.

Dizzily, the group looks around, and Lady Brea screams. The Defenders and their companions are standing in an ancient stone hall fifty feet tall, ceiling blackened by countless torches and cooking fires. Looming around them are more than a score of devils seeping an almost palpable evil.  Velendo looks up, and realizes that he’s staring into the horned face of a pit fiend. The pit fiend looks down, and a slow toothy smile spreads across his wicked face.

“*THIS IS OUR CHAMBER, WORMS,*” the monster booms. It points a long flame-red hand towards a domed exit a hundred feet away, its clawed finger pointing. “*SINKERS ARE DOWN THAT DIRECTION. FEY THAT WAY. I BELIEVE YOU’LL FIND  SPACE PAST THEM.*”  Its long forked tongue flicks across blackened teeth in emphasis.

“Thanks!” says Agar, hitching up his supplies over his shoulder. “C’mon, everyone.” He starts heading in the way that the embodiment of evil pointed, Proty flying ahead of him with tentacles flapping.

Mara looks horrified. She reaches for her mace, a look of determination on her face. “Don’t,” cautions Velendo. “Remember, there’s a truce here.” He looks around at all the fiends eyeing them with delight, and quietly adds, “Besides, we’d get creamed.”  His muscles creaking under the weight of his supplies, he joins the others and heads off to explore.

“*YOU’RE MORE THAN WELCOME TO STAY,*” the creature calls after them, eyeing the pregnant woman. “*YOU HAVE POWER THAT COULD BE USED IN THE BLOOD WAR.  AND I NOTICE YOU BRING A SPECIAL TREAT.*”

“Keep walking.” Nolin stay near the back as everyone moves through and past the clustered fiends.

Lady Brea is pale and shaking. “I came here to deliver my baby so that my husband Lord Griggan won’t find out it isn’t his,” she gasps while trembling. “I’m not turning it over to… to _demons_”  She spits the word out. Someone starts to correct her as to the origin of the fiends, but is shushed as Nolin tries to calm the woman. She leans against him for support, and Nolin once again curses his father for getting the woman pregnant in the first place.

The group moves through oddly shaped gigantic chambers built to a titan’s scale, doing their best to avoid any other inhabitants of the Citadel. They see several human and tiefling Doomguard from Sigil, drawn to the fortress by its natural entropy, and they pass by a corkscrew-shaped hall that the pit fiend had said leads to a group of Fey.  Soon the group finds a room shaped like an inverted ziggurat, empty, with each layer ten feet below the next. The Defenders claim this as their own, and begin to stash their supplies and settle in. Agar casts a _permanent illusion_ to make it look a little more homey, and different people claim different sections of the huge chamber.

“Oh my,” says Arcade. “You’ll want to see this.” He’s standing down on the lowest level of the floor, a full 60’ below the main entrance. His face is bathed by a flickering light, dim and unsteady. As the others join him they also see what has entranced him. The wall here appears to be made out of glass or pure force, and it reveals the unparalleled sight of a world slowly being ripped apart. The Defenders look down from perhaps a mile or so in the air. From their vantage point, they see a land where titans - or Gods? - are running amuck, reshaping a land by ripping it apart, destroying a forest by raising a volcano. There is death down there, even if the people getting killed are too small to see.

“The Citadel always looks out on a world that is dying,” Agar says quietly. “I think that we’re at the end of the Outlands, and this is where worlds come to die, forced into entropy.”

Nolin shivers as a tremendous wave slaps down on a city below. “Let’s not visit.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The five months pass quickly as the Defenders of Daybreak train and craft items. Their sense of time hasn’t completely synchronized with this place, and Raevynn and TomTom in particular have difficulty with how quickly the days seem to pass. Velendo’s studies reveal to him the most powerful spells that Calphas can grant, and most of the heroes break through to new powers and spells. While Claris draws maps of the Underdark and records what she’s learned from her scouting missions, Arcade and Agar are busy crafting magical items for many of the heroes. 

Mara in particular is pleased as Arcade hands her a shimmering cloak. She slips it on, and suddenly every eye in the huge room is drawn to her like a magnet to steel. With the cloak on, Mara seems to practically glow, her every move assured, her voice ringing with command. “It’s a _cloak of charisma_,” says Arcade while trying to look at her with some decorum, “the most powerful type possible.” 

“Thank you,” says Mara, and her appreciation is suddenly payment enough for Arcade. He excuses himself and goes for a walk while thinking about cold baths and how much he misses his wife Adrianna.  

During this time Lady Brea’s time comes, and she gives birth to a newborn son. “Boil water!” urges Nolin in panic. “Rip a sheet up into strips!” Velendo and Tao send him away in disgust, and the birth occurs without his help.  She names the child Griffith (or Grith for short), the name she knew his father by, and she settles in to care for the baby.

More disturbing than the occasional visits by Sigilian Doomguard (or “Sinkers”) is the scouting forays by the dark fey. No one in the group had seen dochalsfar for years, but it wasn’t long after the room was claimed that the first one paid a visit. When the evil faerie appeared, Arcade was standing near the door. 

“*VROOOoooo*oooooooooom!”  Something speeds past him, faster than sight can follow.

“What was… oh, no! I recognize that noise.”  The invisible source of the zooming sound banks off a wall, circles the huge room twice, and screeches to a halt in front of Arcade.

“whoareyouandwhyareyouhere?”  A tiny fey creature, with long pointed ears and slit eyes, glares at him as its body trembles with suppressed energy. Its voice is almost too fast to understand.

“What?”  

The creature spins around Arcade five times in annoyance, moving so quickly it blurs.  “eitheryou’restupidoryou’redeafandyou’recertainlyslowslowslowwhoareyouandwhyareyouhere?”

“Ah, yes. Arcade Deltarion. We’re here on our own business. Why are *you* here?”  The creature doesn’t answer. Instead, it streaks back the way it came, laughing obscenely in a grating high-pitched giggle.  “I really *hate* those things,” laments Arcade.

Quicklings visit on almost a daily basis, buzzing the room and then disappearing.  From the few that will talk to them, the group learns that the dark fey seem to be waiting for something to happen, something to do with a child that they believe will eventually arrive in the Citadel. Until then, they wait.   The group worries that Lady Brea’s child is the one that the dark fey are waiting for, but a _commune_ by Tao confirms that this is not the case.  Finally Velendo loses his patience with the quicklings and simply covers the entrance to their chamber with a _wall of faith_ to keep them out.  Everyone thinks about the possibility of a quickling hitting a wall of force at more than 100 miles an hour, and there are many anticipatory grins.

Quite a bit of conversation and debate occurs around the now-accessible memory that the King of Gaunt had a son that no one seems to be able to recall…. What magic could create such an effect? No one is sure, and everyone tries to take steps to remember the child’s disappearance, despite the fact that they’re sure to inevitably forget when they return to the Prime.

Finally, everyone is ready to return. They’re finished training, finished making magical items (“I hope the higher entropy here doesn’t create problems,” muses Agar), and finished giving birth. Everyone is more than ready for fresh food and actual sunlight.  The Citadel is depressing; the dying world beneath them is almost gone, flood waters having swallowed almost all the land, noisome vapors bubbling upwards where great cities once stood.  

“All set, everyone?” Agar glances around. “I like this place. It must have been around for millennia, but it’s certainly handy.”  Everyone gathers around him.  “Next stop: home!”  He casts _plane shift_, and the group is flung out into the multiverse, spinning back into the void.

They reappear in a wooded swamp. Overhead, thunder rolls across the heavens, the sign of a fierce thunderstorm. Everyone instinctively looks up to see when the rain is coming… and the sky is clear, blue, and dotted with a handful of fluffy white clouds. Another peal of thunder thrums across the land.  Everyone looks around nervously.  “Errr,” says Velendo. “How long have we really been gone?  I’m no ranger, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t right.”

Tao rolls her eyes. “You think?” she asks facetiously, and spins around as she tries to get her bearings. They seem to have _planeshifted _ in a few hundred miles southwest of Eversink. “What do you think - something to do with the Gods?”

“Thunder when the Gods fight isn’t unheard of,” says Nolin, tapping his chin. “I’m not sure we want to be in the vicinity, though.”

“I’m not sure we can avoid the vicinity,” says Malachite worriedly as he stares at the vault of the sky, staring directly into the eye of the sun. His eyes don’t even water. “We should move.”

Everyone shifts into _wind walk_ form (except Agar, who already shifted when he found himself surrounded by mosquitos and flies. He’s quietly screaming as he tries to avoid the insects that are flying through him.) and heads off. The thunder continues overhead in the blue and humid sky, sometimes redoubling in intensity as it shakes the vault of heaven. Birds fly in panicked flocks, and the hot air feels heavy, like flying through heavy fog.  Most worrisome, it’s soon clear that the sun doesn’t seem to be moving in the sky. It is frozen above their heads, sitting in place as if nailed there.

The group descends at the first house they see. It’s a ramshackle cottage and small farm, crouching by a stream on the edge of a wide wood. The group lands, solidifies, and looks around. They can hear a dog whining in terror from somewhere under the house, and the sound of horses whinnying and cows mooing is coming from the barn. Clearly the animals are terrified by the thunder. No one is in sight, though, so Tao knocks on the door.

“Eh?” comes an elderly voice from inside, worried. “Who’s there? Who’s there!”

“Not to worry,” answers Tao soothingly. “We’re lost travelers. We just hoped to get directions and just ask you a few questions.”  An old man with gnarled hands opens the door and looks around.  He sees twelve pale people. Almost all are heavily armed. He catches an impression of glowing crystal armor, of solid green eyes and eyes like that of an owl, of magical stones spinning around heads, and of quiescent power that almost makes the air vibrate. He stares for a few seconds with his mouth gaping open… then he screams and slams the door again.  More thunder rolls across the clear sky as if in counterpoint.

The Defenders look at each other. “What was that all about?” someone wonders, and everyone shrugs. “I could blast it open,” says Agar mischievously, and as expected he gets shushed.  Tao tries again. “Please, let me in,” she urges, and this time the old man reluctantly does, hurriedly closing and latching the door behind her.

The man moves to stand protectively next to his wife, and as more thunder shakes the windows they both drop to their knees in supplication. “Please don’t hurt us,” the woman begs. “Please. We have tried not to sin. Have the Gods sent you because they’re angry?”

“No, no,” says Tao. “Please get up. You misunderstand. I am a servant of my Goddess, but we really are only here to ask a few questions. How long has that thunder been going on?”

The woman averts her eyes as she answers. “Since last night. It’s gotten worse and worse.  It’s the beginning of the end times. The Gods are destroying the world, we’ll soon be taken into heaven….”

“Gods willing,” interrupts the old man.

“Gods willing we’ll soon be taken into heaven,” says the woman. “when they stop fighting, of course. When we’ve died. We’ve tried to live a dutiful life, you know. With the boys gone, it’s become a chore to keep the farm, but we do what we can. We tithe.” She looks at Tao, her eyes pleading, her voice both scared and proud.

Tao smiles.  “Not to worry. I think that sounds fine. I tithe, too. So this has been happening since last night? Hmmm. Do you know if…..”

She is cut off by a blast of light and noise from outside the cottage. With the sound of a thousand angels singing, pure sunlight streams through the cracks in the door frame, the heat of a living furnace rolling through the small house.  Everyone screams, and Tao drops to her knees as a rush of divine awe sweeps through her. She suddenly feels dwarfed by whatever is on the other side of the door, made tiny and fragile in comparison. The chorus of angels finishes their wordless hymn with a flourish, and for a few seconds there is nothing in the world by blinding light and pure, perfect silence. Then a Voice shivers the timbers of the house.  The voice is a mixture of Mara’s, Malachite’s, and the celestial choir, the Voice of Creation itself, and with a horrified thrill Tao realizes that it sounds _angry._

“*I.  Am.  WROTH.*”

_To be continued…._

Next update early next week.


----------



## Plane Sailing

I like the artful way you composed this segment - the farmer overawed at the palpable power represented by the Defenders, presumably the're all feeling very good about themselves, perhaps even a bit of preening and knowing glances, and then... they find themselves in exactly the same role as the peasant when Mr Angry God (TM) appears.

Excellent!

So defenders - what were you thinking around about this moment?


----------



## Dinkeldog

By the way, Malachite's ability to stare at the sun = very cool.


----------



## Wolfspirit

Stupid question, but about how long Eversink time were the Defenders away for?

Allthough it seems that maybe they should have came back a couple of Kodali's Retreat hours earlier.  Who knows, they might have been able to have stopped the war between the gods before it started if they hadn't slept in.


Or they could have been executed for heresy.  But that could have been fun too.


----------



## KidCthulhu

As I remember, we were gone about 10 hours.

_Edit - it was 19 hours ~ PCat_


----------



## Sialia

Need an interim Defenders fix? My new post is up on the Early Years thread--see link in my post above.

Apologies for the lack of details in the combat for which Dylrath was unconcious--I've been typing for three hours, it's past midnight, I'm beat, and it was an easy place to economize.

Hopefully one of the Defenders who particpated in the battle will add some comments--it was a helluva scene: last stands were made, inns were destroyed, treachery, valor, bloodshed, belching, bondage . . . .


----------



## Piratecat

“*I. Am. WROTH.*”  Mara and Malachite merge into a huge burning pillar of golden fire, their souls whirled upwards on the outstretched wings of unspeakable joy. Everyone else must shield their eyes from the fiery form, blinded by the holy radiance that sears through their eyelids.

“*You have intruded upon matters that did not concern you. You have shaken the echelons of My church, and caused Me to know of that which some would have hidden. Your interference has caused Me to look upon mortal affairs with My own eyes.*

“*You have done well.” *

Bowing worshipfully, everyone slumps in relief as they understand that Aeos is not wroth at them.

“*The Rotting Ones thought to steal my prayers from me. They thought to mislead the holy Servants of the Gods.  Aided by their Mistress, they thought to deny Me what is rightfully Mine. For this they will pay.” *  There is crackling thunder as the sun suddenly flares. 

The flaming figure of the God gestures, and a charred and crumbling shape appears on the ground in front of the kneeling heroes.   “*I have descended to the depths of Spira and destroyed the Thief who blinded Me. Now I ascend again to punish his Mistress, and fling Her from the throne She betrayed. With Me I shall take my true servant Aleax, whose soul may have been… sullied… by those who wished to twist him to their will.  In heaven he shall be cleansed in the purifying furnaces of the sun, and some day he may return to you. *”

The flaming beacon of sunlight seems to reach even higher, stretching into the sky itself, piercing the clouds above their heads in a shaft of fiery gold. “*Your task is beginning. You will act as My Hand and punish those who sought to betray your brethren. My blessing goes with you and with all those truly of my faith. You will be swift and sure, and you will carry My word to them, and they will fear for what their kind has done. *”

And just like that, the radiance disappears.

Clouds roll overhead and the sun slides from view, but the whole area where the Defenders stand is still bathed in bright sunlight. More thunder shudders the heavens, and a wind picks up, carrying the faint scent of something too precious to comprehend up and away from the small hut.

“Ummm….” says Nolin, for once speechless. He falls on to his knees next to the corpse. Crumbling, it is the charred remains of an ancient ghoul. It once wore rich robes, precious jewels, a rich regalia, an ornate scepter. Now it is little more than ash. Quickly, before it can further degenerate, Nolin begins to cast _legend lore_.  Beside him, Mara and Malachite remain stunned in religious ecstasy, their weapons still flaming like the sun itself.

“Heavens preserve us!” wails the old woman inside the hut. “Who was that?”

Tao looks sheepishly at the smoking door. “It was Aeos. You know, the God.  Say,” she says, putting her arm around the old woman’s shoulders, “have you ever been to a shrine before?  You might want to prepare for a few visitors….”

Nolin feels his consciousness slip outwards, seeking at the threads of legend that the dead ghoul has touched or inspired. His mind catches something, and a bit of rhyming doggerel slips into his thoughts.  

_From the dark, forged the scythe
Made the spell of misplaced lies
Killed the dawn and drew the pact
They would grieve but for the fact
He leaves a void, his body calls
The mouth that’s doomed to swallow all
Now in the night his children fight
The steady blight of godly light._
The group considers it as they _wind walk_ north-eastwards. Above them the sky still shakes from thunder, and beneath them the world responds. They see dead corpses rise from their graves, only to crumble as they touch sunlight. They see a sea serpent rise from the depths of the lake, schools of fish fleeing its hungry jaws as it squirms and thrashes within the waves. Most frighteningly, the sky periodically drops into utter night, the sun vanishing from the heavens for minutes at a time.

The second time the sun disappears and deep night falls, Velendo decides that the Godly battle is too important to neglect.  

“God,” he says, as he lowers himself down onto his knees in prayer.  “I don’t know if you’re paying attention down here, what with the war against Imbindarla going on up there, but I thought I’d help if I could. I can’t offer much, but you should take whatever I have. What you’re doing is more important than I’ll ever be.”  He feels the life energy rush from him as he casts the _miracle_, and the sky thunders in reply. Seconds later the very air itself vibrates, and night disappears as the sun rekindles itself.

White-faced, Velendo slowly picks himself up off the ground, looking older than he usually does. “I hope that helped,” he says shakily. And the group continues towards Eversink.

By the time they reach the city, the thunder is coming less often, and the sun is still high in the sky despite the late hour. People are panicking in the narrow alleyways and the wide canals of the city, praying that the Gods do not destroy them for their wickedness, praying that they might be saved in the coming apocalypse. The Defenders note that the green-uniformed guards of the Sea Watch seem to have the rioting more or less in hand, and they slip into the packed temple and make for their private rooms.  The heroes stop to reassure a few clerics, and finally sit heavily down in their familiar chairs. For them, it has been five months; for Eversink, it’s been less than 24 hours.  Lady Sharala Clearwater is there waiting for them, accompanied by a pale stranger.

As Lady Brea and her baby slip away to find the foster family that the noblewoman had secretly prearranged, Tao looks at Malachite. “Aeos said that he was taking Saint Aleax back to heaven. I want to find out what that means.”

“I can do some _sendings_,” offers Velendo.  “But what about….” And he nods at Malachite’s sword, Aleax.

“Let’s find out,” says Malachite grimly, and draws the blade. Its radiance flashes around the room, but the voice which issues from it isn’t the familiar one.

“*My,*” it says at it points towards Shara, “*You’re quite a looker!*”

_To be continued...._


----------



## Plane Sailing

Since nobody else has mentioned it yet, I will.

All credit to Velendo for (presumably) sacrificing some of his experience in casting a selfless miracle, offering up some of his self to aid the Wallbuilder in the battle.

I look forward to seeing further... details... appear

Cheers


----------



## Piratecat

Yeah, how about that?  5000 xp, slurped away, on the faith that it will help. Worse, he'll probably never find out _how_ he helped.  It was a beautiful moment.

Rashak Mani, normally worshippers of Aeos are deeply tanned. Mara and Malachite haven't seen the sun in their five months on the demiplane, and so everyone was white as a fish's belly. Their exposure to the God of the Sun fixed that, though.

Anyways, thank you for the kind words! I would have posted immediately upon the resolution of the dns problem, but I was looking for my exact notes on what Aeos said. Since I couldn't find them, I went with my memory, and I'm sure my players will correct me if I mis-wrote.

Oh, and everyone loves Malachite's sword now. Karthos is... a breath of fresh air compared to Aleax.


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Bowing worshipfully, everyone slumps in relief as they understand that Aeos is not wroth at them.*




Let me assure you that PCat is talking about both players and characters here!  

Up until this point, you could have heard a pin drop in the room...


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> Quicklings visit on almost a daily basis, buzzing the room and then disappearing.  From the few that will talk to them, the group learns that the dark fey seem to be waiting for something to happen, something to do with a child that they believe will eventually arrive in the Citadel.  *




Have the Defenders drawn any conclusions about this?  I have a sneaking suspicion, myself, but I'd like to know if any theories have been batted about by the party...


----------



## Sialia

Hey, Tomtom, be a pal and buy up some cheap land around that site for me, willya? And look into making an offer on an inn or waystation about three quarters of a day's march down the main road.

Thanks!


----------



## Blackjack

Kid Charlemagne said:
			
		

> *Have the Defenders drawn any conclusions about this?  I have a sneaking suspicion, myself, but I'd like to know if any theories have been batted about by the party... *




We wondered if it was Brea's child, but a _Commune_ said no.  Beyond that, I don't think we have any solid theories.


----------



## Sialia

And we worried about whether it might be the missing heir to the throne of Gaunt, but we've since forgotten about that.

Hey, P'cat, when you get back--please clarify--in my old notes it was spelled "Gont," while in my more recent ones, it's "Gaunt." Which is correct?

The oddest thing about the Doxelfar is that they said that the kid they're waiting for smells like _me_.

In what way I'm not sure. 

Since the Birdhouse Clan is minor nobility, it's possible that we share some royal blood smell. But it'd be pretty weak. 

I probably smell more strongly of Oursk and the Academy Sorcere, which suggests our old pal Michael (you know, the genius twerp with the cute little purple dragon. He's generally pally with the Fae, and likely to be a target for Doxelfar, who hate the Good Folk.)

Meant to warn him when I got back, but that slipped my mind, too.

All right all right. I'll give him a nod about it. Jeez, guys, I _was_ gonna. 'S probably nothing anyway. Could be somebody centuries off, the way time moves there.


----------



## Sialia

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *Is it just me or did the battle seem like it was taking really long. A single evil goddess of death sure lasted a while against what appeared to be a coalition of good gods. *




Ok, I'm just guessing here--no more data available than the rest of the Board readers, but here's what I think.

Imbindarla has plenty of pals, or at least, allied Evil gods who also hate the Sun. 

A few years back Toraz (ptuh) and a bunch of others tried to put out the sun forever with a comet (and, incidentally, they're still sore about us meddling in that one.) Toraz had a buncha allies in that little prank, who's names mercifully escape me at the moment.  

So I'm guessing there's still a lotta Evil gods out there who'd jump at the chance to pigpile on Aeos, given the chance. They've been at this a while.

By my notes, since about May of 1996. Maybe the year before that.


----------



## Bandeeto

Ah, yes. But let us not forget...

"Aeos is a 'Greater' God!"
(Apologies to Calphas, a... "Lesser" God.)

Imbindarla, being a goddess of shadows and the dark, may be both fighting and hiding. Having messed with Aeos as badly as she did, it is almost a guarantee that she knew he would come after her if the ruse was discovered. One suspects she had a backup plan (she usually does.) 

Further, she and the Brotherhood of Night were the primary driving forces behind the "Huge Comet to Blot Out the Sun" plot. When that failed and Celian (God of the Stars) returned, she must have gone with her alternative plan. Thus, the White Kingdom. The ghouls were already building in strength and striking at the Skavven Ratmen in the Underdark when the Defenders were setting out to stop the comet. 

I must say, that's one hell of a feint.


----------



## Mishihari Lord

I think it'd be neat if Aeos lost the fight.  The sun goes out and all the sudden things become a lot more challenging.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

[Spider crumples to the floor, having read everything about the Defenders available in the last two days - and finally finishes]

First of all, and It's been said many times before, it's great to see a high-level party of adventurers played and DM'd so well - keeping the characters down to earth (Well... figuratively speaking at least) and giving them problems that actually make you think.

But best of all, and I think this probably applies most DM's reading this out there, the images and stories recorded here give each and every one of us something to admire and learn from. Its helped me with the ripple effect, at least  . 

Only problem is, and I know a few others are also wallowing in my ignorance, that stories are referenced which I have no idea about - for example everyone shouts about this Comet Arc, and I can't find it anywhere. Anyone help out with a link for this or are they just lost tales?

I hate kissing a**, so I'll shut up now...

Apart from saying that the _Miracle_ by Velendo was fantastic. Must have been wonderful having a player say that to you when you're DMing...

I'm really shutting up now. 

[Spider shuts up]


----------



## tsadkiel

I'm actually faintly disappointed.  I was kind of hoping for an onstage destruction of Ghouleax, and maybe a "Mwa ha ha" or two.  Ah, well, good stuff nonetheless.

(And after shamelessly dropping Eversink into my Star Wars game (which has now ended; we never did get to the gondola race) I'm about to start a "long-dead legendary Paladin reappears and causes massive political and theological upheavel; things aren't quite what they seem" storyline in our Greyhawk game.  Though I'm using a peasant girl who may or may not be the reincarnation of the long-dead hero, but is certainly capable of beating the crap out of numerous armed and highly skilled warriors using only a stick, rather than the undead thing.)


----------



## Piratecat

Everyone pauses for half a beat. Then, with perfect poise, Shara cants her head slightly to the side and gives the sword a startled look.  “I beg your pardon?” she asks. Her tone sounds polite to anyone who isn’t familiar with the nuances of her speech. 

“*I said you’re quite a looker! I was serious, too.  Your eyes are simply lovely, like sapphires in the sea.*” It angles itself in Malachite’s hands and points itself towards Mara.  “*You as well! My goodness, you’d think I died and went to heaven.*”

Shara smiles as Mara’s jaw drops. Agar cuts in, “Well, actually….”

The sword continues. “*Don’t get me wrong. I’m well aware I’m a sword, and a damn good one, too. My name is Karthos, the Ghosthammer, Blessed of Aeos, Blade of Deliverance, Vessel of the Sun, blah blah blah. I’m trying to understand how I got here. Last I remember, I was deep underground with the paladin Sir Aleax and a bunch of his friends, trying to block the passage of a ridiculous amount of undead.*”

This snaps everyone to attention. “You remember that?” asks Mara. “You remember the tunnels, and Saint Aleax, and your expedition?”

If they didn’t know better, they would swear that the sword actually snorts in derision. “*Saint? You’re kidding, right? Aleax is a good man, and a dedicated paladin, but he’s no saint. He’s no me, either. Too rigid, too worried about protocol, not enough of a sense of humor, no ability to make impromptu decisions. I’ve told him so a dozen times myself.*”

Malachite holds the long sword up to his face. “Indeed. He’s long dead, killed hundreds of years ago when he collapsed a cavern on himself to stop the ghouls. His soul entered the sword when that happened. Now he’s gone, and you are back.”

“*Huh.*”  The sword seems to study Malachite. “*I’m glad to hear it. I hope he’s at peace. Who are you?*”

“I am Sir Malachite of the Emerald Chapel. I’m honored to wield you, if you’ll have me.”

The sword twitches over towards the beautiful Mara, jokingly lets out a loud sigh of regret, and illuminates Malachite’s face with glittering sunlight. “*I was a Knight of the Emerald Chapel myself, once, or so they tell me. I don’t remember many details from that life. If I can serve Aeos through you, Sir Malachite, I am honored to do so.*”  Over the next few minutes Malachite discovers that Karthos is a slightly more powerful sword than Aleax was, and has a few unique abilities, such as the power to detect secret doors and the ability to leap into his hand from the sheath.  Like Aleax before it, it retains a few paladin abilities, such as the power to _detect evil, detect undead,_ and the ability to _lay on hilt_.

Shara interrupts, indicating the silent, gray-robed man at her side. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Galthia. He’s a githzerai, and he says he’s here to join you.”  She leans towards Nolin and mouths, “He checks out to divinations and questioning. I was fairly impressed.”

Velendo slumps in his chair and eyes the tall, gray-skinned man who stands stock still. Sharp eyes peer out from between the stranger’s chiseled cheekbones, and thin, almost bloodless lips remain in a serious expression.  “Well Galthia, what do you want with us?”

The githzerai speaks stiffly in a quiet voice, with a bare minimum of body language. “I have been sent by my monastery to give you aid. They say you were instrumental in a recent endeavor of theirs, and they would like to return the favor. They understand that you need a scout. I’m a good one.”

“Ha!” says TomTom. “We have a scout, not that a second one would go amiss. Where are you from?”

“I was raised in monasteries within the endless Chaos of Limbo. There, a strong mind is essential in controlling your environment. I have some training in such things, and I am a versatile combatant either with or without weapons. As an Acolyte of the Fist, I choose to help you, and in fulfilling that want, you will find me useful.”

Out of habit, Nolin glances around to Palladio to see if the monk is telling the truth… but Palladio, of course, is hundreds of miles away on a mission of his own.  Meanwhile, Velendo looks at the stranger suspiciously. “Well, Galthia, it seems a little suspicious to me that you would have been sent all this way to fulfill a debt we didn’t think existed in the first place. Are you sure that your whoever-they-are didn’t send you with some secret agenda?”

Galthia calmly meets his eyes. “I can not know my Masters’ minds. I am not sent to betray you, however, and I am pleased to help.”

“Huh.” Velendo rubs his chin and looks around at the other Defenders. Through a _mindlink_, they decide to treat him cautiously until he proves himself. 

The group talks late into the night, even though it is not dark outside. Tomorrow is their court appearance in front of Eversink’s Council, and everyone is a bit nervous.  Finally they go to bed, leaving Galthia locked in a sleeping room of his own. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to leave you locked here. Please ring if you need anything.”

“Of course.” Galthia doesn’t seem upset in the least. “It is larger than I am used to, and much more richly furnished. Will it offend you if I remove the mattress from the bed frame?”

“Err… no,” answers Velendo, and closes and locks the door on the solemn figure. 

Before bed, two _sendings_ go out. The first is from Mara to Whalter, the Basker cleric back at the Mother Church of Aeos who did the _commune_ while Mara was in Corsai.  Unfortunately, Mara isn't She's not used to sendings.


"_Dear Whalter.  How are things?  Aeos just visited.  Much thunder.  Is wroth with thief and mistress who deceived him.  Thief dead.  How's Aleax?  Sincerely, Mara._"
She hears back:

"_Thunder here too! Our God spoke! But not to everyone. Saint Aleax is missing - I hear he has been brought bodily back to heaven!  Whalter._"
Almost immediately thereafter, Malachite asks Tao to do a _sending_ to the head of the Chaplars.

"_Aeos discovered ruse.  He manifested, vengeful; took Commander Aleax. Destroyed divination block's creator; seeks latter's mistress (Imbindarla?) I'm at Corsai or Eversink's Calphasian temple. -Malachite_"
Tao gets an immediate response.  
"_Then it has worked! Not what I expected, but sunshine casts odd shadows. I'll begin repairing political damage, if I can. Pray for us._"
And with that to think about, the heroes go to bed.  The next morning is their meeting with Eversink's governing Council.  They'd rather not be late.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Tsadkiel, sorry for not showing Saint Aleax's "ascendance" in person! You'll hear more of him before long, though. Mara is still curious as to the details, and she intends to find out.

Spider, welcome! Lordy, you're a stronger man than I am if you read this all at once. I'm half way done editing my oldest story hours, so I'll send them to Morrus to post as a Word doc before very long.

Here's the general plot of the "comet cycle." The Imbindarlans (led by the cult named the Brotherhood of Night) followed a prophecy that indicated if the stars were in the right conjunction, their spells could extinguish the sun. They devised a complicated plan to bring about such a conjunction the hard way. To do this, they started a war; their first major battle involved sending thousands of near-helpless peasants into battle against an overwhelming force of hardened mercenaries and professional soldiers. The Cult then harnessed their dying life force and used it (along with an ancient artifact of standing stones) to literally wrench a star out of the sky. They then animated the dead to _really_ fight... and of course, the star would move to complete the conjunction.  In case that ritual was somehow spoiled, they had aimed the star at the planet itself, so that it would crash into Spira and create dust and devastation the hard way. (This was before Deep Impact or Armageddon, dammit - honest!) 

Thus, the Defenders of Daybreak followed some prophecies and headed off west. On the way, they met a blind elven seer who told them of the beginning of the world. They fought a squad of four Torazian Deathgranters, holy assassins whose place in their afterlife depended on their skill at murder. They swam through flooded dwarven tunnels, retrieved something known as the Damming Stone, and evaded peril and politics as they raced to stop the ritual and turn back the comet from atop an unclimbable desert mountain.  It was quite an adventure, and the best thing I'd done to date.  Sialia wasn't kidding when she said it was complex, though!  We'll tell more about it, I think, although it might take a while. 

Oh, and Wulf? Will your shameless pandering for *both* of your superb story hours, including the one where I got to actually play a NPC the other week, EVER stop? You self-promoting hussy! (_Note: the word 'hussy' is being used very loosely here._)  Next thing you'll know, you'll want people to buy that dwarf book from someplace like www.badaxegames.com - you know, that one I'm using in my own games!

 - Piratecat

PS Ben? You can send me a check later.


----------



## KidCthulhu

So there was a question about whether we were afraid that Aeos was *WROTH* with us.  The answer is yes and no.  We were pretty sure we were and had done the right thing revealing the divination thingie, but still...  

I think it was the divine equivalent of your mom using your middle name.  You don't know what you've done, but you know it's serious.  And you hold your breath and wait for the shoe to drop.


----------



## JacktheRabbit

So do we have another guest player who is running the enigmatic gith monk?


----------



## Piratecat

The new member of the group is the same person who plays Aravis in Sagiro's campaign - who, remarkably enough, posts here as Aravis.


----------



## Piratecat

“All right, no one has any weapons, right?”  TomTom looks nervous as he scans his friends, and Tao curses and pulls a tiara out of her hair. “It’s got a longsword magically hidden in it,” she explains apologetically, and TomTom hands it to the staggering page who is already holding a huge armful of the group’s other weapons. “*Don’t worry,*” says Karthos, tucked under the page’s left armpit. “*I’ll watch them.*”

Other than the githzerai Galthia (still locked in his room in the temple of Calphas), almost all of the Defenders in Eversink are standing in this gilded and ornate anteroom, accompanied by their barrister Daedalus Tellingstone. Even Lady Sharala Clearwater is present.  Most disturbingly, Judge Daver “the Slaver” is also waiting on the other side of the large room, glaring at the Defenders in silence.  Another stranger also stands in the room, eyeing the heroes nervously; this man is dressed in dark clothing and has narrow eyes, as well as long greasy black hair slicked back on his head.  He walks over.

“Excuse me,” he says in unctuous tones, like satin being dragged through grease. “I am Dagwillow the Younger, of the firm Dagwillow and Son, Morticians.  We are caretakers of those who have sadly departed from this mortal realm. I am here to represent the interests of your loved one the late Sir Valdek Nurin, Knight of Gaunt.”  The group looks at him with undisguised surprise and disgust.  He nods, understandingly, and continues on as he spreads his hands wide. “I know you are in quite a dangerous line of work. Without being presumptuous, I was wondering… have you already engaged anyone to care for your mortal frame after you have departed from this all-too-brief realm of flesh? We are quite experienced in such matters, and would be honored to have your patronage.”

The looks of disgust become more pronounced. Velendo finally finds his tongue. “Let me get this straight,” he says wonderingly. “You want to take care of our bodies when someone kills us?”

The man nods slowly.  “Yes indeed, your Reverence, or when you die of natural causes. Whichever occurs first.”  Most of the group snorts in amusement. Dagwillow ignores the irreverence.  “Your loved ones and many thousand faithful churchgoers will wish to view your earthly form once your soul has ascended into Calphas’ care. You will doubtlessly wish for someone competent and discreet to manage the bureaucracy, to handle the will, to distribute your belongings, to contact those who would not otherwise hear of your death, and to bury you in the manner you choose.  These things should not be entrusted to the person who happens to stumble across your body on the street.” He smiles, showing slightly too many teeth. “That is why Dagwillow and Son exists, to ease your entry into immortal life.”

Velendo rolls his eyes and tries to avoid being offensively blunt. “I don’t think there will be enough of us left to bury when that time comes, Mister Dagwillow. But thank you. We’ll certainly consider it.”  Dagwillow bows and silkily offers Velendo a card. Velendo accepts it and tucks it in a pouch, where it is quickly forgotten.  

The heroes are more concerned with Judge Daver. They haven’t seen him in months. He was the judge who sentenced half the group to five years of slavery for their role in the murder of Lord Niccolo Diavoli (along with the accompanying destruction of public property.)  He’s a harsh man, but remarkably fair and honest in a city full of graft and corruption, and his presence makes the group nervous.

Tellingstone draws them close. “Remember, this isn’t just about Tao suddenly producing the deed to Rakers prison.  The rumor is that there’s a movement to pardon you for your crimes here in the city.”

“Why?” asks Nolin. “Not that I object, mind you, but….”

Tellingstone’s lips are pinched tightly as he tries not to smile. “I don’t think anyone expected you to have such a… hrmm… high profile. You’re surrounded by influential allies and enemies.  Two… no, now four of you are prophets for their Gods at a time when the Gods are walking abroad, and two of you are important priests. Another of you has ties to the city’s druidic guardians.  You’re knights and confidantes of the King of a neighboring kingdom, and his High Magus is your former companion. One of you is the fiancee’ of a Prince.  Another is a possible heir to a Great House, and a third seems to have inherited the island that our prison is built on. Not to mention your group includes one of the most popular entertainers in the city, a person who constantly leaves broken hearts behind him.”  He eyes Mara and Shara. “AND her AND her. And now the daughter of a council member sees you in combat against the ghouls back in Hundle’s Crossing, and not only does she see the ghoulish threat, she sees what you’re capable of when you’re angry.” Tellingstone’s grin breaks through, like sunlight from behind a cloud. “I heard a third hand retelling. It was _quite_ impressive.”

Tellingstone looks around at the circle of faces.  “I think a few people are scared.  Have you heard the phrase ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out if the kitchen’?  Even as slaves, you’ve managed to keep stoking that fire, and I think they don’t want you in their kitchen any more. My sources tell me that there have been those on the Council who think you should be fed to Brinedeath, or dropped down a hole and forgotten. I’ve been encouraging those who think the best solution is to graciously buy you off in the hope you’ll leave.  You may have been accidentally involved with the church of Yorrine and killed one of the most popular men in the city, but Eversink’s memory is only as deep as its pockets, and I’m banking on that.”

The great portals to the Council Chamber swing open on silent hinges.

Velendo grimaces as he shifts his shield. “Let’s go find out.”  And as one, the group turns and walks into the Council Chamber.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Wolfspirit

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *My sources tell me that there have been those on the Council who think you should be fed to Brinedeath, or dropped down a hole and forgotten. I’ve been encouraging those who think the best solution is to graciously buy you off in the hope you’ll leave.  *




You know, it strikes me as a rather stupid idea to either attempt to feed them to the dragon or just hide them away for a while.  I rather doubt that the Defenders would go willingly, and I'm sure while it'd be possible to subdue them, it would be rather messy (both politicaly and "assailants strewn about").  Of course, with Brinedeath, unless they were sent as a feast naked, gagged, bound in barbed wire and in an anitmagic sphere, I'm sure that they would be a difficult meal to chew.  Heck, Nolin would present some nasty heartburn either way.

On the other hand, I'm guessing that Valendo could just disbelieve that anyone would be stupid enough to try to "drop in a hole and attempt to forget" a cleric that had the ability to disbelieve things (not that I'd like that ability to be a crutch, but if push came to shove...)

For the third alternative of "buying them off", is it just me, or could that have some bad implications?  I wonder if they'd still be slaves, in which case, it'd probably be better off if the Defenders were under the control of the *relativly* just Council.  And even still, I'm sure that whoever did pay would probably try to use that to their advantage at some point.

I personally think the best alternative is for them to be sent to fight Brinedeath.  Even if they lost, it'd be interesting to see what kind of explosion they could cause (There'd be a lot of fortitude saves from the small armory of magic items carried about if the Area of Effect type spells started flying, or if Nolin went down)


----------



## Piratecat

Wolfspirit said:
			
		

> *
> You know, it strikes me as a rather stupid idea to either attempt to feed them to the dragon or just hide them away for a while. *




Sure, but lots of people do irrational, petty things out of fear, hate or jealousy. The Defenders came in to someone else's kiddy pool and then inadvertently made some REALLY big waves. Just by their presence they changed the balance of power, and that's terrifying for those with an entrenched interest.

Even more galling, the Defenders are _heroes._ They may have made a horrible first impression (what with the confessed Yorrine worship, and the killing the Doge, and the destruction of one of the oldest buildings in the city), but inherent nobility ended up showing itself, and peoples' opinions of the Defenders is not what it was six months ago. Then, they were foreign troublemakers; now, they're local celebrities, and prominent ones at that. Not everyone on the Council has truly internalized the fact that today's political realities are different than last year's.  And that's a pity; grasping political realities is a survival skill for Eversink.  *grin*


----------



## Wolfspirit

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> And that's a pity; grasping political realities is a survival skill for Eversink.  *grin* *




Especially when some of the political realities can cast level 9 spells now, eh?

Three words: Storm of Vengeance


----------



## KidCthulhu

Nah, the real thing that's throwing the nobs of 'Sink is that we don't give a rat's ass for their machinations.  We've seen Sigil.  We've destroyed economies.  We've saved the world more times before breakfast (the meal or otherwise) than most heros do in a lifetime.  The politics of 'Sink, so important to the people here, are really of no interest to the Defenders.

And that's what really bugs them.  When you get really obscessed with something like that, spend your life balancing smiles and the nuances of every word spoken, watching every shift in the breezes of power, to have someone treat it as nothing is disturbing and unsettling.   And to be unable to really touch them, despite all your power?  That's antacid time.

I mean the Defenders were happy to help depose Griggan, but that's not becasue we care about 'Sinkish politics.  We just don't like Griggan.


----------



## Altin

Sito Rotavele said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Yup, the defenders are good at saving anything larger than an inn.  They wreak holy (and occasionaly unholy) havoc on inns, though.  I mean the Manticore has been burned down or blown up, what, four times? *




So much for the 'no problem too small' shtick, huh? 

Although, come to think of it ... what was the point at which you guys stopped doing the 'small fry'-type stuff? What I mean is, the 'early years' thread has the Defenders adventuring in much the way most parties do - you know, going on adventures and delving into dungeons as they present themselves; reacting to situations and doing so in relative anonymity. Then, on the other hand, you have the Eversink era of the economy-destroying, God-embodying, world-saving superstar Defenders who do things in their own inimitable style. Granted, there is a vast gap (both in terms of levels and time) between those two eras but what would you say was the point where you looked around and realised you'd hit the big-time, as it were?

Yours,
Altin


----------



## Piratecat

Altin said:
			
		

> *
> Although, come to think of it ... what was the point at which you guys stopped doing the 'small fry'-type stuff?  *




I can pinpoint it precisely: at exactly the moment that 2e Velendo got _aerial servant._  I sent them on a dungeon crawl to fight their way into a mercenary headquarters located in what was once a giant termite mound, find a leader, and kidnap them. Instead, the stinkers camped a quarter mile away from the dungeon. TomTom scouted it ethereally and saw someone who looked important... then Velendo summoned an aerial servant and told him "go fetch!"  A few minutes later, they had their man by using brains instead of brawn, and off they ran.

The trend continued. I gave them a massive Imbindarlan temple of seeping evil... they had no interest in going anywhere near the place. I gave them G2 (the Frost giant module) with some changes, and they scouted it ethereally and did a 3 am commando style raid on the place. Sneaking in invisibly, they used _wall_ spells to seal the dragons and 95% of the giants into their sleeping quarters. Then they killed the jarl and his wife (and two or three guards), recovered the item they came for, and headed down into the subbasement to save the kidnapped villagers that I added. 

So, I gave them more of what they seemed to prefer (tricky interpersonal or political puzzles with a fair amount of combat), and cut back on dungeon crawls. That was a little frustrating for me, but they were playing to the party's strengths, and once I learned to not bother mapping any dungeon ahead of time, it got much easier.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Actually, PC, I disagree.  I think the question is when did our adventures stop being local and distinct.  When did they become all interconnected and messy?  I'd say the Ebon Mage Rot/Doppleganger plot (not yet recorded on the boards).  That was our first complex, interwoven, peel away one layer of evil to expose yet more juicy evil story line, and it's just gotten worse (better) from there.

I should point out that I think these adventures started about the same time Sagiro started his campaign.  PC saw the layered, story heavy world Sagiro had created, and he got all inspired.  Now I live between these two geniuses, each feeding off the other to create greater and greater badness to inflict on their players.  Woe is me.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Check out the excellent artwork done by a chap here for ghouleax, necropede and others...

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=17191

Cheers


----------



## KidCthulhu

BTW, to bring all this back on topic, we finally have a copy of the Spira pantheon for your entertainment and amusement.

http://www.folded.com/defenders/pantheon.html


----------



## loxmyth

Am I reading the pantheon wrong, or is Imbindarla the daughter of Aeos???


----------



## Henry

note the phrase "failed creation" under Imbindarla. No wonder she tries to **** up daddy's stuff so much...


----------



## Piratecat

Yeah - I'm on my way out the door in a minute, but as a compensation for being patient with me I'll post the story behind Imbindarla (and some fascinating beginning-of-the-world legends) on Sunday.  

In the mean time, go check out that art thread that Planesailing linked, featuring art by David Hendee (littlejohn).  He paints like my imagination works, and he has works up of the necropede, Saint Aleax, and Velendo (as well as Morningstar from Sagiro's story hour.)  Truly wonderful.

By the way, on our printed copy of the pantheon, someone has written in a little note next to each god. "Likes us."  "Hates us."  "Hates us a whole lot."  "Hates paladins."  And so forth.


----------



## Hammerhead

Aeos seems to be a rather poor parent.


----------



## aithdim

And to think, one question we asked ourselves, and the King (of Gaunt), when he origionally sent us to Eversink was: Why us, what should we do? We're not diplomats. To which he replied: just be yourselves. 

So have the defenders done well for Gaunt? The chamberlin would likely say no you cast too much.

FYI: I played Valdek/ Glimmer before moving to VT. Leaving the two campaigns I was involved in was the hardest part of the move for me.


----------



## Piratecat

*FLASHBACK: Three years ago, heading west.*

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

It's dark, and the shadows have weight. They rise up around the heroes sitting crosslegged on the forest floor. High above the towering silhouettes of the trees, the eternal stars burn in the heavens, and the air is redolent with the smell of moss, leaves, and streams.

Light flares. A candle has been lit by one of the many elves surrounding the Defenders. Flickering wanly in the open air, the pale yellow light shines upon the unnaturally smooth skin of an ancient elf that has been lowered from the tree above them.

Nolin tries to meet the old elf's eyes. With a horrified thrill, he realizes that the elf is blind, eyes bandaged by a red-soaked strip of cloth.  Tears of blood slowly slide down the elf's cheeks from underneath the bandage.

_"It is the price I pay for my Sight."_  No one has spoken, but the seer answers their question nonetheless.  _"You wish to know the truth of the Ages Before. What you were taught is not the truth. The Gods did not create this planet. They did not build it solely from breath, or heat it in a forge, or dream it from the ether. Those are myths.

"Many humans think that elves are the elder race. That too is a lie. Before us were the giants and the lizard folk, and the dragons, and those from other worlds who found a home here. But neither were they first.  There was a world before our own, and it was eaten by the worms."_  His voice trembles with age, and the horrible sight of the blood dripping from his hidden eye sockets is mesmerizing.

_"The First God came here when he heard a scream. It was not a loud scream, as such things go, but it caught his attention. It was the scream of the last living thing on the planet... dying. It was the scream of a person who had no Gods, and it begged for one as it died. When the God arrived, however, the person was long dead, and the world was worms. Huge squirming coils of darkness, the worms were the world and the world was dark, and the shambling husks of the once-living served them as slaves. The worms were as Gods themselves, and naught could be done at first.

"But the First God Abbath called to him his love Aedrae and her clever friend Trea, and showed them the world, and showed them the worms and the mumbling dead. It was Trea the clever, Trea the Deceiver, who thought of the plan. It was she who tricked the worms, and convinced them to trust her, and soon all but two were locked in a red prison where they would never escape. The Gods set the lock in stone and breathed life into the key. And they looked upon the worm-riddled world, and Abbath breathed upon it.  He fathered a child with his wife, and called him Aeos, and lifted the incandescent child into the heavens. There, the Godling ignited the endless night and brought the sun to a world that knew only darkness, and he forged chains of light to bind the last two worms within the earth.  The dead were burned from the pitted world, and the globe was made anew.

"The world now lived and breathed, and Aedrae named it Spira, and it was good. The children of the Gods have been good to us. But the worms still exist, in this world and the next, and they hunger most terribly. The children of Imbindarla call to them and worship them.  They...."_  The elven seer straightens his back in the candlelight, and it seems that real tears are mixed with the blood.

_"They are fools."_

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

END FLASHBACK


----------



## Piratecat

The name Spira actually comes from the words of the first lizard kin as it came out of the mud "Suspira. Serva." (I live/breathe. I serve.)  KidCthulhu ccreated that, and beautifully done, too.

The whole comet-cycle that keeps getting alluded to was all about the Imbindarlans doing their level best to destroy the "lock" keeping the worms out (a big stone circle). They almost succeeded, too.  The "key" was a piece of stone called the damming stone that could show and affect force lines - gravity, speed, energy, wind, that sort of thing.  But the heroes prevented the destruction of the lock and the freeing of the worms, and almost noone knows how close they came to dying messily.

It was a dual plan that couldn't fail.

1. Use life energy to wrench a star out of a constellation and sending it shooting through another constellation, thus making the stars correct. Use that alignment to perform the rituals that will release the worms from their imprisonment under the stone circle.

2. On the off chance that the ritual fails, use the falling star to break the stone circle itself. With the lock broken, the worms could emerge - and probably nothing else could have done it. It was put up by the Gods, for one thing.

It's always good to plan for contingencies!

I posted this because it's worth noting exactly why Imbindarla has it in for Our Heroes (and why the other Gods are irked at her), and what with the Pantheon chart posted, I thought you deserved a little creation myth. The story of Imbindarla and her Dad can wait for another time.  Next update coming tonight!


----------



## Bandeeto

A few points to be made.  Before we met the ancient elven Seer we had only the vaguest ideas as to what to do next. We had figured out that the Brotherhood of Night was, again, planning to use a conjunction of the stars to power a major ritual and bring darkness upon the land. 

It was… to say the least… typical. 

The scope of the catastrophe was entirely unknown. We had recovered several texts from the BoN, and knew that the denouement was to occur at a place called Tovag Baragu, far to the west, and that a multi-ringed group of standing stones would be involved.  That was about the limit of our knowledge.

The other hints were all derived from a madman’s prophecy, thousands of years old.

This was it:

_Fragment from the Tale of Ycriss (transcribed and translated from Kanach’Hurian to the Common Tongue of Northern Trade by the humble interpreter Aldef’aliah, in the Year of the Lizard’s Tomb)_

*…or the well could fill before they fill it. There in the foundation, built the earthdeep hatredhatred!  The skin of the fallen blows upon the thirsty and their screams, oh their screams! echo off the polished air.  The eye stares, but some are oh so shy. And in the month when the eye is shut, the Martyr tests his fate against his shadow in the place where dry tears blow and spheres focus and the moments rebound between white doors.  Twice, twice and once ringed the plinth shall be, and the worm’s brethren shall be waiting in their cage of vermillion, bars of cinnabar, and the fey shall betray, and the eye’s own shall blaze and call between the teeth, calling are there none here to stop her? For when the river of damned is dammed by dammedosel, who is caught in the flood? My duck!  His beak is as wide as a riverway….*

How we howled at P’Cat over this one.
“Somebody’s beak’s gonna be as wide as riverway when all this is done!”
“My duck?! My DUCK??!!”
“So who wants to be the Martyr?  I volunteer Arcade!”

You get the idea.

Although the story told by the Seer was not quite as detailed as the one posted here, it finally gave us an idea of what we were up against.

Oh, yeah. And about that Damming Stone….

We had learned that the Damming Stone was connected to the prophecy, but had no idea what it was for.  We argued about it for weeks. We were fairly sure that the BoN did not even know that it existed. Was it needed to initiate the conjunction?  Should we try to use it to stop the prophecy? 

We *did* know that it was buried beneath an ancient dwarven king’s throne under thousands of feet of water at the bottom of a lake in the country of Solthrag; this pleasant land being ruled over by a demon-goddess who actively encouraged her people to sacrifice strangers in her name.  

Many of us thought that it should be left where it was, and that to bring it would delay us, and ensure our doom. (“Oh. _That’s_ the piece that we neeeded to complete the prophecy. Thank you so much for dragging it across hundreds of miles of desert for us! Ho ho ho ho!”  Don’t think that P’Cat is not capable of this kind of subterfuge.)  Others were certain that it had to come along, or we would find ourselves needing it at a very bad time. Heated debate shook the Werehouse gameroom walls. Finally, after some broad GM hints via the Seer, we decided to fetch it along.

But who should carry it?

We had some idea from a previous prophecy that Alix was the Martyr, so it seemed that perhaps he ought to carry it. But the stone bound itself to the mind of the wielder, and would repeatedly attempt to take over. This effect was inversely proportional to the wisdom of the character (Alix’s being the lowest in the group) and may also have had something to do with alignment.  Alix actually managed to touch it twice, making ludicrously unlikely percentile dice saves, before Velendo stepped in. 

Now, another point.  The stone was a *large* boulder, the size of a hefty cauldron.  Under normal circumstances, Velendo could not have even picked it up.  However, the enchantment of the stone permitted the user to realign lines of gravitational force. At Velendo’s command the stone weighed less than a feather.  We strapped it to his back with a large sash.

But… the stone was also a malign artifact.  It would whisper to Velendo, hinting that if he were to tug ‘here’ and push ‘there’, he could remake the world one piece at a time.  The Damming Stone had the power to rip apart continents, and it wanted badly to be *used*.  

He carried it all the way to Tovag Baragu.


----------



## Sialia

There are two thigns I recall aboutthevisit to the Seer. One was that itoccurred just after Dylrath got his "knowing when he's being watched" talent, and he almost passed out when we were first surrounded by the about 200 Elves who live in that wood.

The other was that in order to get access to the Seer we had to answer a whole battery of questions to prove ourselves, and that the importnat question we all had to answer was soemthign to the effect of "what is the most valuable treasure?"

And though we each had to answer for ourselves, and in our own words, the consensus was remarkable. Every one of us, with a great deal of sincerity and in our own unique way said soemthing that meant "information."

It was at aboutthis point that Dylrath realized that he wanted to be a Diviner more than anything. He was a level or two shy of completing his mastery level in roguing,which would at last free him from his apprentice contract. And suddenly, he didn't really want to be a rogue anymore.


----------



## Piratecat

The Council Meeting went better than anyone expected.

Although Judge Daver argued that the group would serve Eversink more effectively as slaves, the Council overruled him and granted the enslaved members of the group their freedom. The Defenders were publicly thanked for their service and granted full citizenship within Eversink, with all the rights and responsibilities therein.  In an unheard of overture, the Council also offered to purchase the group a house to live in, either within or outside of Eversink. Everyone started to smile at the offer of “outside,” as they realized that their enforced visit to the sinking city was now officially over.

Tao was offered a no-strings-attached price for the prison she inherited, and she accepted. Even more surprisingly, the Council asked Sharala Clearwater to step in as the pro tempore head of House Clearwater, “until Lord Griggan has sufficiently resumed control of his mental facilities.”  Shara smiled disarmingly at that, and promised to do everything in her power to speed his recovery.  Heh.  Fate is smiling on the Defenders, and as they step out onto the ancient stone walkway outside of the council building, they realize that Tellingstone did his job; nothing more is holding them here in Eversink.

Passersby eye them strangely as the group bursts into excited laughter, cheering and praise for their lawyer.

TomTom snaps his fingers.  “We invested a lot of money on the basis of our involvement in the city, and the ultimate fate of the prison,” he says. “I better go cash in before the Commodity Exchange receives word of the results.”  He flags down a passing gondola and hurries off, whistling merrily. 

The rest of the group heads back to the Temple. As they walk past the massive pillars supporting the entrance, Raevynn suddenly freezes in place.  She shimmers in a rainbow of unearthly colors, and vanishes in a cascading prism of light.  “What the hell was that?” shouts several people, and multiple weapons are drawn as acolytes scurry for cover.  

Malachite and Mara scan the room.  “No evil,” says Mara.  “No undead,” confirms Malachite.  There’s a pause.  “No enemies,” says Nolin wonderingly, as he looks around mystified. “What just happened to Raevynn?”

Agar looks concerned. “It could be a temporal rebound,” he thinks aloud. Suddenly his eyes are gleaming with inquisitive excitement. “It’s unlikely, but it’s possible that Raevynn hasn’t fully synchronized with this plane after returning from the Citadel of Kodali’s Retreat.  If so, theoretically, she may have just been whipped the _other way_ in time. Remarkable!”  He sucks on his pipe, blowing idle smoke rings as his mind works feverishly.

“So what does that mean?” asks Tao. “And why didn’t you warn us of this?”

“I didn’t know it could happen!  It certainly hasn’t been mentioned in any of the tales I’ve heard of the place.” He looks at Nolin for confirmation, and the flame-haired bard nods in agreement.  “If I’m correct, she should be perfectly safe. Previously, we were in a plane where time has speeded up.  Since I predicate that she slid the other way, now she’ll most likely be in a temporal fluidity that moves incredibly slowly. I expect that she’ll eventually slide back here and not know that any time has passed at all.”

“Eventually?” asks Velendo, both irritated and worried. “When is ‘eventually’?  And where will she arrive?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” answers Agar, sounding more confident with every sentence. “She’s like a pendulum that’s swung a bit too far. Her natural entropy will return her. I expect that she’ll either return to where she was, or she’ll be drawn to me, since I’m the one who cast the _plane shift_ in the first place.”

“Well,” says Mara reluctantly, “as long as she’s safe.”  Malachite simply keeps quiet; he’s never trusted Raevynn, considering her to be incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. To him, her temporary loss is the party’s gain.

Nolin looks out the window at the angle of the sun.  “Say,” he interrupts worriedly. “Does anything else think that we should check on TomTom?”

* * *

Nolin’s suspicions are correct. Before he ever reached the Commodities Exchange, TomTom simply disappeared. A witness who had been standing next to him is found in a tavern, describing the prismatic effect to anyone willing to buy him a goblet of wine. Sadly, TomTom was the only one who knew about the Defenders’ investments, and with a heavy sigh the group gives up the money as a lost cause.  “I’ll miss him!” remarks Agar.  “You can never have too many halflings in a group.”

_To be continued….


You’ve guessed it, of course. Raevynn’s player has moved to Las Vegas, and TomTom’s player (Tremere) is on hiatus with a beautiful new daughter. This little DM-ex-machina allows me to pop either one of them in on a moment’s notice, and pop them out again afterwards. All without breaking the plot!
_


----------



## Piratecat

“Time to find out what happened to Saint Aleax,” remarks Mara grimly. She checks the polish of her armor, the sheen on her holy symbol, the placement of her holy mace _Lightbinder_. Then she tugs her long blond hair back into a ponytail and turns her blue, blue eyes on Malachite.  “Coming?” she asks. Malachite simply nods, and Tao _teleports_ the three of them thousands of miles across the continent to the genie-built trading city of Corsai.

They appear in the horse-trodden plain outside of Corsai’s massive iron gates, the smell of dust and incense and heat filling their nostrils.  They quickly make their way past the scarlet-robed Redeemers guarding the gate, and move through the blazing heat into the heart of the city. 

“Go on,” Malachite says to Mara.  “I’ll wait here.”  He and Tao settle in the stark shadow of an awning next to a wine cart, and Mara mounts the beggar-clogged stairs up to the temple entrance. She immediately notices that something is wrong; for the first time in her memory, the golden portals to the temple are swung closed.

A golden robed acolyte meets her at the head of the stairs.  “I’m sorry, holy sister,” he says in a voice that hasn’t yet seen the far side of puberty. “The temple is sealed. There are many other shrines in the city for you to worship at, however.” He offers her a hand-copied map and smiles hopefully.

“Err, thank you so much,” starts Mara, and upon hearing her voice the boy realizes that he’s not just speaking to some traveling knight. His eyes never leave her face as she continues. “It’s really important that I speak to an Elder of the Church. Is Father Whalter there?  Is anyone allowed inside?”

“No,” squeaks the boy. As Mara’s eyes bore into him, he continues awkwardly, “Well, I think Father Whalter is with the Elders.  And some of the clerics are allowed in to continue their duties, and some of the cooks and cleaning staff are allowed in, but no regular services are being held.  The Elders are all sealed in the Chamber of the Sun.” His voice drops in reverence. “Saint Aleax has ascended into heaven to serve Our Lord Aeos, you see, and they are praying over this miracle. You know, deciding what it means for the church!”  The boy swallows dryly. Despite the fact that worshippers of Aeos are seldom bothered by the heat, a trickle of sweat cuts its way down the side of his nose as he looks up at the beautiful paladin.

“Well, that’s interesting!” says Mara encouragingly. “I wonder if they’d be interesting in what Aeos said to me yesterday.”

“What Aeos said…?” The boy looks at her in confusion. “You mean, in prayer, right?”

“Oh, no,” says Mara ingenuously. “When he appeared to me in a pillar of sunlight. He said some interesting things about Saint Aleax, and I thought that the Clarion and the other high priests might be interested in knowing about it.”  She smiles conspiratorially, and the boy’s jaw drops.

“Will you… excuse… be right back!” He dashes away, robes flapping, and Mara folds her hands in front of her and waits patiently with a half smile on her face.  He returns in a moment with an older cleric, and Mara explains herself once again.  His face wrinkled with worry, the man decides to take responsibility for breaking rules, and leads Mara to a tiny side entrance. Unveiling a ponderous iron key, he unlocks the small door, and Mara steps through the door. With one step, she leaves the heat and bustle of Corsai outside, and steps into the cool perfumed silence of the Mother Church.

It’s amazing how empty it is.  Occasionally distant footsteps echo across the stone floors, and once a distant gong rings out, but there is almost no one in the building. Mara’s guide leads her to another cleric who asks her once again for her story, and she patiently repeats it as a scribe silently records her every word. Shocked, this cleric leaves her to find *his* superior.  Mara wanders a bit as she waits, watching the play of the sun as it comes through the crystal skylights, watching the reflections on the altar of Aeos in the central chapel.  A gilded and jeweled statue of the God towers above the alter, armed with the golden sword and shield of his faith.  It  shines in the silent room, and Mara can’t help but think that the representation doesn’t look much like the tower of flame that overcame her.  She can still feel the glorious heat on her skin and hear the angels singing every time she closes her eyes.

The sound of footsteps breaks her out of her reverie.  “They will see you, Commander,” says the cleric in an incredulous tone. “Please follow me.”  He leads the way to the exact center of the building, to a vast golden door shaped like the sun. The cleric approaches and prays silently on his knees, and as he does so the metal turns into golden, opaque light.  “Enter,” he suggests, and Mara walks through the door and into the light.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Mara walks into the wooden and crystal room as the door solidifies behind her. Pure sunlight plays across the fourteen or so church elders seated in a semi-circle in front of her. Father Whalter catches her eyes and winks insouciantly at her, a little grin playing across his round face.  In the center of the Elders is The Clarion. Mara’s never seen the Holy Embodiment of the Sun before; he turns out to be a dark-skinned man in simple golden and white robes, younger than she would have thought, pale hair pulled back from his face.  His voice is strong and gripping, and leaves no doubt of his authority.

“Commander Mara Thornhill.  I welcome you to the Council of Elders. You are seeing a rare event; the Gates of the Sun are normally only closed when the time comes to appoint a new Clarion, and outsiders are never allowed within.”  He looks around and catches Father Whalter’s eye.  “I think, though, that we know enough to break our own rules when Our God demands it.  I understand you have a story to tell.”

Once again, Mara begins to talk. She tells of the divinations and clues that led them to suspect Saint Aleax. She tells of Sir Malachite’s dilemma, and his distress in the schism within the church.  She speaks at length of the Imbindarlan threat, of the appearance of Aeos and what he said, and of the Divine Battle that followed.  The clerics interrupt her periodically, asking questions.  Finally, she finishes, her throat dry.

The church elders consider her.  “Astonishing,” says the Clarion.  “You have truly been blessed, and you do our Father’s work. We will have to consider what this means, of course, for the theological ramaifications are… significant. You say that Saint Aleax no longer inhabits Malachite’s sword?”  Mara notices that the Clarion deliberately leaves off Malachite’s honorific, but answers in the affirmative as she thinks of the good-natured leer in Karthos’ voice.

“Yes, your Holiness. It’s _definitely_ a different personality, with no trace of Aleax.”

“I see.”  He leans forward a bit, frowning.  “I’m glad you have told us this.  Our Lord God did not bodily visit here. Saint Aleax was attending services in a private chapel when he ascended in a pillar of fire, carried by the angels themselves. What you’ve said, if accurate, casts a different shadow on what has occurred.”    

The Clarion looks around.  “You will excuse us, please,” he says politely, and silence falls around Mara like a heavy blanket. She can see the church elders talking, but she can hear nothing.  After some minutes, the silence lifts, and the Clarion looks at her gravely. “You’ve made the importance of your mission against the White Kingdom quite clear.  You are to continue with the task as given to you by Aeos,” he says.  “You may associate with Malachite in this endeavor. You may be aided by further forces of Aeos; that will be determined by our conference here. In any event, I encourage you to keep Father Whalter informed as to your progress and location.” Mara glances at Whalter, who gives an encouraging little nod.  

The Clarion continues. “We are all agreed.  It is essential that you do not yet discuss the details of Saint Aleax’s ascension with the faithful.. or with anyone else, for that matter. It is a private matter that must remain secret.  Dissension in the church right now, at this stage, could rip us in two, and we must be very careful how we proceed.  I understand that you are friends with a  famous and influential bard, Commander. Make sure he knows this.”  Mara nods.  Then the Clarion pins Mara with his gaze and asks the question she was dreading.  

"You know that Malachite is a wanted criminal by the Church. Why didn't you arrest him when you had the chance?"

Mara feels all of the blood drain from her face, and she tries to think of an honest answer that won't condemn her for insubordination and contempt.  "Well, we have fought together and prayed together, and he _is_ extremely faithful to Aeos, and... well... I had to do my duty to our God as best as I could, and to do that I had to make my own judgement of his character. I decided that he was doing more good for Aeos out of prison than in it. I had him under arrest, but...." she stumbles, but catches herself, and her voice regains its strength.  "but I did my duty as I saw it. I judged his character and made a decision. I think it was the right one."  She finishes knowing that she's doomed herself by her actions with Malachite, but that she would make the same decision again.

The Clarion's eyebrows draw together as he weighs Mara's somewhat disjointed answer. “That's not what I would have done, or what many here would have done.  But it was done well."  Mara looks at the Elders with amazement as he continues.  "It's clear you serve your God and the Church, Commander Thornhill. You should be proud.” The Clarion says it in a way that suggests that they’re certainly proud of her, and Mara bows her head and turns to go as she blushes.  “Oh, by the way,” adds the Clarion as he scribbles something on a sheet of paper.  “Give this to someone as you leave.”  He holds the sealed note out to her, and Mara takes it with a questioning look.  Turning again, she leaves the room.

Her footsteps echo in the empty corridors, and soon the cleric who escorted her up to the Chamber of the Sun hurries to her side. He looks at her questioningly, not daring to ask, and Mara doesn’t offer.  

They are walking through the outer temple before Mara remembers the note.  “Oh, I was supposed to give this to someone!” she exclaims, and hands the sealed note to the cleric. He looks at it questioningly, tears it open, and reads what’s inside. Mara can’t see what it says, but she does see the man’s eyes bulge.  “What is it?” she asks, but the man doesn’t answer as he looks at her with newfound awe and respect.

“This way,” he just says, and turns on his heels.  They walk into the central chapel, Mara trailing behind the cleric as he strides towards the nave and the statue of Aeos that dominates the room.  Her mouth drops open as the cleric drags a bench over to statue, clambers up onto it, and reaches up to the golden shield that adorns the arm of the statue. The cleric gives the glowing shield a slight wrench, and it slips off into his grasp.  Dumbstruck, Mara just stands there as the cleric climbs down, turns, and presents the shield to Mara.

“But it… that’s….”  is all she can say. The cleric just shrugs, amazed as well, and Mara slips the large shield onto her forearm. It feels right there, perfectly balanced and warm against her armor, and she can’t help the huge grin that lights up her face.

_To be continued…._


----------



## KidCthulhu

Sito Rotavele said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Responsibilities??  to Eversink???  Please someone tell me TomTom read the fine print on that one before he vanished in a puff of logic. *




We didn't even need Tom-Tom for that one.  Nolin, Velendo and Tao all realized the enormous tax revenue inherent in that little proposition.  'Sink may not want us to play in their sandbox anymore, but they certainly do want some nice, rich property owning adventurers to be filing tax reports as residents.

Silly Rabbits.  Trix are for kids and taxes are for people who can't afford homes in Sigil.


----------



## Piratecat

Want some summer reading?  The story hours which begin when the group reaches Eversink (and which end with Nolin's kidnapping) have been collected and set up for downloading.  The link to the zipped Word document is below, in the first post of this thread, and on the front page of today's news.  Bear with the first few pages, though; it's pretty rough until I hit my stride about page 10!    Ever wonder how Tao ended up with a prison, or why the group is enslaved to the council of Eversink, or what "blood leeching" is? This has all the answers!

http://www.d20reviews.com/StoryHours/PC1.zip


----------



## Piratecat

Bandeeto said:
			
		

> *
> Now, another point.  The stone was a large boulder, the size of a hefty cauldron.  Under normal circumstances, Velendo could not have even picked it up.  However, the enchantment of the stone permitted the user to realign lines of gravitational force. At Velendo’s command the stone weighed less than a feather.  We strapped it to his back with a large sash.
> 
> *




This seems like a convenient excuse for linking more of Littlejohn's art.

*Velendo and the Stone*






You have to love the image of waving to the passing hay wagon in this picture.  I'd like to know what the wagon driver is thinking.

I have a wonderful memory of a fight six years ago, when aerial creatures tried to kill Velendo and steal the Damming Stone. Velendo tried to use the stone, messed up, and disconnected himself from the earth. He was more than a thousand feet up by the time he reestablished gravity....

At which point he plummeted.

Slowed slightly by Arcade's _solid fog_, Velendo bailed out 50' from the ground by using his _rod of security_ to instead plunge into a deep mountain lake in Haven, his God's paradise. The Damming Stone wasn't as lucky. Tied to the Prime Material, it continued its plunge, hurtling like a meteor into the midst of the Defenders and their enemies. It left a 15' deep crater in the middle of a small unsuspecting town that the Defenders were passing through at the time, and was an absolute bugger to uncover after the fight.


----------



## Eridanis

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *TomTom's player isn't leaving - we love him, and he adds an amazing amount to the group when he can come - but with a new daughter there are a whole lot more demands on his time than there was before. I've set it up so that any time he can come, TomTom will be there waiting for him, and in the mean time I don't have to keep track of a complex character!
> 
> For the moment, at least, the PCs seem to be leaving Eversink behind them. That doesn't mean that politics will disappear as they drop into an endless dungeon crawl; I'd like to think that I'm at least a little sneakier than that. But the focus will certainly change as they set out on their quest to break the spine of the White Kingdom! *




This marks quite a turning point for those of us who read the story hour, not to mention for the campaign (TomTom was the last original character still actively played, correct?). The whole SH has been based in Eversink, and now we move on.

Congrats to TomTom's player, too. As a recently new father myself, I tell you that nothing beats spending time with wife and child. (However, being able to get out once a week to game is a very good aid to keeping one's sanity - make sure Mrs. TomTom has a chance to get out, too!) No time like the present to start filling a child's head with history, literature, math, and an appreciation for all things geeky, like games and computers.


----------



## Sialia

Somebody tell me you guys remembered to take care of that _trade agreement_ His Majesty was concerned about? Please tell me that. I have reports to file, and I do like sticking as close to the truth as possible, when possible. 

-'Rath


----------



## KidCthulhu

Sialia said:
			
		

> *Somebody tell me you guys remembered to take care of that trade agreement
> 
> -'Rath *




Actually, our mission was not to negotiate a trade agreement.  There's a whole crack precision diplomatic bun fighting team in 'Sink for that.  Our job was to escort the Flowstone (check) and to serve as extraordinary embassadors to the trade mission (check).  We were to impress the populace and jaded nobles of 'Sink with our power and rustic charm (check).  We were not to kill anyone important (nope and nope).  The king is _far_ too wise to entrust us with anything as delicate as actual trade negotiations.

We were the parade and cultural festival, here to bring demonstrate the raditional Gauntian pastimes of disrupting political heirarchies and landmark defacement.  At least we didn't have to wear leiderhosen. Velendo doesn't have the knees for it.


----------



## Knightfall

Hey Piratecat,

You know, I was just about to ask about maps but, wouldn't you know, someone beat me to it.  It's too bad you don't have the world in electronic format, I'd love to see it.

I just started reading your Story Hour (the rtf file) and have been blown away by what I've read so far.  Then I saw David Hendee's art thread and was blown away again.

Having someone do artwork for your campaign world is so mind blowing, isn't it?  I know the feeling.  A guy I met over the Internet (he's from Sweden) has done some artwork for my World of Kulan campaign.  It was an agreement he and I came to when I put out a call for amateur artists to do just that.  I hope you don't mind me highjacking this thread for a second but I just can't help plugging my website and his artwork.

-------
Warduke: Fantasy Artist (at The Crossroads)
http://www.geocities.com/rielun/wd-art.html

Walk the Road - My RPG Campaigns' Website
http://www.geocities.com/rielun/campaignsframe.htm
-------

As for you undigitized map, how big is it?  Do you have access to a scanner?  If so, you could scan parts of it that relate to the StoryHour.

Ooh, just had a brainstorm, what if EN World puts together a group of members with Campaign Cartographer 2 and each of these members is assigned a section of the map, which would be sent to them as scanned images.  These members could then help build your world digitally.

Of course, there would have to be guidelines, which ensures that everyone use the same symbols, fonts, etc.  Maybe you could create a rough overall world map first, which would be the basis for al future maps created by the En World mappers.

What does everone think?  Could this realistically work?

Later,

Robert Blezard
rblezard@telusplanet.net


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite and Tao are still waiting for Mara when she emerges, and Malachite is silent as Mara relates everything that happened.  “Can you get me inside?” he asks grimly.

“Well, I don’t know,” says Mara in a worried tone of voice. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re still a wanted man.” She glances back up at the temple.

“It doesn’t matter. I need to speak to them.” Seeing Mara still staring at him in confusion, he adds in a low voice, “Please.  I may not have another chance, and some things need to be said.” Mara nods, perhaps surprised that Malachite is deferring to her, and she turns and leads the way back to the Temple.

Stepping around beggars in the late afternoon sunlight, they climb the steps.  The same young man meets them at the main doors. Mara cuts him off before he can say anything.  “This man also saw Aeos. The Elders will want to see him.”  In a remarkably short amount of time both paladins are inside the temple.  The cleric and scribe hear Malachite’s story and his request to speak to the Clarion, and within an hour of entering the church both Mara and Malachite step into the sacred Chamber of the Sun.  They find themselves before the council of church elders. Each of the clerics has a scroll unrolled before them, most likely Malachite’s account of his vision of Aeos.

His dark skin luminous in the late afternoon sunlight, the Clarion looks at Malachite, both judging and measuring him with his stare. Finally the Clarion speaks.  His calm voice is resonant in the silent chamber. “Welcome, child. I regret the division that has severed your Order from the Church, but I am pleased to see that Aeos has not turned His gaze from you. You do not walk in shadow, despite rumors to the contrary.”  He leans back, never dropping his gaze.  “Your comrade has vouched for you. Why are you here?”

Malachite sighs. “Your Holiness, I am a servant of our God more than I am a servant of the Church. Despite this, I know that now more than ever it is essential that the rift in the Church be healed. I fear that divided we will not be able to withstand what we could weather united.”

“Indeed?” A note of anger creeps into the Clarion’s voice. “It is a shame that this did not occur to your General before he chose to rebel against the Divine Decree.”  They lock eyes. Malachite diplomatically doesn’t mention that the Decree was influenced by ghoulish interference, but the knowledge hangs between them like a lead weight. The Clarion sighs and smiles slightly, and Malachite continues.

“Aleax has been brought into heaven to be cleansed of any inadvertent taint.  There is an opportunity here, your Holiness, and this is my last chance to urge you to seize it. I would see the church healed before I die.”

A cleric to the Clarion’s left speaks up. “Before you die?” the old man says as he chuckles sarcastically. “You look healthy enough.”

“I am going into the White Kingdom.” Malachite shrugs his wide shoulders.  “You know what that means. I don’t expect to return.”

The old cleric’s chuckling trails off awkwardly.  Silence fills the room.

The Clarion leans forward.  “You deserve some answers, Malachite. *Sir* Malachite.” He corrects himself, and the other clerics look at him in surprise. “It is not as simple as decreeing that what has gone before is now void, and the Knights of the Emerald Chapel are once again lit by the radiance of the Church.”

“It’s not, your Holiness?” Malachite asks respectfully – if in a disbelieving tone.

The Clarion’s voice is firm.  “It’s not. Morale is a fragile thing, Sir Malachite. I don’t believe you have ever commanded a great number of troops.”  Malachite shakes his head. “Commander Thornhill has. She could tell you that a soldier who believes that he or she is fighting in a just cause is worth ten soldiers who believe their cause is doomed or misguided. They fight harder and longer, and they triumph where others might run.”

The Clarion taps the table with one long finger. “Whatever we in this room may know of him, Saint Aleax is considered by our church’s worshippers to be a messenger of God himself. Our armies would have followed him to the Gates of Hell, and now that he is believed to have ascended they would follow his memory into Hell itself. They know that they are blessed, that God is with them, and they fight for a just cause. They will not know fear, because they are the Army of Saint Aleax, and none will stand before them.”  The Clarion sweeps his arm towards the wall, towards the army unseen in the dusty plain beyond the city. “Saint Aleax formed that army to destroy the necromancers, and they will triumph, because they are certain it is the will of God.”

His voice drops.  “Now, imagine the effect if we tell them differently.  ‘No,’ we’ll say.  ‘Your beloved Saint Aleax was an unwitting tool of undead, and we don’t want you to destroy the threat he believed in. Everything he told you, that the Church told you, may be a lie. Instead, we want you to march into the tunnels beneath the earth thousands of miles from here to confront flesh-eating ghouls. In the mean time, we’ll just leave the Necromancer Kings who threaten our cities and our families alone.’  Imagine how that will affect their morale.”  The Clarion looks at Malachite and Mara with eyes like chips of ice. “Imagine, even, the confusion if we suddenly reverse our position on the Order of the Emerald Chapel. Contradicting the unliving Saint days after his ascension could destroy us all.”  The Clarion sighs.  “So we move cautiously, Sir Malachite. We say that we hope for a resolution between your disbanded chapel and the Mother Church. We cautiously make overtures towards your exiled General. We welcome into the church any of your number who wish to be welcomed – not as Knights, not yet, but as soldiers of God who despise the undead and everything they stand for.  And when we can, if we can, we find those who might volunteer for… additional duty… far to the east.”

Malachite silently nods his head.

The Clarion continues, his voice heavy. “It won’t happen today, or tomorrow, or next week. But I foresee a time of healing, Sir Malachite, if we can work past our pride to engineer it. I assure you, nothing would please us more.”  The high priest smiles a tired smile.  “Perhaps you could deliver such a message to your General… as you go with the blessings of God.”

Sir Malachite nods again, and he and Mara turn to leave.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Tony Vargas

Against the forces of politics the gods themselves contend in vain.


----------



## coyote6

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> *Against the forces of politics the gods themselves contend in vain. *




Hey, who do you think invented politics? 

Look at the pantheon -- the goddess of treachery imprisoned the primordial big bads, and the good sun god's kid tried to free 'em. Divine family politics.


----------



## Piratecat

Back in Eversink, the group uses a _commune_ to try and determine the most efficient path into the Underdark. Tao’s goddess Galanna indicates that going through the abandoned dwarven city of Tuz’zud is the most efficient path. The group decides to take a different path, however, based on intelligence and maps compiled by their friend Claris during her scouting missions of the last few months. 

The group gathers their supplies, settles their debts, hitches up their packs, say their goodbyes, and finally march out the southern gates onto the Swamp Road. With their dwarven friend Splinder Camberlorn and his force of thirty dwarves accompanying them, the Defenders of Daybreak prepare to leave the city of Eversink behind them.  

Their departure isn’t entirely unheralded.  Several dozen attractive maidens gather at the gates, waving at Nolin and cheering the group on as they offer lace handkerchiefs and other favors of affection; Belissa Fishsong (their intermediary with the Council of Eversink) is amongst them, teary-eyed and broken-hearted. Some of the group’s political enemies such as the Stormcrowns are also there, eagerly hoping to see the group’s actual departure with their own eyes. Nolin buys a sausage on a stick from a vendor, kisses a few hands, and then the heroes make their way out of the city.

Once on the road, the omens are good. A cool breeze blows at their back, keeping away the ever-present mosquitoes and biting flies of the swamp, and fluffy clouds scud overhead in the bright autumn sunlight as birds swoop through the air. It’s a good day to be alive.  Nolin blows his nose in Belissa’s handkerchief and thinks about how pleased he is to be out of ‘Sink.

Four days of marching later, the 40-person force veers off the road and heads into forested hills. The map obtained by Nolin turns out to be accurate when the group is stopped by an unseen voice. “Who are you, and are you friend or foe?” pipes the hidden sentry from the bracken next to the trail.

“Friend,” answers Nolin. “We were sent by the gnomes of Pellangin who have found refuge in the human city of Eversink. We plan to venture into the tunnels and liberate Pellangin and the dwarvish city of Mrid from the ghouls of the White Kingdom. If we can, we will take the fight to the White Kingdom itself.” Nolin bows politely. “If you’ll allow us to pass, of course.”  

A half-dozen armed gnomes appear from the underbrush, and a fellow with a bald head and large nose saunters forward and looks up at the Defenders with a mixture of awe and hopeful disbelief.  “You will, huh?  Well, my friend, I think you’re lacking some troops for that, but who am I to say? I’ll take you to the village.”  Hopping atop a trained riding badger, the gnome leads the group up into the hills.  

A few hours later, they top a small ridge and see a lovely gnomish town laid out beneath them. “Welcome to Candle Ridge,” says their guide, and they descend the hill to the accompaniment of a small stream that burbles happily beside them.

The group soon meets with the gnomish King in exile, Clanking Doriklath, a wrinkled and ancient deep gnome with fading eyesight but a keen mind.  Doriklath offers them a company of gnomish troops, but the Defenders decline his offer.  “Just a good scout,” Velendo requests, and soon they are introduced to a short and stocky deep gnome named Priggle Gembreath. 

Priggle seems both professional and competent. “I know most of these caverns like my own family tree,” he claims in a surprisingly deep voice for his size, and proceeds to sketch out a rough map of major tunnels and turnings on a sheet of vellum. “You’re damn suicidal if you think you’re going up against those damn things. They’re like roaches, everywhere and hard to kill, but I’ll guide you if you’re going to try and destroy some of them.”  Priggle looks grim, hatred distorting his homely face. “Anything to help. It burns me to think of those damn things clambering through my homeland.”

“We have some talent in this area,” Nolin assures him, and Priggle tries to look hopeful. He doesn’t really succeed.

“If you say so. I’ll get you there, and I’ll keep myself alive in the process. The rest is up to you.” The alliance struck, the group beds down outside under the stars. The next morning they are to go underground, and nervousness runs like a fever through the heroes; only the dwarves are truly happy at the thought of getting back into proper tunnels. 

Dawn comes all too soon, hidden by heavy clouds and a light rain. With little fanfare, the Defenders of Daybreak and their dwarven troops line up in front of the inky black chasm that cuts along the side of Candle Ridge. Next to them, a huge rock carved to look like a shield throws a deep shadow over the cleft.

“Ready?” asks Priggle as he finishes checking the belaying ropes. Everyone nods. “Then go where I say and don’t wander until you’re used to the Underdark. It isn’t like the surface. Sound travels, and predators seldom need vision to see you. There are worse things than ghouls down there.” He wrinkles his large nose, and no one asks him for details.

“There’s a ledge about a hundred or so feet down. We’ll rendezvous there,” Priggle says. “Let’s go.”  And sliding down a rope into the darkness, he disappears from sight. One by one, either _flying_ or _wind walking_ or descending the ropes, the Defenders and their troops leave the surface world behind and enter the tunnels of the Underdark.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Jeremy

<wipes a tear from his eye>

"Sound the advance!"

"We go forth this day to claim victory.  It lies there waiting like a flower waiting to be plucked and all that stands between us and it are the very gates of Hell.  March!"


----------



## Piratecat

All things considered, the first day goes quite well.

There are the expected challenges: bottomless sink holes, stalagmite-choked tunnels, narrow ledges and sudden chasms. Then there are a few surprises: a vast cavern of blind bats and odiferous guano, an unexplained swarm of scuttling beetles in a low area of a tunnel, a jet of bath-warm water that shoots from the wall with bone-crushing force. 

Even more disturbing is the experience of using Agar’s _mass darkvision_ spell. The spell provides them with almost normal vision in narrow and twisting tunnels, since their line of sight is never more than 30 or 40 feet anyways. In the occasional large chamber, though, the _darkvision_ feels much less effective. The group experiences the sensation of being completely blinded beyond 60 feet, all the while knowing that many underdark predators can see for easily twice that distance.  It’s a disconcerting sensation.  Splinder’s dwarven troops know their duties, though, and without being prompted they fan out 40 feet from one another in large caverns to adequately scout the space.  Velendo in particular is impressed with their tactics, and mutters more than once that the Defenders could learn a few lessons from the battle-hardened dwarves.

With Priggle Gembreath as their guide, progress is steady, and the group ends an exhausting twelve hour march by approaching a well-known cavern nexus through a hand-carved 15 ft. wide tunnel.  “We’ll camp just up ahead,” says Priggle. “It’s a large natural cavern that’s often used as neutral ground, as a meeting place between races. We should be safe there. Anyways, tomorrow we have to face the narrows, and I’d just as soon have us rested in case there’s any fighting.”

“The narrows?” Velendo begins to ask, but he’s interrupted by a horrible sound up ahead. It’s a trumpeting noise that reverberates along the walls and shrieks into his ear drums like an icepick. Everyone except the dwarves in the far back of the marching order is affected by the sonic attack, and with a numbed part of his brain Velendo realizes that the noise has actually stripped away the outside of his skin, leaving his forearms and face raw and chapped.

“Crap!” snaps Nolin. “We’re under attack!”  While the group spends precious seconds waiting for him, Nolin focuses his mind and casts _mass haste_ on as many people as he can. He then raises his voice in a high lilting song. The melody sounds discordant to everyone listening, but when the next flesh-rending scream bounces down the tunnel, his tune shields the group from the worst of the damage.

One by one, the Defenders spill out of the side tunnel into the cavern nexus. In front of them are several balls of tiny green flame, believed by the group to be some sort of _scrying_ device.  They orbit erratically around a horrible monster with a serpentine neck, a trumpet-like head and no visible eyes. Chunks of rotting flesh dangle from its flank, and it reeks of dried blood and decaying meat. Mounted on the monster's back is an undead knight armed with a bone lance, tongue lolling obscenely out of its mouth as it drools strands of bloody saliva down its front.  “Meeeeeeat!” it burbles happily, and kicks its mount in preparation for a charge.

“There’s more!” shouts Priggle from somewhere in the darkness, and the Defenders decide that enough is enough. Growling a prayer, Malachite slams his bracers together in front of his chest, and searing emerald light explodes out of him like a newly kindled star. It flashes out 100 feet and badly sears the ghoul and its rider. Out of the corner of his eye, Malachite also catches sight of a second mount and rider who manages to partially avoid his _positive energy burst._

The ghoulish knight is still hanging on to his mount with one smoking bony arm as he hears something rumbling above him. He tilts his rotted head backwards just in time to see a pillar of fire appear above him like an opening to Hell. The holy flame slams downwards and recedes with a thunderclap, leaving nothing behind but smoking embers and sizzling flesh. The ghoulish mount is still standing, though, so Tao grins savagely and uses her _hasted_ action to cast _flame strike_ once again.  The trumpet-headed beast staggers sideways, spasms, and silently collapses into a twitching heap.

“I love doing that!” says Tao to no one in particular, even as she feels the healing power of Velendo’s prayer coursing through her.

Her delight is short lived. From out in the darkness, two more of the creatures scream their hideous cry, and the Defenders feel their bones splintering beneath their skin as they try to resist. If it wasn’t for Nolin’s continuing countersong at least one hero would have dropped, but his music manages to deflect the worst of the sonic attack.

“Here they come!” shouts Priggle from somewhere hidden, even as the two rotting monsters and their riders scuttle forward on unnaturally muscled legs.  Mara shifts herself to meet them, and her new shield shatters the bone lance that is aimed at her.  The paladin twists and swings, and her holy mace _Lightbinder_ smashes through a ghoulish knight’s shoulder like it was butter.  

Malachite unleashes another _positive energy burst_ even as his sword Karthos leaps into his hand. “*Now! Now!*” the sword cries impatiently, and Malachite swings it into the flank of one of the trumpet-beasts. Crusted mold vaporizes as the sword strikes home, and the creature screams.  _Magic missiles_ from Agar arc above it like a soaring bird striking home, and Tao’s swords blur as they cut through sinew and rotting flesh. The second monster falls, and what’s left of the ghoulish knight riding the third beast tumbles from its back like a dead weight.

The third creature seems smarter now that its rider is destroyed. It takes in the devastation by turning its eyeless head, and with a chilling scream it spins and flees into the depths of the cave.  The clacking of claws reverberates in the echoing cavern, and within seconds it is out of sight, hidden in the enveloping darkness beyond the range of _darkvision._  “Damn!” someone swears. “I can’t target what I can’t see!” Mara swings herself up onto her war horse's back, but she's distracted before she can ride after it. Something black and icy cold has struck her, and she shivers as she feels strength draining out of her.

Meanwhile, Galthia moves. The githzerai monk had been staying back while the area effect spells were falling like rain, but now he dashes alone after the fleeing ghoulish abomination. “Be care—“ starts Velendo, but Galthia is out of sight before he can finish the sentence. “Oh boy,” he says to himself, and begins to review whether or not he had prepared _true resurrection_ that day. 

Galthia, however, feels his Purpose thrumming through his body as he chases the monster, and that gives him strength and speed. Moving at an angle to cut it off from its planned escape, he easily dodges its feeble claws.  Galthia ducks and spins close to its body, close enough to smell the carrion reek.  He hits it with his iron-shod staff several times, hard, and the monster shudders and collapses.

Mara leaps off her warhorse to attack the new threat, and she feels herself stagger as several shadows slide from the darkness and attack her all at once. Her strength flees from her, and she struggles to lift her mace even as Velendo _turns undead_ and blasts the four shadows into nothingness.

Silence falls as Nolin ceases his song.  “It’s down,” announces Galthia in a flat voice.

“Everyone okay?” calls Velendo into the darkness. Mara grunts in annoyance, barely keeping her feet.  Priggle, the dwarves, and Galthia all call their assent, although many of the group are badly wounded by the sonic attacks.  "Why didn't you _turn_ them?" Velendo asks Mara in surprise, and the paladin gives him a dirty look.  

"I got carried away," she explains sheepishly as she gestures with her mace, and Luminor nuzzles her in comfort.

At the far end of the cavern, Galthia leaves the beast collapsed behind him as he begins to walk towards the rest of the group. Thus, he’s almost caught unawares as the monster – playing possum and not actually dead after all – unleashes one more wave of sonic energy at his back, even as it shambles back to its feet. At the last second some sixth sense warns the githzerai, and he spins out of the way as the hideous scream vaporizes the stone floor where he had been standing.  “Down!” commands Galthia as he spins his heavy staff into the creature, and the monster explodes into a nimbus of silent light.  Nothing but dust is left as Galthia finishes his swing and snaps his _staff of disruption_ back into a fighting position.

“Wow,” says Nolin in an impressed tone, and the rest of the Defenders watching from across the room agree with him.

The heroes huddle around the clerics and paladins for healing, and the dwarven troops fan out to serve as pickets.  It’s less than a minute, though, when the alarm comes from one of the dwarven watch teams.  “Oi!” one of them calls. “A lone ghoul approaching. And it’s… it’s carrying a white flag!”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Jeremy

"Er..  Or a yeller flag..  Er a gray 'un.  Ferggin darkvision..."


----------



## Piratecat

Knight Otu said:
			
		

> *I must admit that I totally forgot that Galthia even existed until he showed up again in this update.
> Did this happen to anyone else, or is it just me? *




He was fairly quiet for much of the game, staying in character. Then he proved to be the only person who could catch up to the monster, never mind kill it easily. What was _really_ funny was when he ran up to it.  "You'll incur an attack of opportunity if you run next to it like that," I said. "Okay," he shrugged, and proceeded to use his grotesque amount of movement to virtually circle the monster and cut off its escape. It was a thing of beauty.

In retrospect, I might have the story wrong, and he may have opened up a full attack on the thing. I just remember everyone looking at how much damage he was doing and being shocked.

I felt bad for the player, although he's more patient than I would have been.  It was his third game. At his first game, he played Judge Daver in the council meeting, and then Galthia was locked inside his bedroom. At his second game, Mara & Malachite visited their temple and the group spent hours discussing _communes_ and prophecies while - wait for it - Galthia was locked in his bedroom. It was nice to finally let everyone get involved with the story!

He doesn't have a character sheet online yet. I'll ask if he'd mail it to you. Galthia is an Acolyte of the Fist (from the recent PrC in Dragon); I cancelled out the unbalancing effect of the ECL differential (his innate githzerai bonuses) by giving him significantly less cash than normal to buy magical items. I think it worked well.  That isn't a trick I'd use a low levels, but at high levels it seems to be decently balanced.

My apologies for not mentioning Luminor and Newt (Tao's giant lizard mount) in more detail. Luminor is equipped with horseshoes that allow him to turn gaseous - just the thing for wriggling through narrow caves! - and a harness that gives him pegasus wings once a day. We're still getting used to including him in combat, although both Mara and I am getting better at that.

As for Malachite's horse, it was killed by a spectre shortly before he met the party, and he hasn't had the heart to call another one.  It might still be out there somewhere, cantering through the world, searching for its master....


----------



## Piratecat

The orcish ghoul lurches forward, using one rotting hand to carry a long bone threaded with a strip of bleached skin. Suspicious, the Defenders surround it while the dwarves stay on watch. The undead is in fairly bad shape; one rotted eyeball keeps sliding out of its skull, and the tongue sounds partially rotted. Nevertheless, its slightly glowing red eyes seem to be intelligent, and it actually seems to be smiling in a friendly manner.

The smell is terrible.

“How exciting to see you all again,” it says in a voice like the rustling of beetles. “Although I wish it weren’t under these circumstances.”  It briefly flips its head upwards, trying to reseat the dangling eye back in the socket, and then looks around at the crowd as it continues to smile as if at a private joke.

“Do we know you?” asks Velendo in a hostile voice. “Have we met?”

“Oh, no, not as such,” answers the ghoul, its voice rattling drily. “But I’ve been aware of you for quite some time. Studied up. Seen you fight.”  It wrinkles its rotting nose in a gesture that would be cute if done by a ten year old girl. “You’re quite good at fighting, I’d say.” 

“_Those glowing eye-things at the battle in Hundle’s Crossing,_” whispers Tao mentally over the group’s _mind link._  “_This ghoul must have been spying on us through that entire battle – and this one, as well!_”

“So you’re here to taunt us before you kill us?” Nolin waves his hand derisively, preparing to repeat his standard ‘take a number and get in line’ repartee. The ghoul looks shocked, and has to suck in his lolling tongue before he can reply. 

“Taunt you?  Oh no, quite the reverse. I want to be *friends* with you.”  Nolin is actually stopped in mid-retort.  The ghoul looks around the dank cavern.  “This is a parley, and I’m trying to avoid a war.  You can’t _really_ like it down here, but we like it just fine. This is our home. I am hopeful that we can find terms that will allow you to return home without regrets.” 

Mara breaks in.  “This isn’t your home. This is Dwarven territory. You survive by consuming other races.”  The ghoul shrugs what’s left of his shoulders.

“And you eat cows.”  He looks concerned for a minute. “You *do* eat cows, don’t you? It’s been quite some time for me.  Like any predator, we cull out the weak and let the strong survive. Then perhaps the weak choose to join us, and they too become strong. It’s the cycle of life.”  He grins horribly at his own joke. “Well, cycle of _something_,” and his laughter burbles wetly.

Malachite, standing stock still with his hand on Karthos, notices an odd reference. “*Chooses* to join you?” he growls questioningly.

The red-eyed ghoul nods, his eyeball flopping out as he does. “Oh, yes. You think true ghoulism is a… a disease, or a curse?”  He laughs again, horribly. “Oh, no. Not with the blessings of the Ivory Queen. It’s a religion, and it is a choice. When a creature is killed, it can choose death and judgement from the hand of Boros, or it can choose… more. More power. More feasting. More joy.  I think you’d be surprised how many people realize at the last minute that they have a golden opportunity to ascend. You people see only the outer corruption, that of the flesh.”  He gestures down at the rotting orcish body. “Inside, where it counts, we are transcendent fire. For us, the eating of flesh is not a hunger so much as it is a sacrament. It’s a celebration of our Goddess, and it is an honor. Following the Prophecy is not hard for those who join us.” 

Mara’s face is pale with anger. “I don’t believe you.”

The ghoul shrugs. “It’s still true. You believing it or not doesn’t change anything.”   It smiles grotesquely, its tongue sliding out in a cascade of bloody spittle.

Wincing, Velendo changes the subject. “So you think you can convince us to turn around?” he says disbelievingly.

“Well, I can try… Velendo, is it?”  The ghoul doesn’t offer to shake hands, although it does bow in a courtly manner. Once again, out plops the eye.  “I am Kellharin. And yes, I can try. What is it you want? I have access to the magic and treasures of a dozen civilizations. Enchantments beyond measure, riches for life, exotic drugs and long-lost knowledge. It’s not much, but it is ours, and we’re not beyond sharing.”  The ghoul coughs up a few squirming worms as its fingers try to reseat the errant eyeball. 

“What is this prophecy you mentioned?” asks Velendo.

“It’s why we advance now,” says Kellharin softly in a rustling voice.  “We have seen omens. Two years from now the Destroyer will be born to one of your human women. He or she will savage the planet, and nothing will be left by the time they finish – no ghouls, no people, no plants, nothing. Spira will be wiped clean, and we’d just as soon not allow that to happen. We will reach the surface, and we will clean it ourselves, and thus we prevent the Prophecy.”  He shakes his head slowly. “Better to let creatures exist in the glory of undeath than allow everything to perish.”   He looks up, hopeful. “If you wished, you could each designate a city, and we will spare it – other than the children, of course.” 

“A whole city, huh?” asks Velendo in a voice heavy with irony. “I don’t think so. But maybe we could reach some agreement. Give us the text of this Prophecy of yours, and we’ll see what we can do. We can track the child down ourselves.”

Kellharin frowns. “You are not of the Faith. Besides, are you telling me that if I give you the Prophecy, you will cease your destruction of our faithful?”  Velendo begins to waffle, but Malachite cuts him off.

“No.”  

Kellharin turns to him. “Fanatic.”  He grins.  “Then I suppose that’s that, eh? I can’t pay you to stop, and you have stated that you won’t stop. Then be warned that we have no reason to leave you alive and in our Kingdom. We are at war.” 

Galthia chuckles mirthlessly. “What’s to stop us from destroying you right now where you stand?”  Kellharin looks at him as if he were an imbecilic child.

“You would destroy my flesh, not me.”  He sucks in a deep breath of air that rattles drily inside of his frame. “There really isn’t any reason for our conflict other than your own stubbornness.  Let me know if you change your mind.  I’ll be seeing you.” The red light fades from his eyes, and suddenly the orcish ghoul shudders and leaps at Mara. The paladin destroys it on nothing more than a reflex.

“He’s gone,” states Malachite flatly.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

*Multimedia extravaganza!*

Wanna hear what Kellharin sounds like?  Here's a clip from their discussion!  You'll have to imagine the eyeball, though.

Warning: 750 K mp3 contains 60 seconds of Ghoultalk (tm)... so you're probably not going to want to click it at work unless your co-workers are easily amused.  Let me know if you find this sort of thing especially annoying or especially fun; it's a gimmick, but it's kind of a cool gimmick.


----------



## (contact)

> Or, at least, illithids love everyone. Don't they?




They really do.  It's just that their love isn't like human being love, all gushy soft and warm.  Their love is cold, angular, sharp, and tastes like utter subjugation.

The illithids understand that they are the Good, and your weaknesses are Evil.  They can help you with those, if you let them.
------

Oh boy oh boy, what a fantastic ghoul!  I love their philosophy (rrrrrip)!  _--that was the sound of me stealing wholesale this idea_

Of course, child murderers have philosophies and make 'choices', too, and we don't really agonize too much about mauling them, but I appreciate the sensitivity with which you present the bad guys.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> * It briefly flips its head upwards, trying to reseat the dangling eye back in the socket, and then looks around at the crowd as it continues to smile as if at a private joke.*




Kind of like a bizzare game of cup and ball.  Eeew.

He did do this voice for the entire game, but he has a pretty high tollerance for scratchy voices.

And as for the prophecy, I think it's entirely possible that they may be right.  But I for one, resent their cheap attempts at trying to distract us with shinier evil.  I'm an adventurer, and I want it all.  I want to wipe out the white kingdom AND save the world.  And I want a cherry on it.


----------



## War Golem

Jeremy said:
			
		

> *I seem to remember there being a tangent thread in which Piratecat explained some back story and history it was called something like Secondary Story hour and it had to do with the Defenders.  I don't know how many boards ago that was though.   *




It was a while back, and the thread did exist. Here's a copy of what I saved from it... don't recall if there was ever any more:

Appendix A: Piratecat's Secondary Story Hour 

Okay, here's what I have coming: 
1. The descent into a lost academy of magic, and meeting the surprising instructor 
2. (possibly my favorite game) The discovery of the time-locked Cirit Tordu, the Tower of Black Snow - and of Congenio Ioun, an archmage whose name may just be familiar 
3. A summary of the grand honking epic quest that took 3 years, real time, to play out! (Yes, thank God, just a summary.) 
4. A trek into flooded dwarven caverns to recover a lost artifact 
5. The creation - and subsequent defeat - of a dracolich 
6. The madness of King Josric 
7. the use of ebon magerot to destabilize a country - and the effectiveness of improved doppelgangers therein 
8. Encountering the orcish horseman of the Mang (or: mongol tactics, anyone?) 
Should have the first one done today, barring complications!


Note: 
It was three years ago in real time, four years ago in game time, and it's one of my favorite games I've ever run. I had just read an ancient Dragon module by Ed Greenwood, back before the Forgotten Realms had bee picked up by TSR. It was called "Into the Forgotten Realms," or something like that, and it was a relatively lame exploration of a lich's academy. But it was full of potential, and it started me thinking. 
Here's the result. 
<><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
The group (roughly 8th or 9th level) came to the port city of Oursk, the largest port city in this part of the world. They had come here hot on the trail of worshippers from the banned Church of Imbindarla. Imbindarla is the Goddess of the bad things that crawl in the night, and of Undeath. The Defenders had been fighting her cults for years, and they had just learned that the church was looking for a number of obscure prophecies. Why? They didn't know, but in a fit of prescience, they realized that this couldn't lead to anything good. 
After a series of adventures and misadventures (including bumping up against a portly mind flayer, his pet intellect devourer Rex, and getting buried up to their necks in sand with the tide coming in,) the group learned the Imbindarlites' next step. The mind flayer had learned where another prophecy was, just north of Oursk. A day behind the mind flayer and his cronies, the PCs followed them to the ruins of the Celestar, an ancient elven wizard's academy now buried under tons of rubbish and trash from the city. 
The Defenders made their way through the Rat Heaps, slogging through heaped refuse and past squeaking rat nests. The insects and garbage smells were horrible, and they thought they spotted something large moving through the garbage nearby. Skirting the monster, but not the biting flies or odor, they managed to trail their enemies to a makeshift tunnel burying down into the refuse. Holding their breath, in they went. 
They entered what looked like the remains of an ancient school, now buried beneath the rotting trash above. It was clearly elvish design. Worryingly, right near the entrance they found two bodies of ruffians, both dead with horrified grimaces on their faces. What could have killed them? They panicked briefly when a third body, rotting and floating, slid towards them; after some hasty retreating and panicked spellcasting, they realized it was nothing more than a gelatinous cube. Phwew! Inside the cube was a third dead Imbindarlite. Worrisome.. 
They slowly explored the academy, crossing magically unstable corridors and finding nothing alive. Nevertheless, there was very little dust. In one classroom, they found several dozen skeletal hands, pinned in place, demonstrating the correct somatic position for various types of spellcasting. Likewise, they found several elven skulls being used in displays, or as decorations. 
Someone noticed that the skulls, and the hands, were all identical.. as if someone had made many copies of the same bone structure. Odd. Many of the rooms had spell formulae scrawled in a consistent hand on all the chalk-boards. 
By this time Dylrath (on point) had gotten a little blase'. For several doors in a row he had very specifically said, "I listen at the door. I peek into the room." At a third door, he didn't say this, and just opened the door and walked in.. 
.. to a room filled with undead. Several ju-ju zombies sat at small desks, as did the animated corpses of the remaining Imbindarlite thugs. A petrified mind-flayer (the party's enemy) stood in the corner of the room, wearing a Dunce cap. And at the head of the classroom, wearing tattered academic robes, was Hagiok, Librarian. 
A lich. 
[Note: ever seen the British cartoon "Dangermouse"? Hagiok talks a little like Baron Greenback.. rough and raspy, with little inflection, because his throat is slowly rotting.] 
Hagiok called Dylrath "Otto," and commanded him to come sit down, asking him why he was late. Did he have an excuse? A hall pass? 
"Err.. no, sir. I don't. It's outside. I'll just.. run and get it." And Dylrath turned and fled. Outside, the horrified party wizard Arcade used his wand of conjuration to start putting up prismatic walls, layer, by layer, in front of the door. From inside, they heard, "Ahh, an excellent example! Prismatic wall is a standard, if slightly disappointing and unimaginative, example of mixing conjuration and abjuration magic. To dispel it you are required to cast a series of spells in the proper order, as so..." 
And from the other side, the walls began coming down. The party fled. 
Unfortunately, in fleeing, they strayed into a room with an insane elf secured to a blood-soaked table. On the elf's hand was a ring, sovereign glued there. A ring of regeneration. In a flash, the group realized why all the skeletal hands and skulls looked identical. The group kept running. 
And when they reached the entrance, it was blocked off by magical force.. and Hagiok stood there. 
"Enough of this tomfoolery!" he rasped. "Tasha, you had better have completed that assignment I gave you. Now, you and Ioun and the others should march right back to class. We have a quiz coming up." 
... to be continued


So it occurs to me that I should give a little bit of background on my campaign, so that these stories make sense. The PCs started off on one of their first adventures tackling a group called the Brotherhood of Night. This is a cult dedicated to the worship of a God of the Night. I made that god be Imbindarla, a Goddess of undead mentioned in a different Dungeon module, and the PCs proceeded to plague this cult and their nefarious plans for years to come. 
Eventually, the church's leaders formulated a plan to do something really, really nasty.. and to achieve it, they allied with the church of the God of Murder, and started a war against most of the countries on the continent's eastern seaboard. They then used life energy from that war to power a ritual. The ritual ended up yanking a star from the heavens, and using the new comet to create an astrological conjunction that would otherwise be impossible. This conjunction was key to the church of Imbindarla's plan. 
Into this mess stumbled the PCs, intercepting the church's quest for old prophecies and sussing out from Hagiok what some of these may mean. They learned of a set of stone circles more than a thousand miles away called "Tovag Baragu" where the conjunction would focus on, and learned that the church was trying to find an artifact which was somehopw related to these stone circles. The PCs determined that they better find the artifact first - either to stop whatever it was the church was doing, or to prevent the church from using the artifact themselves. 
Eventually the PCs learned the awful truth - what was under Tovag Baragu, what the ritual was for, and their lethal back-up plan - and they damn near failed in stopping it. I was this close to destroying my whole campaign world. I'm glad the PCs prevailed! 
And into this framework will fall a lot of the stories I'll tell. I'll try to match them up chronologically as we go.

****************

-War Golem


----------



## Quasqueton

*high-level campaigns*

Sorry for the disjointing rambling questions below, but I'm short on time and long on questions right now.

Piratecat, how "big" and important would you say the Defenders are in your world, right now? Considering the overall grand scheme of things.

They seem to be very major players in Eversink (I've read since the Dockside Royals stuff), but how about elsewhere? Are they in the top 1% of most powerful in your world?

How unusual (in your world) are things like a bard with flames for hair and a walking saint?

Are Mara and Malachite, and the others within some kind of heiarchy, more powerful (personally) than those who are considered their superiors?

How high in level and power can the Defenders grow before they reach the "top of the food chain"? 

And if your world has enough super-powerful foes to keep the Defenders busy, how were these foes kept in check before the Defenders?

For instance, take the Dockside Royals: so many high-level (I'm guessing they were all somewhere around 10th) pirates on one ship/organization -- what prevented them from totally ruling the seas?

One problem I've seen with many campaigns that make it to really high levels (15+) is that the whole campaign world has to start bumping up in power to make sence for high-level PCs and enemies to be supported. [Suddenly grunt guards are 5th, 10th, 15th level fighters with templates instead of 1st or 2nd level warriors.] How have you balanced the increasing PC levels without increasing the overall power level of the whole world? (I'm presuming you have balanced this.)

Thanks very much for a great story hour. And thanks in advance for any answers you can give me (us?).

Quasqueton


----------



## Piratecat

Quasqueton,

Superb questions. Let's take them one at a time.
*
> how "big" and important would you say the Defenders are in your world, right now? 
> Considering the overall grand scheme of things.
*
Hmmm. Depends where you're using as a point of reference.  In their home kingdom of Gaunt (a homey, backwater of a place), they're in the top .5%. In Eversink or Oursk (my answer to Waterdeep), they're in the top 5% in terms of fighting power, but less in terms of political power. In Sigil, the extraplanar city, they're in the top 10%. And if you look at the world overall, I'd say you hit it pretty closely with the 1% guess.

Mind you, this doesn't mean that in Eversink 1 out of 20 people they meet will be more powerful than they are - far from it. I'm just using those numbers to indicate relative buffitude _as compared to the movers and shakers_ of the areas they're in.

And that's really a good measuring stick. The Defenders could probably walk into most cities nowadays and kill many (if not all) of their powerful defenders. It would ruin their reputation, but they could do it.  Only the big cities and the little towns that attract "talent" for some reason could withstand them if they felt like flexing their muscles in a fight.  I've never been a big fan of raising guard levels to match PC levels; grunt guards are still 1st lvl. In fact, many of the "bad guys" in Eversink (such as Lord Griggan Clearwater) are low level aristocrats. They've just got political power and hefty friends... and really, what else do you need?  
*
> How unusual (in your world) are things like a bard with flames for hair and a walking saint?
*
Extremely. I mean, they've never met another one!

Seriously, for a long time one of my weaknesses was not showing the group other adventuring groups, both allied and opposed. I think I've gotten a little better at that. For instance, Stavros (their half-orc bartender friend back home) now makes his living financing and sponsoring young heroes. Neat, huh? 

This story hour (and the campaign) tends to focus on the heroes, though. The proportional amount of other (mostly low-level) adventurers are out there, even if they don't always see them directly.  
*
> Are Mara and Malachite, and the others within some kind of heiarchy, more powerful (personally) 
> than those who are considered their superiors?
*
Depends. In Mara and Malachite's case, generally yes; most of their superiors in the church have less combat power. In Raevynn's case with the druidic council, generally no.  In TomTom's case (he trains the psionic secret police in Gaunt), absolutely yes.
*
> How high in level and power can the Defenders grow before they reach the "top of the food chain"? 
*
Discovering this will partially determine the longevity of the campaign. Their current adventures in a very dangerous underdark allows me to pull out a lot of the stops in terms of monster power, even though I'm still using primarily low-powered undead to threaten them. If they survive and make it back home, they'll have to see where they fit in. I think personally that when I begin to feel like I'm pulling improbable NPCs out of my butt, it will be time to wind down. I'm not there yet! It's plenty exciting and dangerous, and I think it's still both fun and interesting. My players can answer that better than I can, though.
*
> And if your world has enough super-powerful foes to keep the Defenders busy, how were these foes kept in check before the Defenders?
*
In the case of the White Kingdom, they haven't been kept in check since the mindflayer city that was blocking their progress got destroyed. But that's a bad example. *grin*
*
> For instance, take the Dockside Royals: so many high-level (I'm guessing they were all somewhere around 10th) 
> pirates on one ship/organization -- what prevented them from totally ruling the seas?
*
I always try to give some thought to a bad guy's psychology. If they're the "rule the seas" type, you can be sure that they're out there struggling to rule. If you're the Dockside Royals type (carefully recruited lackeys who like to follow a strong leader), then you can be sure that they're happy following - and if there's one of them that's NOT happy following, then I'll try to work that into the plot as they explore selling out to the PCs. 

In the Royals' case, they were hired to break bones and keep the machinery humming down on the docks. It was a fun job; good pay, cushy work, local fame and fear (if not respect), and the occasional extra mercenary job for pay. When they had that, they had no interest in ruling the seas. Some of them had tried that before; as it turns out, it involves a lot of sea sickness and salt pork. Bleah.
*
> How have you balanced the increasing PC levels without increasing the overall power level of the whole world? 
*
Primarily by changing the nature of the challenges, rather than the specific challenges themselves. Angry or bullying guards are no longer a problem, although they give the PCs a very fun chance to show off. Dealing with the noble that the guards are working for - and his evil court wizard, and his shadowy compatriots in an elaborate blackmail scheme that the PCs might now threaten - may be more of an appropriate challenge.

Remember, events that challenge the _players_ (puzzles, tricky tactics, politics, sneaky conundrums, obscure clues) are level-independent.

I hope that helps. If not, let me know! And a new update as soon as I can, hopefully by Thursday.


----------



## Jobu

PC mentioned several months ago that he would be considering ending the Defenders in another year to year and a half.  So naturally I started thinking of what character I would start after playing Tao for ten years.  
Then it dawned on me, I'm not done with where I want Tao to be.  She still has so much growing to do as a character.  She is just gotten over being left at the alter, not that she'll tell Dilly that.  
We as Defenders are lucky because I don't think there are many DM's that could keep a game this exciting and new after this many years and with this much FirePower.  
Just last game he scared all of us when he <deleted> and then Valendo had to say"<deleted>" which saved our butts.  Just in time to get us back to <deleted>.  
So you see, it is still a great time whenever we get together and game.  And though we might not say it cause we're busy cursing his name PC is an amazing DM (so stop giving him any more ideas - Sialia).


----------



## Piratecat

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *FLASHBACK: Three years ago, heading west.*




The flashback  posted on 7/14 was my memory of a scene that took place in February of 1997. i just found the actual text of what he said, so I'll post it while you wait for a _real_ update!    See that post for details of why the blind elven seer (the T'Pah) is talking.  We did this scene by candlelight... it was creepy!

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

"I know who you are and what you have done.  You have no conception of the consequences of your campaign against those who seek to bring darkness and terror upon the land.  Now, time grows short and the omens worsen - with each coming day, the face of nature rebels against the currents of the fate it feels will come.  Soon you will see it all around you.. one who is trained can see it already.

"Do you know why these puppets from the east wish to bring darkness upon the world?

"It is surely not for the reasons you think.  I see only the shadows of reflections, yet as the end approaches the pattern becomes clearer, as it is heralded and echoed in the woods around me.

"I will tell you the oldest legend in the world.  Before you humans were molded from the clay, even before Corellon Larethian shaped his perfect people, there are some who believe that the Old World was ruled by the Giantkin, the Dragonfolk, and the Scaled Ones in a time of High Magic.  But there is a story that before the first dragon, and before the Gods of the Giants and the Lizards even arrived, the world was already here.

"Once it had been a home to races we can not even imagine, but that time had passed.  For when the Gods first arrived here,  brought by the voice of the last innocent screaming his death, they found a world in ruin.  The whole world was worms, and worms were the world, and they cloaked it in darkness and foul vapors, and they ruled as Gods over the twitching bones of their dead victims.  Ruins covered the world, but even the new Gods did not know who built them, and the worms had no Gods but themselves. 

"So the Worms were foul in they eyes and nostrils of the Gods, and they took it upon themselves to cleanse the world.  The worm spawn could not all be slain, so they were tricked, and banished through a hole in reality to a red prison beyond the stars.  And around this hole the Gods set markers to keep the prison locked.  When the Gods then set to rekindle the sun, it would not light, and when they looked they found that two worms had hidden from them.  These worms were wrapped in bands of light and were cursed to stay bound and powerless while the new sun shone upon the world.  Thus, the world filled with light and was remade in the name of the Gods, and was called Spira.  In time, the world was cleansed enough for Corellon Larethian to shape his children, and in time the other people of Spira were shaped as well by their creators.

"If this is true, then what I see fits the pattern, for I believe your enemies found one of the bound ones some ten years ago.  Perhaps it can do no more than talk.. but if sunlight is withdrawn for a time, nature fears it would go free.  I can sense its wrongness all around me.

"This is what has gone before.  What is to come is worse.  I must guess that they have stopped trying to free the old master, and have decided instead to open the prison door and free the thousands of its brethren.  If they did so, the Easterners would have no need to bring darkness upon the world, for the worms could do so as easily as... this.  [Snuffs candle flame.]  [sits in darkness]  [relights candle]

"This is what the spirits show me.  I sense many striving in many places to prevent this, but your group is what the spirits call a “kerngrun”, or pivot.  So, it is to you I tell my dreams."

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


----------



## Piratecat

Well, I'm not done with the story hour, but that's because we just finished a great game starring Lord Nightshade as Agar!  That makes the Agar count...

James Garr (Gargoyle)
DoctorB
Mike Selinker (WotC author)
Dr. Rictus
Bandeeto
Wulf Ratbane
Lord Nightshade
Inconsequent-AL (with Morrus as Splinder the dwarf)

He's communal!


----------



## Piratecat

“Well, what do we do about him?” Agar sits down on a broken stalagmite as he lights his pipe and absent-mindedly swats invisible bugs. “It’s fascinating how he can project his intelligence through undead. I wonder how he does it?” He draws on his pipe again, lost in thought.

“It’s a good question.” Tao looks around. “Can we _scry_ him?” 

Velendo shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Someone of that power almost certainly has defenses in place to prevent that sort of thing.”

“But he knows where we are now,” argues Nolin. “It’s not like we’d be telling him anything other than that we can _scry_. Ooooh, big surprise.”

“How long would it take to cast the spell?” asks Mara.  Luminor, her war horse, nuzzles at her shoulder affectionately.

“An hour,” answers Velendo. “That might be eno….” 

He’s interrupted by a scream from Luminor as a wispy, translucent tentacle darts out of the floor. It unerringly sweeps across Mara’s belly and through her shield, plunging in to her gut and wriggling greedily.  It pulses several times, like a snake swallowing a mouse.

Mara feels a horrible sense of pain and loss as coldness sweeps through her. Breath rasping, she doubles over in pain, and the long twitching tentacle disappears back into the floor before anyone can strike it.

“Tentacles!” thinks Agar in delight, clapping his hands together as Proty soars around his head.  Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Mara, are you all right?” asks Velendo worriedly.

Mara straightens, pale. “I’ve been better.  Where do you think it came from?”

“My guess?” says Nolin grimly, “Kellharin doesn’t like to hear the word ‘no’.”

“But what _was_ that?” asks Tao.  She draws both her swords with a rasp and looks around.

“Trouble,” answers Malachite grimly, hefting Karthos. “Some sort of wraith, I think. I’ve never seen anything like it before. They’re usually humanoid, and they _don’t_ have tentacles.”

“Where did it go?” rumbles Splinder.

Before anyone can answer, the monster answers for them. Another tentacle swipes up from the floor, this time penetrating Splinder’s legs. He shouts and jumps away before it can pulse, and the transparent tentacle glides back into the floor.  

“Form up for a _mass haste_!” shouts Nolin, his voice carrying. In the distance, he’s picked up the noise of dwarven weapons being drawn; apparently, the dwarves are under attack as well.  Even as Nolin casts the spell, another tentacle twitches upwards towards Galthea, who easily dodges it.  Then the group goes into combat mode, as the heroes who can start to _fly_ or _levitate_.  Up near the ceiling a tentacle slashes downwards at the flying Velendo, who is hit but who manages to shake off the feeding tube before it can drain his essence.  

“This is frustrating!” says Tao. She takes a slash at another tentacle that emerges, only getting one stab in before it sinks back into the rock – and as several times before, her blade goes right through it. “I think there are four or five of them. Half the time I can’t even hurt them, but they’re using their reach to strike at us without letting us close on them! Should I turn them?”

“Better not,” answers Velendo from above. “Then they’ll just scatter. Better to kill them once and for all right now.”

“Well, one thing is for sure,” says Malachite. “They’re wraiths of some kind, and wraiths… hate… sunlight!”  He swings Karthos over his head, and the light of Aeos illuminates the cavern. Pure sunlight trails after the sword’s blade, forming a sphere of light around the Defenders.  As he does so, a tentacle emerges from the rock to wrap around his foot. It begins to smoke in the sunlight, and as it swipes at the Hunter of the Dead it passes through his body without even a tingle. Malachite nods once in approval.

“Oh,” says Mara, annoyed. “Well, I wish you’d told me that earlier. I can create sunlight as well.” Malachite just gives her a look.  “If I go ethereal, can I fight them on the ethereal plane?”

Malachite shakes his head. “No. They aren’t ethereal. They’re insubstantial. Different things.” Mara scowls and twirls her mace, waiting for the next target.

Deprived of their foes, though, the tentacle wraiths move towards the nearest other source of life force that isn’t lit by sunlight: Newt, Tao’s pet riding lizard. He’s clinging to the cavern wall, and hisses in pain as a ghostly tentacle slices down across his back. “Newt!” shouts Tao, and readies a _searing light_.  The lizard scampers towards her, pursued by several hungry wraiths. A ray of blinding light shoots from Tao’s hand, badly injuring one of the undead. 

“Feh!” spits Splinder. “This is dumb. They can’t hurt us, but we can’t hurt them. I’m goin’ out there to serve as bait.”  

“What, are you stupid?” asks Velendo. Then he turns his head up to the cavern roof above him and asks the same questions again, this time to his God. “Is he stupid?” 

“Better me than the lizard.”  Splinder strides forward with his axe ready, and by exiting the sunlight he triggers several attacks from the hidden undead. The Defenders have been waiting for this, though, and they unleash simultaneous counter-attacks, slicing off and dissipating two of the writhing tentacles even though several of their blows simply glide through the undead as if they weren’t there. 

One by one, the Defenders leave the globe of sunlight that Newt has now entered. In a frustrating game of cat and mouse, they poise themselves, striking at the feeding tubes whenever they show themselves. Finally, the last of the wraiths is destroyed by a _positive energy burst_, and the dwarven soldiers run up to report.

“Killed one creature, Sir, using standard tactics of shuffling troops. Got a few men in bad shape, but no one dead. And we need more magic items.”  Splinder nods, and Velendo congratulates the dwarven troops.

“Good job. Let’s drink to it.”  

Everyone gathers in a group, and Velendo casts _sovereign wall_ in a hige sphere around them. “Pick up your feet, everyone!” he calls, and as they do the wall fills in where their feet used to be.  Now the heroes and their troops are standing inside a large, clear bubble of force that can only be pierced by a _wish_, a _miracle_, or a rod of cancellation.  Velendo then casts Calphas’ Comfortable Castle, and the group files into the warm, safe, food-laden main hall.

“I’ll stay out here a while,” says Priggle Gembreath, their svirfneblin scout. “It won’t hurt to keep a watch. Come get me in a bit.”  He looks worriedly around the silent and darkened cavern.

“Fair enough,” says Velendo.  “I’ll bring you some food.” The magical door closes behind him, leaving Priggle alone with his thoughts. 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Sagiro

Here's a small preview of things to come; I hope I'm not giving too much away, as the Story Hour is still a few runs behind.  

Lest anyone forget that Piratecat is a right rat bastard, consider the following.  Velendo is a 17th level Cleric with a 20 Wis, and as such gets a big ol' pile of spells every day.  Seldom does he come close to using them all up, especially as he is very conservative, and almost always saves spells in case of dire emergencies.  He also has only one magic item that will some day run out of charges, and is extremely stingy with that one -- it's a Wand of Maximized Dispelling (yes, despite the usual fact that Dispel can't be Maximized).  It had seven charges when he found it, and up until recently it still had seven charges.  Like I said:  stingy.

Anyway, I thought I'd share with you a list of the spells Velendo has cast in the last 24 hours -- almost every one, especially at the higher levels, was spent in fairly desperate circumstances.  I'll start with the small, and work upward:  

Endure Elements: Cold
Endure Elements: Fire
Endure Elements: Electricity
Bull's Stregnth
Bull's Stregnth
Endurance
Endurance
Endurance
Owl's Wisdom
Invisibility Purge
Magic Circle vs. Evil
Searing Light 
Searing Light 
Restoration
Unfailing Endurance
Mirrored Wall (like a Wall of Force, but with one side mirrored)
Dispel Evil
Flame Strike
Positive Wall (a wall that only hedges Undead)
True Seeing
Flexibile Wall (like a Wall of Force, but infinitely shapable)
Blade Barrier
Greater Dispelling
Heal
Heal
Calphas' Comfortable Castle (essentially Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion)
Holy Word
Summon Monster VII
Iron Body
Firestorm
Mass Heal
Sovereign Wall (like a Flexibile Wall, but larger, longer lasting, and even harder to get rid of: it's the 9th-level spell in his Wall Domain.)

In addition, Velendo used a Miracle to spoof the druidic spell "Spellstaff," and has kept _another_ Mass Heal in it.  And he used that.

_And_, he felt compelled to use _two_ of the seven charges from his Wand of Maximized Dispelling.

_And_, after having the horrible experience of [details redacted to preserve suspense], he had to use his power of Disbelief, which he only gets to do every _three months_.   

Also, Velendo was not the only one similarly taxed.  That same period has included, among many other spells,  Agar casting Disintegrate, Limited Wish and Cone of (Sonic) Cold; Nolin casting multiple Mass Hastes, multiple Healing Circles, and Fire Seeds; and Tao casting multiple Flame Strikes and Gate, with which she called in a [details redacted to preserve suspense] to aid us, though in hindsight I wish she had saved it to help us fight the [details omitted this time because I haven't the slightest idea _what_ it was, other than unspeakably horrific].

And Malachite used up _all_ of his Positive Energy Bursts.

Piratecat has, of late, been voicing concerns about it being difficult to challenge a party of 15th-19th level characters.  

It doesn't seem to be a problem, really.

Yeesh.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

As always, the Calphas’ Comfortable Castle provides a restful sleep and delicious food, and the group is refreshed when they awake the next morning. Velendo drops the _sovereign wall_, and dwarven troops scatter through the cavern to serve as scouts. There’s a momentary scare inside the _Castle_ when the group hears Agar scream. Running to his room, they see TomTom Badgerclaw standing on the bed looking confused.  “He just appeared in a prismatic display!” exclaims Agar. “I think my theory was correct.”

“Where are we?” asks TomTom. “Or rather, how did I get here? I was in Eversink a second ago.”  He suddenly twitches and spins, reaching behind him and pulling something off of his back. A large, crystalline spider hits the floor. “And WHAT is that?”

“I don’t know!” says Agar, reaching for a specimen jar before anyone can step on the slow-moving crystal spider. “But it’s fascinating. I’ll do some research on it as soon as I can.”  

The group explains to TomTom that he’s suffering from a side effect of their earlier trip to Kodali’s Retreat. TomTom looks aggrieved.  “I had tens of thousands of gold pieces invested in Eversink. Please tell me you cashed out our investments.” No one meets his eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud.”

“One thing is important, TomTom,” says Tao. “Give us all of your magic items in case this happens again!” Instead, TomTom gives her a vaguely obscene gesture, and the group settles down to a hot breakfast.

“What were you saying yesterday about The Narrows, Priggle?” asks Velendo.

“It’s an extremely tight section of the cavern. There’s about enough room for me to get through without crouching too much, but a man in armor would be in trouble. I’d guess that maybe Malachite could squeeze through, if he wasn’t armored. It’s an excellent place for ambushes, because people crawling have a hard time fighting.”

The group exchanges glance. “And incorporeal undead could easily move through stone,” concludes Malachite. “We’ll have to scout it first.”
As the heroes discuss the relative merits of etherealness versus clairvoyance for such scouting, they’re interrupted by a dwarf entering the main hall. “Found something interesting,” the soldier says. “Message plaques from a dwarven outpost less than a day’s march away. Looks like the dwarves tried to send several messengers to get help.” He looks sorrowful. “None of ‘em got any further than here.”

The group reads the stones. The first reports that the dwarven city of Mrid has fallen, and the dwarven outpost of Mridsgate is receiving refugees. It is expected that the ghouls will arrive before long, and reinforcements are needed from anyone on the surface who can help.  The second reports that the ghoulish army is closing, renewing a plea for any refugees on the surface to return and fight. The third reports that the ghouls are less than a day away, and survival seems slim, but that they will defend the fort to the last man.  As the Defenders piece together the picture, the dwarf shakes his head, beard wagging.  “We found some mostly-eaten bodies,” says the soldier. “I think the ghouls somehow got some troops up here to cut off messengers or escape. That must be what we fought yesterday.”

“How far to this outpost?” asks Velendo.

“Most of a hard day’s march,” answers Priggle.

“Then let’s go.”

_To be Continued….

Next: Negotiating the Narrows! Drums in the deep! And an overwhelming foe…._


----------



## Ashy

::chuckle::  You'd be surprised what an advanced, ethereal, psionic, undead, half-troll, negative-energy infused KOBOLD can do!!!  BWAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!   

Erp - sorry, PC, I did not mean to give away your surprise.....


----------



## Piratecat

Oh, you mean Klixxit!  


*Klixxit, male ethereal psionic ghast half-troll negative-energy infused kobold Sor20:* CR 27; Size S (3 ft., 6 in. tall); HD 22d12; hp 146; Init +3 (+3 Dex); Spd 30 ft.; AC 23 (+3 Dex, +1 Size, +9 Natural); Attack by weapon +17/+12/+7 melee, or +11/+6/+1 ranged or 2 claws +17 melee, 1 bite +12 melee; dmg claw 1d4+7, bite 1d4+3; SV Fort +6, Ref +9, Will +14; AL CE; Str 22, Dex 16, Con --, Int 16, Wis 14, Cha 25.

*Languages Spoken:* Draconic, Infernal, Undercommon.

Skill points: Sor 92
*Skills and feats:* Craft +9, Hide +14, Knowledge (arcana) +11, Listen +5, Move silently +14, Profession +2, Scry +20, Search +5, Spellcraft +26, Spot +2; Craft wondrous object, Empower spell, Enlarge spell, Heighten spell, Lightning reflexes, Scribe scroll, Toughness.

*SA:* Rend 2d4+9, psionics, spellcasting, paralysis, negative energy infusion, create spawn

*SQ:* Regeneration, undead, turn resistance, stench, manifestation

*Possessions:* 220,000 gp in gear.

*Sorcerer Spells Known (6/7/7/7/7/6/6/6/6/6):*_ 0th -- Arcane Mark, Detect Magic, Flare, Ghost Sound, Light, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, Read Magic. 1st -- Change Self, Chill Touch, Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Shield. 2nd -- Blindness/Deafness, Blur, Flaming Sphere, Knock, Melf's Acid Arrow. 3rd -- Dispel Magic, Fireball, Haste, Lightning Bolt. 4th -- Charm Monster, Emotion, Polymorph Other, Solid Fog. 5th -- Dream, Permanency, Summon Monster V, Teleport. 6th -- Acid Fog, Analyze Dweomer, Mass Suggestion. 7th -- Shadow Walk, Simulacrum, Teleport without Error. 8th -- Demand, Horrid Wilting, Mass Charm. 9th -- Energy Drain, Shapechange, Time Stop. _

*Psionic powers known:* _charm person_ 

*Special attacks*

*Rend (Ex): *If Klixxit hits with both claw attacks, he latches onto the opponent’s body and tears the flesh. This attack automatically deals an additional 2d4+9 points of damage.

*Paralysis (Ex):* Those hit by Klixxit’s bite or claw attack must succeed at a Fortitude save (DC 28) or be paralyzed for 1d6+4 minutes Elves are not immune to his paralysis.

*Negative energy infusion (Ex): *Those hit by Klixxit’s bite or claw attack must succeed at a Fortitude save (DC 28) or suffer 2 negative levels per hit from the negative energy that has infused the kobold's being.  

*Create Spawn (Su): *In most cases, Klixxit devours those he kills. From time to time, however, the bodies of his humanoid victims lie where they fell, to rise as ghouls themselves in 1d4 days. Casting protection from evil on a body before the end of that time averts the transformation.

*Special qualities*

*Regeneration (Ex):* Fire and acid deal normal damage to Klixxit. If he loses a limb or body part, the lost portion regrows in 3d6 minutes. He can reattach the severed member instantly by holding it to the stump.

*Undead:* Immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning, and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain, or death from massive damage.

*Turn Resistance:* Klixxit possesses +2 turn resistance.

*Stench (Ex):* The stink of death and corruption surrounding Klixxit is sickening. Those within 10 feet must succeed at a Fortitude save (DC 28) or be wracked with nausea, suffering a –2 circumstance penalty to all attacks, saves, and skill checks for 1d6+4 minutes.

*Manifestation (Su): *As an ethereal creature, Klixxit cannot affect or be affected by anything in the material world. When he manifests, he becomes visible but remains incorporeal. However, a manifested Klixxit can strike with his touch attack or a ghost touch weapon. A manifested Klixxit remains on the Ethereal Plane but can be attacked by opponents on both the Material and Ethereal planes. When Klixxit is on the Ethereal Plane, his spells cannot affect targets on the Material Plane, but they work normally against ethereal targets. When he manifests, his spells continue to affect ethereal targets and can affect targets on the Material Plane normally unless the spells rely on touch. His touch spells don’t work on material targets.

Darkvision 60 ft.

Nah. He's just a mascot.


----------



## Piratecat

Tokiwong said:
			
		

> *Good Lord!!!! that thing is  mean machine... mascot indeed... Awesome critter Piratecat, very awesome... suprised you were not crucified for that one.  Rat Bastard DM's everywhere applaud thee I am sure... I know I do. *




Klixxit is just a joke.    I whipped him up after I read Ashy's post, adding template after template until he toppled over from the weight and lay there squeaking and waving his little claws. Maybe he lives somewhere in the underdark, but blessedly, my players can rest assured that I'd never use him after displaying his stats here.  Poor little fella; now he feels all abandoned and rejected. Sniff.

I tend to reject too many layered templates as inherently silly, although I'm willing to make a rare exception. 

What my players DID fight was somewhat more off-beat.


----------



## Argent Silvermage

Can I have Klixxit? I promis to keep him warm and feed and walk him! Please....?


----------



## Piratecat

The Narrows are no problem at all.

After worrying for hours about the tactical nightmare of fighting incorporeal foes in a small space, the Defenders of Daybreak have considered almost all of their possible resources: extraplanar travel, _wind walk, teleporting, dimension doors, reduces, _and many other possibilities. These turn out to simply not be needed. Arriving at the narrowing end of Funnel Cave, TomTom and Mara both turn ethereal to scout the cascading tunnel carefully, and they find that the narrow and winding tunnel is completely unoccupied other than by beetles and rats. No ghouls, no ghosts, no wraiths – nothing.

A small dwarven guardhouse deep within the difficult passage seems to be abandoned as well.  Tao uses her helm to double-check, and the group concludes that it seems safe to pass. The passage is a bit difficult – horribly claustrophobic for those who don’t like tight spaces – but uneventful.  Soon the entire company is safely on the other side of The Narrows and headed down an uneven, dank passage towards the dwarven outpost of Mridsgate.

“Shhh! Did you hear that?”  Nolin holds up his hand in caution. The company slows and stops.

“What?” Mara asks. All she hears is the ever-present trickle of water, her own heartbeat, and the heartbeat of her warhorse Luminor.

“Drums,” answers Nolin. “Very distant. Let’s get moving.”

Several hours later the passageway dead-ends in a solid wall. “Rubbish,” says TomTom. "It’s dwarven make. See? The outlines of the door in the stone are right here… and here.” He looks for a keyhole on this side of the door, but doesn’t find one.

Tao concentrates, touching her helm and focusing its power. “There’s a dwarf in there,” she reports. “He’s asleep, and looks exhausted. The door is doubly locked and barred. He’s got a few weapons as well.”

“We can knock down the door,” someone suggests. 

“Hmmph,” snorts Nolin. He casts _detect thoughts_ while Mara and Malachite simultaneously try to detect evil and undead.  No one gets anything; apparently, either the dwarf is dead or the stone door is especially thick. As a result, Nolin knocks on the door. 

“That woke him up,” reports Tao. She’s interrupted as a hitherto undetected peephole rasps open.

“Who’s there?” asks a rusty, strained voice. “Who are ye?”

“Friends,” answers Nolin in dwarvish. “We’ve come from the surface to help your folk.” The dwarf is silent for a few seconds, processing the answer. He finally responds.

“From the surface? Stick yer hand through this slot.”

“Don’t do it!” someone whispers. 

“Don’t be silly,” says Nolin, and pushes his hand into the dark rectangular peephole. He feels something touching his skin.

“Yer flesh is warm! Yer alive!” comes the dwarf’s muffled voice, followed by the clanging of iron bars bouncing off of stone. A minute later, the heavy stone door swings open, and the tired dwarf looks out over the group.  “Where’s the rest of ye?” he asks in confusion, trying not to sound disappointed.

“This is it,” says Nolin. “But we’re _really_ good at fighting undead.”

The dwarf shakes his tired head. “I sure hope so. When they ordered me up here, the ghouls had camped outside of the walls, screaming and smelling. Morale was bad; they had a few of our dead from Mrid with them.” The dwarf shudders involuntarily. “That was yesterday. They might have already fallen, I dunno, but I don’t think so; no refugees yet up the tunnel. Can ye go and help?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” answers Tao.  The dwarf fishes in his belt pouch.

“Then here’s a key to the back gate,” he explains, quickly handing over a heavy iron key that TomTom eagerly grabs. “When you go through it, turn right, then right again. That’ll lead ye to the courtyard. If ye go straight, ye’ll end up in the outpost proper.  I wish I was going with ye… but I have me orders.  Moradin speed ye!”

On the other side of the guard room, the rhythmic beat of the drums is much louder; the faint noise throbs, echoing deceptively up the stone passageways. Once they hear a bugle blast as well, and the tired group trots even faster over the uneven ground. At long last they reach the back gate, and TomTom opens the door without effort. There is no guard there, and the heroes run through echoing corridors as they race for the combat. They know they’re close because they can hear it now; screams and howls, chanting and the clash of metal on metal. One last corner, hearts pounding and breath rasping in their chests, and they burst out into a small gatehouse overlooking the courtyard. Anxiously peering through the arrow slits, the Defenders look out into a vision of Hell.

_To be continued…._


----------



## ForceUser@Home

When I read that last line I pictured the Defenders hunkering down on a high wooden catwalk, watching a rippling horde of grey beings undulate in a fiery light. 

*shivers*

It reads like a good movie.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> * Anxiously peering through the arrow slits, the Defenders look out into a vision of Hell.
> 
> To be continued…. *




Ah, but what Pkitty hasn't told you is _whose_ version of hell it is.  What the Defenders are currently seeing is Nolin's version of hell.  The plain is littered with countless karioke machines, each manned by a squadron of drunken louts singing off key and forgetting the words.  Behind the drunken karioke shock troops come rank on rank of angry husband cavalry backed up by the the shrill pregnant girlfriend rocket troops.  All commanded by General Hairloss Potbelly, the middle aged lothario.

Shudder.


----------



## Piratecat

_For folks who are curious, go fetch your copy of The Stronghold Builders Guidebook from WotC, and flip to the sample dwarven outpost near the back of the book. I used this map for Mridsgate. The Defenders came in the back (on the far right of the map) and ran down the corridor to the easternmost guardhouse overlooking the courtyard.  Incidentally, there is nothing more fun than taking a jar of pennies, dumping them on your battlemap, and saying “Here is your enemy….”_
The dwarven outpost of Mridsgate is normally close to impregnable, so long as it’s manned by enough dwarves and not facing any truly powerful magic. It’s been crafted by the finest dwarven engineers, designed to withstand spells and armies, engineered to let the dwarves kill their foes without taking any casualties of their own.

The ghouls have breached it.

As the Defenders look out, they can feel palpable evil seeping into their veins.  Vision is obscured by clouds of greasy smoke that drift across the courtyard, but even with limited sight it’s clear that the dwarves won’t stand for long. A single breach in the wall has allowed more than a hundred orcish and goblinoid ghouls access into the inner courtyard, scuttling up and over the wreckage of the wall.  The first undead through fell like hewn trees before the dwarven soldiers, but the ghouls just keep coming and coming, often using the paralyzed bodies of living dwarves as shields – and field rations – as they push their way forward. The Defenders of Daybreak quickly realize that at the moment the odds are about even, and every second makes the odds worse and worse for the dwarves.

Nolin casts _mass haste_, and Agar opens the door to the gatehouse and steps out of the way. The other heroes run past him along the narrow wall platform or down into the surging, screaming melee below.  Tao pauses at the door, looks down in revolted anger, and _turns undead._ She feels the power of Galanna surge through her with the same force that drives a tree root through rock, and three – only three! – undead explode into dust beneath her.  Worried, she casts _flame strike_ into the ghoulish line, and is somewhat more rewarded to see charred, twitching carcasses after her pillar of fire disappears. Even there, however, the holy energy seems to be somewhat subdued.

Agar has _arcane sight_ up, and sees what caused it. “It’s that wall!” he yells over the cacophony of gurgling undead and ripping flesh. “It has _unhallow_ cast on it, along with some spell that ruins morale! It’s suppressing holy energy!” Velendo’s head snaps up.

“What?” he asks in shocked disbelief. “WHAT! Those… those bastards had the nerve to unhallow a WALL?” His face narrows to an angry grimace.  “I don’t *think* so.”  Pushing his way through the door, he steps out on the wall, and he immediately feels the cloying foulness trying to worm its way into his soul... feelings of hopelessness, of surrender, of defeat.  Defiant, Velendo stands on the unhallowed wall, and heedless of the ghouls around him he raises his voice in a prayer to The Wallbuilder.  Then Velendo’s hands slap down onto the mortared stone, and his _dispel evil_ reverberates throughout the bastion.

There is a bright flash, a sound something like a gong, and the insidious sense of evil simply disappears.

“Hah!” shouts Velendo triumphantly, his old voice cracking. “Defile a WALL, will you?”  He turns and casts _positive wall_ directly into the breech to his left. The space instantly fills with sparkling yellow energy. A ghoul finds out the hard way what it does when it scuttles through, hunger in its rotting orcish eyes, and falls into a pile of steaming bones on the far side.  “Nothing’s going through there,” mutters Velendo in a pleased tone.

As soon as the _unhallow_ is gone, the rest of the Defenders work to clear the courtyard.  Malachite runs carefully along the ledge, finally unleashing a _positive energy burst_ for maximal effect. Luminor quickly solidifying beside her from his gaseous form, Mara leaps down and begins to lay about her with her holy mace. The ghouls which surround her are still smoking from Malachite’s attack, and they leap at the beautiful paladin with a ferocity born of desperation. Blond hair flying, Mara slams her shield against an encroaching ghoul and swings Lightbinder into its stomach with a crackling burst of light. The undead hobgoblin dissolves like tissue paper under her blow, and she spins to continue sweeping her mace around her. Every single ghoul she hits is burst into two, and within a few seconds there are no enemies within 5 ft. of her. “Luminor!” she calls, and her horse coalesces into flesh in time for her to mount.  

Near her, Galthia spins his _quarterstaff of disruption_ with perfect precision, dropping two ghouls and blasting two more into golden dust.  Galthia’s eyes dance, but he never smiles.

Up in the guard chamber, Nolin opens up with two _fireballs_ in a perfect spread pattern, catching the ghouls without hurting any dwarves, and the Defenders of Daybreak maneuver (or gallop) through the courtyard cutting down the injured ghouls. The dwarves, now regrouped, join in the fight, and very quickly there are few ghouls let in the courtyard to fight.  Twitching limbs and crawling maggots abound, but no ghoul who crossed the breached wall still stands.

“Watch out for a leader!” calls Nolin.  “There will be someone giving them orders!”

From his vantage point atop the wall, Velendo and Nolin suddenly catch a glimpse of something disturbing through the drifting smoke. A squat ghoul shambles forward into view… a ghoul with glowing red eyes, like Kellharin’s when he held his parley the day before.  “You showed up a little before I expected,” he admits.  “If you’re _sure_ we can’t be friends….?”  Then the ghoul’s mouth opens impossibly wide, and hideous syllables issue forth from it, infernal words that no man should know. The ghoul finishes the spell as it holds something over its head, smiles sublimely, and then his head explodes. The body topples backwards, whatever he was holding skittering a few feet away.

“His head exploded!” says Nolin in surprise.  Then Agar points, and Nolin sees the hideous rip in reality that has opened up above where Kellharin was standing. It squirms, twists, and ruptures open into a circular inferno of fire and brimstone. 

Out from the _gate_ slithers a 12 foot tall serpent creature with a woman’s body and a woman’s face.  Coiled, hellish armor adorns her otherwise naked chest, and six scimitar sheaths line her scaly flanks.  Her eyes catch Velendo’s, and they look to him like burning coals. 

*“Kill everyone in the fortress?”* The demon’s voice sounds like dragon scales dragged across stone. She sounds amused.  *“I accept.”*

_To be continued…._


----------



## ButteryGoodness

I just finished reading this entire thread for the first time, and I have to say.. WOW! I can't imagine how much fun it must be to play in Piratecat's campaign.  

Only problem now is that I've caught up, and I have to wait for updates with the rest of you.


----------



## KnidVermicious

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *At least you could have left her boobies uncovered, so we could have gotten some cleavage with our evil. *




I don't know. Six swords. Sounds like there's going to be plenty of cleavage going on.


----------



## Piratecat

KnidVermicious said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I don't know. Six swords. Sounds like there's going to be plenty of cleavage going on. *




Vermicious Knid, you're my new favorite poster.  

I'm back from GenCon! Ran a Call of Cthulhu game for Nemmerle, Dinkeldog, Barcode, Urbanmech, Halma, and Dr. Doom; lost at the ENnies but won the Pinnacle Award for best RPGA judge (wheee!); and spent plenty of time with people I really like, including our very own Morrus. It was Good. Now, sleep! And an update coming as soon as I can write it.


----------



## Piratecat

The stench of brimstone rolls through the dwarven courtyard, like the warm wind before the storm.

Tao utters a magical phrase in the language of her Goddess, and in front of the wall her previously thrown _fire seeds_ go off like children’s firecrackers… that is, if firecrackers tossed ghouls backwards in screaming, fiery arcs and set their skin ablaze with holy fire.  The divine agent smiles in satisfaction at the explosive “whoomp!” and the echoing howls of pain, then looks up to where Malachite is standing on the wall’s defensive platform. “What’s out there?” she calls up.  She can smell it, whatever it is, but can’t see it from where she’s standing.

“Kellharin summoned some sort of demon. Prepare yourself.” 

Even as Malachite speaks, the spellcasting demon finishes her own incantations, and coils of black oily energy begins to crackle up and down her body.  The snake queen turns her serpentine head, taking in the scene, and she locks eyes with Malachite. All six scimitars slide out of their sheathes with the sound of funeral bells. The huge demon smiles, her jaws impossibly wide and impossibly sharp, and with the tip of one blade she beckons him out from the protection of the wall.

Nolin comes instead. Fiery wings flapping and the song of the phoenix loud in his ears, he soars through the darkness above the coiled demon. His hands fumble in a belt pouch, and he removes a silver tuning fork of the planes, one that opens a _gate_ directly to Mount Celestia. _Who better to deal with a demon than a bunch of angels?_ he thinks. The question is where to trigger it; high in the air is safer, but closer to the demon is more likely to succeed. Nolin decides that self-preservation is the better part of valor, and triggers the effect high above the demon's head. There is blinding radiance and another _gate_ opens, connecting to just above the plane's perfect ocean of holy water. 

The demon begins to rise up on her tail, but she feels the insistent calling of the new _gate_, and she instinctively recoils. The pull isn't strong enough to force her through, so she ignores the hovering bard and slithers towards the wall instead.  _Dang!_ thinks Nolin.  _Oh well, they were already mad at us from the last time we tossed a demon through._

Meanwhile Galthia the githzerai monk finishes off an orcish ghoul and spins, moving quickly for the breach in the wall. He can see that Tao’s _fire seeds_ have cleared most of the ghouls away from the opening, so he darts through the _positive wall_ and heads towards the coiling marilith.  He doesn’t make it that far, though; he’s flung sideways as something unseen ambushes him from his left side.  He never gets a good look at what it is, because he doesn't sense it until its claws jam deep into his side.  It cackles quietly as it begins to pull out shreds of viscera and chunks of bloody flesh, and Galthia feels horrible coldness racing through his body. He tries to react, to spin, but the numbness is too insistent; his muscles lock, and he falls face down at the creature’s clawed feet.  He feels tugging, and hears a terrible slurp as the monster begins to eat him piece by piece.

“Galthia’s down!” shouts TomTom from his perch above the central gatehouse, and Mara pulls herself atop her mount and heads for the wall. “I can help him!” she shouts over the ghoulish noise, preparing her _freedom of movement_ spell as Luminor gallops forward.  Nolin’s voice rings out in a beautiful, piercing hymn, inspiring and encouraging the troops forward. Malachite, emboldened, leaps down from the wall into the breach and towards the shadowy monster feasting there. He straddles the paralyzed Galthia as his sword Karthos blazes into light.

In the light of Malachite’s sword, the thing eating Galthia appears to be a horribly devolved orcish ghoul, long tongue scraping the monk’s flesh as it chews and swallows hungrily. It looks up at the looming paladin with black sunken eyes, hatred blazing forth. Malachite swings, and Karthos trumpets with delight as his blade bites into the creature’s putrified chest. Small white worms tumble out of the wound.  The ghoul ducks under the sword and scrabbles at Malachite, claws scraping on armor. Then an _acid orb_ from Agar strikes it and it falls back, skin sizzling.

“Behind you!” Nolin calls, and Malachite glances over his shoulder just in time to see the immense demon bearing down on him. Her six scimitars weave and flash in a mesmerizing pattern, and like a storm of steel they dart and strike in an incomprehensibly complex rhythm. Malachite’s blade can’t be everywhere at once, and although he jumps over her swinging tail, six of her ten weapon attacks get through his armor. He takes a bloody gasp as black energy sizzles on his skin, and prepares a counterattack.

As Velendo hustles towards the fallen monk, Mara leaps off her horse and kneels by the body. The ghoulish orc swings at her, but winces back as the tip of its claw strikes Mara’s holy shield. “Hssssssssssh!” it gurgles, but Mara ignores it as her prayer takes effect. Galthia feels the numbness fade into pain, and he rolls free.

Meanwhile, Tao opens her soul and sends her consciousness spiraling upwards and outwards. The dwarves watching her see what appears to be green vines spiraling around her… but Tao is oblivious, her soul rocketing across the Beastlands in search of an ally of her faith. She senses one, and with pure force of will she bridges the planar boundaries between herself and the being that she senses.

The air shimmers and rips. The _gate_ opens. And shining, luminescent in its power, the solar steps through.

*”Your will, my sister?”* he intones. His voice is like the rustling of the wind in mountain pines, the sound of rapid water shattering rock. Face pale from the exertion, Tao nods towards the wall and the demon behind it. *“With delight,”* the angel intones with a smile, and his huge wings flap once as he sails through the gap in the wall.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Partially surrounded now, the shadowy ghoul that had attacked Galthia is hammered repeatedly by the combined blows and spells of Mara, Agar, and Nolin. It turns to flee, but is cut down before it can escape.

Nearby, Malachite drops back far enough for Velendo to _heal_ his many wounds. The towering demon carefully slithers forward, upper body dancing to a music that no one can hear as she stalks her prey. Galthia briefly strays within her reach, and she strikes instinctively.  His blood sprays as she impales him with multiple scimitars, which pierce him horribly before she spins all six blades back upwards into a guarding position. 







The demon’s forked tongue flicks out to lick one of her ensanguined scimitars, and she briefly shudders with pleasure. 

The solar summoned by Tao soars into the combat, and the demon turns to meet her new foe. The cavern is now lit by the clashing radiance of the two outsiders, and the air rings with the sound of their blows. The demon tries to sunder the solar’s glowing sword, and the angel counters by swinging his weapon around in a magnificent arc that would have taken off the marilith’s head if her reflexes had been any slower. Black energy crackles out from the demon’s body onto the solar’s, and is burned away by his divine radiance before it can reach his heart. Then Velendo’s _dispel magic_ sears away her enchantments, and her speed noticeably slows as the black energy coating her dissipates. The tide of battle begins to turn.

Tao rejoins the battle at the angel’s side, as does Malachite and Mara. Their holy weapons carve huge rents in the demon’s scaly tail, and their armor is such that her scimitars have trouble hitting them in return. One opponent, even two, she could easily overpower… but four, along with spellcasters?  For the first time, the demon begins to look worried as black blood coats her shimmering scales. Now partially healed, Galthia tumbles in to flank, and the solar begins to sing a hymn as his sword flashes left and right.  Velendo, TomTom, Nolin and Agar attack from the flank, trying to pierce her spell resistance with their spells and prayers.

Enough is enough. Hissing defiance, the demon slithers backwards and prepares to _teleport_ to safety. The Defenders who flank her strike her as soon as her scimitars pause in their whirling defense… and the _teleport_ fails! It might be that her concentration is broken, or perhaps Mara’s holy mace _disrupts_ the spell, but the magic hisses and spits instead of carrying the demon to safety. Tao and Malachite advance with blades flashing, and the marilith screams as she feels the weapons slicing into her innards. She is eternal and immortal, the daughter of demonic royalty, the commander of countless demonspawn that march undefeated across the fetid battlefields of the Abyss… and then she is nothing but burning bones as the Defenders of Daybreak take her down. Her scimitars and skeleton clatter on the stone as her flesh ignites, and then she’s gone.

There is a pause as the Defenders look around. Dozens if not hundreds of ghoulish troops watch from the edges of the firelight, watching the solar and the battered heroes, reluctant to attack until the demon had destroyed the surface-dwellers. Tao’s divine aura of awe surges as she stares back at them.  The solar flexes his wings, and triumphant music surges as Nolin strums his magical instrument _Veritas_.

The ghouls’ morale breaks.  Screaming in terror, they fight to clamber over each other as they sprint back into the darkness.

_To be continued…._

_Thanks to David Hendee, aka Littlejohn! Go see his art thread in the EN Boards' Art Forum!_


----------



## madriel

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Well, I had been wondering what the heck they were chortling about over in the corner; I had caught the phrase "HOW large?", but no one would tell me anything. *




The corner chortling again, eh?  Seems to me I remember Tao and Malachite's players chortling over another brilliant idea earlier in the campaign.  Are there any of your players that can't be seated next to each other without causing chaos?  Even if it's just to your RBDMly Great Ideas?

I nominate Tao's player for RBPlayer of the Month.


----------



## Blackjack

madriel said:
			
		

> *The corner chortling again, eh?  Seems to me I remember Tao and Malachite's players chortling over another brilliant idea earlier in the campaign.  *




Jobu and I should not sit next to one another.  We become the Bad Kids.

Indeed, PCat is referring to the the point where she leaned over with a copy of the Monster Manual, pointing to the number of HP on the solar she was about to summon.  After I shoved my eyeballs back into my head, I began to chortle...


----------



## KidCthulhu

Sito Rotavele said:
			
		

> *
> 
> "Daughter of demonic royalty?"  Hrrh. Nolin, open another space on the enemies list, please. *




You've have reached the Defenders of Daybreak Enemies Line.  I'm sorry, all our Defenders are busy beating the living crap out of other clients right now.  Please hold the line, and your grudge will be settled in the order in which it was incurred.  Thank you.

[on hold muzak of early Nolin recordings and Dylrath playing the mouth harp.]


----------



## madriel

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *I added 2 more paragraphs above, detailing Nolin's attempt to suck the marilith into Mount Celestia. Whoops! *




Jog my memory, please.  When was the last time the Defenders tossed a demon into Mount Celestia?

I'm almost sorry the marilith didn't try to turn Nolin into a shishkebab.  Everybody's favourite flamin' bard would have literally blown up in her face.


----------



## Piratecat

madriel said:
			
		

> *
> Jog my memory, please.  When was the last time the Defenders tossed a demon into Mount Celestia?
> 
> I'm almost sorry the marilith didn't try to turn Nolin into a shishkebab.  Everybody's favourite flamin' bard would have literally blown up in her face. *




She tried... but she didn't fly, and he was out of reach. It would be remiss of me not to make a "phoenix vs chicken" joke at this point, but I'll try to contain myself. 

The Defenders have a very bad habit of tossing stuff into Mount Celestia, although it was all before the story hour started.

1. Turn an erinyes (posing as Alix's new step-mother) to stone. Toss her petrified form through a portal into the ocean of holy water outside Mount Celestia. She rapidly dissolves.

2. In a big fight against abishai devils, open a gate and force one of them through into the holy water. In the same fight, Mara fumbles twice and tosses not one, but TWO maces through the opening into the ocean. She's too embarrassed to go looking for them again.

At least one deva has since scolded them for this trend, but apparently it's hard to break old habits.


----------



## Negative Zero

Neg Zero bends over to show his ... ah ... ignorance:

what's a Mount Celestia? i mean i can guess that it's some place where angels and whatnot live, but there's gotta be more to it than that. i initially thought it was native to Spira, but now that Knightfall1972 mentioned it, i must have been mistaken. history/current affairs lesson anyone? ... please?

~NegZ


----------



## Gidien

Negative Zero-

Mount Celestia is one of the many planes bordering the Outlands, like the Nine Hells and the Abyss (oh and the Beastlands from which Tao's Solar came, I think). It is the home to many a good being, like Bahamut, everyone's favorite uberdragon 

More info on the classic DMG cosmology is in the Manual of the Planes.


----------



## Carnifex

Can't... resist... Planescape... calling me...

Okay, I'll have to give in. Here's all the Outer Planes around the Outlands with their updated 3e names and Planescape alignments.
Starting with Mount Celestia and going clockwise:

Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia (Mount Celestia to most of us): LG. Home to a number of bemused zoveri who are wondering why they keep on seeing maces drift down through the water 

Twin Paradises of Bytopia: NGL. I'm not happy with the over-gnomage that has occurred in 3e for this place - otherwise, a nice place to have a holiday.

Blessed Fields of Elysium: NG. As you'd expect, nice place to live. In fact, I'm never going to leave...

Wilderness of the Beastlands: NGC. The place that Tao just thieved a solar from. Put it back, you don't know where it's been!

Olympian Glades of Arborea: CG. Full of bloody elves. Bit annoyed that now all the layers of this plane are in elven - eg Pelion being replaced by Mithardir.

Heroic Domains of Ysgard: CGN. Don't choose this as a location to have a big fight with an uber enemy, because even if you friggin' kill them, they'll get up the next day anyway. Less suitable holiday location, full of rowdy vikings by all accounts.

Ever-Changing Chaos of Limbo: CN. Not good for holidays. Not only does your hotel keep on moving, there are slaad. This doesn't mean you'll get to eat frog's legs, it means slaad will get to eat you.

Windswept Depths of Pandemonium: CEN. Not the most hospitable of places, the most welcoming settlement in these windswept tunnels is called the Madhouse. Not exactly promising, is it?

Infinite Layers of the Abyss: CE. Doubtless now the home of some angry abyssal parents putting bounty on the heads of the nasty people who killed their daughter 

Tarterian Depths of Carceri: NCE. The multiverses biggest ever prison. Not recommended as a holiday destination because the weather will in turn poison, freeze, electrocute, burn or corrode you.

Gray Waste of Hades: NE. Where accountants go when they die. (No offence to any accountants readint this! )

Bleak Eternity of Gehenna: NEL. Misleading name; it's not very eternal, but it's very steep. Bring good climbing boots.

Nine Hells of Baator: LE. Sorta the *Ultimate Center of All Evil*, being hell and all. Possibly worth a visit if you like hot weather.

Infernal Battlefield of Acheron: LNE. Full of armies. As a bonus, it includes Thuldanin, my favourite layer of any plane (don't ask).

Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus: LN. WHo wouldn't want to visit somewhere full of modrons, at the very least so you can point and laugh. Or, in the case of the Defenders, specifically ignore plot hooks set up by your DM involving, ahem, a big march going round the planes?

Arcadia: LNG. Full of the Harmonium, but this is the only downer on an otherwise appealing holiday destination (as long as you're not neutral, or chaotic, or evil...)

And that's the lot. Sorry, I couldn't resist  How many of these planes have the Defenders visited by now, anyway?


----------



## Sialia

Couldn't tell you the categorical list of where we've been, but I do remember Dylrath once getting confused about where we were going on one of these planar hops. 

I don't remember what he said--probably the usual confusion about demons versus devils--but Alex smacked him across the knuckles, explained matters, and wound up the lecture with shaking his finger at me and saying "Know your Lower Planes, Boy!"

Anyway, the above thread brings back fond memories of this moment, so many thanks.


----------



## Piratecat

Just to give you a feel, the Defenders have at one time or another:


 Fought Githyanki on the astral
 Trekked through the ethereal
 Been trapped on the plane of Shadow
 Sought refuge on Mount Celestia (and used it as a shortcut, and tried to find redemption for Alix there)
 Recovered in Elysium (this is where Haven, Calphas' paradise, is; it's also where Velendo's _rod of security_ takes you)
 Joined Tao on the Beastlands, saving a unicorn from the cleaver of a Sigilian butcher
 Accidentally summoned a plague of slaadi from Limbo
 Met insane refugees from Pandemonium
 Irritated lots and lots of creatures on the Abyss, and steadfastly avoided going there themselves, despite lots of interesting plot hooks carefully laid out by a certain DM
 Avoided freeing the Worms from Carceri, and thus saving Spira
 Ridden a nightmare across the Gray Waste; once upon a time, this is where Alix was going to seal his pact to the God of Murder and betray all of his companions. He repented in the end and refused to carry out his promise to the God, and was doomed for it.
 Visited the gatetown of the Nine Hells in order to bargain for the eyesocket of a God. Later, they dealt with an erinyes they met there who _really_ didn't like being thwarted....
 Ran across Acheron while trapped between two armies, creatively ignoring my clever (and deadly) means of escape by fleeing to Mount Celestia
 Crossed large sections of Mechanus on foot, fighting an old enemy (a cambion) who tracked them down. All the while, they reflected on where all the modrons had gone to. Jerks.  Later, they sent Brindle the assassin here to start a new life, after they wiped his memory.
 And Sigil, the city in the center of everything. Lots of things happened in Sigil!
Next update this weekend. A quick surprise, a lurking horror, and the terror of simple mathematics!


----------



## Piratecat

On a slightly different note, apparently somewhere around 2000 people have downloaded that .doc file of the story hour previous to this thread. Holy cow! Now mind you, I'm sure a bunch of folks have downloaded it and never read it, but that does give a rough estimate on how many folks swing by here. All I can say is a very, very humble thank you on behalf of our group for giving enough of a damn to read about our game - and an even bigger thank you to those of you who comment now and again.  Ever since Raevynn's player ran into people discussing our game 3500 miles away from home, I've been a little bit in awe, and the fact that you folks keep coming back to read more says volumes.

With luck, you're following up on peoples' suggestions and dropping in on other story hours to see if you'd like them, too. There are some phenomenal ones here on this board, and I think that the very fact that we even have a story hour forum is pretty cool.

This also means that we're going to start selling advertising to support EN World. I mean, can't you just see it?

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

Malachite turns towards the hulking undead, sword ready in his right hand. With his other hand he fishes out a dark potion, fumbling off the top and tipping the delicious liquid down his throat.  "Ahhhhhh!" says the paladin. "After a *Coke* (tm), I'm ready to take on the world!"

The ghoul pauses, confused. Its rotten mouth gapes open as it tries to speak. "Yougl likl *Cokel* (tttmmm) tuuu?" it asks in undead astonishment.  "Meegl tuuuu! Whii arrr weee fiiightinggg?"

Malachite looks at the undead grimly. "Well..." he says thoughtfully.  "They do say that *Coke* (tm) adds life!"


----------



## (contact)

> You've have reached the Defenders of Daybreak Enemies Line. I'm sorry, all our Defenders are busy beating the living crap out of other clients right now. Please hold the line, and your grudge will be settled in the order in which it was incurred. Thank you.




Now, I know the Defenders have B-team adventuring groups gunning for them from time to time to try and prove themselves, but are there any lower-level adventurers willing to start at the bottom of the Enemies Line, and work their way up, in order to curry favor with the great Nolin And Those Other Guys?

Sort of a Defenders West Coast kind of deal.


----------



## Piratecat

Velendo glances around. “Make sure that all of these are dead,” he suggests to the group at large. “Don’t forget, yesterday one of them tried to play dea….”  Before he can finish his sentence, the devolved monster that tried to eat Galthia scrambles to its clawed feet and makes a run for it into the smoky darkness.

Velendo acts by drawing on his most powerful prayers. He raises his eyes towards heaven – or at least towards the ceiling above – and creates a _sovereign wall_ out of pure faith. It stretches out from the fortress in a vast semi-circle, separating the remaining ghouls and trapping the powerful, injured monster inside.  There’s a loud *clunk* as the fleeing ghoul runs face first into the invisible wall.

Nolin snickers.

Galthia doesn’t, though, and charges after the ghoul. The creature turns and hisses ferally, fluids slowly oozing out of its broken and rotted nose.  Moving at full speed, Galthia stops just short of the monster and uses his momentum to flick his magical staff out in a whirling crescent. The ghoul is remarkably agile, but not _that_ agile, and the weapon catches it across the neck. There’s a burst of light, a celestial roaring sound, and the _disrupted_ undead turns to dust at Galthia’s feet.

The rest of the Defenders have organized the dwarven troops, filling them with hope as they use _mass heal_ and _remove disease_ to bring the injured back to life.  The dwarven leader introduces himself as Prince Stern Balestone, the only son of King Horox IX of Mrid, sent to Mridsgate to organize the defenses.  “I don’t know if my father still lives,” he says tiredly as he wipes smoky grit from his bearded face.  “We’ve been fighting for more than two days, and I know Mrid has fallen. The ghouls don’t stop, they don’t sleep, and _divination_ tells me that they’ve been bringing up more troops once they realized we wouldn’t let them prance in.” He looks at the Defenders, and then at his recently healed dwarves, and then at the rows of the dead. “Almost seventy dead, but about a hundred left alive. We’d have lost a lot more than we did if you hadn’t arrived. Good job.” He says the last gruffly, but Nolin can sense the emotion in the simple words.

“Your majesty, you’ll need to burn the bodies of the dead,” advises Nolin, “so your own men don’t rise on you.”

The prince looks up angrily. “Dwarves are not burned! It would dishonor….” 

Nolin draws on his store of ancient and obscure legends. “But wasn’t the dwarven hero Corothin Stonemaw cremated in the holy forge of Moradin, adding his ashes to the iron in order to make the first steel weapons? There is a long history of dwarves accepting cremation when the lives of their brethren are at stake.” To this the tired Prince has no argument.

“Your Majesty,” interjects Velendo, “do you have people listening for diggers? Now that they can’t get past the wall, they may try to dig under it.”

The dwarf shakes his head. “We did, but they were removed from their posts to fight in the defense. Good point.  Hogan!” He roars at a younger dwarf walking by. “Get four stout soldiers with good ears, and get ‘em down in the basements with their ears to the stone. We need to listen for sappers.”  Hogan nods and hurries off. Within a minute, he’s got volunteers and is headed into the fortress.  

Agar hasn’t wasted this time, and the first of his _prying eyes_ has just returned to him.  “Odd,” he reflects, sucking on his pipe and blowing smoke rings absentmindedly. “They’re reorganizing their troops into battle lines, but they’re quite spread out… in a formation about four times wider than I’d expect. They have some sort of fascinating skeletal siege engine out there that just emerged from a tunnel. Lots of those spying eyes made from green flame, too.  I’d guess that there are about 250 or 300 ghouls dead here on the battlefield, and maybe another 200 or 300 out in the cavern.”  Another _eye_ swoops back in and merges into Agar’s head. “Yep,” he says while swatting an invisible fly, “wide formations. But no sign of leaders yet.”

“Wide formations?” muses TomTom. “They might….” Then TomTom disappears in a prismatic shimmering. Agar’s face splits into a smile at the unusual planar effect, even though it means that TomTom has slipped back into another plane.  Nolin rolls his eyes in frustration and excuses himself to _fly_ out onto the battlefield. He quickly lays down a line of quiescent _fire seeds_ in a semicircle around the wall, intending to detonate them later. He then returns.

“Your Majesty?”  Hogan the dwarf is standing next to the Prince and looking worried. “Something strange. By the time I got all four listeners settled, I went back and checked on Delemer, who was in the east room. He’s gone! No sign of a struggle. And there’s an odd chalk mark on the floor.”

“What’s it say?” Next to the Prince, Malachite gazes around uneasily, his hand on his sword. 

Hogan frowns.  “It’s the number ‘1’.  That’s all.”

The dwarven prince’s craggy forehead creases with worry.  “Well, go check the others! And take someone with you. Go!” Hogan runs off with an escort, and returns a moment later. “Two more dwarves missing, Sir! And more chalk marks: ‘1+1=2’ and ‘2+1=3’.”

“Great,” snorts Nolin, “we have an undead math teacher in the fortress.”  Agar snickers. "I have no idea what it means, but it can't be good. We should go and investigate."

Agar absorbs another _prying eye_, and then turns to face the group once he’s absorbed its images.  “The rest of the ghouls are advancing,” he says. “Slowly, but they’re coming… all of them.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

“Go!” orders the dwarven Prince. “With your magical walls and the fresh reinforcements of your troops, we should be able to hold them here for long enough.” Hogan leading, the Defenders turn and run for the heavy doors into the dwarven outpost. Malachite has _Karthos_ in hand, and the sword _detects undead_ as they go. Mara tries to _detect evil_, but can’t do so when moving quickly.

The group moves quickly along the low and narrow corridors past several intersections, emerging into a large, torch-lit great hall. Neither Malachite, Mara or Karthos detect anything, but Agar’s persistent _arcane sight_ shows him something disturbing on the far side of the long room.  He sees what looks like an elongated shadow stretching along the wall, in a place where no shadow should be.  






“Shadow!” the halfling snaps. “Back wall, right side, behind the table.”  No one else can see it, but they take Agar at his word, and a _flame strike_ from Tao slams down on the area, turning the old table into a blazing inferno. 

“I can detect something!” says Karthos in his metallic voice, and the group rushes forward to attack.  It’s soon apparent that there are two shadows, not one, and agar unleashes _lightning bolts_ as Mara slides along the top of a table to strike one with her holy mace _Lightbinder_.  The shadows, vaguely dwarven shaped, don’t last long… but where’s the long and skinny shadow that Agar first saw?

“I can still sense undead,” reports Karthos. “It’s behind us. No, now it’s gone.” The sword is clearly frustrated, and the group looks behind him. 

Nolin suddenly looks horrified.  “The math! If the shadow is killing dwarves and turning them into more shadows, then… then they’re multiplying!  The shadows are going to go after all the dwarves. Soon it will be 3+3=6, then 6+6=12. It'll grow exponentially.” The ease in which they could lose every single dwarf seeps in.  They turn and run back the way they came. Through a previously cast _Rary's Telepathic Bond_, Nolin mentally warns the dwarven Prince.  "You're going to have company! Keep your eyes open for shadows, or they'll overrun the fortress!" 

“Suckered!” pants Velendo as he runs. “We’re being lured into the fortress while the dwarves are defenseless against shadows!” 

Ahead of him, Agar catches a glimpse of the same long shape, partially merged with a wall in front of them. “There it is!” he cries. One or two others think they can see it now, too, oddly distorted and indistinct. 

“It’s old,” says Malachite as he sprints forward. “Very old.”  He feels concentrated fear leaching out of it, but his will is indomitable, and the aura that he and Mara give off protect the rest of the group from the terror of its existence.

Tao is there first and swings her weapon at it, but the blade goes right through the dark and blurry form. She swears, and gets the distinct impression that it smiles. Then the familiar smell of psionic energy fills her nose, and every shadow in the passageway shifts and hardens as they turn into ice-cold shadowy blades.

The world is suddenly a whirling, twisting gyre of ice-cold sharpened shadows. Only Galthia leaps entirely clear of them, twisting his body and spinning through the air to avoid them completely. When they vanish a few seconds later, though, half of the Defenders are flat on their back, too weak even to lift their heads. The rest of the heroes are gasping from the weight of their armor, weakened muscles shaking from the coldness of undeath.

The shadow, uninjured, slides forward along the wall.

_To be continued….

Thanks again to David Hendee, aka Littlejohn!_


----------



## Piratecat

Velendo is collapsed on the ground, too weak to raise a finger. So is Nolin, and Agar beside him.  Galthia, Mara, Tao and Malachite are still standing. Malachite emits a _positive energy burst_ which sears the shadow, but the emerald light which floods the room doesn’t have any effect on the strength-drained heroes. Mara swings at it with her mace, and just scrapes sparks off of the stone wall as the insubstantial creature avoids her attack. Even Galthia’s _staff of disruption_ doesn’t destroy it, although he manages to connect at least once. 

Agar is helpless, but Proty isn’t. The halfling gasps, “Proty! Get us to the clerics out on the wall!” The squirming mass of tentacles that is his familiar slurps out its assent, and Agar congratulates himself for _imbuing_ his familiar with a _teleport_ spell. There is a flash of writhing light, and he’s gone.

Velendo knows what he wants to do, but lacks the strength to do it. As both paladins, the monk, and the divine agent swing at the incorporeal shadow – and the shadow tauntingly claws at them, further draining vital strength – the old cleric enters a state of total denial. “I’m half a mile below ground, flat on my back because some *stinking* psionic shadow has decided to destroy us. This can’t happen! In fact, I refuse to believe that it’s happening. Nothing can drain strength like that, and it *didn’t* happen to me!”  Ages-old faerie magic hardens his stubbornness, and his disbelief becomes utter and complete certainty as Velendo uses his priceless gift from the Queen of Faerie. The strength drain fades away as if it had never been there – _of course it’s never been there,_ thinks Velendo, _it couldn’t have happened_ -  and Velendo grins a cold, hard smile as he sits up easily.  Raising his stone shield, he casts _mass heal._

Silent light thunders through the room like a cascade of falling bricks.

It pours into all the Defenders and erases their wounds and lost strength as if they had never been hurt. Even more importantly, it batters the shadow in an irresistible assault of positive energy. The creature erects its mental defenses but it is caught unprepared, and the relentless prayer batters down its natural resistance. Calphas’ light rips huge chunks out of its essence, leaving it nothing more than a fragile wisp of shadow matter silhouetted against the pale stone wall.

It turns to flee into the solid wall, retreating to safety until it can rebuild its strength. Only Mara Thornhill is close enough and fast enough to strike it before it does.

She draws on her inner power, and holy certainty strengthens her hand as her mace swings.  She strikes once; her blow passes through the shadow to shatter chips from the wall. She strikes again; her mace passes through the creature without effect. She strikes a third time; the creature completely ignores the blow as if Mara's mace didn't even exist. Desperate and furious, a prayer to Aeos on her lips, Mara draws upon the _haste_ magic affecting her and swings a final blow as hard as she can.  

The blow connects.

Sunlight pours from _Lightbinder_, burning away the wispy shadowstuff like a match dropped in the middle of a dry parchment. The shadow has just enough time to scream silently, and then it boils away into nothingness.  Gone.

Out on the ramparts of the fortress, Agar and Proty reappear in another flash of light.  “Ummm,” calls the halfling weakly from the floor of the cavern. “Cleric? A little help, please?  ….Hello?” 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

*Re: ages-old fairie magic*



			
				aithdim said:
			
		

> *
> Nice and nasty PC. Luckily for the heros the shadow didn't escape to heal and return later to repeate the scene.
> *




Oh, it was sooo close. Mara went, and the shadow had the very next initiative. She was the only chance.

"Do you want me to roll the miss chance, or you do want to roll it?"

Mara's player looked aggrieved. "I'll roll it."

"Okay," I said. "You want a miss on low or high?"

"Pick low!" urges Sagiro. "The dice have been rolling high all night." But Mara's player goes with high instead, and after declaring that she activates all kinds of smiting and divine feats, she rolls her d20 to see if the attacks against the incorporeal monster hit.

Rolls the miss chance for the first attack.  17. Groans.
Rolls the miss chance for the second attack. 19. Starts looking worried. "Change it to low!" someone urges, but she ignores them.
Rolls the miss chance on the third attack. 12. More agonized groans from around the table. I start suspecting that my villain may get away.
Rolls the fourth attack. 6!  Rolls to hit and easily makes contact, and the table erupts into impromptu cheering as Mara does 22 points of damage to a monster with only 3 hit points left. Accursed _mass heal_!  Accursed paladin!


----------



## Piratecat

AJA said:
			
		

> *
> "Silent light thunders through the room like a cascade of falling bricks."
> 
> Absolutely wonderful! I've read this sentence several times over -- fantastic, even though I'm not sure I can completely visualize it! *




A water tower, high over your head. The bottom gives way. You look up and you can see it coming.  Millions of gallons of crystal water falling, falling down at your head, shaking the air with its passage - only it's made of light, and shaped like masonry, and it splashes through you without harm.

Unless you're undead. If you're undead, the water hits you and carries you away.


----------



## Piratecat

Agar is healed by the clerics, even as the first wave of ghouls reaches the far side of the _sovereign wall_.  “It should hold them back,” Velendo says with confidence. “There’s just a narrow gap along the top near the ceiling. Even if they use each other as ladders, it’s going to take them some time.” He has to raise his voice a bit to be heard; howls, slurps, and wailing echoes crazily about the cavern in a disturbing cacophony of noise that reminds Agar of Pandemonium.  

“Then let’s take the fight to them.” Tao stretches in anticipation and makes sure her swords are loose in their sheaths.  As she does so, Mara and Malachite return to the group from the edges of the courtyard, where they were scanning for hidden shadows. Since Mara can’t _detect undead_ herself, she had borrowed Karthos from Malachite. The sword seems disappointed to be passed from the beautiful paladin back to the grim hunter of the dead.

“Hang on, something is odd,” says Nolin, peering forwards. “Agar, didn’t you say that they were spread far apart in formation?”  Nolin gestures out into the darkness. At the very edges of their _darkvision_, the group can see the ghouls clustered up at the wall. It looks like there are more than a thousand of them now, tightly packed and clambering over one another in their eagerness to acquire fresh meat. Their long nails scrape along the wall of force as they seek some sort of purchase.

“Well, there’s one way to break them up,” says Nolin, and he cheerfully utters the command word for his previously placed _fire seeds_. Tao does the same for her _seeds_ that Nolin already placed, and multiple explosions signal their effectiveness in the tightly packed ghoulish army.  Ghouls are thrown upwards, screeching, but the press at the wall redoubles.  Then the ghouls back away, and a single figure stands at the front of the army. It’s a dwarf; old, tall, ruggedly handsome, and very very dead. The resemblance to the dwarven prince would be obvious even if the ghoulish dwarf wasn’t wearing a bejeweled crown. Angry and terrified murmurs radiate out amongst the dwarven soldiers in the courtyard.

“The King is undead,” says Nolin _sotto voce_. “Long live the King.”

With that, the Defenders of Daybreak move forward to take on the ghoulish horde.

On vast fiery phoenix wings, Nolin soars to the top of the _sovereign wall_ and casts two _fireballs_ after swooping through the gap. The powerful _fireballs_ tear into the tightly packed army, burning away some ghouls while leaving others totally uninjured.  In the light of burning and twitching corpses, Nolin can see the packed masses of the dead beneath him.  He flies forward, the foul stench of their bodies filling the air and making it hard to breathe, and the ghouls reach up for him as if they were grasping for a particularly plump and juicy fruit on a tree. A few spears clatter off the uneven ceiling above his head, and he banks around a stalactite.

Malachite runs to the wall with Karthos in one hand. The paladin _levitates_ up to the gap and looks down at the clambering ghouls that are climbing each other’s bodies. “No,” he says simply, and thrusts forward his hand as he calls on his faith. The divine radiance of Aeos pours forth, focused through Malachite’s soul, and more than half of the ghouls within a hundred feet of him turn into ash. Karthos sings in triumph at his side, echoing the divine song that resonates through Malachite whenever the Hunter of the Dead calls on his power.

Looking down, though, Malachite can’t help but notice that there are many fewer corpses beneath him than there should be. Either he completely _disintegrated_ them, or something strange is happening! He lets the group know via his _mindlink_, and Velendo confirms his suspicions. 

“I have _true seeing_ up, and only about one in four of the ghouls is real. The rest are illusions.”  Using his new _winged boots_ to fly, Velendo unleashes an incredibly powerful _fire storm_ centered on the spot where the undead dwarven king is standing, and pauses to observe the results as the air itself catches fire. “The King wasn’t real, either. Keep your eyes open for spellcasters.” He ducks down as a bone spear shatters on the wall in front of him, and then begins another prayer.

As the dwarven troops roll out siege ladders to mount the wall themselves and take the fight to the enemy – _No cowards there!_ thinks Agar – Mara leaps atop Luminor and pulls Galthia up behind her. “Hang on,” she says as she shakes her long golden hair away from her face, and the warhorse activates the magical harness that gives him pegasus wings once a day. Luminor gallops easily into the air, banks tightly, and speeds towards the narrow gap between _sovereign wall_ and ceiling.  Galthia’s narrow face pinches as he calculates that there isn’t a chance in hell of the large warhorse actually clearing the gap. 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The monk points, but Mara simply repeats her previous suggestion. “Hang on!” The flying warhorse angles itself, gathers even more speed, and ducks its head as it pulls all four legs in tight against its body. Mara leans as far back as she can, and Galthia is forced to do the same. 

Galthia blinks as the cracked base of a broken-off stalactite whizzes past just inches from his nose, and he can feel the horse suddenly falling and lurching in mid-air. Then there is a *WHOMP* as the long feathery wings catch the rancid air, and they’re safely through the gap.

“Nice riding,” the monk mutters, and Mara grins in the darkness. Luminor does a barrel roll sideways to avoid a barrage of bone spears, and Galthia looks down. Riding with Mara is a little bit like traveling through Limbo.  “I’ll let you know where to let me off,” he shouts over the wind, and Mara nods.

Tao grabs a hold of anyone who wants to come, and _dimension doors_ into the heart of the disorganized ghoulish army. As Malachite lowers himself to join her and Velendo flies by overhead, she and Splinder use their weapons to great effect, cleaving through the ghouls already weakened by Malachite’s _positive energy burst_. Soon the ground around the three of them looks like a charnel field.  The newly formed undead foot soldiers throw themselves at the heroes, but their flailing limbs aren’t skilled enough to easily batter their way past magical armor or well-wielded weapons.  Tao’s two swords are a blur, and despite the undead’s natural resistance to damage she has little trouble in clearing away her enemies.

Behind her, one ghoulish hobgoblin does score a hit on Malachite when his companions aid him by flinging him bodily forward into their foe! Blood trailing down his cheek, Malachite easily fights down the creeping paralysis and batters the hobgoblin’s skull in with the hilt of Karthos. One of the dwarves rushes in and finishes it off, and Malachite realizes that the dwarves are ensuring that no more ghouls have a chance to rise again.  Good.

A huge bone spear arcs out of the darkness, missing Nolin and shattering on the force wall.  “Undead siege engine!” calls Nolin in a ringing voice, and wheels in the air to fly back and carry Malachite and Tao.  Hearing him, Velendo flies forward.

Rising from the darkness in front of the old cleric is a lumbering, hideous insect-like skeletal construct. It has at least six legs, and it is using its own massive ribs as ammunition as it slowly winches back the huge bone ballista on its back. Around it, several dozen ghouls scurry in attendance. Velendo dodges a bone spear and begins to cast.  Within seconds, a _blade barrier_ shimmers into existence next to the siege engine’s front legs, and bone chips fly as the magical blades begin to spin.  

 “There!” Galthia points, and Mara angles Luminor towards the siege engine. As she swoops past and leans to hit it with her holy mace, Galthia leaps nimbly from the back of the horse onto the bone structure itself. He balances on a narrow and quivering rib, pulls out his magical staff, and begins attacking.

The siege engine doesn’t last more than another fifteen seconds. The _blade barrier_ chops into its front set of legs and a _searing light_ from Velendo shatters a skeletal arm, just before Galthia’s _staff of disruption_ destroys its back half with an roaring explosion of golden sparks. The monk nimbly leaps clear of the magical blades, and they watch as the huge undead construct collapses.

It takes the Defenders another fifteen or thirty minutes to mop up most of the remaining ghouls, although they use many of their remaining spells to do so. Velendo uses another _wall_ to block one of the cavern entrances, and although he suspects a handful of undead have successfully escaped, the vast army has effectively been destroyed. 

Success.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

coyote6 said:
			
		

> *
> So did y'all simply hit the fast forward button at this point and say, "Job done, 20 minutes gone, mark off X spells"? *




Pretty much. After they took out the skeletal siege engine and slew the important leaders, the ghouls' force degenerated from an organized army into a scampering mob. It was simple for the Defenders to take them apart at that point, so we fast-forwarded. With the last use of Malachite's _positive energy burst_, they managed to destroy the last major clump that was trying to escape, and then it was all over but the shouting.


----------



## Piratecat

Later, filthy and exhausted, the group gathers in the courtyard. Velendo creates a _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ and invites the dwarven troops in to feast on the gourmet food that Calphas has created.

“I’m still worried,” the dwarven prince – now king? – says. “Reports are that the ghouls who took Mrid numbered in the thousands, and had many more siege engines. I’d like to know where they went if they didn’t come here.” He pulls out a map, and points to a series of tunnels. “They may have gone up this way. There are orcs up here, and giants as well. We’ve never been able to invade them. Hopefully, these ghouls won’t, either.”

Nolin nods. “It’s quite possible that they considered you just a minor roadblock, a distraction. They probably didn’t think you could withstand the force they sent.”

The prince nods. “And we almost didn’t, either. We owe you a great debt. If you are going to take back Mrid, we’ll come with you.” The group exchanges glances.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, your Majesty,” says Mara. Velendo agrees.

“Best to stay fortified here. We can cast a _sending_ to try and gather more reinforcements for you. The best thing you can do is provide us with information and maps.”

“Indeed.” The dwarf nods, and then a crafty look passes over his tired and smudged face. “I have just the person to send with you. Our most knowledgeable Loremaster.” He looks over at an unhappy and pathetic-looking dwarf wearing jester’s motley, jingling by himself over in the corner.

“Not him?”

“Glibstone!” the prince roars. 

The jester jingles over and half-heartedly bows, bells tinkling. “Prithee, m'lord, wish ye a riddle?  What is the difference between a dwarf in the forest and one who has been hit by an acid arrow?”  The Defenders all look at Nolin, who slowly shakes his head.  Glibstone gives a grimace that might, possibly, be mistaken for a smile in very dim light. “One meets the elfs, and the other one eats the Melf's!” He looks at the prince hopefully. The prince catches and holds the Loremaster’s eye.

“Glibstone, these heroes are traveling back to Mrid.  You're going with them.”

“Mrid, your Majesty?” Glibstone gulps, bells a-jingle, and looks momentarily hopeful. “The ghouls are gone, then?” The prince shakes his head, and the jester’s face falls.

“No. But they will need to know and travel the secret ways, and no one knows the ancient runes and old lore better than yourself.”  

“I could write it down, my lo-“

“Don’t be foolish, Glibstone.” The prince turns back to the Defenders as Glibstone jingles slightly. “There is a vault and an armory inside the palace, a vault that contains our greatest treasures.” Prince Stern leans forward, face clouded with worry and sorrow. “My father would have fallen before he revealed the secret to the ghouls, and I doubt that the ghouls will have pierced the secrets of the vault themselves. If they haven’t, I give you leave to borrow what weapons and armor you need, for as long as you oppose these thrice damned ghouls!” He’s standing now, shouting, and with an effort he regains control of himself.  He gestures with his clenched fist. “Glibstone can get you into the vault, and will return with whatever treasures you don’t need. With those, we’ll equip our own troops, and hopefully be ready for the next assault.”  

“Are you sure, my lord?” asks Mara. “We don’t need a reward.”

“Indeed. That’s why I trust you to do this.”  The prince stands, nods to the jester, and strides across the hall to speak with one of his soldiers.

The table falls silent.

The Loremaster clears his throat awkwardly and harrumphs. “So…” he says. “Hey nonny nonny?  Er. You know how to tell how old an elf is?”

Nolin lean back and crosses his arms. “Cut him in half and count the rings?”

“No, m’lord, that would be for a half-elf.” He looks around as if looking for an escape, and Velendo laughs as he stands up. 

“Glad to have you with us, Glibstone. We’ll value your knowledge.”

<> - <> - <> - <> - <>

It’s a tired group of heroes who fall asleep in the safety of their _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ that night. When the Defenders retire, the outer cavern is being thoroughly searched for valuables and items, and any ghoulish bodies are being stacked for incineration as any lone ghouls are hunted down and destroyed. The well-fed dwarves of Mridsgate have proper security precautions in place, and the adventurers feel secure enough to bid them a good evening as they close the door to the castle and queue up to bathe before bed. The hot water feels delightful.

“What are we going to do about Kellharin?” asks Velendo as they sit in the library afterwards, warm robes wrapped around them and a blazing fire warming their skin. 

“Tomorrow,” the group agrees, “we’ll decide tomorrow.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

A quick description of the _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_:

Covering 5100 sq. feet, this interdimensional space is dominated by an ornate and well-decorated Great Hall. The Great Hall has a stage for Nolin, two long tables loaded with food, a beautiful fountain, and a whole lot of carvings of saints that all mysteriously look like Velendo when he's not paying attention to them.

Off of the Hall is a stable/exercise room, a large chapel to Calphas, a comfortable library, three small chapels (to Aeos, Galanna and Moradin), a bath, and a hallway. The hallway leads to bedrooms, more baths, and a common room for the dwarven troops. 

If anyone knows how to take an Excel spreadsheet and turn it into a jpg, email me privately and I’ll post a map!


----------



## Piratecat

Here's a quick map of the CCC, where 1 square = 5 ft.  Thanks, everyone who gave me advice!  

1. The Great Hall. 
2. Exercise and practice room, complete with closed pit. Also used as stables.
3. Chapel to Calphas.
4. Library with comfortable chairs and a cozy fireplace.
5. Bathroom with hot and cold tubs. Primarily used by dwarves.
6. Dwarvish barracks. Sleeps 30 in bunk beds.
7. Dwarvish common room.
8. Splinder's bedroom.
9. Agar's bedroom.
10. Velendo's bedroom.
11. Tao's bedroom.
12. Women's bathroom. Connected to library by narrow hallway (21) for the convenience of female Defenders.
13. Mara's bedroom.
14. Galthia's bedroom.
15. Men's bathroom.
16. Malachite's bedroom.
17. Nolin's bedroom.
18. Small chapel to Moradin.
19. Small chapel to Galanna.
20. Small chapel to Aeos.
21. Narrow (3 ft. wide) hallway.


----------



## Piratecat

Tao runs through the tunnel. She can hear the ghoul’s footsteps in front of her, but no matter how quickly she runs she can’t seem to catch up. It knows all of the twists and turns in the passageway, and she’s running blindly as she tries to run it down. Her breath rasps in her lungs.

Then the cave wall in front of her lights up with a vibrant green light, and Tao realizes that the light is coming from her eyes. Tao feels her own mouth open, and the words that emerge are in the tongue of her Goddess.  *AWAKE, TAO. THE TEMPLE HAS BEEN DEFILED!*

Wrenched from her dream, the divine agent sits straight up in bed. Other than the faint glow of magical weapons, the only illumination in the small room is the coruscating green light that still pours from Tao’s eyes.  Her Goddess’s voice still rings in her ears, and Tao instinctively knows that the small shrine here in the _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ has been either destroyed or defiled. “Thank you, Goddess,” she says reverently as she scrambles out of bed in a panic.

Meanwhile, Mara awakes from a sound sleep to the frantic mental neighing of her warhorse. “Luminor, what is it?” asks Mara as she sleepily sits up and swings her legs around.  Her flannel nightdress with images of the sun bunches slightly as she gets to her feet.

_“I’m in the stable, and there’s something horrible on the other side of the door! It’s coming closer, I think; it might smell me. Do I kick down the door and fight it?”_

“No, not yet!” Mara looks at her armor, dismisses it as taking too long to don, and grabs her holy shield and her mace _Lightbinder_. “Stay put, and don’t leave the room unless you have to. I’m on my way now!” She wrenches open the door to the hallway, and is caught by surprise as solid darkness flows into her room. The light from her mace is extinguished, and Mara finds that she is completely sightless.  Blindly, she turns right and begins to grope her way along the corridor, heading for the less crowded back passage to the main hall. 

Across the hall, Tao has grabbed her swords and opened her door as well, only to find the same complete darkness enveloping her.  “Wake up, everyone!” she yells at the top of her voice, shouting the phrase that for years the group has joked will be guaranteed to wake everyone up instantly. “Evil undead Torazite babes are stealing all the beer!  We’re being attacked!”  Then she is jostled by Mara in the darkness.  “Come with me,” she says as she grasps the paladin’s shoulder.  Tao closes her eyes, concentrates, and _dimension doors_ the two of them into the small chapel of Galanna that Velendo has created off of the main hall.

With Tao’s shouting and the faint sound of Luminor’s whinnying, the other Defenders begin to wake. Galthia is the first to reach his feet, bounding up from the floor where he sleeps and scooping up the staff that lies on the overly soft bed next to him. He swivels his head and notices the thin line of darkness that creeps into the room from the crack under his door. _That hardly matters_, he thinks, as he remembers the year he spent blinded in order to improve his fighting reflexes. _I wonder if these primes are properly trained to fight in darkness as well? Likely not._  Relying on his ears and memory instead of his eyes, Galthia swings open the door and runs down the hall past his companions’ rooms. He can hear many noises: Velendo grumbling as he wakes, Nolin mouthing inanities, Karthos speaking to Malachite, and dozens of dwarves stirring. More worrisome, though, is the odor he smells coming from the main dining hall. Something smells acrid, like an alchemical experiment gone awry, and a faint hissing sound reaches his ears. He hears no other sounds from the room as he rounds the corner of the hallway.

In Malachite’s room, Karthos is speaking. “I sense no undead, Sir Malachite,” he says with a metallic ring, “but there is _something_ horribly evil out there. I’m not sure what; fiendish, possibly. Let’s go kill it.”  Malachite thanks him as he draws the sword from its scabbard and heads out his door without his shield or crystal armor.  Darkness immediately surrounds him, and Malachite decides to test its limits. 

He begins to swing Karthos in circles over his head. The sword immediately begins to radiate sunlight and heat, and the solid darkness lessens into flickering torchlight in the area immediately around the paladin. _Satisfactory,_ he thinks, then he turns and heads into the darkness towards the great hall.  As he does, Velendo and Agar open their bedroom doors and try to look out into the hall. 

Still in his room, Nolin swears as he quickly grabs his instrument and cloak. _I’m going to have to have words with Velendo_, he thinks to himself. _I thought this place was supposed to be impregnable._ Ignoring the easy joke, he reaches inside of himself to the phoenix that shares his soul. _“Rides the Sun, do you sense anything?”_  The knowledge of great evil fills Nolin, along with the certainty that its only feet away from him on the other side of the stone wall. Nolin briefly considers blasting open the wall with his _blast harp_ to get there without delay, but decides to go around via the hallway instead.

Tao and Mara reappear in what should be Tao’s plant-filled chapel, but something is horribly wrong. The Altar Tree is completely dead and withered, seared away by something unknown. Puddles of gooey fluid cover the floor, and the air smells horrible. They still can’t see due to the darkness, but both Tao and Mara can feel the puddles of fluid eating into their slippers and the bottom of their feet. “Acid,” Tao says to herself, and is surprised to find that she can’t even hear her voice. _Silence_, she thinks, and they both step out into the darkness of the main hall.

By now Galthia has rounded the corner and entered the main hall himself, his _staff of disruption_ poised to strike. Suddenly he can’t hear anything, and instincts kick in as he tries to dodge to the side. He’s not fast enough. Something strikes him like a juggernaut, something horrible and slimy that breaks over him with bone-crushing force and sweeps him up off the ground. The monk desperately twists as he looks for leverage to escape, but there is none. Blind and deaf, he feels dozens of mouths beginning to gnaw at his skin, even as searing pain from some sort of acid shoots down his body. No one hears his involuntary scream.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

At this point, the arcane spellcasters have only had six hours of sleep, and it's about two or three hours before the divine spellcasters regain their spells.  A wave of grimaces swept around the room when KidCthulhu said, "When was the last time we fought a battle without _mass haste_?"  Tao's player asked, "You're out?"  KidC replied, "Totally tapped. Not a high level spell in sight."

No one looked pleased.

Incidentally, this game starred our very own Lord Nightshade (Justin Tindel) as a guest player. Justin was visiting from Oregon, and played a wonderful alienist.  

So Sagiro (who plays Velendo) thought it was really cool when I had designed the CCC map earlier that week, using nothing but Excel. When this encounter began, I pulled out the 4-page map I'd printed out to scale and taped together. "You bastard!" he said. "I was afraid you were going to do something like this."  It's a good looking map at a large scale, and worked wonderfully when trying to figure out who was where.


----------



## Piratecat

In the dark, Mara cautiously moves forward into the room. As she does so, something huge smashes her back against the wall. She feels acid soaking her front and peeling off her skin, and the pain is intense. She grits her teeth and continues forward, swinging blindly into the darkness. As far as she can tell, she doesn’t connect with anything. Next to her, Tao squints blindly into the darkness, trying to use her other senses. 

On the other side of the hall, Malachite rounds the corner with several people behind him, all bunched up as they try to stay in range of the sunlight produced by Malachite’s holy sword.  Agar pokes his head around the corner as well, and blinks in surprise. “Oh my… be careful, everyone! I still have _arcane sight_ up, and there are….” He hastily counts magical auras coming from the dark room in front of him, “almost THIRTY spells active on whatever is in there! Something has been really heavily enchanted for a fight!”

“Noted,” growls Malachite, and he swings Karthos over his head as they advance into the large room. Sunlight streams out from the sword and is immediately swallowed by the pervasive darkness. They cancel each other out, though, and the torches on the wall suddenly flutter back into life.  

In the flickering torchlight, the group sees something horrible. Galthia hangs suspended in mid-air, turning and struggling as his skin is eaten away by powerful acid. The thing holding him is invisible, but Galthia seems unable to break free from its overpowering grasp. He’s completely silent.  Beneath him, drops of smoking acid fall like rain onto the stone floor.

Malachite steps forward one more pace and swings, taking his best guess at where the invisible monster is. His sword misses.  Splinder is luckier, his axe chopping into the unseen assailant and passing through cleanly.  The blade begins to pit even as he watches, and Splinder mutters an oath in dwarvish. “Acid!” he explains. “Watch yer weapons! One more hit ‘n this’ll be gone!” 

Velendo silently calculates how much trouble they’re in, and with a frown pulls out the wand that he hurriedly grabbed on his way out of his room. “Not many more of these,” he complains to no one in particular, and levels the wand at the invisible monster as he triggers one of the few remaining charges. A _maximized dispel magic_ emerges from it. 

The effect on the creature is remarkable. Enchantments peel away from it like wet tissue, one spell after another sparking and crackling as it is dispelled. There is a horrible burbling, slurping, _wet_ noise as the _silence_ and _fly_ spells fail, and the massive creature drops four feet to the ground with Galthia still firmly encased inside of it. The air is filled with a horrible hissing noise that sounds like an alchemical experiment gone awry. 

The creature is hideous… and gargantuan. Fully 35 ft. long and 20 ft. wide, the pulsing ooze smells of brimstone and acid, and it glows the blackish red color of cooling coals. Unseen skeletal hands and faces push out from the inside, pressing against the bulging surface as if trying to reach fresh meat, and dozens of humanoid mouths open and close along its surface. The monk is literally encased inside of the creature, being eaten alive by the hungry mouths.

“Oh my God,” someone says.

“How did that get in here?” shouts Velendo.

“Who cares!” yells Tao from the other side of the room. “Just kill it!” She catches something out of the corner of her eye; a second monster, some sort of skeletal soldier, stands unmovingly next to the only door to the outside. She groans to herself, shouts a warning to the group, and focuses her attention on the ooze-like thing in front of her.

Something interesting is happening where Splinder slashed it, however. A throbbing sore has traveled across the creature’s body, a wound that looks like a thickened scab. With a wet sucking sound, the monster _separates_ into *two* huge monsters, each easily 20 ft. square. 

Galthia decides to take advantage of the situation. The split down the monster’s middle occurs right over the place where his struggling body is trapped, and the monk desperately wrenches himself up and out of the acidic ooze. Teeth and claws do their best to hold him back, but he manages to pull free, tumbling away and staggering to his feet.

“That’s better,” Galthia manages to gasp.  He focuses his mind and pounds his fists against his own body, healing his wounds by force of will alone.  Then he takes one more step, and the hideous creature surges hungrily after him. A vast pseudopod slams down against the back of Galthia’s head. He tries to escape, but the pulsing monster is too strong, and once again he’s sucked back into its midst. A large piece of his loose clothing is sheared off by the acid, and lies disintegrating on the pitted stone floor where his feet stood just seconds before.

Across the room, the other portion of the monster that isn’t busy digesting Galthia bulges forward to engulf Mara. The paladin crouches behind her magical shield as the acidic pseudopod slams into her, and she barely manages to avoid being drawn into its bulk. Behind her, Tao quickly reaches out with a healing prayer, reducing some of the brutal acid damage that Mara has suffered.

As the pseudopod is reabsorbed into the monster, Mara moves forward to attack its bulk. “Think blunt weapons will split it?” she calls out urgently, but no one has a good answer for her. She doesn’t have a chance to find out. As she advances, a second tentacle bursts out, and Mara is knocked backwards before being involuntarily engulfed. Tao watches helplessly as Mara disappears into the monster, her recently healed wounds reopening under the flow of fresh acid. 

