# Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions (final update posted 02.14.10)



## Jon Potter (Aug 19, 2008)

Hello all and welcome to the new thread.

If you are new to this story hour then I'd suggest going back to read the earlier adventures in the thread entitled  The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions. This picks up without preamble where that thread leaves off and won't make a whole lot of sense without knowledge of what went before.

Older write-ups (pre-board) are available for download as Word documents here, here, and here.

You can also find the early adventures as .pdfs, repackaged with introductions, and reader blurbs. These represent the most complete chronicle of the campaign.


 Volume One: The Grey Companions
 Volume Two: To Live and Die in Riverneck
 Volume Three: Something Rotten in Barnacus
 Volume Four: Against the Cult of Chaos
 Volume Five: The Problem with Portals
 Volume Six: A Tale of Two Forests
 Volume Seven: The Keys to Her Heart

Horribly outdated charcter stats are available in the Rogue's Gallery for what it's worth.

Now, on with the show...


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## Jon Potter (Aug 19, 2008)

*[Noxin #1] Why'd it Have to be Snakes?*

A cold breeze was blowing wetly across his naked skin when he finally awoke. A dull roar filled his head, and weakness pulled at his limbs. At least he didn't feel so clumsy any more. When those damned dwarves had jumped him he'd-

He sat up quickly, blinking into the darkness.

What had happened to those dwarves? They needed a taste of his hammer!

He started again.

What had happened to his hammer? And the rest of his gear for that matter?

He patted himself down and found out two things immediately. First: he was naked. Second: his ankle was manacled to the stone surface on which he lay. He grabbed the chain with both hands and pulled.

It only took a few tries to yank the manacle free of the bolts that held it in place.

That done he peered around at the dark for some clue as to his locale.

He noticed two things immediately. First: the roar that he'd thought was in his head was actually coming from somewhere to his right. The sound of falling water, maybe? Second: the darkness that had seemed total, was actually only MOSTLY total.

He could see the clouds of vapor billowing from his mouth as he breathed in the frigid air of the place. And he could, with effort, tell that he was on a flat, stone platform in the midst of some enclosed space. He couldn't see the walls, or ceiling, but he'd grown up in a cave and he recognized the acoustics of a stone chamber when he heard them.

He rolled over and looked over the side of the platform and there was the ground, only about three feet away.

It was covered with snakes.

They weren't moving and at first he thought that they might be dead. But no sooner had that idea started to form in his mind than a dry rattling sound rose out of the darkness. It was echoed by another and another until the chamber nearly shook with the maddening sound of angry serpents.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 20, 2008)

*[Noxin #2] Putting His foot Down*

Snakes! Noxin had encountered such before, up north, where it was warmer. He didn't fully understand it, but someone had explained to him that snakes liked to live in hot places - NEEDED to live in hot places, even.

It was not hot in this cave.

Slowly... a thought formed.

Maybe... these snakes weren't real.

Maybe... it was magic.

Magic snakes wouldn't need it to be hot.

Pleased with his own cleverness, Noxin sat down and worked at the cuff on his thick ankle. There wasn't a lot of give in the manacle, but he managed to get his fingers between his ankle and the metal with only the loss of a bit of skin. He worked at it for a minute or so, listening to the angry rattle filling the cave, and thinking that they sure sounded like real snakes. Finally the metal cuff sprang loose.

He hefted the chain experimentally. It was crude and awkward, but it would serve to test his 'magic snake' theory. He once more peered over the side of the slab and saw the snakes. They were moving now, though not with any real purpose. He raised the chain in two hands and swung it downward, overhand, like a flail. It drew a spark from the floor when it hit, but he also felt the slight give in the chain that indicated a solid impact with something softer than stone too.

Something... like a snake!

Noxin looked and saw, as he'd suspected, a single snake laying smooshed and unmoving amidst its fellows.

He scowled, disappointed that his clever idea had been proved wrong. But his introspection didn't last long; he was a man of action, not thought. His course decided in an eyeblink, he leapt from the stone slab, landing on the cold floor some distance away and bringing his foot down in a massive _Stomp!_ Shockwaves emanated from the impact and ran through the floor.

Normally, when Noxin put his foot down it knocked people to the ground and shook them up a little. But snakes were already on the ground, so he wasn't sure what would happen to them. He didn't bother waiting to find out, either, but pressed ahead into the darkness with his hands outstretched.

He stumbled into and over another stone slab. He scrambled onto it, moving ahead in the dark and bonked his head against something wooden. He cursed and stood, pressing his hands against the wooden thing. It was a door, he discovered - one of those kind with the big iron bands holding the timbers together.

And it was locked.

He listened then, but could hear nothing but the stealthy rustle of snakes moving toward him in the darkness.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 21, 2008)

*[Noxin #3] Blinded by the Light*

Noxin slammed his shoulder against the door and heard it crunch under the onslaught. He was surprised that it held, but he gave it another try and it slammed open, the lock holding it closed shooting off into the darkness beyond. There was a little more light here, he was happy to note. But there was not much of it and it had a strange flickering quality that made everything stutter and jump in a way that Noxin didn't care for.

He spared a glance behind him. The snakes were slowly converging on his location, but they seemed unable to climb the step up to the door, That was something, at least.

He was in a hallway, he saw at once. There was another door almost opposite the one in which he now stood. The light was coming from his left, however, and as he turned in that direction there was a brilliant flash and three shrill cries of pain.

Noxin looked and saw two of those dwarves he'd been jumped by earlier. They were clutching their huge, pale eyes and writhing in pain, probably blinded by that flash.

Good, he thought.

And then he noticed that the light was growing dimmer or moving farther away. Soon, when that light faded entirely, he reckoned that he'd be as blind as the dwarves.

Grinning like a madman, Noxin charged down the hallway, silent apart from the thud of his huge feet hitting the floor. The nearer of the two robed dwarves looked up, its face wide with shock and horror as 350 lbs of naked half-giant bore down on it. It brought up a shortsword that it held in one hand , but failed to do much more than show it to Noxin before his mighty hands closed around the dwarf's arms, swallowing each from elbow to armpit.

The dwarf let out a pathetic mewling sound that Noxin liked just fine.

There was another of the dwarves in a room off the hall, he could just see in the fast-fading light, but he was more immediately concerned with the nearer creature. It cast a spell, which normally would have earned it a boot to the head, but Noxin had his hands full at the moment, twisting the arms off its compatriot. The best he could do was to turn and keep the blade out of his face. He felt it draw a line of blood from his shoulder, but the wound was trivial, and it didn't keep him from completing his turn.

As he turned he hurled the dwarf in his arms into the one who'd stabbed him. Or at least that was the idea. What ended up happening was that he threw the dwarf at its fellow and it dodged out of the way. The flying dwarf went hurtling ten feet into the other room, landing in a heap.

The dwarf nearest him maneuvered itself to his flank and took a stab at him that really wasn't much of a stab at all. Noxin punched him in the gut, putting his weight behind it and knocking him back into the wall. He rebounded just in time to catch the half-giant's other fist in the face. The dwarf collapsed without a sound, bleeding profusely from its ruined nose.

The light was almost gone now, and Noxin could only barely discern the shapes of at least two of the dwarves coming at him from inside the room.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 22, 2008)

*[Noxin #4] Smoker's Lung*

Noxin turned to face them, straining to see in the almost total dark. There was something weird about the nearer dwarf; it seemed to be covered in shadows and it held up a hand that was even more hazy and indistinct than the rest of it. Before the half-giant could note more, it reached out and its hand seemed to flow outward - entering his mouth and nose as he took a breath - filling his chest with burning.

He could taste woodsmoke and could do nothing to suppress the choking cough that wracked his body. He was gagging, the smoke taking the place of air in his lungs. His chest was on fire!

He reached out a hand, seizing the dwarf by the head and drawing it into his arms as easily as he would a child. "What did you do?" he tried to scream, but found he could do nothing save make choking sounds and expel smoke.

Well, that's not entirely true. He could also squeeze. And he did that, flexing his muscles around the dwarf and listening with grim satisfaction as it squeaked in pain.

He was totally blind now, unable to see even the creature he held locked in his thick arms. Not that it mattered at the moment; if he was going to die in this place in the dark, he was damned sure not going without company.

Noxin felt something tumble passed him through the open door and into the hall. He couldn't see it of course, but it didn't smell good, and past experience told him that anything that "tumbled" passed you wasn't something you wanted on your flank. He was proved right a moment later as he felt the cold steel of a blade slide against the inside of his thigh from behind. He managed to twist away with his sack only grazed, but the little bastard was clearly going for something vital.

He gagged in pain (and more than a little fear) and squeezed mightily, crushing the dwarf in his arms almost into paste. As he relaxed his arms and let the body fall to the ground, he felt a glimmer of hope as he expelled what felt like the last of the acrid smoke. He could taste cool air. It was tainted by the stench coming off the dwarf still attacking him but it was still sweet to him after the gagging smoke.

He heard the swish of steel passing within inches of his flesh and reckoned where the "invisible" dwarf was. He lashed out with his hands trying to blindly grab his attacker, but clutched only empty air.

A moment later he cried out in alarm as he felt several inches of sharp metal bury itself in his left butt cheek. As his attacker drew the blade out Noxin whirled and clutched blindly again. His right hand closed briefly on a bit of fabric, but it slipped through his fingers. His left, however, latched onto a limb (it felt like a leg) and squeezed. The dwarf turned into a writhing ball of fury in his hands, but he lifted it up off the ground and got a firm grip on it with his other hand.

"WHERE ARE MY THINGS?!!" he bellowed into what he hoped was the thing's face.

In response, the dwarf giggled and stabbed him in the armpit. The pain was intense, and blood began to flow down his torso at once.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 23, 2008)

*[Noxin #5] Gearing Up*

"AAARRGGGHHH!!" Noxin roared. "DAMN YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!"

He'd had enough and could feel the fury rising within him. He was beginning to feel hopeless here naked in the dark with this insane little monster stabbing him in every soft place that he had. In some men, that hopelessness would have led to fatalism, but Noxin wasn't other men. In him it brought an animal rage bubbling up from that part of his brain that was most concerned about survival.

Holding his arm snugly across the wriggling creature's midsection, he grabbed its arm with his other hand, slid his fist down it until he felt the pommel of its weapon against his flesh. Then he forced the blade down into the dwarf's torso. It resisted, of course, but its strength was no match for his. He sank the blade in as deep as he could, unmindful of the potential for stabbing himself if the sword went all the way through his tiny adversary. The dwarf squealed and Noxin repeated the action again for good measure.

It twisted its weapon arm away somehow, the blood flowing hotly down its body giving it some lubricant, and brought the blade up toward Noxin's face. He couldn't see it in the dark, but he could feel the flat of the sticky wet sword slide harmlessly across his cheek and part the hair on the side of his head.

The half-giant reached up and grabbed the wrist again, twisting it so savagely that bones splintered in the dwarf's arm as he turned the thing's weapon back on itself. It let out another cry of pain and Noxin cut it off by stabbing the sword into its torso again. He felt its body go slack in his arms.

He stabbed it again just to be sure.

He stood there in the dark, holding his breath, listening for the sound of approaching opponents, but heard nothing. So he let out the breath and with it went the rage, sliding out of him as easily as it entered, and leaving only fatigue in its wake. He dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor, dropped the dwarf in front of him and began patting it down for anything of use. It wore a buckler on its left arm, carried a light crossbow on a strap, and had a shortsword sticking out of its chest. All of the gear felt ridiculously small in Noxin's hands; he used a bigger blade when he ate dinner than the one the dwarf had carried.

Noxin touched the bleeding puncture beneath his left arm and begrudgingly admitted to himself that the sword might have some usefulness. He took it and used it to cut free the creature's belt pouch. There were coins within. Coins were always good...

He moved haltingly down the corridor back in the direction of the snake room where he'd woken up. He shuffled his feet and ran his hand along the left wall as he went, hunched forward, tip-tapping the stone floor in front of him with the dagger-sized shortsword.

After a time, he came upon a closed door. He listened, but heard nothing, so he pushed it open and almost gagged. The stench of filth and rot and sweat was thick within the chamber, but he heard no movement so he crept inside, feeling along the wall as he went. After only a few steps, his hand brushed against something familiar. He curled his fingers around it, recognizing it instantly: his hammer, propped against the wall like a common shovel or a broom.

He hefted the weapon and its enormous steel head flickered immediately with illusory flames, lighting up the chamber like a torch. Noxin had to momentarily shield his eyes from the welcome glow, but nonetheless he'd never before been so thankful to see light in his life. After he got finished grinning at his weapon, he held it out, playing its glow across the foul-smelling interior of the room.

It clearly served as some sort of communal living space for the dwarves. There was a filthy mound of furs heaped along one wall that seemed to serve as a bed. The far corner held a bucket for waste, and the walls around the bucket were streaked with fecal matter like the chaotic scrawls of a child's finger painting. Nearby squatted a low table, atop which were strewn the rotting remains of several large fish; Noxin could see the swarming maggots from where he stood. To the right of the door, lying in a heap was the rest of the half-giant's gear.

He fell on it like a hyena on carrion and in just a few minutes, he had kitted himself back up and quickly made sure that everything was in place.  The dwarves had gone through everything, turning out his pack in an effort to find valuables... and then subsequently dumped everything in a disorganized pile.



He stepped back into the hall, looking both ways now that he had benefit of the light. The hall dead-ended to his left, The door to the snake room was across the hall and a bit farther along to his right. He had no strong desire to revisit that just now.

He could see the three bodies he'd left strewn in the hallway in front of another doorway, this one set into the same wall as the door to the dwarves' living quarters. The hallway had seemed much longer when he couldn't see anything and he closed the distance between himself and the bodies in three long strides. He'd already searched one, so he examined the other two, determining two things very quickly: beneath the rough robes they both wore they carried nothing of value, and both were female. One of them - he imagined it was the one who had almost choked him with smoke though he really couldn't be sure - had a bag slung across her torso. In the bag were loose coins carelessly mixed in with water-smoothed stones, yellowed and cracked bones, and bits of shed snakeskin. He picked out the coins and tossed the rest.

The room from which the dwarves had first issued was mostly empty. There was another body within, two other exits, and a lever set into the far corner. One of the doorways opened into a dark shaft that went downward well beyond the reach of his light. The lever set beside it was in the down position, but there was no indication what pulling it up might do.

The door in the other corner was tightly closed and offered no clues to what lay beyond.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 24, 2008)

*[Noxin #6] Spitting Distance*

Noxin pulled out his _Goggles of Minute Seeing_ and strapped them on. Then, holding his hammer close to the lever for light, he started to examine the device. It seemed unremarkable: steel shaft, polished marble handle, set into a brass-plated slot in the wall. It was old, and the workmanship was very good, he could tell that much, but beyond that it was what it was: a mysterious lever in the side of a dungeon wall.

Muttering to himself, he stripped off the _Goggles of Minute Seeing_ and held his hammer into the shaft. He peered downward, but the bubble of light from his hammer didn't project all that far, and he couldn't see anything but bare stone and darkness.

Noxin grumbled again and produced some spit and mucus from the back of his throat. He spat it down the shaft and then leaned over, his hand cupped around his ear as he listed for the splat.

Instead he heard a tiny voice below shout, "What the-!"


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## Jon Potter (Aug 24, 2008)

*[Realms #450] Waiting for the Dwarves*

"Wha- ??" Morier stammered, the pain from his broken leg momentarily forgotten in the face of this new, alarming development. "What just happened?"

"I don't know," Shamalin answered her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes never leaving the seated mummy. Morier noticed her hand was clasped tightly around the silver holy symbol that the cleric wore.

"Everybody alright?" the mummy hissed, and even though its voice was a rasp now, it was still recognizable as Ahlear's. It surveyed the group with shriveled eyes that were sunken into the shadows cast by the somber wrappings that covered his features. "Were there further losses? Where is Huzair? And how much time has passed?"

No one answered him. The three companions stared at the mummy with similar expressions of shocked disbelief on their faces.

"Nibble?!?" the Ahlear mummy looked around, searching for what in life had been his animal companion. The dire rat had fled the scene when the negative energy had swelled within the chamber, and so was no where about.

"What the #@!$?" Huzair's voice echoed around as he dropped down from the wall of the stairwell and deactivated his _Ring of Blinking_. "What happened to Ahlear?" The mummy turned to watch him as he side-stepped over to Shamalin, Morier and Anania.

"Huzair..." Ahlear groaned. "I am glad that you weren't killed."

"What the #@!$ happened to Ahlear?" Huzair repeated, his voice growing more agitated. His hands hovered near his spell component pouch.

"He's a... a..." Shamalin tried to say, but seemed unable to comprehend what had happened though she had seen it with her own eyes.

"I know what I seem to have become, but,-" Ahlear was moving slowly, stiffly to its feet and Anania took a challenging step forward, bow taut and arrow aimed squarely at the mummy's head. The mummy raised a cautioning hand. "Elf, stay your bow. I am still myself in mind and motives."

Anania lowered her bow slightly, looking at Morier, who was in his turn looking at Shamalin, who was squeezing her holy symbol and staring wide-eyed at the monstrosity that seemed somehow to house Ahlear's soul.

"Morier, Shamalin... is this a trick of some foul cave-dwelling demon??" the scout asked circling slowly, keeping her bow pointed low but nonetheless in the direction of the mummy.

"I don't know," Morier admitted. "It sounds like Ahlear but-"

"I assure you it is no trick," the mummy hissed, rising to its feet. "I have enough knowledge about my state to know that this was orchestrated, by the same powers that gave me my tattoo. But my goddess intervened slightly to keep me as independent as possible, and I thank lady Akadi for this with all my heart, even a non-beating one."

Thankful? Shamalin thought. To be trapped in a lifeless husk of dead flesh? What must that be like? She stopped herself from thinking about it, feeling a scream building in her chest that she didn't think she'd be able to stop once it got started. She tasted blood, realizing dimly that she'd bit down on her own tongue in an effort to suppress the rising hysteria.

"The tattoo?" Morier growled, but he was indicating the one on his own collarbone, not Ahlear's. "What is it? And why is it on me?" The mummy sighed, the sound of a sarcophagus lid dragging shut.

"It is a physical representation of the link we share," the mummy told him. "We are bound together now, you and I." Morier screamed in response to that, and half lurched up from the floor, sword in his hand. But he hadn't the strength to rise, and a wave of cold blackness fell over him as he moved his leg.

He collapsed, panting in frustration and pain, forehead pressed against the cold floor.

"Now, I cannot change your antipathy to what I am, but I will stay loyal to you all and the cause we have," the mummy went on as it went about the business of gathering Ahlear's gear. "You might say, me being this way is actually because I am entwined in your cause and the gods don't want to lose the foothold they have it seems... neither mine nor the evil ones who made this happen. What say you we regroup, replenish and then go kill us some dwarves?" The mummy offered up a horrifying rictus that was probably intended to be a reassuring smile. There was, however, nothing reassuring about the mummy's desiccated features and a smile seemed wholly out of place there.

Anania completed her circuit of the mummy, returning to the group from the other side. "Ahlear, is that really you?" she asked, incredulous.

"It is really me," the mummy rasped without looking up. It was working at securing the rhino hide armor to its emaciated frame.

"Well that is the strangest thing... but I don't have time to dwell on that," Anania said, refocusing herself on the task at hand. "Huzair, we have to get up and out of this tunnel. Did you see any way to reactivate the stairs while you were up top?"

The wizard did not seem to have heard her. His eyes were locked on the mummy, his expression one of dawning dread. Anania reached out a hand and shook the mage until he turned to look at her.

"Did you see how the dwarves are controlling the stairs?" she asked and he blinked at her, like a man just waking up from a long, deep slumber. "While you were above, did you see-"

"There was a lever," Huzair said at last. "Set into the wall at the top of the stairs."

"Good," Anania nodded. "Can you go back up and pull that lever and keep it pulled?"

"I will do whatever," the wizard said, looking upwards at the dark shaft. "I guess."

"What do you propose?" Shamalin asked, her voice even, but throaty. Her face remained pinched and she still hadn't let go of her holy symbol.

"I think we should climb the stairs again... in force," the elf said, matter-of-factly. "Huzair can turn invisible and open the lever. Then I can climb rapidly to the top and we can attempt to hold the top of the stairs until the rest of you get there." Shamalin nodded as she considered the plan.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I mean, invisibility sounds great if we are certain that they won't be able to see right through it. It would only take one spellcaster-dwarf to detect magic and ruin our chances. What about retreating and drawing them out?"

Now it was Anania's turn to voice opposition.

"I don't think turning back is the best bet at this point," she said. "We have come this far, and if we can just get passed these stairs-"

"That's a big 'if'" Shamalin countered. "The stairs seem risky and have been nothing but trouble for us. Are we sure Huzair can force the lever to keep the stairs in place?"

"Do not worry about me," the wizard said, confidently. "I can take care of them and myself." Shamalin eyed him skeptically.

"You have to remember that they seem pretty spell-impervious, Huzair,"  she reminded him.

"I do not have my _Ring of Invisibility_ and would have to use my last invisibility scroll if I wanted to go unseen," the mage admitted. "Maybe I would just do it without being invisible, and retreat as needed." He shrugged.

"I will do whatever your all want," Huzair said and Morier barked laughter from the ground.

"Not words you hear much from Huzair," the albino said through gritted teeth. Then he looked at Shamalin and added, "I know I ask for a lot of healing. But do you think you could look at my leg?" The cleric's eyes grew wide and color rose quickly to her cheeks as she went about the business of belatedly healing her friends.



While Shamalin ministered to Morier, Huzair took a step toward the Ahlear mummy who was still busy securing strewn gear.

"Can I have my invisibility ring back?" the wizard called from a discreet distance. "Please." The mummy looked up at the mage and nodded.

"Yes," it rasped. ""Here it is." He presented the ring with an outstretched arm. But as it took a step forward, Huzair took a quick step back, recoiling as if he'd been offered a live scorpion rather than a ring.

"Put it down, please, and then I will pick it up!" he said quickly. Under his breath he muttered, "Damn it! I wish I paid attention. I cannot remember if Garan-Zak told me that mummies had energy drain or not. Why do I not listen!" The mummy chuckled - a sound like someone shaking a handful of gravel - and took a step backward.

"I am not able to drain you," Ahlear growled, nodding once. "But fair enough. I cannot hope for impossible miracles in a few minutes." Then he stooped and rolled the ring across the floor toward the mage with a fluid motion that did not seem to fit with what Huzair thought he knew about mummies. He crouched down and scooped it up.

"Well, I was not implying you would do it on purpose," the wizard assured the mummy and slipped the ring back on his finger. "We had better stop the small talk and be ready. Man, won't those freaks be surprised?"



In the end, they decided to wait out their attackers rather than go with Anania's plan.

The living huddled close beneath the concealment of Huzair's _Invisibility Sphere_ spell, weapons ready and attention focused on the shaft above. The undead lurked in the shadows and searched the walls for some sign of a secret door. There was no movement or sound from above and the stairs did not reset.

Eventually, the duration of Huzair's spell expired, returning them all to visibility.

There was still no sign of the dwarves or a secret door.

"Well that was a waste of a scroll," Huzair groused. "I should start charging you guys for-"

"Did you see that?" Anania hissed, interrupting the wizard. She was squinting upward. "I thought I saw a light for a moment."

"I don't see anything," Morier replied.

"It's gone now," the elf maid admitted. "It was very feint, but I'm sure I-"

"What the-!" Huzair exclaimed, jumping as something warm and wet splatted down on his bald head. He touched the spot and his hands came away slick with phlegm.

Somebody had spat on him from the top of the shaft.

Huzair's expression soured at once and he quickly stepped back from beneath the stairwell lest he be targeted again. He wiped his head and cast the spittle onto the floor, then rubbed his hand on his pants, fearful of poison.

"My flower, is this human spit or slobber from a creature?" he asked Anania. "Can you tell the difference, my love?" The elf looked at him and started to speak when a voice from above called out.

"Who be down there!?" the voice yelled in the common tongue, muted somewhat by distance. "Ya friend or foe?!!"


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## Hairy Minotaur (Aug 25, 2008)

Wicked cool with the forced undead transformation, now for a real shocker you should have Huzair get a forced paladin transformation..... You could sell tickets to that. 

So are your half-giants psionic? Will Noxin be sporting some mental domination?


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## Jon Potter (Aug 26, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Wicked cool with the forced undead transformation,




Well I really can't claim credit for that one. The mummy was his player's idea, not mine. And the rest of the group did not find an undead to be a welcome member of the party.



> now for a real shocker you should have Huzair get a forced paladin transformation..... You could sell tickets to that.




Isn't there a cursed belt that does that?

But surprisingly, you get to see something close to that idea a bit later in the story. 



> So are your half-giants psionic? Will Noxin be sporting some mental domination?