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Mara can hear Luminor screaming inside of her head, but the sound of the horse hammering at the stone door is muffled by the acidic ooze that surrounds her head. _I’m okay, Luminor!_ she reassures her mount, but the pain that surges through her body belies the calm statement. Mara can feel teeth gnawing at her dissolving flesh, and realizes that she’s simply not strong enough to break free. She can also feel the acid dissolving her prim cotton nightdress. _Well, *that’s* going to be interesting,_ she thinks with a wave of shyness, but she has more pressing worries.

Across the room, the Defenders attack en masse. Splinder changes weapons, takes a defensive stance, and slashes with an old weapon. His old axe dissolves completely, and the large portion of the monster shudders as it begins to split a second time. Malachite swings Karthos, and the sword emerges screaming in pain from the acid.  _Magic missiles_ from Agar pummel the writhing ooze,  and a _searing light_ from Velendo burns into its interior. Standing at the doorway, Nolin holds his _blast harp_ up to his lips, and sends a crushing wave of ultrasonic energy into the quivering monster. It doesn’t drop Galthia, but huge rents are being blasted in its undulating surface.

Splinder quickly realizes that this is no place for his dwarven troops. “Get back, all of you!” he commands, and the dwarves who were waiting to enter and attack instead back away to give the more experienced heroes room to maneuver.

Galthia feels his magical _staff of disruption_ disintegrate from between his fingers, just as the last of his clothing rots away from the acid. His fingers pierce the surface of the creature, and he wrenches open a gap large enough to pull himself out of.  He twists his burned body out of the narrow opening, and tumbles away from the splitting creature. Naked and acid-seared, Galthia finishes his escape across the room next to Nolin.

Unable to reach the half-dissolved and still juicy githzerai, the battered portion of the ooze surges forward and attacks Malachite instead. Meanwhile, the second portion of the monster works busily on digesting Mara, even as the third portion does its best to engulf Tao. She grips the doorway with her _gauntlet of adamant grasp_ instead, and the tentacle recedes back into the monster without taking her with it. Tao’s eyes narrow, and she casts _plane shift_ as she slaps her open palm down on the ooze that has Mara trapped. “Let’s let someone on the Beastlands deal with you,” she says, and the monster shimmers and vanishes across the planes. Naked except for her shield, Mara drops to the floor, her skin sizzling. Tao shakes the acid from her open hand.

“Wow!” admires Agar. Whether he’s referring to the _plane shift_ or the naked paladin is unclear. Mara quickly repositions her shield in front of her and staggers to her feet. “Nice ass,” comments Tao, and Mara flashes her a dirty look. Behind her shield, the paladin discreetly _lays on hands_ to heal her own wounds.

“Don’t you think Galanna is going to object to you sending a horrible acidic monster to her home plane?” Velendo asks concernedly from across the room, shouting over the sounds of combat.  Tao look slightly embarrassed as she replies. 

“Err… I didn’t have any other choice. I’m sure she’ll let me know if it’s a problem.” Her green eyes glance around, as if expecting Galanna to object immediately, but the well-known celestial voice stays quiet. 

Three pieces of ooze remain. Instead of attacking, Malachite holds up Karthos. “Can you _lay hilt_ on yourself?” he asks.  The sword answers by flashing with sunlight, and before Malachite’s eyes the acid-worn holes in the blade refill with new metal. “Nice,” comments Malachite, and he turns back to the oozes just as spells from Agar, Velendo and Nolin go off almost simultaneously. One of the oozes quivers and deliquesces in burning slime, and the other two shudder from the damage. Ghoulish faces thrust up from the creatures’ backs, howling in pain from multiple mouths, and the Defenders grimace.

It quickly becomes apparent that the smaller the pieces of the creature, the more difficulty it has engulfing people. As a result, the sections are chopped up into smaller bits that are attacked by the Defenders’ few remaining area effect spells. The monster seems to have a natural resistance to spells and fire, but within half a minute the creature is completely destroyed. So is Galthia’s staff, however, and Mara’s holy mace is badly damaged. Malachite’s sword Karthos would be destroyed as well if Mara hadn’t stepped in and healed it, her holy power repairing its acid damage. 

Still clad in bed clothes – for those who weren’t engulfed, at least – the group turns to the umber hulk-like bone creature that stands unmovingly before the exit door. “It isn’t undead,” confirms Malachite. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Construct, maybe,” says Velendo.  As they approach it warily, a mouth opens up on its skull-like face.  “This didn’t have to happen,” begins Kellharin’s wheedling voice from the _magic mouth_. 

“I’ve heard enough,” says Velendo flatly, interrupting the voice. He casts one of his few remaining Wall spells to hedge the construct into a narrow area. _Flying_ up to the narrow gap at the top of the wall, he casts _blade barrier_ down into the tight space.  Metal shards and bone chips fly everywhere, bouncing off of the _wall of force_. Within a handful of seconds, the magical blades whir above nothing more than a low pile of shattered bone and scrap metal. 

“That bastard.”  Velendo looks around the acid-scarred sanctuary, taking in his battered and angry friends with his gaze.  “One thing is for sure,” he begins wearily.  He gets cut off as the rest of the Defenders finish his sentence for him.

“We’re going to have to do something about Kellharin.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The faint smell of acid and brimstone still hangs in the air. Sitting in the comfortable library at 3:30 am, the Defenders snack on what few pieces of food survived the acid-bath while they debate their best plan for survival and victory.  With them is Raevynn, Kiri and Shara, all of whom prismed in during the aftermath of the battle; they were confused until Agar explained that they had probably slipped into the null-time plane earlier that day. Nolin explains to the three of them what just occurred, and they join in the discussion.

“My best guess,” Agar is saying as he sucks reflectively on his lit pipe, “is that Kellharin used a _gate_ spell to pierce the planar boundaries of the _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle._  He must have _scried_ someone here in the Castle, noted where they were, and then ripped a hole into it from the Prime.  It wasn’t me; my _detect scrying_ would have told me.”  He looks around questioningly, and Tao looks disgusted.

“It was probably me,” she says in a tired voice. “The thing appeared in my chapel. He must have watched me while I was praying.”  Everyone looks at her with sympathy.

“So what are we going to do?” Velendo asks. “That thing was horrible! If he can send something like that in here whenever he wants, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Indeed we are!” exclaims Karthos the sword in a metallic voice. “I myself was injured near unto death. If it were not for Sir Malachite's skill at arms and Commander Mara’s miraculous healing touch, I would be nothing more than scrap metal right now.”  It’s hard to tell, but it looks like the sword is gazing adoringly at the now-clothed paladin. Malachite sighs, perfunctorily agrees with the sword, and quickly sheathes it.  Mara looks unruffled.

“That reminds me,” she says over the muffled sound of the still-talking sword. “My mace _Lightbinder_ is badly damaged. I’ll need to try and get it fixed somehow.”

“Well,” snorts Splinder, “it’s not like we have any shortage of dwarves, and there’s got to be a good weaponsmith in Mridsgate. I’ve even got a decent one in my own ranks. I’ll check tomorrow.” Mara nods her thanks with a wide smile. 

“How often do you suppose he can do that?” Malachite asks.   

“Kellharin?  I dunno,” answers Agar. “Depends on how powerful he is, really. Only once, I hope.” The group talks for a few more minutes about possible strategies for protecting the sanctuary, but doesn’t settle on anything in particular. 

“The question is,” asks Raevynn, “should we take the fight to him? I don’t know how long it will be before I slip back into another plane, but I’d like to get him if we can.” She shoots Agar a dirty look, and he pretends to ignore it.

Kiri agrees. “With Shara and I here, we have a lot more arcane firepower than we usually do. The two of us can always return to Eversink later tomorrow. For now, lets find a way to _teleport_ in and take him out.”

Shara looks at her questioningly.  “I was under the impression that it was impossible to teleport deep underground.”

“That’s true,” agrees Velendo, “but we’re not so sure he is deep underground. We’ve scryed him once; he’s actually a dwarf, and he appeared to be asleep or projecting when we saw him. Let’s take a look at all of our auguries, legend lores and divinations concerning him.”

The group lays the transcripts out on the table.


* The White Kingdom knows of the path, but the rotting dwarf is stalled by his own Kingdom’s defense.
-	Nolin’s legend lore on traveling through the abandoned dwarven city of  Tuz’Zud.

Kellharin guards the ebon door, his evil stopped from doing more
Cursed to stay beyond the day the dwarves were forced to go their way.
	- Agar’s vision of the name Kellharin*
As the group begins to tiredly look at the prophecies, Karthos begins to talk urgently from within Malachite’s sheath. “This better be good,” Malachite says as he half-draws the blade.

“There is undead nearby!” exclaims Karthos with worry in his voice. “I can detect them!”

“Knock knock?” says a familiar voice as an undead dwarf leans around the corner of the door.  It holds out a bottle of blood-red wine in one hand and a bouquet of bone-white flowers in the other. “I brought a peace offering!” 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The Defenders all jump to their feet, drawing weapons as they do so. Kellharin waves a calloused hand dismissively, and a few carrion flies launch themselves into the air at his abrupt motion. “Sit down, sit down. No need to get up on my account.”

Velendo sighs heavily as he leans forward on the table. “Kellharin, what do you want? We’re all really tired, and we don’t have much patience for games.” 

The undead dwarf smiles ingratiatingly as he puts the old bottle of wine and the flowers down on the edge of the table. It’s now apparent that the bone white flowers have tiny splotches of crimson on them, like splatters of dried blood.  “Understood. I just wanted to thank you. I took a big risk earlier this evening when I asked my favorite pet to drive home my point. Instead of killing him, you were kind enough to _plane shift_ a section of him away. That was really thoughtful of you.”  He beams at the group.  “He’s already home safe.  So, I’m appreciative.”  He indicates the proffered wine and flowers, his smile stretching even wider.

In answer, Malachite sweeps his arm across the table. The wine bottle shatters when it hits the floor, splashing blood red fluid across the tumbled flowers. The Hunter of the Dead glares at the dwarf, sword half drawn.  “Anything else?” he asks icily.

Kellharin looks at this display of bad manners with unfeigned disappointment. He gazes up at the human looming above him.  “You know, I’ve been dead for some time,” he says reprovingly, “but I’m fairly sure that’s not how you treat guests. That was drow wine, you know, hundreds of years old!”  One of the carrion flies settles back on his cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re _not_ a guest.”

Kellharin clears his throat noisily, patchy beard bobbing.  “I suppose not. It’s a shame; there is seldom opportunity for polite conversation in our kingdom. Too much to do. I also wanted to point out that your group is entirely vulnerable to us. Do you really want to….”

Malachite interrupts, speaking over his shoulder to Velendo. “Is there any reason to wait?” Karthos leaps to the paladin’s hand.

“…spend months of your precious life sleeping poorly and looking over your shoulder, wondering when we’ll launch an attack? Really, I don’t think it’s too late for us to find a com….” 

“No,” answers Velendo with a shake of his head.

“…promise, an interim solution.”  Kellharin looks hopeful.

Long sword flashing, Malachite slashes him down in a single blow.  

The dwarf’s clotted bodily fluids join the flowers and the wine bottle in a grotesque puddle on the carpeted floor. Well, half of the wine bottle, anyways. Malachite looks up, and sees Splinder at the end of the table, swigging down the unbroken half as he watches the confrontation.

“What are you doing?” asks Velendo, aggrieved. “It could be poisoned!”

“Nah,” answers Splinder. “Good stuff. A little fruity for my personal taste, though.”

The group sits in silence for a minute, and then Nolin pushes himself back to his feet. “We’ve really got to do something about him. But for now, I’m going to bed.  If there are any more emergencies, don’t bother waking me up.” He stomps down the hall. One by one, the others follow him.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

By noon the next day, the Defenders have gotten some sleep and prepared their spells. Nothing else tried to break into their _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_, and Velendo starts the day by casting a _divination_ about their chances for success if they _scry_ Kellharin and _teleport_ in to kill him.

What he receives is this:


_Does the wall tumble down when the mason falls from grace?
Can a tyrant build a gate that shields his peasants from attack?
Can a demon hate a devil, while a deva hates a fiend?
Do the colors of the standard ever change and change again?_
“What in the world does that mean?” complains Malachite grumpily over a cold brunch of salt pork and hard biscuits, a big change from the gourmet food that was destroyed the night before. “Whatever happened to a nice simple _weal_ or _woe_?”

Velendo looks lost in thought as he stares at the paper. “Calphas’ wisdom is perfect,” he says slowly, “but my interpretation of it leaves a little bit to be desired. This is how my mind understood the divine message. Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

Taking it literally, they decide that:

 No. Normal walls don’t usually fall just because the mason has become corrupted.
  Yes. It’s certainly possible for a tyrant to care for and shield people weaker than himself.
 Yes. Demons do hate devils, and devas hate fiends. (They don’t discuss the concept that devas may not bother to distinguish between devils and demons in their hatred.)
  Yes. The colors of a standard (a flag) can certainly change, especially when it’s captured or someone has raised a false flag to fool the enemy.
“But will fighting him bring weal or woe? And what does it *mean*?” asks Agar. 

Velendo scratches his chin. “It looks like most of the answers are ‘yes’, which suggests we should go ahead. But I can’t help but think I’m missing something.  Tao, when is the next time you can talk to Galanna?”

“A few more days, unless we have a whole lot of things to ask. I only get an _audience_ with her twice a year.”

They discuss what else they know of Kellharin. As far as the group knows, he’s an armor-wearing undead dwarf who doesn't look like a true ghoul.  He’s either a powerful wizard or a cleric, and the armor suggests a cleric; either way, he's deeply religious.  He can send his consciousness into other undead.  He’s not located deep in the underdark; instead, he’s apparently trapped in the abandoned Dwarven city of Tuz’zud nearer to the surface. They know that a _commune_ indicated that going through Tuz’zud was the most efficient path to reach the heart of the White Kingdom. Nolin has heard ancient dwarvish chants about the fact that Tuz’zud was abandoned, but not one of the epic chants ever said why. He has also heard that the city was built as a defense, and held dwarven warriors that could hold back darkness.

That makes Nolin think of something. “You know, we have our very own dwarven loremaster, don’t we?” he asks. “Let’s go ask him about this ebon door. Also, Mara needs to drop her mace off with the dwarven weaponsmith to get it fixed.”

While the weaponsmith is alternately oohing over the mace’s quality and clucking his tongue at the acid damage, Nolin tracks down Glibstone. The jester is sitting glumly on a set of steps, chin settled firmly on his fists. He turns his head at Nolin’s approach, bells jingling, and after the customary joke or two Nolin explains that he wants information on what happened to Tuz’zud. Glibstone’s face closes tight, his eyes wary.

“No. Tuz’zud is _thuruk_… that is to say, taboo.  We do not discuss it. It is dead to us.”  He crosses his arms in front of his chest in stubborn defiance. The jingling of his bells somewhat spoils the effect.

Nolin looks at him in confusion. “What do you mean, taboo? Why is it taboo?  We need to know.”

“That information is _thuruk_ as well.”

“What are you talking about, man? You’re a loremaster! *No* information should be taboo!” Glibstone looks at the half-elf in fury.

“I would not expect you to understand. There is certain information which is best left forgotten. There is certain information which leads dwarves into corruption or temptation, while there would be no threat if they had never been tempted. It is the Loremaster’s duty to guard the knowledge that must not be passed down, just as it is his duty to pass down the information that should be known.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”  Nolin rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have the slightest bit of curiosity about forbidden knowledge?”

Glibstone is quite certain of his answer. “No.”

“Well, is there any information about Tuz’zud which you *can* tell us?”

The dwarf considers. “It was once a large city, more than 200 years ago,” he ventures. “They suffered a small plague that killed some 30% of the population. Within a hundred years of that time, the remaining inhabitants left Tuz’zud and went elsewhere. That is all.”

“Well, thanks,” Nolin says dubiously. “They didn’t delve too deep and awaken something, did they?”

“What?” asks Glibstone, confused. “Of course not.”

“Oh, good. That’s a nice change,” says Nolin as he gets up to leave.

“You must not go there!” warns Glibstone. “It is far from here, and it is forbidden.”

“Thanks,” Nolin repeats, and walks back to the courtyard.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

By the time Nolin gets back, Agar has Kellharin's image reflected in his _scrying_ mirror and is duplicating the image with a minor illusion. "He doesn't seem to have noticed me," Agar announces. "Either he's clever, sloppy or overconfident. I've cast _detect magic_ through the mirror; his armor and shield and weapon are extremely magical, and he has some other magic items, but I don't think I'm looking at a _screen_ or _false vision_."

Kellharin in person is a stocky dwarf clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive double-headed warhammer.  Agar watches him walk slowly along the edge of a great pillared hall. The dwarven knight stands before empty wall niches that might have once held statues, pausing at each before continuing on. Through the mirror, Agar can see a heavy track worn in the floor. Kellharin has clearly done this before.

“_Teleports_ ready?” Velendo asks. Kiri, Tao and Agar all nod.  “Defensive spells all cast?”  Everyone nods again. “Nolin?”

The bard casts _mass haste_, three people cast _teleport_, and the eleven heroes vanish. Behind them, the scrying mirror continues to show the scene for just a few seconds more, and then it too peters out. The lamp-lit room goes completely silent.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Jobu

wolff96 said:
			
		

> *I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that whatever drove out the dwarves of Tuz'Zud is linked to Kellharin guarding the Ebon Door.
> 
> The comment about "his own Kingdom's defense" refers to the defense of the White Kingdom, which will fail if he is no longer around to guard the Ebon Door. Whatever is behind that door isn't good for the White Kingdom, but will be even worse -- possibly fatal -- for the Defenders.*




Ok, picture this.  It's a beautiful summer night, there are eleven of us sitting around a table on the back porch, and we get these cryptic messages to figure out.  This was role-playing at it's best.  Having Al, Morrus, Kiri, Shara, Raevyn all here just made the evening even better.  We were all gung-ho, chargeing in swords slashing and spells flying..... but remember who was DMing.
Just wait for the next post.

PS: Being a friend, relative, and loved one of PirateKitty I vote a big ole NO for the idea of breaking our fingers.  But I can keep pestering him to update the storyhour more often.


----------



## Sialia

I added another goody to the Defenders Puzzle & Coloring Book  thread.


----------



## Eisenkrote

*Second-Guessing*



> _Shamelessly heisted from Carnifex _
> *Piratecat finally gets his revenge for ignored adventure hooks from ages past *



My vote is for Grumsted Nightforger, reconstituted, renamed, and reassigned.  After all, this Kelharin claims he can't die, and how many times was Grumsted killed the first time around before he took the hint and lay still?

One of the beautiful things about long campaigns is that, the longer they go on, the more loose ends accumulate, making encounters also an exercise in nostalgia.  This becomes even easier for the DM if he has an online record of the campaign history to refer to...

I've one question for the players: did PirateCat use a different voice to portray Kelharin during this encounter?


----------



## KidCthulhu

*Re: Second-Guessing*



			
				Eisenkrote said:
			
		

> *I've one question for the players: did PirateCat use a different voice to portray Kelharin during this encounter? *




Oh, of course he did.  PC is all about the silly voices.  And we put it together pretty quickly once the initial battle fervor wore off.

Or at least those not fleeing like big ole chickens did.  The person I feel sorry for is Kiri's player, Wisdom Like Silence, who came all the way from California, and spent the combat either mired in rock or running like a girl.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

> Or at least those not fleeing like big ole chickens did. The person I feel sorry for is Kiri's player, Wisdom Like Silence, who came all the way from California, and spent the combat either mired in rock or running like a girl.




Sure.  But it's not bad for Kiri to occasionally be reminded that there *are* worse things than spending hours listening to the Master of Protocol discussing the proper form of address for a Baron's cousin's sister-in-law....

(and you know I'm glad to see you guys no matter what we do)


----------



## Sialia

Gosh, there's alot of story-hungry, bored fans out there.

You know, I could really use a dedicated Piratecat fan with a lot of time on his or her hands who is willing to do a little easy but time consuming work to help produce my next missing-chunks-of-Defender's-backstory  creation.

If you are interested in participating, please send me an email at MsCurio@yahoo.com, and I'll give you the details about what it would involve.

As a perq, you might get sneak peaks at sections of Defender history as yet unrevealed.

Serious offers of help only please. The rest of you can wait until I get this monstrosity bred up to full strength.

Which might be in about 2003.

Sooner if I get some help.


----------



## (contact)

> So in the mean time, go read the Retro story hour of ToEE2, posted and illustrated by (contact), and the one that got me serious about posting my own! Nearby, in a Storyhour Forum near you.




Here's the link. 

I'm also working on projects that make Piratecat money, but I'm taking the time off to make a bunch of drawings.


----------



## Piratecat

_Moving through the void. . . ._

The world reappears.  For most of the group, it solidifies properly: thick stale air, an inky black dwarven hall, massive pillars disappearing up into darkness, shattered statuary.  Not so for Kiri, Velendo and Malachite.  They materialize in solid rock.

Kiri realizes what happened as soon as the pain hits.  She feels her flesh rupturing and bleeding, failing to merge with the stone around her.  In her head she can hear her pseudodragon Tipic screaming uncontrollably, and more through vibration than hearing she picks up Velendo’s strained voice.

 “Tel… eport… again!”

Kiri can’t move her hands, but the spell that is still trying (and failing) to solidify them surges inside of her and carries them away. They appear, panting, in a cave complex. All three are ankle deep in bat guano, and luminescent fungus glows slightly on the walls.

Malachite gives her a worried look.

“Hang on,” says Kiri, recovering from the shock. “We’re trying again.”  Tipic’s tiny terrified claws dig into her shoulder as she begins to recast, and once again the three vanish.

Meanwhile, the other Defenders glance around the huge, silent hall. It takes them a few seconds to properly see the shape in the dark armor, as their gaze seems to want to slide off of him in the same way that a roach skitters from light. There is something _wrong_ with the shape. It is a seeping sore of betrayal and despair, and fear pulses from it like pus from an infected wound.  It slowly turns its head towards them, and its eyes stream hellish light.

Everyone except for Mara feels their muscles begin to shake in terror, their bladders loosen, their sweat go cold. For Nolin, though, it is worse. Everything that Nolin has ever done wrong, every friend and woman that he’s ever betrayed, are personified in that dark shape. Backing up a few steps, he turns and flees.  Splinder isn’t far behind him, his boots ringing on the hard stone as he runs.

The rest of the group manages to fight down their initial instincts to flee.  They can see that Kellharin is probably not a wizard; clad in ornate plate armor, he carries both a huge metal shield and a double-headed sledge hammer. Whatever the insignia on his shield once was, it has been torn off long ago. The undented armor is black from age, not from enamel, lit by the two glowing red eyes that gleam out from the shadows over the straggly beard.

“Kellharin!”  Galthia darts forward, his heart thudding in his chest from unreasoning fear, and he unleashes a blurred combination of deadly strikes on the creature. The hall echoes from the sound of flesh hitting metal for the first time in decades.  For his trouble, Galthia ends up with a bruised fist. “Hard to hit,” he says grimly as he falls back into a defensive stance.

Agar is responsible for making sure the spellcaster doesn’t flee. He casts _dimensional anchor_, but the green ray sputters and vanishes as it hits the undead. “Spell resistance!” calls Agar.

As Raevynn _wild shapes_ into the shape of a stone giant, Shara begins to spell cast anyways.  _I’ve been waiting to do this for years,_ she muses to herself, and she lets loose with a powerful spell. _Come to me! Obey me!_ she urges as she feels the filaments of her _control undead_ magics wriggling around the undead in front of her, but he easily manages to resist it. _Damn!_ thinks Shara as the magic dies away. _This fight just got a lot harder. And where is Kiri?_

Kellharin seems to be pulling himself out of a deep brooding trance, and he doesn’t get his shield up before Mara’s holy mace comes smashing down onto his shoulder from where she flanks him. As it does, there are bright sparks, and the undead dwarf finally snarls in anger.  His breath is that of a corpse, rank and fetid.

*“So people have come at last,”* he says heavily in formal dwarvish, but not without the faint ring of excitement. *“You must be from the surface, for you can not be from below. It matters not. You will die, like all those before you.”* He hefts the heavy two-headed hammer, and Mara has just enough time to see the pulsing runes that encrust it before it pounds into her. He’s good, better than she is, and his blows knock aside her shield with tremendous force as they strike home. He attacks five times, spinning the sledge with long-practiced skill, and several of the blows get through. There’s a faint snapping sound that may be a bone, and Mara realizes that his strength is close to double her own. 

“I don’t think we’re going to be the ones to die!” she says, as Malachite, Velendo and Kiri materialize behind her. “It’s time for your evil to end!”  The dwarf laughs hollowly, his eyes lighting Galthia’s face as he glances back at the monk.

*“Oh, no,”* he answers with an amused and horribly bitter tone in his slow, deep voice. He raises his blood-flecked hammer.  *“You’re quite wrong.  I can’t die.”*  And with a scream of terror, Kiri spins and runs off into the darkness.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Tao risks a longing glance in the direction of the fleeing Benholms – _There goes our mass haste spell,_ she thinks, _fleeing like Eritain on a bad day_ – and downs an old potion of _haste_. She’s been keeping the potion slung on her belt for years, but there’s a time for everything, and the divine agent feels her perceptions speed up as the potion takes effect.  She immediately snaps a _searing light_ off in Kellharin’s direction, but the brilliant ray of light fizzles as it is swallowed by Kellharin’s own personal darkness.

Galthia tries another series of attacks, lightning-fast feints and jabs. Kellharin braces himself and raises his shield, and the monk finds all but one of his strikes missing. His eyes narrow as he studies the dark metal shield, looking for something. _There it is_, he thinks, _and there on the armor as well.  Good._ He draws on a reserve inside of him that he developed over years of meditation and practices, and he feels the _ki_ gather like a sledgehammer in the end of his fist. When he takes his last attack, he doesn’t aim for any openings in the undead’s defense. Instead, he aims for the structural weak point of his magical shield, a spot just off of the center. *CLANG!* Galthia’s fist hits solidly, and the shield palpably dents.

Raevynn now towers over the others, easily three times Kellharin’s size. From ten feet away, she swings her staff as hard as she can. The first blow cracks Kellharin over the shoulder, but he manages to interpose his shield as soon as he understands her reach, and none of her other attacks penetrate his defenses.  Next to the druid, Agar is still on “don’t let him escape” detail. Another green ray shoots from his finger, and this time an interlocking web of glowing green filaments spreads over Kellharin.  “Got him!” Agar announces happily.  “He’s not teleporting anywhere!”  The dwarf answers this statement with a short, mocking laugh. He’s interrupted by a bolt of energy from Shara, but the lightning crackles and hisses around him without harming him in the least.

Mara adjusts herself to flank, and unleashes an attack routine that targets the weak spots – if any – in Kellharin’s armor. Lightbinder hisses and snaps every time it touches the dwarf, scoring a few hits and searing dead flesh.  Malachite rushes forward with Karthos drawn and follows up Mara’s attack with one of his own, _smiting_ the undead with a brilliant flash. Kellharin grunts deeply as the enchanted blade hammers splinters of old metal into his undead flesh.

Kellharin backs up next to the wall and settles his stance, his dented shield in front of him and his massive warhammer weaving at his side. Velendo recognizes the stance, because he’s seen Splinder use it dozens of times.  _A dwarven defender?_ he thinks. _That doesn’t make any sense._  But Kellharin is speaking coldly, without exertion.

*“I have a duty, and you challenge it. You’ll die as the others have.”*

“What others?” Velendo asks.  “Do you know us?”

In answer, Kellharin unleashes a blistering array of attacks against the Hunter of the Dead. *“I”* _crunch_ *“guard”* _crunch_ * “the”* _crunch_ * “Ebon”* _crunch_ * “Door.”* _whoosh_  Four out of five hit, one of them crushingly, and Malachite is knocked backwards by the severe damage.  *“What others?”* Inside the helm, a glint of fiery light reflects from old teeth as Kellharin smiles insanely. *“Why, the ones I killed.”* His voice rises to a manic tone, and it’s quickly clear that he isn’t exactly well balanced.

As Velendo’s head clears from the second _teleport_, he uses his _true seeing_ to study the undead dwarf. He sees a pillar of black flame wrapped in magical armor. Interestingly, filaments of black fire are being carried into the dwarf from one direction, emerging from the darkness as they carry power into the undead guardian. _Something is strengthening him_, thinks Velendo. _The door? Oh, what I wouldn’t give for the Damming Stone right about now._  Following the direction of the filaments, Velendo turns and runs into the darkness.

_To be continued...._


----------



## Piratecat

Tao wrinkles her nose. She can still hear both Benholms and her dwarven friend running off into the distance behind her. _I’ve got to cut off the fear effect,_ she thinks. _What would do it?_  She casts _magic circle against evil_, hoping that the fear is caused by some sort of _domination_ effect. It’s possible she’s correct; as soon as she charges forward to attack and Kellharin falls within the radius of the _circle_, the gasping screams behind her abruptly cut off.

Across the pillared hall, Nolin, Kiri and Splinder screech to a panting halt. The unreasoning fear that possessed them has suddenly disappeared, and they can hear the sounds of the battle hundreds of feet away. “By Moradin’s tangled beard,” mutters Splinder. 

“What WAS that?” asks Tipic, Kiri’s pseudodragon. “That thing’s really scary!”

“I know, sweetling,” answers Kiri as she scratches him fondly on the neck. “Let’s go deal with it.”  She turns to run the other way, and Nolin follows on fiery phoenix wings.

Galthia now knows what he needs to do in order to win the fight. He completely gives up on actually hurting Kellharin, and instead focuses all of his attacks on the dwarf’s shield.  On the third hit, the githzerai’s fist smashes right through the enchanted metal. With a wrench, he rips the magical shield in two, and launches an attack on the breast plate of Kellharin’s heavy dwarven armor.  Spells flash and sear around him as Agar and Shara try to penetrate Kellharin’s resistance. Next to him, Mara, Malachite and Tao surround the dwarf as best they can, weapons rising and falling as they try to beat their way through the heavy armor. Kellharin utters a horrible word, and both Raevynn and Malachite fall back with their eyes bleeding. The dwarf follows his attack with another series of blows, perhaps trying to drop Malachite once and for all.

At the other end of the hall, Velendo looks up at a huge ebon portal twenty feet tall.  Hieroglyphic-like carvings line the wall around it.  The metal of the door is completely black, a darkness that seems to eat the faint light that reaches it. Velendo checks; the Ebon Door itself isn’t evil, although its guardian Kellharin certainly is. To Velendo’s _true seeing_, the door doesn’t appear magical at first. Then he realizes that this is because the magic is so pervasive that it already surrounds him. _What IS this thing?_ Velendo wonders. He debates for a moment, then places a _sovereign wall_ directly in front of the door, flush against the wall.  _That ought to stop it, whatever it is,_ he thinks to himself. He’s distraught to see the pulsing black energy streaming from the stone instead.

_I see, I think. It’s pouring its power right into the stone. Right into the cavern itself. And Kellharin is picking up the energy from the rock. My wall isn’t going to even slow it down._  He turns and runs back the way he came.

By the time he returns, Kellharin has badly injured several of his combatants, but none of them have fallen. The dwarf’s armor is roughly ripped open, but his sledgehammer is dripping with blood. Malachite has Karthos raised, his eyes blinking rapidly, and it’s possible that this blow may be all that’s needed to finish off the undead guardian.  Through the _true sight_, Velendo can see the black energy flowing, and thinks as hard as he can, and decides to take a chance.

“Hang on a minute. Kellharin, why shouldn’t we kill you?”

The dwarf swivels his ancient head towards Velendo. * “You can’t kill me.”*

“Hah!” exults Karthos. “Malachite, swing!”  Instead, Malachite lowers the weapon slightly, and waits for Velendo to finish.

“Yeah, yeah, so you said. But if we could? What happens?”

*“You can’t. It won’t let you.”* His deep, croaking laughter spirals crazily upwards. *“Don’t you think I’ve tried? Don’t you think I’ve asked, and pleaded, and ordered? No. I am here while the door is here, and I am eternal. I don’t know why you want the door open, but you will fail.”* As if in emphasis, his armor makes a small screeching noise as it begins to repair itself. Already, he looks healthier.

“But why…” Nolin starts, suddenly aware that he missed something while he was fleeing. “Have you been trying to kill us before today?”

*“No.”*

Nolin turns to the others. “That utter bastard! He calls himself Kellharin, he points us towards this guy, hoping that we’d teleport in and…”

Malachite lowers his protesting sword completely. “We almost did. And I’m not convinced that we shouldn’t.”

*“You can’t. I am the guardian of Tuz’Zud.  Now and forever more.  There are none after me.  They….”*  Suddenly beneath the helm Kellharin’s voice turns, and twists, and takes on a familiar sneer. “You think you can defeat me, worms? I tire of being polite.  You’d best succeed, or sleep *very* lightly!” The voice trails off into a series of congested giggles, and with a grunt Kellharin shakes his head. *“Get. OUT!”*  The voice issuing from his mouth stops completely.

“What was that?  Who was that, then?”  There is a faint note of hysteria in Velendo’s voice.  

*“They try to control me. They know they can not. The Door will not let them. They must have fooled you into doing their work for them. That was one of the flesh-eaters. I know the taste of his mind, when he has tried to seize me before.”* 

“What’s behind the door?” asks Shara.

*“A chasm to the lands below.”* Kellharin’s voice takes on a slightly rhythmic pattern, as if reciting something he memorized long ago. *“Tuz’Zud was built to protect the High Lands from those beneath. With the skill and blood of Moradin’s Folk, we crafted a portal that would keep out those who sought to pass. In every generation it would choose a champion and guardian, and the honor was passed down in the family from Uncle to Nephew. He who was chosen was married only to the Door, but it was a great honor.”* The bitterness in his voice is caustic. 

“So why are you left here?” Nolin looks attentive, noting it down for a forthcoming ballad.

*“My family died of plague, and I had no other relatives who were suitable. The Ebon Door kept me alive, though. Oh, yes. While all of my friends died of old age around me, it would not let me go. I died, and it would not let me go!”* His deep voice is raised in impotent fury.  *“Now I am a chainthrall of the Ebon door, and I will last as long as it stands. It won’t tolerate otherwise.”*

“So where did the other dwarves go?” asks someone, quietly.

Kellharin’s voice is flat.  *”I killed them. I stalked them through the city, and I broke their skulls with my hammer. The hammer that it makes strong.”*

“But… why?”

*“WHY? I knew that when they were gone, when they were all gone, it wouldn’t need me any more. But I was wrong.”* The bonfire-colored eyes dim for a moment. *“I was wrong. And I am still here, and they have left. Those that survived. And still I guard the door. It fears to be alone, you see, so it needs a companion. I live for it, so that it may stand.”*

"How many did you kill?"

Kellharin shrugs his wide shoulders. *"Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty? You can count their skulls, if you wish."*

There’s a pause, and suddenly Kellharin looks up urgently, eyes flaring. *“But the ghoul thought you could kill me. It must know what you are capable of! Which means…”* It looks around the group, its eyes throwing odd shadows across the dusty floor. *“Which means you might be able actually do it.  You must!  Kill me!”* It spreads its arms out, bearing its rapidly healing chest.

There’s an embarrassed silence.  Someone clears their throat. Feet are examined. Agar finally pipes up. “What happens to the Door if you die?”

*“I don’t know. Perhaps it opens. Perhaps it stays locked. It hardly matters.”*

Splinder shrugs. “We can’t kill you.”

Kellharin rounds on him, sledgehammer lifted in one hand. *“You MUST!”*  His voice drops, almost too low to hear.  *“Please.”*

Velendo sighs. “We can’t. We don’t know what might happen to the door if we do, and it seems to be keeping back a ghoulish army – or something - that could easily advance through here.”  He flexes his mind, and the _sovereign wall_ covering the Ebon Door disappears.

Splinder considers.  “What we will do is try to find someone who wants to take your place. It sounds like an honorable job. You guard the Ebon Portal, and you keep the city safe. This place could be great again, if it hasn’t been stained by death. I don’t think you’ll be here much longer.”

Nolin cuts in, a grin slicing across his face. “Of course! I can easily craft a ballad that would make any dwarf want to volunteer! We’ll find someone.”

*“They will not be of my blood.”* His voice is doubting, bitter, lost.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. Guard the Portal. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

And within a few more seconds, Kellharin is once again alone. Alone with the Door.

_To be Continued…._


----------



## Morrus

Cool - now I'll find out what happened after I left.  That getting-a-replacement-for-him thing was my cunning plan, and I want to see if it worked out.


----------



## Piratecat

*In lieu of a formal writeup today, here are some amusing vignettes from recent games.  anyways, we game tonight.  Update as soon as I can!*

----------


Velendo has reached 17th level, allowing him to spoof wizard spells by using _miracle_. One of the spells he wishes to cast requires him to possess an extremely expensive statuette of himself.  With his reputation as a living saint, he's much too embarrassed to commission it himself, so he pays a low profile visit to the office of his Eversinkian temple's treasurer.

"How can I help ye, your holiness?" asks the man. His beard waggles as he bows his head.

Velendo looks embarrassed. “Look, don't let this get around.  I need... it's not for me, you see. It's for a spell component."

"What is, yer holiness?" asks the treasurer patiently.

"Well, I need a small, jeweled statuette of myself. An expensive one, and it's got to be beautifully crafted.  Do you mind having one made up?”

The temple treasurer nods his head.  “Sure, your holiness. Which one do you want?" He unlocks a safe, pulls out a shelf, and there before Velendo's eyes are a row of small statuettes, crafted from gemstones and alabaster. All have his shield, and one of them shows him lugging about a large semi-precious rock.  "We have five.”

“Five?!?"  Velendo sputters.  "Why could you possibly have five?”

The treasurer shrugs.  “Oh, people buy ‘em. They think they’re lucky. We give them to folks, blessed, for massive donations or for favors rendered.”  He fixes Velendo with a gimlet eye. "They're very popular amongst the Greater Houses. Apparently you're a status symbol."

Velendo rolls his eyes. "I'm a... oh, for crying out loud.  Give me one of those."


----------


Nolin, singing his song “The Day Delioch Decreed,” written about the time that Velendo was made a proxy: “Then I failed my save. Now I’m a believer!”


----------


When the powerful psionic shadow had the Defenders strength-drained and helpless, it communicated with them telepathically.

Shadow:  “3+9=12!”

Galthia, as the _mass heal_ goes off: “No. 1-1=0.”


----------


Mara, attempting to _turn_ shadows: “Be gone, you nasty shadows!” (looking around) “What? I hate shadows!”


----------


Upon investigating the loot of the Dockside Royals, the group found one chest with a strange, exotic arachnid time-sealed in psionic quintessence.

“Remind me again. Why exactly do we want to open a chest that is full of large spider?”


----------


Blackjack: “…thanks to our ineffable DM.”
Piratecat: “What do you mean, ineffable?”
Blackjack: “I think he’s ineffable because I frequently want to say, ‘Hey Kevin! F you!’”


----------



## aithdim

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Exactly right, Fade. Valdek was an old school, front line fighter... and a very good one, at that. He had a sword named "Warwinner" which got more powerful when he was attacked by multiple opponents. In the basement under the Steading of the Hill Giant King, he used it to amazing effect against a whole tribe of bugbears.
> *




War Winner was a truly amazing weapon. Not only was it a +1 to +4 Ba Sword (boy was I mad when we switched to 3E) it shot out purple beams at creatures wishing Valdek harm. I used it as a scouting device especially in urban settings. In a darkened cavern manticores attacked and then flew out of range of our light. When Valdek drew War Winner purple beams shot out in the darkness and an archer (I think it was Valendo but I'm not sure) shot the beast. 

But, War Winner, was not his only cool magic weapon, Valdek, as a human, always had problems with fighting in darkness, when he picked up the magic shortsword, Rogue's Eye, which granted him low light vision, he used to fight 2 weapon with the bastard sword and the short sword. Valdek was a country boy, farmer actually. 

(I may be leading into something that would be better in the early years thread, but too bad I'm waiting for the next update too. BTW Kid C and Sagiro ...excellent madlibs)

His father was a war veteran who with his old comrade set up a farmstead. Valdek learned to look after himself when he needed to. When his father died, his mother told him the truth about his father. Valdek was the bastard child of Count Terim Loyal. Alix's half brother. Thats why he joined the defenders. He learned a couple of things before he perished one was that titles and money don't make you a nice or better person and second it pays to be a commoner over a knight because sometimes it feels good to watch your opponent go sailing to the ground because you lanced his horse.

Sorry


----------



## Piratecat

Back at Mridsgate, the battered Defenders report back to the Prince.  “He’s the only one left,” concludes Nolin after a long explanation. “I think if we can find a dwarf to undertake the noble responsibility of his task, we’ll be doing something good.”  Splinder looks as if he might open his mouth to speak, thinks twice, and stays silent.  The Prince looks doubtful.

“Will he need to eat? Because from what you say, the entire city is abandoned. We’d need thousands more of my people to fill it. As you can see,” his voice is full of bitter irony as he gestures around him, “we’re a little short of spare dwarves at the moment.”

The Defenders discuss strategy mentally via _mindlink_ while the Prince waits. After more than a minute of their silent conversation with each other, Prince Stern turns to Agar in slight annoyance.  “So, do they do this a lot? Sit around and stare at each other?”

Agar whispers back, “You have no idea.”  The group immediately reinvolves the Prince in the conversation, and Stern resolves to announce Kellharin’s plight and hold a tourney to find someone willing and competent enough to voluntarily assume his place as Guardian of the Ebon Door.

Nolin questions three dwarves who he saved during the siege. While finishing off the last of the ghouls, Nolin had cast _detect thoughts_, and had been horrified to pick up insane terror coming from a ghoulish meat wagon. The three still-living dwarves had been saved, healed, and now were in state where they could talk.  They aren’t able to give much information about the sack of Mrid, as they had been unconscious after being paralyzed. Nevertheless, they report that the King had been making his stand near the palace, and that the ghoulish army had been overwhelming. By their estimates, the force that attacked Mridsgate was merely a small fraction of the total army.  “They’ve probably headed off to attack the ogrish city to our east,” one of the refugees concludes. “Hopefully, they’ll all be killed.”  Everyone exchanges worried glances; ghoulish ogres and giants can’t be a good thing. 

In the late afternoon, the group sorts through the treasure culled from the massive battle of Mridsgate. The most interesting items include the marilith’s skimpy armored bra – “Magical!” announces Agar – and a very powerful scimitar crafted from the bone of an angel’s wing.  They split up the treasure. Someone wonders out loud whether or not the now-departed Shara or Kiri should get any of the treasure.

Tao holds up the Marilith’s coiled wire bra/armor, an evil smile on her face.  “Let’s send this to her!  Dear Shara, we picked out a piece of treasure that we thought you’d especially find useful….”

Nolin begins to laugh.  “Oh, yeah…..”

Malachite strokes his chin musingly. “I have to admit, that’s very tempting.”

Tao suggests, “We could send it to Kiri.”

Nolin shakes his head. “Nah, she’d wear it.”

One of the nonmagical items is an amber orb, about the size of a baby’s head.  The craftsmanship on it is beautiful. When Malachite and Mara examine it carefully, though, they discover the faintest tang of evil.  As a result, Nolin examines it closely, comparing it to what he’s learned from countless stories and legends. He quickly reaches an inescapable conclusion and looks up, excited.  

 “She’s in there!”

“Who is?”

Nolin waggles all of his arms and body in an indescribably snaky and feminine fashion. “Her! It’s a soul gem!”

Mara looks worried.  “Let’s smash it.”

“Wait!” says Nolin. “I learned about this when we fought Mirata, all those years ago, back when she seized Cadrienne’s body at the Academy of Flamecraft. We need _protection from evil_ and a _magic circle of protection_ acting as a trap. We’ll need hammers to shatter it, and no one unprotected should be within hundreds of feet.”

As soon as preparations are ready, it doesn’t take the paladins long to shatter the priceless amber gem. When they do, the transparent shade of the marilith comes streaming out, ghostlike.  She snarls in pure fury and slithers towards them, only to recoil when she touches the _magic circle._ 

“Ready to die again?” asks Malachite. Looking at his friends, he adds with a grim smile, “I’ll suffer no evil to live.  But I will taunt it.”  

Nolin pokes his head up behind Malachite’s shoulder and lifts something up into the air, waving it back and forth. “We have your bra!”

The ghostly demon fades as she plunges her essence into Nolin’s mind, using hatred as a battering ram to force her way inside. She is repulsed by the _protection from evil._  Almost immediately, she changes her tactics as her form begins to waver.

* “We can bargain.  You are beset.  I can offer you troops of indescribable power, with which to wipe out your enemies!” *  Her voice hisses persuasively.  She tries to possess Galthia, but is driven back once again.

Malachite shrugs dismissively. “Got that.”

Agar agrees. “Check!”

* “Weapons of power, magical treasures galore!” *

The paladin sounds bored.  “Got that.”

“Check!”

Her voice sounds desperate, as her will power keeping her alive begins to fade. * “Riches beyond your dreams!” *

He shakes his head sadly. “Got that.”

“Check!”

Then Velendo leans close to the magical prison, his face open and guileless. “There is only one thing you can offer us that we don’t have,” he confides.

* “What? Say the word, allow me to live, and it will be yours!” *

Velendo smiles broadly. “One.  Fewer. Enemy.”

The marilith screams horribly as her concentration finally breaks. * “Noooooooooo!”* Her spirit dissolves into wisps of dream and ether, quickly dispersing in the chill cavern air.

Agar smiles with finality. “Check!”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Atticus_of_Amber

*Re: You go, Valendo!*



			
				Milo Windby said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I know, I know, it's been quoted four or five times already.  But dang, that was good.  I can just imagine the marilith's expression as Valendo finished his sentence.  Heh heh heh, taunting is fun. *




Of course, with my view of alignment that evil=cruelty and good=benevolence, taunting a creature in torment, no matter how evil or deserving the creature, is a cruelk and thus vaguely evil act.  

I've alwasy seen good as a very demanding alignment.  You fight evil, but you mustn't revel in your enemies pain, becasue therin lies the path to corruption.

A creature like a marlith is irredeemably evil and thus must be destroyed. But it should be done quickly and mercifully.

In my campaign, Valendo would find a few extra detect evil spells in his roster tomorrow, as a subtle hint from his deity [sort of a "Yes, yes, my child that was very funny and even I found it quite amusing myself, but it was also CRUEL and WRONG and you should be careful, lest tiny evils lead to greater ones"...

As I said, I see good as a very demanding alignment.

Having said that, it was a truly brilliant line...


----------



## Sagiro

*Re: Re: You go, Valendo!*



			
				Atticus_of_Amber said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Of course, with my view of alignment that evil=cruelty and good=benevolence, taunting a creature in torment, no matter how evil or deserving the creature, is a cruelk and thus vaguely evil act.
> 
> I've alwasy seen good as a very demanding alignment.  You fight evil, but you mustn't revel in your enemies pain, becasue therin lies the path to corruption.
> 
> A creature like a marlith is irredeemably evil and thus must be destroyed. But it should be done quickly and mercifully.
> 
> In my campaign, Valendo would find a few extra detect evil spells in his roster tomorrow, as a subtle hint from his deity [sort of a "Yes, yes, my child that was very funny and even I found it quite amusing myself, but it was also CRUEL and WRONG and you should be careful, lest tiny evils lead to greater ones"...
> 
> As I said, I see good as a very demanding alignment.
> 
> Having said that, it was a truly brilliant line... *




I think there are different flavors of "good," and the one you describe -- the be-merciful-to-evildoers kind of good, isn't the kind that Velendo is.  

He has a pretty straightforward view of the moral world.  There are good people in the world who don't cause harm to others, and they are worthy of protection.  Indeed, it's a holy duty to protect them.  And there are people who have made the personal choice to be evil, who will cause harm to others to further their own causes, and they are *not* worthy of protection.  Or any other benevolent considerations.  You make your bed, you sleep in it.

Velendo doesn't try to redeem people.  He's in the protect-the-innocent business, pure and simple, and is willing to pursue pretty much whatever means are necessary to do that.  And he has no patience for Evil.  He'll taunt them.  He'll smite them.  He'll lie to them.  He'll lean on them, even to the point of causing physical discomfort, if it's necessary to protect large numbers of innocent people.  He's not in the mercy business as far as Evil creatures are concerned -- there are LG clerics and religions for that sort of thing.  

So, does that make him Evil himself?  It seems Calphas doesn't think so.  *How* he protects people isn't as important as the fact that he does.  That's why he's neither lawful nor chaotic.  And if an evil demoness is trying to wriggle and lie her way out of her fate, it will not occur to Velendo to show kindness.  Harsh as it sounds, he's not in the kindness business, either.

-Sagiro


----------



## Quartermoon

It's the "We've got your bra!" bit that had _me_ laughing out loud.


----------



## Piratecat

Quartermoon said:
			
		

> *It's the "We've got your bra!" bit that had me laughing out loud.
> *




Nolin sort of popped up from behind Malachite's shoulder and waved it over his head. If the look on my face was anything like the look on _her_ face, she was really, really irked.


----------



## Piratecat

Mara, by Littlejohn. Ohhhh, yes.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> * and Plane Sailing played Priggle the svirfneblin scout.
> *




So, do you know how bad life is as a svirfneblin scout? It's rotten, that's what it is. Nobody likes you, nobody trusts you, everybody is out to get you. Even your allies overlook and discount you. Still, we're all doomed anyway, I suppose. Just staving off the inevitable.

And me? I don't even fit in among my own people. Too rampantly optimistic and positive. 

Just my luck. What an assignment.

 - Priggle


----------



## Piratecat

We miss you already.


----------



## Piratecat

After splitting up treasure and having a final meal with the remaining dwarves of Mridsgate, the Defenders set off for Mrid. With them goes Glibstone the dwarven jester, albeit reluctantly. Malachite soon tires of the dwarf’s traditional jokes, and Glibstone finds a more receptive audience amongst Splinder and his dwarven troops. It makes the week-long trek through the caves tolerable for all.

The travel is slow and cautious. Detrius from the ghouls’ advance still litters the dwarven road. The company picks their way along over ledges and hastily repaired bridges, passing cast away bones and unidentifiable gobbets of flesh that have already been savaged by underdark scavengers. Judging from the sheer quantity of discarded bones, the number of prisoners taken at the battle of Mrid must have been substantial. The dwarves get angrier and angrier as they travel.

The group is ever-alert for any signs of active undead, but there are none. “I don’t like this,” grumbles Velendo. “Where are they?”  No one knows.  They expect problems going through an area known as The Ripples, a place where the stone is frozen into what looks like waves on a beach. No undead await them there, any any large predators in the area have apparently been hunted down and eaten by the ghouls.

When the group nears the svirfneblin sanctuary of Mosssong, a gem mining community buried deep within narrow winding passages, the core group of the Defenders separates from the rest of the troops. Under a _wind walk_ spell, they follow Priggle through winding and trackless tunnels towards the deep gnomes. They hope to find the gnomes alive. Instead, they find corridors sealed with magically conjured stone.  The group tries five or six different ways to get in, but all are blocked, so they resort to a _sending_ with Priggle’s Uncle.  _“Priggle here. All ways into Mosssong are blocked. Is everyone okay? Did the ghouls attack you? Do you need anything? Respond briefly.”_  In reply, Velendo hears, _“Priggle! Glad you escaped. We have sealed the entrances and are continuing our work, undisturbed. All is well; no ghoul attack. Your aunt says hi.” _  Slightly dubious – “He didn’t _sound_ undead,” comments Velendo – but reassured, the Defenders rejoin their group and continues towards Mrid.

On the fourth day, Agar’s _prying eyes_ spell detects something disturbing while scouting ahead. In a wide chasm, a bridge originally destroyed by fleeing dwarves has been restored by the ghouls. The new bridge is narrow, poorly balanced, and made from fused skeletons that are still animate. Merged hand and arm, the bridge spans the gap, jawbones clicking as they wait for their ghoulish masters to return. On the far side of the span, the _prying eyes_ picks up some sort of waiting humanoid shape or shapes. The Defenders pause just out of sight from the chasm.

“We’d best be careful,” says Malachite. “This is probably a trap by the Puppeteer.”

“I hate that guy,” says Nolin idly. “I wish he’d show himself for real.”

Malachite looks at him. “Indeed. In any event, I suggest we come up with a plan.”

Using _invisibility to undead_ spells, a portion of the group flies across the chasm to the far side. There they find waiting three young, female dwarves. The dwarven children sit drooling, clearly dead and reanimated as zombies. In their arms are bunches of wilting flowers from some underground plant.  The group never finds out why they are there, or listens to their message; instead, using a combination of travel spells and _invisibility to undead_, they travel past the waiting undead children without ever being seen.

The next day, they approach Beholder Rock, a large landmark that looks remarkably like an immense beholder. It has clearly been carved in days long past to resemble one even more. Once again, the group expects an ambush, and once again the crossroads are deserted.  While they are standing there, though, a powerful earthquake ripples around them, and most of the group is thrown from their feet.  "Natural," remarks Priggle, examining the ceiling for structural instability.  "I think."

A day after that, they pass through two deserted gatehouses and finally approach the gates of Mrid. No undead are anywhere to be seen. As Tao examines the battleground outside of the city, she looks up with a worried look. “It hasn’t just been looted, this area has been cleaned! With brooms, and soap, and _clean_ cantrips.  There is some dust from that earthquake, but that's it.”

“Why would they do that?” asks Mara, mystified.

"I don't know, but this area is almost spotless. You could eat off of it."

Priggle grimaces.  "They did."

Velendo sniffs.  “That's just strange.  Say... does anyone else smell… rose petals?”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

*A rough map of the Upper Reaches*

This map is a side view, with no indication of horizontal windings; it only shows relative vertical distance. It is not to scale.

The group started out on the surface near Candle Ridge.  With Priggle Gembreath as their guide, they headed down into the tunnels at the base of the Shield Rock.  

The first fight, against the ghoulish destrachans and the tentacle wraiths, occurred in the large round cavern near the top right of the map. This is also where they met "Kellharin" for the first time.

They descended down through the narrows, arriving at the dwarven guardhouse Mridsgate just as a massive battle was occurring.

Since then, they have passed the Ripples and Mosssong and Beholder Rock, and are just now arriving outside of Mrid.

Useful?


----------



## Piratecat

Tao sniffs the air, wriggling her nose. “Yes. Definitely rose petals.”  The frown on her face grows more pronounced. “Would someone like to tell me why those damn ghouls have scented the air with rose petals?”  

“To distract us?” asks Galthia. He looks around. “Or perhaps, like the bottle of wine and flowers last week, he seeks to make peace with us.”

“Maybe,” mutters Velendo. “I don’t like it one bit. I mean, _clean_ cantrips, for Calphas’ sake! Why bother?”  A horrified look passes over his face.  “Maybe he promised someone that he’d deliver this place to them nice and clean.”

Priggle speaks up from the shadows, his voice dour.  “I doubt it. Mrid is in the middle of a crossroads. Why would the ghouls want to give it up once they got it? No, I’m sure it’s some plot against the gnomes.”  Velendo looks at him nonplussed.

“Priggle, Glibstone, how many ways out of this city are there?”

Priggle sounds depressed as he answers.  “A lot, if these earthquakes haven’t sealed them. At least four or five main underdark passages are cut off by this city. We came by one of them.  One other passage heads surfaceward towards Sho’kel Gruumsh, an orcish and giantish city.” He sighs.  “I hate them. Everyone hates them. I hope the ghouls headed that way.”

“I don’t,” grumbles Glibstone.  “Ghoulish giants?”  Tao perks up at the thought.

“In any case,” continues Priggle, “another passage leads toward Titan Hall and my own svirfneblin city. That was seized months ago. A branch of that passage leads to a Derro settlement that may have been overrun, I don’t know.”  He spits on the cavern floor. “Dammed albino half-breed demon-worshipping dwarves.”  He looks even more morose than normal. “The last major passage leads down, towards the drow city of Eleskiel and The Shuttered Gate. I think a side passage eventually leads to a small underground sea named the Lake of Song, but I’ve never been there.”

“There are smaller ways,” confirms Glibstone the dwarf, “but those are the major gates.”

“Okay,” concludes Tao. “Let’s search the city and find out where all of those ghouls went. We know that most of the force didn’t come up our way. It’ll be good to know where they DID go.”

“Fair enough.”  Velendo rubs his forehead.  “I’m going to do a _divination_ first, to see if we’re walking into an obvious trap.”  He casts the spell, asking Calphas whether there are refugees left in Mrid.  He hears back, * “Remember that there are no ghouls and no dwarves left in the city, and you will do well.”*  He thanks his God profusely with prayer, and the group prepares to continue.

Walking nervously past the unlocked gates, the heroes enter a long sloping corridor. With his _arcane sight_ active, Agar notices a line of hidden murder holes along the corridor. There is no sound, though, and the paladins detect no evil or undead.  Dust shaken loose by the recent earth tremors is stirred up by their feet, but otherwise the corridor is scrupulously clean.

“What’s that rhythmic thumping sound?” asks Nolin. “And the roaring?”

“You’ll find out in a moment,” answers Glibstone mysteriously. At the end of the hall, two massive stone portals stand closed. Glibstone pushes on a shiny section of the stone, and the perfectly balanced and counter-weighted doors swing open smoothly.

“Mrid,” announces Glibstone with a small jingle of bells.

Before the Defenders of Daybreak rises an immense oval cavern roughly a thousand feet across. On more than five lofty levels, intricately carved balconies and roads ring the edge of the cavern. Nearby, a marketplace stands, completely abandoned. There is no obvious sign of recent combat, and no corpses are visible. The only debris is occasional piles of fallen rock knocked loose by the recent earthquake. It is massive, grand, beautiful, and eerily deserted; a space designed for throngs of people, but now occupied by none.  In the center of the cavern a tremendous waterfall thunders down into a dark pit. It is surrounded by magical, floating staircases.  Sparkling lights reflect and flare on the falling torrent, and clouds of silvery water vapor rise from the depths of the well.  Suspended in the water’s path are massive waterwheels and dwarven engines, spinning and clanking as the water hits them.

“What are those?” asks Nolin in awe, over the sound of the falling water.

“Generators!” announces Glibstone proudly. “They power the pumps and the forges, the mills and the traps.”  

Nolin pauses, and then his eyes light up. “They’re playing music!”  Indeed, the clanking and thumping of the waterwheels is creating a massive symphony, counter-pointed by slight variations in the tone of the falling water. Nolin notices one engine that seems broken, probably damaged by earth tremors.

“Indeed,” says Glibstone. “Hymns to Moradin. Designed by our finest craftsmen, more than six hundred years ago.” His face twists. “Back when the city was alive.”

“Astonishing.” Nolin is lost in the music, and begins singing along, his voice echoing across the empty cavern.

Galthia and Tao returns from their quick scouting mission around the plaza. “No corpses. The place has been looted, but everything else has been neatened afterwards. Just like they’re expecting company.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The group explores the central square of Mrid, and Tao slowly follows traces of faint footsteps from house to house. She finds some odd clues. In addition to the very orderly looting of valuables, there are other signs of the cleanly ghouls; for instance, she finds a carrion-scented porcelain bowl that was shattered and then magically mended. She also finds newer tracks, roughly dwarven, that probably belonged to something or someone making a rigorous search of every home. Another ghoul?  Nolin decides to use his _goggles of hindsight_ to find out.  

Focusing on one of the marketplace stands, he lets his gaze fall backwards in time. Faster and faster the image speeds into the past, and Nolin watches earthquake dust rise up from the floor and air pressure from the waterfall stir the faint mist.  Then something else flashes across his vision, and he scans forward again until he sees a dwarf examining the remaining items on the marketplace stall’s counter.

To his time-distorted vision, it’s almost an iconic dwarf. Rosy-cheeked, big-bellied, with a plaited beard and twinkling eyes. His shield is battered, his horned helmet cocked on his head, his axe sharp. Nolin blinks. “I’ve seen someone about four or five days ago, right here,” he reports. “It’s a dwarf, but it’s almost _too_ dwarfy. It looks like what you’d get if someone sat you down and told you to draw the quintessential dwarf. I don’t like it.”

“Someone _polymorphed_?” asks Agar.

“Maybe,” muses Nolin. “He’s got a sack or treasure, and looks like he’s hunting for any valuables that the ghouls missed. Maybe he’s a refugee.”  No one believes it.  “I’ll go back farther.”  He does, and within ten more minutes he views a handful of kobold and goblin ghouls cleaning the area. They are sweeping, scrubbing, and straightening. “Bizarre,” mumbles the bard, and hunts back farther to try and find more images of ghouls. He quickly reaches the limit of the goggles’ time-stretched vision, but he’s seen enough to confirm some of their suspicions. “Yup. Ghouls ransacked this place, stealing and smashing, and then later came back and cleaned everything up. I don’t like it one bit.”

Nervously, the group makes their way through the tunneled byways of the city towards the royal palace. The going becomes rougher, largely due to huge chunks of stone that have dropped from the ceiling.  They also need to traverse deep crevices that have opened up in the wide, paved street. Velendo and Priggle stare around at the devastation and independently reach the same conclusion.  “What you’re looking at,” opines Velendo, “is the result of a number of small earth tremors. Maybe only one or two of them were big, but there’s been close to ten total unless I miss my guess. They’re highly localized, and we’re moving towards their source.  Could be an _earthquake_ spell, but I don’t know for sure. What I _do_ know is avoid loud noises and area effect spells. This ceiling isn’t entirely stable.”  They continue towards the palace, picking their way slowly through the rubble.  As they enter the grand cavern that should frame the palace’s architecture, it’s quickly clear that the earthquakes have been worse here. Very little of the magnificent architecture and statues remain.  Faint ghostly shadows flicker on walls from buried torches of _eternal flame_, and darkvision limits line of sight to a mere sixty feet.  Thus, it is the keen-eyed svirfneblin guide Priggle who is the first to see the dwarf sitting up by the palace stairs, impatiently swinging his iron-shod boots back and forth as he drums on the shattered remains of a pillar.

“Hssst!” cautions Priggle in a whisper. “There’s a dwarf up there. Might be that one Nolin saw.” His habitual frown deepens across his rubbery face. “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”  

“Duh.”  Tao rolls her eyes and casts _true seeing_ and Agar tries to focus his _arcane sight_ on the stranger.  As he does so, the dwarf lifts his head in apparent surprise at hearing strange noises out in the darkness.

“Hello?” the dwarf calls in a rich, deep, *dwarven* voice. “Is someone there?” He jumps to his feet with a hint of clumsiness, drawing his dwarven axe and gazing out into the wreckage.  “Who is it?”  His voice is filled with the rising lilt of unexpected hope, and he speaks in unaccented dwarven.

“Why, yes!” calls Nolin in return. “Greetings! May we approach?”

“Upworlders?” The dwarf grins widely with unanticipated pleasure, his full beard waggling as he does so. He laughs in delight.  “And some of my own folk!  Of course! Please, join me!” He studies the group as they approach, just as Agar and Tao are studying him.

_“He’s magical, all right,”_ reports Agar over the _mindlink_. _“Both high and low magic, both arcane and clerical. I think the clerical magic is more powerful. Something’s trying to foil my detection, too, but I think I have it beat.”_  He squints as the magical vision tries to squirm out of focus.

Tao gulps as her _true sight_ comes within range of the dwarf.  Suddenly, his squat dwarven form is superimposed with that of a massive, powerful dragon. Tao sees black faceted gems for eyes, huge rocklike scales on a serpentine body, claws like scythe blades, and an insolent sneer on the draconic face.  She tries to suppress an involuntary quiver.  _“He’s more than magical. Crap.  We’re talking to a dragon.”_

_“A WHAT?”_ asks Nolin mentally. He tries desperately to keep a smile on his face. To his eyes, the dwarf is just a dwarf, albeit one that should be modeling for portraits somewhere.  Out loud, he greets the stranger. “You’re the first survivor we’ve found!  Are you all right?”  The dwarf nods in assent, apparently oblivious that the group has divined his true nature.

“My name is Oathenor.” The dwarf thumps his chest.  “I’m a lone hunter and explorer; I spend a lot of time by myself out in the tunnels and caverns. When I heard a rumor that the ghouls were attacking Mrid, I hurried here, but I was too late.”  He shakes his head sadly. “Too late. I’ll have to leave before the ghouls return.  Why are your folk here? It’s good to see dwarven soldiers again.”  He looks over the group placidly, stroking his beard.  Tao, seeing his real form, feels a trill of fear run across her.

_“A dragon. A big, brown one with scales the color of rock. Nolin, keep him distracted while we figure out what to do. Maybe he’s an ally… or at least not our enemy.”_

Malachite's mental voice intrudes. _"And he's evil. Very, very evil."_

Nolin looks sick, but rises to the challenge. In a horrible parody of small talk, he introduces the group, providing a brief summary of the group’s battle against the ghouls. In return, Oathenor delivers an honest-sounding story of how he explored the city in vain, looking for at least one survivor. “I think the ghouls tried to get into the Royal Vaults and failed. They’ve doubtlessly gone for assistance, and I’m sure they’ll be back. My duty is clear: rescue what we can and bring it to the Prince.”

“That’s my job,” announces Glibstone. Everyone mentally smacks themselves in the head, because none of the dwarves are on the mind link – and as a result, none of them know that Oathenor isn’t what he appears to be. 

Nolin interrupts smoothly. “That’s assuming that we can get the vault door open, and that’s no certainty,” he lies. “If we can, you know that your job is to accompany the goods back.” 

“But –“ Glibstone barely sputters before he catches on that something is amiss, and he recovers nicely. “Well, I suppose.” Oathenor examines him with glittering eyes, and then turns his gaze back to Nolin.

“Thank goodness someone is responsible for it.. someone who isn’t me!”  He laughs deeply in apparent relief, sounding just like a dwarf.  “Well, no time like the present, eh? I’ll show you where it is. I’ll sleep much better when I know you have it safe.”  He leads the Defenders through a tangled maze of fallen stone masonry. The palace has been almost completely destroyed by multiple earth tremors, and Glibstone has trouble holding back tears at the devastation. Subtlely, Priggle and a few of the dwarven troops peel off to go and search the palace’s remains. Oathenor, up near the front, doesn’t give any indication of noticing.

After more than five minutes of crawling and clambering along a makeshift path, the disguised dragon-dwarf leads them through a collapsed temple to Moradin and to a shattered wall that once held a secret door.  “There it is,” he gestures to an unmarked wall. The vault door would normally be secret, but the stone wall around it is horribly scarred – clawed, acid-pocked. Only a huge section of wall is untouched.  The Defenders exchange glances as Oathenor idly sits down on a hunk of statue that turns out to be the remains of Moradin’s head, broken in half by earthquakes. The supposed dwarf doesn’t seem to notice or care about the sacrilegious act.  “Look at those claws; they must have had some horrible monster with them, but whatever it was it couldn’t claw the door open. Hard to believe, but good for our people.” His gaze seems to burn as it falls across the group. “How do you suppose you open it?” 

Velendo opens his mouth to lie to the dragon.  He can’t help but think that it could go horribly wrong.

_To be continued…._


----------



## mythago

How to achieve maximum SAN loss while reading Story Hour:

Normally while I am catching up with Piratecat's story hour, I'm listening to MP3s over my headphones. Today, I got to the tale of the epic defense against the ghould army just as my MusicMatch playlist rolled over to the _Moulin Rouge!_  song "Because We Can."

So now I'm stuck with the mental image of a vast cave in the Underdark filled with rotting goblinoids, all dressed in 19th-century top hat and tails finery, stomping and shouting and dancing to the strains of Fatboy Slim as a mustachoied Kellharin cheers them on. And then a six-armed snake demoness is lowered from the ceiling on a glittering trapeze.

_Eeeeverybody CAN CAN!_


----------



## Piratecat

Oooh, multimedia!

Here's something to hold you over. Almost 2 months ago on (what for me is) page 8 of this thread, right after the fight with Sluuth, The Ghoul Once Known As Kellharin (aka the Puppeteer, or T'Gokak) paid them another visit in the _Calphas' Comfortable Castle_. At the time, Henry said, 



			
				Henry on 9/5/02 said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I would have given my right ear to hear Piratecat RP'ing this part...  *




Well, I just happen to have a shortage of ears, and it's Halloween, and Blackjack agreed to help.  Once again, want to hear T'Gokak speak?  Your wish is granted! Note: the 200K mp3 file is 15 seconds long, but it thinks it's 5 seconds. If you only get a third of it for some reason, download it to your local PC and try again. It ends with the word "offering."

I still haven't decided whether this is goofy, or fun, or just goofy fun.  But I'll try to do occasional choice NPCs now and again, to give you an idea of what folks might sound like.


----------



## Piratecat

“I’m not sure we can open the vault right now,” Velendo says cautiously.  The dwarf looks at him with concerned, twinkling eyes. The more perceptive members of the party notices a hardness in the gaze, a savage hunger that is barely constrained. It flickers somewhere deep inside, sizing up Velendo in the same way a glutton might size up a plump roast rabbit.

Nolin picks up Velendo’s lead, grabbing the lie and embroidering it skillfully.  “We simply don’t have the right spells prepared. We expected to open the vault tomorrow. I’m sorry; I know you’re eager for the treasures to be in the proper hands, but there’s nothing we can do.”  He shrugs apologetically. Oathenor the dwarf grunts, glares, and then sighs. 

“Well, it’s lasted this long.” He pats the vault door fondly, if a bit too hard. “I’m glad my people made this sort of door to last.”  _Sure you are_, thinks Velendo, but keeps his mouth shut.

The group turns to leave the unstable hall, picking their way carefully through a maze of rubble. “We’re going to go rest in our extradimensional fortress,” says Velendo. “You’re welcome to join us, but I’ll warn you that as a matter of course we subject any visitors to a barrage of _detection_ spells. We don’t want you to be offended.”

Oathenor seems to consider the offer, stroking his long beard in a most dwarfly manner. “You’re kind to let me know. I don’t take with all that magical business; I’m a simple hunter, and don’t like people peering at me with magic.” He gives no sign whether or not he knows of Malachite’s, Agar’s or Tao’s magical detection spells.  He nods his head in finality. “I suppose I’ll sleep out in the cavern, then. The city can’t be too dangerous, what with all the undead missing.” 

_Or what with you being a big honking dragon able to eat anything dangerous,_ thinks Velendo over the mind link. _Thank Calphas he’s staying out._

In the tumbled cavern outside of the palace, Velendo creates a _Calphas’s Comfortable Castle_, and then seals the whole group inside a _sovereign wall._ Since some of the Defenders still don’t entirely trust the pessimistic deep gnome Priggle, he’s left outside of the _Castle_, sleeping on the stone and keeping watch from inside the wall. Everyone else troops inside the extradimensional haven.

Glibstone’s bells ring defiantly. “What did you mean, cutting me off like that and then lying? Why, that was a fine –”

Malachite interrupts him.  “It was a dragon, _polymorphed_ to look like a dwarf.”

Nolin interjects gleefully. “And I bluffed it!”

Glibstone stops dead in mid-sentence. “A… dragon?”

Tao nods. “A big one. I didn’t recognize the type. Brown and rock-like, with gem-like eyes and teeth…” She examines the dwarf. “Teeth about the size of your body.”

Nolin is still talking to the group, although no one is listening. “A dragon! And I lied to it! It had no idea!” He grins in self-satisfaction and blows on his fingernails before polishing them on his tunic.  “Go, me.”

The dwarven loremaster gulps, and his jester bells begin to jingle again slightly, this time out of fear. “I know a joke about dragons…” he hesitantly begins.

“Not now,” interrupts Malachite curtly.

“That explains it, then.”  Splinder speaks up from the corner, a mug of dark beer already gripped in one fist. “One of my boys found a niche under some boulders. A bit of miscellaneous treasure was scattered there: loose coins, silver spoons, odds and ends like that.  Sounds like a makeshift hoard while he’s away from home.”

“What’s the difference between a madhouse and an adventuring group?”  _jingle_

Galthia, who has been listening in silence, speaks up. “Do we fight it? Or ally with it?”

Velendo sinks down with his head in his hands. “We’re so doomed,” he complains to no one in particular. “A dragon! We can’t fight a dragon! It’ll kick our ass.”  Across the room, Tao snorts in derision.  Velendo looks up and focuses on her. “You saw it. How big was it?”

_jingle jingle_ “Magic swords.”

Tao gestures with one arm. “Maybe 40, 50’ long not including the tail. I couldn’t get a good look.”  Velendo groans again, shaking his head, and Nolin grins.

“Well, let’s see what we can find out about the thing, huh?  Maybe we don’t have to fight it after all.”

They spend a few hours discussing strategy. Tao posits that the dragon might be a divine agent of some kind, since it showed a mix of divine and arcane spell ability to Agar’s _arcane sight_.  No real conclusions are reached, although Splinder discerns a number of interesting and effective battle strategies.  Later that evening, both Tao and Velendo prepare _commune_ spells. One after another they cast them, trying to learn whatever they can.

*1. Do we have any realistic hope of defeating the dragon in combat tomorrow?"
YES.

 2. Is Acid the damage-dealing agent of its primary breath weapon?
YES.

3. Does it have another type of elemental attack it often uses in combat, that we can protect ourselves from?"
YES.

4. Is that type of elemental attack "Cold?"
NO.

5. Is it Fire? 
NO.

6. Is it Sonic?
NO.

7. Is it Electricity?
NO.*

“What the hell? That’s all of them!” complains Velendo.  

“Could we be forgetting any?” asks Agar.

“No. I’ve got to think that Calphas won’t give me any misleading answers.”

Tao scratches her chin. “What if it’s something like water? That’s an elemental attack, but it isn’t one of those.  Maybe it’s going to flood the place and drown us.”  Velendo looks doubtful.

“I suppose. Let’s go on.”

*8. Does the dragon know that we know it's a dragon?*  The whole group holds its breath, waiting for the answer.
*YES.* 

“Crap!” someone groans. “There goes the element of surprise.”

Tao fixes Nolin with a sarcastic glare. "You bluffed it, huh?"

Nolin looks offended. "Don't blame me. Blame Velendo. He's a lousy liar."

*9. Is there is treasure within the Mrid vault that could significantly increase our chances of breaking the spine of the White Kingdom?
YES.*  The group perks up at this. 

*10. Left by itself, would the dragon eventually figure out a way into the treasure vault?
UNKNOWN.

11. Could the dragon be trusted to honor any deal it might make with us?
NO.*  Everyone groans.

*12. Was the dragon displaced from its former home by undead forces?
NO.

13. Is the dragon currently working with or for undead forces?
YES.*  Everyone groans louder.  “Double crap!” spits Nolin. 

*14. Did this dragon observe the sack of Mrid from a distance and then move in to take the treasure once it was done?
YES.

15. Are there likely consequences of destroying this dragon that are worse than those we'd incur by letting it live?
UNKNOWN.

16. Is Priggle working for or with any of our enemies?
NO.

17. Does the dragon intend to attack us the moment we emerge from the Comfortable Castle and Sovereign Wall?
NO.

18. Is the Dragon going to receive help from non-summoned or Gated forces during the attack?  
YES.

19. Are those reinforcements undead?
NO.

20. Is the dragon going to hide overnight and launch a surprise attack when we emerge in the morning?
YES.

21. Does the dragon intend to wait until we open the Vault before attacking?
UNKNOWN.

22. Does the dragon think we pose a serious threat to its life?
YES. * 

“Crap, crap, crap!”

Galthia frowns. “Do your Gods ever deliver any good news?”

*23. Does the dragon believe we will launch a pre-emptive strike upon it?
YES.

24. Will the dragon have any means of escape that would be blocked by a Dimensional Anchor?
YES.

25. Would a successful Dispel Magic significantly reduce the dragon's abilities in combat?
YES.

26. Does the dragon intend to Summon a powerful creature or creatures to help fight us?
YES.

27. Is the dragon a Divine Agent?
NO.*

Glibstone speaks up. “Hrrrm. Perhaps I ought to wait here tomorrow morning. In case it can read my mind and learn how to open the vault itself, I mean.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Velendo decides. “Good thinking.” Glibstone looks embarrassed, especially with the looks of derision being aimed at him by Splinder’s troops, but he seems much more relieved.

“Well, that’s it,” announces Nolin as he grabs a soft towel and heads for the baths. “Unless that dragon is actually a polymorphed fluffy bunny, I’m out of here.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

_In this game, Bandeeto played Splinder the Dwarven Defender, and Plane Sailing breathed life into Priggle the svirfneblin scout._

Once the group has divine assurance that Priggle is not inadvertently working for an enemy, Velendo opens the door and invites him into the _Castle_ in order to brief him. “It figures,” Priggle says morosely while leaning on his gnomish pick. “Dragon probably spends his time eating deep gnomes. Never get a break, do we?”

The Defenders exchange a look and try to change the subject. “Indeed. You know anything about dragons around here?”  

Priggle looks even more pessimistic as he considers the question.  “Not dragons.  A kobold city a few weeks from here had a civil war about three years ago. According to rumor, the old King was forced into exile. I dunno where; Klixxit hasn’t shown himself since. If he had, we would have found him. My people still have quite a few scores to settle with him.

“The old King was forced out by someone calling himself Dragonking. Dragonking Oathenor, I think it is. Blasted kobolds are full of ideas and self-importance, not that it stops them from raiding our gem mines. We’re always the ones what get the brunt of any changes down here in the underdark.” He frowns.

“Oathenor?” asks Nolin, surprised. “Same name. It might be that the Dragonking is a real dragon.”

Mara leans back, looking nervous. “Oh, good.”

Nolin frowns as something stirs in his mind. "Oh cripes. I do remember something I heard from one of the gnomes back in Eversink. If this dragon is the same as the kobold king, he's supposed to be able to walk through stone."  Everyone stares at him, appalled.

Sleep is fitful. The group awakens early, prepares spells, and discusses strategy. Priggle describes the layout of the ruined palace. 

“For crying out loud,” complains Velendo, “we’re walking right into a death trap! I hate the idea of fighting the dragon by walking in and springing his trap.”

“Nothing more we can do,” says Malachite tersely. “We might as well get to it.”

Priggle has to argue with the group before they agree to let him scout ahead. They finally agree, figuring he probably won’t do much harm.  Priggle and Velendo are the first to leave the safety of the _Castle._

“Hssst!” hisses Priggle over his _mind link_. “There’s a kobold about 100 feet thataway. Richly dressed. Scratching itself. Looks nervous.”

“Really? A kobold?” Velendo strains his eyes, but can’t see it.

“It’s coming this way!  I could kill it?”  

“Not yet. Let’s see what it has to say.”  As Velendo summons Nolin and Agar, Priggle fades backwards into the darkness, blending with rock so that the kobold hopefully won’t notice him.  The little lizard-like creature walks forward confidently to the edge of the invisible wall. Adjusting his purple and fur robes and waving a golden scepter, the kobold makes a bold pronouncement… which, unfortunately, no one can hear because of the wall.

“Hang. On,” mimes Nolin, and Velendo dismisses the magical effect.  Seemingly unrattled, the kobold starts over.  As he does, Priggle slides around behind him and disappears into the gloom. Silently, Agar checks the kobold for magical auras, and finds almost none.

“I am Thurmiap!” announces the kobold in a squeaky voice, speaking in accented draconic. “I am the herald for the Dragonking!  Lo, I am his emissary made flesh, and his eyes and ears, and you will obey me as you would him. My flesh is his, and an insult to me is an insult to him.” He smiles toothily. “You may make me the proper obeisance.”

The three Defenders ignore the suggestion. “Greetings Thurmiap, Emissary of the Dragonking Oathenor. Where is his Majesty?”

The richly dressed kobold straightens his back and gestures with his scepter. “He does not wish to expose himself to your expected treachery. Instead, I shall pick out his share of the treasure. You shall show me proper honor, or you shall be rent limb from limb and all of your share will be forfeit.  Shall we go now and open the vault?”

Nolin rolls his eyes and translates, and Velendo answers. “We are waiting for our spellcasters to finish preparing the appropriate magics. Without those, we can’t get that vault open. We’ll have to wait for a bit.”

“Hrmmmm.  Very well.”  The kobold stands and stares at them, even as Priggle’s mental reports filter in.

_“The passage is still very congested. Some of this stuff would make nasty deadfalls. I’m coming up on… oh my, lots more rubble in the former temple. I’ll just climb… humph. The room has been excavated. Looks like the dragon wants room to maneuver in.  There’s a new pillar on one side, holding up the ceiling – which probably isn’t all that safe. And the wall on the left has been carved out, dug behind, and rebuilt. There’s probably something behind it.  Yes. For one thing, there’s darkness leaking out from one of the cracks.”

“You can tell all that?”_ thinks Velendo.  A mental snort of long-suffering, strained patience comes back to him.

_“I’m a svirfneblin. Not that you know what that means.  No sign of the dragon, but it’s certainly around here somewhere, maybe in the darkness behind that wall. I’m coming back. As far as I can tell, it isn’t going to attack us in the corridors; it probably wants us to get the vault open first.”_

Malachite, Mara and the other Defenders emerge as Priggle returns. The thirty dwarven troops arrange themselves in small strike teams, each group ordered to protect a particular hero in the thick of battle. Only Glibstone stays behind.  

“Tell the dragon we’re going nowhere until he shows himself,” orders Malachite.

The kobold boggles at his harsh tone. “He takes no orders from the like of _you_,” Thurmiap replies. “You will treat me as you would treat him, or else you will die.”  A slow smile spreads across Malachite’s face.

“All right.”

The group cautiously picks its way towards the vault, every sense tingling as they await a possible ambush. As they approach the former temple to Moradin and the room with the vault door, everyone begins to appreciate the thoroughness of Priggle’s scouting. From the floor 30’ below, even Velendo and Splinder have trouble telling that the ceiling has been weakened. One by one, the heroes filter their way into the room.

“Well?” demands Thurmiap. “Open! Open!”

In cooperation, Velendo begins casting – and creates a _flexible wall_, stretching the magical barrier to entirely block the lefthand wall and arcing it over his head like an umbrella, about ten feet below the ceiling. As he does so, the little kobold cries out, “Treachery!”

The stone wall to the left smashes outwards, hit by something big behind it. The _flexible wall_ holds, and more Defenders spin with weapons out.  Then the horrible sound of snapping stone echoes through the chamber, and the ceiling above their heads shatters and collapses like an avalanche on top of the heroes.

It’s stopped dead by the _flexible wall_. Visible through the rubble that seemingly hangs in mid-air are four tremendous claws. The dragon was hiding above the ceiling, expecting to bury them in a ceiling collapse before attacking. A horrible roar echoes through the room, and fear spills forth along with choking dust.

Priggle looks up at the blocked stone and the force wall. “Nice work,” he comments.  Then the dragon snakes a long, flexible neck around the edge of the _flexible wall_, coughs horribly, and vomits flesh-corrosive acid over most of the group.

Thurmiap dissolves immediately, flesh bubbling, but the Defenders are completely untouched; preventative spells have shielded them entirely from acid.  Oathenor doesn’t much seem to care. A huge smile crosses his rocky, reptilian face, he seems to wink one gem-like eye… and in an instant, his massive stony bulk is transformed entirely into living metal.

Mara recognizes the spell.  “Iron body!” she shouts, and as soon as Nolin _hastes_ her she activates her own _iron body_ necklace and flies towards the dragon.  Only Oathenor’s head is really close enough to hit, the remainder of his long body is still above her head and protected by Velendo’s wall. “You’re mine,” mutters Mara as she lifts _Lightbinder_ and soars in.  As she does so, the dragon uses its reach to attack her first. Its head snaps forward….

It uses its blade-like teeth to forcibly rip the +5 mace from her gauntleted hand….

And it swallows Mara’s weapon.

Silence fills the room. Mara hovers there, shocked. “You swallowed my weapon!” she says in disbelief.  She uses her momentum to shield bash the dragon, ineffectually.

Again, Oathenor smiles, this time grinning with teeth like iron swords.  It’s clearly having fun. *”WHO’S NEXT?*

_To be continued…._


----------



## Sagiro

I just wanted to note that most of the "Mad-Lib" has already been filled in at this point:

The Dragon was certainly dismayed to find that we had *foiled its original plan with a flexible wall*, but no more than we were when we discovered the Dragon could easily *divest us of our powerful magical weapons*.

The horrified expression on Mara's player's face when the Dragon decided to *eat her mace "Lightbinder" * was utterly priceless. And I'm sure we all had that look when about half-way through the battle the Dragon suddenly [particularly rat-bastard-y detail still pending].

-Sagiro


----------



## Plane Sailing

Ah, this brings it all back to me!

You wouldn't *believe* the look of shock on Mara's players face when it swallowed her mace! It was absolutely priceless!

Priggle had a hard job getting the defenders to start to trust him. 
But what do you expect if you're a Svirfneblin, eh? Nothing good, that's for sure. Don't mind me, I'll just do the little I can and hope to survive, not that its likely, I mean, we're bound to die anyway right? Huh, those big people 
 

(nb my responsibility for the improved disarm came in the RBDM club, long before I knew I was going to actually *be* here. Naturally my part in -that- planning wasn't revealed until the *very end* of the evening  )

Ooo,  this is going to be good!


----------



## Kodiak

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> *
> You wouldn't *believe* the look of shock on Mara's players face when it swallowed her mace! It was absolutely priceless!
> 
> *




That wasn't just any mace.  It was my +5 Holy Avenger mace "Lightbinder", enhanced by Aeos himself when he surrounded Malachite and myself with his holy energy when he appeared all wroth while whatever celestial battle took place between himself and Imbindarla (we think), who had been  deceiving him regarding "Sir Ghouleax".   I also had never scored a critical hit with the mace (except once, when the victim died from the hit itself), and wanted to know what its special effect was.

I loved that mace.   I also knew Kevin was Rat-Bastardey enough to destroy it, since he dissolved Galthea's staff of disruption during our recent battle with an acidic black pudding inside the comfy castle.  That same battle had damaged Lightbinder, so I knew Lightbinder was suspectible to acid.

And that dragon was full of acid. 

How would I ever explain to Aeos?

--Mara


----------



## Elemental

If I were you, I'd be more worried about this:

“Not dragons. A kobold city a few weeks from here had a civil war about three years ago. According to rumor, the old King was forced into exile. I dunno where; *Klixxit *  hasn’t shown himself since. If he had, we would have found him. My people still have quite a few scores to settle with him."


----------



## Piratecat

Let's answer some questions!



			
				Jon Potter said:
			
		

> *If the dragon were:
> 
> a) half-elemental (earth)
> 
> or
> 
> b) an elemental Savant (earth)
> 
> then it would explain a bunch of little clues that PC has left strewn about...
> *




*BING BING BING*!  Give Mister Potter two points, and everyone please meet Oathenor, half-elemental (earth) deep dragon. I've just posted his stats right here for everyone other than my players.  Hey, where is elemental savant from?

No spoilers yet on how they got the mace. It isn't what you think - although KidCthulhu certainly considered using her _ring of incontinence_, it wouldn't have worked while the _iron body_ was up. This is an absolute shame.


----------



## KidCthulhu

To put all your suspense at rest, no, the rescue of Lightbinder does not involve the Ring of Incontence.  Sorry.  I thought about it, but Nolin doesn't want to be a one trick pony.

None of us thought of the _Iron Body_/can't swallow thing.  Shame, really.  We really miss Dr. Rictus' tummy sometimes.

As for Malachite's timing, what you're seeing is the bleed over that happens when a very wry, very funny player has to play a straight man.  It's fun to watch him bite his lip and not say the sarcastic thing!

Welcome, Kodiak.  Glad you're finally here.


----------



## Piratecat

As the dragon flexes its shining metal neck and smiles tauntingly, the ground next to Splinder _flexes_. Out of it emerges a large stone drake of some sort. It looks like a gargoyle carving of a true dragon, eight feet long and roughly carved. Agar immediately recognizes it for what it truly is.  “Earth elemental!” he yells. Then another half dozen rise from the ground, and he lamely appends, “Err… a lot of them.”  The elementals attack, sweeping through some of the dwarven shock troops with their heavy stone fists. Dwarves fly sideways, one of them dropping.  

Splinder swings back his axe and says something unpronounceable. A massive bolt of _chain lightning_ starts at the tip of his axe and sears into the dragon. Much of the electricity is carried away harmlessly along the metal skin, but enough bounces away to form a bolt that riccochets from one elemental to another.  As the stone outsiders stop sparking and arcing, Splinder pulls back his axe and begins hewing. Chunks of rock begin to fly.

As Agar locks a _dimensional anchor_ on the dragon, Nolin casts another _mass haste_ for Mara and many of the dwarves, _inspiring_ them as well by singing a triumphant dwarven battle song. The dwarves pick up the tune, singing and stomping along as they face the monster.

Malachite flies forward with Karthos out. The dragon tries to shift towards him but is simply too slow, and the dwarves assigned to Malachite hamper its defense. The holy sword slashes at the huge rock-like scales, sending up sparks and flashes of light as it hits. Oathenor roars in pain, although its side is less damaged than Malachite would have expected.

“We need to do something about all those spells,” worries Velendo.  With a prayer to his God, he casts a _greater dispelling_.  The prayer takes visible form as it surrounds the wyrm – and suddenly Oathenor becomes slower, weaker, and much more clumsy.  The dragon thumps to the floor as its _fly_ spell is terminated. Velendo's _true seeing_ reveals that many of Oathenor's protective spells have fallen as well. Unfortunately, _iron body_ and a few other spells have survived the dispelling attempt, indicating that they're extremely powerful. 

Tao eyes Mara, but sees that she has her magical _shockwave flail_ hanging from her belt. The divine agent backs away from the dragon. Her eyes roll up in her head, and she uses her helm’s _clairvoyance_ power to look *inside* the dragon.  She scans for the shining mace that was just eaten, but can’t see it.

The room is now a chaotic mass of heroes, dwarven assistants aiding them, earth elementals and rubble, all overlooked by the dragon’s glistening neck and head. Oathenor slithers a bit farther down from into the room. It knows its battle tactics. It learned them over centuries of difficult fights: use the elementals as distractions. Kill the holy men first, so they can’t heal the others. Kill the wizards second, while the fighters pound on the metal skin in vain. Then finish up the rest and hunt down survivors. With this in mind, Oathenor eyes Velendo and licks its lips with a metal tongue. _*Strange enchantment on him,*_ thinks the dragon as its head and claws snap forward. *Wonder what it tastes like?*

Turns out, it tastes like pain.

Velendo has cast his unique spell _wallbuilder’s retribution._ It delivers as much damage to Oathenor as the dragon inflicts on Velendo, and the old cleric only takes half damage. After a good, solid bite, Oathenor yanks its head back in scarlet agony. The wyrm uses its remaining attacks to jerk Karthos from Malachite’s grasp, battering the paladins with its wings as it does so. Oathenor tosses this weapon down its throat as well, and Karthos' voice trails off as the dragon's jaws snap shut.  Oathenor then uses its other claw to yank away Splinder's greataxe. It dangles the axe over the dwarf's head, tantilizingly just out of reach.  

Unfortunately, Splinder was never one for jumping, and he hates being taunted. The dwarf swears violently in his native tongue, blistering the air as he tries to reach his weapon. An elemental clubs him on the side of the head, and Splinder glares at the thing as he still tries to reach his dangled axe.

*“CARE TO SCRATCH AT ME WITH A DAGGER, MEAT?” * The dragon surveys the chaotic melee and eyes the old man uncertainly. Perhaps it would just be best to wall him off from the fight and deal with him afterwards? He also notices the deep gnome scurrying about, but discounts him as a cringing lackey. At least the fighters were under control, effectively helpless without their weapons.  Now, for the wizard....

Mara smiles, her teeth white in the gloom. “I can think of something better.” She casts _dispel evil_. It’s a simple matter to touch the immense dragon, and it screams as holy energy courses through its body, burning away its powerful elemental magic. The iron skin ripples away to scale and flesh. Then she hammers it, hard, with her flail. It flinches in pain, and the sight is its own reward.

“There we go,” sighs Priggle philosophically, who has somehow worked himself around behind the dragon without anyone really noticing. “Now I’ve got something to work with. Not that anyone is ever going to thank me.” Standing where no one else can see him, he buries his gnomish pick into the dragon’s back. The dragon opens its wide mouth to roar in pain. Priggle pulls his pick out, noticing that he struck a vital organ. For good measure, he swings twice more at the same spot.  Acidic blood spurts as his pick does fearsome amounts of damage.  He faintly hears Nolin cheer "Go, Priggle!", and in spite of himself the deep gnome smiles slightly at the recognition.

Galthia also takes advantage of the change in the dragon's skin. Previously, his fists had bounced off the living metal. Now, focused ki drive them deep into the dragon's wounded side. They still miss more than they hit, but this time the dragon feels the pain that Galthia inflicts.

Tao is still trying to see inside of its stomach with her magic, and she suddenly catches a glimpse of shining light. “Aha!” she announces triumphantly. She flexes her _gauntlet of retrieval_ that she took from the githyanki mercenaries in the Astral plane, and _Lightbinder_ appears in her hands, psionically _teleported_.  "Mara?"  She tosses the mace to the blond paladin, who thanks her politely.

Malachite is staring up at the furious dragon, and he tries to retrieve his weapon by activating its natural tendency to jump short distances into his hand.  Nothing happens, of course; a dragon’s belly is not a sheath.  Then from behind him he hears Agar’s voice. “I _wish_ that whatever Malachite’s trying to do right now succeeds!”  Oathenor’s fleshy stomach roils as Karthos rips itself free and tumbles out of the huge mouth, landing smoothly in Malachite’s hand.

“I missed you,” Karthos comments in a metallic voice.

“Likewise.” 

They attack, and Oathenor returns the favor, forgetting about Agar and concentrating all of its fury on the one target. It flings Splinder's axe aside as it does so, and the dwarf goes scrambling after it.

Spells are now raining in from all sides, spells too powerful to all be blocked by spell resistance. Nolin drops two consecutive _flame strikes_ on its broad back.  Galthia and Tao and Malachite and Mara and Priggle, along with countless dwarven distractions, surround it. The elementals aren’t holding their ground, and Splinder takes out one even as Nolin uses _healing circle_ to strengthen the dwarven troops.  Oathenor tries to find a place to put a _wall of stone_, but the room is too crowded, and the wall must be unbroken. He tries to breath acid, but his breath weapon has not regenerated yet from the _iron body_.  The dragon tries to back up into a better tactical position, but isn’t quick enough, and it staggers as Malachite’s sword cuts into him again. Galthia's fists shatter a scale and drive the ragged edges into the soft flesh underneath.  Mara follows his blows with several of her own, and Oathenor slumps backwards bleeding from a dozen or more wounds, unable to recover the advantage.  “We’ve got him!” someone screams in triumph. Velendo fires a _searing light_ into Oathenor's head, and everyone cheers as it burns right through the skull and out the other side.

Then there’s a flash of light from one of its claws. For a few seconds, a magical ring glows brightly, and a wave of corruscating yellow light  flows up and down its body. And when the light fades, the dragon is wholly healed.

Nolin’s voice is quiet.  “Oh, crap.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The rippling light fades from the dragon, so no one wastes any time. Oathenor may healed, but its tactical position is terrible; it’s backed into a corner, surrounded by dozens of enemies, dazed, and stripped of its magical protections and enhancements.  No one has ever said that the Defenders don’t know how to use an advantage, so they press forward, weapons flashing with their own light. Galthia’s fists jab in, hitting the dragon like thrown anvils. Malachite smites with Karthos, ripping through scales like wet tissue. Mara’s mace hammers into the side of the long stony neck, ripples of liquid light spreading out from where the mace hits. Tao’s swords ring as she jams them under dragonscales with expert precision.  From the side of the monster, Splinder sets his feet and repeatedly pounds his axe into the base of the neck. Even more telling, Priggle is flanking from behind the beast, and the tip of his gnomish hooked hammer-pick punctures dragon scales as if they were light shale. 

Acidic blood again begins to pool beneath it, steaming in the cool air, and the smell of the blood and the acid breath mixed with rock dust is terrible. More than one dwarf is breathing raggedly.

On the far side of the rubble-strewn room, more than half of the earth elementals have been destroyed. The ones that remain sink into the ground and reappear closer to the dragon, perhaps instinctively trying to protect him. One elemental is larger than the others, and Splinder doesn’t pay much attention to it until it hits him with a double-fisted blow that nearly jars his teeth loose. Then he looks up at it – and up, and up – and realizes that he might have another problem besides the dragon after all.

Oathenor regains his wits and furiously unleashes a full attack at the already injured Sir Malachite.  *I’ll take at least one of them down before I leave,* it thinks viciously.  Both claws seize the human’s shoulders and _rip_ with as much strength as it can manage, even as wings batter in and sword-sized teeth grab and tear. Hot blood fills the dragon’s mouth, and it sighs in satisfaction, knowing that it’s just taught someone a very final lesson. Spitting out the body and pulling back to survey the look on the survivors’ faces, Oathenor is shocked to see that Malachite is still barely standing. *That shouldn’t be possible!* it thinks. With this new knowledge of his enemies, Oathenor does the wise thing. After all, a true hunter attacks and kills on his own terms, not that of its prey. Oathenor taps into his massive reserve of elemental magic, feeling the earth thrum all around him, and uses his quickened ability to _plane shift_ out... 

Except Agar’s _dimensional anchor_ screams back into existence around him in an inescapable net, and he feels himself dragged back into the Prime Material plane before he ever clears the planar boundary. For the first time in more than a century, Oathenor feels actual fear.

The Defenders attack again, Malachite pausing while Velendo _heals_ him. At the back of the group, Nolin’s eyes narrow while he studies the dragon. His opinion is that Malachite was lucky to survive the attack.  “How are we going to beat it?” A clever thought flashes through Nolin’s mind, and he digs into his belt pouch. He yanks out a small onyx statuette, shakes it, and issues a command.  “Angus! Angus, c’mere, boy! Come!”  There’s a rushing sound that sounds like pounding paws, and in seconds a large hairy dog materializes next to the bard.  It looks up at Nolin’s face with preternatural intelligence.

“Hi, boss! I missed ya!” says Angus cheerily as he jokingly nuzzles in to sniff Nolin’s crotch. “How’s… hey!” He realizes what’s going on and spins, beginning to bark loudly.  “That’s a…” *Bark! Bark!* He looks back up at Nolin, horror clearly written across his furry face. “That’s a bleedin’ dragon!”

Nolin bends down next to Angus, pulling something else from his pouch and holding it in front of the large dog as he starts to whisper. “Ye want me to _what?_” Angus’ horrified tone carries even over the roaring and thrashing of the dragon. “Why don’t ye ever summon me when ye need a nice fat slow bunny to be run down?”

Nolin quickly whispers something else, and Angus shakes his large furry head. “Ye’re lucky I love ya, you know that?” The magical dog nervously takes the wooden item into his mouth.  “But ye owe me for this one. Big time.”  He backs away from Nolin and angles around behind him, trying to get a clear approach to the dragon’s maw. Malachite, Tao Mara, Galthia and Splinder block the way, though; between their swinging weapons and the remaining dwarven bodyguards throwing themselves at the huge serpent, the dog doesn’t have much room to maneuver.

The injured dragon twitches its neck backwards, and before Angus can jump a solid stone wall seals off a whole section of the vault’s entrance room. Almost all of the Defenders, including Angus the _onyx dog_, are on the side _without_ the dragon.  Not so for Priggle and Splinder; they suddenly find themselves alone with the bulky wyrm and a huge earth elemental.  

Oathenor lets out a mental sigh; with the _wall of stone_ in place, it will be simple to finish off these two and escape by burrowing through the ceiling.  *“NOW THAT WE HAVE A BIT OF PRIVACY? *  Its jaws gape open and clamp down like a vice onto Splinder arm and shoulder. Its claws snap in as well, grasping and pulling away gobbets of warm flesh, even as its wings snap forwards and slam into either side of his stout body.  Behind him, the dragon’s tail rises and smashes down like a falling tree into Priggle's face. 

Fighting back the pain, Splinder swears with beautiful precision.

“Oh, sure,” Priggle mutters to himself as blood splashes out of his broken nose onto the dragon’s writhing tail in front of him. “Lot of good I’m going to be. Dragons got themselves blindsight, I’d guess.  _Blur_ doesn’t work. _Hiding_ doesn’t work. Just us smaller folk in here, and no one outside who can get us out.” He groans in anticipatory dismay, even as he brings the sharpened end of his hooked pick down into Oathenor’s tailbone. Just like he’d split a chunk of granite, he strikes the stone-like scales several times, and with the _iron body_ dispelled his enchanted pick once again slips in like a chisel.

The dragon screams from the unexpected pain. 

“Huh,” observes Priggle warily, “That still hurt?”  The answer is obvious as acidic blood sprays up from the wound. “Good.”  He sighs.  “Now, I suppose it’s my turn to get eaten. I knew this was going to be my fate.”

On the other side of the wall, Galthia focuses his ki into his hands, feeling them grow heavy with his concentrated will. He braces himself in front of the new stone and pounds his fists into the wall, one blow after another. On the third blow, the stone begins to crumble off in chunks. By the time he makes his fifth and final blow, there’s a hole almost large enough to crawl through. Everyone who can fires magical spells through the opening, _lightning_ and _searing light_ crackling through the narrow space. It’s unclear what gets past the dragon’s natural resistance to spells, but the froth around its jaw is bloody as it twists around with a deafening roar. Its head comes down, perhaps to devour Splinder whole, perhaps to breath acid.

“Boost me!” the _onyx dog_ shouts.  As it runs and leaps, Malachite and Mara boost Angus up and through the hole. Oathenor doesn’t even hesitate. Out of pure reflex, he snaps the hapless dog up out of the air, devouring and swallowing him in one gulp.

“Angus…” says Nolin mournfully. “I hope…” He uses his blast harp to enlarge the hole in the wall as he runs closer. Mara is the first through the gap. The dragon is too slow to snatch away her weapon again, and she darts forward, swinging her holy mace _Lightbinder_.

She hits the dragon right in the middle of the snout, a flawless blow, and her mace erupts into cascading light.

Mara has had _Lightbinder_ for years, but she’s only seen its true power called on a handful of occasions. As she watches, bands of solid sunlight ripple out from her blow and stretch inexorably over and across the dragon’s bulk. Then with a sound like a hymn to sunrise, the bands of light painfully constrict. Oathenor instinctively strikes out at Mara instead of the badly injured Splinder, and Mara interposes her golden shield, but she doesn’t need to. The bands of sunlight seem to be acting like a _forcecage_, and Oathenor is firmly trapped by solid faith.  He wriggles and strains to free himself in vain. Then he suddenly stops, his sides bulging oddly, and lets out a gurgling moan.  

The dragon's gem-like eyes roll horribly, and it opens its mouth to breath flesh-dissolving acid on Mara.  Instead, it gags horribly, and like a pleasant spring morning the Defenders can see a young tree branch growing out of the depths of the dragon’s throat. The small tree limb grows at an astounding rate and begins sprouting pale green leaves, even as the bound dragon struggles and twitches.

“A tree?” someone asks in confusion.

“_Quaal’s feather token_,” Nolin happily explains to the people next to him. “The ‘tree’ version. Angus delivered it for me before he got sent back to the Beastlands.”

* “GRROWWWP?"* Oathenor looks like he’s trying to say something, but can’t. From his many wounds, twigs begin to push through the flesh, and burning blood sprays onto unfolding green leaves.  Then, with a horrible _ripping_ sound, a massive tree trunk pushes out of Oathenor’s belly and buries itself in the stone floor of the cavern. In seconds the sunlight-bound dragon is pushed a full twenty feet into the air.  The monster hangs there on the new tree like some sort of shining grotesque fruit, a trickle of bloody spittle drooling down from its slack mouth, hissing quietly onto a new root below.

“Oh, Goddess,” breathes Tao, as elementals fall to pieces all around the group. 

Nolin nods.  “Exactly.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Bandeeto

A few interesting side notes:

1) Priggle managed to essentially sneak up behind the dragon by being a "contemptible target".  Very handy for horrendous flanking attacks.  Also, the dragon was forced to ignore him because of all the activity up front.

When the _wall of stone_ went up, Priggle was suddenly in a great deal of trouble.  But, just as the dragon was about to let Priggle have it, Galthia blasted a hole in the wall, threatening from the front, and Priggle was able to flank yet again.  (Very annoying for P'Cat, I can tell you.) 

2) So, we were down in the kitchen talking strategy before the game without P'Cat present, and KidC says, completely joking,  "Wouldn't it be great if we could get the thing to swallow one of the tree tokens?"  We were all highly amused when Nolin actually came up with a delivery system.

3) Very few of us took any major damage during the fight thanks to our pre-combat _stoneskins_ and _endurances_.  Splinder sustained a full dragon bite and much elemental pounding without ever dropping significantly below his original hit point count.  It helped that he was in "defender" mode when he got caught behind the stone wall.

4) In addition to his being his usual charming self, I seem to recall Nolin having bribed Angus with some very large quantity of meat.  We were all deeply pained, however, when Angus entered the dragon's maw and we heard a sickening crunch and a yipe.  It didn't help to know he was going to be fine and back on the Beastlands.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Bandeeto said:
			
		

> A few interesting side notes:
> 
> 1) Priggle managed to essentially sneak up behind the dragon by being a "contemptible target".  Very handy for horrendous flanking attacks.  Also, the dragon was forced to ignore him because of all the activity up front.
> 
> When the _wall of stone_ went up, Priggle was suddenly in a great deal of trouble.  But, just as the dragon was about to let Priggle have it, Galthia blasted a hole in the wall, threatening from the front, and Priggle was able to flank yet again.  (Very annoying for P'Cat, I can tell you.)




Priggle took a nasty blow from the dragons tail, and was royally whomped by the big earth elemental which was in there with us (partly because I forgot about the +4 AC I had from haste at that time. Doh!

As you can imagine he was *very* relieved when the stone wall was broken down so that he didn't get the dragons, er, undivided attention. Getting killed by the king of kobolds would have been such a downer...



> 3) Very few of us took any major damage during the fight thanks to our pre-combat _stoneskins_ and _endurances_.  Splinder sustained a full dragon bite and much elemental pounding without ever dropping significantly below his original hit point count.  It helped that he was in "defender" mode when he got caught behind the stone wall.




Priggle being one of the exceptions, since by the time he was being hurt, he ended up taking about 60-80 points of damage out of his maximum of about a 100. He fully anticipated dying in a blaze of glory 

Cheers


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *4 - Other than rolling to hits and spell penetration checks, luck didn't have much to do with this battle. KidCthulhu is right; it was all about intelligence gathering, damned smart planning and tactics.  *




I told PCat after this fight that the hallmark of a good GM is someone who comes up with clever plans to screw the players -- but when the players come up with better plans yet, s/he lets the players get away with it.

As the fight unfolded, PCat kept unfolding danger after danger (the darkness behind the wall, the falling ceiling, the acid breath, etc.) and one by one, we were ready for them.  Sometimes because we knew they were coming, sometimes not.  Either way, it was a very satisfying fight, and PCat, to his credit, didn't weasel and cheese to keep his own plans in play.


----------



## Piratecat

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *Almost the entire party was slaughtered in the first two hours of gaming.  Only one of us escaped alive.
> *




There's a reason for this comment, and a reason I warned you it was misleading.    For the first two hours of the next session, the group played a bunch of Oathenor's kobold lackeys instead of their regular characters.

It was great, in an ugly back-stabbing living in perpetual fear sort of way.

I gave everyone a pre-generated kobold (courtesy of Jamis Buck's wonderful NPC generator!) of 3rd level. I tried to change the classes around a little; Sagiro got a kobold barbarian, for instance, dumb and strong. There was a paranoid female fighter, a pompous sorcerer loyal to the Dragonking, a sneaky rogue spying for the exiled Dread Lord Klixxit, a cowardly rogue on the verge of bolting, and a female sorcerer (played by Blackjack, Malachite's player) who was not so much a 3rd lvl kobold as she was a 11th lvl ghoul sorcerer _mind jarred_ into a kobold's body.  

That was a secret, of course, as were her negotiations with Oathenor.  The group slowly snuck into the palace area after the sound of the Dragonking kicking the upstart surfaceworlders' butts faded.  They were more than a little surprised to see dwarves still alive.  Melee ensued, of course, but dwarven reinforcements started to arrive - at about the same time that kobolds started to desert or (in the case of the barbarian) die in combat.

The "kobold" sorcerer finally lost her temper. The rest of the group found out her secret - very briefly - when she tired of their incompetence and cowardice and cast _cloud kill_ and a couple of _fireballs_ down the hallway, killing every other surviving kobold and a couple of dwarves. She then escaped into the caverns. Presumably she's out there somewhere, stirring up trouble while the Defenders explore the vault.

And that's where we'll pick up next time!   With Agar sitting on the dragon's corpse, trying to saw off a finger to get to a magic ring, as Nolin and Glibstone clear rubble out of the way and examine the vault door for traps....

Continued early next week!


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> The "kobold" sorcerer finally lost her temper. The rest of the group found out her secret - very briefly - when she tired of their incompetence and cowardice and cast cloud kill and a couple of fireballs down the hallway*




I had no choice!  They were all disobeying my orders to kill the dwarven priest, and they starting chickening out and hiding in crevices and nooks.  Once the barbarian bit it, it was just a bunch of dwarves, me, and a seemingly empty tunnel in between.

And then I realized that I had _cloudkill_.  A nice way to kill some dwarves and cover my escape.  The fact that the kobolds were all 3 HD creatures, meaning they'd die instantly, was a very, very pleasant side effect.


----------



## Wolfspirit

I think that I shall never see 
A dragon gutted by a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Through a beast's once beating breast; 

A tree that has quite saved the day, 
And makes the party drop and pray; 

A tree that made the pious swear, 
A dragon carcass in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom it has slain; 
Showering blood quite like the rain

For dragon slaying remember ye, 
Carry a Quall's Feather Token: Tree.

(Parody of the Tree poem by Joyce Kilmer)

Sorry if a bit of the parody is a bit stretched, I only had a bit to work on it before having to head out.  Oh, and awesome fight PC


----------



## Piratecat

Update by Monday... maybe even tomorrow! SEE what's inside the mysterious vault of many rooms!  MARVEL at the fate of someone missing! WONDER at the many and myriad dwarven traps!  LAUGH at the shenanigans surrounding The Glowing Corridor!  And SCREAM when you see what Nolin manages to get himself in to....

We're playing tonight, probably finishing up the vault. Right now I'm 2 sessions behind, and this will make it three, so I need to catch everyone up!  

And to tide you over, here's a random quote from the strategy session over the dragon. Priggle wanted to join the fight, and Velendo didn't want to let him.

---

"Why would the dragon eat Priggle," someone said waving a hand in Tao's general direction, "when he could eat a lovely fresh virgin?"

The rest of the group frowns and Malachite snorts. "Zero for three if you meant Nolin instead of Tao."

Nolin's head snaps up. "Hey!"


----------



## Piratecat

After the fight, the Defenders take some time to regroup and heal. “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be!” remarks Nolin. “I didn’t even get hurt! Can you believe it?”

From under his blood-encrusted eyebrows, Priggle gives him an incredibly filthy look. 

One of the dwarven soldiers jogs in, panting. “Sir!” he addresses Splinder and Mara. “Something just tried to break into the palace. Kobolds, I think – and we were doing a fine job fighting them off. Then a fireball went off, some sort of acidic cloud slammed down, and I think we’ve lost three men.”

Splinder barely hesitates. “Right. We’re on it.” With a quick discussion to gauge people’s capabilities, half the group heads for the palace entrance, clambering over and under rubble to do so. The other half stays by the dragon’s corpse. 

“Now,” ponders Nolin, “which bits might be valuable? I wish arcade were here. He loves this dissection stuff.”  From atop the dragon’s body, balanced precariously and sawing away at a huge claw, Agar gives him a thumbs up. 

“Not to worry. I’m on it!” He smiles boldly. “It’s fascinating; he seems to have elemental matter suffused right in to his body! It’s making the dissection much more difficult. But I’ll be plucking teeth, cutting off claws and scales, and if I can I’ll dig out his heart.” He looks doubtfully at the huge bulk rising next to him. “That might take some work. But at least I’ll get these two rings off! I’m not so sure about the necklace; it won’t fit over his head, and chopping off that neck will take hours.”

The other Defenders return, accompanied by a visibly distressed Glibstone. “Any luck?” asks Nolin. Malachite shakes his head.

“By the time we got there, whoever or whatever cast those spells was gone. We recovered some kobold bodies, so we can _speak with dead_. He looks grim. “We recovered some dwarven bodies, too. Five dead, between the dragon fight and the kobolds.”

“It could have been much worse!” opines Glibstone, shaking his belled head as he gazes up at the dragon in awe. “I can’t believe you killed that thing. After all, prithee, what’s the difference between an insane asylum and a band of dragon hunters?”  

Malachite frowns. “Now is not the time.”

 “Magic swords,” finishes Glibstone seriously, and jingles.

“That’s funny,” says Mara encouragingly.

“Twice,” says Nolin.

“What?” asks Glibstone.

“We killed it twice. We killed it, it healed, and we killed it again.” He looks worriedly down at the small statuette in his hand.  Glibstone looks at him with disbelief. “We’ll tell you about it later. For now, let’s look at that vault door.”

“Indeed!  Say, what is…”

Malachite rounds on him, suddenly furious. *“Not. Now.* We are at a tactical disadvantage, with known enemies around probably summoning aid, and time is short. Stop telling jokes. Open the vault.” He catches Glibstone in his withering glare, and the dwarven loremaster’s spirit crumples slightly. “Do it.”

“Indeed,” Glibstone mumbles, and sets to work.

***

A few minutes later, the rubble has been cleared from around the vault door, and Glibstone is ready to proceed. More rubble hangs magically above his head, suspended by Velendo’s _flexible wall_, but not due to fall for some time.  “I’ve never been past the first room before, but I have the accumulated lore entrusted to me by his late Majesty. Please be patient.” The dwarf moves up to the huge stone door of the vault. He places his lips to it and speaks quietly, too quietly for anyone else to hear. With a slight rumbling, gears turn and vibrate deep within the stone, and the door sinks down out of sight.  Behind it is a vast black portal shimmering with magic. “Come on.”  Splinder steps through and disappears entirely.  With a worried look, the rest of the Defenders also step through, accompanied by their two mounts and the 25 remaining dwarven soldiers.

They enter a vast room shaped like a half of a donut – “I’m hungry,” Nolin mumbles – and lined floor to ceiling with narrow slots for scrolls and stone tablets. The only thing breaking the document storage space is perfectly carved murals of dwarven battles. The portal they emerge from is on the room’s curving left-hand wall. Ahead of them along the inner curved wall are seven black portals with dwarven runes above them. To the left and right, on a raised floor, workspace for dozens of scribes and stonemasons fill the floor. It’s immediately clear that many of the worktables have been knocked over.







The place appears empty.

The paladins immediately begin checking for evil and undead, to no avail. Glibstone gives a cry of distress and begins picking up scrolls from the floor. Galthia gives the room a long, slow look and begins to methodically search. A few people join him. The rest of the adventurers, perhaps spoiled by the memory of the now-departed sharp-sighted Palladio of House Roaringbrook, don’t bother to search methodically and instead wander about the room aimlessly. Only Priggle decides to study the scrolls and tablets, squirreled away in a corner and unnoticed by any of the dwarves.

Agar has been studying the portals, using his innate _gate sense_ to track where they lead to. “I think these all go directly into the heart of the positive material plane. One step through these before we’ve unlocked the lock, and we’ll end up exploding from too much life energy. Neat, huh?” He looks up at the top of the portals. “Each of these seven portals are labeled with the name of one of the Seven Heavens of Mount Celestia, the plane of boring do-gooder fuddy-duddies.” Mara and Malachite flash him a warning look, and he grins to show he isn’t serious. 

Glibstone nods. “The Lore instructs that if we would ascend the paths of the vault, we would mount into heaven itself.”

Agar nods in understanding. “So, we take the door labeled with the name of the first Heaven, Lunia?”

Glibstone shakes his head, bells jingling. “No. I think we are already in Lunia, the first of the seven heavens, since we’re already in the first room. We should take the portal to Mercuria, the second heaven. As soon as I figure out how to activate the portal.”

From the left side of the room, Galthia calls out. “There is a pile of clothes here, and armor, hidden by this turned over writing desk.” His long face twists. “There is also something that can only be described as gobbets. Little pieces of flesh.”  Nolin and Tao run over and look.

Tao points. “You see this blood smear on the floor? And those marks in it?” She frowns. “Unless I’m mistaken, those are tongue prints. Someone or something was licking the blood off of the floor.” Everyone blanches, and Tao digs out a circular disk from the bottom of her pack. “Let’s see who or what this is,” she says, and drops a tiny chunk of flesh into the disk. Immediately in the air above it, the image of a young, frightened dwarf appears. He is wearing the regalia of a royal dwarven soldier. Glibstone immediately takes notice. 

“That’s Dorthuld!” he exclaims. “The King’s second Squire, responsible for bearing His Majesty’s extra axe.”

Nolin idly sorts through the loose clothing and armor, and his eyebrows rise as he uncovers a roughly written journal. “Hang on,” he says. “Look at this.”

The journal reads:






Tao looks up from over by the portals. “There are faint bloody footsteps leading in this direction. The dwarven King must have awoken as a ghoul, eaten his poor squire – and he’s somewhere deeper in the vault.”

"Poor bastard," says Nolin.

“So, Glibstone?” asks Mara, trying to change the subject to something more cheerful, “Any luck on figuring out how to make the portal work?”

The dwarf gulps, fighting down horror. “Prithee, I believe so, yes Mum. The Lore tells me to use my knowledge of history to correct past mistakes.” He gestures at the stone mural in front of him. “This is a scene from a famous battle. But there are a few things wrong with it! For instance, King Horox III didn’t ride a giant spider, he rode a riding lizard, like Tao’s.” Standing on the ceiling, Newt looks down at the dwarf in interest. “And this banner is simply wrong! See, the symbol on it is of the wrong house.” Mara shrugs as Glibstone strokes his beard. “I wonder….” He reaches out his hand and touches the stone, and it ripples and twists beneath the end of his finger.

“Flowstone,” breathes Velendo.  As the group watches, Glibstone concentrates, and the banner changes, followed by the stone spider transforming into a lizard. Nothing changes at the portal, though. Suddenly Glibstone smacks himself on the head. 

“Of course! It’s so obvious! Aselgrim’s shield is wrong, too. See? He should have a large spiked shield, not a buckler. A child would know that.”  Nolin rolls his eyes as Splinder makes a final change. As he does so, all the portals begin to glow with white light, and Agar squints as he uses _gate sense_ to peer into the portal labeled "Mercuria."  Agar’s tentacular familiar Proty begins to wriggle frantically, swooping around the halfling’s head, and Agar turns to the rest of the group with a doubting expression on his round face.

“Well, it doesn’t connect to the Positive Material Plane any more. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it seems to lead to a big maelstrom of crunching stone and pounding hammers.  There’s enough space for two or so people to stand safely, but I don’t think we should go rushing blindly through that portal with everyone following right behind.”

“The next room should be the traditional armory,” cautions Glibstone, “designed so that an invading force can’t enter it all at once. The Lore indicates that tradition will see you safely through, so long as you have been taught the dwarven ways.”

“Oh, great,” signs Velendo.  “This ought to be interesting.” The Vault of Lore is silent for a minute as people look at the hissing, sparkling portals.

Nolin speaks up. “I think Glibstone should go first.”

Glibstone looks startled. “What? Me?”  Nolin slaps him on the back. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll come too. And,” his eyes roam across the other Defenders. “Agar?” The halfling smiles broadly at being picked by his friend, and straightens his clothing.

“Remember, if the portal deactivates, you guys know how to open it again, right?”

Malachite nods, and Agar steps through with Nolin and Glibstone.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

After his wonderful post in Morrus' Dr. Seuss D&D contest, Sagiro is still stuck in the genre. He was kind enough to email me this correction when I originally posted that Glibstone already knew space would be tight on the other side of the portal. I know that normally posting private emails is in incredibly bad taste, but I think he won't mind too much.  

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

Piratecat, buddy, your Story is fine!
I loved how the Dwarf King decided to dine
On the flesh of his Squire; that truly is sick,
But there's one small detail you can fix up right quick!

It wasn't Glibstone who, before we went through,
Warned us that the next chamber had room for just two.
I seem to remember 'twas Agar who peered
With his Planar Gate Mojo, and said "hey that's weird!"

"There's big grinding rocks that are sliding and crushing,
I think through that portal we shouldn't go rushing."
The rest of us, clearly expecting the worst,
Gave a back-pat to Glibstone and smiled, "You go first!"

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


----------



## Piratecat

They emerge on the far side of the portal with their _mindlink_ to the rest of the party completely cut off. _Oh no,_ thinks Nolin. _We must be extraplanar or in a shielded room._ He winces at the sound coming from him, and looks around.  _Probably the latter._ From inside of him, he feels the phoenix Rides-The-Sun pulse in silent agreement.

In front of him is an indecipherable maze of death. Sharpened gears slide back and forth, huge blocks slam down at random intervals, and sharpened spikes slide back and forth at odd intervals. Sections of stone floor, apparently animated, flex and fold in a way that would instantly pulp flesh.  The noise of the stone smashing against itself is deafening. 

Agar lets off a low whistle. “Wow,” he says to no one in particular. “Messy.”

Nolin looks down at Glibstone. “Tradition will see you safely through? What does that mean?” Glibstone shrugs in ignorance, and Nolin studies the deathtrap in front of him with a practiced eye. _Think of it as music,_ he thinks. _It has a pattern or a rhythm. I just have to see it._ Then he does; his ear picks up a beat in the crashing rock, a pattern that reminds him of something that he first heard years ago, back when he knew Grundo the dwarven battlerager.  His eyebrows narrow as he tries to remember.  “Music?” he asks out loud. “A dance?” 

Glibstone frowns next to him, and then his heavily lined and bearded face lights up. Bells jingle. “The bailkrin!”  

Nolin looks confused for just a few seconds. _The bailkrin? The traditional dwarven wedding and celebration dance?_  And then, like an image suddenly snapping into focus, Nolin sees it and laughs. “The bailkrin! Of course!”

“What?” asks Agar, confused.

“It’s an old dwarvish dance,” Nolin explains. “One that probably only a dwarf would know. If you perform it properly, stepping off this stone…”  A huge stone hammer slams down in front of them. “NOW, and you follow the dance at the normal speed, you should end up on the other side of the trap completely safely.”  Glibstone, now fully understanding, nods in agreement.

“I had heard that the artisan who designed the waterfall’s hammer-song in Mrid’s central square worked on the palace as well. Now I know where.”

Glibstone reminds Nolin of the exact steps of the dance, and then they return back through the portal to tell the others.  “It’s really easy!” says Nolin. “Let’s practice.” Malachite looks _extremely_ dubious as he watches the dwarven troops practicing.

“Dancing isn’t my strong point. Perhaps I’d best _dimension door_ across.”  Velendo nods in agreement, and Tao looks around. 

“Let’s leave the mounts in here as well. I don’t think Newt, my giant lizard, would make it through safely.”  She pats the beast fondly, and it snaps out a long tongue and licks her. Mara nuzzles Luminor and whispers some words to him, and he neighs in accordance.

Back through the portal, Nolin is the first one to cross. It takes an iron will. He knows the steps of the dance and the music sounds in his head, but he has to focus his concentration as a rasping iron gear grinds towards him. He twists in the correct dance step and bows to his imaginary partner, and the gear whistles by just above his head. Nolin stamps his left foot twice and spins forward, and several tons of stone smash the floor where he was just standing. Within a minute, he’s standing safely on the other side of the deathtrap, laughing with sweat beading on his forehead. “Come across!” he calls. “It’s fun!”

"_Sure_ it is."

Within a short time, everyone has passed, either by magic or by dance skill. Only Agar is injured. The halfling does the dance step correctly, but his steps are shorter than a normal dwarf's, and he isn’t completely clear as a stone block crunches down on the side of his foot. Stifling a cry of pain, he wrenches his foot clear and dances faster, barely dodging a lowered ceiling as he resumes the dance. He reaches safety on the far side, and shakes his head.  “Fun if you’re a dwarf, that is. Yikes.”

The Defenders now stand in a room similar to the first, but lined completely with weapon and armor racks. To one side are deep trenches in the floor, filled with thousands of old copper pieces.  Many of the weapon and armor racks are empty, presumably used by the perished dwarven soldiers, but it is a mute tribute to the declining population of Mrid that hundreds of arms and armor still stand gleaming around the huge room.  Glibstone wanders around the armory, handpicking certain weapons to bring with him back to Mridsgate. 

“How are you going to carry all of those?” asks Mara, curious. 

In answer, Glibstone unrolls something similar to a _portable hole_ across the floor and starts placing sheathed weapons inside.  “If needed, I can remove these later, but best to gather as we go,” he explains with a rare smile.  The Loremaster seems to be concentrating on named weapons, and weapons and armor that once belonged to long-dead dwarven heroes.  As he works, he recites traditional dwarvish jokes to anyone who will listen.

The other heroes pass their time looking about the room, and in a musty corner behind a set of ancient plate mail Tao finds an old key pegged to the wall. “What’s this?” she asks aloud, and she and Galthia examine it as the others come over.  It’s quite large, iron and rusty.

“It’s got a slight enchantment,” offers Agar. “Errr…. Conjuration and abjuration.”

“Let me see that!” Nolin says as he crouches next to them. “Huh. Look at that symbol.” He points to a barely readable imprint on the base of the key, a rough throne flecked with tiny shreds of gold leaf. The bard’s eyes widen.  “Wait a second. That’s the symbol of Goldthrone!”

“Rubbish,” states Glibstone flatly from inside the nearby _portable hole_. He pulls himself up, bells jingling, and glares. “The place never existed. It’s a myth.”

“Forgotten lore?” asks Galthia. “Like Tuz’zud, and the Ebon Door?” Glibstone glares at him and grunts heavily.

“No. A *myth.*  Like the elven treasure-bunnies, or friendly githzerai. A children’s tale, something that never existed and never will exist.”  Galthia hurrumphs, and Nolin quickly explains, eyes sparkling.

“Goldthrone is a lost dwarven kingdom from far down south. Supposedly thousands of years ago, before humans were common, the entire kingdom of Goldthrone vanished overnight. Tens of thousands of dwarves, gone! And not only did the dwarves disappear, but so did their cities and the tunnels between them. Fwoosh, gone, with nary a trace.” He lowers his voice, drawing the listeners in. “Some say that Moradin was angry with them, but others say that the dwarven Gods took them directly to heaven. No one knows.”  Splinder nods, obviously recognizing the story, and the other dwarves move closer to better hear the bard.

“Because it never happened,” interrupts Glibstone, his voice pedantic. “Trust me, I know the Lore, and you’re passing on lies as truth.”  Nolin rolls his eyes and continues as if Glibstone never spoke.

"I know a snippet of verse about it. Let's see...

"Goldthrone stood
Foremost of all
Taken or sent
Draining away
Growing despite
Waiting its place
Lost and alone
Back on the day."

Nolin clears his throat.  “Occasionally relics are found that are supposedly from there. And now this! I wonder if it’s a counterfeit?” He bangs it in emphasis on his hand, and is startled to hear a faint ringing tone. Agar perks up.

“A planar key?”

Nolin looks down at the ancient piece of metal in his hand. “Maybe. It’s hollow, and it rings a little. It may be a component to a _plane shift_.” He shrugs, clearly excited. “No use wondering about it now. But let’s hang on to it.” He looks at the old key longingly, and tucks it into his belt pouch.

By now the group has eaten, and Glibstone is finished packing weapons and armor. The dwarf is studying the next seven portals and mumbling to himself. “The lock has to do with how far underground we are, as well as some religious symbology of Moradin. I think I almost have it.” He perks up. “Prithee, do you know what sound a Dwarven God makes when he falls down the stairs?”

Everyone looks at Nolin, who shakes his head.  “No.”

Glibstone jingles. “*CLANGEDDIN* CLANGEDDIN CLANGEDDIN clangeddin clangeddin.”

Nolin laughs. “Okay, that’s funny.”  Tao frowns.

“I don’t get it.”

As Splinder explains, Glibstone touches a flowstone mural one last time, and the portals all erupt into life. “Through the portal marked Venya, I’d say,” says Glibstone. “The third of the Seven Heavens.  This is the treasury.”

“What is the guardian here?”

Glibstone looks dubious. “The treasure is said to protect itself.”

Velendo looks at the portal suspiciously. “Agar, can you see through it?” Agar shakes his head to say no, having already used up his ability to _gate sense_  for the day. “Then I suggest we do what we did last time. Just send three people through. Nolin, Galthia, Glibstone?” The three nod. “The rest of will follow exactly a minute later. If it isn’t safe for us, send someone back through to tell us.”

They step through.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

As his vision clears, Galthia feels hardened fingernails clawing at his face. Out of pure reflex, he jerks his head backwards, and the nails only graze his chin. Nevertheless, he feels a familiar shuddering cold suffuse his body, and he fights to resist it.  An eerie voice speaks in Dwarvish.

*“So hungry!”*  The three adventurers (well, two adventurers and one accidental explorer)  look up to find themselves standing in another vast room, this one filled with hundreds of thousands of loose coins all slipping and sliding under their feet in a clinking golden carpet. Torches on the walls cast thousands of gleaming reflections across the room.  In front of them, though, squats King Horox IX. His crown has been jammed down into the flesh of his head, piercing the hair and skin to be kept on by a bloody scab. The King’s armor and robe are in disarray, and the bloody signs of his late squire stain the front of the King’s robes and his tangled beard. *“So… hungry!”* A long pointed tongue snakes out of his mouth, licks the dry and lifeless lips, and squirms back inside like a crawling worm.

“Nolin, we have trouble!” Glancing behind him, Galthia sees that the portal is deactivated from this side. The monk punches the former King solidly in the face, feeling the ghoul’s nose breaking beneath his fist, and roughly shoves Glibstone in front of him as he moves off to the left. Galthia feels a piece of flesh ripped off of his shoulder, but resists the cold paralysis as he continues to move away from the ghoul. “Glibstone, get out of the way!” The dwarf stumbles on the slippery coins as he scrambles desperately away from his former King. “How do we reactivate the portal from this side?”

“Your Majesty?” Instead of answering Galthia, Glibstone gasps in horror at his sovereign while tears beginning to slide down his face. The Loremaster seems frozen by the sight of the hideous, darting tongue that seems to be savoring a chunk of Galthia’s shoulder. With a start, he focuses on Galthia. “The portal? Err, to activate it from this side…” Galthia can almost see him reviewing the Lore in his head, trying to come up with the answer.

“The King is dead,” pronounces Nolin with a sad shake of his head. “Long live the King.”  He casts _mass haste_, and follows it up with a powerful _flame strike_ drawn from the phoenix inside of him. *Whoomp!* Holy fire slams down into the floor, catching the King and turning some of the coins beneath his feet into bubbling golden slag. The dwarven King ignores Nolin and follows the smell of fresh blood, staggering towards Galthia and Glibstone as his skin smokes and chars. 

The ghoul dodges the monk and lashes a claw out towards the near helpless Loremaster. Catching his chest with a clawed hand, the ghoulish King pulls the twitching, paralyzed Glibstone close. *“You served me in life,”* whispers the undead dwarf. *“Now, you may again serve me in death.”* He giggles insanely. *“Or perhaps I’ll just serve myself! Oh, I’m so sorry, Glibstone. But I’m so very hungry.”*  The long tongue rasps against Glibstone’s paralyzed cheek, tasting.

“I don’t think so.” Irritated because the paralyzed dwarf never told him how to reopen the portal from this side, Galthia begins to hammer the ghoulish king with fists like sledgehammers. He can hear bones crack. Nolin takes a second to survey the battlefield and then uses his hasted action to unleash a second _flame strike_ with pinpoint accuracy. The King screams with a bubbling voice, clearly in pain, but neither Galthia nor Glibstone are touched. As Nolin begins to cast a _summoning_ spell, he notices the charred coins in front of him suddenly sliding and shifting. 

With a musical sound, the gold coins rise like a fountain into the air, forming a roughly man-shaped form 12 feet tall in front of the bard. The coin golem lazily swings one densely packed arm and Nolin is knocked backwards by the force of the blow, only barely retaining concentration on his summoning spell. Loose coins slide down the front of his shirt, still warm from the spell’s heat. Nolin can feel a rasping in his chest, where some sharpened bit of bone pokes him every time he draws a breath. _Ouch_, he thinks. _That hurt._

Galthia looks quickly from the coin golem to the ghoul to the coins under Nolin’s second _flame strike_ zone, and is appalled to see those coins starting to rock and slide about as well. He raises his voice. “Nolin? No more _flame strikes_ or _fireballs_!” He shakes his head grimly.  “I think we just learned what they meant by the treasure defending itself.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

*Design Note*

What you're seeing here, folks, is an adventuring oddity. Why is this a room virtually carpeted with gold (and silver, and platinum) coins?  Six reasons:

1. Verisimillitude. Mrid is known for its wealth. Sometimes, ancient vaults should damn well be full of money! Nothing cleans a dirty hero better than a treasure bath.

2. Logistics. If the PCs did want to haul away hundreds of thousands of coins out of a vault where teleport doesn't work (and where for all they know monsters are waiting for them outside), they'd have to be clever!  Also, one major reason is that gold isn't very useful on their current quest. Who are they going to buy things from? And there's no time to make magical items with the wealth. 

3. Roleplaying. The PCs are largely honorable, and the dwarves asked them to take what they need from the vault and nothing else. The dwarves let them make the decision as to what was appropriate; that means that the onus is on the players to decide what is greedy for their characters. It's a good character test! 

4. Balance. The group isn't especially rich, and recent tough monsters haven't had much treasure. 

5. The rat bastard reason. Nolin and Galthia have to survive by themselves for a whole minute against two coin golems. If Nolin drops unconscious, a fireball goes off. If Nolin gets killed, a fire storm erupts.  Anyone want to guess how many coin golems THOSE will create?  *grin*

6. The true reason. The _discerning_ adventurer is doubtlessly waiting for the room with the jewels!  

EDIT - I take no credit for the jokes, by the way. They're an EN World contribution! I'll eventually post a pdf of his Collected Hilarities, just so you can tortu- err, impress your players with them too.

For getting through the deathtrap (which immediately made the players think of that scene in Galaxy Quest, when the captain has to jump through the pistons in the middle of the ship), I allowed either a super-easy perform check for dwarves, a middling perform check for other people who knew the secret, or a quite difficult reflex save for the foolhardy and nimble.


----------



## Piratecat

Nolin raises one fiery eyebrow as another coin golem rises up in front of him. “Right. No more _flame strikes._ Good idea.”  Blood trickles down the side of his face where the first golem struck him seconds before. “And ouch.”

The ghoulish king lets out a keening noise, the primal sound of desire thwarted. *“Stand aside!”* he orders Galthia, who has stepped between the undead dwarf and the paralyzed Glibstone.  *“I am King here, and I command it!”*  Galthia ignores him, dodging his clumsy blows and protecting Glibstone with his own body. It’s clear that in life, King Horox was far more adept using an axe or a hammer than attacking bare-handed, and Galthia estimates that he is a better fighter with bare hands. Or, in the King’s case, claws.  

From twenty feet away, Nolin quickly glances over.  “Your Majesty,” says Nolin in a reasonable and persuasive tone as he tries to maneuver on the slippery coins, “you’ve had a good reign. You’ve been a good king. Now it’s time for you to relinquish your title to your son, and take your well-earned rest - in heaven!” 

The King turns to snarl at him, once-handsome dwarven features distorted by bestial hunger, and Galthia seizes the opportunity to attack. Both fists and a knee lash out, denting metal and smashing bone. The monk’s second strike hits the ghoul solidly, and King Horox folds forward, foul fluids spewing out of his mouth as something important inside of him breaks. The githzerai shatters the King’s downwards-moving chin with a powerful uppercut, and the ghoul’s grizzled head _snaps_ backwards, catapulting the blood-encrusted crown into the air as the body collapses bonelessly onto the carpet of shimmering coins. Like a snake, Galthia’s hand snaps the falling crown out of thin air before it can hit the floor.

“I’ll just keep this for later.”

Nolin is having less luck with the two massive coin golems. They have twice the reach of Nolin, and he’s hit twice as he tries to back away. The tiny imprint of dead dwarven kings adorn his face where the arms smacked him, and he spits loose coins out of his mouth as he narrows his gaze at the constructs. “Hey, not in the face!”  Still somewhat optimistic, Nolin heals himself and fires off a sonic spell, but the spell doesn’t seem to have any effect.  “Galthia, I’m not sure I can really hurt these things.”

“Then get out of there! We’ve got most of a minute until anyone else gets here, and I’d rather that neither of us get killed in the mean time. I can probably avoid them, but if you get knocked unconscious or killed we’re going to have a *lot* more of these things to worry about.”  

At this, Nolin swallows nervously, spitting out one last coin. “Right.”

Then both guardians tumble forward in a cascade of loose coins, reforming and slamming arms like lead bars into Nolin’s body. The bard is knocked backwards and badly hurt. If it weren’t for the healing spell he’d cast seconds before, he’d no longer be standing.  “Whoof.”  Nolin backs away, retreating from the combat and vaulting on to the raised platform on the right hand side of the room, sliding between gold and platinum pieces of dwarvish art. Galthia has already retreated in a jingling of bells, with Glibstone’s paralyzed body slung over his shoulder. The golems lumber after them, silent other than for the clinking of coins. 

What follows next is a desperate game of cat and mouse, with the two Defenders racing back and forth across the large room with the golems in pursuit. Nolin uses the spell _mislead_ to create an illusory double, buying both heroes time to maneuver. He also creates the illusion of the rest of the Defenders arriving, hoping that the creatures will be fooled.  The distraction is only partially effective, though, as the golems seem to be able to sense anyone who is actually standing on coins. One of the golems catches the _invisible_ Nolin in a breath weapon spray of sharpened coins, shearing away flesh and creating wounds that continue to bleed.  The constructs also seem to absorb loose coins as they pass over piles of money, quickly healing the small amount of damage that Nolin and Galthia are able to inflict.  

As Galthia acts as a fast-moving lure, Nolin makes his way to where Glibstone has been placed.  The bard crouches over Glibstone’s rigid body and casts _detect thoughts_. “Damn it, Glibstone, how do we destroy these things?” he asks. “There must be some easy way.”  Glibstone’s eyes dart back and forth, and Nolin forces himself to relax, concentrating on the panicking dwarf.  Within a handful of seconds, Nolin is able to pierce Glibstone’s racing thoughts and pull the answer out of his head.  _Offer unto the defenders what is already theirs_, thinks Glibstone desperately. _That’s what the lore says! Offer unto the defenders what is already theirs! I don’t know what it means!_

“Well, what is that supposed to…?” says Nolin, not expecting an answer from the paralyzed dwarf. Then the solution hits him.  “Right!”  He hops off the platform and scoops up a double handful of loose coins.  “Hey! You!”  Then he flings the coins at one of the golems that is chasing the nimble Galthia. The coins scatter into it, and for every coin that hits, five fall out of the coin golem’s body.  “That’s it!” yells Nolin to Galthia. “Throw money at it!”  Briefly, he’s reminded of his old companion Alix Loial, but he shakes the memory away.

Just then, Velendo, Mara and Tao enter. The newly arrived Defenders are surprised to see illusions of themselves fighting two huge money monsters, and both Galthia and Nolin shout “No area effect spells” in concert before anyone can act rashly.  “Throw money at them!” adds Nolin. “It hurts them!”

Tao casts a spell which the creatures ignore, even as Mara strides forward. The paladin is rocked by a club-like blow, but she’s grinning fiercely as her holy shield protects her from a second impact.  Mara swings _Lightbinder_ with a powerful arm, and she smashes a gap in the mass of mobile coins. 

Velendo is already _flying_ thanks to Agar, so he swoops over the head of the other golem and digs out his money pouch. “Here you are,” he offers sarcastically, and drops a handful of gems onto the head of the mobile, shifting mass of money beneath him.

Nothing happens.

“Nolin!” he yells as the creature takes a swipe at him with one long arm. “I thought you said money hurts them!” 

“Use coins!” Nolin yells in explanation.  Velendo rolls his eyes at the mistake.  

Galthia and Mara continue to attack the other golem. Her blows spray coins in every direction, and Galthia’s punches clear fist-shaped holes in its dense metal body.  Finally Mara swings her mace one last time and the entire monster dissolves, coins falling and rolling all around her feet. Across the room, a second cascade of thrown coins from Nolin shears off half of the creature’s arm.  . With everyone else helping by tossing loose treasure at the creature, it soon succumbs without further trouble. Several people are hurt, but Mara is smiling like a school girl at her success.  Everyone stands there for a just moment, panting, ankle deep in dwarven coins. Nolin sighs.

“So much for never getting enough treasure.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> * The bard is knocked backwards and badly hurt. If it weren’t for the healing spell he’d cast seconds before, he’d no longer be standing.
> *




And if you thought "killed by inch tall goblins" was an embarrassing way to die, try "beaten up by money".


----------



## Piratecat

The group heals themselves while the now-whole Glibstone pays homage to his late Majesty King Horox, reciting the short version of Moradin’s Prayer for the Warrior. When he is finished, he looks up sadly. “I can make a joke about any subject, but not about this. Not about the King.” He rallies feebly, but his heart really isn’t in it. “Of course, the King is not a subject.”

Malachite looks surprised. “Hey, that was actually funny!” Glibstone tries to smile back, but doesn’t especially succeed. Nolin slaps him sympathetically on the back, and the dwarf sighs heavily.

“You can gather some coins for yourselves,” offers Glibstone.  Everyone looks around nervously.

“Ermmm,” says Velendo. “I think we’ll pass.”

Once everyone is ready and Glibstone has gathered what treasure he wishes to bring back to Mridsgate, the group gathers around the seven portals.  “The Lore instructs that our next passage will not be simple,” says Glibstone officiously. “_The Path is for the weak, and it will make you whole. Do not dwell on it._”  Agar perks up.

“Hey, sounds like the positive material plane!” he says excitedly, as Proty wiggles in the air above his head. “It’s a fascinating place. You heal there, you know, and if you ever finish healing fully you have an unfortunate tendency to... well, to explode.  I understand it’s really something to see.”  Everyone stares at him in confusion.

“So you’re saying we have to be injured when we enter?” Tao looks doubtful.  “You’re sure of this?”  

Agar nods happily in agreement and goes off on a tangent.  “You bet. In fact, there’s a fascinating type of bracer that you can buy in Sigil. It uses clockwork most fiendishly.” He gestures. “You wind it up, see, and twin corkscrew blades bore holes into your arm that heal almost immediately in the positive material plane!  It’s used primarily by…”  

Agar is rudely interrupted by Tao, who turns with a great big smile and abruptly punches Mara in the face.  “Hey!” exclaims Mara, blood trickling from her nose. Tao just smiles at her. Mara suddenly understands, and gladly lashes out at the irreverent divine agent with her own fist. “Well, if it’s for a good cause…”

The room devolves into chaos as everyone proceeds to beat the crap out of one another.

“Okay,” pants Velendo as his old body aches in rebellion from the cuts and bruises, “enough.  Enough!  This is sick.”

“But necessary!” pipes up Agar.

“Yeah, whatever.  Be ready to hurt each other as we go through if we heal too quickly. And let’s move fast.” Nolin readies a dagger by his wrist, and Tao winces in pain as she pulls a sword from her belly. The group trails blood as they approach the shimmering black portal. Velendo and Glibstone solve a _flowstone_ diagram of an engineering problem in order to unlock the door, and the portals all spring into life. “Let’s go.”

They step through the correct portal into pure light.

Even Mara and Malachite are temporarily blinded. The rainbow-like radiance is all-encompassing, warming and invigorating and healing. Spirits soar, blood pumps faster, skin tingles, and the essence of life itself permeates the heroes’ flesh. It’s like sex, or stepping into the sun.

Velendo enjoys the feeling for just a moment.  “I can already feel myself healing. Let’s go!”

Galthia nods. “Now we know why the King didn’t make it any farther. No undead could survive this.”

The small army parades blindly down a tunnel made of solid light, pausing only to hit one another with weapons. When the tunnel makes a bend straight up, the group realizes that gravity is subjective, and by changing their perception of where “down” is they fly upwards along the corridor at incredible speed. Hitting the end is painful, but the wounds quickly heal in the radiant aura of the plane.  Finally, at the end of the long and twisting corridor is a portal. Everyone passes through it without hesitation.

Suddenly there is darkness, and everyone is floating.

The group seems to be floating in a portrait gallery shaped like a vertical cylinder, forty feet across and hundreds of feet up and down. “This is our burial hall,” says Glibstone in an awed voice. “I’ve never been here before. All of our Kings and heroes and notable citizens are buried here. Behind every painting is a burial chamber.”

“Wow!” says Nolin as he turns to study the nearest portraits. He’s disconcerted to see that they are studying him back. In fact, every painting in sight is moving, the images craning to see who has entered the chamber.

“Umm… are we safe?”  Glibstone shrugs. 

“Positive energy seep-through!” exclaims Agar in fascination as he lights his pipe. “Amazing!”

Carefully, the group floats upwards past the portraits, Glibstone identifying each one as he passes it.  They find that the upper third of the huge chamber has not yet been used. The group passes the current King’s designated burial chamber, empty with a fine portrait in front of it. Then they float downwards. As they do so, the portraits slowly become more primitive, more stylized, in a clear change of artistic style. The carvings on the walls change, too. It’s clear that the earliest portraits are well over a thousand years old, depicting warlike dwarven kings in archaic clothing who eye the group with suspicion as they float past.

At the bottom of the chamber is a large stone ziggurat carved into the floor. It looks ancient. Glibstone sounds terrified, his deep voice breaking. “It’s alive, and talking to me in visions! It wants to know who we are, and why we’re here!” 

Malachite fixes the scared dwarf with a reassuring and spine-stiffening glare. “Well, then, answer it,” he says in a controlled voice.  The Loremaster floats lower and touches the stone step pyramid. A few minutes pass while the Defenders and the dwarven troops wait nervously. Finally, Glibstone lets out a deep breath, and the ziggurat sinks downwards to reveal a single glowing portal. “It’s suspicious, but I think I convinced it. We can pass.”

The Defenders all let out a sigh and begin to discuss strategy for whatever they meet on the far side. As they do so, Glibstone begins to fidget nervously, and after a few moments he finally interrupts. “Hrmmm.  We should probably go now.”

“In just a moment,” answers Velendo, distracted. “We need to - ”  

Nolin interrupts as he realizes that as far as he can see, the portraits are all drawing painted weapons and strapping on archaic armor.  “No, Velendo, I think we need to go NOW. Come on.” 

He leads them through the portal, and the world dissolves and reforms as normal gravity returns with a sickening lurch. They’re all standing in the fifth vault room. The room is lit entirely by the flickering glow of hundreds of magical weapons, all stored in weapon racks around the familiar crescent-shaped room. It’s an armory, and a mighty one.

Someone whistles. “Oh, my.”

Appreciation of the huge number of magical weapons doesn’t last long, though. As soon as they pass into the room, everyone who isn’t dwarven notices one particular portal across the room. The portal is astonishingly _inviting_, like an old friend or a tavern hearth. Comforting. Friendly. _Sympathetic._  Most of the group shake off the compulsion, but not everyone. Without a second thought, Velendo Agar and Priggle head across the room towards the portal, wanting nothing more in the world than to step through it.

Velendo is halfway to the arched portal when the others realize that something might be wrong. “Velendo?” calls Tao worriedly. “Where are you going?”  And with a horrified chill, the group realizes that the other six portals may have a familiar dark flicker, but the one that Velendo is just steps away from is black. Solid black. An unrelenting solid black that seems to swallow light itself.

“I’m just going to step through this portal,” answers Velendo reasonably. “I’ll be right back.”

_to be continued…._


----------



## Sialia

All right, all right. Yes.

Yes I am. I admit it.  I am building a campaign website for the Compleate and True Hiftory of the Defenders of Daybreake.

No, it's not ready yet.

The framework is up, but it's not connected to much yet.

I really am trying to get at least a portion of the story hour connected to the framework within the next few weeks.

But there's .  . . so . . . so . . .  _much _of it.

And I've got bits and pieces of many of the missing episodes I'm trying to string together coherently for you all. 

I have some wonderful helpers, but it's going to take some time.

I'll let you know when it's ready.

Anybody who wants to volunteer content, please write to me at mscurio@yahoo.com.

So far we've got artwork by Littlejohn, Cthulhu Ftaghn, Kip the Bold, Malessa and Wonderful Me. Poetry by Wolfspirit. Audio files by Piratecat and Eartha Kitt. Compilation and proofreading by War Golem, theRuinedOne, and Ben who's-sig-I-cannot-recall-just-at-the-moment-(many-apologies).  Diagrams I think by . . .  Blackjack, was it? Oh, and how I'd love to include some madlibs by Sagiro . . . And Tor promised me Altariel's diaires once upon a time and I haven't followed up on getting ahold of those . . and then there's scans of the drawings, maps, threatening letters, ravings of madmen, etc. in Bandeeto's Arcade binder  . . .  there is so, so much to do . . . I will never be done . . . none of you will ever see this site . . . drums, drums in the deep . . .


----------



## Fade

The Dockside Royals have gone into business!


----------



## mythago

"It's like a Snuggli, but with an Infernal template."


----------



## Piratecat

Completely entranced and smiling vacantly, Velendo takes another step towards the dull black portal.

Splinder realizes what is probably happening and barks a command in dwarvish. Like a well-oiled machine, a dozen dwarven troops charge across the room towards the portals. They can’t reach Velendo in time; he’s just too far away.  They _can_ reach Agar and Priggle, though, and two teams of dwarven soldiers pig-pile on top of the only people shorter than they are.  Within seconds, the gnome’s and halfling’s toes are the only things that can be seen under the two piles of sprawled dwarves.

Velendo pauses and watches the dwarves with mild concern, frowning slightly. “No, it’s fine,” he comforts with a tone of certainty. “Stop worrying. Honestly, I know what I’m doing.” 

He turns back towards the portal. As he does so, Galthia decides that enough is enough and sprints towards him from across the room. The monk is _fast_; before Velendo can complete another step towards the portal, the githzerai has crossed the distance and has swept Velendo’s feet out from under him.  “Sorry about this,” Galthia says quietly, and then slams his iron-hard fist into the softness of Velendo’s belly. Velendo whoofs air outwards, and Galthia sits down on him and wrenches his arm into an unbreakable shoulder lock.

“Oooof! What are you doing? Get off of me!” Velendo gasps under the weight of the monk. “What are you, possessed?”

“No. But you might be. Stay still.”

The rest of the group is hurrying forward as well. Mara narrows her eyes at Glibstone and issues him a command. “Glibstone! Figure out which portal gets us out of here!”  Glibstone starts to object, but there's something of steel in Mara’s voice, and instead Glibstone bows slightly to her in agreement. He hurries forward and starts examining each portal in turn, focusing on his work and tuning out the others – grunting dwarves, Nolin casting _eyebite_, Malachite detecting evil, Tao attempting to talk sense into Velendo. 

“Velendo, listen to me!  Is what you’re doing reasonable?”

“What? Of course it is!”  Velendo lifts his head, and has it knocked back by Galthia. The portal is right there! So close!  It’s the most interesting thing in the room by far, and Velendo can hear it calling to him. 

“No it isn’t,” Tao answers. “You’re trying to rush into an unknown portal. You would never do such a thing normally. Something has enchanted your mind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the old cleric scoffs. “I have more willpower than anyone else in this group! Nothing is going to affect me like that.” The cleric rolls his eyes in annoyance and does his best to wiggle free.  Tao sees the attempt, and decides to err on the side of caution. She drops a _wall of thorns_ on top of Velendo and Galthia, completely blocking the suspicious portal.  Velendo tries to wrench free again, and yelps as holy thorns tear into his skin. “Ha ha, very funny, a wall.” His voice is slightly muffled by the thorns. “Is this REALLY necessary?”

“Yes,” answers Galthia shortly. He finds that he can shift slightly within the thorns, at least enough to maintain his grip on Velendo. The thorns hurt, but they stop Velendo from moving, so it is a pain he can bear.

“I’ve used _eyebite_ to put both Agar and Priggle to sleep,” announces Nolin. A rumbling snore issues from a sleeping, frowning Priggle. “But I can’t affect Velendo if I can’t meet his eye.” 

“Nice work, Nolin,” says Mara. “He might be immune anyways. Glibstone! Have you found the exit?” 

Glibstone, over near the other portals, glances over with irritation. “No, I think that – yoww!” The loremaster’s bells jingle as he tumbles *up* towards the 30’ tall ceiling. Inches before he hits it, a 10’ diameter circle of glowing runes appear in the ceiling’s plaster. Glibstone falls upwards right into the magical portal, instantaneously reappears back near the floor, continuing to fall upwards faster and faster within the _reverse gravity_ field. A dozen of his flickering shadows, each thrown by the light from a different glowing magical sword in the nearby weapon racks, follow him on the nearby wall.

“Uh oh,” says Nolin.  “I think we have a problem.”  He studies the dwarf even as he notices the interesting doppler effect of Glibstone’s screams. _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *jingle*… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *jingle*… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_  With a small shudder of horror, Nolin realizes that the ring of runes on the ceiling is quickly getting smaller and smaller in diameter. Within a few seconds, the ring of runes will be smaller than the dwarf, and instead of _teleporting_ downwards he’ll slap into the ceiling with a very wet *smack*! “Nice acoustics in here.  But we DEFINITELY have a problem.”

Malachite frowns. “And there’s something evil in here, as well. A sword, perhaps?  Maybe even something undead, although I’m not sure. If you can help Glibstone and they have Velendo under control, I’ll check it out.”

Nolin rolls his eyes and sighs as Malachite bounds up the stairs past the snoring Agar and hurtling Glibstone.  “It can take a number and wait in line with everyone else. But sure.”

Tao is still talking to Velendo, trying to reason with him. “Look, if I remove the wall, do you promise not to try to go through the portal?” 

Velendo’s voice emerges from under the thick thorns.  “Yes. That seems reasonable.” 

“You sure? You promise?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“All right, then.” Tao dismisses the thorns, and Velendo immediately tries to roll towards the portal. Galthia is ready for him, though, and proceeds to beat the elderly cleric into total unconsciousness. Most of the other people in the room wince and turn away as Galthia slaps down on pressure points and joints, thumping him and choking off Velendo’s air supply until the cleric stops moving.

“Ooof,” says Splinder as Galthia’s other fist pistons down. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Nolin’s occupied by other things, of course. He casts _feather fall_ on the hurtling dwarf. Doing so instantly slows the loremaster’s speed from 200 miles an hour down to 20 miles an hour, and as the ring of runes shrinks into nothingness, he smacks into the ceiling with a clattering jingle. He lies spreadeagled on the ceiling, apparently unhurt other than a small nose bleed. 

“Urrgle,” exclaims Glibstone. “Whurf!”

“Here’s a rope,” says Nolin as he tosses up a line into the _reverse gravity_ zone. “Let’s haul you out.”

“Thuggl.”

As Glibstone wobbles over to a corner deep in shock, the group reconvenes and wakes up Velendo. “Look,” announces Tao authoritatively as the cleric regains consciousness, “you’re not acting rationally. You lied to me. Can’t you see this?”

Velendo shakes his head to clear it. “There’s nothing wrong with that portal!”  Tao snorts. 

“Watch.” She takes an arrow and slides half of it into the flat, inky blackness. She pulls it out, and the arrow is sheared off cleanly half way across.

_--> At this point Velendo fails his *second* will save, rolling a natural one. Just one of those days._
“Well _of course_ it would do that!” says Velendo with authority. “You can’t pull it back halfway, and anyways it isn’t alive! Look, I know these things, and I have a good feeling about that portal. I’ll tell you what. I can *prove* to you that it’s fine.”  

The company falls silent.  “How?”

“I have a spell that can regenerate body parts. Just let me touch it with one finger. If you’re right, I’ll apologize and cast the spell to get the tip of my finger back. If I’m right – and I am – you get to apologize to me.” The group exchanges a look.

“Can you cast it one handed?”

Velendo fixes Mara with a look.  “Of _course_ I can cast it one handed.  But I won’t need to.”

“Uh huh.”  The group exchanges another look.  “I think we should,” says Nolin. “It might be the only way.” So the group carefully grapples Velendo. With three people hanging on to him in such a way that he can’t possibly lurch forwards, they slowly approach the black portal. Velendo stretches out his hand.

“You see?” he asks as he pokes his little finger forward, the portal’s silent song encompassing him and filling him with happiness. “Now watch. It’s just fi--” His little finger touches the darkness, and his whole hand is yanked forwards by some irresistible force. The Defenders strain, and shove Velendo backwards before more than his wrist disappears into the darkness. He lands flat on his back.

“Fine?” finishes Velendo. He stares at the severed stump of his wrist as bright red blood fountains up into the air, and the jagged pain slices through him.

_To be continued…._


----------



## jonrog1

In honor of Wulf's coming move:

***************************

A large flowchart with several hundred squares, each bearing a faction, family, or religion connected by multiple arrows, each arrow indicating a subtley different relationship, adorns a large wall.

Two figures stand before it. They've been there for seven hours while the tall one explains the chart. The shorter of the two is still holding a bloodstained axe. In the distance, a large section of a rich city neighborhood burns.

Nolin: "It's not that we don't appreciate your enthusiasm, but you as you can see, err ..."

Wulf: "Wulf."

Nolin: "Yes. You see, that's the complex web of intrigue and influence we must weave while forging forward on our herioc path. We must always finely balance along the narrow path in the shifting sands of betrayal, trust, and knowledge. "

Wulf: "Right."

Nolin: "So you've got it?"

Wulf: "Got it."

A long beat.

Wulf: (unfolding parchment) "So, could you just write down who needs boot applied to ass in what order, exactly. Just the first fifty or so. That'll keep me busy for a week."

Nolin: *sigh*


----------



## KidCthulhu

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> *Wulf: (unfolding parchment) "So, could you just write down who needs boot applied to ass in what order, exactly. Just the first fifty or so. That'll keep me busy for a week."
> 
> Nolin: *sigh* *




LOL!  The following scene, however, would definitely have Nol following Wulf around town on his little errand.  Ostensibly he'd be an "observer" but he'd really be there for the chance to apply a little boot leather to some posterior without worrying about the consequences.

Just once.


----------



## Plane Sailing

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *
> ... but he'd really be there for the chance to apply a little boot leather to some posterior without worrying about the consequences.
> 
> Just once. *




You jest, right?

"Oooo, his posterior was all that was holding back the modron march, now you're for it!"


----------



## Plane Sailing

While we're off topic...

A PirateCat set out to retrieve his buried treasure. After months of hard sailing his ship caught site of land, the island to which his treasure map had been leading. He and his first mate disembarked on the island to search out the buried treasure, which was supposed to lie hidden deep within a swamp at the centre of the island. 

Sure enough, at the centre of the island was a swamp. The PirateCat and his first mate bravely waded into it. Soon the swamp began to get deeper, and their feet, then their ankles, and finally their legs right up to their knees were covered in swamp muck. Suddenly the PirateCat banged his shin against something hard. He reached down, searched around, and pulled up a treasure chest. 

Prying the lock open, they saw that the chest revealed gold and jewels beyond imagination. The PirateCat turned to his first mate and said, _"Arrrr, matey, that just goes to show ye, booty is only shin deep!" _


Cheers


----------



## Piratecat

Karthos quivers by Malachite’s side. The paladin has just sheathed him for making suggestive comments to Tao, and is reluctant to draw him again.  “What is it?” he asks tiredly. 

*”There are undead nearby!”*

Malachite spins around, taking in the racks of swords, the pale-faced Glibstone, the Defenders clustered around Velendo, the sleeping forms of Agar and Priggle. “Where?” Then he sees something shimmer up on the left-hand balcony. The faint form of a dwarf slowly appears, so gradually that Malachite has to blink twice before the shape swims into focus.  The ghost is transparent, skinny compared to most of Moradin’s folk, but weighed down with innumerable locks and chains. 

Malachite steps forward, his intelligent sword Karthos held outwards in front of him. “Declare yourself and your intentions!” He glances down at his sword, which is twisting oddly in his hand.

*”You!”* exclaims Karthos, speaking to the ghost. There is clear recognition – and hatred – in its metallic voice.

The dwarf stops advancing, goggles down at them for a few seconds, and leans forward against the edge of a railing to bury its ghostly head into both ghostly hands.

“By Moradin’s nipple. You! I thought I was over and done with you ages ago.”  His voice is weary and gruff as it looks up.  “What, is this some kind of cruel joke? My existence isn’t miserable enough, you’re sticking me in here with _that_?”  Pale eyes survey the Defenders.  “Not punishment enough, I suppose. Just what I needed.” 

Malachite glances down at his sword. “You know this spirit?”

The sword sounds bitter. *“Oh, I know him. But I don’t trust him. I used to adventure with him. Sir Malachite, you have before you Olum Shiverstone, despicable coward and betrayer of Sir Aleax, my former wielder.” * 

Nolin looks up from the small, pink finger buds of Velendo’s regenerating hand. “What? You mean from their trip down here before, when they tried to destroy the ghouls the first time?”

 “Coward?”   The ghost draws itself to its full height, which isn’t especially impressive, and scowls at the sword. Locks and chains swing heavily across its broad body.  “Coward? You pathetic, sanctimonious clump of iron! In life you browbeat me for months, and when I’m finally convinced that I’m free of you forever, here you are to lie and insult me again. I did what I was hired to do. Just because I wasn’t stupid enough to get caught in a cave-in, that doesn’t make me a betrayer!” 

Karthos’ voice is bitter, dismissive. *“You could have rescued them. You rescued me.”*

The ghost glares.  “I could reach _you._ It was a little harder to reach under a couple of hundred tons of fallen rock. You were quiet at the time. It was a nice change.” 

Nolin looks excited. “It was you who placed the sword on the angelic pegasus, to be carried out of the caverns back into the world?”  Olum looks confused.

 “Err. Pegasus? I strapped it to a pack mule.” 

Malachite and Mara look at each other, each remembering the holy teachings that this statement contradicts. “A… pack mule?”

Nolin cocks an eyebrow. “But you did send it out of the underdark for others of Aeos’ faith to find, right?”

Olum shakes his head, face downcast.  “Sort of. Damn thing ran before I could get more loot strapped on it. Mules always hate me.”  He sighs.  “It was a white pack mule. That help? Maybe it got robbed by someone on a pegasus before it made the surface.”  The ghost tries to manage a half-hearted smile, but doesn’t especially manage it.  “I was hired as guide and scout. That’s all. Not that this damn toothpick,”  he indicates Karthos,  “has ever called me anything but liar or thief.” 

Velendo looks up from where he is nursing his new hand. “But you knew Saint Aleax, and Saint Morak of Calphas?” Velendo’s voice is hopeful, tinged with awe and wonder. “What was he like?” In response, the ghost tries to suppress a chortle of laughter.

 “Saint Aleax? Saint Morak? Oh, that’s good! If they were saints, then I’m a delicate little fairy princess.”   Velendo frowns as Olum continues.  “Yeah, I knew Morak. Greedy bastard. Used to dice with me for treasure. Charged for healing, every once in a while. He was a nice enough guy, though. Unlike Aleax. That guy was a conceited prick.” 

Tao nods. “Yes, we’ve met him.” Mara shushes her with a disapproving gesture.

 “Met him? How? He’s dead.”  Olum looks panicky for a minute. “Don’t tell me he’s a ghost, too!” 

“No. But it’s a long story.”

“Thank Moradin.” 

Velendo stares at the ghost.  “…greedy?”

Malachite flexes his gloved hands. “Give me one reason why you shouldn’t be destroyed like the abomination you have become.”

 “A little hostile, paladin? Oh, I’ve met your type before. All righteous and disapproving. If I hadn’t seen your surprise, I wouldn’t have put it past you to bring that damn sword here, for no other reason other than to make my existence more miserable than it’s already become. Careful; you become what you’re called, you know.”  He laughs hollowly.

Mara whispers from behind Malachite. “He isn’t evil.”

Malachite twists his head. “What?”  Mara repeats her comment.

“He isn’t evil – or if he is, he isn’t detecting as such.”

Nolin gazes up at the ghost with curiosity. “How’d you get here, anyways? You trapped?” Olum’s face slumps from anger into dejected frustration.

 “Hmmph. Killed by one of these damn traps while trying to rob this place. I had made it away from our little ghoul debacle safe and sound, the only person in our group to survive, and I even made a little treasure off of it. It took weeks to pick my way through tunnels back into the upper depths. On the way out I stopped here in Mrid, and thought I’d avail myself of some of their riches.”  Olum waves his hands about in frustration, barely getting them to shoulder height before the weight of the spectral chains drag them back downwards.  “I survived _months_ in the company of paladins, and pretty much had nothing to show for it but a poor self-image and enough nightmares to last me for decades. Was it so wrong? So I break in here, make one stupid mistake, and the next thing I know King Horox has my blasted _soul_ bound to this vault as a stinkin’ guardian. Oh, very funny, yes, I understand irony, thank you so much Your Majesty.”  Annoyance radiates off of the ghost like light shining from a lantern.  “So here I am, chained and dutiful, and here I’ll stay until someone wants to take me out of here with them.” 

Splinder gazes up at the figure as he leans on his axe. “Voluntarily? Or do you try to possess people?”

The ghost snorts.  “Do you see me trying to possess anyone? No, voluntarily. They have to let me in. Oh, I’m ‘working off my debt’, I suppose. Every year one of these links of chain disappears. One a year.”  He sighs and gestures towards Malachite.  “It’s going to be a while. Just tell me I’m not gonna be stuck here listening to torch-boy prattle on the whole time.”  

*“Worm!”* exclaims Karthos. *”You have no right…”*

 “Oh, sure,”  interrupts Olum,  “but you _like_ listening to yourself. Always have. That’s one of the things I’ve never liked about you.”  He crosses his transparent arms with difficulty.  “That, and hitting on our elven wizard. Pathetic.” 

Malachite wheels and looks at the other heroes. “I see no reason we should tolerate this,” he states flatly. 

 “Well, you break in here and insult me - ” 

“You’ve been doing nothing other than uttering heresies and accusing -”

“Enough, Malachite. Both of you. Please.” Velendo looks at Nolin, and Nolin gazes up at the dwarf. 

“Olum, you know those tunnels? You remember how to get to the ghoulish lands?”

The ghostly dwarf harrumphs noisily.  “Of course I do. But I’m never going back there. I’ve had enough of those damn things for a lifetime and an afterlife, thanks. No.”   Nolin and Velendo exchange a meaningful glance.  “Why are you people here, anyways?” 

Tao speaks up. “You didn’t finish the job last time, and the ghouls have come to us. They’ve destroyed Mrid. They’re headed for the surface, and we’re trying to stop them.”

Olum looks confused.  “Destroyed Mrid? You’re kidding, right?” 

“Oh, no,” says Galthia. “We’re not kidding at all.” Olum looks horrified.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” sighs Velendo, flexing his brand new fingers. “We’re just gathering weapons and passing on through the vault. What’s behind this one?”

Olum tugs on his transparent beard, still trying to understand what he was told.  “Eh? Never been on from here. Two rooms, I think. Say, all the dwarves, dead? And after all that, we _failed_ before?” 

Mara shakes her head. “Most of them. None left in the city. And apparently yes.” 

Olum frowns.  “I thought… It’s up to me whether or not you proceed. I’m supposed to bar entrance to those that the King would want stopped. And I could, you know.”  He smiles coldly.  Suddenly, the clatter and clang of weapons fills the large room as every single magical weapon flies from its rack. Most of the glowing weapons clang into one another and somehow adhere, and within seconds three huge golems loom above the heroes – one made from magical swords, one from magical spears and polearms, and one from magical hammers and maces. 

Someone gulps. The dwarven troops raise their weapons. And, just as quickly as they formed, the golems dissolve and scatter their weapons across the stone floor.

 “But I’m not going to. You’re here to help dwarves, huh?  I won’t stop you from that.”  He shoots a resentful glance towards Malachite and Karthos.  “No matter what _some_ people may think of me.” 

Glibstone speaks up in a fragile voice, not even bothering to tell a joke. “I have found the correct portal and unlocked it. If we’re ready.”

“Hang on.”  Tao considers the miracle of the _atonement_ spell and approaches the ghost, sympathy on her face. “I might be able to help, you know, if you’re truly sorry about what you did.” 

“Sorry?” Olum considers.  “Well, to be honest, I’m sorry I got caught. But I’d probably do it again. This place is too big a temptation for a master craftsman.” He shoots a final bitter glance over towards Malachite and Karthos.  “And I have nothing else to feel guilty about.”

Tao shrugs. “Okay. You’re the one who’s bound.”

Olum glowers at her.  “What, you want me to lie to you? I’m not gonna do that.”

“Let’s go.”  Nolin glances back at Olum. “We’ll be back through here.”

The dwarf sighs heavily, chains dragging him downwards.  “Uh huh.  I’ll be here.”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

The next portal leads to an entrance area, and then a narrow tunnel with spikes lining the ceiling. Malachite has to take off his armor in order to fit in without impaling himself. It takes almost ten minutes for the group to crawl through the narrow tunnel. As they do so, they pass through a half dozen areas of _dispel magic_ and _anti-magic_. “Can you imagine what would happen if the dragon got in here, _polymorphed_ or _reduced_?” Agar comments.  “One _antimagic_ field, and Squish!” 

Crawling next to one another, Nolin and Malachite discuss the fate of Olum Shiverstone as they scramble along.  “We should free him and take him with us,” comments Nolin. “He knows the area, knows ghouls, and knows how the White Kingdom operated in the past. His knowledge may be the difference between success and failure.”

Malachite looks back over his shoulder in disapproval. “Surely you’re joking. He’s untrustworthy and undead.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t stop him from being a valuable resource.”

“I see. I’ll remind you, Nolin, that you have a history of dealing with questionable moral sources to gain information.” Malachite voice is icy; he doesn’t mention the specifics of Nolin’s disastrous attempt to train with the lich Hagiok, but the unspoken memory hangs heavily between them. “It would be a foolish mistake. We should kill him or leave him, but asking him to accompany us would be folly.”

“Just because he doesn’t meet your high moral standards doesn’t mean he’s not a decent source of information! He may mean the difference between success and failure for us. You’d risk that for nothing more than your hatred of undead?”

“Some prices are not worth paying. That’s a lesson you still haven’t learned.”

Their conversation continues as they push their way slowly forward. Finally, Glibstone pushes through another portal, and the explorers tumble forward.

The room is shaped like all the others. To the right, display cases hold the finest gems that Mrid has ever produced, as well as barrels of lesser gems and sacks of gem dust. To the left, dozens of magical items hang in special display cases, all labeled and catalogued. Light sparkles across the room like sun on a bubbling stream, reflecting rainbow shadows on the walls as it glints off of gems and jewelry.

Someone suppresses a sob of pure joy.

“Later!” says Velendo as he moves across the space towards a single stone door on the far side. “We’ll deal with it later. Let’s get to the last room first, then come back for the gems and magic.”

Malachite looks at the elderly cleric, surveying him with a critical eye.  "Have you gotten it all out of your system?"

Velendo looks back at him. "Gotten what out of my system?"

Nolin smiles. "Oh, good."

Tao smiles too, but it isn't entirely good-natured. "Oh, you mean the part where you were being an idiot and you stuck your arm into a sphere of annihilation saying, ‘Oh no, I’m not enchanted at all, oh no, not one little bit, hey, where’s my arm?’  That part?”

"Ha ha. Very funny. Make fun of the old man. Can we continue, now, if you don't mind?"

"Sure." Nolin looks around nervously. “What guards this room?”

Glibstone shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says in a humble voice far different from his normal stentorious rumble. “Nothing?” 

Nolin snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”

Glibstone pauses in front of the simple door. “There’s no puzzle,” he says with concern. “Only a worn place on the door.” After examining it closely, he places his hand on it – and disappears.

“Ready, everyone!” snaps Mara. Lightbinder is drawn, and the other Defenders follow suit, looking back and forth for signs of danger. Then Glibstone reappears as abruptly as he vanished, and a hidden lock on the door *clunks* open.  Priggle and Agar advance forward as Glibstone looks about.

“Where did all of you go?” he asks in confusion. “I was in the same room, but no one was here. I saw a flowstone puzzle on the door in front of me, and answered it seconds before you all reappeared.” He smiles to himself mysteriously. “That puzzle was a total joke.”

Agar considers the door, fascinated. “Amazing magics!” he muses. “I think they’re temporal based, and keyed to the door. It might have flung him back in time – a day, maybe? – then returned him here. There are lots of adjacent dweomers, too, looking pretty nasty.” Next to him, Priggle nods dourly in agreement.

“Makes sense,” says the svirfneblin scout. “This lock looks counterweighted, taking hours between when it’s unlocked and when it opens. Probably if he hadn’t tried to open the door correctly, we’d all have been killed.” He sighs. “Not that that isn’t going to happen, anyways.”

“Well, the door is open now,” reminds Malachite. “Let’s go.” He pulls open the stone portal, revealing a swirling brown portal. .

“Here goes nothing!” says Agar optimistically, and leaps through. The dwarven troops are ordered to stay behind, but everyone else follows.

The group emerges in a dark cave filled with ancient air that smells of age and wet, damp earth. In front of them, the solid ground twists and softens and churns into a vast whirlpool of crushing rock and razor-sharp stone. The only light shines from magical items and the red flame of Nolin’s flickering, burning hair.

Out of the stone whirlpool, a woman rises.

Well, half a woman. Her lower half is spiraling stone, connecting her to the churning floor by a rising column of elemental earth in constant movement. Her upper half, however, is utterly beautiful. Flawless brown skin, eyes like gleaming gemstones, muscles like sculpted marble, teeth as white as bone, poise and grace and perfection in her every movement. She turns towards the Defenders of Daybreak, and her eyes are as old as the earth itself. 

*“My lady!”* gasps the ever-vigilant sword Karthos, and Nolin is the first to bend his knee to her. Splinder follows his example. Most of the others do likewise. The woman looks down at them, and her heavy gaze is solemn.

*“Greetings. I am Silissa, child of Ogremoch, and a singer in fate’s quarry.* She flicks back her hair. * “I see the endings of all things, from flesh to stone.  Your own deaths dance before me, as does all death, and I see where all things finish. 

“And now, in the time of the reaving, the time before the fall, you come as I have foreseen you to.”* She smiles now, and it is a smile of infinite patience and grace. *“You are kerngrun, pivots. Prophecy dances around you. You seek to turn the plans of Gods. For this you have come to me, unknowing, and I can tell you truth.”* She pauses now, and eyes the group doubtfully. 

Malachite looks up. “That is all we seek.”

*“Are you sure?  Truth is a sharpened blade with no hilt, so that even those who wield it are sliced by its edge.”*  He nods in acceptance, and she continues as she looks downwards.

*“I see only endings. I see that you wish answers that only my sisters could give you, but I can offer help nevertheless. I will prophesize for you three times: once for the past, once for the present, and once for the future. Information beyond that comes only for a price.

“The past slopes away from me, and I see the weave and warp of the raw earth. The bloated one glistens in darkness. For him the herds are grown, mewling in shadow, but hunger can not be satiated by flesh alone. He seeks more… and he learns that if he strives for the light, all will come to him and he will feast and he will dance in the darkness with the stars themselves. This is worthiness! He prays to the mother never-born, and she blesses the endeavor, for she does not see with unclouded sight. The signs are clear, the oracles agree, and his minions twitch and moan as they are whipped towards your lands. Misguided? Religion often is, and this is no exception. Slowly the nation grows, worms wriggling outwards from a rotten husk, and change is set in motion.”*

She tilts her perfectly sculpted head straight ahead, staring at something unthinkably far away.

*“I stand upon the present, and I hear the scratching of coffins hastily closed. You have been foolish and made assumptions. There is one amongst you who can lock the door with the gemstone key, but you have failed to do so – and there is those amongst your enemies who can call back the farthest of friends from that still-open door. As could one of your own, but they need not pass through Boros’ gate, for their toll has been long since paid. Now, on the nights when you hid in your violated home, she began to call them back. One by one. They are seeking you now, all together where each they failed, and they will find you if you do not beware. You do not want them to find you. They anger that through you their greatest has burned, and vengeance is hotter than blood. Their allies are the rays of the air and the fish of the land, for these guard the entrance to Abriach.*  Velendo and Nolin blanch in horror as they grasp her meaning. She tilts her head upwards, voice inexorable and growing louder, echoing through the chamber.

*“The future rises before me, chasms inexorable. Through your actions the world has changed; through you again it will change the more. You have tossed the pebble that started the landslide. Before it is over the undying dies and is consumed by its own icy flesh, just as the dying will fail to pass on. The ending gift will claim what the pilgrimage could not, with much the same result, and death will stalk your lands in every person you may meet. It may be burned away, but not in time for many.  And for you? He may share with the parasite, or perhaps he may not, but the whole can not hold – and odd allies indeed are formed when such things occur. Greed conquers all, and the sun will dim if he finishes before you interrupt. Past and repast, future ahead – a new one may be born from the unborn, or the crawling death rekindled as it was in the days before the Gods themselves. Do not believe all that you are told, or your errors may be grave indeed.”*

Silence fills the room, other than the ragged churning of the raw earth beneath her.

*“You wish more?” *She smiles slowly as she studies them, seeing something that they can not. *“There is always a price. You have already paid my price for your prophecies, unknowing or not, but now the scales are equal. My sister is captive in the Shrine of the Glass Pool, a place I see you passing nearby. If you wish a question answered, you will free her from her enslavement. Agree to this, and I shall answer one thing more.”* The group exchanges a glance, and as one silently agrees.

*“I can tell you why you can not remember the infant son of King Josric.  I can tell of Telay Threnodiel, and her journies beneath the earth. I can tell of the Lawbringer T’Cri. I can tell you what is meant by “breaking the spine” of the White Kingdom. I can tell you about the creature you refer to as the Puppeteer.  I can tell you of the White Kingdom’s allies, or describe the mind and goals of the Ivory King.  I can tell you what awaits you outside of the city of Mrid.  I can tell you of the death of Gods, the fate of friends and enemies, and perhaps I can tell you why the modrons march.  All is open to me, that dwells with failure and with death. You need but ask.

“And for a separate price, I can transport you to the heart of Moradin’s Forge – to seek what treasures lie protected there – or deeper into the Underdark, or back to Mridsgate itself.

“For I see endings, and I prophesize death.”*

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Warrior Poet said:
			
		

> *
> Wow, there's ... lots going on here ... or being implied here ... and I'm outta my league ...*




It's possible that a couple of months from now, these are going to make a whole lot of sense!  Hey, they might make a whole lot of sense right now, if you poke at them long enough. That's why I like prophecies; not only are they fun, they give clues to the people who want to think about them.

Here's an example. Nolin and Velendo think they've worked out the prophecy for the Present, and their explanation seems to fit.  I'll let them explain it - but can any of you guys guess?

*



			Piratecat, about how long does it take to work up prophecies and other omens?  Do you unfold them based on much of what has happened before in a campaign as a signpost to a possible future?  Do you find it hard to come up with something prophetic that still allows for the random element and unpredictable player direction common to RPGs?
		
Click to expand...


*When I'm motivated, prophecies don't take too long to write. There are basically two kinds of prophecies: those which directly describe PC actions, and those which describe other things happening in the world. It's _much_ easier to write the latter kind, because the prophecy describes what is fated to happen independent of PC action. The only tricky thing is thinking carefully about where your plot is going, and couching it in terms that make tons of sense after the fact but little sense beforehand. Then you give hints as to what you expect to happen if the PCs don't get involved, and let it run from there.

For instance, these particular prophecies mostly concern people and events that aren't the PCs. Thus, I don't have to say "the daughter of light will shatter the crystal lantern, and plunge the world into darkness." What if Mara wanted to be peverse and not smash any lantern she found? Thus, your prophecies directly describing the PCs have to be pretty freakin' obscure. 

I'm especially fond of prophecies uttered by completely crazy people; that way, you can include lots of stuff which may or may not be true, and steer the campaign to include thematic (but non-literal) elements from the prophecy. In general, a good prophecy should unfold gradually, answers slowly becoming clear and unlocking other parts of the puzzle.

If you need your prophecy to directly mention the PCs, use generic labels. The sword, the phoenix, the martyr. Players sometimes leave campaigns, and nothing sucks more than having a key portion of your prophecy walk out on you. Same thing if a PC dies. 

Omens are easier. Omens just happen, and whether or not the players interpret them correctly is up to them. I occasionally throw in omens about stuff that has nothing to do with the PCs, because it adds so much flavor into the world. I think most of these get missed, but hey - that's what's supposed to happen.  *grin*

Anyways, I _detest_ railroading my group to meet a prophecy. It can totally backfire; ask Sialia about her game in college some time, which Sito played in too!


----------



## coyote6

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Here's an example. Nolin and Velendo think they've worked out the prophecy for the Present, and their explanation seems to fit.  I'll let them explain it - but can any of you guys guess?
> [/B]




I think "the door" refers to the Ebon Door; one of the characters has a way to seal the door (and thus likely release Kellharin from his duty). Not sure what the "gemstone key" is, though.

Another part of that prophecy talks about some of the villains the Defenders have been slaying. The White Kingdom is un-slaying them; either resurrecting 'em then re-undead-ifying 'em, or some ghoul has _wish_ or _miracle_ and XP to burn, I'd guess. Or, perhaps more likely, is using some foul ritual or rite to provide XP-by-proxy to fuel the spells. (The "as could one of your own" refers to Velendo, who can cast 9th level cleric spells.) While the Defenders were resting up in Calphas' Comfortable Castle, the bad guys were assembling the Undead Legion of Doom. 

The White Kingdom is hopping (maybe literally -- hopping vampires are undead, too, right?  ) mad at the Defenders. Not just for their current assault, but because the Defenders tipped Aeos to the whole Ghouleax scam, which led to the sun god destroying the Kingdom's King for masterminding the Ghouleax thing.

So now the ULoD are looking for the DoD, so they can kick some living butts.

Not sure what it means by "toll long since paid" -- reference to level loss, maybe? 

Hmm, the prophecy says "that still-open door", and mentions "Boros' gate" -- if all three doors mentioned are the same door, then the Ebon Door leads literally to the Underworld, to the land of the dead. 

Oh. Hey. With regards to that gemstone key -- what were the properties of flowstone, again?

"Rays of the air", "fish of the land". Something that looks like a manta ray that flies, and something that is fish-like but travels on land. And that would ally with the minions of an evil subterranean undead kingdom. Cloakers and aboleths? Though the latter are aquatic. Something like that, I'd guess.


----------



## Piratecat

Velendo speaks up. “What price to transport us?” 

She studies them, watching them carefully. *“To transport you, I require one of the rings from the dragon’s corpse. For additional information, a second question answered, I wish a drop of blood from each of you.”*

Galthia frowns. “How will the blood be used?”

*“Is that your question?”*

“No.”

The group quietly confers. 

“What does she mean? King Josric never had any children!”
“I want to learn about Telay!”
“Don’t ask about T’Cri; the bastard is probably a big ‘ole rat-ghoul.”
Anyone care about the modrons?”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Not now, Agar.”
“What kind of a sadist would present people with lots of answers, and only answer one?”
“I’d love to find out about the Puppeteer.”
“Learning about the White Kingdom is probably more useful.”
“Can we survive in Moradin’s Forge?”
“Better to go further into the Underdark, I think.”
“Agreed.”
 “I’m not giving a drop of blood.”
“Me either.”
 “Then only one question gets answered. Which one?”
“Oh, Telay… damn it.”
“Who is the Ivory King? I know that name from somewhere.”
“You’re hallucinating.”
“No you’re not. I remember it too.”
“Probably the King of the Ghouls. The Ivory Queen is Imbindarla, we know that.”
“Too many choices!”
“So, how to break the Spine of the White Kingdom?”
“Yes, I think we have to.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”

The group rises from its huddle and turns back to Silissa, faces set.  Nolin steps forward. “We are agreed, Silissa, daughter of Ogremoch. We wish to know how to break the spine of the White Kingdom.”

The earth around them shudders slightly, as if letting out a held breath.

*“Indeed.  The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night. He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find. If he is destroyed along with his closest cadre, and the entrance to the cyst sealed, the spark that drives the ghouls shall fade as well. They worship he and his mother, although only one of them is worthy of worship. The two share no loyalty; slay one, and they shall fall and be devoured, with all that might entail.”*

She turns to the githzerai monk, studying him. He looks up steadfastly, perhaps surprised by the scrutiny but giving no sign of discomfort.

*“Galthia. I have been charged with conveying to you a gift, and thus satisfying an ancient debt. I foresee a time when you will die if you do not have this token, so I give the token to you now.”*  Silissa raises her slim brown hand to her face, and with strong fingers gouges out her left eyeball. She bends over and offers it to Galthia, who takes it without comment. It is warm in his hand, but within seconds hardens to green rock. Silissa watches him, her black eye socket weeping fluid. *“Swallow it; it will become as part of you, and will serve you when no power solely of flesh will serve.”*  Galthia does so, and feels a momentary tingling throughout his body. 

*“And so are debts satisfied.”*

Velendo wipes the disgusted look off of his face and clears his throat. “My Lady, must we take advantage of your offer to send us further from this place right now? We have things which we need to gather from back inside the vault.” Silissa looks at him with her one brilliant eye. “Gems, magical items, and weapons; things which we shall need.”

Mara speaks up. “Tao’s lizard mount Newt, too. And my warhorse Luminor. We left them in the first vault room. They’ve been waiting for us.” Silissa inclines her head to gaze into the distance amd shrugs her perfect shoulders.

*“Not for long.”* Her tone is matter-of-fact, her face inscrutable.

Mara looks up, horrified. “Not for.. what? What do you mean?” Silissa merely gazes at her. 

_To be continued…_


----------



## Sagiro

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I suppose this means that you've figured out what/who/where the gemstone key is (I'm absolutely positive I've figured it out, but don't want to give it away if y'all hadn't yet!). *



Yeah, we're pretty sure that this:

*There is one amongst you who can lock the door with the gemstone key, but you have failed to do so – and there is those amongst your enemies who can call back the farthest of friends from that still-open door.*

...is a metaphor for Sir Malachite, Knight of the Emerald Chapel, who _could_ have been making sure the dead stay dead by dealing the killing blow himself.  (It's a special Hunter-of-the-Dead power.)  And that, as KidCthulhu says, our enemies have some kind of resurrect-the-undead power that they're using on those that Malachite isn't killing.

For the record, it's a non-trivial task to arrange for a particular character to deliver the death blow against a powerful opponent -- especially when it has to be a physical attack.  (And I know what you're thinking... but in Piratecat's game, _harm_ (and by extension, _heal_ against undead) allows for a save, one that most of the powerful baddies we fight are likely to make.  So the obvious "heal, followed by a Karthos-swing" isn't as foolproof one might hope.)

Still, we'll do what we can.  

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

EDIT - Sagiro beat me to it.  



			
				Sagiro said:
			
		

> * -- especially when it has to be a physical attack. *



It doesn't; sword *or* spell, but not _positive energy burst._

I know that the group has considered a few potential foes - the undead archer from the necropede battle, the psionic shadow from Mridsgate, the half-orcish ghoul that succeeded in paralyzing Galthia, a few others - and are considering what happens if their forces are combined. Whether or not this interpretation is correct is still up in the air, of course.

Incidentally, Boros is the God of Death and the guardian of the door to the afterlife.


----------



## Wolfspirit

/DWARF ON



> “The bloated one glistens in darkness. For him the herds are grown, mewling in shadow, but hunger can not be satiated by flesh alone. He seeks more… and he learns that if he strives for the light, all will come to him and he will feast and he will dance in the darkness with the stars themselves. This is worthiness! He prays to the mother never-born, and she blesses the endeavor, for she does not see with unclouded sight.  The signs are clear, the oracles agree, and his minions twitch and moan as they are whipped towards your lands. Misguided? Religion often is, and this is no exception. Slowly the nation grows, worms wriggling outwards from a rotten husk, and change is set in motion.”






> “Indeed. The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night. He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find."




Ah think we have a winner for who "the bloated one" is.  One thing that sticks me is "For she does not see with unclouded sight."  Mebbe allthough Imbindarla supports her son, he's goin' to end up costing her in the end.  Of course, having Aeos going off to try and put a holy thumping on her deific head after the "Sir Ghouleax thing" might count.  Who knows.  



> “I stand upon the present, and I hear the scratching of coffins hastily closed. You have been foolish and made assumptions. There is one amongst you who can lock the door with the gemstone key, but you have failed to do so – and there is those amongst your enemies who can call back the farthest of friends from that still-open door."






			
				coyote6 said:
			
		

> *
> Another part of that prophecy talks about some of the villains the Defenders have been slaying. The White Kingdom is un-slaying them; either resurrecting 'em then re-undead-ifying 'em, or some ghoul has wish or miracle and XP to burn, I'd guess. Or, perhaps more likely, is using some foul ritual or rite to provide XP-by-proxy to fuel the spells. (The "as could one of your own" refers to Velendo, who can cast 9th level cleric spells.) While the Defenders were resting up in Calphas' Comfortable Castle, the bad guys were assembling the Undead Legion of Doom. *




If this is true, Ah'd hope that when a god descends to the Earth to destroy an undead king that he does a right thorough job of it.  Ah'd hate for another nasty undead finger waver around.

Oh, and as for the gemstone key, do members of the Emerald Order get sumthin' special against undead having to do with that big honkin' gemstone that they have in their main base?  Er, I shouldn't have known about the emerald, being a simple dwarf.  Malachite must've slipped it.  Er... *looks around innocently*
*edit* (And I see that's been answered)



> As could one of your own, but they need not pass through Boros’ gate, for their toll has been long since paid."




This might refer to how they've allready paid their "toll" by becoming undead.  They gave up death to never die, so can they really be killed?



> “The future rises before me, chasms inexorable. Through your actions the world has changed; through you again it will change the more. You have tossed the pebble that started the landslide. Before it is over the undying dies and is consumed by its own icy flesh, just as the dying will fail to pass on.




Err, Ah dunno, sounds like some phrophetic mumbo jumbo to me.  Can't be a prophesy without tryin' to confuse everyone listening.



> The ending gift will claim what the pilgrimage could not, with much the same result, and death will stalk your lands in every person you may meet. It may be burned away, but not in time for many.[/QOUTE]
> 
> That sounds like a plague of some sort.  It may be burnt away?  Maybe a fungus of some type?  Or some undead nastiness like mummy rot?  *scratches his arm subconciously*  The [edited in case Eric's Grandmother reads Dwarvish] ghouls seem to have had quite a few back up plans, maybe if they can't get to the surface themselves, they'll just teleport up a few to start a plague to wipe everyone out.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> And for you? He may share with the parasite, or perhaps he may not, but the whole can not hold – and odd allies indeed are formed when such things occur. Greed conquers all, and the sun will dim if he finishes before you interrupt. Past and repast, future ahead – a new one may be born from the unborn, or the crawling death rekindled as it was in the days before the Gods themselves. Do not believe all that you are told, or your errors may be grave indeed.”
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Parasite?  That might be the "ghoul" qualities, or it might be some sort of disease he's spreading.  It also looks like someone is tryin to take out the Sun.  Again.  Or wake up the worms.  Again.  Durn villains, can't you get an original plan?
> 
> /DWARF OFF
> 
> Prophesies are fun
Click to expand...


----------



## Piratecat

A few meta-game updates:

1. We're gaming tonight, so tomorrow's update won't come until mid-afternoon.

2. We're pretty close to being caught up.  I'm two sessions behind; one of action, and one of thoughtful conversation / moral debate / gleeful looting.  Then there's tonight's session, which should be fun.  

3. It's official; Wulf Ratbane is joining the game as a full-time player as of next week. Whoot! 

4. Sialia, helped by many of you guys, is doing a fantastic thing in collecting and creating the campaign web site. I'm even buckling down and creating maps for it, since I'm too ashamed of my current maps to let them be seen in public.  Thank you, everyone!

5. I am rewriting (with much more detail) the arrival of the Defenders into Eversink. It will go into the first Eversink log. I would never have done this if it wasn't for War Golem!


----------



## Samnell

maddman75 said:
			
		

> *Yeah, any word on what Wulf will be playing in your game? *




Male elven contortionist wearing magical tights with maxed out ranks in the prance and foppery skills and skill focus (miming).

I thought it was obvious.


----------



## Piratecat

Mara spins and runs for the portal. “Come on! Luminor’s in danger!”  She has been conscious of his absence in her mind ever since she passed through the second portal, but now the severed empathic link seems like silent blame. Tao is fast on her heels, and most of the other Defenders follow. Only Velendo tarries for a few seconds, staring up at Silissa’s implacable face, looking for something he doesn’t find. With a quiet curse he turns and follows everyone out through the portal.

The next fifteen minutes are nervewracking. Many of the portal locks going back are different than the ones that Glibstone has already unlocked, and both Mara and Tao fidgit compulsively during the waiting periods, hoping that they won’t be too late.  “Don’t worry,” assures Glibstone as he pats Mara on the elbow. “the vault is impregnable. Even that dragon couldn’t get in here! There’s nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t believe him, but she’s polite enough not to say so out loud.

Finally the group bursts through into the non-magical armory, and Mara’s empathic link with her warhorse snaps back into existence. “Luminor! Are you okay? What’s happening to you?”  She hears her warhorse snort into her mind, and an equine voice speaks in barely restrained panic.

_“Something’s been pounding through the entry door for a long time. Whatever it is, it’ll soon be through.”_ The voice in Mara’s head seems to shiver. _“From what I can sense through the wall, it seems… wrong. Bad. Can you come to me, so we face it together?”_

Mara sends waves of encouragement through her mental link, even as Agar _dimension doors_ her past the dancing death-trap. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”  

They pass into the first vault's lore-room, and the scraping and hammering which Luminor described is immediately obvious. It sounds slightly like claws on glass. Glibstone stares at the door in shock. “That shouldn’t be possible!” he stutters, jester bells jingling in agitation. “That door _can’t_ be broken open; it’s magically protected by Moradin’s breath itself!”

“He’s probably deserted us,” sighs Priggle to himself. “Predictable, really. Probably happens all the time.” 

“Let’s see what’s going on,” suggests Tao, and her eyes roll back as she activates her _helm of vision_. Her first _clairvoyance_ on the other side of the door inexplicably fails. She moves the vantage point and tries once more, and this the spell succeeds.

“Oh, *crap!*” she swears. Her eyes refocus.

“What? What is it out there?”

“Two Beholders. I think they are, at least, but they’re huge and swollen, easily ten feet across.”

Nolin looks around. “They aren’t _usually_ that big, are they?”

Tao frowns. “No. And these are rotting, so they’re probably ghouls. One of them is oozing pus out of its.. ick.”  She makes a face.  “While the one in back keeps watch, the other one has its central eye focused on the door.” She concentrates on the spell again. “There are these other three monsters, too. No, four. Really tall, double-length arms and legs, maybe some sort of undead golem. They’re ripping out sections of the door while the beholder nullifies the door’s magic. Nice.  And… oh, great. One of the golem-things has yellow glowing eyes.”

Nolin groans. “Kellharin? Or the Puppeteer? Whatever you want to call him. *I* don’t want to call him anything. I just want him dead. Well, deader.”

“Uh huh. Those creatures are also glowing strangely.. almost a purplish-black, every time that they aren’t in the anti-magic beam. And there are sigils glowing on their skin. Is that bad?”

“Yes.”

“They’re… damn.”  Tao blinks. “One of the beholders rolled up to look at me, and the spell immediately failed. They know that we know they’re out there.”

Velendo looks around worriedly at all the papers, scrolls, and stone tablets. “Damn it! What should we do? I could seal this vault off with a _sovereign wall_, but that’ll keep the dwarves out too.”

“So?”  Splinder shrugs.  Glibstone gives him a betrayed look, and Splinder explains, “Better to have the treasure nice and safe than in ghoulish hands, I’m thinking.” Glibstone can’t help but reluctantly agree.

“But for crying out loud,” continues Velendo in worried irritation, “if we don’t kill these things they’re just going to keep hounding us!” 

“Not necessarily,” comments Galthia quietly. “We leave out the back, and they’ll probably just stay here, sitting around and waiting for us. They can’t follow us, and they can’t get any farther into the vault than this room. Thanks to the portals, the rooms aren’t actually next to each other – and at this rate, they’ll destroy the flowstone lock when they destroy the door. We can just go and leave them here.”

“Then when we don’t show back up, they’re going to go and kill more innocent people! The point is, we can’t let them survive.” The rhythmic hammering and scraping on the door almost drowns out his voice.

Nolin frowns. “I’m not so sure we can take them. I don’t know what those golem-thing are, but beholders are supposed to eat drow elves for breakfast.  We might end up losing people. Should we put it to a quick vote?” 

“Yes.”

The result is a surprise to no one.

Since they choose to fight, the group decides to customize the battlefield to their own specifications. Even as the inside of the stone door begins to crack and flake, spells are prepared and plans discussed. _Fire seeds_ are carefully laid down, and the Defenders arrange themselves carefully in a rough semi-circle around the door.  “Remember,” cautions Velendo, we probably can’t take them all at once. I’ll split them up into manageable groups. If things get too ugly, I’ll try and seal us off.”

The waiting is hard. Everyone stares at the door as cracks in the stone get larger and larger. The noise of the scraping is horrible.

“Any second now...” says Mara.  And almost as if in response, a chunk of rock crashes out of the door onto the polished stone floor, a chilling purple radiance floods the chamber, and a rotting eye peers in to look at the people inside.

“Now!”

_To be continued…._


----------



## Sialia

*All I Need to Know I Learned from RolePlaying Games.*

Sorta off topic, but important to me.

A short while back, Malachite had a conversation with Nolin about prices not worth paying, and doing things the "right" way even if it seems less strategically advantageous. Remember that one?

Anyway, shortly after that, I got to one of those decision points in my real life.

And I opted to do things the "right" way when all the advice I could find was suggesting "easy" ways. "Easy" ways that I had a gut feeling were going to make my life much much harder in the long run, and less happy, and that I was going to feel guilty about.

And I'm really pleased with the way doing it "right" worked out.

The extra effort involved allowed me to focus on my priorities, and maintain my sense of integrity. Which gave me confidence to get through the hard parts. The guilt that would have come from using the "easy" way would have kept me from following through and finishing the job, I think, which really had no truly easy solutions. Knowing that I had done everything I could do to do the job right helped me stick the landing.

So I wanted to say thanks. It was the right word at the right time, and it helped.


----------



## Blackjack

*Re: All I Need to Know I Learned from RolePlaying Games.*



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> *And I'm really pleased with the way doing it "right" worked out.*




Ha!  Take _that_, Benholm!




			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> *So I wanted to say thanks. It was the right word at the right
> time, and it helped. *




Hey, glad I could play a part!


----------



## Piratecat

Stone that was crafted never to break shatters on the tile floor of the vault.  

Conscious of the undead beholders’ anti-magic beams still playing across the outside of the vault’s crumbling door, the Defenders let loose with a barrage of non-magical attacks against the half-seen undead monster.  Arrows and slingstones bounce and skitter as they strike the creature’s face and the wall that is mostly covering it.

“Sheesh, I haven’t used my short bow in years,” grumbles Nolin as his arrow misses and snaps on the hard stone.  He fits another arrow to the bowstring and lets fly, this time arcing it right into the narrow hole.

“Then why do you still carry it?”asks Agar, perched on a writing desk and readying a spell.

‘Habit?” 

The monster reappears at the small opening, several arrow shafts now sticking out of it.  An unnaturally distended arm slinks through, buries its claws into solid stone, and _pulls_.  A shield-sized chunk of stone is pulled free from the thick door, and the monsters’ smell rolls into the room. They have the odor of a week-old infection, gassy and sick. With Nolin’s carefully placed _silence_ spell nullified by the beholders’ anti-magic, the monster can also be heard making a gurgling screech of excitement.  More arrows tear into it as it strains, and a huge chunk of the vault door shatters into small segments that clatter to the floor. The vault has been breached.

Three of the undead constructs push their way through the gap in the vault door. The creatures at first seem to be bizarre flesh golems, for each limb is created from the matching limbs of medium and small sized humans, tattooed with unholy sigils. Thus, its thin, elongated arms and legs are comprised of several arms cunningly molded together. The overall effect is that of a tall and emaciated corpse, with grotesquely long limbs and body, topped by a grinning head that seems small by comparison. Behind them the undead beholders’ central eyes close, and the undead golems are suddenly infused with negative energy that leaves them enveloped in a field of shimmering purplish-black. They stride forward with unnatural speed.

From somewhere behind a rock, Priggle moans in dismay.

Velendo’s first action is to divide the battlefield. He places a _mirrored wall_ of force along the inside of the vault, separating three of the four golems from their beholder support outside. “I’ll keep those things out of our hair!” he shouts. “Lets deal with these first!”  

And the Defenders do.

Nolin drops his bow and starts by _hasting_ his allies and _slowing_ his enemies.  Galthia leaps forward to attack, accompanied by the other front line fighters such as Mara, Tao, Splinder the dwarf, and even Priggle. Agar launches two attack spells with unclear success. “Careful, guys,” he yells. “They’re probably protected against most spells.” 

“And against positive energy?” asks Sir Malachite. He concentrates from where he’s standing atop the raised floor, and emerald light flows out from him. All three creatures scream hoarsely, even though their own radiance seems to counter the effect of the brilliance. In a frenzied response, two of them reach out to Galthia.  Their claws try to rend and tear, and the monk nimbly twists himself mostly out of the way. Only one claw gets through. When it does, though, Galthia can feel it catch on a piece of his very soul, as the monster tries to tear his life essence away from his body. Galthia squints his eyes and resists, and the monster’s claw comes away with only flesh. It puts the chunk of Galthia’s belly to its thin and dessicated lips but quickly spits the flesh out, since it doesn’t contain the life energy that it truly craves.

Instead of attacking Galthia, the third monster braces itself and concentrates.  Its aura of sickening darkness bulges, squirms, and bursts outwards like an explosion of pus from a boil. 

Time slows. For just an instant, almost everyone in the room gets a horrifying taste of what it must feel like to be locked into hellish undeath.  Then the purplish-black radiance fades, leaving almost everyone shaking and injured from the negative energy.  Only Galthia managed to avoid the energy altogether, and the monsters that were already injured now clearly look healed..