Nope. The campaign has always been psionics-free, so Stomp! (or whatever it's called) is all he's got and all he'll get. I treat it like the Giant feat from Arcana Evolved that does the same thing essentially.


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## Jon Potter (Sep 1, 2008)

*[Realms #451] Meeting Noxin*

"It depends on who you are!" Huzair yelled upwards as he dried his head with a cloth. "If you are one of those nasty little dwarves I am going to kick your ass into next Freeday!"

"No, my friend. I've broken them all into little pieces" the voice resonated down the hole, gruff and deep. "Little bastards drugged me and were going to sacrifice me to some snakes. I guess they were not friends of yours either…"

Huzair looked quickly at Morier and Anania, an expression of skeptical optimism on his face. Shamalin was casting _Detect Magic_ and missed the exchange.

"Do you know how to get the stairs back up?" Huzair shouted.

"Huh?" the big voice grunted back. "What stairs?"

"There were stairs in this shaft," the mage explained. "But there was a trap and they disappeared."

"Huh!" the voice said again. "That's somethin' ya don't see every day."

"Didn't you use the stairs to get up there?" Huzair asked.

"Well, to be quite honest, I haven't a recollection how I got down here," the voice replied. "I was drugged."

"Great..." Huzair hissed looking again at the others. Shamalin met his eyes this time.

"I sense no magic," she told him.

"There's a lever here on the wall," the voice called down.

"Yes, there is a lever, but the stairs will collapse when-" Huzair's explanation was cut off by the CHUNK! CHUNK! CHUNK! sound of the stairs extending from the central column. He looked at the others and sighed.

"Crap. Anyone who kills all those dwarves cannot be all bad," he said. "I am going up to hold the lever so the trap does not reset. Wait for my whistle." He boosted himself up onto the wall, taking no chances as he began _Spiderclimbing_. Before he disappeared from sight he called back, "Perhaps Ahlear should hang back out of sight to not spook this guy."



When Huzair climbed out into the chamber above, lit now by the glow of _Everburning Flame_, he thought that perhaps he needn't have worried about spooking their new acquaintance. This guy was huge! Huzair had known Feln for a time, and the half-ogre had been larger. But then Feln was a giant. The newcomer looked mostly human, but has certainly the largest human that the wizard had even seen. He towered two feet taller than Huzair and outweighed him by perhaps a factor of three.

His muscular torso was packed into a worn but well-maintained chain shirt. A massive sword was strapped across his back; it was half-again as big as the one that Morier wielded, but on this guy it only looked slightly oversized. In his left hand he held a hammer with a handle as long as Huzair was tall and a head the size of a small anvil. It was this weapon that shed magical light about the room.

The giant man stepped forward extending his right hand in greeting as he came. Huzair saw that he wore one pair of leather and brass goggles high on his substantial brow and a second pair hung around his neck.

"Noxin," the big man grinned as he engulfed Huzair's hand in a crushing grip. "Thought I wouldn't see a friendly face again."

"I am Huzair," the wizard answered, extricating himself from the punishing handshake.

"Well, I'll tell ya, Huzair," Noxin grinned, shaking his head and running his thick fingers through his curly black hair. "Wakin' up naked in the dark with the damn room full of snakes... Thought it was all over." Huzair looked up from massaging his hand and smirked at Noxin.

"Why is it that when we find some new guy, they are always naked?" he mused. "I remember finding Morier frolicking buck naked through the forest save for these tiny leaves with which he covered himself." Noxin smiled.

"Who's Morier?" he asked. In response, Huzair snapped his fingers and whistled down the staricase. Then he moved over to the lever and leaned against it so that it stayed firmly in the upright position.

"Listen, Noxin. You get a free pass about the spitting on me because you killed the dwarves and because you are freaking big... but please do not ever spit on me again, my friend," Huzair said, grinning. Then he hit Noxin in the arm in what he hoped was a tough, barbarianish fashion. It felt a bit like punching a slab of granite. He decided to settle for offering Noxin a cigar.

The big man grinned as he took the smoke carefully between forefinger and thumb. His coppery eyes twinkled in the flickering light.

"I prefer a strong pipe, my friend," he admitted, "but I think a cigar would calm my nerves after my escapade... many thanks." He popped the cigar in his mouth, clamping it tight in his huge teeth and began fishing in his pack for a tinderbox.

Grinning, Huzair lit the smoke with his thumb. Noxin laughed at the display of minor magic and began puffing away to get the cigar going, so by the time the others arrived, the small chamber was hazy with smoke.

As they came up - first Anania, followed by Morier - Noxin greeted them as he had Huzair, sharing his name and offering each a bone-crushing handshake. When Shamalin appeared, clanking and puffing up the stairs, Noxin squinted at her appraisingly.

"What have we here?" he asked as he extended his hand. "A black knight... but such a kind face. Have to watch out for you!!" He snorted laughter and pumped her hand. The laughter died as Ahlear's mummy stepped into the doorway.

Noxin had his hammer in a two-handed grip at once and he held it between himself and the undead. Ahlear stood his ground, but raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"He's with us," Huzair said and Noxin turned a wondering eye to the wizard.

"You travel with the undead?" he marveled. "I can see why you keep to caves."

"It was either the caves or the giants," Ahlear rasped. "The caves seemed the lesser threat at the time." Noxin turned his eye back to the mummy, seeming confused to hear it speak. After a moment, he lowered his hammer and pulled smoke thoughtfully from his cigar.

"I wouldn't worry too much about the giants... if they waited around long enough for me to free myself I'll be surprised," the big man told them. Then he shrugged. "If they did wait... they might have work for you. We are headed to battle."

"WE?" Huzair asked. "You're with the giants?" Noxin sighed, considering and then ultimately shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Allright... let me play it straight here... I ain't no good at spinnin' stories anyway, so I'll just tell you... and if you rob me blind... so be it," the huge man began. "I am a treasure hunter - a good one too, and I been scouring this region for an ancient treasure. Well... you gotta do a lot of things as a treasure hunter, and one of 'em's eatin', so I got hooked up with this giant, Hargnar Slamfist. Well, of course, shortly after I started working with him, Cerrakean, a little hob-goblin...well, she's a warrior - if you can call a little thing like that a warrior - called in some old debt I know nothin' about."

"Cerrakean," Shamalin said, turning the word over in her mouth. "I've read that name before. In Ledare's notes I think." Noxin looked at her and shrugged again.

"Anyway... from what I remember, this giant has aligned himself with a guy name Demius Wiverly Eyes or something," the big man went on, not noticing Morier jumping a bit at the familiar name. "Anyway, this Demerius Wevern Aye is gathing an army... come to think of it, I am not sure what for... I think it's to storm a keep... but I may have dreamed that."

"Sounds like a good way to spend an afternoon," Huzair chuckled. "Any wizards or spell users among the lot?"

"Not that so's you could tell," Noxin told him. "Let me tell you, though... I think there may be treasure in these caves... Of course, I can't be sure. The poem I am thinking of seems to allude to a place like this...and I was off from the group a bit when the dwarves grabbed me... so who knows what Hargnar is doing. He may have left. He may be searching for me...not sure. It's not like we are kin, but he seemed decent enough."

"We're not here to find treasure," Shamalin said and Noxin looked at her as if she'd just asked him to punch her in the head.

"Huh?" he grunted. "If ya ain't lookin' for treasure than what are ya doin' way out here?" Shamalin ignored the question and turned to the others.

"Unless Noxin, here, has an escape route he knows about, we should just go back out the way we came in," she said and eyes turned expectantly to the big man. Again, he shrugged.

"I don't know how exactly I came down into these caves, but I am pretty sure those pale little things didn't drop me down no cliff," he laughed, ashing on the floor. "There has to be a way back up and through the top. And I would not worry about the giants on top; they fight for money... mostly. Do you have any money??"

Shamalin raised an eyebrow at this. "Money?" she asked.

"Yeah. Money," Noxin repeated. "You know... coins! Gold pieces. Silver pieces... Money!" Shamalin looked disapproving and turned to Morier, a question on her lips.

"We have money," Morier said to Noxin before the cleric could speak.

"Good!" the big man grinned.

"What does your pull have to say now, Whitey?" Huzair asked and Morier looked around at them all.

"Now we spread out and try to find a way up and out of this warren," he said and his words were met by nods. But as the others spread out, Shamalin clutched his arm and drew him close so she could softly voice her concerns.

"Is our cause now a mercenary one?" she asked him. "Do we now enlist the aid of those who might not have a passion for our purpose?" The albino sighed and shaking his head, drew a pale hand through pale locks.

"No, Shamalin, I don't think our own cause is a mercenary one... but I think you and I may be the only two left here who even have a cause...or understand and remember what our cause is, let alone pursue it with any passion," he told her. "I don't know, possibly Huzair understands, he seems... somehow different lately... His exterior makes it all too easy to underestimate him. But even if we count three of us, our odds are still pretty poor. So we enlist 'hired swords'... then I suppose you can use the word mercenary... but they serve as the means to our end. They all know what we're doing, and they all pay lip service to the end we seek before we allow them to join us." He started to turn away and then looked back at her, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

"It troubles me some to hear myself say the words out loud that show how cheaply I consider the lives that appear to take up our cause, but I rest more easily about it knowing that we have persuaded no one to join us," he said grimly, a cold, hard edge in his voice. "They have sought to travel with us and we have told each of them about the dangers involved."


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## Burningspear (Sep 5, 2008)

Wheehee... , anyway (love the smilies)...


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## Jon Potter (Sep 8, 2008)

*[Realms #452] Sometimes a Snake isn't Just a Snake*

"My exterior. Damn right I am not just a pretty face," Huzair said loudly, purposely jostling Morier so that he nearly collided with Shamalin as the two conferred in whispers. "I am going to be one of the greatest wizards of the next decade or two."

"If I let you live that long," Morier said under his breath, scowling at the wizard. Huzair scowled right back, pointing a thin finger at the albino's pale face.

"Also I do really want to save the world. Too many beautiful women in it to let some rot queen destroy it." Huzair smiled, looking lustfully at Anania, but the elf maid did not notice, she was splitting her attention between checking the walls for secret doors and keeping her eye on Ahlear.  Morier caught the look and shook his head.

"See, Huzair, that's exactly why I-" the eldritch warrior began, but Huzair waved him off.

"I could be more agreeable, Morier, but who else would keep you on your toes?" he smirked.

"We could hire someone," Shamalin deadpanned. "Apparently we're taking on all sorts of mercenaries now."

"My people are not mercenaries, little knight," Noxin said, turning from his work to regard Shamalin plainly. "We are skilled craftsman... only our craft is war. I don't take on any fight I don't want to, and money is not the only criteria... usually treasure helps though." He added a wink with that last and favored the half-elf with a smile.

"Fair enough, Noxin," Morier said. "But I do not think that Shamalin's words referred solely to you and your fellows." The big man shrugged and pitched the butt of his cigar down the stairwell.

"Lets go meet your friends, Noxin," Huzair suggested and Noxin shouldered his greathammer with a nod.

"I don't mind leading the way here, if you all don't want to," he said, looking around at the group. "I got a pretty thick skin and most things turn the other way when they see me comin'." Huzair barked laughter at that.

"Hell! I do not blame them for going the other way!" the mage chuckled. "A thick skin and a big freaking hammer would make me think you would be skilled in battle."

"I am at that." The man smiled down at Huzair.

"Out of curiousity, what race are you?" the wizard asked. "Or did you just mean your tribe of people earlier?"

"I am a giant, my friend... Well, I am a human and a giant, I guess... So maybe you could call me a huma-giant... or a giant-human," Noxin speculated, pondering and scratching head. "I don't know, I guess. I just know I got kin of both types." Huzair nodded sagely despite the fact that he'd never before heard of a human-giant hybrid race.

"Are you from around here?" the mage asked. "Do you know the area well? Any large cities close by?" Noxin sniffed and shook his great head.

"Not too familiar with the area," he said, moving towards the exit. "I have been wandering really, looking for a particular horde of treasure, but have not had any luck finding it."

"We have something in common. I like treasure too," Huzair ginned, whacking the half-giant's arm again with equally painful results. "Actually let's cut the small talk and get the heck out of here and find your friends."



Noxin lead them out through the only unexplored exit in the chamber: the door in the corner. It opened onto a set of stone steps that curved back and up to the right. The half-giant turned and grinned down at Anania who was ready behind him.

"Up," he said cheerfully. "Up is good." She nodded non-committally and they pressed on to the top of the stairs.

It opened into the side of a chamber. For a moment, the shape of the chamber was baffling, but then they realized the makers' intent; the place had been fashioned into the form of a serpent's head. To the right, at what would have been the snake's neck a dark passageway sloped upward. To the left, the floor dropped away into a chill darkness from which rose a cold wind and the dull roar of falling water.

In the center of the chamber was a worn altar of some kind around which was coiled a vast ashen serpent with scales yellowed and cracked with age. Beyond the altar, in the far wall was a set a familiar arch of stone filled with a curtain of luminous green mist. Unlike the others that the group had seen, this arch was surrounded by a riot of magical glyphs and symbols drawn in what looked like dried blood.

"Well that's something ya don't see every-" Noxin started to say when a sibilant voice spoke from the empty air somewhere ahead.

"Ssspeak the name of the one I ssserve or die," it hissed, a sound full of malice..


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## Hairy Minotaur (Sep 8, 2008)

Jon Potter said:


> "Also I do really want to save the world. Too many beautiful women in it to let some rot queen destroy it." Huzair smiled, looking lustfully at Anania, but the elf maid did not notice, she was splitting her attention between checking the walls for secret doors and keeping her eye on Ahlear.  Morier caught the look and shook his head.




Advice for Huzair - Construct Familiar. That'll take care of that problem. 



Jon Potter said:


> "Are you from around here?" the mage asked. "Do you know the area well? Any large cities close by?"




"good brothels, reccomended red light districts, succubi, a countryside eager to be repressed, Maglin's Famous Pleasure Golem, a myopic deaf venerable dragon with a hoard that would give a rust monster a heart attack - because I got to look good for the publicity shots when I stab the dragon with my sword after someon else kills it, chaotic neutral drow?"



Jon Potter said:


> "We have something in common. I like treasure too," Huzair ginned, whacking the half-giant's arm again with equally painful results. "Actually let's cut the small talk and get the heck out of here and find your friends."




"the quicker we find the gold the faster my progeny can conquer the world, any way you can move faster than that? In fact can you just carry Morier, he'll just slow us down, if we meet resistance you can dwarf toss him into the fray."


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## Kristeneve (Sep 9, 2008)

"the quicker we find the gold the faster my progeny can conquer the world, any way you can move faster than that? In fact can you just carry Morier, he'll just slow us down, if we meet resistance you can dwarf toss him into the fray."[/quote]

Marvelous stuff!  You channel Huzair so perfectly...


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## Jon Potter (Sep 14, 2008)

*[Realms #453] Who Knew Snakes had such Bad Breath?*

The group exchanged glances. Well, except for Huzair who simply activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and vanished. All of them seemed to believe that Aphyx was the correct answer, but no one seemed willing to speak the Rot Queen's name. As the silent moment swelled uncomfortably, Ahlear took a shuffling step forward.

"Aphyx...?" Ahlear rasped as he scanned the room for the invisible speaker. The response was a horrible keening wail that sounded like the death screams of a thousand innocent souls. It was followed up immediately by a cone of utter cold that originated from somewhere above and behind the altar and bathed the entire party in its chill.

Ahlear thought for an instant that he saw the shape of an enormous invisible serpent rimed in frost as the breath weapon discharged, but then he was engulfed in the swirling cold and could see no more. When the ice cleared a moment later, where he thought he had seen the snake's head there was nothing save empty air.

The mummy reacted first, jumping back from the altar and rasping a few curses. He pulled a potion vial from his belt saying, "Guess that was the wrong answer!" Behind him, invisible and clinging to the mortal coil only by virtue of the _False Life_ spell he had cast earlier, Huzair snorted.

"Wrong answer?" he sniped. "I guess!" Sarcasm dripped heavily from his words and as Ahlear opened his mouth to say something more, the wizard quickly shrieked, "DO NOT answer again!"

Anania staggered to the side, aimed her bow at the spot where the cone of cold had originated and loosed an arrow. It clattered against the ceiling and then fell to the floor. There seemed to be nothing there, but an instant later she was lifted violently off the ground, and blood exploded from beneath her armor as something ravaged her flesh, while leaving her covering unmarked. She screamed even as she reached for another arrow from her everfull quiver, but before she could raise it to her bowstring, she was hurled violently against the left-hand wall. She struck with the force of a battering ram and slid bonelessly down the hole there, falling into the dark chamber below.

"Everyone out of the room!" Huzair's voice shouted, followed by the sound of his feet retreating down the staircase. "Let us regroup outside of the room!"

Noxin raised his hammer in a defensive posture and placed his body in such a way that he defended the doorway leading back the way they came. "Retreat!" he called, looking at Morier briefly before returning his attention to whatever invisible thing lurked in the chamber. "I'll hold the line! Go!" The albino glanced at Noxin and then nodded at Shamalin.

"He's right! We're not prepared to deal with this!" Morier told the cleric, stepping behind the big man's left shoulder and heading down the stairs. Shamalin didn't answer as she was in the process of casting a spell; however once the _Sanctuary_ was in place, she moved to follow the eldritch warrior, leaving Noxin and Ahlear in the chamber.

"Come on!" Noxin shouted at the mummy. Ahlear glanced up.

"But the elf-" the mummy started to say, gesturing to the hole in the floor.

"She's dead!" Noxin barked. "And you may like it, but I got no plans to join the two o' ya!" Ahlear said nothing, but spared the dark hole in the floor another look and then loped quickly out the door and down the stairs. He sensed rather than heard or felt jaws snapping shut in the air behind him.

"We'll be seein' ya!" Noxin grinned up at the empty room, swinging his hammer in a defensive pattern in front of himself despite the fact that he saw nothing threatening. He managed a single retreating step before something slammed into him, or rather it slammed into his hammer. The force, or weight, or whatever threatened to wrench the weapon from his hands, but he maintained his grip and was able to struggle against the unseen thing. It was fantastically strong! Noxin had once, foolishly, challenged a cloud giant to what ended up as a very brief, very humiliating wrestling match. The cloud giant was strong, but this – whatever this was – was stronger still. A lot stronger!

Noxin gave ground and pulled the hammer free with a jerk. As he retreated down the steps, he heard a voice call after him.

"I'll be waiting!" it hissed.



"Why are you so insistent that we not give another name?" Shamalin was asking Huzair when Noxin reached the chamber at the bottom of the stairs. "Couldn't it possibly save us from further attack?" The wizard shrugged and downed a potion.

"I saw what being wrong cost us," he told the cleric as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. "I guess you could give it a try, if you want." He made a gracious gesture toward the stairs back up to the chamber and smirked with Shamalin looked away.

"Could it be the Animal Lord, Brogine's sister, Dridana that the snake serves?" Shamalin asked, glancing up hopefully at the others. Morier nodded although he didn't look happy with the realization.

"Yes... it must be," the eldritch warrior admitted.

"I could go up and call out: 'You serve the Animal Lord Dridana'," Shamalin suggested. "That might earn us passage."

"I don't know that I'd try that if I was you," Noxin said, massaging his meaty shoulder with one huge hand. "Whatever's up there's awful strong. You all saw what it did to the elf."

"My poor little flower," Huzair said with genuine remorse in his voice. His expression hardened and he shook his fist, his other hand going to his spell component pouch. "I want to _Fireball_ that place out of spite," he growled. "It may also do some good. I cannot miss, that is for sure!" 

"No No No NO NO NO !!!" Morier shouted grabbing Huzair's arm at the elbow in a grip that as always seemed out of place on his spare frame. The mage glowered down at him and tried ineffectually to peel Morier's fingers off his arm.

"Have you got a better idea, Whitey?" he challenged.

"Yes. I do," Morier said. "Shamalin can heal me up, I'll buff a bit, and go try speaking Dridana's name." Huzair snorted.

"Be my guest," Huzair said as he stowed his empty potion vial in his _Handy Haversack_. "In fact, I encourage it. I suggest Ahlear go since he's already dead." The mummy managed to look annoyed despite the limitations imposed by desiccated flesh and obscuring wrappings.

"True, I have touched death once," he hissed, "but I am not happy to suicide just for your convenience." Huzair shrugged.

"Guess that leaves you, whitey," the mage said with a smirk.

"Aw, I don't know," Noxin grinned, raising his hammer to his shoulder. "I am willing to go on the attack."

"That's two," Huzair observed. "Any other takers?"

"I would be much more beneficial to our efforts were we to rest here overnight," Shamalin admitted. "I'm nearly out of miracles. But Anania is out there somewhere and I can't justify leaving her."

"My guess is Anania has passed onto the 100 days walk," Noxin said with a shrug. "I've seen folks take a lot o' punishment an' walk away, but not that much." Huzair glared at him, but the big man did not notice.

"I still want to retrieve her body for a proper burial..." Ahlear rasped. "It is the least..." His sepulchral voice trailed off and Huzair nodded.

"If there is no risk I will go get it invisibly," he offered.

"We don't know where it is," Ahlear reminded and Huzair threw his hands up.

"Whatever!" he scoffed. We still need to address this invisible snake as soon as possible. I do not feel right just lounging about with it up there. "

"I told ya, I am ready to fight..." Noxin said and quaffed a potion.

"Hopefully it won't lead to combat," Morier told him. "But I am glad to have you at my side if it does."

"Just make sure you stay behind him up there," Huzair hissed into Morier's ear. "He's put together a lot more solidly than you are."



Morier did not take Huzair's advice, instead leading the way up the stairs to the chamber above. Noxin's glowing hammer cast the eldritch warrior's shadow long in front of him and on the threshold of the altar chamber, Morier looked over his shoulder and said, "Put away the weapon, but be ready." Noxin looked at him as if he were mad and kept the hammer where it was.

"I'm ready," he said. "You jus' say what you gotta say and don't worry about me." Morier nodded and stepped forward.

"You came back," the voice hissed, equal parts menace and surprise.

"I know who you serve," Morier said. "You serve Dridana." The words hung in the air for a moment and then a dry mirthless chuckle filled the chamber.

"You are correct," the voice said. "Long have I waited for sssomeone to ssspeak Her name and free me from my tasssk as guardian of the gate. It isss a pity that you are not that one. A true ssservent of She Who isss All would not have firssst ssspoken the name of Her enemy." That was all the warning that Morier got.

The next thing he knew he felt fangs the size of daggers sinking into his flesh beneath his armor. He felt venom being pumped into his body, but managed to resist the initial shock of it. He could do nothing as he felt invisible coils wrap around him and squeeze the breath from his lungs. He struggled mightily, but even augmented as he was by a _Bull's Strength_ spell, he may as well have been struggling to resist the hand of a god. He squeaked as he felt ribs start to crack beneath the strain.


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## Jon Potter (Sep 21, 2008)

*[Realms #453a] Regroup!*

"Bloody thing is at it again!" Noxin roared and in the chamber below, Huzair cursed, activated the _Ring of Blinking_ and stuttered his way up the stairs. The scene that greeted him above was shocking.

He saw Morier, suspended in mid-air, his face a rictus of agony. Then he _Blinked_ and saw the same scene on the Ethereal Plane. This time, Morier was completely obscured by the coils of an enormous snake with scales of scintillating gold. Its head loomed above Noxin, opalescent eyes filled with a malevolent intelligence that had no place in a snake's skull. Then he _Blinked_ again and the serpent was gone even as Noxin lunged for it with his bare hands.

The half-giant moved quickly to grab the thing crushing Morier but realized that whatever it was was not just invisible but incorporeal as well. Instead, he grabbed a hold of Morier in an attempt to carry him out of the chamber.

"Come here, boy," he grunted. "We got to get you out of this room!"

Before he could get a firm grip on the eldritch warrior, he felt daggers bury themselves all along his chest and back. Huzair saw the snake dart forward and engulf Noxin's head and half his body in its maw before retracting.

"Patiensss. Time enough for you to die when I finish with thisss one, manling," the serpent hissed.

"Blasphemous invisible snake!" Noxin cursed, pressing a hand against his shoulder where his blood was oozing through the links of his chain shirt. "Everyone out. We can't take this thing on yet!!"

"No ssservant of Aphyx may ssstand before me and live," the serpent told him and Huzair deactivated the Ring of Blinking.

"We are not servants of Aphyx. We only spoke the Rot Queen's name because of the evil you housed here - with those ghastly dwarves attacking us. The appearance of this place was deceptive," the wizard said. "We are on the same side and have the keys to free Dridana! See!" And saying thus he pulled Flameblade from its sheathe and was instantly rimed in flickering flames.

"The scion of fire awakes!" the sword crackled and Morier let out a sighing sound as he sagged in the snake's invisible coils.