“Oh, great,” Tao retorts as she whirls her two swords in front of her in a deadly pattern. “This thing is like the anti-Malachite. Only Malachite’s energy bursts don’t heal _us_. Unfair!” Her joke sounds slightly strained as the undead back away, presenting a difficult target for anyone who doesn’t have the same 10’ reach that they do. Braving the attacks of opportunity that superior reach brings, the heroes press forwards towards the monsters, and together they manage to destroy one of the three by synchronizing their attacks in a beautiful display of combat precision.  Both of the remaining creatures trigger their own_negative energy bursts_, and the Defenders reel back with rotting wounds caused by the negative energy.  Nolin’s _healing circle_ undoes part of the damage, though, and no one drops as they try to gather their wits.

Agar finally gets frustrated with his attempts to break through their spell resistance. "I _wish_," his voice reverberates around the room as magic swirls around him, "that these monsters were more vulnerable to m- err, to OUR spells!"  The _limited wish_ takes effect, and the monsters shudder as their ability to resist magic decreases.

Over by the vault door, Velendo’s mirrored _wall of force_ suddenly shudders and vanishes like billowing mist. Just outside the vault, one of the swollen and bloated beholders grins widely as its rotten teeth reflect torchlight. The fourth golem standing next to it also smiles, its glowing yellow eyes those of Kellha – err, the Puppeteer. The creature’s mouth moves at it strides boldly into the vault, but Nolin’s _silence_ spell stops Velendo from hearing what the undead has to say.  “Crap!” exclaims Velendo. “Anti-magic shouldn’t have worked on that wall; those things must still have _disintegrate_!” Before any more eye rays penetrate the vault, Velendo calls upon his most powerful magics, and a _sovereign wall_ slams down across the entire front wall of the vault which traps the golem inside and the beholders outside. “There,” he growls at the beholders who clearly can’t hear him, “disintegrate _that_, you bastards.”  The yellow light fades from the eyes of the trapped golem as the Puppeteer makes a strategic retreat from his undead lackey, and the creature immediately responds by unleashing another burst of negative energy.  Across the room several people fall back to heal, realizing that one more blast will probably kill them. The others use spells and swords to attack, cutting down the second golem and starting on the third. 

"Not bad," remarks Mara. "Two down, and Malachite made the final stroke against both of them."

"Huh," grunts Splinder as he swings his axe. "Who says we can't learn from our mistakes?" Then Velendo turns undead, and one of the two remaining creatures panics. It runs directly away from Velendo, moving at unnatural speed towards the back of the room. Without a pause, it leaps into one of the seven portals, and is gone.

"Uh.. guys?" asks Tao, concerned. 

Agar chuckles as he digs through his spell component pouch.  "That leads to the positive material plane, the plane of pure life energy. I don't think we have to worry about it coming back."

The one remaining monster is strong, but its ability to devour life energy doesn't help it if it can't reach flesh.  It isn’t long before the badly injured Defenders stand amidst the rotting remains of three undead golems. Papers and tablets lay scattered across the tile floor of the vault room, but no one is dead, and the enemy’s force has been reduced by four deadly constructs.  “Do we drop the wall and go after the beholders?” agonizes Velendo. “I’m not sure if we can take them or not.”  Just in case, he drops a _mass heal_, and the seeping wounds caused by the negative energy quickly vanish.

Tao frowns from beneath the visor of her _clairvoyance_ helm. “They’re moving away from the _sovereign wall_,” she reports. “Damn it, one of them has all eleven eyes glowing yellow! The Puppeteer must be inside of it.”  Everyone looks at one another.

Suddenly, Malachite hears a voice inside of his mind.  “ That was _very_ rude, my friend. I thought you people had more social graces than that! My adjutants come to chat with you, and you… you summarily attack. Tsk. When you leave the vault, I hope you’ll be willing to finally act like adults.  We really do have quite a bit in common.  In any event, I have my consolation prize, so the trip hasn’t been an _entire_ waste. See you soon, I hope!”

“It’s the Puppeteer,” growls Malachite with hatred in his voice. “He just communicated with me telepathically.” The Hunter of the Dead repeats the mental message. 

“Not a very interesting response,” he hears in his mind again. “I’d expected better. I’ll be waiting.”  Malachite blanches. 

“Indeed.” He listens internally for a few seconds, then turns back to his friends. “I think he’s gone now, but he heard what I just told you. It must have been like a _sending_.”

Agar raises his eyebrows. “Really? With that many words?  That’s a new spell!” The halfling examines Malachite, but doesn’t see any new magical auras on him. “I think it’s over, now.”

Mara frowns as she looks around. “Say, what did he mean by ‘consolation prize’?”  Velendo’s and Nolin’s faces fall simultaneously as they guess, just as Tao speaks up, still lost in her ongoing _clairvoyance_. 

“Guys?” Her voice sounds strained. “Remember the dragon?  The good news is that it’s still dead.  The bad news is that it just shambled away, following those beholders.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

*Re: Questions*



			
				Quasqueton said:
			
		

> *Can someone explain exactly how the PCs came together to form the current roster?
> Who of the current PCs were in the original group?
> What was the opening session like/about?
> For those not in the original group, when did they come in (at/during what levels)?
> 
> What characters have changed the most over the years of adventuring? Who has changed the least?
> 
> Since I have been reading, Nolin has used the "tree token" twice to kill very large and bad creatures (the dragon most recently, and the necropede a while back). Are these the only two times? How many of these tree tokens does he have?
> 
> How difficult is it to create/referee challenges for a party whose power vary by 5 levels (15th to 20th)?
> *




The very first PCs were Nolin, Arcade the mage (played by Bandeeto), Cadrienne the priestess of the God of Knowledge (played by Sialia), Tagkris the cleric/ranger, and Grundo Bonesplitter the Dwarven Battlerager. I ran them through the Dungeon Magazine adventure "Drake", about a fairy dragon that was being held captive by tasloi, all of whom were addicted to its hallucinogenic breath weapon.  It was great fun. This was on July 11th, 1992.

Three days later, I ran the first "real" game, which included TomTom Badgerclaw (whose player is currently on baby hiatus) and Maddoc the fighter. This was another Dungeon adventure, and it was this game when the group met "Fallane Deepleaf" (Eritain, Nolin's half-brother) for the first time; he knocked them unconscious with a sleep spell and stole treasure from everyone but Nolin, that bastard.

Rofan the insane druid, and Glimmer (priest of the Goddess of Beauty, played by Valdek's player) joined before the end of the year.  Tao joined on 2/11/93, Velendo two months after that. By then, we had a core group that went for a number of years with very little change.

_More later, when I have more time!_


----------



## Sagiro

*Re: Questions*



			
				Quasqueton said:
			
		

> *I'm a long-time reader of the Defenders of Daybreak, but I've only posted in this thread one other time. I have some general and random questions.
> 
> Can someone explain exactly how the PCs came together to form the current roster?
> Who of the current PCs were in the original group?
> What was the opening session like/about?
> For those not in the original group, when did they come in (at/during what levels)?
> 
> What characters have changed the most over the years of adventuring? Who has changed the least?
> 
> Since I have been reading, Nolin has used the "tree token" twice to kill very large and bad creatures (the dragon most recently, and the necropede a while back). Are these the only two times? How many of these tree tokens does he have?
> 
> How difficult is it to create/referee challenges for a party whose power vary by 5 levels (15th to 20th)?
> 
> Thanks.
> 
> Quasqueton *




I'm not qualified to answer some of these, but here are some relevant comments:

I believe that Nolin is the only remaining original member of the Defenders of Daybreak.   (Several others are still alive, but are no longer actively adventuring.)  Tao joined soon after they started, and Velendo soon after Tao.

Velendo was a Level 1 Cleric with zero XP when he started out, way back in April of 1993.  He had never cast a spell before he met the Defenders, and he only tried it (a _cure light wounds_) at their urging.

I don't know that he's changed more than any other character, but Velendo is a different man than when he started.   At first he resented having been called by Calphas to be an adventurer, and had some pretty harsh words for his God on the subject. He has long since learned to accept his role in life, despite the grumbling.   He also used to swing a club and fire a bow, but it has now been a long time since he did any real physical fighting in combat.  And while he's always been blunt and short on tact, he has slowly devoted time to his diplomatic skills (mostly by observing Nolin), to the point now where his Diplomacy Skill is quite high.  He's still rude and direct by default, but at least now when he has to deal with something important, he can sort of flick the diplomacy switch to "on" for a few minutes.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

Hey, for all you folks who were kind enough to weigh in on Malachite and Mara's proposed prestige class, I've got it posted!  Down near the bottom of the page. If you can, please go check it out and kibitz. Especially you, Incognito - we may not agree on PrC theory, but that makes your advice that much more valuable.  

Thanks!


----------



## Piratecat

The next day moves slowly.  Hours are spent in the Lore Room, gathering valuable records and sorting through scattered scrolls and tablets. Glibstone gathers the most significant records to take with him, and Agar does some divination on the ring that they pulled from the dead dragon.

"Interesting stuff," he says, flipping it in his hand. "Here's what my _legend lore_ revealed:

"Ogremoch decreed
The Man shall command
Those of his kin;
Those of the stone.

The Man was destroyed
The kin were aggrieved
The ring was a gift
It wants to go home."

Agar flips the ring into the air and catches it. "Ogremoch is an elemental prince of the plane of Earth. A real jerk, from what I've heard, and a badass." Velendo eyes the ring.

"If that's what I think it is, it's worth more than we are. And Silissa wants it." He rolls his eyes. "Great."

Agar shrugs as around him, the group prepares to head back into the depths of the vault. "We can discuss it."

Tao interrupts.  “One of those beholders is still hiding out there, watching us.” She flips up the visor of her _clairaudience_ helm and frowns. “I can see its eyestalk wiggling from behind a block of stone.”

“Well, let it wait.”  Nolin waves one hand around expansively while gesturing with the wine skin held in the other. “It’ll be waiting a loooong time. We’re taking that earth thing’s offer and heading out the other end of this vault, right?”

“Right.”

“Good. Then all we have to do is grab the magic and gems, swing by the armory and collect our dwarven ghost, and we’re out of here.”

Malachite rounds on him, face twisted in displeasure.  “I don’t think so.”  Silence fills the large room.

Nolin looks up.  “What?”

“I don’t think so. That ghost is a liar, a thief. He’s been handed a punishment he deserves, and we’re not going to deliver him from it.”

Nolin looks pained. “And he’s undead,” he points out unnecessarily.

Malachite’s stern expression doesn’t waver. “Indeed.”

“Who made you judge and jury? He’s been stuck in here for hundreds of years. He doesn’t deserve that. Besides, he can be useful to us; he knows the caverns, he knows the ghouls, and he remembers the previous quest to destroy them. He could be tremendously valuable.”

“That doesn’t matter. We don’t have the…”

“Of course we have…”

Malachite’s voice rises and drowns out Nolin’s.  “We _don’t_ have the right to release him from his punishment.”  The two glare at each other.

“Well, what if he wants to redeem himself? He could make up for past crimes by helping us. You could help him rise above his sins and reach that redemption.”

Tao shakes her head from where she’s lounging on a writing carrel. “I offered to help,” she reminds them, “and he said he’d do it again if given the chance.”

“Sure,” says Nolin, “he’d try to steal again. But so what? Big deal!  People steal all the time!”

Malachite’s gaze is icy.

Nolin blows air up out of his mouth in exasperation, rustling his burning hair. “You know perfectly well that there’s a difference between being greedy and being evil. And he’s not evil, at least not as far as we can tell.”

“It isn’t my job to redeem the undead. It’s my job to destroy them.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes you have to redeem them, too. And this time, it’s going to help us.”

The hunter of the dead's voice is quiet and precise.  “We all know about your tendency to make moral compromises for the sake of convenience.”

“Well, moral compromises is what life is about. Think about what’s at stake here.”

Velendo rolls his eyes. “Look you two, at least we can ask the new dwarven king what he wants us to do. He might not want us to free the ghost. Let’s find out.”  Nolin and Malachite both stare at each other, let out breaths of air, and agree that this will decide them.

Velendo casts a _sending_, asking _“Found Olum in vault. Is unrepentant but assisted us traversing the vault. Still a ghost. Knows enemy. Shall we free him?”_

The dwarven prince responds, _“You have permission to take whatever you need that will help you on your mission. Olum is included in that. Use your best judgment.”_

“Well?” asks Nolin, looking around for support.  Splinder nods.

“He needs someone to possess, yes? Well then, he can ride in me.” The dwarven defender crosses his arms and nods, pleased with his decision.

Malachite frowns, but accedes. “I’ll want reassurances that he isn’t evil, and that he won’t betray us.”

“Of course,” says Splinder.

So they gather their gear and their mounts, and in single file everyone heads through the activated portal and back into the vault, where the dwarven ghost is waiting.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Sialia

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *A phoenix is, conveniently, also NG.  I don't think Nol is chaotic good.  Look as his behavior towards legitimate authority figures, and you'll find he's generally all in favor of government and stuff, as long as they aren't part of the problem.  For true "f-it, I'm doing this my way" behavior, you'll have to look to the party's true CG member, Tao.
> *




Well, the thing is, Nolin used to be a lot more impulsive. He's settled down a lot since the Phoenix joined him. I definitely recall in the Early Years that Nolin and Tao and Alix were always up to something chaotic. Sometimes they'd all impulse off in separate directions, just to give Arcade fits.

Perhaps it is worth remembering that Nolin used to be sort of Manic-Depressive. When he got depressed, he'd suddenly get a lot more chaotic. On his manic days, he ran a lot more neutral. Or was it the other way around?

Oh, and Jester, if you _really_ can't wait . . . [secrets revealed and then deleted by later edit]


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *In fact, I think that Nolin's willingness to go along with authority, but only so far, is one of the things that really bugs Malachite.  He can write Tao off as a force of chaos, but he finds it really hard to understand how a person can accept rules and structures less than completely.
> *




I think Malachite sees it rather as Nolin is too willing to let ends justify the means.  Especially when the means are abhorrent.


----------



## Piratecat

_The problem was with luck.  He didn’t have any.

No, that isn’t true. He had lots. The problem – Olum Shiverstone had thought a lot about the problem, these past few hundred years chained in the vault – the problem was that it was all *bad*. Now, why should that be? Olum wasn’t sure. He had settled on some sort of karmic deficiency perpetrated by one of his long dead ancestors, or maybe he had triggered some sort of cursed trap early in his thieving career that he had never noticed at the time. Maybe Moradin hated him.  Who could say?  And if he ever met anyone who *could* say, Olum had no doubt that the wise old crone would fall dead of a heart attack seconds before she would tell him.

For most people, luck was an old friend.  For Olum, luck was the loud abrasive friend with the flu who comes over at an inconvenient time, makes racist comments, and eats all your favorite food while hitting on your wife._​“All right,” says Agar cheerfully as Proty pulses and squirms on his shoulder.  “All the magic items are identified and distributed. Everyone have any questions on what they do?”

His question is partially drowned out by the sound of Glibstone’s bells, jingling from the other corner of the room.  “Did you hear about the priests of the Dairy God? Apparently, they have the power to churn undead!”  Tao’s laughter bubbles forth, and a few of the dwarves reluctantly give polite chuckles.  The jester and loremaster bobs his head in response.

_It wasn’t as if Olum wasn’t talented. Incompetence would have been too easy an excuse for his checkered career.  He was darned good at sneaking, for instance, and considering the number of times that guards had walked in on him mid-job he had learned how to move silently as well. He knew traps, he knew locks, and he knew people. But somewhere, somehow, the fates had it in for him. If Olum burgled a long-lost tomb, that would be the day that the inhabitant’s equally long-lost relatives would show up to pay their respects. If he stole a necklace from a well-respected jeweler, it would turn out to be the cursed ruby of Gaxxos, which would doubtlessly turn him into a chicken even as crazed cultists hunted him down with blades dripping poison.

Take those damn ghouls, for instance. Olum had thought about going legit, so he had answered an ad. A simple ad. “Guide needed in underground adventure. High pay, high glory!” Before he knew it, he was sweet-talked and bamboozled by a convincing paladin and his uppity sword, and dragged down into a smelly hell filled with gnashing teeth and consistent paralysis. High pay? Turns out ghouls didn’t have much cause to carry coinage, and the damn cleric hogged the lion’s share of the magic items. High glory? No bard came along with them.  But he did his job, trooping after Acimer and Hundle and Aleax and Morak, even as they dropped him into one bad scrape after another._​“I’ve got all the gems I think I’ll need,” announces Velendo.  “I’ve taken the ones which I think will serve for both _true resurrections_ and _resurrection_ spells, and a handful of lesser gems to serve as currency. I’ll try not to use the nice ones, though; they’re really beautiful.”

“I’ll appraise ‘em fer you later, sir,” barks a dwarven soldier.

“That’d be just fine, soldier. Thank you.”

Glibstone says nothing as he watches Velendo unknowingly pocket his kingdom's priceless crown jewels, but he jingles slightly as his face develops a nervous tic.  “Err…" he starts to say. Velendo turns with an inquiring look on his face, and Glibstone turns his protest into a joke.  "A ship crashes against a shore of the Sunless Sea. One half of the rocky beach is controlled by the svirfneblin, and the other half is controlled by drow elves.  Where do the drow bury the survivors?”

Velendo tries to look patient. “I'll bite.” He raises his eyebrows. “You can’t bury survivors.”

Glibstone jingles authoritatively. “You don’t know drow elves very well, do you?”

_Then it all came crashing down at the Gap of Silk. They had run from mind flayers (losing Hundle in the process), gotten lost a dozen times, fallen into the slime pits of Kek, and Olum had almost been made into dwarf stew by some nasty little feral race with sharpened teeth. Finally they confronted the ghoulish army led by the ridiculously powerful ghoul queen, and what happens? Morak decides that the only way to destroy the army is to drop the ceiling on them.

The ceiling. In a volcanic cavern. Moradin’s Bunghole, but that man was dangerous to be around.  And Aleax had just egged him on with his little lectures about “glory” and “honor,” which didn’t exactly help.

At that point, of course, Aleax was about to be killed, and Acimer had gotten his face bitten off by her Royal Hungriness herself, so there might not have been many other choices. When the dust and steam finally cleared, though, Olum was the only one left alive. Just him. Four miles underground. In a region swarming with ghouls.  And the only treasure he could easily scavenge was that bloody holy sword of Aleax’s.

And then the mule ran away._​
“I have everything we’ll need at Mridsgate, I think,” states Glibstone with caution. “I think I might actually miss you people. Say, Priggle, why did the deep gnome cross the road?”

Priggle looks at him suspiciously. “I don’t know.”

“No one liked him on the side he was on.”  Tao erupts into laughter, and even Priggle smiles. A little.  Glibstone walks over and looks up at Tao, blushing a bit.

“Err… well, you’ve been very appreciative of the traditional humor.”  _jingle_

“They’re funny, Glibstone! And you’re funny, too.”  Glibstone blushes noticeably beneath his thick beard.

“Hummph.  If you’re going off into the unknown, I want you to take this with you. Perhaps it will cheer you in places where there is no cheer.” He pushes a worn, leather bound book into her hand. It is entitled in dwarvish _Traditional Humor._

“Why, thank you, Glibstone! That’s so kind of you! This must be very valuable.” He shrugs.  “I know that we’re splitting off when this earth creature sends us wherever we wish to go, but I wish you were coming with us.” Mara smiles her agreement.  Malachite controls an involuntary cough.  Unnoticed, a number of the dwarven troops catch each others’ gaze and trade a secret look.

Suddenly Tao staggers, and her eyes pour forth green light. The voice of Galanna speaks through her. 

*"Tao.  Speak of my gospel to those who do not believe. There is still time to save some of their souls, before the fall is over, if you do what I ask. Be strong in your faith, and you will deliver them from darkness. You do my will. Now, more than ever, you have my blessing."*

Tao straightens, gasping. "You okay?" asks Nolin.

"Yes. But what did she mean?" Tao rubs at her shoulder. "I had odd dreams last night, prophetic dreams that scared me. I dreamed that I was flying, and then falling, and when I woke up  my shoulder was incredibly sore.  It felt as if I'd been firing a bow all night."

"Right handed or left handed?"

"Left handed."

Nolin pauses. "Galanna is supposed to be left handed."

"I know. But I don't know what it means, or what Galanna wants of me. I hope I'm worthy. I don't recruit; I just kill things." She shakes her head with worry.

_So he’d snuck, and he’d creeped, and he’d wheedled his way through more than a month of terrified travel. At long last he’d reached a semblance of civilization here in the dwarven city of Mrid. And – this part still got him, even after hundreds of years – their lorekeepers *hadn’t believed him.* It was enough to make you cry. Or to want to rob their vault, anyways.  He chose the latter.

One ill-timed sneeze in the middle of a dwarven dance – why’d he sneeze, then? – and that was it. Except it wasn’t. Blah, blah, pay your debt. Blah blah, learn from your mistakes in the afterlife if you couldn’t learn in life. You know, it just wasn’t fair. And when someone came to save him, who did it turn out to be?  That same bedratted holy sword, and another paladin and cleric, all in a group of people headed down to hunt for more damn ghouls! Really, it was enough to make a ghost cry._​Malachite glances back. “Is Splinder secure?”  The dwarven defender is strolling along with his hands securely bound and weapons removed, a funny look on his face.

“I am indeed,” answers Olum. “It’s odd to feel a heartbeat again. It feels good.”  Malachite gazes at him suspiciously. Deep at the back of his mind, Olum can feel Splinder’s personality, waiting patiently as he lets his body be borrowed by a dwarf who needs it more.

“You promised you would not steal this dwarf’s body. In addition, you swore you wouldn’t betray us to our enemies. Never forget that.”  Olum frowns, and Splinder’s face frowns with him.

“Of course I did! You’re my only chance of getting out of this misbegotten vault before another hundred and thirty eight years go by! You think I’m going to abuse that trust? Don’t bet on it.”  The dwarf gestures with bound hands.  “In any case, you won’t have cause to regret your actions. I promised that, and I meant it.”  He smiles.  “Let’s go.  Before my luck notices.”

When the group passes through the portal into the last room of the vault, the new cavern they enter is completely empty. Silissa is gone.  The area that was once her earthen maelstrom is now just rippled stone, with only the end of a small stone pillar emerging from the middle of it. 

“Trap?” asks Velendo.

“Trap,” concludes Nolin with a nod. “Maybe someone has killed her?”

“No evil,” says Mara.

“No undead,” says Malachite. He gives his head a toss towards Splinder.  “Except for him.”

Nolin frowns.  “Agar, what do you see?”  

Agar examines the cavern with _arcane sight_, and his brow wrinkles. “A weak illusion spell has been cast on the end of that post. The stone post itself is the linchpin for a whole series of complex spells that involve divination, conjuring, all sorts of things. Powerful magic.”

“So something we don’t want to trigger?  No one step on that stone!” cautions Velendo. “No telling what it might do.”  He tries to see through any illusion on the post, but notices nothing different.  _True seeing_ reveals nothing as well.

After debating different ways of dealing with the problem, Agar eventually shows bravery and casts _fly_, swooping towards the stone post. “So, I wasn’t kidding about this stone post being a linchpin. If it dissolves, all the spells that it holds in abeyance will trigger.” He draws on his pipe. “Fascinating.  And I think…”  The halfling reaches down and tentatively brushes the end of the post with the tip of his finger. As he does so, an illusory mouth appears in the top of the post, and Silissa’s contralto voice fills his hearing.

* “Things are not what they were before, and the avalanche has carried away the anchor that has kept me here. You rest, and I have departed, and I can not foresee what may draw me back.  However, I will not make my offers a lie. Pay the price I requested, and a way will open for you to take you farther on your path, or for some return you to whence you came. You are indebted to me, and I will know when the price is paid.

Perhaps my sister can give you words of hope. I can not, for there are none to give.”*

Agar looks around. “_Magic mouth_. I should have guessed.”

Tao looks annoyed as she rubs her riding lizard’s scales. “So what did she mean, and what do we do now?”

“Pay the price she requested? I guess it would mean that ring from the dragon.”  Velendo looks aggrieved at Agar’s words.

“I heard the _legend lore_ you performed on that ring. It’s no simple _ring of merging into stone_, as the _identify_ tried to indicate; that thing is some sort of focus for major elemental power. And if it’s worth what I think it is…” He looks sick, and Nolin finishes his sentence.

“..then it’s worth more then we are. A couple of hundred thousand gold, maybe?  But the question isn’t how much it’s worth. The question is, is it worth giving the thing up in order to possibly cut weeks off of our travel time?”  He looks around.

Tao nods. “I think so. If we don’t do this, we have to go out the front and head into the underdark the hard way, and there are still undead beholders waiting for us. I don’t think we can afford to *not* take Silissa up on her offer.”  Mara agrees, and so do the other Defenders and troops. In Splinder’s body, Olum keeps his feelings to himself about giving away the ring. _Oh, hi, luck. Welcome back._

“Well, let’s do it, then. No time like the present. Everyone ready?”

“I think so. Where do you think we’re going to end up?”

“I have no idea. But be ready for anything.”

“Okay,” says Agar nervously. “Here goes.” Cautiously, he hovers over the stone post and lays the ring on top of it. In seconds it is absorbed, and the stone post dissolves away like loose sand.

The stone churns into a whirling and grinding vortex, and Agar yelps as he drawn down into the darkness.

“Oh!” says Mara from atop Luminor. “That was fast!” She kicks her warhorse forward, and Luminor responds, not even hesitating as he leaps into the vortex. Malachite follows, along with other Defenders and dwarven troops. 

The last to leave is Galthia, who stands alone on the edge of the maelstrom for a few seconds as he takes one last look around the room.  He can feel Silissa’s eye in his belly, thrumming with quiet power. If he asks a silent question, though, no one answers it.  Without a word he steps into the darkness and disappears, leaving that place forever.

_To be continued….
End of Compiled Book Two._


----------



## Plane Sailing

Olum and Priggle - separated at birth? It sounds like they were made for each other!

I love Olums relationship with "lady luck" (although by the behaviour it sounds more like "Lad luck").

I love the poigniancy of glibstone recognising the crown jewels in Velendo's hands, and Velendo (apparently) unaware of their value as anything more than a certain amount of gp (speaking as a member of a nation with crown jewels...)

I also can't shake the feeling that there was something a little more to glibstone than met the eye - that he was so easy to dismiss as a fool, he could easily have been... something more? Who knows?

Look forward to reading more!

Cheers


----------



## Piratecat

Everyone likes that gem question.  My favorite is the material component for the _identify_ spell; is a 100 gp pearl the same size both on the seashore and 500 miles inland on a desert?  

Anyways, those dwarven jewels have tremendous social significance, but not holy. It'd kind of be like using the Hope Diamond or the Koh-i-Noor (the Mountain of Light) as a spell component.  Mind you, when you are raising the dead, you always should make sacrifices.  "Cultural" is just as valid as "personal." 

I'm glad you guys enjoyed this last bit. The "Olum revealed" style is in some ways me consciously trying to channel the author Donald E. Westlake's comedic capers about (in part) a hard luck thief named John Dortmunder. If you guys haven't  read them, I know that the paperback of "What's the worst that could happen?" (made into a lousy movie with bad casting a few years ago) is in print. Grab it from the book store or the library, and tell me later if you liked it.  I think you'll thank me.

The vault was my first attempt running an honest-to-gosh dungeon adventure in... wow... since the dracolich lair* back before the start of this story hour, I think.  I was horribly insecure, and I had no idea whether it would be fun or challenging (a) with no rogue in the party and (b) to a huge group that averaged lvl 17. All in all, I was really pleased by how it worked out. I learned a lesson, too: if you want your group to leave an area, don't try to urge them out by placing an "unbeatable" force on one end and the exit on the other. They'll head back, somehow defeat half of the bad guys, and stay in the vault for another two sessions just to be peverse.  

I have a lot of people to thank for ideas in the upcoming section of the story arc. A tremendous number of you tossed in suggestions over in the (off-limit to players) brain-storming thread in Rogue's Gallery, and I'm still in debt.  Thanks!

*  Some dungeon. It sort of went like this.  PC #1:  "Look, there's a horrible underground complex, right below our feet. Let's cast _earthquake_ and see what comes out."  Other PCS:  "Yaaay!"  DM: "Thunk" (as head hits table.)


----------



## Swack-Iron

Great story hour as always, Piratecat!



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> *I learned a lesson, too: if you want your group to leave an area, don't try to urge them out by placing an "unbeatable" force on one end and the exit on the other. They'll head back, somehow defeat half of the bad guys, and stay in the vault for another two sessions just to be peverse.   *




I learned this lesson years and years ago by watching another DM fail to anticipate the problem, with spectacularly bad campaign-breaking results. It has to do with the trope of gaming: players are presented with challenges, and so they attempt to overcome them. It doesn't matter if the challenge is social, a dungeon, an army of monsters, or an enemy space fleet that outguns them 10 to 1, it's just what PCs/heroes do in gaming.

So if a DM presents a group with a challenge the DM thinks is so hugely bad that the PCs will turn tail and run, she's in for a surprise. The players will look at it as another challenge to overcome, thinking "There's no way our trusted DM will give us an unbeatable challenge; there must be some trick to it, some weakness we've failed to discover and exploit." It's not 'till 3/4 of 'em are dead that the players start realizing that maybe they can't beat it.

Even worse, players are extra crafty, far more crafty than DMs, and will often find and exploit a weakness in the uber-bad guy the DM had no idea was there. So now an unbeatable challenge has been beaten, and the PCs reap the rewards. This leads to concavity of the DM's forehead.

If you need to make sure the PCs don't go in a particular direction, or not ask certain questions, or otherwise explore certain ramifications of the adventure's outline or certain directions on the map, _do not_ present them with an overwhelmingly difficult challenge -- they will surprise you. If you must, however, the challenge has to be several orders of magnitude higher than anything the PCs could possible take on (an ancient evil dragon for a party of 1st level characters, or 10,000 enemy ships, or somesuch). But it's better if going that direction isn't an option at all. And it's best if they never think of going in that direction because another direction looks more appealing.


----------



## Piratecat

Nolin shakes his head, his senses swimming, his eyes clenched shut. _Okay, think. Where are you? We jumped into the stone vortex.. there was a horrible grinding and I could feel something stripped from me._  He reaches out with his mind to the other Defenders of Daybreak, but the mental link that connected them is gone. He then cracks open an eye, sees nothing but darkness, and closes it again with a rush of vertigo. _Right. The mindlink and my darkvision are both gone, so I probably have no more active spells. The question is, where am I?_  He stops his internal monologue to feel and listen.

_There’s extreme heat and humidity – it’s like a steam bath in here! 95 degrees, at least.  I’m kneeling on something that bounces slightly, and it’s gritty and a little sticky. A web? Oh, I hope it’s not a web. I can hear…_  He pauses. _Water dripping. Lots of echoes. A distant crowd roaring and cheering – and booing. Lots of faint conversations, in a variety of languages. The quiet clinking of glass. A scream. A different roar, sounds like a dragon breathing. More rain. Another roar from that crowd._ He brightens. _Hey, is that the sound of someone selling meat pies?_  Then he stiffens. _And… there’s something very nearby that has clicking mandibles. Mandibles are never a good sign._ 

A hissing, scratchy voice sounds just a few feet from his head, speaking in undercommon.  “Arrre you alll riiight? Iiii didn’t seee you arrrive.”

Nolin doesn’t look up or open his eyes. “Hi there. I’m fine, thanks.  Am I going to want to look at you?” He hears a dry, throaty laughter in response.

“Iiii don’t see why nottt.”

“Uh huh.” He feels the web beneath his fingers. “I’ll take that under advisement. Where am I?”

“Ohhh!” says the voice. “You didn’ttt walk up here, diddd you?” The voice clicks several times in confusion, and takes on a more certain tone. “You arrre in the webbb of the Butcherrr. That is Iiii. Iiii offer only the finesttt meeeats, cured or frrresh, of all varrrieties.”  Nolin feels himself wobble as the Butcher scuttles to one side. “Beetttle. Delicious caaave eelll. Rothé. Axebeakkk. Rattt. Whatttever you may liiike.”

“Joy. No elf, I hope?”  

“No!”

Nolin gets up into a crouch, eyes still closed, feeling the floor shift and bounce under him as he finds his balance. “Well, hello, Master Butcher. I’m Nolin Benholm. Where is this place?”

“Ahhhh, jussst Butcherrr, pleassse. Ittt is my naaame and my calling bothhh.” The clicking, hissing voice swells with pride. “Youuu are inn Aaakin’s Throattt. Traaading city of the Underdarkkk, and the finest plaaace on earthhh.  Maaay Iiii interest you in some meattt as you start your visittt heeere?”

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Nolin finally cracks open his eyes. The sight of the 6’ diameter black and purple spider looming over him doesn’t upset him half as much as he thinks it ought to. _I’ve been in the adventuring business too long,_ he reflects moodily. _I’m getting blasé._  He glances about.  _Well, at least it’s nice to see that the dozens of web-wrapped meat bundles dangling from the ceiling DO still upset me._  His stomach turns.

Gazing past the web-wrapped meat and the spider’s eight glittering eyes, Nolin looks around. He’s 60’ up in a web that spans a 40’ wide gap between stone pillars, a web-like staircase reaching to the cavern floor. In front of him, he looks down into a mostly empty fest-hall; behind him, he stares into a huge and steamy cavern lit by faintly glowing fungus and the occasional torch. On the other side of the cavern, hundreds of torches line the sides of some sort of huge stone building, and as the bard squints he is fairly sure that the building is covered with scaffolding, and lined with almost a thousand people. Another roar rises from that direction, the echoing boos and cheers of an excited mob.

“Say,” asks Nolin, “what’s that over – holy crap! What’s that?” He’s staring at a bizarre creature that has floated up next to him. It is shaped like a pinkish pancake, but has eyestalks and dangling tentacles that twitch and sway. It makes a noise like a half-orc in gastrointestinal distress as it floats over and examines Nolin. Phosphorescent fungus glimmers on its round back.

“Shoo! Shoo!” The Butcher scuttles forward and waves a foreleg at the creature, which slowly turns and floats off in another direction.  “Flummmph. Nuisannnce creatures, they’rrre everywherrre. Verrry annoying. Good to eattt, though.” It rubs its abdomen with a middle leg.  “Tasssty.”

“Yeah?” asks Nolin, interested. “I’ll take some cooked flumph if you have some.  That’d be great.” The Butcher nods in acknowledgement, turns its bulk and scuttles obscenely over to a web-wrapped bundle dangling from a ceiling strand.  Nolin squints back towards the stone building in the distance, rolls his eyes, and turns back to the Butcher.  “Then I better go. I need to find my friends, and I have a nasty suspicion that I better check out.”

*  *  *

Meanwhile, Mara and Agar appear simultaneously, the paladin still atop her warhorse and Agar standing next to her in the darkness. Their _darkvision_ gone, Mara looks around blindly before drawing her holy mace. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” she states cheerfully as the golden light from the mace fills the room. “Oh, hello, Agar! Where do you suppose the others ar…”

“AUGGGGH! GET THEM OFF, GET THEM OFF!”

Mara blinks as her eyes adjust to the light, and she realizes that the entire cavern is filled with beetles. Hundreds of thousands of beetles.

They’re crawling on the floor, on the walls, and on the ceiling. They’re whirring through the air on jewel-like wings. And they’re crawling all over Agar, completely disregarding his horrible phobias of insects.

 “Get them off, get them off!” Agar leaps up and grabs madly at Luminor’s harness, lost in the panic of madness and fear. “I can feel them on me!” 

Mara quickly sizes up the situation. “Come on up, Agar. We’ll get off the ground.” Agar scrambles blindly onto the horse’s back, and Mara nudges Luminor.  _They’re just bugs,_ snorts the horse into Mara’s mind, but at Mara’s command he activates his magical harness and huge feathery wings sprout from his sides. He flaps them, hard, and beetles scatter as they take to the air.

It’s quickly clear that this isn’t going to solve the problem. Jostled by the air from Luminor’s wingbeats, thousands more insects begin to fly. They range from the size of Agar’s fingertip to almost 7’ long riding beetles with gleaming carapaces and huge filmy wings. Agar sobs as he clings to the back of Mara’s armor. “I can’t… I can’t…” he keeps repeating. Some memory flashes in his mind, far enough out of reach to preserve his fragile sanity, but every bug that smacks into him brings it closer. He screams as a beetle smacks into his cheek.

“Enough of this,” snorts Mara, and she dodges an incoming dog-sized beetle as Luminor turns in mid-air. “Let’s find the exit.”  Flapping forward through the small cavern she immediately sees that the exit is blocked off by a pair of heftly, solid stone doors.  

“Uh oh, Agar,” Mara says breathlessly, trying not to inhale insects as she talks. “There are doors blocking the exit! I could land and knock; I’m sure someone would come and open them.  Or maybe they’re already unl …”  Agar gives a little scream of terror and rears up on the saddle, his eyes popping in fear.  With finely focused concentration and a strangled incantation, the wizard gestures wildly, and completely _disintegrates_ the doors. 

“Oh, okay,” Mara allows politely as the doors explode into gritty dust.  “That works too.” Luminor swoops forward out of the enclosure, carrying thousands of beetles in his wake. The horse rockets past other several small caverns full of beetle pens and strange tools, emerging into an open shop area separated from an even larger cavern by a wooden storefront and a wide window. A sign on the window announces “Nilf’s Beetles” painted (badly) in the standard undercommon script.  Two goblins minding the shop turn at the noise, and both of them scream simultaneously as they see a flying warhorse and several thousand insects bearing down on them at high speeds.

“Breach! We’ve got a beetle breach! Shut the windowfront!” one of them gibbers in goblin. The other one is already grabbing for the window crank, and the window is starting to descend. “Gotta get it closed. Gotta get it closed.”  “Faster!”

Mara ignores them.  “Duck,” she advises the halfling, and Luminor pulls up his legs as he rockets through the closing gap. Several hundred beetles of various sizes make it out with them, but the goblins manage to slam shut the wooden window before thousands more escape. The sound of the insects hitting the closed window reminds Mara of pebbles dropped onto a metal roof; of course, the sound reminds Agar of thousands of bugs that want to crawl inside of him and devour him from within, but Agar’s like that sometimes.  

Within seconds, Luminor soars away from the bugs and vaults upwards across an immense steamy cavern.  Lone flumphs tumble away from the violence of their passage, and the horse dodges as a plume of super-heated water and steam sprays up from the ground right in front of them. “Oh look, Agar!  A geyser! How exciting!”  In response, the halfling continues to twitch and shudder as he flicks imaginary insects from his skin.  

“It’s okay, Agar,” Mara soothes.  “Shhhh.  They’re gone. Hey, did you hear that? It sounded like a crowd roaring! I wonder where it came from?”  Agar moans, and suddenly Mara spots a phoenix-like form of fiery magnificence soaring across the cavern towards her.  “Oh, and there’s Nolin! Luminor, let’s land.  I don’t like the look of that building ahead; it’s covered with people.  I wonder where the others are?”

*  *  *

Meanwhile, Velendo and Tao look up from the filthy black muck where they appear, lying flat on their bellies. The first thing Tao notices is the feet right in front of her nose. The second thing she notices is that their skin.. well, it seems as if the skin has already rotted off.

“Auggggggh,” groans the dead thing standing above her.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Alomir

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Agar normally has a custom spell that repels insects, but it got stripped off of him during Silissa's transport.  In this particular case, Agar's player (Alomir) did a wonderful job roleplaying the phobia. I think I made him make a concentration check to cast the disintegrate spell, and he nailed it perfectly. He was really motivated.
> 
> The alienist class comes with built-in penalties for times when you're dealing with your phobia.  I think I'd only assign additional penalties if the player wasn't having fun role-playing it.   *




Agar has a magic belt imbued with _Agar’s Insect Bane_ (custom spell that repels tiny insects in a 1 ft. radius of Agar).  Unfortunately, *many* of those insects were anything but tiny.  And yes, I had a ball roleplaying this part.  Pretty much all of Akin's Throat was fun for me, after Agar released hundreds of beetles into the surroudings.  (Note that it was fun for *me*, not Agar!)  At least those cute, tentacular flumphs are around to cheer him up.

Tough to say which was more fun, the beetles or the... umm... part we haven't gotten to yet


----------



## Piratecat

Both Velendo and Tao scramble awkwardly to their feet. They’re in a small cavern, separated from a huge open area by a line of metal bars. The air is astonishingly hot and humid, and the muck at their feet smells like pure sewage. Around them, a dozen or so drooling corpses stand swaying slowly back and forth, moaning slightly to themselves.

“What the hell?” asks Tao, looking around. Her field of view is quite limited; the small cave that they’re locked in seems to be in a corner of the much larger cavern that stretches away into darkness, and some sort of a platform blocks most of her view. She bats away an investigating flumph with one hand as she turns to Velendo.  “Where do you suppose we are?”

“How should I know?” asks the cleric irritably. He walks to the bars and rattles them slightly. Behind him, the zombies drool and sway. “Locked.  Let’s try to get someone’s attention.” 

_Hmmm,_ thinks the half-elf. _A city full of weird creatures and vile abominations who I am supposed to "Save." I know, I will do what Nolin does, put on some sort of show and then yell at them like Velendo.  No, that won't work. The show part I mean, the yelling I can do.  I know, I'll take the form of the truest gift the Goddess has ever given me and show all these people her beauty, power, and grace. And if that doesn't work,_ she smiles to herself, _I can threaten them with the horn._ Behind Velendo, Tao turns into a unicorn.

“Hey!” he shouts, and rattles the bars again. “Hey! We aren’t supposed to be in here!” From around a corner comes an orcs dressed in black robes. He stops in front of the bars, stares, and juts out his tusked jaw.

“Thugok! Ixil hoth, thrum kathlok!”

Velendo rolls his eyes and turns to Tao. “Tell me you speak orcish, or at least undercommon.”  Tao shrugs.

“Hey, I just kill ‘em. I don’t speak to ‘em. That’s Nolin’s job.”

“Well, he isn’t here. Nice unicorn form, by the way.”  Turning back to the bars, Velendo makes pantomimes with his arms as he speaks loudly and slowly. “We. Need. To. Get. Out.”

“Chuddik. Urth thraskool.” The orc, clearly annoyed, turns and trots away around the corner. A minute later he’s back with a bedraggled duergar in tow. The gray-skinned deep dwarf eyes Tao and Velendo suspiciously as he leans on a staff.

“Uchukla?” He tries again. “Thriss issilthalma? Belluq’uq quildeen? You understand this?” The last one is in heavily accented dwarvish, which both Tao and Velendo know how to speak.

“Yes! We’re in here by mistake. We need to be let out.”

The orc in dark robes jabbers at the duergar, who glares back at the two prisoners. “Kithlin says you’re not supposed to be in there. Kithlin says you are in his zombie pen. Are you stealing?”

Velendo sputters. “No, of course not! We were teleported in here in error. We just want to get out. You’ll notice that we haven’t hurt any of your zombies.”

The duergar also translates for the orc, who finishes counting the zombies before grunting back at him. “Kithlin says you lie. Says _teleport_ doesn’t work. I wouldn’t know.” He gazes up through the bars. “You lying?”

Velendo turns his gaze to heaven and counts to three. “No. Not teleported, transported. Just let us out of here! What is this place?”

“You’re in Kithlin’s zombie pen. Best zombies you can buy. He sells them from here. People come here, to Akin’s Throat, to buy them. Good money. They make good servants.” Both the duergar and the orc look at Tao and Velendo speculatively, as if sizing them up for zombiehood or sale, but Velendo's obviously magical equipment – and the fact that in unicorn form, Tao has two feet of magically sharpened ivory protuding from her forehead – seem to deter them.  

“Do you have any ghouls?” The duergar look shocked by this question. When he translates it for the orc, Kithlin very carefully and eloquently spits towards Velendo. Other than this, he doesn't bother to answer.

“Right, then.  Where did these undead come from?”

The duergar doesn't even bother to translate.  “The zombies come from dead slaves. Also from battles.”

“You have slaves?”  The duergar stares at him as if he were an idiot, and again doesn’t bother to answer. He and the orc argue for a minute, and the orc turns and shuffles away. As he does so, a loud roar rises from a barely seen stone structure.

“What’s that?” asks Tao in dwarvish. The duergar grunts.

“Arena. Owner facing down a bunch of slaves and criminals. Should be fun.” He sounds bitter. “But no fun for me, not today.” The orc appears behind him, carrying a huge ring of keys.  As he unlocks the door, Tao and Velendo exchange a glance. 

Tao nudges Velendo’s arm with her head, and draws him closer. “If there’s an arena, and we showed up piecemeal around this place, what do you suppose the chances are that…?”  Velendo nods.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. We better go.”  The gate rattles open, and Tao and Velendo walk out into the humid warmth of Akin’s Throat. The sound of Tao's hooves echo on the stone. Zombies try to shuffle after them, but Kithlin drives them back with a few kicks before slamming and locking the gate.

“Next auction tomorrow,” advises the duergar. “Get here early, bid on a good one.”

“No thanks,” says Velendo. “Thank you for letting us out. We need to go.”

“Huh. Kithlin says you do this again, you’ll pay for it.”

Tao and Velendo break into a trot as they run past slave pens and a deep pit of squirming rats, moving under humongous mushrooms as they make their way towards the arena that dominates the large cavern. Above them they see Luminor and Nolin silhouetted against the ceiling, and Tao manages to catch their attention. The airborne Defenders land next to Tao and Velendo. 

“Good to see you,” says Nolin, who was singing Agar a soothing song about stepping on bugs. 

Tao asks, “Do you know where the others are?”

Nolin grimaces and nods towards the arena. “I think we need to go buy some tickets.”

*  *  *

The gravel pulses and fountains upwards, leaving Malachite and Galthia disoriented. They are in an oval hall of some sort about sixty feet across. The heat and the sound are both tremendous; at their arrival, a wave of cheers and boos rebound across the arena, deafening in its loudness. 

As they both stagger to their feet, they can see that the walls are cut with three narrow windows that circle the entire room, each eight feet above the other. From those windows, hundreds of faces peer down at them. Across from them, an impossibly gaunt woman with stringy black hair stands in a swirl of dark cloak. Near her are three dead humanoids, a few live goblins screaming and trying to avoid her, and a fairly well-armed humanoid frog.

“Arena,” says Galthia.

“Arena,” agrees Malachite. He feels his armored shoulder begin to itch in the heat, and he concentrates his glare towards the combatants. The white glow that fills his vision is immediately tainted by spiraling corruption.  He looks back at Galthia. “She’s undead.” Even as he says this, the woman manages to grab one of the fleeing goblins by the back of its neck. To the roar of the crowd, she twists off its head and buries her face in the fountaining blood. Then she drops the cooling corpse and lifts her face in a ghastly red smile.

“Right,” says Galthia. Like lightning, he sprints across the room. His fist pinions up towards the gaunt woman’s face, all of his strength behind it –

and some kind of invisible force slows and deflects his blow.

Before he can snatch back his fist, she moves like a striking snake and snares his closed fist in one talon-like hand. Her eyes catch Galthia’s, as if to savor his expression, and then her grip _clenches_.  Galthia feels most of the bones in his hand crunch and grind as they’re pulverized into sharp fragments by her supernatural strength. Her other hand also clutches his wrist in a perfect combat maneuver, twists, and yet another of Galthia’s bones snaps with a pain that takes away the monk’s breath.  _I was taught that one myself,_ a distant part of his mind thinks above the pain and fear.  _She’s better at it than I am._  Still watching his expression, the woman smiles slowly, and her sharpened fangs catch the torchlight as her blood-caked tongue darts out in anticipation.

Around them, the crowd roars.

Then the woman _pulls_ in a way that has nothing to do with muscles or martial arts, and the githzerai feels part of his soul sundered as it is simply ripped from his frame.  He almost drops to his knees as the life force is torn from him. Slowly, she throws back her head as she lifts the ephemeral tracings of Galthia’s soul high to her lips and greedily gobbles it down. Her tongue darts out as if to savor the flavor, and she sighs in rapture.

Her voice is muffled and high, like she’s speaking through clotted blood. “You should pick your fights more carefully, boy. This one didn’t belong to you. But it does now.”

“I don’t think so.”  Malachite’s boots glide silently over the gravel as he charges towards her, and Karthos blazes with triumphant light as the paladin prepares to swing.

_To be continued…
*
Game notes:  Boy, Aravis (Galthia’s player) had just had a lousy week, and wanted the chance to pound on something. So what happens? He rolls a “1” and fumbles, the vampiress rolls TWO criticals in a row, and before the end of the first round he’s suffering from 8 negative levels in one round.  Eight!

But at least the crowd loved it.*_


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite’s muscles bunch under his gleaming crystal armor, and with one swing he buries Karthos deep in the blood-soaked woman’s body. She screams in pain as Malachite completes a blow that would drop a full-grown rhinocerous… well, if the rhinocerous was evil and undead, at least. Her cold flesh withers and shrivels around the sword’s glowing blade, and with a spasm she slides herself back off of Karthos' point.  Recently consumed blood starts leaking from the hole in her stomach, dribbling slowly down her front.

“Whoreson!” Her voice is filled with pure hatred. “Whoever thought to fix the fight by bringing you in is going to pay!”  The vampire slides a fist into her belly wound in order to stop her dinner from fully escaping.  “I think I'll start by presenting him with your corpses.”

“Burr-Lipp!”  From behind her, the frog-like gladiator croaks and springs in from a full twenty feet away. Its battle croak warns the cadaverous woman at the last second and she twists away, jumping back as the frog-thing’s trident buries itself in the arena’s gravel floor. The frog-thing wrenches it out again and backs away in a defensive position.

“Nice try,” compliments Malachite, impressed. _I’m surprised he didn’t flee.  Brave frog, that._

The frog has clearly done what it meant to do, and Galthia takes advantage of the distraction it offers. The monk spins backwards and runs across the length of the arena to buy himself some time. He can feel the fatigue and pain of her blow; every muscle hurts, his hand screams in an aria of exquisite pain, and his mind is muddled with the negative energy coursing through his body.  He leans against the far wall and tries not to throw up. Above him, observers call down insults and throw bits of food at him, trying to encourage him to go back out and face her. He studiously ignores them as he tries to find his center of peace and stillness, blocking out the pain.

The female vampire swings a darting claw at Malachite and finds it smacked away by his armored forearm. Opting for the wounded prey instead, she gracefully tumbles away from Malachite and takes off after the injured monk. She almost stops for the easy meal of the cowering goblins, but Galthia’s remaining life energy is like a siren song she can’t ignore, especially with a burning sword wound in her belly.  Scuttling twice as fast as a normal man, the vampire runs towards him, but she’s not fast enough to actually reach him. 

Malachite follows right behind her. He quickly realizes that he can’t keep up with the vampire in a foot race, but he doesn’t have to try. Instead he charges straight for her position, and uses his momentum to hammer his sword home in the small of her back. She manages to choke off the scream this time, but just barely.  A keening rises from her lips, but it is lost under the roar of the crowd. 

The gaunt vampire’s eyes rise to an observation balcony twenty feet above her head, jutting slightly out from the stone wall of the arena. “Ellius!” the woman pleads in a voice verging on worry. “I think I could use some help!”  A beautiful young blond woman leans forward, her face just visible as she peers down from the narrow window.

“No, Luccia,” says the blond. “I think you should handle this yourself.” Her contralto voice is rich with irony, and colored with both respect and hatred.  Mostly hatred.

“I command you!” says Luccia, eyes flashing and voice stern. Ellius hesitates for a second before shaking her beautiful head, blond tresses swaying.

“No. I don’t think so. Not this time.” She pulls her head back, and Luccia spins towards Malachite, hissing with hatred and desperation. 

“Fine with me,” she says through gritted fangs. She springs towards him. Her claws plunge deep into his flesh multiple times, and she laughs as she feels the hot blood pooling around her fingers. Then she clenches her hands to pull out a piece of his soul, and her laughter quickly chokes off into silence. Her look is the very picture of confusion.

“No soul? What? How? Are you one of us…?”

Malachite grins, but there’s no humor in it.  “Sealed life. My soul is beyond your reach. But yours…” _slash_  “…is not…”  _slash_  “beyond mine.”  _slash_

As Galthia staggers forward, Malachite finishes his attack, and just for a second Luccia stares at him.  Then her head begins to topple off of the stump of her neck, and her severed left arm hits the ground.  Malachite stands back and watches with satisfaction as her corpse explodes into powdery dust.  And just as the other Defenders reach a viewing spot on the outer wall of the arena, the crowd goes wild.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Remember Glibstone?

Well, here you go - 24 pages of bad in-character jokes, courtesy of EN World members!  .doc format, virus-schecked, no macros.  Really, how could you go wrong?  Enjoy!

This is safe for my players to download and read, assuming they have strong stomachs and undiscerning senses of humor.


----------



## Piratecat

“More wine.”  Nolin waggles his cup.

“Right away, sir!” The cringing, officious goblin servant scurries over with a crystal flagon to refill his goblet. “I’m sorry you have to wait. But we have people out looking for your dwarven friends,  we’ll have your winnings delivered shortly, and a healer should be here in just a few minutes to heal your lesser gladiator.” He shows his teeth in an attempt to smile.

Galthia’s long face scowls, but Nolin smiles easily. “Plus 10% of those winnings for me as an agent, of course,” he reminds the goblin. The creature bobs its head eagerly, clearly not wanting to upset the people who just defeated the most powerful woman in Akin’s Throat.

Malachite turns from where he’s been standing in the richly furnished room. He scratches his shoulder in distracted annoyance. “This is all well and good, but I need more information.” He flexes his fists and glares at the goblin servant, who goes pale and stands at attention while bobbing his head submissively. “Who owns this place? What is it used for?”

The goblin stops sweating as much. “Oh, nice people own it,” he wheedles unconvincingly. “Mistresses Luccia and Ellius. They run the Arena, punish criminals, and help keep order here in the Throat! Very good, very important.” He pauses, and then ventures cautiously, “Mistress Ellius is very pleased with you, has given you a bonus, said anything you want you get. She’s very friendly.  Mistress Luccia, who is friendly in a different kind of way, may be a little…” The goblins swallows, a sound like a sparrow choking. “…annoyed with you when she returns tomorrow.”

Malachite chuckles mirthlessly. “She’s not returning.”

“Oh no, Master,” says the goblin sadly as it spreads its gangly arms in emphasis. “This happens maybe once, twice a year. She is always back next day.” It shivers and cringes in remembrance. “Always in a bad mood.”

“Not this time.”  The goblin looks at him in amused disbelief, and nods politely.  _Don’t anger the human and his hurtful sword,_ it thinks. _Very stupid. Better to stay alive. He will see._  It gazes around the room, eyes lingering on Mara. _Good for making baby goblins?_ it thinks hopefully. _I wonder if… no.  Stupid idea. Stupid ideas get goblins killed! Quiet and polite, that’s the rule. Maybe then they will favor me._ It smiles widely and offers the flagon to anyone needing more wine. _I hope he’s right about Mistress Luccia. Mistress Ellius is so much kinder than.. no! Mustn’t think it! Mustn’t think it!_  He focuses back on the conversation, just as Malachite is finishing a sentence.  “…for good.”

The goblin pulls on its chin.  “Hrmmm.  You know, if you would like to make more money, you can have more battles,” it offers hesitantly. “Very popular, you’ll be! Good money, much fame.” He looks sly and glances towards Galthia, who glares back at him. “Would not have to be to the death, if you like each other or are scared.”

Mara turns from readjusting her armor’s breastplate. “What, we’d fight each other?”  The goblin flushes at the sound of her voice, but manages to keep his train of thought.

“If you’d want to. Or animals, or monsters, or slaves. Ellius and Luccia would certainly approve.”

“We’ll consider it.”  Malachite shakes his head. “In fact, I’d like to see Ellius. Now.” Unconsciously, his hands tighten on Karthos’ hilt as he remembers standing in the arena and detecting her undead nature in the balcony above him. Mushrooms and coins had been tossed down into the gravel towards him by cheering spectators, but his attention had been wholly consumed by the vampire’s partner.

Gritting its teeth and cringing preemptively from the typical vicious blow, the goblin shakes its head. “I’m very sorry. She has gone away. She told us that we are to be very nice to you, to congratulate you, for me to offer you employment, that she is indebted to you – but that she is sadly unable to meet with you. Very sorry, but impossible.”

_Smart vampire,_ thinks Galthia as he sits with his exhausted muscles twitching. _I wouldn’t see him either.  Me, on the other hand…_ He sighs. _I have failed on several levels. I was not taught to be self-sufficient just so others could save me._  He feels shame curling around him like wood smoke, and tries to fight down the emotion. In his weakened state, with negative energy still coursing through his thin body, it takes everything he has not to give in to despair.

“You will like Akin’s Throat,” the goblin is chattering. “Everything important is here – good food, supplies, slaves, mercenaries, healers, the arena. Everything good.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing it,” says Tao politely from over by the hors d’ouveres tray. “Say, do you have more of these little meat things? They’re pretty tasty.”

Malachite changes the subject.  “By the way, we’re taking the frog-creature with us when we go. My agent here,” he nods at Nolin wryly, “will arrange details.” The goblin looks appalled, but nods gamely.

The door bangs open, and the arena’s manager scuttles in. His rich dress looks odd on a hunchbacked goblin, but he seemed competent enough when he left to find Galthia a healer.  “I am back! We have found your dwarven friends just outside of the city, and they are on their way.  Meanwhile, I have brought help for the brave gladiator!”  He bows quickly and steps to the side, as a hideous humanoid beetle in robes enters the room. Its bulging eyes survey the heroes, and then it buzzes something incomprehensible as it moves towards Galthia.  Agar screams and dives behind a couch.

“Wait!” Velendo quickly pushes himself to his feet and fights down his natural revulsion. “Greeting, friend. What God do you worship?” The beetle-man buzzes something as its mandibles clack together, and the richly dressed goblin translates. “He worships Mog, of course. The Beetle God.” The goblin smiles reassuringly.  “Very respected.”  The chitinous cleric pulls out a scroll that looks like it has been inscribed upon a huge insect’s diaphanous wing and turns towards Galthia.

“Aah.” Velendo trades looks around the room, trying to think quickly. “Say, I’ll tell you what. We have peculiar religious beliefs. Is that a scroll of the _restoration_ spell?”  The cleric of Mog buzzes in confirmation.  “Then if you would permit it, would you consider giving me the scroll and letting me heal him? It would certainly be appreciated.”  The cleric of Mog looks at the goblin, who shrugs, so the cleric buzzes his approval and hands Velendo the scroll with one multi-jointed arm.  “Thank you. You’re very kind to come.”  The cleric buzzes politely, and scuttles away.

As the door shuts, Agar sticks his head out from behind the furniture. “Is he gone yet?”

“Yes, Agar. He’s gone.”

“Good.” He wipes sweat from his brow. “I don’t like this place. They have some sort of weird obsession with bugs.”

*  *  *

Later, Malachite has been paid and the group has been reunited with Splinder, Priggle, and most of the dwarven troops. Not all the troops, though, as ten of them apparently took advantage of Silissa’s offer to travel to Moradin’s Forge.  “I didn’t know at the time,” storms Splinder, “and no one else told me. They thought they’d be better able to deal with our God’s demesnes than you folk could. They’ll probably die, but they’ll die in heaven.”  Splinder looks furious.

“Say, what happened to Olum?” asks Velendo.

“We showed up just outside of town. When I came to, he was gone.”  Most of the group lets out a heavy sigh.

“Well, that’s too bad,” says Velendo. “He would have been a huge help to us. But at least he promised not to oppose us or help our enemies.” Malachite lets out a noncommittal grunt.

They walk slowly through the town of Akin’s Throat, strolling under giant mushrooms and past ponderously hovering flumphs. A geyser explodes off to their left as they pass a duergar-run smithy and weapon shop named Prust’s Forge. They pause just outside of a “rainy zone,” where an underground stream above their heads dribbles off of dozens of stalactites in the ceiling overhead to create a colorful field of molds and fungus that flourishes in the damp heat. They stop at a skaven-run clothier’s booth named “Skins and Pelts” to try and gather information from hostile and suspicious ratmen.  Everywhere they go, people point to Malachite, and a surreptitious crowd of a dozen or so goblins and kobolds follow behind them to see if he’ll get in any fights.

Soon after they pass the smelly wares of a very old kuo toa fishmonger, the group pauses at a booth named “Dimm’s Halfling Fingers.” 

“Damn, that smells good,” sniffs Nolin, nose twitching.  Agar looks at him askance.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” croons the cheerful goblin behind the cart. “They aren’t _real_ halfling fingers! But they _are_ delicious.”

“Thank goodness,” says Agar, wiggling his hands in front of him.

“After all, you’d never be able to find enough real halflings down this deep.”  Agar glares and snatches back his hands.  The goblin smiles a friendly grin.  “Want an order?”

“Sure!” says Nolin.  In front of him, the goblin reaches into a case and pulls out a large, squeaking white mouse. He dunks it into a container of sticky clay and then drops it into a vat of boiling oil. Tao winces.  In just a moment, the goblin fishes out the hardened clay ball and cracks it open with a rock. The clay pulls away the mouse fur, leaving behind a perfectly cooked meat snack. 

Nolin looks at it with one flaming eyebrow raised, scarfs it down, and smiles broadly. “Delicious!”

“The trick is to only use fresh healthy mice,” encourages Dimm in a confidential whisper, as if imparting a trade secret. “I’ve been cooking them here for years. Same oil, too!”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” says Velendo dubiously. “This is disgusting. But it.. oh.. it smells so good. Oh, just give me one!”  Dimm the goblin salutes and gets down to business, and soon most of the group is feasting on delicious deep-fried mouse. 

“These are much better than one of Laujin’s brain pies,” confides Dimm.

“Brain pies?” asks Mara. Dimm nods. “Is that.. er.. run by a mind flayer?”  Dimm nods. “Thanks for the warning. I think we’ll pass.”  She looks like she’s using every ounce of restraint she has not to be detecting evil. Distractedly, she scratches her sweating shoulder, and looks around. “I don’t like the look of most of the people – or creatures here. What if they’re all foul?”

“Even if they are, they’re still opposed to the ghouls,” says Nolin as he bites off one final deep-fried mouse tail. “That’s got to be worth something. Let’s not borrow trouble when we have more important enemies to worry about, huh?”  Mara reluctantly nods.

“Then come on.  Let’s go explore.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Is it just me, or does this look a lot like Mara?


----------



## Piratecat

The group steps into a large tent labeled Ploor’s Safeguards. Ploor, a rotund goblin with greasy skin, hurries out from behind a counter.  “Welcome, welcome!” he announces nervously. “I welcome the hero of the arena into my humble shop! Welcome!”

Malachite nods dismissively. The group begins to look around as Nolin chats with the goblin. “Hello there, Ploor. What is it you sell here?”  The goblin’s scraggly eyebrows go up.

“Why, preventatives against undead, of course!” The rest of the group perks up and pays attention as Ploor leans in confidentially towards Nolin. “You can’t be too careful nowadays. Best to keep yourself safe, I say.”

“I agree,” says Velendo with satisfaction. “What do you have here?”

“All sorts of safeguards!” announces Ploor, rubbing his hands together as he scents a sale. “Holy water. Holy symbols from a multitude of religions. Wooden and petrified mushroom stakes. Charms of safety, relics and statuettes, and even anti-undead salve! Everything you might need.” He smiles as if sure that Velendo might purchase his entire stock.  “Have you run into the ghouls much?” he asks politely.

Everyone in the group stops for a second, amused. “A little,” answers Nolin.

“Then you know how important this is! Why, holy water can force back the rotting demons and give you enough time to escape. For a fee,” he confides, “I’ll give you a primer on fighting undead that I wrote after facing a skeleton.”

“No, that’s okay,” says Nolin with a straight face. “I think we’re okay. Are you the only person in Akin’s Throat who sells this sort of thing?”

Ploor spits. “Just that bastard Mirjik next door. His wares are worse than mine, though, which is why they’re less expensive.” Ploor puffs his chest out. “Buy from me, not him. He’s not to be trusted.”

“Huh.” Nolin rubs his chin. “We’ll remember that.”

“What’s this?” asks Mara with amusement in her voice. She’s on the other side of the tent, looking at something on a shelf.

Ploor trots over. “Oh,” he says proudly, “that’s a religious icon from the surface world! A saint of remarkable power, definitely effective in driving away the undead. One of a kind.  Expensive, but worth it.” He glances at the shelf, frowns, looks over at Velendo, looks back at the shelf, and stares up at Mara. “That’s odd,” he remarks with confusion in his voice. “This looks remarkably like your friend over there. They even have the same sort of shield.”

“What?” Velendo rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me that… Oh, for crying out loud!” His voice rises.  “How’d one of these get down here, huh? What’s this doing here?”  Sitting on the shelf in front of Mara is a small and precise statuette of the elderly cleric, his spitting image carved into soapstone by a master craftsman. Only the small gems that once adorned it are missing. “Someone tell me why there is a statue of me a couple of miles down underground?!?”

“Well,” hazards Nolin, “clearly someone came through here who had also gone through Eversink. Hard to say who.”

Ploor’s head keeps snapping back and forth. “Wait, it IS you? Really?” His eyes grow greedy. “Will you bless it for me?”

Velendo ignores his question. “Where’d you get this?”  Ploor gulps.

“From Kithlin. He runs a…”

“Where’s he get it from?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. He probably…”

“Well, fine. Fine. I’m not buying it, that’s all I know.”

“You don’t have to.”  Ploor still looks confused. “Wait, are you some sort of saint?”

“No!” Velendo growls.

“Yes!” Nolin and Tao answer simultaneously, louder than Velendo. They grin at each other michievously.

“Well,” says Ploor, “if you’re a saint will you bless it?” his eyes brighten again. “And bless these other things? And make me holy water?” He looks eager. “You’ll be helping everyone who has to fight the undead!” 

Velendo looks at him dubiously. “You’ll just keep the profits.”  Ploor stares at him, confused as to why that would be a bad thing.  “Tell you what. You use the profits to buy back slaves from over by the arena, and I’ll bless your objects for you.”

Ploor stares at him, chewing his rubbery lip. “I don’t need slaves.”

Velendo gestures in mid-air, as if choking someone. “No! You use the money to buy slaves, then you free them.”  Ploor scratches his head.

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t promise to do that, I won’t help you. Think of it this way; they’ll tell everyone how kind you are, they’ll spread word of your shop’s quality, and maybe they’ll even help you around here.”  Within a few minutes, the two have hammered out a bargain, and Velendo casts _bless_ and makes some holy water to show his good intentions. Eventually the group leaves after having purchased a few vials of holy water, once again followed by two dozen hangers-on who trail behind them to see if Malachite is going to kill anyone.

“That could get annoying,” comments Malachite as the group walks up to the wooden door of Mirjik’s Eccentricities. The shop is set aside from the main cavern in a smaller walled-off cave.

“Eh,” shrugs Nolin. “You get used to it.”

They walk into Mirjik’s to see a well-lit room filled with low display cases. An extremely tall, blue-skinned humanoid in robes has his back to them as they enter. “What is it _this_ time?” he asks in a tired voice as they come through the door. “What sort of abomination do you wish to purchase? Mephit fat? An angel’s heart? Poison from a demon’s fang? You’re aware that such objects are reprehensible, and will condemn your soul to perdition. And yet you buy them anyways. And I sell them to you.” His narrow shoulders rise and fall in a dejected sigh.

“You sell those things?” Malachite’s voice is dangerously quiet. The tall humanoid spins around, his bluish face mottling with emotion even as his sour mouth breaks into a wide smile.

“You.. you’re not necromancers! Or kobolds!”  He claps his hands, and every single display case swivels and turns, revealing new objects to the casual browser. “Delight! You’re not here to buy a serrated dagger or chokeblossom powder! And you’re not from the underdark, and you’re _certainly_ not here to buy a piece of an angel’s heart.” His smile stretches fully across his face, and the six fingers of each hand drum against one another in unalloyed excitement. “Ah, what a pleasant change. Mirjik, at your service, owner and operator of Mirjik’s Eccentricities.” He bows.  “I am your humble servant. How may I help you?”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

“You can help us by telling us what was in those cases.”

Mirjik waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing. Trifles. The wares that I am forced to sell here, in this humid little hellhole, just to keep myself solvent. They aren’t my preferred goods, that’s for sure, but one does what one must to keep the merchandise moving. Even if that means custom inventory, I still keep _proper_ goods for a proper sort of customer.”  He eyes Tao’s unicorn form, and just smiles happily.  Then he gets a good look at Mara, and looks even happier.

“Uh huh.” Malachite stares at him suspiciously, and Mara gives the little shake of her head that indicates that someone isn’t evil. The odd merchant laughs disarmingly.

“Sometimes, one has to sell what the market demands. That doesn’t mean that the customers are asking for the right things.” He winks at the female paladin. “You, however.. you look like people of some wisdom and experience. Certainly better traveled than most people I meet in this…” He pauses, and gives a delicate little shudder. “Marketplace.”  He eyes Malachite’s crystal plate mail, as if evaluating how much money he could sell it for on a githyanki astral fortress. “It will be a pleasure to be able to boast of you as customers.”

Agar grins, and walks up to shake his hand. “You’re a mercane! I’m familiar with your race. It’s good to see you so far from Sigil.”

Mirjik large eyes gaze down at the halfling expressively. “One goes where one must, eh?”  He gestures around the shop with one long arm. “It’s an honor to meet you. Look around, see what catches your fancy. I have goods aplenty. In the mean time,” he smiles again as he eyes the kobolds following Malachite around, “I’ll try to give you some peace and quiet.”  He steps away and waggles his hands.  “Shoo, shoo! Out for now if you can’t show coin. And take those dratted flumphs with you!”

As Mirjik waves the kobolds out of his shop, the Defenders gaze down at the wares behind glass cases. Bizarre daggers, frothing potions, antique armor, strange jewelry, jewel-tipped quills. Tao looks at Mara.  “I think he likes you!”

Mara looks uncomfortable. “Shut up.”

Then Tao spots something familiar and taps the glass with her tapered horn. “Hey!” She calls over the others. “What does that look like?”

Nolin approaches and eyes it with interest. “It looks like those potions we stole from Hagiok the lich, way back in the Celestar. The ones that let us train in just a day or so, instead of weeks. Remember those? In a few hours, you relive months, gaining insight from them as the memories speed by.”

Velendo strokes his chin. “I wonder how much he wants for them?” He reads the tag, and his eyes bulge. “5000 gold pieces a piece! That’s ridiculous!” 

Nolin rolls his eyes. “Not if we don’t want to spend another few months training, or go back to the demiplane of Kodali’s Retreat. He’s got us over a barrel, although he probably doesn’t know it yet.”

Velendo nods in resignation.  “Good point. Hey, how much money do we have, anyways?” A quick count comes up with a fairly low figure; several people have less than a thousand gold, and only Tao has more than 10,000 gp squirreled away in a bag of holding. “This is stupid! Where the heck is all our money?”

Nolin rolls his eyes. “TomTom has it.”

Velendo groans. “And we didn’t pick any up in the vault, and TomTom is stuck in some bizarre time-dimension along with Raevynn. Hummph.” He glares at Agar, who steps conveniently out of sight behind a display case.  “All right, fine. We’ll have to bargain. I do have some dwarvish gems, but most of those are set aside as spell components. What else do we need to buy?”

Agar pokes his head up. “I have money, but it’s in several hidey-holes on the outer planes. I could get it if I _plane shifted_ out. I need spells and scrolls, myself.”

Galthia also looks up. “I need something that will make me more effective in combat, perhaps enchantments for my magical gloves. That last fight was ridiculous.” Everything looks at him with sympathy and agreement. A dwarf mutteres something about bad luck.

“Fair enough,” agrees Nolin as Mirjik moves back towards them from across the shop. “These potions are marked at 5000 gp each.  Let’s bargain. We’ll also want to get some information from him.”

“I don’t trust him,” says Malachite.

“I know his people,” says Agar reassuringly. “Their pride in their wares means that they’ll almost never cheat you. They will try to strike a hard bargain, though.”

“Almost never?”  Agar shrugs as Malachite frowns. “Well, stay on your guard, Nolin.”

Nolin looks at him in mock annoyance. “Oh, please. This is what I _do._”

The bargaining is extensive. Nolin is good, but so is Mirjik, and entreaties and mutual compliments compete with disparaging self-dismissal as the two go at it. When they finally finish, Nolin has purchased all ten of the unique potions that Mirjik possesses in exchange for a variety of minor magical items and more than 14,000 gp. The mercane has also agreed to speak with an associate, in the hopes of working a deal with Agar and Galthia. Both sides seem satisfied, which probably means that someone got cheated, but it isn’t clear exactly who.

While Nolin is bargaining, Mara suffers a sudden bout of vertigo. She staggers, chest aching, but quickly recovers without injury. The group resolves to discuss it later..

“Tell us about this place, Mirjik,” asks Mara once bargaining is completed and Nolin is packing up the delicate glas vials. “Who is Akin? Who is the most powerful person here?”

“Ah, Akin,” replies the merchant as he pours drinks. “He’s been here for more than a decade. Human once, they say. Now he’s covered with mold, and is most likely controlled by the myconids – the fungus men.” People shiver.  “No one wants to upset him. You’ve already met one of the most powerful people here, Luccia. She runs the arena with her lover. They do a good job in enforcing justice, although they aren’t the type of people you’d want to have tea with.” In emphasis, he pours more tea. 

“Ran the arena,” corrects Malachite briefly.  Mirjik raises one delicately arched eyebrow.

“You sounds definite about that.”

“I am.”

“You know that…”

“Not this time.”  

The mercane nods. “I’ll remember to lay a few bets. Interesting news.”  They can see him recalculating the balance of power in his head, figuring the political ramifications and estimating how it may affect his business. His face doesn’t show whether the result is a net improvement or not.

“Who else is powerful?”

“Well, let’s see.  Akin, of course, and the myconids. Galastor is a beholder who lives here, but he’s almost never seen. There are several illithids. Mercenary Hall has representatives from a number of soldiers-for-hire. There is a drow or three to avoid. And of course there are temporary residents.”

“Such as?” 

As Malachite asks, the shop door behind him swings open and a human man walks through. His skin has the pallor of a fading tan, and his long hair is pulled back away from his face with a leather thong. A raven crouches on his shoulder, almost protectively.  He has no weapons.. and there are only dark, ragged sockets where the man’s eyes should be.

“Ah, Stone Bear!” Mirjik rises with a smile.  “Come in! We were just talking about you. These are people you may want to meet.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Stone Bear opens the door into the shop, and what he sees surprises him. He can sense that the room is filled with normal people, but his spirit sight sees something different. A bundle of wriggling tentacles pulses and keens.  A firebird turns towards him, wings beating flame as they batter the ether. Two forms of human-shaped sunlight stand up, one reddish gold and one purplish-blue; the reddish-gold ones holding a ball of brilliant sunlight and the purplish one weilding a sword that is somehow also a man. A silver unicorn points its horn at him, and a tall man turns towards him, his form covered in a shining suit of armor that resonates into the spirit world. Near them, a floating dwarf turns to look at him with interest.

_They have come,_ whispers Elder in his ear. _These are the ones you must follow if you wish to save your people._  Behind the shadowy spirit, he hears his martial advisor clattering to attention. 

_You can not defeat them all at once!_ the armor-clad skeleton advises, looking over the newcomers with a critical and experienced eye. _Ambush will be the key. For instance, take the man in crystal plate. He looks slow and clumsy. When you fight him, you should…_ 

_“I don’t wish to defeat them.”_

_Fehh! You should be prepared. Anyone could become an enemy._  Stone Bear’s vision of his ancestor is replaced by the sound of his old friend Bear rumbling in his other ear.

_These are good people,_ growls Bear with certainty. _The woman-who-is-unicorn especially. Trust her._

“Quiet,” says Stone Bear, shaking his head slightly. The spirits still themselves even as the strangers in Mirjik’s shop stare at him in confusion. “My apologies,” Stone Bear says louder. “I wasn’t speaking to you. I am Stone Bear.” He feels Raven twist and peck inside of his empty eyesocket, and senses the hastily hidden revulsion on the part of the onlookers. “He’s just hungry,” says Stone Bear dismissively, and brushes away the questing raven as he walks forward to greet the newcomers.

 “Why are you here?” asks Nolin, after initial pleasantries have been done away with.

“I am considered a.. a holy man amongst the People.  My ancestors have led me here,” says Stone Bear. “I am waiting for something. A guide. I believe you are it.”

“Wait, who has led you here?” asks Nolin in confusion. _Damn, I wish that raven would stop trying to eat bits of his eye socket,_ he thinks to himself.  _That’s really disturbing._  Stone Bear shrugs in response to the question.

“My ancestors.”

Nolin looks around, confirming with Mara and Malachite that Stone Bear is neither evil nor undead. “Well, we are on a quest to destroy the ghouls which plague the underdark. If you think you can help, tell us.”  Stone Bear nods. 

“I think I can. I have some familiarity with the tunnels in this area.”

“Well, that’s good. I still don’t understand how you got to Akin’s Throat.”

“I was led. I passed the gate from the land of the living to the land of the dead, and I have spent months getting here. I have dodged foes, and fought when I had to. I have been lucky.”

“I guess. We haven’t had an easy time of it, ourselves.”  _Hey, guys?_ Nolin asks through the mindlink. _He IS alive, right?_

_He’s alive,_ confirms Malachite silently.

_Huh. Then maybe he’s just confused about this alive/dead thing._

_He could be talking in metaphor, you know,_ says Mara, as she rubs her shoulder. 

_Yeah, but he looks like a savage,_ answers Nolin. _I mean, look at that dead bear he’s wearing as a cloak! And those damn eyes.  We probably shouldn’t underestimate him._

“…was thinking,” Mirjik is saying, his unnaturally long fingers drumming together. “You were saying that you were short of money. If what you said earlier is true, you could make a substantial amount by fighting each other in the arena.  Say…” He raises his eyebrows in emphasis, “Stone Bear and Galthia? That way you’ll have an idea of each other’s abilities in combat, and you have the chance to make some coin.”  Everyone looks at one another.

“I think it’s a fine idea!” says Galthia, eyeing the blind newcomer. “We fight to unconsciousness.”  Stone Bear nods in agreement.

“Excellent! Then I will arrange it. Let’s say three days hence. In the mean time, Stone Bear can prepare, and I’ll have a chance to fetch some of the goods you’ve requested.” His brows narrow. “Agar, Galthia, may I speak to you privately for a moment? I think I have an idea.”

Akin’s Throat is as hot and humid as ever, and everyone begins sweating as they emerge from the cool shop a few minutes later.  “What’d he want?” asks Splinder.  Galthia says nothing, and Agar shrugs.

“He offered to exchange favors and spell-casting for goods,” the alienist explains. “I told him Proty and I would be happy to help. I like that guy.” Agar strokes his tentacled familiar. “What’s that, Proty? You’re hungry? Okay, go feed on a flumph – but be careful!”  The pseudonatural stirge takes to the air, and Agar smiles indulgently. “He’s so cute when he feeds,” he confides.  Mara rolls her eyes.

With Stone Bear accompanying them to act as guide, the group tours Akin’s Throat. They gaze up at the Butcher’s meat shop dangling between stalactites. Galthia purchases real troll juice from a “troll-inna-box” - "Sour," he announces - and the group dines on fairly exotic food in Dambril’s Festhall. “I’ll have to play here,” remarks Nolin as he turns away a fried beetle in exchange for roast rat and mushrooms.  They pass a booth supposedly selling cloning for a mere 2000 gold pieces – “That girl is evil as they come, whether she detects of it or not!” grumbles Mara about the booth’s sleazy proprietress – and stroll past a 70’ tall sculpture of Mog the Beetle God that sends Agar into conniptions. They gaze into bubbling steam pools, walk beneath giant toadstools, look over rag-tag mercenaries, and pass a pit of squirming vermin controlled by a skaven bard. They pass booths selling animated undead armor, disturbing liquids, and essentials of every imaginable kind. It’s clear that Akin’s Throat is a place that stays standing only because it’s so useful to everyone who passes through.

In Mercenary Hall the group eyes dozens of soldiers, including kobolds with spiked sticks, goblin sharpshooters, an ogre with a battered old stone golem, armored trolls, and a drunken skaven. From the shadows at the back of the cave, a human woman emerges. Her hair is pulled back roughly from her face, and her movements seems odd, almost insectile. She is heavily armored. She approaches Nolin and stares up into his face.

“We remember you,” she says in a monotone, speaking in a Gauntian accent. “You were there when we were formed. You were part of the reason we were formed.” 

Nolin blinks as memory snaps into place – the hivemind! Almost eight years ago, the Defender’s wizard Arcade had inadvertently joined a religious cult secretly run by Nolin’s no-good half-brother. Unfortunately, the cult had been centered around a psionic item known as the _helm of the hive._  When things got out of control, the helm bonded together hundreds of people into a massive and hostile hivemind, all of whom wanted the Defenders dead, and who were willing to chase them to make sure it happened. 

When the Defenders were finally successful at neutralizing the helm, its absence played havoc with the people who had been most affected by it.  The majority of them were fine, but it was soon obvious that several dozen people of varying ages had become permanently linked. The linkage was inextricable, and soon any trace of their former personalities had dissolved into one massive hivemind.  Nolin hadn’t heard from them in years, but he remembered that they had become a phenomenally effective fighting force who hired itself out as mercenaries.  

Nolin recovers and forces a smile.  “Greetings! It’s nice to see a familiar face down here. I trust you are well?”

She replies flatly. “We are fighting ghouls for an aquaintence of yours.”  Nolin looks around in surprise at his friends.

“An acquaintance? Whom?”

“A woman named Claris. We fight to preserve a hive of formians from a ghoulish army. She has hired us to do so.”

“Formians are bug-creatures, right?” She looks at him expressionlessly. “Wow! That’s wonderful. Far from here? Tell Claris that Nolin says hi.”  There is a slight pause.

“Yes, more than a week’s travel. And we have done so. She now returns the greeting.”  _She’s creeping me out,_ thinks Nolin.

“Well, thank you. I wish you luck. We’re trying to destroy the undead once and for all.” The Hivemind mercenary curtly nods her head, and Nolin rubs his chin.  “What are you doing here, though, away from the others?”

“We are gathering information. What one of us know, all of us know, for we are One.” So Nolin shares some lore about ghouls before continuing his tour of the town. 

Eventually, Stone Bear goes his own way and the Defenders leave Akin’s Throat by the southern exit. They find an empty side passage and erect the Flickering Needle, a _Daern’s Instant fortress._ Inside of it, they enter a _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ and prepare to train using the newly-purchased potions. Three days until Galthia and Stone Bear square off in the Arena. With luck, the group will make that time count.

_To be continued…

Next update: Hot monk-on-monk action!_


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

*a little fuel for the speculative fire...*

I will post a full character sheet eventually, but in the meantime here is Stone Bear's impressive list of feats and special abilities:

Imp. Unarmed Strike
Weapon Focus: Unarmed
Alertness
Combat Reflexes
Power Attack
Sunder
Fists of Iron (5/day)
Eagle Claw Strike
Improved Grapple
Deflect Arrows
Ki Shout (1/day)
Empty Hand Mastery (2d6 unarmed)
Improved Sunder
Cleave
Spirit Sight
Turn Undead
Rebuke/Command Animals
Puissant Fists (+4)
Flurry Attack
Evasion
Uncanny dodge (I and II) 
Blindsight 

That should settle a lot of questions!


----------



## Piratecat

The noise of the crowd in Galthia’s ears is like the roar of  the astral winds, rising and then falling as it eddies around him. The monk’s senses are keenly aware, as they always seem to be before a battle.  He notes the ridges of the gravel beneath his feet, the smell of long-dried blood from past fights, the warmth of the sweat dripping from his neck down his back. Shadows from a dozen smoky torches flicker across his face, and he looks about to study the arena’s battlefield.  _Ignore the bad feelings this place evokes,_ he tells himself.  _Focus on the goal...remember your excercises and maintain focus._

From three different levels above him, he can see thousands of faces staring at down him, a wall of anonymous visages.  Then he spots his friends out of the corner of his eye, and he nods as Mara waves at him. Galthia had been told that almost all of Akin’s Throat would turn out to see this match. It appears that they were correct.  _Are they here to see me fail again? NO! Focus on the want...you have your goal...there is no failure...only success or not doing._

Up in the stands, Priggle pulls himself up on tip-toes in order to see through the narrow windows. “Of course they didn’t design this for me,” he grumbles. “Oh no, why bother making these for deep gnomes? Deep gnomes hardly matter. Just take their money and let them stare into the stone, that’s right.”

“You _could_ have gone down to the lower level,” points out Splinder, and Priggle gives him a look. “Say,” asks Splinder as he looks up at the others, “what are the final odds on this fight, anyways?”

Nolin shakes his head as he answers. “Three to one against Galthia.  Stone Bear has a good reputation here, and Galthia made a bad first impression. Apparently someone saw Stone Bear praying and meditating before the fight, and people are speculating about his ‘mystic powers.’ I think it pushed the odds up even higher.”

“So you bet on Galthia, right?” asked Tao.  Nolin smiles.

“I bet 100 gold on both.” 

“I bet 250 gold on Galthia,” says Velendo, not looking up from the stone viewing window.

“That’s all? Huh.”  Mara rubs her shoulder in distracted annoyance.  “What are the rules?”

“Win,” answers Malachite. 

Nolin glances at the paladin before continuing.  “No real rules. No outside interference. You can enter the arena with spells active that you’ve cast yourself, but people aren’t supposed to interfere with any outside spellcasting. Other than that, anything goes, including magic items. Makes for an interesting fight.”  Nolin reaches into a greasy sack and pops something into his mouth.

“What is that you’re eating?” Tao frowns.

“This?” Nolin looks down at the sack. “I didn’t really ask. Something crunchy and deep-fried. Maybe insects. Want one?”  He offers the bag around. No one jumps at the offer, and Agar visibly winces. Nolin waggles his flaming eyebrows. “Everything tastes better when it’s deep-fried.”

“So very true.”  Splinder grins too, his smile just visible through his thick beard. “Me and the boys put some money down on Galthia as well. We’ve seen him fight.”

Then the roar rises to a new height, and the Defenders peer down to see that Stone Bear has entered the arena from the opposite door. Head bowed, he stands there humbly as his raven takes to the air.  Stone Bear nods politely in the direction of Galthia. The githzerai nods back, but it’s unclear if the blind Stone Bear can sense it.

Inside of Stone Bear’s head, a vision of the arena whirls as the shaman watches from the eyes of the flying raven. He briefly studies Galthia’s position and the shape of the battlefield, committing them to memory. Then he wrenches his senses back to his own body, intrinsically perceiving the area around him by the sound bouncing off of the gravel and walls.

_He is waiting for you,_ a spirit whispers in his ear. _It will be a fight to remember._

*GONNNNNNG!*  The noise reverberates through the arena. The crowd quiets momentarily before erupting again in cheers, and the fight begins.

Stone Bear is the first to react. He paces forward 30’ and pauses, still unable to sense Galthia within the limits of his hazy, preternatural blindsight.  Unable to immediately attack, the shaman stomps one boot down onto the gravel instead. Flickering strands of magic twists around his body as his _boots of speed_ activate, quickening his reaction time and speeding his heart. The quickening magics also clear his mind somewhat of the tension that inhabits it. _Feh, I knew I forgot something,_ he thinks to himself._  I forgot to enchant my hand wraps. These weeks without danger have softened me.  I may still have time; Galthia is more than 70’ away, at least. He can’t reach me from there._

_Fool!_  Suddenly the spirit of his armor-clad ancestor is beside him, bones clacking as it crouches in readiness. _One must always seize every advantage on the battlefield. Any weakness can be exploited by a clever foe._  The mouldering corpse eyes Stone Bear, even as Galthia suddenly appears in the shaman’s blindsight, sprinting quickly towards them. _He has the advantage in speed and maneuverability!_ the old warrior continues to lecture. Then Galthia is there in front of Stone Bear, vivid in the shaman’s _blindsight_, and Stone Bear ducks as his opponent launches an attack.

Galthia’s fists move faster than Stone Bear would have credited.  They pummel like piledrivers into the shaman’s stomach and face. Galthia strikes with flawless precision, hitting the shaman once in the throat before following with equally perfect strikes to the nose and the knee. Stone Bear staggers backwards as pain sears through him, even while he feels a previously-cast protection spell activate.

The blurry spirit of Elder hisses into Stone Bear’s ear, drowning out the roar of the crowd. _You would be a fool to hesitate. He is as good as you are. Kill him before he kills you._

_No,_ thinks Stone Bear as he shakes away the pain. _Those were…_ He spits out some blood onto the stony floor. _Those were very lucky shots.  I know how to handle him._  Stone Bear can feel the warmth emanating from the magical bearskin cloak which covers him, a reminder that the animal spirit lends him its strength even now. Drawing on this, the shaman lunges gracefully forward and clips Galthia on the side of his head with a solid blow that leaves the monk’s ears ringing. A second powerful punch is barely blocked, and Galthia easily dodges a sweeping kick.

_He seems to be more than he looks,_ considers Galthia. The monk flexes his neck and dances backwards out of Stone Bear’s limited _blindsight_, forcing the shaman to follow him slowly. Then the monk dashes back in with clenched fists, both arms snapping rhythmically in a lightning-fast flurry of blows. His aim is near-perfect.  A powerful left-handed strike to Stone Bear’s belly bends the shaman slightly forward, and Galthia dips his shoulder and swings upwards as he focuses all his _ki_ and fury into a right uppercut. His fist smashes into Stone Bear’s lowering chin with perfect accuracy.  Bone crunches.  Protective spells on Stone Bear do little to help; the shaman’s body does an involuntary half flip backwards before landing face-down in the gravel, momentarily unconscious. Three more instinctive blows from Galthia swoosh through the air where Stone Bear was standing a second ago, missing the prone Shaman entirely.

Galthia’s lips tighten in something that almost looks like a satisfied grin.  _Victory.  No,_ he reconsiders.  _That was not a fair test.  This is not to the death.. the fight will continue._

The crowd erupts in cheers, and more than a few boos spew from people who had bet against Galthia. “Wake up! Get up, you bugger!” screams a duergar from the stands. “Finish him!” a goblin shrieks. “We want blood!”  “Too fast! We want more!” shouts another group from the stands near where the Defenders are standing.  The monk ignores all the shouts, and politely takes a step backwards as he waits for Stone Bear to wake up.

Stone Bear regains consciousness to an odd view. From twenty feet in the air, he can clearly see Galthia, and he can see his own body lying prone on the arena floor. Only a few seconds have passed.  Then the shaman gathers his senses and shifts his perception away from the raven and back into his own body. As he does so, he takes quick stock of his health.  _Better than I have any right to feel,_ he thinks. _My ancestors may protect me this day, but the spirits might be with this stranger as well. That really hurt. _ He pulls himself to his feet and wipes the dribbling blood away from his broken nose. The crowd roars.

Once Stone Bear is on his feet, Galthia feints forward. This time Stone Bear is ready, and all five attacks are skillfully blocked. Stone Bear then ducks, spins, and comes in right under Galthia’s reach to grab and pin him with a powerful hold. It’s clear that the shaman is trying to finish the fight without actually hurting his opponent. The maneuver fails, though, as Galthia slithers out of the grapple and whirls away. He keeps whirling and darts forward to catch Stone Bear across the face with a rock-hard fist. It’s the fifth perfect shot in a fairly short fight, and Galthia follows it with another painful strike to the forearm. 

Just then, a rippling effect sweeps across the combatants. Stone Bear feels his magical connection to his raven broken, and Galthia recognizes the greasy feel of psionics. “Illithids,” he growls. “Someone is trying to cheat.” He tries to find one in the stands, but can’t afford to be distracted from the combat.  _ Focus... they can be dealt with later... Focus._

Stone Bear’s breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t even pause as he snaps both hands onto Galthia’s forearm. Twisting, he jams the githzerai’s arm up behind his back and smashes him face-first down onto the stone. Galthia tries to get free, fails, bites his lip from the pain of strained tendons, and gets hit on the head again for his trouble.  Stone Bear does his best to pin the monk to the ground, but Galthia barely manages to twist his way clear and regain his balance. Stone Bear starts to rise as well, just as Galthia’s kick catches him squarely in the face with brutal force. The githzerai tries one more swipe at Stone Bear, has his kick blocked, and decides that tactics are the better part of offense. Instead of attacking Stone Bear, he focuses his _ki_ into healing energy and jams three fingers into a pressure point on his own body. As he does so he immediately feels his pain fade somewhat, and he is able to refocus his gaze on his opponent.

In response, Stone Bear’s fists and feet erupt into greenish-yellow balefire. It’s wispy and ephemeral, looking more like the glow from rotting corpses than torchlight, but Galthia can feel the savage heat from five feet away.  Up in the stands, Velendo frowns. “What the heck is that? It looks like corpselight! Malachite?”  Malachite focuses and concentrates once again, but shakes his head.

“No. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with undead.” Nevertheless, he’s frowning as well. Beside him, the rest of the Defenders are riveted by the fight, gulping down greasy snacks as they cheer on the combatants.

Galthia focuses his _ki_ and attempts another knockout, but Stone Bear barely resists. In response, the shaman leaps upon the monk and locks his elbow in a way that would force Galthia to break his own arm if he wants to move. While the monk struggles, Stone Bear hits him several times with burning fists, injuring the githzerai through willpower and faith alone.

_Yes!_ hisses the shadowy form of Elder.  _Draw on your power and kill him! This is your opportunity. He is as close to death as you choose to make him._  Stone Bear rolls his eyes - well, proverbially speaking, what with the empty sockets and all - as he silently refuses the spirit’s offer.  Galthia lurches backwards to break the pin, spins, and slams his fists into Stone Bear four times. One of these is across Stone Bear’s already injured throat, and the shaman gasps from the pain. 

_The spirits are with him,_ Stone Bear thinks. _He shouldn’t have been able to do that._  Galthia is staggering at this point from his bruises and burns, but so is Stone Bear, looking like he should have dropped long ago from Galthia’s superior accuracy.  Clotting blood drips from their gashes onto the arena floor as they eye one another and slowly circle. _But I think I can finish him._  Stone Bear glances at his fists and the corresponding burns on Galthia’s body, trying to decide whether every blow is hurting his opponent.

Another illegal _dispel magic_ rolls across the combatants from some unknown source in the stands, boiling away more defensive spells. Stone Bear leaps forward and grapples Galthia, pinning him before pummeling him several times in the back of the neck with a flaming hand. Exquisite pain spreads through the githzerai’s body as the _sacred fire_ sears his skin. 

_Fool.  You have badly underestimated this one.  I must escape... I can’t take much more of this,_ thinks the monk as pain clouds his vision. In dire straits, he tries to break the pin.  It takes him more than one try to spin away, but he finally manages it, and as he does so he sees an opening in Stone Bear’s defenses. _Wait.. wait.. *now!*_  He snaps out his fist in a flawless blow just as Stone Bear lurches forward, connecting solidly with the shaman’s already broken nose. 

Stone Bear is flung away from the impact, head snapping backwards with an ugly cracking sound.  The last of his defensive spells fizzle away and Stone Bear’s unconscious body tumbles to the arena’s floor.  Just barely standing, Galthia sways unsteadily as he looks down at his unconscious foe.  _That's more like it._


And around him, thousands of people explode into riotous cheering.


_To be continued…_


*DM’s note: *  It was quite the fight! Both Wulf and Aravis used good tactics.  Galthia technically won early on, when he used _fist of power_ to knock out Stone Bear. He used the same ability later in the fight, but Stone Bear made his fortitude save _exactly_ and stayed on his feet. Galthia ended up with EIGHT critical hits. It was astonishing.  Only Stone Bear’s shaman-y-ness and buffing spells kept him on his feet after that sort of die rolling.

On the other hand, I made a rules mistake that hurt Stone Bear. The _sacred flame_ power of the Sacred Fist (Stone Bear’s prestige class) is a spell-like power. I made the incorrect ruling that it would be nullified by Galthia’s spell resistance (as a spell would) instead of affecting him normally (as it should have, like the flame from a flaming sword.) Looks like I’m always learning.


----------



## Piratecat

Stone Bear is a shaman (from Oriental Adventures) and Sacred Fist (from Defenders of the Faith.)  Shamans are very well balanced, and Sacred Fists are on the slightly powerful side of prestige classes.  Galthia was also astonished that Stone Bear was able to last so long. There's a very good reason for it - but I'm not giving it away just yet.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

gandk said:
			
		

> * No inflict critical wounds  and hold the charge, before the fight started? No poison ? *




Stone Bear is not terribly fond of casting spells at other people. Self-buffs, mostly. He keeps _doom_ and _ancestral vengeance_ handy, but not much else. I draw from both shaman and sacred fist spell lists-- lots of low level buff spells and not much in the way of "screw you."

As for stats, he's built on 32-point buy, with increases for 4th, 8th, 12th, 16th: S14, D16, C14, I12, W14, Ch14. Very balanced across the board-- sort of had to be that way, as my combination of classes requires nearly every stat. Feel free to correct my math, my character sheet is a mess. 

As for the fight-- Galthia was _in fuego!_ We'll offset his 8 criticals with my "big" prep spell of shaman-y goodness, and all things considered, I still think it's an even match. And it didn't hurt that we both went out of our way to be fair. Galthia had a real hard time with grappling (my buffed Str is higher, as is my BAB) and for most of the fight I was pummeling first, then attempting a pin with my partial action-- instead of the other way around.

If I were an arena odds-maker, I wouldn't give either of us better than even money next time.

Not that either of us is eager for there to _be_ a next time...

Wulf


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

shilsen said:
			
		

> *Me too. I was waiting for another raven to show up, or for Stone Bear to start referring to this one as Hugin or Munin.*




I don't call him anything... he's just... raven.  Stone Bear is either dead or dreaming, and if the raven has a name, it hasn't yet impressed itself into the subconscious. You know how it is when you dream about those faceless people you're _sure_ you know, but they never seem to get a face or a name, even after you wake up?



> *Wulf, did the Odin angle affect your character concept, or was it a coincidence? *




It's something we were aware of and wary of. Definitely not a hook I wanted to hang my hat on. But there are some similarities, obviously. I suggested to Piratecat that my companion be a scarab beetle that scuttled around in those eye sockets, but he reminded me of the problems that would cause with Agar! 

So raven it was.



			
				incognito said:
			
		

> *Q about the empty eye socket thingie?  Does the Shaman class have some pre-req that requires you to be blind, or was this just a little Character concept goodness? *




It was Piratecat's suggestion; it sounded cool, and it helped define the character a bit more, so I was happy to adopt it.



			
				Graf said:
			
		

> *If we're editing this one threw me fora bit of a loop:*
> 
> 
> 
> 
> _Originally posted by Piratecat
> Stone Bear glances at his fists and the corresponding burns on Galthia’s body, trying to decide whether every blow is hurting his opponent._
Click to expand...



Stone Bear "sees" the spirit world just fine, and his sacred flame is definitely of that realm. Anything outside of... oh, 30 feet... is hazy or dark. Strong spirits will show up beyond that.

We play tonite! GAME ON!


----------



## Sagiro

Holy Cow! 

Last night's game was just... just... 

Words fail.  

It was huge.  Huge battles, huge enemies, huge plot developments, a huge abyss, a huge... well, I could bubble over with spoilers, but I shouldn't.

I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which [spoiler omitted], and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after [even bigger spoiler omitted].  

To put it another way: Velendo received an unbelievably powerful and humbling gift directly from Calphas himself, and that was like the 3rd or 4th-most significant thing that happened during the run.  

We may not be Epic level characters, but last night's game was EPIC.

Look out below.

-Sagiro


----------



## Nail

Mad Libs until PC posts again!  *Sagiro*, next time make the teaser longer, with more blanks!  Fans love this kind of dreck.....



			
				Sagiro said:
			
		

> *I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which  Galthia started to rap "Can't Touch This!", and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after   Velendo, Nolan and Malachite joined in to make a barbershop quartet singing "Wind Beneath My (saintly) Wings . *


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which Piratecat revealed that the Ghouls had employed a penguin with a gun for their ultimate weapon and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after the jelly incident with Malachite and Tasha's Hideous Laughter at the funeral.*


----------



## Spatzimaus

Ooh, my turn!

_Originally posted by Sagiro _
I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which *Stone Bear made one continuous belch to the tune of "Star Spangled Banner"*, and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after *Dylrath was revealed to be Velendo's clone*.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Sagiro said:
			
		

> I think we're still mostly in shock. Tremendously good things happened. Tremendously horrific things happened. 30 seconds passed during which *Velendo convinced the Defenders to take a road trip/pilgrimage to "Wally World"*, and as a result the world will probably never be the same. As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after *we learned that Stone Bear is really just a cohort to Wulf's awakened Raven character. *




Wow never saw that coming. 

-z


----------



## Bronz Dragon

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which Nolin found a disturbing new use for flumphs, and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after someone tried to serve roasted beetle to Agar.  *



When will this insanity end?!


----------



## Carnifex

Sagiro said:
			
		

> I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which *blind kobolds killed all the party meat shields*, and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after *Agar was revealed to be a amazingly lifelike halfling construct piloted by a cockroach*.


----------



## Quartermoon

Sagiro said:
			
		

> I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which *we all took a nice nap, * and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after *finding that icky gum stuck to all our shoes.*




Oh, and the best Boynton ever has to be The Going to Bed Book.

"We all went up...to exercise!"

Although Barnyard Dance is quite a hoot, especually when you sing it.


----------



## Sialia

Sagiro said:
			
		

> *
> I think we're still mostly in shock.  Tremendously good things happened.  Tremendously horrific things happened.  30 seconds passed during which Malachite french-kissed a vampire, and as a result the world will probably never be the same.  As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after he tapdanced "I Can't Do It Alone" wearing nothing but Tao's panties.
> 
> Look out below.
> 
> -Sagiro *


----------



## RangerWickett

> _Originally posted by the man who doesn't _need_ a Rat Bastard club to help him out, Sagiro._
> 
> *I think we're still mostly in shock. Tremendously good things happened. Tremendously horrific things happened. 30 seconds passed during which Nolin gained the powers of an ALL-POWERFUL GENIE!!!!, and as a result the world will probably never be the same. As if the world could ever be the same anyway, after the bad guys from this campaign decided the PCs were too tough, and planeshifted over to Sagiro's campaign. *


----------



## Greybar

As a dedication from a hymn this morning which made me think of the Defenders and Velendo.  Gotta say I love grabbing hymns and stuff and applying them in other places.  Of course the hymn version of this was only four verses, but I grabbed the full poem for your enjoyment. -John

All are architects of Fate,
  Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
  Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low;
  Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
  Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise,
  Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
  Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these;
  Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
  Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art,
  Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
  For the Gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well,
  Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
  Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete,
  Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
  Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
  With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
  Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain
  To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
  And one boundless reach of sky. 


THE BUILDERS, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from The Seaside and the Fireside


----------



## Piratecat

Another update tomorrow, too!

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

The monk ignores the cheering as he scans the crowd, his eyes finally locking on to the pupilless gaze of an illithid in the second row.

_“You were trying to cheat.”_ The githzerai’s glare is bitter and implacable. _“Try to invade my mind again, and I will gladly hunt you down and destroy you.”_

The mental response is dry and amused, creeping like beetles across Galthia’s throbbing brain. *Do not accuse me of something I did not do, meal-that-walks. It could come back to bite you.*

_“You’ve been warned,”_ replies Galthia coldly as unnoticed tokens of the crowd’s favor shower down around him. “If it wasn’t you, it was one of your kin. I know the taint of mind flayer.”  Stone Bear stirs at his feet, and dry mental laughter crawls around him before dying out. Finally, the tired monk turns his head to acknowledge the crowd, and takes a moment to savor the victory.

Later, when both combatants have been healed, the entire group retires to Dambril’s Festhall to celebrate. As they walk under the webs of the Butcher’s and into the cavern, a ragged cheer begins in a table to the left. The noise is picked up by other tables, and within a minute the entire tavern is on its feet, duergar and goblins and kobolds together cheering and stomping their feet in tribute to the two gladiators. The group is somewhat taken aback, but the noise soon fades as people go back to their food and drink. The place is packed with people spending their winnings, and the mood is as merry as a room full of violent, evil underdark dwellers can get.

An ogre lumbers up. “You wanna seat?” it scowls, eyeing the entirely full tavern.

“Yes,” says Tao, “but there’s no need to…” The ogre is already lumbering away, snarling as it charges unevenly towards a table full of drunken goblins. The one semi-sober goblin sees the ogre coming, screams, and scrambles away. The ogre picks up one of the other goblins by the scruff of its neck and shakes it.

“Champion wantsa seat! You gonna givit toim?”

“Blurg?” The bleary-eyed goblin lifts its head, sees Galthia, and its face splits into a disturbingly wide grin. “You betcha! Sitim here!” He manages a happy little wave before the ogre drops him into a puddle of vomit on the floor.  By the time the group makes their way across the crowded room, the rest of the drunken goblins have abandoned the table, and the ogre has wiped it down with a spit-covered rag.

“I hope you folks excuse me for a moment, please,” Nolin says as he unlimbers his instrument. “What this place needs is a little proper music. I’ll stay in the conversation via the _mind link._” He makes his way to the front of the festhall and soon has the drunken crowd stomping, cheering, and singling along in undercommon.  Meanwhile, the rest of the group discusses more serious matters over complementary food and drink paid for by eager admirers and hangers-on.

“I don’t like it,” Velendo says over the mind-link, not even trying to shout over Nolin’s song. “In the last four or five days we’ve had more than a half dozen incidents of vertigo, dizziness, and stabbing pains in our chests. Bad dreams, too.  Not everyone in the group has been affected, but it doesn’t bode well.”

“Dreams of falling.” Tao shivers in memory.  “And there’s that incident with the worms.” Stone Bear turns his face to her questioningly, and Tao elaborates. “This morning we found tiny white worms dribbling down out of the solid rock of the ceiling. No obvious source. They were just.. there.”  Stone Bear nods.

“I’ve heard of similar things in the last few days. Merchants finding worms dropping atop their head, bad dreams. And the beetles are apparently running much earlier than normal, and in greater numbers.”

Agar shivers. “Can’t forget those beetles,” he says weakly. “What do you mean by running?”

“I am told that once a year, the beetles all return to their breeding places. When they do, many of those in the underdark hunt them with nets and traps and spears.  They are very regular, but not this year.”

Malachite smiles. “Maybe they’re modrons.”

“So what does it mean?”  Velendo spreads his hands in frustration before glaring up at the ceiling, his eyes focus past miles of stone to the endless heavens somewhere above. “What, huh? Make the damn signs clearer; we’re stupid down here!”  Sighing, he takes a swig of mushroom beer while studiously ignoring all the goblins staring at him.  “I might have a chat with Calphas later today. If this is happening to more people than just us, we should probably know about it.”

“Good idea.”

Malachite's mouth twists. "Weal or woe."

Velendo's head jerks up. "Huh?

"Weal.  Or. Woe. No confusing riddles, no obscure prophecies. Just do that divination that says whether something is good or bad. Much easier."

Velendo stares at him. "Err... right. You are aware that.. oh, never mind."

Malachite nods confidently. "Weal or woe." He takes a drink from his mug.

Galthia leans back, still sore despite the healing magics from Velendo. “I plan to visit Mirjik later. He may have been able to find some sort of magical gloves for me.”

“That’s right!” perks up Agar. “He was going to try and find some scrolls for me, as well. I hope he’s back.”

Malachite frowns. “I don’t trust him.”  Mara and Velendo nod their agreement, but Agar brushes away the objection by waving in the air with a leg of fried lizard for emphasis.

“Nah. You just don’t know him. You still upset about that angel heart comment?  I’m sure he sells what the market demands. He seems like a reliable guy to me. I just hope I can afford to pay him; as part of our deal, he’s picking up a cache on my money that I left with a friend in Sigil.”  

Galthia nods, considering his empty money pouch. “I know the feeling.”

Splinder sits up at that, grins mischievously, and pushes his large mug aside. “That reminds me.” He turns to Galthia and hauls out a heavy pouch, which he slaps down between the githzerai and the halfling. It jingles as the table creaks slightly. “Me an’ the boys bet our savings on ya.” He glances over to Stone Bear. “No offense.” 

“None taken.”

“So we sort of spread the word as to how you weren’t especially talented, or competent, and then laid in a bet at the last minute as the odds went up. Paid off better than three to one. As parta the team, we thought we’d donate this to the fund that let’s you kick more ass.”  He leans back and crosses his arms. “More’n six thousand gold in there, there is.”  

Galthia looks shocked. “I thank you. But you and your troops should make sure you keep some for yourselves.”  Splinder’s eyes glitter.

“Oh, we did.”  Mara laughs. Behind her, Nolin finishes a raucous song and returns to the table, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“That was fun. I’m going to have to do this again, for real. What are we talking about? I stopped listening when the conversation got boring.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

The group stops by Mirjik’s as they leave the festhall. The door is unlocked, and the tall mercane awaits them inside. He gestures them in with a wide smile on his inhuman face, steepling his many fingers in excitement.   “Superb news! My trip met with extreme success. First, though, we are agreed?”  He turns to Galthia. “You will write me a letter of introduction to Kleithos, Chancellor of the githzerai city of Helm?”

“I will. I have no special authority over him, though.” Mirjik dismisses the modest statement with a wave of his hand.

“No matter. Agar, you will sit with me to do divinations on my best course of action upon leaving here?”

“Of course!”

Mirjik turns to Nolin. “And as agreed, you will write a song for me, and about me, and then record it into one of your echostones?”

Nolin grins. “I could do it standing on my head. If it gets us a discount, no problem.” Mirjik grins back.

“Then done! There is a slight balance that we must resolve with something other than barter – there is my bill upon the table there by your elbow – but I think you’ll be happy with the results.”  He pulls over a small crate and places it by Agar’s feet. “Master Wizard, I present to you the things you ordered. Scrolls a-plenty, and scribing parchments and inks to delight the surliest librarian. The quills are from Arborean peacocks, and the scrolls scribed by Oxios Bloodscribe himself. Fine quality, and I was able to procure almost all of the spells you had requested.” He winks. “I had to pull in a few favors, but in order to achieve exit from this particular venue?” He looks out the door at Akin’s Throat just as an ogre lumbers by mounted on a giant beetle, trailing a half-dozen zombies chained together behind him. He shudders delicately. “It will be worth it.”

The mercane then turns to Galthia with a somewhat odd look on his face. “For you I have.. well, you should see.”  He unveils a glorious pair of long gloves. The leather is dark brown and incredibly supple, with tiny stitching and multiple pearls sewn in by the cuffs. As he turns them they shimmer in the lantern light, magical runes surfacing and glimmering slightly before disappearing back into the leather.  “As far as I can tell these are unique. They are created to improve the natural weapons of those who fight with their hands and feet. Not only are they enchanted to do slightly more damage, they dramatically increase the monk’s dexterity. Now, you already have gloves that I’ll be taking in trade that do such a thing, but these,” he leans in conspiratorially, “contain magic that transforms the very way you fight. Instead of forcing you to battle with pure strength, these allow you to fight with grace and finesse, turning your agility into a weapon to strike your opponent.” He leans back. “I hope they’ll serve you well.”

Galthia looks at them silently, not yet picking them up. “Surely, even with our items in trade, I can’t afford these?”  Mirjik looks slightly uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s the thing. I got a good price on them.” He frowns slightly and gestures with one long-fingered hand.  “An _extremely_ good price.  Mind you, the vendor assured me that they are _not_ stolen or cursed. I took the liberty to double-check myself, and could find no evidence of curses at all. A quick check with the Harmonium confirmed that they do not seem to be stolen.  The vendor merely needed money quickly, I think, and sold them in extremis.” Even the implacable face of the mercane looks slightly suspicious of his own words, but his voice remains silky and convincing. “You should check them yourself, of course, but they seem legitimate. Use them in good health, and think of Mirjik’s Eccentricities when you do.”  

Nolin and Agar exchange an eye-rolling glance, but Galthia picks up the gloves and slides them on. He feels ripples of power coruscating up and down his body as the magic ties together his speed and strength. A few seconds later, he takes a few practice jabs at the air, and seems to be well pleased at the results.  “What I have desired, I have achieved,” he says. “These will do.”

“Say,” asks Nolin, “who is the best guide in Akin’s Throat? What we need now more than anything else is information.”

Mirjik frowns expressively. “Personally, I would say that you want Hangle, a goblin caver. Other people think might Molduk, a kobold explorer.” He takes a deep breath. “The absolute best is a drow female named Ma’chel. But she’s a…” He bites his tongue. “A drow. With everything that implies. Unpleasant in the extreme, and _very_ difficult to deal with.”

Nolin smiles. “I’m on it.” Malachite glowers at the bard, who pretends not to notice, and soon the group bids Mirjik goodbye. 

Still in unicorn form, Tao heads up to the north of the cavern. She pointedly discourages two entrepreneurial goblins who imprudently think that a loose unicorn could be sold for quite a bit of money, and soon finds herself near Speaker’s Rock. There’s a crowd there, and Tao soon realizes that a deep-voiced goblin is preaching the benefits of surrendering to the ghouls and joining them as allies. Suddenly, Galanna’s words to her back in the vault reverberate in her thoughts:

_Speak of my gospel to those who do not believe. There is still time to save some of their souls, before the fall is over, if you do what I ask. Be strong in your faith, and you will deliver them from darkness._

Tao swallows, shivers with the memory, and raises her voice to contradict the speaker. Despite some initial heckling Tao can be a convincing speaker when she tries, and within a few minutes she has turned the mood of the crowd against the convincing goblin. When they start pelting the goblin with rotted fungus, Tao takes his place on Speaker’s Rock. Slowly at first, then gathering momentum, she tries to fulfill her Goddess’ wishes by telling others about Galanna and what her religion entails. The populace of Akin’s Throat loves a good show if nothing else, and Tao soon has a sizeable crowd listening to her as she speaks of turning away from the darkness of Imbindarla into the life-circle of Galanna. It’s unclear how many people she actually converts, but at least no one throws fungus. Flumphs drift over to float above her head, and her voice echoes out across the cavern, carrying over both the geyser and the sound of the forge’s ringing hammers.

_I am doing my Goddesses’ will_, she thinks. _I hope I’m worthy of it. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ll do it anyways._

Meanwhile, some of the group strolls past giant mushrooms to examine the quality of any mercenary troops in the ‘Throat. Malachite in particular isn’t especially impressed by what he sees. Continuing past the mercenaries and the squeaking chaos of Vermin Nook, the group passes the zombie pens. A dark-robed orc looks out at them, stops, stares at Malachite, and runs forward in a state of distress.

“Il chukkut buzugtay! Neelgat! Thur’neelgat!”

Malachite stops with one hand on his sword, and raises his voice without taking his eyes off of the black-robed orc.  “Nolin, what is he saying?”

Nolin wrinkles his nose. “Eel cheekrat? Toobul?”  The orc nods, pale and sweating, and rushes back towards the zombie pens. Nolin turns to Malachite, confusion writ across his face. “He basically said ‘She said you’d come this way. I have something to give you.’ I asked him if he was sure he wanted you, and he nodded. Odd.”

The orc returns, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand. He holds it out, but Malachite doesn’t take it. Instead, he speaks in undercommon. “What is it?”  _Definitely evil_, thinks Malachite, _but not undead. Stinks of them, though._

The orc replies in orcish, and Nolin translates. “He says that he was in Dag’s Hollow last month, and she caught him cheating a customer. She said he owed her a favor. She told him that a knight with a green tabard would pass him, and when you did he should give you this bundle. He hasn’t opened it.” The orc says something else. “Apparently, she mentioned that you wouldn’t hide yourself.” Nolin shrugs.

“Where is Dag’s Hollow?” asks Mara.

“Up. Closer to the surface, I think.”

“Who was this woman?” The orc answers him while rubbing his shoulder as if remembering old pain. As it speaks its eyes dart back and forth towards the nearby shadows, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear out of them.  Nolin then interprets for Malachite.

“A human woman. Gray, with cold eyes. I’d say it was almost certainly Claris.”

“Claris? Your old companion, the pilgrim of Vindus the Unyielding?”  Nolin nods.

“We know she’s down here, aiding those big bugs… what are they called, formians?  Hell, she left for the underdark six months before we did, saying that we were dallying.” 

Malachite’s stare is stern. “We were.”

“But why you?”

“I don’t know.”  The knight unwraps the bundle as the orc scampers off to safety, and finds inside a thin silver circlet with a brief note.  _ Keep your wits about you.  – Claris_  Malachite looks up. “Odd. It’s certainly magical. We’ll have it identified.”

“All right.” Velendo sighs. “Let’s head back to the Flickering Needle.”

“Yeah!” says Agar eagerly, desperate to get away from the beetles he sees everywhere. “We’ve got divinations aplenty to do!”

“We do indeed,” agrees Velendo. “Nolin, you’re going to go track down a guide?” The bard nods. “Mara, how about you?”

“Malachite and I are going to go gather military information.” She smiles, and the cavern seems to light up. “We’ll see if we can get people to talk about what ghouls they’ve seen nearby.” As a plan is made, other people volunteer to learn what they can about the strange omens – vertigo, a feeling of falling, worms appearing from nowhere – and the group prepares to separate once again. “All right,” says Velendo. “We’ll meet back at the tower when we have the information we need to make a proper plan. Stone Bear, you too, please. Something bad is coming… and we need to find out what it is.”

_to be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Think of this as the calm before the storm. Things are about to get interesting.  

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

*Interlude*

Dlyrath sits in class, bored. 

“Now, the advanced figment is usually characterized by…”

He tunes out the professor. The subject is illusion magic, usually a worthwhile subject, but today he can’t stop his mind from wandering. He is due to graduate this year with a full-fledged diploma, thus gaining both prestige and a number of rights and privileges in Oursk. Only another six months!  But now he has to decide what the future will bring. Spymaster? Information Mage? Back-alley seller of odd and unusual objects? Avoider of Kestellin’s assassins?  So many possibilities. So many opportunities. He just hopes things don’t get boring.

“Common flaws typically have to do with reaction time in the non-self-aware figment. For most wizards, it’s simply…”

Yeah, whatever. He wonders what the rest of the Defenders are up to right now. Probably something fun.  Last three times he tried to scry for them with the Mirror, it was no-go. Annoying. Around him, students studiously scribble down notes, all except for one girl who won’t stop staring at him with big doe eyes. He’s pretty sure that she tried a love spell on him last week. No way to be sure, though. Then out of the corner of his eye, Dylrath realizes that she’s still staring at him, but on her parchment she’s sketching a heart with his initials in it and.. is that a dagger? – yes, a serrated dagger sticking out of it.  Creepy.

“Hello, Dylrath. Miss me?” 

Dylrath knows that voice: arrogant, self-satisfied, and dripping with sarcasm. Teliez, the half-god son of Toraz, Lord of Murder. A drop of acid drips onto Dylrath’s notebook, and he glances up. The adolescent demigod is sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, staring straight down at him.

“Teliez.” Dylrath says it out loud without even thinking about it, and the fleeting thought occurs to him that just saying his name may be a kind of worship. That’s just wrong.

“Tell us what, Master Birdhouse?” Startled, Dylrath realizes that the instructor is staring at him expectantly.

“They can’t see or hear me,” Teliez smirks. “Just you.”

“Tell you..” Dylrath’s mind races back over what the teacher had just been saying, and he exercises the skills of lying that he learned from the late Alix Loial.. “..that I thought that as standard practice, most self-aware figments aren’t even self-aware! They just mimic intelligence from their caster. They can’t really think for themselves.”

“Very good, Master Birdhouse! That is true. Most blah blah blah…” 

Dylrath tunes him out again. _What are you doing here?_ he thinks to Teliez.  _How’s the God business?_

“I’m getting out of it.” Dylrath does a double-take as Teliez smirks, his pocked and acne-scarred face looking smug. “Well, not technically. I’m just getting out of trying to be the God of Adventurers. It was a good idea, but they keep dying on me.”  Teliez shrugs.  “I need organized worship. There’s a better opportunity, and I’m going to grab it while I can.” Teliez’s voice drops down to a whisper. “This is _big._ I handle this right, and I’ll never be under my Dad’s yoke again. I just wanted to give you the chance to be my first priest, if you wanted it.”  He flips greasy hair out of his sunken eyes.

Dylrath shudders.  _Err.. what’s this opportunity?_

Teliez’s upside-down face contorts as he winks. “Can’t tell you yet. But you’ll find out. Ohhh, yes.” His voice is excited, and cruel. He glances behind him.  “Crap, they’re coming. Gotta go.” He grins again, his teeth flashing sharply. “It’ll all be a fait accompli before long. Give it some thought. Opportunities like this don’t happen too often – for either of us.” He reaches up to rub at some acne, and vanishes.

With a nervous glance at the girl behind him, Dylrath refocuses on the lesson, only to realize that the teacher is chewing out a student with unreasonable harshness, just for dropping a quill. The young rogue/wizard shivers a little.

A better opportunity? What’s that supposed to mean? Time to go talk to a cleric at the Temple of Calphas the Wallbuilder!  Umm.. just so long as he can have the conversation without letting on that he has somehow turned into a career advisor for evil gods. They may not understand that so much, and rumor has a nasty habit of traveling. Yeah, Dylrath muses as he slumps in his uncomfortable chair. Some things should be kept private.


----------



## Spatzimaus

The Whiner Knight said:
			
		

> *Could someone please point me in the direction of any updated Flumphs that may exist out there?
> *




Created in the Creature Catalog forum of this site, the 3E stat block:

http://www.enworld.org/cc/converted/aberration/flumph.htm


----------



## Sialia

The Whiner Knight said:
			
		

> *Could someone please point me in the direction of any updated Flumphs that may exist out there?
> 
> TWK *




And, of course, in just _ four _ days, look for "Son of A Portable Hole Full Of Beer", (http://www.dreadgazebo.com/dnd/) which is rumored to contain at least a few magnificent, unusual and _very special_ flumphs.



(Oh, and you can add to Carienne's playlist "All God's Critters Got a Place in the Choir" and clap your hands, paws or anything you got now.)


----------



## Sialia

Does anyone need a recap of Dylrath's earlier dealings with Teliaz, or are we all up to speed on how Dylrath got himself in to this mess?

Piratecat and I wrote up a long series of emails discussing the matter, and I don't recall how much of it, if any, ever saw the light of storyhour.

Very short form: Teliaz was assigned by his dad, Toraz God of Murder (ptui), the job of assasinating the Defenders. 

Teliaz didn't have any objection to doing so, except that it looked to be a scut job and he was feeling rebellious. He gave Dylrath the opportunity to talk him into blowing it off. Which Dylrath did, only he let his mouth get away for a bit and incidentally persuaded Teliaz to try to get out from under Toraz's thumb by setting up his own shop as the "God of People With Suicidal Hobbies."

This roughly got translated to "God of Adventurers."

Dylrath was kind of hoping Teliaz would either get himself killed bungee jumping into magma (he spent a while trying to sell Teliaz on some xtreme sports), or discover that gods who save & protect their worshippers have more fun (or at least, more worshippers). 

At a bare minimum, it kept him distracted from killing the Defenders for a few months.

It's been a few months.


----------



## Piratecat

The PCs first ran into Teliez about six years ago in real time, about four or five years ago in game time. The group was in the western edge of Kanach'Hur, the desert of the screaming sands. Teliez was leading a team of Deathgranter assassins. He was fifteen at the time.

The problem is, Teliez was the kind of rebellious fifteen that you don't see very often, the kind that has a god of murder for a father. His very sweat was poisonous acid; his acne was uncontrollable; pretty girls kept dying whenever he tried to kiss them; and he was growing tired to obeying his father's every whim. He was less than happy. 

So he ended up _helping_ the Defenders, and in return they tossed him through a teleportation portal into the middle of the desert. It might not have been the nicest thing to do, but it seemed like the safest at the time. But he survived, and he's coming in to his power, and for some reason - some odd, unknown reason - he seems to have latched onto Dylrath has his confidante.  Not the safest thing, perhaps, but probably more trustworthy than his father's priests or just any old mortal.

In an attempt to distract Teliez from becoming the demigod of torture, or the demigod of poison, Dylrath hit upon the idea of making him the patron deity of adventurers. It seems.. perhaps.. he's found a new gig.


----------



## Sagiro

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> 
> ...So he ended up helping the Defenders, and in return they tossed him through a teleportation portal into the middle of the desert. It might not have been the nicest thing to do, but it seemed like the safest at the time. But he survived, and he's coming in to his power, and for some reason - some odd, unknown reason - he seems to have latched onto Dylrath has his confidante.  Not the safest thing, perhaps, but probably more trustworthy than his father's priests or just any old mortal.
> ...
> *



C'mon, PCat, tell the whole story.  The last thing Teliez did was suddenly turn on us and attack!  Now as it turned out, that was because the spririt of another worse enemy, Dale Greldin of Imbindarla, had possessed him and forced him to betray us.  But at the time it was all extremely confusing; I recall that Velendo expelled Greldin from Teliez's body, and in the same round someone else (our storm giant ally, I believe) booted Teliez through a magic portal and into the desert.  None of us intended or expected that he'd die -- he was a demigod, after all -- but there wasn't time just then to stand around figuring out if Teliez had meant to attack us or not.  

Since, as you well know, the world was about to end.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

The ancient cavern is irregular, sliding away from a wide and well-traveled underdark thoroughfare into a series of empty, twisting tunnels. There is a tower there in the shadows, if one knows where to look. Black iron and ancient flickering magic. The fortress looms silently up towards the unending rock of the cavern ceiling, up towards the flumphs that dance slowly within the ghostly radiance it emits, up towards the bats that skim about it in confusion. The unnatural tower does not belong there, but it is there nevertheless, and the young goblin explorer that has just accidentally discovered it hurries away in realization that it is beyond his kin.  Most likely he has stumbled upon the lair of those powerful up-worlders that have recently come to Akin’s Throat. Such people are best left alone.

With one last glance he clambers out of the cavern.  It’s just about the last thing he ever does.

- - -

“More tea?”

“Why, thank you, Mary.” Tao reaches out her cup, and the spectral cook and housekeeper of the Flickering Needle tops off Tao’s mug before gliding silently away down the circular stairs. Tao turns to look at the others.  “Whoever thought to put an intelligent unseen servant into a Daern’s Instant Fortress deserves some kind of award.” She knocks briefly on the black iron fall behind her, which _bongs_ slightly. “That woman can cook.”

“I’ll say.”  Nolin gestures with his winecup. “When we first found this thing, it was on the plane of shadow and inhabited by breeding mind flayers. They were forcing her to make brain stew and heat the spawning pools. I like it a lot better now that we’ve redecorated.”  He looks down at Velendo, crouched on the floor nearby. “Hey, you okay? You’re holding your head.”

“I think it’s finally passed.”  Unsteadily, Velendo looks up from where he slipped to after fighting almost a minute of intense vertigo. “Why did it feel like I’m falling?” he asks no one in particular. “This is ridiculous. And now my chest hurts.” Mara nods her head in sympathy, having experienced a moment of it herself earlier that day. 

“You’re not the only one,” says Stone Bear. His empty eye sockets observe the old cleric. “Creatures all over are experiencing this. Hunters, scouts, shopkeepers.  More are experiencing dreams of falling, though.”

“I’ve got an appointment with that drow elf,” announces Nolin in anticipation. “I’m looking more for a crime boss than a guide, but I think she qualifies. From what I heard, she doesn’t guide people herself, but she has people throughout the area who report to her. If anyone can give us good intelligence, it’s probably her.” Splinder snorts with laughter in the corner but doesn’t otherwise comment.  Nolin looks slightly aggrieved. “What?”

“Well, we should…”

There is a knock at the door.  Everyone sits up, senses alert. 

“What was that?”

“A knock.”

“Here?”

“Apparently.”

“I’ll get it!” calls Mary faintly from down on the first level.

“Mary, no!” shouts Tao before turning to the others. “I don’t like the idea of visitors. I’ll go see who it is.” She moves out of the room to a nearby arrowslit and looks down into the cavern. Outside of the door, clearly visible in the greenish glow cast by the magical tower, is a pleasant-looking halfling woman.  From Tao’s viewpoint she looks older, like a grandmother, and is dressed as a fashionable surface halfling might for a pleasant stroll about town.

Tao looks at the others. “It’s an elderly halfling woman.”

“What? Let me see.” People bustle over to the arrowslit even as Mary’s voice floats up the stairs, explaining that someone will be with her shortly. _True seeing_ is cast more than once, as are various detection spells.

“Not evil.”
“Not undead.”
“Looks like a halfling.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Maybe it’s for Agar.”
“Maybe Nolin has a new follower.”
“Ha ha.”
“No magic.”
“She looks so calm. Not what you’d expect for the setting.”
“She isn’t dressed for adventuring.”
“We haven’t seen any halflings in the underdark.”
“She can’t be what she seems.”
“She is! Or I would have seen it.”
“What do you think she wants?”
“I’ll go find out.”
“_We’ll_ go.”

Most of the party lined up behind her, Tao opens the magical metal door that protects the Flickering Needle. In front of her, the old halfling woman smiles a friendly – if formal - greeting.

“Hello, there! I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” Her voice is reminiscent of rolling green fields and comfortable burrows.

Tao frowns. “Not at all. How can we help you?”

“I’m here for Agar Smoketallow.”  There’s a silence as everyone looks at Agar, who looks confused, and Tao’s eyebrows narrow as she turns her head back.

“Here for him.. how?”

The old woman exudes certainty and confidence as she looks surprised. “He hasn’t told you? He’s engaged to be married. The date’s coming up! I’m here to bring him back home for the formal presentation of bride and groom. We want to be sure that he doesn’t miss the ceremony.”  At the back of the group, Agar yelps and darts upstairs, circled by a frantic Proty. His hammering footsteps echo briefly in the iron tower before fading. Everyone exchanges glances of embarrassment, confusion and suspicion, but the old woman doesn’t even look fazed.  “It’s all right.  I’ll wait.”

Over the mind link, the group begins to question Agar, even as they physically move to completely surround the old woman. _“Agar, is this true?”_

Crouched in the stairwell, heart palpitating with repressed memories, Agar manages to focus an answer. _“Yeah, pretty much so. I had managed to mostly forget about it.  When I was a little kid, my parents arranged a marriage to a girl in another village. Later, when I started becoming a diviner, it was one of the first things I asked about. And…”_ Shudders rake his frame as insane memories start to creep in, but he manages to fight them down and continue. _ “And the divination was horrible. *Horrible*. I decided that getting married was something that I didn’t want to do. It wasn’t long after that when I started exploring the planes.”_  He gulps. _“I don’t want to go back for the wedding.”_

_“Then you won’t,”_ answers Malachite assuringly. _“What we’re doing here is more important.”_ He focuses on the halfling. “I’m afraid that Agar can’t come with you. We’re quite busy here.”  The old woman shakes her head slowly and clucks her tongue.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an option. Agar has an obligation.” She eyes the tall knight. “I’m sure you understand obligations. He needs to be home for the presentation ceremony, and I’ve been asked to make sure that he is. That’s my responsibility, and I take it seriously. A marriage commitment is an eternal vow, and something not to be taken lightly.”

_”It figures,_ thinks Priggle over the link. _“No one ever wants to marry a deep gnome. Of course not. But halflings? Halflings have people lining up for it. Typical, I suppose. Must be the looks instead of the height.”_

_“I’ll trade,”_ offers Agar.

Mara mentally shushes them before adding, _“She’s still not evil. But I don’t like her.”_

The halfling clears her throat delicately. “If this is going to take a bit, may I come in?”

_“No!”_ say a half-dozen mental voices at once.

Tao frowns. “I’m sorry, no. We need to be quite careful about who we invite inside. But may I offer you any refreshments?” The rosy-cheeked halfling puts one finger to her lips while thinking. 

“Well, I just ate, but it _does_ smell wonderful. What are you cooking?”  Tao glances back questioningly towards the spectral cook.

“Roast rat,” answers Mary helpfully.

“Sounds delicious!” The halfling woman smiles. “Yes please.” As refreshments and a chair are brought outside, and Agar makes his way to the roof, most of the group continues to question the halfling about the marriage.

“It’s not my name that’s important,” she says, “but my duty. Just as Agar has a duty to fulfill his legal and ethical role, I have a duty to make sure that he gets there safely. I did a little checking, and he has gathered a reputation of being a little itinerant. We wouldn’t want that.”

“But we’re doing something much more important!” Nolin gestures emphatically. “We’re working on saving thousands of people!” The old woman waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Pshaw. In _this_ world. But it’s just a Prime. There are many such places, almost an infinite amount, and your people here are no more important in the scheme of things than the people in some universe you’ve scarcely heard of.”

Mara glares at her. “They ARE important!”

“No they aren’t.” The old woman’s expression is quite pleasant as she politely sucks the meat off of the roast rat grasped in her short, blunt fingers. “If they die, then a few of their souls will go on to heaven, and most of their souls will be consigned to the everburning pits, to scream in torture for all eternity. That’s the way things work. Dear, it’s going to happen no matter what you do; if not now, then in a few scant decades they’re still going to die and meet their just reward. You can’t stop that from happening. And it certainly isn’t important enough for young master Smoketallow to break a contract signed by his parents. So he’ll come with me to his village, and he will attend the formal presentation.”

Malachite blinks in disbelief. “His obligation is to himself, and to us. He doesn’t want to go, we don’t want him to go, so he stays here.”

“To himself? No it isn’t.” She smiles slightly. “May I please have another rat? They _are_ quite delicious. Thank you so much. As I was saying, you of _all_ people should understand the concept of being beholden to an obligation more important than yourself.  It doesn’t matter what either he or you want, because your desires are quite immaterial in this matter. This was all decided by his parents long ago.” She spreads her hands in sympathetic emphasis. “I’m sorry, but you have no say in the matter. Agar’s coming with me.”

“No I’m not!” yells Agar from inside the tower. The old woman smiles patiently.

Malachite practically growls. “Is that so?  Let’s see this so-called marriage contract.” 

“I don’t have it with me. It isn’t material to my enforcement of my obligations.” Her friendly brown eyes glint. “I’m sure that Agar’s parents have a copy squirreled away. Perhaps you should visit his home village in the Outlands and ask them.” Smiling slightly, she nibbles the meat off of the rat’s tail. “I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

“No contract, no Agar.”

She clucks her tongue again. “As I said, you don’t have the authority to demand that. If you want to go see the legal contract, go see it. But your desire for proof in this matter doesn’t affect me one whit.”

Nolin pulls on his chin, thinking.  “And if we try to use force to stop you from taking him?”

She raises one eyebrow at him, her look sad. “You’d have no authority to do so. And all of you against poor me?” But deep inside her placid brown eyes, Nolin sees a flame jump and dance at the mention of his suggestion, and he starts to really worry.

Meanwhile, up on the roof, Agar crouches by the parapet as he casts spell after spell. _No magic on her,_ he thinks. _Then how’d she get here? Must be some sort of nondetection, which means that I may be able to see through it if I keep trying._ He tries another divination that fails, and then a third, but both reveal nothing more to him than an old woman. Finally he tries _arcane sight_, squinting down into the shadows below him as he focuses his concentration, and his sudden high-pitched scream sends flumphs careening away from the tower.

Agar babbles madly as he races down from the parapet. He runs smack into Stone Bear and Nolin, both of whom had come looking for him.  “Auggh!” His eyes are wild and his arms flail about. “Auggh!”

“What is it, Agar?”

“The _wings,_ and the _fangs,_ and the _knives,_ and the _things,_ and the.. the..” He makes an odd gesture that Nolin immediately recognizes as the universal symbol for flabby, dangling breasts.  “Auggggh!”

Stone Bear races up to the parapet to see if he can tell what Agar is referring to. Down below, everyone hears Agar screaming, and they quickly excuse themselves for a moment. “We’ll be right back,” assures Tao, and she closes the black metal door before dashing into the common room. “What? What is it?”

Agar stutters, screams again, and over-reacts by casting _limited wish_ to create a miniature duplicate of what the friendly old halfling woman really looks like. The image dangles in space like a rotten fruit.  It has a hunching back, bulging muscles, jutting tusks, curving wings, festering boils, shimmering scales, glinting cleavers; it shows an immense and grotesquely naked female abomination of all that is wicked in the world. The image is horrid, and everyone realizes that *it* is currently waiting on the other side of a relatively thin iron door, munching contentedly on a roast rat as it waits to take Agar away.

Mara’s voice is quiet. “What _is_ that thing?”

Agar’s voice squeaks as he tries to give a name to his fear.  “P-p-p-p-p-pit fiend!”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Caliber said:
			
		

> *To go meal? *




I'd say a Happy Meal... but in Agar's case, it would be more of a kicking, screaming, complaining meal.

Actually, Alomir (who plays Agar) was just brilliant. I wish you folk could have heard him describing what he saw, because it was hilarious. Even better, I borrowed a miniature from Gospog (who is King of Miniatures) to represent our friendly halfling, and that alone was enough to scare the bejeezus out of the group.

Wulf looked at me. "I hope that isn't a 3.5 version pit fiend?"  I just smiled mysteriously. Rule One: everything is more interesting when it can't be forced into an easily identified box. That's one of the reasons that I almost never use monsters straight from the book; I've got to be sneaky to keep people interested.

Anyways, as you'll find out in the next update, the marriage is apparently legitimate. So much for Agar having a nice, calm uncomplicated subplot.


----------



## Alomir

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> Actually, Alomir (who plays Agar) was just brilliant. I wish you folk could have heard him describing what he saw, because it was hilarious. Even better, I borrowed a miniature from Gospog (who is King of Miniatures) to represent our friendly halfling, and that alone was enough to scare the bejeezus out of the group.
> *



Man, was this session fun - even better than landing in the beetle pit, and that's saying something.

The miniature that PCat used was *horrible* - and I use the term 'miniature' loosely, as it was *huge*!  Kudos to Gospog on that nightmare - it made the role-playing much more fun.  When Agar finally penetrated the Fiend's disguise, PCat brought me out of the room and showed me the figure - and I think the others probably heard me scream through the door.  Then when Agar cast the _limited wish_, PCat plunked it down on the table, and it was pretty darn obvious why Agar was so upset...

As for using that _limited wish_ - well, it just _felt_ right...    Between this and the incident with the _disintegrated_ beetle-pen door, I hope people aren't starting to think Agar is a bit of a... well, panicker - but you know, when you're more than a little unhinged to start, and mental screws are loosening daily because of all of these BEETLES everywhere....


----------



## Piratecat

“A pit fiend?”  Nolin’s eyes are round. “What kind of girl are you supposed to marry, anyways?”  He studies the image again with distaste. “And I’m thinking we might want to offer her the marilith’s bra. Ick.”

“I’m not going with her!”

“You won’t have to,” says Nolin to his cohort. “Not a chance. We’d fight her before we let her take you.” Agar looks around worriedly, but sees resolute determination in everyone’s eyes. He takes one more look to Nolin, likes what he sees there, and relaxes slightly. 

As Agar slumps into a chair, Stone Bear patters down the stairs into the common room, his face pale after viewing the halfling with his spirit sight. The long-dead spirit of his ancestor still chatters in his ear. _You can not defeat such a thing alone, warrior. She is sure to be fierce in combat, but her spells will be deadlier than her blades.  Her type uses raw hellfire as a weapon. Be prepared to counter it._ The mouldering voice pauses. _Her sisters torture the spirits of your great-uncle and aunt even now, so do not be surprised if she mentions it. She may wish to taunt you with the knowledge. I would expect no less from the beasts of Hell._ 

Stone Bear leans against one of the black iron wall. “She is a shepherd of the damned. I can see her corruption through her form.”

Velendo looks flustered. “How in the name of God do you fight a pit fiend? They’re about as powerful as servants of Hell can get, right?” Agar nods, concurring. “Oh, good. Well that’s a relief.” He snorts sarcastically. “Just what we needed.”

“It’s worse than that,” says Agar. Velendo regards him flatly.

“How could it _possibly_ be worse?”

“I saw a silver tail coming out of her back.”  Velendo groans, but Splinder looks confused.

“What? As opposed to a red demonic tail, you mean?” He tugs his beard in consternation, and next to him the githzerai monk takes a deep breath.

“No,” says Galthia grimly. “She’s astrally projecting. She’s not really here.”

“Oh, good,” says Splinder. He reaches down to grip his greataxe, reaching a conclusion. “Then we can kill her more easily.” 

Galthia shakes his head. “No. The exact opposite.  Cowardly mind flayers and githyanki do this as well; her body is somewhere safe, and we’re just dealing with her soul – such as it is. She’s just as powerful, and we can’t kill her permanently. If we take her down, she’ll be back tomorrow – or even this afternoon, if she’s able.” Splinder groans.

“So let me get this straight.” Velendo plops down in a chair. “She’s immensely powerful and we can’t kill her? Hmm… at least a spell like _dispel evil_ should be able to get rid of her, as well as the _banishment_ spells. That’s some small comfort.”

“If they get through her magic resistance,” adds Tao with a frown.

“Well, she’s still waiting,” reminds Malachite. “If we can’t kill her permanently, just getting rid of her is a better tactic.”

“On it,” says Nolin as he pushes himself up from the table. He and Tao head towards the door, almost everyone else following behind. Agar is in the back, using Mara as cover.

As the metal door clanks open, the elderly halfling woman raises one eyebrow at the delay.  “All packed?” she asks politely.

Tao shakes her head. “No. He’s not going with you.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be the case, no matter how much you wish it was.”

Malachite almost snarls, “We know what you are.” A bemused smile gradually crosses the halfling’s face, scudding across it like the sun peeking through clouds on a foggy morning. 

“Do you? Good. That ought to save some time.” 

Nolin steps forward. “We have no doubt you’re extremely powerful, but so are we. If we fight, there is no sure guarantee that you would succeed without killing Agar in the process.” The old woman merely looks at him, and Nolin turns on the full force of his persuasive charm. “I’m sure you can see why we don’t trust you. We’re afraid that you aren’t being sincere when you tell us where you’re taking him.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?” The halfling’s voice is placid and slightly amused. Nolin looks deep in her eyes, twisting his face into a convincing mask of sincerity.

“It’s what you do best.” The halfling inclines her head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. “So I can understand that you want Agar in his home village. Does he have to go with _you_?” The halfling looks at Nolin, studying him.

“No,” she says slowly. “He just has to be there at the appointed time. If you are capable of planar travel, you may take him yourself, if you wish.”

“We are able to travel the planes. It does seem wiser if we bring him.”

The elderly halfling shrugs and smiles, showing her dimples disarmingly.  To Stone Bear’s inner sight, the effect is horrible.  “You will have him there tomorrow by this time, 24 hours from now. You do this so that I do not have to; as I said, my interest is that Agar is where he needs to be, when he needs to be. If he isn’t there by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be held responsible.” She catches and holds Nolin’s gaze, and he meets it with steadfast nonchalance as he smiles disarmingly and lies like mad.

 “Not to worry. We’ll have him there by this time tomorrow.” The paladins both glare over Nolin’s shoulder, but the bard seems unworried and self-assured as he addresses the female halfling.  Near the back of the crowd, Agar lets out an involuntary moan.

The matronly woman smiles, perhaps a bit too widely. “See you tomorrow, then. One way or another.” She turns to Tao. “Thank you for the snacks. They were quite delicious.”

“Our pleasure,” says Tao politely, her hands sweating as they grip the pommels of her sheathed swords. And she watches as the elderly halfling turns and slowly strolls away. A faint, tuneless whistle reaches her ears as the small figure disappears into the darkness.

Everyone lets out held breath that they hadn’t realized they were holding.

- - -

Later, in the safety of the Flickering Needle, Velendo asks Mara and Malachite about the _sendings_ that they’ve just received from religious contacts on the surface. “Mine was from Father Whalter,” says Mara, her rich voice tinged with fond recollection.  “Last time I saw him was at the Mother Church in Corsai, back when he convinced the Clarion that those divinations about Sir Aleax were getting intercepted by Imbindarla and her priests. Now he’s with the Army of the Sun, attacking the Necromancer Kings to the east of Corsai.”

“What’s he have to say?”

“He said, ‘_Have you accomplished something decisive? Strange omens and signs for several days. You? Our Army triumphs, in Aleax’s memory and Aeos’ name. Go with God, Mara._’ I replied and told him that we’d had some victories, we’re having strange omens as well, and that we’re going to try and find out something about them.”

“What about yours, Malachite?”

“I got one shortly after Mara. Lord-General Coronis told me, ‘_Fort Lessos defeated, days from decisive battle.  Heavy losses, bad odds, good morale, bad omens. You stir something up, or know why?  How goes quest?_’  I told him ‘_Might have stirred something up. Some losses, some successes. Too soon to tell._’. Fort Lessos is a fort at the top of the crater that the Necromancer Kings live within, they should be within days of reaching their central city.”

“I wonder why you each were contacted.”  Malachite shrugs.

“They’re in the same army, of course, so they might have each been instructed to try and reach us.”

“Fair enough. Now, let’s talk about the pit fiend.”  Agar’s face falls.

“Do we have to?”  Over the next few minutes, the group briefly reviews any magical items and spells they have that might affect an astrally traveling devil.  “Boy,” says Agar as he thumbs through his current collection of magical scrolls and pulls out a particular sheet of vellum. “This scroll of _banishment_ is looking more valuable with each passing pit fiend!”

“I’ll say,” agrees Velendo. “You know, the spell is more effective if you’re using something that is hated or feared by the creature you’re trying to banish. What does a pit fiend hate?” Everyone begins to offer suggestions.

“Paladins.”
“Oh, sure. Everyone hates paladins.”
“No they don’t!”
“Not _everyone_.”
“Ahem? We’re talking about devils.”
“Holy water.”
“Holy weapons.”
“Angels.”
“Demons.”
“Yeah, demons.”

“Demons?” Velendo rubs his chin. “Good point.  We don’t have any angel feathers with us, so we’ll have to go with the next best thing. Nolin, if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep the marilith’s demon bra on me.”

Nolin snorts. “Mind? I’ll sell tickets!” Velendo fixes him with a dirty look that Nolin blissfully ignores as the bard checks his reflection in his personal _mirror of vanity_, tugging his fingers through his flaming hair in an attempt to straighten it.

“Err,” interrupts Agar.  “Can someone contact my parents? It occurs to me that this whole thing might be a trap.” He grins hopefully, completely lost in denial. “And maybe I won’t have to get married after all.”

“Sure,” agrees Tao. “Let’s do that.” After some quick consideration she casts a _sending_. Carried by the prayer to Galanna, the divine agent’s voice spirals outwards towards the distant plane of the Outlands and arrives unerringly at the ear of Agar’s mother.  _“Something tried to collect Agar for marriage. Why? Who sent it? Need a few months to save world. Can it wait? Respond 25 words.”_

There is a brief pause, and the affectionate voice of an elderly halfling whispers faintly back into Tao’s ear.  _“Agar! We miss you, honey. We didn’t send anyone. Belle’s family might have. We were getting worried. Presentation date in two months, so no rush.”_

Tao wrinkles her nose as she repeats the message. “Well, that’s something. You’ve got a few months, apparently; I wonder why the pit fiend was in such a hurry to get you there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like it, though. I’m glad my Mom is okay.”

Tao’s face blanches. “You know, devils are creatures of lies. Let’s hope no one intercepted that _sending_.” The frown on Agar’s face grows larger.  

“Let’s hope not,” says Nolin as he tugs on his collar and fastens his celestial battlecloak.

Stone Bear considers. “What if that pit fiend WAS your bride? What if that’s Belle herself?” 

“Um… then she gets jilted?”  People pause for a moment to consider the implications. The halfling alienist looks slightly ill at the possibility of marrying that _thing_. Even worse, every time Agar tries to think about it too hard he can feel invisible beetles crawling up his legs. He paces back and forth across the common room, and only the comforting feel of his familiar’s wriggling tentacles keeps him relatively calm.

“Be back,” says Nolin.

Tao looks up. “Where are you going, Nolin?”

“Back into Akin’s Throat to meet with that drow elf Ma’chel. Anyone coming with me?”  Stone Bear stands up, and Agar decides to stretch his legs as well.  “Great. Let’s go! We’ll be connected by Agar’s _mind link_, folks, so let us know if you need anything.”

“Fine.” The frown on Velendo’s face makes it look as if splitting up the group is anything _but_ fine, but he doesn’t voice his objection. “but we’ve just bought ourselves 24 hours from the pit fiend, that’s all. We’ll stay here and see if we can come up with anything.”

“Be careful,” says Mara, and Nolin winks at her as he heads out the door.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

“Well,” says Velendo, “enough of our own theories. Let’s see what Calphas has to say on the subject.”  Velendo casts his prayers out towards heaven. They are filled with questions, and Calphas’ divine will answers them.


  Was the pit fiend sent by Belle’s family to collect Agar?  YES.
  Was the pit fiend sent unwittingly by Belle’s family to collect Agar?  NO.
  Is Belle a devil?  YES.
  Has Agar’s family unwittingly contracted Agar to marry a devil?  YES.
Velendo pauses.  “Well, isn’t that interesting.” 

“Indeed.” Malachite leans forward in his chair. “My guess is that his parents made a bargain with an authentic halfling family, and the devils bought out the contract for some reason.” The hunter of the dead drums his fingers on the table as he considers the problem; since he’s wearing his _gauntlets of aggression_, the intimidation effect is quite distracting.

“Either that,” objects Tao, “or the little halfling girl was a devil the entire time. That would be possible. Devious and sick, but possible.” 

Suddenly, Nolin chimes in via the mind link. _“Either way, a halfling marriage contract should have some traditional clauses in it. For instance, it probably specifies that the bride and groom be halflings, and she certainly isn’t. It also probably specifies that the union produce issue, which would probably not be accurate here, either.  I’m expecting loopholes aplenty, if we get it examined by someone competent. We just need a copy.”_

_“Nolin, aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”_

_“We’re coming into Akin’s Throat now. Sorry for the interruption.”_

“All right then.” Velendo feels the spell’s magic starting to fade. “Let’s ask about those omens.”

  Do the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis indicate that the forces fighting the Necromancer Kings will lose if they continue their current course?  NO.
  Are the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis related to the ominous occurrences we have experienced, such as worms falling from stone, fits of vertigo, and the early beetle run?  YES.
  Would the Army of the Sun be better served by holding off on their attack?  NO.
  Would Agar’s plan involving Gates and the Beastlands work to get us back to our current location if we plane-travel elsewhere?  YES.
  Is the Shrine of the Glass Pool near where our map indicates “gogglers”?  YES.
  Are the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis in fact related to something that we’ve “stirred up”?  YES.
  Are the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis indicative of a catastrophic event that will affect the armies fighting the Necromancer Kings?  YES, INDIRECTLY.
  Are the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis indicative of a catastrophic event that will affect us?  YES, INDIRECTLY.
  Will that event occur within the next week?  YES.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Velendo thumps the table. “So something horrible is about to happen, we’re responsible, and we don’t know what it is or how to stop it!”

Tao accepts the news calmly, but for some reason her heart is thudding and her shoulder hurts, just as it did the night before she left the dwarven vault. “Looks that way.”

“Let’s see, what’s next?  Let’s find out why the ghouls have blocked off that Rift from their own side, as someone said they had done.” Velendo concentrates again.

  Are undead forces performing or preparing for some powerful ritual in the Deeping Rift?  YES.
  Is that ritual to free the Worms that once devoured all life on Spira?  NO.
  Are the bad omens spoken of by Father Whalter and Lord-General Coronis related to the ritual that, according to the earth weird, will make the sun go dim?  NO.
  Are the rituals being done in the Deeping Rift related to the ritual that, according to the earth weird, will make the sun go dim?  NO.
  Are the rituals being done in the Deeping Rift related to the impending catastrophe? NO.
The spell ends, and Velendo slumps forward, somewhat drained. “Well, that’s good.. sort of. But confusing. At least the ritual that the ghouls are doing is different than whatever is causing these omens. But we still don’t know about that, or how to stop it!”

“If we *can* stop it.”  Malachite looks worried. “There is no guarantee that we can.  Tao, will you cast a _sending_ for me, please?”

“Sure, give me fifteen minutes. Whom to?”

“Lord-General Coronis, of the Emerald Chapel. It should say, ‘_Calphas says catastrophe within week, though Army of Sun on right course. Nature of catastrophe unknown. We caused it; know not how. Describe omens! Malachite._’”

When Tao casts the spell, the reply comes back promptly from Malachite’s commander.  “_Waves of vertigo, ten people died by falling – while asleep. Carrion birds at night, crawling bugs. Burning pain and depression. Stay the course – and triumph._”

Velendo’s face falls. “Died while asleep? That’s really bad. Look, if the omens – just the stinkin’ _omens_, mind you – can kill people, what’s the catastrophe going to do?” He’s interrupted by Malachite swaying under a sudden surge of vertigo. The paladin feels like he’s plummeting at incredible speeds.. but when the dizziness passes, he’s back in the Flickering Needle with nothing but a headache and a sore chest to show for the experience.

The old cleric gestures at the knight. “See? See?” He slaps the table in frustration and gets up to go find some tea.

Mara shakes her head as she helps Malachite to his feet. “I hope Nolin’s having more luck than we are.”

As it turns out, he is. And then some.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

I sure do miss the days when I just had Bear and War and they only whispered occasionally.

The new spirit Elder... I mean, I can handle the doom and gloom, but do you have to be so goddam _chatty_ about it?


----------



## Piratecat

Returning to Akin’s Throat has something of a surreal quality to it, as passers-by of many races seem to recognize the small group. Some step aside, others deliberately ignore them, but no one is foolish enough to challenge the three adventurers who make their way to Dambril’s Festhall. Entering, they immediately notice the female drow elf holding court at one end of the wide room. She is gorgeous in the way that a diamond sword might be gorgeous: beautiful to behold, but clearly made for killing. Her toadies scramble out of the way as Nolin, Stone Bear and Agar make their way up to her.

“Ma’chel?” asks Nolin. He yanks a chair out from under a goblin and sits. Stone Bear and Agar flank him.

“Well,” says the drow elf, dragging one sharpened fingernail down across her lower lip, “what do we have here?” Her voice sounds like razor blades wrapped in velvet.

Nolin leans back, smiles, and flips a flaming lock of hair out of his eyes. “I’m Nolin Benholm. This is Agar Smoketallow, and Stone Bear.  We understand that you’re the woman to come to when someone needs information.”  Her whole body indicates intense disdain, but Nolin continues unconcernedly.  “We need to know things that only someone with your assets might know. Where the ghouls are, what areas are safe, who they’re allied with, that sort of thing.” Ma’chel yawns while he’s talking. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

She raises one arched and delicate eyebrow as her minions giggle mindlessly behind the trio. “Is that so? I know those sorts of things. But I don’t tell them.  Not for free.”

“We’re willing to pay,” says Nolin, thinking of their woesome financial situation.

“I’m sure you are.” She smiles cruelly, and her toadies titter and chortle like an idiot chorus. “You have fairy blood in you, and you consort with elves and half-elves. You’re useless.” She dismisses him with a sneer and begins to turn away.

“Except that I hate that part of me.”  Ma’chel stops and re-examines the bard, noting the bitterness in his voice. “I have no love for my elven father. He left my mother, and he left me. I could care less about elves.”

“Is that so?” She still sounds disinterested, but her eyes flicker. “And I suppose you worship the Exiler?” 

Nolin snorts in amusement. “Corellon Larenthian? That nancy-boy? Hardly.” To himself, Nolin thinks, _It’s tough to respect someone with no gender. When they say he has no balls, they really mean it._ His face twitches as he swallows his own amusement. 

Slowly, the drow looks him up and down as one might examine a steer in the meat market, and then barely smiles with white, white teeth. “The price is you, for one night.”  Nolin’s eyes widen.

Agar doesn’t even hesitate. “He accepts.”

“He accepts,” agrees Stone Bear, just behind the halfling. “Absolutely.”

“Hey, wait a second!” says Nolin, snapping his head to the left and right as he turns to glare at his so-called friends. “Don’t volunteer me. Some cohort you are.” Not seeing much support and already commited, Nolin swallows dryly and bows to the inevitable. “Oh, fine. I accept.” The drow elf leans back like a tigress examining a particularly juicy scrap of prey.

“Of course you do.” She pats a cushion on a low chair by her side. “Come sit, and sing.” She smiles in cruel anticipation. “We have all night.”

Agar fidgets. “Err.. hrmmm..” He wrings his hands uncomfortably.  “We’re going now. Call if you need help. Bye!” Accompanied by an amused Stone Bear, Nolin’s cohort abandons the Festhall as fast as his legs can carry him, hurrying back to the safety of the Flickering Needle.

The group is packed and arrayed for travel when Nolin drags himself back to the tower early the next morning. He’s greeted by disapproving glances from half the group, amused snickers from the other half, and a steely glare from Malachite. 

“Nolin?” asks Velendo in concern.

“Be there in a moment,” mumbles the bard hoarsely. “I need to wash.” _With a steel brush,_ he thinks to himself.

“It can wait for just a moment. Do you need healing?”

“Yeah, but I can do it myself.”

“What did you learn? We’re undecided as to whether we should go to straight towards the kuo toa, or whether we should investigate whatever is happening in the Deeping Rift.”

“Ghouls have.. ow!” Nolin lowers himself into a chair. “Someone bring me food. A lot of food. Anyways, ghouls have small outposts along most underdark passages, but haven’t made any hostile movements towards Aakin’s Throat. In fact, they’ve specifically _not_ threatened the ‘Throat. I know that they have several spies here, but I don’t know who they are.”

Malachite grunts. “What else?”

“Lots. Descriptions of why she thinks the ghouls have sealed themselves away inside the Rift, nearby political alliances, reports of what civilizations have been toppled and devoured by the undead, all sorts of things. One thing is for sure; those omens we’ve been seeing really are affecting everyone.”

Mara nods. “Yes, Malachite and I found that out for ourselves yesterday. We didn’t sleep with anyone to get the information, though.” Nolin looks at her sharply, but her face is bland and expressionless.  “We should check you for enchantments, curses and disease, then we need to get going. We have a lot of travel, and there’s going to be an angry pit fiend showing up later this evening.”

“While we wait, I think it’s time I tried to divine something more about these omens.” Agar stands up, draws on his life force to power the spell, and casts his consciousness out into the multiverse. Instantly, he yells and falls over.

“What? What is it?”

Tears are running from Agar’s eyes as he turns over onto his back. “That was horrible. I was flying, and fleeing, and someone was after me. There was the feeling of betrayal. Then there was a horrible pain in my chest, burning, and I…” he gulps. “I knew that I was dying.” Tao reaches down to put her hand on his shoulder, looking unusually worried and attentive. Agar takes a sip of water and pauses to stroke Proty.

Nolin narrows his eyes.  “No sense of whether you were male or female? No sense of overall hooteriness or not?” He gestures vaguely.

Agar shakes his head. “Nope.  Then I was falling. It felt like I was hurtling downwards, and I was already dead, but I hadn’t quite finished dying yet – if you know what I mean. Clouds shot by, and the whole world was beneath me. And I had all this power, this immense power, and there wasn’t anything I could do. It was horrible.” He shakes his head, shivering. “Then there was nothing but crushing emotion. Guilt and sorrow, a sorrow so deep that it’s impossible to describe.” He looks up, his eyes wide and his voice shaky. “As wide as the world.”

Tao stares down at him, thinking of her own dreams.  Her mind roils with unspeakable suspicions, each one making her sick. “We better get going.”

_To be continued…

NEXT UPDATE: whacking aplenty! Dead weight, threatening mind flayers, undead elder brains, hidden tentacles, deadly rending, sniffing goblins, sneaky scouts, classic divinations and irritated pit fiends! How can you miss it?_


----------



## maddman75

Look at it this way, if the Defenders go deep into the Epic levels with a few years between adventures, we have a half drow who hates his father to look forward to.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Nail said:
			
		

> *
> I thought cohorts were supposed to help their leaders thru challenging situations......     *




Actually, he helped a great deal, in a "throw the baby in the water to teach it to swim" way.  Here's Nolin, full of moral quandries about the proposal.  On the one hand, there's the valuable information this woman possesses.  On the other, there's the moral vacuum that is sex without caring.  On the other hand, she is beautiful and desirable, in a scary kind of way. And on the fourth hand, Malachite will *definitely* get snarky about another morally questionable action taken just to get information.

But this is really an over intellectuallized analysis.  What was really going through Nol's mind was "Look at those.  How is she keeping them in that blouse?  Er, what?  Night with you?  [gulp] ok."


----------



## Piratecat

I had a dream last night that there was a new drow book coming out entitled "T*ts, Treason and Treachery." This has _got_ to be related.  

And in case anyone is curious (and God help you if you are), we use the "fade to black" method for this sort of thing. Our game tends to be in the PG-13 range, with occasional R ratings for violence, mature themes, and braless marilith.


----------



## Sialia

Appropo of as little of the preceeding conversation as possible, may I present a rendering of Nolin's Famous Poo Ring?


----------



## Sialia

(For those unfamiliar with the herbal motif, it's a pattern of castor, senna and flax.)

(As Grandma would say, 'Good for what ails you, suren.')

( I couldn't figure out how to draw decorative prunes .  .)


----------



## Graf

So I'm working on a new world. I've become a bit of a dungeoncraft devotee (especially rule number one). Most of the most successful DMs I know Schrödinger a lot (i.e. making multiple possibile reasons for something and then waiting until the last minute to pick which one). But my big make-up-stuff instincts are kicking into full gear and I'm worried I'll wind up tripping myself up later or putting lots of stuff out that won't really advance the game.

Pkitty said, in reference to the Sir Ghouleax situtation, that he doesn't Schrödinger so much. Everything happens for a specific reason and its laid out in advance.

Putting this all together I got a bit curious about Spira.... Pkittys never mentioned that its a golden age, or that it's a pale shadow of a previous age, or a renessance of thought is occuring or anything like that. Do you think about things like that?

How much about Spira do you have worked out? About its past and future? Do you keep things deliberately vague in your mind and notes and just add in stuff as it's nessessary?
(the last question is a bit non-senseical I suppose. Alkin's throat didn't exist when the Defenders were fighting dopplegangers at the Manticore.)

[If this has already been answered somewhere then sorry, I haven't really come across much on the boards, the thread-of-which-can-not-be-spoken, or the web.]


----------



## Sialia

Graf said:
			
		

> *Pkittys never mentioned that its a golden age, or that it's a pale shadow of a previous age, or a renessance of thought is occuring or anything like that. Do you think about things like that?
> 
> How much about Spira do you have worked out? About its past and future? Do you keep things deliberately vague in your mind and notes and just add in stuff as it's nessessary?
> (the last question is a bit non-senseical I suppose. Alkin's throat didn't exist when the Defenders were fighting dopplegangers at the Manticore.)
> 
> *



Well, P'cat will mostly have to answer this himself, but I can add in that before he began the campaign, there was a previous campaign he ran in this world. It was very different, and he set the "new" campaign a good ways removed from the other one in time and space. The Defenders did pass the place where the other campaign occurred, once. It was an odd visit--that place had different Local Gods, and a peculiar culture.  It was a place rich in history, most of which didn't really matter to us, and so we took what we needed and moved on.

Also--and I'm not really sure whether it had any bearing on the previous campaign or not--the one piece of history we knew about at the outset was that some "Mage Wars" had happened a long while back. Arcade was fond of reading about them. Dylrath once lost his mirror in one of the many wild magic zones left over as a result of that terrible time. And Lord Crafter Ioun (who we met much much later) had been a participant in them. 
There was never any mention of "golden ages" or anything like that, but we were all sure glad we weren't alive during the "bad old days" when there were dangerous things like Mage Wars, and the Tyranny of the Academy of Flamecraft, and things like that.

So there was always was sense that history had occurred, and that it was occasionally important to us, but had left evidence of its passing here and there. Remember, we were low level yokels at the beginning. Events that had shaped the world were things we learned about after they were long over, rather than things we caused.


----------



## Piratecat

The campaign setting was specifically designed to be rough-n-tumble. I have another "civilized" continent (Shelantry) to the west that has never entered into gameplay. The Gods in my current game are ones that took hold on the "wild" continent (Abbathia, where my game takes place) when settlers first came over fleeing the rigors of civilization. When the "civilized" continent devolved into mage wars during a time of high magic, a number of the wizards fled eastwards to Abbathia - and the war followed them there. They made peace for a time, but things broke down once again, and many of my campaign's dungeons and artifacts are relics from that earlier era. For reference, Ioun was considered one of the weakest and least politically competent of the Archmagi, and as far as the group knows he's the most powerful wizard alive on the continent today.

Sialia had some of the details a little off. My first campaign was set about a hundred years previously in and around Corsai, back before I added much style to the place. It lasted about 3 years of weekly play, and had a smaller scale than the current game.  The locations have overlapped, though.

For instance, the place where the Aeotian church's Army of the Sun is now fighting the Necromancer Kings is the same meteor crater where the old game's devilworshipping chief campaign enemies were placed. (I didn't rewrite history with the new campaign; the new inhabitants slaughtered the old inhabitants.) Over the years I've had a few "easter eggs" from the old game, including some magic items and PC cameos.



> Pkitty said, in reference to the Sir Ghouleax situtation, that he doesn't Schrödinger so much. Everything happens for a specific reason and its laid out in advance.
> 
> How much about Spira do you have worked out? About its past and future? Do you keep things deliberately vague in your mind and notes and just add in stuff as it's nessessary?




Graf's question is an interesting one, and worth pulling back the curtain for. I never make up anything that I don't specifically expect to be brought up in the game. Huge sections of map? Blank, spotted with a few generic cities, until those cities become Plot or someone heads that way. Huge sections of history? Undefined and amorpheous, until the history becomes relevant. I find that if I try to make this stuff up out of context, I get bored and the material gets boring. Far better for me to do it dynamically.

I seldom "Schrödinger," in that I plan for specific eventualities in the game about 2-3 games out, and I know what the bad guys are planning with any ongoing plot. Those plots usually advance regardless of character involvement, but are changed by the PCs getting involved. For instance, if the Defenders hadn't taken out the ghouls and the necropede at Hundle's Crossing, I have a pretty good idea of what that army would have done.  But I'm not bothering to worry about what is happening in Velendo's home town, unless and until it becomes relevant to the plot. I think that's probably a weakness as a DM, but I find it helps me keep my eternally multiplying plot threads under control.

The trick is making sure that this is never evident to your players, and that you are rigorous in keeping internal consistency with what you've already decided. I may not know what's down in unmapped territory, but I have a general idea of something cool that can hold the PCs' attention long enough to map out everything else around that area. Likewise, I know enough about my world that if the PCs question someone who I never expected to have a speaking role (as they did the other week), I know their motives and what they would be aware of.


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## DoctorB

Let me just hijack this thread for a moment to agree completely with PC.  I don't think you need to "Schrodinger" (love that term BTW) to have a dynamic world.
The key is understanding the motivations and plans of other people involved in the story enough that you can react organically to what the players do.  Put the same effort into your bad guys and other important actors as you do with your own characters.
The great thing about this is that when the players do something completely unexpected (as they inevitably do), you get to be delighted rather than annoyed.  You just put on your "playing the evil mastervillain" hat and ask:  "Well, what do I do now to continue my nefarious plans?"  When you answer that question, you have to do it based on the knowledge, experience, and personality of the person involved, but it is one of my favorite rewards as a GM.
/hijack

Great story as always, my three-legged friend.


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## KidCthulhu

[blows dust off desiger hat]
PC's world is a little like the renderer tricks most first person shooter games use.  There's walls, rolling terrain or fog just at the horizon, to keep the game engine from having to compute too many polygons at once.  But the stuff that's going on the foreground is so interesting and deadly that you don't spend a lot of time wondering why you can't see for a half a mile away.  When you run to that area, the world will be there.
[/hangs designer hat back up in the closet]


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## Piratecat

“You!” Galthia’s voice is cold and bitter, aching for a fight. In front of him, the mind flayer slowly pivots, its fish-white eyes somehow amused.

*Me?* it responds telepathically. Its mental voice is snide. *There are easier ways for you to commit suicide.* Its tentacle writhe slightly as it studies the githzerai monk. A tiny strand of drool – or is it mucous? – dribbles from its mouth.

“Oh, yes. You or one of your kind hampered my fight the other day. We are leaving Akin’s Throat. Let your kin in the underdark know: interfere with us, and die.”

*You don’t expect that your threat will truly…* The illithid’s calm, insulting mental voice is choked off and replaced with something far more disturbing. It bubbles into Galthia’s mind and those of his nearby friends, echoing with a hundred repeated voices.  _You dare threaten Us! Your kin came to destroy Us, but could not succeed. Now We live eternally, and some of your kin are here with Us, serving the Undying. Approach Us, and We will sample your brain and animate your corpse as an example to others of your race. We are stronger than We were, and We hatehateHATE…_  The mind flayer twitches and spasms, and gets itself under control. _*You are warned,*_ it manages to say, and visibly shaking it withdraws back into the steam from the nearby geyser.

Nolin looks shocked. “What the hell was _that_?” Galthia rubs his temples.

“That,” he says, “was a direct intervention by an illithid elder brain, the entity that controls illithid cities. An _undead_ illithid elder brain, I think. My brethren must not have fully slain it when they attacked three years ago. The ghouls finished the job, though, once the illithids were weakened. Now it seems to be able to telepathically dominate illithids that are still living. I imagine that most of these mind flayers are close to insane.”  

“Ah.”  Nolin has the good graces to look embarrassed. “Years ago, we had access to a cubic gate that opened directly into that mindflayer city. I sold access to it directly to a hunting party, a _rrakma_ of githzerai that I contacted from Sigil.” He shrugs. “Not only did it make us some money, I figured that anything that destroyed mind flayers would be a good thing. We didn’t know they were holding back the ghouls.” 

Galthia looks at him steadily. “Well, we will deal with it when we get closer.” He smiles slightly as he considers what that will mean.

Velendo rolls his eyes.  “Joy.” Malachite slaps him on the shoulder, and the group walks through the steam out of Akin’s Throat.

- - -

“So now a couple of dozen of them have sworn allegiance to me. I’ve sent them out gathering information throughout the underdark, reporting back to one particular kobold, who we can contact with a _sending_.” Nolin’s musical voice echoes through the narrow tunnel that the group climbs through.

“You have goblins and kobolds worshipping you?” Mara’s voice sounds doubtful, still a little unsteady from a recent bout of vertigo. “Are they evil?”

“Not worshipping, per se,” Nolin hedges. “Just following my instructions. Loyal! Like troops, or something.” He gestures. “And not evil, really.  After I sung a couple of old kobold and goblin anthems last night, they wanted to. Heck, they insisted! And who was I to say no?” Tao snorts. “There was this one song that…”

“No, they weren’t worshipping you. Not like those gnomes up in…”

“We don’t need to bring up…” Nolin interrupts, but Tao persists as she explains to the others.

“There is a clan of gnomes up north who think Nolin is their Chosen One. Their True Prophet, or something. They worship him.”  She grins evilly, and the bard looks embarrassed. “They have _legends_ about him.”

“You told them that you weren’t, right?” Mara’s voice sounds concerned. 

“Of course.” Nolin’s voice is amused, and maybe a little bit mocking. “Didn’t you know?  I’m not suited to lead anyone.” Malachite says nothing, but Agar catches Nolin’s eye and smiles reassuringly.

“Actually, it sounds like a good idea,” says Velendo as he trudges along. He shifts his huge stone shield on his arm. “We could use more friends down here. What we’re trying to do is overwhelming.”

Malachite turns his head. “Only if you expect to survive.”

The group walks along, silently, considering the paladin’s words.

- - -

Clambering over a worn chunk of stone, the company of dwarves and adventurers descend into a largish cavern with several exits.  Scuttling beetles crunch under their boots as they slowly make their way down the steep tunnel.

“Okay,” says Tao as she consults the map she got from Mirjik. “We have to decide. Left towards the Deeping Rift and whatever the ghouls are hiding there, or right down towards the gogglers. Gogglers are kuo-toa, right?”  Stone Bear nods. “Then right towards where the sister of that earth oracle is trapped. Towards the White Kingdom, too, I think.”

Malachite looks at Velendo. “Weal or woe?” he suggests.

Velendo sets down his massive shield and stretches. “A fine idea, I think, although I’ll use a slightly more powerful divination.”  He kneels with difficulty and prays. “Will going towards the Deeping Rift bring us success?”  As he listens for a response, an extremely odd look crosses his face.

“What’s wrong?” asks Splinder.

“Probably got bad news,” says Priggle. But Velendo is staring up at the ceiling with a confused look on his face.

“Are you sure on this?” he asks the ceiling. “Hey! You messed up! I don’t think this one is mine!”  His voice echoes in the darkness.

“What?” Nolin asks. 

Velendo sighs heavily. “My response was ‘Ready oil and open flame light your way to wealth.’” Tao frowns.

“I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“Of course you have!” explodes the old cleric. “It’s in all the prayer books they give novices, when they explain how to petition God for guidance. It’s the same damn wording. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He looks annoyed.

“We should carry torches?” suggests Mara.

“I guess.” He looks back up at the ceiling. “I hope you know what you’re doing!” he calls up in a raised voice. “I’m trusting you down here!”

“I told you,” says Malachite, shaking his head. “Weal or woe. That’s the only one that’s safe to cast. Weal. Or. Woe.” The group turns left, and one by one they leap a dark sinkhole as they make their way towards the Deeping Rift.

Hours later, Galthia and Priggle are out in front scouting when they hear grunting and snuffling from in front of them.  Silently, Galthia uses his _mind link_ to alert the rest of the group. While the others stop and fall silent, Galthia and Priggle creep forward.

As they turn a corner, they catch sight of an odd scene. A huge creature lies upside down, clearly dead, its armor-like shell snapped and broken in several places. 

_“Bulette,”_ says Priggle over the mental link. _“A land shark. Huge, and deadly. They regularly eat deep gnomes. It’s their favorite food.”_

_“This one is dead,”_ notes Galthia.

_“Probably undead,”_ predicts Priggle. _“And probably hungry.”_

_“Maybe not.”_ As they watch, the bulette corpse is dragged seven or eight feet away from them. _“Stay hidden. Something on the other side of it is dragging it somewhere.”_

Priggle’s mental voice is incredulous. _“What in the world could drag something that heavy?”_  And as if in answer to his question, a form comes around to the other side of the bulette. It grunts and snuffles, braces itself, and pushes. The dead monster shifts another ten feet away from the hidden scouts before the creature pushing it pauses.

_“A GOBLIN?”_

It is, in fact, a goblin. The orange-skinned creature doesn’t look particularly unusual, but its wiry muscles bunch as it tries to drag away the dead land shark. Suddenly it stops dead in its tracks, spins, and crouches.

_“Don’t move!”_

It clearly can’t see Galthia or Priggle, but it shuffles towards them. Its wide nostrils snuff the air, questing for a scent. A bit farther forward it comes, angling towards the githzerai, and Galthia sees something horribly disturbing _bulge_ under its skin as it squints into the shadows. 

_“I may need support. It may have scented me. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t a normal goblin.”

“We’re on our way!”_

But apparently unable to see or smell Galthia, the creature turns back towards the corpse.. just as the clatter of approaching iron-shod dwarven boots echoes through the chamber. “Ergullth?” it asks, and a fierce smile of razor-sharp teeth appears on its goblin face. “Thraaag!”  A three-foot long tentacle snaps out of its mouth, tasting the air, and it crouches as it gleefully prepares for a fight.

From where he’s hiding by the cavern wall, Galthia blinks at the unexpected sight of the tentacle. _“Definitely not a normal goblin.”_ And he leaps out of hiding, charging the goblin-thing.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Alan McFarlane

*Piratecat-Please look at this.*

Heya,

I was wondering if you can send a description of couple of your main story hour characters.

I would like to eventually have a go at drawing them.

I have just started reading the thread and was enjoying myself thoroughly.

Look foward to hearing from you.

Al

My work is in the Art gallery on the 3rd page under my name if you wish to take a peek.


----------



## the Jester

*Re: Piratecat-Please look at this.*



			
				Alan McFarlane said:
			
		

> *Heya,
> 
> I was wondering if you can send a description of couple of your main story hour characters.
> 
> I would like to eventually have a go at drawing them.
> *




You might look here for some already-existant portraits from PC's game...


----------



## Sialia

Eeek! 

But please ignore the placeholder for Malachite! A real portrait has been done and will be uploaded shortly!  Also one for Palladio! (You'll know when the real ones are up 'cause they'll be credited to our very own (contact).)

Umm. 

And boy oh boy would I love to have portraits for everybody. If you are moved to illustrate this campaign at all, please, please can I have copies to display on the campaign website? 

I love your stuff--your Art Gallery thread is terriffic! 

I have lots of pages with no illlustrations at all that would look much nicer with pictures on 'em. 

And I have no objection at all to having multiple portraits on each character description page if more than one artist wants to have a go at somebody.

Most of the character description pages from our campaign website have at least a text description at this point, except Galthia I think, and there's no page at all for Stone Bear yet, which must be corrected.

Portraits for the following exist, although not all of these portraits are final:
Kiri - by Sialia
Dylrath - by Sialia (and there's a 2nd version by Dr. Midnight that hasn't been uploaded yet)
Claris - by Sialia, sort of
Mara- by Littlejohn
Nolin-by Littlejohn
Malachite -(contact) not uploaded yet
Palladio -(contact)-not yet uploaded
Raevynn - Sialia, sort of
Shara - Sialia, sort of
Velendo- Littlejohn
Rides the Sun - Cthulhu Ftaghn (check on Nol's page) and Sialia (on the front cover of Eversink Chronicles)

There's a few more illos scattered around the site (such as Kip's incredible rat rider), but the above are the main character portraits, and all are easy to find in the Dramatis Personae portrait gallery. For each artist that has donated work, I have provided a credit and a link to their site if they gave me the address. It's a nice place to show off what you can do, yes?

Oh how we need an Agar, Galthia, Tomtom and Stone Bear.

I've revised the Tao portait so many times I sometimes worry whether I will ever finish it. So her page stands blank at the moment as well, which is a very deep wrongness. 

Note to those who haven't peeked at the campaign website as yet: Not all of the story arcs have been fully uploaded. In fact, none of them have, just large pieces of all of them. 

The Archivist will resume work on the archive after May 12th.


----------



## Piratecat

Sialia said:
			
		

> *
> The Archivist will resume work on the archive after May 12th. *




And the archivee is deeply, deeply in your debt - and in the debt of all the incredibly cool people who have donated art and time to this.  

I'll have Jobu give you a detailed description of Tao!


----------



## Sialia

Ah--I've got the description: scandalously armored battlescarred amazon with many bristling weapons and radiant green eyes, unicorn helm, ferret, dog, lizard and falcon, holy aura of divine energy and don't piss me off attitude. 

Can't miss her.

It's just hard to get all this across with the dignity it deserves.

Tao is the true expression of the classic Boris Vallejo paperback fantasy heroine (with better armor, and more effective musculature), and I keep trying to draw Joan of Arc (entirely too much armor).

The juxtaposition of her aggression and attitude and experience with her innocence and vulnerability and humor--it's just hard to capture.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Dakkareth said:
			
		

> *Maybe someone could explain this one to me?
> *




"Ready oil and open flame light your way to wealth" is the example given in the 1st edition Player's Handbook for the spell _Divination_.  The question being answered regards the safety of venturing into a particular dungeon level, that unbeknownst to the hypothetical party, is the lair of a troll with a decent treasure stash.  Hence, the _divination_ gives a cryptic, but helpful answer.


----------



## Dareoon Dalandrove

Great story.  I never expected to get caught up so quick.  I moved and had no internet connection for a while, and the last thing I read was the encounter between between Sir Alex (aka goulex) and Malachite.  Now here I am a few days later and I'm all caught up.

I have a few questions.
1. Are Splinders followers usually involved in combat or do they hold back. Have they been made up on note cards for example or do you just wing it?
I'm planning on playing a similair character and was looking for a sorta baseline.
2. How do you handle so many NPC's in the group?  I've been running a d20 mod game for a while now (began right after last boston game day) and I hate running npc's that will attack the villians.


----------



## Piratecat

The dwarves act in three or four normal patterns:

1.  When moving, they act as pickets and scouts. They check out side passages in teams of four (one rogue, one cleric, two fighters.) They spread themselves out and stay within vocal range of one another.

2. In combat, they often form crossbow barrages. Twenty crossbows all being shot at once tends to put a damper on peoples' parades - especially when the dwarven clerics have cast _improved magic weapon_ on the crossbow bolts.

3. In utterly deadly combats, they'll split up two dwarves to a defender, then _aid another_ to boost either Ac or to-hit rolls.

4. They tell dirty dwarven jokes.


----------



## Piratecat

A trickle of anticipatory drool dribbles from the goblin-thing’s wide mouth, even as the sound of fast-approaching footsteps echo through the small cavern. It slurps in expectation, tenses, and charges forward as soon as Mara’s galloping warhorse appears in the entranceway to the cave. Galthia is ready for it, though; he leaps out of hiding and intercepts the goblin, smacking it in the bulbous nose in an attempt to slow its charge. 

“Groogul! Thiblish!” it spits at him. The monster’s forehead ripples, and the orange skin on its scalp gradually begins to tear from internal pressure.  The creature grins, showing sharpened teeth.

_“Not good,”_ says Galthia over the mindlink as he uses both of his iron-hard fists to unleash a flurry of powerful blows. Only one punch actually does any damage; the others just bounce off of rubbery muscles or are evaded by the creature’s darting torso.  _“*Really* not good. It’s sensing my blows before I even throw them.”_ He dodges backwards as Mara charges in on Luminor.

The paladin’s holy mace smacks soundly into the back of the monster’s lumpy head. Where Lightbinder connects, the tip of a squirming tentacle tentatively pokes out from underneath the taut skin, almost as if tasting the air. 

“Ploobish! Sclap!” The creature shudders in a delighted bloodfrenzy, and Mara recoils as the skin on its head finally bursts. Tentacles erupt outwards. Smaller pseudopods push down the skin from its goblin-like body, almost in the same way that a young boy might peel a banana, and within seconds what was once a goblin is now a writhing mass of tentacles, mouths, and knobbly green skin. 

“Spluggut!” it screams in joy from a half-dozen mouths, and its ridged tentacles whirl around its body. One bounces off of Mara’s holy shield even as she yanks Luminor backwards out of another tentacle’s strike, but a third crunches into her back and snakes around her torso like an anaconda as it yanks her off of her horse. Near her, Galthia leaps into the air, twisting his body almost sideways in order to avoid a powerful blow.

“I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” laments Priggle to himself, and the deep gnome runs forward with his weapon out. An errant tentacle smacks him before he gets anywhere near the creature, and the deep gnome sails backwards into the side of the dead landshark.  “Ooof!” He staggers to his feet.

The rest of the group appears at the lip of the cavern’s entrance. Nolin narrows his eyes. “Don’t worry; we’re here.  Velendo, what did that _divination_ say?”

“Ready oil and open flame light your way to wealth.”

“Good.” Nolin casts a _mass haste_ and immediately follows it up with a phoenix-inspired _flame strike_. A pillar of heavenly fire smashes down onto the creature, barely missing Mara and Galthia. “Let’s follow directions.”

Malachite charges forward, his blade erupting into fiery sunlight. Parrying an instinctive tentacle strike as he closes on the monster, he slashes Karthos up into the appendage grappling Mara. Several powerful blows almost sever the thick pseudopod, and Mara drops roughly to the ground. Tao and Stone Bear rush forward to surround the monster, even as the dwarven troops take up positions to pepper it with crossbow fire. “Flaming bolts!” commands Splinder, and the dwarves quickly break out oil and flint. 

Agar pauses as he slips into the room. “That’s.. that’s beautiful!” he breathes as he sees the monster. “It’s some sort of pseudonatural troll. My goodness, look at those tentacles!” The tentacles in question are currently wrapped around a wriggling Galthia, even as one fire spell after another hammers the beast. “You’ll never see that sort of beauty in nature!”  Proty gurgles, but it’s somewhat drowned out by the creature’s burbling roar.  “No, I don’t know if it wants to be friends with you. It looks fairly hungry. See what it did to the landshark?” Proty chortles as alchemical oil explodes. “Yes, I agree. Maybe you could be that powerful, too, if you eat regularly and keep practicing the spells I loan you.” Agar scratches his familiar fondly.

The monster screams as it is caught in the edge of another flame strike, setting more oil ablaze. The heroes surrounding it have to be careful not to set themselves on fire as they dance in and out with weapons or fists, chopping through questing tentacles and pounding into rubbery, regenerating flesh. Within half a minute, several of the Defenders of Daybreak are soaked with bloody slime and sporting many ragged wounds, but their tactics are sound; the monster never manages to get more than one tentacle wrapped around any one hero at a time, and thus is unable to properly shred and rend them. 

For several minutes after it’s apparently dead, the creature’s corpse continues to twitch and gibber. After the lesson of the trillith no one is willing to take any chances, and the group pours on oil and fans the flames until it’s clear the the creature is completely, utterly destroyed. Once the flames and greasy smoke die down, Galthia fishes a fine golden chain out of the smoldering pile of flesh. “Magical,” he comments dryly. “Well, at least the divination was correct.”

“Good point. Hey! Thanks, up there!” Velendo stares at the ceiling for a few seconds before glancing back at the corpse. “Why the heck was that thing in goblin form?” He pokes Agar to bring him out of his thoughtful reverie. 

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know,” answers the halfling. “He may have been polymorphed. Or he may have had an alternate form, although it looked more like an altered troll than a goblin. Or it might be another reason entirely.” He shrugs. “He was really something.”  

Mara shoots him a look as she scrapes slime off of her armor. “Something. Right.” Then her head snaps up as someone strolls around the far side of the dead bulette. It’s an elderly halfling woman, and at first glance she seems somewhat peeved.  

“Pit fiend!” snaps Malachite. “Form up!” Agar shrieks like a boiling kettle and dives for the back of the group.

“Already?” groans Nolin. 

“Apparently so,” mutters Tao grimly. “Mental conversation through the _mindlink_, and try not to get in _fireball_ formation.”

“You mean _meteor swarm_ formation.” 

“Whatever.” 

_To be continued…_


----------



## Shmoo

The "lesson of the trilith" part reminded me: how long, in game time, has it been since the party arrived in Eversink?


----------



## Piratecat

Shmoo said:
			
		

> *The "lesson of the trilith" part reminded me: how long, in game time, has it been since the party arrived in Eversink? *




A very, very busy eight months, plus about four months of non-time while the group was training in the Citadel of Kodali's Retreat.

Or, as KidCthulhu would say, anyone that Nolin got pregnant when they first arrived is about to give the bard an exciting new present.


----------



## Samnell

> Or, as KidCthulhu would say, anyone that Nolin got pregnant when they first arrived is about to give the bard an exciting new present.




So next time the bad guys have baby shields, one should look a bit like Nolin...


----------



## Piratecat

The elderly halfling pauses for a moment by the smoking remains of the pseudonatural goblin-thing. She pokes at it, licks her finger, and nods before confidently turning to the nervous group. She smiles, perhaps a little too broadly for a normal halfling, and speaks in an old woman’s voice.  “I can’t help but notice that twenty four hours ago, you promised that you’d have Agar Smoketallow back to his home in the Outlands by now.” Her foot taps twice. “You know, I think you lied.”

_“Duh,”_ thinks Tao.

Nolin takes a step forward, attracting the disguised pit fiend’s attention. “We just hadn’t gotten around to it,” he says convincingly. “We were doing other things and got distracted.”

Her smile becomes cold and a thread of iron slips into her voice. “No. You lied. You should be very, very careful, you know. Lying is a sin. Every lie is a weight on your soul, and you’d be _astonished_ how little weight is needed to drag a soul down to Hell.” She cocks her head as she examines Nolin with piercing, knowing eyes. Her speech is slow and deliberate. “You’re clearly no stranger to sin. Lie builds on lie, and before you know it your soul is damned. And it isn’t as if _you_,” she chuckles, “have a patron deity to stand up for you in the afterlife. Phoenixes aren’t gods.” She clucks her tongue. “You ought to be more careful.”

Emotions play across Nolin’s face, one after another. He winces, frowns, and then bristles in self-righteous anger. “I don’t need to take moral advice from a pit fiend!” he snarls. 

“No? Really, who would know more about sin than a creature of the Pit? Just ask _him_ about the state of your soul.”  She gestures expansively at Malachite, and then shifts her attention. “Dear, do you have any more of those lovely rat snacks?”  Tao shakes her head mutely.  “Then I’m ready to take Master Smoketallow and go. You had a chance, and you lied.” 

Malachite growls under his breath as his fists clench. “No. Did you bring a copy of the contract?”

“Of course not. I told you before, if you want to see it, go and look at it. Agar’s parents have a copy.” 

“Not good enough. The woman he is supposedly contracted to marry is a fiend. His parents weren’t aware of this when they arranged the marriage. False pretenses; that's illegal, and the marriage is off.” 

The halfling woman’s expression is smug, and knowing. “Whether you think it’s good enough or not doesn’t matter a whit to me. It’s all in the contract; go and read it.” Her rosy cheeks dimple as she grins. “You might as well take Agar with you when you go. Two birds with one stone.”

“I think not. If you want to take him, you’ll have to go through us.” 

The _shape changed_ pit fiend looks the group up and down.

“So?”

_“Do we take her?”_ His tone is outraged.

_“We could,”_ considers Stone Bear.

_“Yeek!”_ thinks Agar. _“If we have no other choice. I’m thinking that she’s really tough.”_ Proty squirms in agreement.

_“You know, we need to have some sort of solicitor examine that contract,”_ Malachite thinks over the _mindlink.

“I agree,”_ thinks Velendo. _“There’s got to be a loophole that we can exploit.”_

_“I wonder…”_ muses Tao silently. _“Does he have to be alive? What happens if he’s dead at the time that the contract comes due?”_ Agar stiffens.

_“That’s right!”_ agrees Velendo, amused. _“We’ll just kill him the day before he’s due to present himself, and true resurrect him the day after the wedding was supposed to take place! No problem.”_ He chuckles mentally.

_“Hey, wait a minute!”_ protests the halfling alienist. _“I don’t like that idea one bit!”_

_“Don’t worry,”_ soothes Nolin, _“they’re just kidding. The fact that your so-called bride isn't a halfling should get you out of the deal. We just don’t want to fuss with it until we’re done with the White Kingdom.”

“I don't want to fuss with it at all.”

“If we don’t survive this mission, it may be entirely irrelevant.”_ Malachite places one hand on Karthos, who stirs in his sheath. _“When is the actual day of presentation when you’re due to show up and meet your bride?”_ As he starts to answer, Agar suddenly feels invisible insects crawling across him, and he squirms in near-panic. He spits out the answer mentally, trying not to give in to his panic.

_“At least two months!”_

Malachite lifts his gaze to meet that of the disguised pit fiend. “He isn’t due at the Presentation Ceremony for two months. Why do you want him back there now?”

The halfling woman looks ingenuous. “You promised me that you’d have him there by now. Frankly, I'd like to see you keep your word.” She clucks her tongue disapprovingly, even as Malachite dismisses that argument with an angry gesture.

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Hrmm. I do indeed, and I’ll answer you truthfully.” Her eyes widen as her face takes on almost a serious, almost saintly expression. “There are signs that planar travel might get a bit difficult in the near future. I wouldn’t want Agar to get stranded in this backwater prime and miss his own wedding. Since it’s my responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen, I think he could use a restful vacation at home, free from the burdens of travel.”

_“She’s got to be lying,”_ thinks Nolin, _ “but if she is I can’t prove it.” _

_“Well, she IS a pit fiend,” _ thinks Mara. _ “I imagine she’s better at it than you are.” _

"Why is it your responsibility?"

"I'm a family friend. Think of me as the matchmaker. It's my honor to do this favor."

Tao’s face twists in thought. “I'll bet.  What’s going to affect planar travel?”  The elderly halfling shrugs. “Well, what sort of planar travel might be affected?”

“I really couldn’t say. Certainly, _plane shift_…”

“What about _gate_?”  

The halfling sneers in disbelief. “You can _gate_?” 

“I can indeed.” Tao smiles evilly, thinking of her goddess’ solar. “Want to see?” But the halfling woman is looking thoughtful.

“Well.  If you can _gate_…” She taps her chin with one blunt finger. “If you can _gate_, you should be fine, and I'm not needed for this.” The edge of her mouth twitches as she reaches a decision. “Interesting. If I allow you to do this, do you promise to deliver Agar at least three days before the ceremony?”

Nolin visibly relaxes. “Of course. As I said, we’re in the middle of something right now. We should be done by then. No problem.” Tao nods in agreement.

“Well, certainly Agar’s family will be eager to see him.” The pit fiend smiles sweetly. “They’re in good health now for an elderly couple, but who knows how long that will last for? The world is _such_ an unpredictable place. Let’s hope you don’t do anything foolish like trying to break your promise a second time.” She winks. “Can you imagine the scandal and the fuss in his family’s village?  But somehow, I don’t think you will.”

Agar stiffens, and both paladins’ controlled fury ripples the air. “Are you quite done?” asks Malachite coldly. Narrow edges of sunlight shine out of the edges of his sword’s scabbard, where the sheathed Karthos is blazing in response to his owner’s mood.  The pit fiend looks up at the Hunter of the Dead, eyes knowing and old.

“I certainly am. You are bound by your promise. I’m sure you won’t break it.” The elderly female halfling turns, and then glances back at the group. “See you around,” she says warmly, and wanders away into the darkness of a tunnel. Her footsteps quickly fade.

Agar tugs on Nolin’s cloak. “You hear her? I don’t want anything to happen to my parents!” He paces back and forth like a caged animal, looking glum. “I think I’m trapped. What do I do?”

“Try not to worry,” says Mara, staring after the pit fiend, her voice distant. “We’ll sort this out.” 

“What’s going to affect planar travel?”

Velendo grunts as he sits down on a rock. “Probably this same damn disaster that the omens are foretelling, whatever the heck that is. The one somehow we’re responsible for.” Tao feels a twinge in her shoulder, a reminder of the soreness she felt five days ago when she first dreamed of falling.

Next to Stone Bear, the shadowy form of a spirit guide grins in the darkness. “Soon,” Elder whispers in a promise to the worried shaman. “Soon.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *I'll try to take a photo of Proty. It's pretty funny. *


----------



## Kesh

That's just wrong.


----------



## Piratecat

Kesh said:
			
		

> *That's just wrong.  *




Before Alomir stuck the big googly eyes on him, I could shove half of his body into my mouth and do a _mean_ mindflayer impersonation. For some reason, though, it's never been especially popular. Lord knows why.


----------



## Aravis

Wolfspirit said:
			
		

> *Hey, could anyone post what Galthia looks like right now?  Specifically his clothing?  I'm working on a sketch of him doing a really awesome kick (or break dancing, depending on what angle you're looking at it).  I've currently got him barefooted, wearing nothing but some Martial-arts style pants.  I might just stick with the way he is, but if it'd be easy to modify, I might do that.
> 
> Next step, adding the ghoulish dwarven king that he's beating the snot out of
> 
> OH, and does anyone know what his hair style is like?  He's currently bald. *




Hi There.  I am flattered.

First, as for left foot being in an impossible position, as a ballet dancer in my youth, I can sure you that it is entirely possible for a limber enough person to turn out past 180 degrees.  The left leg does bend wrong though.

If you want to see a picture showing the basic anatomy of a Gith, there is a puicture in the Manual of the Planes (page 96) and an even better one at the back of the Psionics Handbook.  They are thinner and lanker than in your sketch.  I think of the word wirey when thinking of them.

As for Galthia, he is a bit gaunt looking. With a wary look on his face at most times.  He has grey eyes and no hair, except for a couple of reddish tufts to either side of his chin.  His skin is a light greenish-yellowish hue with darker spots over most of his body.  He has long, thin hands, fingers, feet and toes.  His nails are sharp a bit long by human standards.

He goes dressed in tannish color baggy pants that are belted with a bit of a thin rope.  His shirt has short, open sleeves.  And a deep "v" in front.  On his chest you can see a tattoo of a closed fist and just above this hangs an amulet on a simple chain.  He wears a Robe of Blending, so getting a good look at him is difficult without concentrating (although this might not translate easily into a picture).

His feet are unshod, but wrapped in white cloth to protect the balls and arch, but leaving the heel and toes exposed.  He also has a pink Ioun stone whizzing about his head.  His hands are covered with a pair of thin, supple gloves.

Hope this helps.  Let me know if you have further questions.

-- Aravis


----------



## Talix

I also love the little old lady Pit Fiend.  

This is mostly a post to say that I'm still reading and loving this Story Hour.


----------



## Piratecat

Thanks, Talix!

I'm really busy right now, and we're playing tonight - but I should have an update on Monday. In the mean time, some news, a request, and two glorious pieces of art by (contact).

News: Knightfall1972 has offered to help me convert my maps over to Campaign Cartographer. Since he rocks at this, and I suck, I am _so_ taking him up on the offer. Thanks!

Request: we're doing something fun (and secret! So Morrus, if you're reading this, stay out) for Morrus and the site as a way of saying "thank you" for letting us play here. Please take a look!

And now, without further ado:

Malachite:






Palladio (note the mindflayer-skin armor!)


----------



## Piratecat

There's a reason I'm so damn pleased to be friends with (contact). May I present... Agar and his familiar!


----------



## Alomir

*Proty is so *cute**

That picture of Agar and Proty is just so darn good.  I love the way that Proty, in all his tentacular goodness, is snuggling up to Agar so affectionately.  It brings a tear to my eye. *sniff*


----------



## Sagiro

We played last night, by the way, and the cat-o'-three-legs reached new lows of rat-bastardiness.  Specifically, he taught us that knowing what's coming doesn't do you much good if you don't realize how _fast_ it's coming.

Here's a teaser:  It looks like Velendo's final words on Spira might well end up being:  "Calphas help me bring forth a Wall of Forbltht!  Blb!  Achblblthbthblthhggablthbthlbth!"

We're so screwed.

-Sagiro


----------



## maddman75

And now, a haiku

_We love Piratecat
Promised update on Monday
Fanboys start to whine_


----------



## Piratecat

Work and family
conspire to delay me.
Accursed monkeys!

My broken laptop
is now fixed by Dell today.
You know, that can't hurt.

I will take some time
setting fingers to keyboard
Productive Wednesday?

Anyways, you'll see
toads and mud and evil drow...
Bad-ass transmuter!

But work is better
I am getting much stuff done
it is a delight.

You folk are patient.
Should I write my storyhour
only in haiku?

It might go like this:
"Stone Bear kicks the poor ghoul's ass;
cherry blossoms fall."


----------



## andrew_kenrick

I'm not entirely convinced you're using your online time wisely PCat ... composing haikus when you could be writing story hours indeed!  

So, do Velendo's last words work in haiku?

"Calphas bring me forth 
a Wall of Forbltht! Blb! 
Achblblthbth!"

It's the last line thats the problem - how many syllables in that?

Andrew


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Haikus are funny
but only the Story time
Will make us happy

And congratulations on fitting cherry blossoms in.


----------



## KidCthulhu

You're not getting off that easy, PC.  Haiku are just too easy.

Use five syllables.
Then use seven syllables.
You can write haiku.

I want to see a sonnet.  Or perhaps something in iambic trochameter.


----------



## Eridanis

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; 
But then begins a journey in my head, 
To work my mind, when body's work's expired: 
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, 
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 
Looking on darkness which the blind do see 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. 
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
For thee and for myself no quiet find. 

 - _W. S., Sonnet 27_


----------



## Eridanis

I've never written a sonnet before, but the Shakespeare style is actually quite simple. I call this one...

*On Spira and its Secrets*

The work of sub-creation never ends.
Unbidden, strange new plotlines come to mind.
At times, it seems the world that Piratecat tends
Would give his players gifts they seek to find.
But other times, the road ahead's uncertain.
Dragons, kobolds, ghouls with powers unknown.
The players are lucky to acertain
The exit from the lands in which they roam.
'Tis true - Lord Kulp is creative and wise.
Why else would thousands read his story-hour?
But when the DM needs a big surprise,
Other minds are here online to scour.
  If someday, Nolin finds himself quite dead
  The blame doth line in PC's other thread.

-- mhb


----------



## Sialia

Eridanis, if I spoke my feelings 
for your verses, certain I am that my
dear Bandeeto's bristled brows would frown
in a manner most unpleasant. But cute.


----------



## Malin Genie

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *Or perhaps something in iambic trochameter. *




I prefer dactylic anapestometer myself (I wonder if Piratecat knows he's a dactyl?  )

Down through the Underdark
Go the Defenders while
Piratecat keeps up his
Half Mona-Lisa smile
Only the foolish would
Venture to guess what he
Has up his sleeve to sow
Discord and misery....

As the party go on
We're kept blind, like a bat;
What awaits? No-one knows
Save the wily old Cat
And he won't tell a soul
Till it's over and then
He will write his next verse
Dripping blood from his pen


----------



## Greybar

dactylic anapestometer?

So that's made with a teradactyl, pine nuts, and some garlic?
Oh, wait, *ana-*pesto ... without the pesto.  Got it

John


----------



## Sagiro

Greybar said:
			
		

> *dactylic anapestometer?
> 
> So that's made with a teradactyl, pine nuts, and some garlic?
> Oh, wait, ana-pesto ... without the pesto.  Got it
> 
> John *



No, no, it's made with a teradactyl and a device for _measuring_ the absence of pesto.  

You can find an anapestometer in many university chemistry labs, and a majority of culinary schools.




-Sagiro


----------



## The Forsaken One

> For the love of God, Piratecat, post.




btw does anyone here have the ability and autorisation to provide me with a link or email containing the PrC of Nolin?


----------



## Eridanis

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> *
> 
> btw does anyone here have the ability and autorisation to provide me with a link or email containing the PrC of Nolin? *



This thread answers that question, too:

http://enworld.org/showthread.php?threadid=4783


----------



## Piratecat

The group recovers from a worrisome evening. After sensing that someone is following the group, Galthia doubles back to try and surprise them. He’s virtually invisible as he creeps through the shadows, but it takes more than an hour’s careful observation before he even spots a shadow that _might_ be someone watching them. By the time he can bring in more of the Defenders, the shape completely vanishes. A mindflayer? Maybe – to his nostrils, the air smells slightly like psi-active mucous - but if so, this illithid would be far stealthier and more cautious than any he had ever heard of. 