"Flameblade?" the serpent hissed, its voice filled with uncertainty.

"Do not be a fool and kill your allies," Huzair pleaded. "Hear us out!"

"Yes, please don't kill him! You must listen," Shamalin implored as she pushed passed Ahlear and clanked into the chamber. "He has been chosen by the guardians of the Grove of Renewal to help in the quest to fight Aphyx! He has a pull in his head that has led us thus far! Our goal is to put the keys in the walls and free Beast's twin!"

"But you bring only one key," the snake said. "The gate will only open with all four keysss." Shamalin drew Waveblade from its scabbard.

"THE SCION OF WATER AWAKES!" it thundered, filling the chamber with the sound of crashing waves.

"And he carries Stoneblade," Shamalin went on, indicating Morier. On cue, the eldritch warrior drew the greatsword.

"THE SCION OF STONE AWAKES!" it bellowed, its voice an avalanche of sound. Morier felt the force around him move away, leaving him alive - but decidedly unwell.

"You bring three keysss when four are required," the snake observed and Ahlear pointed to the hole in the chamber floor down which Anania had disappeared.

"The elf you slew bore Windblade," the mummy rasped accusingly.

"The elf sssought to injure me," the snake told him. "You yourssself, ssspoke the name of the enemy, foul one." There was barely contained menace in its voice as it spoke, and while Ahlear could not see the thing, he sensed that it was looming over him.

"As unlikely as it seems, this one works toward the cause of your goddess even in death!" Shamalin said, grimacing as she acknowledged the mummy. The snake hissed derisively.

"It exissstsss outssside the natural order. It walksss the Rot Queen'sss path," the serpent asserted. "What plassse doesss it have in Her ssservisss!"

'"You would do Dridana a great disservice by preventing this!" Shamalin assured the snake. "Please, I worship the Goddess of Mercy. Trust me."

There was a pause and then the snake hissed, "The White Lady wasss an ally to Dridana in daysss long passst. You have earned my ear. Ssspeak."


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## Jon Potter (Sep 28, 2008)

*[Realms #454] Bargaining for Passage*

Shamalin took a breath, steadying herself. Knowing she had mere seconds to persuade the guardian snake to believe them, her mind raced. What more could be said? She thought back to her first days with this party. Morier and their tour of the renovated Manor House with careful regard for her feelings. Huzair and how he had shocked the holy sisterhood by smoking in the temple. Feln. Ixin. Lela. Vade. Finian. Soriah. These last only whisps and fragments - names remembered from Ledare's journal - campfire legends now more than anything else. And yet Shamalin owed them every ounce of courage she could muster in this moment.

But the moment was quickly stolen from her.

"You have the right to claim what is natural whilst you yourself are not even a natural creature?" the Ahlear mummy rasped, striding confidently to the fore. "With what right do you accuse me, who fought with his life for a cause as noble as any, and was unwillingly a pawn of gods?" Huzair reached out with Flameblade, placing the fiery sword in Ahlear's path. The wizard was more than a little pleased to see the mummy flinch back from the burning weapon.

"Dridana's servant was talking to Shamalin, not you," Huzair said, trying to convey with his expression that Ahlear should immediately shut up. Ahlear, of course, did no such thing.

"I will not be wrongly insulted. I still fight the righteous fight, in whatever form Akadi allows me to continue on," he told Huzair and then turned his withered face to the empty air where he supposed the serpent to be. "Be silent 'fake snake' and listen to our honorable Shamalin, who bears her heart heavy with all she has seen and done all in the service of this great goal." The guardian's response was a low menacing hiss. This call was answered by the warning rattle of dozens of snakes from the hole in the floor down which Anania had fallen.

Noxin recognized the sound as the same as the one he'd heard upon awakening earlier, chained to the stone plinth. He also now recognized the sound of falling water and put the two sounds together; below was the chamber in which he'd been left by the dwarves.

He quaffed a potion, and stepped aside, allowing this confrontation to play out without his interference. 

"Thisss girl knowsss little about the heavinesss which can weigh on a heart, creature," the snake hissed, its anger in no way concealed. "And you, thing of the pit, know even lesss than she. I have had my goddesss - the one who gave me life - sssnatched away. I have lingered here for agesss untold guarding Her remainsss and waiting for the dessstined to relieve me of my burden."

"In all that time, yoursss isss the firssst group to warrant more than a ssswift death," the serpent said. "But I am confident that you are not the onesss for whom I wait. You lack the purity of ssspirit and body to complete the tasssksss ahead." Ahlear opened his dusty mouth to refute that and Huzair raised Flameblade, silencing him.

"I disagree with my comrade and apologize for his tone," the wizard said. He smiled his best smile and added, "You are wise to protect and even wiser to listen. You are just doing your service to Dridana. I feel your anger and respect your duty. Please let the priestess speak for us." Whether those last words were intended for the serpent or the mummy was unclear.

All eyes turned to Shamalin and she felt the weight of this responsibility pressing down on her like a giant's boot. Swallowing thickly, she took a step forward.

"If the legions stood before you now who have fought and died in an effort to free Dridana's heart, their numbers would stretch beyond your lair. But we alone are left to represent them," she said. She thrust her sword out by the hilt, her arm trembling slightly under the strain. "Guardians. Portals. Keys. Ask the swords what has transpired."

"THE ELFLING SPEAKS THE TRUTH!" Waveblade roared. "SHE MAY BE UNFIT TO WIELD ME IN BATTLE, BUT SHE AND HER COMPANIONS HAVE PASSED THE TESTS SET DOWN OF OLD."

"You must yield the gate, Histah" added Flameblade.

"IT IS YOUR DUTY!" Stoneblade insisted. "JUST AS IT IS OUR DUTY TO YIELD OUR LIVES TO FREE OUR LADY'S HEART!" Histah, the snake guardian, hissed angrily.

"Do not ssspeak to me of duty, ssscion!" the serpent said. "I have remained here, vigilant while you ssslept away the eonsss blisssfully unaware of time'sss unbending presss!"

"IT DOES SEEM LIKELY THAT YOU HAD THE WORSE OF IT, GUARDIAN," Waveblade admitted. "BUT THE FACT REMAINS THAT THESE FLESHLINGS HAVE PASSED THE TRIALS." Shamalin nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with wonder at the strange course that the encounter had taken.

"Countless tests, riddles and poems have brought us to this moment," she said. She cleared her throat and added, "But if there comes a force of good and if their will is understood... I have to believe that we are that force."

"Your wordsss mean little to me, priessstesss," Histah told her. "I know not of thisss poetry."

"I can recite more for you. All of them in fact," she told the snake. "But would that convince you that our hearts are true? I think not." 

"In that you are correct," Histah replied. "For wordsss - even thossse asss honeyed asss your own - are in the end asss meaninglesss asss breath. It isss action that movess my heart."

The mummy that was Ahlear made a motion but Shamalin shook her head and continued. "We stand before you in the name of your goddess, Dridana, who once gave her life in battle against the Rot Queen. It is her heart that guides us. If truly you are her servant, then defer to her judgement."

Histah's response was a long rumbling hiss that seemed to fill the chamber.
Noxin's jaw dropped open just a bit. He drank his potion without his eyes leaving the black knight as Shamalin argued her case.

He turned, and in the best whisper he could muster, said to Morier, "I can see why you keep that one with you..." The albino nodded, smiling weakly as he held his injured ribs. Huzair sidled up to the eldritch warrior's other side and softly spoke into his ear.

"You owe me a bottle of Elverquisst, my friend," Huzair whispered as he playfully whacked Morier's sore ribs. The albino barely stifled his cry of pain, and the glare he shot at Huzair would have set the wizard's hair on fire if he'd had any hair.

"Four keysss are required to free Dridana'sss heart," the snake said after a long pause. "And I would hear from Windblade before I make my decisssion."

"YOU KNOW WHAT SHE WILL SAY, HISTAH!" Stoneblade thundered.

"There is no decision for you to make," Flameblade crackled. "Your duty is clear."

"I would hear from Windblade!!!" the snake shrieked. "Thisss dead thing hasss talked of Akadi, and a bit of her esssence resssidesss in Windblade. I would hear from the scion of air!"

"We must get Anania, then," Huzair said casting his eyes about, uncertain where the snake was and unwilling to activate the _Ring of Blinking_ in order to find out for certain. "She has Windblade and may still be alive. Is it safe in the pit, oh powerful servant of Dridana? Let us retrieve Windblade and save our beautiful comrade before it is too late!"

"It isss already too late, planetouched," Histah told him. "The elf isss dead, but she bringsss the ssscion of air to usss even now." Huzair seemed to deflate as the guardian pronounced Anania's fate.

"Ahhh... Here she isss now," the snake said and they heard a scuffling step on the stairs behind them. The sort of sound that the light-footed elf maid had never made in life. But, she was clearly no longer alive.

She moved forward - or rather her body did - impelled by the force of dozens - maybe hundreds - of small snakes that had worked their way beneath her armor and clothing. By some insane, coordinated contortion of their bodies they were able to move her up the stairs in a halting, shuffling gait. Her head, lolled hideously on a broken neck. She had lost her bow, but somehow, Windblade remained in the hand, a barely visible wisp of a blade.

"Open the gate, Histah," the sword sighed. "They have passed the tests and come before you. You must open the gate."

There was a silence then in the room, followed by a strangely modulated hiss from the guardian. The snakes that had animated Anania slithered free of her and the elf's corpse collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut.  The snakes slithered across the floor and disappeared down the hole in the floor, dropping one by one into darkness.

"When the light of Orin'sss Shield ssstrikesss the Ssserpent'sss Eye, I will open the way for you," Histah sighed. "There are ssseveral hoursss until dawn. Ressst now and prepare for what liesss ahead."


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## Jon Potter (Oct 5, 2008)

*[Realms #454a] These Swords Were Made for Talkin'*

Shamalin sagged in her armor, releasing in a prolonged hiss a breath she was unaware she'd been holding. Huzair stepped up and put his arm around her.

"Nice job, sweetheart," Huzair whispered with uncharacteristic sincerity. Shamalin looked at him critically as he turned away, lighting a cigar, but then Noxin's big hand was patting her shoulder. She looked up into his broad face.

"Shamalin, I've worked with all kinds... thieves, traders, knights, and even holy men... but you are something different," he said with a grin. "I admire you. And if you need my help, I'll help you with your tests."

Shamalin regarded him silently for a moment, appraising this offer, and then looked to Morier. Meeting his eye she said, "Someone must carry Windblade." All eyes in the room turned to her and Noxin's grin spread into a full-fledged smile that split his face practically from ear to ear.

"If you're serious, and you want someone to be the steward of Windblade, I'll graciously accept," the big man said, pressing a hand to his chest.

"You're going a bit fast, aren't you? Don't you think he has to earn a lot more trust first before being allowed to handle one of the keys?" Ahlear rasped, a note of warning in his gravelly voice.

"If Shamalin finds Noxin trustworthy, I think I would be inclined to trust her and give him Windblade," Morier told the mummy. Turning to look up at Noxin he added, "If only because he looks like he could do some ass-whooping with it." Noxin grinned, but Ahlear balked.

"Is that a proper measure of his worth, Morier?" he asked. "We're struggling to free a nature goddess, not a god of war!" Noxin eyed the Mummy.

"Aye, mummy... It seems like you're no friend to this guardian, but you speak as if you fight for the natural cause," the barbarian asked, squinting down at the mummy, but not getting too close. "How does this happen? No natural force would animate you in such a way and I can't believe the dark gods would animate you to fight against them!" The mummy took a step closer and Noxin gave him ground. The undead creature's face was full of disdain.

"Noxin... you ask questions as if you have a right to get answers about me or the party I am with and its motives," he said. "I assure you, you're no where near that status yet. But I will indulge you-" Before he could say any more, Noxin waved his hand dissuasively.

"You're a little whelp, aren't you?" he said in a deep, booming voice that drowned out the mummy's rasping whisper. "Well, let me save you the trouble. I was asking out of courtesy, to try to better know you... but your insults are not welcome to me."

"Hrrmpf..." the mummy growled with disapproval.

"Save your tongue, boy... and maybe it will save your decrepit hide," Noxin sneered opening his eyes wide in a threatening manner... but then he laughed to the rest. "You are a motley bunch, for sure: An undead whelp, a hot headed wizard, a white elf, and a pure-hearted knight sheathed in dark armor! What I have stumbled into this fine day?" He roared with laughter.

Shamalin looked around at the group and released a barely suppressed giggle. "He's right," she said. "What a sight we must be."

"Hot headed, my friend? You have seen nothing yet," Huzair laughed and whacked Noxin's arm again. Noxin swayed in an exaggerated way from Huzair's blow, smiling and rubbing his muscular arm.

"Take it easy there," he chuckled. "We'll have plenty of fighting when the snake opens this gate." Ahlear snorted laughter.

"I guess the motley bunch found an oaf with a hammer," Ahlear said, his desiccated lips stretched back into a smile. Huzair turned on him, brandishing Flameblade as he had before.

"If you listen, you might not get killed... again," the mage cautioned, his face lit by the glow of the fiery sword. Ahlear met the wizard's gaze despite the fact that the bandages on the mummy's face began to smoke slightly from the weapon's heat.

"Huzair, stop waving that horrible flame-sword in my face just because I give a reprimand in debate," the mummy rasped. "I have just as much right as any of our 'core group' to voice my thoughts and opinions."

"Look here!" Huzair snapped angrily. Then he took a deep breath and mastered himself, calmly puffing and waving his cigar around as he spoke. "You know, Ahlear, there is a time to berate someone and there is a time to hold you tongue. I would suggest choosing to hold your tongue more." The mummy looked at him but said nothing.

"Histah has the right to disrespect you. He is probably 50 feet long and could eat, crush or freeze this party at will... and he is pissed off. That gives him the right," the wizard went on, pointing his finger in the direction of the altar. "I doubt there are many things he has to respect and we are not among them."

"I admit that I went off for a few seconds myself, but that was because he killed my poor sweet little flower. If someone insults your honor or whatever take it easy untill it is worth it.... or you can win by yourself." Huzair continued. "As my master used to say: 'Judge your foe or you will get your ass kicked... again'."

"You are entitled to your opinion," Ahlear said. "Just as I am entitled to mine."

"You could have gotten us all killed defending YOUR DAMNED OPINIONS! If I were Histah I would have bitten your head off and spit it out at your feet. This is not about your service, it is about OUR mission." Huzair exclaimed pointing the hand with the lit cigar in the mummy's face. His body was trembling with emotion, but again Huzair composed himself, much to the other's suprise.

"I know you are thinking I am a hippocrite. I only mouth off to Morier because I know he would never hurt me... or could," he said, favoring Morier with a charming wink. "Notice I have not said anything rude to Noxin... and he spit on my head! He is a bruiser. I would not mess with him... until I know him. Take my words to heart or you may get yourself killed AGAIN." He emphasized the point by sticking the burning end of his cigar in Ahlear's face. The mummy turned his head, scowling behind his black bandages.

"Get that thing out of my face!" he growled angrily and Huzair scowled back at him. Then, without looking away from the mummy's face, the wizard turned the cigar and ground it out in the palm of his own hand. Then he turned away, shaking his head.

"Bah! It is just Garan-Zak's wisdom wearing off on me," Huzair grumbled. "He talks so damned much." His eyes fell on Anania's fallen body and his shoulders slumped.

"Shamalin, would you say some final prayers for Anania? What a crappy way for my little flower to die," Huzair commented with saddness as he walked over to Anania, pulling off his cloak and draping it over her body.

"It is the least I can do," Shamalin sad as she moved to the elf maid's corpse. "I owe her an apology for questioning whether or not her personal allegiances jeopardized the party's safety. There is no doubt about her loyalty to this party now." Delicately, Shamalin took the _Necklace of Eyes_ from around the scout's broken neck, removed one as she had seen Anania do and released it. It bobbed in the air and then began drifting away down the stairwell. Shamalin noted that there were fewer eye stalks on the _Necklace_ than there had been the last time she'd seen the device. She laid it to the side, intending to destroy it later, and went about the business of preparing the body for the afterlife.



"So, what are you all doing on the other side of this gate?" Noxin asked after they'd paid their respects. "Is there a horde a treasure for releasing this god or is it some sort of honor pledge?" Shamalin was tending to Morier as best she could without benefit of her magic.

"I don't know what sort of reward awaits us," Morier admitted. "But we do this because we must. The whole world depends on us." Huzair rolled his eyes, but Noxin nodded, pondering.

"Do you have any idea what we'll face on the other side?" he asked, and the albino met his eyes. After a moment's pause, he shook his head.

"I think we can find out," Shamalin said, drawing Waveblade from its sheath.

"THE SCION OF WATER AWAKES!" the sword, which looked slightly smaller than the last time she'd drawn it, roared. Gravely, Shamalin set Waveblade in front of her and studied it.

"You knew we were coming here," she mused out loud. "You called the snake by name."

"THE WAY BEYOND THE GREEN IS OUR DESTINY," the sword thundered. "WE WERE MADE TO COME HERE AND PASS BEYOND THE GATE. HISTAH IS THE GUARDIAN OF THE GATE. IT IS AS IT WAS FORETOLD." Shamalin nodded.

"What else can you tell us about this task?" she asked. "What lies beyond the gate?"

"DRIDANA'S HEART LIES BEYOND IN ITS PRISON," Wavebade said. "ONLY WE FOUR SCIONS UNITED CAN UNLOCK THAT PRISON AND FREE THE HEART. IN DOING SO WE WILL FORFEIT OUR LIVES - A PRICE WE GLADLY PAY."

"What should we look for?" Shamalin asked. "How best can I prepare?"

"I DO NOT KNOW," the sword admitted. "THE MAGIC THAT SEALED THE GATE IS THE SAME THAT GAVE ME LIFE. WHEN THE PRISON CLOSED I AWAKENED FOR THE FIRST TIME."

"I have looked beyond," Histah's voice spoke out of the air above them. "There isss danger beyond the gate for you."

"Is it going to be combat or cerebral?" Huzair asked.

"It wasss intended to be neither," the snake said. "But Dridana'sss esssence - her demiurge - hasss been trapped there for too long. She hasss become... unpredictable."


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## Hairy Minotaur (Oct 5, 2008)

Rescuing the heart of a god gone insane. 

Interesting how the party has been quick to replace their trust in Ahlear with Noxin even though technically the party has known both of them a collective 1 month's time.


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## Jon Potter (Oct 6, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Rescuing the heart of a god gone insane.




And things go just about as well as you might expect.



> Interesting how the party has been quick to replace their trust in Ahlear with Noxin even though technically the party has known both of them a collective 1 month's time.




Yep. It's the big PC tattoo on their foreheads that turns folks' hearts, I'm sure. 

But Ahlear's status as an undead did not endear him to any of the characters. So much so, in fact, that he's not long with our intrepid group. And Noxin's just a big, dumb galoot. I don't think he's capable of guile.

And ultimately the lack of options plays a big part in drawing Noxin into the party's trust.


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## Jon Potter (Oct 12, 2008)

*[Realms #455] How Do You Fight a Memory?*

"Ohhh... unpredictable..." Morier deadpanned. "Sounds fun." The expression on his face made it clear that he truly felt it would be anything but.

"Why is nothing ever easy?" Huzair grumbled under his breath. Noxin scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Maybe we could bring her some flowers... or a bunny. You know, to remind her of nature," he suggested. "It always cheered up me Mum." For a second, Huzair just looked at him, but then he laughed out loud.

"Now that's funny!" the wizard told him, clapping the half-giant on the back. Noxin shrugged.

"It was just a suggestion," he grinned, clearly not seeing the humor that Huzair did.

"So we must do battle with Dridana's essence?" Ahlear rasped, ignoring the foolishness.

"No, foul one!" Histah said. "You cannot battle what doesss not exissst! The demiurge isss an echo of Dridana... a memory fueled by the energiesss sssurrounding Dridana'sss Heart. She cannot be harmed by you. Nor can she harm you directly."

"So why'd you say there was danger?" Huzair asked.

"The demiurge hasss complete control over the environment inssside the prissson," the snake explained. "She will find waysss to harm you that do not require direct contact."

"Terrific," Morier sighed.

"So what can we expect to find in this prison?" Shamalin asked. "Are there actual bars and locked doors?" Histah chuckled.

"No, the prissson isss a mountaintop, plucked from thisss world and hurled into a pocket within the void," the serpent told her. "That isss her prissson, exisssting apart from the natural world, unreachable but by my power."



Later, after Huzair and Noxin had briefly gone topside to retrieve Sparky only to discover that the giants had moved out north shortly after sundown, the group made a small camp and readied themselves for sleep.

"I wonder what we should do with Anania's necklace," Huzair said, indicating the magical chain. "I would like to examine it before I go to sleep. It may come in useful to inform Lord Hofralix of what is going on."

"We do not owe Hofralix any further information," Shamalin said, covering the necklace with her cloak and putting a hand protectively atop it. "And he does not strike me as an ally."

"Anania was an ally and she was an agent of Lord Hofralix," the wizard countered, his eyes never leaving the spot where the device was hidden. "Does that not mean he or it is our ally as well? Perhaps he can help us still some how."

"We need to destroy it," the cleric said simply. "It's too dangerous."

"What harm can come from taking it with us?" Huzair asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "If I kept it in my bag, I could let him know only what I wanted to tell him.

"No, Huzair!" Shamalin insisted and Morier could see that Huzair wasn't going to give up the argument easily. He also recognized the similarities between this discussion and the one that they'd had with Ayremac over the samsara sword. With visions in his head of Shamalin leaving the group, the albino stepped forward.

"Let's put off the decision 'til the morning," he suggested. "We'll discuss what to do before Histah opens the gate."


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## Jon Potter (Oct 16, 2008)

*[Realms #456] High Plains Drifter*

"What's with the beady little eyes, Shamalin?" Noxin asked, peering over the cleric's shoulder to where she had Anania's necklace hidden. She looked up into the big man's curious face and shifted awkwardly so that he wasn't towering over her.

"It's a... means of communication," Shamalin told him. "Anania was an agent of Lord Hofralix, and this necklace allowed her to send him updates on our progress from time to time." 

"And that's bad?" the half-giant asked, trying to piece together the information that he had and finding the picture incomplete. Shamalin nodded.

"There was something unnatural about Hofralix and his city," the Mercybringer told him and Huzair laughed outloud at that.

"Unnatural?" he snorted. "I should say so! He was a beholder, for Nethlar's sake!" Noxin's jaw dropped open at that revelation and he turned to look at the elf maid's draped corpse.

"Right," Shamalin continued. "And now we are about to try to release the god of nature. I don't think we owe Hofralix any more information. And I can't imagine him sending along reinforcements on our behalf. He may already know too much about the swords." Noxin scratched his head, the mental struggle of putting all this information together showing plainly on his face.

"I don't trust Hofralix, either, Shamalin," Morier put in. "But I don't distrust him so much that I'm willing to take a strong stance on the necklace. If we keep it and keep it under cover and under wraps, as Huzair's suggested, I'm okay with having it until we have reason to get rid of it." Shamalin grimaced, her hand tightening on the necklace hidden beneath her cloak.

"I think it would be a very bad idea to take this necklace through the gate," she said, simply.

"Well, I have never been a fan of silent partners, I'll tell you... but I never met this Horlafax, so I guess I can't help much," Noxin stated with a shrug of his massive shoulders. Morier glance up at him and nodded once.

"It might prove useful and I don't think we're in a position to throw away anything that could provide assistance," the albino said to Shamalin. "And in that same regard, I think it's critical that each of us who have them be in control of our elemental blades as we go forward. It will be important for each of the blades' wielders to be familiar with what each is capable of so that we can think quickly and use its powers to the fullest extent."

"On what assumptions do you base this opinion?" Ahlear asked, stepping out of the nearby shadows. "What makes you think a single blade needs to be with each person?" Morier sighed and did not look up at the mummy.

"The four elemental weapons we possess are the four "keys" that we need to reunite Dridana's heart and body," the eldritch warrior explained, his hand was unconsciously rubbing at the spot on his chest where the strange black tattoo marked him as linked to the mummy. "I don't think keeping it hidden away and just saying, 'there, we have it' is going to do us any good... I think it will need to be used and we won't know when that time will come. So someone needs to be wielding it when it does."

"I think we have to weigh the advantages of keeping the fourth sword 'safe' in Huzair's _Haversack_ against the strategic advantages that someone wielding the sword and its powers gives us," Shamalin offered, and it was clear from her body language that when she said 'someone' she meant Noxin. "It certainly makes more sense to me that someone use the sword and all its abilities as we enter these tests. Carrying it this far was a different story. Putting it in Huzair's bag then made more sense. Now it has to be used." There were nods all around... mostly.