Almost every step through the lightless caverns results in a faint _crunch_ as beetle-like insects are crushed underfoot. The insects are everywhere, some of them as large as a small dog, and the creatures all scuttle efficiently along as if on urgent business elsewhere. The group passes old campsites, amazing stone sculptures, steep stairs, seemingly bottomless crevices, tall stalagmites, and pools of sulpherous water.  Fungus and slime coat the walls, and strange chittering occasionally echoes from pitch-black side tunnels.  Now and then, they meet cautious beetle hunters from Akin’s Throat, all of whom step aside and nod cautiously as the large armored party passes by.  Walking along under the effect of _darkvision_ is more than a little intimidating; Mara compares it to walking in a sixty foot bubble of light, where everything outside the light is completely invisible. 

At a junction, Velendo pauses the group for a rest and a quick divination. “Left lies the Deepening Rift, where we think the ghouls are doing some ritual.  Right lies the tunnels that lead to the gogglers.”

“The kuo-toa?” clarifies Nolin. “Fish guys?  They worship a naked lobster-headed Goddess named Blibdoolpoolp. The problem with a Goddess like her is that you never know whether to sleep with her, or coat her in melted butter.”

Mara and Malachite frown, but Agar laughs. “You could do both!”  Nolin gets a dreamy look on his face, and his stomach rumbles.

Velendo harrumphs and changes the subject with a weary, patient voice.  “Right.  I was going to say that we should make sure Calphas thinks we’re doing the right thing.” He sits down on a lichen-coated boulder to rest his tired feet, and focuses his faith into his shield.  “Hey, Calphas!” he calls upwards into the darkness. “We’re pretty far underground, but I know you can hear me. Will going to the Goggler area prove useful in avoiding the catastrophe or breaking the spine of the White Kingdom?" His prayer spirals upwards.

Almost immediately he hears a quiet voice in his head, firm and decisive. _ “The Gogglers hold the strategic key, and knowledge of what has gone before -- but they too are divided.  They play no part in the catastrophe.  Go to the Gogglers, and reach the depths that much sooner.  Go to the Rift, pass the guardians, and you save yourself much trouble later.  Either way, I will be with you, chosen of Calphas.”_  Velendo blinks in surprise. 

“Huh.”

“What?”

Malachite snorts as he rubs some rust off of Karthos’ sheath. “Probably something obscure and confusing. I’m telling you, you should have used...”

“Yes, yes, I know. ‘Weal or woe.’ But this time, the guidance was astonishingly direct.” He tells the group of the divination, and then raises his voice.  “Thanks, up there! Much appreciated!” He looks back at the group and twists his lip in thought. “It sounded younger and more feminine than usual, but Calphas works in mysterious ways.”

Mara looks concerned. “Could someone have hijacked the divination?”  

The old man shakes his head.  “No. Calphas is too busy to answer everything himself. He has angels to take care of that sort of thing. Apparently, one of them is paying attention to me today.” The bullywug Burr-Lipp stares at Velendo suspiciously, no doubt thinking that there are some gods that you don’t want paying attention to you. Velendo doesn’t notice as he continues.  “Basically, the kuo-toa are divided. My guess is that they’re having some sort of disagreement.”

Nolin looks up. “They’re in the middle of a civil war. Half of them favor the ghouls, half don’t, and they’re fighting about it.”

“How do you know that?”  Nolin makes a vaguely obscene ‘drow female’ gesture, and Velendo nods sagely. “Ah. Right. So, we go to the kuo-toa or into this Rift past the guardians.”

“We’ll have to be on our guard,” states Stone Bear. “I doubt they left guardians that are friendly.”

“I guess that we’ll find out. So, to the Deepening Rift?”

The group agrees.

Late the next day, they arrive at the watchpost that normally guards the Deepening Rift from the nearby access tunnels. Except for the ubiquitous insects, it’s completely abandoned.  







“Hello?” calls Tao. Only echoes answer her.  “No one go in there. I want to check the ground.”

She pulls out an eyepiece, fits it into her eye, and swoons for a few seconds as she gets used to the vastly magnified vision that its magic grants her. Slowly, the divine agent examines the ground around the watchpost.

“Well, there were a number of goblins living here. I see signs of their food. It looks like several trolls entered and exited days ago, and the goblins simply disappeared. I don’t see any signs of a fight.” She bites her lip. “I did find this.” She holds up an empty caterpillar cocoon. “Don’t ask me why.”

Nolin runs his hand through his fiery hair. “I don’t like this. Maybe they just abandoned their post, but something is making me nervous.”  He hauls out his _goggles of hindsight_, puts them on over his eyes, and begins watching what has happened in the spot during the last week.  The magic replays the last week, vastly sped up.  “Okay, there are four goblins here keeping watch. They come and go. Looks like.. whoa! They were on watch, and then they just disappeared behind the stone barricade. Now two trolls are entering the area with sacks. They’re leaving now, and the sacks are bulging and wiggling.”

“They put the goblins in the sacks?”

“No, they couldn’t have. Not enough room. Maybe they were shrunk or something. They left the area heading that way.” He points at the gate leading to the Deepening Rift.  “Supposedly, the goblins blocked the entrance to the Rift off, and the ghouls reinforced it from the far side to keep _everyone_ out. I suppose that they didn’t want guards here, either.”

“Come on, then.” Galthia springs to his feet. “The longer we wait, the more likely we are to suffer those vertigo attacks.”

Tao nods. “I know. They’re getting worse, too. Let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes of stalking down narrow tunnels later, Galthia and Priggle emerge into a large cavern. It is multi-leveled and supported by stone pillars. The sound of dripping water can be heard, and an ominous “splut, splut” echoes through the area. The two scouts exchange worried glances as they separate and creep eastwards, deeper into the cave.






“There’s an huge pool of green slime in here,” warns Galthia through the mental link. “Lots of monster-sign, too. This place is occupied. I can’t hear anyone, though.”

Priggle agrees. “I found a side passage to the north, and I can hear faint movement from down there. I don’t see anyone else. The stream runs downhill and gathers in a pool at the eastern end of the cave. Big ceiling – over sixty feet high. Ledges along the walls.  Lots of boulders down here, too. I think that the boulders cover the passageway to the actual Deepening Rift, the one that we know has been blocked.”  

Slowly, all of the Defenders of Daybreak make their way into the room. They move cautiously and quietly, all of their senses alert, spreading out and trying not to group excessively. The dwarven troops maneuver in perfect formation, spreading out and covering different shadows with their crossbows, expecting the worse. The advance is slow, precise and professional.

Malachite speaks across the link. “Let’s get rid of that pool of green slime first. I don’t like that one bit.”

Much to his chagrin, Nolin finds himself agreeing.  “Got it.” He moves near the pool and calls on the power of the phoenix. _Rides the Sun.. help me?_  Flame kindles in his heart, dancing, and the heat races upwards into both of his hands. Instantly, a cone of fire springs forth to illuminate the side of the cavern.  Slime boils and steams as the magical flame begins to sear it away.  Nolin glances over at his friends with a reassuring grin on his face, and suddenly pauses in confusion.

_Odd. Tao isn’t looking herself today. She’s… got warts? And bulgy eyes?_  He glances around. _Mara! And Stone Bear! And Splinder!  And.. oh crap.. and…_  In the blink of an eye, he watches more than half of the people in the room transform into squat, ugly toads. Even Burr-Lipp. They shrink, warp and re-shape. “We’ve got an enemy!”

“Croak?” asks the toad that had been Splinder, hopping in agitation. “Croak!”  Through the mindlink, his agitation is evident as he tries to regain his bearings. Then even more members of the group suddenly twitch and writhe into a new amphibious appearance, and a cruel high-pitched giggle fills the room.

“Too easy!”  The ghoulish drow elf stands on a ledge fifty feet up on the western edge of the cavern, above the tunnel that they entered by.  His mocking voice is filled with scorn. “Change! All of you, change!” 

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Whee, patented Excel maps!  I printed that off at one square = 1" = 5', and we used it as a battlemap. The group came in from the left. The green pool to the south is the green slime. The pale gray lines are 5' drops in the cave's slope, the solid gray shapes are natural pillars, and the brown shapes are loose boulders.

The yellow areas on each end marked off by brown lines are.. well, you'll see. From the PCs' perspective, they look like solid cliff face.


----------



## Corran

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *“The kuo-toa?” clarifies Nolin. “Fish guys?  They worship a naked lobster-headed Goddess named Blibdoolpoolp. The problem with a Goddess like her is that you never know whether to sleep with her, or coat her in melted butter.” *




Nolin must have been reading Nodwick. ;-)

I hope Velendo had his create tartar sauce spell prepard and Agar brought his wand of breading and Tao her +4 knife of filleting. ;-)


(Dragon 274, page 98; took me only an hour to find. ;-)


----------



## Piratecat

“What mouth-breathing simpletons. No surprise, I suppose, but it’s always disappointing when one’s enemies fall into your trap so easily.”  Nulloc Toadbringer crouches in the darkness of his hidden chamber, staring with sensitive eyes down into the dimly lit cavern. He has been thoroughly briefed by his lady love, so he knows what the sunsuckers are capable of. “So predictable,” he laments quietly to his darlings in the cramped cages behind him. 

“Croaaak?”

“You see, they are conditioned to fighting undead, my little sweetlings.  It will be no surprise when I out-think them and out-maneuver them with such ease.” 

Of course, that’s no surprise. Nulloc is well aware that he can out-think anybody.

The upworlders’ approach is obvious and loud, with no conversation but plenty of clanking. The detection spells pick them up far down the tunnel, giving Nulloc plenty of time to prepare. First he pulls out his disguise kit and makes himself look like a ghoul. Not perfectly, of course, but he intends to be using illusions, height and darkness to his advantage; even with _true seeing_ he should reasonably appear to undead, and doubtless these “heroes” will be so used to trusting their magic that they won’t bother to actually think.  The ghoul disguise should distract their clerics and holy warriors long enough to waste a few turning attempts. Ha!  Lloth’s swollen abdomen, but he was clever! He reaches behind to pat a toad, reassuring himself, then goes back to finishing his disguise.

Once the disguise is acceptable, Nulloc winks at a toad, reluctantly puts down his mithral-chased mirror, and hisses a few commands to his useless lackeys in the cave below.  He greedily drinks a _potion of liquid glory_, and laughs as his personal magnetism increase to inhuman levels. Then he systematically digs into his belt pouches. 

First a sprinkle of _nondetection dust_ in a semi-circle on the ledge in front of him, scattered just in front of the _illusory wall_ that hides his niche fifty feet up the eastern cavern wall.  This way, when the invaders detect magic or evil, the illusory wall won’t be revealed. Then a second scattering of gray _dust of silence_. Now there is a _sound barrier_ blocking him from the cavern; he can cast or even scream behind it, and no one on the other side will be able to hear him.  Nulloc giggles to himself in self-satisfied anticipation, pausing only to dodge back into the small crevice and stroke the warty backs of several captive toads.

“Soon,” he croons. “You’ll have more friends.”

As he heads back to the hidden ledge, Nulloc’s heart thrums in his chest and his long fingers flex in sweaty anticipation. Incandescent with the magical power issuing from his arcane _staff of the rising spell_, his mind whirls with battle strategies and contingency plans. Nulloc is a drow elf planning an ambush; like a fish in the sea, he is in his element, and he glories in the feeling. He wonders briefly where that homicidal pest Quelm has gotten himself to, then decides that it’s better that he’s not on duty; this way, the victory will all be Nulloc’s, as will the glory. And the toads.

Oh, here comes the first one!  And more, and more. A lizard and a horse? How fun.

Now, while they look about, time for the preparatory spells. _Mage armor_ and _fly_ are already active, of course. First _haste_, with the inevitable rush of adrenaline. Then _expeditious retreat_ and _jump_; Nulloc’s legs bend and twist as the magic takes hold. Off go the boots as _spider climb_ is cast, and then _spectral hand_.  Nulloc flexes his spectral fingers, and his white teeth gleam in the darkness.  Now, what next? _See invisibility_ and _true seeing_, of course, finishing with the piece d’resistance, _project image_. Nulloc places the _projected image_ safely behind a second illusory wall 50’ up on the opposite wall of the cavern, completely out of sight.

Ready? Yes, he decides, although they aren’t in ideal formation. Start… *now.*

From behind his _sound barrier_ and _illusory wall_, Nulloc rhythmically chants the magical syllables of a chained _polymorph other_. He then uses his _haste_ to cast the same spell a second time. Each should affect fifteen targets! Nulloc feels the staff bolstering his own magics, making the spells almost irrestible, and is shudders with pleasure as he feels the transmutation magics taking effect below.  Glancing over the ledge, he’s shocked to see that many of the sunsuckers resist the magic. How dare they!  

Well, fine. The upworlders are still unbalanced and confused, trying to find a target, but more than half have changed into large white toads. They want a target?  He’ll give them one. On the far side of the cavern, Nulloc’s _projected image_ steps through an _illusory wall_ out onto the stone balcony. It’s still out of vision range for anyone using magical darkvision, but Nulloc speaks through it, giving in to his natural urge to gloat.  Nulloc mouths the words from his hidden nook on the eastern edge of the cave, and they echo loudly from the illusory image to the west.

“Too easy!  Change! All of you, change!”  Emerald light bursts from the male paladin, clearly a positive energy burst. Nulloc cackles with laughter. “Hah! I knew you would do that. But I’m immune, idiot! You are a dullard who can’t recognize the truth when it hits you in the face. Like.. this?”

Safe in his hiding place, Nulloc casts a quickened _true strike_. He follows with a chained _enervation_, targeting the male holy warrior as his primary target. The black ray races from the _projected image_ to strike the human squarely in the chest; the black radiance buckles his knees before fracturing off into fourteen secondary rays. With his hasted action, Nulloc casts a third chained _polymorph_ that strikes the weakened paladin and bounces into more than a dozen allies.  Change, weaklings! Submit! Change! Change! Change!

Ah. Much better.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Spatula

Grog said:
			
		

> *Could someone refresh my memory about Chain Spell? Does the spell have a lesser effect on each subsequent target? How does this work with all-or-nothing spells like Polymorph Other? *



The save DC is reduced by 4 for secondary targets, and you get 1 secondary target per level.


----------



## Piratecat

Anyways, Nulloc is a 15th lvl transmuter (wizard). He's not just boasting to toads when he says he's bright; for a variety of reasons, he has an intelligence of 31. He's "ace the wizard academy exams without studying, know what you're thinking before you think it" smart.  Not a great wisdom, mind you, and he's got a Vile personality... but you probably wouldn't want to play chess with him. We're looking at primary target DCs for those polymorph spells of DC 28, and secondary target DCs of 24.

But if you noticed, he's not undead. Perhaps the ghouls are learning from their defeats...?


----------



## WizarDru

Is it just me, or does Nulloc's speech to his toads in his cave evoke images of Boris Karloff as the Grinch, talking to his dog Max?  Toadbringer seems a very, well, *Seussian villain*. 

_*"A Lizard?  A Horse?  TWO Paladins, now?
 I must stop the Defenders from coming....but How?
 I know!  I'll toad them, that's just what I'll do!
 Once they're all hopping, I'll cook them in stew.
 Lolth's Frothing Toad Stew!
 That's a stew that I knew
 since before I could I spew
 little toads...just like you."*_


I'm just saying, is all.


----------



## Piratecat

Note: not to get into a big rules debate, please but it's worth noting a few things:



			
				Nail said:
			
		

> *
> If Nulloc is a sorcerer, those metamagicked spells should have each taken a full round!  A: He's a wizard, nit-wit!
> 
> The Hunter of the Dead should be immune to life-draining, like the spell Enervation.  A: ?It's different?
> 
> Enervation can't be chained.  A: Errr.....Sure it can!
> *




The sorcerer/wizard mistake was easy to make, that's for sure. Malachite's not immune to the _enervation_ spell, though. To quote from DotF:  

*Sealed Life (Su):* Upon reaching 10th level, a hunter
of the dead cannot lose levels due to energy draining
effects (although death still results in level loss, as do
other level- or experience-draining penalties).

I know that there is some debate on the topic, but I'm happy with my ruling, which is that negative levels still apply from spells and the like. He just can't lose a level from them. Technically, he should also gain negative levels from vampires, but I feel it's fine for sealed life to completely protects a Hunter of the Dead from level-draining undead. This way the PC has protection from his worst enemies (as befits a 10th lvl PrC ability), but is still temporarily affected by other interesting negative level traps. I'm okay with that.

As for not being able to chain _enervation_, I think... hey, look behind you! A three-headed monkey!





Oh, and Wizardru? You totally rock my world.


----------



## Sagiro

We played again tonight, and about the game I will say only this: you haven't lived until you've heard Piratecat's rendition of a Kuo-Toa under the effects of _Tasha's uncontrollable hideous laughter_.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

I'm not finished working all the niggling details out of the next writeup, so I plan to blatantly distract you with other interesting things from the past. First, I have a sermon that Velendo wrote and gave years ago, during the Comet Cycle; he had come across a city that worshipped Calphas as a God of Smiting, and he was not well pleased. It's a good insight into the cleric's character.

Enjoy. Thank Knightfall and Sialia for prodding me to go look through my thousand-odd pages of old notes.  And look for an update on Monday.

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

_Told by Velendo to a worshipful crowd, five years ago:_

I guess you all know who I am. Some of you heard Calphas speaking some months ago, when he decided to grant me Proxyhood, and the rest of you have probably learned about me since then. Well, I’m gonna talk to you today mostly about two things. First I’m going to talk about myself, not because I’m that interesting a subject, but to make a point about all of *your* lives. Then I’m going to talk about balance, since it’s a thing I’ve thought about, and learned about, a great deal in these past few years. Forgive me if this gets boring, but I’m just a tired old man underneath all of this holy glow, an old man who hasn’t had much cause to deliver sermons.

I grew up in a small fishing village, a long, long way east from here. It’s called Hunnerstide, and it’s only a few hundred people all told. My father Barando was a priest of Calphas, and he taught me to follow in the ways of the faith. He died when I was about 30 years old, and I spent the next 20 years sitting behind a desk in the little Hunnerstide church, ministering to the needs of the people, and figuring I’d die one day or another, and I’d go to Haven, and that would be that. Fact was, I was lazy. I’d help people repair their shacks after bad storms blew through, and listen to the endless confessions of sailors, but there wasn’t much to do, and that was fine by me.

Well one day Calphas decided I was something of an embarrassment, and gave me a metaphorical kick in the ass. I’ll spare you the details, but through a series of misadventures I found myself in another country, far from home. There I was found by, and adopted into, a group of adventurers, who figured they could go around the land righting wrongs as they found them. I was skeptical at first, but as it’s turned out, we really have been able to right wrongs. An awful lot of them, really. And while we were doing that, I managed to spread the worship of Calphas into lands that had never known his name and his power. I didn’t realize it at the time, but what I was really doing was tempering myself -- becoming fired in the ovens of adversity, if you will.

But here’s the important part. I was not becoming, and I still am not, some superior form of life. I’m not a God. I’m just a man. I am a tool in the hands of Calphas, just like all of you are tools. It just so happens that Calphas needed a particularly strong tool for a specific job, and so he imbued me with some extra strength and resiliency. But as all of you should know, there’s nothing inherently better about a big sledge hammer than there is about a simple trowel. God has made me into a sledge hammer, since he needs one right now, but without trowels, and grinding stones, and chisels, and mortar, it doesn’t matter if we’ve got the biggest sledge hammer in Creation.

So remember where I come from, because it’s no better than where you come from. And if you want to look up to me, that’s fine - but look at me not as something to gape at, or bow down in front of, but rather as an example of something all of you can become. ‘Cause in the eyes of Calphas, all of us, from Proxy to peasant, are worthy of grace if we live our lives right.

And that’s enough about me.

I told you I’d also say something about balance. I’ll start with a short anecdote from just a few days ago, in Queenstown. Some of Calphas’ children there wanted some sort of blessing from me, so I gave them one, and I also gave each of them a brick. Like this. [creates a brick, and places it at his feet.] When I did so, one of the people of Queenstown asked me “Are these Bricks of Smiting?” Now keep in mind that where I come from, the Church of Calphas wasn’t so much into the Smiting business. We helped the people who needed help, and made sure no harm came to them. But we didn’t go around smiting the enemy, mostly because the only enemy was bad weather, and you can’t exactly throw a brick at a hurricane.

So when someone asked me if my bricks were Bricks of Smiting, my first thought was, no, of course not, they’re just bricks. Bricks of Building, if you will. I’d always been of the opinion that Calphas was only a God of Protection, and not one of aggression. But here, I’ve found that worshippers of Calphas take a much more forward approach in seeking out and eliminating threats to peoples’ safety. So it was my intention to stand up here and tell you that you were all going about serving Calphas the wrong way.

But I’m not going to do that. I thought about it some, and remembered a recent mission I was on, to stop a fortress full of Hill Giants from attacking passing caravans, near a country to the north called Irojis. I was looking through the Book of Calphas for guidance, and found a passage that read: “...but there are times when the Shield alone will waver, and the entrenched Defender can be uprooted. In such times, do not fear to take the battle to the malign aggressor, for a good offense is oft the best defense.” And I realized then that there isn’t room for passivity in the good works of a good Priest. We killed a large number of Giants that day, some of whom thought they were doing no wrong, and only acting according to their own nature. But they were harming others, while none sought to harm them, and so we slew them. It was during that battle that I was given the gift of my Proxyhood.

So I say to you here, that one hand you should hold back to protect the innocent, and that the other hand should be held forward, bringing low those who are seeking to cause harm. Keep one eye on your flock, and let the other keep out a constant watch for wolves. Let your bricks be either Bricks of Smiting *or* Bricks of Building, according to the necessity of the moment.

But I leave you with this thought: If you have but one brick, and all else is equal, use it to shield the innocent, rather than looking around for someone at whom to throw it. For if the Sheep and the Wolf are both killed together, Calphas is not served. But if the Wolf is left alive so that the Sheep can be saved, then Calphas is well-pleased.

May His blessings fall upon all of you here.

And thanks for listening.


----------



## Piratecat

Nulloc’s teeth part in a satisfied grin. Some twenty five toads dot the cavern floor beneath him, croaking and hopping in agonized confusion. That leaves four or five people unchanged. He’ll have to deal with them a bit more thoroughly, but the battle has been effectively won in the space of fifteen seconds. THESE are the people who gave those ghouls so much trouble? Just as he has predicted, he’s completely and unerringly crushed them.  Not a surprise, but it’s invigorating to always be correct. He’ll have to ask the ghouls for more money.

And yes, right on schedule, there is the sound of his trolls – well, servile goblins _polymorphed_ into troll shape, if the truth be known, because they’re so much easier to bully – shambling out of the side passage with sacks and cages aplenty. Superb! Soon all of his new pets will be safely stored away, and he’ll have new friends to talk to. 

First things first, though.  Four enemies left: a halfling wizard, a human paladin, an old cleric, and a flame-haired bard. All four look panicky and scared.

What to use? Well, let’s start with a quickened _slow_, of course, countering that fiery-headed man’s _mass haste._ Tsk, tsk. Then what?  _Chain blindness_ is always fun, what with the stumbling and staggering and humorous falling into the slime pit.  Or _maze_. He can turn someone to stone nearly irresistibly – but best to save that for someone who can shapeshift, he thinks. Drawing out all of their moisture would be funny, because human corpses always get so wrinkled when hit by a _horrid wilting!_  He also has _aberrate_, which would mutate them into hideous abominations, or _grim revenge_, where their hands would rot off and begins to insolently slap them – but truly, those spells are more for fun than actual combat.  Sometimes it’s best to stick with the classics. That means a standard _polymorph other_, followed with a heightened version of the same spell. Who to target?  His finger bobs as he recites a drow choosing rhyme, “Spi-der climbed the rock-y wall, try-ing to catch.. YOU!”  That makes it the wizard and the paladin. Welcome to life as a toad, fools.

*Blink* It didn’t work. 

Worse. No one has found him yet, but one of the toads – HIS toads, thank you very much – has just changed to a unicorn. Blasted shapeshifters, she’ll get the petrification spell. And she’s – what is she doing? Something forming in front of her…

Oh. He recognizes that.  She’s opened a _gate_. 

And stepping through it, a huge.. Lloth’s bloated belly, what IS that? Oh. A solar of some surface Goddess.  And next to the old cleric, a now there’s a summoned Astral Deva. Angels? Arch-angels? Oh, dear. And now the trolls are running for their pathetic little lives.  Hrmmm. And that damn Solar has just _dispelled_ a half-dozen of his toads, and the Deva is starting to do the same. Less toads, more people, and that’s not good. Nulloc doesn’t like live people.  Sweat trickles down his brow, cutting through the ghoul-colored makeup of his disguise.

The drow wizard quickly re-evaluates his options, brain flashing down paths of possibility as he clutches his magical staff. Only one strategy seems guaranteed to work. He thrusts out his hands and raises his voice in an elemental chant, and his _projected image_ does the same.  With a sound like a stopping heart, the ceiling in the cavern turns into a slab of thick, falling mud. 

The malodorous mud crashes downwards, crushing and coating and burying everything beneath it. The buoyant toads begin to instinctively surface, but before anyone can fully act Nulloc uses his _hasted_ action to cast _transmute mud to rock_. There is a brittle sound like ice freezing, and with a ripple of purple fire every bit of mud in the cavern suddenly returns to its natural state of solid stone. The drow lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding, and takes a long look to see what he still needs to do to finish this fight.

The angels? Trapped, along with every person and toad in the cavern. The halfling is trapped up to his neck, the others to their lower chest. Perfect. Nulloc takes the time to glance behind him.

“Croak!”

“Why thank you, my darlings. I agree. It _was_ inspired.”

But by the time he glances back, everything has changed. The solar has teleported several creatures free from the mud, and is pointing not at his _projected image_ but *directly at him!* Then there is that bloody unicorn directly in front of him. He backs up in the alcove, but there isn’t much space. _Dimension door_ out?  Yes! But his hands are shaking and he’s starts to stutter from some sort of horrible aura emanating from the beast, and he fumbles the spell. No! Turn her into stone, quick, quick – it fails! And here is a githzerai that he hardly even noticed scrambling into the alcove past the illusion, casually slamming a fist into his belly as leaps to his feet. Oof! And the unicorn slashes at him with her horn, and now the arch-angel has _teleported_ the paladin in, and his sword is _so very bright ---_

Falling, tumbling.  And then there is nothing.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Yeah, once they figured out where he was, it was just fast and messy. Malachite did something like 130 points of damage just by himself in one round, and I hadn't counted on those damn solars and devas.  

Luckily Agar had a _rock to mud_ prepared, freeing everyone else still trapped and toadified. The celestials used _dispel evil_ to unerringly turn folks back.

At the time I made an on-the-fly ruling that said that the toads could get mostly to the mud's surface. I was too lenient; if I was to do it again, I'd let them make a save (DC 29!) to do so. Just goes to show that mistakes happen. *shrug* Luckily, when all was said and done, Agar's spell meant that there was no in-game effect other than a suspicion by my players that I was going soft.

The chained enervation turned out to be brutally effective. Velendo lost both _miracle_ and _sovereign wall_, for example, and Agar took a similar hit. This was a challenging fight, considering the levels and numbers involved.


----------



## Piratecat

Two letters were found near Nulloc Toadbringer's body. The first was on him, kept near his heart.


----------



## Piratecat

The second was found behind a secret door, on his writing table. Apparently he had been in the process of scribing it when the Defenders came calling.


----------



## DoctorB

I really liked the updates from Nulloc's point of view.

Did Nulloc ever have a legitimate chance to get away?  Did his overconfidence make him stay too long, or did the counterattack get to him so fast he didn't really have a chance?

As I was reading the post, about the time that the Arch-angels arrived, I thought:  "Time to get out of there, Nulloc!"


----------



## Piratecat

Well, part of the problem is that while Nulloc could guess at what a solar or a deva might look like - a big honkin' angel - he had never come across one before, and didn't know what they could do.  Heck, he had virtually no conjuration spells, and as a result was _woefully_ unprepared for their power. He also had exceptional faith in his powers, because it's hard to say "no" to a saving throw DC in the low 30's. Finally, Nulloc had a lot of pride tied up in the thought of defeating these notorious, unstoppable heroes virtually single-handed. That caused him to wait one round too long.

He did try to _dimension door_ away, though. To cast defensively, he needed to make a concentration check of DC 19, not too tough for someone whose concentration skill is +16. Then I rolled a "3" - and Tao's divine agent class ability _menacing aura_ imparts a -2 penalty on attacks, saves *and checks*. He hit DC 17, and he lost the spell.  He tried to turn her to stone, but it didn't work, and next thing you know he was promptly turned into shish kabob.

Incidentally, 3.5 makes the "call" function of _gate_ slightly more of a cost/benefit decision to use, so in the future solars might be gated in slightly less often. I'm okay with that.  

As for Stone Bear, you aren't the only one who was frustrated. Wulf was probably pissed; he missed his save, went all toady, and then got buried in the mud. It's especially frustrating because (due to travel or sickness) he's had to miss a few games that were combat-heavy. This should change; our game next Thursday might involve an assault on a kuo-toa shrine, and I'm aquiver with anticipation to watch the hand-to-hand combatants do their thing.


----------



## Piratecat

Agar speaks unpronounciable syllables; rock that was briefly mud before becoming rock again is once more transformed into sticky mud, freeing the toads and people who had been unable to escape in time. The archangel called into being by Tao turns toads back into people, and the astral deva summoned by Velendo easily destroys the polymorphed, terrified goblin-trolls. As the Defenders of Daybreak count heads and heal the injured, the two angels briefly speak to one another in the language of the Gods. Their tone is somber.

Velendo’s angel turns to him before he departs. “I may not tarry. I am needed elsewhere, but your call was too important to rebuff.” He raises a perfect eyebrow. “Velendo of Hunnerstide, you are far from home.”

Velendo clears his throat in embarrassment and awe. “I certainly am, Holy One. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

The deva smiles. “Far from it. In fact, it is good that you called now. We are worried for you, Child, because Our Lord has trusted you with a task that few others are qualified to accomplish.” The angel looks approvingly across the Defenders clustered nearby. “I come bearing a gift for you, to aid when Our eyes can not be upon you.”

Velendo swallows with a dry mouth. “A gift, Holy One?”

“A gift, and a punishment, and a lesson in humility.” The angel smiles beatifically, there is a blinding flash and a cascade of celestial trumpets, and it is gone. Velendo glances about, but doesn’t see anything resembling a gift. He shrugs his narrow, bony shoulders and basks in the warmth of his certain faith, then looks confused.

“Wait. A punishment?”

Twenty feet away, Stone Bear frowns and stares at the old cleric, his eye sockets lost in empty shadow.

Nearby, the solar Evergreen bends down on one knee to look Tao in the eye. “I must hurry back before I am missed.”

“Of course. You were kind to come.” She bows her head in reverent thanks. “I hope I did not draw you away from something more important.”

The solar smiles, and light spreads through the cave; everywhere it touches, plants begin to sprout and grow.  “There is more under the vault of the heavens than your repugnant enemies, gloried one. I am an angel of growth; without my office, crops would not sprout and trees would not bud. There are dark days ahead. Now more than ever, I am needed.”  He kisses Tao on the forehead, and pulls his angelic face back so that she can see the serious expression on his face.  “You do not shoulder this burden alone, you know. There are others who strive as you do, and still more who address issues you have not even considered. Remember this in the days ahead.  I am sorry for what is to come.”  He sighs, and on his fragrant breath is the scent of an autumn wind. “Tao Camber, you are blessed. Go with grace.”

The radiance fades.

Tao twists her head and looks about, looking miserable. “What did _that_ mean?”

In Stone Bear’s ear, the shadowy spirit of Elder whispers jubilantly. _It means that *anyone* can die. Anyone. It stems from life, and this is something she would be good to remember._ The dour spirit sounds almost cheery.

Stone Bear turns to Velendo. “Did you know your shadow is glowing?”

Velendo squints at him. “What? No it isn’t.”

“Indeed it is. You've been transformed, old man.” 

Velendo looks aggrieved. "AGAIN?"  Then he catches himself, has the good grace to look embarrassed, and turns his face to the invisible heavens above. "I mean," he says hesitantly as he tries to put something resembling sincerity into his voice, "thank you!" He rubs his eyes tiredly, and shakes his head.

Agar hurriedly casts a spell, nervously crunches an errant beetle crawling by, and nods his head. “It’s true. I can’t tell why, though. It looks normal to regular sight, but it’s certainly glowing when viewed magically.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s the gift He was talking about.” Velendo lifts his head. “Is it? Huh? And what’s with the punishment?” He lowers his head to look at his own shadow, and shrugs. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go question that corpse.”

*  *  *

Nolin brushes some more hardened mud out of his clothing, and leans back against the comfortable boulder.  “I’m still annoyed that _eyebite_ won’t work if you cast _mislead._ Yeah, I know, gaze attacks aren’t terribly effective while you’re invisible – but still. It should have worked. Hummph. Who knew?”   

“Actually, I…”

“Shut up, Agar.”

“Right.”

“But at least this guy is dead now. What a loon; have you seen his love letter? It seems his paramour is actually a ghoul. Revolting. Now, vampires I could understand – they’ve got that sexy non-rotty thing going for them – but a _ghoul_? Yuck.  Even when I was a teenager and hard up, I was _never_ that hard up.”

Tao glances at him, thinking of the teenaged girl Nolin got pregnant before fleeing into a life of dangerous adventuring.  She raises her voice slightly to carry over the croaking of toads. “I remember Cynda. You were never hard up.” Nolin smiles in guilty remembrance of past sins and leans back with a nostalgic expression on his face.  Tao continues, “Speaking of ghouls, I wonder how Telay is doing?”  Nolin’s feet hit the floor hard as he sits up and glares at the Divine Agent.

"She's _not_ a ghoul."

"I hope not."

Stone Bear sits in meditation, recovering his equilibrium after a painful bout of vertigo. Around him, he can sense the life force and movement of every person, every beetle, every toad. He lifts his head with a thought. “What are we going to do with all these toads?”  _They aren’t really toads, though,_ his spirit guide Bear growls into his ear. _Not natural. They are other things, transformed._   “I am told that they are not natural.”

“Told? By who?”

Stone bear smiles slightly. “Nature.”

Tao comes over and crouches down, studying them. She blinks, casts _true seeing_, and rears back.  “You’re right. Would you look at that!”

“What do you see?”

“All sorts of things.  Goblins, beetles, flumph, worms, some odd goats, even a few umber hulks! None of these are actual toads. I suppose we’ll just kill them.” As she says this, one of the toads begins hopping around in agitation.

“What’s that?” asks Nolin. Tao studies it. 

“A goblin.”

“What’s it saying?”

Tao translates. “It’s saying, ‘No! I don’t wanna die! Pick me, pick me! I’ll shine your armor, I’ll carry baggage for you, I’ll be loyal – but I don’t wanna get killed!’”  She rolls her eyes. “It’s fairly upset.”

“Well, it’s got a good head on its shoulders. I kind of like the little bugger.” Nolin reaches in to pluck the goblin-toad out of the wire toad corral. “Come on, little fella.  You, I think we’ll keep.”

“Croak?”

“You betcha.”

“Nolin, are you going to turn him back into a goblin?”

Nolin chews on his lip. “I’ll think about it.”

From the side room, Velendo enters, along with Mara and Malachite. “Well, we questioned the corpse and thoroughly searched his sleeping area. We found a secret door, but didn’t go through it.  The spell worked quite well; he knew quite a bit, that’s for sure.”

“What’d you find out?”

“He’s a drow outcast and a mercenary, hired by the ghouls to stop anyone from coming in to the Deeping Rift. Someone else was supposed to be here with him, but isn’t around; we’ve found signs that this ‘Quelm Tonguethreader’ is small and carnivorous. Maybe cannibalistic, or a ghoul.” Velendo shudders slightly. “Nulloc was a vegetarian, but had a good sized alchemy and research lab in there.  He seems to enjoy dissections.

"It gets better. Remember that woman in Akin's Throat who was selling the ability to be _cloned_?"

Mara's face takes on a sour expression. "She was intensely evil."

"That's because she wasn't a woman. We're in hell; it should be no surprise that she was a demon," Stone Bear says.

"Really?"

"Yes." He sounds certain.

"In any case," continues Velendo, "we found a receipt. Nulloc Toadbringer used her services. That might mean that we have to deal with a _clone_ of him at some point."

"If she was a fiend," says Nolin, thinking out loud, "then there's a good chance that he's been fooled. His living clone is probably trapped in the Abyss even as we speak, screaming in pain as he's tortured by demons."

"Serves him right," decides Mara.

“Fair enough," agrees Velendo.  "Nothing we can do about it in any event.  Let's discuss the Rift.  They’ve used heavy boulders to block off the tunnel between the cavern we fought in and the Rift, but there’s a secret way through if you follow that concealed door. There are three of those flying eyes in there; he actually mapped their locations for us in a letter he was writing. We’ll have to destroy them so that they don’t warn anyone we’re coming.” 

“How much time do we have?”

“Well, he reports in every day by communication spell. We know of a partial chain of command involving Commander Murliss and this Advisor Soder.”

“Think Soder is the Puppeteer?” 

“We don’t know for sure. I hope so, because it will mean that we have a name.  Anyways, Toadbringer said that they had already started the ritual, and that they’d be finishing soon. But that’s not the bad part.”

“Joy. What is?”

Mara speaks up. “The ritual is creating some sort of a giant juggernaut, a construct designed to travel through solid earth and deliver thousands of ghouls at a time to surface cities. Like the necropede, but much worse.” 

Splinder frowns. “Where?”

Malachite frowns back as he cracks his knuckles unconsciously. “At the bottom of the Deeping Rift, and it’s perhaps a half mile straight down.”

Splinder whistles through his teeth. “That’s some rift.”

“And there are hundreds or thousands of ghouls down there, mostly aggressive slave stock called gibberlings. Between us and them, there is a guardian. Something called a ‘thurn.’”

Nolin glance up. “A thurn? Couldn’t be. They’re mythical creatures from thousands of years ago. Giant, and dark, and evil incarnate. As far as I know, they were supposedly brought into being, but were too foul to actually survive.”

“Oh, goody.”  Agar looks worried. “Well, we better hurry. The signs and portents are all getting much worse. Whatever is happening, it’s going to happen soon.”

“Shall I scout ethereally?” asks Mara.

“No,” reminds Malachite. “Toadbringer made these eye-things see into other planes. We’ll probably have to use stealth.”

Quickly making a plan, Galthia borrows one of Tao’s psionic gauntlets and sneaks forward through the secret door. In the darkness of the tunnel, he sees a fiery green eyeball circling a chamber. Moving so stealthily that the ghoulish eyeball never sees him, Galthia activates the githyanki-made gauntlet with a small shudder of distaste. 

He concentrates, and the fiery green eye is instantly and unerringly _teleported_ into his hand. He slaps his other hand down, but it nimbly squirts through his fingers and starts to shoot away. Before it can get very far, Galthia lunges forward. As he does so, he focuses his ki and slaps his hands together once again. This time he catches the magical spying device squarely between his two palms. The construct bursts with a spurt of wet slime.

_“One down,”_ reports the monk over the _mindlink._ “Two more to go.” The next one is easier. Finally, the group gathers at the end of a narrow tunnel, separated from the Rift by only a few stacked boulders. _“the last one should be out there somewhere.”_

“I’ll clairvoy,” offers Tao, and concentrates. “Good God. It’s huge.”

“The eyeball?”

“No. the rift. It’s a big canyon; I can’t see the other side. And the walls are moving.” She pauses in confusion, and then the worry lines on her face smooth. “No they aren’t. They’re just covered with a solid layer of beetles, all scuttling downwards. Millions of them. They look like they’re headed somewhere. Some of them are huge, bigger than I am, but most of them are fairly small.”  Agar makes an anguished moaning sound and starts to twitch, his eyes wide with fear.

“Any sign of the eye?” asks Galthia.

“No.. yes! There it is. It’s circling in the darkness, patrolling the Rift.”

“All right.” With Priggle’s help and Velendo’s guidance, Galthia silently shifts back one of the boulders blocking off the exit of the tunnel. Peering through the gap into the open darkness, Galthia waits until he can see the cold green luminescence of the ghoulish spying device. As soon as he does, he twitches his fingers, and the eye instantly appears in his enchanted gauntlet. Within a second, it’s no more than a slimy paste.  

“Done. Here’s your gauntlet back, Tao. Now let’s open this up.” Galthia wrenches back a boulder, and the skittering sound from millions of tiny legs hangs in the air of the narrow tunnel, along with a hideous distant shrieking. “Phew. Look at that.”  Beetles crawling downwards from above fall over the tunnel entrance like drops of scuttling black rain. 

Agar finally breaks. He crawls backwards away from the entrance, trying not to whimper, and his friends all comfort him.

“Is that the ghouls shrieking like that?”

Nolin concentrates. “No. I think those are shrieker mushrooms. They respond to nearby movement. They might have been planted as an alarm, but all these beetles must be setting them off.”

Tao tries to use _clairvoyance_ to see down into the Rift, but fails. Stone Bear crouches and comes forward. “Let me,” he offers, and picks up a beetle to whisper to it in a language it can not ignore. Inside of Stone Bear’s head, his vision becomes that of the beetle. It scuttles off, and as soon as it bumps against another beetle Stone Bear changes the focus of his _chain of eyes_. His vision flashes forward down the wall of the Rift, marching from beetle to beetle, down into the unknowable depths. A few minutes later, helifts his head. “I think I can see the guardian beast.”

“What is it?” 

“Not sure, exactly. The beetles are avoiding it. But it’s huge, and I can see the glint of metal. Maybe a sword. It’s crouched on an alcove’s ledge, waiting. It looks horrible.”

“Could we hit it if we dropped something on it?”

“No. But we’d probably get its attention.”

“Huh.” Galthia looks down into impenetrable darkness, and then pulls his head in and brushes a few insects off of his hair. “It’s a long way down. ”

“And _they’re_ down there,” growls Malachite.  “Doing their rituals. Eating their flesh.” His voice is rough with hatred. “Guardian beast or not, we need to go.  Now.”

“I wish that we had something that we could drop…” Nolin ponders. Then his eyes light up and he starts to laugh.

“What? What?”

“The toads!” 

“Huh?”

“It’s more than a half mile down, right? And polymorphed creatures turn back into their own form when they’re killed, right? So we grab those umber hulk toads and smack them against the wall as we toss them into the rift. The bouncing kills them, and they turn back into their normal great big form. And even if it misses the thurn those ghouls are down there, doing their ritual,” Nolin mimes a ghoul, “and suddenly SMACK! Incoming umber hulks!” Tao starts to giggle, Malachite chuckles, and even Priggle begins to smile at the mental picture.

“We have a scroll with a chained polymorph on it, right?” Mara’s face is lit up with a huge grin. “So we change fifteen-odd large beetles into elephants, and wheeeeeeeee! Elephant rain!” The laughing redoubles, and soon the entire group of thirty adventurers are all wheezing with built-up nervous laughter. “Whooooosh… SPLAT!”  Gradually the laughter fades, but morale is much higher than it had been minutes ago. The air itself seems to be charged with some kind of static, as if in anticipation, and the group quickly focuses.

“I’ll make a _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ right here in the entranceway,” says Velendo. “Agar, you use _limited wish_ to spoof a _mass fly_ spell. That’ll get all of us and half the dwarves into the air. The rest of the dwarves will hold the fort here.”  Splinder nods.  “Everyone, cast your prep spells. Nolin, go get an umber hulk toad!”  He smiles. “Let’s get that thurn’s attention.”

Croaking madly, the toad spirals down into the darkness. 

Elder is back again, whispering into Stone Bear’s ear. _It’s coming,_ the spirit says hungrily. _I’ve been waiting for this._

“It’s coming, everyone!” snaps Stone Bear. Half of the Defenders fly out into the huge open air of the giant underground canyon, while the other half cling to the stone wall and try to ignore the ubiquitous beetles. In Stone Bear’s ear, Elder chuckles mysteriously to itself.

Buoyed by magic and hanging in midair above an unknowable height, the Defenders strain to see down into the darkness below them. The the darkness _bulges._ With clapping wingbeats that sound like ancient thunder, the thurn rises from the depths.

It is larger than demons, larger than giants, larger than some hills. It is old and vile, covered with warts and pus. Its presence poisons the very air that its bat wings beat. Around its wrist is manacled an immense iron sword, as long as two men put together. 

Stone Bear smiles in anticipation. “Let’s take it.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *As for Stone Bear, you aren't the only one who was frustrated. Wulf was probably pissed; he missed his save, went all toady, and then got buried in the mud. *




Clarification:

Fort Save: +20 or so.

Polymorph: Rolled a 1.

Reflex Save: +18 or so... 

Dodging the rock to mud: Rolled a 1. 

SH*T. SH*T.


----------



## Piratecat

bertman4 said:
			
		

> *BTW, what githyanki gauntlets are those? I only see Gauntlet of Adamantine Grip  and Gauntlet of Size on Tao's character sheet.
> *




Tao needs more arms.  She also has a psionic _gauntlet of retrieval_ that I think she stripped off of a dead githyanki in the astral plane, back when they were inside of the dead god. It duplicates the psionic power of _retrieval_; in effect, it teleports things to her hand that she can see and she's strong enough to hold, as long as they aren't too far away. 

She's used it most notably to rescue Malachite's sword from the belly of the earth dragon Oathenor, and to capture the fleeing disease priestess after banishing the demigod Yuute in Eversink. It's handy - although it _didn't_ like being used by a githzerai, not that it had much say in the matter.


----------



## Sito Rotavele

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Tao needs more arms.
> *




She had her chance.  Be careful what you wish for...


----------



## KidCthulhu

*



			And there are hundreds or thousands of ghouls down there, mostly aggressive slave stock called gibberlings. Between us and them, there is a guardian. Something called a ‘thurn.’”

Nolin glance up. “A thurn? Couldn’t be. They’re mythical creatures from thousands of years ago. Giant, and dark, and evil incarnate. As far as I know, they were supposedly brought into being, but were too foul to actually survive.”
		
Click to expand...


*
Actually, what happened here was the fun of a character making what the DM thinks is a sufficiently impossible DC.  When PC mentioned the name of the creature, I asked to make a bardy check (bardic knowledge).  Rolling reasonably well, I made a DC 30.  PC shook his head ruefully, and spilled the data.  

It's good to be da bard.


----------



## Jeremy

As you also have a high level alienist in your party and may or may not end up in the midst of epic play, it would be interesting to see your input on this stab at the epic extension of the alienist prestige class.  Seeing as you have no lack of creativity (understatement of the year).

http://enworld.org/showthread.php?s=&threadid=51212

It's over here being hammered out by greater minds than mine.


----------



## Piratecat

The thurn rises from the darkness on wings of corruption.  Buoyed by their _fly_ spells, the Defenders of Daybreak swoop in to meet it. 

A phoenix-born _fireball_ splashes off of its gray hide, charring its boil-covered skin but doing little damage. A _searing light_ burns through its arm. A _blade barrier_ slices into its ankles, and a _flame strike_ pours down holy fire on it from above.

It grunts with foul breath, and keeps coming.

The monster’s wings thunderously pound the air as it rises above Tao’s still-whirling _blade barrier_, and its mouth cracks open like an infected wound.  The creature speaks in a tongue older than mankind, and its horrible voice hammers the ears.

*“NOT. YOU. HERE.”*  It squints with the effort of speech that only Nolin can understand.  The bard shakes his head, recognizing that the thurn isn’t exactly going to volunteer as a backup singer any time soon. 

“Ignore it. It isn’t saying anything interesting.”

“Fair enough.”  Malachite is the first to close with it, and the monster is clearly pleased to be able to kill instead of converse. It chops downwards with its twelve foot long rusty sword in a blow that would fell a good-sized tree. The Hunter of the Dead is ready for it, though, and the massive iron sword clatters against his magical shield with a shriek of metal. Then Malachite darts under the thurn’s forearm and calls upon the power of Aeos to guide his swings.

Aeos doesn’t disappoint.

The holy sword Karthos blazes with daylight, and the brightness of the illumination makes Malachite’s green tabard glow almost like a true emerald against the repellent gray of the thurn’s flesh. Malachite hits one, two, three times, his blade sinking almost hilt-deep in the creature’s belly.   The thurn grunts a low, rumbling gurgle that shakes beetles off the wall. 

It raises its sword, but Stone Bear is already there. He spins in midair and strikes with an adamantite-hard forearm across the flat of the ancient blade. It snaps with a sound like ice cracking, and most of the blade falls down into the darkness to leave the thurn armed with nothing more than a hilt attached to an iron chain. Stone Bear continues his spin to strike into the thurn’s actual body, even as Mara and Galthia attack from the far side. Foul gray ichor sprays into the air, raising welts everywhere it splashes onto flesh.

“Now!” yells Splinder. The dwarven crossbow men fire a volley of crossbow bolts that arcs into the monster’s legs. “Nice shooting, lads,” says the dwarf, and he flies in with axe upraised.  The gladitorial bullywug Burr-Lipp maneuvers in as well, plunging his spear into the creature's thigh and twisting savagely.

Beset by enemies, the huge thurn grunts again as it swings the iron chain shackled to its forearm in a deadly arc.  _Dodge left,_ advises Stone Bear’s ancestor spirit in a conversational tone, and the shaman twists his body to elude the powerful blow.  Then the monster’s other claw reaches down to grasp Malachite, even as it ponderously ducks its head.  Malachite instinctively jabs his sword into the grasping hand to ward it off, but he can do nothing about the descending cavern of a mouth. The thurn’s teeth bite into Malachite’s body around his waist, crushing and grinding, and the pain is horrible. Malachite can feel corruption forced into his body, and he is suddenly unclean.

The thurn spits out Malachite, surprised to see him still alive, and the paladin gasps out a warning. “Don’t let it bite you.” 

“Are you all right?” calls Mara. She hovers above the creature’s back, her holy mace blazing like the sun in the darkness of the cavern. Ichor steams on weapon, slowly burning off in the light, and the paladin’s blond hair is whipped about by the wind of the thurn’s wings.

“I’ll keep.” He can feel the skin around his middle doing something horribly wrong, itching and burning beneath his armor, but now isn’t the time to deal with it. “Just kill it.”

“Okay. I’ll be glad to.”  Another barrage of spells from Velendo, Nolin and Agar hammer the beast, even as Tao darts in with her swords to try and carve a hole in its belly.  Malachite swings upwards with Karthos, and Mara calls on her faith and slams her mace down on the back of its neck. 

The snapping sound is horrible. 

There is a half-second of silence when the thurn’s huge wings fail to beat, and then the limp monster tumbles from the sky.  As it falls away from the heroes, the corpse grazes the edge of Tao’s still-active _blade barrier_. Chunks of mushroom-gray flesh scatter off the corpse’s leg and lazily spiral down into the darkness, roughly following the same path taken by the massive iron sword that was sundered seconds before. The _blade barrier_ supports the thurn just long enough to start the body spinning, and then the whirling blades toss it out into the abyss. The corpse tumbles away out of sight.  

“We can’t let it get too far ahead of us!” shouts Velendo. “When it lands, it will alert the ghouls. Quick, everyone, after it!”

So at full speed, the Defenders of Daybreak follow. 

_To be continued…


*This diagram is for the next installment, immediately following.*_


----------



## Piratecat

They almost freefall instead of flying straight downwards, instead using their _fly_ spells to steer them around the massive stone outcroppings that continuously jut from the cavern’s wall. The descent is terrifying; only Priggle can see more than 60 feet ahead of himself, and at a descent rate of over 100 miles per hour the heroes have virtually no reaction time at all. Danger after danger flashes by in an eyeblink, and the Defenders barely avoid all of them. Ahead of them, the thurn’s massive body bounces off of an outcropping as it ricochets steadily downwards for almost a mile.

Nolin blinks his eyes.  _”Was that a *ship* we just passed?”_ But it’s gone almost as soon as he registers it, as is what briefly appears to be some sort of humongous skeleton of a sea creature. Shriekers and beetles and stone carvings and cave entrances flash past during the uncontrolled power dive, and everyone prays that the Rift won’t end in a sudden, short stop.

It doesn’t. Far from it.

Instead, the plummeting Defenders emerge out into a tremendous cavern redolent with the odor of fresh rot and old mold.  Hundreds of feet below them, a luminescent sea bathes the crumbling remains of an ancient and long-abandoned city, all angles and spires and gem-like domes. Outside of the city’s main plaza, the shallow sea rises up towards the cavern’s ceiling in a two-hundred-foot-tall wall, kept away from the bizarre architecture by some sort of magic. 

Below them on the wave-washed plateau are countless ghouls. Some swim, some stand, many crouch on rafts made from dozens of twitching zombies… but at least a hundred are gathered in a chanting, moaning, gesticulating ring around the outer edge of the city’s plateau. The rest of them are clustered tightly at one end of the ruined city, thousands of them waiting their turn to.. to..

“Good God,” whispers Velendo.  “What IS that thing?”

He refers to the monstrosity that the ghouls surround. Perhaps once it was the long-dead skeleton of an undersea behemoth at least 300 feet long. Now, though, it has been changed by the foul magic of the ghouls. It trembles and quivers in the center of the ghoulish circle, its body an amalgam of bone, beetle carapace, and rippling undead flesh. Purplish fires race across it, transforming and hardening where they touch. As the Defenders look, it’s quickly evident that the ongoing ritual is in the process of fully fusing ghoul and beetle and bone together into a horrible whole. One by one, the tightly packed ghouls at the eastern edge of the plaza are being herded into the interior of the behemoth, where their screaming bodies are fused into it by the skittering purplish flame. Beetles both huge and small surge into the juggernaut as well, and it's clear that their presence will shape its ultimate appearance.  Pinchers, legs, carapace, wings… a hundred yards of crawling abomination and death.

“They’re preparing,” says Malachite in a kind of awe. “That thing will be able to slide through earth like it was water. All those thousands of ghouls, delivered anywhere, like the necropede. No one will be able to stand against them.”

“It’s a buggernaut!” crows Nolin.

“It’s got to be stopped,” growls Tao.

"I think it's already alive," frowns Mara.

“I’m going to throw up,” announces Agar.

_It’s coming,_ hisses Elder into Stone Bear’s ear.  _Any second now._  “Enough,” hisses Stone Bear back. “If you can’t tell me something that isn’t obvious, you should be silent.” Elder chokes back a  chuckle before fading into silence.

“Let’s go,” says Galthia.

Most of the group stays hundreds of feet in the air. From that height, the hole in the tightly-packed ghoulish ranks caused by the falling thurn is quite evident. Tao drops _fire seeds_ and a well-aimed _flame strike_. Nolin reaches deep into Rides the Sun’s soul to let loose with a tremendous _firestorm_, aiming it along the outer ring of chanting ghoulish clerics and wizards. Velendo places a maximized _blade barrier_ right at the entrance of the behemoth, slashing into both the monstrous construct and the undead gibberlings waiting to board it. Agar grits his teeth and thinks about how many insects will die; with that kept in the forefront of his mind, he gleefully unleashes his destructive magics as well.  

Others swoop downwards. Mara power dives to within 50’ of the water’s surface. Calling on her tremendous force of personality, she _turns undead_, and watches as the radiant power blasts ghouls into ash. A handful survive, but even those tumble into the oily water as the moaning zombie-rafts they’re standing on disintegrate into bone and dust.  A richly-dressed female ghoul with stringy, wild red hair shrieks as she burns and tumbles backwards. "I hope you're Murliss," Mara says. "If you are, we killed your boyfriend."  Behind the radiant knight, Malachite’s _positive energy bursts_ fill the cavern with emerald light, blasting ghouls with the holy light of Aeos.

The ghoulish chant that rippled through the air devolves into screams, shrieks, and the sound of bursting flesh.

While most of the Defenders concentrate on the bulk of the undead, Galthia dives downwards to the far side of the behemoth, where the leaders of the ritual are concentrated. His sharp githzerai eyesight picks out one ghoul in particular for a target: cadaverously thin, impossibly old, richly dressed, and once human. Standing on a pedestal carved in the likeness of a giant beetle, the ancient undead directs tendrils of purple fire across the juggernaut, drawing them from a massive gem around its neck the size of a baby’s head. Beside him, another dozen spellcasters merge their power with the leader’s. Slow to respond due to the concentration needed for the ritual, they look to be mentally conferring with one another, perhaps deciding the best way to destroy the living invaders. In any case, they are looking at the conflagration around them, and haven’t noticed Galthia at all.

_Don’t give them the opportunity,_ thinks Galthia to himself as he recites the creed of his Order. _The only power is your own. You can not fail. Your will is your strength, and your will can not break. Break others with it instead._ He smiles with tight lips. 

His dive is perfectly timed. Fist weighty with blazing _ki_, Galthia does not strike at the ancient ghoul; instead, he appears from nowhere in a diving charge and hammers his fist into the center of the huge gem around the ghoul’s neck.  As Galthia’s _ki_ shatters a few of the crystalline bonds holding the gem together, fine cracks appear across its previously unblemished face.  In a second, the ghoulish archmagi’s face changes from hungry speculation to abject horror and surprise. “No!” it croaks.

_Yes,_ Galthia thinks. He has no more attacks left, but he reaches inside of himself to find a reserve of energy, using pure will power to strike once more before the wizards can react. His  blow hits the gem once more, hammering it partially into the dried flesh of the archmagi’s neck. _Break,_ Galthia thinks, and the gem does, most horribly. It is as if the gem is the center of a _retributive strike_. Purple fire consumes the ghoulish archmagi, arcing to consume nearby ghouls like coals tossed into a white-hot furnace. Galthia somersaults backwards into the water in order to avoid the blast, and the last thing he sees is the dying ghoul reaching out towards him imploringly. He splashes into the suddenly boiling water with a self-satisfied smile on his face. 

Malachite unleashes another burst of rippling emerald energy, and watches the undead beetle behemoth start to die. “I think –“ he starts to say.

Then, suddenly, a chill wind whips through the cavern, a wind heavy with the smell of death. It batters the flying Defenders like they were rag dolls, and it carries the crushing weight of unmeasurable sorrow and hatred and anger. A sudden earth tremor shakes the cavern, causing a stalactite to shatter and drop.

_It’s here,_ Elder chuckles into Stone Bear’s ear. _The fall is over. Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

With that, the world goes pitch black, everyone’s chest explodes with irresistibly sharp pain, and for thirty seconds magic simply ceases.

For the Defenders that were flying hundreds of feet in the cavern’s air, that means that they fall, tumbling like rag dolls into the shallow water beneath them. They hit with bone-shattering force. None are killed by the fall, but everyone quickly finds themselves fully underwater when the magical parted walls of water around the city collapse and smash down to flood the area. The most unlucky land in the midst of tangled, screaming ghouls. They thrash desperately in the pitch-dark water, confused and disoriented and still in pain, bumping against similarly struggling ghouls as they try to reach the surface. It is a moment of pure fear and panic, and those who manage to swim to the wave-tossed surface can hear a moaning scream on the rising wind. It’s impossible to see; with no magic and no light, there is only the roiling water and the shrieking scream of the wind.

Only Velendo is spared. As magic and light fail, he feels himself falling – and then someone catches him beneath the arms. He hangs in space in the wind and darkness, and he can sense wings heavily beating the air behind him. He smells someone’s skin next to his, and it is the smell of mortar and wind.

The old cleric blinks his eyes, but the darkness remains. “Who.. who are you?” he manages to gasp out over the wind and the pain. He hears a muffled shout from a drowning dwarf, but can do nothing. 

A radiant female voice answers him, whispering in his ear. “I am Clariel, Angel of the Arch, Patron of the Broken Siege. I am your guardian angel.” Velendo blinks again in surprise, and the rich voice continues. “Mourn, Velendo of Calphas, because the Goddess Imbindarla has died this day. She has been struck by the arrows of the Goddess of the Hunt, and She has fallen for seven days. Now She has struck Spira and for better or worse She is slain. The world will not be as it was, and the heavens are wracked with sorrow – but I shall keep you safe.” Her pinions beat the air, and Velendo hangs above the abyss, safe in her arms.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> *But why? With the impact of the Goddess all magic has failed. This means the ceremony would have been disrupted whether or not the Defenders were there.
> *




Sagiro asked me the same thing - and I'll assure you that what they did definitely mattered.  The buggernaut was about half loaded when the Defenders showed up, and already animate. It (and everyone already merged into it) would have survived Imbindarla's fall just fine, and (avoiding a few spoilers) I'll just say that the group should be very, very glad they managed to take it out.

In addition, there were some fairly substantial personalities clustered around that behemoth. Not all of them survived, and each death (or lack thereof) has an impact on the White Kingdom's power structure.

Imbindarla's fall took exactly seven days from the time that Tao woke up in the vault from a bad dream of falling, with shooting pains in her chest and sore muscles in her arm. She would have hit when she did no matter where the Defenders happened to be. They just happened to be somewhere that they could make a difference in what happens afterwards.  

I was surprised to see that the reaction to the group no longer having a divine enemy whose minions had plagued them for nine years real-time was not "Yay!" but "Oh, no!"  Power vacumn is a scary concept, and a lot of assumptions may no longer be valid.


----------



## KidCthulhu

In answer to your questions:

1) Imbindarla's dead.  That's a good thing, right?

Well, yes and no.  There will certainly be fewer ghoul armies roaming about.  But her son, the White King, has always coveted her job, so the throne may not remain empty for long.  Also, consider the enormous precident that's just been set.  The deities have always refrained from direct action against eachother, deterrance and mutually assured destruction doing their thing.

But now, one god has killed another.  The gods can be killed.  Whoah.  Not to mention the enormous power vacuum just created.  And really, we fear vacuum.  

2) Goddess of Death not doing her job?

Actually, Boros is the god of death on Spira.  He's still on the job.  Imbindarla was the goddess of undeath.  See above on job vacancy.

3) Doesn't this make the Defenders pointless? 

When were we ever pointy?  No, I don't think our work is finished.  Our lives may be less ghoul intense in the short run, but the White King is still very much undead and kicking.  And now he's pissed.  Pointy all round.


----------



## Enkhidu

Wouldn't it be grand if Imbindarla's fall was an indirect result of the amphormus Miracle that Velendo cast so many posts ago? It certainly could explain why Calphas is so protective of his favorite son...

By the way, if I'm right about this and am providing a spoiler - by no means something I mean to do - its not because I'm reading the plot thread that goes with this; I stopped reading that a long time ago when I figured out that the SH was more fun without the extra knowledge!


----------



## Piratecat

For those who don't play in my game, Cruciel's stats may be found here. Active players, please stay out!


----------



## Nail

Brokedown Paalace said:
			
		

> *.....Never did I see a god falling on them.*




Right, and apparently most others didn't see it either.

What *will* be interesting to find out is: who knew that Imbindarla was "falling"?  Did even the Gods know?  One would presume as much given their "helpful" propheses.  Would the clerics of said god know?  Possibly yes....and then again, perhaps there's a "time-lag" of some such.

After all, it took the goddess 7 days to fall.  What, exactly, does that _mean_?  Are we to take that literally, as in travelling a distance, or in some sort of "plane" figurative sense?

And how does this all figure into that scene from oh-so-long-ago when the PCs were visited by Aeos?  You know, at that poor peasant's hut (now a shrine, presumably).

I'm afraid I'm _way_ too lazy to pour back through the story hour, but I bet some of those prophesies and so-on might tell us "who, what, where, when" now that we have a bit of hind-sight.

Anybody wanna check?

(***Post-script:  Galthia rocks.)


----------



## Piratecat

Nail said:
			
		

> *Anybody wanna check?
> *




In part, you'll be wanting the first post on page 10, which is Silissa's prophecies. She says in part:

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

She tilts her head upwards, voice inexorable and growing louder, echoing through the chamber.

*“The future rises before me, chasms inexorable. Through your actions the world has changed; through you again it will change the more. You have tossed the pebble that started the landslide. Before it is over the undying dies and is consumed by its own icy flesh, just as the dying will fail to pass on. The ending gift will claim what the pilgrimage could not, with much the same result, and death will stalk your lands in every person you may meet. It may be burned away, but not in time for many.  And for you? He may share with the parasite, or perhaps he may not, but the whole can not hold – and odd allies indeed are formed when such things occur. Greed conquers all, and the sun will dim if he finishes before you interrupt. Past and repast, future ahead – a new one may be born from the unborn, or the crawling death rekindled as it was in the days before the Gods themselves. Do not believe all that you are told, or your errors may be grave indeed.”*

Silence fills the room, other than the ragged churning of the raw earth beneath her.

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

Interpret away!  *grin*  People who aren't my players may wish to go to this link for a quick review of the signs leading up to Imbindarla's fall. As usual, that's off limits for my active players, please, as there are spoilers attached.

Incidentally, Aravis TOTALLY threw me for a loop when he said that Galthia was going to aim for the gem, and that he was going to use his _fist of destruction_ power - the one that subtracts his Acolyte of the Fist level from hardness when he hits things. I knew what the gem could do; I knew that if destroyed, it would be remarkably similar to a staff of the magi; but for some damn reason, I never saw that coming.  Good for him.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Elder knew... Stone Bear just didn't realize it. 

What good's a spirit guide when they just talk in riddles all the time? Plus the hissing like death... really, I could do without it.

Give me a *good* spirit guide like Homer's Coyote, complete with Johnny Cash's voice and everything.


Wulf


----------



## Piratecat

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> *What good's a spirit guide when they just talk in riddles all the time? Plus the hissing like death... really, I could do without it.
> *




Hey, he's a death spirit! I gave some serious thought into making him sound like Jerry Lewis or the Simpson's Professor Frink - "Oh nice ugly ghoul who smells like mucous, with the teeth and the glabin and the flamiel!" I thought it might be too serious, though.

Anyways, you can thank KidCthulhu for the "boing-splat-wheee!" portions of the diagram. I give her full credit.


----------



## KidCthulhu

> *Originally posted by Nail What will be interesting to find out is: who knew that Imbindarla was "falling"?  Did even the Gods know?  One would presume as much given their "helpful" propheses.
> 
> After all, it took the goddess 7 days to fall.  What, exactly, does that mean?*




Well, as we find out, Galanna shot Imbindarla with an arrow 7 days ago.  The psychic/magical/sacred shock waves have been bouncing all about the place, hence Tao's wierd shoulder pain, people's feelings of stabbing pain, and of course the feelings of vertigo and falling.  Could we have known?  Probably not, although we got plenty of hints.



			
				Nail said:
			
		

> *And how does this all figure into that scene from oh-so-long-ago when the PCs were visited by Aeos?  You know, at that poor peasant's hut (now a shrine, presumably).*




I'd call it a direct result.  Or an indirect one.  Imbindarla got a pretty hefty smack to the wrist at the time that message was delivered.  Presumedly the gods learned she hadn't mended her ways (or at least dialed down her act), for they took the extreme act of killing her.  Certainly, our finding out that she'd been interfering with the connection between a god (Aos) and his followers was the loud noise that started the avalanche.


----------



## Piratecat

Velendo twists his head, but of course in the utter darkness he can’t see a thing. “You’re a…” His voice trails away. “You’re an _angel_? What do you mean, you’re an angel? No, forget that. What do you mean, Imbindarla has fallen? Figuratively fallen, right?”

“No.” Cruciel’s voice sounds slightly strained from flying while holding Velendo, and she raises it to carry over the shrieks from the watery darkness below. “Truly dead, and truly fallen. Her body has tumbled from heaven and fallen to the earth above.”

“What? Where’d it land?”

“I know not.”

“Hoo boy. Calphas protect me, I…”

“He is.”

“What?”  

“He is.”

Below them, underwater, Malachite sinks like a stone.  His heavy armor draws him downwards like a form-fitting anchor, and his lungs heave with the effort of holding what little breath he has left after falling almost 60 feet.  _No allies, no mind link, no darkvision, no ring of swimming, no necklace of levitation. No magic at all, and…_  A disdembodied ghoulish arm brushes against his face as he continues the plunge downwards.  _…and I’m going to die._ 

He considers it, turning the thought over in his mind as a grocer might examine a bruised apple.  The paladin sighs, and tiny bubbles trickle out of his mouth.  _I had thought it would be in battle, but this is as good a place as any.  Is there any escape?_  He compares how long it would take him to shed his armor against how long he can hold his breath, and he decides he doesn’t like the odds. Then his armored torso hits bottom, and for a long second he hangs there, far too heavy to float. He runs a hand across his billowing tabard, still feeling the itching pain of the thurn’s bite.

And he feels the magic return to the world.

Malachite’s gauntleted hand grasps his _pendant of levitation_, and the familiar enchantment buoys his body with gentle insistence.  Like an armored behemoth, he rises steadily upwards through the water. The current tries to twist him sideways, a strong undertow pulling water away and upwards as the magical walls of water reform around the ruined city, but his levitation necklace is more powerful than the current. His head crests the surface, and despite the smell of smoke and rot, that first breath of air is precious.

He feels Mara in his head.  _“Luminor and I are alive! I’ve healed his broken legs. I don’t see anyone, but the water is receding. There’s.. hang on.”_ There is a pause. _“I had to kill a ghoul. There are a lot of dead bodies here, but quite a few live ones.”_

One by one the Defenders check in; thanks to the water and the tangled mat of ghouls breaking their fall, no one was killed. Nolin speaks up.  _“Fly upwards a hundred feet. We need to regroup.” _ As one, the Defenders of Daybreak soar upwards into the pure and utter darkness. With _darkvision_ working again, though, it is easy to find one another.

Agar looks tired and afraid, still flicking invisible insects from his soaking clothes. “What happened?”

Velendo soars into view. “It’s a long story.”  There’s a moment of utter silence, only broken by the wailing of the icy wind and the ghoulish screams from down below. Nolin can swear he hears a ghoul screaming for its mother, but he dismisses it as his imagination.

Finally, someone speaks.  “Velendo,” ventures Mara, “is that an angel?”

Velendo looks embarrassed. “Yes, it is. Mara, everyone, this is Cruciel, Angel of the Arch. Cruciel, this is everyone.”

The angel nods seriously, and brushes back her night-black hair with a faint smile. “I know each of you quite well.”

“Angel of the Arch? Do you mean arch-angel?”

Now flying under his own power, Velendo gestures with his shield. “No. She’s the one who taught the first mason how to build a keystone. Look, I’ll explain Cruciel later, okay? The big problem now is that Imbindarla is dead.”

Everyone but Tao looks blank. “Dead?”

“Dead. Kaput. Fallen, and quite literally; Lord knows how big a God is, but I imagine she could have taken out a fair-sized city. That’s what that tremor was.”

Someone mumbles.  "I hope she landed on Eversink."

Nolin lets out a long, low whistle. “My goodness. And the magic loss, and this icy wind?” Velendo shrugs, so Nolin continues. “Probably side effects. Same thing with the utter darkness, unless that’s Aeos in mourning. Does anyone know?”  Mara and Malachite shake their heads. “Then I think we’re on our own. There’s not exactly a history of this happening before; even in Sigil, tales are few and far between.”

“Crap,” swears Velendo, light dawning. “That feeling of falling? It…” He looks sick. “We were picking up thoughts from a dying Goddess.”

Tao nods. “And the chest pain? That’s where Galanna shot her with an arrow, about…” she does a quick calculation.  “Exactly seven days ago. And my sore shoulder must have been an echo from my Goddess when she used her bow.”  Tao has never looked more serious.

Agar pipes up, even as he picks the invisible insects from his touseled wet hair.  “All the beetles! The beetles and the worms! Imbindarla is the Goddess of the things that cower in the darkness. They must have been responding to her distress. Who knows what other kind of omens occurred up on the surface.”

“That’s right,” says Nolin, “and we have some prophecies to look at again.”  He corrects himself. “Actually, YOU have some prophecies to look at. I hate prophecies, and I’m swearing them off. No more prophecies for me.”

Galthia looks amused. “Is that so?”

“It certainly is,” announces Nolin stubborningly.

“I suppose we’ll see.”

Stone Bear, hovering cross-legged in the strong wind, grimaces. His raven nestles in his lap.  “Something else is happening.”

Everyone turns to him.  “What?”

“There are spirits streaming past on the wind. No – that’s wrong. They _are_ the wind.”  Everyone looks around desperately, but no one sees anything odd. 

“You sure?”

“Oh, yes.” He winces as one of the hundreds of spirits that he’s seen in the past minute plunges right through his body. “I’m sure. Even that dwarven spirit that follows you around is having difficulty.”

Everyone exchanges glances. “What dwarven spirit?” asks Malachite slowly.

Stone Bear raises his eyebrows, revealing pools of shadow in his empty eye sockets. His voice is surprised.  “I thought you knew about him. He’s been with you since I first met you. He doesn’t seem to like Malachite much; he often is making obscene gestures to him, or loosening his trousers before him, or placing his hands in odd gestures behind his head. I think he knows that I can see him.”

Malachite frowns, eyes furious.  “Olum,” he growls.

Nolin’s grin could light up a ballroom. “Gotta be,” he confirms.

“Any *other* mysterious spirits following us around?” Malachite’s voice is controlled.

Stone Bear shakes his head.  “Not that I’ve seen.”

Splinder grunts. ”Yes, it’s me.”  The group rounds on him, weapons half-drawn. Splinder – or rather, Olum Shiverstone – gestures to them to relax.  “Don’t worry, Splinder let me in. I’ve been with you. I’ve stopped one or two enemies you never even knew about, by possessing them and wandering them off in a different direction. And no, I haven’t ratted you out to any enemies, thanks for wondering.” He sighs.

“But something is happening. I can feel a pull. It feels…”  His voice fades away.

“What?” asks Nolin.

Olum speaks slowly, carefully.  “It feels like someone is calling me home. After all these hundreds of years, that’s what it feels like.” He lifts Splinder’s head, and his eyes are flashing with unaccustomed hope. “I dunno. Maybe it’s Moradin. Maybe it’s Boros, calling the spirits of the undead to him. But someone is definitely calling.”

Nolin spins to look at Velendo. “You think? Maybe with Imbindarla dead, the souls of all the undead out there are freed!”

Malachite shakes his head. “Maybe. But I doubt all of them want eternal rest.” As if blown by the icy gusts of wind, his hand strays unconsciously to his sword hilt.  

“I can see below. Souls are slamming into the ghouls. They’re still ghouls, but now they’re self-aware ghouls with spirits. It’s killing a lot of them; their bodies are just keeling over. Looks like some are managing the change physically, but it’s driving them insane.”  He sighs resignedly. “That’ll probably happen to me. I’ll go crazy, and then I’ll just hear that damn paladin sword lecturing me for all eternity. I’ll be stuck in limbo, and I’ll _still_ be in hell.”  In Malachite’s sheath, Karthos tries to say something, but Malachite doesn’t draw the weapon. The metaliic voice is muffled, lost in the wind.

Malachite glares at Olum.  “Why don’t you go to your reward?” he asks. _Whatever it might be,_ he adds silently to himself.  Behind him, the bullywug Burr-Lipp nods his agreement as he cleans out one of his saucer-sized eyes with a glistening tongue.

Olum rolls his – or rather, Splinder’s – eyes. “Because you freed me, and asked me to stay with you and help you.”  His voice is ironic.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Go! You have the chance to be free!” Mara gestures emphatically. “Take it! You’ve had a hard life, and you deserve it.”

Olum pauses, looking for the hidden loophole.  “You sure?” he asks suspiciously.

Velendo snorts, and Cruciel places her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “Yes, we’re sure!” says the old cleric. He looks at Malachite, and the Hunter of the Dead nods, as do the rest of the Defenders and the dwarven troops.  “Go, and with all of our blessing. Thank you for your help, Olum, even if we weren’t aware of it.”

Olum’s eyes look vacant. “I can hear hammers. I’m going to go, then. Thank you for everything, for freeing me. You’ve done good things for dwarves.  May the Soulforger bless you.” He looks at Malachite, and a little petulantly, adds, “Even you.”

And with that, Olum is gone. The dwarf blinks, and Splinder’s eyes have returned.

“He’s gone,” confirms Stone Bear.

Nolin cocks his head, and looks ill. “I _can_ hear intelligent screams from down there. People are finding themselves in undead bodies, and they remember everything. One of them is crying ‘I ate people, I ate people,’ over and over and over again.”  From his position a hundred feet in the air, Nolin begins to play Veritas, and he begins to sing a requiem of surpassing beauty and sorrow. It echoes above the wind, gaining strength from the echoes in the cavern, and it brings tears and a sense of closure to all who hear it. In the watery darkness below them, the sobbing and screaming from the ghouls begins to still.

“Freeing them to their reward will be a true blessing,” concludes Malachite. “Lets go offer them peace.”

They do so.

_to be continued…_


----------



## Redwald

*newbie to PC's story hour seeks help*

Hi, I'm a long-time lurker new to posting.  I've been following Sagiro's story hour obsessively for months and thought I might see what kind of wickedness Dranko's player is capable of as a DM.

Unfortunately I'm confused on a couple of points and would appreciate it if someone would lend me some clues.



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> Defenders of Daybreak: the Early Years: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=4167




I believe I understand that the Defenders of Daybreak is the name of the adventuring company comprising Piratecat's players' characters, but I see posts from several different people that appear to be in-character.  Are these what they appear to be, campaign journals told from the character's perspective rather than the semi-omniscient perspective of a DM?



> Archived _Piratecat's Story Hour_ to this point: Click here for the 210k zip file!




That link does not work for reasons that are fairly clear to me (I've been lurking since before Eric Noah stopped running his own site and merged with this one, which is how I found Sagiro's story hour -- how long has that been now?  But I digress.) and I could not find any mention of Piratecat on the current list of Story Hour downloads, except for "Feng Shui: Six in the Chamber" which I'm pretty confident is something different.

Does someone know where a poor newbie hungry to learn what everyone else is talking about can get started with Piratecat's Story Hour?

Many thanks for any pointers/tips/clues.


----------



## Morte

*Re: newbie to PC's story hour seeks help*



			
				Redwald said:
			
		

> *Does someone know where a poor newbie hungry to learn what everyone else is talking about can get started with Piratecat's Story Hour?
> 
> Many thanks for any pointers/tips/clues. *




The reason for your confusion is that the game has been running since forever. Well, about ten years I think.

The "Defenders of Daybreak" are the adventuring company, as you thought. This thread you're reading is the tale of their most recent adventures from the last year or two, starting in Eversink, told by the DM (Piratecat) with omniscient perspective more-or-less as it went along. Many of the players comment.

There's also an "early years"  thread  put together long after the fact. This is seemingly written long after the fact by anybody who could remember anything, particularly Bandeeto (who played Arcade the wizard) who took notes at the time. It's written in character, out of character, you name it.

In between the two there's a gap of many years, including the bit where they saved the world. Some of the players are working on filling it, so far as they can.

Work is underway on an overall Defenders of Daybreak site. This includes the two threads you see with the discussion stripped out, if you prefer things that way.

[I have no part in this, I just read the SH.]


----------



## target

*Re: newbie to PC's story hour seeks help*



			
				Redwald said:
			
		

> *I believe I understand that the Defenders of Daybreak is the name of the adventuring company comprising Piratecat's players' characters, but I see posts from several different people that appear to be in-character.  Are these what they appear to be, campaign journals told from the character's perspective rather than the semi-omniscient perspective of a DM?
> *




What's going on here is that we're really lucky to have a number of the players of the game as regulars on the boards.  So when you see in character posts from the party, those are by the players in question.  Those are not piratecat logging in different accounts to post, if that's what you thought.

There's also an early years thread, linked in another response to your post.  That is about events long since passed, primarily concerning party members who are no longer with the party.  It gives lots of entertaining backstory, and also explains where the party title came from.

Hope that explains things a bit,
target


----------



## jonrog1

"Heh, I'm going to have my PC's interrupt a ritual, that'll be INCREDIBLE, an epic moment -- hey, Piratecat just updated! Let's take a look!"

*reads*

"... ah."

I don't know what fills me with more rage -- trying to top that sequence, or that PKitty has players who know how long it takes to get out of their armor, computes a sinking-to-breath-holding-to-con-to armor-removal ratio and instantly dismisses it as a viable strategy.

Fantastic as always.


----------



## Redwald

*Re: Re: newbie to PC's story hour seeks help*



			
				target said:
			
		

> *
> 
> What's going on here is that we're really lucky to have a number of the players of the game as regulars on the boards.  So when you see in character posts from the party, those are by the players in question.  Those are not piratecat logging in different accounts to post, if that's what you thought.
> *




No, that's not what I thought.  Some of Sagiro's players post to his story hour (though generally not in character), such as Piratecat himself of course, KidCthulhu and occasionally Tor Bladebearer.  So it only makes sense that Piratecat's players would post in his story hour, too, or in related threads.

The main thing I didn't understand is that Piratecat's campaign hadn't been "Story-Houred" from the very first session as Sagiro's has.  Or, more precisely, since EN World didn't exist when Sagiro's Charagan campaign started, Piratecat's campaign just hasn't cleared the backlog yet, while Sagiro's has.

I was just looking for the "very beginning" to start reading at; now I've learned that it doesn't really exist.  So I'll just start reading at the top of this thread like everyone else did.  Since I gather that Sagiro and Piratecat are in a serious contest of one-upRBDMship, I expect to enjoy it quite a bit.  

Thanks a lot for the clarifications, guys!  My mind is significantly less cloudy now.


----------



## Bandeeto

> There's also an "early years" thread put together long after the fact. This is seemingly written long after the fact by anybody who could remember anything, particularly Bandeeto (who played Arcade the wizard) who took notes at the time. It's written in character, out of character, you name it.




I should mention, incidentally, that we have finally managed to get to Boston long enough to ransack some of Piratecat's old campaign notes.  Over time we may be able to start filling in some of the missing stories, including: the infamous first trip to Sigil, My Mother is A Stepmonster, The Helm of the Hive, killed by inch-high goblins, and many many more.


----------



## Sialia

Alright--I was supposed to be writing a paper tonight--I should know better than to even LOOK at these rotten boards while I'm in school. But anyway, somebody bumped the old Early Years thread and I realized I had never gotten around to posting the rest of the Dylrath and Teliaz story--not that there's an _end_ to it yet, because only Piratecat knows how it's going to come out--but there is _more_ of it anyway. So I threw it up over there, and there it is. Also I updated one of the earlier posts that was missing a chunk.

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=964137#post964137

Enjoy . . .


----------



## Piratecat

It takes hours to scour the cavern.

Still _flying_, the Defenders of Daybreak and a portion of their dwarven troops maneuver back and forth across the watery battleground, seeking out and systematically destroying any cowering or crying ghouls that they can find. Many of the undead appear to have already been killed by the initial assault or instantly destroyed when Imbindarla died, but that still leaves hundreds on the flooded plateau. One by one, the heroes free the whimpering and confused undead from their earthly bonds. As their flesh falls, the shaman Stone Bear can see their souls being swept onwards through the Bright Gate to their final reward in the halls of their ancestors.

Not all go willingly.  Perhaps one in ten seem to have embraced the sudden epiphany of their ghoulish nature, and these undead are still hellbent on survival.  Craftily, they hide under other corpses or swim beneath the water to try and escape the Defenders’ vigilance. 

“I just took out another two!” calls Nolin, hovering over the wind-whipped and corpse-clogged sea. “I heard them chewing. They may have lost their Goddess, but they’re still hungry.”

“Ugh,” says Agar as he swoops in. “Hey, we have maybe another 45 minutes left on this _fly_ spell. It wouldn’t do to forget.”

“Good point,” says Velendo. He calls mentally to one of the paladins. “Hey Mara, I think there might be a ghoul under this pile of smoking zombies. Can you come _detect evil_ and check? I don’t want to poke around in there unless I absolutely have to.”

“I’d love to,” answers Mara, “but it doesn’t seem to be working. Malachite can’t detect undead, either. I don’t know why.”

“Hmm,” murmurs Agar as he strokes his chin. Waving his hands briefly, he frowns. “I can’t detect magic either. It’s possible that the fall of the Goddess has disrupted how normal spells work. We’ll have to see.”

“I can still _detect rotting stink,_” grumbles Splinder into his beard as he rubs his nose, but no one takes notice. He joins the others and they hang there in the bitter wind for a moment, rotating slowly and surveying the blasted and flooded plateau.

“So where do we go from here?” asks Tao. “Back to Akin’s Throat?”

Burr-Lipp looks up from down by the water, where he is grinding his longspear through the body of a ghoulish gibberling. Nervously, the bullywug’s tongue whips out and cleans some mucous from his saucer-sized eye. He croaks expansively, and his unintelligeable words are translated by the _mindlink_.

Velendo rounds on him, eyes wide. “What do you mean, ‘why don’t we take their boat’? They don’t have a boat.”

Burr-Lipp croaks again.

“Where? And how do you know about it?” The bullywug gives a wavering sort of ribbit, ending in a low grunt.  “Huh. I guess your senses underwater are better than ours. Someone want to go look for it? It must be floating on the other side of those gigantic walls of water.”  Several members of the group peel off to go explore for the ship Burr-Lipp claimed he sensed.  Meanwhile, Nolin is trying to think like a trapped ghoul.

“Okay, I’m scared and trapped. I eat flesh. I’m over-matched.  Where would I want to hide until the damned attackers went away?” He flies in a slow circle, and his eyes finally light on a low series of ridged buildings near the edge of the plateau. Their roofs look like they were once crafted of clouded ruby, and the architecture seems to twist as his eyes settle on it. Three curved and arched ceilings like clam shells rise from the plateau, and the bard concludes that they would be superb places to try and hide. Gesturing to the other Defenders near him, he silently glides down on the wind, circling the curved structure so as to surprise anyone inside.

He’s not disappointed. Behind the entranceway’s ruby pillars, seven or more shapes are visible, crouching low in the water as they speak in gurgling, low tones. “..a run for it,” one of them slobbers, chewing on a piece of its own arm in its distress. 

“Too late,” says Nolin simply, as his friends descend in a semi-circle around the opening.

“Noooo!” screams a female drow in anger and frustration, and before the Defenders can react she draws chilling runes on the air with her clawed fingers. A whirling cloud of chewing teeth forms around most of the Defenders, and blood begins to pour from multiple wounds.

“Ow,” complains Velendo, eyeing the ghouls that are suddenly coming alert at the scent of fresh, hot blood. “These aren’t the rank and file. Hit them hard.” He follows his own advice with a _flame strike_, accompanied by a _flame strike_ of Tao’s and a _fireball_ by Nolin. A male drow elf slumps into the water, and two stumpy duergar are almost blown apart. Another female drow responds with a cone of icy-cold frost, however, and one of the duergar savants tugs his blood-clotted hair out of his eyes long enough to focus a blast of negative energy.

“May Aeos show you the true light,” suggests Mara. “Begone, nasty things!”  She focuses her power, and uses her last turning attempt of the day. Focused through the strength of her will, her compulsion is nearly irrestible, and three of the undead are forced backwards into the ruby wall. Malachite and Tao swoop forward to attack, even as Agar unleashes a bolt of mystic lightning.  

Nolin, however, stares at Mara. “Nasty things?” he asks skeptically. Mara blushes a bright pink, even as a brace of _magic missiles_ slam into Nolin from one of the remaining ghouls.

“Well, they are!” She slams down the visor on her helmet and turns to charge the ghouls. Nolin grins through the pain and turns to smile at Velendo.

“You’ve got to love…” His voice breaks off as the waist-deep water beneath Velendo ripples oddly. Nolin tries to shout a warning, but he just can’t react in time as the male drow elf they thought dead rises from the dark water with his needle-like sword pointed directly at Velendo’s midriff. 

“Goodbye,” whispers the ghoulish assassin, almost lovingly.

But Velendo is suddenly yanked backwards. Where the rumpled cleric was seconds ago, now there is a beautiful angel glowing like the lanterns of heaven, white wings spread and sword flashing. *”No,”* admonishes Cruciel, and she both bats aside the assassin’s blade and slashes him across the rotting neck. The undead drow elf gapes in surprise, but quickly realizes that he’s in a horrible tactical position.

“Take him alive,” advises Malachite as he brings Karthos through the neck of the last standing ghoulish wizard. Beside him, Tao and Mara have just finished off the others.  “We have questions that need answering.”

“Your choice, foulness,” intones Cruciel in a voice like trumpets at dawn. “Life or death. You may choose.”

The rotting dark elf stand poised in the water for a few precious seconds, torn between escape and surrender. His one remaining eye darts wildly back and forth as he calculates the odds. Then his face entirely shifts, and he drops his needle-like sword into the water. A wide grin spreads across his face, revealing putrefied gums.

“That’s very kind of you,” he simpers. “I am Lios.  I hope I can be as kind to someone else in the future. I am, of course, completely at your disposal.” He spreads his arms wide and bows slightly. “I am disarmed and unarmored. I can do you no harm. I repent all of my sins. Won’t you please let me go?” He looks up innocently, his gaze skipping from Malachite’s icy hatred, to Mara’s worried frown, to Tao’s disgust, to Nolin’s bemused disbelief.

“We will send you on,” Malachite intones in a low voice, “when we are ready. We have questions to ask.”  He cracks his knuckles within his gauntlets.

“By all means!” slobbers the ghoul eagerly. “I merely await your pleasure. Whatever I know, you will know.” He speads his hands wide once again by means of emphasis.

Velendo’s wispy gray eyebrows narrow. “You don’t mind telling us all your secrets?” he asks suspiciously.

“Oh, no!” says the ghoul unctuously. “It would be a pleasure. I have no alliance to the White Kingdom. Free me, and I will trouble you no more.”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Malachite’s voice is still low and rigidly controlled. His fist grips Karthos’ sheathed hilt tightly enough to cause pain.

“Well, I did,” says the ghoul wonderingly. He pulls on his chin as he thinks, only stopping when he realizes that he’s tugged loose a long strip of flesh. “My will was the will of my King. The ghouls had come to my city of Cuelvier years ago, and I had helped man the defense after the slaves had all fallen. I hated them then, and then I was killed – and suddenly, I understood that they were greater than I was! Greater than Lloth, greater than the drow, they were the key to life everlasting.” His voice has risen, but then he catches himself. “Well, not life exactly, but I’m sure you understand. I made a choice, and then my fate was tied to that of the Ivory King, and I existed only for him. Who I killed, who I ate, I killed and ate for Him and for our Ivory Queen, Imbindarla.” His voice is sad, and he goes silent.

Nolin prompts him. “And?”

“And today I was to be an overseer. I was to whip the fresh ghouls into the heart of the juggernaut, where they could merge with the beetles and bone. We were to do it quickly, for terrible signs had been seen that auspiced a disaster. And then you came, and then…” He sucks in a gasping breath that leaks out a charred hole in his chest. “Then our Queen died. Our Goddess fell.” He begins to look a bit panicked, but forces it away, fixing the wide and phony smile back on his face. 

“What was that like?”

The ghoul thinks, still submissive. “My soul returned, I think. I suddenly had free choice again. I could remember everyone I had eaten, everything I had done.” He smiles, a little dreamily. “People taste soooo gooood…” he murmurs. 

Mara puts a cautionary hand on Malachite’s shoulder, and raises her voice. “How did you get here?”

“We came in a ship loaded with our people. I don’t know most of the details,” he looks around, “and I think you killed the captain. We came, enlightened the gibberlings, found the sacred spot and the skeleton of the beast, pulled back the water, and began the ritual.”

“What was the ritual to do?”

The ghoul sighs. “It could have gone anywhere. Water, stone, air, fire. It could swim through them all, and deliver ghouls wherever the Ivory King or his Commanders wished. It was a thing of beauty.” He strokes a beetle swimming by, and Agar almost blasts him out of pure reflex.

Mara turns. “Anything else we need to know?”  The ghoul tries to look both innocent, naïve, and attentive.

Velendo sighs. “Where is your home city?”

“Eb’Nacreous is far from here. We came by water, through a kuo-toa city named Glubyal. I don’t know the route. It is deep in the bowels of the earth, a place of bone and beauty.”

“Who is Advisor Soder?”

The ghoul looks surprised. “The advisor to the Ivory King. He can speak through the distances. A very wise man.”

“Uh huh. I’ll bet.”

Lios simpers a bit more. “I have been so very helpful. Won’t you please allow me to go on my way, as you promised?”  Malachite exchanges a knowing glance with the rest of the Defenders, and Karthos leaps to his hand in the span of a heartbeat. There is the creak of armor, a truncated gurgle, and the sound of several objects splashing into murky water.

Malachite resheathes his sunblade as he turns away. “Gladly,” says the Hunter of the Dead with a tired voice. “Gladly.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

The Defenders are tossed like leaves on a winter storm. They are flying, flying ever upwards through the utter darkness, fighting the gale winds that whip through the Deeping Rift as they try to reach their refuge before the _mass fly_ spell wears off.  As they slowly and laboriously rise, they discuss their findings. 

“We went over the ship fairly carefully,” explains Galthia to several dwarven troops, “and we found some papers, but not too much that was useful. We ended up sinking the ship, just before the walls of water crashed down. I think we’re done down there.”

“I still think we should sail,” grumps Tao. “We have the folding boat that we took from the Dockside Royals, remember? _The Bloody Grail._”

“And who would navigate?” asks Velendo, who is trying not to get blown into a rock outcropping. “None of us know how to sail.”

“I do,” remarks Nolin with a smile, thinking of his new spell _improvisation_ that can make him a temporary expert in any subject. “For a very, very brief time.” Nolin savors Velendo’s sarcastic glare as the group finally reaches the tunnel that links the Deeping Rift to Nulloc Toadbringer’s former quarters. They clamber through the narrow gap one by one, only to be met by one of the dwarves who they had left as a guard.

“Ah, Holdin,” booms Splinder. “How were things?”

“Fine, Sir,” answers Holdin. “The Illithid Empire sends their greetings. They wish you to know that if we only turn over the slaveling Gith, they will be pleased to aid us in our quest. If we do not, they shall treat us as cattle and traitors.” The dwarf stamps a foot. “We should turn him over, Sir. Now. I told them it wouldn't be a problem.”

Even as the color begins to rise in Galthia’s pale face, Velendo rolls his eyes. “Illithid Empire, huh? That’s a laugh.” He leans towards the _dominated_ dwarf. “Can you hear me? _You have no empire!_ You’ve been wiped out by the damn ghouls, and we’re cleaning up your mess. Now get the hell outta here. You try this again, you get no mercy. Tao?”

“Already on it.” Tao casts _protection from evil_ on the dwarf, and his eyes suddenly refocus. 

“Oh, Moradin’s sack! I’m so sorry, Sir. I never saw a thing.”

“I bet.” Splinder is frowning. “We need a head count to see if anyone got eaten, and we need to check whether or not anyone else is dominated.” He glowers through his braided beard. “Blasted squidheads.”

“I still can’t detect magic,” reminds Agar. 

“All accounted for, Sir!” 

“Good.”

Galthia is fuming, his normally placid demeanor taut and strained. “I suggest we track and destroy them right now. We’re incredibly fortunate that no one was eaten.”

The group has a fast discussion, and vetoes the plan. “We’re drained. I don’t want to lose anyone else.” Velendo throws his arm across Galthia’s bony shoulders. “Come on into the Calphas’ Comfortable Castle. I cast it this morning as a refuge, so it’ll last until tomorrow. We can dispel any domination, rest, and plan.”  Reluctantly, Galthia agrees, and the entire unit of dwarves and heroes file through the narrow portal. Inside, the utter darkness of the caverns is no more, and regular light can be seen.  They also discover that divination spells are working in the extra-dimensional space, and three more dwarves are revealed to be _dominated._ That’s quickly dispelled by the clerics, and the group settles down to rest.

“Velendo, can you cast _sending_ for me?” asks Mara. “I want to find out what is happening elsewhere in the world.”

“Of course,” agrees Velendo, and casts the spell to fling Mara’s message through the multiverse into the ear of Father Whalter of Corsai. Velendo lifts his head to catch Mara’s sapphire blue eyes.

“Well? What’d he have to say?”

Velendo frowns. “No response. Either he’s asleep or it didn’t reach him.”

“Or he’s dead,” says Tao with concern in her voice. 

“Also a possibility. It also might have gotten lost in the ether. Who knows what Imbindarla’s death has done? We’ll try tomorrow.”  Tao also tries to cast a sending for Malachite, and similarly receives no response. Frowning, she settles in her chapel to pray.

Over a sumptuous breakfast the next morning, the group discusses their plans and whether they should travel by land or sea. “The advantage of sea is that it’s probably faster, and may have less enemies to run into. The big disadvantage is that no one knows how to navigate.” Velendo takes a slurp of tea.

“That’s no problem,” says Nolin as he glops more clotted cream onto a jam-filled scone. “We’ll just go around the edge of the sea. It’s how the ancient mariners used to do it when they didn’t want to go out of sight of land. They’d stick one guy up in the crows nest, and everyone else would laze around while he yelled ‘See it! See it!’  Then if land went out of sight, he’d scream ‘Don’t see it!’, and they’d all jump up and row like madmen until they could see land again.”

Everyone gives Nolin a doubting look.

“Trust me!” the bard says, waving his scone for emphasis. “I’m a historian. I know all about this sort of thing.”

“Uh huh.” Velendo’s tone is politely incredulous. “I’m sure. And if there is still no light in the world, that might be a little tricky with only 60’ darkvision.  The big advantage of going by land is that we can find out what else is happening in the world. I tried another sending this morning, and got no answer.

“Everyone is probably dead.” Priggle nibbles on some dry bread. “That would be about right.”

“Shush, Priggle,” says Mara. “Try to see the positive side of things.”  He looks up at her dourly, catches her eye, and almost smiles despite himself.  He opens his mouth but takes a bite of bread instead of speaking.

“Well, we need information,” complains Nolin. “I like the idea of a nice sea voyage, but our map points the way towards the gogglers.. the kuo-toa, who I think are clammy fish-people.  I think swinging by Akin’s Throat again might be the best thing to do.” The group takes a quick vote, and Tao is out-numbered. A land voyage it is.

“Another concern,” says Mara. “The sun didn’t rise this morning.”

The room goes silent. “What?”

“Ever since we _became_ in Akin’s Throat, I can tell when the sun rises, and Malachite can tell when it sets. It didn’t rise this morning.”

Everyone exchanges a glance. Priggle opens his mouth to speak, thinks twice about it, and snaps it shut. His worried expression is echoed around the table. 

“Well,” says Velendo slowly, “let’s go see what’s out there.”

[_Note: I haven’t written up Mara and Malachite’s transition to their new prestige class, the Radiant Knight! I’ll cover it in a forthcoming flashback._]

What’s outside is icy darkness. Light still does not work, and the cold wind continues to whip through the narrow tunnel. Frost has formed on the stone, and the howling of the wind is almost surreal.  “Reminds me of Pandemonium,” remarks Agar. “All tunnels and wind.”

“The wind is made up of spirits,” says Stone Bear wonderingly. “They stream past, screaming.” His empty eye sockets see the souls as they tumble by.

“Nice,” groans Agar. “I don’t think I envy you.”

“Be alert,” cautions Galthia. “The illithids have certainly not departed.”  But as the group makes their way out of the tunnels and head back towards Akin’s Throat, they don’t see any illithid-sign. They do see hundreds of thousands of beetles, though, crunching underfoot and clambering across jagged stone walls. The death of the Goddess of That Which Crawls In Darkness seems to have brought the insects out in full force.

Hours into their march, the group is crossing through a small circular cave when Mara notices something uncomfortable. _Ouch!_ she thinks.  _That hurt!_  Looking down, she sees that a small beetle is hanging by its pinchers from her forearm. Almost instinctively, she gives a quick glance over at Agar, but his magical belt keeps small vermin away from him. The others, though…

Seeing only with _darkvision_, Mara’s first impression is that people are all wearing dark boots. Then the “boots” continue to squirm and crawl upwards, and Mara’s stomach does a slow, lazy flip of revulsion. “Watch out! ” she starts to say, and then looks down at her own legs. Inch-long beetles coat them like dark and scuttling paint, and with a thrill of horror she realizes that the insects are in the process of squirming through the joints in her armor.

“What is it, Mara?” asks Nolin in concern. He hasn’t noticed it yet, but beetles are crawling quickly up the cuff of his pants and falling down into his boots.

“It’s…” She doesn’t have time to complete her answer, as hundreds of beetles chomp down simultaneously. Almost everyone in the group screams from the pain.

“Oh Gods! Get them off! Get them off!”  Other than Agar – who is screaming more out of general principle than actual pain, since no beetle can touch him – only Nolin and Tao are untouched. Everyone else pinwheels around, trying to slap or fling away the dozens of beetles that have locked their pinchers into flesh. The agony is searing and intense, and very, very personal.

Velendo swallows down his panic. “It might be _creeping doom_! Run! Get out of the area! Now!” The old cleric hikes up the edge of his robes and sprints forward as fast as his old bones will carry him, an army of dwarves and adventurers fast on his heels. Unable to get through the crush at the cavern exit, Galthia grabs Priggle and nimbly leaps atop a stalagmite that rises from the cavern floor.

Below them, Tao shakes her arm and watches beetles tumble off of it. She looks at Nolin. “We’re outsiders. They can’t penetrate our skin.”  Over the exclamations and shouts of pain from their friends, Nolin agrees. 

“You’re right. That’s kind of nice. But I _still_ don’t especially like bugs, and someone around here cast it on us.” He calls to Rides the Sun and mentally superimposes her phoenix shape over the mental image of his own body. Instantly, flame leaps out from his skin to sear away any insect it touches. “There goes another perfectly fine set of underclothing,” Nolin laments, and turns towards the hundreds of hungry insects crawling up the stalagmite towards Galthia.  Flame leaps from his hands to burn the stone pillar temporarily clean.  “You’re clear, Galthia. Go!”  

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Thanks for your patience, and thanks for the kind words!  So, just so people are clear on what is going on:

- The Defenders of Daybreak, a high-lvl group of adventurers, are in the underdark trying to shatter the power of a ghoulish kingdom. They've been underground for close to a month (and for almost a year in real time.)

- Partially due to fallout from the adventurers' researches, Tao's goddess has slain the goddess of undeath, who has just literally fallen from heaven and hit the world. Bad things seem to be ensuing as a result. 

- on top of everything else, illithids seem to be stalking the party. Is their elder brain undead?

- a ghoulish wizard of some sort who can possess other undead bodies (aka the puppeteer, aka Kellharin, but perhaps actually named Advisor Soder) seems to be heading up the ghoulish effort to discourage - one way or another - the Defenders. He might be considered an unusual fellow.

- the ghoulish empire may have suffered badly by having the goddess of undeath die. All the souls she kept away from their final rest are returning to their bodies. In some cases, this is killing the undead; in some cases, it is driving them insane; in other cases (especially where the person was a nasty piece of work to begin with), it might be making them stronger.

- many divination and communication spells appear to not be working correctly. If this is actually the case, it leaves the Defenders of Daybreak relatively isolated.

- The Defenders believe that they are getting close to their goal. They know that there is a kuo-toa city nearby that has allied with the ghouls, and they know that somewhere beyond that is an illithid city (believed overrun) and an ancient battlefield. How far Nacreous is beyond that, though, they're not sure.

- They suspect that the Ivory King, the king of the ghouls, is up to something particularly vile. They don't yet know exactly what.

I think that's an able summary! If anyone has any questions or needs a more detailed recap, let me know.


----------



## Piratecat

tleilaxu said:
			
		

> *a. how is attendance in your games? i know you've handled some absences with the temporal anomoly (tom tom is still stuck flashing in and out of existence). but i am curious, having an adventure such as this where the party is isolated, how do you handle it if a character can't be there for a session? its surely much easier if a party is 5th level in a ciry and you can say "Jonath went off into the slums for a day or two while the party had the adventure".
> 
> b. which books do you normally use? *




Attendance is generally superb. Raevynn left the game when the player moved to Las Vegas, of course, and TomTom's player has discovered that having a daughter is more time consuming than he thought (he could probably come if we played regularly on Tuesdays, but that's a day that is bad for a number of other folks.)  Alomir (Agar's player) is also a new Dad, but he and his wife coordinate child care in such a way that he's able to make most games.  I think Aravis (who plays Galthia) and Wulf (who plays Stone Bear) have missed a couple of games recently due to business travel, but that's about it. 

I generally figure that I'll have one person missing every other game. It's rare that it's more severe than this.  I try to encourage regular attendence, but real life does intrude once in a while.

When someone is missing, their PC fades into the background a bit. I usually hand the character sheet off to someone else to run during any combats. This works out pretty well; I don't mind saying "so-and-so is off on an errand in the city," but that's a lot tougher in someplace like the underdark, where _teleporting_ doesn't work!

I generally allow unrestricted material from the core rules, the Psionics Handbook, the Heroes of High Favor series, and the Manual of the Planes.  I allow material on a case-by-case basis from Oriental Adventures, Relics & Rituals, the WotC splatbooks, and an assortment of other 3rd party products (such as Malhavoc's Mindscapes). Basically, if someone wants to use something that isn't in core rules, I need to approve it.  Monsters, of course, I'll yoink from anywhere.

The trick is never letting anything into the game that I'm not comfortable with, and mining it for ideas and plot hooks if I do let it in. Take the Oriental Adventures shaman, for instance; I was hesitant to allow it, but that spirit sight ability (and the concept of guardian spirits providing the clerical domains) was just too much fun to pass up.


----------



## Dakkareth

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> 
> It rolled a "1". *




So ... how many XP did Galanna get for killing the world?


----------



## Piratecat

The monk leaps off the stalagmite with the deep gnome Priggle clutched under his left arm, hitting the floor gracefully and sprinting for the cave’s exit as fast as he can. Dozens more beetles latch painfully onto him as he does, digging their pinchers deep into his flesh as they try to consume tiny chunks of his body.  By the time he reaches the safety of the outer cave, he’s bleeding from over sixty spots. He’s far from alone; beside him, Splinder spits out a beetle that has attached itself to his lip and wipes away the bloody saliva with the back of his gauntleted hand. “What in the Soulforger’s dark dreams caused that?”

“Quiet, everyone!” hisses Velendo. “We’re probably under attack!” He stares nervously out into the darkness, but sees nothing. Sixty feet away, the cleric’s _darkvision_ ends like a flat black cloud, and Velendo is keenly aware that anything could be crouching unseen just beyond the range of his perception.

Splinder stiffens under the mild rebuke. “Tarm, Grimwald, go!” He snaps his finger towards the outer cave. “Thurrock, Delthor, you’re clerical support. Move with ‘em!” The still-injured dwarves stride off into the darkness to take up scouting positions. Velendo looks aggrieved, but Splinder just shakes his head and listens.

Two dwarven voices echo down the passage, followed by another two.  “Clear!”  “Confirmed!”  

Splinder turns to Velendo. “I think we’re momentarily safe. No enemies, at least not yet.”  Priggle slips off after the dwarves to do some stealthy scouting of  his own.  From the other end of the beetle cave, Tao is doing the same, and her voice is muffled by the insect-covered walls.  

“No one over here, either!”

Velendo rubs his forehead. “Then how…?”  He narrows his eyes at the beetle-filled cavern. “Hey, Tao? Is this sort of beetle behavior normal?”  Tao strolls back over, her feet crunching the insects that are trying desperately to consume her bit by bit. She shakes her head.

“No, you know it isn’t. You see that wall?”  Velendo nods. “Well, look at the way they all crawl on it, when they aren’t anywhere near as many on the other three walls. I should have noticed it immediately. Something is odd here.”  Tao pauses to cast _true seeing_.

“Oh, my.”

“What is it?”

“There’s some sort of black cloud blowing right through the center of this room.” 

Agar fights down his phobia and perks up. “Really? Let’s see!” He casts a divination spell himself and studies the area. A low whistle slides out of his lips. 

“Fascinating. Tao is right; there is some sort of energy blowing right through the surface of the wall. It doesn’t seem to be any kind of attack on us, but it does look like negative energy. I believe that it’s sopme sort of side effect of Imbindarla’s death. It must be driving the insects into some sort of horrible hunger.”  Everyone looks at one another.

“Well, that’s not good,” hazards Nolin.

“Certainly not!” exclaims Agar happily. “But it is fascinating. Even now, the amount of mist is lessening.  I wonder if we can collect a sample…?”

“NO!”  Shouted simultaneously by almost a half dozen people, it takes a few seconds for the echoes to die away. 

“Well, fine.” Agar almost looks abashed. “But I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.” 

“Let’s try to keep it that way.”

* * *

Three hours later, one of the forward scouts trots back to the group. He glances at Tao, who has been lost in private prayer for hours, and then turns to Splinder to report.  “Galthia sent me. Problems up ahead, sir,” says the dwarf. “Three dead bodies, totally stripped of flesh.”

Splinder frowns. “Hungry ghouls cause it?”

“Dunno, sir. Don’t think so. Ghouls normally break open the bones ‘n suck out the marrow.”

“Let’s go see.”

A few minutes later, the group kneels down in a semi-circle to examine the corpses. The goblinoid bodies still have a full complement of gear and clothing covering their skeletons, but hardly a scrap of flesh remains. The bones are strewn face down along the tunnel. A number of chewed-through wicker cages and net frames also litter the tunnel floor behind them. Tao pauses her prayer long enough to examine the tracks, and then quickly lets out a sick laugh.

“They were beetle hunters!” Several party members turn pale as they consider the implications, and Tao nods. “They were out collecting large beetles from the Running, and they seem to have walked right into one of those clouds of Imbindarla’s breath.” 

Nolin lets out a breath. “I’m betting that isn’t the place you want to be when you’re carrying a whole lot of large insects.”

“You think? Poor bastards.”

Agar swallows drily. The image of the goblins devoured by bugs confirms what he always knew would be true, and he shudders to think what would have happened to him if he was in the beetle corral in Akin’s Throat. Even after the group continues on, he keeps glancing behind him, as if the beetles might still be following.

* * *

The Defenders never do make it all the way back to Akin’s Throat. Near the end of a long day’s hike through the icy caverns and utter darkness, the tired group runs across a group of kobolds that have been waiting for them. Loyal to Nolin after his phenomenal bardic performances in the ‘Throat, these new followers have been gathering information for the bard in case he returns this way. Crouching out of the way of the howling spiritwind in a small side corridor, they offer the Defenders both warm food and important information.

“No light!” one of them says, restating the obvious as he bats away an errant flumph. “Everyone ssscared. Many rumorsss, hrmmmm?” The kobold offers Nolin a skin of mushroom beer to go with his hot rat soup. 

“What else?”

The kobold’s eyes roll back in his little reptilian head as he thinks. “All the zombiesss fell down and died. The merchant Mirjik left. The fire creaturesss from the duergars’ss forge essscaped and killed many people. Sssome of the giant mussshroomsss fell over when the earth ssshook. Gatesss to ssscity are closed, not to be letting anyone in or out. We sssnuck out sssecret way.” He looks proud.

“Don’t forgets magic!” says another kobold, poking the first in the ribs with a long and scaly finger.

“That right!” The first kobold smiles widely, revealing sharp and pointy teeth. “Master, much magic not working. Our great kobold sssorcerers not know why. Sssome think it isss end of worldes.”

Nolin sighs, and then forces a congratulatory smile of praise. “Let’s hope not. You’ve done a great job! Please keep collecting information for me. You can tell people that the goddess of the ghouls is dead, and that is what is causing the problems.”

The kobold stares at the bard with unblinking lizard eyes. “Isss that not the thing that isss good?”

Velendo harrumphs. “We hope so. But don’t make any bets.”  He slurps down the rest of his soup, flings a narrow and sodden rat tail back into the empty bowl, and eyes Nolin. “We done here?”

Nolin sighs, and drains the beerskin. “I suppose so. We best keep moving. We’re heading down towards the gogglers, and we can get an hour or two further today.

* * * 

Finally, the group prepares to camp at the edge of what would normally be a beautiful cavern. One end is filled with flowing white rock that looks like it was liquidified and then frozen in place. Priggle whistles appreciatively as he examines it.

“They still aren’t working,” worries Velendo. “A _sending_ from one of us to another person just fifteen feet away is barely audible; there’s no way one is getting from us back to the surface. And now our other divination magics are failing, even the powerful ones like _true sight_.”

Tao stops her constant prayer and lifts her head. “I can still feel my Goddess, of course, but I don’t know if I can talk to her.”  She frowns tiredly. “I’m offering her my strength and faith, in case it may help. I would give everything I have, if she wishes it.”

Velendo looks at her in sympathy. “I know.”

Stone Bear sits down on an outcropping. “But I see that we have no way of knowing where the body of the Goddess fell, or how people are on the surface.” He hears a faint chuckle of a spirit in his ear, but he does not turn around.

“I hope she fell on Eversink. I hope she fell on Eversink.” Nolin chants his new mantra quietly to himself.

“Hey!” Tao raises an eyebrow. “I own property there now, remember?” Nolin doesn’t look even vaguely sympathetic.

“Wouldn’t you trade your new prison for the sight of Griggan crushed to death by a divine weight?”

“Good point. But there _is_ Shara to think about…”

“She can teleport.”

“Another good point.”

“Well, we may be able to find out,” pipes up Agar, lifting his nose from a thick spellbook. “I have a new spell that should circumvent the divination problem, because I believe it works by utilizing the very forces that are probably scrambling normal spells! I should finish it by tonight, so we’ll see if it’s successful. With luck, it will give me uncontrolled visions of what is happening elsewhere in the world.”

“And that’s a good thing?”  

Agar smiles. “I hope so.”

“Well,” says Velendo as he lurches to his feet, “first let’s get some rest.”  He raises his holy shield and casts _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle._  “Ladies first,” he offers to Mara as he opens the door into the homey extradimensional space.

But instead of the normal food-laden and fire-lit interior, the door opens into a whirling gray hell of wind and mist. The pull of the storm almost yanks the elderly cleric through the portal and into its midst.  He braces himself just in time.

“Auggh!” screams Velendo over the howling wind as he pulls back. “That’s not comfortable!” 

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Expect some edits to this, as I need to check my notes - but it's a nice transitional moment, so I'll post it now, anyways.  

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

He braces himself, and looks out into the thundering storm of whirling mist.  “What in the world…?”

Agar pushes past him, locking arms with Tao and Malachite before pushing his face through the portal. His breath is quickly drawn from him by the whirling maelstrom, and he fancies that he can hear the screams of the damned echoing on the etheric winds. With some difficulty, he draws his head back.  “Ethereal cyclone,” he states matter-of-factly. “Geez, I’d hate to see the astral plane right about now.”

“Why?” asks Mara.

“Well, it seems that the death of the goddess has done bad things to the local planar weather. If it’s this bad on the ethereal, the astral – the plane of thought – is likely a complete disaster. No wonder divinations and communication spells aren’t working. Anything that has to travel through that mess is going to be disrupted.” 

“That explains why the pit fiend was worried about us traveling to Agar’s village,” muses Nolin. “I bet you can’t _plane shift_ through this.”

“Should we try?” asks Tao. “I can do that, or open a _gate_.”

“This might be the wrong time to experiment,” says Galthia with a shake of his angular head. “If something goes wrong, it could endanger us all.”

Agar frowns. “He’s probably right,” he apologizes to Tao, “as much as I hate to admit it. Summoning spells might be difficult, too. We’ll have to find out. But at least we know now why no one was answering our _sendings_.”

“Because they’re all dead?”  muses Priggle _sotto voce._

“It’s more than that, though,” says Malachite, not having heard the deep gnome. “My attempts to _detect undead_ aren’t working, either.”  Agar shrugs philosophically.

“What can you do? It should fade in time.”

“How much time?”

“I have no idea. Sometime between a week and a year, I’d guess.”

Malachite shakes his head once, back and forth. “We must keep faith. I’m more worried about the darkness.”

“Yeah? Well, me too, but I’m also worried about where these tired bones are going to sleep tonight.” Velendo takes one more suspicious look at the chaos behind the open planar door, sighs, and slams it shut. “Come on. Let’s use the Flickering Needle, and keep watches.”

“Proper watches?” asks Splinder. His beard twitches, and he raises a mailed fist to hide a tiny smile. “It’s a step in the right direction. Next thing you know, we’ll be eating actual salt pork and hard tack instead of that decadent banquet food that the Castle normally produces!” He nods in thorough approval. “The troops were getting soft. I just wish we were to be in open caverns instead of this portable fortress.”  Behind him, one of the dwarves snorts sarcastically.

“Be careful,” Priggle says philosophically. “I’m sure we’ll get there.” 

They watch as Tao pulls the heavy iron cube out of her pack. Setting it down and standing back, she says the command word, and the cube ratchets open to double its size, then quadruple. The fortress grows larger by the second.  Tao says a second command word, and the iron door clanks upwards. One by one the group files into their sanctuary, and the black metal door clanks shut behind them.

Other than the howling wind, the pitch-black cavern is silent.

The night passes quietly for those inside the _Daern’s Instant Fortress_, other than the sound of the icy wind outside and the total lack of light. In fact, once Agar’s _mass darkvision_ spell wears off in the early hours of the morning, all the surface dwellers but Stone Bear are virtually blind. 

Tao doesn’t sleep, though. She stays up in a state of deep meditation instead, her prayers drowned out by the thrumming of the wind against the cold metal of the tower walls.  “Galanna, I offer myself to you,” she implores, emerald eyes turned towards heaven as she calls to her Goddess through the darkness and the miles of stone above her. “I am nothing, but even the smallest ant can help move the mountain. Take from me, if you so desire, for I am your servant and your agent on Spira. My strength is your strength. Draw from me, if I am worthy.”  Over and over, deeper in prayer than she’s ever been before, repeating her invocation to the unnatural wind and the everpresent stone, even as the night stretches out before her and the heat dies from the fireplace embers that still refuse to shed light.

In the long, dark slow time of the early morning, her prayers are answered. 

Tao’s mounting sense of dread is kept in check by her faith, but the taint of Imbindarla’s death weighs heavily on her soul. As she prays, Tao feels an empathy for Galanna’s pain, and she desperately works to understand what it must be like to have to kill one that is family. Yet another prayer… and suddenly Tao understands, and it is as if a dam has broken, for the full magnitude of Galanna’s sorrow and despair washes over the Knight of the Horn.  The difference between Tao’s and Galanna’s grief is as the tiniest stream to the largest river, and for a timeless second Tao feels like her heart may burst. 

Then she feels a torrent of utter and incomprehensible bliss, and the ocean of sorrow drains away from her all at once, leaving behind a tide of warmth and reassurance that fills Tao with joy.  Galanna’s touch falls from her, drawing with it the gift that Tao had offered, and Tao falls to her knees. Face pale but heart singing, through her cascading tears she sees the faint coals in the fireplace in front of her.  “Light!” she thinks, head still reeling, and she hears a metal door clang open somewhere down the hall.

“Dawn!” clamors Mara, voice cloudy with sleep but nevertheless triumphant. “It’s dawn! Somewhere above us, the sun has just risen! Praise Aeos!”

Still kneeling in prayer, Tao smiles to herself. “Aeos, schmaeos,” she thinks. “Galanna did that, perhaps with my aid. Let’s see what the snotty paladin thinks of _that_.” Holding that thought close, Tao finally falls deeply asleep.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Sagiro

*Re: Velendo's strength*



			
				porthos said:
			
		

> *Sagiro,
> 
> Here's something I've always wondered about Velendo's strength - did you start play with a 6? I'm pretty sure you started him at his advanced age (don't tell him I said that), but I've always wondered if the low strength was due to an in-game event or if he was created like that purely for flavor. Or did you just get one crappy roll during character creation and make the best of it?   *




You remember correctly that Velendo started out as an oldish character -- 49 yrs, I believe.  His STR was 8 at the time.   

If you look on page 93 of the PH, you'll see that when a human turns 53, he loses 2 points from every physical stat, and gains 1 to every mental stat.  Thus the 6 STR.  (That's also why I've put two of my four level-based ability increases into CON and DEX -- I wanted to get back the lost AC and HP from aging!)

Random STR-related story:  right at the end of the Comet Cycle (when we saved the world the first time), Velendo and his then-8 STR ended up wrestling mano-a-mano with Dale Greldin, a supremely evil and powerful cleric of Imbindarla.  We we rolling around atop a horizontally-placed _wall of force_ that I had used to cover up a huge pit.  (And hundreds of feet below us, at the bottom of that pit, were some of the life-destroying worms that had annihilated every last thing on the planet eons earlier.  It was a pretty epic plot*) 

Anyway, I was an actual Proxy of Calphas at the time, and the touch of my holy shield was burning him badly.  On the other hand, he had some evil cleric mojo of his own, and the touch of his hands was permanently draining my STR from 8 to 6.

After that I adventured with a 6 STR until I finally found someone to cast _greater restoration_ on me.  (Lesser spells were ineffective.)  That brought my STR back to 8 for a brief time, until age knocked it back down again.

* - kind of like the one we're in now, but less grim and dangerous.


-Sagiro


----------



## Sialia

ooh, look. Something shiny.

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=918314#post1014236


----------



## Piratecat

The next few days of travel go fairly smoothly. There is some cautious scouting to avoid the invisible black mist known as Imbindarla’s Breath, a few simple victories against giant beetles and rat-like underdark pests, and some difficult climbing through narrow crevices and across delicate rock bridges. Despite temptation, no one tosses a rock into any of these “bottomless” holes to see how far down it goes, and so the crossings go smoothly.

During this time, Agar manages to master a spell in Nulloc Toadbringer’s former book _Acimer’s Divinatory._ “Got it!” he smiles triumphantly during a rest break. “I’ve been  wrestling with some of the spell formulae in the spell _vision cascade_, but I think I’ve got it now. Let’s find out.”

“What’s it do?” asks Tao.

“It disassembles my mind to find out what I’m interested in, then it goes out and sweeps the world,” says Agar without even the faintest trace of concern. “When it finds something that I’d probably be interested in, I’ll generally have a vision. It also helps me see the immediate future in combat, but it’s a lot less powerful in that sense. The spell lasts for a full day, so with any luck it’ll give us glimpses of people and places I know!”

“Cool,” says Nolin, raising his eyebrows. “Most other divinations are being stifled by Imbindarla’s death. You think this one will be any different?”

“I can only hope so,” says Agar as he casts the spell. “Ooh, it tingles.”

Everyone stares at the halfling, but he doesn’t immediately begin to prophesize or speak in tongues. After a minute, Priggle lets loose a disappointed sigh.  “That’s it, is it?”  

Agar looks a bit cross, and on his shoulder Proty chitters in annoyance. “Look, it isn’t as if…” In the middle of the sentence, the halfling alienist keels over backwards, his eyes rolling up in his head. The group rushes towards him, but he’s already sitting up.

“Whooo,” Agar says. 

“What’d you see?”

“A couple of different things. There were a few young adventurers, looking like they’d gotten the you-know-what kicked out of them, sitting outside of a cave entrance and staring at the setting sun.  Then there was a baby crying – I think it was sick. And a huge battlefield, strewn with thousands of skeletal bones and human corpses.” He turns to Mara and Malachite. “They were wearing the uniforms of your church’s army.”

Mara exhales an anxious breath of air out of her nose; from where he’s sitting up, Agar can scent its freshness, like flowers in the sun. “Who won?”

Agar shakes his head. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t see anything moving at all.” 

Malachite clenches his fists, knuckles cracking. “Then perhaps it wasn’t the undead who were victorious.”

*  *  *

Galthia scouts far in front of the group, easing from shadow to shadow like the faintest whisper. He pauses next to a tall stalagmite and sniffs, his flattened nose twitching in the darkness. His eyebrows narrow, and he turns to silently slip back to the rest of the group.

“Trouble,” he says brusquely as he slips out of the shadows. “I can smell ghouls.” Everyone exchanges a worried look, and weapons are loosened in their sheaths.

“Did you actually see anything?” asks Malachite, frowning.

“No. Didn’t need to.” He gestures for the others to follow, and turns to retrace his steps. Moments later, all of the Defenders are outside the same stalagmite, and they too smell the sickly sweet stench of decaying flesh. Priggle and Velendo examine the walls with a careful eye, and they eventually note a spot where the stone grain is slightly different: an expertly constructed secret door, set high on the wall and designed to pivot out into the corridor. With caution, Galthia eases it open, and the hideous scent of rotting meat floods the narrow tunnel. Even with the everpresent wind whisking it away, the odor is enough to sicken most of the adventurers present.

Tao boosts herself up to look in, gags, and chokes down her bile as she slides back down. “Not much living in here,” she says thickly. “I’ll see if I can figure out what happened.”  She grimaces, and then vaults into the opening with one smooth and graceful movement. Galthia and a few other Defenders follow, themselves clambering into the hidden fortress.

And a fortress it is; it’s quickly apparent that this is a ghoulish staging area, designed to hold several hundred troops in a spot that would give them quick access to Akin’s Throat and its network of convenient passages. Not so much any more, though; now it’s an abbatoir, a graveyard filled with the sprawled and scattered bodies of dozens of undead. Tao’s experienced eye slowly picks patterns out of the seemingly random chaos.

“See over there?” She gestures to Galthia. “These ghouls seem to have spontaneously dropped in their tracks. That must have happened when Imbindarla died. Now, these ghouls probably went insane…”

“Or suddenly, coldly sane,” says Galthia quietly. “Briefly.”

Tao swallows. “They’ve rended their own flesh, their faces, their eyes. They mostly killed themselves, one way or another.” They move deeper into the reeking, fly-filled excavation. “Now these ghouls over here look like they fought one another. This was an intelligent battle. This ghoul here,” she indicates a sludgy track in the rancid mud, “won. He killed these creatures, then went around putting other ghouls out of their misery. It looks like he was attacked by a wizard as well.” She lifts her head and looks around, finally noting a ghoul impaled on a stalagmite. “That one there.”

“Shhh!” says Galthia. They freeze, and then Tao hears it also. _Creeaaak… creeaaak…._

They round a pillar, and the source of the noise dangles before them. An elven ghoul hangs by a noose of braided hair, swaying slowly back and forth.  Flies buzz about it, rising and falling as it moves.  _Creeaaak…_

“By the prophets,” murmurs Galthia. Then the corpse opens its eyes.

“Kill me!” Its voice is clotted and hard to understand, choked off by the noose. It twitches spasmodically. “I can not do it myself. Kill me!”

Tao’s eyes narrow. “You did.. this?” She waves a hand.

The ghoul shrugs or nods, setting his whole body to swinging. “Some fell,” he gurgles. “Some went insane when they learned what they had become. I had to kill the ones that remained. Some still loved…” it chokes off. “Still loved what we were. What we are. They had to die.” His teeth part in a feral, deadly grin. “Painfully. But I can’t seem to kill myself. Please, end this. Please.”

Tao and Galthia exchange a look, and Tao nods. “Then be at peace.” She swings her sword.

* * *

It’s two days later when the abyssal caverns begin to show signs of life. The group has passed a completely abandoned troglodyte cavern, and they’ve heard quite a bit of scuttling and odd noises off in the darkness, but nothing has molested them. Now the passage that they follow widens dramatically. Galthia is once again scouting ahead, and he descends a steep slope towards what he first thinks is a dead end.

Not quite.

Crouched in the shadows, his sight first falls on a relatively new gong, a huge piece of copper the size of a full grown man. Behind it the floor slopes steeply upwards into a near-vertical wall, even as the ceiling rises at an equal rate. It is as if some god idly grasped the straight corridor and bent it almost straight upwards. There are marks of some sort of cable or creature on the mossy stone slope before him, and an occasional cracked and chewed bone that must have been tossed down from above.

As the rest of the group arrives, they discuss the best path for proceeding. Fly up to the top? Climb the extremely steep slope on their own? Ring the gong? They remain locked in mental conversation for some time, long enough for the dwarves to call for an official rest break and sit down to rest.  Mara finally loses patience and does the honorable thing. “No need to trespass,” she reasons, and hammers the gong as hard as she can. It booms out into the darkness.

“Wha..?” Velendo’s head snaps up from where he had been debating strategy with Malachite and Nolin.

“Look sharp, folks,” says Mara. “Whoever is up there, I think I just got their attention.”

The sound of heavy wings slaps at the darkness as the gong’s ringing fades.  With palpable thuds, several creatures land on the cavern floor to both the right and left of Mara. A grinding moan reaches her ears, but with just her darkvision Mara can’t see what they are; they’ve landed outside of the spell’s 60’ range.  The paladin utters a short prayer and golden light rises from her holy shield.  The creatures she sees in the rising light are roughly the size of horses, apparently stone with hawk wings and a hawk’s head. They look a bit like overgrown gargoyles, if gargoyles had eyes that glowed with orange fire. They stare at her.

From above, a deep voice echoes down. “Thuglid! Grbak hoksuk ner telblin!”

“Damn it!” swears Nolin. “Too far away for my cloakpin to translate. Anyone understand them?” Agar casts _tongues,_ even as Tao’s face grows red. 

“Oh, I understand him,” she growls. “It’s a giant.”

Velendo rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t kill it. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.” Tao begins to smile, and Velendo adds, “OR offend it so that we have to kill it.” Her smile promptly vanishes, to be replaced with a disappointed frown.

“Party pooper.”  

Except for Nolin and Mara, the Defenders draw back into the deep shadows.  Standing by the gong, Mara calls up in undercommon. “Can you understand me?”

The voice calls back down, reverberating from the stone. “Yah. No you move! I me down to gather toll.” There is a faint grunt, and a minute later a thick rope hawser skitters down the near-vertical slope. The rope is quickly followed by a hideously misshapen parody of life.  At first, the form looks human. . . but it’s soon apparent how wrong that impression really is. The fishbelly-white giant descending hand-over-hand is horribly malformed; half of its face droops down towards its neck, it only has one ear, and the frail beginnings of a third arm juts from its right shoulder. The creature has muscles and scar tissue to spare, and its sharpened teeth indicate that it is far from docile, but it doesn’t immediately attack after dropping the last fifteen feet. Instead it grunts, crouches, and studies the group with its largest, bulging eye.

“Oh great,” says Tao _sotto voce_. “A giant AND an abomination. May I kill it now? Please?”

“Hello,” begins Mara cautiously, drowning out Tao. “Who are you?”

The formorian giant’s throat vibrates in a low rumble as it makes a complicated gesture with its hands. “Grgl.” 

There’s a pause as the Defenders look at one another.  “I don’t know if that’s a name,” whispers Nolin. “I think it is. But maybe he just has gas.”

“I see, Grgl,” continues Mara politely. “We’d like to pass.”

It snorts.  “Course you want. We warned. You go, you pay toll.”

“What kind of toll?”

Nolin breaks in, stepping forward next to Mara. Standing next to one another, the two look radiant in the flickers of fire coming off of the bard; their teeth and eyes gleam as over 44 points of focused charisma begins to work their magic on the dull giant.  Nolin smiles politely.  “And who warned you, if I may ask?”  The giant looks back and forth from one to another, somewhat confused.  “You may answer her first,” allows Nolin considerately, and the giant nods heavily.

“Magic items,” it says as it looks at Mara. “Things of magic.” It nods again, its misshapen head bobbling on the end of its thick neck. “Powerful and expensive.”  Then its head swivels towards Nolin. “Rotting things warned us.”

Nolin blinks. “What?”

“Rotting things. Ghouls. They said you bad, and gave much tribute so that we kill you.”  At this a mental rumble arises from all the _mindlinked_ heroes. 

“Are you still going to kill us?”

The giant stares at him with a beetled brow. “Not my decision.” It shrugs, setting its growths to wobbling. “You pay, we let you pass.” It glances over to the winged gargoyle-things, which are still prowling around the edges of the group’s _darkvision_, and smiles slightly.

“And whose decision is it?”

“Thulk’s. This is Thulk’s Wall.”  The giant looks proud, and perhaps a little scared.

Mara grasps her _rod of leadership_, a magic item gained back in Eversink that makes her even more commanding than she already is. She takes a few steps forward, looking up from the giant’s backwards-bending knees up towards its hideous face.  “Now, we’re going to go destroy those ghouls, and they’re never going to bother you again,” she croons. “Why don’t you just let us pass without payment?”

The giant looks worried. “Ghouls not bother. Give mighty tribute for passage back and forth. Make us rich.”  Back in the shadows, Stone Bear’s eye twitches slightly; he isn’t especially materialistic, but the thought of huge amounts of mgic and loot excites a quiet little part of his soul.

“Well, once we’ve killed them, anything they have could be yours, if you wanted to go get it,” reasons Mara. She catches and holds the giant’s eyes in an unbreakable gaze. “You wouldn’t be sorry. And what we’re doing is _really_ important.”

“It is,” agrees Nolin in seething envy, gazing out of the corner of his eye at Mara’s +6 cloak of charisma. “Say, do you know the old giantish song about the rock throwing contest?” He then breaks into a percussion-heavy version of a giantish folk song that emphasizes the message of bargaining with strangers instead of killing them outright. The music sounds amazing in the echoing chamber, and Grgl is clearly entranced. In fact, he’s so entranced that Nolin’s suggestive message of cooperation penetrates his craggy skull. When the song finishes minutes later, he looks down at the bard. 

“You right!” exclaims the giant. “We no need kill you. You stay here,” he says to Mara, patting the ground with a thump, “and you! Come talk to Chieftan Thulk!” And before Nolin can say a thing, the formorian snaps a talon-like hand around Nolin’s midriff and hoists him into the air.

_“Ummm… Nolin?”_ asks Tao as the giant begins clambering back up the near-vertical wall with Nolin slung over his shoulder. _“Do you want us to help?”_

_“Nah,”_ thinks the bard. _“This’ll get me in to see the Chieftan. A few fast words, and we’ll be up and over this thing for free.”_ He watches as the two of them clamber up the stone barrier. Near him, large openings in the stone appear and disappear.  

_“I’ve found where those gargoyle things live. It looks like there’s a lot of them. I see nests all over this place.”_

“Oh, great,” grumbles Velendo. “I’m liking this less and less.”

Next to him, Tao agrees. “We ought to just kill them all.”

Malachite shakes his head. “They may be evil, but they’re not our goal. We can’t afford to waste resources on these creatures instead of on the undead, unless we have no other choice.” He raises his head to try and glimpse Nolin, but the bard is only visible as a flicker of flame hundreds of feet up the wall. “We’ll see what Nolin can do.”  

Tao looks at him. “What sort of paladin can pick and choose their evil?”

Malachite shoots her a cold look. “I am a Knight of the Emerald Chapel, and my loyalty to my God is not in question. I have a duty, and we have a more important enemies than _these_ things.”  Tao glowers back.

Finally reaching the top, Nolin is unloaded and placed on his feet next to the giant Grgl. He looks up to see that he is surrounded by four other repulsive formorian giants, and the sheer cliff face is at his back. In front of him, behind the ring of guards, are another two dozen giants standing before tall several stone buildings.

One of the foul-looking giants facing Nolin squints, then swears descriptively in giantish. “You idiot, Grgl!” it trumpets. “You know what you were told. None ascend! As the rotting ones said they would, these things have bewitched you!” The giant wiggles a swollen four-knuckled finger as it stumps closer on its wide and bulging legs.

“No!” says Grgl, confused, looking back and forth between his fellow giants and his new friend. “Me fine.”

“Yes,” says the other giant coldly. “I’m sure.”

“Well, actually, I…” Nolin begins, but cuts off his sentence as he desperately tries to duck three incoming great hammers. Two of the formorian guards manage to connect with crushing blows, drawing blood and breaking bones as they slam into Nolin’s shoulder and leg. With a snarl of triumph on his face, the hunchbacked guard captain lets loose a wide and powerful kick which catches Nolin across the belly. The bard is knocked more than ten feet backwards from the blow, and with a thrill of horror he realizes that there’s no ground beneath his feet. His spattering blood tumbles into the darkness beneath him.

Over the mindlink, Nolin thinks, _“Oh, shi…”_

Like a comet, Nolin falls.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

*Re: Rule One Violations!*



			
				Steverooo said:
			
		

> *1) REMEMBER THE GEMSTONE KEY!  Hey, in the Dwarven Vaults, before the ghost (the Armory, I believe), they found it.  Then, later, Kellharin was telling them about the Ebon Gate being unlocked?  SOMEBODY CHECK THE DIVINATIONS!!!
> 
> 2) Nobody uses missile weapons, anymore?  Why didn't someone nail the Marilith's hide to the ground before she cast her spells?
> 
> 3) What happened with Kellharin?  Weren't the Defenders supposed to be looking for a replacement?  Did this even get mentioned when they returned to the Dwarven Citadel?  What happened to him when the Undead One died?  Is the Gate even guarded, now?
> 
> 4) The DoD had TWO willing Ghouls, and never asked either one who the Ivory King is?  [Rolls save and Disbelieves]
> 
> 5) OF COURSE the death of Imbindarla is the explanation for the changes in 3.5e!
> 
> 6) Where are the bullettes and Cloakers?!?
> 
> 7) Like most high-level campaigns, this one seems impossible to survive without ultra-high levels of magic...  PirateCat, what would you do with a 16th-level Fighter or Rogue, or an 8th/8th Ranger/Rogue, for instance?  The ways they could die seem innumerable!  Do you rate the challenge to the PCs' abilities, or to the average of the party's?  How do (would) you handle magically unskilled PCs?
> *




1. No one has really fussed with that key; I think Nolin is still carrying it around. Whether or not it has any bearing into what's going on isn't something that they've taken (or necessarily had) time to figure out. Hopefully, if it's the dingus that they have to frob in order to win the level, someone will pull it out at the last second and cry, "Hey, Ivory King! I've got your big bad death device RIGHT HERE!" Then they'll stick it in his belly and turn it, and a half-dozen little clowns will come out in tiny cars, and everyone will celebrate.

Err - that's it. No more coffee for me today.

2. "I got yer missile weapon right here.. It's called a fireball."  Seriously, this group is virtually without missile capability, other than spells and the highly effective dwarven crossbowmen. Oh well; it's a tactical weakness, but they have other effective tactics. A good _flame strike_ can make up for many an arrow.

3. Revealed in an upcoming installment.

4. They probably did, and I didn't mention it, because they got a response equivalent to "He is our master."  Not too helpful.

5. Don't think that hadn't escaped me! But last night we decided to wait until the White Kingdom adventure is over with - another half dozen sessions, perhaps - one way or another. That way we aren't changing spells at a time when everyone needs to know intimately what they do.  Heh - the rest of the world has changed, but deep in the underdark, things are a little slower to catch up.  

6. Busy doing something. Makes you wonder what, doesn't it? They did see a dead bulette killed by the pseudonatural troll, but they haven't fought any.

7. A high-level non-magical PC would do just fine; look at Priggle, Galthia, or Palladio before that. Mind you, rogues have it tough against undead. Such PCs would be best off against single, tough foes; they are less efficient against innumerable, weaker foes. A good adventuring group shores up one another's weaknesses, so a non-magical fighter would still depend on magical and clerical support to help her do her job better.

I think any good DM has to challenge everyone in the group. That means providing a variety of challenges that impact _all_ the players and give them a chance to shine. Example: Wulf brought in a PC with sundering abilities, and you'll see it being _really_ helpful a few sessions from now.

Hope that helps!


----------



## Piratecat

Nolin spins and tumbles as he falls. He considers casting _fly_, but instinctively realizes that there simply isn’t enough time. “That’s it, then,” he thinks to himself. “I’m going to die.” He tries to prepare himself for the upcoming pain, but there’s a clamor in his head, a noise like a dozen people all shouting at the same time.

Then as the ground speeds towards him, Nolin realizes that the noise _is_ a dozen people all shouting at the same time, only over the _mindlink. “Nolin, you idiot!” _ Tao and Velendo are almost drowning one another out as they try to get the bard’s attention. _“You can featherfall!” _

“I can featherfall?” Nolin’s brow furrows as the hard stone spins up to meet him. “I…” Almost as if in a dream, he thinks over his first level spells, and suddenly feels horribly embarrassed. “Crap! I _can_ featherfall!”

So he does. About fifteen feet above the ground.

Velendo looks at Nolin with a critical eye as the hyperventilating bard wafts down to the ground. “Cutting it a little close there, weren’t you?”

Nolin shakes his head, trying to bluff even as his breath comes in short gasps. “No, not at all! I was… err…” He is interrupted by shattering stone and the sharp sting of rock fragments against his cheek.

“Incoming!” A second tremendous boulder plummets down from the heights, this one crashing down right next to Nolin. As the Defenders pull back towards cover, the horse-sized gargoyles still circling the group leap forwards to attack. More flap down from their nests on the wall.

Velendo snorts. “I’ve had about enough of this.” He casts a _flexible wall_ above their heads, shielding them from boulders and hedging out most of the gargoyles. Mara, Malachite, Stone Bear and Galthia make short work of the two that remain within the wall.  More than a dozen large rocks rain down from on high, but all of them break and bounce away from the invisible shield of force that arcs over the Defenders’ heads.

The boulders let up for a minute, probably while the giants go to find more. “You quite done?” shouts up Velendo. Another barrage of missiles answers his question, but this ceases fairly quickly when it becomes glaringly apparent to the giants that the boulders aren’t doing any actual damage. Outside of the _flexible wall_, the gargoyles also give up and flap back up into the darkness.

A deep voice echoes down from above, one considerably smarter than the last giant. “We were paid to kill you.”

Velendo rolls his eyes, clearly fed up with the entire situation, and shouts upwards. “I’m sure you were. And I’m sure you would be able to eventually do so. But we’re armed and ready for battle, and we would take several dozen of your people with us. Is that what you really want? Were you paid enough for that?”

Silence.  Then more silence.

“Well?”

The deep voice echoes down, deep and booming.  “You pay the toll, we will let you pass. Magic items, as you were told. Good ones, for there are many of you.”  Slowly, a basket is lowered down from the heights on a rope.

Malachite snorts. “You want us to pay you before we pass?”

The voice laughs sourly. “Pay now, or go away. We might spare your life. Be pleased.”

The Defenders roll their eyes at one another.  “How do you know you won’t take our items and then attack us?”

The disdain in the giant’s voice is audible even from a distance. “We care nothing for the ghouls. They are customers, like any. If we were going to kill you, we would do so without asking for payment first.”

“Let ‘em try,” growls Tao.

Nolin turns to the others, and speaks more softly. “We’ve got them.”

Stone Bear looks at the bard, his hollow eye sockets catching the light from Mara’s shield. “How so?” His raven caws and flaps briefly into the air.

“I’m thinking that they already know we could rip them apart. They know the ghouls wanted us stopped, but couldn’t do it themselves. Now their attempt to kill me failed.”

“So?”

“So, I think they’re scared, but they have to maintain face. So they’re letting us buy the way out of the contract.”

“Well, I don’t have much that I want to give away,” says Mara plaintively. “Most of my things are useful.”

“Mine too,” says Agar.

“I don’t really have many magical items,” grumbles Priggle from over in the corner.

“Well, grab potions and bric-a-brak. Let’s see what we have.” Within a minute, the group has gathered a small pile of one-shot items, redundant trinkets and seldom-used weapons. Nolin dumps it into the basket, and watches as the small trove is hauled up.

“That’s IT? Not enough!”  The outraged roar comes from above.

Mara shouts back, “Well, you aren’t getting any more! You have already been paid by the ghouls for killing us. Since you aren't completing that contract, you should consider their payment to be our payment. And we are doing you a favor; we plan to destroy the undead once and for all.” 

“That is no favor. They pay us to pass, well and often. You kill them – as if you could – we get no more tolls from them.”

“But if we kill them, you can send people to take your pick of their treasures.”  Her voice rings with sincerity, and the two groups angrily bargain back and forth for almost half an hour.  Finally, the giants reluctantly agree to allow the heroes passage, in exchange for a handful of additional magical miscellania. 

“I have no idea what they’re going to do with these things,” wonders Agar with doubt in his voice as he slowly ascends the steep wall, hauled upwards on a coach-sized sledge that slides up the wall on two huge cables. “It’s not like they can use a lot of the one-shot items we gave them unless they have a wizard amongst them.” The sledge chunks into a space at the top of the ascent, and the first of the Defenders steps off before the sledge descends for the second of four loads. “Let’s face it, I…” He pauses and swallows.  “Oh.”

Surrounding the small group is close to two dozen misshapen giants, all of them with heavy spears or oversized boulders. At the forefront of the giants, surrounded by another half-dozen malformed giants in piecemeal armor, is an evil abomination leaning on a tremendous steel scythe. This giant is old, old enough for his prodigious nose- and ear-hair to have turned white, but his muscles still ripple unnaturally and his one eye glares in distrust. As Agar watches, he holds up several of the group’s less powerful offerings and crushes them with one anvil-sized fist. Magical energy courses up his arm and into his body, and Agar’s _true seeing_ spells watches the spent magic somehow get consumed by the giant’s muscle fiber.

“Heh.. hi?” squeaks the halfling.

_To be continued..._


----------



## Piratecat

“I’m still not convinced that I shouldn’t slaughter you where you stand,” says the old giant in perfect undercommon, speaking in a gravelly voice. He eyes the prodigious magical armor and items that the Defenders are sporting with a revolted sneer. “I’d be doing you a favor. That magic is poison. It weakens the soul, makes you vulnerable, makes you weak.”  Galthia and Stone Bear have to agree to a certain extent, but the holy sword Karthos vibrates angrily in Malachite’s grasp. “I haven’t made that mistake.”

“I’ll take that chance,” says Tao with gritted teeth. She stares at the giant’s face, as if memorizing it. The huge formorian giant stares back at her, amused, and runs one thick finger along the edge of his scythe. He takes in her magical armor and weapons, and his face starts to become mottled.

“We’ll be going, I think, as soon as our companions are up here.” Mara changes the subject and gracefully intercedes, stepping between the chieftan and Tao. Grgl, the giant who had first spoken to her and Nolin, stares at her with an unreadable expression but says nothing.  The wait is extremely uncomfortable. Mara and Malachite are keenly aware that these creatures are probably evil, but as Nolin says, ‘It’s a keep-to-yourself kind of evil.’ _They do try to keep some sort of order down here,_ Mara rationalizes to herself as she looks around worriedly. Her ability to actually detect evil is still being stymied by Imbindarla’s death, but she doesn’t like their looks.  _And they aren’t attacking us with surprise – yet.  Just as well; our tactical position would be horrible._ 

Finally, the entire group of dwarves and adventurers have been raised to the top of the wall. The group is slowly lowered down the far side of the precipice, piece by piece. They keep expecting an attack, but none comes. The waiting is irritating.  “I know they wanted our items,” Stone Bear says, his raven sitting on his shoulder backwards so as to watch behind him. “I don’t trust them. I’ve seen people like that chieftan before. We call his type forsakers, because they get more powerful by destroying magic instead of using it.”

“Maybe we convinced them we’d be more trouble than we’re worth,” reasons Velendo. “In any case, let's march. The farther we’re from here, the better.”

The next day is uneventful other than a meeting with a half-orc who tried to hide from the group. Named Shaw, the man turns out to be quite the explorer.  “Why’d you hide from us?” asks Tao as they chat, magical divinations and standard suspicion-testing completed. Shaw looks at her, amused.

“Wouldn’t YOU hide from you?” His dark eyes twinkle, and he snorts. “I get through the underdark by being careful, polite and sneaky. Avoiding large groups of people is usually the best tactic.”

“But you got past the giants?” asks Stone Bear.

“Paid ‘em off,” answers Shaw, “just like everyone does. And I’ve snuck past three groups of ghouls. This is nowhere as bad as the Abyss is.”

Nolin and Agar perk up.  “You’ve been to the Abyss?”

“Sure,” the half-orc gestures with both hands. “I’ve traveled the planes. You ever been to Sigil?”

“You bet!” exclaims Agar, and the rest of the Defenders gather round as well.

“I love it there, but it’s a little crowded. I don’t know if you know about it, but right now the modrons are marching. I actually got to follow them for a few months! Best decision I ever made.  I had some amazing adventures, met some fascinating people, and got some treasure I couldn’t be happier with.” He smiles contentedly.

“Do you know _why_ they’re marching?” asks Nolin, his voice sour.

“Got some theories,” considers Shaw, “but I promised someone I wouldn’t talk about them. Where you headed now?”

“The kuo-toa city somewhere ahead,” answers Velendo, as Nolin swears quietly behind him.

“Oh, Glubyal! Me too. There’s a small village outside it named Glig. That’s where I’ll probably stay tonight.” They talk while walking, discussing sights that they’ve seen and things that they’ve done, as well as the current state of underdark politics. Shaw has an insightful mind, and offers some opinions on what the ghouls dying or withdrawing might mean to the other civilizations nearby. “I’ve heard rumors that there’s a rebellion in Glubal right now, the rightful King and his ghoul allies against some rebel who thinks that ghouls are an insult to the Sea Mother. Ought to make for an exciting visit.”

Shaw and Tao even chase each other around for a bit, Shaw demonstrating a trick he picked up on Limbo of _dimension dooring_ by bending space around him.  All in all, the hike is more interesting than most, and by the time they reach Glig they’re sorry to see him go.

“Is there much farther to… ugh!” Velendo wrinkles his nose. “What’s that smell? It stinks like month-old fish.”

Shaw gestures down the wide cave tunnel, smiling and showing his small tusks. “You see those gates up ahead?”  Velendo squints, peers into the darkness, and eventually nods. “The smell is always the first clue that you’re nearing kuo-toa. My friends, welcome to the town of Glig.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Jobu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *
> “I’ll take that chance,” says Tao with gritted teeth. She stares at the giant’s face, as if memorizing it. The huge formorian giant stares back at her, amused, and runs one thick finger along the edge of his scythe. He takes in her magical armor and weapons, and his face starts to become mottled. *




There are three things that haven't changed for Tao in all her years of adventuring. 
1) She HATES Giants (speices enemy)
2) She is a favored tasty morsel for any and all Dragons
3) She will NEVER EVER EVER sleep with Nollin

unlike Mara (spoiler - LOL)


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Hey...  Look what I found on the WotC website!







Can you guess what it is?



Hmmm?



It's a Marching Modron.


----------



## Piratecat

DispelAkimbo said:
			
		

> Has someone at WotC been reading this story hour, or is this just a happy coin-cidence?
> 
> http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=dnd/re/20030901a
> 
> coin-cidence.....geddit?




Ugh. You should be pun-ished.

I know Robert pretty well, but he doesn't read this; it's a happy coincidence. Good monster, too!

I'm half-way through an update, incidentally. Hey, what do you call a kuo-toa who is playing poker? A fish with chips! Bwah ha ha ha ha, get it?

Never mind. I'm going to go make coffee.


----------



## Piratecat

Henry said:
			
		

> *Make it REALLY, REALLY strong. *




You're going to make me do this, aren't you?

Okay. Paul the Samurai is facing off against Sloogoobl, a kuo-toa whip. Sloogoobl is a sunderin' fool, and he's just smashed *both* of the mercurial scimitars that Paul (who obviously has one level of front-loaded 3e ranger) typically wields. Desperate for a weapon, Paul snatches up two pincher staffs from slain kuo-toa foes lying nearby. Wielding both pole arms monkey-grip style, Paul circles Sloogoobl, looking for an opening.

There! Paul feints and swings forward, catching the kuo-toa across the slimy head with one of his wooden weapons. He spins, and the other staff cracks across the fish-man's forehead.  A clearish blood trickles down into Sloogoobl's huge, bulbous eyes, and Paul grins as he gestures. "Bring it on!"

And Sloogoobl does, realizing that his key to victory will be leaving Paul unarmed. His wiry muscles bunching, the kuo-toa power attacks for everything he's worth, swinging his weapon in a blow designed to sunder the first pincher staff, smash through it, keep cleaving and sunder the next, smash through it, and finally impact upon Paul's lightly armored chest! The kuo-toa has put a lot of feats into perfecting this maneuver, and it has never failed him before. Even better, Paul is weilding two kuo-toa weapons, and Sloogoobl is intimately familiar with their strengths and weaknesses. It ought to be simple.

If only he noticed that patch of slime on the tiled floor. 

Sloogoobl has put so much effort into his swing that when his webbed foot skids in the slime, he has no chance of recovering and sundering the two wooden weapons. No!  The kuo-toa screams in denial as Paul prepares his deadly counter-attack, but there's no denying the obvious; Sloogoobl has failed.  He misses Paul's fish sticks.

Get it? Get it?  buh-dum-bump!

Thank you, thank you. You're very kind. I'll be here all week; invite your friends, and try the veal.


----------



## Piratecat

The town of Glig is an odd place. Smaller than Akin’s Throat, the town is carved from coral and stone and set at a confluence of ancient tunnels.  Armed kuo-toa guards keep the peace at each of the seven barred entrances and exits. This place seems untouched by ghoulish depredations; while most of the inhabitants and visitors are kuo-toa, a handful are traders from other underdark races as well, and the Defenders of Daybreak and their dwarven entourage are admitted by the gate guards without comment. The entire town is knee-deep in cold, dark water, and the lighting is… wrong.  Grayish luminescent slugs crawl slowly across the walls, giving the place a feel like the bottom of the ocean. Shapes seem strange to the Defenders, and the ripples in the oily water scatter the grayish light at odd angles. The smell of the town is intense, an odor redolent of rotting seafood that is slightly reminiscent of Lord Griggan’s basement in Eversink, and even conversation echoes unexpectedly off the water and walls. One thing that seems strange to Priggle and Velendo is that there is almost no decoration or ornamentation at all on any the buildings, not even carvings or sculptures.  Only Burr-Lipp the bullywug gladiator seems entirely at ease.

As the group splits up to look around, Shaw bids them farewell. “They’re allowing me to head down to the city of Glubyal this evening,” he says as he gestures towards a particular gate with a calloused hand. “I’m to meet with the Sea King Blel-Plibbit. It ought to be quite an experience.”

“What are you going to say to him?” asks Velendo curiously.

“I’m not sure,” admits Shaw huskily. “I just want to meet him and learn about his kingdom. Maybe I’ll see you there?”  

Nolin thinks of the fact that the kuo-toa Sea King is allied with the ghouls, and hides a frown.  “Maybe. Be careful.”

Shaw laughs, showing his prominent tusks. “I always am. Not to worry, I’m a survivor.” He smiles and hefts his pack onto his broad shoulders as he turns to leave. His voice trails back.  “I’ll speak to them about your passage as well.”  Malachite gazes after him.

“I hope he’s not going to betray us.”

Mara laughs. “Not a chance. He was a nice guy. You worry too much.”

As the group splashes and wades from stall to stall, they subtly begin to gather rumors about the city of Glubyal. Nolin has just finished purchasing a lobster woman souvenier for his daughter when he meets up with the others. “Hey, you guys want some raw fish?” He has a fish-on-a-stick as a snack, flopping back and forth with dead eyes every time Nolin moves his hands.

“Eww, no!” Mara looks at it suspiciously as Stone Bear reaches forward to try a bite. Nolin has eaten about half of it.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” the bard assures her. He flicks a speck of fish off of his golden battlecloak and takes it back from Stone Bear. “You should try new things, Mara. It’s got eel paste on it and everything, and it’s really tasty.”

Stone Bear raises his head, and Mara shivers as she looks into his eye sockets. “Nolin’s right,” the shaman agrees. “It’s quite good.”

Galthia catches Nolin’s eye and changes the subject. “What did you learn?”

“It’s like this,” Nolin explains. He raises his right hand, palm up.  “They’re in the middle of an uprising. On one side is the Sea King Blel-Plibbit, the rightful ruler and supposed chosen mate of the Sea Mother, the Goddess Blibdoolpoolp herself. That’s probably just propaganda and part of the title, but we shouldn’t take chances. He’s been aiding and supplying the ghouls, giving them slaves and supplies and free passage in exchange for wealth and gifts.”

Mara snorts prettily. “Slaves and supplies are probably the same thing.”

“Exactly.” He raises his left hand, palm up, letting the fish-on-a-stick dangle. “Opposed to him is someone named Monitor Thoobel. As far as I can tell Thoobel was someone powerful in the hierarchy until he went completely insane. Now he’s claiming that the Sea King has betrayed Blibdoolpoolp by working with the ghouls. He’s led about a third of the city up in revolt, and wants to take the throne and crown for himself.”

Tao wrinkles her nose as an especially odiferous kuo-toa splashes past.  “Sounds like that’s our man. Fish. Whatever.”

“I think you may be right, although he’s supposed to be less than stable.”

Malachite raises an eyebrow. “So? These creatures are evil and cruel. While we can’t wipe them out entirely, we can leave them destabilized. Even better, with Thoobel in charge they will be a bulwark against further ghoulish expansion.”

Velendo coughs. “Well, let’s see what happens. Maybe the Sea King will be a kind and reasonable individual, and he’ll gladly stop dealing with the White Kingdom.” Everyone laughs quietly.  “Everyone remember why we’re going here in the first place?”

Nolin’s eyes glaze as he lowers his arms. “I hate stupid prophecies. I’ve decided that they don’t apply to me any more.”

Agar looks up at his friend. “Umm, I don’t think that’s your decision to make. When the earth spirit Silissa helped us, we effectively agreed to help rescue her sister from the Shrine of the Glass Pool, remember? Is that in Glubyal some place?”

Splinder the dwarf snorts. “It damn well better be,” he rumbles.

Nolin nods. “I believe it is, although I don’t have details yet. I think it’s in the middle of the city someplace. We’ll find the building, do what we need to do, and get the heck out of here.”

“So whadda we need to do there?”

“Remember? I’m not listening to prophecy, so I have no idea. Someone else can figure it out.”

Velendo sighs.

“We have to find and free Silissa’s sister. Maybe we can just ask the King for her, but I doubt it. We don’t know how she’s trapped or what she looks like; maybe she’s a slave, or chained up, or something. But Silissa was extremely powerful, so anything that can contain her sister probably isn’t going to be a pushover.”

Agar tugs on Galthia’s sleeve. “Err.. is it just me, or are we being watched by those kuo-toa?” Galthia glances over, and sees one of the kuo-toa guards staring at them with huge, unblinking fish eyes. The slime on its skin glistens in the rippling gray light.

“Yes, it’s watching us. Just ignore it.”

Agar gestures briefly, squints, and concentrates. “It doesn’t seem to be reading our minds, at least.”  

“Let’s keep moving.”  The group keeps moving as the stroll from stall to stall, splashing through the cold water. At a stall selling pearls, Priggle’s wrinkles become more pronounced as he frowns deeply. “Now there are two of them watching us. They probably hate deep gnomes. Or perhaps they love them, and want a change from a fish diet.”

Agar contradicts him. “Three. See that one over there?” As they talk, a fourth kuo-toa stops what it is doing and starts staring at the surface dwellers.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Malachite strides over towards them, but they turn and slowly move away. Malachite cuts one off and questions it in undercommon, but it says nothing, just staring at him unblinkingly. Frustrated, Malachite allows it to move on, but in a few minutes five or six kuo-toa have focused their attention on the group.

“That’s _really_ annoying,” complains the Hunter of the Dead.

Nolin nods in agreement. “I tried to question a shop keeper. I think he suggested that we were strangers, so they don’t trust us. I don’t think it’s anything more sinister than that.”

Stone Bear lifts a sopping wet boot. “Let’s get out of their sight.  What do you say we find a place to sleep for the night?”

*   *   *

There is no place to set up the Flickering Needle, their _Daern’s Instant Fortress_, and interdimensional spells like _Calphas’ Comfortable Castle_ still don’t work. Thus, a half hour later finds the group dickering for lodging in one of the three cave-riddled inns that line the outer walls of Glig. Finally they slog up an upwards-sloping passageway and enter a dry stone room with not a bit of furniture in it. The grumbling dwarves head to their own rooms next door, and the Defenders of Daybreak sit down heavily on the hard floor once Velendo and Agar cast some wards on the open doorways. Nolin’s flaming hair and several magical items provide the only light. The flame quickly warms the cold and clammy air.

“You know,” says Velendo contemplatively as he looks looks briefly out into space, “I’d never have guessed I’d be here.” He empties the water out of one sodden boot, and starts wringing out his dripping socks.

“What do you mean?” asks Malachite as he loosens his armor. “Ahh, that’s better. Mara, let me help you with yours.”

“Ten years ago, I was the cleric of some little tiny village you’ve never heard of, and I’d never cast a miracle in my life. But Calphas had different plans for me.” He gazes up through miles of rock towards what must be the sky. “You did, didn’t you?  Ha ha, very funny.”  His guardian angel Cruciel materializes silently behind him as he continues. “And now, look where I am! Deep below the earth in a kuo-toa hotel, on my way to overthrow a city before continuing on to stop some horrible ghoulish empire.” The old man shakes his head.  “It’s hard to credit. And stupidly enough, everyone thinks I’m some sort of saint.”

Silence, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant dripping of water. Then Tao says what everyone else is thinking.  “Velendo? You *are* some kind of saint.”

“No I’m not! Stop saying that. You have to be dead to be a Saint.”

“You were a proxy of Calphas years ago, when the comet came and we stopped Imbindarla’s plan the first time,” points out Nolin in a reasonable tone of voice. “You were your God’s representative made flesh. I kind of think that counts.” The paladins nod in agreement.

“Oh yeah?” Velendo glares at them as he cracks his arthritic knuckles. He looks back up at the ceiling and addresses his God. “Well, what do You think? I know what You think. You think You’re pretty funny, that’s what.”

“You know,” says Cruciel from behind him, “we can hear you when you do that.”  Velendo rounds on her with a panicked look on his face.

“You mean ‘we’ us, right?” he asks. “Those of us right here.”

Cruciel looks amused beneath her beatific expression. “No, ‘we’ the celestial host. When you pray or talk to your God, we can all hear.”  Velendo’s eyes bulge.

“So every time..”

Clariel nods, with no trace of a smile. Her wings rustle against the stone.  “Every time.  Everyone quite enjoys you.” Velendo looks appalled.

“I didn’t think that… I hope that…” He swallows. “EVERY time?”  He swallows again. “Ummm,” he begins uncomfortably. “Look, God, I hope that I haven’t been too… you know, frivolous or disrespectful. When I complain I’m not really…”  He glances over at Cruciel, ignoring his fellow party members, all of whom are in silent hysterics on the stone floor. “Really?” There is a shred of disbelief in his query.

Cruciel cocks her head and spreads her wings. “_Really,_ but don’t worry. Calphas loves you because of who you are, and in His way he keeps up his part of the conversation. If he disliked your talks with him, I’m sure he’d let you know.”  Velendo begins to relax. “And the angels hardly gossip about you at all.” The old cleric’s head snaps back up, but Cruciel is staring idly into the fire of Nolin’s hair.

“Gossip?” His tone is plaintive. Velendo turns to glare at his friends, rolling back and forth with laughter. “Oh, shut up.”

*   *   *

The next day the group gets an early start, and is passed through a gate and sent towards Glubyal with remarkably little bureaucracy or trouble. They trot down a smooth and sloping tunnel, and talk about what challenges they might find ahead. Early on they pass a backwards and upwards-sloping side tunnel, but with some discussion and some trepidation they decide not to investigate… especially when Tao confirms that there aren’t any tracks near it. In fact, the only tracks she finds in the main tunnel are probably Shaw’s.

Hours into the trek, always traveling downwards, Nolin stops the group with an upraised hand. “Shhh!” he cautions and turns around to face the tunnel they’ve descended. A sharp breeze has risen, blowing back his burning hair, and a dull rumble can be felt. “What’s that?”

“Treachery,” mouths Malachite in disappointment, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Beside him Stone Bear vanishes into the stone floor of the tunnel, even as other members of the group brace themselves for whatever monster or trap may appear down the long tunnel. Velendo peers into the darkness with his 60’ of _darkvision_, a prayer on his lips, ready to cast as soon as he sees what approaches.  

Really, he doesn’t expect it to be a solid wall of water moving at almost 70 miles an hour. That’s something of a surprise, because it’s moving far faster than he had anticipated.

“Flash flood!” someone shouts, but Velendo has already begun his prayer. 

“Calphas, help me bring forth a Wall of Forbltht! Blb! Achblblthbthblthhggablthbthlbth!”  Before he can finish the spell, the water smashes into him – into everyone – and he is thrown backwards and swept along, the breath crushed from his lungs.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

End over end, they are slammed into the tunnel floor before being picked up like rag dolls and flung forwards. Each of the Defenders of Daybreak is spun and flipped and crushed by the onrushing wall of water, borne down the tunnel by a juggernaut that no one can resist.

Agar manages to grab a breath of air before the water hits him, and it isn’t all knocked out of him by the time he gets his bearings. Blinded and scared, he begins, “I _wish_ that thiblubll gribthubbl!” The vicissitudes of the water choose that instant to smash him against a helpless dwarf’s spiky armor, and the powerful spell is lost. _You know, I’ve got a spell that could have helped me concentrate,_ thinks Agar disconsolately as the water picks him back up and whips him downstream. _Guess I should have cast that first._

Tao’s first instinct is to fight back the pain and cast _gate_. She tries to decide whether to cast it downstream, carrying them all safely to the Beastlands, or to cast it upstream and carry away the vast flow of the water. _I guess it doesn’t really matter,_ she reasons. _At the moment I have no idea which end is up._ She makes her best guess and reaches out her spirit to form the portal. The spell requires perfect concentration, though, and hers is disrupted when an undertow scrapes her face along the rough tunnel wall for fifteen feet. Tao’s blood mixes with the energy of the spell as its essence is lost. Galthia spins past her too fast to grab, and then she’s swept back into the heart of the water's current.

Meanwhile, Stone Bear feels the vibration in the stone from where he has _melded_ with the earth. He is safe, but has no idea how to escape without drowning. Worse, the other members of the group have been swept away, and there is far too much chaos on the _mindlink_ to get anyone’s attention. 

Nolin realizes that there is no way he can fight the water, so he grasps the wrist of a passing dwarf and hangs on for the ride. _I bet this is really going to hurt when it stops,_ he thinks grimly to himself. _I might as well try to save anyone that I can._ Malachite and Mara are thinking the same, but their heavy armor effectively cripples them in the water, and they tumble helplessly downstream. Mara rolls her eyes and silently activates her armor’s magical power of _etherealness_. She first found the armor years ago outside the time-frozen tower of Congenio Ioun, and has only used the etherealness power a handful of times. Nevertheless, she’s surprised when the furious water is replaced by howling storm winds. 

“Darn it!” Mara has to shout to hear herself. “Imbindarla’s death has messed up the planes, and I forgot!” She feels herself picked up by the ethereal tempest and blown to the side, droplets of water spinning off into nothingness. “I can’t lose sight of the tunnel,” she says to herself in horror. “Don’t panic. Just make your way back. Slow and steady.” The mist howls and she feels spirits spiraling past her, shrieking. She ignores them and keeps moving, crouching down and putting one foot in front of the other. She tries to reach the others mentally, but the planar boundary has cut her off from the _mindlink_.

Velendo notices her absence, and wonders if she’s dead, but there’s little he can do about it if she is. First he uses his remaining air to activate his _necklace of waterbreathing_. It only works for an hour per day, but that’s more than enough time. With breathing no longer a problem, he focuses his faith and pumps a burst of divine energy into his magical shield. It locks in place as he does so, just like an _immovable rod_, and a cry of pain emerges from him as his shoulder dislocates.  Cruciel emerges from his shadow and steadies him, blocking the current with her body in order to give him a chance to cast.

_“Velendo?”_ thinks Tao, as she wracks her brain for some way to save herself. _“Are you all right?”_

_“Well enough,”_ he thinks grimly, and steadied by Cruciel and his shield he casts a _flexible wall_ with a 2’ tall gap along the bottom. The inexorable crush of the flood ceases, and for hundreds of feet down the tunnel dwarves and humans lay strewn about like discarded pearls from a broken necklace.  They gasp for air, the conscious helping the unconscious, and soon they’ve gathered once more about fifty feet downstream from the magical wall. Velendo casts a _mass heal,_ and they do a head count.

“We’ve got all the dwarves, the bullywug, both lizards, the horse… but we’re still missing Mara,” worries the elderly cleric. “At least Stone Bear is all right. I’ve told him that when his spell expires, he should ride the current out through the bottom of my wall. He’ll be able to catch up with us.  I don’t know about Mara, though. She might be dead.” He looks around, as if expecting her water-swollen corpse to pop up out of nowhere.

“She’s not dead.” Malachite shakes his dark hair out of his eyes and replaces his helm. “I’d know.”  And in fact, they all feel her snap back into the _mindlink_ as Mara finds the tunnel and phases back into the real world. 

_“Is everyone okay?”_ Mara’s mental voice is worried. _“I made a bad mistake, but I’m no worse for wear.”_

_“We’re fine. We’ll join you in a few minutes.”_ Out loud, Velendo adds, “This wall is only going to last for about an hour. We better get going. That’s a lot of water back there, and I want to be somewhere safe when this goes.”

_“I’ll meet you soon,”_ thinks Stone Bear from his safe haven beneath the tunnel floor, and the rest of the heroes hurry downstream. They are wading through knee-high water, which makes balancing difficult, and they’re forced to move more slowly than they’d like. Worse, something alive was carried by the flood.

“Ouch!” Blue electricity crackles around Malachite as something connects with his foot. 

“Electric eels? I’m starting to think that I don’t especially like kuo-toa,” remarks Nolin sardonically. Galthia pauses, snakes his hand downwards faster than the eye can follow, and comes up with an oversized bluish lobster. It _emits_, and electricity sparks through Galthia’s body. His hair stands on end.

“No,” the githzerai monk says, shaking his smarting hand. “Some sort of magical shellfish.”  He crushes it effortlessly.  Behind him, the dwarven troops suddenly start some sort of elaborate dance, with two dwarves spotting and two dwarves spearing in every four person assault group. An occasional “BZZZP!” can be heard, accompanied by rich dwarven oaths that sizzle the air.

“You know something?” comments Nolin to no one in particular. “I really, really hate this place.” 

Tao spares Nolin a grunt of assent, but concentrates on the problem at hand. “Splinder, you have things under control?” she asks, worried. Her _slippers of water walking_, looted years ago from the dead arch-mage Mirata du’Chemith, allow her to stand atop the water without even dimpling it.

“Never better,” bellows Splinder from the nearby darkness. “The boys are just working off a bit of frustration. I think they’re looking forward to something they can hit.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of those,” predicts Tao. Meanwhile, Agar examines the dead lobster-thing.

“This isn’t very interesting,” he says with a sniff. “Needs more tentacles. Like… this!” Casting a powerful summoning spell, he whispers unspeakable words into the depths, and the oceans gladly answer. A hideously tentacular water elemental rises from beneath the shallow water and awaits the diminuitive halfling’s bidding. “Hi there!” says Agar cheerfully. “Will you please kill anything that looks like this?” He holds out the dead creature, and the elemental bows before him. It abruptly splashes down and disappears.

“Err. Is it gone?” asks Priggle. Forty feet behind him, a sudden watery pseudopod launches one of the lobster-things into the ceiling, smashing it before dropping it back into the stream.

“Nope.” Agar shakes out some dry tobacco into his pipe, lights it, and whistles as he strolls through the watery tunnel. On his shoulder, Proty keeps time with a tentacle.

*   *   *

Stone Bear swims upwards through the stone, emerging from the familiar rock into the icy cold water. He swims as quickly as possible downstream. Soon the current grabs him and carries him along, scraping him along the bottom of the cave as it sweeps him forward. About the same time as his vision is going red and his lungs are bursting, he feels a burst of speed and is spit forth past the magical wall.  The shaman pulls himself to his feet. Better catch up with the others.

*   *   *

“So, do you think Shaw betrayed us?”  Tao dances along on top of the water, letting Agar ride atop her riding lizard. Mara shakes her head.

“No, I hope not. Maybe they tortured something out of him, or perhaps those kuo-toa back in Glig sent some sort of message along. We shouldn’t blame him until we know.”  Malachite looks at her darkly, but says nothing. 

“Hang on,” announces Velendo. “That other magical wall is going to fall any minute. I better put up a more permanent barrier. This one should last for almost a day; if the water hasn’t drained out by then, we have bigger troubles.”

“Leave room for Stone Bear,” reminds Mara. “He’s almost caught up.”

*   *   *

The shaman lopes along the watery tunnel. He doesn’t mind the dark, because his eyes were sacrificed long ago, and he doesn’t mind being alone, because he always has his spirits with him. Even now, they whisper to him.  

_The dead live here,_ hisses Elder. _This is my land. The others will fade, but I will always be with you. I am eternal._

“Then why do you talk in riddles?” asks Stone Bear. He feels a vibration somewhere behind him, a quickening of the air. Uh oh.  The first wall must have fallen.

_I’m not used to speaking to your kind while they’re still alive,_ admits the spirit. _Why do you even bother with life? Death is the natural state of things. Life is a mistake, one easily remedied._  Stone Bear ignores him and quickens his pace, legs pistoning through the water as he sprints forward. There’s definitely a rumble from behind, and he breaths a silent thanks to his ancestors when Velendo’s second wall comes within range of his preternatural senses.  

Stone Bear thinks that his nature spirit guide, Bear, may also be trying to talk, but he’s too faint to be made out over the blood pounding in his temples. Elder continues whispering loudly, drowning Bear out as it keens in anticipation. _For instance, why do you run? I have learned patience over eons. And yet you hurry, hurry, like the maggot afraid that the meat will disappear.  You shouldn’t fear what is behind you. You should fear what is yet to come._  The rumbling increases and Stone Bear suddenly knows that there is a solid wall of water just behind him, rushing forward with crushing force. He ignores the spirit and leaps forward, twisting his body in mid air and rolling sideways under the narrow gap left between the wall and the cavern floor. Just behind him, the wall of water slams impotently against the magical barrier, spending its fury on something other than his own soft flesh.  

Stone Bear sits up, breath ragged, and shakes the water from his clothing. “I run because I’m not an idiot,” he says, and forces the death spirit away from him. Wading through the renewed stream of water, he hurries to join the others.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> Are they not glad the tunnel didn't contain a bladed grid to dash them against and dice them upon?




Err.... _whistles casually_ you mean the three barbed, razor-sharp coral portcullises that are going to show up in the next update? The ones that the water is supposed to smash victims against, grinding them until they drown and are split into chunks that are then swept through the gratings? Those grids?

Ummm.. right. None of those at all.  _Continues whistling, this time more innocently._

I believe the water - and there's a whole reservoir of water back there - did about 8d6 on impact, plus a certain amount each round depending on your swim check. Concentration checks for trying to cast while being swept away were ludicrously high, although Agar and Tao would have made them if they hadn't tried such high-level spells. Being slammed against the razor-sharp gates would do another initial 7d6 plus 4d6 per round.

And as you'll see, if they had somehow managed to circumvent the gates but were still being carried by the water, they would have been swept right out of the tunnel into a several-hundred-foot deep abyss.

Ouchie.

Hey, thanks again to everyone who helped me with fluid dynamics!!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Hey, thanks again to everyone who helped me with fluid dynamics!!




Yeah. Thanks a whole freakin' lot.  Please report to the line of angry players located in the game room for your congratulatory pummeling.

Stupid fluid dynamics.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I believe the water - and there's a whole reservoir of water back there - did about 8d6 on impact, plus a certain amount each round depending on your swim check. Concentration checks for trying to cast while being swept away were ludicrously high, although Agar and Tao would have made them if they hadn't tried such high-level spells. Being slammed against the razor-sharp gates would do another initial 7d6 plus 4d6 per round.




So in retrospect Stone Bear was wise, not callous or cowardly, to so quickly abandon the Defenders?

Piratecat: "You hear a rumbling behind you..."
Stone Bear: "I meld with stone."
Other players, "What kind of rumbling..."
Stone Bear thinks, "Ain't no kind of rumbling behind you that issues forth from a kuo-toa city can be a _good_ thing..."


----------



## Sialia

Seems as good a day as any to post this. Belike.


----------



## Sialia

Ahh . . . I never can be leavin' well enough alone.

Here 'tis again, mates.

New and improved.

Belike.



(edit--Bandeeto (aka the aforementioned Apoocalypse) didna like the all black background any better than the all white. How's goes the thesis, Sialia? Swimmingly. That's why i'm screwing around with illustrations instead of writing. That's "Swimmingly" as in, "my what a lot of sharks there are hereabouts, and why am I wearing these concrete Birkies . . ? ")


----------



## Sialia

Ok, I hope nobody sues me over this. It's just for fun. Right? I am not intending to infringe on any copyright, or derive any profit from this. I apologize in advance if anybody feels that their intellectual property is being misused, and if you drop me one of those politely threatening notes letting me know it concerns you, I will be sure to remove this immediately, or post credits for the trademarks and design that you specify, ok?

ok. 

My close personal friend Piratecat dropped me a line asking me to distract you while he's away. Really, he did.

In lieu of the illustration of KidCthulhu performing a fan dance, here is the most distracting thing I could think of, off the top of my head.


----------



## Piratecat

Soggy but resolute, the large group splashes downstream towards the kuo-toa city of Glubyal. They soon come to the first of three coral portcullises that block the tunnel. The barbed gates are designed to let water through, but it’s apparent that the combination of high-pressure water and razor-sharp coral would quickly chew the flesh off of any victim unlucky enough to be pinned against them.  “Like a cheese grater,” laments Priggle dejectedly as he and Mara begin to tunnel around the gates.  

“They’re certainly serious,” muses Tao. “We haven’t even done anything to them yet.”

“The key word being ‘yet,’” quips Nolin prophetically.  Malachite cracks his knuckles in agreement.  

“I’m not sure we need to show a lot of patience for someone who would crush us, drown us, and slice us up. We should be cautious, though; we don’t know who set us up, or why, and I’d rather not accuse the wrong person.” In its sheath, Karthos quivers in agreement.

Helmet under one arm as she rests, Mara runs her fingers through her damp blond hair. “Well, right now I’m guessing that the Sea King of the Kuo-Toa is responsible. He’s the one who is in allegiance with the ghouls, right?”

“Right. But he may have been lied to. Just don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I’m all about jumping to conclusions.” Tao stretches, cat-like, and idly flicks a leech at the wall. “So what do we do when we get down there? Do we say, ‘Hi, Mister Sea King. We want to go to your sacred shrine and free some elemental spirit you have trapped there. You don’t mind, do you?’  ‘Cause I’m not sure he’s going to be really enthusiastic about that plan.” 

“I don’t know.” Velendo splashes his shield down into the stream and leans on it heavily. “Maybe. We can also make contact with that rebel, what’s-his-name…”

“Thoobel,” Nolin supplies helpfully. “Monitor Thoobel.”

“Right. Thoobel. All those names sound alike to me.”

“I think they’re named so that you can talk to them while drowning. Or maybe they name their babies by grabbing them, shoving them underwater, and listening to what they say.”

Tao frowns. “I think Glibstone had a joke about that. Let me see.” She fishes out the book of jokes he gave her, and nods. “Oh, there was one, but it’s dirty. Here’s one; what sound does a dwarf make while falling down stairs? CLANGEDDIN Clangeddin clangeddin…” She laughs, along with the dwarven troops.  “I miss the old guy.”

_“Anyways,”_ continues Velendo, determined not to be distracted, “Thoobel might be a person to ally with. We’ll have to see.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” interrupts Priggle as he emerges from the narrow tunnel he’s excavating, “but I think I just heard the sound of fighting ahead.”

Nolin rushes forward, and sure enough his keen ears pick up a faint grunt and the clang of metal. The adventurers quickly ready their weapons while the dwarves cover them, presenting a score of dwarven crossbows that are each cocked and aimed through the coral gates.  

They wait for a few breathless seconds for something to appear. Instead of an enemy, though, they all see the third portcullis lurching upward as it unevenly begins to rise towards the ceiling. 

Splinder waves his arm and hisses an order.  While everyone else fades back into the shadows of the tunnel, Galtian and Priggle creep forwards surreptitiously and peek out without being seen.  They glance down into a cavernous gorge which lies directly beyond the gates, where the stone tunnel that they’ve been following vanishes straight down into an abyss of unknowable depth. Only a highly defensible ledge snakes around the gorge to the right, eventually ending in a slender bridge that spans the gulf like a stone rainbow.  Galthia silently reports to the rest of the group over the _mindlink_.

“Good thing we didn’t do this the hard way.  If we had managed to open all three portcullises while drowning, the water would have carried us off a cliff instead.”  

Velendo snorts and and rolls his eyes. “Overkill.”

Galthia continues. “There are a number of dead kuo-toa out here. There are about ten live ones as well, all of whom are straining to turn a giant wheel.” He gestures at the slowly rising portcullis. “They’re either letting us out or coming in after us.”

“Well, it’s either our enemies or their enemies, but it’s a good sign that they already eliminated their competition. Ready to greet them?” Mara’s smile is bright.  Malachite’s hand hovers over his sword hilt, but without drawing the weapon he turns with the others and ducks under the still-rising gate. 

Nolin calls out a greeting.  “Hello?”

One of the kuo-toa turns. They see a paunchy, foul-smelling fish man whose goggling eyes take them all in without blinking.  It flicks some slime from its webbed fingers in a ritual gesture and wobbles its head.  “Gloobel boolboolb?” it asks.

“I’m sorry, no, we don’t speak your language,” answers Nolin.

“Slibdobollup.  Then I will speak yours.” The fish-thing speaks in a fair version of under-common, but with a heavy accent. Its voice is male and deeply pitched, echoing roundly from its sunken chest.  The creature is taller than a man, and its wiry muscles give the impression of latent speed and power.  

It gives a grimace that could possibly be construed as a grin.  “I am pleased to see that you have survived. When my spies learned that you were to be killed, we rushed to do what we could.” His webbed fingers come up and tug on the corner of his lipless mouth, leaving a faint trace of slime on the cold skin. For an instant the kuo-toa looks just like a hooked fish, but the image vanishes as he gestures at the stream coming from the tunnel. “There was not much water, we saw, so we removed the false King’s guards. We will need to return them to the Sea Mother and sink back to Glubyal before Blel-plibbit realizes our success.” 

He turns to wave a hand at his minions, and the other kuo-toa begin to toss their dead enemies into the bottomless chasm by their feet.  The leader bobbles his rounded head in satisfaction.

“Wait a moment,” says Malachite. “Why did you want to help us?”

The kuo-toa turns and silently studies him with unblinking eyes. “Because the false King wished you dead. I do not know why, but if he would empty the reservoir to kill to cleanly and quickly, with no fuss, then you are someone who must be of help to me. He fears me, and would deny me any weapon. So I am fishing; I am hoping that you will be worth the trouble of the catch.  If you are salesmen, then I have made a mistake.”

“And you are?”

He bobbles his head again.  “I am Monitor Thoobel. I am humble in the eyes of the Sea Mother, but I have floated to lead all those who can truly see the corruption of the King. He is supposed to be the mate of the Sea Mother, the fertilizer of our people, the tide that carries our souls!” Thoobel’s fervent voice is tinged with obsession. “Instead he dallies with ghouls and mind flayers, and makes trades with those who would hurt our folk. The blessing of the Sea Mother has left him, if only he could see it, and it is time he passed the Crown of Tides to one who truly deserves it.” Thoobel’s sunken chest puffs with pride. “Perhaps that will be me. More than a third of our people follow me. They give their lives for what I believe in and would die for the cause… just as I would die for the cause.” He studies the group as if expecting them to volunteer for Dying Duty, but no one does, so Thoobel turns to go.

“Come. We will smuggle you into the city.”  Everyone exchanges worried glances, shrugs, and begins to follow him.  

“Oh goody,” mumbles Nolin. “Ghouls AND mind flayers.”

Malachite pauses, eyeing the path in front of him.

“Do we have to cross that bridge?”

The kuo-toa turns impatiently, and waves its fins. “Yes.”

“I can’t.”

Mara turns to him. “I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”

Malachite looks exasperated. “I’m not. That bridge is about two feet wide, though, and I’ll never make it across in my armor. I just can’t balance well enough.” People begin to grin, and Malachite frowns. “Look, we’ve had this discussion before. The armor isn’t made for balance. I can’t make it over that bridge without falling.”

_OOC conversation: ----> “Wait, what’s Malachite’s balance check?”  “Something like a -11. If I take 10, I think I’m at -1. You see my point.”  “Holy crap! How do you even walk down the street? You’d go ‘step step aieee crash clatter clatter ow.’  Remind me not to walk behind you.” _  

Rope, caution, and a flying warhorse simplify the crossing. Soon a score of dwarves,  a dozen kuo-toa and two handfuls of adventurers troupe downwards farther into the depths of the earth.  Over the next few hours they pass deserted sentry points.

“What happened to the troops commanding those?” asks Nolin. Thoobel swivels his head to look at him; Nolin catches the reflection of his own burning hair in the glistening eyes. 

“We killed them.”

“Oh.”  _Note to self,_ thinks Nolin. _Don’t piss off Thoobel._ 

The downwards-sloping tunnel eventually winds down to a cave opening, through which a strong and damp breeze is blowing.  Thoobel gestures with a webbed hand.

“Glubyal,” he burbles simply. There is both pride and hatred in his voice.

The glimmering city spreads below out before them, but at first glance it doesn’t appear to be a city at all. Instead it looks more like a giant nautilus, a vast chambered shell that spirals around and fills the huge cavern. Examined more carefully, it appears that the walls and outer defenses of Glubyal are constructed from coral, and that many of the buildings and domiciles must be contained beneath the coral outer palisades. Still, it is hard to shake the feeling that the city before them is itself somehow alive, as it wallows half-submerged in the salty waters of the sunless sea.

“How many people live here?” asks Priggle, wonderingly.

“More than ten thousand. I control the southern end of the outer city.”

A lightning bolt flares beneath them down a long curving ramp, and Thoobel’s eyes flicker. “A few less, now. I had left my own people here to guard our return. Blel-Plibbit’s guard has found them. They are under attack. You can all swim underwater, yes?” The group exchanges worried glances.

“Uh… for how long?”

“Not long. A half hour or so, no more.”

Velendo shakes his head. “No, we can’t. Not today.” Thoobel looks annoyed at the surface dwellers for an instant, but his stolid expression quickly returns.

“Then my people will die while I find transportation for you.” He turns to dive off the ramp into the water below.

“Wait! We’d like to help in the fight.” 

Thoobel considers for only a second.  “Yes. I will be back within moments. Do not leave this place unless you must.”  He dives over the side and hits the water far below.

The fight is brief and bloody. Keeping to the high ground on the ramp, the dwarves have an excellent field of view, and they pump volley after volley into the thirty or so loyalist troops that have risen from the dark water. “How do we tell th’ good fish from th’ bad fish?” shouts one dwarf to his sergeant. 

“Th’ good fish aren’t tryin’ t’ kill you!” shouts back the other dwarf.

Agar casts a _fireball_ into the rear of the melee, and is surprised when a number of chanting, praying kuo-toa in the water all point their fins at him. A narrow lightning bolt forms between them and crackles out. Agar is struck square on the chest and flung backwards as blue rivulets of electricity shiver around his body.

“They can cast lightning,” he gasps. Proty soars around him in agitation.

Splinder glances down the ramp. “Most of the friendly kuo-toa are dead, and more troops have emerged from the water. They’re advancing.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## RangerWickett

Well, I just did the ones who had pics by Dave Hendee, because they were easiest to find.  I also did a bonus card for Morningstar from Sagiro's storyhour.

Tell me if you think they're okay, and if you're old-school Magic players, forgive the new format; they updated it so the art box is bigger and the text is easier to read.


----------



## Piratecat

“Brrribbit!” 

With a tremendous spring, the bullywug gladiator Burr-Lipp whom Malachite had saved in Akin’s Throat leaps _over_ the line of kuo-toa warriors, using his momentum to jam his longspear entirely through an enemy’s torso. A pincher staff snares him, dragging the bullywug to the ground.

“Don’t let him get surrounded!” Malachite advances down the ramp with Tao and Mara, the two radiant knights of Aeos forming a miniature shield wall around the divine agent of Galanna. Their swords and maces flash, darting back and forth in an intricate dance of pain, and any enemy in reach tumbles down into bloody ruin. The kuo-toa burble in alarm. Stone Bear and Galthia also tumble into battle, beating back kuo-toa who had thought to try and slip behind the main rank of fighters. Within seconds, they’ve freed Burr-Lipp from the crush of attackers.

“Watch out! I’m going to _flame strike_ them!” shouts Nolin.

“Wait!” Tao yells back, even as she twists her second longsword up to gut a kuo-toa. “No flashy spells. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”

Nolin pauses, thunderstruck, and looks at Tao as if she was dropped on her head as an infant. “Don’t want them to know we’re here? Tao, they just threw a lightning bolt at us. I think they’ve figured it out.” 

Velendo lays a hand on the bard’s shoulder. “I think she means that we don’t want them to know that we have such powerful magic. Flame Strike can be seen from a long ways away.  It may need to come as a surprise later.”

“Ohhhkay,” says Nolin dubiously, and instead launches into an inspiring song comparing kuo-toa to gaffed fish. His words embolden his allies, and the next volley of dwarven crossbows finds quite a few targets. Nolin just sings more enthusiastically.

Down below, another squad of kuo-toa emerges from the oily water, and Agar shakes his head. Giving Proty a knowledgeable look, Agar calls forth unspeakable words as he plunges his hands deeply into the coils of the magic swirling around him. As he does so, jet black tentacles spring forth from the stone in response, whipping like eels around the advancing kuo-toa. 

“Ah,” says Nolin knowledgeably. _“Evard’s Black Testicles.”_

Agar just grins happily as his spell takes effect.  Many of the chanting kuo-toa are caught in the pitch-black tentacles, and the lightning bolt that their utterances have been building instead sputters away into the water. Within a minute, only the toughest kuo-toa troops are still left alive, and Priggle’s sharp eyes pick out Monitor Thoobel poling a longboat back towards their location at the side of the cavern.

“Here comes our ride,” says Priggle, but no one hears him. He tries again.  “I said, Thoobel is returning.”  Nothing.

“Oh, Thoobel’s coming!” Nolin also sees the boat, and his words immediately catch everyone’s attention. Priggle sighs, unnoticed once again.

“Just.. a.. minute!” Caught by a deadly kuo-toa pincher staff, Malachite flexes his muscles to stop from being fully grappled, and Mara swings her mace into the tired kuo-toa’s belly. It continues out the far side, and the creature falls away as the pincher staff clatters to the stone ramp. “Okay. We’re ready.”

One of Thoobel’s assistants glubs to Nolin, who translates. “He says that more of the Sea King’s troops are probably on the way, so we should move.  He’ll probably be very angry that we survived.” 

Tao rolls her eyes. “I feel for him. Really, I do.”

Nolin laughs. “Liar. Hey, look!”  He points up towards an odd sight. About fifty feet above the water, hanging in empty air, is a statue of some great human warrior. It is hard to tell in the poor light, but it looks like a statue of a man that was once seated on a horse. The horse is long gone, now, and the statue just dangles in mid-air.

“Odd.” No one has time to thoroughly investigate, though, for they hurry down the stone ramp onto the long flatboat that Monitor Thoobel has just poled into position. The armored Defenders rock the boat somewhat as they board, but within seconds Thoobel has pushed off and is poling the boat out into the wide canal surrounding the city.  Dead kuo-toa bodies are emotionlessly pushed aside by his pole, and the corpses bob silently on the current, their bulging dead eyes silently condemning the Defenders even as the carcasses are carried downstream around Glubyal and out into the Sunless Sea.

The longboat passes over a foul-smelling current of effluvient carried out of the city by the tide, and then without warning the boat… sinks.  Several people begin to panic, but the air begins to sparkle, and it’s quickly apparent that a bubbling sphere of oxygenated air has surrounded the boat. “For visitors,” burbles Thoobel. “Traders who come from afar. Usually drow.”

The boat moves underwater through the gloom of the canal and turns right into a series of winding, narrow coral passages just barely large enough to maneuver through. Thoobel never speaks a word, but everyone gets the impression that he fears that the group is being followed; certainly, the winding and circuitous route he takes is too complex for even Tao to memorize. The defenses of Glubyal slowly become apparent. The kuo-toa city has been carved or built out of stinging coral, and the maze-like passages into the city are riddled with bolt-holes and dead ends. An invading force would have a tremendously difficult time trying to invade.  Thoobel even asks Agar to _disintegrate_ a coral wall in front of him, which he later seals up with a wand once the boat has moved through.  After fifteen or twenty minutes, Thoobel steers the boat upwards, and it surfaces along a broad and largely deserted promenade.

The Defenders of Daybreak step off of their craft onto dry land, damp and cold. Velendo can’t help notice that in addition to the construction here looking run down, there is absolutely no decoration on any of the buildings. None at all; no decorative carvings, no statues, no murals, nothing. It is almost intimidating in its squat and ugly sameness, and the alien nature of the structures puts everyone on edge. The Monitor leads the group through an oblong doorway, down a spiral staircase and through innumerable round tunnels into a large, water-filled basement. Wide stone platforms rise from the water like stepping stones in a stream, and the group plops themselves down on one of these to relax.  As above, the are no decorations whatsoever, and only huge luminescent slugs provide illumination.  “I will send a slave with food and drink,” burbles Monitor Thoobel, waving his webbed fingers expressively. “A human slave, to make you feel welcome. You are safe here.”

“Thank you,” says Velendo. “You have human slaves?”  He tries to sound polite.

“Oh, yes! Very good. I only have those I could free from Blel-Plibbit. I am much better than he, and kill many less. They love me, and obey quickly, as they should.”

Velendo swallows drily, careful not to offend just yet. “I’m sure. Where are we right now?”  

Monitor Thoobel crouches down, rapidly tracing a map on the stone with a wet finger. “This is my part of the city, the southern edge” he says. “From here, I will conquer all of Glubyal, but only to remove the false king from power!”

“False king?”

“Oh, yes.” Thoobel sounds deadly earnest. “”Blel-Plibbit has no right to rule. I saw this when I was a bodyguard to him in the Palace of the Sea Mother. He abuses his power, sells away the heritage of our people, spawns with breeders who are not worthy of his seed. He is dangerous to all of us. I will remove him, and perhaps the Sea Mother will find me worthy to replace him. If not, I will help raise the successor, and teach him in the proper things that a true king should know.”  Thoobel’s eyes glint crazily in the gray light.

“I’m sure you will,” responds Nolin politely. “Say, have you ever heard of the Shrine of the Glass Pool?”

“Oh, yes,” nods Thoobel’s scaly head, and traces a new location on his rough map. “It is in the royal plaza in front of the palace, and it is sacred to the Sea Mother. It is not truly glass, you know, but is instead ice that has been polished to a mirror sheen. The shrine is the heart of the sacrifice pool, and the Sea Mother sees all that happens there.”

“Oh, great,” moans Priggle, but Thoobel is still talking.

“The false Sea King Blel-Plibbit goes there for inspiration, as have the Sea Kings before him. He speaks to Blibdoolpoolp there, and she whispers to him of oracles and great visions. This is not information that he should have!” Thoobel’s eyes harden and his voice rises. “I should be the one who hears the voices, as I have heard them before! They told me I couldn’t, you know. They thought to imprison me in a jail where others had also learned the truth. But the truth can not be contained, and I showed them the error of their beliefs. Now they are being judged by the Sea Mother, and she has freed me to do her will.”

Everyone draws a little bit away from him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He raises one fist above his head and shakes it as his mouth gapes and sputters. 

“The depth of my faith fills the fathoms, even as my artists have endeavored to show the Sea Mother of my abundant worship! I freed the others who had seen as I do, and now we lead the righteous rebellion. I am pleased,” his voice calms abruptly into gentle tones, “that you have chosen to assist us. For that you will be blessed in the great deep, and the sacrifice of your lives will bring about great changes.”

Tao gives him a look. “You know, we might not die while helping you,” she ventures. 

Thoobel gives her a toothy smile and a knowing look.  “Indeed.”  He bows slightly and withdraws from the room, turning at the doorway. “I will bring you a true map of the palace area, including the Spawning Pools and the Shrine of the Glass Pool. Perhaps it will be helpful.” His head disappears, and he is gone.

“What makes us think,” asks Stone Bear quietly, “that we’re helping the right one?”

“Well, he isn’t the one allied with the ghouls,” grumbles Mara. “But I see your point.”  She pries one of her boots off, and wrinkles her nose as she starts picking off swollen leeches from her ankles. “Yuck.”

“I think we should just kill all of them.”

“That would be genocide.”

“It would also destabilize this place. I like having an ally in charge here, even a crazy one, but I like having no one in charge even more. That way they can fight amongst themselves, and stop taking human slaves.”

I agree,” says Malachite coldly, “and we’re going to have to do something about that.”

“So what is this place?” wonders Galthia, looking around the room. “I can’t determine its function.”

“Probably a mess hall,” says Stone Bear with a straight face, “where they eat visitors.” His raven launches itself from his shoulder, flaps down next to Mara, and eagerly gulps down each leech that is offered to it by the paladin. Behind her, her war horse Luminor whickers in comfort.

They are interrupted by the sound of splashing, as frothy water begins to pour into the large room through pipes set in the walls. Carried on the water are dozens of wriggling, squirming fish-things the size of puppies. “Fingerlings!” exclaims Nolin in surprise. “I’ve heard of these. They’re baby kuo-toa.  We must be in some sort of playroom for the kuo-toa spawn.  Usually, they’re only fertilized in quantity by the King. I’m guessing that if these belong to Thoobel, he really does have delusions of Kingliness.”  

“That was obvious.” Stone Bear gets an odd look on his face. As Nolin begins singing to the fingerlings, they all splash over and surround the platform, wriggling in their own slime and reacting to the bard’s song. Stone Bear reaches down and scoops one up, sliding it into a sack at his waist. He reaches down again and grabs two more, placing one in a pouch and one into the folds of a small bag. The fingerlings don’t seem to mind, but everyone stares at Stone Bear.

“What are you doing?”

The shaman raises his eyebrows over dark and empty eye sockets, and casually shrugs. “Taking some insurance with us."  He smiles. "I'm going to strap these little guys onto my body.  If we’re going to have to assault the heart of the kuo-toa city today or tomorrow, it won’t hurt to have some baby shields.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Jeph

Don't the others have, like, you know, moral problems with this? I mean, the enemies _are_ kuo-toa and thoroughly evil, but sinking to the same level as those pirates in the sewers of Eversink is just...morally bankrupt.

And Stone Bear wasn't even there.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Jeph said:
			
		

> Don't the others have, like, you know, moral problems with this? I mean, the enemies _are_ kuo-toa and thoroughly evil, but sinking to the same level as those pirates in the sewers of Eversink is just...morally bankrupt.
> 
> And Stone Bear wasn't even there.




Well now in my defense, I don't think I actually used the words "baby shields," though I must admit that was my transparent intent. But I was having too much fun saying, "Fingerlings" to call them anything but.

Oh yeah... The only thing worse than the thought that "Elder is Wulf Ratbane" is "Elder is Wulf Ratbane through a Piratecat prism."

I don't want to think about that... Stone Bear is Stone Bear and Wulf is just a sig, now.


Wulf


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> But I was having too much fun saying, "Fingerlings" to call them anything but.




Any race with a word for "child" that makes them sound like a dish you would order at a sports bar, deserves to have them used as shields...


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## Wulf Ratbane

wolff96 said:
			
		

> I love the "Fingerling Shield" idea... it's so much fun to see Piratecat's own evil twisted back on him. Although I'm not sure if the paladins will let Stone Bear get away with this one...




It wasn't so much "HEY! I gots me some baby shields!" as,

"It wouldn't hurt to have a few of Thoobel's brood with me, just in case things go bad, and if things go _very_ bad, no matter how bad that bad is, at least these few kuo-toa are going with me."

It seemed more War inspired at the moment than Elder inspired. I swear. 


Wulf


----------



## Kestrel

*Smells like...Night Below!*

I ran Night Below about 5 years ago.  It was a great adventure.  I love the way you're incorporating the kuotoa city from it into your ongoing campaign.  Great stuff as always PirateCat!


----------



## Piratecat

Kestrel said:
			
		

> I ran Night Below about 5 years ago.  It was a great adventure.  I love the way you're incorporating the kuotoa city from it into your ongoing campaign.  Great stuff as always PirateCat!




Thematically, Glubyal is actually an agglomeration of both Night Below (more in mood than specific encounters) and D2 The Shrine of the Kuo-Toa, mixed with the themes of the White Kingdom adventure from Dungeon; in particular you'll see some very familiar elements from D2. What I'm striving for here is the mood and setting from that classic 1e adventure, along with a complicating political conundrum and some more realistic ecologies. In this, I can't thank enough the folks over at the RBDM club, all of whom plied me with some wonderful ideas for Glubyal and kuo-toa culture.

One of the problems with long adventures is that they easily degenerate into a dungeon slog. Many people complained about this with Monte's Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, and I took the lesson to heart; too many similar types of encounters and challenges just isn't fun. That's a good thing to keep in mind. I read somewhere that a class ability that is never used really isn't a class ability; of course, this is the logic that led me to desperately try to start cutting off a limb as soon as Velendo gained access to _regenerate_.

In response, I've tried to structure the White Kingdom adventure with many and varied types of encounters. The dwarven vault provided a respite from butt-kicking, and Akin's Throat injected some much-needed role-playing encounters, even as both advanced the plot.  Glubyal is allowing the Defenders of Daybreak to make plans and take their fight to an enemy who doesn't understand what it is that they're trying to do, which is something of a change from the Puppeteer and the White Kingdom's superior intelligence force. Games that are too grim for too long lose much of their immediacy, and the ability to mix in some humor goes a long way to making later encounters more serious by comparison.

I'm finding that the non-linear way in which the Underdark connects can let you change out different encounter types pretty easily. In the actual game, we're now closing on the end of the adventure, and it's fair to say that the decisions that the group has made along the way will have a fundamantal and abiding impact on how things are going to play out.  It's a testament to my players that they're willing to embark on such a long adventure, and that they're still having fun as they follow it through with such guile. Good thing that the ghouls have some tricks up their sleeves as well.  

Anyways, thanks for the kind words, everyone. I originally ran Eversink because highly political games scared me, I ran the dwarven vault because I wasn't sure that a realistic and traditional dungeon was still viable at such high levels, and I'm running this underdark crawl because I'd never done it before and wasn't sure if I could. You folks are watching me figure the subtleties out, and I appreciate your praise, especially because I'm learning as we go.


----------



## Obi-One

Well, this is my first post to EnWorld, and more specifically, Pirate Cat's story hour. Having been an avid reader of this post since it's inception, I thought it time to add my two cents worth  

Well done to not only you Pirate Cat, but your players as well. As a GM myself, it's heartening to see a great creative, collective experience getting better and better as it goes along. It's hard not only to find good players these days, but old school, rat bastard GM's who pour blood, sweat and tears into their campaign - and still make it fun!  

I of course pass this sentiment along to the other GM's that post their campaigns on EnWorld as well. Great stuff.


----------



## Piratecat

Agar’s eyes roll back in his head, and his back arches as normal eyesight is replaced by a vision.

_The ghouls crouch around the corpse of a kobold, slurping at its intestines. There are many of them, more than a half dozen, but you can only see two clearly in the faint light.  One of them looks up. 

She was once a hard-faced elf. Now her face is rotting, and the permanent sneer from her torn lip sets her expression in a grimace of perpetual anger.  “One more day, and we should reach their trail.” She glances reflexively at a longbow near her side and her rotting, impossibly long tongue darts out of her mouth to lick cracked lips. “One more day.”

A space beside her, which is completely empty, says nothing.

“You ‘tink?”  What was once an orc nods, its pitted tusks gleaming with streaks of blood. “Damn gith hurt Huth. Dishonored da Goddess.  Huth’ll feed ‘im is own intestines. Like this.” He slurps in more kobold belly, making the corpse jerk. “Heh.”

The nothingness in the space where there isn’t anything takes a bite of intestine as well.

“We may have already passed over their trail,” the shadowy darkness around them says. “Dinner would not talk, but I could tell that it knew the phoenix-thing; he leaves a stink behind him. I’ll bet it met them in Akin’s Throat. We’ll soon find out; the trade city isn’t far.” The psionic shadow slides across their faces, and the elven archer brushes it away. “Arballine, let me scout and find them.”

“No. We tried that, all of us, and it failed. I don’t fail twice. We’ll use stealth, but we’ll do it together.”  She leans back.  “If we passed them, then we backtrack. They’ll be trapped between us and Nacreous. No escape.” She rips off a chunk of intestine in sharpened teeth and caresses the arrows at her side. “No escape. I almost killed two of them myself. With all of us, they haven’t got a chance.”  

The space where there is nothing doesn’t say anything, but the others look at it respectfully.

The orc abruptly jerks his head up, for his eyes have suddenly ignited with a familiar yellowish glow.  The elf is the first to notice the change. “Advisor,” she offers with a respectful bob of her head.

“I wouldn’t get over-confident, my darlings. We don’t think they know you’re coming, but there are many of them, and they have to be finished off once and for all. There will be no reward if you fail, you know.”  The orc giggles in a familiar way. “Far from it.”   Arballine, the rotting elvish archer, dips her head as she bites back her anger.

“They. Took. Away. My. Beloved.” She hisses the staccato words out through clenched teeth as she gestures gracefully with her arms, almost hitting the space where there isn’t anybody. “Master Soder, they destroyed him, after all the work I did to keep him with me forever. I had promised him!” Her eyes flash. “They took everything you had given me.  They made me a liar.  They’ll pay for that, and for the pain, and for the embarrassment.”

“Now, now.”  The puppeteer reaches over to pat her fondly on the shoulder.  “You have new toys. We have the plunder from a half-dozen civilizations to choose from, and you’re entitled to the best. Your King wants you to kill them once and for all, not just challenge them. And soon, if they still have your things with them, you can take them back. Think of it as an added incentive.”  He smiles, and one of the orc’s teeth falls from his gaping jaw. Idly, the puppeteer picks it up and jams it back into his body’s rotting gums.  He speaks slowly.   “The fall of the Queen has shaken all of us, but you must keep faith.  There will be vengeance against the one who killed Her. Your King has a plan, and is taking care of this even as we speak; retribution shall be delicious. Oh, yes.”   He chuckles.   “But we can’t forget our goal, can we?  And really, we can’t have those sun-lovers complicating things.  We offered them the hand of friendship, and they rudely spurned it.”  The puppeteer looks aggrieved and his voice turns icy cold.  “Spurned it! Don’t they know that politeness is a virtue?” 

The elf looks confused, but it’s the empty space beside her that doesn’t say anything.

The puppeteer refocuses, and his gurgling voice with the orcish accent warms as he pats the empty air with a worm-riddled hand.  “Not to worry, not to worry. You saw them decimate your army; you know their capabilities. I have been trying to find them for you. It’s difficult, as the Ivory Breath fogs my divinations. I have tried to join with a company hidden outside Akin’s Throat, but they have either died in sympathy for our Goddess or have been destroyed.”  He shakes his head, and pauses to pick back up the tooth.  “That unit is roughly a day and a half from you. It might be wise for you to head there first, and if there is no sign of the offenders then keep heading to Akin’s Throat.” 

The darkness swirls. “Anticipation and anger. A woman struck me with a mace. Hunger and revenge.”

 “Precisely, Baendril. Precisely. Now, mind if I join you for a bite?”  The orc’s body leans over, and the Puppeteer’s glowing yellow eyes illuminate the corpse as he reaches down with an empty hand. He pulls his full hand back with a wet squelch. 
 “Hmm. Don’t have any wine, do you?”

_The vision ends, and Agar returns to the kuo-toa chamber.


----------



## Piratecat

Within minutes, a malnourished and unkempt human enters the room and interrupts the discussion of Agar’s vision. The man stops to look up, and he stands there dumbstruck as he grips his clamshell tray hard enough to turn his knuckles white.  “You’re.. you’re human!” he manages to sputter in a creaky voice, seconds before he breaks down and begins to cry. His tray sags before him, but painfully honed instincts keep it upright.

“Hush, now,” Velendo drops down into the water and wades over to comfort the man. Kuo-toa fingerlings frolic and splash around his feet as he moves. “It’s okay. Come over and tell us about yourself.” With an arm around the slave, Velendo steers him over to the group.

The skinny man looks up at them through straggly hair, his pale eyes terrified and unbelieving. “My name’s Dougal. I’ve been here for years. My ship was raided when these monsters came out of the sea. We were all taken, and there were some who had been here long before I ever arrived.  Are you here to save us? Or are…” His mouth twists as he realizes that the group could be in league with the kuo-toa, and his mouth shuts like an animal trap.

Malachite shakes his head. “No, we aren’t allied with them.  How many of you are there?”

He gulps, tears still streaming down his chapped face. “Less than thirty, although there were almost a hundred when I first was brought down. The Master here stole me from the Palace when he fled, and now I’m the only human I see.  All the rest are still in the pits beneath the King’s palace.” He looks sick. “I don’t know how many are left. We were dying quicker and quicker; used in demon summonings, or as sacrifices to their heathen goddess, or even given to the ghouls as treats when they come to visit.” The man shudders. “That’s the worst, for they wouldn’t kill ‘em first. And there be only a handful of dogs left, too.”

Tao bristles. “Dogs?”  Her eyes narrow into slits.

The slave nods in agreement. “They try to capture humans and dogs both. I think the ghouls like to eat them, perhaps, and the gogglers find ‘em a treat as well.  They’ve been saving most of the beasts for the ghouls to eat, though. They say it’s only polite.”

Tao looks furious. “Okay,” she hisses, “*now* I’m mad.”

Nolin studies the man. “Do I recognize your accent?”

“P’raps. I’m originally from a place called Eversink where I’m a sailor for House Clearwater. Have you heard of it?”

Nolin looks amused. “You could say that.  We know House Clearwater quite well, and we’re friends with Lady Sharala herself. Look, we’ll try to free your friends. Anything you can tell us…“  

Dougal looks at Nolin as if he’s insane and twitches in anticipation of the expected blow.  “Ahh, not to contradict you, your lordship, but Lady Sharala ha’ been dead for fifty years. In fact, that be the name o’ the ship I sailed on.”

Malachite smiles distantly. “Times change, friend, and many things change with it. Lady Sharala is now alive and well. If we can, we’ll introduce you.”

A webbed foot slaps on wet coral, and suddenly Dougal’s body language changes completely as he tries to blend into the shadows, unnoticed.  The silhouette of Monitor Thoobel appears in the tunnel opening above them. “I hope the food is agreeable, and the slave is jolly?” he burbles. “He is my favorite. I selected him myself when the palace offended my sensibilities.”

“Oh, yes,” agrees Mara, as she looks at the food Dougal had brought. She eyes the raw eel with an unreadable expression, and gracefully announces, “The food is perfect.” Smiling blandly, she takes a bite. Nolin and Velendo have already tucked in, along with several of the dwarves, and Nolin smiles his honest appreciation.

Thoobel nods and dismisses his slave with a wave of a fin.  The Monitor splashes over, reaching down once or twice to caress the fingerlings as he traverses the room.  He pauses as he walks past Mara.

“Are you going to eat those?” he asks, gesturing at the few remaining leeches that Mara had plucked from her legs. Stone Bear’s raven glances up, squawks, and takes to the air.

“Err… no.” Mara grimaces as Thoobel reaches down, only to pop the swollen leeches into his mouth one after the other, clearly savoring their flavor. “We were… saving them for you.”

“So kind!”  His bulging and watery eyes gleam in the gray light.

Velendo clears his throat. “Monitor, we have a number of tactical questions for you.”

“But of course. Let us begin by describing the area.” He lays out a map.  Thoobel eagerly describes the approaches to the Glass Pool, and the area itself. On a map, he shows where the wall surrounds the plaza, and where in the plaza the Glass Pool itself lies: right in front of the Royal Palace. 

Velendo shakes his head at the poor tactical position.  “How strong are Blel-Plibbit's guards?  How do they compare with the guards that recently attacked us?”

Thoobel grins widely, almost splitting his face in two. “He has about 4000 trained soldiers, compared to about 1500 of my own.  Only a few hundred are elite, though. Blel-Plibbit are approximately 60 whips, the clerics of the Sea Mother. The whips obey her whims. Working together, all can create lightning, but the may also favor acid or drowning miracles as well.”

Malachite frowns. “How many whips do you have?”

“Only a handful. But my troops are fervent, because we are truly blessed by the Sea Mother. When the moment comes, the false king’s Whips will fail, and their power will become our own.” He leans forward and whispers, breath fishy-cold in Malachite’s ear. “I have seen it.”

Splinder the dwarf keeps a straight face, but his thought reverberates over the mind link. _“We’re screwed. I know a fanatic when I see one. I’m not expecting any miracles predicted by this piece of walking seafood.”_ Thoughts of agreement silently echo between each adventurer’s head.

Malachite continues smoothly.  “Of course. What about Blel-Plibbit himself?”

“He is an utter coward, and not fit to be consort to the Sea Mother. He is the only powerful priest which she creates, unjustly raised above all others, and he prefers to flaunt his power with mostly water-based spells.” Thoobel’s large eyes flash. “He always travels with at least two trained whips, who may or may not be assassins. He always had at least four Claws near him, powerful warriors, and a monitor to watch his religious adherence. That was once my job,” he waves a webbed hand, “but I saw the truth.”

Velendo tries to smile. “Most certainly. Are there undead in the city actively working with Blel-Plibbit?  Have your own forces come up against actual undead during their rebellion?”

“There may be. The White Kingdom typically has an ambassador. The mindflayers often do as well.We have not fought undead, however.”

“_Mindflayers,_” thinks Malachite in disgust. “_Squidheads._”

“Do Kuo-Toa have any unusual resistances or vulnerabilities that we should know about when fighting Blel-Plibbit's forces?”

Thoobel’s chest puffs out in building fury. “No! Kuo-toa are the true inheritors of the earth, which has been _stolen_ from us by you surface folk, driven away by your cheating lies. We are _perfect_, and some day you will drown in the juices from your own treacherous black hearts!”  He pauses in mid-rant, as if hearing some distant voice, and his angry maw twists into a friendly smile.  “But not today, of course. Today we are allies.” All traces of his sudden anger are gone.

Mara and Malachite both try to detect evil, to no avail; minor divination spells are still disrupted from Imbindarla’s death.

Velendo tries to continue. “Err. Yes. Are there any unusual physical or magical defenses/traps around the Glass Pool itself?”

“It is always guarded, both by guards and by the power of the Sea Mother Herself. She watches carefully for blasphemy or disrespect. She will ignore you, however, as she ignores slaves; you are not kuo-toa, and thus beneath her notice.”

“Well, that’s something. Monitor Thoobel, would you be willing to donate troops to the fight?”

“But of course! My troops merely await my word. Now, Blel-Plibbit knows that I have you, but doesn’t know if you are alive or dead. I could – ”

And once more, Agar keels over in a trance. His head makes a dull “clunk” as it hits the stone.

_To be continued…_


----------



## KidCthulhu

That Thoobel.  He's crazier than a bedbug without a bed.

To review the cast of characters from Agar's vision:
The crazy archer who misses her beloved is the archer we met in our first undead battle, while still on the surface.  The one who nearly took Mara out with one shot.  Her beloved, as you may remember, was a suit of hide armor made from her flayed former boyfriend.  He was still sentient, and begged to be killed.  We were happy to oblige.

The shadow is, of course, the shadow from beneath the dwarven city of Mrid's Gate.  The 1+1 = 2 guy.  Who had the whole party flat on their backs.  Him.  We hate him.

The orc is one of the guys from the army attacking Mrid's gate.  I don't remember much about him, because he was attacking at about the same time as the appearance of a chick with boobs, a very interesting bikini and six arms.  Nolin tends to have a one track mind where exotic females are concerned.


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Dougal looks at Nolin as if he’s insane and twitches in anticipation of the expected blow.  “Ahh, not to contradict you, your lordship, but Lady Sharala ha’ been dead for fifty years. In fact, that be the name o’ the ship I sailed on.”




A ship?!  I got a ship named after me?!  That *rules*!

Actually, it's a little creepy.

No, wait.  It *rules*!  

_NOTE: Shara, of course, has never used the phrase "That *rules*!" in her life._


----------



## Liolel

Let me give piratecat an congratulations for his story hour passing 400K views.


----------



## Sagiro

Serpenteye said:
			
		

> I guess you don't need me saying it, but this story is awesome.  All it needs is some PC-deaths to spice things up a little and remove the players feeling of immortality. Your players must be pretty damn skilled and lucky to have their characters survive every fight the DoD have ever fought. They have come soo close so many times, yet somehow noone has ever died since the very beginning, truly they are blessed by the Gods. Too bad the Gods are dying...
> I actually feel sorry for the poor villains, but then I always root for the bad guys in fiction, I'm weird that way




Some of these deaths happened before Velendo joined the Defenders, so I'm probably wrong on some details, but I believe the death toll from the beginning, up to where the Story Hour is now, is:

Arcade (PC) - killed by doppelgangers
Alix -(PC) - also killed by doppelgangers, and later killed by an unwise liaison with the God of Murder (death permanent. Currently a larvae in Hades.)
Grundo (former PC, then NPC dwarf) - killed by minotaurs, raised, and later killed by a dragon in the Academy of Flamecraft (death permanent)
Nolin (PC) killed by -- er -- short goblins
Sharada (NPC "slave"/princess) - killed by Toraz-worshippers (death permanent)
Tao (PC) - killed by a prismatic spray in Ioun's Tower, and later killed by the trillith
Raevynn (PC) - killed by a _delayed blast fireball_ from an evil gnome. Reincarnated into someone else's body after some time as a ghost.
Rofan (former PC) - accidentally worshipped false God and killed by party (permanent death)
Valdek (PC) - killed by a trilith (death permanent)
Agar (PC) - killed by mercenaries in Eversink

I may be forgetting one or two. (_I have edited in the ones you missed - PCat_)

That works out to about one death every other level.  Hardly "no one has died since the very beginning." 

Plus, we *have* been extremely lucky many times over.  

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

We're at seven regular players (Agar, Galthia, Malachite, Mara, Nolin, Stone Bear, Velendo) although at this point in the story hour we were at eight (Tao).  There is another four main NPCs (Priggle, Cruciel, Burr-Lipp, Splinder) and about 20 dwarves, as well as a familiar (Proty) and a mount (Luminor). 

On average, we have one person missing about every other game.

Agar - halfling diviner/alienist/planewalker
Galthia - githzerai monk/acolyte of the fist
Malachite - human paladin/hunter of the dead/radiant knight
Mara - human paladin/radiant knight
Nolin - half-elven bard/rider of the flame
Stone Bear - human shaman/fighter/sacred fist
Tao - half-elven ranger/cleric/divine agent
Velendo - human cleric

Priggle - svirfneblin fighter/gnomish combat engineer
Cruciel - angelic (half celestial) fighter/devoted defender
Burr-Lipp - bullywug fighter/gladiator
Splinder - dwarven fighter/dwarven defender


----------



## Grog

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Anyways, thanks for the kind words, everyone. I originally ran Eversink because highly political games scared me, I ran the dwarven vault because I wasn't sure that a realistic and traditional dungeon was still viable at such high levels, and I'm running this underdark crawl because I'd never done it before and wasn't sure if I could. You folks are watching me figure the subtleties out, and I appreciate your praise, especially because I'm learning as we go.




Piratecat, could you (or possibly one of your players) give us some idea of the phases your campaign has gone through? When it first started, I believe you said it was a fairly standard, combat-oriented D&D game (please correct me if I'm wrong here). Then it shifted to Sigil (exotic city adventuring), then the comet cycle (epic quest to save the world), then Eversink (political), and now the Underdark/White Kingdom (creepy extended dungeonesque setting). I'm probably missing some stuff in there.... I'm just curious as to how the game has progressed (since there's a lot that's not covered in the story hour).


----------



## Piratecat

Grog said:
			
		

> Piratecat, could you (or possibly one of your players) give us some idea of the phases your campaign has gone through? I'm just curious as to how the game has progressed (since there's a lot that's not covered in the story hour).




Sure! I started off July 11th, 1992, Focused on a fairly small mountain town (Rampart) nestled between mountains and a huge forest, up in the northwest corner of a small country (Gaunt, originally spelled Gont and somehow changed over the years.)  It was a homey place to start adventuring. I used many Dungeon adventures to start us off. Action slowly spread out across the country, leading to other towns as the group explored their homeland. Some of these adventures involved thwarting the machiniations of the Brotherhood of Night, an Imbindarlan cult.

Eventually I was ready to show more, but the group was nicely settled in and didn't want to travel.  I got them to actually go abroad by making TomTom go hunting for a psionic trainer. That led to the wonderful Dungeon adventure "Chadrathar's Bane" (and Nolin's death by inch-tall goblins), and their introduction to the outer planes via Sigil.

After a bit of planar travel, they came back to their homeland. This led to the erinyes/stepmonster debacle (when an erinyes married Alix's noble father and became his step-mom.) Meanwhile, doppelgangers organized by the Brotherhood of Night began to destabilize the country and overthrow the king. Much intrigue ensued.

After exploring the Academy of Flamecraft (where Dylrath found his magical mirror), and dealing with a Helm of the Hivemind that threatened to absorb the party wizard Arcade, the group tracked a doppelganger plot far to the east, racing overland to the huge coast city of Oursk. Inspired by Waterdeep, Oursk was my first try at a big city adventure, and led to such notable moments as killing Silverpin Bloodmantle (an antipaladin of Toraz, god of murder), getting buried up to their necks in sand with the tide coming in,  and inadvertently walking into the insane lich Hagiok's secret academy under the dungheaps. 

Here in Hagiok's academy, the group found key clues that suggested a scary plot: the Brotherhood of Night were planning to force a certain conjunction by dragging a star from the sky. The conjunction was designed to open the lock that kept out horrible, neolithic undead worms that had once destroyed the previous incarnation of the world but had (mostly) been locked away by the gods. Trying to stop it, the group races several thousand miles to the west. In doing so they ignored a huge military conflict on the Penngian peninsula, which was a major distraction engineered by the Brotherhood.

Yup, this ended the Oursk period and started the comet cycle, my first attempt to ape Sagiro by providing a somewhat epic plotline. It was also designed to let the group see the world by walking through it.

Clearing out a fortress of giants (G1), the group headed west. They were dogged by Torazian deathgranter squads allied with the Brotherhood of Night, determined to stop them in as messy a fashion as possible. They found a country with unique gods, a flooded dwarven kingdom (near where they slaughtered the skaven), an invasion of mounted orcs, and a time-trapped arch-mage (Congenio Ioun.) Alix betrayed them, and was hoist by his own petard.  

They headed out across the desert, avoiding thri-kreen and meeting for the first time Teliez, son of Toraz. By this point the alliance between Toraz and Imbindarla had crumbled, and everyone was trying to stop the Brotherhood of Night. You see, the conjunction had failed - and the Brotherhood was trying to free the Worms by breaking the lock, smashing the comet into the stone circle that kept the worms trapped. They met Splinder as they tried to assault the mountain and stop the comet.

The group took a 2-year (in game) vacation after the comet cycle. The king slowly became more unstable during this time, and the group worked to heal him. Then some plane hopping (*coughmodroncough*), following up old plot threads, the skaven lawbringer T'Cri, and stopping a cult of Orthyss that was breeding abominations.

And then came Eversink, and the White Kingdom.


----------



## Jobu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Actually, that's five permanent deaths out of thirteen. One of the things I'm especially happy with is that people _don't_ treat it as a respawning video game; the trip to and from the afterlife can change you in mysterious ways, and it isn't a minor thing.



As one of the party members who's died TWICE I would like to have some say in this discussion....
Death One: SUCKED....failed the fortitude save vs Massive Damage.  And since this death was in an area of Time Stop Tao was stuck in a sort of Limbo watching the Defenders.  Coming back from this death changed Tao from a Ranger to a Ranger/Cleric.  
Death Two: Having your neck snapped by the Trilith - kinda hurts.  But THEN to have your dead naked body paraded around like a Doll by some psion....let's just say Tao was not too thrilled to meet that guy later after Battle One with the Dockside royals.  While dead Tao met her Goddess and said that she still had more to do in Life and that she wanted to take a stronger stand in doing Galanna's bidding.  So, upon being brought back by Valendo (who had her dressed up in some frilly white robes - jeesh) Tao was a Ranger/Cleric/Divine Agent.
And - Yes.  As I have moved away from Boston, Tao is no longer with the Defenders.  But that is still a couple story hour postings away.


----------



## Elric

*Nolin: flaming narcissist?*

I just came across a part of a poem by John Donne that seems to describe Nolin perfectly:

"Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot,
For every man alone thinkes he hath got
To be a Phoenix, and that there can bee
None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee."

What does everyone think?


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Very nice, Elric.  And extra points for Donne.  A brilliant, brilliant man.




Actually, the bit about Mara removing leeches, combined with the tidbit that Nolin sleeps with her at some point, made me wonder if he might have improvised something like this: 

Marke but this flea, and marke in this, 
How little that which thou deny'st me is; 
Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee, 
And in this flea our two bloods mingled bee; 
Confesse it, this cannot be said 
A sinne, or shame, or losse of maidenhead, 

Yet this enjoyes before it wooe, 
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two, 
And this, alas, is more than wee would doe.

Etcetera.  Full text here, for those interested: http://lardcave.net/tig/hsc/2eng-donne-flea-comments.html


----------



## Piratecat

All right, it's update time! First, a map of Glubyal.  Yay, Excel! You'll see where the reservoir is that dumped all that water onto our heroes, and the rough location of the three portcullisses that were supposed to shred them.

EDIT - Then a map of the Holy Plaza itself that will make more sense once you've read the story hour update below. I'm moving this out of the update itself and putting it here, where you have to click on it to see it, in deference to folks with smaller monitors. Having to read every post by scrolling left-to-right is no fun at all!


----------



## Piratecat

“Agar! What is it?”

The halfling shakes his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “A vision. Thousands of fish ripping down a wall with a bolt of lightning, then swimming through the entrance. It was like a dam breaking.” He looks up at the monitor looming above him. “I think we’re in trouble. It was happening right now.”

Thoobel fixes Agar with his watery eyes. “Blibdoolpoolp has granted you vision! You could have been a holy seer, if you had not been hatched into an impure form. I shall return in moments!”  The group watches his slimy back retreating up the tunnel, and gathers back around the map to plan their battle strategy. 

“So here’s the palace, and here’s the Glass Pool.” Malachite points at the map. “These are breeding pools where the royal spawn resides. This triangular building named the Clatterhouse is the residence for the clerical ‘whips,’ and the House of the Sea Mother is where the religious monitors are. Hopefully, both of those will be mostly empty. We know the Glass Pool is relatively shallow water with a core of ice around the middle.”

Velendo nods. “Apparently, Blel-Plibbit goes out onto the ice beneath a statue to Blibdoolpoolp. He lies on the ice, and she sends him wisdom and visions.”

“Hummph.” Nolin snorts. “More likely the elemental sister of Silissa is trapped under the ice, and he’s communicating with him somehow.”

“Do you suppose the kuo-toa know that she’s there?”

“Who knows? Probably, or they once did. It’s got to be hard to imprison an incredibly powerful elemental spirit in the middle of your holy sacrificial pool without anyone noticing.”

“But Thoobel doesn’t know anything about her. Gods only know how long she’s been imprisoned.  Let’s see; if we enter through here, we’ll need a distraction….”

Within a few minutes Thoobel is back.  “It is true!” His voice quivers with excitement. “Your presence here has forced the false king’s fin. Even now, his troops are breaking through the northern barricades. The way I see it, you have a finfull of choices.”

Velendo leans back, considering.  “Yes?”

“You can stay and fight them with my people. We will surely lose without you, but it will be a bloody battle, and perhaps you can help! I don’t know enough of your fighting skill to say.” The look on Thoobel’s face indicates that he doesn’t think much of this choice.

Malachite clears his throat. “We have some skill in combat. What are the other options?”

The kuo-toa makes a gentle gesture with one fin. “You have already had a difficult day. Blel-Plibbit’s troops won’t make it this far for at least a half an hour; if you wish to not press your attack today, I can smuggle you to a hiding place where you can rest. Then my people will likely be slaughtered or flee, but he who sits in the Coral Throne will not easily be able to find you, and you may destroy him tomorrow. I will come with you, so as to see the cleansing of the throne.” 

_“And to avoid the bloody mess he’s sending his loyal followers in to,”_ thinks Malachite bitterly over the _mindlink_.

_“Not much of a people person, is he?”_ quips Nolin mentally.

“Waiting until tomorrow will mean that you are better prepared, but Blel-Plibbit will likely fortify his defenses if he can not find you today. Thus, the coward might be better guarded. The last option, to attack right now, is only wise if we are strong enough. He is scared of me and what I can do, and I think he is scared of you as well. He will have sent his most powerful troops and priests to come and destroy us. If we flee and take the fight to him, he will most likely be caught unawares.” Thoobel studies at the group intently, as if trying to decide whether or not they are powerful enough to successfully attack the palace.

_“He keeps staring at us,”_ whispers Agar over the _mindlink._

Worried about the upcoming battle, Velendo tries not to sound exasperated.  _“He’s a kuo-toa, Agar. That’s the only thing he can do.”_

_“Good point.”_  Agar thrusts his consciousness back into his mind to inventory his spells. In his mind’s eye, they hang there quivering – multi-limbed tentacles of potential energy, squirming with eagerness to be cast.  Reluctantly he pulls his mind back.  “Well, I still have quite a lot of resources today. I say we go now.”

Stone Bear concurs. “I’m ready as well. I can’t get any readier than I am right now.” The group rises, prepared to take the fight to the enemy.

“I’m glad,” burbles Thoobel. “I will instruct my people to delay them as much as possible. You will need to breath water where we are going. This is possible?”

“We can do that,” says Velendo. “For just a few minutes?”

“For almost an hour.” Velendo blinks in surprise, and Thoobel gives a laughing cough that sounds like a dying seal. “It is a big city,” he explains. Then one of the fingerlings that Stone Bear is holding pops a tiny fin out into the air, and the monitor notices. He turns to Stone Bear.

“You have several of my spawn with you?” Stone Bear nods, his eye sockets revealing nothing. “Good thinking. They will learn from the battle, if they live. The weak will die, the strong will survive to better themselves, and I can easily sire more. It will be good for them to know how a human fights.” He doesn’t say why, but turns away to lead the group out. The blind shaman just tucks the fingerling back into his satchel, shakes his head, and follows the kuo-toa up the tunnel.

*  *  *

Beds of edible seaweed, swaying back and forth in the current. An undersea corral of bluish giant lobsters, each ten feet long with claws the size of an overweight halfling. Poisonous coral the shade of diseased flesh, home to a hundred darting little fish. Inquisitive eels. Scum-coated tunnels that have been long-forgotten, twisting beneath the domiciles of proper kuo-toa as they meander towards the center of the city.  And no decoration or artistic flourishes of any kind, anywhere. Glubyal slowly opens itself to the Defenders as they retreat from the encroaching army of Blel-Plibbit into even greater danger, and it is not a welcoming embrace. 

*  *  *

The group crouches in the shadows behind a coral building fifty feet from the side gates of the royal plaza. “At least four kuo-toa guarding this side of the coral gate,” reports Galthia. 

“Everyone ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Inivisible, the stealthier members of the group begin sneaking across the tiled square. They are silent, but the guards’ heads swivel as Galthia moves across.

_“Galthia! They’ve seen you!”_ He freezes, as does Priggle. It’s not entirely clear that the guard _has_ seen him. The paunchy kuo-toa speaks to his fellow guard, then slowly makes his way across the open space, swinging his pincher staff back and forth and craning his head in every direction.

_“It's their eyes,”_ thinks Priggle. _“They must be able to see invisible movement. When you stand still, though, I think you’re invisible to them.”_

_“Well, why didn’t they see *you*, then?”_ Galthia’s mental voice sounds a little bit insulted.  Priggle's response, however, sounds resigned.

_“Who notices the deep gnome? No one, that's who. We're not even important enough for our enemies to hate.”_ He sighs mentally.

_“Screw this,”_ thinks Tao. _“There’s just a few of them. Let’s take them.”_ She rushes forward with Stone Bear, but neither of them are close enough to reach the enemy. Galthia and Priggle are, though, and they move to attack as well.

Priggle brings the edge of his pick across in a hard, short arc. It rips right through the kuo-toa's left knee in a small explosion of blood and bone. As the guard begins to topple, Priggle reverses his gnomish weapon and brings the hammer head right down on his opponent's face. the guard doesn't get back up.

Galthia strikes the second guard, but luck works against him as he loses his balance on the slippery tile. The guard has time to croak out a warning. On the far side of the gate another guard responds by raising a conch shell to his thin lips, and a warning horn sounds out across the royal plaza.

“Damn damn damn!” swears Nolin. “I thought about using _silence_, but we were worried about it dampening our spellcasting. I should have done it anyways!”

“Don’t worry about it, Nolin,” calls Galthia. “What’s done is done. We need to kill this one and get this gate open!”

“I’m on the gate,” declares Priggle. “Not that anyone noticed. Or cared. Or even thought to ask me. That’s fine. Don’t feel bad about it.” He purses his lips while he studies the architecture for a few seconds, then raises his pick and takes several impeccable swings that completely shatter the magically hardened coral. The huge gate clatters to the tiled floor in pieces around him.  A kuo-toa guard suddenly appears in front of the deep gnome, but it reels backwards with a dozen crossbow bolts stuck in his chest.

“Reload, men!” bellows Splinder. The dwarves obey, even as Stone Bear sprints through the gate to see three kuo-toa guards still standing. 

_No armor,_ thinks Stone Bear. _Not very bright of them._ His raven takes to the air as the shaman throws himself at an enemy. With accuracy sacrificed in favor of sheer power, Stone Bear’s fist punches most of the way through a guard’s chest. He uses the dying guard as a pivot as he spins around, and his foot almost takes the head entirely off another guard nearby. Stone Bear lands on the ground gracefully, two corpses collapsing beside him.

It’s almost the first time that the other Defenders have seen him in combat. Someone whistles quietly in admiration.  The last guard standing is chopped down by Tao, who rips the horn from his hands seconds before she slides her swords into his belly. 

“They know we’re here,” Stone Bear says unnecessarily.

“On it,” says Nolin. He pulls out the Shara Ball. This glass globe had been crafted by Sharala Clearwater, and contains a piece of her essence; it knows the spells that she knows, and is able to cast one on occasion. Unfortunately, Shara also imbued the item with her disdain for Nolin.  “Shara? My greeting to you. Would you be so kind as to create a convincing illusion of us as far away across this plaza as you can? We want to draw any guards to the opposite side from where we’re heading.”

Shara’s voice is tinny and faint as the ball awakens. “Oh, it’s _you._ How _charming_.” Her sarcasm could cut glass.  “In some other horrible situation that your primping and songs can’t save you from?

“Shara, please. Now really isn’t the time to insult me. You should feel free to express yourself at great lengths later, but things are really kind of urgent at the moment.”

Inside the glass globe, a tiny image of Shara smiles self indulgently.  “Then of course. I’m flattered you asked.” The image concentrates, and far across the plaza a very realistic image forms, even as illusory warning horns sound from other parts of the plaza as well. More gurgling shouts fill the air as the distant kuo-toa guards begin to react.

“Thank you,” says Nolin sincerely. “We’ve got a distraction, folks. Let’s go.” To the inspirational tune of a victory march sung by Nolin, the Defenders of Daybreak surge forward into the Plaza of the Sea Mother. They fan out as they race towards the Glass Pool. In front of them, the silhouette of something large scuttles forward to intercept.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Hey, it's a hard life being a svirfneblin. Everything wants to eat you, no one fun ever invites you out, and you need a stepladder to jump onto a bar stool. No WONDER he's pessimistic!

EDIT - going over my notes, I made a few errors in this last entry that I've since corrected. I was combining two different combats in my mind, but it's straightened out now.

And look! Kuo-toa illustrations, courtesy of WotC. There are several of these, but this is closest to how I envision them. You can even see Blibdoolpoolp in the background, waving at you.


----------



## dpdx

Okay, who else took "Blel-Plibbit goes out onto the ice" and ran with it:

_Line change for the kuo-toa. Blel-Plibbit goes out onto the ice, and...

OH! That's a brutal hit by Monitor Thoobel! The referee has raised his hand, waiting for the puck to change possession, and... yep, that'll be two minutes for roughing, Bill._

Right you are, Gary. Monitor Thoobel clearly left his tailfins for that one. I'm surprised he didn't get a five-minute major for boarding.


----------



## Piratecat

Thoobel catches at Velendo’s arm and gestures at a stone building nearby. “This is where the Kept are imprisoned.” His eyes are alight with insane purpose. “I will free them to join our cause! You can do without me for a few minutes?” 

_More crazy monks?_ thinks Velendo. _That means more allies, and more potential targets. Sure, can’t hurt._  “Of course. Go!”  

Thoobel slips silently away, and the others continue to move farther into the Plaza of the Sea Mother. Galthia uses his superior speed to scout far ahead of the rest of the adventurers.

* * *

A servitor rushes in through pearlescent arches and bangs its head submissively on the floor. “Mighty Sea King, I am the bearer of tidings!”

Blel-Plibbit swivels his ponderous head to gaze at the minion. He pops another squealing tidbit into his wide mouth, and his favorite monitor steps forward to bang a pincher staff on the smooth floor. “The mighty Sea King commands you to speak! You have the upworlders captured, as you have been commanded?”  Blel-Plibbit smiles in anticipation. 

“Err.. in a way, O Commander of Tides! Knowing how eager you would be to deal with them yourself, for no other kuo-toa could possibly exact judgment for their many and unknowable crimes, we are delighted to say that they have come to YOU. Even now they are in the plaza outside, being punished for their sins against the Sea Mother! Is it not just that you will be able to punish them personally for their sins, fearful majesty?”

Blel-Plibbit’s smile fades, and he gestures at the musicians to stop playing their soft horns. Quiet settles on the throne room, and over the panicked gill-flapping of the groveling messenger the King’s ears can make out the faint sound of alarm horns in the plaza outside. Blel-Plibbit’s face contorts in anger, and the terrified messenger buries its face even farther into the tiles.

“Idiot! They are outside, free and armed? They have evaded the armies and have come here themselves? And that traitor Thoobel with them?” The Sea King’s croaking voice rises to a near-shriek.

“We knew your majesty would wish the.. urrkgl.. klapplgl.. gaak.” Blel-Plibbit gestures, and the messenger’s twitching body beats out a rapid tattoo on the tiled floor, fins kicking the polished stone for just a brief moment. Eventually, at a nod from the Sea King, two of his faithful bodyguards remove their weapons from the sack of dead flesh.

Blel-Plibbit’s voice rumbles.  “Gather the Whips, children, and the Monitors. Let the casting of Miracles begin. I am the Sea Mother’s mate, and I shall have to deal with them myself.” But the Sea King’s voice cracks slightly as he says it, and deep in his belly he knows the sharp bite of fear. In self-denial he crushes the messenger’s cooling head with one massive foot, and then spreads his arms in preparation for prayer.

*  *  *

At first glance, the Royal Plaza isn’t much to look at. No decorations, no tiles, just polished stone and coral jutting at odd angles from the plaza’s floor. The odor is revolting, but Galthia has been exposed to both githyanki and mindflayers before, so it’s relatively easy for him to stomach. Ahead he can see the silhouette of a huge stone building, and far to his left he can see something that looks like odd sculpture. In the flickering gray-green light cast by algae and luminescent slugs, vision is difficult. Not so difficult that he can’t see the enemies scuttling forwards ahead of him, though. 

_“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Four giant lobsters. There are two kuo-toa on the back of each, armed with long spears or lances.”

“We’re closing now… see them! Stand clear, Galthia. I suggest we open with a bang. Hey, someone get out some drawn butter.”_  Nolin calls to the phoenix inside of him, and Rides the Sun eagerly answers with a sacred pillar of fire that lights up the darkness. Three of the four lobster mounts are killed instantly by the flame strike, cooked in their own shells by the holy fire. Their riders tumble from the back of the dying creatures, hitting the ground and bracing their weapons.

“I’m charging!” Mara spurs Luminor forward. The horse’s powerful hooves strike sparks from the stone, and Mara’s holy mace glows brightly in one gauntleted hand. 

“Mara, wait! No!” Velendo shouts. But he’s too late. Before Mara can close with her mace, six of the kuo-toa jam their long spears into the charging war horse. Luminor screams in mortal pain as his own momentum carries him deeply onto the barbed weapons. Mara screams as well, and the noble war horse topples to the side. Blood gouts out of him, and tears of rage streak Mara’s face. 

“I didn’t…” She crouches beside the dying horse, mace out. Around her, slime-coated kuo-toa close in for the kill. She flips back her hair, and her face is a mask of fury.

Then the rest of the Defenders arrive to stand beside her. Galthia strikes Luminor with a healing blow from his hand to stabilize the mount, even as Tao and Malachite distract the kuo-toa soldiers from the front and Stone Bear circles in from the side. One kuo-toa manages to stab the downed war horse once again, and it twitches convulsively; Mara feels every wound as if it were she herself getting hit.  Then she places a hand on Luminor’s withers before he can die, and she shuts out the world as she focuses the healing warmth of Aeos into the horse’s body. “Come back to me.”  Beside her Luminor’s wounds begin to close, and it snorts feebly as it tries to clear the blood from its healing lungs.

Mara looks over at the kuo-toa beside her and smiles a terrible grin. “You’re going to die for that.” And within a few seconds, it does. So do the kuo-toa on either side of it, cut down by powerful blows from all of the Defenders working together. Dark blood flies in the gray half-light, but the kuo-toa don’t scream for long.

Farther back, the one remaining war lobster has charged Nolin, claws snapping. One claw crunches around his body, but Nolin’s celestial battlecloak stiffens into rigid armor in order to protect him. “Huh,” says Nolin as he draws his rapier. “I haven’t used this since the Beastlands. But you aren’t undead, so let’s see if Galanna is watching.” Taking a lackadaisical fencing stance, Nolin smiles at the two kuo-toa soldiers on the lobster as he thrusts with the rapier. It’s a perfect hit, penetrating the chitinous shell and thrusting deep into the war lobster’s head.

“Buh-bye,” waves Nolin with a friendly little gesture. And to the surprise of both kuo-toa, their lobster begins to _change._  Claws become branches, legs become roots, a tail becomes a trunk, and suddenly there’s a 30’ tall lignified lobster-tree standing before Nolin. The bard whistles softly and examines his rapier. “Damn, this thing is great,” he says to himself, and runs forward. “I wonder why I don’t use it more often?”  Thirty feet in the air, two near-helpless kuo-toa soldiers watch him go.

With Luminor healed and the soldiers mostly beaten down, Galthia runs forward again to scout. He is running along the back of the palace looking for doors when he hears a clattering behind him.  Turning, he sees a cloud of mist spreading from the side of the building. His first instinct is to discover what is causing it, so he reverses his path and runs back.

The mist is impenetrable to sight, so Galthia edges into it, staying right at the edge where escape should be simple. He’s caught off guard by the terrible pain and the sound of running water. “What?” he begins to ask, and holds a hand up before him as his legs begin to buckle. At first he thinks it’s his blurring vision, but then he realizes that his vision is fine; his hand really _is_ running, the flesh sloughing off and changing into seawater as he watches. Internal organs liquefy, and the monk staggers as more than forty percent of his flesh turns instantly to sea water and splatters to the ground. It’s only by pure will power that he’s able to keep his feet. The mist swirls around him, and he hears a croaking hymn rise from somewhere. Webbed feet slap the stone from somewhere in the cloud of mist, and Galthia realizes that his life is at stake.

_“Don’t go into the mist!”_ he thinks urgently to the others. _“It’s….”_

_“We’re coming!”_ says Velendo urgently. _“Hang on!”_

Not fast enough.

With his watery flesh cupped in one hand, Galthia feels a sudden presence at his back. He turns suddenly, and there’s a kuo-toa monitor looming over him. A rock-hard fin is raised back, and the weakened githzerai can’t do a thing to dodge it. It slaps him, splashing away remnants of his face. Another fin hits, and another, each tearing through once-strong defenses to shatter the weakened body beneath.

For Galthia, everything goes black.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Ladies and gentlemen, meet the kuo-toa equivalent of a _harm_ spell, followed up by a high-level monk. 

Ouch.


----------



## Grog

Did Nolin crit _again_ with the rapier? Has he ever used that thing without getting a crit?


----------



## mythago

Grog said:
			
		

> Did Nolin crit _again_ with the rapier? Has he ever used that thing without getting a crit?




Oh, the straight lines.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Grog said:
			
		

> Did Nolin crit _again_ with the rapier? Has he ever used that thing without getting a crit?




[don cheesy grin and gold chains]That's what the ladies all say. [doff cheesy grin and gold chains]


----------



## Piratecat

Grog, Nolin did crit again. He only uses the damn thing twice a year, so he must be saving them up in some sort of extra stomach. Now there's a lobster tree in Glubyal, and lord help the local ecosystem.



			
				shilsen said:
			
		

> So was that just a _harm_ spell with a changed (and may I say incredibly evocative) description, or was it mechanically different too?




The group assumed that the effect came from the cloud itself. In truth, however, the Sea King Blel-Plibbit is a cleric with a few levels of hierophant. He's in that cloud somewhere with his entourage, and apparently can see right through it, and he has the ability to make touch spells at a 30' range.

Hail to the King, baby.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Mmmm.  Lobster tree.  You could plant one in the yard, and just go out and pick a lobster whenever you wanted.  [drool].  Plus, it would scare the piss out of the poor, unsuspecting squirrels.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Mmmm.  Lobster tree.  You could plant one in the yard, and just go out and pick a lobster whenever you wanted.




Well, not *quite* whenever you wanted.  You'd have to wait for them to ripen.  There's nothing worse than a green lobster.


----------



## WizarDru

Later, in Limbo:

*Spirit 1: *"_So, what brings you here, new guy?_"
*Spirit 2: "*_Died fighting the Kuo-Toa, deep under the earth on the Prime."_
*Spirit 1: *_"Wow, that's a bad scene.  They gut you?"_
*Spirit 2: *_"No, actually.  Dissolved most of my body into seawater, and then ripped apart the rest of my body, which was only barely held together, at that point."_
*Spirit 1: *_"Oh, well I...._*"*
*Spirit 2: *_"Then they dumped my few remains into a feeding pool for the fingerlings to shred my cooling corpse."_
*Spirit 1:*_  "....._"
*Spirit 2: *_"So, what kind of food do you have to eat around here?  I'm starved.  For some reason, I have a crazing for seafood.  Say, where are you going?"_

__


----------



## RingXero

Hey PKitty,

I made my donation abit earlier today and well, this may sound somewhat odd, but it is the truth.  I like this site, alot, but it really has been because of your and Sagiro's story hours that I have come back, almost everyday.  Sure the 3e rumors were great, but after a somewhat malais set in for me with boards and info, your story hour and later Sagiro's sucked me in and said to me 'cool things happen here, please stay'  So I did.  

So thanks Pkitty, of all the things on this site that I have grown to love, the community, reviews, news and various other things, your story hour here I count as a most valued contribution and part of what makes 'ENWorld' 'EnWorld' for me.


RX

EDIT: You know what, I got all misty eyed thinking how great a group of people that are associated with this site, that I just donated again, 50% again on top of my previous donation.  I'll consider it 'story hour forum' tax.


----------



## Piratecat

Femerus the Gnecro said:
			
		

> Hey PKitty...
> 
> I think there's a post missing between the update on #591 and #593.  Did it get inadvertantly deleted while trimming comments?




Drat! Thank you, and good catch. I've added it back in. I had been hoping to update today, but work and other responsibilities are breathing on my neck. Look for one Monday, instead, along with some mistakes fixed and scenes added to previous entries. Sort of like the Director's Cut.

I love both the madlibs and the piratecat fabric, but the latter lacks that je ne se quois (whatever that is.) Not enough mangled corpses!  

Also, go see our story hour art all in one place: http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=67908

Not necessarily for slow modems, but I've collected Littlejohn's, Sialia's and (contact)'s pieces along with some explanatory dialogue. Are they not gorgeous?


----------



## Piratecat

Conch shell horns echo over polished stone, along with a tune of ethereal beauty. Running feet splash in shallow puddles. A coral bell peals in the gloom.  Dying lobsters clack massive claws. Mist rolls out of a palace doorway, and somewhere ahead a githzerai dies quietly, his innards splashing out of a melting body.

The battle against Blel-Plibbit, Sea King of the Kuo-Toa, is joined.

Best to be cautious. Velendo casts _spell resistance_ on himself while Cruciel guards him from attack.  Then the aging cleric studies the faint cloud ahead of him. His eyes flash with blue fire as his permanent _arcane sight_ tries to identify the magic which infuses it, but the result is nothing like he expects.  

Normally, _arcane sight_ shows the strands of magic that always hang in the air like a spider’s web, allowing Velendo to identify magic by the thickness and composition of the weave. Not this time; instead the glowing strands of magic bulge and spin outwards towards him in an impossible spiral. Velendo pulls back from the unseen threat, wincing as he feels the magic try to pry open his scalp and crawl into his brains.  He senses something jabbering insanely as it tries to rip apart his mind. “Arrgh!” he grunts, and shakes free from the attack with a massive mental effort.

“There’s something in that cloud,” Velendo pants as his head begins to clear. _“Galthia, is it psionic?”_  Silence.  _“Galthia?”_  Nothing. 

“Is he down?” asks Mara, concerned. 

“I can’t tell.” The group begins to reform ranks around him before advancing forward. “He disappeared inside of the cloud. Can someone…?”

“I’ll find out,” answers Stone Bear, and slips off towards the cloud.

The dwarven shock troops ready their crossbows to cover Stone Bear, and Agar casts _true seeing._ He also looks at the cloud, and just like Velendo he has to try and stop his brain from fracturing into a dozen distinct personalities. The blissful release of true insanity is certainly tempting, but Agar resists, and his natural phobias don’t grow any worse.

Agar tears his eyes away. “For a second there, I thought you were all giant insects!”

“What?”

“Nothing. Don’t try to detect anything magically in that cloud. Whatever the effect is, I think it feeds off of divination spells.”

A sudden breath of ice cold air stirs his face, and out of nowhere the plaza is wrapped by a storm of hideous power. Icy sleet pounds down and bone-chilling waves crash out of nowhere. The storm is gone within seconds, but almost everyone is hurt, and the less experienced of the dwarven troops are unconscious or dead.

Stone Bear pauses near the cloud, his raven soaring far above him. The shaman has no eyes to see earthly obstructions such as mist, and what he senses makes him frown. _“The cloud is full of kuo-toa. There is one standing next to what’s left of Galthia.”_

Agar gulps.  _“What’s left?”_

_ “Let me finish. There are at least ten other kuo-toa in there. One is wearing ugly regalia and a big lobster crown - ” _

_ “The king!” _

_ “ – and the rest have those pincher staffs. At least two are probably priests of some kind.” _

_“Stay clear, Stone Bear. We’re going to blanket that area with spells.”_ The shaman scowls and turns back to try and stabilize as many dying dwarves as he can.

Nolin finishes his song of power, inspiring Tao to greatness and glory. Then he turns to focus on the cloud.  “Let’s get rid of that mist.” The bard casts _mass haste_ and follows it with _gust of wind_; from his back, the wings of the phoenix Rides the Sun emerge to sweep the air. Before the phoenix can complete its action a cloud of misty water surrounds the fiery form. Rides the Sun dissolves into dimming sparks and is forced to merge back into Nolin, and the spell never takes effect.

Nolin is shocked. “What the hell just happened?”

Stone Bear is the only one who could see. _ “One of the priests just counter-spelled your magic.” _

_“Bastard. That’s fighting dirty. Only we get to do that.” _

Tao raises her arms and focuses her will, and the divine agent’s prayer of _greater dispelling_ rips apart the cloud in front of them as if it were damp tissue. She hears crossbows _twang_ as the dwarves who are still on their feet fire at one of the clerics, but she is busy calling down a devastating _flame strike_ into the midst of the kuo-toa that are now visible.

One of the kuo-toa raises its pincher staff and burbles some words, and the roiling pillar of fire is drowned out in hissing water. Another counter-spell.

Mara can now see the kuo-toa that dropped Galthia, a large brute with no weapon and a distended jaw. It grins crazily. She vaults atop the newly healed Luminor and gallops at full speed towards the monitor. Riding past him, she swings Lightbinder and catches him fully in his paunchy belly. The horse reels around with sparks flying from its hooves, and Mara hits the monitor a second time in the back of the neck. Nearby kuo-toa guards thrust their pincher staves at her, but she interposes her holy shield and none of the weapons fully snap shut around her neck. A few elite guards fling poisoned coral daggers at both she and Malachite, but all are deflected by their armor. A poison dagger flies at Velendo as well, but is batted away by Cruciel.

Far behind the rest of the group, Burr-Lipp leaps into the air beside the newly-formed lobster tree, picking off the treed kuo-toa one jump at a time.

“Let’s take a few of them down,” grimaces Velendo. He casts _fire storm_, and then uses the Grimrod to follow up with a maximixed _blade barrier._ Burning and smoking kuo-toa begin to scream and fall like wheat before a scythe, including the horribly injured creature wearing the king’s crown. Pale blood fountains up from the dying fish men, and gore begins to spray out of the center of the steel maelstrom.  Everyone briefly cheers, but Velendo is horrified to see that the two priestly kuo-toa – _What do they call them, whips?_ – are literally dancing across across the top of the whirling blades. _“Well, that can’t be good.”_

Nolin answers sarcastically. _“Ya think?”

“That king went down pretty easily.”

“I don’t think it was actually the king. It was probably a decoy. Look at that big one in the blades, the one that just scooped up the crown. There’s your k… Hey Malachite, watch out!”_

Oobubbl, one of the two whip bodyguards, easily tumbles out of the whirling blades. He closes with Malachite and smashes his adamantine pincher staff down onto the weakest point of Malachite’s shield. The pop-eyed kuo-toa clearly expects to sunder the shield into tiny pieces, and is more than a little bit surprised when the strengthening magic of Calphas keeps it whole and sound.  “Hi there,” greets Malachite with a feral smile. “Nice to see you. Too bad that didn’t work the way you expected it to.” In his hand, Karthos the sunblade laughs in metallic anticipation. 

The kuo-toa drops back into a more defensive stance as Malachite glides forward. The radiant knight twists his sword confusingly before slashing it around across Oobubbl’s chest. His second strike pierces the creatures body, but the whip manages to interpose its small and sticky shield on the third swing. Malachite tries to pull his weapon off, but the sun blade is securely stuck to the sticky secretions covering the kuo-toa’s shield. He engages in a comical tug-of-war with the injured kuo-toa for just a moment, but the whip manages to pull the intelligent sword free of Malachite’s hand. the blade stops laughing.

“Err, Malachite? A little help?” Karthos asks in ringing tones.

Fifty feet away, the monitor Klububble looks up at Mara on her horse. His fins jab upwards. Mara fights off the stunning effect of his blow, but then the tall kuo-toa unleashes a flurry to brutal strikes to her legs and chest. It’s almost as if Mara doesn’t have a shield, for all the good it does her, because the monitor can easily strike above, below, and around it. She reels in the saddle, horribly hurt. 

“Join your friend?” suggests the monitor, in croaking tones. He prods what’s left of Galthia’s body with one webbed foot. In response Mara lays her hands upon her wounds, healing all of the recent damage, and tries to use Luminor to bull rush the monitor into the whirling blade barrier behind it. Klububble easily leaps aside. Behind him Priggle rushes up, but is ignored by the monitor in favor of the greater threat.

Agar bites his tongue, concentrating, and the smell of ozone fills the steaming air as a blinding _chain lightning_ streaks from his hands. It strikes the newly identified King Blel-Plibbit in the chest. Secondary bolts crackle off to kill the last of the elite fighters who had survived both the _firestorm_ and the _blade barrier._ Agar follows this up with a _tentacular guidance_ spell that can help his allies identify weaknesses in their enemies’ defense.

With perfect teamwork, Nolin uses a _slow_ spell to remove the _haste_ effect on both the King and his remaining bodyguard. An attempt to use a wand of fumbling is less effective. Near him, Tao times her spells to go off as soon as Nolin finishes. She drops a _flame strike_ on the reeling Sea King who is still standing within the whirling blades. She follows this with a _wall of thorns_. The Sea King and one of his bodyguards, Slibbup, are both trapped in the area of the _blade barrier_, and Tao brushes her hands together with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Her jubilation is premature. Slippub uses his own body to loyally boost his king above the spinning blades. It means the bodyguard’s horrible death, but his sacrifice gives the immensely strong king the time he needs to push free from the encircling wall of razor-sharp thorns. Blel-Plibbit’s voice carries over the combat, over the clanging of the blades and the grunts of exertion, and it strikes fear into the hearts of anyone who can hear.

“Eternal Sea Mother! I am your lover made flesh, your power in this realm, and I beseech you for a _miracle._ Take the spinning blades of the surface dwellers, beloved Blibdoolpoolp, and return them to those who brought them forth!”

The _miracle_ takes effect, and Velendo’s maximized _blade barrier_ disappears – only to reappear right on top of him, chopping into all the allies who surround him. The sound of blades rhythmically hacking into flesh is horrible.

_To be continued…_

Want more?  Tune in tomorrow, when you'll hear Tao say, “Crap. Does he look healthier than he did a minute ago, or is it just me?”


----------



## Piratecat

Both the players and I as the DM made a few rules mistakes in this fight; none of us realized that _blade barrier_ took a full round to cast, and I - well, you'll see tomorrow in the next update. But we decided at the end that the mistakes cancelled themselves out.  It's the tradeoff for not letting the game get bogged down in constant rules discussions.  

Later tonight, I'll append a quick glimpse of the layout at the start of this battle.


----------



## Piratecat

_*Thwop-thwop-thwop-thwop!*_  Moved by magic, the blade barrier almost severs one of Tao’s legs.  Nolin only escapes damage by dropping flat to the ground and crawling for his life. Velendo himself doesn’t have a prayer of ducking out of the spell effect, but the _spell resistance_ he prayed for at the beginning of combat saves his life when it barely manages to hold against his own spell. Next to him, Cruciel’s wings lift her above the spinning and flashing blades.

Standing in the middle of the spinning blades, Velendo tries not to panic. “That was a freaking miracle!” he spits. Somewhat pettily he casts _miracle_ right back, using the spell to spoof a _dominate_ on Oobubbl, the kuo-toa whip fighting Malachite.  Feeling the bodyguard’s mental reserves tumbling under the onslaught of the powerful spell, Velendo activates his boots of flying and rises above the blade barrier. He’s surprised when Oobubbl doesn’t immediately respond to mental commands, and _arcane sight_ immediately shows the reason: a _protection from good_ inhibiting the domination. Velendo curses, and Cruciel throws him a surprised look.

Oobubbl has already fastened his pincher staff around Malachite’s neck, and is busily trying to rip the paladin’s head off. In response, Malachite forces himself closer to the kuo-toa. The polearm slides through Oobubbl’s slippery grasp as Malachite extends a hand. “Karthos, to me!” The intelligent sword does its best, but is still stuck to the shield. Malachite manages to get close enough to grasp the hilt, though, and he plants one foot on Oobubbl’s belly as he wrenches his weapon free.

The monitor Klububble uses Galthia’s corpse as a stepping stone and leaps up towards Mara. He smacks her with a _quivering fin_ and tries to kill her instantly by stopping her heart, but she resists the attack. He can’t stun her, either, but manages to badly hurt her with powerful hit after hit. Behind him, Priggle slips into place, but the kuo-toa discounts the deep gnome as a lesser threat.

That’s a bad mistake. Priggle flanks and attacks, his gnomish pick biting deeply into the kuo-toa’s flesh. Mara also raises her own weapon to _smite_ the monitor, pure sunlight flashing as Lightbinder snaps bone and sears flesh.  Klububble has nowhere easy to escape to, and Mara hits him a full four times. Her last swing catches his slime-coated head with a powerful blow, and and the kuo-toa wheezes a final breath before collapsing to the ground at Priggle’s feet. Spasms indicate that he isn’t fully dead.

“I’ll finish him off,” Priggle tells Mara. “Are you okay?” He eyes her many injuries.

“I’ll live,” Mara says grimly, and wheels her white steed around to face the rest of the battle.

Meanwhile, Agar tries to get a line of sight on the Sea King. “Darn it!” he yells. “Tao, I want to _maze_ him, but I can’t see him with all those thorns in the way!”  Inspiration strikes. “Proty, teleport us over to that corner.” Agar points, and his familiar spasms with tentacular glee. Using one of the spells that the alienist has previously _imbued_, Proty teleports them both - only to fall prey to the disconcerting energies that permeate the underdark. They end up thirty feet off-target, and still unable to see the Sea King. Agar instead targets the only visible enemy, and hurls _acid orbs_ at Oobubbl. Drops of acid spatter Malachite, but the kuo-toa takes the brunt of the impact and the acid begins consuming his flesh.

_“Agar, no!”_ shouts Velendo over the mind link. _“He’s dominated!”_

The halfling snorts. _“Err… oh.  Doesn’t look it, but okay. Next time tell me?”_ Oobubbl is nauseated from the acid, and Malachite pulls back as the kuo-toa throws up on his boots.

_“Thanks, Agar. Where’s Blel-Plibbit?”_

_“I can’t see him either,”_ thinks Nolin as he rolls free of the spinning blade barrier. The bard flies over to Priggle, trying to get line of sight behind the thorns. _“I have no idea what he’s doing back there. Tao, can you drop the wall of thorns?”_  Nolin pulls out a delicate instrument that he hasn’t used in some time and begins to play a jaunty little tune.  From behind him comes the crack of a _chain lightning_ and many crossbows as Splinder and the conscious dwarves, along with Stone Bear and Burr-Lipp, hold off arriving reinforcements.  

Tao shrugs off the horrible pain in her legs and nods yes to Nolin’s question. “Ready?” She reaches into the divine magic and untangles it from reality. The thorns vanish, and up on the palace steps Blel-Plibbit once again faces the Defenders. “Crap. Does he look healthier than he did a minute ago, or is it just me?”  Tao charges him with her sword out, but she isn’t fast enough; the kuo-toa king has been waiting. He calls, Blibdoolpoolp answers, and the outer skin of most of the Defenders pops and bursts as everyone suddenly become hyper-saturated with seawater. The pain is horrible.

_To be continued…_

Tune in Wednesday to hear Blel-Plibbit say "Urgglgl!"


----------



## Piratecat

Note: his _horrid wilting_ does the opposite and super-hydrates people, causing them to bloat and swell. Same amount of damage, slightly different effect, more flavor.

My rules mistake here was not knowing that monks can only make one stun attack per round in 3e. Klububble's attack went something like "quivering fin - stunning fin - stunning fin - stunning fin - stunning fin - stunning fin. Mara, make six fortitude saves, will you? first one _really_ counts."  And she made all six, bless her. Let's hear it for divine grace and a high charisma.  

Incidentally, Velendo was REALLY glad he had cast spell resistance. It made the difference between a massive damage save and taking no damage at all.

At the point where this entry ends, Blel-Plibbit is still in decent shape. He had _shield other_ up with a tough kuo-toa hiding behind the palace doors, and another kuo-toa was standing next to that one continually casting healing spells on it. Nevertheless, his cronies are falling like gaffed fish. He better do something clever to keep out of direct combat, eh?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Nevertheless, his cronies are falling like gaffed fish. He
> better do something clever to keep out of direct combat, eh?




Nah.  I think he needs to shake his groove fin. Dance, my fishy, dance!


----------



## Greybar

> C'MON!!! KICK SOME KUA, CRUCIEL!




Hey, don't discount the value of a Devoted Defender standing next to your primary cleric and all-round asskicker.  My players have one of them and the "swap places and take the damage" ability is very nice.  After all, who is gonna bring your lead cleric from the dead?  Okay, actually the defenders probably have that covered.

Incredible fight.  How long did it take in real time?  Was everyone (players) metally exhausted at the end? My players are heading into a massive campaign conclusion fight, and as GM I'm somewhat concerned about combat fatigue...

Wonderful use of _Miracle_ goes without saying.  I think that the creative flavor-modifications of the textbook spells is a great choice.  I like your _Horrid Wilting_ better than the book version, I think - particularly as a Water-domain power.  As an Evil-domain power maybe the instant mummification fits better.

john


----------



## Piratecat

All in all, the day took three sessions and was split up into three related fights: one session with the lobsters, up to the point where Galthia went down (which doesn't apply to the Dead Pool; that's only relevant to the battle against the Ivory King); we're part way through the second session as of this last update, against Blel-Plibbit; and another vicious fight in the third session, when they tried to learn the secrets of the glass pool. At least one of the spellcasters had one spell left when all was said and done.  One! It was a long day for adventuring.  

Plane Sailing, we're all looking forward to the new version of Blade Barrier. Oh, yes. Haven't made the change yet, though. We decided that switching mid-adventure would be a bad idea, so we'd wait until the Defenders were back topside.


----------



## Piratecat

Out in the plaza, all of the dwarves who are still alive are back on their feet. They slowly close ranks to protect their injured as kuo-toa reinforcements begin to move in.  _“I’m not sure how much longer we can hold the damn gogglers back,”_ warns Splinder. _“More are coming in all the time.  Crap, there’s another bunch flanking us from… scratch that.”_ Splinder sounds relieved. _“Monitor Thoobel’s caught up with us, and he’s brought friends to help.”_  Insane kuo-toa run forward and plunge into the combat on the side of the Defenders, ripping and tearing with their fins until they can steal a pincher staff from a fallen foe. Along with Stone Bear and the dwarves, a battleline is established and temporarily held. 

Tao leaks seawater and blood from painful wounds as she vaults up the palace steps, and is shocked to feel herself run face-first into what feels like an invisible wall of pure hatred and disdain. It’s as if Blel-Plibbit has focused every bit of scorn that he has for other creatures into a powerful mental barrier.  Tao has seen things like this before, though, and knows what to do.  She pits her own willpower against the repulsive spell, battering back the kuo-toa’s hatred with her own faith in herself and her cause.  

The divine agent’s faith turns out to be the stronger, and just like that Tao’s through.  She closes the last of the distance and buries her long sword in the surprised Sea King’s side.  Blel-Plibbit’s massive jaws part in a furious snarl, strands of saliva and blood flying as he screams in anger and pain.  Tao looks past his mouthful of needle-sharp teeth into the protruding eyes above, and sees in them the fear of a cornered animal.  

Malachite charges up the stairs as well, his focused will completely ignoring the _repulsion_. Karthos flashes and glows as it hammers into Blel-Plibbit’s defenses. Mara pauses to shatter the repulsion effect with a _dispel evil_, and then she closes to attack as well. 

Velendo eyes both parts of the conflict and shakes his head as he decides to help both. From his pocket he fishes out a talisman that will let him heal Tao from a distance. Then he uses his boots of flying to soar above Oolbubbl, casting _dispel evil_ and dispersing the aura of _protection from good_ that protected the badly injured whip from _domination_. The whip’s bulging eyes glaze over as it bends to Velendo’s indominatable will.

“Hold back those other kuo-toa!” commands Velendo, and Oolbubbl is forced to do so enthusiastically. A little corner of its mind screams in horror, but no one is able to hear it. Before the whip has a chance to even move, it is caught in the end of a _lightning bolt_ cast from within the palace, and it drops into darkness. 

“Darn it!” complains Velendo. He looks up at the palace, and sees that a line of clerical kuo-toa standing behind the Sea King were the ones who unleashed the lightning. It had crackled through a number of Defenders, but no one else had dropped.

“Now your souls are forfeit,” burbles Blel-Plibbit as darkness crackles around the edges of his webbed fingers. He looms over the line of divine warriors and takes a step back to complete a powerful spell. Nolin thinks differently. The bard has just finished a catchy little tune, and Mara has already dispelled the _repulsion_, so he swoops in to tap the Sea King with the faerie-made bow of his fiddle Fairesong. 

At first nothing happens, but then tiny golden fey spring into existence around the massive kuo-toa. They begin to sing irresistibly as they swoop back and forth, and Blel-Plibbit’s leg begins to twitch. The kuo-toa stutters and loses his place as he tries to mouth the words to his dark prayer.  His whole body jitters, and to the surprise of almost everyone present the mighty king of the kuo-toa begins to rhythmically leap up and down. 

“Nolin, what did you just do?” asks Mara in consternation.

Nolin looks smug. “Otto’s Irrestible Dance. An old gift from the Queen of Faerie.  Shake it, fish-boy!”

Mara blinks. “I think he’s capering.”

Malachite nods. “And that’s definitely a prance. Yup, capering AND prancing. Very nice. Remind me again why you don’t do this more often?”

Nolin looks a little embarrassed, then smiles with relief as a _mass heal_ from Velendo takes effect behind him. “Forgetfulness, and it can only be used a few times a year. But oh, it’s _so_ satisfying. Makes you want to throw him some coins.” 

“I can see why.” Malachite studies the look of horror in the ineffably evil Sea King’s eyes, admires the fast little jig that the creature is doing, then brings up his sunblade. “Let’s finish this.”  While Agar and Nolin kill off the lesser whips with _fireballs_ and _chain lightning_, the other Defenders surround Blel-Plibbit to strike again and again and again. Blel-Plibbit does his best to dance around their blows, but he hasn’t got a chance.  Malachite almost finishes him with an immensely powerful blow to the neck, and it’s actually the diminuitive Priggle who finishes off Blel-Plibbit by burying his pick in the kuo-toa’s black heart. 

Even after death, Nolin’s magic is strong enough to make the fish-king’s limbs twitch and wiggle in time to some unheard tune.  “Nice shot, Malachite!” someone compliments the radiant knight. 

“Yes, that was beautiful!”

Dejectedly, Priggle pulls his pick from the dead body and sighs. Typical, really.

*  *  *

The group rushes from the palace with Blel-Plibbit’s body, and the attacking kuo-toa draw away in horror and confusion. Agar tries to search several of the fallen bodies, but doesn’t find anything of interest; annoyed, he casts _fate’s generous bargain_ to sharpen his mind, and immediately notices a half-dozen details that he had been too distracted to see before. _Protection from evil_ spells are cast on everyone, and the badly injured Agar is healed by Velendo. Unfortunately, Priggle gets his hand stuck on Oobubbl’s sticky shield, and Tao rips off a layer of skin when trying to free him. Of course, Priggle doesn’t need his hands anyways, so there’s no reason anyone should care.

Mara looks at Galthia’s shrunken corpse and bows her head in sorrow. She slings what’s left of his body over Luminor’s back and goes over to cast _circle of healing_ on the dwarves. A handful of them are fully dead, the rest still badly injured. As her magic takes effect, Stone Bear notices Galthia’s corpse twitch slightly. 

“Is it supposed to do that? His spirit is still within.”

Velendo swings his head around, still conscious of the fact that they’re standing horribly exposed in the kuo-toa plaza. “Do what?”  He examines Galthia’s body and sees that the corpse’s sunken eyes are solid green stone.

“No,” he says blinking in confusion. “I think it’s fair to say that it isn’t supposed to do that.” And as he stares down at the corpse, Monitor Thoobel approaches, eyeing the royal crown and scepter that lie at Nolin’s feet.

_To be continued…_

Next week: A new king, another new king, walking statues, snapping claws, hidden art, peeping fingerlings, mysterious revelations, shattered chains and vanishing assassins!  Heads will roll….


----------



## mythago

And Nolin calls out for the....

  KUO-TOA HOEDOWN!

_  Swing your partner left-fin-right,
   Back through the Underdark's endless night
   Goggle-eye left and a do-si-do,
   Bow to the King and away we go!_


----------



## Piratecat

Hey, want to offer me some help? *If you aren't an active player in my game*, please head over here!  I have a mini-project to benefit my players, and many heads are better than one.

Thanks!


----------



## Piratecat

_Another fin hits, and another, each tearing through once-strong defenses to shattered the weakened body beneath. Snapping and horrible pain, and then… peace.  For Galthia, everything goes black._

He opens his eyes to find himself in a circular chamber constructed from green stone. The are no doors, no windows, no furnishings. In the center of the chamber floats Galthia’s master, levitating with legs crossed and face peaceful.

Galthia quickly runs his hands across joints that were broken mere seconds ago. He looks up his master, who he has not seen since he departed the monastery in Limbo so many months ago.

“M.. master?”

The old githzerai does not open his eyes. Instead he bobs in thin air, serene. “Where are you?”

Galthia can unfortunately remember the liquefying spell and the assault of Klububble. “Dead.”

The Master makes a thin hissing noise. “Idiot. Is this the serene oneness of which we have been promised? Where are you?”

Still confused and disoriented from his death, Galthia answers without thinking. “Limbo.” His Master says nothing for a moment, scorning Galthia’s answer with silence instead of words. 

“Do not guess. You have not spent decades of training in our hidden monastery to ‘guess.’  *KNOW.* Where are you?”

The monk’s brows narrow. His order understands – beyond mere faith, beyond hope – that if a person truly _wants_ something that they can achieve it. This is the mantra of the Acolytes of the Fist, and everything from their philosophies to their fighting styles have been built upon this fundamental belief. Galthia looks at the walls, focuses his will, and the answer is suddenly obvious.

“I am in the stone that was given to me by earth prophet Silissa, the elemental weird.”

The old man gives what might pass for a smile, his long gray mustache twitching. When he opens his eyes, they are the same color as the agate walls. “You are. This is a place that your soul might bide for a time, before it passes on or returns to your body.”

“It honors me that you are here with me.”

“I am no more real here than my speech. We have done Silissa’s folk a boon in the years that have past us, and now she pays the debt. Time will erode these walls, and perhaps you will pass on to the stillness, but she foresaw this moment and chose to offer you sanctuary for a time.”

They sit in silence for a time, Galthia keenly aware that his heart is not beating. The old man studies the younger monk. “You have your own debt to repay. It is not a debt of kindness.”

Galthia meets the stony gaze with equanimity. He says nothing, but takes the ceremonial listening posture.

“Ahead of you is a city of illithids. Many were our sons who went there in a rrakma, when the way was opened to them by your companion Nolin Benholm. None of our sons returned. And yet the the illithids were largely destroyed or chased from that place, for the damage that the rrakma did was grievous indeed. Eight of those that went on that journey were from our monastery; one was your friend.”

Galthia nods. 

“I believe that some of our children are still there, alive and used as slaves. They have not been released to the Stillness.  You will pass near or through that place. Do what you must to secure their release, in body or spirit.”

Galthia nods again, and places one fist atop the other.  “I shall.” He also begins to float, and time uncountable passes. Galthia examines his life and death, counts his blessings and sins, and waits for what comes next.

*  *  *

“Quick! Someone heal him!” Velendo is cradling what is left of the monk’s head in one of his hands. “Mara, how did you miss his eyes?” The beautiful radiant knight shrugs uncomfortably.

“Fine details isn’t my specialty.” Behind her, Nolin smothers a chuckle. As healing energy courses into the obviously dead Galthia, his skin nevertheless begins to regrow.

“It’s working! Let’s get him conscious!” Velendo casts a powerful prayer, and new yellowish skin knits itself out of faith and nothingness. Still injured, Galthia opens his eyes, which have returned to their normal grey. “Heh. I thought we lost you.”

“You did.” Galthia tries to sit up, begins coughing spasmodically, and coughs out a greenish pebble onto the plaza’s pavement. The rock crumbles. “Silissa’s gift saved me. What happened?” Galthia is both briefed and healed.

Nolin breaks into the conversation. “We have a few interesting things. Magical shields and armor. The royal Crown and Sceptre, various stones and trinkets, all sorts of stuff. We still have to get over to the Glass Pool, and there’s a whole lot of kuo-toa between it and us right now. I think they’re being held back by Thoobel at the moment. If they turn on us, though, we’re royally screwed.”

Thoobel approaches, back straight and wide fins flapping proudly against the pavement. He is bloody from his vicious fight against Blel-plibbit’s reinforcements, but he doesn’t seem to feel the pain. Both bulging eyes gleam with manic joy. “We have done it!”  He slaps Malachite hard enough on the back to make his teeth rattle, and reaches down to pat one of the fingerlings in Stone Bear’s pocket. The tall kuo-toa raises his voice, so it can be heard by all the kuo-toa present.

“My people!” Thoobel’s croak echoes across the plaza. “The pretender is destroyed, killed by these upworlders who have acted as the hooks of divine justice!”

“If he turns on us,” mutters Velendo, “I’m sealing us off from them with a _sovereign wall._ He better not betray us.”

Thoobel continues. “Now I am the one who is blessed by the Sea Mother! And thus I crown myself as King of Glubyal, King of all the sons of the mighty Sea Mother. I invoke her blessing, for I ascend to rule you!” And as he makes the announcement, Thoobel lowers the massive Crown of Tides onto his slimy brow, and then lifts Blel-Plibbit’s massive spear over his head with both hands.  The massed gogglers cheer for a few moments in an odd and resounding croak, but it abruptly quiets from the direction of the crowd closest to the Glass Pool. The kuo-toa massed in that direction suddenly part, pressing themselves flat against the pavement in abject submissiveness. Something must be coming, but nothing can be seen.

“What is it?” asks Tao. “There's nothing there.”

“Hang on,” answers Agar, who has cast _true seeing._ “Let me focus my vision onto the ethereal, and… holy cow!”

The halfling blinks in disbelief. He had become accustomed to the plainness of Glubyal, the lack of any decorations at all. When seen through the ethereal, the place is alive with color and decoration! Tall and graceful strands of misty seaweed dance in extra-planar tides, and alien kinetic sculptures designed to move and dance in the ether’s flow are everywhere he looks. An extraplanar fish swims by, fighting the still-strong ethereal winds.  Even the palace’s walls are heavily decorated when viewed this way. _They must see into more than one plane,_ realizes the halfling. _They walk through their art all the time.  When we first came in and saw that human statue of the warrior hanging in mid-air, it must have been supported by something ethereal. Wow._

Then the little alienist’s eyes bulge, because he sees what is striding through the midst of the kuo-toa. A polished malachite statue twenty feet tall, half naked woman and half lobster. An avatar of Blibdoolpoolp herself, or a divine servant, or just an animated statue? Agar isn't sure, but it's fully on the ethereal plane. Agar whispers what he sees to the others. Stone Bear’s views the animated statue through his spirit sight, and shakes his head with dismay.

“That’s no mere statue, folks. Whatever she is, she’s possessed with power.” The statue slowly makes her way towards them, kuo-toa flattening themselves to the ground as She passes.

Velendo gulps. “I’ve got my wall ready, just in case. Stay firm. This is Thoobel’s show, and She’s probably coming to approve him. Or something.”

Thoobel sees the form of his Goddess coming, and he nearly swoons in religious ecstacy. “Beloved Sea Mother! I have done your bidding, and I await you!  Bless me, Queen of Tides!” The huge ethereal statue of Blibdoolpoolp silently pauses before Thoobel, towering above her servant. The massed kuo-toa around them raise their croaking voices in some sort of hymn, and Thoobel throws back his arms in supplication to his Goddess. As Agar and Stone Bear watch, Blibdoolpoolp’s statue reaches one massive claw down towards Monitor Thoobel, to touch him and raise him above the others, to confirm his place as king of the kuo-toa.

To all of the Defenders watching Thoobel, it’s as if his head jumps from his neck in eagerness. Only those who can see into the ethereal can view the stone claw opening, fastening around the Monitor’s neck, and _squeezing._ Gray fluid fountains from the stump of his neck, and Thoobel’s body smacks against the pavement like a week-old fish.  The singing kuo-toa all groan simultaneously, an eerie howl that echoes through the plaza.

“Holy crap!” exclaims Nolin.

“I guess he wasn’t the favored one after all,” muses Stone Bear. “Watch out, everyone; she’s turning towards us.”

Velendo raises his hoarse and tired voice. “Great Sea Mother…” he begins.

Unseen by the cleric, Blibdoolpoolp’s statue reaches down.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Poor guy had such good intentions. Just goes to show, doesn't it? 

I got the idea of extra-planar art from someone in the RBDM club. Since kuo-toa can see ethereal things that move, all of their art is designed to sway and rotate in the ethereal winds. As they walk around, they are constantly surrounded by half-seen glimpses of color and artistry. It's probably very appealing if you happen to be a  walking, degenerate fish people. I wouldn't know, myself.

Although they never saw the details, the statue of a human knight that was hanging in mid-air over Glubyal's bay is held there by a massive carved statue of Blibdoolpoolp, clutching the human in one giant ethereal pincher. It slowly rotates with the tides, and it's a great land-mark.


----------



## Piratecat

“Velendo, she’s reaching!” Agar shouts. There is a dull *klunk* as the mammoth claw thuds against a hastily cast _sovereign wall._ The impenetrable wall vibrates as an unseen claw repeatedly smashes into it. 

“Maybe she was reaching down to crown Priggle? But I’m not betting on it.”

“What, crown me?  Why?” asks Priggle in confusion.

“You were the one who actually killed Blel-Plibbit,” Velendo explains. 

Priggle shivers.  “No thank you. I get enough damp, smelly, slimy problems in my life without having to be King Kuo-Toa.”

Clacking echoes within the hemisphere protected by Velendo’s powerful prayer. “I think she’s just confused,” relays Agar. “She might not be very bright. Okay, now she’s stopped pounding on our shelter and is picking up the fallen crown from Thoobel’s head.”  Everyone watches with rapt attention as the crown floats in mid-air, apparently held by nothing at all; the decapitated head drops from it and is immediately flattened by an enormous unseen foot.  “All right, she’s got the crown and she’s turning,” Agar continues reporting, “and she’s heading out towards the breeding pools. She’s going, she’s going… and now she’s gone, out of eyesight. The kuo-toa are all following her. Every single one.”

Agar refocuses his vision on the Prime.  Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and sits down to rest.  “So what do we do now?” asks Splinder, glowering. “We’ve lost some boys, but the rest of us are healthy enough.” 

After some emotional debate, the group decides that retreating to rest is most likely a bad tactical decision; no one wants to try the defenses that may be raised by tomorrow. "Let's chance it," advises Nolin, and so Velendo drops the magical wall and everyone runs south towards the edge of the Glass Pool. The group moves in formation, and the dwarves split off to act as perimeter guards while the rest of the group moves up to study the sacred shrine.

Lit primarily by gray luminescent slugs, the pool of frozen ice glitters like cut crystal. The frozen section of the pool is surrounded by dark water. Only a narrow ledge passes across the long pool, and balanced on the ice stands an empty stone pedestal.

Stone Bear, Tao and Galthia wade through the water onto the stone path, treading delicately on the poisonous coral beneath the water’s surface. Nolin flies directly over to the glassy ice, laying down in a well-worn spot that has obviously served Blel-Plibbit many times. _“Hello?”_ thinks Nolin intently. _“Is there anyone down there? We’ve come at the behest of your sister to rescue you!”_  The rest of the group stands guard around the unattended holy pool, waiting for something to happen. 

“Why aren’t there guards?” worries Velendo.

“There are,” points out Stone Bear. “They’re just over with the walking statue in the breeding pools.” He points to the empty pedestal rising from the ice. “I think the statue used to stand right there, until it animated. Hopefully that was the only guard.” He shakes his head. “But I doubt…” He is cut off by the creatures phasing in behind him.  They are huge, a loathsome amalgam of lobster and kuo-toa, the humanoid fish-body rising centaur-like from fifteen feet of angry crustacean. In addition to massive snapping claws that spring from the lobster body, each of the three creatures whirls a huge metal chain. Before anyone can react, all three monsters attack.

The first guardian gets a perfect shot, wrapping his chain around Stone Bear’s neck and yanking in a move that would instantly snap most people’s neck. Stone Bear’s training allows him to hunch his shoulders just enough to prevent instant death, but he feels burning magic as the chain bites into his skin. Blood fountains upwards.

The second monster wraps its spiked chain around Tao’s waist and yanks. The horrible impact snaps something in the small of her back, and she feels her entire body go numb. Weapons fall from her hands and clatter onto the ice as she tumbles bonelessly from her feet. The third lobster thing smashes its chain into Galthia, hurting the monk badly but not disabling him. He keeps his feet even as he winces in pain. "I can't take many more hits like that," he gasps.  Stone Bear mutely agrees with him.

Velendo is the first to respond. Clutching the Grimrod in one gnarled fist and chanting a prayer, he flies forward to graze Stone Bear’s heck with his other hand. A golden spark leaps from the Grimrod to Stone Bear, and a _maximized cure critical wounds_ heals a portion of the damage done by the monster’s chain.

“Lobstertaurs?” asks Nolin from where he’s lying on the ice. “What I wouldn't give for _Otiluke's Melted Butter Bath_!” He casts _fire seed_ and tosses the acorn at one of the monsters, but completely misses. “Err... you guys deal with them. I'll do the talking thing.” Frustrated, he lays his head back on the ice and keeps trying to communicate with the spirit he assumes is inside it.

Galthia turns, clearly angry. He grabs the thick chain with one hand and pulls himself a bit closer, moving himself between the two massive claws so that he can actually reach the kuo-toa half of the abomination. His fist jabs upwards like a piledriver and smashes the kuo-toa in its weak chin. Teeth shatter, and its head rocks backwards from the stunning blow. Even as its chain drops to the ground, Galthia hits it in the head and chest another three times. The third blow is a _fist of power_ that knocks the monster completely unconscious; spittle flies from its broken mouth as its kuo-toa body slumps helplessly forward.

Priggle leaps forward to coup de grace the guardian before it wakes up. A lobster claw from one of the other guardians almost grabs him, but he ducks beneath it as he tries to crush the monster’s windpipe. It’s too tough for his pick, however, and he’s unable to dispatch it.

Tao may be paralyzed from the initial attack, but her mind is still functioning and she still has a _fly_ spell on her. Her limp body soars into the air out of reach. Her opponent tries to grab her in its largest claw, but its ridges scrape off of her elven chainmail as she successfully floats away. Furious, the creature skitters forward. Attacks from Galthia and Priggle barely hurt it, and it touches the lobster that Galthia just knocked unconscious. Both creatures shimmer and completely vanish.

“Invisible?” yells Mara.

“No!” answers Agar, trying to focus his vision. “Ethereal!” Now looking onto the correct plane, he sees ethereal chains leading from the pedestal to each guardian. “They’re chained in this spot, I think. If we have to retreat, they probably won’t be able to follow.”

The third monster reaches out to slice Stone Bear in half with its claws. It misses horribly, and Stone Bear tries to sunder its spiked chain before it withdraws. He fails, and the lobster-thing shimmers and disappears as well.  The shaman seizes the opportunity to pray to his ancestors, and the wound around his neck further heals.

From somewhere nearby, a bestial howl shakes the cavern. Mara spins and is surprised to see the same misshapen giant that she had reluctantly left behind at Thulk’s Wall, a squishy kuo-toa grasped in either fist. “Grgl!” she exclaims with delight as the creature lumbers forward.  "Where did you come from?"

*   *   *

It couldn’t get the fragile little thing’s face out of its mind. King Thulk mocked him, and the other formorians beat him badly for his weakness – but always, the human woman whispered to him in the dark of the night. _You are not weak,_ she would say. _I want you with me. I will value you. You will protect me, and bathe in the blood of my enemies._ Finally the visions drove him nearly to insanity, and he stole away from the tribe while the others were deep in slumber. His flattened nose sniffed out her faint scent, and he followed. Into kuo-toa territory – and who would challenge one from the tribe of Thulk? – down the long tunnel where her scent disappeared, and into this strange city itself. He had smashed through walls that stopped him, squished the fish-things that stood in his way. For he loved, and he would murder all of Her friends if they stood before him! The thefts and threats and death he would deal would now all be dedicated to this woman.  Grgl had a purpose, and it would be fulfilled. Perhaps this was worship? All the giant knew is that he was loyal to the human woman instead of to King Thulk, and he would lay down his life for her.

And now he smells her blood! The human woman’s radiance is before him, and she is in danger. Something, Grgl thinks, just made a bad mistake. 

*   *   *

In giantish, the huge form howls again. “Beloved in trouble!” it trumpets. “I have come for you!”  Mara doesn’t understand a word, but Nolin nearly chokes.

“What did it say, Nolin?”

The bard rolls his eyes. “You don’t want to know. I think it’s loyal to you, though. Now, be quiet.” He lowers his head again, and an alien thought slowly surfaces like a long-trapped bubble. 

_“…Who… …are…?”_

“I’m Nolin Benholm,” responds the bard confidently. “We’re here to free you.”

Mara turns back to the giant. “Hello,” she says loudly and slowly, like speaking to a child. “I didn’t expect you to follow us!” Grgl looks at her dumbfounded, simple adoration lighting up its malformed face.

“Mara,” Tao whispers dryly from behind Mara, “those lobster-things are still around here. If it’s not too much trouble, might you please put that rod from my belt into my hand? So long as it’s not an inconvenience or anything.” Tao’s sarcasm is completely lost on the radiant knight, and she cheerfully complies. Malachite approaches to help Tao grip the rod.

“You’ll live, Tao,” says Malachite as he examines her wound with a critical eye. “A few more minutes and you’ll be moving again.”

“We may not have that long.” 

Velendo readies a _flame strike_ for the monsters’ reappearance, Tao readies her rod, Mara waits nervously, and Stone Bear readies to sunder the magical spiked chains.  Galthia punches himself in pressure points to release the sweet sensation of healing, then readies to attack the first monster to appear. Meanwhile, Priggle examines the stone pedestal and clucks his tongue. “This is going to have to come down if we want to break up that ice,” he says, and uses his gnomish knowledge to _soften stone._ 

_Stone is enemy?_ wonders the love-struck Grgl. _I will show beloved what I can do!_ Grgl smashes the platform with closed fists, and everyone not standing on the ice nearly falls to their knees from the vibrations. Priggle and Grgl pound repeatedly against the disintegrating stone pedestal, loosening chunks of the ancient construction.

“Watch out, everyone,” warns Agar. “They’re drawing ethereal mist over themselves. I can’t see them any more. They could be anywhere around here.” Silence, broken only by an distant chanting in kuo-toa and the sound of Grgl grunting.

Suddenly Mara slaps herself in the forehead, turns, and casts _remove paralysis_ on Tao. The divine agent immediately feels blood returning to her limbs. As she rotates in mid-air, two of the lobster-things reappear in a shimmer of magic. Both of them try to kill the recumbent Nolin.

“There!” someone shouts. The _flame strike_ crashes down and Tao uses her _Rod of True Nature_ to cast _purify flesh_ on the abominations. The line between their hard shell and slimy skin erupts into blisters, even as Stone Bear swings both fists at one of the magical spiked chains. He takes damage from the baneful enchantments, but the powerful chain is shattered into individual links by the strength of his blow.

Nolin looks up to see the injured monsters looming above him. A huge chain snaps down, scoring the ice where his head was seconds before. Only the formorian giant has a chance to hit them before they shimmer and disappear once more.

Into Nolin’s head the slow, icy thoughts continue. _“…you?”_  The bard responds by asking how the captive can be freed. There is no immediate answer, and Nolin sighs. This is going to take all day.

Agar squints into the ethereal. “These things are like phase spiders,” he grumbles. “Ready, everyone? One is still unconscious, one is spell casting, and one is coming back again – and it’s stalking Galthia!”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Bandeeto (the player of Arcade) was visiting us during this game, as was Dr. Rictus (the player of Palladio and designer of Agar.) We gave Priggle to Dr. Rictus, and Bandeeto got to play Grgl. Poor Mara made an impassioned argument for keeping Grgl around afterwards: "But he's not evil, and he really likes me!"

Well, a .500 ratio is good in baseball, at least.


----------



## andrew_kenrick

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> OK, since I seem to be the only one who's confused/can't remember, where the heck did Grgl come from? I don't remember him, and, well, I just think I would for some reason.




He was the Fomorian in charge of the lift mechanism up the side of the big cliff, who was persuaded by Nolin to carry him to the top without parting with treasure. I think he was rather bowled over by the rather stupendous combined Charismas of Nolin and Mara.

Andrew


----------



## Piratecat

Post a day for the rest of the week!  Starting now....

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

Faint chanting. Horrible odors. Rippling water and falling stone, skittering atop shining ice that contains. . . something.  And in the everpresent ethereal mist, half-lobster kuo-toa abominations that are determined to protect the Sea king’s prize.

Galthia tries to lift one of the monsters’ dropped chains but grunts as he realizes exactly how heavy the weapon is. The metal clanks dully as it bounces from the ice, and the githzerai readies himself to charge the first enemy who appears. A shimmer. . . and lobster legs drum a tattoo upon the ice as the monster appears and braces itself to snap Nolin in two. Galthia charges and the kuo-toa guardian flings its chain at the monk’s bobbing head.

Galthia leans to the side and continues his charge, hearing the chain whistle past his ear. _“Leap for its head,”_ he thinks to the others. _ “It’s the weak spot.”_ In demonstration, Galthia launches himself nimbly onto one massive claw and smashes his fist into the kuo-toa’s chin as hard as he can. Carried by the momentum, the monk hits the ice and unfortunately keeps moving. He slides into the dark water of the Glass Pool and surfaces with an embarrassed sputter.

His attack was successful, though.  The creature sways for a few seconds, stunned, and with a clacking wheeze collapses to the ice unconscious.  Mara charges it with her lance, easily puncturing the shell, and even Nolin takes an ineffectual swing from where he lies on the ice. The misshapen giant Grgl throws his head back to growl a challenge before smashing his club across the kuo-toa’s backbone. Vertebrae snap, and a bloody mess litters the ice next to Nolin.

Grgl turns to Mara. “Killed it for you, Mistress.”

Mara smiles, her polished armor reflecting faint light onto Grgl’s ugly face. “Thank you. What a kind gift.”

“There’s still more,” warns Agar as he prepares a _dimensional anchor. “Don’t relax just yet._  From the water behind him, a massive water elemental summoned by Velendo rises silently from the dark pool. 

“There!”

The last monster phases in, but the Defenders launch their attacks before it has a chance to get its bearings. Agar starts with a _dimensional anchor_ that misses completely.

Likewise, Velendo’s _searing light_ also misses the monster,  arrowing instead into Priggle’s back. The svirfneblin’s innate magical resistance disperses the spell’s energy without harm, but Priggle turns to look mournfully at Velendo.

“You know, if you don’t want me here, you can just tell me to go away. Everyone else does. But no, you have to try to kill me.” He shakes his head sadly. “It’s a sad day when someone you think of as a friend  tries to incinerate you. I should have expected it, I suppose.” He sighs before looking back at the monster.

Velendo is taken aback. “Priggle, I didn’t mean to. . . Oh, never mind. I’ll apologize afterwards. Eyes front.” 

Priggle glances at him suspiciously. “Hummph.”  There is no need for the svirfneblin to attack, though. The water elemental hits the creature, as does Stone Bear, Mara and Tao.  It drops dead before it has a chance to launch its attack.

“Agar, are we clear?”  

The halfling gazes deep into the ethereal. “We’re clear. There’s one creature left, but it’s solidly unconscious or dead. I’ll keep an eye on it. Let’s get this ice broken up.”

The Defenders circle the ice, drawing in the dwarven troops to create a safe perimeter while Stone Bear, Galthia and Priggle smash away at the ice. They feel naked and exposed in their tactical position; somewhere out in the darkness of the Plaza is an embodiment of Blibdoolpoolp, and no one especially wants to face Her.

The insecurity is heightened when, suddenly, all around the edge of the pool hundreds of kuo-toa step into the range of the party’s 60’ darkvision. Then all step back, disappearing from magical vision. Then they step forward again and appear, and step back and disappear, again and again and again. A rhythmic chant echoes across the ice.  

Agar shivers.  “That creepy. What are they doing?”

“Let’s find out.” Malachite strides forward along the remains of the narrow bridge, accompanied with the more intimidating of the Defenders. He is met by a knot of kuo-toa carrying a squirming baby fingerling on high above their heads. The fingerling wears the Crown of Tides, which looks ludicrous upon his slimy little head.

Nolin listens to the spokesfish, then translates for the others. “He says that this is the new Sea King, divinely chosen by the Goddess Herself.” Diplomatically, Nolin and the others pay the small infant tribute by bowing respectfully. The fingerling stares at them unblinkingly. Nolin continues, “They recognize that we are here as agents of change. We may continue our excavation of the ice. In return, we have certain traditional items of the King, and we are required to give them up. In return, they offer us a gift of thanks for making the exchange.”

Malachite blinks. “So, they’re buying us off if we give them back their things and stop attacking?”

“Pretty much.”

Velendo lets out a long breath of air. “Good thing, too. I’m almost out of spells. I can’t guarantee that I’ll survive another battle. Let’s give them the damn things and take what they give us, shatter the ice and get the heck out of here.”

The exchange is made; ceremoniously, the kuo-toa spokesfish brings forward an ornate chest. He hands it to Malachite, who returns a scepter and a shield taken from Blel-Plibbit. The royal fingerling continues to stare at the group as if searing their appearance into its tiny brain. Surreptitiously, Stone Bear slips the two fingerlings left in his pockets back into the pool. Finally the kuo-toa royal entourage withdraws, but the kuo-toa circling the Glass Pool continue to step in and out of the water.

“Can we get them to stop that?” asks Tao, annoyed.  Nolin shrugs.

“Some sort of religious observance marking the passing of a King. Hey, what's in the chest?"

Malachite opens it, and stares. "Hundreds of gems."  He empties them into a bag of holding, where they mix with aging pieces of beef jerky and other emergency supplies.  "Priggle, how are we doing over there?”

“Almost there!” yells Priggle from deep within the block of ice. His pick has combined with Galthia’s unnaturally effective blows to shear off large sections of ice. “If there’s anything in here, we should be able to. . .”

Water geysers out of the hole, and Priggle’s voice is abruptly cut off as he is thrown violently upwards.

*“Free!”*

An ancient crone rises from the ice on legs of twisting water. She shakes her head as if clearing away the detritus of centuries, and droplets of water fly off in a spray of rainbow radiance. *“Who are you? Who am I?”*  Her voice is shaky, but it is strong – the inexorable strength of tides and waves.  With a flick of her hand, walls of water rise up around the pool, and time itself seems to slow to a crawl.  

She pauses, as if listening to something beyond the hearing of the Defenders. 

*“I know who you are.  The tides have whispered their tales to me.”* She turns to Mara.  *“Did you truly plummet from air to sky, through a boat? How remarkable.”* She turns to Nolin.  *“You once called the water into the throat of a woman named Clith, and kissed its sister on the shores of an island. The ocean hasn’t forgotten.”*

Mara replies humbly, eyes downcast. “Yes, my lady.”  Nolin echoes her statement. Even as they watch, the crone’s eyes shift like a storm at sea, and her watery body begins to grow younger.

*“I am called Céann, daughter of Queen Olhydra herself, caller of brine. I am finally free of the winter’s curse that bound me, and now…”* Her voice exults.  *“I dance through the oceans again.  You made this possible, for while it had been foreseen that you would pass this way, freeing me was not an inevitable certainty. Once again, you have become a kerngrun, and you can choose.

Shall I prophesize for you?”*

Nolin groans, but Velendo nods seriously. “Yes, please. We freed you at the behest of your sister, but we would value your wisdom.” Céann cocks her head, listening to something that no one else can hear. The last of her age has fallen from her, and she is now beautiful beyond measure.

*“Than I shall. The world is dark with fear and hopelessness, for it is a time of terrible change, and you are a part of all of it. You have spoken to my sister who told you of my plight. Like her, I will prophesize for you three times, and answer a question.  I can bring healing rest to the wounded, cures for a suffering land, options for those who have lost hope. I can bring words of hope, so that you may seize a victory that may soon be denied to you.  Let us see…

“First, words of the past, and of a people whose fate you have touched. You have met Kellharin  the Guardian. He has passed in the time with no magic, and the Ebon Door is now unguarded. The ghouls know of this, perhaps foresaw it, but their attention is still concentrated elsewhere. If the dwarves can be warned, there is still time to replace him, for his line is ended and a new one may be built.

“And further on, those caverns will ring with light and the sound of metal, and a fire that has never been known before to the new inhabitants. The same may be said of the Kingdom of Silversoul, or the ancient city of Mrid. The dwarves who have faded from the world may be reborn, taking new breath, shaking the foundations of the earth – but only if you choose. The way is strange, even when it opens.

“Now, words of the present. You do not know it, but your people are starting to die. Forests are wilting, children sickening, animals passing into the world of spirits; it starts above, and will pass only slowly into this world of caverns. This is because the Goddess has fallen, and through her death as many things are worsened as they are improved. Aeos did not remember that even the most wicked have responsibilities suited to them, and those responsibilities must be fulfilled. Over the next month that will become uniquely clear to those that can read the signs. 

“I will tell you the simple cure, though. The sickness can not be removed by traditional clerical magic, but it can be burned away by the searing flame of faith. Tell this to your people as soon as you can, and lives will be saved. I can not tell you if those lives may make a difference, but I like to believe they can.

“And then, words of that which is yet to come. The White Kingdom is crippled compared to what it was, but it is an injury anticipated and engineered for a greater purpose. The weak have been purged. The strong survive and change. The storm still rages for a short time more; when it fades, the doors may be opened and the feast of the victor soon consumed. This is a meal of the Celebrant, and the food will be fought over viciously, a foolish school of fish jockeying for the finest scrap of worm-laden hook. Who can bite through the line and swallow the worm, hook and all? The Ivory King can, that is certain, but that is an event that the world shudders to consider. His mind is hidden by the breath of his mother, but he is foul beyond reckoning, and greater power would not favor the people you love. 

“It is good to remember: his mother chose not to give birth to him, for even she saw what he might become. And tell me, what would the Goddess of the Crawling Darkness find abhorrent, hmm?

“So perhaps you will make choices, and those choices will echo forwards to reshape and heal the world, alone or inescapably bound together, one to another. Fair and the foul may look alike in the darkness, so think beyond the shape, and remember that responsibility can be a punishment as well as a gift.

“Finally, take heart. There is a Balance, but it has tipped towards you. In Imbindarla’s death there was destruction, and there will be plague – but many thousands more would have been consumed by the creatures that you have destroyed. Temples will fall, but millions more people will rediscover true faith. In your quest there is both physical and spiritual danger, but you have struck fear in the unbeating heart of one who was always fearless, and now he struggles to complete his plan before you arrive.” *

Malachite smacks one fist into his other hand, and he turns his head upwards. Tears of joy dance in his eyes, and his face is twisted into a rare smile of triumph and hope. It is a delight to behold.

One by one, Céann turns towards individual Defenders.  *“Galthia, I am pleased to see that my sister’s gift gave you pleasure. You have a decision before you that I do not envy.

“Stone Bear, you are wrong when you believe that you have descended into hell. You soon will, though, and you will see what your ancestors have seen when they offended the spirits of their ancestors. Draw on their wisdom, but do not trust to all advice. Everyone has their own causes, and some are darker than others.

“Agar, you…”*  She swallows.  *“You will need to be strong, and wise. The challenge of a marriage is not a physical challenge, and yet it can kill all the same.

“Tao, you have a harder choice than any. The world has changed, but your Goddess has been blamed by some who preferred things as they were. Your religion will soon be under attack, and you will need the Knights of the Horn united to weather the tide. Soon you will feel in your heart the wilt of the Al’Quith, and when that time comes you must balance your friends, your family, your Goddess and your home – and make a decision that serves all best.”*

Around the edge of the pool, living forms of water fountain outwards. Beyond the walls of water, faint screams can be heard. “What’s that?” asks Velendo, startled.

*“The beginning of revenge. Now, you have also struck a blow against the pretender Blibdoolpoolp, She who dared imprison me and still reap my wisdom against my will. You have punished, so I will reward.  What would you have, that is in my power to give?  I can answer any one question that you like. You know them as well as I, but my time here is not long.”* 

She smiles radiantly. *“The choice of question is never easy, for it says much of the questioner. While you consider, I have a second gift that is within my power to grant.  I may transport each of you somewhere there is water that you have been before, but nowhere else. I may bring you to your homes, if you wish to turn back. Many would not blame you. I can not bring you someplace that you have never seen with your own eyes, or the sight of your own heart.”*  she looks at Stone Bear.  *“I can also look forward and grant you a gift that will return you home when you need to go. You merely must decide.”*

Mara considers. “So, we can use your gift to return to wherever we want, whenever we want? We can use it to get out of here when our task is done?”

Céann nods. *“So long as your destination contains flowing water. My gift will fade in time, but it should last until you finish your quest, for any who survive.”*

Nolin spreads his hands while his friends mentally confer about Céann’s question. “Thank you, Lady. This is kindness.”

*“No more than you have shown me. My time here grows short, and there are much destruction that still awaits.”* Another wave of huge water elementals clamber from the pool, splashing into the plaza outside. *“Have you decided?”*

Malachite nods. “We have.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

“We wish to know about the plans of the Ivory King.”

Céann’s body darkens, as if a shadow has passed across it. *“He seeks to devour his mother and become as a God himself. Other Godlings wish the same, fighting like barracuda over scraps of flesh, but He has the means to reach his goal. Even now, he works to gain access to his Mother’s flesh. Should he eat enough of it, he hopes to devour her divine spark, and thus boost himself into the heavens. This would be a terrible thing for the world indeed.”*

A communal sigh issues from the group. This time, Malachite doesn’t look happy. “I knew it,” he mumbles.

*“He has called all to him, and the ghouls swarm to be with their master. He will draw upon them at the last. More than just you seek to stop him, but few are in a position to succeed.”*

“How soon?”

*“Within the week. Less, almost certainly. You have not been fast enough, and his plans reach completion.”*

“How far are we away from Nacreous if we continue at our current pace?”

*“Two weeks or more.”*

A glimmer of an idea forms in Velendo’s eye, and he and Malachite exchange glances. “How far if we _wind walk_ sixteen hours a day, all of us, straight there?”

Agar shakes his head. “Malachite, we can’t…”  The paladin cuts him off with a commanding gesture.

“How far?” he demands of Céann.

She shrugs, ripples coursing through her body. A fish-like scream echoes distantly through the surrounding wall of water. *“If you do not become lost or distracted? Three days. One amongst you can divine the way.”* She points to Stone Bear, and the shaman feels his death spirit Elder uncoil within him.

_I can sense the way,_ Elder confirms, _when seen through your senses. I can guide you, and guide you truly. The darkness is calling._

Stone Bear nods. “I think I can guide us, if I’m not being lied to.”

_Oh, no,_ chuckles the shadowy form of Elder. _I will guide you truly._

Velendo turns to the others. “If we reduce our numbers to the bare minimum, I think we can do it.”

"Do we return to the surface and go directly to Imbindarla's corpse - wherever that is - or hurry onwards to Nacreous?" They discuss this for a while, and take a vote. Since it is easy to return to the surface but difficult to return to the underdark, the group decides to continue onwards to Nacroeus. If they need to, they can use Céann's gift to return to the surface and deal with the divine corpse.

“We’ll have to do something about the dwarves.”

“Not a problem. They need to be messengers. If _sending_ still isn’t working, only our troops can carry the message about how to cure the plague. Whatever it means, getting that information out quickly may save numerous lives. I suggest we have them carry notes and send them off to as many temples as we can between Eversink, Gaunt and Corsai. They can also carry word of our progress to date.”

Splinder nods. “A fine idea. Some of my boys are well traveled, so we have some options. They’ll be sorry to miss the end of things, but they’ll follow orders.” He harrumphs. “As long as they end up with a proper share of loot…?”

“Of course.” Malachite sounds almost insulted, but Splinder chuckles.

“Best to have these things spelled out ahead of time. I have a different path for myself.” 

Mara turns from Grgl to the dwarf. “Splinder, what’s that?” Behind her, without Mara to act as buffer, Tao and Grgl exchange hateful glances.

Splinder sighs. “You heard what she said about the Ebon Gate. I’m going to do what I _should_ have done when we first heard about the place. I’m going to go assume the mantle of guardian.”

Nolin blinks. “Splinder, you’re going to be dooming yourself to an eternity in dark and lonely caves!”

The dwarf leans on his axe and raises one eyebrow. “Then you better win, and find me some dwarven settlers to keep me company, eh? If you fail, I’ll be needed as a bulwark to keep back the ghouls. In any case, it’s what’s best for everyone. It’s a sacrifice I’ll gladly make.”  

“Splinder,” says Tao, “we’ve known each other for years. We fought the Imbindarlites on top of Tovag Baragu together, we rode lizards across the desert together. It’s worth saying that I’m proud of you.”

The dwarf winks. “Don’t fret, lass. I get the boring job. You still have the hard work ahead of you.”  Everyone else is silent, and more than one person claps Splinder on the back before he goes over to talk to his troops. Then, without long goodbyes or particular, the sturdy dwarf dissolves into a cascade of silvery water.

“What about Grgl?” asks Mara, concerned.

“Mara, we don’t have space on the _wind walk_. I’m afraid he’s going to have to stay.”

“No! He terribly loyal to me, and he won’t be any bother. He’s not evil, he’s just enthusiastic. Can’t we take him?”  Grgl, sensing that the incomprehensible conversation is about him, looms menacingly near Mara.

“Our enemies might find him,” worries Nolin.

“We can’t, Mara,” says Malachite. “We’re down to the bare minimum. If we take Luminor, we can’t take Grgl.” Mara stratches out a hand to touch her war horse’s neck, and sighs. She turns to the lovestruck formorian giant.

“Grgl, I’m going to have to leave you again. I have a tremendously important mission for you, though.” 

“No! Grgl come with love! Grgl fight evil woman for right!” He shakes his club at Tao, who is clearly more than happy to oblige him. Mara steps between them again.

“But this is important! I need you to guard our back, and tell people lies about where we are going.”

The giant looks heartbroken, in a hideous and malformed sort of way. “Grgl can lie good.” His voice makes it obvious that this is not exactly correct.

Nolin shakes his head. “This isn’t going to work,” but Mara’s eyes light up.

“Grgl, you kill any undead you come across, but don’t tell anyone that we’re continuing on by foot. Okay?”

The huge giant nods sadly. “Grgl not tell no one that you charging forward.” He knocks his huge head into the ground between her feet. “Come back to me.”

Mara touches him lightly. “Go with peace, and do good.”

Céann emerges from her reverie and speaks.  *“My time here fades, for I have much to make right after my absence. Drink from my hands, and receive my gift.”*  Céann’s watery body bends over, and everyone takes a sip from the icy fluid that suddenly appears in her cupped palms. *“And thus you receive my gift. May it carry you far from here, and may you find success. That is hidden from me in the currents of uncertainty, but I will know.”* And with that, Céann’s body drops unceremoniously into the pool, and the shielding walls of water drop as well. The Plaza nearby is littered with dead kuo-toa, and dozens of faintly phosphorescent elder water elementals tread back and forth as they hunt down and destroy the creatures that held their mistress captive. One nearby has a dead kuo-toa floating inside of it.

“Hey, there you are!” From across the plaza a voice calls in common, and the half-orc explorer Shaw sprints towards them. He pants to a halt. “Some visit this turned out to be!”

Stone Bear looks at him with shadowed eye sockets. “How is it that you’re still alive?”

Shaw looks surprised. “I was having a nice visit with the King before everything went to Hades. This your doing?”

“Yes, more or less.”

Shaw looks impressed. “You don’t fool around. Listen, there’s no ghoulish ambassador here as far as I know, but there IS a mind flayer emissary from the nearby city of Tothokkil. There’s also a whole lot of slaves being kept under the palace.” The group quickly agrees on strategy; all the dwarven troops will go with Shaw to retrieve and escort the human slaves out of glubyal. Once they are safely on their way to Akin’s Throat, the dwarves will use Céann’s gift to deliver their hastily written messages. Meanwhile, the core of the defenders will speed towards Nacreous and the Ivory King.

Shaw grins, his small tusks prominent in the faint gray light. “I’d love to meet up with you again and hear what happens. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” The Defenders reluctantly take their leave of the steadfast dwarves and hustle away from the palace, leaving the royal plaza of Glubyal behind them as they continue on their way. 

“Say,” asks Nolin conversationally as they pass the newly-created lobster tree, “how the heck do we get out of here?” Everyone groans. 

Tao considers, and makes a snap decision. She darts forward and clobbers a kuo-toa who happens to be running by. “You!” she spits. “We’re leaving. You’re telling us how.”  Easily cowed, the kuo-toa explains how there are old evacuation tunnels along the northern edge of the city that might be useful.   Suddenly, Galthia reels backwards.  

 “Mind flayer.” Galthia’s face is torn by a rictus of hate. 

“Keep going,” urges Priggle. “We don’t have a lot of resources left.” They make their way back to the gate and the tunnel there.

“You can swim?” asks the captive kuo-toa.

“No.” Galthia shakes him. “We’re going to need a barge that can travel beneath water.” 

“We’ll have to get one!”

“Then we will. We’ll be right back, guys.” With one hand still firmly griping the back of the unarmed kuo-toa’s harness, Tao and her prisoner dive into the canal. The rest of the Defenders stand around nervously at the edge of the canal, waiting for her to return.

_Why are you waiting here?_ asks an insidious voice in Malachite’s head that sounds like tentacles scraping against silk. _You can swim and breath underwater. Dive in and help her._ Unthinkingly, Malachite obeys. His armored body immediately sinks out of sight.

“Malachite!” Velendo’s panicked thoughts sound over the _mindlink. “What are you doing?”_

_“Don’t worry,”_ answers Malachite calmly. _“I can swim.”_ He opens his mouth to take a breath, and water rushes in. Knowing that he can breath water, Malachite inhales the canal water, and loses consciousness within seconds.

“He says he can breath water,” explains a confused Velendo with a shrug. “Malachite? Malachite?”  Nothing.  “Crap!”

From somewhere behind him, Galthia feels an insidious titter in the back of his head.

“It’s the mind flayer.”

“We’ve got to get him out!”

Stone Bear dives into the water. His spirit sight instantly spots the drowning Radiant Knight, whose spirit is battering against the confines of flesh to leave the body; clearly, he’s almost gone. The shaman grabs him and tries to lift him, but the armor if heavy. _Let him die,_ advises Elder, but the shaman perseveres. With help from the others above, Malachite is hauled up onto dry land seconds before he otherwise would have died. Velendo uses his last healing spell to bring the unconscious paladin back to awareness.

“What happened?” asks Malachite, once he finishes vomiting dirty canal water from his lungs.

“Mind flayer again,” explains Galthia tersely. “It’s still back there somewhere.”

“Accursed squid heads!” Malachite is furious as he struggles to his feet, head pounding and stomach roiling. “You out there, creature?”

_“You are not welcome in Tothokkil, cattle,”_ the whispered voice keens. _“Unless you will serve us. A favor needs doing. Will you do it?”_

“I will kill you. Is that the favor?”

_“Then the way is sealed against you, brainsnack. Would you like to go swimming again?”_

Malachite restrains himself with icy force of will, even as Galthia reports that he can’t spot the hiding illithid. “And here comes Tao in a barge. It’s time to go.”

“This isn’t over.”

The illithid sounds amused. _“Certainly not.”_

Fifty minutes later, the group has found the old tunnels that they were told of. They scuttle the barge and rip off the ancient rusty grate that protects the tunnel. Crawling upwards through a narrow stone chute, they eventually find themselves in an empty cistern at the confluence of four tunnels. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s dry and free of everything but a beetle or two. 

“I don’t even have any spells left to give us shelter,” laments an exhausted Velendo. “We’re going to sleep on the stone for the first time in an age.”

“I don’t care,” says Agar. “This day feels like it has lasted for months. We started with being washed down the tunnel! It’s hard to believe everything that has happened. And now we’re past Glubyal, which is badly destabilized.”

Malachite nods. “And we’re on to the end game. We’ll have to be ready for it.”

Silence. Eventually, snores. And the night passes uneventfully.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Spatula said:
			
		

> Wow, is the end really that close?
> 
> I think I missed something... where did the half-orc come from, and who is he?




They ran into the half-orc just before they entered Glubyal. He's a horizon walker, albeit of much lower level than the PCs. You might remember him as the guy who said "Oh, sure, I marched with the modrons. Best adventure I ever went on! Got some fantastic treasure, and I had a great time."  Not that I'm bitter or anything... nope.

Shaw entered Glubyal the day before the Defenders did, and for some time they suspected him of betraying them and arranging for the water trap.

And yup, they're fairly close to Nacreous at this point. The only major barrier is the mindflayer cty of Tothokkil. Nothing is ever easy, though; there may be a few surprises.


----------



## Piratecat

It is a sore, chilly, tired group of adventurers who awake the next morning. Their jubilation at surviving the brutal fights of the previous day is tempered by the knowledge that they’ll facing the Ivory king within the next few days.  “I can’t believe it’s actually going to happen,” remarks Velendo as he chews on a piece of dried salt pork for breakfast. “We’re not even close to ready. We’re going to get crushed.”

“I fully expect to die,” remarks Malachite with uncharacteristic light-heartedness. “But did you hear Céann? Velendo, she said that *something is going to come after.* It isn’t destined to all end here. At least some of us might survive. We’re doing the right thing, at the right time. I can live with that.” He settles back against the wall of the cistern, chewing his salt pork as if it were filet mignon. Crouching beside him, the bullywug gladiator Burr-Lipp flicks beetles off the wall with his long adhesive tongue.

Agar stands up to stretch, then keels over backwards; his familiar Proty launches himself into the air in agitation. Tao manages to catch the halfling, and Agar’s eyelids flutter.  When he sits back upright, his face is white. “Ooh. I didn’t like that at all.”

“A vision?  What did you see?”

“I was standing knee-deep in black slime. I was in daylight, and it must have been winter, because the icy cold was worse than anything else I’ve ever felt before. I was staring at a pile of empty chains, and I was horribly afraid of what was behind me.” He looks around, eyes latching onto the shaman.  “I could hear Stone Bear nearby, whispering to himself, but with the sound of the sunlight you couldn’t make out what he was saying.”

“Sound of the sunlight?”

Agar nods. “It was roaring, like an ocean storm.”

Everyone exchanges a glance. “You know the legend,” recites Nolin. “Before mankind, the world was made of wurms, and the Gods banished them from our sight. Those were what Dale Greldin and the church of Imbindarla had been trying to free a few years ago with the comet. The Gods missed two of them; and these they bound in chains of sunlight and left for all eternity.” His voice has taken on a sing-song quality as he remembers the old tale.  “When Imbindarla died, all magic ceased. Do you think…?”

“That one or both of those wurms are free?” finishes Velendo grimly. “I hope not. There isn’t a whole lot we could do about them, if it took the gods themselves to bind them the first time.”

“Just the same,” considers Mara, “I think I’ll mention them in my prayers tonight. In case someone is listening.”

Soon they have cast _wind walk,_ and the group is flying swiftly through narrow tunnels. They are guided only by Priggle’s innate direction sense and Stone Bear’s spirit guide as they roar through tiny crevices and jagged chasms. Velendo surreptitiously casts _find the path_ to confirm that Elder is correctly guiding them, and is gratified to find that the shaman’s death spirit seems to be taking the most direct route.

In the mid-morning, Agar experiences a second vision. He sees a tall woman as she sheathes a heavy sword into a paper sheath. She is clad in rainbows, her sleek hair is pulled severely back from her face, and the icy smile on her lips doesn’t quite touch her eyes. In some odd way she makes him think of a smug otter, fast and slick and so very satisfied about something. Not one thing on her is out of place – not a single hair, not a facial expression, not a fold of her clothing. She is made of distinct angles, as if she was carved or chiseled instead of born, and she is beautiful.  The line where her body stops is painfully obviously, almost rimmed in light, making her look somewhat as if she is superimposed on the scene.  She strides through a dispersing gray cloud, and the people around her on one knee slowly sicken and fall over. She doesn’t notice.

The mutilated dead body she leaves behind her looks like that of a badly charred halfling.  A minute before, Agar knows, she caught a falling, flaming star that thought it could be more than it already was.  Then the vision ends.

“Everyone!” yells Agar as he rushes to catch up with the rest of the _wind walking_ adventurers. “We need to talk!”

They pause beside a cavern of pencil-thin stone pillars and get a drink while they consider the vision.  “Who is she?” asks Nolin. "She doesn’t fit in with any mythological or historical figure that I can remember.”

Velendo drums his fingers on his shield. “The disease she’s leaving behind her makes me think of Yorrine, the God of plague. In particular, the reference to a halfling makes me think of Yuute, that little bastard who we dealt with in Eversink.” Stone Bear turns his gaze questioning to the old cleric, and Velendo elaborates. “I think he was some sort of a demigod or proxy. With the help of Calphas’ gift, I sent him plummeting to the center of the earth. Only the high priest Dale Greldin and a Torazian deathgranter have also had that done to them.” He pats his shield, which also acts as a _talisman of pure good_ against enemies of the faith.  

“That was when we turned Malachite into a tapeworm!” Nolin snickers rudely. 

Malachite nods, unsmiling. “It certainly was. Perhaps that is why the halfling in the vision is burning and charred. Or it could be that it symbolizes Imbindarla’s fall to earth.”

Agar wrinkles his nose and pats Proty. "I just hope the halfling in the vision wasn't me."

“But who is the woman?” asks Tao.

“Let me think about it,” says Nolin, and casts the spell _improvisation._ He focuses the entire spell effect into his knowledge of religious and historical legends, and suddenly he sits bolt upright. “There’s one possibility. You know that Deifos is the God of Law, and our friend Claris worships Deifos’ son Vindus, God of Vengeance and Retribution. This woman might be associated with Vindus in some way. I heard a garbled legend two years ago mentioning that he had a servant who might fit that description, but there weren’t any details.”

“Hrmm,” muses Velendo. “So what would the God of Vengeance want with a demigod of disease?” He throws his hands in the air and looks skyward. “I don’t suppose you want to give us any answers, do you? Instead of these damn riddles?” He looks disgusted and begins to turn back into mist.  “Time is fleeting. We can talk about it while we fly.”

The wonders of the underdark rush past too quickly to be properly appreciated. Forests of massive mushrooms… a lava-filled chamber with vast platforms dangling by chains from the ceiling… caves filled with shining stone and glittering gems. An abandoned city of drowish design, now flooded by an underground river. A massive waterfall thundering into the depths of the earth. And miles upon miles of twisting, suffocating, claustrophobic tunnel.  By the time the group stops to rest that night, they estimate that they’ve gone dozens of miles and saved at least a week of travel. 

“We’ve only had to backtrack a few times,” remarks Priggle as he pulls his high stool up to the dining table in the Flickering Needle. “I think we’re doing pretty well. Thanks, Stone Bear.” Mouth full of stew, the shaman nods.

Nolin pokes his food and takes an appreciative bite. “We’re lucky to have a Daern’s Instant Fortress that comes with its own magical cook,” he comments. “It’s amazing what Mary can do with salt pork and stale biscuits. But I do miss the _comfortable castle._”

He’s interrupted by a resounding CLANG on the outside of the metal tower. The sound of the impact reverberates from room to room, and the food is abandoned as the Defenders rush to the tower’s roof and front door to see what made the noise.  

_That sounds familiar,_ thinks Nolin to himself. _That sounded like…_ He reaches the roof and looks over the edge. He catches sight of a lanky figure sitting on the ground rubbing his head, and the wooden outgrabe floating above the stone nearby. Uncharacteristically, Nolin begins imagining all the ways he could kill him from up here. He shakes his head to clear it.

“Dylrath?” Nolin blinks in surprise. “Dylrath!”  Then the figure looks up at him, and Nolin realizes it isn’t Dylrath; it’s the demigod Teliez, teenaged son of the God of Murder,  and he doesn’t look good.

Teliez looks up at the top of the tower and lets out a frustrated whine. “Let me in!”

“No!” shouts Nolin. “What have you done with Dylrath?” Seeing the floating wooden outgrabe that is one of Dylrath’s favorite toys, Nolin feels panic bubbling up inside of him. “Did you steal that, or kill him for it?”

Teliez has dark blood trickling down his face, and he stares blankly at the bard for a few seconds. “What, this? He gave it to me. Now open up and let me in! I need sanctuary!”

Mara scowls. “Sanctuary? From what?” She blinks, and suddenly the beaten and battered teenager is standing on the roof of the tower next to her. Thinking quickly, Agar casts his powerful spell _truth conversion_ and listens in on the conversation.

“Haven’t I always favored you? I help your friend, I helped defeat Greldin at the battle of Tovag Baragu, and I’ve turned from my promised role aiding the God of Murder. You thank me by throwing me out a gate into an unpassable desert.  And now all I ask is some protection.” He shivers, and it’s apparent that he’s in bad shape; his fine clothing is ripped and dirty, and he looks like he’s been beaten within an inch of his life. Exhausted, he drops to his haunches.  “I just need a few minutes, then I can go.”

_“True,”_ thinks Agar.  _“I’ll let you know when he tells a lie.”_

“Oh, for crying out…” Velendo rolls his eyes. “Let me heal you.”

“No!” Teliez jumps back to his feet, acne-pocked face pale. “I’m seething with negative energy. You’d be hurt.” At this, Malachite and Mara take a step closer and half-draw their weapons.

“And why,” Malachite says calmly, “are you seething with negative energy?”

Teliez gives him a filthy look. “Because I’m trying to save things. I’m trying to assume Her portfolio before anyone else has a chance to. But it’s… hard…” He gasps. “And that bitch isn’t making it any easier.”

“Who?”

“Halcyon. She’s the daughter of Vindus and some mortal slut. She’s a bully, and she’s trying to kill anyone who plans on assuming Imbindarla’s place. She’s already slain at least two others, and now she’s after me.” He grins humorlessly. “I figured I’d come ask the most powerful friends I have if they’d offer me any help. I need it.”

_“All true,”_ worries Agar over the mindlink.

“Friends. Huh.” Mara can’t believe what she’s hearing. “And you’ve brought her HERE?”

“She cornered me, and I just barely escaped.” A crackle of darkness coruscates up his sallow face, and he swallows, trying to control the ambient negative energy. Pain washes fleetingly across his expression, and he tries to manage a twisted grin. It turns out to be more of a grimace.

Malachite crosses his arms and considers the gangly youth. “So, _you_ want to become the God of Undead.” His voice is heavy with unspoken emotion and warnings that Teliez completely misses.

Teliez shrugs confidently. “Who else? The Ivory King? I’ve got to be better than that fat bastard. And I’ll tell you, this whole ‘God of Adventurers’ thing that Dylrath tried to work out for me just isn’t flying. I don’t have enough worshippers. They keep dying on me.”

_“Still true,”_ thinks Agar. _“And kind of funny, in a sick sort of way.”_

“So, I figured, why not God of the Undead and the crawly things in the night? There are lots of them, which means lots of power.” His voice becomes syrupy. “No more of my father telling me what to do.”

With his spell up, though, Agar hears the actual truth – and he has to fight to keep from laughing. _ “Umm, guys?  That’s not entirely true.  Actually, he wants to become God of the undead to… to… oh, my. To meet girls and get laid.”_

Simultaneously, all the Defenders break into snorts of sarcastic laughter. Teliez looks confused for a minute, concentrates, and then a hateful and embarrassed expression crosses his face. “Oh, I see. Yeah, I’m hoping to meet undead girls. Not ghouls or zombies, mind you – but vampires? Vampires are _sexy._ They have that whole dark child of the night thing going on, and they’re hardly going to say no if I’m their patron God.” The laughing redoubles, and Teliez shouts in blazing anger. “Stop it! Stop laughing!  *You* try having poisonous skin! *You* try killing everyone you touch!  I touch a girl, she dies. Do you have any idea how…” His voice is plaintive, and now no laughter can be heard. “…how _lonely_ that can make you? Never to be able to touch anything living without killing it?”

His voice is pathetic. “It’s horrible, and I’m sick of it. I killed my own mother, did you know that? I want it to stop. This may be my only chance.”

Everyone looks at him silently, some with pity and some with disdain.

Malachite snorts. “And thus, you wish to become the new Enemy.”

“Pretty much.”  Teliez perks up a little as a thought occurs to him. “Speaking of which, Nolin, do you mind if I date your girlfriend?”

Nolin blinks, not yet putting two and two together. “What?”

Teliez spits on his hand and slicks back his thin hair. “You know, Telay. You know she’s a vampire.” Nolin blinks in horror, and the demigod’s voice giggles with cruel laughter. “You _didn’t_ know she’s a vampire! Oh, yeah; a penaggalan, actually. One of those ones whose head and organs pop out of the body in the middle of the night, flying around to strangle their victims.” He demonstrates by wiggling his hands. “Telay was turned while you spent that time in Hagiok’s academy. You had already been charmed by normal vampires, and they were able to take her by surprise without you ever knowing. She left rather than see you disappointed.” Teliez’s smug grin is revolting. “Didn’t you wonder why you haven’t seen her since?”

Nolin looks at Agar, desperately hoping that Teliez is lying, but the halfling just shakes his head sadly. Malachite puts a comforting hand on Nolin’s back, but the bard stiffly brushes it off. “Sure, Teliez,” Nolin says mechanically. “If she wants to spend time with you, she’s all yours. I think she has better taste, though. Malachite?”

“Yes, Nolin?” His voice is heavy.

“If you’re ever given the opportunity, please slay Telay for me. Give her rest. She may be a sensate, but I love her, and she wouldn’t want to exist like this.”

Malachite’s voice is quiet. “I will.” Suddenly he notices that all gradiations of color have leached from the rooftop. The shadows have become sharply defined, and there is a rigid quality to every edge that was not there seconds ago. Down below them in the cavern, a rainbow flash splits apart the air.

“Oh crap,” whines Teliez. “She’s here.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Note that the White Kingdom isn't the ultimate adventure in the campaign. We'll keep playing as long as we're having fun; I can easily foresee another six months or so of games ahead of us, minimum.

Incidentally, I've been keeping that little secret about Telay from Nolin/KidCthulhu for two or three years real-time. It was worth it.

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

Here's a snippit of text from my notes on Halcyon, half-human demigod and self-appointed vigilante:

_Halcyon was raised with an absolute knowledge of right and wrong, but she makes her own decisions about what is correct and what isn’t. She is an expert at working the gray areas, codifying the unknown with her own codes, straightening the muddled. She is a demigoddess of straight lines and sharp demarcations, but her rulings always favor her (and her interests) instead of other people. 

When Halcyon is present, there is no gray, no flickering shadows, no blurring. Everything is a solid color, everything is a straight line and a right angle, everything is yes or no. Things are easy when you're near Halcyon; there are no moral quandries or lingering doubts. Very peaceful._


----------



## Piratecat

Talix said:
			
		

> Were you planning all along for the party to figure out wind-walking, and/or had you figured out everything that was going to happen if they just kept mosey-ing on down and arrived after everything was all finished?




I didn't know what they'd do. They really, really surprised me by getting rid of the dwarves and going wind walking!  It was a fascinating solution, and as it turned out a really clever one. I thought there was a pretty good chance that they'd go back to the surface and camp out near the body, and I was prepared for them missing the important part and having to deal with the aftermath.  They picked what was behind door #3, and caught me a little off guard.

That game had a bit of "This encounter is skipped," FLING, "this encounter is skipped," FLING, as I went through my notes. I think the players were smirking, but it's hard to tell.



			
				the Jester said:
			
		

> So how long ago (real and game time) did the pcs first encounter the White Kingdom?  How long has this particular quest been building?




The PCs first killed the skaven who were praying for help against the White Kingdom in May of 1997. They met T'Cri, who strongarmed them into facing the ghouls and "breaking the spine of the White Kingdom," late in 1999.  They fought the necropede in March, 2002. They actually headed underground with Priggle in July, 2002. So it's technically been a year and a half... and a long time coming.


----------



## Piratecat

Spatula said:
			
		

> I'm always asking questions, but... what's a wooden outgrabe?




Heh - that's a tricky one. If you don't know it, no one else remembers either. 

Dylrath was Sialia's character before she moved to the west coast. Dyl started as a 12 year old, completely talentless boy.  In a wizard's bedroom he found part of a broken bedpost that had a permanent _levitation_ cast on it, and as young boys are wont to do he learned that he could use it sort of as the medieval equivalent of a snowboard. He learned to ride it, and would go very fast in one direction until he abruptly and painfully stopped. He named it the outgrabe.

Dylrath is finishing wizard's academy nowadays, and doesn't use it as much, what with almost turning 20. He - err - must have given it to Teliez. One wonders why.

As Sito says, it's not just the mome raths that outgrabe. The dyl raths do too.


----------



## BSF

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Heh - that's a tricky one. If you don't know it, no one else remembers either.
> 
> Dylrath was Sialia's character before she moved to the west coast. Dyl started as a 12 year old, completely talentless boy.  In a wizard's bedroom he found part of a broken bedpost that had a permanent _levitation_ cast on it, and as young boys are wont to do he learned that he could use it sort of as the medieval equivalent of a snowboard. He learned to ride it, and would go very fast in one direction until he abruptly and painfully stopped. He named it the outgrabe.
> 
> Dylrath is finishing wizard's academy nowadays, and doesn't use it as much, what with almost turning 20. He - err - must have given it to Teliez. One wonders why.




I might suggest the Defender's of Daybreak - The early years story hour for your reading pleasure.  http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=4167

There is some wonderful stuff in there.  Including some references to Teliaz getting in on the God of Adventurer's thing.  

As well, you might check the website.  http://www.piratecat.info.

There are also some compilations available of the archives for Piratecat's Story Hour.


----------



## Sialia

Kid Charlemagne said:
			
		

> I presumed he was hoping Teliez would kill himself using it.



The thought _had_ crossed my mind.

Probably that was the thought that got me started on this. 

But then, one thought led to another, and before I knew it I was writing a novella.

There's still about three more sections to post, but I had to wait until you all caught up here before I could go on.

Even the Defenders didn't know what Dylrath was up to, so I couldn't post parts of my story until they caught up.

And by then (this part of the campaign was played last summer, as I recall) I was up to stuff that even Piratecat didn't quite twig to. 

Keeping secrets is excruciating torture for me. Some of this stuff I've been sitting on since about 1998. You think YOU wait a long time to find out what happens. In some neighborhoods around here, I'd have to pay a lot of money for torment of this quality. 

It's been an exciting month for me. So many of my schemes coming to fruition. And no idea whether I or my characters will survive any of them. There is nothing quite like the adrenalin rush of knowing how close I am to crashing and burning, and that faint whiff of hope that the wax on these wings may not melt after all.

I'll update the Dylrath story in a little while. Not so much left to tell . . . I think. Just all the reasons why . . . and a few lessons in humility, perhaps. or perhaps rahter, how to do hubris _really_ right.


----------



## JacktheRabbit

I am still waiting for that assasin turned merchant to return from Mechanus with news of why the Modrons are marching.


----------



## Piratecat

Old One said:
			
		

> Wulf,
> 
> I will have to get the game schedule so I can plan my trip accordingly...it would be one of the highlights of my 22-year roleplaying career to have a guest shot at PKitty's table and meet everyone!
> 
> ~ Old One




You know that will happen to be the session where we sit around and tell fart jokes. It always works out that way.

Hey, I'm about halfway done with an update, but real life takes precedence for the next day or so. I'll post it just as soon as I can. In the mean time, I've posted the stats for the half-lobster kuo-toas and Halcyon. If you AREN'T playing in my game, feel free to swing by and look.


----------



## Sagiro

Knightfall1972 said:
			
		

> Query: Which EN World Names go with which characters? (I know Blackjack is Malachite and Wulf is Stone Bear but don't know the rest.)




I apologize in advance to anyone I forget or get wrong.

Nolin is played by KidCthulhu
Malachite is played by Blackjack
Stone Bear is played by Wulf
Velendo is played by Sagiro
Agar is played by Alomir
Mara is played by Kodiak
Galthia is played by Aravis
Tao is played by Jobu

Defenders Alumni:

Dylrath and Cadrienne are played by Sialia
Sharala is played by Fajitas
Palladio is played by Dr. Rictus
Arcade is played by Bandeeto
Kiri (Kirisandra) is played by WisdomLikeSilence
Claris is played by Sito Rotavele
Raevynn is (I think) played eponymously
Tom Tom is played by Tremere.
Valdek/Glimmer is played by Aithdim.
Alix's player has never posted here as far as I know.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

Halcyon steps out onto the sloping stone floor of the cavern, and suddenly everything becomes _exact_.  

She herself isn’t especially beautiful; her face is too severe, the lines of her cheekbones too chiseled for true beauty. Nevertheless, her presence fills the cavern with the icy precision of an angry judge in a Sigilian courtroom. Anyone watching Halcyon suddenly feels an unnamed fear of doing something wrong, of accidentally doing something that would displease her. None of the Defenders are so inexperienced that they would actually give in to such an urge, but the fear crawls about nevertheless. _There are consequences for displeasing me,_ Halcyon’s presence seems to suggest, _and they are too terrible to withstand. Better to obey._

Halcyon gazes up and takes in the tower, sees the people looking over the battlements at the top, and her lips thin. One hand deliberately drops to the hilt of her dangerous-looking sword, and she tilts her chin. *“I speak with the authority of Heaven.  You are harboring a felon who is attempting to flee from justice. By the decree of the Gods themselves, I order you to bring him forth.”*  Her voice doesn’t echo despite the arching ceiling; instead, it falls flat upon the ears, like a cold slab of iron slammed down upon the anvil. 

“I told you she’s a lying self-righteous bitch. No one likes her. Don’t trust her.”  White-faced at the timbre of her voice, Teliez stumbles back out of sight behind Tao and Stone Bear. Stone Bear casually slides to the side. Teliez tries to concentrate and harbor his energies, but he’s clearly having difficulty. Halcyon, on the other hand, looks as fresh as the summer wind. Not a hair is out of place, her clothes fall perfectly in wrinkleless lines, and she doesn’t have a single blood stain on her white tunic.

_“Oh boy,”_ thinks Velendo. _“Here we go.”_

*“I do not wish to ask again. It is a sin to harbor the guilty. Cast him from you that the faces of Our Lords may judge him, and that he may be truly judged for his crimes.”*

Mara and Malachite are both desperately trying to detect evil from Halcyon, but they get nothing. _“She’s lawful,”_ thinks Mara, _“not that that’s any big surprise. I’ll keep trying to break through.”_ The force of Mara’s will is intense, and she slowly tries to part the mists hiding Halcyon’s soul from her scrutiny.

Agar whispers over the mindlink, _“And I’ll let you know when she lies. She hasn’t yet – although she sounds like a fanatic.”_

_“She’s a demigoddess, right?”_ thinks Nolin sarcastically. _“She probably worships herself. No wonder she’s a fanatic. When she prays, she’s talking to herself.”_  Aloud, he greets her personably and with humble deference.  “Good afternoon, my lady. We’re honored to have such a prestigious and powerful visitor.”

Opalescent light radiates from Halcyon’s body. *“I have no interest in your opinion. My fugitive, please.”* One perfect eyebrow arches, and her voice is inexorable. A thin layer of ice crystals creep across Nolin’s celestial battlecloak, only to be quickly melted by his own body heat.

Malachite leans forwards over the crenelations and folds his arms across his chest. “Of course, we have no interest in circumventing the law. However, I must ask you _what_ law you claim him under. I wish to be sure that your claim on him is just. What is his crime, and what is his punishment to be?”

They dare deny and question her? Halcyon draws in a breath through Her aquiline nose. These might be important people in the mortal scheme of things, She reminds Herself as She opens Her senses. _*I can sense the divine about them. There is Aeos, Calphas, Galanna, a breath of my own father Vindus…*_ Her shining eyes open a fraction of an inch wider. And an angel of the Wallbuilder? And a voice of Galanna? And the chosen of Calphas! Halcyon almost takes Her own name in vain; it would be a difficult inconvenience to explain if She was forced to execute them in the pursuit of her duties. Too many questions afterwards. It would also prejudice Her claim on Imbindarla’s throne. Nevertheless, thinks Halcyon, the whelp is guilty and needs to die, just as Yuute did two days before.

Ahh, Yuute. Halcyon turns the memory over in Her mind like a lover, caressing it, recalling Her thrill in righteously dismembering the child of Yorrine even as He fell eternally to the center of the world. No jagged edges, of course; only clean, sharp lines, square chunks of flesh.  The inherent taint of His disease could not affect Her, and Her divine mandate was well served by doing Her duty. With Imbindarla’s death setting divine precedent, She now had a free hand.  Now the one who had first thrown down Yuute stood before her as a guard of Teliez the Worm! She would have to obey the traditional protocols, would have to give Teliez another opportunity to submit instead of just taking Him by force as she would prefer. Propriety is propriety, and rules are rules. Surely, these mortals will recognize this. Patience is a virtue, Halcyon reminds herself, and spreads her arms. 

*“Teliez has broken divine law. He seeks to seize power that is not His, that He has no right to claim. Doing so is a crime, one that disrupts the natural and lawful order of the multiverse. This must not be allowed to occur, and so any who attempt it must be punished.”*

“And what is the punishment?”

*“Death.”*  In Nolin’s imagination, Her voice sounds hungry. 

“And who decreed this law?”

*“That is of no matter. It IS, and that is all you should concern yourself with. Obey the law and turn him over, or face the appropriate punishments yourself.”*

Agar looks up, distracted by his ongoing truth spell. “She made up the law herself,” he clarifies.

"Ha!" yells Nolin. "I knew it."

“What?” Malachite looks angry at the idea. “She can do that?”

“Apparently.” The halfling shrugs. “But it’s still a divine decree.”

Malachite frowns. “That would be true if Imbindarla said something, too, but that doesn’t make it right.”

Mara raises her voice. “Halcyon, It seems to me that you’re after the wrong person. What about the Ivory King?”

Halcyon’s voice is suddenly gentle, as if speaking to a child.  *“His punishment will come in turn. Each in order, according to their crime, as it is written in my grandfather’s Book of Law. As with Yuute and now Teliez, all who dare flaunt divine procedure of ascendance will pay for their temerity. I am merely the humble instrument that carries out the divine decree.”* 

“I’ll bet.”  Velendo blinks. “You killed Yuute?”

*“He is serving his just punishment for his crimes.”*

Agar looks up again at Velendo. “She killed him,” he confirms.

Slowly, a suspicion spreads across the faces of several Defenders. “Tell me,” asks Nolin slowly, “do you seek the position of Imbindarla yourself? Is this why you are systematically hunting down rivals for Her power and portfolio?”

Halcyon looks calm and peaceful. *“My job is merely to stop people from claiming the power prematurely. When all is settled, the Gods themselves will decide who shall wear that mantle.”*

Agar’s face abruptly contracts and he begins to shake. “A vision,” he croaks. “Hundreds of thousands of undead, all standing in precise battle lines, perfectly organized.” Proty squirms in agitation on his shoulder. “She damn well hopes that she’ll be the logical choice after she kills everyone else. I don’t like this one bit.”

Malachite shoots a look at Mara. “Is she evil?” he asks insistently.

Mara, still concentrating fiercely, growls in frustration. “I can’t break through that divination fog, Imbindarla’s breath of whatever it’s called. I’m trying, and I think I’m almost there.” 

*“It is time to live up to your divine obligations,”* announces Halcyon with finality. *“It is against the law to disobey my edict. The penalty for disobedience is death. Hand over Teliez immediately. If you attempt to thwart me in my duty, your divine powers will be summarily stripped from you as soon as the Gods are made aware of your sin of defiance. I’m sure no one wishes for that to happen.”* Her voice is insistent, and the chill in the cavern increases ten-fold. *“Your time is up. Hand him over.  Now.”*

Stone Bear’s spirit sight first visualizes the icy lines of Halcyon’s soul, then he glances over at Teliez’s crawling spirit. The choice is easy to make, and he casually moves across the tower. Almost no one thinks his movement is odd except for Galthia; the monk notices him, perceives a certain similarity of opinion, and does nothing. 

Tao, however, whispers to Teliez. “I’m going to have to get you out of here. Stay close to me.”

“What are you going to do? You’ve got to help me!” wheedles Teliez.

“I’m going to if I have to,” answers a clearly annoyed Tao. “You may be the son of a God, but you’re a pain in the ass for dragging us into this.”

“Hey, you owe me!” insists Teliez in a desperate whisper. “I spent two months without food and water lost in a desert when you unceremoniously kicked me through a gate four years ago.” Tao glares at him, and he tries to manage a smile that suggests he’s only kidding. He doesn’t wholly succeed. “I mean, please?”

“There’s no rush on this,” Nolin is saying as he tries to buy time. He glances from a praying Velendo over to Mara’s beautiful face, marred by the sweat dripping down it. Suddenly he sees her expression clear like the sun emerging from clouds.

“She’s evil,” says Mara with wonder in her voice. “She has it concealed behind layers of Law and self-righteousness, but she’s so evil. What she does, she does for her own gain.”

Malachite smiles coldly and leans over the battlement. “You may not have him,” he announces. “He is under our protection.”

Velendo agrees. “Teliez may not be perfect, but he has asked us for sanctuary, and it has been granted. If you want him, you will have to take him from us.”

*“So be it. As you willingly break the law, so you shall be punished. You shall meet the Gods directly, weighted down with the burden of your sin, and They shall determine your ultimate fate.  Unless, of course, you turn Him over to Me.”*  Halcyon spreads her arms and is surrounded by a roiling pillar of cold light. She begins to count.  *"Ten.  Nine.  Eight."*

Tao snorts. “Some of us have already met the Gods, bitch. I don’t think we’re the ones at fault here.” Swords rasp from sheathes. “Bring it on.”  

*"Seven.  Six."*

Beside Tao, Stone Bear steps next to Teliez, who is struggling with another wave of negative energy that skitters across his skin. “Sorry, pal,” says Stone Bear. “But it’s time to do what’s right.” And the shaman grabs Teliez and moves to throw him over the edge of tower’s battlements. 

“Help!” shouts the surprised Teliez. He braces himself on the edge of the iron crenelations, and Stone Bear is unable to toss him cleanly over the edge onto Halcyon’s feet. The shaman reels back in pain, pus-filled blisters forming on both hands where he touched the teenaged demigod. “Help!”

*"Five.  Four."*

“Damn it,” curses Stone Bear. “You don’t belong with normal men! You annoyed one of your fellow spirits, go and face her like a man. Get over there.”  He tries again, but Teliez makes a break around him and runs for Tao. The divine agent rolls her eyes in disbelief.

“Lesser of two evils,” she tells Stone Bear, but the shaman starts for Teliez anyways. Tao thrusts both hands forward and rips a hole in the universe. She strains with her soul and opens a _gate_ directly into her Goddess’ sanctuary in the Beastlands. “Get through there!” Tao snaps at Teliez.

"What, there?  You're going to throw me out?!  But... but I came to you for help!  You offered me asylum!  You can't just..."

Velendo spins, furious.  "Teliaz!  You showed up out of nowhere and involved us in a dispute between divine beings!  Now there's a demi-god out there that's about to kill us because of you.  We want to help you but we're not sure how, so SHUT UP AND LET US THINK!"

Teliez still balks at the grassland suddenly before him. “I don’t want to go to…”

*"Three.  Two."*

“Move!” Tao orders. Once again she unceremoniously boots Teliez and the outgrabe through a gate, this time across the very planes of existence and out of the immediate reach of Halcyon. Teliez’s wail is cut off suddenly. “Ungrateful little bastard.” She lets the _gate_ lapse and turns to Stone Bear with a questioning look. 

“I think you made the wrong choice,” the shaman warns. “Look.” He points to the other side of the tower where a furious Halcyon is rising on the air itself, shining greatsword drawn from its sheath and a look of glee in Her eyes.

*”One,”* intones Halcyon. *“Aiding and abetting? Indeed, you've made the wrong choice.”* Her smile is cold and glittering. *“And now he is temporarily out of my reach.  The hunt continues.  Who wishes to be punished first?”*

“Oh, bite me,” intones Nolin without a trace of the previous deference. “You want to kill us? Take a number. We’ve got more important people to worry about than _you._”

The battle is joined.

Standing in the air out of easy reach, Halcyon hefts Obedience, her greatsword of conformity. It draws her attention to Tao, the most chaotic and disordered opponent, and the blade flashes out like a scythe to chop off the woman’s head. Tao manages to interpose one of her swords, but the force of the blow rocks the divine agent of Galanna backwards across the rooftop. Beside her, Velendo raises his prayers to the heavens, calling a solar of Calphas to come and aid him in his time of need.

The solar's wings beat the air like a hurricane. "WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"

Velendo looks up, swallowing down the feeling of incipient panic.  "Here is our situation.  That being..." Velendo nods toward Halcyon "...is the demi-god daughter of Vindus.  We believe that she seeks the portfolio of Imbindarla for herself and has begun systematically eliminating her rivals.  One of these rivals came here and requested asylum from us.  She arrived soon after and demanded his release.

"I do not believe this is a matter for mortals to decide on their own.  I have called you to be witness, to act as arbiter should negotiations occur, and to be a combatant if you think that appropriate or necessary.  If you deem this matter unworthy of your attention you are of course free to leave, and I will still perform some task or service of your choosing."

"DID YOU GRANT ASYLUM TO HIM?"

"Yes."

"WHERE IS HE NOW?  IS HE SAFE?"

"I don't know.  We gated him to Beastlands, as we doubted our ability to protect him ourselves."

The Solar turns angrily on Halcyon, who has momentarily pulled back. "DAUGHTER OF VINDUS, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO INTERFERE WITH THE HOLY MISSION OF MY CHARGE. THIS FALLS WITHIN HIS BAILIWICK, AND I WILL BROOK NO INTERFERENCE."

Halcyon looks unimpressed. *"Out of my way, Son of Heaven. I have my own mandate, and it does not concern you. You have no jurisdiction here, and by the rights of the compact you are declared an enemy if you choose to interfere. It is your own choice."*

The angel settles down on the rooftop, dwarfing all of the other Defenders. "I HAVE BEEN CALLED, AND I HAVE ANSWERED. I  SO CHOOSE."

Halcyon's eyes narrow. *"So be it."*

Spells fly, blades crash, fists hammer, and the angel of the Wallbuilder is a glory to behold. Halcyon is a difficult target for even the solar to badly injure; spells splash off her without harm, and her armor is near-invincible. The radiant knights are able to injure her by drawing on their divine strength, but her blade bites deeply everywhere she strikes. Gore litters the rooftop, but none of it adheres to Halcyon. Despite her injuries that would have killed a mortal, her tunic is pristine. The same can't be said about the solar's blood-splashed wings.

Stone Bear has a different target than the others. He watches Halcyon’s movements with his mind’s eye, watches the pattern of her blade and the way her spirit moves. He focuses his inner strength and readies himself. _This is the way to break her spirit and her power,_ suggests his ancestor spirit of war. _Now!_ Both of Stone Bear’s hands snake forwards in an unexpected grab. One hand locks the sword hilt of Obedience while his other fist snaps into the side of the blade. 

He strikes once, and Halcyon laughs in derision. *“This blade is forged from pure law,”* she boasts without heat. *“When it slays you, you will write another line in the tome of obedience.”*  Stone Bear strikes a second time, and the blade snaps cleanly in two.

Stone Bear smiles, but the look on Halcyon’s face is indescribable.

Halcyon rises farther into the air and raises her shield. Her voice rises, intoning and altering certain laws that make up the fabric of time itself. As she does so, the world unreels; time slides backwards, and wounds heal as reality reverses itself.  Even the solar of Calphas is unsummoned. Thirty seconds unwind before time snaps back into place, people replaying their actions for a second time.

“I think you made the wrong choice,” Stone Bear warns for a second time. “Look.” He points to the other side of the tower where a furious Halcyon is rising on the air itself, shining greatsword drawn from its sheath. There is a look of profound fury in her eyes, and a promise of vengeance. This time, however, she doesn't launch an attack.

*“Your punishment shall come,”* Halcyon promises. *“I so decree it. When my quarries are caught and my obligations discharged, I shall return to teach you a lesson in obedience.”* And with a rainbow flash she disappears.

Silence.

“Well, that’s an anticlimax,” comments Nolin. “I was sure she was going to attack us.”  He's interrupted by the sound of crashing masonry, and a solar appears out of nowhere.

"WHERE IS SHE?" asks the angel in anger. "I WOULD BANDY WORDS WITH THE DAUGHTER OF VINDUS."

"Holy one!" exclaims Velendo as he hits the floor on his knobby knees. "To what do I owe this honor?"

“You don’t remember?” Galthia looks incredulous. “Halcyon attacked us. Several people were horribly hurt. You summoned this angel.  Then Stone Bear shattered her sword, she raised her shield, and she somehow she turned time backwards.” Other than the solar and Galthia, only Mara and Stone Bear also remember the fight well enough to help recount the details to everyone. The group asks the angel to bring word of Halcyon's perfidy back to the Gods, and it agrees to do so.  There is a distant fanfare of silvery trumpets, a greeting between Cruciel and the solar, and then the angel is gone.

In the quiet that follows, Stone Bear turns to the radiant knights. “You know, Teliez is evil. I can see it clearly. He is the child of Murder.”

Malachite nods. “He’s evil all right, but he’s also incompetent. We’re working under the assumption that someone has to assume the mantle of the Goddess of Undeath. For the moment, I’d rather it be someone incompetent that we have some control over. Teliez has some humanity; I hope that will stay with him if he happens to ascend.” Malachite frowns. “Halcyon’s peversion of law was the greater evil.  There will be time for Teliez. First the Ivory King; we’re very close.”

Elder squirms inside Stone Bear. _It is a place of death. I will guide you truly._

Nolin looks at Tao. “You think Teliez is safe from Halcyon on the Beastlands?”

Tao shrugs her muscular shoulders. “Not my problem. It’s the best I could offer.”

Again, silence.

“Come on,” sighs Nolin. “My stomach is growling. Let’s go finish dinner.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Wheeeeeew.  OK, Stone Bear broke her sword - with his bare hands.
> 
> Wulf - That's Freakin' Cool.




Indeed, there are few more satisfying ways I could have spent all those Feats.

So on the plus side, I shattered a demigod's sword.

And on the down side, I shattered a demigod's sword...

I bet that bitch would give her right arm to have another crack at us.


Wulf


----------



## Sialia

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Who's responsible for Teliez, anyway? All I've really read of him is yours, Sialia. Were you the one who invested him with his... unique personality? If so, congrats- I like the guy despite myself.





Teliaz is all Piratecat's. I only remember him from games I played in slightly--most of his important introduction to the Defenders happened after I left for the left coast. Dylrath was still with the party, but Sialia was gone for about a year of player time. Then they completed that story arc and Dylrath retired to school. A year or so after that, Piratecat called me on the phone so that Teliaz could ask Dylrath what to do about having been assigned the job of assasinating the Defenders. Teliaz had no love for the Defenders, but killingthem was going to be a pain and I think he was looking for an excuse not to have to attempt it. I'm not sure why Piratecat called me on this one--perhaps he was just lonesome. He didn't have this storyhour and the thread that must not be named at that point, so didn't have all the whole chorus of voices in his head yet.

ANyway, I stalled and got off the phone for a moment, and then called him back about 1/2 hour later with what is essentially the first long monologue in the story that I wrote up.

After that, there were a couple of years of email exchanges, that resulted in the rest of the story.

There's no doubt that Teliaz is what he is because of how he grew.


----------



## Sito

Uh, Siala, you know I hate to argue in public, but you're really not giving yourself enough credit.  'Rath has a very powerful personality, and if it rubs off on Demi-gods, that's cred to the player.  F'r instance:



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> With his spell up, though, Agar hears the actual truth – and he has to fight to keep from laughing. _“Umm, guys? That’s not entirely true. Actually, he wants to become God of the undead to… to… oh, my. To meet girls and get laid.”_
> 
> Simultaneously, all the Defenders break into snorts of sarcastic laughter. Teliez looks confused for a minute, concentrates, and then a hateful and embarrassed expression crosses his face. “Oh, I see. Yeah, I’m hoping to meet undead girls. Not ghouls or zombies, mind you – but vampires? Vampires are sexy. They have that whole dark child of the night thing going on, and they’re hardly going to say no if I’m their patron God.”




Tell me that's not Dylrath sneaking through, trying to find something other than murder and death as a focus for Teliez's attentions.  Nice play.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Steverooo said:
			
		

> What did they need to hit her sword, P-Kitty?  Adamantine and Magic?




We're still under 3.0 rules at this point, I think. So Stone Bear's hands are something like +6 equivalent (counting all his Sacred Fist bonuses).

I don't know if Piratecat has yet worked out what their equivalence will be under 3.5...

Stone Bear has Improved Unarmed Strike, Eagle Claw Strike, Power Attack, Sunder (now called Improved Sunder in 3.5, which allows me to Sunder without AoO), and Improved Sunder (from Sword and Fist, which doubles sunder damage-- which I presume under 3.5 rules would be called "Greater Sunder.").

For all that, I'm not sure he's any better at sundering than Galthia. Galthia gets to ignore like 9 or 10 points of hardness, but doesn't (to my knowledge) add any extra damage. So it's a situational thing as to whose sunder is more effective.

Stone Bear also has Cleave, Great Cleave, and Cleave Asunder-- which means that I can interchangeably cleave people, weapons, or both. Theoretically I can smash a weapon and carry through into the wielder with a cleave. I could, surrounded by foes, cleave through all of their weapons and then carry on into the foes themselves... As long as whatever I hit is killed or destroyed, I can cleave the next target.

This particular aspect of the character has yet to see "screen time," but I am biding my time!

Wulf


----------



## JacktheRabbit

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No. She used the psionic power of _regression_ to turn back time to right before she first attacked, then (not wanting a repeat of the sword-breaking fiasco) she exited stage left.
> 
> Thus, the fight never technically occurred. The reason that some people remembered it is because, to be blunt, they made their saving throws.
> 
> But Halcyon remembers _them._ No doubt she'll want to settle old business once she's dealt with some of the upstarts trying to claim Imbindarla's power.




Three things coe to mind.

1. Next time she comes around she will have to be much more careful. The solar has passed along the information and Calphas should be smart enough to know that a Lawful Evil Goddess of Undeath who wants to use the dead as a personal army of conquest would be very bad.

2. Memorizing or getting a wand of true strike would be a very good idea. Someone doing nothing but casting True Strike on the Solar is probably the best way to actually do damage to a demi-god. That or smacking her over the head with V's shield and sending her to the center of the planet.

3. That Pit fiend better take notice. A standard 3.5 PF would get eaten for lunch by the Defenders. I fully expect the Pit Fiend not to offer straight up battle again like she did last time.


----------



## KidCthulhu

DocMoriartty said:
			
		

> 3. That Pit fiend better take notice. A standard 3.5 PF would get eaten for lunch by the Defenders. I fully expect the Pit Fiend not to offer straight up battle again like she did last time.




The trick with the Pit Fiend was not so much that we couldn't take her.  We could.  But only on the Prime.  And then she'd just be back the next day, and the next, ad nauseum.  

The DoD, fully primed and buffed, could take a standard issue Pit Fiend (Not that PC is going to give us anything as pedestrian as a standar Pitty).  But we can't take one while carrying an undead spell load and while we're coming under daily undead attack.  

Thus the desire not to start anything with our evil Yenta.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Thus the desire not to start anything with our evil Yenta.




Gah.  Now I'm getting mental crossovers from A Shoggoth of the Roof.

"A shoggoth on the roof- sounds crazy.  No, certifiably insane!  But you might say that here in our little town of Arkham, Massachusetts, you might say every one of us has a Shoggoth on the roof.  And I'm not speaking metaphorically."

_Byakhee Byakhee fly me through space...._


----------



## BSF

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No. She used the psionic power of _regression_ to turn back time to right before she first attacked, then (not wanting a repeat of the sword-breaking fiasco) she exited stage left.
> 
> Thus, the fight never technically occurred. The reason that some people remembered it is because, to be blunt, they made their saving throws.
> 
> But Halcyon remembers _them._ No doubt she'll want to settle old business once she's dealt with some of the upstarts trying to claim Imbindarla's power.




Heh, but what if the DoD find a way to trump her politically with the greater Divinities.  I know I would try to do that if I were in their place.  Not sure how I would try, but I would definitely put some effort into thinking it through.


----------



## Jobu

FINALLY I can post!!!!!  Sorry some of this is so late in response

Ok, first thing - thanks to those of you who would like the chance to play Tao.  She is my first D&D character (EVER) and is more fun to play then any other character I've ever played.  Course I'm biased.  Having Cleric, Wizzie, Psion, and Druid spells, nice Attack bonus, Spell like abilities, Damage Reduction, AND a couple hit points all make for a fun character to play.  Then you add in the attitude and the chaotic tendancies and you're ready to go piss some people off 
And on that note I have a few words about Halcyon......most of which I can't say in front of Eric's Grandmother.  Of all the PC's and NPC's ever in PC's game I don't know if there have been many that got up Tao's nose as much as Halcyon.  When the Cave went black and white - with no gray ANYWHERE Tao actually hid on the far side of the tower roof momentarily.  Trying desperately to find some chaos......something NOT LAWFUL!!!  So - kicking Teliaz through the Gate was more to piss Halcyon off then to save Teliaz.  I certainly look forward to a next meeting between Tao and "Her Holy Evil Stick-up the Butt" (no offense Claris).


----------



## Hammerhead

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> The trick with the Pit Fiend was not so much that we couldn't take her.  We could.  But only on the Prime.  And then she'd just be back the next day, and the next, ad nauseum.
> 
> The DoD, fully primed and buffed, could take a standard issue Pit Fiend (Not that PC is going to give us anything as pedestrian as a standar Pitty).  But we can't take one while carrying an undead spell load and while we're coming under daily undead attack.
> 
> Thus the desire not to start anything with our evil Yenta.




Well, if Yenta is actually called to the prime, instead of being Astrally Projected, she can be killed. Or at least banished for a really long time, depending on your cosmology. 

Anyway, couldn't Agar use a Planar Binding spell to eventually call Yenta, lock her with a Dimensional Anchor to prevent escape, and then laugh as the rest of the Defenders destroy her? Calling a devil to destroy it seems perfectly acceptable to me?


----------



## Piratecat

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Anyway, couldn't Agar use a Planar Binding spell to eventually call Yenta, lock her with a Dimensional Anchor to prevent escape, and then laugh as the rest of the Defenders destroy her? Calling a devil to destroy it seems perfectly acceptable to me?




In theory that could work.

On the other hand, it's fraught with peril above and beyond the usual old humdrum "I'm going to get eaten by a lord of hell" type of danger. Pit fiends are creatures of hierarchies and law, right?  And she's clearly not acting as yenta for her own health and amusement. Destroying her could easily cause more problems than it solves, especially when she doesn't necessarily seem to be gunning for the PCs otherwise. She could be _anyone's_ friend, and her place in the puzzle isn't known. 

Really, the disturbing question is: who would want to use a pit fiend as a messenger/enforcer, and why would she accede to such a job?  Killing her without knowing that is a definite gamble.


----------



## Hammerhead

Well sure, it's got its flaws, but as Wulf says...

"There's no problem you can't solve with a big enough pile of dead bad guys."

 I think the Modrons are behind it all.


----------



## Grog

Great update as usual, Piratecat.

If you don't mind, I had a question about the part of the campaign that took place in Sigil (it doesn't seem to be covered in the early years story). I noticed that, in the Eversink portion of the story, even though there was a lot of politics and role-playing, there was also a fair amount of combat. I was wondering if the same was true in Sigil? And if so, what sort of things did the Defenders fight? For that matter, how long were the Defenders in Sigil?

Thanks!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Grog said:
			
		

> I noticed that, in the Eversink portion of the story, even though there was a lot of politics and role-playing, there was also a fair amount of combat. I was wondering if the same was true in Sigil? And if so, what sort of things did the Defenders fight? For that matter, how long were the Defenders in Sigil?




We spend most of our time in Sigil with our heads down, trying not to meet anyone's eyes.  The party is well aware that danger in Sigil is not the kind that is defeated by combat.  We were pretty intimidated, to tell you the truth, and tend to be on our best behavior when in the Hive.

PKitty has the flu, on account of I brought it home to him.  We spent the weekend in bed, and not in a good way.  Thus, no progress was made on story hour.  But I'm pretty sure the party is going to be regretting some of PC's fever dreams.  He gets the wierdest ideas when he's sick.


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## Piratecat

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> But I'm pretty sure the party is going to be regretting some of PC's fever dreams.  He gets the wierdest ideas when he's sick.




Hee hee hee... tentacles.  

Man, I feel crappy. Thank goodness I got a flu shot, or I'd be REALLY out of it. And who says KidCthulhu never brings me anything? To make my point, I almost didn't go to the theater for the (unfortunately sold out!) RotK yesterday. I'd have to be sick to bag out of that.  

In Sigil, I can remember them fighting armanites (centaur-demons) in the streets of the clerk's ward. They fought a were-roach and an erinyes (the same one that originally married Alix's Dad) in the LE gatetown of Ribcage. On a later adventure they ran the heck away from warring armies in Acheron, _completely avoiding_ my cool rakshasha dungeon filled with confusing illusions. And on Mechanus they fought a cambion enemy that they had first killed on the prime back at 4th level, and who had been waiting for them to come to the outer planes ever since; they killed him handily, poor fella. Sometimes it doesn't pay to hold grudges.


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## Bronz Dragon

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> I bet that bitch would give her right arm to have another crack at us.



Only from what we've seen, she'd prolly chop the left one off too, just so she'd be symmetrical.  - Bronz Dragon


----------



## Piratecat

Okay, a quick preamble: for this game I stole a page from JonRog's book.  Everyone but KidCthulhu had (at least in theory; Alomir never got the email, but he caught on fast) been alerted that there were some. . . changes. . . involving their characters. Thus, they all dropped seamlessly into their new roles, and Nolin spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was going on. We even had Tao's and Palladio's players in town for extra fun.

This game ended up being one of my favorite roleplaying sessions of the entire year. I love my players.

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

Bent on a single purpose, the adventurers race through the underdark on the howling arms of a magical wind.  They soar through beholder-blasted circular tunnels, down the crumbling rockgrinds of purple worms, between the vast webfields of spiderfolk and into the shadowy confines of forgotten ways. Mile after mile of cave and cavern pass behind them, and ever they delve deeper into the earth. They would be hopelessly lost long ago if it wasn’t for Stone Bear’s spirit guide Elder giving directions.

Moving at close to sixty miles an hour, the group roars down a bone-dry waterfall and out into a long-deserted settlement. They slow; it is cold here, and dusty structures suddenly loom over them claustrophobically. It’s not a pleasant site.

“What used to be here?” asks Nolin. “I don’t recognize the architecture, but I hate it already.”

“Hard to say,” muses Priggle as he twists his misty body. “Nothing I’ve ever met. Look at what’s left of that statuary! It doesn’t have any eyes, but it still seems to be staring at us.”

Mara purses her lips. “There’s still a faint after-image of evil. Whatever lived here was nasty enough to actually stain the buildings they lived in.”

“Well, they’re gone now,” says Stone Bear.  “We need to go forward and head down.” The group follows the shaman to the lip of a wide stone well in the middle of the grotto. The darkness yawns emptily beneath them, and a fragile bone staircase spirals downwards out of sight.

“A bone stair?” asks Malachite skeptically. “It’s not undead, at least.” He leans over to look.  “It just keeps _going_. The bone isn’t dusty, either. Do we have to go this way?”  Stone Bear nods. 

“I think I’ll fly in mist form instead of walking it, though.”

Velendo squints and uses the _arcane vision_ that he permanently bonded to his own eyes with a _miracle._ “We all will.  It’s faintly magical, but not a type I recognize. I say we go, but be careful.” 

Everyone agrees, and the group dissolves back into mist before pouring over the pit’s edge and swirling downwards into the darkness. The bone stair is close to a thousand feet deep, and the Defenders eventually waft out of the bottom before racing onwards down a tunnel.  It’s almost five minutes later before someone notices that Nolin is missing.

*  *  *

It’s a long, slow wakening. Nolin nuzzles his nose into Telay’s warm neck, treasuring her scent, and squirms deeper into the comfortable goose-down quilt. Elsewhere in the inn the rest of his friends are probably waking up too, but there’s no need to get up until Tao comes and hammers on his door.  This is so much better than. . .

Adreneline crashes in like an ocean wave, and Nolin drags the covers off of his sleepily protesting lover as he sits bolt upright in the bed. His green eyes widen as he takes in his surroundings. His old room in the Roaring Manticore, the Defenders’ favorite inn back in Rampart? How had he gotten here? Last he remembered he had been. . . had been. . . there had been tunnels, and badness. . .

Bright autumn sunlight shines in from behind the shuttered windows. He can hear geese honking in their flight overhead and homey clattering from the kitchens downstairs.  Beside him, Telay squints and brushes auburn hair away from her eyes as she pulls herself gracefully up onto one elbow. She has a long dagger clutched in one hand; not a trusting soul, our Telay. “Nol? What is it?”

Nolin looks down and feels her skin: warm. Not undead at all. “I had something that must have been a terrible dream. But lord, it was so detailed!”

Telay grins sympathetically from within the tangle of bedclothes. “You’re probably worried about our upcoming trip to study with the lich Hagiok. It’s dangerous, but it will be worth it for the stories we’ll get.”

_That’s where I’ll get dominated and almost killed, and you’re going to get turned into undead._  Nolin closes his eyes in pain before opening them to look around suspiciously. He’s been to Eversink, and he’s been into the underdark, and he’s fought ghouls innumerable. . . but suddenly not? He checks; no half-healed scars, no familiar wounds. It feels like someone has loaded him with memories that haven’t happened, just like TomTom does to the assassin Brindle in Eversink. . . The bard blinks. But that hasn’t happened yet, either!

Confused, he looks down at Telay for support, but she has other things on her mind. He shivers as her hand strokes across his chest. He can feel her skin up against his, warm and smooth, and then the tiefling’s sharp teeth nibble one finger. She’s still half-asleep, thinks Nolin, but insistent nevertheless. The bard grins. He can panic later, right?  His sudden happy laughter fills the space between them, and they celebrate the new morning in the best way they know how.

Downstairs in the Roaring Manticore, Velendo scowls as he sets down his mug of tea. “Where the heck is Nolin? We’re meeting with that envoy from Eversink this morning. What’s-his-name…”

“Palladio, I think.” Mara sits against the wall with her mug of tea resting against her lips, cold eyes fixed on the staircase as she waits for Nolin to come downstairs. “As well as that Eversinkian woman we rescued in Mechanus. Shara.”

“Right,” says Velendo as he stuffs another cinnamon bun into his mouth. “You’g thinnmk. . .” He swallows. “You’d think he would have smelled the pastries. And these are delicious, Claris!” The gray-eyed pilgrim of Vindus nods her head in thanks as she walks past the table. “Well, we should probably wake Nolin and Telay up before breakfast is all gone. Malachite?” Velendo raises his voice again, and from the kitchen a tall servant leans bashfully out as he wipes his hands on his apron. 

“Your holiness?”

“Take these pastries up to Sir Nolin and Mistress Telay, will you? Thanks. There we go, there’s a good man.” Velendo hands over a tray, and Malachite inclines his body in a half-bow and turns to head up the stairs.

Mara sighs.

“What’s wrong, Mara?”

“Oh, Stavros’ servant just makes me sad. I heard from my church that he had wanted to be a paladin once, but he didn’t have what it takes. Not wise enough, or bright enough, or maybe just too bitter after his family was killed. It’s just too bad, is all.”  Telay’s halfling friend Agar pats Mara on the arm even as he blatantly swipes a pastry from her plate. 

“It’s okay, Mara. Some people are made to be paladins, and some are made to be servants. At least he gets treated well here.”  

Mara nods at the pastry disappearing down Agar’s throat. “I suppose so, Agar. By the way, you _do_ know there _are_ enough of those for everyone, don’t you? You don’t have to steal off of my plate.” Her voice has just a trace of friendly rebuke.

“Not once Nolin wakes up. Besides, they taste better when you filch them.” Agar grins and the paladin rolls her eyes when TomTom steals one from Velendo’s plate.

Upstairs, Malachite knocks on Nolin’s door. “Sir Nolin?”

Something that sounds like a shoe smacks against the wood inches from Malachite’s nose, and the servant recoils with a start. “Go away!” hollers Nolin from behind the door. “I’ll be down later.”

“I’ll just. . .” The servant’s face flushes with color, and he places the tray of cinnamon buns down on the floor. “I’ll just leave these out here.” He scurries away down the hall, scandalized by the sounds of merrymaking within.  Malachite comes down the stairs just as Tao walks in from outside.  

“Is he up?” asks Velendo. 

Malachite’s tries not to stammer as he beats a retreat to the kitchen. “Yes sir. You could say that. I'm sure he’ll be down directly.” 

“Nolin? What a slug-a-bed.” Tao drops into a chair and grabs some breakfast.  “I love autumn. Raevynn and I had a nice walk this morning before dawn. I’ll miss this when we have to head to Eversink in the spring.”

“It will be spring there as well. You’ll just have less forest paths and more canals.” A man standing behind Tao in the doorway extends his hands outwards in a foreign sign of greeting. “Once again, I am Palladio of House Roaringbrook. I’ve brought the materials we need to go over before your diplomatic trip.”

“Oh, good. The High Magus Arcade Deltarion and his wife Lady Adrianna are outside in the courtyard. Kiri should teleport in any time now. We should be able to start in a few minutes.”

"I hope we like Eversink," comments Tao. "It'll be a nice change of pace. I just hope we don't have to get involved with local politics." Everyone agrees.

Fifteen minutes later Nolin makes his grand entrance, a half-eaten cinammon bun in one hand and his lover Telay uncharacteristically holding onto the other.  He looks out onto the familiar inn room. They’d burned down this tavern at least twice in the decade before buying it themselves to use as their headquarters. Now many of his old friends were here, even TomTom and Kiri and Arcade. . . the bard shakes his head. This is wrong. He can clearly remember the battle of Mrid, and the recent confrontation with the demigoddess Halcyon, and the death of Imbindarla; there isn’t a chance that it was somehow a dream! Worst of all, he remembers that Telay should now be a vampire.

He glances up to see Mara’s deep blue eyes boring into him, and Lady Adrianna is staring oddly at Telay. Huh. Odd, but the least of his worries.  Pausing on the stairs, Nolin clears his throat melodically.  “Good morning, everyone. Does anyone besides myself think that we shouldn’t be here?”

Everyone looks at Nolin, and Velendo makes a grumpy noise from deep in his skinny chest. “If you mean ‘we should have finished breakfast half an hour ago and gotten to work,’ then I’d agree with you. Otherwise, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Malachite comes out of the kitchen. “Sir, can I get you something to eat and drink?”

Nolin’s jaw drops. “Malchite,” he says evenly, “why are you serving food?”  The tall servant looks uncomfortable. 

“Because it’s my job, sir.”

At his side, Telay looks at Nolin oddly. “It’s been his job for years. Stavros hired him not long after we first met in Sigil. You know that.”

“I do? Sure.” Nolin catches her eye, and thinks again how wonderful it is to have her standing at his side. He decides to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open for a few minutes until he can figure out what’s going on.

Telay looks at him. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I think so. I’m sort of in disbelief.”

“Nolin, come sit over here.” Mara pats the chair next to her and flashes a dazzling smile. Instead Nolin takes a seat across the long table and Telay sits next to him. The tiefling shoots Mara a smug look, and Mara scowls jealously. The bard doesn’t notice, and the group begins to discuss future plans for Eversink. Eventually, Nolin changes the subject.

“How about the White Kingdom?”

Putting down a drink, Malachite shivers. “I heard about that, Sir Nolin. I’m glad I won’t have to go. Sounds awful.”

Telay grins. “It’s the curse of being a sensate; I want to go for exactly that reason.” Across the table, Mara rolls her eyes.

“Don’t put yourself out.” 

“Heh. You’d like me to not be there, wouldn’t you?” Telay leans provocatively over the table. “You’d like that. But it’s not going to happen.”

“What a. . .” whispers Adrianna, Arcade’s wife, to no one in particular. Nolin looks from woman to woman in confusion as awkward silence fills the room.

 “Come on, Mara,” urges Tao as she grabs the paladin by the arm. “Let’s go for a short walk.”

“I think so.” Mara is clearly offended by something, but Nolin still isn’t sure exactly what. Telay gives them a little friendly wave as they go. The door swings shut behind them as everyone else turns to the bard.

“Don’t worry, Nolin.” Telay stretches, cat-like. “She’s just jealous. It happens.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

Velendo turns to the bard, hands spread wide as he gesticulates. “You want it out in the open? Fine, because you’re being a real jerk to her. Nolin, Mara is jealous of Telay. That’s hardly surprising, considering that you seduced her. And now you’re throwing Telay in her face.”

Nolin’s jaw drops. “I did what? I slept with her? I don’t remember!”

The beautiful paladin is framed by the window where she’s been eavesdropping, her face suffused by fury and hurt. “You don’t remember? *You don’t remember?*” Mara leans forward into the room in order to shout into Nolin's face.  *“Was I so forgettable?” *

Telay takes three steps towards her, perhaps to try and calm her down, and Mara punches the tiefling in the face. It turns out that breaking hearts and breaking noses sound about the same.

*  *  *

The Defenders _wind walk_ back the way they came as quickly as possible, Agar's _true seeing_ scouring the walls for any sign of Nolin. They finally find him near the middle of the bone staircase that spirals dizzily upwards.

"Ye Gods!" yells Agar over the mindlink. "He's here, and he's still in the windwalk's mist form. But he's not conscious."

"What's wrong with him?" asks Mara from the bottom of the stairs.

Agar pauses, trying to steady his voice. "The mist is streaming from his body into the staircase itself. I think. . . I think the stair is trying to eat him."

_To be continued…_


----------



## Jobu

LightPhoenix said:
			
		

> All right, so Malachite went from being a strong-willed paladin to a meek servant, Mara went from chaste to a jealous lover, Tao and Raevynn seem more serene (and Tao is already a Divine Agent?), and Agar is a rogue now?



Tao wasn't so much serene.  She took Mara outside the Inn to have a "Love Sucks" conversation...and to stop her from killing Telay.  Tao and Telay have a history too......which still gets right under Nollin's nose 
I can't explain how much FUN this run was.  Watching KidC SO confused and flustered.  Of course her strangeling me after the run was over was not as enjoyable.


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## jonrog1

Ah, I finally get to see how another group handled this trick.  I've got an insanely evil RBDM variant I'm going to try in Dark*Matter soon ... Of course, it sounded like KidC handled things a little better than Jo, but then again, Nolin's just in the past -- Jo thought she was going crazy in REAL LIFE.  Annnnd she may have been a little drunk.  A little.

As always, a pleasure to read.


----------



## SilverLizard

Long time lurker, delurking to ask... can anyone say Red Dwarf?   

<insert usual adulation for all PKitty's work>

<insert additional slavering praise of Jonrog's Dark*Matter story hour>

Great to see my two favourite story hours merging for a while!


----------



## Piratecat

This update was appended to on 1/12; if you reread it before then, you'll want to reread the last half.

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

Agar takes a breath and stares down through the gloom towards Velendo.  “Okay, no one panic. How do we get him out of there?”

“Well, if we just dispel the _wind walk_, we’ll turn him solid – but we won’t be able to travel quickly for the rest of the day.” He chews his lip. “I don’t want to save Nolin in a way that makes us too late to stop the Ivory King.”

“Well, we’ve better try something.” Galthia eyes Nolin’s disappearing body with concern. “We don’t have much time.”

YOU WILL DO NOTHING HERE.  The voice is whispering, flat, expressionless.

*  *  *

With Tao leading Mara outside to calm down and Telay – nose healed – busy telling entertaining stories next to the bar, Velendo takes Nolin aside. “Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need to be a lot more discreet. It’s not just Mara; if Arcade finds out about Adrianna, he’s going to literally try to kill you.”

Nolin blinks. “What about Adrianna?” Velendo’s face betrays his long-suffering exasperation.

“What, do you think we don’t know? Nolin, you must have a thing for paladins. You seduced her a few months ago, just before you put another notch on your belt with Mara. They’re both in love with you, and you’ve made it clear that Telay is the only woman you _really_ want. How do you suppose they feel?”

Nolin gapes. “I. . . what?” He shoots a guilty look over at Arcade, laughing with TomTom as he sips a Griffin Grog across the tavern. Adrianna is also sitting at the table, and catches Nolin’s eye with a serious and unblinking stare. Nolin breaks off eye contact and turns back to Velendo. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“This so isn’t happening.” He turns to Velendo suspiciously. “What about Tao, or Claris?”

“What about them?”

“Phew. Good; even in this world, I know better than to try and seduce Tao.”

Velendo narrows his eyes. “You’re not making sense. Look, you have everything going for you here. Women seem to love you, you’ve got good friends, you’re famous and we’ve got lots of treasure. Can’t you just be happy with that? Why do you keep trying to sabotage your happiness?”  Behind him, Mara and Tao reenter the tavern. Mara catches Telay’s eye and fakes going for her weapons, trying to get the bard to flinch. Nolin sees this and quietly bangs his head on the table once or twice before standing up.

*  *  *

“Holy cow! It talks!” Proty takes to the air as Agar backs away from the staircase.

HE IS YOUR PAYMENT FOR PASSAGE.

“What are you talking about?”

ALWAYS THIS HAS BEEN TRUE. FOR PASSAGE TO OCCUR, THE PRICE MUST BE PAID. THE PRICE IS KNOWLEDGE. 

“Uh huh. So. . . what do you want to know?” Agar’s voice is hopeful and optimistically cheery.

EVERYTHING.

Mara calls up from the ground. “I’m not so sure we can help you with that.”

WE CAN NOT HAVE EVERYTHING, AT LEAST AT ONCE. BUT WE CAN HAVE MY PAYMENT.

Galthia frowns. “And that is Nolin?”

THE MOST KNOWLEDGEABLE OF THOSE WHO PASS CEASES HIS PREVIOUS EXISTENCE AND ADDS HIS MEMORY TO OURS. WE ARE STRENGHTENED AS WE LEARN. THIS IS AS IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN. IT IS WHY WE WERE CONSTRUCTED.

“Well, what if we don’t want to pay you with Nolin?”

HE IS THE PAYMENT. 

“Okay, enough of this.” Velendo sounds frustrated and worried. “This thing is evil, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” confirms Mara.

“Good. Then a _dispel evil_ should disrupt the spell and free Nolin from its control. Someone get ready to catch him if he falls.” Velendo prays, and the divine energy that his faith summons arcs into the bone staircase. The pit falls into silence.

“Well?”

Agar sounds near panic. “No change, and he’s almost gone!”

*  *  *

“Everyone! Pay attention! Something is wrong here.”

“You mean besides you being with this plane-hopping slut?” Mara, radiant in the sunlight, hooks a thumb at Telay and shakes her head at Nolin’s taste. 

Telay smiles back at her sweetly, but there’s an evil glint in her cat-like eyes and her voice drips with treacle.  “I’ve written a new song all about you, dear. Care to hear it?” The sensate reaches for her mandolin.

Nolin interrupts, voice tense with worry. “Enough! This isn’t happening, and you aren’t here. I don’t understand why, but this isn’t the world I know. Mara, I’ve never slept with you.”

Mara stands up straight, pride keeping her from losing control of her emotions. Her face flushes with color.  “You wouldn’t have said that at the time.” The sunlight playing across her from the open window suddenly dims.

“No, I’m not denying this because I didn’t enjoy it.” A tiny lascivious glint sparkles in Nolin’s green eyes. “I mean it never really happened. In the real world, it’s more than a year later than it is right here. We’ve fought terrible foes, and we’re still at it. One of them must be doing this to me. I love it here, and I hate where I am in the real world. . . but where we are right now, I think it isn’t anywhere but inside my head. I can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”  He looks around at his friends.

“Malachite, in the real world you’re a powerful paladin and a dedicated killer of undead. Here you’re a servant. I’ve never slept with _any_ paladins, and Telay. . .” His eyes lock with the beautiful woman that he’s known for years. He lifts his head and juts out his jaw, perhaps to try and hide his true emotions. “You’ve been killed by something stupid I’ve done. I can’t run away from that.”

It is clear that a sudden storm has blown up outside the Manticore. As Nolin talks, a sudden storm gust rips away part of the wall. He stands in warmth, in light, surrounded by friends – and outside, the cruel storm pounds down, darkness and cold hammering into anyone fool enough to expose themselves to it. It would be death to enter.

Palladio shakes his head. “Don’t be a fool,” he whispers.

A few tears run down Nolin’s face. He takes a second to lock the image of Telay’s smile into his brain, forever burning it into his memory, and he turns his back and takes his first unsteady step away from his friends.  Then another, and another after that, and none of them get any easier than the first.  No one tries to stop him as he walks outside, from safety into the storm.

*  *  *

“We’ve got him!” screams Agar. Malachite and Galthia catch the unconscious bard before he falls to the hard ground far below. Quickly, before the bone staircase can retaliate, they flee the pit into the relatively safe tunnels beyond.

“Do we go back and destroy it?” asks Priggle.

Mara and Malachite look at one another. “No,” answers Malachite slowly. “We don’t know its capabilities or defenses. We have to stay focused on our goal.” The others reluctantly agree.

Nolin comes back to consciousness, weeping quietly.

“Nolin?” Mara puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“No, I’m not okay!” He lifts his head angrily, eyes full of self-loathing, and shakes off Mara’s proffered hand. “You don’t want to touch me.”

Velendo sits tiredly down on a rock. “Why? What happened to you?”

“I just got shown a vision of what I’m truly like. A petty, selfish womanizer.”

“Really.” Malachite’s voice is carefully neutral in tone.

“Yes, really.” Nolin’s tone is bitter as he drops his eyes again. “In my vision, Malachite, you were just a servant – probably because I never wanted you to be anything more than that. I had slept with multiple women and left them. I’m certainly my father’s son.” He looks up. “Mara, I slept with you and dumped you for Telay. You like me now?”

Mara’s face flushes with color. “Oh, my. Really? With me?” 

“Oh, yeah. And Lady Adrianna, my best friend’s wife. And Telay.” Nolin buries his face in his hands. “I can’t do this. I’m no use to anybody.”

Malachite fights off the urge to rub his temples. With the group so close to the end, this is no time for low morale.  The chain cannot afford a weak link like this, and if Nolin breaks then he’ll drag the rest of the group down with him.  "This has to stop," he begins saying, loud enough only for those nearby to hear. "This has to stop."

Over Nolin’s self-pity, Galthia turns to Malachite and says “Then stop it.”

Malachite pauses for a few seconds before recognizing the truth of the statement. He’ll have to start out somewhat confrontational in order to get Nolin’s attention, and then soften up as he goes along; last time he tried this, Nolin threw a tantrum and stormed out of the room.He takes a breath and jumps in with the words that he’s been swallowing for months.

“When is this going to stop?” interrupts Malachite.

Nolin has no idea what Malachite is talking about. He looks over at him angrily, already beginning to take umbrage. “Hah. I got my lover turned into undead. I managed to turn you against me. What would you like me to stop first?”

Malachite doesn’t take the bait. “When will you see yourself like others do?  Do you not see how others look at you?  The way crowds hang on your voice, the way he,” he nods at Agar, “follows you?  The way those kobolds picked up on your words and ran with them?

“You have within you such potential.  There is a hero within you, a leader who can right wrongs and who can inspire others to greatness. But there's something holding him back, and that something **is you**. You repeatedly kick yourself for your own worthlessness.  And you let yourself lapse because, well, that's all anyone expects from old worthless Nolin, and then later you recriminate yourself for what you did, proving your own worthlessness, and the cycle continues.  You think you're no better than your father, so you don't have to act any different than he does.  And you are so much more the man than your father is."

Nolin first sneers at the thought, but his face hold the tentative promise of redemption as he locks eyes with Malachite. “Hardly.” His voice is unsteady, uncertain.

“If you could find that source within you -- that compass -- and follow it, if you'd become what you could be, not what you've convinced yourself you are.” His voice resonates in the cave, and he spreads his arms in emphasis.  “That strength would radiate out to others.  The world is going to need leaders, and need heroes.  A plague is coming, and the world will need people to get out the news of how to stop it.  People will listen to you, if you'd just have the faith in yourself to lead them."

Malachite can see Nolin beginning to bridle, beginning to gather all the excuses he’s learned to live with. The bard is taking this as a browbeating, which isn’t how Malachite intends it, so he tries to shift gears.

“Nolin, I'm trying to *help* you.  There is a terrible storm coming, and the largest raindrop this world has ever seen is about to hit the ground.  I'm trying to find you shelter.  The 'flame of faith' will save us, and you think you're not worthy of faith – ”

Nolin corrects Malachite. “Not to offend you, but I’ve never found any god.” He smiles wryly. “I’m not really big on faith.”

"Not everyone believes, Nolin.  Many people in the Church of Aeos sit in the pews, attend services, say their 'Dawn to dusk he lights our path', and don't really have the faith."

Nolin is surprised. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

Velendo shifts on his rock. “That’s me you’re describing. I lived more than fifty years without real faith. Oh, sure, I _believed_, in the same way you believe that you’re going to have breakfast. But Calphas had other plans for me.” He risks a dirty look up at the ceiling. “When he called me, I was angry. Why me? Who was he to interfere my simple life? But he had a plan for me. Faith usually comes, Nolin, when you’re looking for it least.”

Malachite steps back in. “Many people in the churches are there not because they *have* faith, but because they're trying to find it.  Or they're there to be part of the community, or they're just playing it safe.  If you had some simple sign of faith, something, even if just to play it safe, it might keep you from the coming troubles.”

Nolin breaths deeply, trying to regain control. He angrily rubs his hand against his eyes as he looks across the group of his friends surrounding him. “Faith.” He considers the word. “If I have to have faith in anything, I think I could have faith in all of you. In us. And in the phoenix inside of me.”

Mara looks at him, pity in her eyes. “There are worse things to have faith in, Nolin.” 

He nods and claps one hand on Agar’s shoulder before standing up. Agar’s small fingers grasp Nolin’s, and Proty flits over to cuddle against the bard’s cheek.

“Let’s get going.” He glances nervously back to where the bone staircase was, totally missing the words that Mara is silently mouthing in astonishment.

“Nolin? And _me?_” She shakes her head in disbelief as they get ready to move out. Next to her, Tao snickers.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

WizarDru said:
			
		

> So, exactly what did the stairs do?  I guess I'm still trying to understand the price of passage.  Was it to try and absorb Nolin's information by proxy, or to just occupy his mind while it worked on him?  Was it devouring him, somehow, or something else?
> 
> From a mechanics standpoint, was this more of a fait accompli, or was there an actual roll involved beforehand? (_neither of which is a bad approach, I'm just curious, you understand_).




It was devouring him. In order to take someone, though, it had to be a voluntary choice to stay in the perfect mental world created by the staircase's intelligence.  It was a little like deliberately choosing whether to pass or fail your saving throw, based on what actions who chose and how much you resisted. Nolin really settled in at first, so there wasn't too much of him left by the time the Defenders returned. Their _dispel evil_ shook up "reality" enough for Nolin to get another choice.

When they had originally been built, thousands of years ago, the stairs just took a memory from the mind of the most knowledgeable person who descended them at any one time; it would put the memory into the head of a person who climbed the stairs. Since they were roughly a thousand feet tall, this was understandably a difficult pilgrimage - but the dwellers there could learn information that would be available in no other way, since the stairs also devoured any village wise man who was elderly and close to death. 

Over time, their purpose changed a little. You know how it is; alone in the dark, no one to talk to. They can probably be excused for getting a bit eccentric.

Quick update coming right up, bringing us to the end of that gaming session.


----------



## Piratecat

The long and twisting tunnel gradually widens as it flattens, showing signs of being worked by intelligent hands. The designs carved into the rock are hideous to everyone but one particular member of the group.  “Look everyone, another tentacle!”

“We saw, Agar.”

“And look how it’s attached to this carved monster’s head! Fascinating bilateral dissymetry. Not something you normally find in nature, all things considered.” He draws on his pipe in contentment and lets out a stream of fragrant smoke.

“We _saw,_ Agar.”

“This is the work of _dominated_ slaves,” declares Galthia. “Probably dwarven and gnomish. Definitely mind flayer architecture. Be on your guard.” 

“What can we do about them?” asks Agar. “My brain is precious to me.”

Velendo harrumphs worriedly. “I’ve been worrying about this for more than a week. _Protection from evil_ is important, as is anything that can beef up our will power. What we want is to avoid being _dominated_ and stunned by their mind blasts.”

Galthia’s normally laconic voice is tense. “I knew fellow monks who were killed when my people attacked this illithid city years ago. If there are any mind flayers left now that the ghouls attacked them, I’m looking forward to repaying some debts.”

They fly through similar tunnels for more than fifteen minutes, Stone Bear passing on the travel directions given to him by his spirit guide. Ahead of them, the tunnel finally rises to a wide and flat ramp. At the top of the ramp is a cave opening that looks like a beaked maw – and behind that, darkness.

“Stop, everyone,” says Velendo. “We need to examine this.” The group solidifes back into solid form, and both Agar and Velendo scrutinize the door. Stone Bear joins them.

“Definitely magical,” says Velendo as he uses his _arcane sight._  “What are these bone bowls that have been inserted into the stone all around the opening? There must be twenty of them.”

“Skulls,” answers Galthia flatly. “Pried open skulls.”

“Oh. Right. Uck.”

“I’m seeing substantial amounts of abjuration, conjuration and necromancy magic,” reports Agar. “_True seeing_ is telling me that this is definitely locked off from casual entry. This is psionics, so I’m not sure exactly what they’ve done to keep people out.”

“So you don’t see them?” asks Stone Bear, surprised. “Or hear them?”

“See what?”

He looks around in surprise, eye sockets shadowed. “The ghosts that are trapped in the doorway.”  His raven caws uneasily, the harsh shriek startling several people.  

There’s a moment of silence. “No,” says Velendo slowly, “I think it’s fair to say that we don’t see any ghosts.”

“I can detect them, though,” says Malachite. “My detection powers are working right now, and there is definitely undead there. Think the ghouls did this?”

“Or the mindflayers. Or ghoulish mindflayers; how’s that for a fun idea?”

“They’ve been bound there somehow,” says Stone Bear. “I can hear them screaming. That’s their skulls which are imbedded in the stone, and the bone is keeping the spirits in place. They won’t want to let anyone in.” He frowns. “I think they’re hungry for life energy. They don’t like us.”

Galthia takes a deep breath before stating the obvious. “They’re githzerai ghosts?”

“No. Mindflayer ghosts.” 

Everyone turns to stare at the shaman.  Velendo sounds incredulous. “They killed their own people for a door lock?”

Stone Bear shrugs, still feeling the hatred streaming from the entrance. “Apparently.”

Tao snorts. “Charming. I’m sick of this place. Think we can _turn_ them now, please?”

“I doubt it,” muses Velendo. “They’d think of that. I think I know what we _can_ do, though. I’m going to cast _dispel evil_ on it. That should remove any evil spell holding the spirits in place. Then you folk need to _turn_ them. All ten of us ready?” 

_“No.”_ thinks Burr-Lipp as he hops forward. _“I like fighting things that bleed when I stab them. Anyways, there are twelve of us. Eleven if you don’t count Cruciel.”_

Velendo frowns. “I wasn’t counting her. Who’d I miss?”

Priggle sighs.

“Oh, right. Sorry, Priggle. Let’s get this over with.” With careful timing, Velendo casts as Malachite _turns_ – and the spirits are scattered, screaming, blasted away from the entrance portal by holy energy. From somewhere inside some sort of discordant alarm begins keening, quickly followed by another one farther away.

“Quickly, everyone!” warns Agar. “The magic is already repairing itself. We need to get through.”

Stone Bear agrees. “I don’t want to be standing right there when the spirits are dragged back.” The group rushes through into a nightmare of stone and slime. 

No mindflayers are in sight. The Defenders stand at one end of a huge cavern that arcs out of sight overhead, the ground sticky beneath their feet. Near them, a hideous flesh-tree made from psionically melded living creatures has set up a terrible howl. The noise slithers into the ear, confusing and disrupting concentration. Nolin reacts by setting up a counter-melody. His rollicking song doesn’t echo in the huge space, but it strikes some chord in the near-ruined brains of the treelike flesh sculpture, and it falls silent. A similar creation farther away keeps wailing.

Nolin looks around as his song ends. “Some mindflayer thinks himself an artist and a musician. I think there are dozens of these flesh-trees, and I’m pretty sure that each one is tuned to scream at a different pitch. Music, alarm system, art and horrible torture all rolled into one. Charming.”

Tao blinks. “I can feel something trying to burrow through my mind. It’s like this whole place is alive. I hope - ”  The divine agent is interrupted by her eyes glowing vibrant green, and a glorious voice cascades from her mouth.

_Tao Camber, my Knight of the Horn. The time has come, for they rise up against us. Here you are needed, but in your sanctuary on the surface a horde of creatures approach the Al’Quith with torch and axe. Where will you choose to go?_  It is the voice of Galanna, her goddess.

Tao doesn’t even hesitate as she turns to the others. “It’s time. You can get on without me here, but I’m needed on the surface if I'm going to save my temple. They can’t burn down the holy tree, and Raevynn and our acolyte will need help.”

“Go, Tao,” says Velendo. “I won’t pretend that we’re not going to miss you horribly, but you need to do what’s best for you.” He hugs her, and many of the other Defenders follow his example. Tao specifically remembers to say goodbye to Priggle in particular.

“There’s one thing I can do before I go,” says Tao with a grin. “Wouldn’t you say that those wailing flesh-sculptures are abominations?”  She brings out her rod of true nature and holds it over her head. It flashes green and gold, life energy surging out of it. When the light fades, every flesh-pillar within sight has been transformed to an actual, living tree.

Tao gives a nod of satisfaction, smiles, and dissolves into a puddle of water. In the silence that follows, Nolin slaps the side of his head. 

"What?" asks Mara.

Nolin sighs in mock exasperation. "We forgot to borrow her unneeded magic items."

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

“First things first. I’ll cast _magic circle of protection_, and everyone should plan to stay within ten feet of me. That way our brains won’t squirt out our ears.”

“Good plan.”  Priggle looks discomfited. “But I’ll have to scout ahead.”

“You’ll get one of your own, Priggle. You’re too important to lose.” 

The deep gnome looks slightly mollified by this vote of confidence, and Velendo casts his spells. Agar immediately gets a horrified look on his face.  “Aaah!”

“What?”

“Umm. . . I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you hear that buzzing noise in our brains? It’s some sort of mental energy that’s breaking down our protection spells.”

Velendo’s bald head snaps up. “What, already?”

The alienist nods. “Not right away, but pretty steadily. The _protection from evil_ will be gone within a minute or two. Priggle’s is breaking down, too.” He swallows. “I can’t _begin_ to tell you how unhappy this makes me.”

Galthia looks at him with a hint of worried humor, almost a first for the githzerai.  “Oh, I can begin to tell you.”

“I better get moving.” Priggle slides into the darkness ahead. His telepathic voice whispers back, slightly crackly and hard to understand from psionic static.  “I’m now about sixty feet ahead of you, heading downhill. There’s a huge cliff ahead, but the ground drops away before then. I’ll see what’s ahead.” 

Priggle sneaks away, sliding through the deep shadow like a wraith. “I’ve just passed the last of the trees. The stone dips down here, and there’s a bridge with some dark fluid on either side. I can’t see into those dark holes yet but I can hear liquid. Hang on. . .  Okay. The water – or whatever it is - is black, viscid and greasy; it looks like there’s tendrils in it. It sounds like blood dripping, and smells horrible. I think it's steaming a little.”  His mental voice is phlegmatic, as if this sort of thing happens to him all the time.

Mara’s face twists. “Did you say tendrils?”  

Agar perks up. “This gets better all the time.”

“Don’t investigate it!” Velendo is emphatic over the mindlink. “We don’t need it trying to eat you, or something horrible like that.”

Priggle’s voice becomes almost mournful as he replies. “It probably wouldn’t even like how I taste. No one ever does.” He takes a second to rethink his comment before continuing. “I’ll wait for you here while you catch up. There’s something down there near the base of the bridge. It looks like a big walking brain. Like if you took a person and replaced their flesh with brain. It has legs.”

Galthia tries to clarify. “It’s a brain shaped into the form of a humanoid?”

“Yes.”

Agar looks ill. “Wonderful.”

“Maybe we can tell it to let us pass, and that we won’t cause any more damage.”

“I’m not so sure that’ll help, Velendo.” Agar rubs his chin. “I wonder if that’s what is powering all this psionic energy.” They begin moving towards it.

“Is it a construct?” asks Mara.

Velendo thinks about it. “Maybe it’s a brain golem?” Everyone rolls their eyes at that possibility.

They move carefully forward across the sticky stone, making sure that they can’t easily get knocked into the river of fluid nearby. Ahead of them they can hear the same sort of terrible keening that had disappeared when Tao turned all of the flesh sculptures into trees.  “Waaaaaaaaaaeeeeoo.”  The sound skitters across the stone, burrowing into synapses and triggering headaches.

Velendo sighs. “This is horrific. This is the grossest place we’ve been.”

“You always say that.” Nolin blinks. “Hey! Are you suddenly finding it easier to see?” He looks up and sees a light source on the ceiling swaying downwards towards them. To the bard it looks almost as if a drop of clear syrup was dribbling from a pitcher – only the blob of syrup is greenish-white, the size of a large cow, and shedding a pale illumination as it dribbles downwards from the roof above. 

“That’s a blob of gel-like ectoplasm,” identifies Galthia. “They can use it to kill, capture, or simply illuminate.”  Mara uses her radiant knight abilities to _channel the sun._ Even as the sunlight bolsters the group’s armor, Agar can’t help but notice that their _circle of protection_ is falling and their _mindlink_ has been pierced in five or six places by inquisitive psionic feelers. 

“We’re being listened to,” warns the halfling. “I can’t drop the _mindlink_, so just be aware that we’re compromised.”

“Let’s hope they can’t read minds through that thing,” hazards Velendo in a vain fit of optimism. “We should probably wait here and see if the bridge-thing or the ceiling-thing do anything.”

Priggle’s voice sounds wearily in their heads. “Then I’ll just stay here with the oozing ectoplasm.”

“Nah, we’re coming for you, Priggle. First, though, that damn keening is giving me a headache.”   Nolin tries to counter the tuneless song that keeps getting underneath their fingernails and eyelids. He isn’t especially successful.

Velendo focuses his attention outwards and thinks over the mindlink, “I know you’re listening to this. All we want to do is pass through and not cause any more trouble.” His voice is resigned, knowing that he isn’t going to have any success. “If you just let us go, that will be best for everyone. If you launch any kind of ambush or attack, in the best case for you a lot of you are going to die. But we don’t want any of that. We just want to pass through.”

The flat response comes unexpectedly. *“Greetings. You have healing magics available.”*

Velendo raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Are you asking me or telling me?”  Nothing. “Do you need healing?”

*“Answer the question.”*

“Why does it matter to you? I’d like to answer, but not if you’re going to use the information for some plot to hurt us.”  He can feel something squirming around in his brain as the voice speaks; not taking residence, but there none the less.  

He makes a noise in exasperation. “Answer the question,” suggests Agar at his elbow.

“Yes, I have healing magic.”

*“You heal us and you may pass freely, despite what we have said before.”*

“And how do I know you aren’t lying?”  There is no answer.  “What are you suffering from?”

The powerful mental voice tastes like aluminum in his brain.  *“You will see.”*

“And what will you do after I heal you, assuming that I do?”

Malachite’s voice is worried as he breaks in. “Velendo, we can’t make a promise untiil we know. . .”

*“I will allow you to pass freely.”*

“And what then?”

*“Seal the way behind you.”*

Silence. Then Velendo whispers hopefully to the Defenders, “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Malachite nods his head. “Not if we’re being followed. Which we are.”

Velendo thinks of the obvious loophole. “All of us? Or just me?”

*“There is one amongst you who belongs to us.”*

The cleric responds flatly.  “No deal.”

There is a long pause.  *“We will consider.”*

Meanwhile, Agar notices that the brainlike guardian of the bridge in psionically intertwined with the bridge itself. “Either the bridge disappears when that thing dies, or the brain golem can probably take the bridge down,” he points out in concern.  

By now the shining drop of ectoplasm has descended to nearly forty feet above them, and is bouncing slightly as it sheds greenish-white light. Velendo tries to ignore it. “Well, we don’t intend to cross the bridge.”  He focuses back on the mind link. “While you’re considering, what is your relationship with the forces of undead down here?”

*“You have already been informed of that.”*

“We've been told two different things at different times. So no, we don’t have any solid information either way.”

*“Reveal.”* There is an interogative in Velendo’s mind. Velendo mentally responds.

“We have some evidence that there is an elder brain who has been turned to undead, and that would lead us to believe that all the mindflayers are controlled by undead or even are undead. On the other hand, we know that the mindflayers fought against the undead, and at least one mindflayer has told us that you fought off the ghouls successfully and are now defending this area. We don’t know which report is true.”

*“The infection has been contained, but must be reversed.”*

“Is that what you want me to heal?”

*“Indeed.”*

Agar taps his finger against his chin as he muses. “An undead elder brain. . .”

Like smaller crystals off a larger chandelier, lesser blobs of solidified thought are dribbling down from the dangling blob of ectoplasm. Those smaller drops of fluid are glowing as well.

Galthia suspiciously manifests _combat prescience_, sensing the weak spots of the people around him, even as Velendo responds to the voice on the mindlink. 

“My inclination is to help you. Our primary enemy right now, the ones we are focused on, are the undead. That is the reason that any of our number staying behind is *not* negotiable. We need them to continue fighting the undead after we leave.”

The voice is dismissive. *“The undead are contained. They may not pass this way again.”*

“The undead are causing other problems for other people, and those problems are our problems.”

*“And that is a concern of ours?”*

Velendo’s smile is humorless.  “It is if you want me to heal you, yes. It seems as if everyone’s problems are intertwined with everyone else’s these days.”