"Using them and wielding them are two different things," Ahlear scoffed. "Having the item sheathed whilst in your possession should be enough to keep it near to hand for when you actually need it properly to free the heart. I think that whoever it is that guards the prison of the heart, will not be fooled by some mere mundane sheaths. The creature will sense the keys anyway."

"Is this just because we want to give Windblade to Noxin and not you?" Huzair asked and Ahlear shook his head quickly.

"I have already declined the offer of the blade once. I do not feel I have earned such a right," the mummy assured him. "But I do disagree that Noxin should get hold of one so fast for the same reason. He has done nothing to earn the party's trust yet. And he has been with the party itself for only a few hours now..." Ahlear looked up at Noxin and the half-giant flashed him a smile. Morier sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Do we trust Noxin enough to give it to him? That may be questionable," the albino amitted. "Do we have a better option? I certainly don't see one."

"If Noxin and Ahlear, the mummy, are both willing to come with us through the gate, with the intent to help free Dridana, then I think they also have to be considered worthy of a sword," Shamalin said, looking at the two candidates. They could hardly have been more different: Noxin was huge, fairly bursting with vitality; Ahlear was the withered embodiment of death itself.

"We don't have the time and I don't have the energy to debate this all night long," Morier sighed, walking over to the newcomer. "Noxin, if you will pledge yourself to follow our cause, we would gladly have your might alongside our own. You are more than welcome to your share of whatever treasure awaits our success - it stands to be rather large, I believe - and if you so desire, you may have a cut of mine. Treasure is not why I walk this path. One of us must wield Windblade through the coming tests, and you seem most well-fit to do that."

"I'm always lookin' for a nice tussle," the half-giant said gravely. Then smiling again he added, "Treasure's not bad either."

"Give it to me," Morier said to Huzair, holding out his hand. The mage gave it to him and Morier in turn handed Windblade to Noxin, cautioning, "Misuse it and I will let Huzair set your testicles on fire while you sleep."

"Do not imagine I would not do it either," the wizard said, causing with a word flames to dance on his fingertips. The half-giant looked disdainfully at the mage's display.

"You're gonna need a bigger fire," Noxin grinned, flicking his eyes meaningfully at his groin. Huzair looked at him incredulous for a moment and then a laugh burst from his lips.

After tending to Anania as best she could, Shamalin spent time reviewing Ledare's journal and other writings for any clues that might help them. She found some notes that purported to be the actual words of an angel that had visited Ledare and the others in a town called Hillsville Junction. They read:

'After her forces were defeated and her son locked away,
the goddess of decay and disease ripped the living heart
from the goddess of things that grow in the earth. Aphyx bound
Dridana's essence to a red gemstone and secreted it away so that
her spark could not be reborn into a new godform. For the
Queen of Rot knew that the Fruitful One would always oppose her
and thus has Brogine's twin languished since the Age of Pestilence."​
And then, pondering this information, she rested.



*Waterday, the 16th of Readying, 1270 AE​*​

The early morning light drifted feebly through the portal that lead by a steep climb upward to the surface. Dust motes twirled silently through the air, reflecting the light and lending the hall an eerie otherworldly quality. A shadow suddenly blocked the light coming in and a few moments later a dark gray horse with a cloaked rider entered the hall where the party was sleeping under the watchful eye of the mummy - who, of course, had no need for sleep any longer.

The horse's hooves made no sound as it moved wraithlike into the room, its procession seeming very ominous indeed.

The rider stayed astride the horse whilst the mummy looked at the newcomer askance. After a few moments Ahlear moved quietly to the rider and they began speaking in hushed voices. All the while, the rider stayed mounted during the conversation, talking down at the mummy in conspiratorial tones. The man seemed utterly composed while Ahlear began to grow more agitated by degree.

"No!" the mummy shouted at last, breaking the silence and waking the rest of the party from there well-earned sleep.

"Who the hell're you?!" Noxin demanded as he rose, hammer ready in his fist. The cloaked figure raised a finger.

"One moment, please," the man said calmly, but loud enough for the others to hear. "My business with Ahlear is not yet concluded."

The mummy seemed to deflate after his outburst and bowed his head with a dry rattling sigh. After another moment's pause, he removed the necklace and ring off his person and gave them to the newcomer. They spoke some more, the newcomer looking dubiously at the two items he has been given. He did not make any move to place them on his person, but neither did he throw them away or pocket them. Instead, he kept them all the while in his hand during the remainder of their conversation.

While the two figures spoke on the far side of the chamber, the others took the opportunity to study the rider who had somehow managed to get a horse down the steep stairs leading up to the island above. His armor seemed made in the same style as the armor Ahlear wore, albeit more solidly built, reinforced in places with chain rather than leather. But the same large leathery plates predominated. 

Beneath the armor, he was dressed in what looked like a full regalia uniform, decorated everywhere with heavy filigree, the jacket visible beneath his armor holding many braided ropes of gold and white. Sandy white gloves and high, gleaming black horseman's riding boots that reached up to and then over his knees completed the impression of a military officer. A hooded, weathered cloak of dark brown leather concealed his features mostly but it could be seen that he had a heavy mustache and long hair hanging over his shoulders.

The horse itself seemed insubstantial and ghostly but bore its rider without any apparent effort. It did not move at all, and they had all been around enough horses in their lifetimes to know that the thing wasn't a real horse.

After the conversation with Ahlear has died out, the rider turned to the group and nodded. "You were saying?" he prompted, calmly awaiting their questions.


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## Jon Potter (Oct 20, 2008)

*[Realms #457] The Way Beyond the Green*

"I was sayin', who in the nine hells are you?" Noxin repeated, pointing his maul at the newcomer to dispel any doubt who he was talking to.

"Well, I am the relief force, so to speak," the man said, not betraying any fear of the angry half-giant as he went on. He gestured toward Ahlear as he spoke. "I was sent by my mistress, Akadi, to relieve your group of an 'ethical dilemma', and to insure that her loyal servant was not misjudged regarding his loyalty and sincerety. And to make sure that the interests of my 'Lady' were still seen to as well, of course." Morier snorted at the speech and turned away, seemingly disinterested.

"Well then, shall we call you 'Mr. Ethical Dilemma Solver'?" he quipped before turning back to their camp. The horseman drew himself up even taller and straighter on his ghostly steed and looked disapprovingly at the albino.

"Do you address every unknown person with such impolite insolence?" he asked, his tone acidic. "If you wished to know my name, all you had to do was politely ask me, maybe even introduce yourself first."

Morier did not respond and Shamalin and Huzair both gave him reproachful looks.

"Well, guy, that is a friendly greeting for this crew. I got the end of an axe shoved in my face by a smelly dwarf when I joined up. Your greeting was quite civil, by comparison. At least no one spit on your head either," Huzair laughed as he hit Noxin's rock solid arm and winced. The horseman raised an eyebrow.

"If that was nice, then we might have to adjust our expectations a bit, mutually, but fair enough. I hope we can be civil in any regard," he said, whilst bowing his head respectfully. "Well then, to satisfy your curiosity, I am Colonel Saelus Suhn, semi-retired that is... and you, good sirs and ladies are..?"

"Well, name's Noxin," the half-giant said, stepping forward with a grin on his face. "I'm not the guy to ask what's going on though. Just joined this motley crew a night's passage ago."

"Well met," the Colonel said with a nod already turning his eyes to the next in line. But Noxin wasn't quite done.

"I gotta ask... what are the interests of 'your lady' and how are you going to serve them?" he questioned.

"That, sir, I am not yet sure of myself. But I presume that helping you lot with your quest is the beginning of pleasing her," said the newcomer, once more looking to one of the others. Again, he was interrupted.

"I'm confused..." Noxin admitted, scratching his brow... something of a familiar habit, even in just a night's time. "Mind ya, that's not hard to do. You're sent to relieve us of a dilemma and to make sure we didn't judge the zombie?" He pointed at the silent Ahlear standing in the Colonel's shadow.

"Ahlear is a mummy, not a zombie. There is a fundamental difference," Saelus corrected. "And by not having him continue on with the quest it ensures that our intentions show we mean the best." This time, the Colonel did not immediately look away, but prompted Noxin with an 'is that all?' expression.

"How'd ya find yer'self lined up for that mission?" the big man went on, showing that that was in fact not all.

"Not by 'free will or choice'," the newcomer said. "Akadi made herself known to me via one of her servants, and she bid me to go after you lot. Which seems to be a conundrum for a goddess of freedom and independence." Saelus smiled at the irony and Noxin scratched his head again.

"Uh huh," he said, clearly confused. "So how'd ya find us?"

"That was easy almost," Saelus said with a nod. "I am good at following rumors, if I may say so myself." Huzair sighed.

"Well that likely means anyone else looking for us can find us too," the wizard observed looking at Shamalin and Morier. Only Shamalin looked back. "Like that stupid sorcerer who was following us around."

"What sorcerer?" the Colonel asked, his interest piqued. "Have you got a hound after you?"

Huzair opened his mouth to answer, but Noxin talked right over him.

"Wait up here, feller," he said and pointed his hammer at Saelus again, though not in an overtly threatening manner. "You're telling me that you tracked this group here?"

"Yes, in a way," the newcomer admitted. "I followed the stories and events that happened, and was able to travel much faster then a normal horseman would by means of some spells I have mastered."

"Spells you have mastered, huh? Are you some sort of sorcerer or wizard or something too, Colonel?" Huzair asked lighting up a cigar from his thumb in an effort to impress the man. "Maybe we can chat it up sometime about our magic experiences." The Colonel nodded accommodatingly.

"I would hope that you would have useful spells and that we could trade?" Saelus said. "I am of the disciplined arcane variety, a Summoner." Huzair nodded.

"I have taken a broader approach to-" he began and Noxin interrupted again, having just put some of the pieces together.

"What kinda trouble are you folks all in here?" he asked the room. "I mean, I don't want to be fightin' off every hobgoblin in the realm because you leave a trail of bread crumbs behind you!" The Colonel smiled indulgently.

"Anybody who travels leaves a trail behind if and when they come in contact with the 'locals'. And that way, when I roughly knew where I was heading, I had a good time of finding interesting events by which to follow the group," he explained. "It was easy for me. But then again, any pursuers might not be as expert as I am in regards to 'reading the rumors'." That seemed to satisfy Noxin or at least confuse him enough that he retreated quietly into his own thoughts.

Shamalin seized the opportunity to ask curiously, "What are the locals saying about us?"

"I am sure they are saying that the group is being masterly led by a clever and dashing dark skinned wizard to serve the powers of good," Huzair answered quickly, smiling broadly around the cigar clamped in his teeth. "I am sure I have left scores of maidens yearning for me to return." Huzair sighed then and looked sad for a moment, thinking of his little flower and how he would love to kill Hista to avenge her death. Shamalin saw the look cross Huzair's face and she could imagine his thought process. She frowned given the next question she wanted to ask.

"You didn't get your information from a severed flying eye, by chance, did you?" the Mercybringer questioned and Huzair shot her an angry look. Saelus' was much more confused.

"I have not had such an opportunity, no..." he admitted hesitantly.

"I guess I will have to whoop anyone else who shows up on our tails," Huzair said, his lip curled in disgust. Noxin looked at the wizard appraisingly, not sure he was fit to whoop much of anything. He shrugged.

"Well, looks pretty obvious you found us... that's for sure," the half-giant said to Saelus. "But on to somethin' important: What do you bring to the table in way of skills or training?"

"Ah! Well, in addition to my skills at intelligence gathering, I am an accomplished war wizard, a skilled swordsman, and a trained military tactician," Saelus said without a hint of boastfulness.

"So you cast spells and are a warrior, huh?" Huzair observed and got a mischievous look on his face. "Hey, Morier. At least this guy knows how to use his spells." Huzair laughed, but Morier didn't even look up from where he was breaking down camp.

"I can hit hard... move fast... and take a beating, so to speak," Noxin told the group simply. Then, looking a little bashful he added, "I like to think of myself as a puzzle solver. You know, traps and little clues left by people when you're looking for treasure."

"Okay, then. This question can be addressed to both of you," Shamalin said, looking from Noxin to the Colonel and back again. "What gifts would you bring the trapped essence of the goddess of nature?"

"You don't think a bunny'd be a good gift?" Noxin said, his feelings hurt. "My mom always liked it."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a nice plant? Or a bit of cool, clear water from a stream?" Shamalin told him. "Can someone trap a bit of moonlight or sunlight?"

"Hey! I am a ray of sunshine!" Huzair quipped.

"Please, Huzair, I'm trying to be serious," the cleric chided. "Maybe we should gather gifts that would represent the four elements, just as our swords do. If Dridana is irritable and unpredictable due to her confinement, maybe the gift of life would make an impression."