*“Your options are heal us and pass, or do not heal us and perish.”*

“Well, we can heal you and pass, if *all* of us pass.” Mara’s musical voice is emphatic.

Malachite nods. “In addition, we can not guarantee that our healing will be successful until we know the nature of the malady. We will certainly attempt a cure, but we can not guarantee success.”

*“Indeed.”* Pause. Galthia feels something squirming around in his head, and racial memory triggers something close to panic. *“You are of the slave race.”*

Galthia refuses to answer. He swallows the horrible anger boiling inside of him, refusing to give in to racial instinct.

*“Why have you returned here?” *

“There are no slaves.”

*“Untrue.”* He feels it squirming around, trying to find a foothold.

His voice is measured, deceptively calm. “You might as well leave. You will find nothing to grab hold of here.”

*“Do you not wish to give yourself willingly?”* The mental voice sounds somewhat surprised.

“No githzerai gives himself willingly.”

*“Untrue. But you are to be the exception.”* It sounds amused.

Velendo’s voice has a core of iron. “He’s under my protection.” His shield thrums in accompaniment.

The mental voice is thoughtful. *“If you attempt the healing, and it is unsuccessful, he will be claimed. If you attempt the healing, and it is successful, he may pass as well.”*

“No deal.” Malachite’s voice is quiet.

*“Then there is no deal.”*

“I’m confident,” Velendo tells his companions as he shifts his shield.

“Right. We lose nothing by agreeing, comparitively speaking,” points out Agar.  “We should try.”  The cleric and both paladins look at him.

“If we agree, we agree. It is not my intention to betray it,” begins Velendo with some heat, but Malachite reaches out a hand to stop him.

“No, Agar’s correct. We can give our best effort. Attempting to heal it and failing is the same as not accepting the offer,” he explains. “It puts us exactly where we are now, under threat of death. We lose nothing by attempting to help.”  _Other than aiding something evil,_ he thinks to himself. _But he can solve that problem after we finish with the White Kingdom, one way or the other._

A second huge glob of crystallized thought begins to coalesce on the ceiling. 

Velendo takes a deep breath and addresses the unseen voice. “I suspect that there are no proofs that you can give that you will keep your word in this. I’m going to trust you anyways and simply warn you that if I heal you and it is successful, and you attempt to prevent us from leaving. . .”

*“We did not want you here in the first place. You were informed that you were not allowed. You chose to break through the barriers.”* It sounds slightly petulant.

“Yes. We need to pass to the other side. We need to brook as little delay as possible.” One of the little tiny crystal things hits the ground nearby and sizzles slightly; it appears to be made out of translucent fluid-filled stone, and the oozing crystal picks up the sunlight streaming from Mara and reflects it outwards. Mara catches little tiny glimpses of herself in the ectoplasm, almost as if there were thousands of mirror facets within it.

*“Proceed.”*


_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

“So we proceed.” Velendo casts a _flexible wall_ to make his own bridge next to the dangerous existing one, and the group slowly crosses over the chasm of fluid. 

As he crosses, Galthia glances up at the looming brain-like sentinel. Doing so creates a feeling not unlike an electric shock. Reality tumbles away with a hideous lurch, and Galthia suddenly finds himself in a psionic mindscape. He is perched on the side of a huge underground mountain, arrayed for psionic battle as his flesh is stripped from him and he is reduced to a shimmering entity of willpower and purpose.  Ahead of him is the huge creature that dragged him here, the loathsome essence of the brain golem: twelve or fifteen different personalities all crammed into the same body, all aligned to one fell purpose. The mark of the mindflayers is all over this creature, and Galthia senses that one of the interwoven personalities was once a githzerai.

“Oh, lovely.”

And then the brain golem attacks. It uses empathic multiplier, taking Galthia’s own thoughts and rebuilding them, bouncing them from personality to personality to personality before reflecting them back to him ten-fold. The psionic attack shatters the acumen screen he’s quickly constructing from hardened thought, and his broken defenses open him wide to any damaging power that his opponent may choose to manifest.  Gasping, the monk drops from the mindscape back into reality.

“We may be about to be attacked.” His normally yellowish skin is pale.

Velendo’s face twists into a mixture of fury and fear. He demands into the _mindlink_, “An *absolute* absence of hostility is one part of this deal. Is that understood?”

*“Proceed.”*  The sentinel takes no further offensive actions as the group nears it.

“Is that understood?” Velendo is insistent.

He gets no answer.

“I want a yes. You will not attack us. That is part of the deal!”

The voice in his head sounds like it is belaboring the obvious.  *“If you know this, why do you ask?”*

“I _don’t _know. I want to hear you say it!”

A hint of superior amusement slips into the toneless voice.  *“We know.”*

An exasperated, long-suffering sigh huffs from Velendo. “How shall we pass this creature?”

*“Proceed.”* 

One by one the Defenders cautiously slip past on either side of the brain golem, Malachite being forced to turn sideways in order to squeeze by without touching it.  Behind the immobile creature the ground begins to rise into a near-vertical cliff face. 

Mara pats Priggle on the back. “Priggle, check it out?” Before he can, Galthia rises upwards with _levitation._  He sees a series of highlands, and past these he glimpses a huge valley with dozens of giant ectoplasmic tendrils dangling above like candles from a chandelier. In the faint greenish illumination he can see a source of water to the left, and off to the right the cavern bends out of sight a quarter mile away. He seems to be standing in some sort of guard area; more than a dozen indistinct figures float slowly across the highlands, and to Galthia's eye they appear to be levitating illithids. 

Below him in the huge valley is nestled an unnatural city. 

Stone Bear spirit guide indicates that the correct path is forward, so the rest of the adventurers are ferried up to the rocky highlands by magic or Mara's flying warhorse Luminor. From the heights the group looks down onto the distant roofs of illithid buildings. They sport odd angles, each structure hooked and triangular and round and twisted in ways which are just not attractive. From here, the structures seem to be made from a mixture of stone and crystal fluid. One large dome seems to shine like liquid diamond.

Agar beams at the sight. “Fascinating! This is new and different!”

Mara tears her eyes away in order to give him a look. “They don’t look physically possible, do they?  But they _must_ be, because they’re down there and they clearly exist. How could it be otherwise?”

“How indeed.”  Galthia leans down to whisper to Agar. “Those buildings? That’s what illithids do to your mind.”

“Eww. Less pleasant.” Still, deep inside Agar still finds this place comforting; there are no insects in sight at all, for example, and that’s a wonderful change. Proty's happy squirming echoes his mood.

From their excellent vantage point, everyone studies the area more carefully. They see liquid dribbling down into a small lake, and Priggle notices at least three illithids observing them dispassionately from hundreds of feet away. Luminescent ceiling globules dangle down over the rooftops, each slightly trembling as if actually alive.

Velendo looks at them distastefully. “Mindflayer suns.”

The heroes descend to the floor of the valley. The ground isn't fully solid.  Each person trying to move sinks up to their ankles in some sort of translucent sticky fluid, and as each foot is pulled up from the sucking ground the viscous fluid freezes in place, stretched out in tiny pinnacles and strands for a moment or so before collapsing back down into the ground. Walking is somewhat like trying to navigate deep mud or fresh caramel.

Velendo lifts up one foot and examined the clear strands of fluid dripping from his boot. “Agar, can you check that and make sure the fluid isn’t doing any harm?”

Agar squints his eyes.  “Wow, that *is* fascinating!”

“Can you stop being fascinated by it and actually do something about it!”

“Sorry. It’s some kind of incredible fluid that responds to the steps of anyone who steps in it.” He checks to see what his looks like, and is gratified that it vaguely resembles a burst of octopoidal tentacles. “Look at this! Look at it! It’s a reactive psi print that you leave behind, unique to each individual person!”

Velendo checks his. They look disturbing. As he stands there, the fluid tries to creep up his leg, so the group decides to keep moving. As they slowly proceed across the valley floor, they see dark shapes underneath the solidified ectoplasm. The shapes are a foot or two deep and may easily be rocks or even creatures, each entombed in the fluid like long-dead insects in amber. The fluid bulges in places.

“That’ll be us if we don’t keep moving.” Galthia looks around. It’s clear to him that this area has been the site of numerous fights. The githzerai can see signs of psionic residue where vast mental powers have blasted the buildings and the ground underneath it, along with more traditional signs of battle and the faint stink of ghoul. 

Malachite clears his throat. “You know the theory I had that it would take just one surgical strike into the uber-brain in order to infect it with ghoulism? This may have been the vector they came through. I’ve checked; there might be ghouls, but I can’t detect them. It smells old.”

Velendo shakes his head. “Don’t trust everything you are told. This could be a trap.” Squelch, squelch. They continue towards the dome.  The hum of psionics is almost constant at this point, a mental constant static that thrums in the back of everyone’s head. 

The group intends to stop at the entrance to the crystal dome, but there is no obvious doorway or arch. Then the wall rips open like a wound, separating itself like a mouth with strands of fluid and crystal streaming across it. They watch the strands snap back, and by the time the group gets within thirty or forty feet there is actually a circular door there beckoning them inside.

“Amazing!” Agar’s eyes widen. Velendo’s close with evident pain, and his voice is filled with resignation.

“And that of course will close behind us. This is feeling more and more trap-like all the time. Nevertheless, no hostile actions unless they force them upon us.”

Agar waves the caution away. “This whole thing is psi-active. It responds to conscious thought on a massive scale. Incredible.” To others, however, the walls remind them more of strands of mucous and phlegm, and Mara’s stomach does a slow frontward roll.

*“Proceed. We await.”*

“How many are there of you?”

*“We are all.”*

“Ah.”

Squelch. Squelch. Half the group stays outside and the other half enters the dome, stepping into a half-darkness and onto a raised platform. Eight or more illithids float above a pit, but with no visible signal the ceiling irises open and every one of the mind flayers float silently upwards out of sight. Their huge milky eyes gleam with reflected light for just a moment before they move out of sight. Then doorway and ceiling openings both close simultaneously, and the heroes inside the dome are abruptly cut off from any allies.

There’s something in the pit before them. 

Lying in a pool of psi-active mucous, glistening with its own faint greenish light, there is a 30’ long pulsing brain. Most of the right-hand side of it goes from pink to almost a greenish black, and the smell of rotting tissue is horrible. Malachite can see short grasping tentacles trying to grow out of the necrotic tissue. They twitch at the approach of life energy.

The psionic background hum drums against their ears.  The brain flesh ripples, and the Defenders of Daybreak try to take in what is in front of them.

Velendo shouts mentally to the diseased elder brain. “Is it safe for me to descend and take a closer look?”

*“We do not know. We will not purposefully attack you.” *

With _true seeing_ active, Agar can see an incessant battle of psionic energy flaring up along the borderline between healthy and diseased brain tissue. There is destruction and creation happening simultaneously. 

Velendo has to yell over the noise in his head. “We may be able to help, but we don’t want to risk destroying the ghoulish part yet! I have to probe the extent of the damage, but I’m afraid that I will be attacked. If I am, we’ll have to defend ourselves, but we will try to minimize harm to you.”

*“We accept this. It would be unwise of you to attack us.”*

“I don’t want to attack you, but there’s - ”

*“We are it. This is the problem.”*

They see little tiny white things darting around the fluid surrounding the elder brain – a little like tiny baby trilliths. They’re mostly on the healthy side.

“I’ll say it again. There are active pseudopods flailing out from the diseased part of you - ”

*“Do not let them touch you. You will cease to be of use to us.”*

“What will happen if they touch me?”

*“You will cease.”*

Velendo rubs his temples. Galthia has a wry expression on his face as he controls his disgust. “Then you won’t be of much use to us, either.”

Agar speaks slowly, thinking hard. “If you get touched by an elder brain that is undead, it will probably just annihilate your brain.” Velendo lets out another frustrated noise, lifts his head reluctantly, and the group begins to formulate a plan.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

A dozen strategies are discussed, including _Iron body _(“If it tries to eat your brain, at least it won’t get far,”) _remove disease_ (“essential,”) and _mind blank_ (“I wish we had this spell!”)  The group weighs the risk against their chance of success as they work to determine the best way of healing the massive and quivering elder brain.  Unfortunately, they're distracted somewhat by the staring corpses of githyanki and githzerai warriors that are fused into the ectoplasmic wall overhead.

“I wish I didn’t have to prod it in order to determine the damage,” worries Velendo. Small undead tentacles quiver in the rotting flesh below him.

The elder brain thunders a response. *“We will attempt to control it. the flesh... has its own life.”*

“How long do you think you control it?”

The tone is dismissive. *“Unknown.”*

Velendo makes a face. “Make a guess. You’re smart.”

*“More than you know.”*

“You guess you can control it more than we know?” Malachite asks rhetorically.

"Malachite," Velendo murmurs warningly. He turns his attention back to the elder brain. “We _know_ you’re smart, you’re a giant brain. Take a guess! We’re trying to help you here.”  As he speaks, the healthy portion at the top of the gelatinous pink brain begins weeping a white mucous-like fluid that dribbles down across the undead tissue. A thrumming psionic pulse like thoughts of broken glass stabs outwards.

“Owwwww!” 

Heroes sway, holding their head with both hands. As they pry open watering eyes, they can see that - at least for the moment - the fluid has crystalized. The tentacles are sealed behind a rigid crystal.  

"That'll do."

Velendo casts _iron body_ and _negative plane protection_ on himself before flying down into the fluid-filled pool. He fights through some sort of psionic defense as he moves close enough to  investigate the rotting tissue.  Malachite and Galthia leap down to assist, and the rest of the group readies in case of an attack.  

Mara crinkles her nose as they descend into the fluid. “You’re going to jump right down into that mucous? Is that wise?” Malachite glances back at her, eyes communicating that sometimes there are only limited choices. He then refocuses his attention on the rotting brain. 

The psychic tides this close to the monster are intense, each unintentional pulse threatening to sweep an unguarded mind away into the distant currents of insanity. Velendo’s poking and prodding reveal some exceptional discoveries. The cleric quickly realizes that an odd effect is occurring; there are visible ripples where the undead flesh and the living flesh repeatedly fight for dominance of the entity. 

“I think the undead flesh is trying to corrupt and poison the living flesh, while the living flesh is trying to continually reheal itself.” The rippled skin shudders and twitches beside him. As he looks, the labyrinthine folds of the brain tissue try to twist themselves into screaming human  faces.

Malachite’s stomach turns, but his face stays fixed in a mask of worried calm. “A positive energy burst?” 

Velendo considers as he talks to himself. “Killing and regenerating the flesh might work.  Clearly the main brain can heal it back. Best to chip away at it with lesser healing spells which weaken the undead portion?”

Agar raises a finger in objection. “Except we'd have to touch it.”

“I can heal from a distance,” points out Mara. “Healing should strengthen the healthy part even as it weakens the bad part.”  The slurrrrrrping sound from the trembling, massive brain drowns out speech for a moment, and Mara is forced to repeat herself.  “Also, I have a bow that can carry spells. We can load healing magic and cure it from a distance.”

Velendo looks at her, shocked.  “You’d have to shoot it, Mara!” 

She shrugs. “Yes, but one arrow won’t hurt it.”

“I’m not sure it wouldn’t consider that an attack.” He turns his thoughts to the elder brain. “Do you have a name I can use to address you?”

*“We are the Master here.”*

“Well, Master…”

“I won’t refer to it as that,” says Galthia flatly.

“Semantics aren’t an issue for me at the moment,” chides Velendo. “Master, would you like me to explain to you what we intend to do, or do you already know because you’re familiar with…?”  There is a sucking, draining sensation as the plan is lifted whole from Velendo’s mind. 

*“If you do not hurt our essence, you may proceed.”*

Velendo warns it. “We’re about to start to cauterize the wound. This will probably hurt. Try and fight back.”

*“That is continual.”  *

Mara starts by channeling the sun. Healing light pours out of her and splashes onto the diseased aberration. There is an an immediate backlash as the crystalline shell starts to fracture. Tentacles pop out one by one. The psychic recoil pummels everyone, and more than one person inadvertently drops to their knees. Velendo drops back as one of the spindley tentacles swings at him, dripping pus. The undead part starts to steam, and there is a slight shrieking noise. 

“What’s that?”

Velendo looks agrim. “A positive sign.” He glances over at Malachite and is horrified to see him swaying back and forth, dangling his hand and drooling slightly. His eyes are dull.

“Malachite? Malachite!” 

Malachite is not sure who is talking to him, but they look sort of familiar. Someone asks “Are you thirsty?”  Malachite struggles to focus his thoughts and respond. “It’s the thing.. I know this. The thing where we do it all together…”

Mara does another burst of healing sunlight. It screams and twitches. The undead end begins eeling out ganglia, in the same way a wisteria plant puts out sprouts to try and grab onto a climbing pole. The undead flesh is clearly trying to reach for other tissue. 

Malachite blinks and shakes his head. “We should…” He snaps his fingers. “…do that thing where we…” He snaps his fingers again, trying to remember. It’s right on the end of his… whatever that thing in his mouth is called.

“I plan to.”  Velendo hits the monster with a ranged _cure serious wounds._ There is squealing and hissing as bad tissue turns to oily steam. Mara heals it again. Between the two of them, the ganglia begin to shrivel. It’s soon clear that roots of diseased flesh have penetrated deep into the healthy brain tissue. 

Agar holds up his familiar so that the pseudonatural ball of tentacles can see what’s happening.  “What do you think, Proty?” Proty burbles happily. “You’re right, fascinating! Where else are you going to see something like this?” Proty burbles again.

Mara announces, “I’m going to touch it. I have to to remove the disease.” 

“Okay, hang on.” Velendo uses a holy power to give her a powerful, temporary resistance to the next thing that attacks her.  He then turns to the still-drooling Malachite and casts _ restoration_ on him. 

“What are you doing!” Malachite’s head snaps up, eyes clear. “What’s going on?” Suddenly he seems normal, if somewhat subdued.

“You were drooling!” 

“I wasn’t drooling!” The radiant knight burps and scratches himself. He knows that his intelligence is back to normal. He also knows that something else seems to be gone, some sort of societal reserve. . . but who needed it? Not him, that’s for sure.

Meanwhile, Mara steels herself. “Hey, big brain master! I’m going to come down and touch you to remove disease. It’s not going to hurt the healthy part of you, and hopefully –“

Malachite burps again. “Are you sure you want to touch it? Its going to screw you up.”

Mara pushes the hair out of her face and glances over at him with worry in her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“It said it would!”  More quietly he grumbles, “Sometime she can be so damn slow.”

Mara doesn’t hear. “It meant the bad part!”

“They, it, we, whatever.” Malachite trails off with a dismissive shrug.

*“Proceed.”*

Mara jumps down into the pool of slime. Tadpoles squirm around her. Taking a breath, she touches the immense brain with a _remove disease_. Energy flows from her hand into it, and Velendo helps by casting a ranged healing spell into the same area. The flesh convulses violently, and there is a squeal like boiling water to accompany the horrible psionic feedback.

Dead flesh is sloughing away from the healthy tissue in chunks, large pieces of rotting pus-filled clumps dropping into the fluid.  Agar is looking with _true seeing,_ and it's clear that this is exceptionally painful for the brain. His vision reveals that even as it thrashes psionically, it trying to keep the worst of the psionic spikes away from the group.

Malachite burps again, and Velendo turns to cast _heal_ on him. Suddenly, Malachite feels his self-esteem and manners returning. It’s an odd feeling.

Mara does another _remove disease_. There is horrible screaming and pulsing. The prayer is clearly burning away roots and ganglia, and a whole section of greenish-black whorls slides off into the fluid. Another healing spell from Velendo burns away more tissue.

He yells over to Mara. “How do you feel after having touched it?

Mara looks back at the old cleric.  “Well, kind of gross, really, but I don’t think it did anything to me. It didn’t make my brain explode.” She moves closer to _remove disease_ again.  

Malachite’s eyes are bright. “Mara, let me give you protection from evil.” Velendo turns.

“No! Best you stay out of the fight for now. You were acting suspiciously.”

 “You were drooling,” offers Mara. She touches the brain with her spell, and the psionic backlash slashes across her consciousness. Unusual thoughts bubble up as internal barriers in her mind melt away. Mara struggles for control.  

She staggers back a few paces just as Velendo targets the creature with a powerful healing spell.  _We’re breaking away the connection,_ he thinks, _creating a impermeable barrier between the live and dead sections of the brain. We’re separating it in such a way that they won’t kill the living elder brain. I hope._

Mara stands there for a moment before she realizes that she can probably ride on the elder brain if she wanted to. It seems so obvious all of a sudden. “I’m going to climb up on you – hold on!”

Velendo spins in horror. “Mara! No, stop!”

“I want to get on the brain!”  _It’s like a pony,_ she thinks to herself, _only squishier._

Velendo is yelling himself hoarse. “Do *not* climb on the brain!”

Agar looks down in concern. “Do I bring her back? Proty can do that.”

Mara bridles under Velendo’s unreasonable orders. “Okay, I’ll just give it a big hug, and give it another _remove disease_.”

“MARA!”  Velendo turns to Malachite, frantic.  “What’s happening to her is what was happening to you. I don’t know how!”

“Do I send Proty?” asks Agar.

“Do that. She’s become a danger to herself.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m removing disease on him!” _And riding him,_ she thinks. _There aren’t enough horses down here._  She tries to cast her prayer, but is surprised to find that she can’t; her mind just can’t grasp the force of will necessary to trigger the magical healing. 

“Huh. I think it’s not working any more.” She’s now four or five feet up the side of the brain.  Malachite moves toward her with the intention of casting _dimension door_ with his cloak, just as Agar casts _tentacular guidance_ on Proty.

Mara clambers another five feet up the side of the brain.

“MARA! Get off the brain!”

“But I’ve got to --”

“You aren’t thinking!”

_I am so, too,_ she thinks indignantly.  _Giddyap._

Velendo continues. “Do not do what you think you should -- “

“You’re always telling me what to do! It always works out okay!”

Malachite reaches over to touch Mara, and slips on a surface worm smooth by constant brain rubbing. He goes face first into the slime with a sploosh. A tadpole bumps up against one eye. 

Velendo clenches his jaw. “I’m not going to get distracted by this. They can handle it. I have two more healing spells left, and I need to make them count.” Galthia watches, poised to protect Velendo if anything attacks him.

“Got her!” calls Agar. “Proty, will you go get Mara? Bring her back.” Proty flies over with wriggling alacrity and fastens himself onto Mara’s back. 

While Malachite is down there underwater, he decides to touch the brain and _remove disease._   After all, nothing happened to him last time he touched it. Unfortunately, like Mara, he can’t summon the force of mind and he surfaces with a gasp.

“It’s not working.”

“Hey, it didn’t work for me, either,” calls down Mara from her perch. “Maybe if we went over to the ghoulish part.”

It’s resisting,” insists Malachite.

“It is? It didn’t resist before!”

“It’s resisting now!”

Agar sighs. “It’s not resisting. They’re both affected.”

Velendo glances up. “By what?”

“Something is reducing their capacity to think, and a heal spell didn’t help.”

Mara frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then Proty uses an imbued spell to teleport her back to Galthia’s side.  “Oh!”

Velendo raises his voice. “I’m planning to use a _heal_ spell, so that it eradicates the remaining flesh without hurting the brain. The undead ridge is still active, putting out tendrils, but the rest of the flesh is dead.”

Malachite struggles to his feet. “I’ll do the burst now.”

"Good," agrees Galthia.

“No!” Velendo is almost at his wits’ end.

“Galthia says to do the burst.” His voice is sly.

“And I say not to! I’m the medic in this operation. *Don’t do it.*”

Malachite’s voice is petulant. “He has more experience with the brain.” 

“Yes. He also has more. . “ He searches for the right word.  “. .bias. Don’t do it.”  Velendo does one more targeted healing, afraid that Malachite might do a burst before he has a chance to finish. One more massive chunk of dead flesh splashes into the fluid. Now the exposed brain tissue is raw and reddish pink, pulsing with cores of greenish-black undead flesh. A hideous groan springs up from the brain tissue.

Mara jumps down to _remove disease_ again, just as Velendo casts _mass heal._ “This might hurt,” he tells the brain, “but it will help you even as it hurts the other. Use that strength.”  

The psionic pressure is intolerable as the spell takes effect. All the walls of the dome splash outwards like a popped bubble, and the group is suddenly exposed to the ceiling of the cavern. The pain from the psionic scream is horrible, but it appears that the spell has burned the last of the undead tissue away.

There’s a huge chunk missing out of the side of the brain. Malachite's mind is now clear as he does a positive energy burst. “Dawn to dusk, he lights our path.” Emerald light spreads outwards in a shimmering cascade. There is hissing and squealing from chunks of undead flesh that were still barely alive. Now all that’s left is three quarters of a pulsing brain, with liquid oozing out of the damaged areas.

Malachite does one more burst. One more bit of tissue bubbles and squirms, and then something falls out of the flesh into the pool.  It looks like a length of ghoulish brain ganglia 7” or 8” long. Malachite strides over and kills it himself.

“I’m going to touch you so that it’s easier for the wound to heal.”

*"Proceed."*

The wounded part scabs over, and the hideous mental pain is gone. *“We are free of it. We are missing part of us. Is this something you can fix?”*

Velendo considers. “I’ll need fifteen minutes.”

“If we were truly successful,” explains Malachite, “this will not plague you again.” He reaches down a hand to help Mara climb out of the pus. 

*“We will see if we feel it regrowing. Is there anything you wish?”*

“Well, we wish to be allowed to leave as we agreed.” Mara shakes fluid from her armor. 

The mental voice pauses. *“Two of you are linked. One moment.”* There is a shot, sharp spike in the back of Mara’s and Malachite’s heads as something is drawn out of them. “Your touch on my form has broken your brains. I have fixed you.”

Velendo thrums his fingers on his shield. “Is there a way for you to stop that? I’m going to have to touch you again.”

*“There is not. I will fix you if you become broken.”* 

“Well, that’s a consolation.”  Velendo sits down on the ledge, and the elder brain turns its scrutiny on the githzerai monk. 

*“It appears you will not be claimed.”* It sounds thoughtful. *“You are aware it was your people who did this to me.”*

“It is a shame that my people did not finish what they started.” Over the mindlink, everyone yells at Galthia not to provoke it. He ignores them.

*“They weakened our defenses. We were no longer able to keep back the undead.”*

Galthia thinks to himself, “And it’s all Nolin’s fault for inviting in the githzerai rrakma in the first place.” Out loud, he says “Next time, they will succeed.”

*“Interesting you think so. Is that a promise, or a threat?”*

Malachite gestures. “What’s the difference?”

“It does not matter.”

*“But it does.”*

“We have no time for semantics.”

Mara tries to make peace. “Right now, we both have a common enemy.”

*“If you return, you will not be pleased by what you find. But that is for another time. You have been true to your word, something which we did not expect. Should that continue to be the case, we will spare you an additional unpleasantness of which you are not aware.” * It quivers and pulses, but says nothing more.

Agar pats his familiar. “Good job, Proty.” There is a tentacular squirming from the pseudonatural stirge. “That’s right, little guy. Yes, _you’re_ the _real_ hero here.”  Proty squirms in delight and lovingly wraps a pseudopod around Agar's neck.

Velendo prepares _regeneration_, knowing that casting it is probably going to break his brain. He hesitantly touches the flesh of the Master. When he feels something sliding up into his consciousness, attempting to sever control over his mental facilities, he focuses his will and fights it off easily.

Within a few seconds the flesh he touched begins to bubble. Then it bursts outwards, slowly taking on the same shape it had previously. As this occurs, the level of background psionic power in the room noticeably rises until there is a low-level thrumming.

*“The pain is gone from us. We are restored.”*

Malacihite smiles. “I killed it, so it won’t be returning.” 

*“Then you may pass. There may be undead on the other side of the barrier. My perceptions do not extend there.”*

Velendo stretches his back. “We will offer you similar information. There are undead that pursue us. We wouldn’t want them to take you by surprise.”

*“They will not be able to enter my realm.”*

“We did.”

*“The wards were not optimized against you. If they do, we will be ready. We have our own resources.”*

“This has been a trying day.” Velendo shakes the ectoplasm off of one foot and looks around. “Come on, folks. Let’s go.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

andrew_kenrick said:
			
		

> Were her thoughts spoken in game? I don't think I'd have been able to keep a straight face if I was there.




What makes you think we were keeping a straight face? The thoughts are partially Mara's in game; some of the funnier ones are an amalgam of comments made by the other players at the time.

Another example of selective editing: when the group was warning the elder brain about the undead chasing them, here is how the conversation _really_ went:

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

Elder brain: *“The wards were not optimized against you. If they do, we will be ready."*

Velendo: "The undead who follow us may be particularly powerful examples of their kind. they may have abilities you haven't encountered before."

Elder brain: *"Your DM had more than eight extremely powerful mind flayers statted up and ready to fight."*

Piratecat: "Oh wait! I mean... I mean... uh..."

Elder Brain: *We have our own resources.*

(disbelieving laughter)

Piratecat (abashed): "I'm sorry, I make that mistake every once in a while. I don't know what I was thinking."

Blackjack: "Yes, the Gods move in mysterious ways."


----------



## mythago

So is there a little sign next to the Elder Brain with a measuring stick:

 YOUR INTELLIGENCE MUST BE LOWER THAN THIS TO RIDE THE BRAIN


----------



## Jobu

I was SOOOO sorry I missed this round.  I got a call from KidC and PKitty that night - laughing hysterically about Mara riding an Elder Brain.  *sigh* ....and I moved away.

BUT...............back on the surface the fun keeps a comin for our former Defenders.  Picture the scene: Tao, Raevyn, Altethia (Knights of the Horn), Citadel of the Horn, angry mob of farmers and peasants with pitch forks and torches.  They are coming to burn down the Citadel in revenge for Galanna killing Imbindarla and causing the death and destruction happening on the surface.  Are they mind controlled?  Are they going to be easily swayed?  Are they going to be crispy critters really soon?  Let's look at Raevyn and Tao's diplomacy skills.........wait, I'm still trying to find them.......Nope - none to speak of.
So the only question is do the Knights of the Horn start with talking or an Acid Storm?  Should be interesting.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Next?  Well, Mara and the brain pony enter the local big horse race, and are the come from behind winners.  It's a tearful, feel good moment, as the beautiful paladin and the plucky brain beat out teams of much bigger horses, whose jockeys and owners all look down on them and belittle their dreams.

At the very end, as they stand triumphant in the Winners Circle, flashbulbs popping and reflecting off the giant silver trophy and Mara's tears of joy, she looks down at the brain, pats it affectionately and says "That'll do, Brain.  That'll do."

I cried.  _It was that beautiful_.


----------



## Piratecat

Just a quick update right now in the form of a vision from Agar. I'll have two or three big updates this next week, but they need more polishing. You'll see the first on Monday, then Wednesday, then Friday.

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

You are Agar. You turn away from the elder brain, and another vision crashes into your mind. This is a vision of the present, and suddenly you leave your body far behind.

As you tumble through mist, you can hear it: the whistle of arrows, the dull thump as they strike flesh, the clang of blades and a grunt of exertion. Faint voices. A scream.  It echoes and repeats, starting over and over as it grows louder, and you follow the sound. You burst into the cavern, and… 

You know this cave. It isn’t far from Akin’s Throat. Your group camped here one night.

You see no undead, but you can smell them, and you can hear them – grunting, snorting, drooling. You can feel them, too, an icy cold that you last felt inside the small fortress of Mridsgate. 

You can see things that are alive, though.  There are huge insects here, humanoid – barely - and probably intelligent: formians, the hive-minds of Mechanus.  Scores of them, all twitching antennae and waving forelegs, clacking mandibles and rustling scuttle! They are armed for battle.  Scattered around and throughout them are almost a score of humans of all ages, shapes, and sizes; an old skinny man stands near a wiry middle-aged woman, and just a few feet away a scarred teen-aged boy is paired with what looks like a blacksmith. Their eyes are frighteningly blank, and they all move simultaneously, as if one organism with many different bodies.  Oddly, several of Nolin’s kobolds are here as well, looking terrified but resolute. This is the hivemind, psionically-linked mercenaries accidentally formed by the Defenders almost a decade ago. 

Then your attention is captured by a fully human voice that you know.  “You come no farther.”  The woman is neither young nor old. She is short-haired and gray-eyed, and she is equipped with a pair of fighting sticks that glimmer in the darkness. You’ve met her before; she is a friend of your friends, and a  holy pilgrim of Vindus, God of Vengeance. Her name is Claris.

“No farther.”
“No farther.”
“No farther.”
“No farther.”
“No farther.”
“No farther.”
“No farther.”

Her statement is echoed simultaneously by every other human mouth, and then clattered and scent-said by the formian hivemind. A few kobolds chime in near the end.  The effect is eerie. A rotted, precise voice agrees.

“No farther.” You can’t see who is speaking, but the voice is high-pitched, oddly formal, and probably undead.

“You’re one of us, T’Cri,” says Arballine’s voice from the empty air.  The unseen elven archer sounds like she is smirking.  “I was there when Leipcik fell. What, don’t want to be on the winning side?” She pauses. “A few bugs and humans aren’t going to stop us, rodent. We have more important people to kill, even more important than a traitor. So *get out of the way.*”

Next to Claris, you hear the high-pitched voice again, sounding barely under control. “I have my soul now, elf. You have forgotten the teaching of your elders, if ever they had the wisdom. Duty takes precedence over hunger. Your prey is fulfilling an oath to me.” Claris tilts her head and glances towards the unseen speaker, but says nothing.

Arballine laughs bitterly from the empty air.  “So? You’re undead too!”

For a few seconds the cavern becomes completely silent. “Promises are more important than death. So Skrinnix the Enlightener wrote in the Tablets of Rising, and His wisdom is complete. I fight for my own cause, not for you. I would advise you to flee.”

You hear a bow twang. Claris reels back, clawing at something that you can’t see, even as the insects and humans lunge forward.

And you are dragged backwards out of the cave. The vision ends. You are back in the mindflayer city, and you know that the ghoulish assassins that are stalking you have been intercepted by allies.

But you don't know who's winning.


----------



## shilsen

Very nice.

Here's a question - how do you communicate this vision in-game? Simply describe it to everyone, do a writeup for the player concerned, handle it outside the session via email, or something else?


----------



## Piratecat

For some things, I just hand him a note. This one is especially important and felt much more real, so I read it to the group. The others just got to pretend they didn't hear it.

The undead here are clearly the assassins put together to specifically kill the PCs, after they were brought back from undeath. The elven archer who feathered Mara's throat back with the necropede, the psionic shadow who strength-drained everyone back at Mridsgate. . . and they've been intercepted by a former Defender of Daybreak and her mercenaries. 

As a reminder, Claris sent a circlet to Malachite as a gift while they were in Akin's Throat, and the group heard rumors that she had allied with a bunch of formians to take on undead. This was a tip of the hat to the fact that the PCs weren't the only group of powerful heroes trying to stop the White Kingdom. Sometimes it's nice to know that you have allies, even if they aren't right by your side.

More importantly, this vision told the group that T'Cri (the skaven monk who first tasked them with the White Kingdom, and who then got turned into a ghoul himself because the party took too long to leave) turned against the other ghouls when Imbindarla died and he got his soul back.

It drove the group nuts that they had no way of knowing who won.


----------



## Piratecat

jaults said:
			
		

> Soooo, how _did_ the Defenders create a psionically-linked hivemind of merceneries?




Nolin's half-brother was disguised and running an elaborate scam, claiming to be a prophet and attracting his own cult. He used a psionic helm to bring people together. It provided mild empathic links between church members, making sure that they never felt alone or lonely. Heck, it even got Arcade to join.

Then the empathic murmuring intensified. The helm was intelligent and bent on creating a hivemind. One person after another snapped under the psionic urging. Nolin's brother finally panicked and stole the helm, trying to run for it, hoping that distance would help. It didn't. He appealed to the Defenders for help.

Since Arcade was under the helm's influence, I made of a sheet of handouts for him: the phrase "Join us, we are one." in a font size from 2 to 64. I cut them apart, started with the tiny font, and handed him a new one every time the psionic urging intensified. Amazingly enough he made every saving throw, but it was a near thing. We were up to font size 52 or so by the time that the mindlinked army of cult members caught up to the party. Saying "Join us, we are one" is still guaranteed to make Bandeeto scowl at me. 

When they neutralized the influence of the helm (sealing it in iron and mithral and burying it, even as half the group tried to hold off the brainless mob without killing them), it sent everyone into temporary shock.  Some people came out of the effect in a coma. Some were fine, including Arcade. And about thirty or more remained perfectly linked, one intelligence with over thirty bodies. This hivemind eventually became a mercenary group, since they worked in perfect correspondence with one another and were superb spies. They bounced in and out of the campaign in the years since, gradually losing members but increasing in average combat skill. 

Nolin's brother, never one for big scenes where people want to string him up, made a fast and graceful retreat.


----------



## Sito

I love this scene, mostly for PCat's stated reason of letting the DOD know others are on the case (and 'cause it's a grandstand for Claris, naturally -  though how is "Promises are more important than death" not her line? ) 

But it's also a terrific example of his ability to never let a thread drop while crafting the world-story.  *Four* different loose ends come together in this vignette.  For instance, it's a great peek for those who are wondering "Do we still have to worry about T'Cri?"  At the same time, it shows that other forces are in motion. Actions have consequences, and both can happen off screen - you never get the "Rozencrantz and Guilderstern are Dead" feeling that NPC's are just waiting around for the DOD to enter stage right. 

[fanboy] Really great storytelling [/fanboy]






------------------------------------------
Piratcat Fan Club - "Join us, we are one."


----------



## Bandeeto

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I agree with y'all.  I loved this vision of T'Cri and Claris more than any other Agar has gotten.





It is indeed a great scene. And yes, I still hate "Join us. We are One." 
In fact, I still have some of those pesky little slips of paper P'Cat would toss at me from time to time.

The Helm of the Hive adventure also marked the beginning of the descent into evil for Alix, our rogue. It took place almost immediately after the Academy of Flamecraft. The DoD knew the members of the hivemind weren't responsible for their actions, and we were doing our best to subdue the unfortunate fellows as harmlessly as possible, using illusions and such. 

Alix had picked up a magic item that let him cast the occasional fireball, and while the rest of us were going nonlethal he launched one into the crowd, killing several. It was an omen of things to come.

Bandeeto


----------



## KidCthulhu

It was also an interesting encounter for us because we were, as I remember, about 9th or 10th level.  Just about that time that characters start to feel powerful and mighty.  We were very full of our ability to lay down the smack, and there's PC throwing a bunch of innocents at us, any one of whom could be felled by a carelyss blow.  Very sobering and very challenging.  It really brought home the "great power/great responsibility" message to us.  Well, to most of us.


----------



## Dirigible

> It really brought home the "great power/great responsibility" message to us. Well, to most of us




"With great power comes..."
"Yeah yeah, less talk, more flaming death."


----------



## Piratecat

The trip out of the mindflayer city is horrifying. The group laboriously makes their way around an intricate labyrinth imprinted into the cavern floor. The pathway is outlined by still-conscious brains stuck upon spikes.

“These things are still thinking,” says Galthia with revulsion. “I can pick up echoes from them. Their mental energy is powering the defenses.” He worries that he can also sense trace thoughts of his closest friend, lost here on a rrakma several years before, but there's no way to be sure. _I’ll be back,_ he vows to himself. _They will pay._

Once past the labyrinth, the group moves through several rooms filled with intricate energies that part before them. They leave by walking through an opaque stone wall that suddenly becomes solid behind them. The ever-present psionic hum cuts off abruptly, and everyone collapses to the ground. They're through.

Galthia eventually gets back to his feet. “I’ll scout ahead. We need to camp, but we should know what’s nearby.” His voice soon whispers over the _mindlink.  “The way is blocked ahead by three kobold zombies. They each have uneaten rats on sticks, and they’re standing in front of a thin waterfall.” _ He pauses. _“The waterfall is artificial. There’s a decanter of endless water placed up at the top, and draining down into the floor. We can’t get through the water in wind walk form.” 

“Are the zombies showing any aggression?”

“No, they’re just standing there.”

“Well, come on back. We have the Flickering Needle set up. We’ll camp in the Daern’s Instant Fortress overnight, and take them on in the morning.”_

Overnight, the group identifies and splits up accumulated magical treasure. One of the things that Mara claims is a _vest of etheric calm_, made of many kuo-toa leather straps.  “It allows the calming of etheric winds,” says Agar. “If you have the vest on, you shouldn’t have to fear any ethereal storms.”

“Like the one going on right now?” Mara reaches out her hand for the leather harness.  “I have armor of etherealness. This’ll be perfect!”

Nolin twitches. “Little leather cross-straps. . .” He gulps audibly and wipes some sweat from his forehead. “I’m going to go and have a little lie down.”

“It’s what kuo-toa wear! And it goes _under_ the armor.” She wipes off kuo-toa slime from the leather and tucks it in her pack. Nolin moans, Agar takes a deep breath, and they both go back to identifying.

Other items are split up as well. One is a kuo-toa _ring of drowning_, which causes minute-long bubbles of water to appear atop the target’s head. “I have no open ring slots,” remarks Nolin, “but I love the idea of the ring of drowning combined with the ring of incontinence.”

“For maximum embarrassment?” asks Velendo.

“Exactly.  But let’s give it to Galthia so that he has a ranged attack.” The monk looks bemused. They give troll intestine rope and a gem that seeps psychic poison to Malachite, and the _Golden Torc of the Sea King_ to Burr-Lipp.

“I have a feeling that the kuo-toa would want that back if they knew we had it, but what the heck. What’s next, Agar?”

Agar looks at the glorious jewel-encrusted sceptre in his lap.  “This is a _rod of kingly attire._ It can dress you in clothing worth 20,000 gold pieces once a day.” 

The bard’s eyes bulge.  “Yoink!” yells Nolin.

Velendo looks disgusted.  “The ghouls get the best plunder from a dozen civilizations, and _we_ get a rod that makes you dress nicely. Lucky us.”

“Be fair,” says Malachite. “Dress _really_ nicely.”

“And all of this stuff is coated with slime,” complains Nolin as he wipes off the sceptre on an old shirt. “Clearly we need to kill some more sophisticated people.”

Velendo clears his throat.  “So, how do we deal with the zombies tomorrow? Are they scout zombies or warning zombies? If we kill them, are the ghouls warned?”

Mara puts down the leather straps. “Do we know what ‘s between us and Nacreous?”

Malachite shakes his head doubtfully. “In theory, it’s smooth sailing all the way. Somewhere out there is the cavern where the ghouls were stopped hundreds of years ago. . . the place where Aleax and Morak sacrificed their lives to drop a cavern ceiling on their heads.  I don’t know of anything else.”

“Assuming the White Kingdom hasn’t animated the bodies of the other former saint.” Nolin snorts, and Malachite looks up.

“They already did that.”

“You’re thinking of Saint Aleax.  I’m thinking of Saint Morak, the priest of Calphas who actually brought down the ceiling and killed all of them. The dwarven ghost we met in Mrid said he was greedy. Who knows what happened to him.”

“Hey now!” objects Velendo. “He's probably working away in Haven for Calphas. No blasphemy, please.”

They consider different plans, including _true seeing_, _prying eyes_, and scouting ethereally.  Then with a squeak, Agar’s eyes roll back in his head. He comes back to consciousness seconds later, but refuses to discuss his vision.

Later than night, when Priggle has gone to bed (“I know there aren’t enough beds. I’ll just sleep on the floor. It’s not like a svirfneblin is used to anything better, anyways.”), Agar talks about what he saw.  “I saw Priggle in a city of bone,” he gulps, “and he was a ghoul.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” worries Mara. “We better not tell him.”

“I agree,” says Agar. “It would just distract him.” The group finally goes to bed, and their sleep is torn with nightmares. Perhaps it’s the nearness of the mindflayer city, or perhaps its what they’ve gone through, but only Priggle looks well-rested in the morning.

“Why’s everyone looking at me?” he asks suspiciously, but no one tells him of Agar’s vision. His natural paranoia makes him suspicious, though, and his craggy face is twisted by a frown as the group prepares for combat against the three kobold zombies.  

Agar casts _true seeing_, and sneaks in with Galthia. Invisible and flying, he’s hard to detect.

_“We’re four hundred yards up. The zombies have evocation magic on them, and there is a low-level illusion magic on the rats.”_ He checks the ethereal plane. _“Yeek! There are indistinct spirits all over.”_ 

Back near where the group camped, Mara leans against a wall whose carven tentacle design has changed shape overnight.  “I don’t think the rats are inherently magical. They’re just rats impaled on a stick.  Magic rats don’t exist.”

Velendo frowns as he tries to remember.  “Didn’t the Torazian deathgranter Droomak have a magic rat of throwing? It was dead, and if you flung it at someone it would animate and burrow in to them. Dylrath got it, and carried it around for a long time.”

Malachite’s face twists. “And you say Dylrath had this item?”

“Yes.”

“Shocked. I’m shocked by this.” His voice is phlegmatic, not surprised in the least.

Nolin smirks.  “That rat was of enchantable quality. You don’t often see a masterwork rat.”

Agar reports in again. _"They’re just standing there.”_

“Well, I’m bored,” announces Mara. “I’m going ethereal to scout.”

“Mara, no!” shouts Velendo, but the beautiful paladin is already gone. “Damn it.” Resignedly he waves good luck to her, and turns to the rest of the group.  "Every time we make a plan, we know that we have to come up with something in ten minutes. Any longer than that, and Mara goes and does something rash."

Mara finds herself standing in a bank of clouds. She feels like she’s in the eye of a maelstrom. Moving through the clouds are the faint shapes of flitting ghosts, and she can hear moaning and crying from the spirits around her. If she squints, Mara can just barely see the shapes of her friends nearby. She takes a deep breath and moves down the tunnel.

Once she passes Agar and Galthia she drifts forward more slowly, sinking into the floor so that only her head is visible. The faint feel of the stone brushing past her almost tickles. 

_“Well, that’s not something you see every day,”_ comments Agar over the mindlink.

_“What?”_ asks the others.

_“Mara’s disembodied head just drifted by. It was emerging from the cavern floor.”_ He sounds fascinated.

Meanwhile Mara moves into the cavern and watches the zombies, who seem to ignore her completely. There is stacked rubble around this cavern in addition to the zombies and the waterfall. She drifts through the rubble in a corner and is shocked to discover a zombie underneath the stacked rocks. She withdraws carefully, and with her heart thudding she swoops through the wall and past the falling water. 

"Well, this is a let-down."  Behind the wall of water she discovers a completely empty room with a flat stone floor. The stone is slightly shinier and smoother than the walls, as is the back wall (probably blocking off a door.) They look newer than the natural stone of the cavern walls. There is 2 or 3” of water on the floor.  She heads back, rematerializes, and reports on what she’s seen.

This mystifies the group. “If the zombies raise an alarm, where do they go if the room behind them is sealed off? This makes no sense. We have to get past those zombies one way or another.”

“The evocation on the zombies is probably some spell to make them explode when killed,” concludes Agar. “It seems to be linked to their animating force. Kill ‘em, and they’ll go boom. That’s my guess, anyways.”

“What about the spell on the undead rats?”  Velendo makes a face.

“No idea. Maybe something like _magic mouth_, but there’s no way to be sure. I say we go get them.”

“It’s us against three kobold zombies,” says Nolin sarcastically. “How tough could this be?”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

_“Ready, everybody? Let’s go!”_

Agar leads with a _dispel magic_ that shatters the enchantments in the area, terminating the magic with coruscating flashes. Mara follows up by focusing her faith through her holy symbol and turning undead. The pure light of Aeos plays over them, and all three kobolds and their rats turn into dust.

Malachite blinks. “Well, that was easy.  Be wary of the kobold in that pile of rubble.”  They move forward in a wedge formation, weapons drawn and spells readied. Priggle nudges a pile of kobold ash with one toe before checking the walls for traps.

The group pauses by the decanter of endless water that has been sealed into stone. The water from the decanter is flowing into a small stone trough, and a slit in the bottom of the trough provides a thin waterfall over the doorway. Reluctant to stick his head through the curtain of water, Velendo warns the group and _stone shapes_ the rock away from the decanter. It falls into his hand, the waterfall ceases, and everyone glares suspiciously into the next room.

Nothing. No movement, no sound, nothing that shows up on _true seeing_… nothing.

Galthia glances at the still-flowing decanter. “It’s of illithid design originally. See how it’s twisted, with carved tentacles?”

“Ooh,” says Agar, “may I see?”

“And this,” Velendo addresses Galthia as he taps his holy shield with a *tink tink*, “was once of Torazian design. I took it away from a priest of murder, and Calphas converted it to the cause of good. We shouldn’t be too quick to discard useful tools.”

“Fascinating,” says Agar as he sprays his familiar with the decanter. “But we can’t walk around with it spilling out water. Let’s try some commands.”  After “off!” doesn’t work, he rattles through his languages and arcane commands. It still pours forth water that drains onto the wet floor.

“Can you tell it to stop in mindflayer?” asks Velendo.

“No,” says Agar. “Illithids only speak mentally, anyways.”

Velendo’s eyes light up. He thinks “Stop flowing!” at the decanter. Nothing happens. But Galthia has had the same idea, and he reaches out with his psionic awareness to find a rich and complex weave of thought-structures around the bottle. A slight psionic nudge and a command to cease, and the water coming from the bottle stops with a revolting gurgle.  Malachite reaches over and hands the decanter to Galthia. 

“Maybe you should carry the decanter, as you’re the only one who can use it.” Galthia takes it without comment.

“Darn,” complains Agar. Nolin pats him on the back, and most of the group moves out of the doorway into the room beyond. The floor is covered by a few inches of water, and the door at the far side has clearly been _stone shaped_ out of existence. The group is cautious as they surround the door and prepare to have Priggle and Galthia smash it open. The silence is only broken by splashing, one or two witty comments and an occasional “Shhh!” from Velendo.

Priggle touches the wall and concentrates, and the veins of the earth pulse as elemental energy slide around the edges of the cave. The stone in front of the deep gnome thrums as it takes on the consistency of clay. Priggle hefts his pick, and they prepare to smash down the barrier.

He doesn’t get a chance.

At first it feels like an earthquake. There are two huge *WHOOMP!* noises that echo deafeningly through the cave, and the water-slicked stone floor begins to shake. The stone in the middle of the floor buckles upwards in two separate places, and the slabs of rock tilt crazily before splashing back down into a pit of deep water that was hidden beneath the thin stone of the floor. Defenders are thrown off their feet from the shock, three of them knocked fully into the dark and oily water. Priggle and Stone Bear are nowhere to be seen, and Velendo barely manages to clutch a section of still-stable flooring to stop himself from sinking out of sight. He turns his dripping head and sees a tangled mass of huge, rotting blue-black snake heads rising from the depths behind him. They rise from a knotlike confusion beneath the water, and there are too many to easily count.

Mara breaths out a an Aeosian prayer as she takes in the sight. “Dawn to dusk, he lights our path.” Her voice is shaky, and the stench is horrible.  The water continues to boil as more and more heads emerge.

Nolin isn’t in the water, although he’s balanced on a slab of stone that is already tilting badly. The bard braces himself to cast a _mass haste_ and a _flame strike_. Spellcasting in such a way that the snake heads won’t be able to attack him, he shifts his balance, and the slab of stone beneath his feet cants violently at the worst possible time. Nolin‘s yell of surprise and flailing arms are enough to disrupt the complicated magical song.  As the incomplete _mass haste_ dissipates into a flowing cloud of golden motes, Nolin yells an apology.  “Auggh! Sorry, guys!” He scrambles back up the unstable flooring and tries to find a sturdier place to stand and fight.

Galthia dances nimbly across the disintegrating floor. He braces himself and pounds his fists into the swaying necks. The heads above him are easily as big as his own torso, and the necks are several feet in diameter. The monk swings five times, and not one of his blows does any damage. 

_“We’re worried about this thing, right?”_ asks Agar.

_“Yes!”_ comes the answer from a half-dozen different people. Galthia’s voice is certainly one of them.

As Burr-Lipp leaps towards the water to rescue Stone Bear and Priggle. As he does, several of the snake heads whip out and smash into his body. He’s held upright for a few seconds as one head rips off chunks of flesh. As the head lets go, the bullywug hits the water with a limp gracelessness and a flat splash.

_“Gurrblup! That hurt, and I’m completely paralyzed. I can’t move at all.”_

_“Can you breath underwater?”_ asks Velendo.

_“Yes.”_

“Oh, well that’s convenient,” says Galthia, still staring up at the heads above him.

Malachite snorts.  “Well, he _is_ a frog.” He takes a shuddering breath and repeats Mara’s prayer. “Heaven help us.  Dawn to dusk, he lights our path.”

Agar flies up and hovers above the monsters, staring down into the tangled area where each neck merges into another in a writhing column. “I think there’s just one body down there,” he cautions.  Casting defensively he fires three _acid orbs_ into the emerging bulk of the body, hitting with each of them and the third smacking perfectly into the beast and burning downwards. The acid sizzles through layers of rotting undead flesh, leaving behind hideous boils swarming with grubs or maggots underneath the skin. Nolin and Velendo both see it, but it’s Nolin who realizes that they look horribly familiar.

“Oh, bugger. Revenant worms!” screams Nolin. “Don’t let those worms touch you!”

Agar looks down as he tries to dodge the reptilian heads beneath him. “That means nothing to me.”

With his vast knowledge of undead lore, though, Malachite easily recognizes the reference. “If they touch you, they’ll burrow into your skin and head for your heart. If you don’t burn them away, they’ll kill you and turn you into undead.” He returns to his prayers as he tries to find a stable path across the remaining flooring.

“Undead used to throw them at us back when we were trying to climb the mountain where Tovag Baragu is,” Velendo calls. The old cleric looks ill. “They’re a _special_ gift from Imbindarla.”  In terror, Nolin ignites his entire body in roaring fire before any of the revenant worms touch him.

Mara prays again before she launches her attack. “Dawn to dusk, he lights our path.” Her words happen to coincide with Malachite’s simultaneous prayer, and the cavern suddenly grows as quiet as a church. Instantly and without any spellcasting, a pulse of light comes out of her. It catches Malachite and reverberates from him back to Mara, catches Mara and reverberates again. It shimmers for a few seconds, glimmering, and then explodes outwards in a silent wave of holy sunlight. 

“Oh, close your eyes!” cries Mara in surprise. The _sunburst_ splashes against the undead flesh and the visible revenant worms start bursting into greasy smoke. All the great heads are momentarily thrown back, and a wrenching howl emits from more than a dozen seared throats. It’s the first noise that the creature has made.

“Song cue!” yells Nolin. _“Spontaneous holy combustion…_  What was that?”

“I have no idea.”  Mara blinked in surprise, and turns to an equally confused Malachite. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” he answers over the noise of the shrieking creature. “Was that circumstantial, or do we need to be careful not to pray in unison?” Mara just shakes her head in wonder.

Over the _mindlink_, Velendo asks everyone who has fallen into the pool how deep the water is. _“Have you hit the bottom?”_  Stone Bear is still underwater and desperately trying not to sink, and Burr-Lipp is floating limply. Priggle can answer, though.

_“Of course I hit the bottom, I’m heavier than water. I’m going to die down here. Wet, dark and cold. Probably a fitting end.”_

Velendo bites back a comment.  _“But how deep is it?”

“Twenty feet, or thirty, perhaps. Not that it matters. Svirfneblin are short.”_

Inspired, Velendo pulls out his newly acquired kuo-toa _dust of dryness._ “Be careful, everyone!” he warns. “Instead of being over 30’ of water, we’ll be over a 30’ pit.” 

“We’re less likely to be killed by falling than drowning,” says Nolin.

“I have no idea how this works, but I was told it eliminates a lot of water.” Suddenly pulled from the water by the strong arms of his guardian angel, Velendo triumphantly tosses the pinch of dust into the pool – and a cubic yard of water disappears. Velendo stares at it in dismay.

“Excuse me?” asks Nolin tartly. “Exactly how many pinches of _dust of *suck*_ do we have? I’d hate to use them all up at once.”

“Three,” answers Malachite. “If this was a big bathtub instead of a cavern, we’d be all set right now.”

“It’s not really what I was hoping for,” frowns Velendo as the hydra’s heads start to accurately orient on its enemies. “Oh well, so much for that.”

“Shall I fly us to safety?” asks Cruciel. “It will probably attack us if I do.”

“No. I think it’s focusing on Mara and Malachite.”

“Good point,” pipes up Agar appreciatively. “Guys, thanks for distracting it from all that acid damage I did!”   

The ghoulish hydra lurches upwards, trying to break more of the floor.  Seven undead heads target Mara, snapping forwards in both hunger and fury. One of them bounces squarely off her shield, two miss her entirely, and four massive heads latch on to her torse with icy-cold teeth and begin to pull. Mara feels a bit like a dog’s chew toy as she’s lifted up and almost ripped apart. Her strength drains from her, and she can feel a paralyzing cold being kept away by one of her magical rings.  Four more heads target Malachite, hitting him twice. He’s picked up sideways and violently spun around, also losing strength the ghoulish spittle. Finally, two more heads turn towards Agar and make a horrible retching noise. *“Horrk! Horrk! Hurrraggghhh!”* 

“Ohhhh, no.”  The halfling tries to dive out of the way, but he’s much too slow. A wave of squirming grubs cover him and begin to burrow frantically underneath his skin. Both Agar and Proty scream.

Mara is on the opposite side of the cave and can’t see what happened to Agar, but she can see that the hydra’s wounds are beginning to heal. She groans. “It’s regenerating!”

“Damn it!”  Nolin tries casting defensively again, and this time successfully manages to get off _mass haste._ For his next trick, Nolin targets a _flame strike_ on top of the hydra. As the dark beast begins to rise, it’s now clear to everyone that there is a body underneath the necks – and that some of the heads were from a different monster, and were grafted on after its death. Bulging fleshsacks of grubs are on the back of the monster, attached to several of the sixteen heads so that it can vomit them forth.

“Eat hot bard!” yells Nolin.  The _flame strike_ smashes down, crackling and burning. 

“Nice!” yells Malachite.

“It’s what I do, baby,” says Nolin smugly, and then he corrects himself. “Well, it’s one of the things I do. I do some other stuff, but I can’t really do that here.”

Horrified by the worms writhing into his flesh, the panicked Agar catches the sound of someone spellcasting behind him. He spins to see another kobold zombie which has crawled from the pile of rubble Mara had noticed earlier. The zombie’s eyes are glowing yellow, just like the Puppeteer’s. . .  and he’s casting _Mordenkainen’s disjunction._

“Oh, s**t,” says Agar.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Spatula

Very cool... but why did the group ignore the hiding kobold?  Maybe the groups I game with are unusually paranoid, but IME a smart party deals with any creatures present before messing around with the scenary.


----------



## Piratecat

Misdirection. Luck was definitely on the ghouls' side; the heroes were distracted by the decanter and door, and since they proved that the other kobolds weren't a threat they sort of forgot about the hidden one(s). Even better, although Mara scouted the area ethereally, she never thought to lower her eyes below the floor. If she had, she would have seen the hydra.

Just goes to show, eh? These things happen. Makes up for all the mistakes I make DMing, too.

He does have a chance, though; we house ruled Mordenkainen's Disjunction to take one full round to cast. On the other hand, literally every other party member is on the other side of the room with a giant hydra between them and Agar, and no solid floor between them. I suppose it's a bad time to be covered with revenant worms.


----------



## Piratecat

The hydra howls as Agar’s _repeated acid orbs_ continue to sear into its flesh, and it swivels all sixteen of its heads to try and target him.  Dozens of lethal revenant worms squirm and burrow into the halfling’s flesh, actually justifying his worst insect phobias. Forty feet away, a zombie containing the spirit of the Puppeteer is casting _Mordenkainen’s Disjunction,_ and only Agar is close enough to stop him.

No pressure.

“Get them off get them off get them off. . .”  The alienist cudgels his will and tries to think over the panic. He’s only going to have one chance at this, and no one else can help him in time. He could lay down a fireball at his feet. He could block the line of effect somehow. He could, he could. . . Behind him, the Puppeteer’s voice is rising to a climax as he begins to finish the spell, and the grubs are all over his body and squirming in his hair. “Got to think!”  In his mind’s eye Agar scans the twitching arcane spell structures that he has already prepared that morning, looking for the perfect one that could stop the Puppeteer and rid himself of the revenant worms all at once.  Amazingly enough, he finds just the thing. 

As he starts casting, Agar gasps as a worm pops through the skin of his throat and burrows towards his lungs. It takes almost unnatural concentration to not cough and botch the spell, but he spends hours every day contemplating the hideous possibilities of the outer realms; surely he can finish a simple spell! The syllables trip from his tongue in a dissonant cacophany, ripping a hole towards the plane of radiance, and he blocks out distractions long enough to finish his incantation. As he does, a brilliant _sunburst_ spreads out of the halfling. 

The heat and searing radiance give him something of a sunburn, but it also instantly turns the crawling revenant worms within his body into tiny charred mounds of sizzling and blackened fat.  It’s a worthwhile tradeoff. In the process, the spell blasts the spellcasting Puppeteer into rancid dust, and vaporizes a layer of flesh from the hydra.  The half-formed structure of _Mordenkainen’s Disjunction_ dissipates harmlessly.

“Auggh!” cries Velendo from across the room as his eyes boil in their sockets. “I’m blind!”

“Sorry!”  Agar collapses to his knees, blinks, and looks up at the hydra. Does he still feel the acceleration of Nolin’s _mass haste_ coursing through his body? Yes! He uses the extra time to cast _chain lightning_ at the hydra, targeting a different head with each lightning bolt. Electricity blasts from his fingers and smacks into the beast’s body, arcs wildly, and all sixteen heads simultaneously explode. Rotted flesh showers the grotto.

“Agar, you’re my hero!” crows Nolin.

Thirty two heads begin to regrow.

Nolin swallows drily.  “Agar, you’re not my hero any more.”

“I can see why,” mutters the halfling in horror.

“We’re going to have to kill the body!” cautions Galthia. He leaps onto the mass of necks and slashes down with his hand. “Target the torso, not the heads.”

_“But not with electricity, damn it,”_ thinks Stone Bear in the water. _“It travels through the water. That *hurt!*”_

“Sorry,” says Agar, but it’s not entirely clear who he’s talking to. “I think I still hurt it, anyways. I hope.” His voice is uncertain.

“The sunburst did.”  Mara considers casting _remove paralysis_ on Burr-Lipp, but the bullywug is nowhere to be seen. Instead she lays hands on herself and heals all of her wounds. Then she instinctively draws upon the power of Aeos to give everyone nearby a bonus to their defense, moves closer, and attacks the hydra’s body with her mace. She hits it twice, and takes putrescent chunks of flesh out of it with each powerful blow.

Malachite triggers a positive energy burst that fills the room with emerald light. Unable to see him with no heads, the hydra just shudders as another large layer of skin is seared away from its body. It rears its elephantine bulk up out of the water, displacing huge waves of water that slap at the people nearby. Cruciel grabs Velendo and pulls him backwards just as a massive neck stump whirls through the place he was just standing. Then Malachite releases a second positive energy burst that blasts right through the undead abomination. Revenant worms cascade into the water, and the corpse of the hydra sinks down out of sight.

The angel’s clear eyes widen.  “We’ve got to get them away from those worms!”  Cruciel dives into the depths to find Priggle.  Velendo is blinded and can’t see the hydra’s body, but he isn’t taking any chances.  He _flame strikes_ where it was just to be sure, and a huge gout of steam and smoke rises from the blackened revenant worms as they die. Cruciel’s beautiful face surfaces next to Velendo, and she thrusts a bedraggled and disgusted svirfneblin at him before diving back down for Burr-Lipp. Stone Bear surfaces on his own, frustrated and hurt.

Cruciel looks pained as she reaches the surface a second time. “I have several of those things in me. Can you destroy them, please?” She shows her pearly skin, and the wriggling bulges that squirm inside it. 

Nolin’s face twists, and he pats Velendo on the shoulder. “I’ll get it.”  Nolin cuts open the angel’s skin and burns away the worms one by one, and the angel manages to almost not make any noise as she bites her perfect lower lip.

“Everyone, I’m sorry if I got a little carried away,” confesses Agar. His voice is faster than normal, still riding the edge of hysteria.  “There were worms on me. I had them in front and behind and they were trying to turn me into undead and…”

“You blew up the Puppeteer,” answers Nolin. “I’m okay with that. Hey, someone should probably keep an eye on that rubble.”  

“Why are you apologizing?” asks Galthia.

*“It was very well done,”* comes a voice from a pile of rocks.


_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

An important note for tomorrow's update:

It's worth noting that the group knows the Puppeteer's real name. He's known as Advisor Soder, and seems to be the right-hand man of the Ivory King. They've learned this in two places:

- Remember the _chained polymorph_ ambush right before Imbindarla died? In Nulloc Toadbringer's cave, they found a letter referencing an Advisor Soder.  Then after Imbindarla fell and the group disrupted the ghoulish ritual, they questioned a simpering ghoul named Lios. When asked who Advisor Soder was, he answered, “The advisor to the Ivory King. He can speak through the distances. A very wise man.”

- While waiting in Thoobel's chambers within the kuo-toa city, Agar had a detailed vision which first informed him that an undead assassination group (made up of previously slain enemies such as the elven archer and the psionic shadow) was chasing them. The Puppeteer shows up in the vision to discuss strategy, and Arballine specifically calls him by name. "“Master Soder, they destroyed him, after all the work I did to keep him with me forever."

At this point, they're pretty sure that Soder and the Puppeteer are one and the same. We'll have to see if that's correct.




			
				Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> Quick question: doesn't Agar still have a grub inside him?




Good catch. No, Agar voluntarily failed his saving throw versus the spell's damage (albeit with his eyes shut.)  I figured that since he set himself as ground zero, that was enough to fry any revenant worms on or in his body. They doublechecked after the encounter, too, but I glossed over that a bit. I've now edited the riginal post to be more accurate.

Diseases are a good equalizer; for instance, being exposed to rot-tainted water is probably a bad idea when you've been cursed by the God of Plagues. It means that the paladins actually get fairly frequent use out of their _remove disease_ class abilities, though.


----------



## Piratecat

“Didn’t I delegate someone to go watch that?” yells Nolin in a panic. “Aren’t you people listening?”  Everyone except Velendo swivels around to stare at the pile of rubble. Velendo is still blind from Agar’s sunburst, so he struggles to cast _heal_ and regrow his seared eyes. Hardly anyone notices, though; they're too busy staring at the heaped debris in the other corner.

“Ouch.”

“Get bent, Soder.”

“These stones are heavy.”  The pile of rocks shifts a bit.

Nolin wields sarcasm like a rapier.  “Waah.”

“You’re right. You win.  You win.”

Velendo wipes away sweat with a forearm.  “No we don't, and we don’t want to talk about it.”

“You're not paying attention. I’m ready to surrender.” 

Malachite has his sword out. “I hope you appreciate that we doubt your sincerity. Why should we believe you?”

“I’m not sure. But you’ve killed everything that I’ve tried to use to stop you, and you’ve rebuffed all of my invitations to negotiate.” He sounds sincere, in a gurgling sort of way.

_“Agar, you can help with this negotiation, can’t you?”_ asks Velendo over the _mindlink.  “Don’t you have the divination that lets you hear truth?”_  Agar’s eyes light up, and he begins to cast.  Meanwhile, Nolin settles down by the pile of rubble.

“Soder, you’re a body-riding freak and we have no reason to trust you. In fact, I’d really much rather find what shriveled hulk of a body your nasty, twisted intelligence lives in and jump up and down on it with a pair of very spikey shoes.” He smiles at the image.

Spell completed, Agar looks up.  _“Nolin’s not lying.”_

Soder sighs, like gas escaping a bloated corpse.  “I miss those halcyon days where we would sit in your study, and chat away half the night over a glass of wine.”  He sounds nostalgic.

Nolin loses his temper.  “You delusional freak! We never chatted, we never drank your wine. We don’t like you!”

Velendo sounds curious, attempting to draw out answers for Agar’s spell.  “Soder, what were you before you were a ghoul?”

“You know my name? It’s so much nicer to be on a first name basis with people.” His rotting voice sounds wistful.

“Do you honestly want to surrender to us?”

“I would like to negotiate cessation of hostilities. We will stop whatever it is that we’re doing that bothers you… 

Nolin interrupts. “Do you honestly think that the Ivory King is going to stop his plans for his mother’s power, his plans to become a God? And it’s not like we came down here with the plan for negotiating a truce.”

“Your worries are not that. Your worries are to stop us from raiding and killing the surface people. 

“Our worries have shifted. No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

“So I have learned. Your worries have shifted, then, have they?” The muffled voice sounds interested.

“Are you going to betray your master? Because I’m sure he doesn’t want to stop hostilities.”

Soder sounds pleased with himself.  “On the contrary.  I’m sure that with my recommendation he will stop his attacks on the surface. Mind you, a few years from now the prophecy will undoubtedly come true, and we’ll have to work together to deal with that. But still…”

“This ‘Destroyer’ you’ve talked about? I don’t think he exists. Tell us about this prophecy.”

The voice becomes annoyed.  “I’ve already told you, and I don’t really have time to tell you again. You should have paid attention the first time. The Ravager will come.” 

Malachite tries to sound reasonable. “But surely you can tell us a story before we negotiate? If you have time to negotiate, you have time for this.”

“You are stalling for time.”

“Stalling for time? We’re merely trying to understand what sort of a situation we’re getting ourselves into before negotiating.”  Malachite’s words apparently don’t ring true.

“It will be born, it will rise and it will destroy mankind.” 

“How will the ravager destroy mankind?” asks Agar.  _“Still hasn’t lied,”_ he thinks.

“Don’t know. Not sure. The prophecies do not say. The Ravager is human, of course. We would prefer that the world not be burned to a cinder. We could work together, side by side, holding hands. . .”

Nolin shakes his head. “I just can’t work with a creature or series of entities who view me as a giant *pork chop!*” He pauses, as if waiting for applause for his witty analogy, but only Soder responds.

“You’re not like pork,” he wheezes thoughtfully.  “More like chicken. Human flesh has a certain tanginess. . .”

Velendo rubs his chin. “We could make a truce. . .”

Malachite stands up. His voice is firm. “No. There will be no truce, no half measures. My mission is to break the spine of the White Kingdom. That doesn’t mean a truce.”

While Mara, Malachite and Velendo begin to argue, Soder tries to make chatty small talk.  “So, do you like it down here?”

Nolin makes a face.  “No, I hate it.”

“Oh, dear. Maybe you should see where we’ve decorated. This is still sort of,”  he pauses to spit away noisome fluid, “mind flayer-y.” 

“Let me guess. Your decorations involve… gobbets?”

“Nooo.”   He searches for an analogy.  “That would be like you decorating in gravy.” 

Malachite glares at the rubble.  “You have slave pits?”

From underneath the rocks, Soder’s voice sounds excited that Malachite is showing an interest in his hobbies.  “Oh yes, we have some of those. Not many, any more.” 

Malachite’s voice is like ice. “I’m touched by your conversion.”  

 “No, it’s not that. They just keep dying off.  So, you don’t want to bargain? 

“Not really,” says Mara.  She doesn’t sound regretful.

“I’m sorry about that.” 

 Velendo steps forward. “Is your Ivory King willing to give up all ambitions to godhood?”

He considers.  “Unlikely.” 

“Well then.”

“Why have your ambitions changed?”  He coughs out a maggot.

 “The scope of the evil changed,” Mara answers. She crosses her arms, and next to her Nolin’s breaks into a grin.  

“Even your own ghouls know it. I’ve heard you’ve lost some of them.” He clucks his tongue reprovingly. “Shame about T’Cri.”

“I hate to break it to you.”  Malachite’s voice is strong as he addresses the pile of rubble. “Destiny is on our side.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” 

“I’m sure you’re not sure it’s true, but _we’re_ sure it’s true. You can stand in our way and be cut down, or you can get out of our way, but somewhere in between is not acceptable.”

“I’m trying to get out of your way.” 

“No, you’re trying to find somewhere in between while we work out a negotiated truce.”

Nolin pipes up. “While we’re being all honest and truthful, where is your body and how do we kill it? You know where my body is, and you know how to kill me, so I think it’s only fair that you tell us the same.”

Malachite realizes what Nolin is trying to do. “Yes!  You know how to kill us, you know how to find us, it doesn’t really seem like both sides have their cards on the table.” 

“Actually. . .” 

“You want to come at us with good faith, come at us with good faith. If you want to come at us with false faith, don’t claim it’s good faith.”

 “Actually,”  repeats Soder with some peevishness at being interrupted, “if I knew how to kill you you’d probably be dead by now.” 

Malachite’s voice drops into a mocking register.  “You know how. You’re just not _good_ at it.” 

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

At Malachite's words, everyone else winces and sucks in a surprised breath.  Velendo thinks over the mindlink, _“Malachite, could you stand in front of me, please?”

“I am in front.”

“*MORE* in front. I’m not sure we want to goad him.”_

Malachite’s mental voice is disbelieving. _“We’ve been goading him for the last ten minutes! We’ve been goading him since the moment he opened his damn mouth!”_

Nolin speaks out loud. “Well, you just need the usual things. Huge quantities of damage until we stop moving.” He cocks his head.  “But so far. . .”

Soder sighs with a dribbling noise.  “I just haven’t done a good enough job. I hoped that today you would find some redemption. Some second thoughts.” 

“No,” says Nolin. “Even if we die down here, we’re not joining your team.”

Malachite turns to Nolin.  “And we’re not dying down here.”

Nolin turns around, confused. “What?”

“We’re not dying down here.”

“I. . .”  The bard sounds doubtful. “I knew that.” He blinks. “You *know* it?”

Velendo squints. “Remind me when Malachite changed his mind about dying.”

“Tell me about it,” says Nolin. “Did you get a prophecy we didn’t?”

Malachite tries to explain. “Céann told us what was going to happen afterwards. Clearly she wouldn’t have given us a mission about what would happen afterwards if we were all to die.”  Hope radiates from him, not that Nolin notices. 

“A, I don’t listen to prophecies, and B, we’ve proven them wrong before.”

Malachite sneers. “Your lack of faith is typical.”

“Well, yes,” Nolin agrees.

“My faith is not. It doesn’t say that we’re all going to survive, but it says that some of us will.”

“Dear Lady?”  asks Soder, addressing Mara.

“Yes?”

 “If your friend ends up being wrong, and your group ends up becoming one with us, I would be honored to show you about.” 

Mara looks shocked, and Velendo interprets. “He’s asking you if you want a date.”

Mara tries to be polite.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Malachite doesn’t.  “I’ll be honored to shove my fist down your goddamn throat.”

“Ahh, jealous boyfriends.” 

Mara blinks. “Hey!”

Agar chimes in. _ “He hasn’t lied yet.”_

“She begs your pardon for your insolence,” growls Malachite. His eyes are bulging.

“You _are_ uppity. Well, we’ll see what happens, won’t we?  Fair enough. It’s been lovely talking to you. I’ve enjoyed it.” 

Agar interrupts, desperate to get some useful fodder for his powerful truth spell.  “How close is the Ivory King to getting the body?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” 

“Are you planning on going to the body, or is he bringing the body to him?”  Soder’s gurgling chortle echoes in the small cave.   

“I hope he has more mercy on you when all is finished. I’ll try to convince him to.”  His voice sounds affectionate.  “I like you.” 

Malachite’s tone is low and bitter. “It warms my heart.”

“Be safe.”  The voice goes silent.

Velendo’s eyes snap over to Agar. “Was he lying about that? About hoping that the Ivory King shows mercy on us?” Agar shakes his head no.

Malachite’s fist clenches. “Does that damn spell work at _all_?”

Agar shrugs. “He never said anything that’s a lie! I know the spell works. Maybe he’s immune to it.” 

“Either he’s really good at guessing, or he really is truly screwed and wants to try to buy us off. Of course, he wants to buy us off with essentially a truce, and that’s not our goal.”

“He sounded like he was telling the truth,” says Galthia. “Is he still there?”

“We can’t tell,” says Mara. “He’s still covered by rocks. We should probably unearth the dead kobold and kill it. I can’t believe I have evil undead things asking me out.”

Malachite gives his fellow radiant knight a look. “Mara, you have _everything_ asking you out.”

“It was just one giant!” She sounds upset.

“That’s what I’m saying. Men three times your size are interested in going out for drinks. Like it or not, you had better grow accustomed to it.”  

“Just to refocus here,” Agar waves his hands, “does someone want to get under that and kill it?”

“Yes, of course,” answers Galthia. The group organizes so that Galthia is responsible for rock hauling, Malachite is responsible for the killing blow, and other people are prepared for any treachery.

Lying in the rocks with the kobold zombie’s eyes shut and eavesdropping on the conversation, Soder wonders if he should have some fun. Should he open his eyes and yell * “BOO!” * No, he reflects, he wouldn’t want to scare them, and best that they never learn he had been listening in. He slips away from the body just before Malachite’s sword falls, and he never feels the kobold’s head comes off and roll across the floor.

Agar stares at the decapitated reptilian head and shudders. “Mordenkainen’s disjunction?” he says disbelievingly. “Does everyone have a good feel for what that would do?”

“It would permanently annihilate all of our magic items,” answers Velendo grimly. 

“If I want to surrender to somebody, I don’t usually open up with Disjunction,” complains Nolin.

“Surrendering must have been his fallback plan,” says Galthia. “Charming.”

“My friends,” Malachite’s eyes are bright.  “If we are to believe the spell, or at least his surrender, then the White Kingdom’s spine has begun to bend.”

“I’m still waiting for that cracking noise!” quips Nolin.

“Oh, I am too! But this is a sign of progress. Maybe they’re just trying to buy time. Let’s not give it to them.”  

Nolin looks at Mara and Malachite as Velendo and Nolin heal people. “Do you guys want to practice praying together?”

“We’ve prayed together many times before.” They look at one another and shrug.

Velendo examines everyone carefully. “Those people who fell in the water probably are going to come down with grave rot. No one still has revenant worms in them. Let’s get you healed.” Mara and Malachite _remove disease_, and once Priggle and Galthia smash through the door on the far side of the hydra’s cavern the group gets moving.

They fly down well-groomed passages, wondering how the illithids managed to survive despite a long occupation by the ghouls.  “How is it that they managed to save any of their people?” asks Velendo.

“They sucker adventurers into healing them?” asks Malachite. 

“Hey, we got unmolested passage through their city. That seems like a good deal.”

“We agreed to heal their infection. For an unasked free bonus, we decided to heal the thing back to its full potential.”

There is quiet, finally broken by Nolin’s quiet voice. “Boy, are we stupid.”

“Boy, we did do that, didn’t we?” wonders Agar.

“It wasn’t unasked!” insists Mara. She feels pretty good about what they’ve accomplished.

“It was worth it,” concludes Velendo, and they fly down into winding darkness.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

They pass through the crumbling and abandoned remains of a mind flayer outpost. Miles later, winding back around, there is a side passage where some sort of city once stood; it is now dark, and in front of it stands an ancient statue to Mog the beetle-god.  Stone Bear’s death spirit Elder hisses that the pull of Nacreous is getting stronger, and he guides the group through short cuts which speeds them on their way.

After a few hours, the wide tunnel lurches off into a much smaller passage that has been carved out of solid stone by intelligent creatures. The heat here is terrible as they skim around the edge of a huge lake of lava. In the hellish orange light the adventurers can see giant spouts of magma spurting upwards, and one whole wall of the cavern looks like it holds a giant mosaic to Imbindarla that was made by flinging red hot magma onto the wall and letting it cool. The effect is eerie.

It’s unlikely that the group would be able to breath if they weren’t already in vapor form.  They quickly pass a narrow bridge that spans the lava, then fly beneath a half dozen round stone platforms that are hanging by massive chains from the roof of the cavern. The platforms seem to be designed so that a person would have to jump one to one and then swing to the next platform. Other than that, they have no obvious use.  “Oh, man!” says Nolin. “That would have been fun.”  But they don’t have time to investigate, and soon fly past the lava and into the cooler air of smaller caverns.

Much father on, the passage stops and takes a sharp left-hand turn as if it is curving around something in the path. The area in front is collapsed rubble, the edges of what must have once been a much larger cavern.

Stone Bear frowns. “The spirits are incredibly strong here. I can actually hear them from behind the rock.” He raises his misty hands in front of him, tiny whorls of vapor drifting off as he tries to understand what he’s sensing. 

_I don’t like it here,_ hisses Elder. _We are so close. Let us continue._

_No,_ interrupts Bear, another of the shaman’s spirit guides. _This is a good place. We should stay for a time._

Stone Bear extends his senses and gets a feeling of something like an immense ghostly whirlpool – and maybe a prison as well. It’s hard for him to tell, and even harder to find words for the things he can sense.

Mara sniffs. “The air is clearer here, too. Fresher. It feels like I’m outside on a spring day. It’s a wonderful change.”  

Malachite agrees. “There is goodness in front of us.” He smiles wryly. “No ghouls here, I think.”

Velendo slows his misty body to a halt as he realizes where they must be. “In front of us, under that collapsed ceiling, is thousands and thousands of ghouls and the remains of our greatest heroes.” His voice is reverant, and behind him Nolin begins to quietly sing a requiem.  “Here is where Saint Morak and Saint Aleax sacrificed themselves in order to stop the White Kingdom the first time, hundreds of years ago.”

“There are spirits emerging from there,” says Stone Bear softly. “They are being blown back in as soon as they emerge. I don’t believe they can leave.”

“I’d like to help,” says Velendo in wonder, “but I’m only a priest.” He comes out of wind form and sits down heavily. He looks up at the wall. He first heard about this sacrifice more than six years ago. Now, he’s sitting in the dark right in front of the place where it actually happened.

“We’re the second team,” he calls out loudly. “We’re here to try again. We’d like to set you free while we’re here. I bet no one’s prayed for you in a long, long time.” He’d like to remedy the situation, and he bows his head.

“I think,” Stone Bear’s voice is quiet as he also comes out of his misty form, “I think they’re inviting us in where they can hear us. There’s. . . there’s another passageway farther on.”

Malachite stands up. “Lead us.”

“It could be a trap,” cautions Velendo as he raises his face.

Stone Bear turns and gazes into the countenances of spirits that only he can see. “I don’t think so.”

They walk for twenty minutes or so, judging that the tunnel was carved as close to the holiness as the ghouls could stand, slowly ripped from the stone by tool and claw over the course of decades. Finally they reach a spot where someone or something tunnelled in to retrieve Aleax’s bones. The group turns right towards the silvery radiance instead of continuing on the main passage. Cautiously, the group moves upwards through a braced shaft, and they soon find themselves standing in what must have been a cavern the size of a stadium. They tread on rubble that has filled the space up to within thirty feet of the original collapsed ceiling. Beneath their feet lie the bodies of the fallen, both mortal and undead.

Around them swirl hundreds of silvery spirits.

“I think this place is drawing souls in somehow,” says Stone Bear. “Some of those who were freed once Imbindarla died. This place is holding them in some way.”

“I want to. . .” Velendo swallows drily. “I want to talk to one in particular.”

“I can try to call him for you,” offers the shaman.

“Yes, please.”

“Give me your hand.” Stone Bear throws his head back, and he speaks in a way that makes no sound. Movement flashes around the corners of Velendo’s vision.  The shaman is suffused in light for a few seconds, and he twitches horribly. When turns back towards Velendo, his voice is that of an old man.

“Well. Look at you.”

“Stone Bear?”

“No.” The blind shaman smiles beatifically, and Velendo falls to one knee.

“Get up!” says the spirit of Saint Morak in a quavering voice. “What are you doing down there?”

I know how that that feels, actually,” says Velendo sheepishly, and he struggles to his feet. “Your pardon. It was instinct.”

Saint Morak touches the edges of Velendo’s face. “You’re real people!” he says disbelievingly. “It’s been some time. My body is down,” he gestures, “there, someplace, underneath all that.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work getting you out.”

“You don’t have to get me out. That’s certainly not what you came for.”

“No,” admits Velendo. “It would be nice if we had that kind of luxury, but getting you out may have to wait.”

“You came for ghouls,” says Saint Morak confidently. “To finish what I thought I had ended.”

“They may be trying something new. It’s been some time.”

Morak turns to Mara and Malachite. “It’s good to see our priesthoods working together again.” He turns to Agar, and squints despite the fact that Stone Bear has no eyes.  “Boy, there’s a squidgy thing with tentacles sitting on your shoulder. You’re aware of that?” Saint Morak sounds slightly disapproving.

“Yes. He likes it there; he’s my friend.”

“I’m sure.” Velendo is surveyed again. “You’re certainly all tricked out.” Morak sounds slightly jealous and covetous of the ostentatious armor, the jeweled weapons, the obvious magic.

“We need every advantage we can get,” says Velendo carefully as he tries not to offend. “Things are difficult down here.”

Saint Morak sounds disgusted with himself. “I thought we had solved that problem.”

“You put it off for a goodly long time, but the ghouls have reemerged. New plots are brewing?”

“What plots?”

A horrible thought sneaks into Velendo’s mind. “Stone Bear?”

“He’s in here.” Saint Morak’s voice is still strong.

“I know this is going to be horribly offensive, father, but may we detect evil on you? We’ve been tricked before.  I just needed to be sure.” Mara checks, then nods that her detection worked and that everything is fine. 

“No offense taken,” says Saint Morak, his aged voice coming from Stone Bear’s throat. “I ought to do the same. May I borrow your holy symbol?”

Velendo looks shocked, and glances down at the solid stone shield on his arm.  “Can you hold it?”

“Let’s see.” The possessed shaman takes Velendo’s shield, and in his hands it is as light as a feather. He casts a spell, and Nolin tries not to even think naughty thoughts. Saint Morak then glances down at the animated carvings of Velendo on the outside of the shield. 

“What’s that a carving of?” He tries unsuccessfully to blink. “Oh, for crying out loud! It’s you!”

Velendo is thrilled to finally have someone who might understand. “That’s what I said!”

Nolin intercedes. “I don’t mean to interrupt either of your holinesses, but is crankiness mandatory in your religion?”

Both look up and respond simultaneously. “Who’s cranky? I’m not cranky!”

Morak continues. “Goodness knows I have a right to be cranky, being denied my proper reward and being trapped underneath rubble for what must be dozens…”

“Hundreds.”

“…hundreds of years, but Calphas has a plan for me. My eyes can not see all the intricacies of his master plan. I do his will.”  He pokes fingers into unfamiliar and empty eye sockets. “In a manner of speaking,” he mumbles.

“Well said,” murmurs Malachite.

“There’s someone you’ll want to meet,” says Velendo, and Cruciel manifests beside him. Saint Morak gasps, and he causes Stone Bear’s body to immediately drop to one knee. “There’s a lot of that going around,” remarks Velendo sheepishly.

“There’s an angel next to you!”

“We’re really not fit to be following in your shoes the way we are. I guess Calphas thought I needed a little help.”

 “Rise, Morak,” intones Cruciel. She lovingly places her fingers underneath his chin and guides him back to his feet.  “You are blessed in the name of the Wallbuilder, for you are a keystone in the wall of faith. Be joyous.” Her voice reverberates with power.

Still unsettled, Morak turns to Mara. “Aleax should be around here somewhere,” he mumbles. “He died with me. Not that he wanted to at the time.”

“He is,” answers Nolin wryly. 

“You’ve seen him?  Where is he?”

“Aleax has been called home, Morak.” Malachite’s tone is serious.

Malachite and Nolin quickly shares the story of Saint Aleax and the Ivory King’s betrayal. Saint Morak is amazed, and although he keeps staring at the rich treasure which adorns the Defenders of Daybreak, he seems to take in every word.  “What are the ghouls up to now?”

“Trying to eat the carcass of Imbindarla.”  Stone Bear’s body snaps to attention.

_“What?”_

“Like we said, new plots are brewing.”  The group explains current events, such as how Imbindarla has fallen and how her unborn son wishes to consume her flesh and thus gain a share of her power.

“He ate his way out from underneath this collapse!” Morak spits indignantly. “I had him! I’ve never seen the like.”

“Maybe you can tell us all about him?” says Nolin eagerly. “We’ve never seen him, and don’t know as much as we need to.”

There’s a momentary pause.  “I might be able to show you,” says Saint Morak thoughtfully.  “He had an advisor, not very powerful, not very competent, but who could for a few seconds taken on the bodies of other undead.”

“Soder. He’s gotten better at it.”

“Has he? He was not here when we dropped the cavern. I wish we had an opportunity to do it properly, but it was the only chance we had.  What Soder does, I might be able to do for you if you want it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re all linked, the dead. More now than before. I might be able to put your spirits near them. Just for a few minutes, I imagine, and we’d have to make sure your bodies were safe here, but it might give you an opportunity to see what I didn’t reach before.”

The group looks at one another. It would mean an unparallelled opportunity to scout, although the danger could be horrible. 

“Think about it for a few minutes,” says Morak. “I think that this shaman can handle it. I should be sure. And in any case, there’s another spirit here that wishes to speak with you.” Morak’s appearance vanishes from Stone Bear’s face as the shaman’s muscles go slack. He twitches again, and his face takes on a familiar cast and turns towards Malachite. 

“You were sloppy,” says Claris’ voice to the hunter of the dead. “You should have killed the elven archer and the shadow personally. If you had, my spirit wouldn’t be here.”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

It will be a little while before the next update, but since I was posting it in a different thread (a thread about cinematic cut scenes in General Discussion) I thought I'd post Agar's _vision cacade_ here.

*Vision Cascade*
Divination
Level: Sor/Wiz 6
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Personal
Target: You
Duration: 24 hours
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No

Vision Cascade relies on gathering echoes of the caster’s personal knowledge which reverberate upon the astral plane. Throughout a 24 hour period, this spell shows the caster fragmentary glimpses of his enemies, allies, and even strangers whose actions may interact with the caster’s at some point in the future. Oracular visions may occur at any point in the 24 hour period (as dictated by the DM), and in any given day the caster may see between zero and his level in number of oracular visions, as determined by the DM. These visions are perceived the caster instantaneously when they are periodically generated by the spell, but may relate events that vary from seconds to minutes in length. The events seen by the caster generally occur in the present (i.e. within the past day), but the unpredictable nature of the spell occasionally relates events that have happened in the past or which have not yet occurred. The knowledge of roughly when the vision took place is communicated by the spell (ie “past,” “present,” or “future.”)

The caster has no method for determining exactly what people are viewed by the spell, although upon casting he can choose one target creature or event. There is a percentage chance equal to the caster’s level that this target creature or event is definitely included in one of that day’s oracular visions. This spell works in spite of most scrying preventions, but is thwarted by mind blank and more powerful spells. Subjects shown by the oracular visions have no way to detect the spell’s observation, as there is no scrying sensor to detect.

In addition to providing oracular visions, this spell provides limited insight into immediate danger. While it is in effect, the caster gains a +1 insight bonus to both AC and Reflex saving throws. This bonus does not stack with other insight bonuses.

Note:  This spell is primarily used in campaigns where the DM wishes an in-game method to impart information via “cut scenes.” The player is encouraged to occasionally remind the DM that the spell is active if relatively few visions have occurred on any particular day.


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## thatdarncat

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Err - I gently remind folks that I have to eventually delete all the really OT comments, and doing so is a pain in the butt.




Defenders of Daybreak OT thread


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## Old One

*Old One's Report from PKitty's...*

Greetings Gang!

Just got back from PKitty and KidCuthulu's place...had a fun night...even though I got a bit lost on the way down and back (so much for Army training !).  I will never remember everyone's name...but I met Wulf and Sagiro and the nice folks that play Galthia, Mara and Malachite whose names escape my sleep-deprived brain.  PKitty and KC were fine hosts and have two cute "trollers"...

I got there late...so they were already in the middle of the action...I played Priggle a bit and Burr-lip a bit.  Poor Priggle spent half the session twitching on the floor and every time he got into position to deliver his sneak-attacks of death...another PC finished off the foe.  Priggle can't get no respect !

I sat next to Wulf, who was a trip...a manic giggle issued forth everytime Stone Bear scored a critical hit...which was often.  It was a fairly combat-heavy session, so I didn't get a chance to show of my superlative role-playing skills (hah...that's a joke, folks...tip your waiters and waitresses), but I will say this...the DoD are *SCARY* in combat!

I think Malachite hit one foe for 139 points in one round...ouchie.  PKitty is a fiendishly clever DM...unfortunately...his players are equally devious and turned what looked to be almost certain doom into resounding victory through brains and panache.  I don't want to give too much away...'cept that Burr-lip has a new hobby...mind-flayer kite flying.

It was a blast...but I need to be up in 5 hours for a full day of financial planning lectures to some teachers...so I will sign off now!

~ Old One


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## Piratecat

For those who care about such things, T'Cri once trapped some overconfident Defenders in a tesseract prison. I've posted details on how to create such a thing over in the General forum. Enjoy!


----------



## KidCthulhu

What are we like?  You mean what does "The PirateCat Experience" really feel like? (boy, does that sound like a bad 70's lounge band)

Well, we laugh more than may be obvious in the SH.  And we can be very silly.  We also get easily distracted by politics and books.  

There's a real table position dynamic.  Nolin and Agar, and until recently, Tao at the chaos end of the table, and Malachite, Mara and Velendo at the lawful (or a least sensible) end of the table.  

One player will often share their clever ideas with their neighbours, but not with the whole table (because that would mean yelling), and so often during combat you'll get these pockets of evil giggling and gleeful hand rubbing as someone waits their chance to enact their clever plan.  

How's that for flavor text?


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## Jobu

PCat and KidC summed up the game experience/flavor pretty darn well.  I do miss sitting at the "Chaos" end of the table and I REALLY miss the mad cackling.  A great moment of the "sharing with the neighbor" was when Raevyn and Malachite's players were figuring exactly how much space Rae's Fire Storm would take up on the battle map.  They did the calculations quietly between them and were snickering while they waited for Rae's turn in combat......When PCat said "So, how much area does it cover" Raevyn's players response was "Back to my shirt" - showing that it went SO far that it went off the battle map, off the table and back to where he was sitting   

As for the feeling in the PCat/KidC household - and for those of you who have experienced it you hopefully agree with me.  It is an open house to friends WHENEVER they need it.  PCat/KidC have captured the welcome feeling that KidC and I had in our house growing up.  They even have the "spontaneous breaking into song for no real reason" that is always enjoyable - especially when PCat makes up his own words.


----------



## Piratecat

Claris’ sepulchral voice rises from Stone Bear’s throat. The shaman’s possessed body nods fluidly before continuing. “Yes, you were careless. But _I_ failed.”

“I see.” Malachite reacts to Claris’ spectral accusation by simply turning his back. His voice is cold. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it, since apparently it’s all MY fault. Anyone that gets killed by undead represents a _personal_ error of mine.”  His bitterness is clear, but Claris doesn’t seem to notice it. Her voice is unusually gentle as she responds.

“I’m pleased that you admit it’s your fault.  You've shown a forthrightness and willingness to accept responsibility that I have found... wanting... in most of the Defenders past and present.” Since Stone Bear has no eyes, it is impossible to see whether she is looking at Nolin as she speaks. “Do not be too hard on yourself, however. You are not responsible for all undead, just the ones that you had an opportunity to personally kill.”  Claris' head swivels towards Velendo.

“We attempted to confront the group of undead that was chasing you. The battle was still raging when I fell. I was horribly weakened by a shadow. The last thing I remember was being unable to move, all my muscles twitching uncontrollably, and the elven archer standing above me with a sneer on her face and her bow drawn.” Stone Bear’s body shudders involuntarily.

The group is silent for a moment, then Mara grimaces. “I know how that feels,” she mutters. Her tongue traces the raised scar in the back of her throat where Arballine’s bone arrow almost killed her.

“I’m sorry, Claris,” offers Velendo quietly.

Claris’ voice becomes brisk and to the point. “Apologies don’t matter at present. Promises are more important than death.” 

“How did you come to be here?” Velendo gestures with his arm at the hundreds of faint disturbances in the air, each one a restless spirit.

“When I was killed, I felt my spirit drawn here. It was almost as if an ocean tide had me, and I knew that if I came willingly I would be with others who could be allies. So I came.” She rubs Stone Bear’s eye sockets with one hand. “It hasn’t been very long.” 

The group sits down on rubble and catches up on old times with Claris. Despite the fact that the pilgrim of Vindus is inhabitating someone else’s body, her presence seems eerily normal. They discuss the progress of the war, the confrontation with the hated Halcyon, the ejection of Teliez through yet another gate, and the group’s utter lack of a feasible battle plan for when they actually reach Nacreous. “I’m tremendously worried,” frets Velendo. “We have no idea of how the city is laid out or what sort of resistance we may encounter. We don’t know what their plans are regarding Imbindarla’s corpse, and whether there will even be anyone in the city when we arrive. For all we know, they’ll all be out devouring the goddess’ corpse at the site where she fell.”

Stone Bear’s face twists and twitches, and suddenly Claris is gone and the spirit of Saint Morak is looking at the group once again. “Then you need to find out for yourself. Have you decided?”

“Yes,” answers Velendo as he glances around at the group. “We need to make sure that our bodies here are safe, of course. But if you really can transport our spirits into Nacreous, it seems like too good a chance to miss.” 

“Then we will try it.” Morak’s voice seems weary as he looks down at Stone Bear’s hands. “I will need this channeler at his full strength. He will be the one who brings you there and back. I can only show the way. You will displace some sort of undead when you arrive. Be ready for it.”

The group picks a handful of people to stay and guard the empty shells of flesh that the group will leave behind.  Malachite, Priggle, Galthia, Cruciel and Burr-Lipp are chosen, assuring that there is little chance of anything happening to the abandoned bodies that can’t be competently dealt with.  "I’m afraid I don’t have any choice,” comments Malachite. “My soul is too tightly bound to my flesh for me to inhabit an undead form.”

“And I’d only ruin things for everyone,” predicts Priggle. “Better not to send me at all.”

“Well, the four of us will keep your bodies safe,” promises Galthia to the others. “Don’t worry.”

“Five of us.” The voice comes from below.

“Thank you for that,” says Velendo as he places his hand on Galthia’s wiry shoulder. “We appreciate it.”

“Five of us!” Priggle stands up indignantly.

“What?” Velendo looks down at him confusedly as Galthia realizes his inadvertent gaffe. 

“Right. Five of us.” The monk gives Priggle a reassuring and thin-lipped smile, but the deep gnome doesn’t look especially optimistic as he stumps over to a shadowy chunk of rubble to keep watch and ponder his fate. Velendo sighs and turns back to Stone Bear.

“So, what do we have to do?” It’s Stone Bear’s own voice that answers him.

“Set up any defenses and preparatory spells here, first. Then you need to gather around me. Hold hands.”  Stone Bear begins to reach out with his soul to prepare for the journey.

_I’ve been waiting for this,_ hisses his spirit guide Elder. 

_This will not be a natural place,_ warns the animal spirit. _Do not expect the rules of the living world to apply._

_I won’t,_ thinks Stone Bear to his guide, and suddenly all thought is forced from him as his soul contacts the source of spiritual power in this cavern. It’s like stepping into a lightning bolt; the voluntary sacrifice of Morak and his compatriots centuries ago has turned the cavern into a place of tremendous power. Stone Bear feels the light growing inside him, expanding far past the point where he feels he must burst with the pressure. His heart and mind sing with the energy, and instinctively he knows that this could kill him if he doesn’t disengage or find someplace to channel the light.

_Now,_ whispers the ghost of Morak in his ear. _Fly._ With a tremendous effort, Stone Bear uses the energy to rip his soul free of his mortal body. With him he drags free the spirits of one ghost and four other mortals; he can feel the tug as their spirits separate from their flesh.

_I will lead you,_ says Elder, and they spiral downwards into darkness.

--- o ---

Mara feels herself free from her body. She is flying, and it is a glorious feeling. Like luminous torches she can sense her friends around her. Then her flight slows and she sees a light snuff out. A second spirit disappears, then a third. Mara sees a shape in front of her, and she instinctively dives into it – only to be brutally and painfully rebuffed. Whatever she tried to enter, she didn’t have the willpower to force her spirit into it.  The last of the lights is gone now, and she can feel her soul beginning to fray at the edges. Panic! Before the last of her strength is lost, Mara forces herself into another body nearby, one with less resistance and a more pliable form. As she feels cold and crawling flesh reform around her, she opens the body's gummy eyes.

She is lying on the ground, staring at a hazy ceiling far above her. Around her she sees six feral ghouls crouching and chewing with looks of near bliss on their jutting and fang-filled faces. She somehow knows that five of them are her friends and the sixth is the body she was just jettisoned from. But who is she?  Against all of her better judgment Mara slowly looks down, and two things immediately become apparent. 

The first is that she is in the body of a goblin zombie, not a ghoul.

The second is that her best friends are in the process of devouring her intestines.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Poor Mara. I had them roll a simple will save (or something similar) to make sure that they had enough will power to steamroll the intelligence already in the undead. Mara's player not only rolled a 1, she rolled a _second_ 1 immediately thereafter. The only remaining body nearby was that of the half-eaten zombie.

I guess some days are just like that.

We're using the channeling, ley lines and power nexus rules from Bad Axe Games _Heroes of High Favor: Elves._ I've changed a few things to keep Wulf on his toes, but it meshes wonderfully with his shamanistic character.


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## Twinswords

1/2 million views passed. 

congrats piratecat


----------



## Welho

*De-lurking...3..2..1..*

Looong time lurker, first-time poster (be gentle) here! Since I joined up to vote on the poll, I thought to give my praise for this SH as well!

I first read this SH during the Eversink days waaay back when and I keep coming back to it due to the numerous yoink!-able ideas and sheer entertainment value. So thank you PC and the DoD-members! 

You guys posting comments are funny and insightful too! I'll get me lurking cloak now and return back to my dungeon in Finland...


----------



## Piratecat

The stony ground rises perceptibly near the northern edge of Nacreous, City of Ghouls, and from there the view southwards can be quite astonishing. A person standing with their back to the exquisite Gates of Shining Bone could see far past the reeking slave pits towards the martial Houses of the Unquiet and their vast army of the undead.  They could gaze upon the swaying mushroom forests of white fungus, under whose spreading caps the ghoul nobles gleefully hunt their panicked prey. They would see the abrupt precipice that marks the the eastern edge of the city, as well as the Seasoning Pit where the capitol’s food is rotted to sublime perfection. In the hazy distance one could perhaps make out the Palace of Rot, the Temple of All-Darkness, the Hill of Bones, the Arch of Gl’Yuut the Redeemer, and thousands upon thousands of mansions and mausoleum-like dwellings where the armies and artisans of the city tirelessly work and worship and eat without cease. Overhead the wings of massive undead bats would beat the foul air, and the tiny winged eyes of the king would circle like tiny meteors, seeing all that occurred with sight of their everpresent gaze. This is Nacreous, the heart of foulness, and it is here nearly a score of miles beneath the surface of Spira that the ghouls of the White Kingdom plan their secret movements.  It is here that the Defenders of Daybreak have gone in their quest to break the spine of the White Kingdom. 

Unfortunately, at the moment no one is particularly admiring the view.

_“Auggh! What are you doing? Stop!”_ Mara feels her spleen clawed out of her body, only to disappear whole into Stone Bear’s gobbling maw.  She unsuccessfully tries to keep the panic from her thoughts, and then five of the six ghouls surrounding her fetid body snap to attention and stop feeding. The untenanted sixth ghoul latches firmly onto one of her maggot-ridden intestines and starts to blissfully slurp.

_“Mara, that’s you?”_ Claris’ ghoul body would blink if it still had eyelids. _“You’re a zombie. Why aren’t you in a ghoul’s body?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t enter it. But stop eating me!”

“But you taste so good,”_ confesses Velendo in the gurgling tones predictably caused by a rotted tongue. _“Amazing. I don’t find this disgusting in the least.”_ He swallows another mouthful of putrescent flesh as he looks around. The group is crouched at the edge a crowd of another fifty or sixty undead soldiers. It must be lunch time; in groups of six, each pack of ghouls is eagerly devouring the flesh of a twitching zombie, and Velendo sees a ghoulish kobold manhandle another zombie out of a deep pit and throw it to the last unfed group. They fall on it with unbridled hunger.

Stone Bear glares at the sixth ghoul in their group which is still devouring Mara’s belly. The shaman whips the back of his hand into the monster’s face. “Mine!” he snarls viciously.  Claris follows his lead with her own fist and the ghoul collapses backwards with its skull badly shattered. A foul-smelling ghoul from another feeding group falls on the body possessively to claim it as food, and none of the other undead even glance over at the disturbance. 

_“Well, at least we won’t have to dispose of the body,”_ remarks Claris wryly.

They pull Mara’s injured corpse to her feet and look around. Military minds begin to note defensive and offensive capabilities. They momentarily separate to scout barracks and troops, bluffing their way past nervous sentries, and within fifteen minutes they begin to gain a feel for the defenses in this part of the city.  Chasing away several errant ghouls who want to devour Mara, the Defenders reconvene near the slave pits to compare notes.

“Those gates are solid,” worries Nolin. “They’re made of adamantine and highly enchanted. If I read the pictograms correctly, their very existence probably strengthens the walls of this huge cavern. I doubt we could get in here magically, either from another plane or by tunnelling through the walls.”

“The ceiling and floor, too?” asks Agar.

“Oh, yeah. They aren’t guarded incredibly well, but I don’t know that they have to be. I don’t think you can magic your way in here with earth spells.”

“Hummph. I’d know for sure if I had any spell components.” Agar scratches his ear, which partially comes off in his hand. “And did you notice? The air in here is unbreathable, with nasty vapors everywhere. I don’t think we’ll be able to breath.”

“It’s worse than that,” Claris adds. “You feel that power running through you, invigorating you and slowly healing you? There’s negative energy everywhere, although it’s not tremendously strong. Anything alive would be destroyed before too long. You’d be at a disadvantage just by being alive in this place.”

“Well, it’s a disadvantage we’ll have to deal with.” Velendo sighs. “It’s much better than the alternative.” He pauses, and clears his throat uncomfortably. “No offense, Claris.” The ghost of the monk gives him an icy look.

“The guards are nervous,” states Nolin with a certain hint of satisfaction. “They know we’re coming. They know we’re close, but they think we’re at least a day away. Many of them are worried that they’re going to be sacrificed by their King to stop us.” He picks a wriggling bug out of his leg. “We’ve developed something of a reputation.”

“I got the feeling that they think it won’t matter,” says Velendo. “They know that the Ivory King will rise from godling to God. They believe it fervently. He’s certainly planning something, but if anyone I talked to knows they wouldn’t say. He has gathered all the remaining clerics to him for some reason.”

“Well, let’s find out what. First, Mara’s body is horribly injured. Can anyone help her?”

“I could heal myself,” says Mara without thinking. “I think I can still lay on hands in this body.”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Stone Bear shakes his head doubtfully. “That’s positive energy and sunlight you channel. You’d probably hurt yourself just trying to channel it, and it would definitely tear apart that body. The same thing for the rest of us.”

“Oh.” Mara looks down in disappointment, and begins to stuff her dangling intestines back into her stomach cavity. She holds them in place with one hand. “I’ll just have to make do.”

Velendo looks sympathetic. “I’m sorry about that, Mara. I might be able to summon a brick as a spell component, though. Let’s find out.” He concentrates and silently recites the prayer that he has known for six decades, and as usual a holy brick of Calphas appears in his hand – only to sear through his fingers with excruciating pain.

“Ow ow ow ow ow!” Noxious fluids bubble from Velendo’s burned palm. “That was incredibly stupid of me. I didn’t think it would do that. Oh, that hurt. It almost disrupted this body completely.” He looks down longingly at the stone floor and brick that he dares not touch. 

“Look on the bright side, Velendo. Maybe someone will step on it.” Nolin examines the cleric’s wound without being able to really do anything about it, shakes his head, and glances around.  “Everyone ready? Let’s explore.” The group forms up into something approximating a military unit. Mara’s weaker corpse ensconced safely in the middle of the group, they march downhill away from the military barracks towards the center of Nacreous.

“Look at this,” wonders Nolin as the group threads their way between low, squat stone buildings with black iron gates. “These look like tombs but they’re actually shops. Some of these creatures are aping what they did in life.” He grins. “Maybe I can get Shara a souvenir.”

“Then where is everyone?” wonders Agar. “Maybe it’s just me, but there just aren’t many of the enemy around. Either most of these buildings are unoccupied, or the majority of the ghouls here have gone somewhere else.” His train of thought is cut off as a dog-sized beetle scuttles across the cobblestone road ahead of him, setting him to shivering in fear.

“Well, we might as well… oh, crap.” Nolin blinks as he gazes downhill into a public square ahead of him, but he was right the first time.

“What?” asks Stone Bear.

Nolin gestures with a disbelieving flick of his feral, bony head. “Look down there. I think we know that ghoul.”

“Soder?” The group gazes ahead with anticipatory hatred, but who they see instead is a tremendous surprise. Mara is the first to speak.

“It’s… it’s what’s his name!” She snaps her fingers trying to jog her memory, inadvertently shearing off a little piece of flesh in the process. “Priggle! It’s Priggle!” Her voice rises in disbelieving lilt.  “How?”

“It’s Priggle, all right,” confirms Agar. “Only a lot more rotted. This was my vision. That deep gnome looks like our friend, but he’s definitely undead. How could that be?”

“I have no idea,” says Nolin as he thinks out loud. “I don’t think he has any siblings.  There was that woman in Akin’s Throat who offered to clone people. Could she somehow have been allied with the ghouls and gotten them a piece of Priggle’s flesh?”

“I couldn’t imagine it,” says Velendo with a frown. “How would the clone get here? And are there more of them, one of each of us?”

"I hope not," says Mara with a frown.

“She wasn’t exactly a woman,” clarifies Stone Bear. “I saw her spirit. She was a fiend clothed in human flesh. There’s a difference.” They watch as the undead deep gnome finishes speaking to a hulking undead ogre and turns to slink deeper into the city. Nolin is the first to speak.

“I say no one tells Priggle.” 

“Good lord, no.”

“Not a chance.”

“Agreed.”

“He has enough to complain about already.”

Moving onwards, the group makes their way past the hill of bones that they saw from the northern end of the city. A deep moat surround the hill, and atop of it stands a large mansion built from bone, its ornate design terrifying even from a distance. It’s the kind of home that an insane man might build for himself. 

“Soder’s house?” asks Mara. She feels drawn to it for some reason, like iron filings to a strong lodestone. 

“Maybe,” says Velendo as he gazes up at the shuttered windows. “But now’s not the time to find out. Let’s figure out where everyone is first.” 

“First I want to examine the cliff over there,” says Nolin. They soon arrive at the edge of the massive precipice that marks the eastern edge of the city. Looking out, they can see that the cliff drops downwards out of sight, and opens up into an immense and empty canyon that must be miles across. No light is visible across the yawning and endless expanse.

“Phew,” says Agar, impressed. “You don’t often see anything like that.” He moves to look over the edge and is roughly thrown backwards by an invisible wall. “Anti-undead barrier,” he says with surprise, wincing at his burns. “We can’t pass. I think it’s anti-life as well. I can’t imagine that there are predators out there, but this is definitely a defense. A powerful one, too.”

“I wonder if we can come that way?” wonders Velendo. “If you think you could punch a hole in it.”

“Oh, sure,” says Agar with confidence after considering for a few seconds. “It might take me a minute to do, but I should be able to get through it. If we were flying and there is some other way to get into the far side of that canyon, I could probably get us through here.”

_That is the way for you to go,_ rumbles Stone Bear’s spirit guide Elder inside of the shaman’s head, louder and more clearly than normal. _I know where you are now. I will be with you, and I can guide you to this place. Trust in me._  The death spirit sounds supremely satisfied and almost eager. _This is a special place, and it calls to us. There is death here._

_You think?_ asks Stone Bear. _I’d hate for you to state the obvious._ Elder doesn’t reply.

They hurry along empty streets past the low mausoleums, and finally pass a small establishment with noise coming from it. The group ducks their heads as they enter the building.

“It’s about time you got here!” hisses a shrill and grating voice. An undead halfling waddles out from the back, bloated stomach protuding from under his ragged tunic. “You’re late. The last of them is ready, and it needs to be brought _immediately._ If it’s not ready by the time the feast begins, we’ll all be torn apart for food ourselves.”  He squints. “Say, why do you have that zombie with you? And why so many for a simple delivery?”

“Don’t ask questions,” growls Nolin authoritatively. “We do what we’ve been told to do by people more important than _you_, and _you’re_ certainly not going to question our directives.” He eyes the tiny ghoul speculatively, as if wondering how he would taste. “Unless you’d like to take it up with our masters who ordered the feast?”

The halfling immediately quails. “No no no!” it blubbers, chewing on its own tongue in horror. “Take it quickly! It should be the most delicious of the lot.”

“It had better be,” snarls the bard. 

“Oh, yes. Most certainly.”  The halfling ghoul pushes open a grating to reveal a huge silver platter. Curled on it is an actual dead halfling, carved and marinated and exquisitely seasoned. A dried heart the size of an apple is jammed into its open mouth. The group does their best not to recoil at the sight.  “It’s all stuffed and ready. Just take it to the feast, to the central tables. They’ll take it from you there.”

_“The worst part,”_ thinks Nolin over the mindlink, _“is that seeing this is making me famished. It looks and smells delicious.”_

Velendo’s face twists in horror as he realizes that Nolin is right, but the halfling ghoul in front of him is admiring his own handiwork and doesn’t notice. “What’s the fastest way to get there?” asks Velendo.  The halfling stares at him in confusion. “We’re newly arrived,” clarifies the cleric quickly, “in the city just since yesterday. We don’t know where everything is yet.” The halfling’s features clear as much as their rotted nature allows them to, and he smiles a toothy grin.  Velendo can’t help but notice that the halfling’s teeth have been painstakingly filed down into points.

“Ahh. You arrive at a fortunate time. Our King performs the ritual even now. Soon he shall ascend, and he will be the favored children of a God. Think of our bounty then!” Strands of ropy saliva begin to trickle unnoticed down from the halfling’s mouth.  “All praise the Fallen Queen. They are at the Temple of All-Darkness, of course, where they call to Her. The Ivory King bargains with her servants.” 

He is interrupted by the distant pealing of a discordant bell, the jarring notes falling upon them as if they were a rising tide of icy water. “Auggh, the first bell!” the halfling squeals. “Quickly now! Quickly! You mustn’t be late!”  Without further delay, the group scoops up the silver platter and hurries from the shop.

“First bell?” asks Nolin worriedly. He glances back at the struggling Mara, whose zombie body can move nowhere as quickly as the rest of the group. “We’ll have to do something about her. She can’t keep up.”

“We’ll ditch this food in a convenient spot, load Mara onto the platter, and run,” Velendo instructs.  “Claris, Stone Bear? You may want to range ahead a bit.” They move as rapidly as they can through the silent and empty city. The horrible bell rings a second time as the distant sound of voices raised in prayer can be heard, and the Defenders redouble their pace as a horrible premonition begins to form. Finally they skirt a fenced off hollow packed with thousands of skeletons and can see the tumbled stone temple rising up before them. The empty ground around it is packed with thousands of chanting ghouls. To their left they can see the area set aside for food and festival, but they push their way past the worshipping ghouls directly towards the rubble of the temple of All-Darkness. 

Stone Bear is the first to spot the object spiked to the huge double doors of the temple, where everyone can see it. He blinks, then calls everyone else's attention to the war trophy. _ "You may want to see this. Is that what I think it is?"_

Velendo tries to see, but the eyesight in his ghoulish body isn't the best. _ "What is it? It looks like a ghoul's arm pinned there, holding a sword."

"Not a ghoul's arm,"_ corrects Stone Bear. _"Look at the shining armor, ripped off at the shoulder. Look at the blood that's still dripping from the socket. *Look at the sword.*"_

Nolin looks over at the severed trophy, and almost chokes on his own tongue. _"I know that sword."

"Yup. That's Halcyon's arm."

"But what's it doing *here?*"_

Stone Bear gives his head a quick shake. _"Bleeding, apparently. I bet she tried to kill the Ivory King after we warned her about his plans. She said he was on her list. Apparently he killed her."

"And ate her."_ Claris has noticed the bite marks on the broken shoulder bone. The sword of Halcyon still is grasped in her mailed fist, and Claris can feel its aura of icy law all the way from where she is standing.

_"More divinity for him to swallow,"_ thinks Velendo. _"If he's trying to ascend by eating his mother's divine spark, that absolutely can't be good."

"Maybe she's still alive?"_ wonders Mara.

_"I wouldn't bet on it,"_ concludes Stone Bear. He considers the power of her sword, and decides that it isn't something he wants to leave here if he can help it. 

He's still fairly far from the temple's door when the ghoulish chanting rises to a crescendo.  From the canted bell tower of the temple the ghastly chimes peal out a third and final time, and their dissonant song is one of resounding triumph. Even as the Defenders begin to run past kneeling ghouls the ground begins to shake.

They’re too late.

The stone quivers, buckles, screams as something pushes it up from beneath. A fierce joy and power enters the bones of each Defender, and they know that the amount of negative energy in this place has suddenly increased tenfold. Many of them fall as the ground moves, and Mara watches as half of the bell tower crumbles away and falls on the ghouls beneath it. On the remaining platform she can see the bell ringer, a ghoulish version of herself but dressed in the mantle of an Imbindarlan priestess. 

_“Son of a bitch!”_ Mara actually swears as she sways back and forth amidst the moaning bodies of sycophantic ghouls. “I knew I hated those bells for a reason!”

But no one notices her curses. The entire city is being shaken as sections of paving stones buckle and swell and rise upwards. The ground under several of the Defenders’ feet is lifted especially high, giving them a unique vantage point. After an eternity the earth finishes moving, and the group can see what has happened to the city. From where they stand, it is clear that only certain parts of the city have suffered disruption. The center of the city has swollen upwards in a broad swathe, and two separate ridges far away, and separate bulges to both the right and left, and right underneath their feet a round plateau that. . . that. . . 

Realization settles in.  Stretching for thousands of feet, the uprising in the stone that now fills Nacreous is shaped like an immense body, one pushed upwards from deep beneath the earth and rising to use the stone of buildings and streets as a second skin. The damage to ancient structures is incalculable, but that’s hardly a concern. The Ivory King has bargained with the servants of Imbindarla, and he has made sacrifices, and his will has been made manifest.

The corpse of the Goddess has arrived.

_Yesssss,_ hisses Elder in Stone Bear’s ear. _Now you can feel it too._ The shaman wisely ignores his spirit guide.

Closer to the temple and away from the heights of the Goddess’ head where most of the Defenders stand dumbstruck, Stone Bear’s ghoulish body vaults nimbly over fallen blocks of stone into the area where the ritual took place. Claris is not far behind him.  The shaman looks down and for the first time he sees the Ivory King; as obese as ten normal ghouls, carried on a palanquin by almost thirty straining bearers, his fish-white flesh drooping and folded and puckered from a multitude of sins.  Tiny glowing eyes circle him like fireflies, flitting in and out to nest in the folds of his flesh.  He has just finished drinking the deliquesced remains of what was recently every surviving ghoulish cleric of Imbindarla, whom he gradually dissolved in acid and then fully consumed to power the ritual. The twitching, organic sludge dribbles down his many chins onto his naked chest, and the monstrosity smiles ever so broadly. His long tongue snakes out to lick the last morsels of gelled flesh from the inside of the tub.

“Sleep, mother,” he croons wetly to himself.  “I will carry on where you could not.”  He raises his voice and chortles delightedly for the benefit of his many subordinates.  “And now, the feast!”

Stone Bear grits his teeth, braces himself, and leaps to attack. His fists blaze with ghoulfire, yellow-green in the darkness. Jumping from above, he closes on the Ivory King before anyone can react. The shaman’s fist buries itself in the squelching flab of the ghoul’s chest, and the Ivory King locks eyes with Stone Bear. Recognition dawns in his shining orbs.

“You!”  He smiles horribly and reaches out with both spindly arms to grab Stone Bear’s shoulders. The Ivory King’s jaw unhinges as it yawns impossibly wide.

Stone Bear feels something twitch inside him, and he cedes control, letting his spirit guide Elder talk directly through him. He hears Elder’s voice come from his own mouth.  _“I am coming for you. I will not permit you to have Her. All your plans will be for nought.”_  Then the Ivory King’s gaping maw covers Stone Bear’s head, his jaws snap shut with a horrible click, and the world dissolves into tumbling darkness.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Sito

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> I bet that bitch would give her right arm to have another crack at us.




Best. Secret. Spoiler. Ever.

I've been waiting months to compliment you on that one, Wulf.


----------



## Piratecat

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> -z, hardly believing that the Defenders just left that artifact hanging...




Not only that, _it's still there._ When all was said and done they had other things on their mind, and didn't end up going back for it. 

I kind of feel sorry for the poor SOBs in the adventuring group that _does_ end up questing for it. Lord knows what's going to move in after this adventure is over. 

They may have to convince Halcyon's arm to let it go, though. . .


----------



## Dirigible

The ghoul king has certainly changed from his original appearence in _the White Kingdom._


----------



## Piratecat

Dirigible said:
			
		

> The ghoul king has certainly changed from his original appearence in _the White Kingdom._




Yup, he was lame. "Ooh, adventurers are invading my kingdom! I think I'll hide in my palace in the last room, sitting around on my throne surrounded by inappropriate monsters, all skinny and moping and goth-like, while my girlfriend the lich hides in my basement instead of helping me properly defeat these upstarts."

Screw that.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Yup, he was lame. "Ooh, adventurers are invading my kingdom! I think I'll hide in my palace in the last room, sitting around on my throne surrounded by inappropriate monsters, all skinny and moping and goth-like, while my girlfriend the lich hides in my basement instead of helping me properly defeat these upstarts."
> 
> Screw that.




Years ago, when PC was running his first after college campaign, we had a new player, and were invading an evil wizard's tower.  The new player kept arguing that we should come in from the top, because the chief bad guy wasn't likely to be there, as he'd be sitting on his throne on the ground floor.  We all shook our heads pityingly at him.  "PC doesn't run that kind of game" we said.  

Nobody sits on thrones and waits for the adventurers anymore.  I blame lax standards.  And television.


----------



## Negative Zero

*DoD compiled StoryHour, now with colour and pictures!*

the file is too big to email, but you can find it here.


----------



## Kodiak

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Right.  I played Kiri.  But the Jennie Finch picture did fit my mental image of Mara--all strong and kind of glowy.
> 
> I don't think Mara's player ever weighed in one way or the other on the resemblance.
> 
> -WLS




She does look quite a bit like Mara, although Mara is not so pencil-eyebrowed and sophisticated-looking.   And her smile isn't quite radiant enough.  I've spent a while thinking about who I'd cast as Mara, and nobody seems quite right.  I originally envisioned her character a bit like a tall, strong, buff version of Alicia Silverstone from "Clueless".

Among the actresses with the right height and coloring, Charlize Theron is the closest I've come up with (from "The Italian Job"), but more buff and with more hair. 

Or maybe Cameron Diaz, but stronger and less goofy.

Tao's player's favorite is Kate Bosworth from "Blue Crush", who I also really like but who is a bit short (5ft7).

Although this makes me have to confess to having seen at least one Tomb Raider movie, Angelina Jolie is one of my favorites so far.  Here she is in fighting form.  Here she is rash, happy, and bodacious.  Not all fair and golden, but very Mara-like (though Mara's is much more naive and less sultry, and she doesn't have breast and lip enhancements or a disturbing relationship with Billy Bob).  

I don't know if this helps at all or just confuses things, but there you have it!  

-- Mara's player


----------



## Blackjack

Jobu said:
			
		

> I have always seen Mara with the "Clueless" naiveness of Alicia Silverstone




I'm going to echo Kodiak and Jobu, and say that I think this is a really good fit for how Kodiak plays Mara in person.




			
				Jobu said:
			
		

> I still haven't really gotten a good picture of Malachite.




The previous suggestion (by KidC, I think) of Dylan McDermott is one I think works pretty well.


----------



## Kodiak

Blackjack said:
			
		

> I'm going to echo Kodiak and Jobu, and say that I think this is a really good fit for how Kodiak plays Mara in person.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> The previous suggestion (by KidC, I think) of Dylan McDermott is one I think works pretty well.




Ooohhh, very nice!   I didn't have much of a mental image of Malachite before, but that sure is him. photo 1 photo 2.  All steely and rugged.  I hadn't realized he was quite so gorgeous.  He makes Nolin's brother (whom Mara has always liked) look like a pretty-boy, and gives the Clarion of Aeos a run for his money.


----------



## Naathez

Most Likely, no-one here -least of all Mr. PCat - can remember my one post on this thread, years ago. 

I was - still am - a DM from Italy. And reading PCat's SH had got me back to DMing.

I've been lurking ever since. 

But this SH is too good to just LURK. (And NO, it's not pics of "best actress to play Mara" that got me to post,    . 

It's just you guys are too good. All of you.

Thanks for letting us see what you're all doing. For setting a standard (in my book) for what RPG can be.  

Thank you all.

I'm here in the shadows reading, if anyone peeks...  

er - i think i stepped on something...

Prigg- naaah.


----------



## Blackjack

Kodiak said:
			
		

> I hadn't realized he was quite so gorgeous.




I actually don't view Malachite as being notably handsome; I (and I think KidC) meant McDermott's steely stance more than his basic looks.  Sorry to have been unclear.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yeah, I was more thinking McDermott for his look of stern dissaproval and steely resolve than for his big blue eyes.  But I've never pictured Malachite as fugly either.  

The real question is who do we cast for Velendo?  I've always pictured him as Abe Vigoda, but I think he's dead.


----------



## Sialia

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> The real question is who do we cast for Velendo? I've always pictured him as Abe Vigoda, but I think he's dead.



Ben Kingsley.

http://ent.sina.com.cn/m/f/2002-03-25/77168.html

And, what the hey, he doesn't look bad dressed up as Sagiro, either:
http://www.cinenova.tv/tvGids/films.htms?f=1352


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Yeah, I was more thinking McDermott for his look of stern dissaproval and steely resolve than for his big blue eyes.  But I've never pictured Malachite as fugly either.




Me neither, but I think I view his high Charisma more as "force of personality" than looks.  But that said, a Cha of 19 doesn't put him into the Marty Feldman zone, either.  Maybe he does have some looks about him; I never really thought about it before now.




			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> The real question is who do we cast for Velendo?  I've always pictured him as Abe Vigoda, but I think he's dead.




Nope, alive and well!
http://us.imdb.com/name/nm0001820/


----------



## Len

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Nope, alive and well!
> http://us.imdb.com/name/nm0001820/



He just made a movie with Traci Lords. Alive and well, indeed!

But for some reason I can't help picturing Abe Simpson when I think of Velendo.  :\ Sorry, Sagiro.


----------



## Iron Chef BBQ

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Me neither, but I think I view his high Charisma more as "force of personality" than looks.  But that said, a Cha of 19 doesn't put him into the Marty Feldman zone, either.  Maybe he does have some looks about him; I never really thought about it before now.




How about Russel Crowe.  Not really handsome, but somehow compelling.

http://www.imdb.com/gallery/ss/0172495/8?path=gallery&path_key=0172495


----------



## aithdim

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> The real question is who do we cast for Velendo?  I've always pictured him as Abe Vigoda, but I think he's dead.





Patrick Stewart


----------



## Kodiak

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Hee hee hee.
> 
> We have considered doing "Children of Defenders"... Nolin's and Claris' daughters, for instance. Velendo will have to get moving on the marriage thing, though, if he and Mara are going to have kids.




Well, Mara *did* just spend a romantic evening with a guy who, as Malachite pointed out afterwards, might well be about Velendo's age.  He sure is dreamy, though.


----------



## WizarDru

Wolfspirit said:
			
		

> (convincing Priggle that it's a wonderfull life, or having Malachite fall in love with a beautiful Aeos worshiping undead and the resulting conflict),



New, this fall on NBC MUST-SEE TV:

*Everybody Loves Priggle*: It's pure hilarity when Deep Gnome Priggle moves to Eversink in his new job as groundskeeper for Eversink's former prison!  Suffering for a curse he received in the Underdark, Priggle has to keep a positive attitude, whether he likes it or not!  To make matters worse, his new boss, the Trilith, has it in for him!  Join him and his roommates Tom-Tom and Agar as they try to deal with short life in the Big, Swampy City.

*Aeos Theory*:  He's an uncompromising paladin who loves the color green.  She's a sexy ghost-cum-cleric who had to die to see the light.  Together, THEY FIGHT CRIME!

*Bard in the City*:  Nolin looooves the ladies.  But when his even-more amorous father moves in to his favorite Inn, can he keep his sanity?  Featuring a new special guest-star every week portraying one of Nolin's half-siblings.

*Ghostwood*:  It was a quiet frontier town, until the day the mysterious stranger wandered into town, talking about ghosts.  When newcomer Stone Bear discovers that the town is besieged by vengeful spirits, only the town's drunken priest, Velendo, will listen.  Can they save the town from the hordes of angry undead, when no one believes them?

*Mounts: *A reality show filmed live and on location with the Paladins of Aeos.  See what giant lizards, war horses and other animals do, while their adventuring masters go off in search of glory.  Hosted by Mara.


_(OK. I'll stop now....)_


----------



## Wolfspirit

Hehe, since I started this, a few more:

The Paladinette: Mara is a servant of Aeos who can turn heads better than she can Turn Undead, yet aside from an alternate reality love triangle with Nolin, is lacking in the romance department.  Will the suitors of this lovely Lady come to blows as they try to compete to be the one to win her affections?

Master and Galthia:  After confusion about finding “Master” in Sigil results in Galthia being stuck without a mentor, place to stay, or a return ticket home, the unlikely roommate pair of an elder brain and a githzerai attempt to coexist without killing or mentally dominating the other.  Will they learn to look beyond their differences?  Or will there be a Battle Royale?  Episode 1:  When Master gets slime all over the furniture and refuses to clean it up.

CSI: Eversink:  In the wake of the fall of Imbindarla, the people of Eversink must turn away from Divinations and do investigation the hard way.  Palladio leads a varied team of humanoids including a hyperactive-schizophrenic-kobold, a drow ex- exotic dancer, and a gnome with bad hair, who all use their varied pasts to help solve mysteries.

I Dream of Cthulhu: Agar’s bride-to-be turns out to actually be the Elder God Cthulhu.  Thinking this is actually a pretty decent turn of events, Agar settles down to have a family, never knowing that he’s probably going to be eaten when his usefulness is through.


----------



## Piratecat

And it's about time. Expect two updates next week, as we get to the exciting stuff!

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

*Interlude*

A portion of the group sits around a flat boulder, looking at a hastily sketched map of Nacreous. Spirits swirl around them as they hunch over the stone. Within the shadow of a nearby boulder, Stone Bear sleeps restlessly as he recovers from the strain of channelling the spirits.  The Ivory King himself had casually bitten off the shaman's head, and when he did the entire group had been flung out of their borrowed undead forms and tumbled roughshod back to their own bodies. Stone Bear had shielded the others by bearing the brunt of the mental and physical strain that accompanied their unplanned return.

“So, the city of Nacreous sits between the raised cliff edge and the back walls of the cavern,” Velendo slices his finger through the air over the map, “and there’s just empty cavern for an unknown distance once you go over the big drop. We could come into the cavern from that far end and sneak along the base of the cliffs. I think we have divination spells that could lead us there.”

Malachite rubs his chin. “It’s certainly a better tactical plan than going through those huge gates, if what you said about them is correct. He killed Halcyon, and now we have to kill him. I want every possible advantage on our side.”

“Here’s a question,” pipes up Nolin. “Did anyone get a feel for where the negative energy was coming from? We were feeling small negative energy pulses, and they got _much_ worse once Imbindarla’s body arrived.  Boy, if we could find the source of that, that would be a big help.”  The bard looks around at the group hopefully, but no one’s face lights up. Nolin shrugs.

“Now it’s probably coming from the body itself,” says Priggle gloomily.  

“It was worth considering.”

Agar scratches at the spot on his scalp where Proty is currently pulsing. “We had a prophecy from the earth spirit Silissa on how to destroy them, I think. What was it?”  He looks at Nolin.

The bard shrugs again and grins easily. “I hate prophecy when it comes to us.” 

Velendo gives him a dirty look and hauls out his own sheath of notes, stifling any comment he may have about what _real_ bards think of prophecies. He reads in a tired voice. _“The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night.”_

“What kind of name is that?” asks Nolin wonderingly.

“Maybe he’s a relation to Yuute, the herald of Yorrine who we had to deal with in Eversink. He’s dead now, though; Halcyon killed him.”  Velendo clears his throat and continues.  _“He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find. If he is destroyed along with his closest cadre, and the entrance to the cyst sealed, the spark that drives the ghouls shall fade as well.”_

Mara looks around. “Did anyone see anything while we were there that might be a cyst?”

“The whole cavern?” wonders Galthia.

“I don’t think so,” muses Velendo. “It has a lot of entrances.”

“I think it’s the womb from which the Ivory King emerged.” Nolin looks confident, a strong counterpoint to Velendo’s doubtfilled face.

“The cyst could also be an unnatural growth,” chimes in Agar helpfully. “We can try _find the path._”

“That could be. I say we kill the Ivory King first, and then look for the cyst.” He swallows drily. “Let’s finish. _They worship he and his mother, although only one of them is worthy of worship. The two share no loyalty; slay one, and they shall fall and be devoured, with all that might entail.”_ He blinks. “Well, one has been slain.”

“Yes,” responds Galthia, “but we didn’t do it.”

“And fell, and is about to be devoured, with all that entails.” Agar frowns in frustration.

“So we had better stop that part,” says Mara cheerily.

“What do we want to do about surviving in there?” asks Agar. Malachite looks at him questioningly.

“We have two major environmental hazards,” explains Velendo. “All of Nacreous is bathed in negative energy, and it got a lot worse when Imbindarla arrived. The other problem is that the air is not breathable.”

“Ohhhhhh,” says Nolin wonderingly, his eyes lighting up with inspiration.

Everyone turns to him. “You have an idea?” asks Velendo hopefully. “Tell us!”

Nolin smiles with the dazzling joy of a person who has just had a brilliant epiphany.  His eyes are far away, seeing a future occurrence that is perhaps worthy of an epic ballad. “I have my ring. Let’s make the Ivory King poop himself!”

Silence. Everyone’s eyes widen as they consider the possibilities.

“Wow,” sighs Agar over Nolin’s laughter. “Wow.”

Malachite scowls. “The mission I have been on for a year and a half is going to come down to bathroom humor.” He sounds disgusted, but his face keeps trying to twitch into a smile.

Velendo shakes his head. “It probably won’t work on undead, but if all else fails, do it.”

Nolin grins. “It’s the law of dramatic necessity. It’ll work. Besides, he probably eats a whole lot, and I doubt he gets enough fiber; I’ve got to think he’ll need it.”

Agar looks thoughtful. “Do people count as fiber?”

“Focus!” yells Velendo.

The group settles down and goes on to discuss and plan specific counters to the environmental hazards facing them, a spell named _filter_ (“I just met her!” crows Nolin) and one of Agar’s planar spells that might work to protect them. They discuss intricate backup plans, including heroes’ feast and miracles and limited wishes. The discussion goes late into the night. Finally, Malachite leans back.

“I wasn’t with you, and I don’t remember enough of the lore. We know that the Ivory King is unborn, but is he undead?”

“Well,” muses Mara without sarcasm, “he’s about ten feet around and covered with gross flesh ripples. He certainly _looked_ undead.”

“Okay, good. In as much as it is possible, it’s a good idea for me to kill him.” The group choruses agreement. “If that means not taking the final shot or even healing him somehow so that I can get to him, do it.”

“If Malachite can’t be the one who delivers the death blow,” jokes Nolin, “we’ll have Agar cast _Tenser’s Floating Disk_ and we’ll load the body on so it follows us around. If the King revives and sits back up, we’ll have him handy for killing again.” The nervous laughter which follows the joke is an indication of how worried everyone is.

“Before we go tomorrow, we should make sure that the others know what our last wishes are.” Velendo carefully sits his tired bones down on a boulder. “If we’re finished I think I’ll stay in heaven. You can always contact my spirit and make sure, though. The question is, what do we do about Saint Morak?”

Stone Bear shudders as the spirit speaks through him. “Well,” he says in a quavering voice, “I feel like I must do my part tomorrow. And you do have the most amazing shield.” Even with no eyeballs, it’s clear that Morak is eyeing Velendo’s shield laciviously.

“Err… yes, your holiness. So?” Morak reaches out to touch the shield with Stone Bear's hand, and Velendo is knocked backwards off his rock by a burst of silent light. Holding his shield, he suddenly feels all of Morak’s wisdom seeping upwards into him and combining with his own in a tiny voice that provides divine guidance. Hidden mysteries suddenly become clear, and Velendo can feel his will noticeably strengthened. He gasps and stares at the front of the shield; along the border border there is a small, engraved image of Saint Morak moving about.

“He’s in my shield! I have a Saint in my shield!” The old cleric sounds incredulous.

“Now you know what it’s like for us traveling with you,” grumbles Priggle. “It wouldn’t be a gnomish saint. Oh, no, they’re not good enough. Even if there were any.” He clears his throat. “I’ll stay dead. I don’t have much to live for.”

Mara turns to him. “Priggle, of course you do!” The deep gnome looks slightly mollified. 

Mara turns. “I do want to come back. Nolin, you don’t want to be resurrected, right?”

“Right. I’ll be with Rides The Sun, and I expect to be having too much fun in the afterlife.”

“Hmmph.” Agar looks at him. “We’d miss you, and you’d miss us. I’ll come back! Heck, I already did once. ” He looks around at Stone Bear. “Hey Claris, do you want to come back to life?”  Stone Bear’s head twists unnaturally as Claris speaks through his mouth.

“I do. I have my daughter to care for. If I pass beyond, Nolin will have to make arrangements for her.”

“Fair enough,” sighs Velendo. “I’ll be pleased to _true resurrect_ you once we’re done here.”

“Thank you. I may be able to repay you by helping tomorrow.” Claris explains her plan, and the group goes around and recounts each of their last wishes. Finally, it’s clear that it’s becoming late. 

“We have three or four hours of fast windwalking ahead of us tomorrow,” considers Galthia. “We should sleep.”

“Is it safe?”

Velendo looks around. “We have Saint Morak with us. I think it’s safe.”

They sleep soundly and safely in the holy cavern. In the morning, they awake to find that the cavern has silently transformed around them into a fortified stone temple. Altars to Calphas and Aeos stand at either end, and from what looks like a skylight in the ceiling sunshine – real sunshine – shines in.

“We’ve been blessed,” mouths Velendo. 

And in his shadow, the guardian angel Cruciel smiles to herself. It’s been a busy night and her arms are tired, but it’s definitely been worth the effort.

_To be continued… the assault on Nacreous!_


----------



## Spatzimaus

Okay, since I started the Death Pool listing way back when, I'll reiterate the rules:

*THE DEATH POOL*

Pick the first TWO PCs (Agar, Galthia, Malachite, Mara, Nolin, Stone Bear, Velendo) to die.  The order of the two isn't important, just that they died before the rest of the party.
As a tiebreaker, pick one cohort NPC (Priggle, Cruciel, or Burr-Lipp).

When the post first came up, the group still had Tao and Splinder, but since no one picked Splinder it didn't hurt much.

The guesses so far, so that Piratecat can delete the old posts (post #594, dated 10/10/2003):

Spatzimaus: Malachite, Stone Bear, Burr-Lipp
the Jester: Mara, Nolin, Burr-Lipp (was Tao instead of Nolin)
Caliber: Agar, ?, Priggle (was Tao)
thatdarncat: Malachite, Mara, Priggle
Ryan Koppenhaver: Nolin, Velendo, Burr-Lipp
Capellan: Malachite, Velendo, Cruciel
Nail: Galthia, Mara, Cruciel (was Priggle instead of Cruciel)
Hammerhead: Malachite, Agar, Burr-Lipp
Bloodsparrow: Galthia, Malachite, Cruciel
Shilsen: Malachite, Velendo, Cruciel
LightPhoenix: Malachite, Galthia, Priggle
Zaruthustran: Malachite, Galthia, Burr-Lipp
Lela: Malachite, Stone Bear, Cruciel
Fimmtiu: Galthia, Stone Bear, Cruciel
dpdx: Malachite, Galthia, Burr-Lipp
Steverooo: Malachite, Galthia, Burr-Lipp
jerichothebard: Agar, Velendo, Cruciel
Dakkareth: Nolin, Malachite, Cruciel
Kaodi: Agar, Malachite, Cruciel
Morte: Agar, Mara, Burr-Lipp
Graywolf-ELM: Velendo, Nolin, Cruciel
aithdim: Nolin, Galthia, Priggle
GreyShadow: Galthia, Agar, ? (no, Proty doesn't count)
Abraxas: Mara, Nolin, Priggle
Dareoon Dalandrove: Malachite, Galthia, Cruciel
tleilaxu: Nolin, Velendo, Cruciel
Tallarn: Nolin, Velendo, Burr-Lipp
Cthulhucoffeecup: Galthia, Stone Bear, Cruciel

So, for the rest of you, pick now!  Betting window closes as soon as Piratecat posts the first battle update.  Well, that could still be months away, but do it soon!


----------



## Spatzimaus

Lela said:
			
		

> Someone care to give me a brief run down?




Okay.

Cruciel, the "Angel of the Arch", is Velendo's guardian angel and lives in his shadow.  Both of those phrases are meant literally, by the way.  So, if Velendo is going to die, chances are Cruciel will go just before.  Her stats are in The Thread That Shall Not Be Named (post #715), although again it's a bit out of date.

Burr-Lipp is a Bullywug gladiator.  We haven't heard him do or say much; when we first met him, he was in a fight WAY over his head, and since then he's acted a support fighter (picking off "treed" enemies, etc.).  As far as I know, we've never seen his actual stats.

Priggle?  Never heard of him.  But supposedly there's this Svirfneblin (Deep Gnome) Rogue/Combat Miner in the group, he might know who Priggle is.
A very outdated character sheet of his (dated 1/18/03) is online at http://home.comcast.net/~dorian.hart/priggle.html
Of the three remaining cohorts, Priggle's the one we hear the most out of, ironically.  Just equate Priggle=Eeyore and you're pretty much there, it seems.

Anyway, the Death Pool totals so far (I'm editing my earlier post with new entries as I go), out of 16 people:
Malachite: 11
Galthia: 7
Stone Bear: 3
Mara: 3
Velendo: 3
Nolin: 2
Agar: 2

And NPCs:
Burr-Lipp: 7
Cruciel: 4
Priggle: 3 (he can't even be a popular person to die!)

And lately a lot of people seem to be picking the same three-person set (Malachite, Galthia, Burr-Lipp), which kinda removes the utility of a tiebreaker...


----------



## Piratecat

Stone Bear yawns. Absent from his sleep were the normal nightmares and flitting spirits that have become almost routine since he first descended into these hells beneath the earth. He can feel grit in his eye sockets, the grumblings of his spirit guides, the sharp talons of his raven, and the spirit of Claris still inside of him. He starts to stretch, and… and…

“Why is there a tray of cinammon buns in my hands?”

“My apologies, Stone Bear.” Claris’ voice issues forth from his own mouth. “You were asleep, and since the _instant fortress_ has a good kitchen I thought I’d take the opportunity to make breakfast. ”

Stone Bear growls, but the pastries smell incredibly good. “Don’t do that,” he says brusquely, his own mouth already full of pastry.

 “I won’t make a habit out of it.”

-- o --

Nolin wipes the sweat from his brow. “My part of the plan is done. Claris is riding in Stone Bear’s body?” The shaman nods, and the bard continues. “Good. Stone Bear has the hard part still to do, but that’s not for a while. Agar can spoof a _commune with nature_ spell once we get closer, and Stone Bear’s spirit guide Elder can guide us where we need to go. Time for us to move.”

Priggle frowns, his face slipping into its natural expression. “I hope your plan works,” he says doubtfully.

Nolin looks around at the cavern that is alight with the joyous spirits of light.

“Me too.”

“I had a dream last night,” says Agar pensively. “I was at a  funeral. Someone had keeled over, some rich squire of some kind. His servants came to act as pallbearers and when called to do so took his body to the mortuary. Then they just stood around and didn’t go back to their mansion, because with their master dead there was no one to give them direction. Then the dream shifted, and I was standing on the top rigging of a ship out at sea. I was looking at a lighthouse. It looked more like a normal house, really, but it was up on top of a hill. At its base were the bones from all the people in all the ships that crashed into the rocks there. My ship was headed in towards it. I had the feeling that if I was brave enough we would be able to dock, and then from down belowdecks I heard my Mom calling me. I looked down, and I was back home in my bed. My Mom was standing there next to a little halfling girl, and I woke up.”

Nolin makes a face. “Oh, joy. I wonder what normal dreams for Agar look like?”

Mara smiles. “More tentacles.”

The group gathers in a circle to cast preparatory spells and _wind walk_. “Remember,” cautions Velendo as he dissolves into mist, “we attack by rushing in stealthily and trying to find the Ivory King immediately. We’re best off taking him out without fussing with any of the other defenders.”

“Time is short,” interrupts Malachite, “and we’ve discussed this over and over. Let’s go.”

_This way,_ hisses Elder in Stone Bear’s head. _Very close now._

For more than an hour the group twists through endless corridors. Down through long-abandoned tunnels carved by unimaginably huge creatures, through narrow cracks in the ancient stone, past jagged stone outcroppings and long-dry waterfalls. The stone creaks and shudders around them, a reminder of the depth to which they’ve descended.

Only Stone Bear sees the spirit who begins paralleling their flight. It’s a man who has all the flesh burned from his body. He’s dressed in red-hot armor and smouldering robes, and it almost looks as if the spirit is falling sideways instead of flying. Whoever he is, he’s flying very close to Velendo.

“Have you burned someone in your career?” Stone Bear asks.

“The herald of Yorrine, God of Disease,” answers Velendo. “I cast him into the center of the earth where he fell and fell and fell forever, but then Halcyon went and killed him for us. Why?”

“There’s a spirit very close to you, and he’s wearing the holy garb of Imbindarla.”

Velendo’s misty face twists in confusion and they slow down to a crawl.  As they do the spirit plummets out of sight into the stone beneath them. As the group slowly stops and materializes in order to investigate, Priggle cries out.

“Look at the rock!” The stone here is pale, almost milky.

“What kind of rock _is_ that?” asks Stone Bear.  

“It isn’t rock,” says Priggle in a shaky voice. “It’s bone. That’s just wrong.”

“What?” Velendo sounds appalled. “Lots of little bones, or one big bone?”

“I’ve got one bi–“ begins Nolin, but he’s quickly cut off by the others.

“It has stalagmites and stalactites, like honest rock, but it’s bone,” continues a mystified Velendo. “I’m not sure this changes anything, but it can’t be good.”

Stone Bear focuses his will and jams his hand into a crevice in the ground. His muscles creak, and a chunk of stone breaks off in his hand. When it does, milky red fluid oozes out of it.

“Ehhh.” The shaman looks at it with distaste.

“There are no thoughts here,” says Nolin.

“And no undeath,” continues Malachite.

“And a small amount of evil,” concludes Mara.

“Look at that!” As Galthia gestures, they see a small chunk of whitish stone completely ossify and turn into bone before their eyes.

“It’s spreading out from Imbindarla’s body,” says Velendo quickly, “or maybe from the Ivory King. We should hurry!” He turns to Stone Bear. “What else can you tell me about that spirit?”

Stone Bear shrugs, upsetting his raven. “Black robes. Burnt-out eyes. A smoking place on his chest.”

Light dawns in Velendo’s eyes. “Shield-shaped?” Stone Bear nods. “Dale Greldin? Crap! What’s HE doing here?” His voice rises into a howl. “We killed him so many freaking times!”

“I killed him twice,” contributes Nolin helpfully.

“Who?” asks Stone Bear, confused.

“The high priest of Imbindarla was responsible for the comet. He tried to end the world a few years back; he wanted to release all of the incredibly evil proto-worms who once controlled Spira before the Gods came, and he tried to do it by smashing a comet into the world. I’ve cast down three people in my career: Yuute, Droomak the assassin, and this Dale Greldin.” He smiles thinly. “I may have to do a fourth before the day is out.

“I wouldn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him. On the other hand, he probably hates the Ivory King as much as we do, since he worshipped Imbindarla.”

“I’ll do what I can to talk to him and keep him away from you,” says Stone Bear. “But we should continue on.”

_Yesssssss,_ agrees Elder.

As they start flying again, Greldin reappears, tumbling along in a screaming freefall. There is no sign that Greldin knows that the Velendo or the Defenders are nearby, and no one can sense him other than Stone Bear.  The group passes stalactites that look more like teeth than rock, a small underground lake that looks like milky blood, a heavily barricaded and abandoned ghoulish outpost. The group almost welcomes the diversion when Galthia, scouting ahead, notices a zombie ahead in the middle of the passage.

“We call this the Soder lookout,” quips Nolin.

“His eyes have been replaced with two of the King’s flying eyeball spies,” cautions Galthia. “But it’s just  a zombie.”

“How can we destroy it without risk of the eyes escaping?” asks Agar.

“We can’t let the eyes warn them that we’re coming,” worries Velendo.

“Why don’t you just put a bag over his head and tie the bag at the bottom?” asks Nolin.  Everyone ignores him.

“Eurrrrggggg,” mumbles the zombie.

“Turn undead?” asks Mara.

“I could smite it,” considers Malachite.

“We should just put a bag on his head!” insists Nolin. “Tie the bag, and the eyes can’t get out!”

“We should destroy the eyes!” insists Velendo.

“I could cast _chain of eyes_ on them and just let them fly back,” considers Stone Bear, “but they’re non-living.”

“Maybe if we block off the corridor with a wall spell.” 

“Augggglllleeeragh,” grumbles the oblivious zombie, still not aware of the group.

There’s a moment of silence. Everyone looks at one another.

“Nolin’s plan wins.”

Galthia ambushes the clumsy zombie with ease, and the sack hides the group from the magical scrying devices. Within a few minutes the undead is completely destroyed and the group is moving again.

 “I told you it was a simple plan,” says Nolin as they fly away.

_Tomorrow: the assault!_


----------



## Piratecat

Here's _really_ how the zombie encounter went. The group debated for fifteen minutes, horribly paranoid, coming up with all sorts of complicated plans. When they decided to go with Nolin's, the execution of it by Galthia was sublime.

_”Roll a hide and move silently.”

“36 on the hide, 26 on the move silently.”

*derisive snort* “It doesn’t seem to notice you as you sneak up on it. Roll to hit.”

(almost embarrassed) “28.”

“You hit the zombie with a sack!  Congratulations.  Let's see... It turns and blindly tries to club you. *rattle clatter* I roll a natural 1 to hit, and then a 3 to confirm the fumble. It turns, stumbles, and falls over at your feet with a sack on its head.”

"Well, that went better than expected."

"It was a ZOMBIE."_​


----------



## Piratecat

LightPhoenix said:
			
		

> Hahaha, not to be disparaging, but that was the best part of the update.




I know. I thought so myself. Listening to the tape, it was hard to hear over the mocking laughter. I mean, it's a lousy zombie vs. 17th-21st lvl characters, and it stopped them dead for almost twenty minutes as they developed a clever plan! That totally caught me off guard. Soder had it there as a warning system; even if the eyes didn't report back in, Soder could track the Defenders' progress by trying to possess the body and knowing something was wrong if he failed. He also figured that if it delayed the invaders, all the better. As a result, sack or no sack, it succeeded admirably.

Best line cut from the story hour: Stone Bear saying "I have three sacks!", and Galthia answering "You certainly do. Doesn't that make it hard to walk?"

Shilsen, I was referring to amount of detail vs. action. You know how it is; after several weeks of no updates, I'm sure _everyone_ wanted to read about bad guys from ten years ago.


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> _"It was a ZOMBIE."_



*Proceedings from RBDM court, May 11th, 2004:*

[*Prosecutor*]: Now, is it true Mr. Kulp, that you did, in fact, express disbelief at your players taking an absurdly long time to deal with a creature?

[*Piratecat*]: Of course I did. It was a *ZOMBIE*.

[*Prosecutor*]: I see. And it was unreasonable, why, sir?

[*Piratecat*]: It was a zombie sentry, for cryin' out loud! A CR1 creature! Half of them are Epic Level! They're on a mission to kill a demi-god. It was there for verisimilitude, that's all.

[*Prosecutor*]: Your honor, I admit state's evidence, exhibit A.

[*Judge Wulf*]: Lemme see that. Hmmmph.

[*Prosecutor*]: Mr. Kulp, _if that is your real name_, have you seen this before? [hands sheet to defendant]

[*Piratecat*]: Ummm....well, yes.

[*Prosecutor*]: Could you identify for the court what it is, sir?

[*Piratecat*]: Well, it's a template.

[*Prosecutor*]: A TEMPLATE, SIR! [slaps bannister] Tell us which one, sir.

[*Piratecat*]: The True Ghoul Template. I got it from some other colleagues online.

[*Prosecutor*]: Of course you did. Your honor, the prosecution would like admit five more exhibits into evidence.

[*Kidcthulu*]: OBJECTION!!

[*Judge Wulf*]: What's yer problem?

[*Kidcthulu*]: He's only submitting five more examples! I've got years of material, here!

[*Judge Wulf*]: Aren't you his defense lawyer, lady?

[*Kidcthulu*]: Defense, nothing! I've got a bone to pick with him!

[*Piratecat*]: *HEY!*

[*Judge Wulf*] Oh, you're in trouble, here, pal.

[*Prosecutor*]: Mr. Kulp, are you familiar with a....Trilith, I believe it was called?

[*Piratecat*]: Oh, for the love of Pete! We were still playtesting....

[*Prosecutor*]: Yes or no?

[*Piratecat*]: Yes, but that's not...

[*Prosecutor*]: A half-ilithid troll breed, if I read this correctly. Does this dragon look familiar, sir?

[*Piratecat*]: What the one with the earth elemental abilities? Sure, I made him. Great fight, that! Why I...

[*Prosecutor*]: AHEM. Yes, I'm sure you're very proud, sir. And this picture of a ghoul, sir, is it familiar?

[*Piratecat]:* Sure it is, but listen, this was a..

[*Prosecutor*]:A trap, sir. It was a trap. Exploding undead, templated and classed horrors. Much like this one, here. State's exhibit admitted yesterday as Exhibit G, your honor. A clever map of a trap intended to snare and possibly slay the Defenders of Daybreak, is that correct?

[*Piratecat*]: Yes, this is a map I made in Excel. It's a water trap. Man, that was a great one. Rushing water, an underground river...it even had spikes.

[*Prosecutor*]: So noted, sir. I'm sure you're very proud. Are you noticing a trend, sir? Terrifying nightmares that keep the players off their guard? Clever traps for them to outwit? Advanced use of classing monsters, mixing stats, applying templates, custom creatures, new magic items, prestige classes and unique reinterpitations of old-school monsters. What do you call that, sir?

[*Piratecat*]: Good DMing.

[*Prosecutor*]: Indeed, sir. But will you admit that in the face of the overwhelming evidence, especially given the resources available to the white king, that maybe....MAYBE it wasn't unreasonable for the already jumpy Defenders to be paranoid?

[*Piratecat*]: But it was a ZOMBIE.

[*Prosecutor*]: So you've said, sir. But in the eyes of a player, a DM of your...reputation...generates certain apprehension. Do you agree?

[*Piratecat*]: Listen...sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, darn it.

[*Prosecutor*]: Yes, sir. But if you smoked a cigar every day for eight years, and every third cigar turned out to be half-draconic or true ghoulish, you'd be suscpicious of them, wouldn't you?

[*Piratecat*]: I wouldn't be smoking in the first place. It's unhealthy.

[*Prosecutor*]: Stop avoiding the question, sir. Was it unreasonable, in light of the evidence presented here, that the Defenders might have justifiably untrusting of a simple zombie guarding the most lair of one of the most dangerous creatures in Spira at one of the most monumentous and dangerous points of her history? Especially given the many talents of the being known as Soder?

[*Piratecat*]: Well, I suppose it wasn't that excessive. I might've pointed it out sooner, I suppose, so we could get past the encounter more quickly.

[*Judge Wulf*]: DAMN RIGHT you could have.

[*Prosecutor*]: Thank you, sir. The state is satisfied. This issue is finished.

[*Piratecat*]: Phew. Finally.

[*Prosecutor*]: We're not done, sir. The state wishes to bring suit on behalf of Kidcthulu against the defendant.

[*Piratecat*]: What? What for?

[*Kidcthulu*]: It's about time! 

[*Prosecutor*]: Sir, this is state's exhibit A, a magnified photo of a body surrounded by a chalk outline.

[*Judge Wulf*]: Who's the perfumed fop, here? And what's that thing next to him?

[*Prosecutor*]: That's a thimble, your honor. The state is bringing defamation of character charges against the defendant on behalf of Nolin the Bard and the famed six-inch high goblin incident.

[*Piratecat*] Oh....no......

[*Judge Wulf*]: Listen, when you're done here, can I talk to yer about Dinkeldog and his rules about the undead? I been steaming about that one for a long time, now......


*[THE END....?]*


----------



## rigur

So we are gearing up for the final showdown. I also would like to defend PCat's players. Not in a million years would I believe that that PCat would use just a zombie as a lookout, never. 

Thanks for the update and I hope you had a happy birthday.

PS. You have teh funny WizarDru DS.


----------



## Sagiro

rigur said:
			
		

> So we are gearing up for the final showdown. I also would like to defend PCat's players. Not in a million years would I believe that that PCat would use just a zombie as a lookout, never.




I'd also like to defend PCat's players!  

I mean, take this simple quiz:

In the very recent past, Piratecat has presented the Defenders with single innocuous-looking creatures, including zombies, that have:

a) exploded in a highly-damaging conflagration
b) turned out to be a pseudonatural troll in disguise
c) tried to cast _Mordenkainen's disjunction_ through our pal Soder
d) all of the above

If you guessed, (d), you'd be right!

There's a reason cats stop jumping up onto stove tops, even when they're cool.

-Sagiro


----------



## Piratecat

WizardDru, that was hilarious. I'll plead guilty as charged, and just post the next update.

----- o -----

Two more zombies are handily dispatched with. The third explodes into a pillar of flame as Malachite shoves his sword into its belly.

“An exploding zombie?” he asks disbelievingly, as he wipes soot from his burned face.

“Must be a surprise from Soder,” says Mara with a frown. She pulls back the hair from her face. “I think we should return the favor.”

As the _windwalking_ group closes on Nacreous, Stone Bear sees other spirits as well. Near Nolin there is the image of a man being horribly tortured along with his familiar, a small rat wearing once-jaunty clothing. “It’s good old Dread Night Snos!” exclaims Nolin when Stone Bear describes the vision. “He was the first member of Imbindarla’s Brotherhood of night that we ever fought. His real name was Nostradis Ghend, which was an anagram for Dread Night’s Son. Arcade got it wrong when deciphering it.” He smirks for a minute. “But it’s okay. Ghend had a rat familiar who he liked to dress up in little clothing. Arcade stabbed it, shouting ‘Thus perishes all evil!’, and Ghend fell over dead from the shock. Now it looks like he’s in hell.” A grimace passes over his face. “He probably deserves it.” 

“Someone else,” adds Stone Bear. “A man in dark purple robes. Greasy black hair, beaky nose, innards pulled out, skin bubbling.”

“Snadek Bearsfroth,” clarifies Velendo. “He tried to conquer our kingdom by creating a fake plague rumor of ebon magerot, a horrible uncurable disease that only infects magic items and anyone who can use magic. While all the wizards and clerics fled the country, he tried to open up a shadow-gate under the capitol. Almost succeeded, too.”

“Oh,” says Agar, quickly doing the work in his head. “His name was an anagram, too.”

Nolin snorts. “Yeah. They didn’t get out much.”

“There’s also…” Stone Bear swallows drily. “I’m seeing the images of some of my ancestors, and dead friends from my village. There’s the man who built my family hut, and elderly neighbors, and our old shaman.” His voice turns cold. “They’re all being tortured horribly by unseen assailants. Why? How? They weren’t bad people.”

“Imbindarla is some sort of spiritual funnel,” concludes Nolin. “The Ivory King is trying to absorb Her energy, and it’s somehow affecting the spirits.”

_I can feel a pull,_ says Stone Bear’s animal spirit Bear. _I am hanging on to you with both claws, as if you were a tasty piece of fish. I will not leave you._

_Well, that’s good,_ responds the shaman. “We’ll have to chance it,” he says aloud. “Elder tells me that the huge cavern is right ahead.” 

It is, and the chilled group huddles at the edge of the ledge, looking out onto an inky abyss and trying to breathe the cold and befouled air.  Agar and Velendo study the void carefully, each looking worried. “The entire cavern is alive with some sort of magic,” says Velendo long-sufferingly. “I don’t know what.”

“Agar, let me look through your eyes.” Stone Bear casts _chain of eyes_ and lightly touches Agar on the forehead. “Don’t squint.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“As far as I can tell the whole thing is filled with that magic, a blue-green tangle of magical threads which is a mixture of weak divination and evocation that I don’t recognize. I think it’s the fringe edge of a spell,” says Stone Bear.

“The cavern is more than three miles wide,” says Agar as he finishes a divination spell of his own.  “Whatever the divination, it isn’t one that reports back. Those usually have short little darting edges. This is one where the divination magic probably triggers the evocation.”

“Charming. Is there anything we can do about it?” Malachite crosses his arms.

Agar stares into Stone Bear’s eye sockets, and isn’t comforted by the lack of a shared glance. “I don’t _think_ so? We can’t dispel it until we see its source, and the spell weave is incredibly complicated. I certainly couldn’t cast a spell like this.”

“Then we shouldn’t worry too much about it. We’ll just have to stay aware. Where is the city of the ghouls compared to where we are?”

“Nacreous is halfway up the wall on the far side. We don’t know where the King will be, although he’ll probably be eating the body of Imbindarla.” The group discusses myriad contingency plans and casts their remaining preparatory spells. More than twenty minutes pass as they stand there on the edge of the cliff, dreading to go on but knowing that they have no real other choice.

“Does anyone else hear that?” asks Stone Bear.

“What?” asks Galthia. 

“The sound of people drowning and crying for help down below us.”

Galthia raises his pale eyebrows. “Noooooooo.”

“Ah. It’s the spirits.”

_I’m tired of caverns. I want the sun again,_ Mara’s warhorse Luminor snorts to her over their empathic link.

_It will all be decided in a few minutes,_ reassures Mara. _This is it._ And to get the group moving she dissolves into mist intending to step off the ledge.

“Mara!” shouts a horrified Velendo. “Stop!”

Her frown is intense. “We go, or I’ll go.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Velendo turns. “Let’s send out best spotter. Galthia, go check it out.” The monk floats out into the edge of the massive spell. . . and nothing happens.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” says Velendo. With laboured breath he casts _filter_ to help everyone breathe, Agar casts a planar protection spell to help stave off negative energy, and they soar off the ledge and into the giant cavern.

They separate as they sail over the black emptiness, different members of the group moving at different heights as they navigate the cavern on their own hurricane winds. As they move closer it’s almost as if they’re flying into a high wind, not because of actual wind resistance but because of the negative energy which is buffetting them. If it weren’t for Agar’s spell, they’d be stripped of life energy in a matter of seconds. 

“Thank you, Agar,” murmurs Nolin, and he continues to sub-vocalize his inspiring song.

The people near the floor are zooming around dark water that is now cloudy blood. “Proty, that’s not something you want to drink.” Proty gurgles acknowledgement into Agar’s mind, and the alienist smiles to himself. 

"Look at that," remarks Galthia. Far to the left is the largest stalactite anyone has ever laid eyes on. It is a huge triangular chunk of ceiling that hangs down like a swollen blister hundreds of feet long.  There are no lights in it, but it must have been inhabited once upon a time because it is riddled with holes like a hive or an anthill. It is visible because it reflects greenish-yellow corpselight from the now-visible city of Nacreous in the distance.

Agar notices something disturbing and speaks out over the _mindlink._ “Remember that spell? The magic is accruing on our skins, and…” Even as he speaks he begins to glow with visible light. Everyone around him, wherever they are, begins to flicker with a similar glow.

“Bing!” says Agar. “Evocation. But it doesn’t seem to bad. I… oh. Uh oh.” Agar’s sharp eyes have been trained to see through planar disturbances, and he is the first person to see something shivering blue emerge from the huge stalactite. Then all the dark openings almost look like they’re leaking a purplish light. “Incoming!”

Malachite glances up. “We’ve got company,” he says grimly, and then his mind registers what exactly he’s seeing. “Those things moving towards us look like spectres. They’re one of the most evil spirits who have had their flesh sloughed away.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Stone Bear grunts.

“Time to move fast now,” advises an appalled Nolin. "With this light everyone can see us clearly. We're totally exposed."

“We’re all going to die, and no one will care,” mutters Priggle to himself. “No statues or medals  for the deep gnome.” He swallows drily and futilely tries to urge the magic to greater speed.

“We can move almost twice as quickly as they can,” calls Malachite. Now there is a stream of them emerging from the hanging pillar, hundreds of them arcing towards the glowing group. “They’re powerless in sunlight, but I can’t touch Karthos while I’m in _wind walk_ form. They have maneuverability, but we have speed. They’re trying to intercept us, but I think we can outrun them.”

"And then what?" asks Galthia. "It takes us thirty seconds to turn solid again."

"I think we'll have to improvise as we go along," suggests Nolin. 

“They aren’t human,” calls Agar. 

"What?"

"Those spectres. They aren't human."

Priggle glances back and immediately recognizes the growing shapes.  “No, they’re cloakers,” groans the deep gnome. “They look like large flying deep-cavern rays. They’re powerful and evil creatures that sometimes ally with drow or mindflayers.”

“What can they do?” asks Mara.

“You mean when they’re alive? I have no idea what they can do when they’re undead. Probably something much worse. They normally have sonic abilities, and by Garl Glittergold’s girdle you don’t want to let them engulf you with their wings!”

“Ah,” says Mara, and now the shrieking whine of the approaching spectres can heard beneath the roar of the propelling holy wind. "Joy."

The Defenders of Daybreak race towards the city of Nacreous more than a mile away, each of the heroes now glowing as brightly as their namesake. They are chased by the icy blue glow of hundreds of spectres swooping towards them in a long and curving line of hatred. And with a dull roar, an arcing bolt of flame shoots up from Nacreous and misses Malachite by about fifteen feet. Two more flaming ballista bolts follow, one missing Stone Bear and another one smashiing through Agar’s misty belly. The injured halfling scowls towards the still-distant city and raises his voice in a challenge. “Oh, well. Is that the best you’ve got?”

Everyone else simultaneously shouts “Agar, no!” and suddenly the rest of the group scatters away from Agar.

“Err. Guys?”

As more flaming bolts launch from the distant city, it quickly becomes apparent that unless the Defenders maneuver, the spectral cloakers are going to cut them off.

_To be continued…._


----------



## Piratecat

Tortoise said:
			
		

> I recently bought the Dungeon issue that contains the White Kingdom adventure (thanks to Ebay) and I've been reading that a bit at a time. Amazing adventure as written, but so much grander the way you've rearranged it PC. I was wondering if and how you would bring the cavern's other features into play.




When reading the adventure I thought to myself, "Cloakers? Why in the world are there living cloakers so close to cannibalistic ever-hungry ghouls?" The answer, of course, is that there weren't many living cloakers _left_ after a ghoul-summoned spectre managed to infiltrate... and one by one, the massive colony was converted. They're not allied with the ghouls, necessarily, but they do make for a nice first line of defense.

I really ended up picking and choosing the portions of that adventure that I wanted to include. Some parts were really cool but not appropriate due to level differences, and some I had planned to include but didn't get around to. The majority of Nacreous (called Kilenor in the published adventure) looks mostly the same, at least. Mushroom forest and all.

Plane Sailing, the little green flying _eyes of the king_ have been mentioned before, albeit not often. The group destroyed several before descending to stop the ritual near Akin's Throat (when Imbindarla hit), and one snuck into the Comfy Castle once. They're a tiny construct, a spying and scrying method used by the Ivory King.


----------



## Sialia

> “Snadek Bearsfroth,” clarifies Velendo. “He tried to conquer our kingdom by creating a fake plague rumor of ebon magerot, a horrible uncurable disease that only infects magic items and anyone who can use magic. While all the wizards and clerics fled the country, he tried to open up a shadow-gate under the capitol. Almost succeeded, too.”



OK, for those looking for more on the backstory, even though the webiste is down, you can see most of the content here at ENWorld in the old "Defenders of Daybreak the Early Years" thread (perhaps someone will kindly exhume it and post a link? I don't have time to dig back that far right now).

Also it might amuse you to know that it was the Ebon Mage Rot plague that resulted in Alex and Tomtom's first Big Deal. They bought up all the property of people fleeing the country when we already knew what was going on and hadn't told the rest of the world yet. 
They made a killing in the land market when the plague was "cured." 

This proved to me once and for all that there is simply no point in risking getting killed being a cutpurse or a catburglar. If you are going to rogue, rogue big. 
Insider trading is legal in most D&D worlds, and much, much more profitable.


----------



## Piratecat

Here's the correct link for the Early Years thread. These are all linked in the first post of this thread, but with the cyberstreet url; I'll need to fix that!

http://enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=4167


----------



## Abraxas

OK, looking back at the early years thread reminded me of question I've been meaning to ask for a while (actually since I first read the early years thread) . . . What issue of Dungeon was The Winter's Glade adventure in?


----------



## Piratecat

I'm really not sure. I know it was before issue #34. Thanks to Emirikol's superb Dungeon Magazine index, the other adventures I know I've used (and the rough order I used them in) are:

Issue 34 (1992): Euphoria Horrors (1-2)  Can you find a little boy’s missing friend?  The description he gives you is very strange. _This is the very first adventure I ran for the group, where I introduced Frolic the faerie dragon._

Issue ?: _The Winter's Glade adventure, the second one I ran and the place that Nolin's half-brother was introduced._

Issue 24: In the Dread of Night (bD&D 1-3)  He wears black, hires orcs, and looks depraved-but don’t be fooled.  He’s far more dangerous than he seems. _I think, but I'm not sure, that this is the adventure where Nostradis Ghend was introduced._

Issue 28: Night of Fear (bD&D; 1st solo)  Most country inns are noted for their charm, peacefulness, and security.  But not this one. _Unless I'm mistaken, this is the adventure where the PCs first ran into doppelgangers and both Arcade and Alix were killed._

Issue 37: A Wizard’s Fate (1-3)  It took only the love of one good woman-and the hatred of one evil familiar. _It was in the aftermath of this adventure that Velendo joined the party and the group met Stavros the half-orc. This is also where Tao's first wardog was killed._

Issue 18 (8/89): Chadrathar’s Bane (4-6)  You found the treasure you were seeking.  Now you have to escape from it. _This is the adventure where Nolin was killed by inch-high goblins. I know, life isn't fair._

Issue 39: Legerdemain (4-7) What’s going on behind the scenes?  Don’t blow your lines, and you’ll find out. _Here's where we first met Nolin's ex-lover, and where Dylrath's big brother Tephis Birdhouse (honorary Defender?) made his acting debut before the king._

Issue 70: KINGDOM OF THE GHOULS (GREYHAWK; 9-15; Wolfgang Baur; 29 p.) Grave danger awaits heroes in the gloomy depths of Deep Oerth.; **

I know there are more, but it's hard to identify all of them from the index!


----------



## Abraxas

Thanks for giving me an idea of which issue it came from - I'm going to page through my copies of dungeon and try to find it.
I've used 3 of the adventures you listed myself - my players particularly hate quasits because of "A Wizard's Fate"  
I'm going to use Of Sound Mind to torment them very soon - I hope it plays out as well as this SH reads.


----------



## Piratecat

Ah, Legerdemain! Where the Defenders killed the villain's lackeys in the attic of the theater and he reincarnated them the next day, so the group was stalked by a very bitter psionic raven for months thereafter. Where the villain was in love with the temperamental leading lady (Tivity) who was in love with Arcade who _certainly_ wasn't in love with her. Where Alix taunted the villain in jail for years thereafter, having a portrait of Arcade and Tivity commissioned and hanging it in front of the man's cell in the hopes of driving him into a frothing rage.

It was a _fine_ city-based adventure, and one of my favorites.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Ah, Legerdemain! Where the Defenders killed the villain's lackeys in the attic of the theater and he reincarnated them the next day, so the group was stalked by a very bitter psionic raven for months thereafter.




Which gives rise to one of the BEST Defender moments ever.  The raven attacked us several days later, and there was a brief heated fight.  The raven, seeing the writing on the wall, fled.  We tracked it to a large field.  In the middle of the field there was an enormous tree.  And perched atop the tree's branches was a veritable murder of ravens.  

So Claris, who is one of the first on the scene, surveys the little problem and wrinkles her brow.  But only a little.  The clever Sito Rotavele (her player) turns to PC and says "I cast _Command_ "Sleep" on the raven."

"Which one?" says PC, very pleased with himself and sure of his plan.  "There are hundreds of them."

"Yes, but only one of them speaks Common." replies Sito.

And *clunk*, out of the tree falls a sleeping raven.


----------



## Piratecat

In Nacreous, Advisor Soder stands at the edge of the Corpsedrop and stares out at the glowing specks of golden and icy blue light that are streaking ever closer. *“They are coming,”* he croons to the line of ghoulish apprentices that he has gathered there. *“And they’ve discovered our friends in the Pinnacle.”* He tries to whistle a jaunty little tune, but one of the lips in the borrowed body has fallen off and all that comes out is a dry hiss. He settles for a grin as he turns to the cast-off wizards and sorcerers that did not fit elsewhere into the defense. His grin fades almost immediately as he realizes that the troops are staring at the distant lights instead of casting their spells. In irritation, Soder almost has to raise his voice.

*“I know you all feel the power thrumming through you. The joy of Imbindarla’s song may be driving you into a stupor, but I myself will eat your innards if you don’t focus! Ganest didn’t get slain by the accursed sun demon and give up his endless life for nothing. Use the spell he gave us. Far strike them, and give them something else to think about as they try to outrun the spectres!” *

“I’ll keep the troops focused,” hisses a horrible sibilant from behind him. “You’re wanted at the trap.”

Soder turns to regard the repulsive cross between a beholder and a mindflayer, one of Pechel’s early works and an unqualified success. Pechel called it a mindwitness; ahh, such a shame to have lost him forever near Akin’s Throat when the Goddess fell. He was so very _good_ at his task, and it was difficult to find any former druid-wizards at all, never mind one who took to fleshcrafting so. Pechel had been with the White Kingdom for more than forty years, and in that time he alone had developed the necrotic techniques that had given the ghouls such an advantage when expanding their empire. All gone, gone in a single blow from a githzerai’s fist. A githzerai! Outsiders had no call butting in and interfering; really, people should learn to just mind their own business. That's what _polite_ people do.

*“Very good. I see you have the giants well supplied with ammunition, and grouped so that their field of fire overlaps. You know our task: delay them until our sovereign finishes his meal. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”* Soder winks, and the watchbeast winks back with one of its many eyes. Behind it, the ghoulish mages are finally firing their fiery bolts far into the air in a cataclysm of fiery rain that the invaders will be hard-put to dodge.

“You best go, advisor. I’ll coordinate things here.”

*“Time to change my outfit, then.”* Soder’s giggle is dry and papery as he _shifts._ He can’t remember the last time he was this excited, because this is a day he’s been looking forward to for quite some time. His beloved King is about to ascend, yes indeedy, but that’s hardly the best part. No, the best part is that his new friends are finally coming to visit. 

-- o --

“Ooof,” Mara grunts as a fiery bolt slams into her misty body and causes her vaporous form to steam. Another bolt flashes down within a foot of her and is only avoided by her divinely enhanced reflexes.  The barrage from Nacreous is coming faster now that the group is closing, and the undead demons behind them had almost succeeded in cutting the group off from its goal; the closest spectre managed to pull within thirty or forty feet of the hindmost Defender before the group of heroes began to gain ground by dint of greater speed. Now the spectres are trailing behind the group like the tail of a comet, falling behind but doing everything in their power to trap their prey. Mara shivers at the subsonic screams of the monsters. “Let’s hear it for countersong,” she mutters over the _mindlink._ 

“You said it,” replies Nolin mentally. “There’s just nothing like a couple of rollicking verses of the song ‘Folderol, I did her all day’ to cut off that basso-profundo of terror.”

Priggle gets hit by one of the fire blasts, as does Burr-Lipp. Cruciel flings herself in front of Velendo misty body to take a hit for herself. The group closes in on Nacreous and rises above the edge of the cliff, and for the first time they get a good aerial view of the city.

_Here we are,_ whispers Elder in Stone Bear’s ear, _you’re here at last._

The shaman looks down through the magical link with Agar's eyes, and there sure are a lot of things moving.

There are giants near the edge of the cliff. There are dozens of companies of ghouls arrayed strategically throughout the city, each one with hundreds of soldiers. There are three different spots where the flame blasts are coming from. There are elementals visible, and undead mindflayers, and aerial troops of some sort, and thousand of flickering green corpselights spinning back and forth around the cenotaphs and pillars of shining bone. For a few seconds, Nolin wishes he was an artist.

The group speeds towards the very edge of the city, but at the last second Agar’s _true seeing_ shows him that a huge wall of magic blocks the edge of the cliff. His remarkable mind picks up the subtleties of the dweomer almost instantly, and he shouts in panic that’s usually reserved for an intrusive insect.

“Do not cross the edge of the rift!” Agar sheers desperately off to the left.

“What?” asks Mara, confused.

“Do NOT cross the edge of the rift! There’s some kind of double barrier covering the whole of the cliff’s edge, consisting of a combination between anti-unlife and anti-life. Don’t try to cross it.” 

“That’s bad.” Nolin glances over his shoulder as he follows the instructions. “Do we drop the _windwalk_?” It’s immediately apparent that if they do the spectres will catch up. “Cancel that. We’ll have to lure them farther back.”  As one, the group bears to the left and does a flyby along the outer edge of the invisible wall, moving sixty miles an hour as they speed along the length of the city. Huge clouds of arrows soar out from innumerable archers, almost all falling harmlessly into the depths of the black canyon. If the tingle of a ghoulish _dispel magic_ goes off in their midst, the effect is too feeble for anyone to notice.

“Do you see that?” asks Stone Bear, still viewing out of Agar’s eyes. “Excavation equipment in four places up and down the body. They’re digging in to Her.”

Priggle speaks up. “There’s some near her chest, and a few other places, but most of the activity is up near her head.”

“Braaaaiiiinnnnnnsssss,” jokes Agar. Only Proty chortles at the joke.

“That’s where the Ivory King will be.”

“I could dispel the barrier with _dispel evil_ if I can get close enough and get solid,” considers Velendo. "And I have a unique _wand of maximized dispel magic._ There are only four or five more charges left on it, but that might be able to punch a hole through it. Either way, those, you guys would have to draw the cloakers away.”

Then the Defenders are past the city, the spectres strung out in a flickering line behind them. One of the spectres makes a dash for the city and bounces off the wall. “Hmm,” says Velendo. “It’s an anti-everything shield. Objects and magic goes through it, but they just don’t want anything living or dead going through it. Well, that’s sensible.” His tone is of grudging respect, with perhaps a hint of fear. “It keeps out spirits who are unfriendly to them. If there’s something they want to keep out, I want to let them in.”

“Except then we’d be trapped inside with ghouls _and_ spectres,” points out Stone Bear logically.

“I could pray for a _miracle_ and probably kill them all,” gropes Velendo. “Maybe.”

“Not yet,” says Malachite. 

“Then anyone have any good ideas?” Another barrage of _Ganest’s far strikes_ crashes down amongst the party, doing exceptional amount of damage. “Damn it! I can dispel the windwalk effect on just one of us, but that person will get swarmed by spectres.”

“Malachite has sealed life, right? He’s immune to their level draining.” Nolin voice has a certain amount of glee at volunteering his former cohort.

Malachite snorts in disdain. “They’ll simply claw me to pieces. If this is the right time, then fine. I will gladly give my life so that we can succeed, but you won’t have me for the rest of this. If this is the right time – ”

“Nonononono,” Nolin interrupts. “Never mind. It wasn’t a good idea.”

“You don’t think you can take those spectres yourself?” Stone Bear asks Malachite.

“I might. I’d certainly get most of them. But one burst alone won’t be enough to kill them, and if I fail I won’t be there to truly slay the Ivory King. I’m not sure we want to take that chance.”

“Then we need to find an alternative.”

They speed around in a huge circle, trailing the incorporeal undead farther and farther behind them and leaving the ghoul-lights of Nacreous at their backs. As they fly they discuss different plans, finally settling on one that might work. They circle around to buy themselves more time, perhaps almost a minute, then close on Nacreous once again while dodging fiery bolts. They slow as they draw parallel to Imbindarla’s entombed feet, down near the section of the city where the ghoulish Defenders first chewed on a zombie Mara, for the defenses are sparser here.  Velendo dismisses the _wind walk_ on himself and Cruciel and they snap into solidity with a jarring thud. 

The icy cold of negative energy batters at them and foul vapors sear their throats, but Agar’s spells hold.

Cruciel’s white wings thunder against the chill air as she catches the elderly cleric in her strong arms. She grips him tightly and desperately tries to avoid the hail of arrows, boulders and magical spells that arc in their direction. Velendo pulls out his wand from his belt, making sure not to accidentally drop it into the darkness below, and aims for the section of magic wall in front of him. 

Seen through Velendo’s _true seeing_ and _arcane sight_, a small section of wall shatters like a flung crystal goblet.  “Go!” screams Velendo through the _mindlink._ “Fly in!” The rest of the adventurers, all still in _windwalk_ form, stream forwards through the gap in the wall.

“What’s that?” gasps Agar. “It’s beautiful!” He points to a bulbous mindwitness five hundred feet away, entranced by its wiggling tentacles and bobbing eye stalks. “I bet it wants to be my friend.”

“Don’t bet on it,” grimaces Mara. “We need to keep moving.” Nolin agrees with a smirk.

“I’m just not feeling very friendly today.”

The mindwitness, however, seems fixated on the soft and squishy targets of Velendo and Cruciel two hundred feet away, and the other ghouls obey its will. Fireballs go off around the elderly cleric, but his spell resistance protects him; Cruciel isn’t as lucky as her wings ignite. Several boulders fall short of the couple, and poisoned bone arrows snap like twigs as they bounce off the cleric’s shield. 

"Come on, Velendo!" The rest of the group takes a few seconds to survey the city, the Goddess’s corpse and the tumult of the ghouls. “If I was a fat guy eating my mother,” muses Stone Bear, “where would I go?”

“We don’t want to waste firepower just bombarding excavation sites,” frowns Malachite. He can see excavations in the bone of the cavern floor upon a leg, the belly, an arm, but by far the largest concentration of digging equipment and ghouls is on the far end of the city up by the Goddess’s head. There is no immediate sign of the Ivory King. Stone Bear tries to use Velendo’s sight to see if there is any activity around the heart; while there is certainly an excavation in the area of the belly or the chest, it looks completely abandoned.

“I’ll plug the hole in the wall as soon as we’re through,” announces Velendo. From behind him, he can hear once again the distant screams of the spectres. He casts his anti-undead  _positive wall_ to plug the hole as Cruciel flaps forward, and is horrified to find that the negative energy in the air around him completely overwhelms and swallows his own holy prayer. He tries to prevent it but he doesn’t know enough about magical theory to prevent the effect, and the spell completely dissipates.

"Crap," he says emphatically.

“Nolin, Claris,” murmurs Stone Bear. “I think it's a fine time to put your plan into action. They're starting to close in.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

It turns out that in high negative material areas, a difficult spellcraft check is required to cast any spell with positive energy in it, such as healing.

Velendo has no ranks in spellcraft.

Uh oh.


----------



## KidCthulhu

So we faced and narrowly defeated our most vicious enemy ever last night. We don't know where it came from, but we called it "The Cheese".  Beware the evil dairy products, and all their insidious schemes.

I don't think we've laughed that hard since the "Tapeworm" incident.  It was one of those nights PC just threw his notes in the air and gave up.


----------



## Piratecat

"Say it! Say it!"

Blackjack is updating the piratecat.info web site with all the latest stories, so when he gets it up and running on his own server the only thing it'll be missing is up-to-date character sheets (so as to not give away spoilers.) Massive thanks to him, and to Sialia for creating it and surprising me with it in the first place. I have great players.  

KidCthulhu's reference is to a wheel of moldy cheese that they found in the White kingdom, and which has been... difficult... to identify. I'd tell you more, but then WizardDru would have more evidence to use against me, and no one wants that.


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> KidCthulhu's reference is to a wheel of moldy cheese that they found in the White kingdom, and which has been... difficult... to identify. I'd tell you more, but then WizardDru would have more evidence to use against me, and no one wants that.



 My work here is done.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Piratecat said:
			
		

> ... I'd tell you more, but then WizardDru would have more evidence to use against me, and no one wants that.




Don't let that stop you, the evidence is already overwhelming.

What is it?
1-A Demonic construct
2-Animated Cheese wheel of death
3-Zombie Spore cheese
4-Just a moldy roll of cheese, there to nag at the minds of your players?
5-The secret item needed to open the magical portal, to save the world and end the blight of ghouls on the planet forever?
6-Rat food

Thanks for the updates.

GW


----------



## Piratecat

Actually, GW, they're trying to decide if it's what the modrons were looking for.  

They've taken to calling it the wheel of woe.


----------



## Piratecat

Tap, tap, tap.  *“Any minute now,”* croons Advisor Soder to the elite ghoulish forces surrounding him. The wide and toothy face on his borrowed body is deceptively placid, but he can’t help but rhythmically tap one muddy black talon up and down on a subordinate’s head. Tap, tap, tap.* “This is going to be delightful.” * Impatience colors his voice. Tap squidge tap. * “I just wish they’d hurry. Oh, and someone get me a new assistant. This one has gone all floppy.” * He gazes across Nacreous with huge yellow eyes, and his thoughts are his own.

-- o --

Stone Bear stiffens as the spirit of Claris leaves him. Within a few seconds the void where her spirit had resided is filled by the overwhelming presence of the spirit guide Elder. The death spirit is strong here, _far_ stronger than the spirits of Bear or Grandfather, and it squirms eagerly in anticipation of the fight to come.

“How long do you think it will take her?” asks Velendo.

“Not long,” answers Stone Bear.  _Not long,_ echoes Elder inside of Stone Bear’s head. The shaman grimaces and twists his head towards Agar, who is pointing one misty hand towards a distant structure.  “What’s wrong, Agar? I mean, besides the obvious.”

“Look at that building. What does it remind you of?” Agar squints perplexedly to his left, indicating a mansion atop a bone hill. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Of course you have,” explains Nolin. “When we were here yesterday in ghoul form.”

“No, more recently.” Agar tries to stroke his chin and fails utterly due to the misty form of _windwalk._ “Of course! It was in my dream. That was what the lighthouse looked like, even to the bones of dead sailors around the base. Well, not sailors in this case, but you see what I mean. Isn’t that where Soder’s pet is living in the moat?”

“It sure is.”

“Then maybe that’s where he’s hiding.”

“But in the dream, if we were brave enough we could dock there.” 

“But didn’t. . .”

“Not to interrupt, but we need to move,” cuts in Malachite. “There’s some sort of cross between a bulette and a giant closing in. And skaven. And that damn mindflayer-beholder thing. And a whole lot of ghouls. We’re horribly exposed if we just float here.” Dozens of poisoned bone arrows whistle towards the group as he speaks. Most of the arrows fall short, but it’s clear that several companies of ghouls are quickly converging on both Velendo and the rest of the Defenders. A powerful _fireball_ goes off in the group’s midst as if to emphasize the urgency, and several rays of black energy flash towards them from sorcerers along the ledge.

“Go on!” urges Velendo as he contemplates which spell might best seal the gap in the wall. “Cruciel and I will catch up.” 

“To the mansion?”

“To the mansion.”

Everyone but Velendo and Cruciel will themselves to movement, and divine winds billow forth and propel them towards the bone mansion. Stone Bear’s heart nags him to go elsewhere, perhaps towards the excavation near the dead Goddess’s heart, but he decides not to split off from the group.

Nolin glances back to see Cruciel shielding Velendo with her own body, most of the ghouls’ bone arrows shattering on her divinely hardened flesh. The bard shoots an aggrieved look at Agar. “Hey, how come you don’t do that for me? You know, the whole flinging yourself in harm’s way bit.”

Agar looks at the bard increduously. “Because I’m very fragile.”

“Oh, right.”

"I thought it would be obvious.”

Stone Bear shakes his head. “I hope the angel doesn’t die in front of the old man.”

Malachite nods. “She’ll protect him against his own will, whether he likes it or not.”

The group outdistances the mindwitness and races for the house, even as Velendo successfully casts a different _wall_ spell across the gap in the invisible wall. More arrows fly at him, the volleys now better synchronized, and no matter how hard Cruciel tries a few get through to impale him. Still supported by the flying angel, he swivels his head to find the best avenue of escape and realizes that he is being quickly cut off from his allies. Cruciel can’t fly nearly as quickly as a _wind walk_ spell, and they’re going to be blatant targets while they attempt to catch up with the others. 

Distantly he can hear Nolin singing, and the waves of negative energy batter at him like driving rain. “Are you ready for this?” he asks Cruciel, doubtfully.

“Always,” she answers.

The ghoulish captain nearest to the pair smiles up at them coldly and turns to his troop, barking an order in some sort of debased and guttural tongue. An undead formorian giant shambles forward and lifts a heavy bone boulder. Then it stops, sways… and purposefully drops the boulder upon the head of his captain. The captain goes down in a tangle of crushed flesh and flailing limbs.  Around the cavern of Nacreous, screams and shouts of dismay and anger begin to echo through the befouled air.

“Good timing,” Velendo smiles in relief. “Claris is back, and she brought friends.”

She did indeed. Earlier that morning Nolin and Stone Bear had spent hours on an inspired plan that utilized every spirit drawn to Saint Morak’s holy cavern. They worked to focus the desires of those hundreds of restless ghosts onto one single burning cause: the utter destruction of the kingdom of the ghouls, so that the spirits might truly find rest. Now the once-diffuse wrath of those spirits has become a furious need for vengeance. Called by Stone Bear’s will and guided by the spirit of the deceased monk Claris, the luminous spirits descend on Nacreous to possess any undead body they can find. Like the Defenders the previous day, the good spirits find themselves in the midst of non-possessed ghoulish soldiers, and they waste no time in instigating whatever chaos and disruption they can manage.

The wind walkers speed above the artisan’s village of Nacreous, heading straight for the house upon the hill of bone. It looms up before them, bereft of any ghoulish troops despite its obvious tactical advantages. The smell of the ooze in the moat around the bone hill is revolting. Galthia grimaces, thinking of the _staff of disruption_ that he lost to that ooze. “Soder’s pet,” he growls to himself. “Hmmph.”

“Something’s strange about this place,” says Malachite. “Every time I look at it it draws my attention, like a lodestone drawing iron filings. There’s no reason for that.”

“Me too,” says Mara. “And have you noticed? All the windows have been blocked up by stone –well, bone, now. Same with the door, and I bet the chimney is blocked.”

“Is,” confirms Burr-Lipp over the mindlink with an accompanying croak. The bullywug mercenary is crouched atop the building, staring with huge bulbous eyes out at Nacreous. “And _fireball_ out there. Ghouls fighting ghouls. Must be plenty surprised.”

Stone Bear smiles to himself and rubs a misty eye socket. “Agar, look over to the right.” He pauses. “That’s the advantage to moving fast. We should have a little time before the ghouls can get here, and they’ll have to deal with the pet ooze that we just flew over. If I turn solid we can get through a barricaded bone door in about two seconds.”  

Nolin grins. “Ding dong, goodness calling!”

Taking advantage of the infighting ghoulish troops, Cruciel and Velendo are soaring towards the bone house. “Cruciel, I want you to drop me off before we get there, so that I can cast some preparatory spells.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Her beautiful face looks down at him in concern. “We shouldn’t be separated any longer than we have to be. If there’s one thing I’m learning as your guardian angel, it’s that.”

Velendo’s face twists in frustration as he considers, but he reluctantly agrees. “Good point. I’ll stick with our friends instead. There’s only one spell I’ll cast as we’re en route.” He focuses his concentration to murmur a prayer even while being carried, and he succeeds admirably. Calphas’s holy energy fills his body and turns his very flesh to solid, living iron. He smiles, and is more than a little bit surprised when Cruciel drops him.

“Wha…?” The _iron-bodied_ cleric tumbles end over end and crashes head-first into a  series of mausoleum-sized buildings that were previously damaged by the arrival of Imbindarla’s corpse. Pieces of roof rain down on his sprawled body.

*“What are you thinking?”* Cruciel’s voice over the mindlink is furious with sick worry. She swoops around in a circle and soars down towards where Velendo fell. “Why did you think I could hold you if your weight increased by a factor of ten? Why didn’t you warn me?”

Velendo painfully picks himself up from a shattered pile of bone masonry, household furnishings, and half-eaten carrion. “I feel like an idiot. I didn’t even think about it. Sorry about that.” He sheepishly activates his flying boots, and then spins as a chattering comes from directly behind him. Before the elderly cleric can react, a massive ghoulish beetle fastens pinchers around his neck in an attempt to snip his head off.

Velendo looks at the monster with disdain. “Get off me!” he says in a disgusted tone. As the rotting beetle tries to saw off his solid iron neck with pinchers that aren’t even scratching him, Velendo dismisses the _windwalk _spell for his alllies and looks up at the descending Cruciel.

Cruciel looks down at him doubtfully, “Do you want me to…?” 

“Yes please, just kill it. This is silly.”

The beetle redoubles its efforts to eat him, with no discernable effect whatsoever. Velendo stands impatiently as Cruciel draws her sword and descends upon his foe. She can’t help but smile.  “Good thing you’re not Agar.”

Up by the mansion, it only takes Stone Bear a few powerful blows to shatter the door.  “I could do that,” grumbles Priggle to himself.  “But nobody remembers that deep gnomes have any talents. No, of course not. We’re only good for short jokes and making tea. Hmph.”

“Shhhh, Priggle,” comforts Mara as she combats massive difficulty to heal her own wounds with _lay on hands._ The negative energy almost causes her healing attempt to fail. “It’s okay.” Anything else she might have said is cut off as the door smashes open, and they see --

The glittering afterimage of Aeos, standing in a room with burned walls, a melted floor, every surface covered with rivulets of melted stone. A charred spot on floor indelibly marks the shape of a tortured, convulsed body. Holy energy in the form of pure sunlight pours from the room, banishing the chill of Nacreous and restoring feeling to numbed limbs.

For seconds no one can speak, the oddness of the discovery carrying away words. Then someone puts two and two together, and realizes what the group is looking at.

“He was the one messing around with Aleax!”

Malachite nods slowly, eyes shining. “Aeos appeared to us and showed us the body of the creature that had stolen his divinations. This must be where he appeared to confront the creature. His afterimage is burned here, like the spots in your vision you would get if you stared at the sun.”

Mara gulps. “This is a very holy place. No wonder they walled it off; there probably wasn’t anything else they _could_ do with it.”

Nolin cocks his head. “Well, let’s share.” He opens what’s left of the doors and lets the sun shine out.  In the mansion it’s just like how the world felt after Aeos visited them months ago – the same afterglow.  “You know, I just realized that undead seem to avoid this building.” 

“Maybe the acid ooze is there to keep the undead away!” pipes up Agar. 

“Now your dream makes sense, Agar,” states Malachite. “Here’s where we retreat to.”

“Yes, but the Ivory King isn’t here,” states Stone Bear flatly. “I’m heading for the heart.”

“Why the heart?” asks Agar. “Everyone is up at the head. That’s almost certainly where he’ll be.”

“I don’t think so,” says Stone Bear. He feels Elder shift silently inside of him, perhaps recoiling from the sunlight. “Call it a hunch. If I were him I’d expect us to head where all his strength is, up by the head. So that’s where I _wouldn’t_ be. I’d be eating the heart.”

Nolin nods. “He sure has a big ’ole ass for us to kick.”

Velendo weighs in over the mindlink. “Scout ahead, but this time don’t let him bite your head off.”

Stone Bear snorts. “I don’t intend to. This time it’s personal.”

“Well, I’ll be back with the rest of you in just a minute. Get away from the mansion. I think we should show the citizens of Nacreous what true sunlight really feels like, but first I have to get free of this damn insect that's trying to eat me.” 

Cruciel attacks the chitinous horror, which releases Velendo and tries to eat her instead.  Terribly conscious of the ghouls closing in and the spectres approaching the wall, Velendo summons an elder earth elemental. It rises from Imbindarla’s corpse constructed of both stone and bone, towering dozens of feet high with coursing black rivulets of energy snaking along it. From their vantage point atop the hill, the group sees it plant its fist down where Velendo is in a single earthshaking blow.

“Velendo!” The Defenders are horrified.

“It just squished the beetle. Cruciel, you speak terran; tell me how to instruct it to destroy that building.” He repeats the crunching syllables after Cruciel, and the elemental ponderously turns and heads for the mansion. 

Galthia looks around. “Time for the rest of us to go. Velendo, we’ll meet you at the excavation by Her heart.” 

“Not the palace next?” asks someone.

“No, the heart. We need to catch up to Stone Bear.”

Luminor flies, Galthia and Burr-Lipp  run and jump, Nolin casts dimension door with several passengers; by the time the earth elemental steps effortlessly over the moat, the Defenders of Daybreak have abandoned the sanctuary of the mansion to allow the elemental to destroy the building. Soder’s pet ooze attacks the elemental fiercely, but it’s unclear whether or not the ooze is having any effect.

Now in three separate groups, the Defenders of Daybreak dash through twisted streets towards the hill formed by the dead Goddess. They do their best to dodge companies of ghoulish soldiers, doubling back and ducking into the mushroom forest to escape being targetted from afar. They can hear ghouls shouting as they run, skaven chittering and drow and dwarves calling, each group desperately trying to find the invaders. Meanwhile the spirits brought by Claris fight on in their ghoulish bodies, doing everything possible to incite chaos and distract the pursuit. It is pandemonium, and the Defenders move deeper into Nacreous.

“Do we stay and fight?” asks Burr-Lipp, obviously annoyed to be running away from their foes.

Galthia shakes his head in a single sharp movement. “No. Stick to the plan.” 

Mara pauses for a few seconds to call upon a _sacred shield_, improving the armor of anyone near her. “Boy,” quips Agar from behind her on Luminor, “staying within ten feet of you just keeps getting better and better.” Mara blushes beneath her helm.

As they clamber up the side of Imbindarla’s calcified body, the ground becomes strange. First it is hard and dry and cobwebby, then a few steps later it is like muddy, putrified flesh. Nolin’s eyes light up. “You know who could help us find the Ivory King? Angus, my onyx dog!” He fishes out the magical figurine and whistles.

Agar looks doubtful. “Assuming you can summon him over the planar turbulence, can he even breathe here?” 

Nolin looks horrified, perhaps because he had forgotten the bad air. He lifts the figurine up to his eyes and scolds it desperately. “No! Don’t come! No! Bad dog! Stay!” Appalled, he lowers the statuette. “Last time I called him was to jump into the earth dragon’s mouth. Man, this is why I don’t have a familiar.”

Malachite gives Nolin an admonishing look. “Remember this. You may not have a familiar, but you _do_ have a cohort.”

They run across what must be Imbindarla’s stomach under the cover of twenty foot tall mushrooms, huge and fleshy as they sway to and fro. From behind them is a huge crashing of falling masonry as the earth elemental plants its feet and rips the building to pieces as quickly as it can, but negative energy still pulses around the group like a living thing. They duck around abandoned excavation equipment to see Stone Bear crouching beside a ragged hole torn in the ground. Large chunks of stone and bone have been pulled away from it, and there are no guards whatsoever stationed nearby. The ten foot wide tunnel goes down into darkness, chewed out of divine flesh by teeth that might just fit over Stone Bear’s head.

Nolin grimaces. “Follow those teeth!”

“We’re diving into a hole chewed into the dead God… we’ve sunk to a new low.” Velendo sinks his face into both of his hands.

Galthia raises one eyebrow. “The heart of the White Kingdom? Yes, I’d say we’re about as low as we can get.”

Nolin fishes out the Sharaball, the glass globe that contains some of their former adventuring companion’s power. “Shara,” asks Nolin politely, “may we trouble you for a _control undead_? You may never see anything like this again.”

Agar makes a face. “Hopefully.” 

“Unless you’re very very bad,” Nolin continues with a slight smirk. “Consider it a moral lesson.”

Malachite cocks his head. “Watch that glass house, Nol.”

Nolin grins despite the impending doom. “Glass houses are shiny! And hey, I’m not the one living in Eversink.” Then a negative-energy-laced _fireball_ goes off in the midst of the group, and the Defenders realize that by standing on Her chest they’re exposed for almost all of Nacreous to see.

“Where did that come from?”

“Up near her head.”

Agar looks close to panic. “That’s where he is! We should go there. They’re closing in on us, and right now we’re sitting ducks!”

“No,” says Stone Bear quietly. In one swift movement he slides into the tunnel, falls, and disappears from sight.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Piratecat

Incidentally, the original adventure predicated that the PCs would raise an army of displaced underdark denizens to fight against the ghouls. My group didn't for the end game, but here's a great Nodwick cartoon that ran in Dungeon Magazine #70 along with the original adventure. Yay, Nodwick!


----------



## Piratecat

Well, I've just deleted about a hundred or so posts - only about another five hundred left to go!   - and one question got raised that I never addressed. People were asking how I keep the group focused while NPCs are talking.

It's a good question. As you know, we tend to have a larger group (usually 7-8 people), so it's easy for noise to get out of control.

1. Our gaming table is narrow and long, a conference room table with a card table at one end. I used to sit at one end, and when I did the players at the far end tended to have more chatter. I now sit in the exact middle of one long side. I feel less like the chairman of the board, but everyone can hear me a lot easier. I noticed immediate improvement.

2. We play far away from TVs and radios.

3. It's not unheard of me to say, "We've got more people here tonight, and that means it's a little more important to not have extraneous chatter at the table."

4. Some NPCs everyone shuts up and listens to (Soder, for instance,) because they whisper or talk quietly or always have something important to say. I've found that whispering occasionally is a good way to keep people quiet and focused.

5. I don't mind pausing to explain physical details, and if someone wants to attack in the middle of a monologue I never penalize them for that. They'll usually let me finish my Evil Villain Monologue (tm), though. Thanks, polite players!

6. If I say something in character and they're just not paying attention, they're pretty much out of luck. The NPC might repeat himself if asked politely, though; it's somewhat realistic in that sense.  The NPCs' opinions of the characters varies based on how the players act in character.


----------



## Piratecat

clockworkjoe said:
			
		

> What is Burr-Lipp's relationship to the party and his level?
> 
> Also, did anyone ever post the levels of the dwarvern followers?




Another question that needs answering.

Burr-Lipp is a bullywug gladiator (about 14th lvl) originally designed by Nemmerle. He's infatuated (in a hero-worshipping way) with Malachite. He's almost borderline evil and certainly sadistic, but he's also impressionable, so he keeps his less savory tendencies well under wraps while he's with the rest of the group in order to try and impress them. He's trying to do what's right because that's how Malachite acts, and maybe a little bit of it is rubbing off. He can't speak common and isn't very bright, though, so he doesn't get a lot of face time.

As I ready the next update, anyone have any backstory questions that need answering or clarifying? Now's a good time to ask!
The dwarves were mostly fighters with a handful of rogues and fighter/clerics to act as pickets and medics. When they left the group they varied between 10th and 12th lvl.


----------



## Ancalagon

Piratecat, I have a DM-oriented question for you.

I always admired how you dealt with high level abilities of the PCs, turning them into plot hooks instead of trying to stop them from working, especialy in regards to divinations.

That being said, I hope you won't take this badly but...  Didn't  you break your own "rule" recently?  After the death of the Godess, divination magic and other forms started working very badly.  Now, this is very justifiable, and makes sence, but there is no hard and fast "rule" about how long that effect would have last, it's entirely up to  you, as a DM, to decide if the effect will last hours, days, or years.  Ie, you basicaly decided to strip the PCs of some of their powers/abilities for a certain time.

Now, I know you probably had good reasons in mind for doing that, and I would like to see what they are 

Ancalagon


----------



## Piratecat

I sure did. I'm also guilty of nerfing long distance teleportation underground, and every form of planar travel once Imbindarla died.

It didn't happen because divination and planar travel/teleportation would break the adventure, though. Quite the opposite. I did it for two reasons: verisimilitude (a sense of logical continuity) and to foster the feeling of claustrophobia and isolation.

Verisimilitude was the less important reason. A freakin' God died, and I thought that should have some creepy side effects that catch the players off guard. Thus the clouds of Imbindarla's breath that turned beetles into cannibalistic horrors. This also indirectly triggered a virulent and difficult-to-cure plague, planar disruption (a logical side effect), lots of odd magical and weather-related side effects around the world, a massive growth in doomsday cults, and a significant reduction in the number of undead. That's all stuff which might reasonably be related to the death of a God.

Setting a mood, though... that's the real reason. If I was going to run an underdark adventure for the first time in the campaign, being able to teleport off to a sunny seashore and get supplies wasn't something I wanted to be done on a whim. I wanted a feeling of claustrophobia, of isolation, and creeping hopelessness and fear that they couldn't know how anyone else was doing. I got it.  

I mitigated this somewhat with Agar's visions, but not being able to use a message spell to chat with their friends on the surface ended up being really disturbing for the players. It helped drive home the importance of what they were doing, and I think under the circumstances it was the right decision. The first night they had to sleep on hard stone instead of in a Calphas' Comfortable Castle, they were reminded that some things shouldn't be taken for granted and some of the rules might have changed.

I won't talk too much about what happened once the group confronted the Ivory King. I will say that they're in part still dealing with the consequences of how these changes affected everyone in the world, not just the PCs.


----------



## orchid blossom

You know how they say rules are made to be broken?  Although Piratecat didn't mention it, the fact that he has that "rule" is what allowed him to do what was right for the story.  It's obvious that the Defenders players trust Piratecat, so when some of their abilities stopped working they knew he wasn't out to hobble them.  They could trust that it made sense in the world and that the story and their experience in it would be the better for it.


----------



## Piratecat

Well, I did steal the idea from Gary Gygax in the original D1-3 modules, where teleportation underground is similarly limited. The advantage here is that their enemies are similarly limited to cavern-crawling (or flying). I'm glad my players trusted me not to continually and unilaterally screw them by removing certain abilities; it certainly made DMing much easier.  

I'm making it up to them right now, with a storyline where they're going to be _screwed_ if they don't use divinations and travel spells. I think I'm overcompensating.


----------



## StevenAC

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Now there you go.  Gloating again.  Just because you got a Defenders TPK, and we've had to continue the game playing the ghoul duplicates of ourselves, there's no reason to gloat.
> 
> It's really hard to play the mandoline when your fingers keep falling off.  And don't even get me started on what the rotting of the other extremities is doing for Nol's love life!




Thank you _so_ much for that image...   By way of repayment, here's a little song that might be suitable for these types of occasions.  I like the image of a ghoul Nolin slowly plucking out a lament over the bodies of the fallen Defenders.  With his colleagues (those who can sing, at least) echoing mournfully (yet melodiously) the end of each line, like this...

*A Defender's Lot is Not a Happy One* (for a karaoke version, click here)

NOLIN _(et al)_:
When you're facing a world-shaking cataclysm _(cataclysm)_,
Or you're buried near a fast-approaching tide _('proaching tide)_,
Or you're fighting a large hostile organism _(organism)_,
There's little doubt the world's not on your side _(on your side)_.
Our talents make us doomed to heed the calling _(heed the calling)_
When some Spira-saving duty's to be done _(to be done)_.
Ah, the cost of _resurrection_ is appalling _(is appalling)_;
A Defender's lot is not a happy one. _(Aaaaaah...)_

CHORUS:
_When adventuring's a duty to be done, to be done,
A Defender's lot is not a happy one, happy one._

NOLIN _(et al)_:
When you're part of a great story overarching _(overarching)_,
You can't always find the right way to proceed _(to proceed)_,
If only we had stopped those modrons marching _(modrons marching)_,
We might not be in quite such desperate need _(desperate need)_.
When you're up against a masterful rat bastard _('ful rat bastard)_,
Who templates up his monsters just for fun _(just for fun)_,
Ah, you'll end up getting _charm_ed and chewed and blasted _(chewed and blasted)_,
And your saving throw is bound to be a one. _(Aaaaaah...)_

CHORUS:
_When adventuring's a duty to be done, to be done,
A Defender's lot is not a happy one, happy one._


----------



## Piratecat

Steve, that's great!   I wish you could see my grin.



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> So... I'm wondering what your personal DMing rules are.  Care to give us the top 5 or 10?




Ooh, good question. Off the top of my head --

Rule 1: Don't believe hype or take yourself too seriously. It's a game, not the cure for world hunger, and pretentious ego-bloated DMing isn't a lot of fun for anyone. Most importantly, play with friends who you'd want to spend time with outside of the game.

Rule 2: Give the players opportunities to use their cool abilities, because a neat class ability or spell that doesn't get used isn't fun. For this reason, I tried to cut off PC limbs for months after Velendo got access to _regeneration._ You can be sure that if the group had a rogue, this last adventure would have been laden with more rogue-tastic opportunities.

Rule 3: Don't over-prepare. It makes my games more boring and my thinking too rigid. On the other hand, document NPCs and game history scrupulously, and tie it into later adventures.

Rule 4: Demand that your players bring nasty, unidentifiable Japanese candy to each game. This creates group bonding when the candy is tried and evaluated. An actual quote: 

"This salted plum-flavored candy tastes like Worcestershire Sauce-covered cigarette butts! It's utterly revolting! Here, try one."

Rule 5: Plan far ahead, and build on what has come before. This allows you to steer the game towards cool occurrences and to successfully foreshadow.

Rule 6: Scatter plot hooks near and far, dozens of them, then only use the ones that seem like fun.

Rule 7: Give every player/PC screen time and story focus, spreading the attention out equally. I really learned this from Sagiro, who is astonishing at giving each PC their time in the spotlight.

Rule 8: Ask your players for regular feedback on how you're doing, at least once a year. When you get bad news, which is inevitable, embrace it and work to improve those rough edges. Ask your group for ideas on how to improve problem areas (such as slow combat), especially when they can be part of the solution.

Rule 9: Long epic-ish plot arcs are great, but only if they're broken up with fun side-adventures that are unrelated. Too much of anything (including grim despair or fear of death or in-game humor) gets old fast.

Rule 10: Make the world change as a result of the PCs' actions, even when the group isn't around. Houses burn down and get built, babies get born and elderly people die. Revolutions occur and politicians connive, other heroes make names for themselves, and the seasons turn. This sense of time passing can help make a game come alive.


----------



## Wolfspirit

God bless Google and their archived pages... taken from the now defunct Spira page.   Hey, they even have my Tree Poem and Sialia's Good Luck to the Party up there 


(chorus - sung by everybody)
We are Defenders who don't do anything
We just stay at home and lie around
And if you ask us to do anything
We'll just tell you.. we don't do anything!

(sung by Arcade the retired wizard)
Well I've...
Never wrestled Tao,
And I've never been to Limbo,
And I'm allergic to T'Cri, and his nasty dungeon crawl,
And I've never cared for roaches,
And I'm not too good with liches,
And I've never been to Sigil in the Faaaaall!
(There are no seasons in Sigil, so that's true all around.)

(chorus)

(sung by TomTom the halfling psion)
Well I've never won a trial
And I've never ruled a nation
And I've never had a DM who was really Monty Haul
And I've never bathed in diamonds
Though I think it would be dandy
And I've never been to Sigil in the fall!

(chorus)

(sung by Kiri the sorceress)
Though I may have missed some dinners
I have never missed a breakfast
And I've never really cared for pesky rules or laws at all
I've mysterious connections
And I don't look good in leeches
And I've never been to Sigil in the Fall . . .

(chorus)

(Sung by Tipic, Kiri's alcoholic pseudodragon familiar)
Well, I've never turned down whiskey
And I've never turned down lager
And I like to sing that song about the bottles on the wall
And I am the best familiar
But I DON'T LOOK GOOD IN LEECHES!
And I might just flee to Sigil in the fall.

(or)
I'm a scaly little creature,
and I'd love to share your beer stein
and we'll gladly stay right here until the bartender's last call.
I'm as fierce as a large lion!
I'm a mighty dragon warrior!
(Though if truth be told I'm really kind of small.)

(chorus)

(sung by Nolin the bard)
Oh I've never kissed an owlbear,
And I do not like Mind Flayers
And I've never subdued Sharra with a deadly psychic "Thrall"
And my memory is decent,
But my judgement's kinda faulty
And I've never been to Sigil in the Fall!

(chorus)

(sung by Velendo the cleric)
Well I've never been a prophet
And I've never been real saintly
And I'd never really managed to be popular at all
But my God has begged to differ
So I'm resurrecting Skaven
And I'd rather be in Sigil in the fall!

(chorus)

(sung by Raevynn the druid)
Well I've never cast "Tsunami"
And I've never started flooding
And I've never made tornados rip apart a City Hall
But I really hate this city
And I'd like to try all these things
Cause I'd like to watch this city sink and fall!

(chorus)

(sung by Tao, the ranger/priestess)
Ooooooh, I don't like fighting Dragons
but I do like fighting Giants
even though I know they are really really really Tall,
I have not once yet had breakfast
though I'm told I really need it
and I really like the Beastlands in the Fall.

(chorus)
(sung by Shara, the wizard)
Well, I've never gotten married
And I've never flubbed my spellcraft
And I often cast chain lightning when I'm up against the wall
And I've never ruled a Great House
Though I think I'd kind of like it
After fifty years of Sigil in the fall!

(chorus)

(sort of sung by Sir Valdek, the deceased fighter; he's the Defender who *really* isn't doing anything, and we hope it stays that way)
Oh I've never shot a crossbow
And I really don't like sladdi
But it kind of doesn't matter as I lay here on this pall
And I haven't got my armor,
And I won't be riding horses.
And I'll meet you all in Sigil in the Fall!

(chorus)

(sung by Sir Malachite, Nolin's undead-obsessed new cohort)
Ahem.
*cough*
*look of obvious discomfort singing*
Well, I've never met you people
and I never think of Sigil
and this chasing after astral sculptors seems like folderol
But this yamm'ring flame-haired minstrel
knows the way to lands of evil
(and I'm only just a cohort, after all.)

(chorus)

(sung by Cuddy, Sir Malachite's Halfling Torchbearer)
Well I've never swung a long-sword
and I'm not too good with fireballs
and I've never picked a pocket
and I can not heal at all
and I'm short on psychic powers
and I really stink at tracking
and I've never been to Sigil in the Faaaaall!

(chorus)

(sung by Cadrienne, retires adventurer, town founder, and priestess of Morphat, God of Knowledge)

(Cadrienne)
Oh I'll never lift a weapon
And I'll never cast a death spell
And I've never been a proxy or heard Morphat's voice at all
And I haven't got the roof up
And the snow is starting early
And it's really very cold here in the Fall

(rousing chorus as a finale)


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Funny how some of these things are still horribly relevant, and some seem very strange.

I can't imagine Malachite singing "And I'm only just a cohort after all" these days.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Piratecat said:
			
		

> To quote Bandeeto's dwarvish swears, conshahocken fahrvignugin blintzservin' spatula! If anyone has seen my freakin' mini-recorder, please return it. In the mean time, I might have to buy a new one. That means an update early next week instead. I'll see about scanning in a map in the mean time.




This digital voice recorder is my current most-coveted item - it might be handy for your needs if you do need to buy something...  945 minutes of recording time...


----------



## Cyri'kazzen the Drow

Well I am exhausted from reading this story hour continuously as I couldn't stop myself.  This is truly a wonderful Story Hour and has provided me with a wonderful understanding of how "high" level campaigns are done right.

That being said, I am curious about the World Creation myth of Spira.  I thought I read it somewhere in the 50+ pages, but can't remember where.  It had something to do with worms.  Any helpers out there?  Thanks.


----------



## Piratecat

Eww.

To get the thread back on track, I have the tape recorder and the next update mostly set. I'm at a con in NH tonight and my high school reunion on Saturday, so it'll wait until I'm home at the end of the weekend to post.

Bless you, everyone who's had patience.

As a way of saying thank you and tiding you over, here's a glimpse at what happened during last night's game:

The PCs were standing in the middle of Regulus (the modron capitol of Mechanus) surrounded by hundreds of thousands of modrons going about their normal routine, when they suddenly all keeled over. Every single one of them. Dead or deactivated, with monodrones falling from the sky like hail and quadrones tipped over in the street and hierarch modrons collapsed where they stood.

The Defenders were alone in the center of Regulus, surrounded by modron corpses. It was completely and utterly silent.

And then Primus' tower collapsed.

Best. Scene. Ever.


----------



## Piratecat

Well, it would have been okay, but as Sagiro was leaving I leaned over and whispered "If you guys had gone on the Great Modron March, you'd know why that just happened." 

Unfortunately, I was severely pummelled. Very painful. But worth it.



			
				Cyri'kazzen the Drow said:
			
		

> That being said, I am curious about the World Creation myth of Spira.  I thought I read it somewhere in the 50+ pages, but can't remember where.  It had something to do with worms.  Any helpers out there?  Thanks.




Pleased to help! This is explained in a flashback right here.


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The PCs were standing in the middle of Regulus (the modron capitol of Mechanus) surrounded by hundreds of thousands of modrons going about their normal routine, when they suddenly all keeled over.




I feel the need to clarify the ambiguous "they" and say that it refers to the *modrons*.

(Although boy, wouldn't *that* have been a fascinating session?  "And then, suddenly, the campaign ended.  Good night.")


----------



## BSF

Yes, the unclear pronoun usage threw me for a loop.  I kept reading and was able to discern the correct context.  

PC, as soon as I read the setup, I figured you had finally found a way to string the Modron March back into the story.  It will be interesting to hear how it turns out when the SH catches up to there.


----------



## Piratecat

Well, not really, BSF. Unless by "string" you mean "completely eliminate its relevance." With all the modrons now about as active as oddly shaped modern sculpture, I imagine there's not a whole lot more interesting that can happen concerning them. A pity; the last 24 (of several million who started) had just reached Mechanus two or three days back, amidst cheering locals and wild (if orderly) parties. Now it's unlikely that anyone will ever truly know why they marched.

Anyone want some prime real estate? Very shiny. Full of cogs.


----------



## Piratecat

Stone Bear disappears into the darkness of the chewed-open tunnel, and Nolin is right behind him. “Man, this is just like going down the purple worm hole,” grumbles Nolin as he slips out of sight. Galthia is right behind him, followed by the bullywug gladiator Burr-Lipp. 

“I’m going to stay up at the top,” announces Velendo. “If things start chasing us in here, I want to be up here to hold them off. Can you still hear me?”

_“Sure,”_ answers Nolin over the mindlink. His voice is faint.

“There’s still no proof this is the right place. You guys scout. ”

Priggle and Agar take up positions next to him. Malachite starts for the hole, surveys the almost vertical shaft, and shakes his head in annoyance. 

“I can’t get down that without falling or setting up a rope and tackle, and I don’t want to use the _necklace of levitation_ until we know he’s down there.” He grimly surveys the battleground as ghouls begin to close in on them from around Nacreous.

“I’ve got the same problem,” Mara says in annoyance. “Usually I like my armor, but some times it just gets in the way.” They watch as Burr-Lipp’s head vanishes from sight. A writhing maggot wriggles out of the hardened flesh at Mara’s feet, and she steps on it out of reflex. Agar looks at it in horrow, noticing that small worms can be seen squirming underneath everyone’s feet.

“This,” he announces, “is why _this_ halfling wears boots.”

Velendo’s stomach is churning, and cold sweat runs down his face. “Nolin, keep up a running commentary. We have to know as soon as possible if the Ivory King is actually down there.”

_“A running comentary? Oh, that’ll be” _ – lovingly breathing into a titan’s corpse and watching the mouth gape in a scream of pain – _“hard.”_ Nolin slithers out of the spiraling tunnel into an open space. He should be able to see in the dark, but he has trouble glimpsing Stone Bear just a few feet away. Hatred and cold twine around him, the negative energy from Imbindarla’s corpse. He shivers, and looks – a dead baby falls from a barren womb and opens its slitted eyes – around as best he can as the others slide down behind him. The air is horrible, filled with the stinking belch of decay. A fat maggot the color of old ivory plops out onto Nolin’s head. “Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse,” he says mockingly. From ahead of him, Stone Bear’s voice calls back.

“I think I’m inside what used to be her stomach.”

“I can’t believe we were in the belly of a God,” muses Nolin as he gasps for breath.

“The belly of the beast?” asks Galthia. 

“Something like that.”

Stone Bear’s mystic sight isn’t affected by the – studying the world from an incomprehensible height, each undead singing its own prayer of buzzing flies – writhing darkness, but the screaming of spirits make it hard for him to hear. The raven still on his shoulder squawks in sympathy, and he twitches his head to the right. “This way.” The shaman leads the way through a ragged hole in an abdominal wall, clambering over a knee-high barrier and trying not to notice that their path has been chewed open by tremendously wide jaws. The group wends their way in single file downwards into – each ceremony so richly rewarded with a fraction of Her power – Imbindarla’s body. 

Every step is a trial. Memories assail them. The images seep into the edges of consciousness, twisted thrashings of a putrescent God, and adventurers less experienced than these might be overwhelmed. The Defenders force their legs to keep moving, however, and they suddenly find themselves in an open space. The poisoned air is redolent of maggots and dead dogs on summer days, of rancid breath and swelling tumors. They’re in the heart.

“Not very big. Figures,” muses Nolin painfully. The phoenix thrashes madly in his chest. “I wonder if Agar wasn’t right. Maybe fatso isn’t down. . .”

Then oddly, in front of them they hear something begin to... bark? *“Woof! Woof woof!” * The noise is bestial, the sort of howl you’d hear from something stalking you on the moors late on a foggy night. It doesn’t sound ghoulish, but it echoes horribly in the claustrophobic tunnel.

“A dog? Is it Angus?” Nolin checks his pouch, reassuring himself that the _figurine_ is still in place. The group freezes in place, but no dog reveals itself; just the horrible barking that continues around them. 

Nolin frowns. “_Mordenkainen’s Faithful Hound_?” Up on the surface of the body, Agar shrugs as he replies through the mindlink.

“Could be.”

In the darkness, something moves. A faint greenish ghoul-light kindles, and the Ivory King shambles forward. Behind the group, Galthia senses something slide around to cut off their escape. Something big, and terrible. Fear buffets each of them, and oddly enough it is the memory of the morning’s feast that staves off the implacable urge to run screaming.

 “I didn’t think you’d find me quite so soon,” his gurgling voice croons. The swollen ghoul looks quite different from the last time the group saw him. Then he had multiple flaps of loose and scabrous skin encircling his body. Now, however, his fish-pale flesh is strained to the breaking point from all that he has eaten. The Ivory King is as revoltingly large as a dozen normal men, and gobbets of half-swallowed flesh stain his front and lower face. The group feels an inexplicable hunger upon seeing this, a gleeful desire to drop to hands and knees and feast upon the dead godddess themselves... or perhaps to tear the flesh from their own limbs just to see how it tastes. _It would be so good to give in,_ the urge insists, _to see how the other half live._

“A good diet,” Nolin muses out loud. “Look into it.” He keeps his feet, although he blinks away sudden agony from a twisting belly. His tone is scornful. “How could we miss *you,* you fat tub of crap? We couldn’t miss you with a catapult. We’re here to kill you and put an end to this. When we’re done, the only question is whether we render you down into soap or use all that fat to grease your way into hell.” _“He’s down here, Velendo!”_ snaps Nolin into the mindlink. _“Damn it, it’s nothing but negative energy in here and I think we’re cut off from retreat. Everyone get down here!”_

“You are missing the blessed of Galanna, the blessed of Aeos, the blessed of Calphas,” the Ivory King burbles. He looks almost perturbed. “I’ll want them as well.”

_“...lin? ...pening?”_

_Oh no,_ thinks Nolin. Too much negative energy means no mindlink. No mindlink means they don’t know what’s happening. _“HE’S HERE!”_ Nolin tries to scream, and each of the other Defenders there with him echoes the warning. _“HE’S HERE!”_

Meanwhile, Nolin manages to curl his lip in defiance. “They were given the option to come and kick your pasty bloated white ass, but they said ‘Nah, he’s not worth our trouble.” 

The taunt is ignored.  “Come closer, snackling,” commands the Ivory King as he crooks a finger at Nolin. The jiggling white flesh shines eerily in the darkness. He lets a mouthful of Goddess dribble half-chewed from his clacking jaws and crooks one fat finger at the bard. Piggish little eyes narrow in humor. “I ate the law-bitch,” he pauses while thinking of the still-bleeding arm spiked to a door of his temple,  “or most of her, and you’re _nothing_ in comparison. You’re just a distraction. I’m almost done here, so close to rapture, and _you’re_ not going to stop me.” He leans forward as if to impart a great secret.  “And my mother tastes soooo good,” he whispers conspiratorily. He licks slug-like lips with an agile tongue.

The ghoul gestures downwards with one flabby protuberance that may be an arm, and Stone Bear is the first to realize that the ghoul has eaten through the bottom of the heart and into the spine itself. “That’s where the power is. I just had. . .”

Up above, Mara and Cruciel shield the others with their shields as the circle of ghouls inexorably closes. More spells flash from the trap near Imbindarla’s head, and time is running out. “Nolin!” Velendo is insistent. “What’s happening?” Malachite swivels his head anxiously towards the pitch-black tunnel, wondering if he should descend.

The radiant knight glances up swiftly at Velendo. “Did you hear that?”

Velendo squints. “I think so. I. . . there it is again!”

_“. . .ere!”_

Malachite stands up, and two poisoned bone arrows rattle off his armor. Ghoulish deep gnomes on undead cave bats swoop overhead. “That’s it. We’re going.” He takes a few steps and slides down the hole into darkness.

“But we can’t fight him down there! In the heart of the Goddess? All of our most useful powers will be utterly useless!” Velendo looks at his wits end as Mara follows behind Malachite. Priggle glances up at the cleric, his face a mask of inevitable sorrow, and he lets out an eloquent sigh.

Meanwhile, Galthia, Stone Bear and the others stand beside Nolin as he trades insults from across the stilled heart of Imbindarla. “You know the real problem is, tubby? Who’s going to worship _you_? You’re ugly!” His voice grows conspiratorial, as if sharing an important secret.  “You’re _really_ ugly. You’re _smelly_ ugly. You’re _stinky_ ugly. If you were an actual God, you couldn’t find worshippers if someone was giving them away.” 

The mound of undead flesh snorts wetly, sending cascading ripples through the swollen flab.  “Ah. Now I sense the others, all but the blessed of Galanna. Thank you for bringing them to me.”

_Uh-oh,_ thinks Nolin. “Oh, _I_ brought them? You didn’t consider that I just came to kick your butt?”

 “Heh. You are here because I wanted you here. He grins even wider, showing multiple rows of teeth.  “I’m not sure you appreciate the problem you’re in.”

Nolin chuckles without mirth. “Can I spellcast at you now, before you’re finished gloating? Because really, I don’t want to hear it.”

Velendo looks around as he talks rapidly over the mindlink. _“I’ve been saving a miracle. I’ve almost prayed for it a dozen times. But now is when it’s needed.”_ He nods decisively and shouts mentally to the people beneath him. _“Tell me if you want to be up here, to have this out on top of the body instead of it in, where the rest of us are.”_ This time the Defenders deep in the body hear him. 

_“The only problem is that the other ghouls are closing on us,”_ says Agar.

_“Well, a sovereign wall makes a big difference in a fight.”_

Despite the horrible hunger he’s fighting, Nolin laughs. _“Velendo, you’re my hero. Make it so. Hey, two can play that ‘random yanking from somewhere’ game.”_

Mara scowls as she runs through the tunnels with Malachite. _“From what Galthia is relaying, it sounds like the Ivory King wants all the clerics and paladins, so he can eat all of us at once.” _Her face brightens in a look of pure inspiration. _“Hey Velendo, can you miracle us all into the middle of the Aeos-light?”_

Malachite stops in his tracks, turns and stares at Mara with a look of respect. “Holy. . .” There’s a pause, and everyone breaks out into delighted laughter that rings through the tunnels and across the cavern. “Yes!”

On top of the body, Velendo smiles. “That’s worth giving up life force for my last _miracle._ Cruciel, put your hand on my shoulder, please.” The old cleric sits down as his guardian angel’s wings enclose him like a shield. He takes a deep breath.

“Calphas, if you need extra life beyond what is usual, take what you need. I would like I, my allies, and the Ivory King to be transported from their current location to be replaced in the building where Aeos smote his enemy near the center of this town. Please take of me what you must, even if it leaves me helpless in what is to follow. It is the right thing to do. It is the _surprising_ thing to do. It is the _satisfying_ thing to do. It is the _holy_ thing to do. We have been on this journey a long time. I am eager to see it ended.”

Malachite smiles. “Amen.”

The world dissolves into white light.

- - o - -

_They hang, suspended, watching. A bedraggled dwarf stands with his back to them, facing the roaring Forge of Moradin Himself. They recognize him. He was an undistinguished archer, one of Splinder’s troop who disappeared from the vault of Mrid when Silissa transported a squad into the Halls of Moradin itself. At the time the dwarves had gone without permission because they thought that if anyone could manage to find help in Moradin’s demesne, it would be a fellow dwarf. Now there is only one left. 

“Moradin!” he yells over the flames. “I am yer son! My fellows have perished so that I could git here an’ stand before You! Now they are with You, an’ no doubt carousing in Yer Halls. Not fer me, yet. I come to beg you fer help for me world, an’ fer those more important than me. You have heard me prayers, I’m sure, an’ know of the ghouls.”

The flames leap upwards with the voice of Moradin himself. “I DO, STONNER HILTRUN. KNEEL BEFORE ME.” His voice is the clanging of hammers, the ring of anvils.

The dwarf considers for a moment, staring into the flames. “No, God.”

“KNEEL BEFORE ME! ABASE YOURSELF BEFORE YOUR GOD!”

The dwarf shakes his head, and his voice is stubborn. “No, Moradin. You created dwarves to stand on our own two feet. Ye made us this way, and I’ll be damned if I change now. You know my prayer.”

“I ASK ONE FINAL TIME. BOW BEFORE ME!”

The dwarf considers. “No, God. I dun’ think so. Even if it means my friends fail. Smite me if ye like, but if so I’ll damn well die a dwarf, not like a crawling goblin.”

The fire changes, and Moradin steps forth. His beard is the fires of a thousand forges, and his eyes blaze with the sharpened gleam of axes.

“YOU, SON OF GRANTHAM HILTRUN, ARE A DWARF. YOU HAVE PASSED THE TEST. YOU ARE MY SON, AND YOU MAKE ME PROUD. I WILL BRING THEM AN ALLY UNASKED FOR, IN THE MOMENT WHEN THEIR NEED IS GREATEST.”

Moradin reaches down to the dwarf, and the light of the forge intensifies. *You have seen,* whispers the voices of a host of angels, and the light fades. _

- - o - -

The group stands in pure sunlight atop the ruined mansion of bone in Nacreous. The Defenders are all there, both those who were on the hill and those who were in the heart. Two other creatures have joined them.

Trying to keep her balance on the unsteady rubble, Mara glances over and blinks. “Tao? Is that you?”

Tao looks extremely confused as she looks around. “Mara? Where the heck am I?”

Then she sees the Ivory King and feels the terrible hunger that surrounds him, and realizes that Mara looks delicious herself.

_To be continued..._


----------



## Piratecat

Imagine falling from a building. No need to be picky, any height over a few stories will do. You fall, and you hit the hard cobblestones outside, and you scream as your bones shatter into razor-sharp shards. It doesn’t kill you, though; oh no, that would be much too easy. Instead, you lie there on the paving stones and you feel those shards of bone grinding into your flesh _every time you try to breathe,_ and you know it’s just a matter of time before the internal damage kills you. Or you could stop breathing. Your choice.

Now, imagine if this happens when you hadn’t eaten anything in four days, and you land in front of a gourmet restaurant where the smell of food sets you salivating, even as you taste your own blood inside the ruin of your mouth.

_*That’s*_ what it’s like to be near the Ivory King.

-- o --

Disoriented and overcome by a sudden famished hunger, Tao scrambles to her hands and knees. She catches a sudden glimpse of her dirt-covered fingers. _Those look so good,_ she thinks to herself. _So tasty. Ladyfingers._ She smothers a little laugh. _But I have food with me, don’t I? Trail rations, and meat juice for the dogs. I can eat those. First._ She gives a little shudder as she begins to franticly rip apart her belt pouches. She catches a glimpse of the Ivory King out of the corner of her eye, bulging naked fat with a crown of some sort of horns or antlers rising from his misshapen head, but other than a random thought – _He looks like a portobello mushroom. A huge, delicious piece of fungus!_ – she pays him no heed.

The rest of the Defenders are also suffering from hunger and crippling pain, but unlike Tao they’re still able to concentrate on their surroundings. Galthia and Velendo close on Nolin, both of them lowering their spell resistance in preparation for a _mass haste._ Mara lurches forward, hoping that she too will be within range.

Nolin gets his balance and looks around. The entire group isn’t close enough to catch everyone in the spell, but with the Ivory King regaining his senses just a handful of yards away there’s no time to spare. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his joints, Nolin casts _mass haste._ Magical energy swirls around everyone except for Burr-Lipp and Stone Bear, who are both out of range, and Priggle, who is standing just ten feet from Nolin.

“Hey!” yells Priggle. “You forgot to include me!” Nolin spins around, surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Priggle,” he explains. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Of course not,” grumbles Priggle to himself. “Everyone forgets the deep gnome. Why not? Not like I can help. It’s always the same. . .” His voice trails off as Nolin casts a _flame strike_ on the Ivory King. The pillar of phoenix-born fire is shrugged off by layers of smoking fat.

The Ivory King’s beady eyes narrow to slits as he regards the fiery bard with contempt. Nolin gives him a weak smile, eyes watering from pain, and shouts back over his shoulder. “Tao, it’s great to see you. What are you _doing?_”

“I’m eating!”

“Is now really the time for a snacky cake?”

Velendo is pulling his shield up in front of himself. “Tao, don’t eat. Attack the bad guys!” His voice is tinged with frustration.

“Mmmm hmmm,” Tao nods enthusiastically as she shoves dried fruit into her mouth with both hands. “Eating!”  

Velendo squeezes his temples with the knobby fingers of one hand, feeling the same hunger himself but fighting it down with sheer force of will. “Eating. Right.” He sighs. Cruciel flexes in his shadow beneath him, poised to leap forth and block Velendo from harm.

Malachite hefts his sword Karthos and takes a step forward. The Ivory King is now licking his gaping maw with a long, oily tongue as he sizes up the situation. His pasty white skin smokes slightly as the light of Aeos falls upon it. “I have to close with him,” Malachite warns Velendo. “I have to be the one to kill him.”

“I have to close with him,” announces Mara stridently in bell-like tones. “I want to *hit* him!” She summons the power of her God to create a _sacred shield_ of sunlight around herself and anyone nearby.

“First things first,” chortles the Ivory King wetly. He regards Nolin with distaste.  “Soder is so _infatuated_ with you. To tell you the truth, I can’t see it. You are.. abrasive.” His wide, lipless mouth wrinkles.

In a rare show of humor for Galthia, the githzerai says, “You just haven’t taken the time to get to know us.” A half-smile plays across his long face.

 “Let’s fix that.” His mouth gapes open to inhuman wideness as his dripping tongue shoots out at lightning speed. Galthia takes a swing as it flashes past in front of him, but even he isn’t fast enough to impede its progress. The barbed tongue slams into Nolin’s left leg and knocks him upside down, even as it yanks him over 20 feet of rubble into the ghoulish king’s waiting maw. 

"Oooof!"

Gl’Yuute’s filth-encrusted teeth snap down on Nolin’s leg, flashing with black energy that saps every bit of the bard’s muscular control. Nolin can still speak, but his entire body goes limp from paralysis. The Ivory King’s prehensile tongue then flips Nolin into the air as easily as if he were a child. The ghoul tries to catch the bard’s head fully in his mouth. He misses, sinking his long dagger-like teeth into the bard’s shoulder instead.

 “Did I say you were _abrasive_?” croons the Ivory King.  “I was wrong. You’re so very, very _sweet._” The voice is low, intimate.  “I think it’s the phoenix.”

Nolin gasps for breath and gains just enough control to cluck his tongue disapprovingly. “You know, you could use a breath mint,” he confides in a mock helpful voice. His eyes flash with anger and disdain, and maybe even pride. “I may die here, but I’ll go to my death knowing one thing: _my_ mother loved *me.*”

The ghoul’s teeth grind together in utter hatred. One of his two spindly arms snakes into the rolls of fat on his body and pulls something out. It isn’t clear exactly what, but both Velendo and Agar’s magical vision see a screen of abjuration magic flash into being around the Ivory King.

“Look out!” yells Agar. “He has some sort of protection up!” Mara briefly considers _dispelling evil_ on it, but reasons that the magic item triggering the abjuration probably wouldn’t be affected by her spell. She leaps atop Luminor and nudges him forward. The winged horse easily hurtles a gaping pit in the wrecked mansion’s broken floor, launching Mara right alongside the Ivory King. She reaches out, smashes her holy mace Lightbinder downwards. . .

And it caroms off the side of a _cube of force._ She catches Nolin’s eye as Luminor skids past, and with a sinking heart Mara realizes that her powerful blow hadn’t even scratched the force wall.

“Oh, crap,” she says quietly.

_To be continued..._


----------



## Piratecat

We were in 3e at the time... and really, if you want privacy you can't go wrong with full attack --> Improved grab --> grapple, followed by using your _hasted_ partial action to activate a _cube of force._

Not to give any spoilers, but it's not necessarily Nolin I'd worry about right now. . .  things are about to get messy.


----------



## Piratecat

The Amazing Dingo said:
			
		

> Just out of wonder, what effect did you rule that the Light of Aeos had on the Ivory King?  I can imagine the light would utterly destroy any lesser zombie within its effect, but the Ivory King is far from any mere lesser zombie.




The big advantage of the light is that it keeps away the negative energy. Most of Nacreous is like being on the negative material plane; inside Imbindarla's body, it was like being in the _really_ nasty part of the negative material plane. Even with protective spells on them, the Defenders would have to roll a quite difficult spellcraft check in order to successfully cast any spell or ability involving positive energy or healing.

Velendo has a spellcraft of something like +8. The paladins aren't much better. This would have been a disaster.

By moving the fight into the light, they VERY cleverly completely eliminated this penalty. They also removed the negative energy bath that was continually healing the Ivory King (and every other ghoul in the city.) Once he was moved into the sunshine, his fast healing pretty much vanished. To quote one of my players, that doesn't suck.



			
				The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> I would have laughed my ass off if someone had just hit the king with a Mords Disjunction right away.




Actually, it wouldn't have made too big a difference. It would have gotten rid of the _cube of force_, which is always nice, but his crown of horns is an artifact and he doesn't have a whole lot of other items or spells active on him. 

Wolfspirit, thank for catching the typo; I _knew_ something was odd about that sentence.


----------



## Piratecat

Malachite eyes the Ivory King, trapped in his cube of force. “How big is the cube, Agar?”

“Only ten by ten! He fills it completely.” And indeed, the grotesque flab of undead presses against an invisible barrier along the edges. Nolin's paralyzed body is being balanced on the Ivory King’s chest like some sort of living bib. 

“Then I’m not going to be able to _dimension door_ in with my cloak.” He frowns, and with no other enemy in sight begins to pray as he slides the sword Karthos into the holy light of Aeos’ afterimage. The sword almost hums in satisfaction, and begins praying itself.

“Proty, go!” The amorpheous blob of tentacles rises from Agar’s arm and darts over to Tao’s head. She makes a half-hearted grab at it in case it’s food, but Proty settles onto her face in a smothering embrace and lets off a _dispel magic_ that Agar had previously _imbued_ in him. The result could hardly have been better, starting at her head and rippling like invisible heat waves down to her feet, and in the process it completely strips away any obsessive hunger that the divine agent may be feeling. 

Tao lifts her head, eyes hard. She stares at the Ivory King who is in the process of eating one of her oldest friends. “Naaah umh maa. . .” She spits out the dry food filling her mouth, scattering it into the rubble. “Now I’m mad.” Standing, she draws both swords.

Meanwhile, Agar casts _exploit weakness._ For everyone near him, the minor weaknesses in the Ivory King’s defenses now become glaring gaps, and the group struggles over the rubble to launch a series of attacks against the _cube of force._ 

“Damn it!” mumbles Velendo, trying to remember. He had been taught about cubes of force once, in a lecture about magical walls and how to cast them. That was long ago, though, and he hadn’t been paying attention. He pushes past the overwhelming pain in his joints and dredges up what little he can recall. “It’s a force wall, but I think we can drop it with enough damage. Hit it as hard as you can!” The group moves into position around Nolin and the Ivory King, carefully picking their way through the unstable rubble as they array themselves strategically. 

“One thing’s nice, at least,” says Priggle as he peers out into the darkness, grasping his pick with one calloused and shaking hand. “Most of the ghouls had been heading for the body. I think the only way anyone knows we’re over here is from the _flame strike._ With luck, it might take them a little while to reach – ”

 There’s a flash overhead as something _teleports_ in. The creature is huge, and horribly familiar: the animated corpse of the earth dragon that the group fought in Mrid, the one that ate Mara’s mace. Much of its stony flesh has begun to rot, and it carries three ghouls on its back. The most terrifying thing about the dragon isn’t its nature or its passengers, though. The most terrifying thing about it is that its eyes are glowing a lambent yellow.

*“Hello, everyone!”* hisses a jubilant Soder. * “Welcome to my home!” * It winks one huge yellow eye at the Ivory King, mutters something, and time. . . _freezes._

_He had been appalled that the trap of luring the group up to the Goddess’ head had failed. Poised there invisibly with his best troops, Soder had been *so* sure that they’d make an irrestible temptation. Ah, well, there’s no accounting for Nolin’s ingenuity. Once Soder had realized that the living adventurers had somehow dragged His Highness up onto the shattered remains of Bone Hill, and released the light of that blasted surface God in the process, he’d almost cheered at their good tactics. They’d still have to die, of course, but it’s always fun rooting for the underdog.

Ah, good, Nolin is safe with His Majesty. No pointing in pulling any punches, then. What would be the most fun? Oh, yes! How about reverse gravity, followed by one. . . no, *two* delayed blast frost spheres? Yes, that’d be perfect. And finish up with a cheery little spell turning? Yes, ideal. Then cancelling the reverse gravity for an extra soupçon of pain. Now, to work!

It’s so *nice* to see Nolin and the group here. He hoped they liked his new body, crafted just with them in mind, and found Nacreous as homey as he did. He’d even had some of the ghouls learn a few of Nolin’s favorite songs! Hopefully, there’d be time later for a concert, or an impromptu serenade. The bard and his friends couldn’t help but be impressed._​
Time restarts, and half the group are yanked upwards off their feet into the air. As they dangle there, two pulsing spheres of dark blue light explode into killing cold and jagged ice. Some of the group manages to twist out of the way of at least one of the explosions; Cruciel shields Velendo with her own body, and Mara’s sacred aura helps protect Luminor from the worst of the damage. Even Agar is partially shielded by a fallen pillar of skulls. The only person caught totally out in the open is Malachite. He’s flung into the air and is almost parallel with both icy spheres when they simultaneously explode into  jagged fragments of frost. Both icy explosions tear through him simultaneously, and the hunter of the dead is partially frozen solid by the time his body crashes down onto the broken floor tiles below. 

When he hits, part of his frozen skin shatters from the impact, then begins to melt in the warm sunlight emanating from Aeos’ afterimage. There’s no question that the paladin is dead. Mara’s face turns dead white, and Velendo darts forward to the corpse in dismay.

*“Ahhh. Hunter of the Dead? Go hunt yourself. Now that’s good old-fashioned craftsmanship.”* Comfortably ensconsed in the dragon’s undead flesh, Soder feels the warm glow of a job well done. * “Who’s next?”*

Eyes wide, Agar lets out a horrified scream. He points his finger at Soder and casts _maze_. The spell unerringly bounces back, strikes Agar, and flings him bodily into an interdimensional maze of force.

The Ivory King twitches, and six other spindly arms slither out of his noisome bulk. All eight arms hold Nolin upright as he prepares for another bite. “Did you see?” whispers the ghoul into Nolin’s ear. “Isn’t it _beautiful?_

_To be continued..._


----------



## Piratecat

90-odd points of damage on two failed saves, plus falling damage? When you're already injured that can really catch your attention. I think it left Malachite at -30 or so, somewhat surprising us all.

Now if anyone ever asks you the riddle "What goes Oooph! boom-boom-clatter-shatter-tinkle-blarg?" , you'll already know the answer.


----------



## Spatzimaus

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> And those of you who had "Maachite" on your list for the Death Pool can now do the Dance of Superiority.
> 
> "Numfarr! Do the Dance of Superiority."




For those of you wanting to see all of the Death Pool guesses, go to post #858, dated 4/23/04:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showpost.php?p=1499923&postcount=858

Malachite was BY FAR the most common guess for death, with 11 different people selecting him.  (Me being one.)  Considering the fight was eleven months ago (10/23/03?) and the Death Pool (revised) was five months ago (4/23/04), we must be psychic... err wait, can you be psychic if you correctly predict an event that's already happened?


----------



## Piratecat

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> Hmmm, I'd have expected him to be quite loaded with magic items and decent spells. And on this level relieving someone of his burdensome 8-9th level protection spells is always nice.




No, it was Soder who was loaded down with pre-cast spells; he had several minions casting preparatory spells on him for several rounds before he teleported over to the top of the bone hill. In comparison, the Ivory King was hoping that he'd get a nice, relaxing evening of devouring his dead mother and achieving full godhood. Anyways, he doesn't especially _need_ lots of buffing spells.

He's the King of the Ghouls for a reason.



			
				WizarDru said:
			
		

> Did I miss why they're so (_self-censored_) fixated on Nolin?




Well, the Ivory King chose Nolin as his first target because the bard had the temerity to insult him down inside Imbindarla's stilled heart. Nolin just wouldn't shut up, and frankly Gl'Yuute was getting tired of hearing about him from his advisor.

And Soder? Hard to say. Maybe it's Nolin's phenomenal charisma, and Soder's his biggest fan. That's probably as good a reason as any. But it's definitely one of those unhealthy, stalk-him-to-his-house, keep-calling-and-hanging-up, animate-undead-so-you-can-be-near-him, first-teen-crush  kinds of obsession. Not something you'd probably want to encourage.


----------



## Piratecat

Ashy said:
			
		

> Question: On average, how many hours a day do you spend thinking about your game, PC?




Hmmm. Assuming I'm not actually running a game that day or writing story hour (curb the obvious jokes, you!), maybe half an hour or less. I'll often plot while I'm taking a shower, walking the dogs, or falling asleep. That's about it unless I have some heavy-duty prep to do.

For instance, for this fight I borrowed a box of huge wooden dominoes from my buddy Blood Jester's wife. Using those and a cardboard box, I constructed a pretty intricate ruined building with different levels, a pit, and barely standing pillars holding back rubble. Then I took one of Fiery Dragon's fantastic creatures from their Counter Collection, shrunk it from 15'x15' to 10'x10' on a color copier, and used that to represent the Ivory King. Soder was represented by a neat little plastic dragon I got at a toy store. Prep and contingency planning for this fight took quite some time. . . and of course most of it all got tossed, because the players totally buffaloed me when they moved the fight into the Godlight. Bastards.


----------



## Piratecat

“I’m something of a gourmand,” confesses the Ivory King in burbling, conversational tones.  “For instance, you’re familiar with goose liver pate. I’ve always been curious about stuffed phoenix liver pate.” He lifts Nolin’s helpless body and takes a huge bite out of his belly, spilling internal organs from the terrible wound.

Instead of screaming, Nolin starts to sing. His voice begins weakly but gains strength, and each of his friends hears the song resonate over the mindlink.

“Pray your gods who ask you for your blood
For they are strong and angry jealous ones
Or lay upon my altar now your love
I fear my time is short
There are armies moving close
Be quick, my love”​Elsewhere, Agar hangs in silvery null-space, gazing in wonder at the 3-D maze of translucent force walls that completely surrounds him. He thinks about moving, and the whole maze instantly swivels and reorients itself to him instead of him reacting to it. “Oh, that’s neat!” he tells Proty, who is still perched on his shoulders. “This is what my maze looks like!” He studies the incomprehensible tangle of force planes for a few seconds. “I must be getting slow, little guy. This is _easy._” As Agar concentrates, the maze begins to whirl and slide around him. Walls speed in, turn abruptly, and recede even as new walls slide forward to take their place. Proty gurgles. “I know it’s fun, but Malachite is dead and Nolin is trapped.” Agar bites his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, but he doesn’t notice. “We have to hurry.”

Velendo is the first to reach Malachite, turning over the body with a shaking hand and recoiling from what he sees. He glares upwards at the flying dragon. Ignoring the jabbing pain in his joints, he lowers his heavy shield onto the paladin’s chest. Cruciel takes his hand, and he can feel the soul of Morak murmuring to him from inside the shield.

“Calphas,” Velendo begins, “I know normally that you can’t bring someone back to life unless you’re in a holy and purified place. But I‘m standing in the blessed light of your divine uncle, and I’ve got an angel on one hand and a saint on the other, and I ask so that I can slay a really horrible enemy. I’d really appreciate it if you’d let this work.” And before he can get hit by one of the arrows now beginning to blindly skitter in from the approaching ghoulish troops, he utters a prayer and thrusts his hands deep into Malachite’s chilly torso. The knight’s  soul hasn’t had time to even leave the flesh and enter the sunblade Karthos; Velendo’s fingers catch it, smooth it, slide it back into place, and warm it just enough to grant the spark of returning life. Frozen lungs take a single, anguished breath. . . and a delighted Velendo casts _mass heal_ on Malachite and anyone else nearby. Blocked by the _cube of force_, the healing energy doesn’t reach Nolin.

 Flesh heals. Ice melts. Consciousness returns. And Malachite sits up.

“What happened?” he asks in confusion. As if by reflex, Karthos slides across the rubble from five feet away and sockets itself in Malachite’s outstretched hand. “I feel terrible.” He looks down and examines the huge rents in his emerald surcoat as he fights off dizziness. 

“That’s hardly surprising,” answers Velendo drily. “You just died.” Malachite looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “I brought you back,” the old priest clarifies. “You hadn’t gone very far. Now get up and let’s save Nolin and kill our enemies.”

Malachite forces himself to his feet. “Died?” he asks himself, half in doubt. He looks over to the cube, where Galthia and Stone Bear and Mara and Priggle are all beating on the force walls with all the strength they can muster. The sound of their blows echoes dully, like hammers on solid lead. Then his eyes follow the bullywug Burr-Lipp as he launches himself off a pillar with his harpoon clutched in both hands. While still in mid-air the frog throws it at Soder, hoping to impale the undead dragon. Instead the harpoon bounces off, and Burr-Lipp lands awkwardly on the rubble below.

_“Damnation,”_ intones the bullywug mentally. _“I am glad to see you not carrion, Malachite.”_

“Me too.” He totters forward as the three ghouls on Soder’s back leap off the dragon onto rubble below. 

“I’ve got them,” calls Galthia. The githzerai looks at the impenetrable cube of force and the Ivory King with disgust before nimbly leaping up the rubble onto what was once a roof. The three ghouls await him eagerly. Above them, Soder chants through a series of incantations, and a huge clenched fist the size of an elephant appears in the air over the rubble-strewn battleground.

“You know,” sighs Priggle, “that can’t be good.”

“Move!” yells Cruciel as she grabs Velendo by the shoulder and swings him around behind her.

WHAM! The fist slams down with enough force to send broken pillars toppling. All of the Defenders targetted by it manage to leap at least partially out of the way, which probably saves their lives. The fist rises once again, positioning itself for another devastating attack, even as Cruciel tests to see if her wings were broken. Untouched behind her, Velendo’s face is a study of guilt and worry.

“I’m all right,” she says in her voice like silver trumpets. She pulls him back once more, blocking an incoming arrow with a sweep of her shield. Her teeth flash in the sunlight as she catches and holds Velendo’s gaze. “I’m all right,” she repeats with a little smile. “This is why I’m here.”

Suddenly Agar and Proty rematerialize next to them. “See?” Agar is saying. “Easy!” he looks up and lets loose a low whistle. “Wow, _crushing fist of spite_! That’s a rare one! I’ve never actually seen it used!”

“Agar!” yells Tao in delight. “I thought you were _disintegrated_!”

“No, but that’s a pretty good idea.” His brow furrows when he sees the yellow glow of Soder’s eyes hovering above him in the darkness, surrounded in Agar’s _true seeing_ by more than a dozen magical auras. “I know how _spell turning_ works, you jerk, and I can see the spell on you. First something to burn off the remaining power. . .” He throws a lightning bolt that rebounds and is negated by Agar’s own protection spells. “And then _another_ maze. See ya.” _Work this time come on please work work work work. . ._ Soder blinks out of existence, and across the battlefield Malachite gives a congratulatory cheer.

Agar spins around. “You’re alive!” 

“Now I am. Come on, we need to help Nolin.” They look over, and blood is pouring down the bard’s front and into the greedy, open mouth of the Ivory King. Somehow, Nolin is still singing.

“I feel my body weakened by the years
As people turn to gods of cruel design
Is it that they fear the pain of death
Or could it be they fear the joy of life”​“Stop that, damn you!” One of the Ivory King’s arms brushes at his tiny ears. The sound of Nolin’s voice has somehow grown louder, and now it carries over the impact of warriors hammering apart the _cube of force_. 

“We’re not letting that thing descend again,” spits Velendo. He casts a _flexible wall_ in such a way that it provides a ceiling over most of the battlefield, then turns and heals Cruciel. Seconds later, the _crushing fist of spite_ smashes down once again directly over Velendo. This time it is wholly deflected by the wall.

“Good job, but we still need more support,” decides Agar. Throwing his mind out into the far reaches of the earth, he calls an elder earth elemental to him. Channelling it through a tiny section of the far realms is simplicity itself for the alienist, and the elemental arrives with earthen tentacles squirming.

“Break open that cube,” directs Agar, and the pseudonatural elemental turns its full attention on the task. Above it, Galthia is closing on the three ghoulish archers who have settled on the remains of the mansion’s roof. Actually, two are archers, and one is surrounded by dozens of small silver spheres. By the time the monk completes his climb, he has at least one arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

“I’ve heard about you people,” the ghoul surrounded by the floating spheres hisses to Galthia. It was once a ratlike skaven before it became an undead. “I’ve waited for a chance to see what you’re made of. Today should be a holy day. If you're going to interrupt it, at least we can make you holy too.” Overly amused by its own pun, the ghoulish ratman propels five of the silver spheres towards Galthia in a blazing array of silvery death. Galthia tries to deflect the first but he's too slow, and four of the five slam into his body. Galthia can actually feel the first sphere, psionically impelled, squirming deeper into his body. Blood sprays out, but the githzerai does his best not to even flinch. Instead, he smiles at the ghouls in front of him.

“My turn.” He focuses his ki and his hands move faster than the ghoul can follow. It tries to move the silver spheres into a makeshift shield, but Galthia’s fists punch right through it. A few of the silver spheres drop to the ground as the undead is reminded what a shattered collarbone feels like. Behind him, a leaping Burr-Lipp takes down one of the archers.

The force walls are now vibrating every time they’re hit. Tao glances at Nolin, blanches, and realizes that Stone Bear and Priggle are better at weakening the cube than she is; song or no, Nolin doesn’t have much time left. Tao doesn’t have much connection with the Goddess of Nature this deep underground, but a minute previously she had been patrolling a forest path in the shadow of sacred trees. She casts _negative energy protection_ on herself just to be safe, moves farther into the sunlight, and rips open a _gate_ in the fabric of time and space.

“Evergreen! Servant of my Goddess, I call you!” The sunlight of dappled shadows under tall trees shines from the magical gate, but no angel immediately appears. Behind Tao, Stone Bear hammers on the cube as hard as he can. It vibrates like glass but doesn’t break.

Nolin’s song rings out, loud and sweet and terribly, terribly sad.

“Pray your gods who hold you by your fear
For they are quick and ruthless punishers
Or lay upon my altar now your love
I fear my day is done
There are armies moving on
Be quick, my love”​Velendo looks up to the horribly injured Nolin, realization dully setting in. “Goodbye, Nolin. Burn him good!”

The Ivory King raises Nolin up and opens his mouth. “Yammer, and yammer, and yammer. Do you never cease prattling?”

Nolin manages to twist his head enough to look the ghoul in his beady, black eyes. Whatever the Ivory King sees in Nolin’s face, it seems to shake him. “I’m telling you the truth. The only thing in the world to live for is love, and you’ll never know it. Which is why you’re going to try to rule the undead, creatures that don’t know how to love, and you’re going to fail.”

The Ivory King looks aggrieved. “One last chance, for the sake of my Advisor. You may surrender and submit to me.”

The bard’s voice is firm. “Never.”  The ghoul’s jaws gape. Over the mindlink, Nolin thinks, “It’s been interesting, guys!” Oddly enough, his thoughts sound full of hope and anticipation, and he finishes the song.

“Dona nobis pacem, pacem
Dona nobis pacem et in terra pax 
Grant us rest and on earth peace.”​His voice never falters.

Velendo’s throat catches. “See you on the other side, Nolin.”

Agar yells, “You tell him, Nolin!”

The Ivory King closes his jaws around Nolin’s head.

And Nolin dies.

“God damn it,” Malachite says to himself, taking in a deep breath. Mara chokes back a sob.

Velendo’s voice is tiny in the tumult. “Go with Calphas’ blessing, Nolin.”

Behind his protective screen, the Ivory King lifts his decapitated trophy and deliberately sticks his questing tongue down Nolin’s neck. He’s clearly smiling.

“My comrade, gone, gone” says Galthia. “How soon before the phoenix awakens and the _firestorm_ takes effect?”

Tao’s face is grim. “Instantaneously. And there’s no room in there to dodge.”

Smoke abruptly rises from the corpse, and the Ivory King suddenly stops looking insufferably smug. He desperately tries to remove his tongue from the corpse, to fumble in his rolls of fat for the controls to the _cube of force_, to escape.

Too late.

The group stands transfixed as Nolin’s transient flesh boils away to expose a radiant gold and red phoenix. Revealed in her glory for the first time in years, Rides The Sun’s wings batter at the sides of the _cube_ before wrapping tightly around the large white flabby flesh of the Ivory King. Then the whole area goes incandescent. It’s as if the sun itself has been kindled within the cube, and everyone but Stone Bear, Mara and Malachite must turn their eyes away from the glare.

There’s a silent scream, like water being boiled out of a dry kettle. The cube is an inferno of fire.

Galthia shakes his head in satisfaction. “At least in death he got retribution.”

“Yes,” agrees Agar in a hitching voice. Proty keens.

Nolin’s holy fire shatters the remaining structural integrity of the cube, and Stone Bear recoils from the sudden heat even as the flame passes away. Although no one else can hear it, his death spirit guide Elder offers words of condolence to the shaman. _It’s just death. Do not worry. I am with you. I am with you, closer now than I ever have been before. Kill the thing, and I will help. I am coming to you._

"Uh, sure." Stone Bear grits his teeth. This is what you get for fighting near the Goddess of Undeath. “I think we’ll let Malachite actually kill the thing. We’ll just help.”

He turns back towards the Ivory King, still screaming, standing in Nolin's ashes and wreathed in flame. 


_To be continued..._

*Quote of the night:* Nolin (preparing to roll his retributive firestorm upon death): “May I have some more dice, please? I only have 19.”


----------



## Naathez

...
Nolin's dead.

While I try to let this sink in...

Piratecat, thank you for finding the time to let us know of the fantastic adventures of the Defenders of Daybreak. 

People , all of you, Velendo Mara Malachite , Stone Bear, all of you. Thank you for showing us what this hobby we all love is ALL ABOUT.

Kidcthulhu... I don't know if you cried when Nolin died. I did.

but thanks for bringing us all in at your table, people.

Now go fry that fatstser, and let me grieve.

From bard to bard, Nolin - you'll be missed.


----------



## Steverooo

*Death Pool:*

 Well, unless it was for PERMANENT deaths, looks like Dakkareth is the winner, without even the need for a tie-breaker!

Here's hoping Nolin is reborn in the ashes!  ;-)


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## Spatula

Google is your friend!


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## Piratecat

Naathez said:
			
		

> I think I remember Nolin had already declared he didn't WANT to be brought back when he died...




Correct. In death Nolin and Rides the Sun are separate but both free, and they're soaring the heavens in a very just reward. Nolin had made his feelings quite clear; he'd died and been brought back once, when he was first bonded to Rides the Sun, and he didn't want it to happen again. 

We finished one game just as the group was transported to the top of the hill, into the light. The whole fight (including the bits still to come) took the next two game sessions. We're close to the point where the first of those two sessions ended.


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## WizarDru

Wow.  That's just....wow.

Well, I think that was worth the wait.

Soder's due back any moment, and he missed the best part.


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## KidCthulhu

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> This was so poignant it brought a tear to my eye.
> 
> Cheers




Thanks, Alex.  I didn't want to be all "NOOOO, Blackleaf!!" about the event, but I must admit it affected me more than I thought it would.

And yes, it is Toad the Wet Sprocket.  Nolin's epitaph, if he ends up needing one, would be "Stories I tell" also from that same album.  It came out about the time I begain playing Nol, and it's always had a lot to say to me about him.


----------



## Gideon

Fot those of you taking notes at home...

Toad and the Wet Sprocket is the band
Fear is the album
Pray Your Gods is the song...# 6

Excellent album...a hauntingly beautiful work


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## Quasqueton

I just went back and read the DoD vs. pirates battle (the first, on the ship).

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showpost.php?p=10973&postcount=5

It is interesting to read again after reading this latest fight. Although they were probably in the teen levels for that fight, it seems almost mundane compared to this battle against the ghoul king and the ghoul army. I mean, those were just pirates on a ship; now the enemies are near-gods, and the battleground is surrounded by divine events.

Quasqueton


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## Piratecat

Hey, if you're NOT in my game and want more detail on the Ivory King, head here. You'll also find a request for some evil plotting!

Thanks to my players for staying out. There are some things that man just isn't meant to see.


----------



## Sialia

I . .uh . . .have been working on . .transparent cubes and, uh . . .phoenixes lately.



Please excuse the recycling, and the speed of the paste up. 

I tried doing one of these months ago, but it didn't really work. So this winds up being a bit of a rush job.


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## Piratecat

Sialia, that picture is luminous. The color is beautiful.

Incidentally, the Ivory King had some fire resistance, but it hardly matters. All of Nolin's _firestorm_ damage also counted as holy damage. Anyone want to guess how the Ivory King deals with holy damage?

Not well, my friends. Not well at all.


----------



## Sito

Sialia said:
			
		

> Best (or possibly worst, depending on your take on these things) secret spoiler ever:
> 
> "Well, now, I wouldn't exactly call him _aging_."--Sito




Thanks Si!  And AWESOME Phoenix-in-a-box illo!!  Way to render unto KC that which is Nolin's finest moment.  Since much of the cat is out of the bag, I've got to ask something that's been itching my brain:



> Nolin feels his consciousness slip outwards, seeking at the threads of legend that the dead  ghoul has touched or inspired. His mind catches something, and a bit of rhyming  doggerel slips into his thoughts.
> 
> _ From the dark, forged the scythe
> Made the spell of misplaced lies
> Killed the dawn and drew the pact
> They would grieve but for the fact
> He leaves a void, his body calls
> The mouth that’s doomed to swallow all
> Now in the night his children fight
> The steady blight of godly light._




this is from Nol's LL of the ghoulish ashes that remained after Aeos took retribution.  Does that mean that Soder created the divination sink and also misdirected the prayers to Aeos?  Just wondering.


----------



## Heroditis

*Wonderfully played.*

Nolin's death was just amazing.  The stuff of legends.  But I have been following the Defenders for a while, and was always wondering if PC would pick up the plot thread of the hinted at dark cost to Nolin for the purchase of his legendary instrument (lute?) in Sigil.  I was wondering if KC or PC would be willing to divulge what the price was to have been?  Or is that an adventure that Nolin will have to deal with in the next world (if indeed his soul was the price).  Just curious.  In any case, bravo.


----------



## Jobu

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> And yes, it is Toad the Wet Sprocket.  Nolin's epitaph, if he ends up needing one, would be "Stories I tell" also from that same album.  It came out about the time I begain playing Nol, and it's always had a lot to say to me about him.



At the end of this gaming session (possibly the last time I will ever get to play Tao) KidC and I broke into this song....seemed fitting really.

Don't give me answers for I would refuse
"yes" is a word for which I have no use
and I wasn't looking for heaven or hell
just someone to listen to stories I tell

now what is a blessing and what is a dream
caught between portraits and none's what is seems
and why is it people expect there's a change
when I feel I'm a part of something I can't see
I feel the same

now don't ask me questions or I will retreat
fame is a cancer and ego its seed
now I wasn't looking for heaven or hell
just someone to listen to stories I tell

do we ever wonder?
and did you ever care.....

subtle salvation in poems we know
hiding our heads in a shadow of home
now I wasn't looking for wreaths or for bells
just someone to listen to stories I tell

On a really odd note I read the most recent post this morning before heading out to work (bad idea given the crying and all - great write up PCat).  I got into my car and what cd had I put in last night?  Fear.  And what song was on?  Pray Your Gods.  Go figure.


----------



## Piratecat

Sito said:
			
		

> this is from Nol's LL of the ghoulish ashes that remained after Aeos took retribution.  Does that mean that Soder created the divination sink and also misdirected the prayers to Aeos?  Just wondering.




No, this was done by Nacreous's main wizard (whose name I'm blanking on for the moment), an clever and ancient epic lvl caster who is responsible for most of the city's defenses and flesh-crafting (it was this guy's apprentice who Galthia killed by shattering the Gem of Making, outside of Akin's Throat, just before Imbindarla hit and all hell broke loose.) He lived in the mansion atop the hill of bones, and while the Ivory King looked to Soder for advice, he looked to this wizard for power and strategy.

Ironically enough, the Defenders destroyed him with nothing more than words. They told Mara's friend, who told The Clarion of Aeos, who prayed to Aeos, who learned that this "mortal" had disrupted the divine cycle of prayers, which made him angry enough to manifest on the spot and smite him down in a blaze of fiery light... which left the glowing afterimage that the Defenders are currently using to their advantage. In other words, the Defenders of Daybreak killed one of their most dangerous foes and left a way to help kill the other months before they ever learned that the foe even existed.

And no, I didn't plan it that way or anticipate this. It's the logical consequence of their actions. I blame them.

Heroditis, good memory on the instrument. Also ironically, Nolin paid for the instrument by involving it in events that shake the world; whatever it ultimately was, it wasn't interested in mediocrity. There will be more on this later in the story hour, I think.

Palladion, thank you again!


----------



## Richards

A pathetic little tribute to Nolin in the form of a Limerick:

There once was a foppish half-elf bard
Being chewed by a ghoulish tub of lard
After brave Nolin died
Came the phoenix inside
And the Ghoul-King became rather charred.​Great storyline, Piratecat!  I've really enjoyed the adventures of the Defenders of Daybreak over the years.  So what's KidCthulhu going to do for a new character?

Johnathan


----------



## Fimmtiu

Wow. That update is way, way better if you read it while listening to the song. No wonder the resolution of this battle was so long in coming.

It's stories like this that keep me playing D&D. Thanks for spending the effort to record it all for us! It doesn't go unappreciated.


----------



## Palladion

Defenders of Daybreak, Part 8 

Entries from December 11, 2003 to February 5, 2004. 

Previous compilations:
Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 3 
Part 4 
Part 5 
Part 6 
Part 7


----------



## Piratecat

Apparently we were missed; this thread has gotten about 5500 views in the last five days, which is crazy. Of course, with so many damn pages, I think it's four people reading it all the way through.  

As a way of saying thank you for your patience, there should be at least one update this week. Maybe more, who can say? But I'd say it's about time to make the fight a little more complicated. Heh, heh.

In addition, the great purge has begun. I'll probably be deleting about 25 posts a day (it's a pain in the butt to do en masse, so I'm spreading it out.) There's some incredibly funny commentary in this thread, but please don't be surprised if a lot of it disappears while I pare down some of the excess posts. Right now people look at 70 pages, twitch, and announce that they'll start reading this story hour right after they finish the collected works of Fyodor Dostoevsky. Of course, they'll say the same damn thing when I've pared it down to 30 pages, but at least I'll feel better about keeping things moving.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> right after they finish the collected works of Fyodor Dostoevsky.




Yeah, I liked his story hour, but his campaign world sucked.


----------



## Nightingale 7

Hello everybody.I've long been a lurker in this SH.Let me tell you,that I generally prefer SH of existing campaign settings.
The reason is that most homebrews are simply a jumble of plot hooks put together,and there is no realistic world structure.After reading for a bit,I've come to realise that PC's Spira setting is a rich,vibrant and realistic world that exceeds in quality most of the famous published CSs(and that coming from me,an avid FR fan,is unexpected indeed  ).
The places are unique and memorable(Eversink is a MASTERPIECE in every sense of the word),the opponents are smart and calculating and the PCs are lovable,and full of flavor,each and every one of them.
And as if all those are not enough,along comes Nolin's death which is one of the greatest and most touching scenes I've ever read or seen ANYWHERE.I am at last moved to post and congratulate you all for that INCREDIBLE D&D campaign we have the priviledge of reading.
I'm sad for Nolin,but I'm sure that KidC's new PC will become every bit as memorable as the flame-haired minstrel was.And above all,I hope PC continues to update for a long,long time!Hurray for the Defenders of Daybreak!


----------



## jerichothebard

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, this was done by Nacreous's main wizard (whose name I'm blanking on for the moment), an clever and ancient epic lvl caster who is responsible for most of the city's defenses and flesh-crafting (it was this guy's apprentice who Galthia killed by shattering the Gem of Making, outside of Akin's Throat, just before Imbindarla hit and all hell broke loose.) He lived in the mansion atop the hill of bones, and while the Ivory King looked to Soder for advice, he looked to this wizard for power and strategy.
> 
> Ironically enough, the Defenders destroyed him with nothing more than words. They told Mara's friend, who told The Clarion of Aeos, who prayed to Aeos, who learned that this "mortal" had disrupted the divine cycle of prayers, which made him angry enough to manifest on the spot and smite him down in a blaze of fiery light... which left the glowing afterimage that the Defenders are currently using to their advantage. In other words, the Defenders of Daybreak killed one of their most dangerous foes and left a way to help kill the other months before they ever learned that the foe even existed.
> 
> And no, I didn't plan it that way or anticipate this. It's the logical consequence of their actions. I blame them.





See, and that's the thing I admire most about you as a storycrafter and DM.  Your world has so much verismilitude and is so well thought out that stuff like this can happen. Cause and effect, man.  It's great and very inspiring.


 jtb


----------



## ledded

Wow.  I was about to make some comment about the "Cat's pajamas", but I think I'll just let that one go.  

So I saw the updates after the drought, and finally got around to popping back in and catching up with the Defenders.

I don't know if any of the other fledgling Story Hour authors out there feel this, but I imagine at least a few would agree with me:

Before, there was the bar that the long-time SH authors like PC, Sagiro, et al set.  It was way up there, and left folks occasionally scampering around in vain happily trying to find a way to approach it.

After finishing those last few PC updates, shielding my eyes from the strong sunlight, I took a look at where the bar is now.  

And turned to my buddy nearby to ask, "Hey man, um, so _when_ did you say the next shuttle is going up?"


----------



## Piratecat

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> KidC's not bitter, no no no, not bitter at all.  I'm suprised PC made it back from the river at all.




Bitter? The Ivory King just met her! (*rim shot*)
Bittersweet chocolate?
Rubber innertube?
Refrigerator box?
Rubber chicken?
You get the idea.​Seriously, KidCthulhu knew what she was getting herself in for when she decided to taunt a semi-demigod. You can be sure that she misses the character, but there's no unfairness involved with it. Nolin went out doing what he loves best, and his death made a tremendous difference both in the fight and the future history of the world. How many PCs can say that with certainty? 

As these things go, it was a _good_ death.


----------



## Spatzimaus

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Bitter? The Ivory King just met her! (*rim shot*)
> Bittersweet chocolate?
> Rubber innertube?
> Refrigerator box?
> Rubber chicken?




Center for Disease Control?
Cracker Barrel?
Flavor Enhancer?

It's like Mad Libs, you can do that all day.

Well, Dakkareth won the Death Pool, and since only two people even picked Nolin in the first place, it wasn't even close.  Of course, there could be a lot more deaths before this is all over... heh heh heh.

So, I think we need a new betting pool to replace the now-defunct Death Pool.  How about this: What race and class will KidCthulhu's new character be?  (Since this battle took place 11 months ago, the question's a bit strange, I know.)


----------



## KidCthulhu

Now there's a pool!  I'm willing to lay down actual cash that none of you can guess correctly.  

Offer not valid for current PC players, or anyone I've already told.   Contest not open to employees of PirateCat-Rat Bastard Enterprises or their families.  Not valid on the planet Earth or any of its territories.  Professional driver on a closed course.  Do not try this at home.


----------



## hard head

Wait a minute, the consequences of this tragedy could be slipping us by.

There could unforeseen _cohort_ issues arising out of this.

KidC wouldn't be continuing to play a halfling with a fondness for tentacles?

I am probably way out


----------



## Len

Yeah, you're way out.

Think: Obviously, after however many years, she'll want to play something completely different. So, what character would be the opposite of a vain bard with flaming hair who always has something to say?

That's right. Priggle's got a new player.


----------



## Sito

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Offer not valid for current PC players, or anyone I've already told.   Contest not open to employees of PirateCat-Rat Bastard Enterprises or their families.  Not valid on the planet Earth or any of its territories.  Professional driver on a closed course.  Do not try this at home.




Just so long as my mileage doesn't vary.  

Since my last long-held guess was so far off the mark, let's try another:



> Spell completed, Agar looks up. “Nolin’s not lying.”
> 
> Soder sighs, like gas escaping a bloated corpse. "I miss those halcyon days where we would sit in your study, and chat away half the night over a glass of wine." He sounds nostalgic.
> 
> Nolin loses his temper. “You delusional freak! We never chatted, we never drank your wine. We don’t like you!”




In that zone of truth was up, does this mean that Soder met Nolin during the "black-out" period when our favorite bard was underground with Hagiok?  That would sure fill in a couple blanks.  Or is Soder just delusional?  (for that matter, am I?)


----------



## Plane Sailing

hard head said:
			
		

> KidC wouldn't be continuing to play a halfling with a fondness for tentacles?




Only if she did away with Agar's player  While Agar started off as a cohort he's a fully fledged PC in his own right now.

It is interesting to try and guess what character/class/race KidC might be.  I could imagine a half-orc sorcerer or druid character if it was just core races and classes, but if ECl races are included it could be anything. Young Silver/Gold dragon perhaps?

Cheers


----------



## Morte

I was thinking that if I were KidC I might like to play the Phoenix ("Rides the Flame"?), at least for a while.

Given that Nolin mentioned something about swanning around with the Phoenix after death, back in that "do we want to be raised" conversation, I even wonder if Nolin is still "sort of alive" in the Phoenix's body. The two soul's are still cohabiting, but in a different vessel, or something like that.

But I can see taking over Priggle too...


----------



## Piratecat

Cyri'kazzen the Drow said:
			
		

> I am curious about the World Creation myth of Spira.  I thought I read it somewhere in the 50+ pages, but can't remember where.  It had something to do with worms.  Any helpers out there?  Thanks.




I missed this when it was first asked. The relevant link is here, which links to _another_ spot in  the story hour as well. I'm happy to repost the relevant bits; the PCs are being spoken to by a blind elven shaman, late at night, high in the trees.

"I will tell you the oldest legend in the world. Before you humans were molded from the clay, even before Corellon Larethian shaped his perfect people, there are some who believe that the Old World was ruled by the Giantkin, the Dragonfolk, and the Scaled Ones in a time of High Magic. But there is a story that before the first dragon, and before the Gods of the Giants and the Lizards even arrived, the world was already here.

"Once it had been a home to races we can not even imagine, but that time had passed. For when the Gods first arrived here, brought by the voice of the last innocent screaming his death, they found a world in ruin. The whole world was worms, and worms were the world, and they cloaked it in darkness and foul vapors, and they ruled as Gods over the twitching bones of their dead victims. Ruins covered the world, but even the new Gods did not know who built them, and the worms had no Gods but themselves.

"So the Worms were foul in they eyes and nostrils of the Gods, and they took it upon themselves to cleanse the world. The worm spawn could not all be slain, so they were tricked, and banished through a hole in reality to a red prison beyond the stars. And around this hole the Gods set markers to keep the prison locked. When the Gods then set to rekindle the sun, it would not light, and when they looked they found that two worms had hidden from them. These worms were wrapped in bands of light and were cursed to stay bound and powerless while the new sun shone upon the world. Thus, the world filled with light and was remade in the name of the Gods, and was called Spira. In time, the world was cleansed enough for Corellon Larethian to shape his children, and in time the other people of Spira were shaped as well by their creators.​It's believed that one of these worms is chained deep beneath a temple to Imbindarla, far to the south-east on the Penngian Peninsula.*  No one the group has spoken to knows where the other one is bound.

* _At one point the PCs had possession of a cubic gate that went a couple of interesting places, including the mindflayer city where the damaged elder brain was and just outside of this particular temple. The first time the group went there (around 10th-12th lvl) they took one look at the crumbling and looming exterior - I tried to duplicate the mood of the temple from the original Temple of Elemental Evil module - and they wanted *nothing* to do with it. The looked at it for a few minutes, grimaced, decided there were more pressing problems, and buggered off to tackle another plot hook.  Probably just as well._


----------



## Spatzimaus

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Now there's a pool!  I'm willing to lay down actual cash that none of you can guess correctly.




I do believe we have us a contest.  Okay, in honor of the Death Pool, it's:

*THE LIFE POOL!*
Entries to be given in the following order:
1> Class.  It's the most important part, after all.  Prestige Classes don't count, just the core class.  In case of multiclassing, the highest class counts.
2> Race, to be used in case of ties on #1.  Templates don't count, because we could stick half-Whatever on any race.  And with this being Piratecat's game, templates are practically implied.
3> Gender, to be used in case of ties on #1 and #2.

So far, then, we have: (I'll keep editing this post as people guess, so that PC can delete as he goes along)
Spatzimaus: Ranger, Halfling, Female
Wizardru: Cleric, Halfling, Female
the Jester: Psion, Gnome, Female
Elocin: Rogue, Dwarf, Male
jerichothebard: Fighter, Dwarf, Male
Graywolf-ELM: Sorcerer, Human, Female
Morte: Bard, Phoenix, Male
Zarathustran: Ranger, Dragon, Female
Blargney the second: Barbarian, Slaad, Genderless
Edward Kann: Ranger, Drider, Male
Sito: Rogue, Blue Monkey, Male (yes, I know it's a joke)
arwink: Barbarian, Illithid, Male
The Amazing Dingo: Druid, Gelatinous Cube, Genderless
Nail: Fighter, Human, ? (is "Twinkes" male or female?)
Ranger Wickett: Rogue, Succubus, Female
Wolfspirit: Sorcerer, Half-Orc, Male
Heroditis: Fighter, Giant, Male
Lela: Paladin, Succubus, Female
Droid101: Paladin, Human, ?
LightPhoenix: Ranger, Elf, Male
Sandain: Psychic Warrior, Aboleth, Male (remember, only one class counts)
Ashy: Sorcerer, Kobold, Male (Klixxit)
Sialia: Aristocrat, Cardboard Box, Male
Weiknarf: Bard, Tiefling, Female
Kaodi: Geomancer, Modron, Genderless (except Geomancer isn't a base class)
Fimmtiu: Psion, Human, Male
Hammerhead: Rogue, Human, Male
Funeris: Bard, Yuan-Ti, Male
MerakSpielman: Cleric, Drow, Female
Thalantor: Barbarian, Goblin, Male




Anyone else?

RULES NOTE: Even if you're joking, it'll go into the table unless you supercede it with a serious guess.


----------



## Edward Kann@StoryART

Can't help but toss this out.

Dryder, Ranger, Male

Angsty Dryder Male with White Hair, Ranger, Carries a pair of matching scimitars and let's see...has a magic lawn gnome that he carries with him strapped to his back as if the lawn gnome is riding the Dryder as his mount.

Instead of being EVIL this Dryder is incredibly Neutral.  He can never seem to take a stand on anything.

When he calls out the magic lawn gnome's name "Gnomie" the lawn gnome changes into an ACTUAL gnome who has incredible shoe making skills and is also rather good at cheating at cards.

 

Ed


----------



## Palladion

Defenders of Daybreak, Part 9 

Short compilation this time.  Leads right up to the battle with the Ivory King.

Previous compilations:
Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 3 
Part 4 
Part 5 
Part 6 
Part 7 
Part 8


----------



## the Jester

So I take it that nobody has any of the earlier stuff, with the Voice of the Wood and all that stuff?


----------



## Fimmtiu

the Jester said:
			
		

> So I take it that nobody has any of the earlier stuff, with the Voice of the Wood and all that stuff?




O ye of little faith. 

That's a bad automatic HTML conversion of the original RTF document, but it's enough to be readable. Best I can do, in the absence of the piratecat.info site. However, you can get the original not-quite-as-ugly document right here if you prefer.


----------



## Kaodi

*Life Pool*

Geomancer, Modron, Genderless.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Kaodi said:
			
		

> Geomancer, Modron, Genderless.




I tried _really_ hard to get PC to let me play a modron.  No luck.  I even drew him a picture of my happy modron character and everything.  She had a hair bow. (Yes, I know modrons are genderless, but the hair bow seemed necessary).


----------



## Fimmtiu

Human, psion (telepath), male.

And while we're on the subject... Is it just me, or is Agar not quite the diviner he was cracked up to be?



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> The halfling introduces himself as Agar, a planar friend of Nolin's lover Telay, who is seeking her because she owes him money and spell components. "According to my incantations, you're going to run across her before anyone else I can easily reach. Mind if I stick around near you until then?"


----------



## jerichothebard

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Human, psion (telepath), male.
> 
> And while we're on the subject... Is it just me, or is Agar not quite the diviner he was cracked up to be?




Nothing there says that Nol's going to run into her _in this lifetime_...


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> And while we're on the subject... Is it just me, or is Agar not quite the diviner he was cracked up to be?




Give the guy a break.  We had to get him into the game with that lovely "Player Character Glow" around him.  Looking for Telay was as good a reason as any.  He's accurate more often than not.  Crazy, yes.  But clever as a pointy tack.


----------



## shurai

A modron with a hair bow?  Could we have a look if it's digitized?

-S


----------



## the Jester

shurai said:
			
		

> A modron with a hair bow?  Could we have a look if it's digitized?
> 
> -S




Seconded.


----------



## Sialia

speculating:


----------



## Wolfspirit

I'm suprised he didn't say something about how if the Defenders of Daybreak had investigated the Modron March, then you could play it.


----------



## KidCthulhu

shurai said:
			
		

> A modron with a hair bow?  Could we have a look if it's digitized?
> -S




I'd go with Sialia's versions.  They're much, much better than anything I have drawn.  Ever.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Who will take care of Tasha, Nolin's daughter now?  Who will tell her?  Contingencies?

GW


----------



## the Jester

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Who will take care of Tasha, Nolin's daughter now?  Who will tell her?  Contingencies?
> 
> GW




I recall Nolin made a point of saying good-bye before the Defenders went into the Underdark, just in case...


----------



## Greybar

I think it's a great statement about the game that readers are worried about a PC's daughter.


----------



## Hammerhead

I think she'll be okay, Nolin having so many friends and being rich and all. Besides, we all know she'll grow up to be some powerful enchanter who invents her own spell anyhow.

My guess for KidC's new character: 

multiclass Rogue/Wizard, human, male


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The halfling introduces himself as Agar, a planar friend of Nolin's lover Telay, who is seeking her because she owes him money and spell components. "According to my incantations, you're going to run across her before anyone else I can easily reach. Mind if I stick around near you until then?"




Ok, I'd thought this long ago, but apparently I'm the only one that suspects it?  What I'm refering to is that _Telay is Sodar_   I got this idea because I just can't think of anyone else that would have made those comments to Nolin, the 'fond memories' remarks of course.  That and they haven't managed to find (the original body of) Telay.  Isn't she supposed to be in the area, of the Underdark that is?  I'd look it up to confirm, but I'm up very late and it's a _LOT_ of info to wade through to review it all. Not that this is a bad thing mind you 

Then again I could be totaly off my rocker here.  Quick repudation by P'kitty would of course disprove this.  This assumes he's not evil enough to *not* say anything just to make his loyal fans squirm.  

Hatchling Dragon


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

the Jester said:
			
		

> I recall Nolin made a point of saying good-bye before the Defenders went into the Underdark, just in case...




I had actually downloaded the PDF files recently posted here, and was reading the story again.  And just happened to come across the reference of his daughter and saying good-bye.  But still, I thought the reference appropriate, as the child disbelieves his claim that he may not be coming back.

Page 6/54  DoD002.pdf



> Nolin says goodbye, for what seems like the fifteenth time, to his daughter.  "I may not be coming back," he explains, as the ten year girl eyes him skeptically.  "Uh huh," says Tasha.  "You always say that. Aunt Cadrienne says it's just to get attention, and Aunt Kiri agrees." As he hugs his daughter and his aging mother, Nolin makes a mental note to have a word with his old adventuring companions.


----------



## Steverooo

Hatchling Dragon said:
			
		

> Ok, I'd thought this long ago, but apparently I'm the only one that suspects it?  What I'm refering to is that _Telay is Sodar_   I got this idea because I just can't think of anyone else that would have made those comments to Nolin, the 'fond memories' remarks of course.  That and they haven't managed to find (the original body of) Telay.  Isn't she supposed to be in the area, of the Underdark that is?  I'd look it up to confirm, but I'm up very late and it's a _LOT_ of info to wade through to review it all. Not that this is a bad thing mind you
> 
> Then again I could be totaly off my rocker here.  Quick repudation by P'kitty would of course disprove this.  This assumes he's not evil enough to *not* say anything just to make his loyal fans squirm.
> 
> Hatchling Dragon





I believe that this theory has been proposed before, and the PCat said, while a good idea, it wasn't the one that he's used...


----------



## cidak

Congrats P'Cat on 600,000 views.

How about an update as celebration?


----------



## Kaodi

*More Guesses For Our Favourite KidCthulhu*

Human, Male, Paladin (yeah, you know who)
Mindflayer, Male, Cerebremancer
Formian, Female, Cleric/Fighter
Tiefling, Female, Druid/Ranger


----------



## Palladion

Part 1 
Part 2 
Part 3 
Part 4 
Part 5 
Part 6 
Part 7 
Part 8 
Part 9 

Part 10 is incomplete but begins with the battle with the Ivory King.


----------



## Piratecat

Recap: Nolin is forever dead, devoured by the Ivory King before exploding into a divine inferno of phoenix fire that has left the Ivory King writhing in unaccustomed pain. Malachite has briefly fallen as well, slain by spells from the group’s old nemesis Soder. Agar escaped from a _maze_ and has temporarily _maze_d the dragon-bodied Soder, but not before the body-shifting archmage set a brutal crushing spell upon the group. Meanwhile, a handful of ghoulish troops teleported in by Soder assail the heroes, distracting them from the advancing proto-demigod. . . 

-- o --

_Mazes are so peaceful,_ thinks Soder as he hangs in null space and casts a quickened spell on himself. Rotting and invisible wings beat the non-air of the planar trap.  _No one attacking you, no real danger, just as much time as you want to plan. When I return, the most important thing will be to cut off the accursed Godlight. With that gone, they won’t have a chance. _ He swivels the demiplane around him, sliding the draconic bulk of his borrowed body past myriad planes of force. His mind flickers past the remaining spells that lie quiescent in his mind, caressing them mentally as he considers their best use.

_A wall of stone may be best for what I have in mind. It should stop Velendo and the goody-goody twins in their tracks. If it paralyzes Nolin as well, then I’ll simply teleport him to safety and return to the fight. _ The end of the maze looms before him, and Soder hesitates for just a few seconds as a worry nags at him. He shakes it off, blinks dry nictitating membranes over his reptilian and rotting eyes, and bursts back into reality.

Below him the monk Galthia swings acrobatically around a pillar on top of the rubble, deliberately risking an unobstructed line of fire from the ghoulish ballisteer brought in by Soder. Galthia has been around enough mind flayers to know what to do when he faces a psionic foe: hit them hard and fast. 

“Tsk tsk,” gloats the verminous ballisteer as it waggles a mocking finger at Galthia. A telekinetic urge flings a crystal sphere into Galthia’s face where it shatters easily. Glutinous green slime spatters out and coats the monk’s head and chest. Two more spheres crash into Galthia’s chest, also doing minimal damage but covering him in flesh-devouring ooze. The undead skaven settles back on its haunches with a wide grin on its rotting lips, anticipating the fun of watching Galthia’s skin deliquesce. 

“You probably don’t know this because you’ve never been to the surface,” Galthia uses a forefinger to flick some of the deadly slime away from his eyes as he leans in confidentially, “but green slime is instantly killed by sunlight.” The undead skaven’s eyes widen in confusion. It follows Galthia’s gaze down towards the brightly glowing after-image of the sun god thirty feet away, looks back at the monk, and understanding clicks in place at about the same time that Galthia crushes its skull with a flurry of blows. 

Behind the collapsing skaven, three more archers are destroyed by both Agar’s _sunburst_ and a _positive energy burst_ from Malachite. Galthia stands to jump down and attack the Ivory King, who is now almost devoid of guttering flame but still howling in agony, but Soder’s _crushing fist of spite_ slams down fifty feet away and the monk almost falls from the shockwave.

Velendo curses as he picks himself up out of the crater made by the descending force fist. “It missed my invisible wall!” he snarls to Cruciel. Glaring up at the hovering spell effect, Velendo mutters an ancient prayer designed to strip away enchantment.  The massive fist fades away, but Velendo’s _arcane sight_ catches a glimpse of something else flying overhead. “Agar, I see something up there. Is Soder back?”

Agar glances up with his _true seeing._ “Uh oh.”

Just like that, a domed wall of stone encloses the glowing patch of holy sunlight lighting the ruins.

With the light cut off, darkness and soul-draining cold descend like an icy rain. The last of Nolin’s fire is snuffed from the Ivory King’s burning body, the unprotected Tao shouts in pain and surprise, and Soder giggles at the familiar burst of buoying power. He flicks a simple _disintegrate_ at Mara and follows with a chained _darkening bolt_. Deteriorating eyes scan the rubble beneath him. 

_His Majesty was on fire; maybe something that Nolin did? Of course it would be; that boy is resourceful. If anyone could hurt the King, it would be him. _ Soder chuckles to himself in pride.  _I’ll have to save him before His Majesty decides to punish him, though. Hmmm; where is he? Probably dimension doored to safety or something similar. _

Malachite is thrown backwards as the force of the _chain darkening bolt_ radiates off from Mara and hits him. “Mara?” He shakily regains his balance. “Are you...”

“Fine,” calls the other Radiant Knight. “I have on Velendo’s necklace of _iron body._  I guess Soder is back. Where is he?”  

_“He’s invisible, but we’ll deal with him,”_ thinks Velendo over the mindlink. _“We need that damn wall shattered NOW! I’m horribly crippled without the sunlight, and the Ivory King and Soder are only strengthened. That’s our top priority.” 

“On it,"_ mutters Priggle. He converges on the cold stone dome along with Galthia and Stone Bear. Each of them begins to hit it as hard as possible, intent on shattering the magical rock and releasing the light inside.

Tao shudders under the assault of negative energy. The tree-like angel she has just _gated_ in grasps her with one gentle hand, and instantly the insidious weakness ceases. Tao looks up into the solar’s ancient eyes.  “Help us!” she gasps, regaining her breath. She gestures with one sword at the Ivory King, squaring off with Mara and Malachite across the rubble.

*“I can not help you directly, Tao Camber,”* rumbles the solar. *“There is a reason. Look.” * He lifts Tao into the air and bids her to gaze out at the dead Goddess’s body a quarter mile away. Suddenly, Tao *sees.* Four massive angels with ebony wings stand like cenotaphs, one on each side of the body, stretching up and up towards the ceiling until their solemn faces are lost in the shadows. Tao looks at them and the only thing she can think of is “undertaker.” They are puissant, and eternal, and just seeing them causes unnoticed tears to course down Tao’s cheeks. The angel of Galanna puts Tao down, and the vision ceases. The solar speaks.

*“Your companion Agar Smoketallow foresaw this, priestess. He dreamt of a funeral where servants acted as pallbearers and could not move on until they had a new master. These are the servants of Imbindarla, and it is their duty to stand with Her until another assumes her crown. I will fight one of the contenders if you wish, but I will attract them, and it will mean my death. You are the blessed of the Goddess, and I am your soldier.* The angel bows his head, waiting for Tao’s request.

“No,” says Tao reluctantly. She nervously spins a sword in each fist. “Can you heal us instead?”

*“I can.”* The nearby Defenders are momentarily bathed in a dappled green light that reminds them of the sun piercing thick leaves, and myriad wounds close. The Ivory King snarls and moves towards the stone-encased sunlight, planning on stopping its demolition before the stone is shattered. Mara and Malachite step up to block his path.

“Get out of my way.” He’s clearly still in pain from Nolin’s sacrifice, and his bubbling voice is furious.

“No.” The two paladins glance at one another and both move forward with weapons drawn. Malachite grasps something tightly in his other hand.

The Ivory King shrugs, deposits of smoking fat bobbling as his swollen bulk lurches forward. “Fair enough, whelp. You already died once. I hope you enjoyed it.” His steaming tongue snakes out and enwraps Malachite in a barbed embrace. The paladin is yanked forward. Unimaginably sharp teeth snap down on Malachite’s head, but they grate instead off the gorget of his githyanki-designed crystal armor. Malachite looks up into the reeking maw that just devoured his friend, and with watering eyes manages to barely flick something down the gullet. 

The Ivory King stops, coughs, and uncoils his tongue to fling Malachite away from him. Odd unseen shapes begin to distort the blubbery skin of his throat. With a vast retching noise he brings up the foreign object and tosses it aside, and then points to the shadowy air above them where Soder is trading deadly attack spells with Velendo and Agar. “Idiots. I heard how you killed the dragon. I’m about to become the Lord of Death, and a measly plant isn’t going to stop me.” 

The growing _Quaal’s Feather Token_ of a tree tumbles down the slope of broken bone behind them, and Malachite’s face falls. _“So much for secret plan number one,”_he thinks wryly to the others. _“If we don’t get back in the sunlight, there’s a good chance we’re going to die.”

“Almost got it!” _pants Priggle as he swings his magical pick for all he’s worth. A small keyhole of brilliant light lances from the stone mound and across the dark hill. The deep gnome glances over to Stone Bear, who is suddenly standing stock still instead of attacking the wall. “What? Stone Bear, what is it?”

Stone Bear doesn’t hear him. He’s listening to the voice in his head. Elder is there, filling his consciousness._You have been patient, Stone Bear,_ the death spirit hisses. _and I thank you. Do not worry. This undead will not become a God. We will not allow that to happen._

_Uh oh,_ interjects his spirit guide Bear, _I think that. . ._ Elder drowns out the animal spirit with ease. His sinuous voice is horribly loud in the shaman’s head.

_You have brought me here, Stone Bear, here to this place of death. I will deliver you. The corpse of the Goddess is the key to my ascension. Once I devour it myself, the ghoul will hold no more power over you._ 

“Uh, guys...?” begins Stone Bear out loud. His voice is cut off by a shuddering earth tremor. Several hundred feet from the bone hill, partway between the ruined mansion and the calcified body of the fallen Goddess, something erupts from the solid rock in an explosion of bone and darkness. The shape is so black that it seems to devour light, and it writhes up from the ground like a horrible worm.

_*I am Elder.*_

Agar’s jaw drops. “What the heck is that?”

Velendo’s face has gone completely white as understanding comes crashing in. “It’s Stone Bear’s spirit guide. It’s one of the two remaining undead primal worms that have been on Spira even before the Gods. And Calphas help us, I think it wants Imbindarla’s essence for itself.”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Elocin

speechless


----------



## GreyShadow

oh... well done Piratecat.


----------



## WizarDru

.......


 Oh.  Oh, my.


 Kevin, you are a bad, bad man.


 Oh, my.


----------



## weiknarf

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> Piratecat has a few surprises of his own left, and our good fortune rarely seems to last long. Just watch how fast the worm turns.






			
				Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> Well, you're half right.
> 
> I believe Galthia has the highest AC in the party-- high 30's.
> 
> For someone-with-no-eyes, Stone Bear tends to do a lot of watching. There's no sense trying to worm your way into the combat when the Defenders have things so readily handled.
> 
> 
> Wulf




well well well

Wulf you are a bad, bad man.  You can spoil the pants off us without us noticing.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Ok, I loved it what else can I say.  I'm re-reading the pdf's to try and catch plot hooks that I might have missed.  Good luck with that.  I do have a question or two.

So they've known Stone Bear since Akin's place.  This was before the goddess died.  

-How did the worm get ahold of Stone Bear's spirit guide?  Did the worm take over the spirit, or know that the magic and sun were gonna stop, and somehow send out some of it's spirit to someone it knew was going to be at the right place at the right time?

"I love it when a plan comes together" - Col. Hannibal Smith

GW


----------



## Sidereal Knight

Brilliant. 

Piratecat, you just made my week


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Fade said:
			
		

> It was before the Goddess landed, but wasn't it after she died?




She fell for 7 days iirc, but the magic whammy didn't happen until they were fighting in the chasm with the water magically held back around the ancient underwater city.  Where the Ghouls were nearly completed assembling the giant undead transport.  This is well after they met Stone Bear.

GW


----------



## Piratecat

Good God, I have 1000 posts to delete from this thread. That's the _good_ kind of carpal tunnel syndrome.

This totally blindsided the players, but it's actually been foreshadowed for some time. Elder's spirit was with Stone Bear before he left his village and strode into the Hell of his Ancestors. Heck, it was partially Elder's urging that convinced him that he must go on this spirit quest. . . and that's no coincidence. 

The group doesn't know why Elder bound himself to Stone Bear. Maybe he was looking for any powerful, spirit-sensitive mortal to guide. Maybe Elder foresaw his freedom from his chains of light in an echo of the Goddess's death and the no-magic seconds that followed it. Maybe there's some other completely different reason. However you look at it the group now has _two_ incredibly powerful creatures wanting to ascend, and it's safe to say that Elder would be a lot worse than the Ivory King. 

This is one of those situations that I threw my group into with no idea whatsoever how they were going to solve it. Interesting conundrum.


----------



## Zappo

Aargh. Poor, poor DoDs. But I seem to have forgotten something; why is Soder caring about Nolin?


----------



## weiknarf

Zappo said:
			
		

> Aargh. Poor, poor DoDs. But I seem to have forgotten something; why is Soder caring about Nolin?




It must be the Phoenix.

Pkitty, what are the odds that the stats for Elder will end up in the thread that shall not be named?  pretty please with sugar on top?


----------



## Nightingale 7

Wow!Just wow!Imagine,being in the big boss fight that has been brewing for SO LONG and suddenly this happens?!Of all the curve-balls tro throw...So we have 2 deaths,a resurrection and still a draco-zombie wizard,a ghoulish demi-god and an ancient worm of near-divine power to go?!Although I'm DYING to see how the interaction between the Ghoul King and Elder go!


----------



## Dakkareth

*. . . !*




Uh, wow! Or something. Please excuse me, while I pick up my jar.


----------



## the Jester

Jeez, PC!  Glad to see things can _always_ get worse.


----------



## MerakSpielman

So, if we don't want the Ghoul King to be the next God of Death, and we don't want Elder, who DO we want to be the next God of Death?


----------



## Dinkeldog

I vote for Mr. Fluffles, whose portfolio up to now included bunnies, butterflies and warm, breezy days.


----------



## Knight Otu

Holy PROFANITY IS NOT ALLOWED HEREPROFANITY IS NOT ALLOWED HEREPROFANITY IS NOT ALLOWED HEREPROFANITY IS NOT ALLOWED HERE!!!

 I suppose it would not be a good idea to let Mr. Worm and Mr. Biter duke it out between the two of them, and take on the winner?



			
				MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> So, if we don't want the Ghoul King to be the next God of Death, and we don't want Elder, who DO we want to be the next God of Death?



 I don't know if we would want him, but if Soder finds out the Ivory King had  a hot snack...


----------



## Piratecat

Dinkeldog said:
			
		

> I vote for Mr. Fluffles, whose portfolio up to now included bunnies, butterflies and warm, breezy days.




Crap, guessed it in one.

Zappo, the group doesn't know why Soder is fixated on Nolin. Possibilities include:

 Drawn like an undead moth to the flame of his life force
 Captivated by his quick wit and ready charm (and uber-charisma)
 In non-sexual but romantic love with him, as much as a lich can be, anyways
 Met him once before when Nolin was studying at Hagiok's Academy underneath the ratpits of Oursk, where Nolin lost his lover Telay, although he doesn't remember it due to vampiric domination
 He's his biggest musical fan and has been to every one of his concerts when he was on tour
 Wants mood music to while away the long eternal night, and Nolin's better than Muzak
 Priggle wasn't as appealing

What I was originally shooting for in this climactic encounter, of course, was "team up with one bad guy to fight a common foe who's way more dangerous but who maybe you can beat if you work together, then go back to beating the crud out of one another when you're done." Do I get that?

Heh - yeah, right. 

It never even _occured_ to them (or maybe it did and they rejected it.) During game prep I hadn't been able to come up with any other way that they could stop it, so that's about the point where I started mentally re-writing my whole pantheon and the looming disasters that would soon occur when Elder ascended. I'll let you see how it came out.

Note that Soder doesn't qualify for Godhood; he doesn't have any spark of the divine in him. The Ivory King specifically ate the law-bitch Halcyon in order to improve his chances of an easy ascension. He's currently trying to devour Malachite, Mara, and then Tao and Velendo for that same reason; every little bit of divine force helps in this sort of thing.


----------



## rigur

You know Mr. Kulp, you never cease to amaze me.

Keep up the good work.

R.


----------



## Elemental

Piratecat said:
			
		

> It never even _occured_ to them (or maybe it did and they rejected it.) During game prep I hadn't been able to come up with any other way that they could stop it, so that's about the point where I started mentally re-writing my whole pantheon and the looming disasters that would soon occur when Elder ascended. I'll let you see how it came out.




You know you're running a high-powered campaign when....


----------



## Redyak

...wow!

I've been lurking here a long time, thinking that "oh, there are so many people that comment on this thread, Piratecat doesn't need one more!"

But, after that last update, I can't help it!  BEST UPDATE EVER!

Keep it up P-Cat, it's worth the wait!


----------



## Zustiur

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> -How did the worm get ahold of Stone Bear's spirit guide?  Did the worm take over the spirit, or know that the magic and sun were gonna stop, and somehow send out some of it's spirit to someone it knew was going to be at the right place at the right time?




It didn't need to do any of that. The worm IS Stone Bear's spirit guide!

Zustiur.


----------



## Kage Tenjin

Piratecat said:
			
		

> ...“Uh, guys...?” begins Stone Bear out loud. His voice is cut off by a shuddering earth tremor. Several hundred feet from the bone hill, partway between the ruined mansion and the calcified body of the fallen Goddess, something erupts from the solid rock in an explosion of bone and darkness. The shape is so black that it seems to devour light, and it writhes up from the ground like a horrible worm.
> 
> _*I am Elder.*_




Wulf, This has to be asked: Were you told your death spirit guide was a world-devouring worm of darkness?
Or did it just come as a pleasent suprise?


----------



## jerichothebard

From Page 38


			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> ...Soder sounds pleased with himself.  “On the contrary.  I’m sure that with my recommendation he will stop his attacks on the surface. Mind you, a few years from now the prophecy will undoubtedly come true, and we’ll have to work together to deal with that. But still…”
> 
> “This ‘Destroyer’ you’ve talked about? I don’t think he exists. Tell us about this prophecy.”
> 
> The voice becomes annoyed.  “I’ve already told you, and I don’t really have time to tell you again. You should have paid attention the first time. The Ravager will come.”
> 
> Malachite tries to sound reasonable. “But surely you can tell us a story before we negotiate? If you have time to negotiate, you have time for this.”
> 
> “You are stalling for time.”
> 
> “Stalling for time? We’re merely trying to understand what sort of a situation we’re getting ourselves into before negotiating.”  Malachite’s words apparently don’t ring true.
> 
> “It will be born, it will rise and it will destroy mankind.”
> 
> “How will the ravager destroy mankind?” asks Agar.  _“Still hasn’t lied,”_ he thinks.
> 
> “Don’t know. Not sure. The prophecies do not say. The Ravager is human, of course. We would prefer that the world not be burned to a cinder. We could work together, side by side, holding hands. . .”
> ...







Spoiler



Elder/Stone Bear?


----------



## Len

Kage Tenjin said:
			
		

> Wulf, This has to be asked: Were you told your death spirit guide was a world-devouring worm of darkness?
> Or did it just come as a pleasent suprise?



At that point in the story I imagined Wulf thinking, "I should have just made a fighter."


----------



## Sialia

The thing that I love about language is the subtle flexibility of it--the way a word can change meaning without changing meaning--to be nuanced without being so coarse a thing as a pun.

Take a word like "Elder," for example. 

So exquisitely different when placed after the word "village" than when following the term "god."

A thing of beauty.


----------



## Everett

*Tome and Blood: A Handbook for the Apocalype*

I've just finished reading through 3 years of DoD adventures in about 3 days.  Everything from the battle with the pirates back in Eversink and Agar's death all the way through the battle with the Ivory King and Nolin's death.  And now I have to wait for updates like everyone else.  NOT FAIR!  NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR...

Utterly random comments/thoughts/things/questions/etc:

Nolin's "The king is undead.  Long live the king" would have made Joss Whedon proud.

Agar's my favorite, EVEN THOUGH I keep expecting him to follow up his periodic "fascinating!"s and "amazing"s with "elementary, dear Velendo" or "illogical, captain". (It's only fair to admit to a bias since in both of the campaign I play in currently I play wizards.) His screaming and disintegrating the stone doors when he was on Mara's war horse in the kuo-toa town(?) with the bugs on him was just lovely.

Are there links somewhere to the DoD adventures that immediately preceeded the thread of this story hour's posts?

I'm curious what all the player crosses between Sagiro's campaign and PC's are - who plays who - I'm aware that PC is Dranko and Sagiro is Velendo - but otherwise - ?

How do you handle it when you have entirely role-playing sessions that displace the characters from their normal circumstances - such as the one in Sagiro's where they appear in the inn with no memories of their adventuring lives, or Nolin's waking up back in [that one place] with his lover still alive - ie., to clarify, how do you handle role-playing wise-a character who's suddenly not exactly what they are? (I think that's approximately what I want to ask.)

<<Quote:
<<Originally Posted by Piratecat
<<Err - who's Priggle?

I don't know, but I think the stores are out of stock.

And - Piratecat, do you have any recommendations for other good StoryHour reads?

(I will now delete all of these comments instead of posting, cuz they're stupid.  "Submit reply", that should do it...)


----------



## Piratecat

Fajitas played Sharada Clearwater ("Shara.") Moved to Los Angeles.
WisdomLikeSilence played Kirisandra Kulberg (Kiri, Nolin's half sister.) Moved to Los Angeles.
Tremere played TomTom Badgerclaw. Moved to Los Angeles.
Bandeeto played Arcade Deltarion (see "Defenders of Daybreak - the Early Years.") Moved to San Francisco.
Sialia played Cadrienne and Dylrath Birdhouse. Moved to San Francisco.
Sito Rotavele played Claris. Moved to Seattle.
Jobu played Tao Camber. Moved to Las Vegas.
Raevynn played (big surprise) Raevynn. Moved to Las Vegas.

Anyone see a trend, here?

Dr. Rictus played Palladio and created Agar. In a refreshing change, moved to Troy NY.
Aithdim played Glimmer (priest of beauty) and Sir Valdek, Kiri's lover who was slain by the trillith. Moved to Vermont, which is at least on the same coast. 

For current players, we have:

Sagiro, playing Velendo
Kodiak, playing Mara
Wulf Ratbane, playing Stone Bear
KidCthulhu, formerly playing Nolin
Blackjack, playing Malachite
Aravis, playing Galthia
Alomir, playing Agar

Everett, have you read the Defenders of Daybreak: early years thread, or the collected adventures of the Defenders as they first arrive in Eversink? There's almost as much there as there is in this thread. Let me know if anyone needs links.

In addition, I am indeed working on an update! I just finished a new Ceramic DM entry, too, which may or may not be related to characters from "The Early Years" thread. Heh heh. See it here.


----------



## Fajitas

And, to answer the original question about cross-over players between PC and Sagiro's games, I believe the current roster is:

Aravis = Galthia & Aravis
Kodiak = Mara & Kibi
KidCthulhu = Nolin (formerly) & Ernie
Sagiro = Velendo & GM
PirateCat = GM & Dranko

That's it for cross-over players, as far as I know.  Anyone who actually currently plays in either game have an update?

In other cross-over news, WisdomLikeSilence and (coming soon) Tremere play in the game I run out here in LA.  A link to our SH can be found in my .sig file below...  *

_* I know that technically this is the "cool" smilie, but it's the closest thing I could find to a "pimping" smilie._


----------



## Piratecat

You nailed the crossover between groups perfectly; in Sagiro's game, Morningstar and Grey Wolf are played by a couple who don't spend time here. If we're discussing crossover, though, don't forget Spyscribe! She sat in on one of my games the other month, and was an absolute delight; she played an NPC better than I ever would have managed. I'm sure I'll get to that game in, oh, eight months or more.


----------



## Starman

The link on page one to the archived story hour up to this thread is broken. Could someone point me to another copy somewhere?

Starman


----------



## Dawn

Well it has taken me four days and a closed, locked door to my office, but I have finally gotten caught up on a year and half of PKitty Story Goodness!  (My projects haven’t gotten completed, but hey it’s only a job!)
I was sure there was Defender butt kicking being handed out while I was away and I was happily rewarded to read through it all.
KC - much sadness over your loss of Nolin.
PKitty and players, you have inspired me to dust off my notebooks and restart my campaign.  

On an aside, are there any really noticeable benefits to upgrading from 3.0 to 3.5 Core?


----------



## Piratecat

Starman, I'll post or email you a copy within the next day or so - I just need to track down the correct version.


----------



## Fimmtiu

the Jester said:
			
		

> Well, I downloaded it from a link someone posted... somewhere... in the last 20 pages of the thread, I'll wager.
> 
> It was weeks ago- but- well, months ago, I'd say- but it's there somewhere.  In this thread.  Back a few pages... I believe as a link, but it might be an attachment?




http://www.funkplanet.com/misc/PC.html

It's a bad automatic HTML translation of the original RTF document, but still more or less readable.


----------



## Starman

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> http://www.funkplanet.com/misc/PC.html
> 
> It's a bad automatic HTML translation of the original RTF document, but still more or less readable.




Thanks! It took F-O-R-E-V-E-R to open up and I thought it might have locked up, but I got it. Much appreciated.   

Starman (looking forward to some good reading)


----------



## KerlanRayne

Is this what you're looking for? 

KerlanRayne


----------



## Krafus

Though this post likely to get lost in the multitude on this thread, I wanted to pop in and say that I really enjoy this story hour. Piratecat is obviously an awesome DM and writer. I recall when I began to lurk here, and this story hour had about 220,000 views. Even then, the number made me blink in astonishment. Was there a bot or something increasing the view count, I wondered? Then I began to read the story, and realized that the view count was well-deserved.


----------



## Piratecat

“What do we do?” asks Malachite tersely. He staggers to his feet as he eyes the Ivory King in front of him, who looks equally horrified by the arrival of the immense worm.

Stone Bear stares blankly at Elder and doesn’t answer. Velendo turns and starts to stutter. “Well, I. . . I think that. . .”

Malachite interrupts. “We don’t have time. *What do we do?* Do we even have a chance of killing that thing?”

Velendo swallows. “No.”

“All right then, our job gets easier. We don’t worry about it. Concentrate on the Ivory King and Soder. If we can’t kill it and we can’t stop it, we don’t have to make it a priority. First get that wall down and free the sunlight. Then we’ll worry about the next problem.” 

Galthia’s gray skin is pale, even for a githzerai. “It wants to eat Imbindarla as well. I don’t think we want to let it become a God.”

Malachite snorts. “You have any ideas for stopping it? Do you, Stone Bear?” 

The eyeless shaman turns his head back towards Malachite.  “Not particularly.”

Mara, moving over to attack the Ivory King, shoots Stone Bear a dirty look. Her _ironbodied_ face doesn’t express emotion well, but she gets her annoyance across. “You were carrying that thing inside of you for as long as we’ve known you!”

Stone Bear gazes up in horror at Elder, whose thousand-foot long body is still emerging from the bone of Nacreous.  “He seemed smaller in there.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Velendo sighs and takes a second to rub his aching forehead. “We’re really in trouble now.”

Cruciel gives an angelic little snort. “You think?” Velendo gives her a surprised look at the very human sarcasm, but stumbles backwards as she shoves him in the chest with both hands. “Watch out!” 

An icy black ray lances down from the undead archmagi above them, missing Velendo by inches as Cruciel takes the beam instead. The old cleric is horrified to see her pearly skin visibly wrinkle and contort. “Energy drain,” she gasps. 

“Are you all right?”

“Don’t worry about me. Get _him._” She points upwards, but Soder’s dragon body and his accompanying force of svirfneblin ghouls riding giant bats are already wheeling above them, flapping out towards the corpse of Imbindarla to investigate the appearance of the gigantic worm.

“Evergreen!” Tao turns to the solar. “We have chains of light that are supposed to bind creatures of darkness. Can you try?” The solar looks doubtfully down at the human-sized chains glowing in Tao’s fist, shakes his regal head, and looks out at the worm. He closes his eyes for a second, as if in grief.

*“It may attract the attention of Imbindarla’s pallbearers. It will surely mean my death. But I will do this.”*

“No, wait! If that’s – ” Before she can finish her sentence, the solar has launched itself away from the bone hill and flown out into the darkness after Soder. All she can see is the glow of the chains of light, and balefire arrows shot up at him from ghoulish troops below. Troops that are closing on the hill, she notes grimly. Well, maybe they’ll be distracted by the worm. “Crap.”

As Priggle, Galthia and Stone Bear turn their attention back to the new stone wall covering the Godlight, Mara steps next to the badly injured Malachite and faces off with the Ivory King. “My goodness, you’re disgusting.” She raises _Lightbinder_.

The Ivory King’s piggish little eyes stare at her with contempt. “Stupid cow,” he gurgles.  “I like Soder’s copy of you more. That thing is more dangerous than ten of me. I propose a truce. We defeat it together, then we can all decide what happens to the Dark Mother’s body.”

Mara taps one iron finger on her perfect chin. “Don’t think so,” she says airily, and swings her mace as hard as she can into the side of his stomach. The blow sets off a vast jiggling of fat that rebounds across his naked body, and Mara watches dozens of tiny carrion worms fall twitching from the wound.

 “Slut!” the Ivory King hisses.  “Then I’ll do it myself. This is too important to ruin. But you probably miss your friend Nolin. Let me reunite you.” He convulses, his vast stomach heaving in and out, and with a noise like a draining swamp he vomits on top of Mara’s head. The gout of bile pouring from his wide mouth seems endless. The sizzling acid etches Mara’s iron skin, and through the horrible pain she realizes that she’d probably be utterly dead if it weren’t for her protective spells. She winces as a half-digested chunk of Nolin’s shoulder slides down the front of her chest. The pain is horrible.

 “When we’re finished this, you’ll be my personal slave,” the Ivory King confides in a glutinous whisper.  “For the moment, though, I need to go assure my Godhood.” She feels his hideous tongue licking her face, almost caressing her, and then the undead King shimmers and disappears.

“No!” Mara screams. “Where is he?” She tries to mop the vile fluid off her face.

“He’s slipped into the ghost world,” reports Stone Bear. “He can’t be touched by our own.”

“Correct,” confirms Agar. Next to him Galthia shatters the stone wall blocking the sunlight, and once again they’re all illuminated in the warm glow of Aeos. 






_Art by Arken._

“He’s gone ethereal. I think it came from his crown of bones. And do you notice? As soon as he left this plane, the horrible pain disappeared.”

“So did the hunger,” says Priggle. “Can we chase him?”

“I don’t think we should leave the sunlight,” says Velendo. He looks his age for a change. “I’m almost helpless out of it.”

“If we don’t leave the sunlight, one of those things is going to win.” Cruciel’s voice is flat as she places a worried hand on her charge’s shoulder.

“I know. Who’s the biggest threat, Soder, the Ivory King or the Worm?”

“The worm,” answers Malachite. “It fought the pantheon to a standstill, so it’s not going to be affected by us! But hopefully Tao’s solar can slow it down. We still have to find a way to stop the Ivory King.”

“Well, _exploit weakness_ is still up, and everyone is _hasted_ except for Priggle.” says Agar. 

“As usual.”

Agar continues. “That gives us a slight edge. Soder’s still gone, but coming back any minute now. And I can still see the Ivory King. But he’s starting to move.” He suggests a plan over the _mindlink_ that is instantly refined and expanded. 

“It may not work,” worries Velendo. 

Tao grins. “If our plan is predicated on ‘everything we try is going to fail,’ then we need better planners.”

“All right. Let’s do this.” Velendo hands his unique _wand of maximized dispelling_ to Cruciel, and moves so that he can get almost everyone in a _mass heal_. After casting the spell he stares up at ceiling above him and shouts self-consciously.  “Calphas, I have it on good authority that when I ramble like this you’re listening. In case you don’t know, one of those big worms that ate the world way back when is right here, right now in Nacreous! We think it has designs on the body!” 

No response but the distant screams of undead and the endless slithering of Elder.

“Oh, well. I suppose dealing with this is why I’m here in the first place. Only three charges left on that thing. Cruciel, go!” Cruciel takes the wand that Velendo gave her and flies over to Mara. Mara takes the wand, utters a complex syllable and turns ethereal with her magical armor. It feels to her like popping through a soap bubble as she slips between dimensions. The Ivory King is standing almost next to her as she manifests on the plane of ghosts. His skin is still smoking from Nolin’s fire. Mara is pleased to see that even here the afterimage of Aeos is shining brightly.

“You followed me here?”

“Yes.”

 “I will make you one final offer. We can join together against that thing. I will give my solemn vow not to make you my slave until we have driven it away or destroyed it.” He eyes her with hungry eyes, and his many arms wave encouragingly.  “I can easily kill you here. Ally with me, or die.”

Mara clucks her tongue. “Maybe we should talk about this with my friends.”  Hoping to dispel his etherealness, she steps back into the light and aims the _dispel magic_ wand at the grotesque undead in front of her. He shimmers, flares, and warps back into the material plane with a noise like tearing fabric.

The horrible pain snaps back in for everyone nearby, as if their joints were being jabbed with broken glass. The hunger returns as well.  They cheer nonetheless.

Agar pats his familiar for luck and looks up. “I really, really _wish_ that my next spell gets through the Ivory King’s spell resistance!” Portions of his life force are drawn out by the _limited wish_, squirming beads of light that exit Agar’s mouth and circle around him, glowing and poised. Agar begins to cast again and the life force leaps onto the Ivory King. It sinks into his body, writhing, and forces a shimmering vulnerability for Agar to cast his spell into. Agar almost misses as the Ivory King tries to dodge, and only a hastily cast _fate’s generous bargain_ steers the beam back into the center of the eldritch weakness. The green ray hits the Ivory King, ripples, and breaks through into a _dimensional anchor_. Everyone cheers once again, and Agar’s tentacular earth elemental shambles over and attacks.

“Check,” says Malachite.

Priggle looks at the _dimensionally bound_ Ivory King looming above him. “I want to try and sunder his crown of bones,” he says, “but I can’t reach it! I suppose I could climb the. . no, wait, I’m not sure I like. . waah!” He squeaks as Stone Bear scoops him up and flings him onto of the Ivory King’s head. Unable to hit the crown, he finds himself clinging to the mushroom-like flesh of the ghoul’s left shoulder. “Makes perfect sense,” he mutters. “Let him choke on the deep gnome. I’m surprised they didn’t try it earlier.”

“Coming!” Burr-Lipp leaps forward with his spear. He jabs it into the belly, twists, and yanks it downwards in a strike that would kill most creatures. The Ivory King hardly seems to notice. Tao runs up to flank Burr-Lipp, but her sword sticks in the congealed flab of the ghoul’s side instead of hurting him. The ghoul regains his balance.

Galthia also leaps upwards to try and sunder the crown, but this time the Ivory King’s tongue plucks him out of the air with perfect accuracy. The tongue tries to entwine itself around Galthia, but the monk twists free and smashes his fist down onto the undead’s head. The crown doesn’t break, and Galthia realizes with sick horror that the crown of bones seems to descend right into the ghoul’s pustulant skin. He braces his feet, boots sinking into undead flesh as he braces his body and pulls on the crown with all his strength. Nothing.

Small yellow eyes swivel over, and a barbed tongue snaps out. Galthia is tripped, snatched in mid-air, paralyzed, and popped into the Ivory King’s gaping mouth in one fluid movement. With the githzerai safely trapped and almost dead, the Ivory King concentrates. Dark energy pulses within him, and he _turns outsiders._  Tao and Cruciel both scream as they helplessly turn to flee, and Galthia’s paralyzed frame twitches as he tries ineffectually to run.

“Hang on!” Velendo concentrates as he wills the power of Calphas through his shield to try and counteract the negative energy that is driving away Cruciel and Tao. He draws on the sunlight, his _rod of authority,_ and the endless hours he’s spent in prayer. He’s barely successful, and he sighs with relief as the darkness is driven from Cruciel’s form. He tries it again with Cruciel helping him, and this time blasts the fear from Galthia as well. Tao is beyond his reach, however, and she retreats from the fight in a panic.

Malachite turns and flips a battered old book to Velendo. “Velendo, you’re the most likely to survive this. Here is my journal. It goes to Sir Marcus if I die. There’s a non-zero chance that this is going to kill me.” Wit that said, he takes a few short steps and plunges his body into the pure and unwavering light of Aeos.

After a timeless moment of pure bliss he regains his senses. He’s just hanging there, suspended in prayer. The light and power isn’t absorbed into his body; Malachite feels like a hard wooden ball dunked in a bucket of water, when he had hoped to become a sponge. He is surrounded by holy power, that’s certain, but he feels unable to touch or control it. 

“It’s not working!” he cries, but with the roaring in his ears he’s not sure if anyone has heard him. Then he’s joined by Mara, solid once more and standing in the light beside him. They can feel their holy symbols vibrating with power, their holy weapons and shields growing warm to the tough. They still haven’t closed the gap that separates them from the divine, though. It occurs to one of them that perhaps only death will do that.

Then Stone Bear is there, plunging his hands into the sunlight. 

Stone Bear is a shaman, in touch with the ebb and flow of life. He can feel the power surging from the pillar of light. It has become a focal point for local ley lines, drawing and amplifying the natural power of the earth. Nacreous was built on such a point anyways, and the corpse of Imbindarla seems to be an overlapping nexus of negative power. _That should be impossible,_ he thinks, but his philosophy has never been to question the ways of nature. _Or of my spirit guides,_ he thinks with shame.

_I told you I didn’t like him,_ thinks Bear in his head.

Stone Bear shuts out the voices, the pain, and focuses on the now. He grabs Mara’s right hand and Malachite’s left and uses his own spirit to lock the three of them into the power nexus in front of him. 

The force keeping the two paladins separate from the divine energy dissolves. Sunlight kindles in their eyes and mouth, and the light ignites in their holy weapons. At first the power level of the energy seems manageable, but Stone Bear suddenly realizes that Mara and Malachite are acting as amplifiers and are raising the power each time it touches them. It occurs to him that if they don’t do anything, he’s probably going to catch on fire.

“Can you. . .” he gasps.

“Hey, fatso!” Malachite’s voice carries clearly despite the din. He raises his sword Karthos in front of him, concentrates, and a blinding gout of golden energy streams from the end of the blade and strikes the corpulent ghoul in the chest.  The Ivory King howls with pain as once again his skin catches fire and begins to bubble.  The fierce golden light sprays across him like water from a geyser, and Malachite’s smile is terrible to behold.  “Check.”

“Soder!” If there is an answer from the distant archmage flying above the massive worm, no one can hear it. The Ivory King sweeps up Galthia’s strengthless body and tries to use him as a shield, even as he works to bite off the monk’s head. He doesn’t entirely succeed, and Galthia is still barely alive by the time that the King realizes he makes an ineffective barrier to block the beam of light.

Priggle jumps free of the Ivory King’s head, and Agar tries an useless _flame arrow._ “Ah, what the heck,” he says. “I have a clear shot.” He points his fingers and casts a _disintegrate_ at the crown of bones topping the ghoul’s head. The shimmering gray beam strikes the bone crown directly, and Agar feels the burst of power that means the spell is successful. . . followed by a horrible and unexpected drain of power from his own soul that can only mean that the halfling archmage has just destroyed an artifact.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

That vomit? 40d6 of pure unadulterated godling acid. Mara was _very_ happy that she was iron-bodied. Even so, she was barely standing. I was tremendously impressed by the group's plan to drag the Ivory King back from the ethereal plane.  And wait until you see what Stone Bear does.

Next update tomorrow, on Friday. Happy New Years, folks! And congratulations to Galthia's player Aravis, who today became the father of a glorious little boy.


----------



## coyote6

Woot! 

What was the effect of the solar super-charging on Mara & Malachite?


----------



## zoroaster100

Great update, Piratecat.  I'm glad we got another dose of Defenders' goodness before the end of 2004, to help us into 2005.  I look forward to many more updates next year!  And congratulations to the new father.


----------



## Piratecat

coyote6 said:
			
		

> What was the effect of the solar super-charging on Mara & Malachite?




It makes more mechanical sense if you've read the rules for ley lines in BadAxe's _Heroes of High Favor: Elves._  Nacreous was built upon a confluence of ley lines; it's one of the things powering some of their rituals. Casters who know how to access such things can do so to get a big boost to their spells.

When Imbindarla's corpse arrived, she became a nexus in her own right, drawing negative energy to her. Problem is, the afterimage of Aeos's appearance in Nacreous (to kill the epic wizard who had misdirected communes to Aeos, as revealed by the Defenders) created a second power nexus of positive energy. That's the sunlight they've been standing in.  Such things shouldn't be able to overlap, but here they do. Stone Bear's ability to tap and channel this energy let him connect both radiant knights and the positive power source. Channelled through the lens of their faith, it was hitting the Ivory King with something similar to a spout of lava. Very painful, especially to a guy who is seeing his destiny slipping away to a giant eeevil worm who'd be a much worse God he than would be. 

I mean, the IK may be a gluttinous fiend, but at least he still cares about humans in some way. Elder is the kind of evil that doesn't even look down at the ants he's crushing beneath his (hypothetical) feet.  Not anyone sane's choice for divine patron.

As you can probably tell from the dialogue, I designed this with the expectation that the only sane choice would be to temporarily ally with the ghouls in order to drive away Elder, and then to turn back to fighting them. I was surprised when they didn't even consider this as an option! I shouldn't have been, I suppose, but the alternative was so much worse -- but they understandably concluded that they weren't about to succeed where a God was needed, and  concentrated on their other enemies instead.

I spent most of this game figuring out in my head what was about to happen when an astonishingly powerful force of uncaring evil gains the powers of a God. Most of this planning involved the word "apocalypse." Ah well, tearing down a gaming world every now and then is good for creativity.  

Most of the rules for this part of the game were figured out by me ahead of time and on the fly; I had no idea what the group would try, so had to be ready for almost anything. As Galthia's player said during the game, "Rules? Where we're going is beyond rules." Only he said it in a really spoooky voice that sounded cool on tape.  Ahem.  Anyways, it's worth pointing out that in my "Peeps for Eeps" program (eat a Marshmallow Peep, get experience points) Blackjack ate FOUR Peeps during this game, one of which was at least two years old. Bless 'im.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Worth the wait.

And Ouch.

GW


----------



## Krafus

Wow. More epic-level goodness... and I love it. 

I'm not surprised at the Defenders' decision to go after the Ivory King and Soder, either. After all, they know they simply can't kill Elder (maybe can't even scratch it), so it's logical for them to concentrate on the targets they have a (slight) chance of defeating. They must have figured they could come back later with godly support and proper planning to deal with Elder.

Out of curiosity, Piratecat, what were the PCs' levels at this battle and how many rounds did it last? From a reader's POV, it seems it has lasted months...


----------



## Piratecat

Nolin was 21st lvl (by virtue of being the longest-played character) and the other PCs varied between 19th (Velendo) to 17th (Malachite post-death.) From using a _miracle_ to arrive on the bone hill to the end, the fight lasted two four-hour sessions and more than 20 rounds. A big part of that time was strategizing, of course, but it was a gripping session. I constructed the rubble out of large wooden dominoes and some other props, so we even had a cool scene to fight on.


----------



## Krafus

So the party has lost its highest-level character... IIRC, Nolin was KidCthulhu's character. What did she do after he died? 

I'm really looking forward to reading how the fight ended.


----------



## Old One

Great update!  Happy New Year to you, KC and the rest of the crew...

Also, congrats to Aravis !  That is cutting that 2004 tax deduction a little close, however !  I hope he and his wife get some sleep...we are a little bleary-eyed these days since #2 arrived a couple of weeks ago.

~ Old One


----------



## The Amazing Dingo

Outstanding!  Wow.  Whooo.  Amazing.  Wow.  Shoot.  Oh darn.  Wow.  Did I mention, Wow?

Very nice.  

A question though: why is it that Evergreen cannot directly help?  I understand the pallbearers will attack him should he do something "direct", but why?  Because he's an outside?  There are several other outsiders in the area.  Only reason I can think of is because he's a celestial...did I miss a deific law forbiding other gods from taking another god's essence?  If so, didn't the Ivory King consume a diety snack already and gain a little deity within himself?  Hence, shouldn't he be held liable if that is the reason?

Been a while since I've read some of the older posts (though I did go back to Evergreen's appearance on page 71 and read that to try to find my answer here).

And again...Wow.

And Congrats Avaris!!  Hope you're enjoying your bundle of joy.  At least in some weird way you love waking up three times during the night and wiping baby spit off your clothes.  Nonetheless, they are adorable.


----------



## Piratecat

Evergreen is inherently cautious (different angels have different personalities, of course), and is inherently worried about setting bad divine precedent. Frankly, he hates this entire situation. He's been dragged into what the Gods shouldn't have touched in the first palce, he thinks, and now he's almost certainly going to be asked to give his life for the cause; if Imbindarla's four servitors react to what's going on around them, he suspects that they'll concentrate on the servant of Galanna, since She was the one who killed Imbindarla.

In other words, he's interpreting divine stricture more conservatively than some other angels might. 

It isn't cowardice by any means; more a concern for his place in the world to come, and what would happen if he falls here. Since he gets eaten by Elder about six rounds from now, one might argue that his caution is well-founded.


----------



## Steverooo

What, exactly, does it take to become a godling in your world, PKitty?  I've seen some stuff on drinking god'sblood, in some product, somewhere, but nothing granted that.  The King of Corpseulence seems to think eating certain portions of the former goddess' anatomy is enough to do it...

For Elder, it seems like a step down, though.  He matched the early panthon (if the legend is true - but you know you can't believe those old things) just as him-/it-self, while the Ivory King killed Halcyon pretty easily.  So he/it seems more powerful than the Spira pantheon, already.  Seems like becoming one of them would _weaken_ him/it?

By the bayou... does Elder have any other name?  Shud-M'ell, maybe?    

Happy New Year (It may well be your last)!    

(Congrats to Aravis & Co., as well!)


----------



## Dakkareth

'nuff said.


----------



## coyote6

I would guess that it's one (or both) of two things:

(1) Elder _was_ powerful enough to challenge a pantheon -- but he lost that fight. It is not now what it once was. Becoming a god will return it to power, and probably more.

(2) Being a god isn't (entirely) a matter of power level, but a matter of particular qualities that are entirely lacking in non-gods. Thus, Elder can be as powerful as a pantheon of gods -- but there are still things it can't do. Make it a god, too, and It will have power undreamed of.

Perhaps, for example, It would be able to take Its fight to the gods' homes. Or free all its buddies from back in the day.


----------



## The Amazing Dingo

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Evergreen is inherently cautious (different angels have different personalities, of course), and is inherently worried about setting bad divine precedent. Frankly, he hates this entire situation. He's been dragged into what the Gods shouldn't have touched in the first palce, he thinks, and now he's almost certainly going to be asked to give his life for the cause; if Imbindarla's four servitors react to what's going on around them, he suspects that they'll concentrate on the servant of Galanna, since She was the one who killed Imbindarla.
> 
> In other words, he's interpreting divine stricture more conservatively than some other angels might.
> 
> It isn't cowardice by any means; more a concern for his place in the world to come, and what would happen if he falls here. Since he gets eaten by Elder about six rounds from now, one might argue that his caution is well-founded.




Thank you!  Makes perfect sense.  I've always agreed that celestials should have personalities, but just wasn't aware that such was Evergreens' character.


----------



## Elemental

Wow.

Something I thought of when the Ivory King did his vomit attack--

Greater Daemon of Nurgle


----------



## Piratecat

coyote6 said:
			
		

> I would guess that it's one (or both) of two things:
> 
> (1) Elder _was_ powerful enough to challenge a pantheon -- but he lost that fight. It is not now what it once was. Becoming a god will return it to power, and probably more.
> 
> (2) Being a god isn't (entirely) a matter of power level, but a matter of particular qualities that are entirely lacking in non-gods. Thus, Elder can be as powerful as a pantheon of gods -- but there are still things it can't do. Make it a god, too, and It will have power undreamed of.
> 
> Perhaps, for example, It would be able to take Its fight to the gods' homes. Or free all its buddies from back in the day.




Ding ding ding! You win the kewpie doll. Right on all counts. 

This world is _his._ They were here first, and the Gods were interlopers. This sort of entitlement can breed a lot of resentment, and freeing thousands of its brethren would go a long ways towards helping put things to right. It's worth mentioning that when the Gods couldn't destroy the thousands (millions?) of these things, they tricked them into a prison (Carceri.)  Only two got missed and were left behind; Elder is one of them. The Gods bound them in chains of light when the world was remade, but Elder liked things the way they were.

If he has his way, things'll be back to normal in no time.


----------



## The Amazing Dingo

I'm not even sure if I want to ask this, but what were Eldar's stats looking like?  I know it was a while back, but just some round-a-bouts would be amazing.


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> This world is _his._ They were here first, and the Gods were interlopers. This sort of entitlement can breed a lot of resentment, and freeing thousands of its brethren would go a long ways towards helping put things to right. It's worth mentioning that when the Gods couldn't destroy the thousands (millions?) of these things, they tricked them into a prison (Carceri.) Only two got missed and were left behind; Elder is one of them. The Gods bound them in chains of light when the world was remade, but Elder liked things the way they were.



 Didn't the defenders encounter a group that was trying to free the other worm sometime in the past (I vaguely remember a comet and a Brotherhood of the Night)?   When the Pantheon arrived, wasn't the world of Spira basically in post-apocalypse mode?  The worms had destroyed everything else, hadn't they?


----------



## Piratecat

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Didn't the defenders encounter a group that was trying to free the other worm sometime in the past (I vaguely remember a comet and a Brotherhood of the Night)?   When the Pantheon arrived, wasn't the world of Spira basically in post-apocalypse mode?  The worms had destroyed everything else, hadn't they?




Yup. An offshoot cult of Imbindarla known as the Brotherhood of Night was trying to free the worms by destroying the "lock" that kept them sealed in their prison. They first dragged a star out of position to create a needed conjunction, thus "unlocking" the door. . . and when the Defenders of Daybreak foiled this, they kept pulling in the star so that the comet would smash into the stone circle that acted as a lock, thus "breaking down" the door. This was the first long plot arc I ever ran, and it lasted about two years from initial investigation to final confrontation atop a desert mountain 2000 miles to the west.

I won't reveal Elder's stats, at least not in this thread. He's still active in the game.


----------



## Piratecat

“Aaaaah!” 

_Oh, so *that’s* what happens when you destroy an artifact._ Agar has heard about such things before; when growing up he once met a former high wizard who was reduced to a hollow shell, forever unable to spellcast, all because he destroyed the bodypart of some long-dead lich. Agar never  expected to have to fight this battle for himself. The pull of the disintegrated crown is insidious, and Agar instinctively knows that it will gladly take him with it if he gives it any opening whatsoever. He’s shocked by how _hungry_ it seems. The alienist cudgels his willpower into resisting, and with a sound like a falling bird he drops to his knees, barely successful. The crown of bones crumbles into fine black dust, and the Ivory King gurgles in soul-wrenching loss. 

Agar looks up as the ground begins to shake. He sees the Ivory King, enraged beyond comprehension, overbearing Priggle as he charges like a juggernaut for Agar. “Oh dear.”

“Ow. Ouch. This is very painful. And disgusting. But mostly painful. Line right up, step on the deep gnome. We’re used to it. Ouch.” Priggle’s trampled voice sounds somewhat philosophical about it all.

_Turned_ by the Ivory King, Tao runs. She curses as she scrambles up and over rubble. “Goddess damned son of a bitch friggin’. . .”  Shuddering with the cold, she screams at the top of her hoarse voice for the solar to return. Something peels off from the fight above the huge black worm out in the balefire-lit darkness, but with a shudder she realizes that it’s Soder turning back and not Evergreen. She can barely see the solar, swooping above the worm and attracting numerous bolts of fire and lightning from the ghoulish forces on the plain below. Chains of sunlight dangle from his hand.

Meanwhile, Velendo flies over to the limp and bleeding Galthia to cast _ freedom of movement._ Next to him, Cruciel starts to heal him and suddenly pulls back. “You don’t worship Calphas, do you?” she asks with disappointment.

“No,” gasps Galthia. Feeling is beginning to return to his limbs.

“Then my healing won’t work on you, but I’ll do what I can.” She casts _protection from evil_ instead.  As he begins to recover, Velendo turns and casts a _maximized searing light_ at the Ivory King’s corpulent back. The holy magic hisses and spits when it touches him, winking out without harm as it’s deflected by spell resistance. The ghoul doesn’t even turn around.

Galthia staggers to his feet and groans as he points into the darkness. The rest of the Defenders turn to look. At first all they can see is the faint glow of light rising from the solar and the chains of light. He swoops down, rises slightly. . . and as the group watches, the darkness rises up to eat the archangel. Literally.

Tao screams from somewhere outside the ring of light. “Nooooo!”

“Oh crap,” says Velendo with his mouth hanging open. “That thing just ate a solar. We are _so_ screwed.”

“Language,” chides Cruciel out of habit. “But yes. Yes, we are.”

Stone Bear is the only person who feels pure and utter pleasure. It isn’t his own, of course; it’s bleeding through from his empathic link with Elder.  The worm is fundamentally pleased about the angel’s taste. Thinking about this, Stone Bear also realizes that his raven is somewhere out in the darkness picking at the Goddess’s corpse. _Get an eyeball,_ he thinks, and a plan occurs to him. “Listen,” he says to his friends over the _mindlink._ “I have an idea. There are two power nexuses here, and that should be impossible. I’m going to try and tap into both of them at once.”

“Hang on a second,” says Mara.  Standing resplendent above him in the sunlight, she looks like a goddess herself. She takes her holy shield of Aeos and angles it, channelling sunlight through it into the Ivory King. The torrent of light slams into his side, almost knocking him off of his feet as he thunders towards Agar. The beam coming from Mara’s shield connects with the beam coming from Malachite’s sword, and the light solidifies into a blazing triangle. The paladins are acting like magnifying glasses as they focus the sunlight, and suddenly the Ivory King no longer cares quite as much about Agar. With his skin afire and his plans crashing down around him, his plan suddenly becomes to escape and regroup.

Agar isn’t taking any chances, though. With the hideous ghoul almost to him, he casts _fly_ on himself even as Proty _teleports_ them to the other side of the combat. In the heat of the moment Proty misjudges their arrival location, but they end up close enough for Agar to fly back into the radius of sunlight.

“Now,” says Mara. “You were saying?”

Stone Bear rubs his empty eye sockets with one hand. “It’s normally impossible to be tapped into more than one power nexus at a time – but the dead body of Imbindarla is one, and the sunlight of Aeos is another. I’m going to try and cross the energy sources and see what happens. If I’m right, I can use this sunlight to burn out Imbindarla’s essense before _anyone_ can eat it.” 

Mara rolls her eyes. “Is this going to hurt?”

Stone Bear smiles. “Could be.” Before she can object he clutches her hand and slaps them both down against Malachite's. Then he reaches out with his spirit and grabs the power nexus of the dead Goddess. Like a tiny copper wire between two lightning bolts, the shaman tries to merge the two destructive forces.  There’s no effort to control the flow; Stone Bear just acts as a pipeline between Aeos’s afterimage and Imbindarla’s corpse. The result feels a little bit like being swept over a waterfall.  All their muscles begin to convulse, and the sunlight around the three dims noticeably. There’s a faint glow somewhere out in the distance. 

In his brain, Stone Bear hears Elder say *Stop that!*

He grits his teeth, energy playing across his eye sockets. “That’s the first useful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

_*Stop that. NOW!*_

Malachite grimaces from the pain. “If the worm doesn’t like it, hang in there as long as you can stand it.”

The spirit guide Bear grunts assent. He and Grandfather are floating over Stone Bear’s head, forced out by the channelling of energy. They watch him with concerned eyes.

Out in the cavern Elder rears up, way up, thick body twisting high enough to smash into the cavern ceiling above Nacreous. Screaming ghouls fall from his form. Huge chunks of ossified stone fall from the ceiling, crushing giant mushrooms and mausoleums alike.

Stone Bear winces.  “This is bad! This is bad! Everybody duck!”

The worm comes down towards the Defenders, slamming to the ground with unimaginable force not far from the bone hill. The earth shakes. WHUMP! Elder’s mouth opens and emits a horrible, horrible scream that probably hasn’t been heard in the world for eons. People find themselves on their knees, involuntarily clutching their ears. They raise their eyes to see the solar, horribly battered, fluttering upwards from the worm’s mouth.

Stone Bear hangs on to Malachite and Mara’s hands, and sunlight begins to stream outwards from the heart of Imbindarla. In contrast, the radius of the sunlight on the bone hill has shrunk to only fifteen feet, leaving most of the Defenders exposed in the chill darkness. Imbindarla’s essence is polluting and dimming the sunlight here, but the radiance of Aeos is doing even more damage back in the corpse. More importantly, the energy is definitely hurting the worm as it’s channelled through Stone Bear.  “I’m the conduit,” he mutters. “It’s linked to me, so what passes through me passes through it.” He does his best to increase the flow of power, but it’s like splashing a puddle into a cataract.

Malachite focuses the sunlight through Karthos and keeps the beam focused on the Ivory King. Smoke and flames continue to rise from popping, sizzling layers of fat.  He looks right at the ghoul.  “Check.”

Burr-Lipp moves into the sunlight, shivering, then realizes that Tao is somewhere out into the darkness near the worm. His frog-like face grimaces as he realizes what he should do. “This will probably hurt,” he thinks to the others, and hops out into the darkness.

Priggle picks himself back up, brushing carrion bugs from his armor. He looks over at the Ivory King. “He’s hurting, and I’m never one not to kick a man when he’s down. Learned that from my enemies.” He pauses for a few seconds to untangle the twisted phrasing, shrugs, and moves into the dim sunlight before shooting his crossbow. He misses pathetically, the bolt just hitting but dangling from flab.

The Ivory King looks longingly at the hated Agar, but the halfling is flying too far out of his reach. Instead he tries to put an end to Malachite’s insolence. He braves the sunlight and slaps the paladin with his tongue, following up with some kind of power that almost freezes Malachite solid. Icicles form over him, melt in the sunlight, then reform as the cold rebounds through his frame. Entering the sunlight is too painful for the ghoul, though, so instead he lurches away over the crest of the hill and out of sight in the darkness.

“Soder! To me, now!”

*“Hello, everybody! Miss me?”* The dragoncorpse with yellow eyes swoops overhead, and Agar barely fights off an urge to become a bibbling idiot when one of Soder’s spells strikes him. * “Your majesty, where is the true threat? Where is Nolin?”*

If the Ivory King answers his advisor, the Defenders don’t hear it, but Mara answers for him. “Dead!”

The dragon pauses in its wingbeats. *"Dead?"*

Suddenly the ragged solar swoops in, depositing Tao and Burr-Lipp closer to the light. He uses his own holiness to burn away the remnants of the negative energy that _turned_ Tao. The divine agent is furious. “I have sunbeams with his name on them! I spent hours carefully engraving ‘big fatass Ivory King’ on them! Where did he go?”

Malachite points at the rubble blocking their view of the Ivory King, even as Karthos _lays on hilt_ to bring him back from the brink of death.

Elder is inside Stone Bear’s brain, his customary hissing becoming a thunder of pain. *Make! It! Stop!*

“I think no.”

The voice of the spirit guide begins to cajole and wheedle. *I have helped you for so long now during your whole trip through the underdark. . .*

“La de da la la, I can’t hear you!” Stone Bear grits his teeth and maintains the connection. He’s quickly becoming exhausted, and he yells to the others. “We can’t let the Ivory King escape. He’ll heal in the darkness!”

“On it,” says Velendo, and he recites the prayer to the most powerful spell he knows. A _sovereign wall_ springs into existence as a dome over the bone hill, trapping the Ivory King in with the Defenders but keeping Elder and Soder outside. Velendo wraps it around as a floor as much as possible in order to stymie the worm if it tries to burrow in. A few arrows clatter down from afar and skitter off the wall, but its existence isn’t obvious to anyone who can’t see magic. Then Velendo touches Malachite with a _heal_ spell. “That was my last really big thing to do!” he warns. 

Agar says, “I know how you feel.”

The solar lands, emaciated and shaking. “Can Cruciel heal the solar?” asks Galthia.

Velendo shakes his head. “Not unless the solar is a worshipper of Calphas.”

Galthia nods. “Right, I don’t think he’s allowed to moonlight. ‘Oh, in my _spare time_ I worship Calphas. . .'”

Priggle frowns. “Was that a joke?”

Galthia looks at him with a frown. “I’m _very_ funny. You just don’t understand githzerai humor.”

“Just like Glibstone.”

“What’s that?”

Malachite interrupts. “We have trapped the Ivory King in here for a reason. We want to *kill him.* I can’t hit him any more because there’s rubble between me and him, so now everyone else has to do the job.”

Velendo frowns. “If we do, then he isn’t permanently dead. No good.”

Agar looks resolute. “I’m going to try to get the elemental to clear you a path.”

Malachite winces as energy ripples through his body. “Have Cruciel go hit him!”

Velendo shakes his head. “Cruciel is enervated. But we have an archangel here, and they’re freakin’ powerful.” He pauses to think. “Of course, it’s enervated too. . .”

“I’ll buy us some time.” Galthia is the only one who can see the Ivory King, who is now standing in the darkness away from the light and visibly healing from the cascade of negative energy that fills the polluted air. The sunlight’s flame is extinguished, and the only part of his skin that’s still smoking is the part burned by Nolin’s fiery death. 

Galthia launches himself off a broken pillar and spins in mid-air, trying to tumble close before the Ivory King notices him. He isn’t even close to successful. Velendo’s _ freedom of movement_ means that he can’t be paralyzed again, but the ghoul’s barbed tongue drains strength as it pulls him close enough to be bitten. “He’s not going to bite my head off at this angle,” thinks Galthia to the others. “How much damage can he do?” That question is answered as the Ghoul King’s teeth grate along Galthia’s left leg, shredding flesh and muscle in the same way a hungry halfling might strip the meat from a chicken bone. The monk wrenches free and balances on one leg, cursing himself for asking rhetorical questions. 

“My turn,” he growls. His muscles are shaking from negative energy and it feels like he has run a marathon, but the Ivory King’s head is still spouting ichor from where the crown of bones was destroyed. Galthia hits the Ivory King four times, doing enough damage to drop a slaad. The ghoul reels backwards under the withering blows.

Elder screams, and people scream with him. *Make it STOP!* He rears up to the ceiling and slams his bulk straight down onto the top of Velendo’s dome-shaped _sovereign wall._  The ground crumbles as the unstable bones shift, and many of the Defenders fall to hands and knees. There’s no question that the blow would have killed them if it weren’t for the wall of solid faith. Galthia looks up to see Elder’s black and gaping maw right up next to him, just five feet and an infinitely thin force wall away. As he gazes down into the void of annihiliation, he sees – oh so far away! -  a little tiny spark of sunlight forcing its way upwards from inside the worm.

*MAKE IT STOP!*

Mara dumps all of her faith and energy straight into the heart of the worm.  It screams again.  The tentacular, pseudonatural earth elemental summoned by Agar begins to push its way through the ossified stone to clear a path between the Ivory King and the source of the sunlight. Seeing this beginning to work, Agar floats backwards and tries to summon a second elemental to help.

Elder’s breath is frosting a section of the sovereign wall next to Galthia, breathing on it, freezing it solid, and scraping the frost away with its face as it tries to break through and destroy Stone Bear. The sound of the undead flesh rubbing up against the wall is a sound that will haunt nightmares.

Velendo steadies himself, eyes wide. He prays under his breath, but it isn’t clear if he’s talking to the _wall_ or his best friends.  “Hold it together! Hold it together!”

Stone Bear smiles as he watches the worm thrash. “Elder, tell you what. I don’t recall ever using the death touch ability you granted me.”

*That’s not my fault! When Galthia was weakened in Akin’s Throat, I – *

“Here’s what I want to know.” He hesitates. “If I stop what I’m doing to you, and I use the death touch ability on the Ivory King, is it going to work?”

Pause.

*YES.*

He laughs out loud. “I don’t believe you.” The worm hisses with frustration and pain, and Stone Bear turns to his friends.

“I’m making a conduit between the two channels, but Elder is anchored to me. Any energy I channel is being filtered through him as well. Through all my spirit guides, really, but he’s the only one made of undead flesh.” 

Velendo blinks. “That means it isn’t the fact that you are channeling energy to the heart. It is the fact that you are channelling energy at all! Every bit of sunlight you channel goes through it? That means that you should pour everything you have into the Ivory King, because it’s going to hurt the worm at the same time.”

“We have three main targets here.” Stone Bear scans sky for Soder, still hovering silently above. “Four. One is killing the Ivory King, one is driving away the worm, one is killing Soder, and one is burning away the godlflesh.”

Velendo nods. “Yes, but the godflesh is not trying to kill us.”

“And the sunlight will go back to a larger radius if you stop channelling both.” says Mara.

“Fair enough.” Stone Bear casts _deathwatch_ to monitor the people around him, then ceases channelling negative energy from Imbindarla’s corpse. The sunlight around him grows brighter, and there is a hissing in his mind.

Malachte shouts to the others, “Didn’t Nolin have a magical mirror?”

“Yub.” Burr-Lipp turns his bulging eyes to the pile of discarded items around where Nolin fell. He hops forward, sees the mirror lying on its back, and nabs it with his sticky tongue. “Got it!” He jumps over onto a bounder between Malachite and the Ivory King.

“That’s some tongue,” comments Priggle.

“Very popular with the ladies,” confirms Galthia.

Priggle scowls. “You ARE funny!”

Galthia starts to answer, but catches a glimpse of the _mirror of vanity_ that Burr-Lipp is holding. In its reflection he thinks he can see Nolin’s face amidst an endless wreath of flames. Then the image disappears as Mara and Malachite simultaneously channel the sunlight through their holy items and into the mirror. Burr-Lipp angles the mirror perfectly, and the beams of solid sunlight slice into the Ivory King’s bubbling flesh. Even as they do, the worm begins screaming and slamming itself multiple times into the wall.

Stone Bear winces. “I’m going to need a new spirit guide.”

“You think?” Mara glares at him.

“Wait a minute!” Galthia looks over. “You only just _now_ realized that you’re going to need a new one?”

“Well, he was a really good spirit until he got all angry. And huge. And undead.”

Galthia squints. “A giant, world-devouring worm and you didn’t figure out he was...”

“My spirit guide? Come on! How would I know?”

Priggle nods. “We should have suspected something. His directions _were_ impeccable.”

WHOOM! Dislodged by multiple impacts, the bones beneath Elder are cracking and shifting and dissolving. The whole hill begins to slide. The sunlight is jostled away from the Ivory King, but Burr-Lipp corrects his aim and looks satisfied as the light reignites the ghoul’s skin.

“Where’s that ring Nolin had? The one that made people do. . you know? We may want to purge him of Imbindarla’s flesh.” Priggle looks over at Nolin’s remains and shakes his head. “Oh, my, I have to sort through the vomit. This isn’t the sort of things they write epic poetry about after the fact.” He scrabbles in the bone, hunting for the ring.

Desperate and with nowhere to flee, the Ivory King attacks Galthia. Again he fails at snipping off his head, but Galthia is almost too weak from strength drain to stand up. “Call off the sunlight, and I’ll let this one live!”

Malachite shakes his head. “Check!”

Galthia looks up at the sarcous face with its sharpened rows of teeth, meeting the piggy little eyes.  “Seems like a good time to die.”

The Ivory King smiles through his pain. “That’s convenient.” He looks up.  “Soder! What are you DOING up there?”

_He killed Nolin._ Soder hovers, dumbstruck and griefstricken, ignoring the battle that rages below him. _He killed Nolin! But I had such plans for us! He would have loved my family, and I had his room prepared. . . Would he come back if I asked nicely?_ A quick divination indicates otherwise, and grief is beginning to transform to cold fury. _How DARE he? He knew that Nolin and I were best friends! How could he betray me like that? The others were his, but not the bard!_ Then his attention is dragged away by the Ivory King screaming for him down below. The traitorous Ivory King. The murdering, traitorous Ivory King.

*“Oh? Do you need me?”* Soder flicks a cursory _greater dispelling _ at the sovereign wall, and is not surprised in the least when it isn’t remotely affected. Fury battles with loyalty in his head, and he barely manages to contain his tongue. He’s lost his taste for this fight. Everything worth fighting for is gone. Now it’s just Soder and his greatest treasure, held safe within the palace, and all the joy has left the world. He considers _dimension dooring_ behind the wall – he does still have a large complement of spells prepared – but rejects it. It might now work, and if it does, he’d only be saving the ghoul who killed Nolin, and there’s still that worm to contend with. Let him save himself.

*“Sorry, your majesty. I Can’t get in. You can’t get out. Bye-bye.”* And he _teleports_ away.

Velendo stares in surprise up at the ceiling, and begins to laugh. “Thanks, Soder!” 

As the weakened archangel heals Galthia of his injuries, Tao flings a _sunbeam_ at the Ivory King. It splashes harmlessly off of him, so she leaps towards him with her sword. Halfway there she’s met by the ghoul’s tongue, which wraps around her neck and drags her forward. Tao is holding _nature’s wrath_ and so can’t be paralyzed, but the Ivory King drops Galthia and tears into Tao instead. She feels her strength bleed away.

“I was looking forward to eating this one more than you. She has a holiness about her.” He kicks away Galthia’s weakened body.

Malachite agrees, “She does.”

Galthia rolls over at the Ivory King’s feet. “I feel so rejected. He spat me out twice.”

Tao, however, spits in the ghoul's face. “My holiness is inside of me and it comes from Galanna, and it’s not for you!”

 “Inside of you? Not for long.” 

“Wow,” says Agar, “Soder fled!” He flies over to see if Tao needs help.

Mara smiles. “He was his closest cadre!”

Agar nods. “Maybe he’s mad at him?”

Malachite smiles. “I hope so, Agar, but one objective at a time.”

“Good point.” Velendo casts _prayer_, followed by a maximized _flame strike_. The pillar of fire smashes down with a roar. The undead tries to get ut of the way, but with the wall behind him he doesn’t have much room to duck. The smell of burning meat fills the foul air. “You big fat abomination!”  The Ivory King groans as his flesh reignites.

There’s a knocking noise on the _sovereign wall.

Knock knock._

“Not now!” yells Malachite. Agar turns and looks. It’s Teliez. The teenaged son of the God of Murder grins and waves. Using overly elaborate hand gestures, he points to himself, points to Imbindarla’s body, mimes eating, and gives a questioning shrug with a cautious smile.

Tao screams at him. “Go eat the heart! Go!”

“Wait!” says Stone Bear. “Isn’t he a bad guy?”

“Yes,” says Velendo, “but he’s the best of the bad guys we have. Go!” He waves Teliez away. The acne-scarred demigod gives a grin and a thumbs up at their approval, and disappears into the darkness.

Galthia yells “Don’t break off!” He is incredibly weak from the negative energy coursing through his muscles, but he attacks the Ivory King multiple times. Guided by Velendo’s _prayer_ his hands plunge into his burning belly, pulling out huge gobbets of fat.

Tao growls, “Die already! Die die die!”

Right over their heads the worm Elder strikes the _sovereign wall_ one final time. Then it twists its huge bulk, smoke trailing from it, and chews its way down into the ossified stone out of sight. Soder is nowhere in sight. More ghoulish firepower from troops outside is aimed at the worm’s tail, but it never seems to notice it. The tail seems endlessly long as it slides into the ground. Stone Bear can still hear it screaming inside of his head.

The earth elementals smash away rubble, and Cruciel pulls Velendo back to clear the line of sight between the sunlight and the Ivory King. Both paladins withdraw from the focus, and Stone Bear’s channelled energy drops by a factor of ten. He slumps back, exhausted.

“I’m charging him,” yells Mara. “I really want to smack him!” She charges on foot as Cruciel pulls Velendo out of her path. Mara’s iron feet ring on the crumbling bone, and _Lightbinder_ blazes like a star in her hand. The mace sweeps against the Ivory King’s bloated head and he’s knocked backwards off of his feet. Dank and noisome fluids begin to pour from his nose and mouth, and he begins to twitch. Rotting intestines wriggle inside of his horribly injured belly. A sickly green light seeps from his chest.

“Is he dead?” asks Mara, panting slightly. She’s still glowing slightly.

“Not yet,” says Malachite. He stands over the fallen form and raises his sword. The Ivory King manages to open one dull yellow eye to look at him standing there. “Mercy?” he mumbles, worms spilling from his mouth.

“Checkmate,” says Malachite, and slams Karthos home.

-- o --

It’s almost an hour later when the corpse of Imbindarla disappears. One minute it’s there, and the next minute it has collapsed in on itself, solid bone crumbling into huge slabs as if suddenly hollowed out. The several hundred ghoulish troops clawing at the _sovereign wall_ stiffen, throw their heads back, and putrefy within seconds. For the first time Nacreous is silent, and the pulsing negative energy that had filled the air is gone as well.

“He’s done it,” says Velendo as he leans up against a broken chunk of statuary. “Teliez has ascended to become the new God of Undead. Calphas help us.”

"Better the incompetent demigod that we know, than the evil worm and bloated undead we don't," say Tao. "Or something like that."

“Well, it looks like he did us a favor when he went,” says Malachite as he stands on a wall to scout across the city. “I think he killed every single ghoul when he left. Maybe he drew on their unlife force for energy to push himself into immortality, I don’t know. But there’s no one out there now.”

“I think some of the ghouls had already looted and fled the city,” says Galthia. “That’s what it looked like from here after their King died.”

“And they’re welcome to it.” Stone Bear’s head aches.  “I wonder where Soder is?”

No one knows. 

That night they sleep safely behind the _sovereign wall_, miles below the surface but bathed in the holy sunlight of Aeos, and there are no unpleasant dreams. If you were to watch Sir Malachite as he slept, you would see him smiling.

_End of plot arc_


----------



## Piratecat

Agar made the saving throw to avoid losing all of his spellcasting powers forever _exactly._ Normally you can't destroy artifacts willy-nilly, but the circumstances happened to be right for this one. He was more than a little bit surprised.

"It's a WHAT? And I almost lost my WHAT?"

Glad you enjoyed it; and thanks for coming along for the ride.


----------



## Piratecat

Lord Pendragon said:
			
		

> Fantastic climax.  I am left wondering about Teliez, though.  PC, did you always intend for him to show up at some point, or did you toss him in on the fly, when you realized that the worm had fled and the Ivory King was going to be killed?



Oh, Teliez was always waiting in the wings; you don't survive the crappy childhood he had without learning some guile. He wagered that if push came to shove he'd end up being the least objectionable choice for the Defenders. He's not a heavy hitter, though, so his goal was to stay absolutely out of the way until there was no better alternative -- and seize the prize with the Defenders' blessing.  Teliez was perhaps the one person whose plan worked flawlessly.

He learned this from Dylrath. Sometimes a reputation for incompetence works to your advantage.




			
				Len said:
			
		

> So the Defenders finally managed to kill the Big Bad Guy, but three other BBG's got away. Seems like a net loss to me.



Hmmm. I'd disagree; they purposefully stopped several _very_ objectionable outcomes and completely eliminated a substantial force of evil on Spira. Not too shabby. . . and we maintain a bad guy list in Sagiro's campaign, too.  It's a fun technique.

You'll soon see what happens to several of these people.




			
				Radiating Gnome said:
			
		

> what I am usually left wondering is whether Wulf came up with the sorta Ghostbusters-esque "Dont Cross the streams/Cross the streams" sort of solution? Not that I have any doubt, but its just so far from the sort of creative thinking that I would expect from my players.



That was all Wulf, with no help or suggestions from me. They even used the "cross the streams" analogy when discussing the plan. I think the situation required some unorthodox thinking, but they outdid themselves in that department.




			
				Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Just the end of this adventure right?  Not the end of the story hour?



I have a year's worth of annoying little tapes sitting in my desk drawer. I'll be sad if I've hung onto them for nothing. No, there's another 1-2 years of storytelling to come. We should still be here in 2007. A brief summary of things to come include:

- Epilogue for Nacreous
- Riving of the mindflayers 
- Meanwhile, on the surface. . .
- The funeral of Nolin
- Temple politics and unwanted visitors
- Modron-a-go-go
- Agar engaged


----------



## Len

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Hmmm. I'd disagree; they purposefully stopped several very objectionable outcomes, and completely eliminated a substantial force of evil on Spira. Not too shabby.



Yeah, I was kidding. They only created one new BBEG in this whole episode, and got rid of one, so I guess it's a wash. 
(I think I'm still kidding.)


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Thornir Alekeg said:
			
		

> I always thought Wulf was a straightforward kind of player who prefers kicking things teeth in to deep thinking, but that idea of crossing the ley lines proves that he is more than he likes to let on.




Well that's a kick in the teeth. I thought "Wulf" had proved you could play intelligently and still enjoy the crunch of enemies under your boot.

Someone mentioned Kevin being a "YES" DM vs. a "NO" DM and in this case it's very much true. He was generous to let me use the Ley Lines/Power Nexus rules in the first place (rules, it should be noted, _I wrote myself_, which is risky for a DM). And I think part of him trusting to those rules was that he didn't really worry too much about the details therein.

So when I asked him if the sunlight was a power nexus, and he said _yes_, and I asked if the Corpse was a power nexus and he also said _yes_, that was outside the scope of the rules I'd written. So the big _YES_ was when I asked if I could anchor to both at the same time, and he improvised it brilliantly-- especially since I felt like I was putting one over on him.

I don't believe I'd ever used the anchoring rules before or since, really. 

Wulf


----------



## LightPhoenix

So, PC, I recall once upon a time that you asked a question in a thread that doesn't exist about treasure... would the fruits of that hypothetical thread _finally_ be making an appearance in the story as part of the epilogue?

I ask because I kind of find it weird, knowing that a thread from November of 2003 will finally show up in the story hour.  I can't believe it's been so long!


----------



## Piratecat

Thanks, Zustiur!



			
				LightPhoenix said:
			
		

> So, PC, I recall once upon a time that you asked a question in a thread that doesn't exist about treasure... would the fruits of that hypothetical thread _finally_ be making an appearance in the story as part of the epilogue?
> 
> I ask because I kind of find it weird, knowing that a thread from November of 2003 will finally show up in the story hour.  I can't believe it's been so long!




Yup, on its way! I know the delay is weird.


----------



## KidCthulhu

LightPhoenix said:
			
		

> So, PC, I recall once upon a time that you asked a question in a thread that doesn't exist about treasure... would the fruits of that hypothetical thread _finally_ be making an appearance in the story as part of the epilogue?




Yes, the cheese is coming.  Be patient.  

[grumble]Stupid magic cheese[/grumble]


----------



## Enkhidu

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> ...So when I asked him if the sunlight was a power nexus, and he said _yes_, and I asked if the Corpse was a power nexus and he also said _yes_, that was outside the scope of the rules I'd written. So the big _YES_ was when I asked if I could anchor to both at the same time, and he improvised it brilliantly-- especially since I felt like I was putting one over on him....




You know Wulf, I vaguely remember (from his comments in one thread or another) P-Kitty being just short of a fanboi over the Elves book primarily because of ley lines. While I can't imagine him setting things up purposefully to for you to take advantage of the nexii, it doesn't surprise me that he would grab hold of such an idea with both hands if a player headed down that road.

Bits like this aside, I do have a question for the freebooting feline: exactly how long do you let your players take to declare combat actions (and do you allow use of the mindlink as a free action to facilitate kibitizing throughout combat)?


----------



## Krafus

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> The Ivory King is definitely similar to a creature in the MMII.  Piratecat could confirm for us if he chose, but I think he used that critter and added abilities appropriate for a godling.




A beastie from MMII, eh? Looks like I'll have to add it to my shopping list.


----------



## Sollir Furryfoot

Hrm, are we still throwing out guesses as to who KC is  now playing?

Well, looking at Sialia's storyhour, I'm just going to give a random shout in the dark and throw in my guess that KC is playing one vampire (former human) rogue/diviner (arcane trickster perhaps?) by the name of Dylrath 

Lol, very doubtful, but I think it'd be funny if Dylrath showed up in this storyhour somehow


----------



## Sialia

Far as I can tell, Dylrath is about two posts from the permanent end of his story.

I finished his story over a year ago. It's had a lot of time to sit, and I've had a lot of time to think about it. I've been thinking about it a lot this week.

There might be a short epilogue, if I can think how to write it. Time in Piratecat's world goes on, regardless of what happens to individual storyarcs and characters. I know some of what happens after this story ends, but it isn't part of the story.

But I've been thinking for over a year, and I haven't come up with it.

hmm. Or maybe I just have.


----------



## Piratecat

Sollir Furryfoot said:
			
		

> Lol, very doubtful, but I think it'd be funny if Dylrath showed up in this storyhour somehow




Heh. You don't always see him, but Dylrath is _always_ in this story hour.

It's really interesting how each player has put his or her stamp on my world. They're all there, although it isn't always obvious, and they all have an impact on what's happening or what's going to happen. It's a neat little form of pocket immortality. What's that they say, that you never truly die as long as someone remembers you, as long as you're continuing to affect the world you left behind? In that regard, any campaign world where the DM lets the PCs' actions continue to affect the shared game world has some very long-lived characters indeed.


----------



## Sialia

Well.  

I paused a few days before putting up the nearly last post because I wanted to go back and re-read the whole darn saga to make sure I hadn't lost track of where I was going with this, or forgotten to connect the dots for you.

The original thing looks like a patchwork--all bits and pieces, in a nearly random order.

So I, uh, compiled it. And rearranged and cleaned it up a little. The whole Dylrath and Teliaz story, from beginning to end in one glorious fat pdf: 779 KB, 67 pages of text and illustrations. 

Really might be more than you want to know, if you're not already an Early Years fan.  If you think you might be, but haven't read the preceeding posts already, may as well wait to get the good version. I'll make it available in a day or so.

You don't have to know the rest of the Early Years stuff to get the last chapter "Passage of the White Swallow." It was designed to be readable by people who only read Piratecat's storyhour, and it's a toss up whether it belongs in that thread or this. It's a trim little 434 KB, ~20 pages. (All the illustrations are in these last 20 pages).

Soon as I finish posting the last bit and the epilogue, we'll stick it in here.


----------



## Kelvin L. Melton

Hi Piratecat this story is great. This is my first post on this board and just had to say how great this story is.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yep, you know it's cold when the Canadian retrievers are lookin' around for something to burn for heat.  Oh, and the frozen water in the dog bowl.  That's a big hint. 

Don't worry.  We may have to morgage the cat, or sell a kidney to pay the electricians, but the power will be back soon.  At least I'm at work, where there's heat and lights (and  computers).  Poor PC is stuck at home in the freezin'.


----------



## Sandain

Its mid-summer here in New Zealand, we are all walking around in shorts and t-shirts guzzling cold drinks.

You are all welcome to come and stay until it stops snowing there.


----------



## Steverooo

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Oop ack gack twitch brrgl.




oOOo, furball!


----------



## Seule

I've been waiting for the end of that storyarc for a long time.
It was worth that wait.

--Seule


----------



## Cartolis

PIratecat,
 You sir are absolutely brilliant!
My hat is off to you and your group. Great story!


 Also,
 I was wondering if you ever had a chance to take a look at gridsmith. John (my roommate) said that he had sent you a copy a while back when he saw me reading this.

once again, great story.
Cartolis


----------



## Bloodsparrow

I hope it's not out of line for me to suggest this but...

I've noticed much of the time that PC needs to delete posts to shrink the size of this thread.  And I notice much of the time that he makes comments that he's doing that instead of working on the next updates.  (So if we want updates faster we should really stop making posts telling PC that we love him and oh by the way when will the next update be?  ... In which case I'm probably adding to the problem... Sorry 'bout that.)

So I had a thought. (stand back)

Because, theoreticly, you could get yourself a free blog (like on livejournal or blogspot), turn off the "comments" function of the blog, post the story updates there and then link to this (or a different) thread for comments and announcements for when you updated the story.

And maybe, kinda sorta, lift much of the need to prune the thread?

There are pros and cons for this and I'm probably opening a can of some variety of worms, but I thought I'd throw that out there.

Oh... And again, I'm sorry I've created yet annother post you'll probably have to delete later...

... And I can't wait to read about the cheeeeeeeeze... And monkeys.


----------



## Piratecat

Truth is, Bloodsparrow, I'm pretty sure I would find a lame excuse for not updating even if I wasn't deleting comments.  

I ran an Eversink game at the Boston Game Day yesterday, and _very_ interesting things happened. I forgot how much fun that city can be to run. A "troubleshooting" team from House Coskeep (the vintners) had to retrieve a magical circlet from the long-sunken manor of Eversink's first mayor. Unfortunately the entrance was through the sub-basement of a House Clearwater private club, and the mayor was still very much alive. . .

Ironically, of the six people (DaveLozzi, Fluffaderm, Gospog, ShadowDenizen, Shurai, and Umbran) I think only Shurai is a regular reader. That gave him an advantage.  *grin*


----------



## Ashy

Boy, am *I* sorry I missed *THAT*....


----------



## Piratecat

Okay, want to ensure frequent updates and something to look forward to every week? 

As I sit here writing an update, I'm reflecting that the one thing my campaign really needs is an artist. Ever since Sialia moved to the left coast (and barring KidCthulhu's marvelous scribble of a modron with a hair bow) we haven't had anyone in the day-to-day game with artistic talent. That's been mitigated by amazing artists like Sialia, (contact) [Chris Kennedy] and Littlejohn [David Hendee] who have drawn storyhour-related art for fun. Nevertheless, it's fun to see how different artists interpret different events or characters in our game. I miss not having someone around who can do that.

Then I thought of you guys! I thought of the frustration of my less frequent updates, the vast resources of talent that you guys have and I don't, and how the two may coincide. As a result, we're going to try something.

I have a campaign art thread right here that hasn't been updated in some time. For every person who posts a piece of storyhour-related art, I'll guarantee a week with an update. Four people? A guaranteed update a week for four weeks. 25 people? Half a year of storyhour. If people do more than one piece (which is cool!), I'll try to tack on an additional week or do two a week to say thank you.  Post the art in that thread, and then I'll link to it to show people here. I'll also probably link the image in to the original storyhour post if it's of a specific scene, so that new people reading the SH see it in the right context.

If you want to participate, it doesn't matter what you draw; a particular scene, your interpretation of a particular person, what have you. It doesn't matter how you create it or how much experience you have. I just thought this might be a fun way to jazz up the storyhour and get people to share their talent.  And you never know! You'll have a couple of thousand people seeing your art, and that's always fun.

Thoughts? Is this totally lame or a cool idea?  Let me know!


----------



## Look_a_Unicorn

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Okay, want to ensure frequent updates and something to look forward to every week?
> 
> ....
> 
> Thoughts? Is this totally lame or a cool idea?  Let me know!




As one of your myraid legions of story hour fans, I think it's a cool idea- we can do something proactive to motivate updates!
Now I just wish I had something even vaguely resembling artistic talent- my 2 year old niece can draw better than I can!


----------



## Heroditis

*Eversink*



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> I ran an Eversink game at the Boston Game Day yesterday, and _very_ interesting things happened. I forgot how much fun that city can be to run. A "troubleshooting" team from House Coskeep (the vintners) had to retrieve a magical circlet from the long-sunken manor of Eversink's first mayor. Unfortunately the entrance was through the sub-basement of a House Clearwater private club, and the mayor was still very much alive. . .




OK Piratecat, I just have to ask: Is there an Eversink D20 supplement lurking somewhere in the future? I know your first effort was well received, and I'm betting that the city would be as well.  Just curious.  Fortunately, as I am not a cat, my nosiness is unlikely to prove fatal   .


----------



## Sagiro

I've already taken advantage of the fact that you didn't set any minimums for artistic quality.  Hah!

-Sagiro


----------



## Knightfall

I'm sure Sialia won't mind if I post the map I did for you guys based on Dylrath's 'personal' map.

Cheers!

KF72


----------



## Destil

Sagiro said:
			
		

> I've already taken advantage of the fact that you didn't set any minimums for artistic quality.  Hah!
> 
> -Sagiro



...so, a stick figure rendering of Malachite staring down Goueax is already taken? *sigh*


----------



## Everett

/sighs silently.

I don't have any visual talent, Piratecat.  I can, however, write.  Quite well.

So if you can make use of my talent, just say the word.

***

"Bored now."

-Reese Witherspoon, Cthulu in the Nth Dimension.


----------



## Wolfspirit

*grins thinking about his Defenders of Daybreak inspired sketches, from the past, oh, three years or so*


----------



## Steverooo

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Okay, want to ensure frequent updates and something to look forward to every week?




YES!

<SNIP!>



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> Thoughts? Is this totally lame or a cool idea?  Let me know!




Cool...  I'm in!  (Of course, I can BARELY draw a straight line WITH a ruler, but I'll do what I can, for at least one update...  It'll be good for laughs, if nothing else!)

Once y'all see MY artwork, you'll be emboldened...  "Shoot!  _I_ can draw better than _that_!"


----------



## Piratecat

Three weeks of updates guaranteed! Although I'll have to smack Sagiro with a slobbery dog when I see him next. I'm glad _someone_ got that out of the way.  

I expect we'll see all kinds of styles and experience, and that's great. All I ask is that you do something because it's cool or fun, not solely to ensure another update. Likewise, I won't slack on the writing.

This is fun.



			
				Cartolis said:
			
		

> I was wondering if you ever had a chance to take a look at gridsmith. John (my roommate) said that he had sent you a copy a while back when he saw me reading this.




Cartolis, after getting the demo I sent a bunch of comments to John -- no response. I emailed him two or three more times, never got any reply, and figured he'd changed his mind or didn't like my feedback. I never got a copy of the program itself.

Drop me an email if you want to pursue this further; I'd love to see it.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I'll make one request, for those of you considering your artistic direction.  No elf porn!  No half clad Maras, no "Tao suddenly finds herself in a bikini fighting tentacles".  Please!  I'm joking, but only a little.


----------



## Piratecat

Priggle in a bikini fighting tentacles, however, is absolutely okay. If disturbing.


----------



## Naathez

well, THANKS, KidC. NOW you tell me. I was halfway done with the full swimsuit special...  oh well -tears the paper-


 

With MY artistic skills, I couldn't draw to save my life. I'm told I can write (Sample if you follow the link in my sig! YES, this IS shameless advertising!) but I never could learn to draw. So I'll be grateful if people's artistic endeavors grant us more Piratefeline goodness. And i want to see who you're playing KidC... after Nolin.


----------



## MerakSpielman

I want somebody to draw a picture of Mara riding the giant brain.


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

I'm going to attempt something, but since KidCthulhu has ruined all my ideas, its back to the drawing board...literally.


----------



## Dawn

Damn!  Knew I should have paid attention in art instead of staring at the redhead across the room.
Hmmm....how to draw since all the stick figures seem to be taken.


----------



## Ashy

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> I want somebody to draw a picture of Mara riding the giant brain.





YEeeeeaaaaaaaa!


----------



## Piratecat

The Defenders of Daybreak walk alone through the Kingdom of the Ghouls.

They continuously step around fallen and rotting bodies. The vast scale of death is deceptive; the number of dead only begins to truly register when they stop to think to themselves for the thirtieth or hundredth or thousandth time, “Oh, another corpse.”  Some of the ghoulish bodies fell violently in hand-to-hand combat with possessed ghouls, others were utterly crushed by Elder’s massive bulk, but most spontaneously deanimated in the instant that the new God of Undeath ascended. However they perished, it’s obvious to the Defenders that the ghoulish threat is ended. The long ago promise to T’Cri is fulfilled, and the spine of the White Kingdom is finally destroyed.

Like conquering heroes in a bardic tale, the Defenders initially keep their eyes open for particularly tempting loot. The primal joy of looting fallen foes begins to dim as they peel a beautiful necklace or a glittering ring from a maggot-ridden corpse again, and again, and again. Eventually they just leaves the riches gleaming on the sprawled bodies and pass on without comment. Doubtlessly some other creature will come here and discover the vast wealth left behind. For now, the Defenders have had their fill of looting corpses.

They stroll through the different neighborhoods of Nacreous, passing the mausoleum-like dwellings of craftsmen and weaponsmiths and butchers, until they eventually find themselves standing before the ornate doors of the Royal Palace. Huge adamantine golems loom twenty feet tall as they guard the closed portals. The building itself seems to lean towards them hungrily. Corpselight glimmers gray-green around its edges.

“We’re not done yet,” says Velendo. “According to the prophetess Silissa, that earth creature we saw in Mrid, we have one more task to be sure this doesn’t happen again. What was it she said?”

Agar remembers the words exactly, spoken just as the group left the dwarven vaults of Mrid for the chaos of Akin’s Throat. 

“She said _‘The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night. He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find. If he is destroyed along with his closest cadre, and the entrance to the cyst sealed, the spark that drives the ghouls shall fade as well. They worship he and his mother, although only one of them is worthy of worship. The two share no loyalty; slay one, and they shall fall and be devoured, with all that might entail.’_  I think I got that right.”

Cruciel raises her perfectly arched eyebrows.  “Nice memory.”

“Thanks.”

Velendo snorts. “. . and be devoured. That makes a lot more sense after the fact.”

“Prophecies always do. That’s why they're prophecies, and not recipes.”

“What’s this cyst the prophecy talk about?” Malachite looks down towards Agar, and then over to Velendo.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”  Velendo casts _find the path_, and his magical senses point him into the palace.  “We’re in the right place, at least. It’s in here someplace.”

“Past those golems.” Mara looks up, and up, at the adamantine shapes. “I’m sorry Tao disappeared in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe we don’t actually have to fight them.” Even Velendo’s voice reveals that he doesn’t actually believe it.

“Nice wishful thinking.” Galthia stretches. “Okay, back up and get your spells ready. I’m going to dart in and out and try to lure one of them away from the doorway. Let’s see how far they’ll move from it.” He grimaces. “I’ll try not to get hit.”

Stone Bear snorts.  “Good thinking.”

Galthia sprints up to the doors. As expected, the golems animate with the sound of rasping metal.  They reach down with their massive fists. . . and swing wide the massive portals into the palace. Galthia stops in his tracks, face full of surprise.

“Huh. Well, that was unexpected.”

The rest of the group joins him and stares through the doorway. A brand new bright red carpet marks the path where conquering royalty should tread. It leads down the ornately decorated hall and up a ramp into another archway sixty feet ahead. Glimmering balefire dances across massive chandeliers and lights a score of zombies dressed as honor guards. Ten zombies stand on either side of the red carpet, impassive, each carrying something in their swollen and rotted hands.

Malachite whips Karthos from his sheath and brandishes the sword in front of him as he takes a confident step forward. All the zombies simultaneously raises their. . .

“Trumpets?” asks Malachite in surprise.

. . .and draw in a shuddering breath before playing the fanfare of a triumphal march. Velendo recognizes it as one that Nolin had written years before for the King of Gaunt upon his return from the war at the Penngian Peninsula. The music soars upwards and outwards, welcoming the heroes with honor. Its effectiveness and beauty is only slightly dampened by the muffling effect of maggots choking at least one of the trumpets.

Velendo’s mouth twists. “I _definitely_ didn’t expect that.”  The zombie honor guard continues playing as the Defenders edge into the gloomy hall. Malachite releases a _positive energy burst_ of emerald sunlight, and the heralds deliquesce into gobbets of steaming flesh. Twenty trumpets and a host of old bones clatter onto the tile floor.

For a moment, silence returns. Then something moves at the far end of the hall. As if cued, twelve halfling-sized monkeys scamper into the room through a partially open door. Their breath steams in the cold air.

“Someone has dressed them up like us!” Agar’s eyes squint. “That one has a stone shield strapped to its arm, and that one has wings, and that one,” he swallows, “that one is dressed like Nolin!”

“Not strapped,” Velendo’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Spiked to its arm.”

“I like it,” says Stone Bear. He smiles. “They’re just monkeys, judging from their spirits. Nothing more. But someone has style.” 

Priggle nods. "I'm impressed that they found a blond one for the Mara-monkey."

“This is just strange,” says Velendo. “Think this is Soder’s work? Or someone else’s?”

“Probably Soder’s. There’s one for each of us,” says Priggle. “Even me.” He seems oddly cheered by the realization. The monkeys gambol around the room, swinging on the chandeliers and chattering at one another. They don’t seem hostile. Carefully and in battle formation, the group moves through the room and up the ramp. The monkeys largely ignore them. 

Weapons clutched in sweating hands, the Defenders move to the end of the hall and swing open the door.

Galthia is the first to react.  “Dragon!”

* “I bid you welcome, and extend the congratulations of my lord and master The Dark Hunger, God of Undeath, eternal King of Shambling Oblivion.”*  A mummified form in wizard’s robes sits in the middle of the Great Hall, resting upon the paw of the huge zombie dragon that the group has now fought twice. The corpse’s eyes are bright yellow.  The dragon’s unblinking eyes are a dark gray.

“Soder.” Malachite’s tone is grim as he lifts his sword. “You’ve changed bodies again, but that’s not going to help.”

The ghoulish ambassador waggles a cautionary finger at him. It falls off.  *“No need for violence, boy. I don’t like you, but I am not here to fight you.” *  He stands up and stretches out his arms.  * “Rather, I am here to offer you gifts from both myself and my new God. I have been chosen as divine proxy, to stand by the right hand of The Dark Hunger and do his bidding upon Spira.  The Dark Hunger has blessed me with a tiny fraction of his power, and I will guide and aid him in the eons to come.  I have been blessed.”*

Malachite folds his arms.  “Do tell.” He snorts. “The Dark Hunger? Is that what Teliez’s calling himself now?”  _“More like the *Dork* Hunger,”_ he thinks over the mindlink, and gets a ripple of mental laughter in response.

_“Just like Teliez. What do we do about this?” _ asks Velendo.  _“If the Puppeteer really is the new servant of Teliez, I’m not sure we want to fight him. Especially when his God is currently positively disposed to us.” _

_“We can take him,” _ thinks Burr-Lipp. The bullywug stares at Soder with bulging, hate-filled eyes. 

_“I’m not so sure,” _ thinks Malachite. _“We can certainly destroy his body. Then he leaps into the dragon again, and when we destroy that he leaps into another one. We have to find his essence, either his original form or his phylactery, in order to destroy him for good. I’m not sure that my true death ability will work on a possessed corpse.”

“Fillact – ”

“Where he keeps his soul.”

“Grrrp.” _

_“Well, he doesn’t seem to want to fight us,” _ thinks Mara. _“We may want to listen to him and THEN kill him if we need to.” _

_“I think we’re on Teliez’s good side right now,” _ thinks Priggle. _“Velendo’s right. Killing his new servant may change that. Then he’ll take it out on all the deep gnomes, destroying us while leaving all you humans in peace.” _

_“I doubt it, Priggle. But so what if Teliez is fond of us?”_ asks Malachite silently. _“He’s still the Enemy. He’s just a relatively inexperienced one.”_

Soder is still talking out loud while the group communes with each other mentally. *“The Dark Hunger also grants his blessing to you, and shall spare those dear to you as a sign of His favor. He also grants you this gift to do with as you will. Kill it or take it home as a souvenir, as you prefer.” * Soder sweeps his hand back to encompass the zombie dragon and the palace behind it.

The paladins blink. “What?” asks Mara. “We get the dragon?”  The dragon doesn’t move, but Soder nods his head. Something falls from his scalp and scuttles into the shadows.

*“Yes. And the monkeys. Did you like the monkeys? That was my own touch. I wanted to make things homey for you when you got here. I thought you’d like seeing them.”*

“I liked little Nolin,” says Stone Bear.

*"You did? Me too. It’s nice to have people appreciate your hard work.”* The corpse looks wistful.

“This is surreal,” mutters Velendo.

*“Anyways, they’re yours, one for each of you. I gated them in from some alternate Prime as a thank you gift. And you can have whatever you can find and keep in the palace, and in the city. The Dark Hunger destroyed most of the ghouls here when he left, because he wanted to make your lives easier.”* An evil smile crosses what remains of Soder’s  face. * “I wouldn’t dither, though, if I were you. I helped create the magical wall that protects this city from the spectral cloakers. It won’t last for long without me here.”*

“How long?” asks Agar, worried. “An hour? A week?”

* “Somewhere between the two, I think.”*

“Why isn’t Teliez himself. . excuse me, ‘The Dark Hunger,’ here to greet us?” Velendo’s voice is weighed with scorn and disapproval. “He’s a God now. Surely he can make the time.”

*“He is indeed a God.”* Soder’s voice is satisfied. 

“Thanks to us.”  Soder just stares at the old priest until Velendo finally frowns. “Okay, fine, he’s doing other things.”

*“More important things. Securing his birthright. Gathering his power. Helping people who are dying.”*

“I’m sure he is,” says Malachite sarcastically, but Soder doesn’t elaborate. “Mind if we kill that dragon now? Again?”

*“If you want to. It doesn’t matter to me either way. I also have a special gift for you.”* Seeing their looks, Soder shakes his head then props it back upright with one hand. *“Not that kind of gift. Not the kind that kills you. My most precious treasure. It’s in my quarters, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have it than you. We’ve had our little tiffs now and then, but you were Nolin’s friends. He was going to. . . well, no matter. I’m leaving material things behind, and this is more valuable than anything else. It’s now yours, and I’m sure it will serve you well.”*

“What is it?” asks Galthia suspiciously.

*“I’d hate to ruin the surprise.”* Soder stands up.  *“Is there anything else? My Master needs me, and I should be going. I’ve destroyed or deactivated all the guardians and traps I have control over.”*

Everyone pauses.  “No,” says Malachite tightly, watching Soder with hatred. “I think that’s it. I suspect we’ll meet again.” 

*“I suspect we will.”* He stops to consider something. * “Make Nolin’s memorial service a memorable one.”*

“Oh,” says Velendo, “have no doubt about that.” 

Soder nods once in thanks, and the undead eyes leech of color. Malachite swings his holy sword to chop the zombie’s head from oozing shoulders. A few twitches, a few seconds of thumping as legs kick against polished tiles, and it’s over.

“Before we kill the dragon,” says Agar, “we may want to use it as a guard against those spectres should any of them get through. Can we send it outside for now? We can always destroy it later.” It takes some convincing, but the threat of the protective wall collapsing takes precedence. Priggle rides the undead dragon outside and positions it to attack anything coming towards the palace. 

“Where’s this great treasure of Soder’s?” asks Stone Bear.

“He gestured that way,” points Galthia. “Let’s go see.”

“I don’t want to take too long,” says Velendo. “My _find the path_ spell to this cyst, or whatever it is, won’t last forever.”

“We’ll just check. We’ve got a lot of looting to do, and we might as well start with Soder.” They tread through the polished stone halls of the palace, making their way past grotesque art and disturbing tapestries.

“It may be a trap, remember,” cautions Malachite.  “Everyone ready?” Everyone concurs.

-- o --

_ She has known no life outside the house.  She barely knows a life outside her rooms or the library.  The servants are all mute and dumb, being zombies.  Soder comes and talks to her sometimes, usually in the evenings. She always knows when it's him, no matter what body he's wearing.  He calls himself her father, but she knows the truth.  The book told her.  He's the wicked wizard who's keeping her from her real family, and her kingdom.   The princess is always held captive by an evil wizard.

She gave Soder a body to wear once.  As a gift.  He had told her to go to his rooms, that there was a guest waiting there for her.  He did that sometimes, partly to show her off, and partly to see what would happen. The guests were usually icky, mostly undead or those goggle-eyed fish people, or the black skinned ones who wore such interesting clothing.  She was polite to them, because Soder told her to be, and because even creatures who smelled of fish viscera were a change from her dusty rooms.

This guest was alive, which was a nice change.  But that was the only thing nice about it.  She heard it in her mind.  It told her she would be delicious. And its purple wigglies quivered in anticipation. 

Afterwards, she gave its body to Soder.  She hadn't meant to hurt it so badly, but when she's afraid, sometimes things happen.  Soder wasn't angry.  He laughed, and called her his little treasure.

She discovered very early that it was easier to keep Soder happy than unhappy.  And that he's a very stupid man, really.  He believes anything she tells him, generally.  Or maybe she's just learned what he wants to hear.

So she waits, nameless, friendless except for Nana.  All the princesses have a loyal nursemaid.  Even if hers is only a shiny piece of crystal, it's important to keep to the story.  

Someday, her knight in shining armor will come._​
-- o --

Malachite reaches out and swings open the vast door.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Ashy

Hey, Pkitty...

Any chance you could put up a physical description of each of the Defenders?  I have an awesome idea I want to try out, but I need something to go off of (other than my terribly faulty memory, that is...)  

Thanks!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> _
> Someday, her knight in shining armor will come.​_​
> -- o --
> 
> Malachite reaches out and swings open the vast door.
> 
> _To be continued. . ._




[claps hands in glee and anticipation].  Soon, the answers to the Life Pool.  I don't believe we have a full winner, but I think someone got 2 out of 3.


----------



## Piratecat

See, the art project is working already! Next update a week away, for Knightfall's map. I won't slow down until the art does.

Next update: evil thrones, awkward introductions, adopted monkeys and the cyst of Gl'Yuute!


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

Ashy said:
			
		

> Hey, Pkitty...
> 
> Any chance you could put up a physical description of each of the Defenders?  I have an awesome idea I want to try out, but I need something to go off of (other than my terribly faulty memory, that is...)
> 
> Thanks!




Yeah, I meant to ask about that. Doesn't need to be that detailed, either.

And great update. I need to get a drawing done so I can feel like one of these updates is allll mine!


----------



## Piratecat

Galthia's physical description is on post #448 (p. 12). There's discussion of a few other characters around posts 660-670 (page 17.) Meanwhile, I'll ask the players to send me a physical description.

Thanks for wanting to know!

Incidentally, this offer applies to artistic lurkers, too. Email me art, and get an extra update.


----------



## KidCthulhu

We've done this before, but one of the best ways to describe the Defenders is by doing an actor equivalent.  I'll do a few, and my colleagues can chime in.

Nolin:  5'8"/5'9' ish, blond hair & green eyes.  Not classically handsome, but full of rogue-ish charm.  My short list of actors for Nol has included John Hannah (of the Mummy movies), Michael Hurst (of Hercules), Billy Boyd, Robert Duncan McNiel (of Voyager) and some others who I can't remember at the moment.  

Of course, Nol is originally based on an actor friend of mine, so ideally, he'd play him in the Defenders movie.

Tao:  Take Joan Whaley Kilmer (from Willow) and make her buff.  5'10" and easily 140/150 lbs of solid muscle.  

Malachite:  6' plus with black hair, blue eyes and a van dyke beard.  I've always pictured him played by Dylan McDermott.

Mara:  Blonde goddess. Tall, blue eyed and beautiful, with a stubborn chin and innocent eyes.  We've suggested Kate Bosworth,and I like Jewel Strait (of Firefly), but Blackjack thinks she's too elfin.

Agar:  We've always pictured him as Pierce Brosnan in Mars Attacks.  Only short.  And with more tentacles.

Anybody want to jump in on Stonebear, Galthea, Velendo or Agar?


----------



## Piratecat

Actually, I've emailed everyone and asked them to send it to me; that way I can post it all at once.


----------



## Plane Sailing

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> I want somebody to draw a picture of Mara riding the giant brain.




Your wish is my command...

http://www.enworld.org/showpost.php?p=1990356&postcount=29

Now, about that Priggle picture...

Cheers!


----------



## jerichothebard

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Agar:  We've always pictured him as Pierce Brosnan in Mars Attacks.  Only short.  And with more tentacles.
> 
> Anybody want to jump in on Stonebear, Galthea, Velendo or Agar?




With that last Agar, did you mean Priggle?  Poor, ignored, second-fiddle Priggle...  


And, by the way, jumping on Stone Bear or Galthea is usually a quick way to a whole new plane of hurt...


----------



## Wolfspirit

Well, I *was* going to do a "Mara being attacked by the Tentacle Wraiths", but I'm working on a Priggle comic instead 

(Sad thing is, I'm not kidding.  Well, about Priggle, at least)


----------



## zoroaster100

Nice update!  A contrast to the huge grand final battle with the Ivory Kingdom and Elder, this one was quiet but very creepy.


----------



## Sialia

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> [claps hands in glee and anticipation]. Soon, the answers to the Life Pool. I don't believe we have a full winner, but I think someone got 2 out of 3.




well, but you can't really have expected them to anticipate the cheese template.

eveyone knows how you feel about cheese.


----------



## Hammerhead

Some sort of psion, we may presume?


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Malachite:  6' plus with black hair, blue eyes and a van dyke beard.  I've always pictured him played by Dylan McDermott.




Correction: brown eyes.


----------



## DanMcS

Wolfspirit said:
			
		

> Well, I *was* going to do a "Mara being attacked by the Tentacle Wraiths", but I'm working on a Priggle comic instead
> 
> (Sad thing is, I'm not kidding.  Well, about Priggle, at least)




I think the ideal Priggle comic would be titled "Priggle", but then show exclusively his buddies, the Defenders.  He would not be in a single frame.

Curse you, my lack of artistic talent!


----------



## Plane Sailing

I think the ideal Priggle story is pretty much summed up in the Ballad of Halo Jones (Alan Moore, Ian Gibson); Book2, episode ?? entitled something like "Whatever became of whats-her-name"? First appeared in 200AD comic issue 413.

Somewhat iconically, I can't locate the precise details for this on the web...

Cheers


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Priggle in a bikini fighting tentacles, however, is absolutely okay. If disturbing.




OK, I've got priggle in a bikini fighting tentacles ready... what I need to know is - is it only one update per artist, or per piece of artwork?

Just deciding whether to post him or not... 

Cheers


----------



## Piratecat

I hate to say this, but -- I'll guarantee one update per artist, and until one artist swamps me with a bajillion pieces I'll try to add another one per piece of artwork. The goal is to end up with cool art that showcases the game, and that's what I'll say "thank you" for by keeping to consistent updates.  

In other words, let's see it!

In the campaign's current plot arc that we're finishing right now, Priggle isn't with them. He stayed in the underdark. I'm wondering if maybe he should make a reappearance in the next adventure, just because he's so much darn fun to have around.


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

Any word on those character descriptions? I can do a couple of the characters with what KidC gave, but I'd like to get a better idea for everyone if I can.


----------



## Piratecat

Stone Bear:

A northman: tall, rangy, blond, and unkempt. Average in almost every way-- 
not particularly strong, tough, smart, wise, or attractive, but with a
quickness and economy of motion that belies his eagerness to come to grips
with his enemies. His bear's-head cape, seemingly fresh-skinned from its
prior owner, adds to his strength and endurance. Just between the tops of
his high ratty boots and the low hem of his chain shirt, you can barely make
out strong, wiry legs and scarred, snow-burned knobby knees. Stone Bear
flexes his hands into fists, and the bear's tendon wraps around his knuckles
grind and groan in anticipation. Sacred fire begins to snake across his
enitre body-- his only weapon. His raven flutters away with a cry, leaving
empty eye sockets staring out at you-- and through you-- as he studies your
soul for every weakness.


Malachite: 

CURRENTLY IN STORY HOUR:
Athletic build, about 6' tall.  Dark hair, brown eyes, pale skin.  Van 
dyke.  Consensus seems to be that he'd be played by Dylan McDermott.

Crystal plate armor with spikes (githyanki make, as it turns out). 
Shield a with sun-symbol on it.  Chapellar surcoat (green with a white 
chevron).  Wielding a sun blade in his right hand.  Badass leather 
gauntlets.  Surprisingly garish cape.


TODAY IN GAME:
As above, but change pale skin to tanned.  Crystal armor is no longer 
spiky.  Chapellar surcoat now has gold trim.  Over the surcoat he now 
wears a metal-link sash, running from left shoulder to right hip; set 
within it is a large green emerald, mounted on the belt so that it is 
positioned over the heart.

Nolin:

5'8" or 5'9", with sandy blonde hair and green eyes.  At rest, his features seem too large, too clumsy and too melancholy for traditional good looks.  But fired as they are by the continual flashes of humor, inspiration, intelligence, mockery and sheer force of personality, Nolin's features are seldom at rest.  He used to dress in greens and greys, but the gift of a Celestial Battle Cloak of ruby and gold from his sister Kiri and  friend Tao put an end to subtle dressing.  Nolin's usual expression is one of intelligent self mockery.  When he plays, the wry demeanor falls away to be replaced by an expression of transcendent joy. 

CURRENTLY IN STORY HOUR:  A pile of grey dust, burnt feathers and slagged equipment.


----------



## Plane Sailing

I can't hold a candle to the "serious" artists in the art thread, but I love doing the wild and woolley suggestions. I'll read back through the storyhour to get ideas, but I'm open to suggestions 

Cheers


----------



## MerakSpielman

Hey PC, I'm not much of an artist, but I can draw a decent map. Do you have any vague scribbles you've used for prevous battles that you'd like converted into a decent-looking map?


----------



## BSF

What about "stuff"?  It seems like Malachite's sword and Velendo's shield would be good art fodder.  Maybe even Lightbringer?  

Heh, if I could draw, I would seriously consider doing an amulet that I hear Malachite picked up.    Not that I have any art talent.  But if I did a poor example, perhaps somebody else would be inclined to do a better one?  Oh hey, houw about a circle of cheese?  Maybe a montage of stuff piked up from Nacreous in the thread dealing with stuff like that?


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

And verily, the Story Arc didst come to an end. And Lo! the people cried, It Was Good.

Great job by all concerned. A truly memorable end to a battle that will change a campaign world. And best of all, several of the vaillains got away! Huzzah!


----------



## Krafus

Wow, talk about a cliffhanger. Malachite, knight in shining armor, about to open the door on... whatever. Heh heh. 

Unfortunately, I have no talent for drawing and currently no time for it even if I did.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Krafus said:
			
		

> Wow, talk about a cliffhanger. Malachite, knight in shining armor, about to open the door on... whatever. Heh heh.




Hey!  I think "whoever" might be a little more polite.

WHATever.  Humph.


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Hey!  I think "whoever" might be a little more polite.
> 
> WHATever.  Humph.




Hey, for all they know you're an animate footstool.

Maybe you and Karthos can hang out and discuss the merits of various kinds of polish.


----------



## Bandeeto

> Hey, for all they know you're an animate footstool.
> 
> Maybe you and Karthos can hang out and discuss the merits of various kinds of polish.




I'm sure TMOSAT would have something to add to the polish conversation, although I'm not sure how well he'd get along with Karthos. He'd definitely *love* KidC.


----------



## jerichothebard

And forget ye not the Holy (or is it Profane) Outgrabe...


----------



## KidCthulhu

Oh, you gave it away, BlackJack.  Now everyone knows that my new character is actually an armoire.  Or a credenza.  Moss covered.

Take all the surprise out of it, whydoncha?


----------



## shurai

Bandeeto said:
			
		

> I'm sure TMOSAT would have something to add to the polish conversation,




Ah ha!  So we know that KC's new character speaks a slavic language spoken by over 43 million people worldwide!  No clue escapes my hawk's eyes!

-S


----------



## Sialia

The outgrabe only speaks telepathically, so I'd imagine it can only speak in the listener's native tongue, not Polish.


----------



## Ashy

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Oh, you gave it away, BlackJack.  Now everyone knows that my new character is actually an armoire.  Or a credenza.  Moss covered.
> 
> Take all the surprise out of it, whydoncha?




And later, you can take a level of the three-handled family gradunza PrC!


----------



## shurai

Sialia said:
			
		

> The outgrabe only speaks telepathically, so I'd imagine it can only speak in the listener's native tongue, not Polish.




Ah _ha!_  So you admit then that KC's new character speaks some other language in addition to Polish.  My mind is a steel trap.

-S


----------



## RangerWickett

If her character is TMOSAT, I would be thrilled.  *grin*


----------



## Piratecat

In the ornate chambers beyond the doorway, a human girl is staring at them with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. It’s hard to tell her age; she may be anywhere between fourteen and forty. She’s sitting with a worn book on her lap and a look of shock on her pale and unlined face. More bookshelves line the room, each of the books looking like it has been read innumerable times.

Malachite snaps around the doorway to the left, dropping instinctively into battle stance with his blazing sword Karthos out and ready for an attack. The other Defenders move in well-practiced formation behind him; Mara and her holy mace Lightbinder to the right, Galthia and Stone Bear in the middle, Agar and Velendo safely behind the protective wall of battle-hardened muscle. Burr-Lipp’s bulging eyes watch the rear as he takes rearguard position next to a deep gnome too short to see what’s in the suite of rooms anyways.  

Not seeing any other immediate enemies, Malachite points his sword at the girl. “Who are you?”

“I’m. . .” Seeming huge in her heart-shaped face, the girl’s eyes are as colorless as night mist. Hair, skin, eyes, clothing, her whole body seems to be pale and without tint.  She flushes slightly as she catches Malachite’s gaze, though, and the look she gives him is both fearful and adoring. “You’ve come!”

“What do you mean we’ve come? How did you know of our coming? Who are you?” His voice is harsh and staccato, demanding answers and expecting a trap. 

“I don’t have a name.” She folds her hands primly in her lap and sits up straighter. “My father knew you were coming. It seems strange to see you in person. I’ve never really seen actual proper people before.”

Mara blinks. “You haven't? Who’s your father?”

The girl glances at her, and returns her riveting gaze to Malachite. “My father is Ambassador Soder.” Everyone stiffens, and the girl quickly explains, the words pouring out like water from a tap. “He’s not my real father! But that’s what he makes me call him. I _hate_ him. I tell him that, but he just laughs at me.” Her face twists with anger.

Velendo steps forward. “You’ve got Soder for a father?" He grimaces.  "You have our pity. What’s your name, miss?”

She looks surprised. “I don’t have one. On days when he’s in a good mood, he sometimes calls me his precious treasure.” Everyone exchanges a look.

“What’s he call you on days when he’s not in a good mood?” wonders Agar. 

It wouldn’t seem possible, but the girl goes even paler.  “I try to avoid him when that happens.”  She catches sight of Priggle through the tangle of legs. “Say, you’re a svirfneblin! I’ve seen you before!”

Priggle cautiously moves closer, magical pick held ready. “You have?”

The girl’s voice takes on a pedantic tone, as if reciting from memory. “Svirfneblin. See deep gnomes, gritsuckers, lost gnomes. Name originates from a bastardization of terran and gnomish. Despite a natural tendency towards independence, these deep gnomes can be trained as superb slaves. In fact, it’s estimated that more svirfneblin exist as captive drow and illithid slaves than eke out an existence in the squalor of their own cities. Their wiry builds and natural coloration make a broken svirfneblin ideal for a number of tasks, including. . .”

“Erp!” exclaims Priggle. “That’s not right!”

“I'm not surprised. It was a drowish text,” apologizes the girl. “There are bound to be inaccuracies. It said quite a bit about your culture, cities and proclivities, though.”

“Of course it did,” groans Priggle. 

“It’s very exciting to meet one of you in person, Mister Svirfneblin. I’d love for you to tell me where it’s wrong, and to give me actual facts. I must say, you look quite a bit nicer than your flesh-puppet.” She smiles helpfully, then glances over at Mara. Her eyes narrow slightly when she notices the paladin standing near Malachite. “Not as much for you, though. I think your living form has more scars.”

“What?” asks Mara. “What are you talking about, ‘flesh-puppet’? Where is this thing?”

The girl gets lithely to her feet and turns to Malachite, swaying slightly when she realizes he’s more than a foot and a half taller than she is. She gathers her baggy and shapeless dress around her and points. “Through there,” she tells him, totally ignoring Mara’s look. “The door on the far side of the bedroom. In Soder’s closet.”

Malachite spins. “That’s Soder’s bedroom?” He smashes open the door with a sharp kick, expecting the worst, but is rewarded with no immediate peril. The group moves in to search, a few people staying outside to keep their eye on the girl.

“Not much of a bed,” comments Mara. The purple coverlet of the bone bed is clearly unused except for an odd and dusty depression in the middle. Malachite glances at it.

“That’s almost certainly where he kept his mortal remains. . . skull, a few bones, maybe. It’s gone now. We’d need it to truly destroy him.”

“Gone? Where to?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it went with Teliez when he ascended.”

Mara starts to lower her voice, changes her mind, and speaks over the mindlink instead._ “Do you suppose that girl is Soder’s greatest treasure? I checked her; she didn’t seem to be evil. I don’t like her, though. She seems a little odd.”

“You’d be odd, too, if you had to grow up here,”_ interjects Velendo. He pokes a piece of artwork made out of fused bone. 

_“I checked her too,”_ says Malachite, _“or rather Karthos did. He says she isn’t undead, but there’s some odd sort of taint. I’m not sure she seems entirely human. I don’t *think* she’s dangerous, but we’ll need to keep an eye on her.”

“Her soul looks mostly normal,”_ says Stone Bear. _“Very strong, for something down here. She has a powerful spirit.”

“I’m not surprised. I looked at her with arcane sight,”_ says Velendo. _“She’s exceptionally powerful. It may be arcane magic, but I’m thinking that it’s mental instead.”

“Like the mind flayers?”_ asks Mara, dismayed.

_“Psionic,”_ agrees Velendo.

Galthia gives a curt shake of his head. _“I hope she’s not like the mind flayers,”_ he says. _“If she is, I’ll have to kill her.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to. . ._ Oh, Calphas.” Velendo stumbles back from a painting in disgust. Stone Bear strolls over.

“Nice.” His tone is amused.

“What is it?” asks Priggle from the other room.

“It’s a great big painting entitled _Old Friends,_” answers Velendo with a tremor in his voice. He sounds old.  “Fantastic brushwork. It shows Soder sharing a friendly meal with Nolin, just sitting there and talking with big smiles on their faces. Looks just like them.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” says Agar hopefully.

“Yeah, except they’re drinking wine out of cups made from Mara and Malachite’s unflayed skulls, and their meal happens to be intestines yanked from my own body.”

“Oh.” Agar considers for a second. “Okay, I take it back. That is bad.”

“That’s Soder’s favorite painting,” says the girl.  “He used to stare at it for hours and talk to himself. He had the best artist dead paint it for him.”

Malachite turns to her. “Is that so?” He sounds discomfitted. 

She nods.  “That was on the days that he didn’t have a tea party with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has undead copies of several of your friends. He’d have me set up a tea party and he’d array each of your zombies around the table, then he’d jump from one to the other of you pretending to talk to himself.”

Everyone looks appalled. “That’s sick,” says Stone Bear.

“Is it?” asks the girl.  “It seemed a little strange to me. He was really looking forward to when you arrived, so that he could kill you and introduce me to his friend. I’m glad he didn’t,” she says shyly. She points at Nolin in the painting. “That’s the one I was supposed to meet. Where is he?”

Everyone grows silent. “Dead,” says Velendo heavily. “He’s dead.”

The girl looks confused. “You mean unanimated?”

“I mean dead. He gave his life to destroy the Ivory King.” 

The girl nods, looking sad and fearful. “Good. Soder told me you had killed His Majesty. I’m glad. He would demand to see me sometimes, and make me do tricks, and my father would have to get me away before the Ivory King lost his patience and ate me.”    

_“Nice life,”_ thinks Velendo.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“We don’t know,” says Mara. 

“We’ll figure something out,” says Velendo.  “Why do you ask?”

“I was worrying. Soder told me that he was giving me to all of you, because he had more important things to do and so he was leaving me behind.” She shudders.  “But he told me he’d be back for me when he was ready.” 

“That’s horrible,” says Agar.

“It is!” The girl nods at him furiously and then runs towards Malachite, brushing past Mara as she pushes forward. She stops just short of embracing the Knight, perhaps remembering herself in time. “You won’t let him take me, will you?” Her voice hardens for a second or two. “*I* won’t let him take me! Not again. If I . . if I can stop him.” Her faint voice trails away, and Malachite reaches out one hand to take her by the shoulder. The girl looks up at him, her face an uncomplicated mask of hope. With his hand, Malachite firmly swivels her to face Mara.

“This is Lady Mara Thornhill. Like me, she is a Radiant Knight in the service of Our Lord Aeos the Lightbringer." His voice is stern. "You will show her all possible respect. You pushed past her just now, and that wasn’t appropriate to her station.” His tone is firm and unwavering. Mara looks a little embarrassed, and the girl looks angry and then remorseful.

“She was in my way!”

“Then you ask her to move. You don’t shove past.”

“All right,” she says in a quiet, beaten voice. _Next time I’ll just seize her mind and make her get out of the way,_ she thinks to herself.

“Very good,” says Malachite brusquely. “Now, where is this closet you mentioned?”  The girl points, and Malachite and Mara move across the room.

Stone Bear gives Agar a meaningful look. 

“I think he was trying to avoid future problems,” whispers Agar doubtfully.

_“It’s not your place to comment,”_ thinks Malachite flatly over the mindlink. _“Not on this. It was a matter of showing Mara the proper respect. I won’t have her mistreated just because this girl has fixated on me.”_ He throws open the door to the closet and pinches the bridge of his nose. Along both sides of the long, narrow hall stand dozens of unmoving zombies. Male and female, elf and dwarf and human and giant, they stand there mutely waiting for Soder to inhabit them. Malachite can see an undead version of Mara half-way down the line on the left, and an undead Priggle next to her.

“What are these things?” asks Malachite to the girl, already knowing the answer.

“My father’s clothes.”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I'm glad I stayed up to see this posted.  KC's new character is here.  I look forward to seeing how she stands up with the rest of them.

GW


----------



## Piratecat

Art update #2 -- all for the art!  This one is dedicated to Knightfall and his excellent cartography. (and I owe him some updates on place details.)  Next week's is for Twinswords and his incredibly funny south Park Velendo.  Thank you -- you make this even more fun than it already is.

Yes, I'm an art whore. But I'm an art whore who's back on a regular update schedule.  

Astonishing mental powers, proto-undead, Mara hits on Malachite, ass-kicking aplenty, magic cheese, and a very, very fiesty throne. . .  next week!


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

Good stuff. We really need to figure out a way to get a score playing while reading so it can cue perfectly...


----------



## BSF

That was a fun read!  Soder is whacked!  I loved _Old Friends_.  I can't wait to see what more of the palace looks like.  

Thanks Piratecat, as well as thanks to all your players.


----------



## Piratecat

Can you believe those bastards didn't take the painting home with them? They burned it instead. Man, talk about a masterwork collector's item gone to waste. . . months in front of the canvas, working undead fingers to the bone in order to get all the details right. Wasted.

Sniff.

No gratitude in today's adventurers, that's what it is. Hmmph.

A few notes on KidCthulhu's new character:

- she is, in fact, quite an impressive mentalist.
- she is not, in fact, entirely human.
- the part which is not entirely human is a bad, bad thing.

I'll let KidCthulhu tell you any additional details that she'd like to share.

Apropos of nothing, my Word document storing the story is now 515 pages long (EDIT - 650 if you include the story about Eversink from the old boards.)  My goodness, people, I can't believe you're reading all this. Thank you for that.


----------



## cmnash

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Can you believe those bastards didn't take the painting home with them? They burned it instead. Man, talk about a masterwork collector's item gone to waste. . . months in front of the canvas, working undead fingers to the bone in order to get all the details right. Wasted.
> 
> Sniff.
> 
> No gratitude in today's adventurers, that's what it is. Hmmph..




How very true ... they just don't appreciate anything do they?



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> Apropos of nothing, my Word document storing the story is now 515 pages long. My goodness, people, I can't believe you're reading all this. Thank you for that.




And I can't believe that you typed that.  Nearly Six hundred and fifty *THOUSAND* views of your thread should induce some kind of belief system. Even in a law-ignoring feline, surely?

I know just about everyone has already said this, but I thought it was time I did:
 "*Thank-you* for taking the time to share this with us."

[engages self-pity mode] 
I just wish my game was of this calibre
[disengage self-pity mode]


----------



## the Jester

Ohh, excellent!!!

Piratecat, I love when you update!  Thank you so much!!


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> - she is, in fact, quite an impressive mentalist.
> - she is not, in fact, entirely human.
> - the part which is not entirely human is a bad, bad thing.



Elan?


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Can you believe those bastards didn't take the painting home with them? They burned it instead. Man, talk about a masterwork collector's item gone to waste. . . months in front of the canvas, working undead fingers to the bone in order to get all the details right. Wasted.




And when he says, "to the bone" he literally means "to the bone." 

Disturbing little mynx, isn't she?


----------



## shilsen

Man, I really, _really_ like Soder


----------



## KidCthulhu

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Disturbing little mynx, isn't she?




I like to think so.  In fact, many of her first interactions with party can be summed up by the phrase "creepy little F---er".

PC actually gave her a life expectancy of an ice cube in a butane torch when I created her, but she survived.  I'm glad.  Making a character up to join a game this high level takes time, and I would have hated to have to do it all over again.


----------



## Henry

Fascinating. It'll be interesting to see what a pure psion (is it psion?) can do in this party, since the last psion hasn't been in-phase in a long time. (How is Tremere, wife and child these days, BTW?)

One other question behind-scenes: KidC, were you using 3.5 psionics for this character, or the older rules? I'm just curious to know what kind of miracles to expect from this character down the road.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Henry said:
			
		

> One other question behind-scenes: KidC, were you using 3.5 psionics for this character, or the older rules? I'm just curious to know what kind of miracles to expect from this character down the road.




She was created in 3e, using stuff from Monte's Mindscapes as well.  3.5 Psionics wasn't out yet when I made her.  We switched her to 3.5, which is a much, much better system.  As for what she can do, you'll see, my pretty, you'll see...


----------



## Piratecat

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Making a character up to join a game this high level takes time, and I would have hated to have to do it all over again.




Please think of that next time you kill off my lovely hand-crafted NPCs.

And suggesting "just make them lower level and they'll be faster to generate" isn't going to cut it, missy.


----------



## Enkhidu

Just out of curiosity, KidC, did the fixation on Malachite begin as a way to keep the PC alive by getting on the good side of the most inflexible paladin 'round these parts?


----------



## Spatzimaus

Piratecat said:
			
		

> A few notes on KidCthulhu's new character:
> 
> - she is, in fact, quite an impressive mentalist.
> - she is not, in fact, entirely human.
> - the part which is not entirely human is a bad, bad thing.




Well, if we accept that her class is Psion and that her race is closest to Human, then the winner of the Life Pool seems to be Fimmtiu (Psion, Human, Male), with runner-up the Jester (Psion, Gnome, Female).  No one else guessed Psion.



> Apropos of nothing, my Word document storing the story is now 515 pages long. My goodness, people, I can't believe you're reading all this. Thank you for that.




And my first reaction on hearing that wasn't any sort of pity; it was "ooh, 515 pages, can we get a copy of that?"


----------



## KidCthulhu

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> Just out of curiosity, KidC, did the fixation on Malachite begin as a way to keep the PC alive by getting on the good side of the most inflexible paladin 'round these parts?




No.  The fixation on Malachite began as a way to get right up Blackjack's nose.  Because he's so much fun to play with and against, I wanted a character with a strong interaction with Malachite.  I am sorry to have to hate Mara, because I love Kodiak so!

The person she was lucky to get on the good side of was Velendo, who seemed to take her on as a challenge.  Once the living saint gives you the [grudging] thumbs up, you're safe as houses.


----------



## Everett

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No gratitude in today's adventurers, that's what it is. Hmmph.




What with our Warcraft games and our incessant Jedi Mind Tricks - who's the time for gratitude?  Sheesh.

I like KC's new character.  I don't _like_ her-like her; that'd be wrong.

But I like her.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Once the living saint gives you the [grudging] thumbs up, you're safe as houses.




Brick houses, no less.


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Apropos of nothing, my Word document storing the story is now 515 pages long. My goodness, people, I can't believe you're reading all this. Thank you for that.




Of course we're reading it. Its a GOOD READ!  But I am surprised...I had actually thought it was longer than 515 pages. I know that my SH is about 267 pages at 10 font. I expected you to be up there even higher.


----------



## MerakSpielman

Ankh-Morpork Guard said:
			
		

> Of course we're reading it. Its a GOOD READ!  But I am surprised...I had actually thought it was longer than 515 pages. I know that my SH is about 267 pages at 10 font. I expected you to be up there even higher.



It should get longer faster now that PC is honor-bound to actually POST to his story hour.


----------



## Blackjack

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> Just out of curiosity, KidC, did the fixation on Malachite begin as a way to keep the PC alive by getting on the good side of the most inflexible paladin 'round these parts?




In defense of, well, myself, I should note that Malachite is maximally inflexible when it comes to issues of undead; on other issues he can be rather a casuist.  But I admit that doesn't come out much when you are, well, fighting undead. 

Also, if you want to get on Malachite's good side, "having a taint of undead" is not exactly the most direct path.   Malachite took very poorly to the woman and was more than happy to leave Velendo looking after her; he was concerned that he'd have to kill her, and wasn't looking forward to such a prospect.  But, as noted, them's his vows.  On which he's pretty inflexible.


----------



## Fajitas

>grin<  Ah, the joy of suspicious PCs.  I love the bit where everyone analyzes her with their own particular divination spell.  

"Detect Evil?"
"Check."
"Detect Undead?"
"Check."
"Spirit Sight?"
"Check."
"Arcane Sight?"
"Check."
"Anyone got anything else?"
"I've got Detect Poison."
>long pause<
"Well, you know.  Better safe, and all..."


----------



## Thornir Alekeg

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Can you believe those bastards didn't take the painting home with them? They burned it instead. Man, talk about a masterwork collector's item gone to waste. . . months in front of the canvas, working undead fingers to the bone in order to get all the details right. Wasted.
> 
> Sniff.
> 
> No gratitude in today's adventurers, that's what it is. Hmmph.




Oh, do I wish I had even a sniff of artistic talent.  I would be sure to make this painting live forever in a certain art thread and earn another update for it.  Any artists out there up for the challenge?


----------



## Krafen

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *snip*
> A few notes on KidCthulhu's new character:
> 
> - she is, in fact, quite an impressive mentalist.
> - she is not, in fact, entirely human.
> - the part which is not entirely human is a bad, bad thing.
> *snip*
> 
> She looks surprised. “I don’t have one. On days when he’s in a good mood, he sometimes calls me his precious treasure.” Everyone exchanges a look.




So, Soder's nameless "daughter" is also his phylactery? 

Very clever, if the Defenders kill her, he simply makes another one. On the other hand, if they accept her, he has a group of extremely powerful people protecting his phylactery and those same people, who were probably his greatest foes, are now rendered virtually powerless to destroy him.


----------



## Elocin

Krafen said:
			
		

> So, Soder's nameless "daughter" is also his phylactery?
> 
> Very clever, if the Defenders kill her, he simply makes another one. On the other hand, if they accept her, he has a group of extremely powerful people protecting his phylactery and those same people, who were probably his greatest foes, are now rendered virtually powerless to destroy him.





Ok now that would just be plain wrong and no DM in his right mind woud ever do that to a group of Hero's.


Crap!

The DoD are so screwed.


----------



## Sito

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> No.  The fixation on Malachite began as a way to get right up Blackjack's nose.  Because he's so much fun to play with and against, I wanted a character with a strong interaction with Malachite.




Plus he's so dreamy!  All the LN multiclass psionicist women go wild for him.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Allow me to point out that I created her & wrote her background.  While she has plenty of secrets I don't know about, if Pkitty pulls that trick, he's sleeping in the garage for the rest of his *life*!


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Allow me to point out that I created her & wrote her background.  While she has plenty of secrets I don't know about, if Pkitty pulls that trick, he's sleeping in the garage for the rest of his *life*!



 Heheheh. You've got to admit, though, it would be geniously evil. I think I'm yoinking it either way.


----------



## Hammerhead

You know, I think Malachite's rude actions towards the creepy girl will likely breed only further resentment; plus, it seems kind of cruel. I mean, even Stone Bear, "Mr. Baby Shields" himself, was uncomfortable with Malachite's treatment of her. Anyway, if I were ever forced into apologizing to someone, chances are I wouldn't hold her in high regard. Besides, she only brushed past her; does Malachite act like that towards every child who's a little rude, or is he merely "on edge" because of the creepy kid's taint?

In addition, KidC, you mentioned something about the creepy girl having a low life-expectancy...is this because she's Soder's "precious treasure" and tainted by undead and thus not likely to be accepted by the party...or because she has a low Con score and bad AC or something?


----------



## Tortoise

Kevin and gang, this story hour never fails to entertain me. Kudos.

Now ... thinking about the creepy little girl. I'm wondering not only what secrets she has, but also about her normal diet. She's been living for some time in the kingdom of the ghouls and I don't recall there being anything living around there she might dine on. Could she be a necro-canibal? <shudder> That might certainly explain the taint detected by Karthos.


----------



## zoroaster100

Very nice, creepy update.  I especially like the painting, which reminds me of a ghoul short story by H.P. Lovecraft which I once heard on a radio program.  I also loved that line about "father's clothes."  These really brought to life (or shall I say, to undeath) the alienness of a kingdom of undead.


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> You know, I think Malachite's rude actions towards the creepy girl will likely breed only further resentment;




Are you kidding me?  You know how sheltered and innocent young ladies can be when they're smitten!

The more he rebuffs her, the more she's smitten.

He's just keeping the mac hand strong baby.



			
				Lord Pendragon said:
			
		

> Elan?




Ab - Oh - Leth!
Ab - Oh - Leth!
Ab - Oh - Leth!


----------



## Maldur

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Allow me to point out that I created her & wrote her background.  While she has plenty of secrets I don't know about, if Pkitty pulls that trick, he's sleeping in the garage for the rest of his *life*!



 About twenty minutes


----------



## Blackjack

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> does Malachite act like that towards every child who's a little rude, or is he merely "on edge" because of the creepy kid's taint?




The creepy kid's taint had somethig to do with it, but also 

1) Malachite doesn't cotton to people who diss Mara

2) Malachite recognized that, due to her upbringing, this girl had no concept of normal social skills, and wanted to nip this in the bud before she did something like this again.  The Defenders often move in high places, and wanted to teach her right strong and quick before she, say, pushed aside a King or Pope to get to the buffet.

3) Throughout this session (and several more to follow), Malachite was even less jolly and pleasant than his normal self.  He'd never expected to survive the attack on the White Kingdom, and was very out of sorts.  Moreover, at this point he had been officially "on duty" for nearly a year and a half without break, and he was _exhausted_.  He became increasingly cranky and snippy, wanting nothing more than to get back to the surface, report in to the Chapel, and be Done With It All.


----------



## Thalantor

What I wonder is how those undead versions of the PC's came to be. Is there a way to sculpt undead I don't know about? Don't the PC's feel very violated (Although being in a kingdom of undead after passing a giant rotting brain, can seriously dull the senses in that respect..) by what they saw? 

Besides all that, very very cool stuff indeed. PC is on my "To write like:" list, most definately. 

Also, my guess for the little girl is that she is a Wereghoul. Or a vampiric type the group hasn't seen yet. (Although with high level undead fighters, that seems highly unlikely..) Or she lives off other entities like a thought eater or a brain mole. Or she wears a ring os sustenance since birth and hasn't ever eaten anything in her life.


----------



## Piratecat

Thalantor said:
			
		

> What I wonder is how those undead versions of the PC's came to be. Is there a way to sculpt undead I don't know about?



Nothing has been proven one way or another. The latest extant theory is that Soder collected bits of injured flesh after one of the Defenders' battles; he then somehow used that dead tissue to clone them, kill the clone, and reanimate it without a soul. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through in order to get an exact copy, but Soder was nothing if not motivated.


I'm going to start sharing some of the art from the art thread with you; I'll start with some Nacreous-themed material, and add more art as we go. The first thing I want you to see is the cardstock counter I used for the Ivory King during our huge battle. This is actually the "festergog" counter from Fiery Dragon's Counter Collection: Digital. The art is by our own Claudio Pozas; I took the image, reduced it from 20'x20' scale to 15'x15' scale, printed it on cardstock, and creeped out the players.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=18662

Next is an alternate view of the Ivory King by Craer. This seems to me the kind of thing you'd find painted on the side of a cave as you're clambering through the underdark: primitive and haunting. 

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=18659

Finally, Arken captured the view of Priggle smashing through the stone wall covering the Godlight of Aeos, and the sunlight pouring out through Nacreous once again. This piece is best seen at its original size, which you can can see here.

http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=18658

More art later.  If you like these, tell the artist.  And each one's worth an update!


----------



## Blackjack

Thalantor said:
			
		

> Don't the PC's feel very violated... by what they saw?




Short answer: yes.  Which is why we... deal with the things shortly.  (Not that this is a big spoiler.  I don't think any of you imagined the next story post to be "And then the Defenders invited the zombies to a coffee klatsch".)




			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> Arken captured the view of Priggle smashing through the stone wall covering the Godlight of Aeos, and the sunlight pouring out through Nacreous once again.




Huh.  Funny, I remember the _light_...


----------



## Knight Otu

Whatever the secret of the girl is, it must be strange indeed - I mean, she noticed Priggle! She. Noticed. Priggle! She cannot be normal.


----------



## Spatzimaus

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Moreover, at this point he had been officially "on duty" for nearly a year and a half without break, and he was _exhausted_.  He became increasingly cranky and snippy, wanting nothing more than to get back to the surface, report in to the Chapel, and be Done With It All.




Sounds like someone needs a fluffy bath towel.


----------



## Len

Knight Otu said:
			
		

> Whatever the secret of the girl is, it must be strange indeed - I mean, she noticed Priggle! She. Noticed. Priggle! She cannot be normal.



My favourite part of the update. It's about time the little guy got some respect! Even if she did quote a bunch of drowish insults at him.

It shows she's got a really high Spot bonus too.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Out of interest PC, at which point did KidC take over the running of the girl? Was she running the girl from the very beginning of the meeting, or after first "pleasantries" were exchanged? I'm always interested to see how different people introduce new PCs mid-stream.

Cheers


----------



## Mortepierre

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Along both sides of the long, narrow hall stand dozens of unmoving zombies. Male and female, elf and dwarf and human and giant, they stand there mutely waiting for Soder to inhabit them. Malachite can see an undead version of Mara half-way down the line on the left, and an undead Priggle next to her.
> 
> “What are these things?” asks Malachite to the girl, already knowing the answer.
> 
> “My father’s clothes.”




Got to love Soder's 'wardrobe'..


----------



## Craer

I've attempted to create "Old Friends"! Come see it in the Art Thread!

Come and see all the other awesome artists as well.


----------



## Quartermoon

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> Just out of curiosity, KidC, did the fixation on Malachite begin as a way to keep the PC alive by getting on the good side of the most inflexible paladin 'round these parts?




Duhh--everybody knows Malachite is the sexiest DoD of all. (Sorry, Nolan, but a man can be too pretty, you know ). Too bad his heart is made of stone...or am I wrong, Mara??


----------



## LightPhoenix

Craer said:
			
		

> I've attempted to create "Old Friends"! Come see it in the Art Thread!




Awesome, but ahhhhhhh, change the link from the cyberstreet addy!!!


----------



## Steverooo

So, PC/DoDers, did anyone ever go over and peek into the Elder-hole, to see where it went to?  Ask "Weal or woe", or anything?  Anyone ever ask what happened to the other big-bad worm?

So how much do we (the readers) and/or the DoD know about the history of their world, for sure?  I mean, the blind elf presented them with a story, but the veracity?

According to ol' bloody-eyes (the elf, not Stone Bear), the BBEWorms ruled the world...  Of course, also according to his tale, there were people (of some sort) here then, too, but the last one died before they (Imbindarla, Aeos, et al) got here...  So who does Spira rightfully belong to?

Thangs that makeya go "Hmmm"!


----------



## Kelvin L. Melton

Hey PC long time reader your story hour is great. I have one question how can i start a thread if i wanted do a set of cities for monsters. Thank for any help and forgive the spelling.


----------



## Piratecat

Quartermoon said:
			
		

> Duhh--everybody knows Malachite is the sexiest DoD of all. (Sorry, Nolin, but a man can be too pretty, you know ).




Let's find out! Continuing the "showcasing art with a theme" approach, here are two pictures of Malachite (one new) and one new picture of Nolin.

Here's Malachite (now) by Amal Shukup. . .
http://www.wscg.com/Geeking/Malachite.jpg
Note the way Karthos glows, and the emerald on Malachite's chest. You'll find out more about that in the upcoming posts.

And Malachite two years ago, by (contact), up in the belltower of the Mother Church of Corsai.  It probably goes without saying when you're discussing a paladin of Aeos, but I love the use of light in both of these pictures.
http://www.cklarock.com/art/artwork/malachite.jpg

In comparison, here's (contact)'s new "Nolin comes Unlive." You'd think he was playing to a crowd of rabid fans, then you look again -- and the glowing eyes make you realize exactly what's happening. . .
http://www.cklarock.com/art/artwork/nolincomesunlive_sm2.jpg

I have the best readers _ever._ Check out the art thread, and look for more art - and more weekly updates - to come.


----------



## Piratecat

In addition to new art, it's special bonus story time!  I have uploaded Sialia's *Dylrath and Teliez: The Demigod's Tutor*. It gives a behind-the-scenes look at what's happening in the world while the Defenders are working to break the spine of the White Kingdom.  In particular, you'll see how Teliez got where he is today. . . with a few subtle pushes from an unwilling confidante. Highly recommended by me, and contains original illustrations.

Enjoy!


----------



## thatdarncat

Coooool. Sorry to see that particular story ending. Sialia, any chance we'll see more of Dylrath's adventures?


----------



## the Jester

Cool that you added Dylly's tale there PC!  

Oh, I'm sorry, I meant Teliaz'.


----------



## Elemental

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> You know, I think Malachite's rude actions towards the creepy girl will likely breed only further resentment; plus, it seems kind of cruel. I mean, even Stone Bear, "Mr. Baby Shields" himself, was uncomfortable with Malachite's treatment of her. Anyway, if I were ever forced into apologizing to someone, chances are I wouldn't hold her in high regard. Besides, she only brushed past her; does Malachite act like that towards every child who's a little rude, or is he merely "on edge" because of the creepy kid's taint?




Could be he just had GM's like former ones of mine who liked to have children tagging along with the party who would, _without fail_, turn out to be either pure evil, or else a vector for the party to get screwed in some way obvious from the first meeting but which we couldn't know IC. After a while, it got to the point where I was seriously considering giving my PC's the flaw of Phobia: Cute Unshockable Kids With Strange Powers.

My first thought on meeting the new PC wasn't "Kill it before it kills you!", which is a very positive testament to the RP in there.


----------



## BSF

Spatzimaus said:
			
		

> Sounds like someone needs a fluffy bath towel.




Or maybe fluffy bunny slippers?


----------



## Sialia

A few notes regarding the above pdf.


1. It's huge. Like, a megabyte. Mostly, it's because of the illustrations. But there's about 60 pages of text. You have been warned. 

2. It's the whole thing, from the time the Defenders were in Eversink. Except that I cleaned it up and rearranged it a bit so it makes more sense. And stuffed a few lines in here and there throughout the thing to help it hold together a bit better.

3. I added two short sections at the very end. If you are one of those kind and patient souls who slogged through the Early Year's version as I was writing this, you have not yet seen the last two bits, as this is the first time they've been posted anywhere. At some point when I have time, I'll stick them in the other thread where they belong. 


I don't know any more stories about what happens after this story ends. That doesn't mean there aren't any more, just that I don't know them.

In the seven years it took me to write this thing, I've learned that a lot of things that seem impossible can happen when you give them enough time. 

Also that some things end eventually.

Many thanks to all of you who came along for the ride. It was fun.


----------



## (contact)

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I'll make one request, for those of you considering your artistic direction.  No elf porn!  No half clad Maras, no "Tao suddenly finds herself in a bikini fighting tentacles".  Please!  I'm joking, but only a little.




Oh, you know you shouldn't have told me that.


----------



## Droid101

> I'll make one request, for those of you considering your artistic direction. No elf porn! No half clad Maras, no "Tao suddenly finds herself in a bikini fighting tentacles". Please! I'm joking, but only a little.





			
				(contact) said:
			
		

> Oh, you know you shouldn't have told me that.



I'll pay to see all of the above cntxt, so please produce them works!


----------



## Kage Tenjin

Great story there, Sialia.  Glad you added that ending, working the Cat's little story into Dylrath's tale, felt like it needed something bright at the end there.

Wish I could write half so well.


----------



## RangerWickett

Siala, I'm only half-way through now, but I noticed a rather nice bit in the beginning:

"It had been his own choice to abandon the life of adventure for the life of academia.

"Sometimes, he _reflected_, sometimes his own choices were really, really stupid."

(Emphasis mine.)

I don't know if it's intentional, but it's nifty.


----------



## RangerWickett

Piratecat, Siala, do either of you have any intention of submitting to WotC's novel open call?


----------



## Micah

Wow Sialia!

Thanks for the heads up on the ending. Although one never "slogs" through your writing. It's too well done for that. All in all it's a pretty incredible story.

May I ask if you knew ahead of time that PKitty was going to have Teliaz ascend - or was that an option just thrown in the game after the Defenders refused to gang up with the White King to fight Elder?

Once again amazing work!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Si and Bandeeto know all kinds of things before the rest of us do.  It's really not fair.  They refuse to be bribed, and they seem to be immune to Jedi Mind Tricks.


----------



## Funeris

That was a great read Sialia.  I also loved the tie in to Pkitty's short story submission.  It was a great ending.


----------



## Wish

I may be the only one, in which case I apologize, but would it be possible to keep the art on the art thread.  Maybe with captions or small thumbnails here?  The full sized pictures take forever to download on my dial-up connection (yes, those still exist).  They're way cool, but it's frustrating to download them yet again when I just want to check the latest posts on the thread.


----------



## the Jester

Wow, Sialia, the new bits are great!

I think you guys give each other +2 synergy boni.


----------



## Sialia

Thanks so much for the kind words. I can't tell you how much it pleases me that you enjoy it. After such a long wait, your comments are like levels to me.

I did not know that Teliaz would ever have a shot at ascending when we began this story back in Eversink. Piratecat sent me an email --or was it a phone call?--setting up the initial meeting with Teliaz, and I don't think he quite knew what he was going to do with the character at that point.

I was pretty sure it was a set up for boy hostage time for Dylrath again. 

I thought about it for a few hours, and then sent him back a reply, which was pretty much verbatim what Dylrath said to Teliaz in the bar--that's why it's such a long monologue--it's pretty much the direct text of the email I sent.

One thing led to another, over the course of several years. I actually had the converstions with Tomtom and Velendo by email--part of the reason the story was hard to follow the first time was that I was being purposefully evasive with all of them about what I really wanted. 

At first I thought there would never be a place for me to post this story--it's not strictly a storyhour, because all of this was going on outside of "true" gametime. I thought no one on these boards would be interested in a piece of pure fiction, and no one outside the boards would be interested in the world/characters.

But Piratecat was incredibly patient with me, and agreed to be my audience of one, and to adjudicate points I didn't feel comfortable making up whole hog.

And so I kept writing it, one chunk at a time, for my own amusement, and his. With each chunk I wrote, I had no idea what the next piece was going to be--much like a game session. Piratecat's game sessions happened completely independent of what I originally had in mind, and several times I had to drop places I might have gone. (I still can't beleive Halcyon died before Teliaz got his big moment. I _so_ had plans for her.) And things that I had set up for months sometimes came to pass without anyone thinking to tell me about them, because they didn't know I'd been behind them. (Like the time Teliaz showed up at the tower running from Halcyon. I really could not wait to see how the Defenders would react to Teliaz showing up on the Outgrabe in Dylrath's clothes. And you know when I found out? When it got posted on storyhour. So much for me knowing stuff early.)

Anyway, eventually a lot of things evolved.

And Piratecat made his selections from the list of options that I gave him, and threw me a few curve balls besides, and eventually what happened seemed as though we'd be planning it all along. Which I guess we had, only, the past is a lot more linear than the future.

And finally it seemed like there was a proper place for the thing, and an audience to read it. 

So I finished it up, and here we are.


----------



## Piratecat

Wish said:
			
		

> I may be the only one, in which case I apologize, but would it be possible to keep the art on the art thread.  Maybe with captions or small thumbnails here?



You bet. In the future we'll put up thumbnails; in the short run, I'll change them to links. I'm spoiled by a cable modem, and should have remembered. Thanks for giving me a heads up.



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> (Like the time Teliaz showed up at the tower running from Halcyon. I really could not wait to see how the Defenders would react to Teliaz showing up on the Outgrabe in Dylrath's clothes. And you know when I found out? When it got posted on storyhour. So much for me knowing stuff early.)



I'd _swear_ we called you that same night. If my memory's playing me false, then I apologize. That's the sort of thing a woman should know right away.


----------



## Thalantor

I still have difficulty figuring out why the skateboard is called "The Outgrabe" and what it actually means.. Maybe it's my Dutch blond side speaking, but could someone enlighten me?  

Besides that.. For all the daring and all the rash plans Dylrath has thought up until now, I figured he would have at least tried to - at least - divine his own demise once. How would that be handled? Would he want to know? Or is prophecy not a part of divination in your view?


----------



## Piratecat

Thalantor, at one level the flying board is called an outgrabe just because unique items need interesting names. At a deeper meta-level, though, what you're missing is a reference to Lewis Carroll's famous poem Jabberwocky. Jabberwocky is mostly made up of nonsense words, several of which (chortled, galumphing, vorpal blade) have entered the English language. The first stanza goes:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

Sialia has never told me, but I suspect she remembered "raths outgrabe", immediately thought of it as "(Dyl-)Rath's outgrabe", and named it accordingly.


----------



## Thalantor

Wow, I always find it cool, to see the hidden meanings behind such things. Especially something so circumspect as this.  

If you don't mind, I'll be running off to find more obscure questions to ask so that you have more to answer and thus receieve the wrath of the ST community for delaying you to post a new update.


----------



## Sundog

*Amazed, Exhausted, Exhilirated, and Perhaps, just a bit, in Love*

I just finished reading this thread. It took about two weeks during breaks at work, etc. What a fantastic story hour. Compelling characters, a ton of plots, and fantastic imagery. My only question: what to do now?


----------



## Jeremy

Read Sepulchrave's compiled story hour by Cheiromancer of course.


----------



## Sialia

Thalantor said:
			
		

> Besides that.. For all the daring and all the rash plans Dylrath has thought up until now, I figured he would have at least tried to - at least - divine his own demise once. How would that be handled? Would he want to know? Or is prophecy not a part of divination in your view?




Piratecat's quite right about why I called it the Outgrabe. That's exactly it. 

Dylrath's chief collision with the school of Divination is that classical prognositication is useless because the future isn't fixed yet. He never bothers.

Think of it this way: no matter how hard a GM schemes, the PCs always do something that twists the story in some direction he/she doesn't expect. Although the PCs are of course unaware that the creator/controller of thier world is not omniscient and all powerful, they _do_ live in a world of many deities, and so it could be difficult to embrace the philosophy that any one force preordains everything that's ever going to happen. 

Dylrath has found that a much better predicter of what's going to happen is knowing who the big players are, what they want, where they are, and what they are currently up to. It's also a better way of figuring out how you personally can influence what's going to happen next, which is really what we mortals all want, isn't it?

Also, if you've ever taken a look at some of the whoppers Piratecat gives us when you force him to prognosticate, you rapidly find they're not a whole lot of help until the future has already landed on you and you think "Ow. So _that's_ what he meant."

Tricky 'cat.


----------



## Miln

Sialia,

Great story!  Thanks.

Will there be any more from Dylrath or is that the end of his story?

I love your (Dylrath's) take on divination. I have always thought that way, and it always works out that way in game anyways. It made the story especially enjoyable. 

Thanks again!


----------



## Lela

Krafen said:
			
		

> So, Soder's nameless "daughter" is also his phylactery?
> 
> Very clever, if the Defenders kill her, he simply makes another one. On the other hand, if they accept her, he has a group of extremely powerful people protecting his phylactery and those same people, who were probably his greatest foes, are now rendered virtually powerless to destroy him.




Nana.


----------



## Piratecat

Lela, you and Krafen REALLY need to send me these ideas in private. I can't tell you how much I wish I'd thought of this before you guys did.  Wow, and they say _I'm_ rat bastardy! Nana? Hah - I like how you think.  

This week's update is dedicated both to Twinswords' hilarious South Park Velendo -  I'd love to see the whole party done like this! - and to Sagiro (Velendo) and Kodiak (Mara)'s new daughter Elanor Joyce Hart, born two days ago. She's their beautiful first child, and I couldn't be happier for them.  Even better, she's a three month sabbatical in the campaign to help me get caught up on the story hour!

--- o ---

It doesn’t take long for Malachite to destroy the rows of unmoving, patient zombies. He stands in the middle of the long closet and stares down at the decaying flesh. His right hand holds Karthos, but his left hand strays unconsciously down to the pouch at his belt, where he can feel the. . . the _thing_ throbbing as if it were alive. _Or unalive,_ he thinks bleakly. _It’s corrupted. I don’t know if it can ever be cleansed. But if it can. . ._ His fingers brush one chiseled edge and he feels power and clarity surge up his arm. When he touches it, he feels like the king of the world; he instinctively knows that everyone will believe his crudest lie, and everyone will obey him, and everyone will serve him. When he touches the gem he has power incarnate, and he can eat his fill.

It was less than twenty hours ago that they had stood around the corpse of the Ivory King, carefully watching to make sure that it didn’t heal or reform. They had watched the fungus-white flesh begin to liquefy. Malachite would never forget the sound the ribs made as they dissolved, or the smell of the liquid fat trickling out of the bottom of the corpse.

And through all that rotten and profane meat, he had caught a faint gleam of emerald light.  Ironic, that, or maybe a sign. The heart of the Ivory King.

_Unclean!_ he thinks, and snatches away his hand. Perhaps he and Mara should never have dug it from the Ivory King’s chest.  Perhaps he shouldn’t be carrying it at all. _I’m so tired,_ he thinks. _I just want this to be over. I just want it to end, and be done with, and for someone else to make the decisions for a change. Everyone’s lives depend on me, not just here but back in Corsai and across all of Spira. I shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden.  I can. I have. But enough is enough, and I’m ready for a rest._

He sighs, and rubs his forehead. _I can withstand this temptation, this test. I’ve withstood enough in the past._  Gritting his teeth, Malachite flips open his bag of holding and carefully lowers the fist-sized emerald heart down into the depleted mix of pemmican and hardtack. It sits there and glimmers at him, as if taunting him to take it up. He considers. . .

. . . and closes the bag. For a little while at least, the whispers cease.

_“I’ve sealed away the gem we got from the Ivory King’s body,”_ he thinks over the mindlink._ “I couldn’t trust it.”_

_“Fair enough,”_ thinks Agar. _“Say, what about Soder’s daughter? I’ve told her who everyone is, but I’m kind of at a loss as to what we’re going to do with her.”_

Standing next to the halfling alienist, the girl cocks her head and stares at him. “You’re communicating mentally!” she says to Agar. She looks oddly pleased.

Agar starts in surprise. “You can tell?”

“Oh, yes. There’s a number of tell-tale signs. For instance, the mental energy in the third lobe of your brain flexes in a characteristic way. It sort of,” she gestures quickly with delicate fingers, “bulges and twists forty three degrees.”

Agar’s mouth purses. “You can _see_ that?”

“When I want to. Sure, can’t you?”

Agar blinks rapidly. “No, not really.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for you.” She thinks for a few seconds. “Shall I join in?”

“What? No!” His voice rises a notch, keeping pace with his anxiety. On his shoulder, Proty thrashes multiple legs in agitation.

The girl looks confused. “Why not? It should be simple to pierce your mental network. It’s not like you have any traps built in.” 

“Err, please don’t do that.  It would be an invasion of our privacy.  Hey, don’t you have a name?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject.

She shrugs. Agar still hasn’t decided how old she is; her translucent and unwrinkled skin may make her look fourteen, but her eyes and her speech belie that assumption.  “I’ve never been given one. The princess never has a name.” She points to Malachite’s back. “He’s Charming, I expect.”

“Only sometimes,” answers Agar. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a princess?” She nods hesitantly, wispy blond hair drifting across her large eyes. Agar sticks out a hand. “Again, my name is Agar Smoketallow. It’s nice to meet you.”

The girl’s smile lights up her face. “I haven’t forgotten, but nice to formally meet you, Mr. Smoketallow. I’ve never had visitors before who I wasn’t supposed to kill or experiment on.” 

Agar’s grin falters.

“We need to find a name for you,” says Mara as she walks closer. The girl glares at her.

“Are there any that you like?” asks Stone Bear.

“No,” says the girl slowly, shifting her gaze. “Not really. I don’t really know any proper names. Why don’t you have any eyes?”

“Hungry pets.”

“How about Agnes?” asks Mara innocently. “Or Enid? Or Eunice?”

_“Or Kerblippit,”_ suggests Burr-Lipp over the link.

“Or Seldarathaprinthilin,” says Priggle. He freezes when everyone stares at him.  “What?” he asks weakly. “It was my mother’s name.”

“It’s a very _nice_ name, Mr. Gembreath,” says the girl politely, “but not really me.”

“How about Eve?” asks Velendo. Everyone stops, considering.

“Eve,” muses the girl. “I’ve read about evenings. They’re the time when the ‘sun’ goes away and things start fresh for the night.” Velendo nods, and the girl glances shyly over at Malachite leaning against the doorway. “I think I like it, and I know Nana likes it.”

Velendo looks puzzled. “Nana?”

“My nanny.” The girl lifts a crystalline rock out of her pocket and displays it proudly.

“Yeaaah,” says Velendo, as everyone exchanges furtive glances. “Of course.”

The girl is still staring at the Knight of the Emerald Chapel. “What do you think, Sir Malachite?”

“It’s fine,” he snaps. “I’m rather fond of evenings.” He pushes himself off the door frame. “We need to get moving. Soder is gone, and we can loot later. We have a cyst to find and seal.”

“Then I’m Eve,” says the girl proudly, not minding his outburst. “Thank you. I’ve never been someone before.”

“Well, you are now,” says Velendo as he shoots a disapproving look at Malachite’s back. Annoyed, the old cleric pats Eve’s arm awkwardly. “It’s a nice change.” 

“We need to finish this,” says Malachite over his shoulder as he strides out of the room. “Let’s _go._” Eve stares at his back in mute adoration, and Velendo shakes his head.

-- o --

“My _find the path_ says it’s in here,” says Velendo. “Under the throne.” The group stares into the Ivory King’s throne room. A massive chair of bone and gem and sinew squats like a toad atop a raised dais. Trophies of bone, gold and silver glitter on the shadowed walls around them. There are two dozen sprawled corpses in the chamber, all ghouls who didn’t escape the ascension of The Dark Hunger. The air is foul with decay.

“Who wants to bet?” asks Galthia.

“Not me,” says Mara. “It’s evil.”

“AND undead,” reports Karthos from Malachite’s side. “Predictable.”

“Shall we hit it before it can hit us?” asks Agar.

“An excellent idea,” agrees Velendo. As one, the Defenders of Daybreak unleash a firestorm of sunlight and searing flame upon the late Ivory King’s throne. The chair screams in a way no human could duplicate, and a tongue of sinew and sharpened bone lashes out from the seat and into the cluster of heroes.

_To be continued . . ._


----------



## Old One

Most excellent...

BTW, P-kitty...bop on over to the Rat's Nest...I left ya some droppings...er, ideas !

~ OO

EDIT: Congrats to the new parents!  Welcome to mind-numbing sleep deprivation, endless diaper changes (how can something so small poop so much) and amazing joy!


----------



## Piratecat

Not much action, but in next week's update I horribly screw over -- err, creatively challenge the group, so it all balances out.  Stay tuned.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Excellent.  Keep up with the art everyone.  I could get used to this.

GW


----------



## Wish

The naming bit was just hysterical.  And the pet rock is just too much.  Thanks for another fine update.  

(I would have gone with the bullywug's suggestion, myself.)


----------



## BSF

Congratulations to Sagiro and Kodiak!  Being a parent brings a whole new set of challenges and rewards.  I am sure they have some wonderful times ahead of them.  

Nice update.  I will be watching Malachite deal with coming down off this stress with interest.


----------



## Naathez

Congratulations on the newborn baby!  

Well, Pkitty... you had asked for pieces of art to post on your thread.  
I don't think Sagiro and Kodiak  - or anyone - could make anything more beautiful than that   ...

So er... does that earn us a freebie update ?


----------



## Dawn

Eve is certainly eerie – in the innocent, Carrie kind of way.  She knows what she can do, but really has no grasp of the ramifications of those powers.  I love it!

Much happiness for Sagiro and Kodiak!  A new and exciting time, if tiring.  It’s worth every sleepless night!


----------



## Piratecat

Incidentally, the fist-sized emerald that Malachite is now carrying around is both figuratively and literally the _heart of the Ivory King._ It's an epic item that grants +8 to charisma and +10 to bluff checks. Of course, it's also horribly tainted, but such is life.

The IK used to wear it on a cord around his neck, but at some point it burrowed into his chest.

My attempts to convince Malachite to wear it full time were unsuccessful.


----------



## Blackjack

*The site is back!*

It's my pleasure to announce the return of the Piratecat / Spira / Defenders of Daybreak website.  Same great taste, but now with a new address:

*www.piratecat.org*


I've updated the stories through yesterday.  Still some refreshing to go (e.g. a characters page for Eve, some of the new art, Sialia's PDF), but I also have a day job.   I'll get to it soon enough.

ps. hey, did you know the little "Insert Hyperlink" thing doesn't work in Firefox?  BIG SUCK.


----------



## Piratecat

One extra update this week, in celebration of multiple art entries from (contact) and Anhk-Morpork Guard. Art means updates! 

Infinite thanks to Blackjack and Sialia for www.piratecat.org. We finally bit the bullet and decided to move everything over from the defunct piratecat.info. Updates and art here will be archived at that site, along with proper attribution to artists.

--- o ---

Cruciel appears from the shadows an instant before the sharpened bone spear can impale Velendo. Her shield and blade deflect the blow upwards, and the undead throne gurgles as it lurches forward on clawed feet. Its tongue slashes through the air as if questing for warm flesh.

“I don’t think so,” says Stone Bear, and he leaps forward trailing soulfire from his burning fists. Galthia is right behind him, as are Burr-Lipp, Priggle and both paladins. The throne doesn’t even have a chance.

“You may not want to see this,” says Agar to Eve. “It can get pretty nasty.” He winces at a particularly gruesome squelching sound. Eve is transfixed, though, staring at the fight wide-eyed with her fingers to her mouth.

“Is it always like this?” she whispers. 

Agar considers.  “No. Most chairs don’t try to eat us.”  Eve doesn’t seem to hear him. _He’s fighting monsters to keep me safe!_ she thinks to Nana. The crystal returns warm thoughts of satisfaction and pleasure.  _I wonder how long it will be before we marry._

“All right, it’s finished,” says Malachite. He pauses to catch his breath before helping push the remains of the broken throne off the dais. Beneath it is a deep and lightless pit leading even further into the earth. The smell of putrescence is everywhere. Lazy vapors rise out of the darkness, and the emanation of evil is so strong that Mara can sense it without even trying to concentrate.

“I don’t want to go down there!” says Eve. She looks sick.

“You don’t have to,” comforts Velendo. “This is something we have to take care of ourselves.”

“Is it just me,” asks Mara with a disgusted look on her face, “or does it look like that pit was chewed open?”

“It’s not just you.”

Cautiously, they lean out over the abyss and try to see down into the darkness. Behind them, Agar suddenly gives a blood-curdling scream.

“What?” Malachite has spun into a battle stance, Karthos shining in anticipation. “What is it?” He scans the room for hidden dangers.

Agar looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I saw a beetle.” Malachite closes his eyes for a minute, then turns back to the pit.  “A *large* beetle,” Agar says plaintively. Burr-Lipp glares at him, but Priggle offers the halfling a sympathetic look.  Agar doesn’t notice.

“All right, let’s rig up ropes and harnesses,” says Velendo. “One person down first to scout?”  Galthia nods. He ties off a rope to his own satisfaction, wraps it around his body, and steps to the edge of the hole. Once protective magic has been cast on him, he simply steps off. The githzerai spins rapidly as he descends, slowing his fall even as he gains a 360 degree view of his surroundings.

_“Fifty feet down and no end in sight,”_ he thinks through the mindlink.  _“The bugs are huge down here. I need more rope.”_ Rope is passed down as Eve tries to understand why Agar is twitching, and Galthia continues downwards. _“All right. The walls aren’t stone down here, or bone either. They’re fibrous and almost fleshy, like a throat. The pit ends underneath me, and there’s a small hole in the wall. I’ll try to see what’s behind it. . .”_ 

_“Be careful!”_ Velendo looks at the others. “We really need to be down there.”

Malachite looks grim.  “Agreed.” 

Eve can feel her heart hammering in her chest.  "I. . . I can't go down there."

"As we said, Eve, you don't have to. We'd like you to stay up here and help guard our backs." Privately over the mind link, Malachite adds, _"Not that we'd let her; she's tainted and we have no reason to trust her. We're going to need some of us to stay and watch her."_ 

_“There’s very little room down here anyways; maybe space for three people, tops. The negative energy is like wading through tar. It’s pitch black, and I can’t see anything even with my darkvision. I can *hear* something, though.”_

_“I’m coming down.”_  Malachite slips into a harness so that he can be lowered.

“Be careful!” says Eve, agitated. Malachite nods and disappears into the darkness as Stone Bear and Burr-Lipp pay out rope. Mara and Velendo prepare to follow. 

Waiting in the darkness, Galthia watches Malachite swinging down above him. Something seems a little odd about him. _He’s been possessed!_ Galthia realizes. _Whatever is behind that wall has him dominated, and he’s going to open it and destroy us all.  I can’t let him do that._ The monk drops off his rope onto the spongy and uneven floor and waits patiently, his mind ticking through strategies. 

After an eternity of waiting, Malachite lands next to the githzerai and peers at the hole in the wall.  “What we need is li –”  His teeth snap down on his tongue as Galthia hits him from behind. The hunter of the dead is knocked into the wall but manages to keep his consciousness. It feels like someone dropped a wall on him.

_“Malachite is possessed,”_ thinks Galthia over the mindlink. _“I’m going to try and knock him out before he can do any harm.”_ 

“What are you doing?” asks Malachite, furious. _“I think Galthia is being mind controlled.”_ On his chest, Malachite notices the amulet that Claris sent to him back in Akin’s Throat suddenly stop glowing. That means that it just prevented some sort of mental influence.

“Nice try,” says Galthia as he raises his fists. “But no one in this group is gullible.” He unleashes a brutal assault, and beneath his armor Malachite feels a rib snap.

“Stop it, both of you!” shouts Mara from thirty feet above.

“I can’t,” yells Malachite as he takes a step back and brings Karthos to bear. He bumps into the wall behind him, sighs, and with the expertise learned in hundreds of battles he dances his glowing sunblade through Galthia’s defenses. The monk manages to dodge several of the thrusts, but at least one gets through. Dark blood trickles down the githzerai’s arm.

_“Be warned,”_ says Galthia.  _“It’s got him, and he’s trying to kill me. I’m going to need help.”_

Unnoticed behind them, the small hole in the wall begins to widen.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Ankh-Morpork Guard

Yay! Two updates! And after my net died last night! Great thing to come back to ENWorld to.


----------



## BSF

Blackjack said:
			
		

> It's my pleasure to announce the return of the Piratecat / Spira / Defenders of Daybreak website.  Same great taste, but now with a new address:
> 
> *www.piratecat.org*
> 
> 
> I've updated the stories through yesterday.  Still some refreshing to go (e.g. a characters page for Eve, some of the new art, Sialia's PDF), but I also have a day job.   I'll get to it soon enough.
> 
> ps. hey, did you know the little "Insert Hyperlink" thing doesn't work in Firefox?  BIG SUCK.




Very cool!  I will have to go check it out.  I hadn't noticed the insert hyperlink issue.  Hmm, nevermind, you probably mean through the WYSIWYG editor?  I've never tried that one.


----------



## BSF

Oooh!  Now that is a nice twist Piratecat.  Hitting the Githzerai monk with a mind effect, and succeeding, is just nasty.  I have got to think that Galthia is not going to be pleased when he figures out what really happened.  

Looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Ummm, you rat-bastard-DM(tm)!!!  According to the Character sheet on piratecat.org, Galthia has a Will save of +19.  And he failed!!!  The DoD are in trouble now...8-O


----------



## Lela

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Lela, you and Krafen REALLY need to send me these ideas in private. I can't tell you how much I wish I'd thought of this before you guys did. Wow, and they say _I'm_ rat bastardy! Nana? Hah - I like how you think.




Sorry, seemed obvious to me.  Next time, though, consider an e-mail sent.


----------



## Sialia

Ohmigod. I had no idea. Thank you Blackjack. Wow. It looks great. You filled in a _lot_ of missing stuff, didn't you? Like _all_ of the White Kingdom?

I'll have to go through the new website and see what broken stuff I left behind--there was a whole list of things I was working on fixing when I lost access, two years ago . . .


----------



## Droid101

Most of the stuff the characters say is usally... well... I don't want to be mean.

But Agar, you win teh funney of teh day.



			
				Agar said:
			
		

> “No. Most chairs don’t try to eat us.”


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

I am a sucker for a bizarre one-liner.  The chair comment is pretty sharp but takes second place today.  My Sig updated.


----------



## Blackjack

Sialia said:
			
		

> You filled in a _lot_ of missing stuff, didn't you? Like _all_ of the White Kingdom?




Not quite.  You'd posted up through Oct 2002, which was about the first 20 posts of the White Kingdom.



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> I'll have to go through the new website and see what broken stuff I left behind--there was a whole list of things I was working on fixing when I lost access, two years ago . . .




Hopefully I've found the broken stuff and dealt with it already; if you do find anything, please let me know.


----------



## Davek

Ledgerdemain, or, Night at the Opera, Part 2

http://www.piratecat.org/spira/earlyledgerdemain2.htm

This link is not working


----------



## Quartermoon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Unnoticed behind them, the small hole in the wall begins to widen.





Cue the stomach acid!


----------



## shilsen

Quartermoon said:
			
		

> Cue the stomach acid!



 You think so? And here I was thinking nothing improves a game more than an undead sphincter


----------



## Knight Otu

Blackjack said:
			
		

> ps. hey, did you know the little "Insert Hyperlink" thing doesn't work in Firefox?  BIG SUCK.



Strange, works for me.

Looking over the character sheets, I kind of wonder where in 3rd edition deep gnomes have natural armor...?


----------



## Piratecat

Undead sphincter? I barely know her!



			
				Knight Otu said:
			
		

> Looking over the character sheets, I kind of wonder where in 3rd edition deep gnomes have natural armor...?



His skin has toughened up from all the abuse that has been heaped upon the svirfneblin race. Seriously, is this an artifact from 3e? I'll have to check and update him to 3.5; his prestige class was toned down in 3.5, too, making him lose a reasonable amount of power. Poor little fella.



			
				BSF said:
			
		

> Hitting the Githzerai monk with a mind effect, and succeeding, is just nasty.



Huh? Didn't you hear Galthia? It's *Malachite* who's being mind-controlled. It's important to pay attention to these things.  Believe it or not, this created a fair amount of confusion and hesitation at a really bad time . . .



			
				droid101 said:
			
		

> Most of the stuff the characters say is usally... well... I don't want to be mean.



You mean other than posting that? We're recounting a D&D game here, not creating high art, and I guess not everything can be pearls. Think of it this way; all the things that get said verbatim by my players are the witty bits, and anything you find boring or plodding is my own fault. It's probably true, too.


----------



## Capellan

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> Ummm, you rat-bastard-DM(tm)!!!  According to the Character sheet on piratecat.org, Galthia has a Will save of +19.  And he failed!!!  The DoD are in trouble now...8-O




I can bear personal testament to the DoD's capability to roll a whole lotta natural '1's 



			
				Galthia said:
			
		

> The walls aren’t stone down here, or bone either. They’re fibrous and almost fleshy, like a throat.




You know, for me, this is a clear warning sign


----------



## Knight Otu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> His skin has toughened up from all the abuse that has been heaped upon the svirfneblin race. Seriously, is this an artifact from 3e? I'll have to check and update him to 3.5; his prestige class was toned down in 3.5, too, making him lose a reasonable amount of power. Poor little fella.



I've checked my 3.0 monster manual before posting, and couldn't find a mention of natural armor. But he propably had an amulet of natural armor that no one ever noticed. I mean, if you cannot even notice himself, his equipment would likewise be unnoticeable, right?


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

Capellan said:
			
		

> You know, for me, this is a clear warning sign




Heck, yeah.

"This is no cave!"


----------



## shilsen

Capellan said:
			
		

> You know, for me, this is a clear warning sign




For me, just having Piratecat as the DM would be a clear warning sign


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Huh? Didn't you hear Galthia? It's *Malachite* who's being mind-controlled. It's important to pay attention to these things.  Believe it or not, this created a fair amount of confusion and hesitation at a really bad time . . .



Are you being serious here?  Rereading the passage I'm still not convinced.  Galthia simply knows too much about what Malachite is supposedly planning before Malachite even gets down the hole.  Sort of the way a _Suggestion_ works, with an outside mind putting believable thoughts in your head for you.

And Malachite apparently had a magic item he got from Clarise that blocks some sort of mind control attempt...


----------



## Shieldhaven

So I went to poke around on the website - which, by the way, is super-awesome.

I found the Filk page.

I'm awfully lucky I wasn't drinking Coke at the time, because I can't afford a new keyboard just now.

Oh. My. God.

Haven


----------



## Piratecat

No, I'm not being serious -- I was trying to be funny. It's definitely Galthia who's controlled. _He_ wouldn't tell you that, though.  

My point was that although all the players knew what was going on, the PCs didn't know who to trust at first, and that made things messy.


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, I'm not being serious -- I was trying to be funny. It's definitely Galthia who's controlled. _He_ wouldn't tell you that, though.



Thank you for the clarification.   It's a testament to how well you wrote the scene, that although I thought it was Galthia who was controlled on a first read, there was enough ambiguity in the text that I did have to go back and do a re-read after you said that.


----------



## Paxr0mana

How did you make the Mind Control work so that your players knew what was happening, but were still in the dark? What I mean is, how did you present it to your players?


----------



## Blackjack

Droid101 said:
			
		

> Most of the stuff the characters say is usally... well... I don't want to be mean.




Allow me to suggest this instead.  Like this Story Hour, it is provided free of charge.


----------



## MerakSpielman

Paxr0mana said:
			
		

> How did you make the Mind Control work so that your players knew what was happening, but were still in the dark? What I mean is, how did you present it to your players?



I think he depends on their role-playing professionalism to keep player knowledge and character knowledge separate.


----------



## Blackjack

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> I think he depends on their role-playing professionalism to keep player knowledge and character knowledge separate.




I believe that was true in this case.  Overall, PCat varies techniques.  Sometimes he uses secret notes passed to the players, especially when the element of surprise is critical to how the other PCs will react; other times things are out in the open and he expects us all not to cheese it.


----------



## Victim

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, I'm not being serious -- I was trying to be funny. It's definitely Galthia who's controlled. _He_ wouldn't tell you that, though.
> 
> My point was that although all the players knew what was going on, the PCs didn't know who to trust at first, and that made things messy.




Eve should have just dominated both herself to straighten things out.  Fight mind control with mind control.     Or use a sane plan, but those overrated.

Deep Gnomes had a racial AC bonus, but I don't think it was natural armor.  Wasn't it a dodge bonus?


----------



## Knight Otu

Victim said:
			
		

> Deep Gnomes had a racial AC bonus, but I don't think it was natural armor.  Wasn't it a dodge bonus?



Yep, +4 dodge against all creatures.


----------



## Aenghus

I believe the link needs to be corrected to

http://www.piratecat.org/spira/earlylegerdemain2.htm

The file is there, but the link has an erroneous "d" in it,

                                      Aenghus




			
				Davek said:
			
		

> Ledgerdemain, or, Night at the Opera, Part 2
> 
> http://www.piratecat.org/spira/earlyledgerdemain2.htm
> 
> This link is not working


----------



## KidCthulhu

Aenghus said:
			
		

> The file is there, but the link has an erroneous "d" in it,




Man, I love that band.


----------



## Blackjack

Aenghus said:
			
		

> I believe the link needs to be corrected to
> 
> http://www.piratecat.org/spira/earlylegerdemain2.htm
> 
> The file is there, but the link has an erroneous "d" in it,
> 
> Aenghus




Hi gang-

Thanks for finding the bad link, but could you also let me know what _page_ the bad link is on?  There are 297 pages on the site!

(And for that matter, to keep PCat from having to delete these posts, if you could email anything you find to webmaster (at) piratecat (dot) org, that'd be great!  Thanks.)


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Speaking of links... I know there's a thread that "should not be named" but um... Could somebody link it?  (Or am I crazy and there is no such thread?)


----------



## Len

But a thread's URL is its true name, so to link to a thread _is_ to name it.


----------



## Ashy

Hey, I was ppoking around on my hard drive and found this - thought you all might be interested.  These are several of Dylrath's spells that Salia and I worked on a few years back for one of Ambient's _Portable Hole Full of Beer_ book.  I'm sure Hound would not mind us posting it here...  Let me know what you think!

Within you'll find: _Chain of Disasters_, _Dylrath's Bucket_, _Glomp_, _Magik Fingerz_, _Tactile Illusion_ (and other great hits!)


----------



## Piratecat

EDIT - made some edits to the last post. I wouldn't worry about it unless you're a purist, though.  I just remembered a few details I forgot. Pretty minor.

We'll have another post this week as well.  I'm sorry this one was a few days late.


----------



## Funeris

Ahhh...just checking in for that promised update.  Guess I'll wait a little while longer....I've got a few monkeys on my shoulders demanding an update.  No offense to those monkeys if they're reading this 

Anxiously awaiting (so I can be inspired)....


----------



## Piratecat

Ducking under Malachite’s sword arm in the swirling gloom, Galthia hits his friend in the chin, the chest, the neck. He dances backwards into deeper shadow as Malachite shakes off the stunning pain. “I’m sorry, Malachite, but this is too important for you to sabotage. You’ll be all right once we destroy this.”

“_I’ll_ be all right?”  Malachite steps forward and squints into the liquid darkness around him.  “Galthia, snap out of it. You’re clearly mind controlled.”

The monk snorts. “Sure I am.” He dodges as Malachite flicks Karthos in a sweeping arc overhead. 

“You’re also slow.” Reversing the swing, Malachite brings the sun blade down into Galthia’s shoulder and dark blood splatters the walls and floor. The sword twists and spills more blood before finally ripping free. The monk winces briefly from the pain but he’s nowhere near as hurt as Malachite; the radiant knight can feel a broken rib grating every time he moves.

“Karthos, can you heal me?”

The sword’s voice is a metallic burr.  “If you can stop swinging me long enough to me to concentrate.”

_“Then I can’t take much more of this_,” Malachite thinks over the mindlink. He feels something insistent prodding at his mind and trying to twist what he knows is true. The amulet given him by Claris thrums. 

_“It’s for the best, everyone,”_ says Galthia. _“If I fail, Mara and Velendo will have to stop him.”_ He prods a pressure point on his own body to stop the bleeding before trying to kick out Malachite’s knee. Beside him, the opening in the wall dilates and slender fibrous tendrils begin to squirm outwards towards the combatants. 

Stone Bear and Burr-Lipp strain to pull Galthia up and out of the pit, back into the throne room. They tumble backwards as the monk slips free of his rope harness in order to stay in the pit. Everyone else clusters on hands and knees as they try to stare down into the reeking darkness. 

Eve is shaking with fright. “What’s happening down there? What’s going on?” She repeats the question over her _mindlink_ to Velendo, but he doesn’t immediately answer her.

Priggle’s frown deepens as he explains. “Galthia is mind controlled and is attacking Malachite.  Or vice versa. Probably just warming up for the rest of us.”

“Malachite? We have to get him out! Should I? I can do it!” She stares down, trying to see the flicker of light that would be Malachite’s sword. Power surges in her mind, but doubt holds her back.  “Ask him if that’s what he wants!”

_“No!”_ thinks Velendo directly to Eve. _“We’re almost there. We can heal him.”_  He and Mara now hang just overhead.  

“Shall I?” asks Mara.

“No, Mara, I’ve got him,” says the old cleric as he dangles from the rope harness and prays fervently for all of Malachite’s wounds to be healed. As soon as he begins the prayer Velendo feels the intense negative energy pushing in from all sides and knows he’s in trouble. Velendo’s permanent _arcane sight_ actually lets him _see_ his spell getting subsumed and eaten by the darkness in the pit, the guttering lines of light being swallowed one by one by void. 

“I take that back,” he says with a grimace. “There’s no way I can heal him down here.”

“Then I need to back off for a moment,” growls Malachite as he blocks another series of attacks from Galthia. He activates his _boots of levitation_ and is buoyed upwards, even as Mara slides down to take his place.  Mara’s blue eyes widen as she sees what the other two have missed.

“Aeos preserve us.” Mara stares blankly into a gaping womb of fleshy tendrils and squealing fish-white blobs. She realizes instinctively that this is the cyst of Imbindarla, and that the twitching albino larvae are her unborn children. Proto-gods, each hungry for untasted blood, each capable of becoming another abomination like the Ivory King. Their horrible need sings to her in the darkness. She recoils, and in doing so snaps off a filament of pale flesh that has quietly wrapped itself around her leg. 

“I see them,” says Velendo in a small voice.

“What do we do?” 

“Are they undead?” He sounds doubtful. For a second Mara wonders if he too has been possessed by the malign intelligence before them, then decides that he hasn’t. Hopes that he hasn’t.

“Let’s try the obvious.” She smiles grimly and concentrates. Her implacable faith surges as she tries to pierce the shadows, and for an endless moment Mara is worried that the darkness will win. Then she remembers the smell of the sun baked streets of Corsai and the feel of the noon heat, and light bursts from her in a cascade of radiance. The fell consciousness of the cyst screams wordlessly.

“You’ll ruin everything for us!” says Galthia worriedly. He hits Mara four  times in the face, trying to knock her senseless without hurting her too badly. He then loops a final punch at Velendo. The cleric catches it on the edge of his stone shield. 

“I shouldn’t have left Cruciel to watch for wraiths. Mara, we’ve got to deal with him.” _But he’s right, Mara is possessed,_ thinks the cleric for an instant before pushing the thought away. Something is trying to burrow its way into his mind. “Did your faith actually do anything?” He peers into the shifting darkness, trying to see if anything was hurt. Acting on faith and with no better idea, Velendo turns undead as well. The rumble of falling bricks fills the cavity. 

“We have to go into the cyst to destroy it!” says Galthia.

“No, Galthia,” explains Mara as if talking to a child. “That’s a tremendously bad idea.” She raises her mace and calls on every bit of power she possesses. Then with a flick of the wrist so as not to impale the githzerai on any of her mace’s spikes, she brings Lightbinder around on a short powerful arc to his head. There is a sound like a melon being dropped. “I’m _really_ sorry about this,” she says earnestly, and hits him two more times on the back of the head.  The monk drops senseless.

“Look,” says Velendo. “Those tendrils are burned back. . .”

“And they’re coming forward again.” She bites her lip.

“But the floor feels different. Less spongy.  Why?” He squints down into the darkness and sees that part of the floor and wall has grown hard and brittle. The pattern of the change is odd, and it takes him a second to figure out why. “Blood!  Mara, the positive energy transformed everywhere Malachite and Galthia’s blood splashed. It's like scar tissue. We need to coat this whole area in a wall of blood and then cement it in place with faith.”  He grimaces at the squealing shapes within the cyst. “Before that thing opens any more.”

Mara looks at him in confusion. “But where are we going to get. . .” Comprehension dawns in her eyes, and she looks sick.

“_Malachite, we need you as soon as you’re healed. And Agar, we have to get Galthia out of here; maybe Proty can teleport him. We won’t need Stone Bear, he doesn’t draw blood, but get what’s-his-name ready to descend just in case._”

_“Burr-Lipp?”_

_“No, with the picks. Priggle.”_

_“I’m quivering with anticipation.”_

“Better start,” says Velendo to Mara. “I can’t heal down here. Don’t kill me.” 

Flipping her mace around to make sure she uses the ripping spikes, Mara hits Velendo in the neck.

--- o ---

_“Something’s out here,”_ warns Eve from where she waits on watch in the anteroom. _“Something’s coming.” _Her own _mindlink_ to Velendo doesn’t connect to the rest of the group, and only he hears her worry.

_“Deal with it, Eve. We’re a little busy.”_ She doesn’t hear his cry as his lifeblood spills out over the trembling cyst, or his gasp as Mara _lays on hands_.

_“Yes sir.”_ She glares at the open door, and relaxes when it's only monkeys that begin scampering in. The ape Soder dressed as Nolin leaps onto to a torch sconce and hisses at her.  _“This is something I know how to handle.”_

Eve flicks out her mind like a sharpened blade. “Come here, monkeys.”  All the monkeys scamper closer in lockstep.  “Sit down.”  They sit simultaneously, hooting.  “Sit _quietly_, and be still.”  The monkeys fold their simian hands in their hairy little laps and crouch motionless, staring.  And waiting.  Eve can feel their intellects like hot pellets within her mind, totally subject to her whim. She smiles.

_“All set,”_ she says. 

In the pit, Velendo takes huge rasping breaths of polluted air as he examines the cyst opening. It’s still trying to open, but the hardened blood has covered it with an inflexible membrane. Only an arm-sized hole remains, through which pale tendrils of _something_ try to force their way. “I’m too old for this,” he mumbles.  Next to him, Malachite pauses to lay his hands across a near-mortal wound on Mara’s belly.

“The cyst is almost closed,” Mara says. A strange look passes across her face. “And I can’t let it possess you!” She jumps forward and swings her mace into Velendo’s head, ripping off a bloody chunk of scalp. Velendo drops as blood droplets spray from the end of Lightbinder. 

“Oh, by dawn and dusk,” says Malachite. _“Mara’s taken, too.”_  He swings Karthos at the back of Mara’s neck, making sure that he doesn’t swing hard enough to accidentally take her head off. She screams with the unanticipated pain and staggers around. Before she can act, Malachite smears a handful of their mixed blood across the breach in the cyst’s scar tissue and turns undead one final time. There is a searing noise as the blood hardens to a crust, and as if a lever is switched the amount of negative energy in the pit noticeably lessens.

Mara takes a few tottering steps backwards  and falls down, almost sitting on Velendo’s unconscious body. She pushes her last few dregs of healing into his form and is glad to see his eyes flutter.

“Sorry about that.”

“Yes,” says Malachite as he painfully reaches down to drag Velendo to his feet.  “But it’s done. The cyst is closed, really closed, and my mission is complete.” Haggard with blood loss and smeared with gore, he nevertheless smiles with dazzling joy.  

“We did it.”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

DM note: the true joy here was the look on the players' faces when they realized that they had to beat the crap out of one another in order to seal the cyst, even as any minute someone might roll a 1 and fail the once-a-round saving throws that equalled mind control. It was a fun game.


----------



## Quartermoon

Ahhh....my reward for finishing my tax return...an update!


----------



## BSF

Amusingly vicous update Piratecat.  Heh, I have had vaguely similar incidents in one of my games.  It's always fun to have the PCs whap each other around.  Still it seems premature to assume that sealing the godlings into the cyst now will be a permanent thing.  Is there other information that I missed or maybe didn't make for good posting?


----------



## Piratecat

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Still it seems premature to assume that sealing the godlings into the cyst now will be a permanent thing.  Is there other information that I missed or maybe didn't make for good posting?




It all depends if you believe Silissa the earth weird, the creature in the Mridian Vault who sent them to Akin's Throat.

*“Indeed.  The White Kingdom is ruled by the unborn son of the Goddess Imbindarla, She who was once to be Goddess of Night, but failed. He is called Gl’Yuut, and was carved unborn from her earthly womb by members of the Brotherhood of Night. He rules the Kingdom of the Ghouls, and the children he has created spread forth throughout the sunless caverns to slay and devour and conquer all they find. If he is destroyed along with his closest cadre, and the entrance to the cyst sealed, the spark that drives the ghouls shall fade as well. They worship he and his mother, although only one of them is worthy of worship. The two share no loyalty; slay one, and they shall fall and be devoured, with all that might entail.”*​
Ahh, prophecy. Never clear when you need it to be, but it seems pretty specific in this case.


----------



## BSF

Aha!  In my fatigue muddled brain I could not remember that part.  

Very cool.


----------



## Piratecat

The group stands in front of a massive unfinished sculpture formed of gold, silver, copper and platinum; it appears that coins have been melted in a smelter and poured over dozens of posing victims in an attempt to recreate a battle scene. Their (undead?) muffled screams and groans can still be heard from underneath the hardened and shaped precious metal.  

“We destroy this,” says Malachite.

“Check,” says Agar, and makes a mark on a parchment before they proceed to the next piece of treasure. “That puts it in the same category as the psychic death performance art piece, the ghoulish bunny slippers made out of real undead bunny, and the animated rack of dissected person-skin that keeps changing shape.”  The Defenders of Daybreak are almost finished scouring the palace for all valuables; with more than they can carry strewn across three different rooms, there’s little point in looting the city as well.

“Yes there is,” says Stone Bear.

“No there’s not.” says Agar.  “I’m worried about time. That force wall outside is definitely degrading, and every time we go outside the spectres gather around it like moths to a flame.” He shudders.  “In addition, the ghouls might mostly be gone, but there are a lot of other monsters and constructs out there.” 

Stone Bear frowns but reluctantly relents. “Are we headed back to the surface when we’re done here?”

“Not yet,” says Galthia. “At least, not yet for me. None of you have to come, but I have a score to settle with the mind flayers.” He grits his teeth, and everyone nods in understanding. 

“We’ll do that first,” agrees Malachite. “I need to report to my Commander, but they need to be taught a lesson.”

“If you mean ‘how to die,’” says Galthia, “then I wholeheartedly agree.”

-- o --

“A cheese?” asks Velendo.

“A cheese,” answers Agar. “Radiating extremely strong conjuration and evocation magic. I tried to identify it and I sneezed in the middle of the spell.”  

Velendo raises an eyebrow and looks politely doubtful.  

“I _never_ flub spells,” grouses Agar. “I think the cheese is responsible. It didn’t want to be identified.”

“Is it evil?” asks Mara. 

“Is it undead?” asks Malachite.

“Better check,” says Velendo automatically. Then he shakes himself like a wet dog.  “I can’t believe I’m saying that. We’re not going to have an evil, undead cheese.”

“Can’t be too sure,” points out Agar. “You never can tell about cheese.”

Velendo gives him a look.  “Are you saying that you know of _other_ undead, evil cheeses?” His tone is skeptical.

Agar puffs on his pipe. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t take anything for granted.  It could be a muenster.”

“Not evil,” says Mara.  "But that pun was."

“Not undead, either,” says Malachite.

“But it _is_ magical,” says Agar, “maybe the most magical thing here. We better take it with us.”

“And please," Velendo looks pained. “No puns. And no one eat it.”

-- o --

“A cloud keel?” Priggle looks offended. “What’s that?”

“It makes a boat sail through the air.  You just have to attach it to the bottom of a ship, and you’re all set.  Until someone casts _dispel magic_ on it, at least,” Agar amends. The halfling suddenly looks thoughtful. “I wonder if we could attach it to our folding boat?”

Malachite grins. It’s an unusual sight. “Agar, that’s brilliant.”

“No thank you, to the air OR boat.” Priggle puts down a magical cloak that makes the wearer look like a peasant and walks over to poke the long wooden keel. “Anyways, it’s not like we can get it out of here.”

"I’m not too sure of that,” says Velendo. “It may fit in the Flickering Needle if we clear out the furniture. That instant fortress has come in handy. Did you know it originally belonged to a cult of Imbindarla, and they were breeding mindflayer spawn in the bathtubs when we seized it?”

"Remind me not to bathe in it then," says Galthia with distaste.

Velendo smiles. "It's been cleaned since. Thoroughly. They had TomTom staked down in one of the pools for hours, trying to turn him in to one of _them_. I think he did most of the scrubbing himself."

“Can we fit the crystal bell in it, too?” asks Malachite. 

“Or the collection of dead illithid skulls?”  Galthia may or may not be smiling.

“Those aren’t coming, are they?”

“No, they aren’t on the list. We’ll probably need the room for the tub of mercury that we can use as a scrying device and the alabaster statue of some giant god.”

“And for my books,” pipes up Agar. “Eve showed me another library. Lots of books.”

-- o --

They don’t bother to split up treasure worth many hundreds of thousands of gold pieces. Instead, they simply load it pell-mell into tower and ship and interdimensional satchels and vow to identify and divide it later. Eventually they find themselves standing at the front door of the palace.

“I can’t help but think I’m forgetting something important,” worries Velendo. He looks at Eve, but the girl just shakes her head.

“The dragon’s dead,” says Malachite. “We have Nolin’s remains. And we’re leaving by the tunnels so we don’t have to go past the spectres. Everyone ready?”

Eve takes a big breath.  “I’ve never been out of the city before,” she hazards. “Are you sure you want me to join you?”  She gazes at Malachite, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Absolutely,” says Velendo. “You can’t stay here, and we’ll gladly help you learn about the real world.  It’ll be nice to have you.” He glances over at Stone Bear and stops cold. “Stone Bear,” he says calmly and with perfect equanimity, “why is there a monkey dressed like Nolin sitting on your shoulder?”

“I miss the real one. This is little Nolly. He’s my friend.”

“Your friend? You became friends with a poisonous monkey dressed like one of our companions?” His voice starts to rise very slightly.

“Yup.” Stone Bear nods. 

“I can control it, Mr. Velendo,” says Eve. She wiggles her hand and the monkey does a corresponding little dance. “It should be okay.”

“All right,” says Velendo doubtfully. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

“Like when you had a giant soul-devouring worm inside of you,” Galthia says with a neutral face. Stone Bear turns his empty eye sockets towards the monk, but Galthia  makes a show of studying some nearby piece of architecture.

“Actually, Elder has left me now,” says Stone Bear. “I feel empty. I bear his scars.”

“Can you find a new spirit?” asks Mara in concern.

“It’ll just take time.”

“Well, let us know if we can help. Let’s go have a talk with some mindflayers.  Tonight we'll sleep in the site of the collapse, where Saint Morak appeared to us.”  Velendo caresses his holy shield before casting _wind walk_, and the group discorporates. They pause in the light of Aeos for a brief prayer, and then roar towards the eastern exit of the vast cavern.  “Thank goodness we’re done here,” says Velendo as they split out the buckled vault door and into the tunnels beyond. “I hate this place.”  They speed into the darkness, once and for all leaving behind a deserted Nacreous. 

Behind them in the ruins of Imbindarla’s temple, no one is left to hear the steady drip of blood as it drips slowly. . . so slowly. . . from the tip of a sword, still grasped by Halcyon’s spiked and severed arm. 


*End of the White Kingdom.*

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## RangerWickett

Aha!  The cheese!  The beautiful, glorious cheese, complete with pun!


----------



## Steverooo

Piratecat said:
			
		

> “I can’t help but think I’m forgetting something important,” worries Velendo. He looks at Eve, ut the girl just shakes her head.
> 
> “The dragon’s dead,” says Malachite...
> 
> ...
> 
> “Like when you had a giant soul-devouring worm inside of you,” Galthia says with a neutral face. Stone Bear turns his empty eye sockets towards the monk, but Galthia is making a show of studying some nearby piece of architecture.
> 
> “Actually, Elder has left me now,” confides Stone Bear. “I feel horribly empty. I bear his scars.”
> 
> “Can you find a new spirit?” asks Mara in concern.
> 
> “It’ll just take time.”
> 
> “Well, let us know if we can help..."




I was wondering, about that sword...  Surprised they forgot that...

The dragon died, again?  Did I miss this, or did the DoD just kill it?

Stone Bear is going to get a _new_ spirit, and the DoD are going to _help_ him!?!!  _Don't they ever learn?!!_


----------



## the Jester

Awesome!!!


And at last the story arc is complete... wow, I just finished one in my early years SH, I do believe it was the best feeling I'd had in a long time- the sense of _closure._  I bet PC and his players feel the same, reading that written up at last.  Good times.


----------



## Piratecat

Note that these two updates were brought to you by Plane Sailing's portrait of Mara riding an elder brain, Sialia's portrait of what's-his-name, and the letter ñ.



			
				Steverooo said:
			
		

> The dragon died, again?  Did I miss this, or did the DoD just kill it?



They just killed it. We handwaved it in game, too; it was obeying them, so they could say "don't move" and hack it apart.

I was also surprised that they forgot about Halcyon's arm and sword. Clearly, it's a quest object for some other poor group of adventurers in the future.


----------



## Morte

Thank you, PCat. Thank you, Defs past and present. That was _good_.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

You really don't need yet another reader coming on here telling you how good your storyhour is ... but I'll do it anyway. It is GOOD   .

To be honest, when I first looked at it, the first few posts about the DoD's initial adventures in Eversink, didn't really grab me that much, and it nearly went on the "I don't know what people see in it" pile   ! I'm glad I didn't give up though, cos the enjoyment I've gained from it has become immense. It really is one of the best on the boards.



> “I can’t help but think I’m forgetting something important,” worries Velendo.
> 
> ...
> 
> Behind them in the ruins of Imbindarla’s temple, no one is left to hear the steady drip of blood as it drips slowly. . . so slowly. . . from the tip of a sword, still grasped by Halcyon’s spiked and severed arm.




You know, it's sad when age catches up with you, but it happens to us all. Next thing you know, Velendo will be standing in the middle of the Temple of Calphas thinkg, "Now what did I come in here for ...?"


----------



## Thalantor

So now, Stone Bear has a mindcontrolled poisonous moneky dressed and looking like Nolin when they go back to the city? Hmmm, I wonder what the citymaidens will say..

Also.. cutting the the cheese.. My guess is that is a Chaotic Gouda Cheese of Endless Puns.

*runs*


----------



## Fimmtiu

Pity the Defenders' stay in Nacreous had to be so Brie-f. Aside from the freaky artwork (which they were understandably not too fond(ue) of), I imagine there was quite a lot of loot left behind. So paneer, and yet so far...

And it's hardly surprising to be finding magic cheeses down there, after all. Given Soder's penchant for creating ghoulish art, he must have put a lot of points into his Kraft skills!

*rimshot*

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal!


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> “No thank you, to the air OR boat.” Priggle puts down a magical cloak that makes the wearer look like a peasant[/i]




Which arguably would have made him *more *noticeable, undoubtedly the opposite effect to that intended by its creator


----------



## Allanon

The ammount of cheesy jokes in this thread make my blood curdle. Personally, I'm gettin' feta up with this. We need to prove that cheese puns are overused. And if we can't prove it together, I'll just have to prove-alone.

That's it, I'm retiring to my cottage... - in the Alps - it's Swiss.....

_Runs away before the rotten fruit en vegetables can be hurled in his general direction._


----------



## KidCthulhu

Also on the list of art works destroyed - _Old Friends_, Soder's little portrait of a quiet evening at home with Nolin.  Pkitty was really dissapointed, but it really wasn't a big surprise.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The Defenders of Daybreak are almost finished scouring the palace for all valuables; with more than they can carry strewn across three different rooms, there’s little point in looting the city as well.
> 
> “Yes there is,” says Stone Bear.




_I_ said _that_?

Doesn't sound like Stone Bear. I've only taken one piece of "loot" since we started playing, after all. I'm not much into looting the dead.

I supposed the tape doesn't lie... but I protest that was OOC.


----------



## Hammerhead

Stone Bear has only taken one piece of treasure since he's started with the group? Or only one piece of treasure at this point?


----------



## BSF

The Cheese!  Aaaaahhhh.

The DoD didn't like the Ithillid Mind Art or the undead bunny slippers?  A shame really.  

So what has Stone Bear taken?  Or is that too much spoiler info and we should all just wait?


----------



## shilsen

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> _I_ said _that_?
> 
> Doesn't sound like Stone Bear. I've only taken one piece of "loot" since we started playing, after all. I'm not much into looting the dead.
> 
> I supposed the tape doesn't lie... but I protest that was OOC.



 That's funny - I read that bit and thought, "Wow - that sounds a lot more like Wulf than Stone Bear!"


----------



## jerichothebard

> “Actually, Elder has left me now,” says Stone Bear. “I feel empty. I bear his scars.”
> 
> “Can you find a new spirit?” asks Mara in concern.
> 
> “It’ll just take time.”
> 
> “Well, let us know if we can help.





You know, I suppose it might be a bit presumptious, but there _IS_ a spirit floating around with them right now...

St. Morak...



just a thought...


(Great updates!)
jtb


----------



## Blackjack

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> The DoD didn't like the Ithillid Mind Art or the undead bunny slippers?  A shame really.




We scanned the whole pile of loot for anything 1) radiating evil  2) radiating undead  3) clearly immoral or otherwise gross.  Undead bunny slippers counted for at least 2 and 3, if not also 1.

If memory serves, we then piled this stuff together, put a _positive energy burst_ on it, and set it on fire.  As we were destroying the painting of Soder feasting on and with our dead corpses, PCat _did_ seem legitimately dismayed.  For some reason.  Perhaps he was loopy from cold medicine or something.


----------



## Hammerhead

Blackjack said:
			
		

> As we were destroying the painting of Soder feasting on and with our dead corpses, PCat did seem legitimately dismayed. For some reason. Perhaps he was loopy from cold medicine or something.




I don't know. I mean, I'd keep it. It's funny.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> So what has Stone Bear taken?  Or is that too much spoiler info and we should all just wait?




Let's just say it was so cool it took me a few seconds to break my no looting rule. I had to rationalize it in character as "natural," or as I like to call it, "skinnin's," like my magic bearskin cloak.

I have other magic items, but most of it was stuff I brought with me when the character was newly minted. I did turn down a few things Piratecat thought I should have, including a +6 Wisdom boosting item.

In retrospect... that's a lot of Sacred Fist whoopass I passed up. +3 to hit and damage right there.


Wulf


----------



## Piratecat

True. But I gave you a really cool spirit guide, so it all balances out.

...what? What?


----------



## Plane Sailing

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> I supposed the tape doesn't lie... but I protest that was OOC.




My character (Li Kung) in They came in search of Paradise seems to suffer from this a lot. Damn those tape machines!


----------



## Len

shilsen said:
			
		

> That's funny - I read that bit and thought, "Wow - that sounds a lot more like Wulf than Stone Bear!"



Same here. 

So Wulf's excuse for forgetting Halcyon's sword is roleplaying.
Sagiro's excuse is senility.
What have the rest of you got to say for yourselves?



			
				Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> Let's just say it was so cool it took me a few seconds to break my no looting rule. I had to rationalize it in character as "natural," or as I like to call it, "skinnin's," like my magic bearskin cloak.



?? But that would be the undead bunny slippers wouldn't it?


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

It occurs to me I have actually looted TWO things. I also took a _wand of inflict wounds_ off some Soder patsy.

I have yet to use it cause the paladins get all "_uppity_" over the "evil" spells.


Wulf


----------



## Lela

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> It occurs to me I have actually looted TWO things. I also took a _wand of inflict wounds_ off some Soder patsy.
> 
> I have yet to use it cause the paladins get all "_uppity_" over the "evil" spells.
> 
> 
> Wulf




_Inflict_ spells don't have the evil descriptor.  They're just negitive energy.  Which, in this case, might mean the same thing to the Paladins.


----------



## Blackjack

Lela said:
			
		

> _Inflict_ spells don't have the evil descriptor.  They're just negitive energy.  Which, in this case, might mean the same thing to the Paladins.




Negative energy?  No, the guy who radiates bursts of positive energy has no problem with that.


----------



## Lela

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Negative energy? No, the guy who radiates bursts of positive energy has no problem with that.



The Fascist.


----------



## BSF

Blackjack said:
			
		

> We scanned the whole pile of loot for anything 1) radiating evil  2) radiating undead  3) clearly immoral or otherwise gross.  Undead bunny slippers counted for at least 2 and 3, if not also 1.




Heh - Well just for the record, the bunny slippers were not my idea.  I think I have said that before, but it bears repeating.  Though I have seriously thought about snarfing those for a "special treasure".

Wulf, 'skinnin's'?  OK, sounds nifty.  It will be fun to read about it.


----------



## Heroditis

Ok, so now that this little side-treck to the White Kingdom is over with, I hope we get to the question that has been burning in my mind for, oh, two years now. What is the real deal with _*Flowstone*_ and why is that danged Black Dragon hoarding it! *smile*. But seriously folks, do our beloved Defenders ever return to Eversink? (If it is even still standing above water, that is.) Inquiring minds want to know!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Why on earth would we want to return to a provincial backwater (literally) like 'Sink, when we can hang out in that vibrant hub of the multiverse, Sigil?  Berk, berk, berk. 

It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets 



Spoiler



with 



Spoiler



in her mouth.  

Er, keep 'em clean, kids.


----------



## Plane Sailing

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Berk, berk, berk.




Wasn't that the swedish chef muppet?


----------



## robberbaron

In defence of GMs posting comments recorded during games, it is sometimes very difficult to judge if such was OOC or not.
I can normally tell but, sometimes the comment is so funny that it just HAS to make it into the story hour.

To make it easier, perhaps players should talk in character all the time.


----------



## robberbaron

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> Wasn't that the swedish chef muppet?




Nah, that was "bork, bork, bork!"


----------



## Quartermoon

> It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets caught hanging out in a seedy bar with a cigarette and half a bottle of whiskey in her mouth.





OR



> It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets
> discovered in an alley behind the temple, dead with 200 pop rocks and a gallon of carbonated soda in her mouth.


----------



## Blackjack

Len said:
			
		

> What have the rest of you got to say for yourselves?




Okay, okay.  In our defense -- or at least mine -- I will say that it was not clear to me exactly whose sword that was.  Maybe this was because I missed a session around this time; maybe it was because I was fishing a soda out of the fridge; maybe it was because I was making a smartass aside to someone and wasn't listening.  I don't recall, since this took place over a year ago.  But all that registered with me was that there was a shiny sword stuck in the door of the palace.  

Later, when PCat expressed his surprise we hadn't taken Halycon's sword, my reaction was not, "D'oh!  We forgot it!" but, "Wait... that was _Halycon's_?"


----------



## Spatzimaus

Mad Libs!



			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets *the magic, evil cheese* with *blessed crackers and sausage* in her mouth.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Er, keep 'em clean, kids.




Well, now that Nolin's dead, I can't even think of any dirty jokes to make.


----------



## Pyske

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Er, keep 'em clean, kids.




It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets chastised for blasphemy with soap in her mouth.


----------



## Rackhir

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I was also surprised that they forgot about Halcyon's arm and sword. Clearly, it's a quest object for some other poor group of adventurers in the future.




Well Artifacts do tend to have a way of being... forgotten. IF you're not paying close attention to them.


----------



## Sidereal Knight

Len said:
			
		

> So Wulf's excuse for forgetting Halcyon's sword is roleplaying.
> Sagiro's excuse is senility.
> What have the rest of you got to say for yourselves?




Well, Nolin was dead at the time...


----------



## KidCthulhu

I've got a great excuse.  I don't have to keep track! I'm not the bard anymore, damnit.  Someone else is responsible for keeping the history. 

Eve had no idea who or what a Halcyon was.  And swords aren't really her thing anyway.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Rackhir said:
			
		

> Well Artifacts do tend to have a way of being... forgotten. IF you're not paying close attention to them.




JUST LIKE PRIGGLE!!!  He must be an Artifact...or Artificial...hmmm


----------



## Piratecat

Here's something to keep you distracted between updates over here: Superhero storyhour also by me from our temporary game!  Piratecat Comics presents *Code-4: Reunion*, a six issue mini-series. Hope you enjoy it.


----------



## TaranTheWanderer

I've been quietly following the your story for a while and I love it. 

I'm wondering about training, though.  I played a campaign for 2 years and our DM would let us level-up mid adventure. The campaign lasted about 2 years (1.5years in game time) and we finished around 17th level.  It felt a bit unrealistic to become that powerful in such a short period of time.   I get the impression that your pc's have been adventuring for quite a few years.  Do they have to train before they level up?  If so, what do they have to do?


----------



## Thalantor

It's especially funny when the high priestess of Yondalla gets arrested in Sigil  with Halcyon's Arm in her mouth.


----------



## KidCthulhu

TaranTheWanderer said:
			
		

> I'm wondering about training, though.  I played a campaign for 2 years and our DM would let us level-up mid adventure. The campaign lasted about 2 years (1.5years in game time) and we finished around 17th level.  It felt a bit unrealistic to become that powerful in such a short period of time.   I get the impression that your pc's have been adventuring for quite a few years.  Do they have to train before they level up?  If so, what do they have to do?




The DoD do train and use a standard rule of training for one week for each level being gained.  The campaign has been running for almost 13 years, so our power curve is a little less curved than many.  We also started the game in 2E, play tested 3E, then moved to offical 3E, and now 3.35E, so that's played merry hell with our leveling.

It's really a matter of taste.  Some DMs and players like the fast ramping game, where you get lots of power increase and rewards right away.  Playing with the standard DMG experience point rules usually produces this kind of game.  Some like a slower level increase, where you get more time to live in the skin of your character.   If you like this, tell your DM.

Training and leveling up are pretty unrealistic constructs to convey the very un-real experience of acquiring new skills and ability.  I don't think leveling in mid adventure is any more or less unrealistic, it's just a stylistic decision.


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> and now 3.35E




This is our in-joke, describing how we've adopted many, but not all, of the 3.5 changes.


----------



## Krafus

Out of curiosity, how many hps of damage did the PCs have to inflict on each other before the cyst was finally sealed?


----------



## Ashy

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Here's something to keep you distracted between updates over here: Superhero storyhour also by me from our temporary game!  Piratecat Comics presents *Code-4: Reunion*, a six issue mini-series. Hope you enjoy it.




Awwww, shucks!  No prelude...    That means no fun with Jawbone & friends!  Comon, Pkat - ya GOTTA do a prelude!!!


----------



## Len

Ashy said:
			
		

> Awwww, shucks!  No prelude...    That means no fun with Jawbone & friends!  Comon, Pkat - ya GOTTA do a prelude!!!



They'll probably publish that later, to make a few extra bucks off the completist fanboys.


----------



## Ashy

Well, I played in the prelude and lemme tell ya - we had a rockin' time!


----------



## Dareoon Dalandrove

Did the group walk past Halcyon's sword while they were looting or did they not even see it?  Now from the sound of it you’re continuing on, not just till you get back to the surface.  Have you thought about an ending point?  I know that's probably blasphemy to post here, but everyone is epic now, where do things go from here?


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Dareoon Dalandrove said:
			
		

> I know that's probably blasphemy to post here, but everyone is epic now, where do things go from here?



Well, from memory there's the great Destroyer that Soder mentioned had been prophecied, and I don't believe the Defenders ever learned whom the dark fairies were waiting for in that training plane, either...

Seem like there are still a few Epic problems for the Defenders to face.

Or so we readers hope.


----------



## Steverooo

And even after all of that is resolved, there's the whole *Children of Nolin* campaign...


----------



## Legildur

Blackjack said:
			
		

> This is our in-joke, describing how we've adopted many, but not all, of the 3.5 changes.



Blackjack (or anyone from the DoD), what changes from 3.5E weren't adopted?



			
				TaranTheWanderer said:
			
		

> The campaign lasted about 2 years (1.5years in game time) and we finished around 17th level. It felt a bit unrealistic to become that powerful in such a short period of time.



And Taran, our group found the same thing.  We've just started the World's Largest Dungeon and it recommends scaling the experience right back for that very reason (I can't remember the formula right now).  This is fine if the designer takes this into account as to what the party's rating will be at particular points when building encounters.  This arrangement suited us fine as we really enjoy the lower level stuff.  Usually a TPK occurs around 10th level or so due to a tactical error or three.

Apologies for slight hijack of this awesome story hour.


----------



## Blackjack

Dareoon Dalandrove said:
			
		

> Have you thought about an ending point?  I know that's probably blasphemy to post here, but everyone is epic now, where do things go from here?




Actually, at this point in the Story Hour, nobody is epic.  Even right now (March 4), only one of the PCs are epic.  We've got a ways to go!


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Dareoon Dalandrove said:
			
		

> Everyone is epic now, where do things go from here?




Have no fear. Piratecat is in charge.

There is only one plot arc so horrifying, so terrifying, so nefarious, that it could possibly challenge heroes of the Defenders' epic stature.

It's so unspeakably, blood-chillingly devious, you could probably even challenge super heroes with it.


Wulf


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Oh, so now you're doing secret spoilers for other threads, eh?


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

They're going to have Children? or get Married?
 

GW


----------



## KidCthulhu

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> They're going to have Children? or get Married?
> 
> 
> GW




Ring the bell and give the man a kewpie doll!  (For at least half of that answer.)


----------



## Fimmtiu

Steverooo said:
			
		

> And even after all of that is resolved, there's the whole *Children of Nolin* campaign...




Yeah, but where would they find the requisite dozens of players?


----------



## jerichothebard

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Yeah, but where would they find the requisite dozens of players?



Make it a Play-by-post, and I'm in! (Along with every other gamer in the free world...)


----------



## Hammerhead

It still wouldn't be enough...


----------



## Blackjack

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Yeah, but where would they find the requisite dozens of players?




We'd need far more for the "Half-Siblings of Nolin" campaign.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Now Nolin only had 1 recognized child right?  What was his dad's name, he was much more prolific iirc.

GW


----------



## Fade

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> There is only one plot arc so horrifying, so terrifying, so nefarious, that it could possibly challenge heroes of the Defenders' epic stature.
> 
> It's so unspeakably, blood-chillingly devious, you could probably even challenge super heroes with it.




It's the cheese, isn't it.


----------



## MerakSpielman

I believe the ______ plotline is next, after the _____ are dealth with. Of course, with PC in charge, that will probably just be the intro into a huge and nasty infernal scheme.


----------



## Blackjack

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> I believe the ______ plotline is next, after the _____ are dealth with. Of course, with PC in charge, that will probably just be the intro into a huge and nasty infernal scheme.




*cough* *cough* Hey, c'mon, those of you who are in on the Thread Full o' Secrets, let's not spoil it for everyone else, okay?


----------



## Enkhidu

Blackjack said:
			
		

> *cough* *cough* Hey, c'mon, those of you who are in on the Thread Full o' Secrets, let's not spoil it for everyone else, okay?





To be fair, these are danglers left in the SH itself -



Spoiler



Galthia


 never made any bones about giving the 



Spoiler



mind flayers


 and their 



Spoiler



GIANT BRAIN


 some good ol' what-for, and I can't imagine 



Spoiler



Mara


 living down the 



Spoiler



riding incident


 without doing something. And the DoD won't really have a _choice_ about 



Spoiler



Agar's arranged marriage


 - that 



Spoiler



pit fiend


 should be coming back shortly for our 



Spoiler



little alienist


.


----------



## MerakSpielman

Blackjack said:
			
		

> *cough* *cough* Hey, c'mon, those of you who are in on the Thread Full o' Secrets, let's not spoil it for everyone else, okay?



I haven't seen the Thread Full o' Secrets. I just pay attention.


----------



## Blackjack

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> I haven't seen the Thread Full o' Secrets. I just pay attention.




Aha.  My apologies, then.  ("I believe ___ is next" sounded authoritative, as opposed to "My guess is that ___ is next".)


----------



## Plane Sailing

Hi Merak,

That being the case, I don't mind if you want to repost your clever deductions based on storyhour text. I hope you'll excuse my over-cautiousness.

Cheers,
Alex


----------



## MerakSpielman

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> Hi Merak,
> 
> That being the case, I don't mind if you want to repost your clever deductions based on storyhour text. I hope you'll excuse my over-cautiousness.
> 
> Cheers,
> Alex



Well, seeing how quickly my previous post got edited, I can only assume my deductions were correct. At any rate, I'll spoiler the following paragraphs, though I don't think I'm really giving anything away.



Spoiler



Well, if you'll recall, a while ago a pit fiend appeared to the party informing them of the upcoming wedding of Agar to a fiend. It seems reasonable that this would be the next stage of the adventure.

Also, with PC's reputation as a Rat Bastard, I'm guessing that this wedding will just be the beginning of a far-reaching, nefarious plot. _Everything_ the characters do is part of a far-reaching, nefarious plot - otherwise it's not as much fun.

The only other conclusion I reached was that this would happen after the Defenders took care of the Mind Flayers. I'd think that would be obvious - since they mentioned going back and killing them. (This should, incidentally, be a wonderful opportunity for Eve to show off her psionic abilities against like-powered opponents.)


----------



## Imperialus

Well I just finished reading the SH.  It's kinda redundant to say that I'm impressed that much is obvious since I read through over 1000 posts here.  It was kinda wierd though, when I was reading about the death of Nolin my 1500+ MP3 playlist happened to pop onto Bob Dylan's Knocking on Heaven's Door at that exact moment.  Seemed a fitting tribute that my computer offered to the character.


----------



## Piratecat

Merak, you're a smarty every day. Good guesswork on some of that stuff.  

For reference, there's no problem making guesses here unless I ask you not to on a specific point. Blackjack (not knowing that I hadn't given details in the thread-which-must-not-be-named) erroneously assumed spoilers. Thank you so much for caring enough to follow what's going on!

I owe everyone an update for last week in addition to this week's. I'm transcribing my mindflayer-a-go-go tapes, and should have the first one up before Wednesday. I'd have had it today, but between last week's funeral and having my Little Brother for the whole weekend, life got a little complicated. Also to come - more art!


----------



## Piratecat

The ghosts are gone, released into the afterlife, but the holiness remains in the cavern where the Defenders of Daybreak first met Saint Morak and Claris's spirits.  With half the group lapsed into exhausted slumber, a few members stand vigil around a small fire.  

"Here's the reply to the _sending_ you asked me to cast to your second-in-command on the surface, Malachite." Velendo recites carefully. _“My lord! Necromancer Kings slain to a man. Coronis’s sacrifice turned the tide. Phylactery is destroyed. Success has healed wounds. Your absence sorely felt. Journals inspirational.”_

Malachite looks worried. “I’m glad I sent my journals back with the dwarves who used Ceann’s gift, and it looks like the Church Militant was successful in the war that Aleax wanted them to fight. But should I be reading anything into the first two words?”

“What were the first two words?” asks Agar.

“My Lord.”

Understanding blossoms on the halfling’s round face. “Oh my!”

Velendo tries to look comforting. “Perhaps they elected you. . .”

“I know.”

“. . . to some high office.”

 “There’s only _one_ high office.”

“Well, perhaps that now belongs to you, assuming we make it home.”

Malachite hazards a joke. “I’ll have to address reports to myself. ‘Dear Me, killed Ivory King. . .’”

“Well,” interrupts Galthia, “In the meanwhile we’ve got to take on a mindflayer city and an elder brain.” The firelight creates rippling shadows across his angular face. “My friend Rondeth is still there, enslaved after a rrakma years ago, and I have a score to settle with the elder brain that we healed. I’m going on even if no one else wants to.” He grits his teeth.

Velendo looks surprised. “I think we’re all agreed that they should be wiped out. The question is, how do we do it?”

Mara starts to say something, pauses, and speaks slowly. “You know, I think just charging in is a bad idea in this case.”  Everyone looks at her in surprise.  “Well, it is! We may be better served by stealth. The best tactic is probably to split up and come at them from different sides at the same time.”

Galthia blinks. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Sure,” says Mara. “It’ll divide their forces at a time when they’ll need a concentration of illithids to defeat us. If we split into three or four small units, we can’t help but win.”

“Hmm.” Velendo looks doubtful. “I had a good idea for tactics. We should plan on summoning lots and lots of powerful elementals. They have no brain to speak of, so they can’t be influenced by mind-affecting powers. That negates the vast majority of a mind flayer’s attacks.”

“Nope,” says Agar in disappointment. “I remember hearing that most mindflayers have adapted to this tactic. They have a method for seizing control of an elemental and turning them back against its summoner. I’m not looking forward to being targeted by multiple elder elementals.”

They sit quietly for a moment around the fire, each lost in their own thoughts.

_This isn’t going to work,_ realizes Velendo. _There’s nothing we can do to attack them in their own home; it’s a form of suicide. No one will blame us if we don’t bring the fight to them._ 

He rubs his forehead. _But *I’ll* blame *myself*,_ he thinks.

_No I won’t,_ he thinks. _This is going to be a horrible way to die._

“There’s got to be some way we can do this and succeed,” he says out loud.

“I think we don’t have a chance unless we’re protected mentally, and we don’t have the capability for multiple _mind blanks._” Mara leans back. “Do you remember the battle of the Agathean Pillars?”

Malachite sits up. “No.”

“I’m surprised. It was a battle of mixed Aeosian troops against a relatively small group of mindflayers. They got slaughtered. The problem is that they didn’t have any defense against the mental powers, so the soldiers and commanders were completely eliminated. If we don’t go in protected, we’re going to fail.”

Agar frowns. “But we have no means to protect ourselves that thoroughly.”

“Exactly.”

_We might as well just head home now,_ thinks Velendo. “Does anyone think we can win this?”  Everyone awake shakes their head, and something deep inside Velendo’s brain struggles to the surface. “But we thought we could yesterday!”

“So?” Agar shrugs. “Now we know more information.”

Velendo’s face twists in frustration. “No we don’t! Agar, is there any chance that our mindlink has been tampered with?”

“No,” answers the halfling. “No chance at all. No one can do that.”

Malachite looks doubtful. “Hasn’t it happened in the past? I can’t remember.”

“I don’t _think_ so. It shouldn’t be possible.”

Velendo leaps to his feet. “But it _has_ happened in the past! I know it has!”  Everyone stares up at him, faces doubtful. 

Agar clambers to his feet. “I think I know my own magic, Velendo,” he says huffily, “and I’m telling you that it can’t be done. I know it can’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Right, like I know we can’t win against the mindflayers! I think they’re messing with our thoughts. Can they do that?”

Mara shakes her head again, golden hair shimmering in the firelight. For a second it dangles down in loose tendrils in front of her face, but she pushes it back with one hand. “This is different from when we’ve met them before.”

“Still, he may have a point – specifically because I keep thinking that he _doesn’t_ have a point.” Malachite nods. “Agar, you’re being influenced.”

Agar sneers. “Hardly.”

“Please take down the mindlink anyways?” asks Velendo. “Can’t hurt.  Also, Mara, please check for evil. I’m going to put up a sovereign wall and see if that helps block any mental influence.” 

_I better not,_ thinks the cleric to himself. _We may get trapped in here. But why would I want to escape from inside a sovereign wall? Wait, if there IS a mind flayer here it’ll be inside with us. No, that’s okay, we could find and kill it._ He shakes his head as if trying to knock loose the conflicting thoughts, and casts the miracle. A bubble of impenetrable force surrounds the entire group of heroes.

“The mindlink is down, everyone,” reports Agar. “Good thing, too. It could have been penetrated.”

Velendo spins. “Mara, do you still think splitting up is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” says the paladin. “It’s a stupid tactic.”

Velendo turns his face to the unseen heavens. “God _damn_ it!”

Agar grimaces. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“We’re in trouble. The fact that they can influence all of our thoughts trivially while we’re planning. . .”

Malachite swallows. “We’re not prepared for this.”

Galthia gets to his feet. “There’s no point in going in there if it means certain death.”

Mara purses her lips. “I’m not sure it does. Attacking the elder brain may not be useless. You know the battle I remembered?”

“Yes?” asks Agar.

She looks embarrassed. “I’m not sure it ever occurred. I remember hearing about it, but I can’t recall when!”

“Well, I could have sworn that I heard it was a good idea to send elementals to fight mindflayers until the mindflayers became experts at turning them against the summoner, but I don’t remember where I heard it either.”  He brightens. Maybe that means it’s a good tactic that the illithids don’t want us to use!”

Galthia gives a short laugh. “Unless the flayers are using reverse psychology.”

Something bounces off the sovereign wall and flutters back into the darkness.

“A bat.”  Velendo sighs. “I need to think more.”

“The element of surprise is gone now,” Mara says. “They now know we’re coming.” She brightens. “This explains why I didn’t want to just charge in!  Thank Aeos. I thought I was going soft.”

“We knew something was wrong.”

Then something slaps into the side of the sovereign wall. It’s not a bat. Instead, it’s a silvery opalescent color, the same sheen of the ectoplasm that they saw dripping from the ceiling of T’pocl.  It has ten legs, four wings, no head, and is holding something in four of the legs. As the group watches in disgust, the creature bumps again up against solid wall. It holds itself there with several of its legs, and then unreels a piece of paper for the group to read.

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Piratecat

My goal during this game was to mess with the players' heads. I almost never offer out-and-out advice to the players, but this game I was doing so constantly. A player would ask the others "What is our best tactic?", and I'd comment "There aren't any. From what you know about tactics, any assault on this place is going to get you slaughtered."  I tried to be really matter-of-fact and sincere.

Of course, it was mind flayers messing with their heads. Once they figured it out, every single comment I made got me looks of deep suspicion and betrayal.  

Anyways, this is last week's art post!  This week's will come tomorrow. Thank you, everyone; the art challenge is keeping me writing, and that's a good thing.


----------



## MerakSpielman

Gah!

OK, how did you get the players to present ideas to the party that were influenced by mind flayers without the other party members noticing? Were you slipping them notes, or what?

edit: well, there I go posting while you're pre-emptively answering my question.


----------



## Piratecat

I'd say, "Mara, make me a religion check to remember something important. Made it? You remember the battle of the Agathean Pillars. Here's what happened." Or when Velendo got suspicious, I said "This is what you know. I'm just telling you the facts." I then let them sort out the truth from the implanted fiction.

Sagiro: "I think we're being messed with."
Me: "No you aren't."
Sagiro: "Yes we are!"
Me: "No you aren't. No one can mess with your thoughts. You're fine."
Sagiro: "Shut up, you!"


----------



## Thornir Alekeg

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Then something slaps into the side of the sovereign wall. It’s not a bat. Instead, it’s a silvery opalescent color, the same sheen of the ectoplasm that they saw dripping from the ceiling of T’pocl.  It has ten legs, four wings, no head, and is holding something in four of the legs. As the group watches in disgust, the creature bumps again up against solid wall. It holds itself there with several of its legs, and then unreels a piece of paper for the group to read.
> 
> _To be continued. . ._





[edit] Never mind, I went back and found I was wrong.  Must have been mind flayers messing with my memory.


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Sagiro: "I think we're being messed with."
> Me: "No you aren't."
> Sagiro: "Yes we are!"
> Me: "No you aren't. No one can mess with your thoughts. You're fine."
> Sagiro: "Shut up, you!"




Evil. Genius. Evil genius.


----------



## Dakkareth

Spoiler



Piratecat, it would be a good idea to start writing again. Right now, so you finish in time


 ...


----------



## the_mighty_agrippa

That rules.


----------



## MTR

Piratecat said:
			
		

> My goal during this game was to mess with the players' heads. I almost never offer out-and-out advice to the players, but this game I was doing so constantly. A player would ask the others "What is our best tactic?", and I'd comment "There aren't any. From what you know about tactics, any assault on this place is going to get you slaughtered."  I tried to be really matter-of-fact and sincere.




What would you have done if they didn't figure out your trick?  Skipped the mind flayer plotline?


----------



## Piratecat

MTR said:
			
		

> What would you have done if they didn't figure out your trick?  Skipped the mind flayer plotline?




As someone in the industry recently said, "plot is what happens if the PCs never get involved."  The flayers would have kept doing what they were planning, probably would have succeeded, and the Defenders may never have heard from them again. I was prepared to skip the mindflayer plotline if the group had had enough of the underdark.

On the other hand, something good happened because the group did get involved.  Positive reinforcement for being clever is probably better than negative consequences.


----------



## Jeremy

LOL that's so awesome!  Instead of metagame detracting from the game, it's used as a tool to be actually in game metagame game...  What was I saying?  Damn illithid...


----------



## KidCthulhu

I blame JonRog.  Ever since the Green Marker Incident, PC has been dying to mess with our heads.


----------



## DrZombie

Lol, they're just trying to outdo each other, using their players' mental status as a way of keeping score. First one to get their entire group in straightjackets wins. Then they move on to the next group, and the next.... We're doomed. DOOMED I TELL YOU. Yessss, precious. Mmmh, tomorrow another update. Gooodd. Piratecat. Here kitty kitty. Gaargl


----------



## azmodean

I've been keeping up with the story hour for a while now, loving it.  But this latest post, just totally over the top, that's such an awesome scene.

Stupid undead immune-to-mind-effects party...


----------



## Piratecat

Written on vellum made from unidentifiable skin, the psi-active runes on the note drill directly into the head of anyone who tries to read them. They speak in the unforgettable voice of the elder brain, squirming and writhing as they make themselves understood. 

*“We wish to see you. They will try to stop you. We will welcome you. You may come and go freely, with no danger of ambush from us or anyone we control. We will return the githzerai Rondeth after we speak.”*

Velendo rereads the note. “No danger of ambush? What a lie!”

“Unless there’s something going on,” says Mara. “If it’s a trap, it’s an incredibly transparent and obvious one.”

“That would be atypical for mind flayers,” agrees Agar. 

Galthia scowls. “Unless they think that making it obvious is the only way I’ll fall for it. I hate out-thinking those damn things.”

Velendo throws his arms up in the air. “I’m tired of this. I’m going to cast a commune.”

As one, the rest of the group begins the traditional chant. “Weal or woe! Weal or woe!”

“Yeah, yeah. I have one of those, too, just in case. But this will be a commune, because they're a lot more useful.”

Galthia begins to pace. “Unless you can tell me that this is absolutely a trap, Velendo, I’m still going.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find out.”  Behind him, a translucent predator-thing sweeps in to eat the unnatural creature with the note and  disappears into the darkness. Velendo spins, but it's already gone.

Twenty minutes later, the cleric sits down holding a list of questions and places his shield carefully in front of himself.  He starts to pray, and the cavern around him dissolves.

_He is clambering up a hill, standing there looking up into the heavens, and suddenly he feels an agent of his God there by his side.

“I have questions of you,” Velendo swallows.

*“AND I OF YOU. CRUCIEL IS WELL?”*

Velendo blinks in surprise. “Err – Yes. She is a gift I do not deserve.”

*GOOD. ASK YOUR QUESTIONS.”*

“Okay,” he says.  “Here goes.”_

Was the note truly from the elder brain?  *YES.*

Was the note meant to apply only to Galthia?  *NO.*

Can we trust the elder brain to honor the contents of the note?  *YES.*

Do we have a reasonable chance of defeating the mindflayers if we don’t have protection against their mind blast power?  *THAT IS UNCLEAR AND BASED UPON YOUR TACTICS.*

Is Rondeth currently in good condition?  *PHYSICALLY.*

Is the elder brain the source of the spell breakdown that affected us in our previous visit to T’Pocl?  *YES.*

Will destroying the brain labyrinth significantly increase our chances of defeating the mindflayers opposing us?*   YES, IN THE FUTURE.*

Do we currently have the ability to destroy the labyrinth?*  YES, FROM INSIDE.*

Is a fast, direct assault on the elder brain itself the best tactic for defeating the mind flayers?* NO.

Would our chances of defeating the mindflayers significantly increase if we go to the surface and return with reinforcements?  (pause) YES.

Would our chances of defeating the mindflayers significantly increase if we go to Limbo and return with githzerai reinforcements?  (pause) YES.

If we leave the underdark to bring back reinforcements, will we be able to return via gate?  YES.

Can we gate directly into the mindflayer city?  NO.

Does the ‘they’ in the note refer to other mindflayers?  YES.

Is our best route into the mindflayer city the same way we entered last time?  NOW. .  IT IS IRRELEVANT.

Is the human prisoner that we left in the kuo-toa city still alive?  YES.

Is that group of undead that includes Arballine still pursuing us?  NO.

Can Eve be trusted not to betray our interests?  YES.

Can Agar escape his impending marriage by arguing his contract legally?  I DO NOT KNOW.*​*
And as suddenly as it began, Velendo is back in the cavern.

“Grrr!” Agar is positively growling with annoyance as Velendo reads back the answers. “Thank you for asking, Velendo, but grrrr! It’d be nice if Gods were omniscient.”  Proty wiggles his pseudopods in agreement.

“Well, once again, the answers confuse more than they clear up. What did he mean, ‘Now it is irrelevant’? Is that ‘Right this minute it doesn’t matter,’ or ‘It no longer matters,’ or. . .  Arrgh!”  Velendo puts his head in his hands and tugs at what little hair he has left. Cruciel manifests and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Malachite fixes the elderly cleric with a piercing stare. “Weal or woe, Velendo. Weal or woe.”

He sighs. “And what does ‘Yes, in the future’ supposed to mean? That it helps us in the future? You know, church doctrine indicates that the spell is supposed to add words in order to clarify confusing points.” He glances pointedly up towards heaven. 

“Hmm,” says Galthia, “apparently Calphas didn’t read the description of the prayer.”

“You just tell Him that,” whispers Cruciel in Velendo’s ear. She’s having trouble not breaking into a grin.  “I’m sure He wasn’t trying to be confusing.”

“Well,” says Velendo, “it sounds like Galthia’s friend is physically well but mentally unwell. I’m sorry.”  Galthia nods. “I’m surprised that this note really is from the elder brain, and he intends to honor it.”

“Now I know why it said irrelevant,” says Galthia. “It doesn’t matter which way we come, because the brain is going to let us in.”

“We have a lot of options,” says Malachite. “We can parley now, leave for reinforcements, and then gate back later. The division in their ranks between the elder brain and the mindflayers means that we can divide and conquer. Destroying rogue illithids now while parleying with the elder brain means that even if we have to fight it later, we’ll have reduced its strength.”

“We should expect an attack,” says Velendo. “It just won’t be from the brain itself.”

“We also need to go through this monstrous pile of loot and see what can assist us.” Malachite gestures at the scattered items near an open bag of holding. “We have an awful lot of stuff that may help.  for instance, one of the things we found was the heart of the Ivory King. It amplifies your force of personality no matter where it is on your body, but it’s still corrupted. It needs to be cleansed.”

“Err,” Agar raises one finger hesitantly. “You’re wrong about one thing. I’m pretty sure it only works properly if it’s on your belt, or if you rip out your own heart and replace it with the emerald. That’s an important distinction.” 

Malachite stares at him.  “Are you serious?”

Agar nods. “Ohhhh, yes.” 

Velendo laughs. “If he’s going to be lord of the Emerald Chapel, what better way to signify his ascension than by ripping out his own heart and replacing it with a powerful emerald?”  

“A magical, evil, undead emerald!” crows Mara.

“It’s not evil!” says Malachite. “Just tainted. I think it can be purified. . . but we’ll keep it away from my chest in the mean time.”  He looks at the other treasure spread out around the bag. “Hey, you know what could probably stop the elder brain?  A wheel of moldy cheese. If only we had a wheel of moldy cheese. . .”  He keeps a straight face.

“The wheel of woe?” Mara asks. 

“Exactly. Let’s get started on planning. It’s going to be a long night.”

By the next morning Karthos has tried to convince Eve to look more attractive, Eve has found out that Velendo can talk to his God (and that not all Gods are dark and terrible), the group has split up treasure, and no one has reached any conclusions about how to defeat mind flayers. They finally decide to boost their will power as much as possible and hope for the best.

Velendo casts his seventh owl’s wisdom spell on Priggle. As he does, the svirfneblin suddenly looks up with shining eyes. 

“Maybe. .  I’ve been assuming that my race is overlooked and put upon just because I’m overlooked and put upon. What if it isn’t all of us, it’s just my attitude that’s causing a problem? I’ve never considered this. I’ve got to remember this!”

“Quick!” yells Velendo. “Someone get him a parchment and quill!”

“Mr. Agar,” says Eve, “don’t move for just a moment.” She touches him, and huge quantities of crystalline mucous boil into existence and roll over his body. He can feel it seeping into his clothing and across his skin, clinging to him as it hardens into ectoplasmic armor. “I made extra tentacles for you!” she says.  She does the same for several other people.  The group then breakfasts on a Calphasian hero’s feast before setting out wind walking. 

They pick their way through half-remembered tunnels, fighting off foreign thoughts as they head towards T’Pocl. The last time they passed by here, they were running with their tails between their legs after being too cowardly to attack the elder bra. . .

“Auggh! How is it keeping up with us? This is driving me nuts. I don’t know which thoughts are my own!” yells velendo.

“What?” asks Malachite.

“My brain is still getting poked at, even though we’re flying at sixty miles an hour. It’s making me think we were cowardly.”  There’s nothing we can do to defend against it, he realizes. We might as well give up.  “Damn it!”

“They must be divining us. We should activate our gem of psychic poison.”

“I keep that out when we’re camped, but we were inside the sovereign wall at the time. We’ll have to come out of wind walk for me to get it now.”

Leaving us wide open to an attack, Velendo realizes. No, wait, there’s no way they could prepare an ambush at some arbitrary place. Of course not. We’ll be perfectly safe. It will be perfectly safe. . . “Auggh! Get out of there!”

“Let’s stop now and do it,” says Galthia. He looks concerned about Velendo’s erratic conversation.  They leave the gem out for ten minutes, and don’t notice anyone poking at their thoughts by the end of the rest period.

Eventually they pass over the stagnant water where they fought the undead hydra. Just beyond that is the opening to the mind flayer city. They spread themselves out somewhat, take deep breaths, and pass into T’Pocl.


To be continued. . .

Next update: religious epiphanies and mind flayer mayhem!*


----------



## Piratecat

Not too high drama, but some necessary intelligence. Now that we've got all the planning out of the way, good stuff a-coming. . .


----------



## BSF

Hey, it's all still nifty and there are some great lines in there!  As a reader, I offer you my thanks.


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Not too high drama, but some necessary intelligence. Now that we've got all the planning out of the way, good stuff a-coming. . .



I have to admit that I'm more than a little bit curious about the "huge pile of treasure" that was divvied up.

Any chance there are updated character sheets in the works at some point?


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

If he types it , we reads it, yes we does.

GW


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The last time they passed by here, they were running with their tails between their legs after being too cowardly to attack the elder bra. . .




Let me just tell you, you do _not_ want to face an elder bra.  The horde of negligee minions is enough to make even an epic character quake in their boots.  Unless, of course, they are high-heeled calf-high boots worn with silk stockings.  (But only Nolin would be _that_ much of a dandy.)


----------



## MerakSpielman

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Let me just tell you, you do _not_ want to face an elder bra. The horde of negligee minions is enough to make even an epic character quake in their boots. Unless, of course, they are high-heeled calf-high boots worn with silk stockings. (But only Nolin would be _that_ much of a dandy.)



Also, some of the little beasties wear Freudian Slips, a most powerful form of magical armor.


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *“AND I OF YOU. CRUCIEL IS WELL?”*
> 
> Velendo blinks in surprise. “Err – Yes. She is a gift I do not deserve.”
> 
> *GOOD. ASK YOUR QUESTIONS.”*




o/~ o/~ o/~
Caliphas and Cruciel sittin' in a Tree 
K
I
S
S
I
N
G



> He looks at the other treasure spread out around the bag. “Hey, you know what could probably stop the elder brain?  A wheel of moldy cheese. If _only_ we had a wheel of moldy cheese. . .”  He keeps a straight face.
> 
> “The wheel of woe?” Mara asks.
> 
> “Exactly. Let’s get started on planning. It’s going to be a long night.”




Something tells me our dear Mal will live to _eat_ those words.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Let me just tell you, you do _not_ want to face an elder bra.




Didn't we take the Elder Bra off that marilith outside Mrid?


----------



## Len

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Didn't we take the Elder Bra off that marilith outside Mrid?



Just what I was thinking. But maybe that was only a dire bra?


----------



## thatdarncat

Bloodsparrow said:
			
		

> o/~ o/~ o/~
> Caliphas and Cruciel sittin' in a Tree
> K
> I
> S
> S
> I
> N
> G



I got the impression that it wasn't Caliphas exactly who'd answered, instead that it was another angel. 



> He is clambering up a hill, standing there looking up into the heavens, and suddenly he feels an agent of his God there by his side.







			
				Bloodsparrow said:
			
		

> Something tells me our dear Mal will live to _eat_ those words.



Mal is positively chipper now that the Ivory King is dead


----------



## Bloodsparrow

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> I got the impression that it wasn't Caliphas exactly who'd answered,




Yeah, but "Crucial and an agent of Caliphas sittin' in a tree..." is a bit wordy.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Len said:
			
		

> Just what I was thinking. But maybe that was only a dire bra?




I'm thinking it was a Bra of the Titans.  Or is that Bra of the Tetons?


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Bloodsparrow said:
			
		

> Yeah, but "Crucial and an agent of Caliphas sittin' in a tree..." is a bit wordy.



Am I the only one who was hoping maybe _Velendo_ might see some romance in his life?  Hey, you're never too old for love...


----------



## MerakSpielman

Kid Charlemagne said:
			
		

> I'm thinking it was a Bra of the Titans. Or is that Bra of the Tetons?



Her bustline was so legendary, they named a National Park after it.


----------



## Ciaran

Wasn't Piratecat gonna post a .doc file containing a full list of the treasure found in the White Kingdom?  I think he mentioned it about 15 months ago...


----------



## Lela

Lord Pendragon said:
			
		

> Am I the only one who was hoping maybe _Velendo_ might see some romance in his life?  Hey, you're never too old for love...



 To me it seemed more like Crucial and Velendo had something going on in there.


----------



## Samnell

Lela said:
			
		

> To me it seemed more like Crucial and Velendo had something going on in there.




Anybody can see that they just stay up late and snuggle close around the fireplace to read Calphas's scriptures on that thick bearskin rug. Nothing happened.

Besides, Velendo is arguably in a position of authority over Cruciel. Such a relationship could be seen as an abuse of that power and he's way too classy for that. I mean, he takes his role as a kind of saint so seriously...


----------



## Lela

Which will pritty much leave him alone for the rest of his life. Unless Mara's interested. . .


Anyway, I was basing it off this little flirtatious exchange.



> Velendo puts his head in his hands and tugs at what little hair he has left. Cruciel manifests and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
> 
> Malachite fixes the elderly cleric with a piercing stare. “Weal or woe, Velendo. Weal or woe.”
> 
> He sighs. “And what does ‘Yes, in the future’ supposed to mean? That it helps us in the future? You know, church doctrine indicates that the spell is supposed to add words in order to _clarify_ confusing points.” He glances pointedly up towards heaven.
> 
> “Hmm,” says Galthia, “apparently Calphas didn’t read the description of the prayer.”
> 
> “You just tell Him that,” whispers Cruciel in Velendo’s ear. She’s having trouble not breaking into a grin. “I’m sure He wasn’t trying to be confusing.”


----------



## Samnell

Lela said:
			
		

> Anyway, I was basing it off this little flirtatious exchange.




Cruciel? Sure, I can see it. I can't see Velendo going for it, though.


----------



## Quartermoon

I got the feeling that was a bit more amused mocking on Cruciel's part.  And I have to say, I like it when we get something from her other than "She steps in and saves Velendo from X."  That other NPC, the one without the wings...he gets all the good lines.  Hm.  When >I< get to guest play at PCat's house, I want to be the angel!  There's a personality and relationship (with V and with the group) that has yet to be tapped...


----------



## Hammerhead

Quartermoon said:
			
		

> That other NPC, the one without the wings...he gets all the good lines.  Hm.




Burr-Lip? Splinder?


----------



## Piratecat

I'm back! I owe two updates, but you'll get at least three as an apology. First one should be in this weekend, with the others shortly thereafter.

Last night I had a revelation. As some of you know, I'm also writing up my current superhero game. I'm doing that in the (more traditional) past tense, while this storyhour is in the present tense. I remarked to KidC that it was driving me nuts doing them differently; at first the MnM writeup seemed unusual, but now I can't write in present tense worth a darn.*

KidC's advice was to change this storyhour over to a past tense format... so "Malachite ran" instead of "Malachite runs". The group is leaving the underdark, we're converting to 3.5 about this point. . . I'm allowed a change or two.  

If this really bugs anyone, let me know. 

* Clearly, I'm two tense.


----------



## Elocin

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I'm back! I owe two updates, but you'll get at least three as an apology. First one should be in this weekend, with the others shortly thereafter.





This had SOOOOOOOOOO better not be an April's Fool joke.







			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> * Clearly, I'm two tense.




Bad, Bad Putty Tat!!!!!


----------



## MerakSpielman

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I'm back! I owe two updates, but you'll get at least three as an apology. First one should be in this weekend, with the others shortly thereafter.
> 
> Last night I had a revelation. As some of you know, I'm also writing up my current superhero game. I'm doing that in the (more traditional) past tense, while this storyhour is in the present tense. I remarked to KidC that it was driving me nuts doing them differently; at first the MnM writeup seemed unusual, but now I can't write in present tense worth a darn.*
> 
> KidC's advice was to change this storyhour over to a past tense format... so "Malachite ran" instead of "Malachite runs". The group is leaving the underdark, we're converting to 3.5 about this point. . . I'm allowed a change or two.
> 
> If this really bugs anyone, let me know.
> 
> * Clearly, I'm two tense.



I've been writing my SH in present tense, too. I like the sense of immediacy it lends the action. Thing is, I've gone through 7 years of training to write in past tense like everybody else. I keep slipping up and have to carefully edit everything just to make sure all the verbs are in order.


----------



## Zustiur

I think I prefer the present tense. Also, wouldn't it be less drastic to change the superhero thread to present tense? It hasn't got such a long history, and (to the best of my knowledge) doesn't have people making massive pdf documents of it. Think of the continuity please 
If you one day decide to make the storyhour consistent again it would take a much larger quantity of effort to fix this one...

Anyway, that's my vote.
That said, if it's too much hassle, do whatever you have to do.

Zustiur.


----------



## Thornir Alekeg

Past, present...as long as the immediate future holds more updates I'll take 'em however I can get 'em


----------



## Piratecat

They spread out and enter the chthonic gates of T’Pocl. A sour breeze blows towards them, carrying the revolting odor of solidified thought.

Eve looks unnerved as they advance. Her eyes dart back and forth in her pale face, staring at every glutinous shadow that slides towards them.  “I hope that we didn’t get wrong information.” Her tone of voice indicates that she’s fairly sure they did.

Velendo sounds self-assured. “I trust in my God.”

Agar nods.  “We’ve gotten this far in large part because we’ve trusted his God.” He glances towards Mara and flushes slightly before finishing his sentence. “As well as others.” He smiles awkwardly as if to remind Mara that he hadn’t _really_ forgotten about Aeos.

Eve scowls petulantly. “I don’t get it.”

Velendo smiles. His face is beatific. “Stay with us long enough, and you will.”

“I hope so.”

The door behind them closes, and the door in front of them opens. They had navigated these rooms once before, trapped in a labyrinth of impaled brains. Now there is no psionic activity at all. The Defenders float in mist form past the warding sigils.  Eve reaches out mentally and brushes her psyche along one of the hundreds of dripping brains still skewered on stalagmites. She stifles a scream.

“They’re still alive. They’re all still alive. The spikes keep them alive, and it’s their thoughts and their life energy that powers the defenses of this place,” Eve whimpers. “They’re not dead! They’re still thinking!”

“Are they in pain?” Velendo looks disgusted.

“They’re sleeping now. But they won’t stay that way.”

Galthia raises his thin eyebrows. “I’ll tell you now, Eve, you probably won’t have to worry about having your brain eaten.”

Eve’s voice is weak and pleading. “I’ll probably end up a brain on a stick!”

“There are worse deaths.”

She turns to Galthia. “I don’t look good on sticks!”

“We won’t let you get eaten.” Velendo gives Galthia a dirty look. The githzerai just shrugs.

They emerge in the massive cavern. When they were here before, the ceiling was covered with psi-active slime and odd lights filled the spaces between thought. There’s none of that now. The space is psionicly passive, and it’s an easy flight past the bizarrely angled buildings and up over the dark and bubbling brain fluid lake. They curve around towards the dome where the elder brain had been during their last visit, a few members of the group staying towards the back to guard against any sudden attack.

Standing outside of the elder brain’s dome is a hideously thin githzerai, leaning oddly against the curved wall.  A ropey trickle of drool descends from his slack mouth. His eyes are dead, but Eve can hear him screaming somewhere deep inside.

Galthia’s face hardens. “That’s Rondeth.”

The githzerai’s mouth gapes open and begins speaking, but the group perceives a deep mental voice in their heads at the same time that they hear Rondeth’s thin reedy voice.  *“Not entirely.  At the moment, we are inside of its brain.  When we are finished, we will be true to our word and release it.”* *

Galthia keeps his temper. “Should we remain as we are?”

*“It would be easier for us to communicate with you if you were solid.”* 

“Why is that?”

*“Your brains are fragmented. Your thoughts are vaporous. They are less. .  supple. . when you are not solid.”* 

“Ohhh-kay.” Velendo sounds doubtful, but the group slowly returns from _wind walk_ form.

The elder brain wastes no time. *“We believe that we have a disease.  It was you who transmitted it to us. It is you who we look to for a cure.”*

“We got rid of your disease.”  Velendo leans on his shield, knobby fingers idly tracing the patterns on the battered stone.  

*“Yes. The rotting part of us was removed by you.  And in the process. . .”*

Eve’s eyes bulge.  She almost screams over the mindlink. _“It was WHAT?”_

Malachite is brusque. _“Eve, Eve? Shhh.  Not now.”_

Although not part of the mindlink, the creature still hidden within the glassine dome clearly hears Eve’s comment.  It speaks through Rondeth.  *“We were rotting.  Part of us would not be cured. They excised it.”*

“Oh.”  Eve’s lack of enthusiasm is notable. “Good.”

*“They destroyed it. It did not regrow. When we attempted to combine the portion of ourselves that had been infected with the portion of ourselves that had been in safekeeping, they were incompatible. There was an error in the merging. We do not understand the feeling, but we wish to know why.”*  One of Rondeth’s limbs jerks slightly, perhaps reacting to the elder brain’s frustration. More drool trickles from the corner of his mouth.

Velendo sounds cautious.  “What feeling are you having?”

*“There is. . .”*  It pauses.  *“Confusion.  We wish to speak to the part of you which is not prey, the part of you which is sentient.”*

“What?”

Eve whispers, “I got it.”

*“Inside of your human shells, whatever is possessing you which makes you sentient. We wish to speak to it.” *

“That’s what you’re speaking to now.” Velendo’s voice is confused.

*“No. Your type of prey. They are not sentient. They are cattle. You have done something which none other have. It does not. . .” *

“I have done something only that has opened your eyes.” _If it had eyes,_ thinks Velendo, _which it doesn’t. But the statement stands._

“He’s not prey,” says Eve.  “He has a higher mind.”  A sly impulse strikes her. For just a second, she vaults her psyche up to the psychic plane and joins the elder brain within the mindscape.  Eve has faced a few difficult psionic opponents in her time, she has crushed mindflayers without having to twitch a finger, and Soder has told her many times that she is a formidable foe. She knows that she has the strength to stand against the elder brain in mental combat if she has to, and she’s determined to prove to this abhorrent creature that she _does_ matter, that mortal creatures _are_ more than just prey. She unveils her powerful psyche in all of its radiant glory, insistent on showing the elder brain that they are a force to be reckoned with.

She is crushed like a bug.

In the plane of silvery mist, she stands naked and alone. She is very small.  It is very, very large. It takes her and pinions her with an irresistible mental strength.  

“Eeeek!”  

It does not kill her; she can feel it rifling through her in an attempt to understand her. Then it casually drops her, and Eve’s mental avatar drops back into her body.

“That wasn’t a very good idea,” she whispers hoarsely.

“What happened?”

“I tried to. . .”

*“Your type phenomenologically responds.  You make noises and you move, and yet you do not properly cogitate or judge.” *

“You are mistaken in that,” says Velendo patiently.

Malachite almost cuts him off.  “Your insults are not exactly going to get on our good side.” He stares at Rondeth’s vacant eyes.

“He’s not insulting you,” Eve says forlornly. “He’s trying to tell you what he knows.”

*“We do not insult you. We state facts.  But you have done something to us, and we need to understand what it is.”*  The thundering mental voice is insistent. *“There is. . .” *

“Good in you?” asks Eve.

*“We do not understand what you mean by ‘good.’” *

“That’s because your kind does not think right,” snarls Malachite.

*“There was. . pleasure. . in not devouring.” *

“That’s a good start,” says Mara hopefully.

*“There was. .  a tinge when we did not cause pain to thralls.”*

“Good for you!” Mara says.

*“Why?” *

Eve is the first to venture a guess.  “I think you’ve got religion.”

*“What does that mean?” *

Mara says, “Maybe it means that you’ve found hope.”

Galthia nods.  “You have been touched by the breath of God.”

Velendo steps forward. “There are many powers in this world.”

*“There is only Maanzecorian and Ilsensine.  All others are thrall to them.” *

Velendo wrinkles his forehead, trying to say something diplomatic. “I think that is also a misconception, in the greater scheme. Your sphere of experience may be limited to what you have always believed. There are other powers equal to and even greater than they.”

“Again,” says Malachite softly. “It does not think right.” He feels the force of the elder brain’s attention turned on him; it’s akin to sticking his unprotected face into a blast furnace. Eve gasps, her face ashen.

*“By definition we DO.” *

“You need to think outside of existing concepts.” Malachite’s tone is stubborn, insistent. He feels like he’s walking into a hurricane wind.

“No, Malachite,”  Eve’s tone is plaintive and sad. “He’s going to eat your brain.” Malachite glances at her.

Velendo sucks in air. “There’s a realm of existence in which entities exist that are far beyond ourselves or you. These two that you have named are among them. The God I serve are also among them.  There are others.”

*“They do not prey upon your. . God?” * The elder brain sounds haughty and skeptical.

“No, they do not.  They can not.” 

*“Why?” *

“I don’t know.”

*“Are they not superior to it?” *

“No.  It is possible that even if they are superior to it, they choose not to.” His tone turns slightly pedantic. “There is a wide realm of interaction between intelligent sentient beings that does not involve the predator and prey relationship.”

*“So you claim that all of you are. . sentient.” *

“Yes,” states Malachite.

The elder brain’s voice is filled with scorn.  *“Even the svirfneblin? They are not sentient.” *

“They are,” starts Velendo.

“Mr. Priggle has a very interesting brain!” interrupts Eve. Almost underfoot, Priggle shoots her a grateful look before returning to his internal preparations for immediate death.

"Oh, sure. The _elder brain_ notices me. Lucky, lucky svirfneblin."

“They are,” repeats Velendo, “in a different frame of reference than you are used to.  Clearly, the Gods you have named are far far above you, are they not?”

*“They are.” *

“But you are sentient.”

*“We are.” *

“And you, in some sense, are far far above me.  But _I_ am sentient.”

*“This is not just a concept of sentience which you believe in, which is false?” *The brain sounds undecided.

“No. I speak the truth.”  Behind him, Velendo feels Cruciel briefly grasp his hand.

There is a long pause. *“So we are infected with your spiritual virus.” * It sounds nonplussed.  *“What can be done?” *

“I don’t know that anything _should_ be done. It is improving you.” Velendo sounds slightly smug.

*“We wish it could change us, and that is incorrect.” *

“With the new data you’ve been given,” Eve says, “you may have to rely on one portion of the brain until you can integrate the other.” 

“I’m not sure we would know how to remove this epiphany,” says Malachite. “These are issues known as morality. They are debated considerably among our kind.”

Galthia is more blunt. “You are going to have to make a choice.”

*“And that choice is?” *

“Which side of the brain to allow to take over.”

*“We have heard of morality. We have never found it much use.” *

“It will be now.”

Eve smiles. “You can have that little thrill again, and again, and again.”

“It improves your interactions with other sentient beings,” Velendo says, “just as much if not more than it hinders them.”

Mara laughs, her voice slightly wistful. “And it makes you happy.”

*“What do you call it when you do not wish to kill something?” * Its mental voice is full of both distaste and wonder. *“When you wish to. . improve it, instead?”*

“Compassion.”
“Kindness.”
“Love.”

*“This body we speak through. We delved for mental recordings. Its brain had long since been subsumed. We wanted to restore it.”*

“Can you?” asks Mara.  “It would be proper.”

*“We can’t. But doing so would. . give us pleasure. It should not give us pleasure. Devouring it should give us pleasure. But that no longer does.”* It sounds angry and bewildered.

Eve grimaces. “I was always taught that you should do what gives you pleasure.” Malachite and Agar look at her.  “Well, I was,” she says defensively.

“You are improving yourself,” says Velendo. 

*“My minions feel that we have been infected by you, that we should be destroyed.” *

“Maybe you should infect your minions,” says Eve.

Malachite says, “Your minions are half right. They fear what they don’t understand, which is the mark of a weak mind. You have been infected, but you shouldn’t be destroyed. That is the nature of mercy and compassion, but it’s knowledge that your minions have not experienced.”

*“No. Not unless they were hurt and healed.” *

Galthia starts to chuckle as the group exchanges glances. “Oh man,” says Malachite, “that’s tempting.” 

*“But to hurt them for the sake of hurting is. .  bad?” *

“That’s correct,” says Agar. “It’s the opposite of the compassion you are learning to feel.”

The elder brain turns its force of personality back on Mara and Malachite.  *“Do you help us because you wish to, or because you feel that you are forced to? We have examined and devoured paladins before. They feel that if they do not follow a vow, they will lose their power. Is this a mental compulsion that causes you to act this way?” *

Mara’s cheer sounds sincere, if slightly forced. “I wish to help you.” 

“I will be truthful,” says Malachite slowly, “and say that the answer for me is both. There are some I do not wish to help, but recognize that I should.”

*“And you help them regardless?” *

“If they are deserving, then. . .”

*“You destroyed the undead.  I felt the ripples.” *

“They were not deserving.”

*“If they had asked for help?” *

Malachite’s voice is much quieter.  “They were not deserving.”

“Had they repented of their evil. . .” begins Mara, but Eve interrupts.

“That’s not wrong. He helps me!”

*“He helps you.”* The elder brain’s voice is flat, disapproving. *“You are taken with their stink as well.” *

“But they’re helping me, because I asked.” Eve hangs her head.

“I regret that we can not give simple answers to your questions,” says Malachite. “As we say, creatures of our type debate morality endlessly, and come to many complex and contradictory conclusions.”

“No,” says Mara, “I think it’s pretty straightforward.”  Several members of the group look at her with unbounded affection. “Well, I serve Aeos. He’s the God of goodness and light, and I made a vow to do what’s right all my life, and I do that, and it makes me happy.  And if I took another path it wouldn’t sit right with me, and it wouldn’t be me.”

“And yet,” says Malachite, “I serve Aeos in a very different light, and often times choose a path different than hers.”

*“And your path is flawed while hers is correct?” *

“No.”

“They are both correct,” says Velendo. “It’s fascinating.”

“You just kind of feel what’s right,” says Mara, “and you know when it’s right, and you do that.”

The elder brain sounds decisive. *“We wish to take this sort of vow.” *

Everyone exchanges glances and clear their throats. Feet are shuffled. 

*“How do we proceed?” *

“Ohhhh. . .” says Galthia.  “Brain paladin?”


_To be continued. . ._

-- o --

* At this point, KidCthulhu started singing the classic Beach Boys tune “You got to help, help me Rondeth, help me get him out of my mind.” A universal cry of “Pay the pig!” rose from everyone else at the table, and Blackjack gently reminded her that unless she wanted to be resurrected, she had to get used to not singing in character.


----------



## Sollir Furryfoot

Dear lord, when Mara rode the Elder brain thinking it was a pony she must have transformed it into her holy mount! 

Anyways, excellent update PrC, what a very interesting turn of events indeed...


----------



## RangerWickett

Wow!  Kevin Tiberius Kulp, you have astounded me.  Great piece of storytelling.  If I had not just a little while earlier today been told about a D&D combat with surfing, I might have had to say the brain paladin story was the most intriguing D&D tale I've heard in a while.

If I could play in your game, I would want to be the Elder Brain's first 'injured then healed' mind flayer.  I didn't quite heal right afterward, so my mind's a bit dim.  My name would be Pinky.


----------



## Hammerhead

I'm surprised that Galthia didn't bring down some 'zerai vengeance on the Elder Brain in its moment of weakness. I guess spending so much time around the paladins is finally getting to him.


----------



## Fade

That there is a very smart Elder Brain. When confronted with a large and very powerful group of adventurers, including two Paladins and a Githzeria, it parleyed _and talked them into not killing it._


----------



## Piratecat

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Great piece of storytelling.




You're kind, Ryan, but this whole update is virtually verbatim (less the boring planning bits before the group arrived in the city.) Poor Galthia was champing at the bit the whole time, desperately wanting to attack it but knowing that it probably wasn't in his best interests to do so. There's mind flayer combat aplenty coming up, though; see, there's still that "uninfected" and unintegrated portion of the elder brain floating around. . .


----------



## BSF

Oh my word!  That was fun reading.  Nice twist as well.  


			
				Elder Brain said:
			
		

> “We wish to take this sort of vow.”



As a player, that is a moment when I am both quivering with excitemnet, pride and a tinge of fear.  I mean, here you have a chance to really do something epic in scope.  But what if you choke on the implementation.  

Very cool!  Great job to your group.  It is so fun to read all of this.


----------



## Samnell

Fade said:
			
		

> That there is a very smart Elder Brain. When confronted with a large and very powerful group of adventurers, including two Paladins and a Githzeria, it parleyed _and talked them into not killing it._




I have some players who could learn from that Elder Brain.


----------



## wedgeski

Piratecat said:
			
		

> You're kind, Ryan, but this whole update is virtually verbatim (less the boring planning bits before the group arrived in the city.)




Hmm, I wish I could listen to the interactions which produced this dialogue. I can't imagine it would be anything except very, very educational.

Good update.


----------



## Naathez

Well... I'd heard about Paladins being a cerebral lot, but _this _ is definitely too much...  

-running for cover-

As always thank you, P-cat...


----------



## shilsen

Please tell me that you took a photo of your players' faces when they worked out that the elder brain had "got religion". Please!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> * At this point, KidCthulhu started singing the classic Beach Boys tune “You got to help, help me Rondeth, help me get him out of my mind.” A universal cry of “Pay the pig!” rose from everyone else at the table, and Blackjack gently reminded her that unless she wanted to be resurrected, she had to get used to not singing in character.




Hey, it takes a while to get over a bad case of Bard!  I started playing one just so I wouldn't get in trouble for breaking into song during the game, and twelve years of spontaneous song is habit forming.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The elder brain’s voice is filled with scorn. “Even the svirfneblin? They are not sentient.”
> 
> ...
> 
> “Mr. Priggle has a very interesting brain!” interrupts Eve. Almost underfoot, Priggle shoots her a grateful look before returning to his internal preparations for immediate death.
> 
> "Oh, sure. The elder brain notices me. Lucky, lucky svirfneblin."




There was so much to like about this update, difficult to pick out highlights, but I had to mention this one for old times sake.

Plus, KidC - I love the way that you are playing Eve... she comes over very much as young, isolated, a little emotionally insecure, eager to make her mark. Almost like someone who is still emotionally in early teens. Mind you, she must have had a hell of a childhood.

Cheers


----------



## Aravis

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> I'm surprised that Galthia didn't bring down some 'zerai vengeance on the Elder Brain in its moment of weakness. I guess spending so much time around the paladins is finally getting to him.




That may have been one of my hardest moments playing Galthia.  But,a s PC said, Galthia knew deep, DEEP, down that attaching the Elder Brain would probably lead to our downfall.

- Aravis


----------



## WizarDru

Great stuff, this.  A reminder that you don't have to have combat to make an interesting tale.  I LOVE the idea of having a heart-to-heart with a morally conflicted Elder Brain.

Quite honestly, two of my favorite story hours have one thing in common: they showcase Paladins very well.  Both here and in Sepulchrave's story hour, we see paladins who are not only interesting, but substantially different from each other.  Malachite, for example, is holy vengenance: literally the sword of the church; Mara, on the other hand, is much more about the spirituality side of the paladin.  

Like I said, I love this stuff.


----------



## Spatzimaus

Fade said:
			
		

> That there is a very smart Elder Brain. When confronted with a large and very powerful group of adventurers, including two Paladins and a Githzeria, it parleyed _and talked them into not killing it._




Rule #92 from the Evil Overlord list:
"If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)"

I'm surprised the players didn't immediately respond with a chorus of "yeah, RIGHT."


----------



## blargney the second

That was simply astounding!  I love this story hour!!
-blarg


----------



## KidCthulhu

Spatzimaus said:
			
		

> I'm surprised the players didn't immediately respond with a chorus of "yeah, RIGHT."




Ya kinda had to be there.  It's all in the delivery. It was really clear that The EB was not trying to sell us on this thing.  He viewed the whole experience as a niggling thorn in his psyche that we were there to remove.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The elder brain sounds decisive. “We wish to take this sort of vow.”
> 
> Everyone exchanges glances and clear their throats. Feet are shuffled.
> 
> “How do we proceed?”




Good stuff PC. This comes close to "No, Luke. *I* am your father!"

-z


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> T“That’s because your kind does not think right,” snarls Malachite.




PCat (understandably) trims the dialogue for the Story Hour, so I thought I'd mention that Malachite kept repeating this _particular_ phrase because it's how the Elder Brain earlier described _us_.  Malachite was trying to better get the Brain to reconsider its beliefs by using its own vernacular.

That the phrase sounded insulting was icing on the cake.


----------



## Henry

Good Lord, what a plot twist. 

I can't wait to see the baptism.


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

I very much admire a DM who will dare to think creatively about the consequences of PC actions.  It would have been very easy to just say "Well, you fully healed it so it will be tougher when you come back to kill it later.  An Evil Elder Brain is an Evil Elder Brain."

But this is so much more fun.


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Ridley's Cohort said:
			
		

> I very much admire a DM who will dare to think creatively about the consequences of PC actions.  It would have been very easy to just say "Well, you fully healed it so it will be tougher when you come back to kill it later.  An Evil Elder Brain is an Evil Elder Brain."
> 
> But this is so much more fun.



I agree.  One of the most admirable things about PC's DMing style that I respect is the way he gives depth to his villains.  Teliez, Halcyon, Soder, the Elder Brain...  They aren't just baddies to be crushed in combat.  They act and _re_act to the PCs in all the unexpected ways that living, breathing creatures do.

I love the way the Elder Brain has...evolved.  And the concept that, through it, the PCs may eventually create a colony of _good mindflayers_.


----------



## chalistria

De-lurks... if I'm asking taboo questions, please delete w/o comment.

First off, thanks to the DoD group, and especially PC, for creating this SH. I'd use lots of flowery adjectives to try to describe it, but I think other people have beat me to all the ones sufficiently grandiose to deserve mention.

Second, I've a question for KidC:
What wasn't Eve understanding with the "I don't get it" quote? Trust, gods, faith, other?

Similarly, when she "got it", what about the description of the DoD's earlier encounter with the Elder Brain twigged her understanding?

As she's a newer character, I'm still trying to figure out what makes her tick...

Thanks, Chalistria


----------



## Piratecat

Yay! Nothing is more fun than brand new de-lurking members. thank you for caring enough to ask. I'll let KidCthulhu answer these herself.

I haven't mentioned the art thread in a while, but there are some FANTASTIC new images from Amal Shukup of Velendo, Mara and Stone Bear. I have a drawing of Eve from Capellan that I'll also post as soon as I can scan it decently, and there is evil cheese from Bloodsparrow and a dying dragon from Jeremy's wife Leslie that you may not have seen yet.

I've lost count.  I'm pretty sure that this last update was brought to you by either Weiknarf's "Malachite as tapeworm" or Plane Sailing's image of Priggle hentai (eek!). That means that next week's update will be brought to you by Craer's picture of the Ivory King, and tonight's update is brought to you by Arken's image of Nacreous. Glorious stuff.

Note: to give you an idea of time, this next post finishes off the last game of 2003.


----------



## Piratecat

“Well,” hazards Mara, “first you need to know which God to serve.” She sounds doubtful.

*“Ilsensine.” *

Silence.

“The mind flayer God,” says Velendo.

“Uhhh. . .” says Malachite.

“Do you have a God of goodness and light?” asks Mara hopefully.

*“He is the God of Knowledge.” *

“Ah.”

“What about a God of Morality?” asks Malachite.

*“We have none.” *

“Right, then.”

“Maybe he can lead a campaign to change the way the mind flayers live,” says Eve thoughtfully. “Maybe he can just serve the _idea_ of God, and of morality, instead of following a particular faith.” The paladins both give her a disbelieving look.

*“May we take, learn, sup from your knowledge of your God?” *

“What does that mean?”  Malachite sounds suspicious.

*“We wish to know what you know. We will not cause pain.” *

“He wishes to read your mind,” whispers Eve.  “‘Sup’ is a bad word to use.”

“Will it have any permanent affect on him?” asks Velendo.

*“Yes.” *

“No,” says Malachite flatly. “Part of compassion is recognizing the fact that other’s thoughts are sacrosanct.” 

*“We asked.” * It sounds petulant.

“You did. And that was the right thing to do. You were right to ask, but that doesn’t mean that you will be given a ‘yes’.” 

Mara looks unhappy.  “I don’t know if there’s any information I know that you might use against me or my people. I can’t take that risk. But I would like you to understand how I see the world and how I think. Could you do that without. . .” She flutters her hand in the air next to her head.

“Are there any books on gods it could read, maybe?” asks Eve. As soon as she says it, she realizes that leisurely reading is probably not the preferred information gathering method of a creature used to swallowing entire intelligences.

*“We could take, but something tells us that it would be wrong.”* The way it says the word ‘take’ has a certain finality about it.

“You are correct,” says Malachite.

The elder brain sounds baffled. *“There never was a ‘wrong’ before. This feels like weakness.” *

“In some cases it is weakness. In many more cases it is strength.”

Mara nods. “For me, doing what’s right instead of what’s wrong is a part of my strength. To give in to evil weakens you.” 

Velendo leans over to whisper to Malachite and Mara.  “We may not have an opportunity like this again.”

“You’re right,” whispers Malachite back.

“Should we help it?”  Velendo asks. “This would be an unprecedented conversion if it works. Think what it could mean to church doctrine. Think what it could do to other mind flayers.”

Malachite still looks suspicious. “What do you think it actually wants?”

“It’s asking for knowledge of the gods.”

“And?” His tone is cautious. Velendo raises his voice slightly.

“And if I have some assurance that it will not permanently cripple me, I can think of no god whose lessons I would rather this being learn than my own.”

“Yes,” sighs Malachite.

“The God of Protection,” muses Agar. “We could do worse.”

“It may be the right choice.  Aeos is, and I mean no offense,” Velendo says in a diplomatic tone, “in some ways more complex, I think.”

“I agree,” says Malachite.

 “Calphas is a straightforward deity.”

“I agree,” Malachite says again, wishing that Velendo would get to the point.

“Simpler might be better here.”

Eve frowns. “If I put myself in the middle of this process, I may be able to help protect your psyche.”

 “At the risk of breaking you in the process,” says Velendo. “The other danger is that all the information will be framed through your own perceptions before it reaches the elder brain. That may skew it a little.”

“I don’t have your. .  your faith.” She sounds worried. 

“Do you feel that protecting the innocent from hostile aggressors is the right thing to do?”

Eve looks at him as if that’s a trick question. “I don’t know. It sounds right.”

 “Then you are on the path. Perhaps you will even go a little farther along it yourself for being in this transfer.” Velendo tries to make himself sound wise and all-knowing. He has mixed success.

“I’ll give it a try,” says Eve.

“I warn you now,” says Galthia. “No matter what happens, my people may come here and destroy it.”

Velendo sucks in air. “If this thing changes its ways, what will you report back?”

“I don’t know,” says the githzerai. “I will report back to my master what has happened.”

“That’s all anyone can ask for.”  Velendo turns to Rondeth and the elder brain.  “Your brain is fantastically powerful. I will take it on some faith that it is also capable of great subtlety and finesse. You will need to look without taking. If that makes sense to you?”

*“We understand.  The simplest thing, of course, would be to subsume your knowledge into our own and leave nothing but a husk behind.”*  It pauses.  *“But that would be. . .”* It carefully pronounces the word as if dipping a toe in the cold water of an unknown ocean.  *“Wrong?”*

“Wrong,” agrees the others.

“You feel that, inside you?” asks Mara. “You know then.”  She sounds serene.

*“We know that, so we will not do this.” * It sounds slightly disappointed. 

“Your people and minions who may try to stop us. Are they here?”  Velendo glances around nervously, but Stone Bear and the others would have given warning if anything unusual had been spotted.

*“They have entered the far end of the city. They are currently preparing themselves. They do not yet know what they are up against.”*

“How long will it take to affect this transfer? I don’t wish to be attacked while we are helpless.”

*“Some minutes.”*

“All right. We should do it soon, then, while they are still preparing.”  Velendo sucks in a large breath of the polluted air. “They are still beings of duplicity.”

*“We are used to referring to your type as cattle or flesh-puppets. Is there a better term?”*

The group looks around at one another, not sure whether to laugh or be appalled.  “‘People’ will do.”

*“People.”* It turns its attention to Eve.  *“Do you wish to act as an insulator?”*

Quietly, softly.  “Yes.”

“Let’s do it,” says Velendo.

Malachite intervenes. “I feel it is fair to warn that if either of them are harmed. . .” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “No good will come of it.”

*“This I would expect.”*

“Thank you.”  The paladin sounds humble, and suddenly a non-noise rises in the echoing stillness of T’Pocl. 

It is the boiling roil of a great torrent. It is the beginning of an avalanche. It is the transfer of knowledge.  Both Velendo and Eve begin to shake. 

_Not tall enough to reach the pew. The funeral of lost sailors, and his father blessing the fleet on a blustery day. All the years sitting in the chapel and looking out over the sea, listening to his father, playing with rocks and small sticks behind the pews as he hears the sermons without actually believing them, learning them himself despite his best efforts. . . 

The taking of the vows. The knowledge, deep inside, that he wasn’t worthy to do so. The knowledge that life would be quiet, and dull, and safe. The omen of change. The coming of the pirates, and the smell of the minotaurs from the Isle of War. The cursing of a God who abandoned him, when deep inside he knew that it was the other way around. The escape, and the ants, and the blossoming of his faith once again as he met the people who would become the Defenders of Daybreak.

The alcoholic haze of denial. Endless battles and sorties, arguments with Cadrienne and Claris, the assumption of his rightful responsibility. The smell of giant blood in his nostrils as the Angel of Calphas declared that he was to be his lord’s proxy in a trial to come. What that meant to him then, and what it came to mean._

The images pour past.  

_Learning the scriptures long after he already should have known them. Meeting Calphasian priests from other sects who championed retribution, and his lessons on the dubious wisdom of that course. The face of Sarah, watching him leave. The faces of everyone who believed that he was saintly, when he knew he was all too fallible. Facing the secrets of creation in a long-dead desert, thwarting Teliez as he faced an implacable foe and the imminent arrival of Elder’s kin. It all came back.

Growing the church of Calphas from a little-worshipped sect to a major religion, as was foretold in the scriptures he had now finally read. The creation of another monstrous cleric in the shadow of the al’quith.  Reaching out to those who rejected him, protecting those who needed protection, turning none away. Trial after trial, fight after fight, keeping the truth of Calphas close to his heart on cold nights. The lessons of the Wallbuilder, the wall of faith that sustains those not strong enough to sustain themselves. The knowledge of other Gods as well, of Sigil and the endless multiverse, of dead Gods and Gods not yet born. _

Velendo remembers it all, and the elder brain drinks it in and tries to understand.

Eve tries to translate as the information flows through her. _The issue of faith itself, what faith means, what it means for loyalty and sacrifice, and for protection, and the relationships between the Gods, and what to ask and what not to ask. . ._ Eve is inundated, and she only picks up fragments as all of Velendo’s long life is drawn through her and funneled by the keenness of her own mind.  A corner of Eve’s brain recognizes that if she weren’t serving as a buffer, it’s quite possible that the purity and insistence of the elder brain’s “request” could drive Velendo mad. She has the right kind of mental discipline in order to focus and channel the information, though, partially because she’s not intimately involved in the subject matter.  It doesn’t _mean_ anything to her. Yet. She comprehends as much as she can, and shepherds everything as she keeps Velendo’s mind safe from permanent harm.

At long last, the demand for information ceases.

*“Are you all right?”*

Velendo gasps.  He hugs his shield as if trying to avoid drowning.  He can’t remember _any_ of the religious teachings he’s had over the years; they swim tantalizingly out of reach from his conscious mind. He tries to recall a formal prayer, any at all, but it’s akin to poking an open wound. It hurts too much to continue.

“How do you feel?” asks Mara. She seems to be addressing the elder brain more than Velendo, who already has several people clustered around him.

*“That was. . . more than we expected.  There are things that we did not imagine. Things inside as well as out.”*  Its mental voice was filled with wonder. 

Eve takes three faltering steps over to make sure Velendo is all right, confirms that he is, and faints. Her head thuds off the hardened ectoplasm of T’Pocl’s floor with a dull thud. Priggle scuttles over to check her and cradles her head until she regains consciousness a moment later.

*“One moment. Yes. One moment.”* The brain’s attention is diverted by a psychic query that none of the Defenders can hear. The elder brain then refocuses on the group in front of its closed dome.   *“May we have your permission to reintegrate defenses?”*

“What does that mean?” asks Mara.  

*“That means that we will buy us time before we are attacked.”*  The mental voice is phlegmatic. 

The Defenders exchange a worried look.  “Okay,” says Mara.

“In for a copper. . .” says Agar. “Let’s see this through.”

“Yes,” whispers Velendo.  Up around the ceiling, glistening ropes of slime begin to sparkle. Solid thought coalesces and spreads. The air begins to hum with psionic energy.

*“You have. . . taught us. We reiterate, we wish to take this vow. But we are not yet ready. We still have things to learn.”*  It pauses.  *“What is our next step?”*

Malachite’s voice is low and wintry.  “You will need to contact someone other than us. It will be difficult, however. You and your thralls are not ordinarily welcome.”

*“How so? Is something wrong?”*

Galthia starts to answer, but the enormity of the question catches him completely off guard and he lapses into silence instead.  Malachite steps in to answer in his stead.  “You know, your thralls are not ordinarily welcome for a reason.”

“You know everything about,” Velendo gropes momentarily for the name of his God, “Calphas, now.”

*“More than just Calphas.  You know more than you think you do.”* 

“Then you know that if you are defending the innocent against the aggressor, he hears you.”

*“This is true.”* 

“In my faith, you can take a vow any time. And grow with it. After growth, you may reach greater levels of understanding,” he shakily gets to his feet, “ like these two have.”  He indicates Malachite and Mara as he sways.  

*“We will go and do this.  We will go and. . . pray.  Not prey.”*  One of Rondeth’s thin arms indicates his own wasted body.  *“Your. . . friend will reintegrate over the next day. The seeds are in place. Keep him watered.  We believe we have. . .”* 

On the far side of the cavern, they see the strands of something dribbling down from the ceiling. It’s too far away to know for sure what activated the cavern’s defenses, but everyone has a fairly good idea.

*“We have caused enough concern that they will delay for some minutes. If you wish to leave, the defenses will still be inoperative and you may exit. If you wish to fight, we will strengthen you if we can.”* 

Velendo glances in the direction of the distant mind flayers.  “Do you see hope that you can pass on your understanding? Could you convert them?”

*“They have a fragment of our old self, the portion which was kept safe when the undead first attacked.  It is driving them.  It manifests in a bubble around them.”* 

“Can we destroy the fragment?” asks Agar.

*“We. . . hope you can.”* 

“If we can destroy the fragment without destroying them, then you can convert them?” asks Velendo.

*“We can quickly convert them by force.  Is conversion by force appropriate?”* 

Agar sighs.  “Unfortunately not.”

*“Then it might take some time.  They will be resistant.”* 

“I don’t believe they’re going to give us much time,” says Malachite.

*“New ones can be grown.  First, I must synthesize this information.”* 

“That will take some time,” says Velendo. “Can you protect yourself from them if we leave?”

*“Our mass is hidden. They should not be able to find it.”* 

“They may be able to find it, then.”

*“Then we will defend ourselves.”* 

Velendo shakes his head.  “Although we could stand and fight and possibly wipe them all out, I would prefer if you could teach them what you’ve now learned.”

“Do you have a name?” asks Malachite suddenly.

*“No. We simply are.  Are names important?”* 

“Wait. Are there other ones like you in other cities?”

*“There are.  Mental patterns distinguish us.”*

“Does your mental pattern have a verbal equivalent?”

*“No. you may give us one.”*

“I can make up one,” says Eve cautiously. “I just did this for myself.  How about that thing that Cruciel showed me. The morning. That new thing with the light.” She gestures towards Mara and Luminor. 

Mara looked puzzled.  “Dawn?”

Eve nodded eagerly.  “Yes! There’s no word for it in undercommon, of course.”

*“Interesting.” *

Velendo looked nonplussed.  “It’s an appropriate metaphor, at least.”

*“Dawn. We like how it reverberates. It will do until we change it.  Perhaps we will. . . become. . . it.”*  With a pop, something twists in Eve’s head.  *“If you require us, contact that.”*

“I believe that’s clear enough.” She sounds awed.  “Thank you.” 

*“It will amplify.  We should be able to hear you.  May. . . we contact you?”*

Eve nods. “Yes. I’ve never done that. Nobody’s. . . ever wanted to contact me before.”

*“We will go. You may take them or not as you choose.  We. . . may be in your debt. Or perhaps we are victimized by you.”*

“No,” whispers Eve. “Malachite would never victimize anyone.”

“Eve. . .”

Velendo bites his lip. “You’ll learn the answer to that question as you synthesize what you just learned.”

*“Yes. More than we ever thought.”*  Rondeth’s eyes roll back in his head as he collapses to the ground. Galthia runs to get him.

“It occurs to me that we may have to stay and fight,” says Velendo, “because we can’t leave with Rondeth in that condition.  We can’t windwalk with him.”

 “Nor can we take Ceann’s gift to go to the surface,” says Malachite.

“We could gate out,” suggests Agar.

 “I feel some responsibility to help Dawn,” says Mara, “now that we have set him on the proper path.”

“It’s not as if we gave him a false gift,” says Malachite, “or an evil thing that deceived him.  We didn’t set him on a false path.”

Velendo raises his voice. “We did a good thing, but now it’s going to put him in danger.  If he’s about to be attacked by his own people. . .”

Galthia gives a sharp gesture of negation. “That’s his own choice. You did not set him on any path. You opened the door.” He sounds bitter.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Velendo, “because now he is a being that may need our protection.”

“All I’m saying is that you should not feel responsible or obligated.”

“I don’t think it’s the wrong thing to protect him,” argues Malachite, “I just think we aren’t obligated to protect him just because we taught him what morality is.”

Velendo nods. “I agree. I don’t think obligation comes into it.” 

Galthia looks towards the other end of the cavern, and there’s a fierce glint in his eyes. “Then let's go say hello to some mind flayers.”

_To be continued. . ._


----------



## Bloodsparrow

Um... Actually... *blush* It's supposed to be evil cheese.


----------



## Piratecat

Bloodsparrow said:
			
		

> Um... Actually... *blush* It's supposed to be evil cheese.




You know, I see big square things and I think "modron." That's much, much funnier the way it's originally intended. 

Previous post edited.


----------



## Henry

Wow. Dawn. How... unfitting and yet fitting simultaneously. But I like it. (It's also my wife's name, so I'm biased. She's not an Elder Brain, though.)

Will we see much Butt-Kicking for Goodness next episode? Huh? Huh?


----------



## Fade

An unintended consequence of the Defender's actions, and it's a good thing? This'll take some getting used to.


----------



## Piratecat

Henry said:
			
		

> Will we see much Butt-Kicking for Goodness next episode? Huh? Huh?




If you mean "Will we see Priggle ripped limb from limb by creatures made out of solid thought," then the answer is an unqualified yes.

It's best to be clear about these things.


----------



## WizarDru

Henry said:
			
		

> Wow. Dawn. How... unfitting and yet fitting simultaneously. But I like it. (It's also my wife's name, so I'm biased. She's not an Elder Brain, though.)




Oh, sure....that's just what she _wants you to think_. *Thrall*.


----------



## Ashy

Piratecat said:
			
		

> If you mean "Will we see Priggle ripped limb from limb by creatures made out of solid thought," then the answer is an unqualified yes.
> 
> It's best to be clear about these things.




    

Oh no - not Pr...

Er...who?


----------



## MerakSpielman

Piratecat said:
			
		

> If you mean "Will we see Priggle ripped limb from limb by creatures made out of solid thought," then the answer is an unqualified yes.
> 
> It's best to be clear about these things.



Dude! That's like dropping Eeoyre off a cliff. It's just wrong.


----------



## WizarDru

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> Dude! That's like dropping Eeoyre off a cliff. It's just wrong.




Well, Eeyore does spend most of his time sitting on a cliff, so it was bound to happen.  I mean, if you hang around a bunch of demigod-like beings who are hated by some really nasty other demigod-like beings...well, sooner or later something BAD will happen to you. Just ask Proggle...err, Prilleg...you know, ol' whats-is-name.


----------



## Jackylhunter

“It will amplify. We should be able to hear you. May. . . we contact you?”

Eve nods. “Yes. I’ve never done that. Nobody’s. . . ever wanted to contact me before.”

That got me all choked up...=)  Well played KC, and wonderfully told PC


----------



## KidCthulhu

chalistria said:
			
		

> What wasn't Eve understanding with the "I don't get it" quote? Trust, gods, faith, other?
> 
> Similarly, when she "got it", what about the description of the DoD's earlier encounter with the Elder Brain twigged her understanding?



Welcome out of the lurker closet, Chalistria!  Glad to have you aboard.

The "don't get it" refers to Eve's difficulty with the concept of a benign, let alone a beloved, deity, and with the concept of voluntary love and service to such a thing.  Let's face it, Eve's experience with religion to this point has been Imbindarla and Y'Guult.  Served from fear, or desire for power but not fun folks to hang with.

The "got it" refers to Eve grasping that brain is talking about sentience and higher cognition.  She doesn't get religion, but she does understand brain function.

Thanks to everyone who's said they're enjoying Eve.  I'm having lots of fun with her. She's changed a lot in the year I've been playing her, but she's still got places to grow.  That's a good sign in a character.


----------



## Knight Otu

Is it just my imagination, or did the group change from "it" to "he" when referring to the Elder Brain after it/he was named?


----------



## shilsen

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Thanks to everyone who's said they're enjoying Eve.  I'm having lots of fun with her. She's changed a lot in the year I've been playing her, but she's still got places to grow.  That's a good sign in a character.




So how much of that year does it take to get to the "Eve and Malachite, sitting in a tree" bit? I can't wait


----------



## KidCthulhu

shilsen said:
			
		

> So how much of that year does it take to get to the "Eve and Malachite, sitting in a tree" bit? I can't wait




Don't hold your breath.  It's not really a match made in heaven.


----------



## Amal Shukup

Piratecat said:
			
		

> If you mean "Will we see Priggle ripped limb from limb by creatures made out of solid thought," then the answer is an unqualified yes.
> 
> It's best to be clear about these things.




I can see it now... Post Fight:

*Velendo: * "Now, anybody down? Anybody need immediate healing before they bleed out pathetically?""

*Malachite:* "Don't think so...  Not that I... Notice..."

*All:* "Right, let's go then..."  (Exeunt Stage Up)

*Priggle:*"oh... the... <gasp>... Irony... <gurgle>... <coff>..."


----------



## Kilroy

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Don't hold your breath.  It's not really a match made in heaven.




Does that mean they hook up while you're in the lower planes?


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Nice, I like it, never read it before because I thought is was boring. Sorry for the insult but, ITS FRICKEN COOL!!!

I like the characters Mao, Malachite, and the druid; forget her name. They have a lot of class, in a "_I can do anything I want, although I still am a good person_" kind of way.


----------



## Dawn

Dawn as the name of the EB.  Can’t help but somehow like that name.


----------



## Paxr0mana

If I remember correctly, in BG2 (my only 'real experience' with 2E) there was a kit for Paladins called the 'Cerebral Knight.' It was mainly concerned with killing Mind Flayers. Hmm...perhaps that could be brought back.


----------



## Fade

Who's taken over the 'face' role for the party, after the demise of Nolin?

Also, have I got this list of the current Defenders right?
Sir Malachite
Mara
Velendo
(Cruciel)
Agar Smoketallow
Eve
Galthia
Stone Bear
Tao Camber
Priggle
Burr-Lipp


----------



## Piratecat

Fade said:
			
		

> Who's taken over the 'face' role for the party, after the demise of Nolin?




Malachite has a crazy-high intimidation score.  Umm... that's what you meant, right? Scaring people?  

Velendo has been systematically raising his diplomacy score, and he and Malachite tend to handle most of the face-to-face interactions (especially when the discussion is morality, which has been a central theme of late.) We no longer have a person who can just wander out and charm people. Mara could probably handle that role, but is a little too shy to be comfortable in it.

No, I take that back. Malachite's new cohort (who won't be seen for a while) is probably the "charmer" type as well.



> Also, have I got this list of the current Defenders right?
> Sir Malachite
> Mara
> Velendo
> (Cruciel)
> Agar Smoketallow
> Eve
> Galthia
> Stone Bear
> Tao Camber
> Priggle
> Burr-Lipp




No Tao - Jobu moved to Las Vegas about two years ago now, and sits in when she's visiting. Otherwise, you're spot on.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Didn't Malachite start out as a cohort to Nolin?  If so, who plays him now?

GW


----------



## the Jester

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Didn't Malachite start out as a cohort to Nolin?  If so, who plays him now?
> 
> GW




Blackjack, if I'm not mistaken.


----------



## Blackjack

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Velendo has been systematically raising his diplomacy score, and he and Malachite tend to handle most of the face-to-face interactions (especially when the discussion is morality, which has been a central theme of late.) We no longer have a person who can just wander out and charm people.




Malachite has been raising his Diplomacy as well.  

As PCat notes, there's no one single charmer, so the role falls to whomever seems best at dealing with the given opposing party.  The group actually _had_ to have a discussion (though not yet in the Story Hour) about who should handle the face interactions in a post-Nolin world, after a particularly unpleasant encounter.  




			
				Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Didn't Malachite start out as a cohort to Nolin?  If so, who plays him now?




He did start out that way, but his cohort period ended long ago (when Agar joined, filling the cohort slot.)  And yes, I play him.


----------



## taran

Piratecat said:
			
		

> No, I take that back. Malachite's new cohort (who won't be seen for a while) is probably the "charmer" type as well.



New cohort?  ::looks mournfully at his stack of "I (heart) Burr-Lipp" shirts::


----------



## Blackjack

taran said:
			
		

> New cohort?  ::looks mournfully at his stack of "I (heart) Burr-Lipp" shirts::




That was given consideration, but Burr-Lipp is, alas, _way_ too low in level to qualify.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Plus, there's that whole "far closer to the Neutral" end of the alignment spectrum thing to consider.  Alignment conflicts between PC and Cohort, they just end badly.


----------



## Wulf Ratbane

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Velendo has been systematically raising his diplomacy score, and he and Malachite tend to handle most of the face-to-face interactions (especially when the discussion is morality, which has been a central theme of late.) We no longer have a person who can just wander out and charm people. Mara could probably handle that role, but is a little too shy to be comfortable in it.




Stone Bear also has a few ranks in Diplomacy, but nothing that exceeds what even an untrained Emerald can do-- and certainly nothing that warrants drawing attention to himself.

I also have a little magic talisman for a Diplomacy check, should I ever _really_ need it. Right next to my little magic "Feather Fall" talisman, and about as likely to be used.

Diplomacy is one of those skills that I'm far better off just roleplaying than rolling. Well, ok, one of those skills that I _would_ be far better off roleplaying, if I wasn't so damned snarky all the time.


----------



## Blackjack

Wulf Ratbane said:
			
		

> Diplomacy is one of those skills that I'm far better off just roleplaying than rolling. Well, ok, one of those skills that I _would_ be far better off roleplaying, if I wasn't so damned snarky all the time.




Yes, Wulf, but without your snark you'd lose all your superpowers.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I thought snarkiness was what the world revolved around.

GW

For one session I was so Snarky I gave the group XP bonuses for putting up with me.


----------



## Fade

So no-one's got Bluff?


----------



## Henry

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Yes, Wulf, but without your snark you'd lose all your superpowers.




So, Wulf's snark is like Samson's hair or Green Lantern's ring?

Wow, you should stat that baby as a magic item.


----------



## azmodean

Henry said:
			
		

> So, Wulf's snark is like Samson's hair or Green Lantern's ring?
> 
> Wow, you should stat that baby as a magic item.




The primary decision, of course, is wether or not it's a Boojum


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fade said:
			
		

> So no-one's got Bluff?




Eve's got tons of it.  You don't survive life in Nacreous without Bluff.  But Eve's not what anyone would want as the party face man.


----------



## Blackjack

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Eve's got tons of it.  You don't survive life in Nacreous without Bluff.  But Eve's not what anyone would want as the party face man.




Heh.  Malachite also has whole bunch of Bluff now, due to 



Spoiler



, but also has that annoying "sense of honesty" thing, so it doesn't come into play very often.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Heh.  Malachite also has whole bunch of Bluff now, due to his new job in politics, but also has that annoying "sense of honesty" thing, so it doesn't come into play very often.




Heh.


----------



## Enkhidu

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Heh.  Malachite also has whole bunch of Bluff now, due to
> 
> 
> 
> Spoiler
> 
> 
> 
> , but also has that annoying "sense of honesty" thing, so it doesn't come into play very often.





Spoiler



If that spoiler is what I think it is, this is where I point and laugh.


----------



## Everett

the Jester said:
			
		

> Blackjack, if I'm not mistaken.






He always did... Malachite didn't begin with the Defenders as an NPC.


----------



## Fade

Blackjack said:
			
		

> Heh.  Malachite also has whole bunch of Bluff now, due to
> 
> 
> 
> Spoiler
> 
> 
> 
> , but also has that annoying "sense of honesty" thing, so it doesn't come into play very often.





Spoiler



I think you can get an ointment for that now.


----------



## Everett

I've been re-reading the White Kingdom story, and I can't wait for Nolin's funeral...


----------



## Zustiur

You know, storyhours that are being updated 'every week' really shouldn't need bumping!

Oh and errr...
BUMP!

Zustiur.


----------



## Jeremy

*takes a peek around*


----------



## moritheil

Er, thanks for the image of the giant tentacled brain sitting astride a paladin charger and wielding a lance.


----------



## MerakSpielman

moritheil said:
			
		

> Er, thanks for the image of the giant tentacled brain sitting astride a paladin charger and wielding a lance.




From the depths of its pool, Dawn contemplates divinity. After much thought and experience, he is enlightened. He feels that his god has granted him a new power. Eagerly, he stretches forth his consciousness to activate this new ability. 

_Wait? What is this?_

A powerful war horse has appeared, and is gently nuzzling Dawn's slimy tentacles, in apparent anticipation of battle.

Dawn contimplates this situtation for several minutes, unmoving. 

There is only one reason his god would have seen fit to bless him with this insignificant animal.

Sigh. One does not look a gift horse in the mouth.

_Come here, then. _

Brain food.


----------



## KidCthulhu

You know what I want for my birthday?  An update.  

[And a puppy.  And we've got the puppy.]


----------



## Rackhir

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> You know what I want for my birthday?  An update.
> 
> [And a puppy.  And we've got the puppy.]




WE The Readers of Piratecat's Story Hour. Insist! No! DEMAND! 

pictures of the puppy


----------



## KidCthulhu

Sorry, the puppy isn't permanent.  PC and I are doggy-sitting for BlackJack's 10 month old Border Collie pup.  He's quite adorable, but I don't get to keep him.


----------



## the Jester

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Sorry, the puppy isn't permanent.  PC and I are doggy-sitting for BlackJack's 10 month old Border Collie pup.  He's quite adorable, but I don't get to keep him.




Er, but what's that got to do with pictures?


----------



## Ashy

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Sorry, the puppy isn't permanent.  PC and I are doggy-sitting for BlackJack's 10 month old Border Collie pup.  He's quite adorable, but I don't get to keep him.




Hurh?  waitaminute....  I thought BC's were.....


THE ENEMY!!!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> Have you any recent pictures of Argo and Finney that we can look at?




And thus, the hiijacking is complete (these are links to proofs at a photographer's site):
Finney, in action:
http://www.karenhocker.com/proofs/p...ility Trial&typeA=Agility&name=ad-041705b-006
Argo, looking casual on the dogwalk:
http://www.karenhocker.com/proofs/p...ility Trial&typeA=Agility&name=ad-041705i-088
Little Argo, big A-frame (me in the corner):
http://www.karenhocker.com/proofs/p...ility Trial&typeA=Agility&name=ad-041705i-085
Finney, havin' fun:
http://www.karenhocker.com/proofs/p...ility Trial&typeA=Agility&name=ad-041705j-028


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Wow.  Where are you living that you hit that attitude?...



East Tennessee, just north of Knoxville.  To be fair, this one particular lady was the only one we really met with that sort of attitude.  And I have no idea what her real problem was ('cause she wouldn't speak to us...). All the other agility people we have met are generally great.  Kind, supportive, helpful; real (Boy/Girl) Scouts.
It was really a minor irritant and sour note in an otherwise excellent experience. Everyone cheers for all the dogs, oohs and ahhs at the appropriate times (and uh ohs...), and there is almost always a genuinely friendly vibe.

Succumbing to peer pressure, I've set up a web page with some pictures of Spec doing agility. 

I heard somewhere in the last month or two that there is a cat agility club/organization somewhere - I'd love to get one of our cats to do it, but they are all senior citizens.

R E


----------



## Dawn

Kid Charlemagne said:
			
		

> They were just waiting for you to die so they could eat the soft parts.




I love it!

We have two cats and a dog.  The cats stop by when they want something – like raising hell outside the bedroom door at 4:00am because they’re hungry.  The dog (half border collie and the rest is many other parts) is always with us.  He just finished a road trip with us and is excellent in hotel rooms.  Favorite game is “get the kitty”.  Kittys are such fun!


----------



## ajanders

*Phew*

At the risk of returning this thread to the Defenders of Daybreak, do you know how perturbing it is to see this thread was just updated by someone with the username Dawn, given recent story-related events?
PS...Dawn, if you have tentacles, please don't tell me?
I don't want to know.

aja


----------



## Piratecat

It's a distinct possibility. Dawn's tentacles, I mean.  You can't be too sure about these sort of things.

You know how much I love writing this story hour? I love writing it sooooo much that I won't let myself be distracted by City of Heroes, that's how much. I expect to get caught up with two or three updates by the end of the weekend, so next week should be story-riffic.

EDIT - a Saturday job interview got in the way, as did some Sunday proof-reading, but we should still see two posts this week. I also edited some of the hijacking.


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

<happy dance>  

Thank you, sir.  Welcome back.

Awaiting stories patiently...

R E


----------



## Seule

Piratecat said:
			
		

> You know how much I love writing this story hour? I love writing it sooooo much that I won't let myself be distracted by City of Heroes, that's how much.




Okay, now I understand the delays.  As a fellow addict, I sympathize. Maybe you could give up sleeping and do both?  

  --Seule (@Canuck on CoH)


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> You know how much I love writing this story hour? I love writing it sooooo much that I won't let myself be distracted by City of Heroes, that's how much. I expect to get caught up with two or three updates by the end of the weekend, so next week should be story-riffic.




Ah HA!  So it finally comes out.


----------



## Piratecat

Actually, we just signed up for City of Heroes last night, because we just got our new computer two days ago. Any delay in writing isn't due to game distraction.

That said... all fear Phlegm-Gem!


----------



## Henry

Piratecat said:
			
		

> That said... all fear Phlegm-Gem!




*beats head on desk*

Pun erased... I feel better now. 

I ought to sign up just so I can petition to be your sidekick, Cheese-boy: the brie-wheeling hero!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yeah, Phlem-Gem is fearsome indeed.  But if you see a tiger striped guy with a Skull & Crossbones on his chest, an eyepatch and a cigar... Kick him in his rat bastardy-junk for me.

Piratecat.  What a stupid hero concept.


----------



## the Jester

Ahh, glad we have an itinerary for an update.    

As usual, I can't wait!


----------



## Henry

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Yeah, Phlem-Gem is fearsome indeed.  But if you see a tiger striped guy with a Skull & Crossbones on his chest, an eyepatch and a cigar... Kick him in his rat bastardy-junk for me.
> 
> Piratecat.  What a stupid hero concept.




It's Nick Furry, Agent of S.H.E.D.!


----------



## Ashy

Well, so long as the hijacking continues, I might as well pimp my new SH (see da sig)!  Might I also mention that my campaign is "Pkitty approved! (tm)"


----------



## Darthjaye

I'm just thanking god he didn't make up "Incontinence Man" for CoH.  Man would that idea have backfired..............................


----------



## Radiating Gnome

So, like, are you going to tell us which server you're on ?  

I'll go first -- my global is Dr. Nano on Justice . . . I've been playing for a bout 3 weeks now.


----------



## thatdarncat

Seri and I are playing on Virtue. My global chat handle is @gautamma


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

*Noo...*

I've been thinking of reactivating my account, now that I have a newer and MUCH nicer 'puter to play it with.  This is especialy important as my (first) Main is a TP using Defender (Elec / Empathy), and Teleporting around would end up causing much lag from sudden and rapid scenery changes.

I only have characters on Champion, at least that I remember any longer.


----------



## Thornir Alekeg

This is impressive.  Pcat has managed to hijack his own thread.  Of course it could just be a devious ploy to distract us from the fact that the promised updates have not appeared.  He really is rat bastardly, isn't he.


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Thornir Alekeg said:
			
		

> This is impressive.  Pcat has managed to hijack his own thread.  Of course it could just be a devious ploy to distract us from the fact that the promised updates have not appeared.  He really is rat bastardly, isn't he.




Yes, definatley, most assuredly we acknowledge his Rat Bastardliness.  Now, if he would just let us know _where_ he plays we could all be *further* distracted by Pkitty Heroicness.


----------



## Wolfspirit

Hatchling Dragon said:
			
		

> Yes, definatley, most assuredly we acknowledge his Rat Bastardliness.  Now, if he would just let us know _where_ he plays we could all be *further* distracted by Pkitty Heroicness.





Wherever he is, you can be sure he's getting his licks in.


----------



## Piratecat

Sneaky, huh?  I'm on Guardian right now, but have no qualms about changing servers to play with EN Worlders.

The update will probably be finished tomorrow and posted Friday. Today is a whole lot of work and finishing reorganizing the server drive database; I had tried to do prize distribution tracking people in Excel, and that didn't work worth a damn. I need to finish that process before I post an update.  Like I didn't already have enough motivation!


----------



## thatdarncat

Well Seri and I have a supergroup on Virtue which is open to any EN Worlder who sends us a tell 

Friday sounds good for an update.


----------



## Seule

I play mostly on Victory as The Canuck, same as my global chat handle (@Canuck).  I'm no longer on as regularly as I once was, but anyone on my server who wants Influence has only to mention that you saw this here, and I'll give you a million or so... being 47th level, I have an extra 18 million currently.

  --Seule (The Canuck, Ice/Ice Blaster, Victory)


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Wow.  We ENWorlders have the entire gamut of servers covered.   I play on Protector as:

@Pendragon


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

So what do you play?  I looked for the old CoH threads, they're all 4+ months dead already.  Since I'm probably going to end up on Virtue with a new toon (or two) I might as well try something that the rest here don't already have going.  Since I'm only leaving a Defender (Elec/Emp) and Blaster (Elec/Elec) on *Champion* my options for 'something new' are virtualy unlimited.


----------



## Knight Otu

Damn my faulty memory... I can't remember when I subscribed to a City of Heroes thread... not to mention *why* I would do that... there must be a reason... but which?!


----------



## thatdarncat

well there's always a shortage of good tankers...


----------



## Sidereal Knight

I'm also on Protector as MODRON (44th level claws/regen scrapper).  My global handle is: @MODRON.


----------



## warcabbit

Hey. just sticking my head in for the RP community of Virtue. 

I'm La Pucelle over there, mostly, or Shamrock II. I currently am running the open-ended massive-supergroup Alliance of Virtue, show up on the forums as Warcabbit pretty frequently, and if you ever want to be introduced around to Ascendant and Captain Valor and the lot, just send a tell. If I'm not in the middle of a HamiRaid, I'm usually pretty available. 

Contrawise, do swing by Gemini Park in Galaxy City. It's the open hangout.


----------



## megamania

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Sneaky, huh?  I'm on Guardian right now, but have no qualms about changing servers to play with EN Worlders.
> 
> The update will probably be finished tomorrow and posted Friday. Today is a whole lot of work and finishing reorganizing the server drive database; I had tried to do prize distribution tracking people in Excel, and that didn't work worth a damn. I need to finish that process before I post an update.  Like I didn't already have enough motivation!





That's okay.  I just destroyed your world in my Strikeforce: Morituri Storyhour.  So Sorry.


----------



## Blackjack

For the sake of those of us not on CoH, might I suggest someone start a new thread where people can post who they play and where?  That'll keep this thread from filling up with stuff that PCat will just have to delete later.


----------



## warcabbit

I shall, once the official forums come back up, start a thread over there, on the Virtue forum, for everyone to check in on. That shall be my third and _last_ post to this thread, on this topic. We can move it all over there.
Currently, the forums are undergoing weekly maintenance.


Here is that thread, if this guess at what the appropriate tag is, works.


----------



## shurai

http://www.machall.com/index.php?strip_id=303


----------



## Destil

*Happy birthday, PC!*

If memory serves your birthday is the same as mine, so Happy Birthday, Piratecat. Now make with the update. We expect hobbit style birthday celebrations in these here parts


----------



## BSF

I _think_ it is actually tomorrow.  I bet KidC will be kind enough to start a thread on it and we can come up with all sorts of birthday greetings to drop in there.


----------



## Jeremy

Hrrmmmm..  No update yet.  What kind of puppies thread is this?  Gets hijacked by some heroes video game.  We need more puppy updates!


----------



## Len

Now that there's PvP in City of Heroes I think a gang should go in there and kick Piratecat's butt until he posts an update.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I'm in.

And if you haven't done so, go to the off topic forum and wish PC a happy birthday.  

Do it there, he's got enough posts to clear off here.


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Sorry, one last semi-hijack, since I can't find a stinking login name for the CoH boards that isn't already taken, or is so far away from what I'm playing as to be meaningless.

*HERE* is the thread I started here on ENworld so that we can try, once again, to establish communications and arrange to get together in game.

I'm playing Meta Volt, cuz Mega Volt was taken.  I'll end up starting other characters as I get to know what's needed.  I wanted something familiar, and I love his costume design, which this is an improvement upon.  Pitty I didn't follow my early impulse, back at release, of creating a 'throw away' Mega Volt on every server, just in case


----------



## Jeremy

Piratecat said:
			
		

> The update will probably be finished tomorrow and posted Friday. Today is a whole lot of work and finishing reorganizing the server drive database; I had tried to do prize distribution tracking people in Excel, and that didn't work worth a damn. I need to finish that process before I post an update. Like I didn't already have enough motivation!




Can we see a snippet of that update?  Pretty please?  Not the whole thing or the spoils of war spreadsheet (though I really want to see that), but just a couple of lines of DoD goodness?


----------



## Hatchling Dragon

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Sneaky, huh?  I'm on Guardian right now, but have no qualms about changing servers to play with EN Worlders.
> 
> The update will probably be finished tomorrow and posted Friday. Today is a whole lot of work and finishing reorganizing the server drive database; I had tried to do prize distribution tracking people in Excel, and that didn't work worth a damn. I need to finish that process before I post an update.  Like I didn't already have enough motivation!




Ok, we _realy_ need to have P-kitty post a *date* when he makes these little promices, otherwise there will be much sorrow and gnashing of teeth when people discover that he wasn't refering to the same week he posted.

PS: P-kitty, have you made the move from Guardian yet?


----------



## Jackylhunter

Hmmm, I wonder what the Elder Brain is up to right now?  (hint, hint)...=)


----------



## Len

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> Hmmm, I wonder what the Elder Brain is up to right now?  (hint, hint)...=)



Dawn is now a paladin brain, and is off riding the range on his faithful mount.

And Mara is riding on Dawn.


----------



## Snowy

*yet another appreciative lurker.*

piratecats *UPDATED* Storyhour.

The names becoming a little untrue. 

Please continue the goodness, so I can see how good high level games run. 

(any suggestions for some other 3.5 high level storyhours would be nice from the rest of you guys, just to fill the *aching* gap in my stroryhour needs)


----------



## Zaruthustran

Snowy said:
			
		

> (any suggestions for some other 3.5 high level storyhours would be nice from the rest of you guys, just to fill the *aching* gap in my stroryhour needs)




I wholeheartedly recommend The Liberation of Tenh and Sagiro's Story Hour. Both are masterfully written, with terrific characters. 

Do yourself a big favor and read them from the very beginning (1st level characters). It makes the later Epic* goodness that much better.

-z

* Sagiro's story, at this point, is Epic in scope but not quite in character level.


----------



## Someone

PC, there´s been a couple or three threads discussing if psions are overpowered or not. I have my limited experience and opinions (that they are certainly powerful and there are problematic powers, but on the grand scheme psionics is about balanced)

So, after having a high level 3.5 psion played, what would you say about it? I´ve perused the thread, but found nothing about it.


----------



## Lord Pendragon

Snowy said:
			
		

> (any suggestions for some other 3.5 high level storyhours would be nice from the rest of you guys, just to fill the *aching* gap in my stroryhour needs)



Wulf's Collected Story Hour.

It isn't 3.5, but it runs the entire gamut of levels from low to high.  Read it.  You won't be sorry.


----------



## Snowy

cheers, that sorts todays anti-revision time wasting fun


----------



## KidCthulhu

Someone said:
			
		

> PC, there´s been a couple or three threads discussing if psions are overpowered or not. I have my limited experience and opinions (that they are certainly powerful and there are problematic powers, but on the grand scheme psionics is about balanced)
> 
> So, after having a high level 3.5 psion played, what would you say about it? I´ve perused the thread, but found nothing about it.




Here's the story with the 3.5 Psion.  It might be overpowered.  It might not.  But I play a Psion in this game, and PC plays a Psi Warrior in my game.  If he starts messing with the Psion power levels, he knows there will be repercussions.  Mutually Assured Nerfing.  

I don't nerf him, he doesn't nerf me, we're both happy.


----------



## WizarDru

Snowy said:
			
		

> Please continue the goodness, so I can see how good high level games run.
> 
> (any suggestions for some other 3.5 high level storyhours would be nice from the rest of you guys, just to fill the *aching* gap in my stroryhour needs)




PC is a very busy kitty.  Folks need to remember that this story hour is a fun distraction...but it's second-fiddle to the actual game which it documents.  PC updates much more regularly than some and less than others....and I think the story hour's success has made it more stressful to 'get it right'.  PC will update when he has time and when he can stare down the huge pile of tapes that he uses to jog his memory for actual sessions.

By the way, if you're looking for a high-level game, my .sig mentions several.  My story hour chronicles the rise of characters from 1st level to their current position at 25th.  Sagiro's story hour does the same (although not quite as high levels, but they're getting there), Sepulchrave's story hour is a work of gosh-darned art, IMHO, showcasing what the genre is capable of.  Destan's Story Hour is just plain good, I don't care what level you're at.

And these are just a few of the really great story hours available to you.  There are lots and lots of them, and many of them are simply excellent.  When in doubt, sample randomly until you find one that hooks you.  Different story hours have different appeals; Destan's prose is fantastic and vivid; Sepulchrave's setting and concepts are humbling to behold; Piratecat's story hour portrays the pure fun of D&D and showcases a fantastic game and it's DM and players.  Different flavors of Awesome.  Try them all.


----------



## Dawn

Len said:
			
		

> And Mara is riding on Dawn.




Easy now......


----------



## the Jester

Dawn said:
			
		

> Easy now......




Frankly, there are prolly worse things that could happen.


----------



## Someone

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Here's the story with the 3.5 Psion.  It might be overpowered.  It might not.  But I play a Psion in this game, and PC plays a Psi Warrior in my game.  If he starts messing with the Psion power levels, he knows there will be repercussions.  Mutually Assured Nerfing.
> 
> I don't nerf him, he doesn't nerf me, we're both happy.




Hmmm... if what you mean is that you´re avoiding the outrageous combos and not overusing the problematic powers, that´s whatI wanted to know.


----------



## Plane Sailing

Len said:
			
		

> And Mara is riding on Dawn.




cf http://www.enworld.org/showpost.php?p=1990356&postcount=29

 
Cheers


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## Jackylhunter

You know what I've forgotten?  Are we still in the plus column for Pics for posts?  If not, I'll try to whip up something.  I'm not a very good artist, but I *need* more updates dammit...


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## Naathez

No matter how long it takes Pkitty to update. No WAY this Story Hour stays on page two.    

Take your time as always, o feline privateer - but alwaysknow we're eager to hear more.


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## Radiating Gnome

You gotta understand.  City of heroes is a LOT of fun . . . .

-rg


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## Seule

Naathez said:
			
		

> No matter how long it takes Pkitty to update. No WAY this Story Hour stays on page two.




Not all worthy storyhours can be always on page 1, there's not enough space. If every storyhour that was good was automatically bumped when it hit page two, the board software would rapidly overload and explode, showering the server room with burning shrapnel, and there would be no boards. Basically, I say posting just to bump something is overrated.

Plus, if this storyhour hits page 2, 3, 4 or 50, maybe Pkitty will feel guilty and post. 

On the other hand, City of Heroes is addictive...

--Seule, @Canuck on CoH (and level 50, too!)


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## Craer

It's been over two months.  I'm feeling the pain.


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## Jackylhunter

Pkitty, go read the thread you wrote for Sep on combatting burnout, take a deep breath and write something.

put it another way, the longer you take, the more you'll have to prune when you do come back.

(seriously, we just miss ya.  Take your time and come back when you're ready)


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## shilsen

I just posted a thread on the General RPG board asking for questionnaires that DMs use to get feedback from players. I know Piratecat has one that he uses, so could he or one of his players please post a copy? Thanks.

No, of course this is not a "bump".


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## warcabbit

City of Heroes is _lots_ of fun. 
But the Pkitty is writing. Really! Said so! 

Mmm... Virtue. Mmm... blaster...


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## Jackylhunter

Quick bump


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## Plane Sailing

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> Quick bump




Why? 

It isn't as if this storyhour needs a bump, and it'll just give our poor, overworked piratecat extra work to do when pruning the thread time comes.


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## Craer

I hope he's ok...:\


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## warcabbit

Craer said:
			
		

> I hope he's ok...:\



The Kitty is fine and having fun and said he's got a storyhour almost done... and that he's not as fond of the transcribing from tape as he thought he would be. I think that's worth sharing. It  probably makes things too much like work, wouldn't you think? So hang loose, folks.


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## WizarDru

Craer said:
			
		

> I hope he's ok...:\




PC is relatively fine, as I understand it. He's had some heavy personal stuff happen lately that far overshadows the needs of the story hour, as detailed elsewhere here on the boards.

btw, PC, if you happen to be in our area for your annual reunion (if such hasn't already been held or interrupted by recent events, for which the Meepites send their condolences), there's always space open for you and KC at the gameroom table*. 

_(*-no more dining room for us!)_


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## Bryon_Soulweaver

[pouts] He's been on, he just doesnt share! [/pouts]



EDIt: wrote this as you did yours.


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## Piratecat

The tapes! The hideous hissing of the telltale tapes!

Poe aside, I've concluded that writing - transcribing - off a tape is just not as fun for me as doing it from memory. So screw it. We just had a great session with Fajitas and WisdomLikeSilence, the first Defenders of Daybreak since mid-February. I'm going to write that up now when it's fresh in my memory, then go back and just fill in the blanks with the players' recollections as needed.

I'll keep you posted.


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## Steverooo

Heya, P-kitty...  Nice to see that you're alive, out there (somewhere)...!

Update the M&Ms thread, and I'll post you some artwork for Wave...


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## Piratecat

Want an update?  Head here!

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2387086#post2387086

That's where new updates will go (from the campaign right now), until I have a couple of old updates ready to fill in the blanks over here. It seemed to make sense that if I was choking on a backlog of tapes, it'd refill my glee to write tape-free from the current game.

Enjoy.  And thank you.

 - Kevin


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## Jackylhunter

Thank you PC, I think I speak for all of us when I say: We appreciate all your hard work.  Take your time, we'll be here.


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## Piratecat

New storyhour (and old storyhour!) will actually be found here:

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=161560

I'll close this thread to reduce confusion. See ya in the our new home!


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