"There is a spell called Daylight," Huzair observed. "But I don't know it."

"Ayremac did," Shamalin said under her breath, too softly to be heard.

"And, at any rate, the light generated is not true sunlight," Colonel Saelus added. "There are certain druid spells that produce actual sunlight. _Anger of the Noonday Sun_ comes to mind, but as we have no druid..." He looked sideways at Ahlear, but the mummy said nothing.

"What happens to the mummy?" Morier called out without turning.

"Ah, yes," the Colonel said, dismounting and offering the reins to Ahlear. "The mummy goes the way I came, by Akadi's providence."



"Prepare yourssselvesss," Histah told them and a spiral of light began to form in the air beside the altar. It gradually grew in size and intensity until it was fully ten feet across and painful to look at. A smell wafted out onto them, like moss-covered earth and the meadow after a rain.

Morier could feel the Pull intensify as the portal opened and he nearly fell over from the unexpected strength of it. But he mastered himself quickly and, grim-faced, stepped through and disappeared. A moment later, he did fall, a pain throbbing in the center of his skull, a painful wave of stings and bites playing maddeningly across his face and neck and shoulders.

Something wet was on him and he felt himself shaken this way and that...

Shamalin slapped him.

"Morier!" she cried out into his face and shook him again. Struggling, his eyes focused on her and he saw that she too was wet. Water was falling on them both.

"I can't..." he muttered. "I can't think! The Pull... so strong... It's here. The heart is here!"

"Where?" Huzair asked, wiping water off his face. The _Mark of Fire_ burned on his naked brow, unaffected by the drenching. He looked around, disturbed by something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Yeah!" Noxin agreed. "There ain't much to this place!"

He was right - to a point. The entire area was only a few hundred feet across at most and completely flat. A dense growth of rubbery, green plants grew to waist height all around the clearing in which they had appeared; a few trees, stark and dead clawed upward, their branches stripped of leaves. There was earth and stone beneath their feet, but the place was utterly unnatural apart from that. The ground ended abruptly in the distance all around them in a mass of swirling iridescent clouds that encapsulated the area. Water fell like rain onto the spot where they stood, draining away into a narrow crevice a few paces away.

It wasn't rain, however. Above them, hovering dangerously in the strange sky a hundred feet over their heads was an irregular island of dark rock. The water poured over the side, becoming like rain as it fell.

"There!" Morier managed, pointing to the island. "Up there... is where we need to be."

"Can you feel that?" Colonel Saelus asked Huzair. "This place is charged with magic power... Unstable magic power. I'd be careful about casting spells if I were you."


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## Hairy Minotaur (Oct 20, 2008)

Jon Potter said:


> "I'm confused..." Noxin admitted, scratching his brow... something of a familiar habit, even in just a night's time. "Mind ya, that's not hard to do. You're sent to relieve us of a dilemma and to make sure we didn't judge the zombie?" He pointed at the silent Ahlear standing in the Colonel's shadow.




As I read the above, this was the first thing I thought of:
[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXlUzu2SPkY]YouTube - columbo - "i really love my work, sir"[/ame]



Jon Potter said:


> "Ahlear is a mummy, not a zombie. There is a fundamental difference," Saelus corrected. "And by not having him continue on with the quest it ensures that our intentions show we mean the best." This time, the Colonel did not immediately look away, but prompted Noxin with an 'is that all?' expression.




Ahlear: "And I would've gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling kids and your dog (Sparky)"



Jon Potter said:


> "Can you feel that?" Colonel Saelus asked Huzair. "This place is charged with magic power... Unstable magic power. I'd be careful about casting spells if I were you."




Well, with that kind of statment he might as well be taunting Huzair to cast a spell. In fact this is like a double dog dare to Huzair..... I bet we see fireballs and lots of them


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## Jon Potter (Oct 20, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Well, with that kind of statment he might as well be taunting Huzair to cast a spell. In fact this is like a double dog dare to Huzair..... I bet we see fireballs and lots of them




Funny you should mention that...


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## Jon Potter (Oct 26, 2008)

*[Realms #458] The Demiurge*

"This power here is somewhat intoxicating... huh?" Noxin slurred, idly slapping Huzair on the shoulder. The wizard stumbled to the side, colliding lightly with Saelus. Both mages looked angrily at the barbarian, but Noxin wasn't paying them any attention. Instead, he gripped Windblade tightly in his fist, muscles rippling as he marvelled at the raw energy coursing in the air around him.

"I think I can feel this fueling me..." he grinned breathily, his eyes wide as he raised the air sword above his head.

"I do not think an amatuer should mess with this," Huzair cautioned even as he scrambled back away from the half-giant.

If Noxin heard him, he did not heed the warning and presently raw tendrils of energy began to coalesce out of the air above his head, arcing like lightning into Windblade and from there into Noxin. For a moment his grin widened and then, abruptly, he was thrown backward by an overload of unchecked energy. He lay there for a moment, smoking, then he sat up, holding his head.

"Ow," he said, abashed.

"Now is not the time for foolishness," Morier scolded through gritted teeth. It was clear that it was taking a tremendous amount of will power for him to speak with the Pull distracting him so. He pointed at the island above their heads. "We are so close to our goal."

"How are we going to get up there exactly?" Noxin snorted as he got gingerly to his feet.

"Oh, it looks like it is up to me again to solve the problems of the party," Huzair quipped, opening the flap on his Haversack and producing a tiny pouch from within. "Magic dust time." Saelus peered at the pouch as Huzair carefully pulled the drawstring, revealing its glittering contents.

"_Fairy Dust!_" the wizard observed. "_Dust of Levitation_, if I'm not mistaken." Huzair nodded.

"Levitation dust?!? I ain't that fond of floating around there, wizard," Noxin observed as he looked over the two men's heads to see the pouch. "More of a boots on the ground type. Do we have any other options?" The half-giant looked around at the others and they each shook their heads in turn.

"Flyboy would have come in handy here," Huzair mused as he offered the _Dust_ around.

"Your flyboy? Who?" Saelus asked and Huzair shook his head, making a 'never mind' gesture. "At any rate, a flying boy would probably have been useful only if he did not mind playing the boatman and ferrying one of us across each time. Ineffective and cumbersome..." Huzair shrugged.

"Well, he would not have minded and it would have worked better than standing here getting all wet," he said, overing Shamalin a pinch of the _Dust_.

"Well, you know him better so I defer to your judgment on that," Saelus said and sprinkled his pinch of _Fairy Dust_ over his head.

"Sounds like a wonderful feller," Noxin observed. "What did you lot do to run him off?"

"We did very little, actually. He did it to himself," Huzair explained as Morier took a pinch of _Dust_. "He felt his own agenda was more important than ours." He came around to Noxin and offered the pouch. There was very little of the _Dust_ left and Noxin's thick fingers couldn't fit inside. He ended up licking his pinky finger and sticking it into the pouch, coming out with a finger encrusted with tiny glittering crystals that he rubbed unceremoniously in his unruly hair.

Huzair grimaced, peered into the pouch and upended its meager contents on his own head.

"That's the end of the _Dust_," he told the others as he replaced the empty pouch into his _Haversack_. "By the way, do we have an escape route planned?"

His question was met with blank stares.

"Right. I thought as much," he said and sighed. "I can save _Fly_ for the way down if we need a rapid escape."

"Let's just worry about getting there, first," Shamalin suggested, looking nervously at the island above. She remembered well how near to death she had come trying to retrieve the Key of Earth under similar circumstances. They had lost Lela there, and she wondered prophetically who amongst them would come to the end of their days in this place.

"I'll go up first if you all want," Noxin offered, pointing with Windblade. The longsword looked almost like a dagger in his big hand. "I don't mind being the first into the fray."

"Hold on," Huzair said, taking his familiar from his pocket. "I will send up Sparky first for some quick surveillance. Be safe, little buddy." He tossed the hummingbird into the air and it flitted off into the sky.

"What do we do in the meantime?" Noxin asked. "Poke around down here?"

"No!" Morier and Shamalin said at the same time and the barbarian scowled.

"Now we prepare," Huzair said, walking over to Morier. He looked at Saelus and said, "Buffing is a good time to test the magic. I'll start with Morier." The eldritch warrior raised an eyebrow at the wizard.

"Of course, I can take care of myself if I have to Huzair," he said with some effort, "but why worry about it when I have the rest of you around to do it for me?" Huzair snorted once.

"Damn straight! We have been carrying your sorry ass for how many months now?" he told the albino. Then in a quieter voice, he added, "Save the spells for that sword of yours, Morier."

Morier smiled. He could see the uncertainty in the wizard's eyes and hear it in his voice. He placed a hand on the dark-skinned man's shoulder.

"We'll make it, Huzair," he reassured. "I believe the fates have selected me to do this... and I will. I was meant to survive this, and I will cast my buffing spells at the first sign of trouble..." Huzair threw up his hands in mock disgust.

"If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times. Buff BEFORE we get into trouble," the wizard scoffed. "Oh, you will never learn."

Just then Sparky returned from his reconnaissance mission and twittered to Huzair the details of the area above.

"He says there is some kind of ruin up there. Fallen columns and such like in the Termlane Forest where I first hooked up with you guys," the wizard related. "There are two big trees that look dead, a spring that is the source of this 'rain' and... a pedestal with a huge red gemstone on top."

"The Heart!" Shamalin exclaimed involuntarily. She'd been reading about it for so long in Ledare's notes that it was shocking to suddenly find herself so close to it. 

"I'll go up first, Morier," Noxin said immediately, holding out his arms. "Huzair, you grab one side; Shamalin... you on the other." Huzair shook his head.

"We should all _Levitate_ up in a different spot or spread out by say 20-30 feet so a single spell cannot afffect us all simultaneously," the mage suggested. "Personally, I do not want to die."

"We expectin' a spellcaster up there?" Noxin asked, his brow furrowed. Huzair shrugged.

"I do not know what to expect," the wizard admitted. "None of us does." Noxin considered that and then looked at Windblade.

"Sword, I am Noxin," he said directly into the weapon's nearly-invisible crosspiece. "I will wield you with a strength you have not yet seen."

"Do as you will," Windblade sighed. "I am eager to fulfill my destiny. I feel its tug on me and would have my part in this fulfilled."

"Tell me, ancient sword, can you tell anything of this place?" the barbarian asked.

"It is outside of nature," the weapon said. "it is sustained by the power of My Lady's Heart. There is an essence of Her here. It is gathering itself."

"Can you assist us here in some way?" Noxin pressed, hopeful.

"I will do what I can," Windblade said. "We all will do our parts, but powerful though we may be, we are but the smallest part of Her power." Noxin turned to the others.

"Well, that don't sound too good, does it?" he grinned and Huzair raised Flameblade and spoke to it.

"Tell us anything else before we go up there to perhaps die," the mage said simply.

"She is gathering awareness," the sword crackled. "Your advantage disappears as you stand here talking." They all looked at one another.

"Let's move," Morier ordered. "We should try to keep a logical spacing between us so that we can't all be wiped out by a single spell."

"Gee what a great idea, Morier," Huzair quipped, rolling his eyes. "You sure are brilliant!"

Morier opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment an unearthly scream split the air, like talons shrieking across a steel breastplate.

"SHE COMES!" Stoneblade thundered a moment before a face of luminous smoke twenty feet tall coalesced out of the air. It was a woman, they could all see, impossibly beautiful and impossibly horrible because of the madness in her eyes and the rictus of pain into which her mouth was twisted. She opened her jaw and screamed again and they felt the full weight of her anguish and lost godhood slam into them like a battering ram.

Confronted with the essence of a divinity, their ranks broke immediately. Huzair and Morier dropped their weapons and bolted into the tall grass. A moment later, Shamalin did the same, tossing her shield aside for good measure and clanking after her more fleet-footed companions. All three screamed in complete panic as they went, their minds all but unhinged.

They left three elemental swords abandoned on the ground as they went.

Noxin and Saelus did not immediately flee from the face of Dridana, but they both felt the powerful urge to run just the same. The urge only increased as they watched a great, moving heap of earth and rock the size of a small tower rise up from the ground on crude legs. Two clublike arms studded with jagged stone hung from its shoulders, and its head was nothing but a blunt, featureless mass of earth, but the crude features staring down at them were twisted with malevolence.

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

OOC- So, anyone familiar with Malhavoc Press' event book Requiem for a God might recognize some of these effects. The entirety of the demiplane is within an Energy Well, for instance, which is straight out of that book. Noxin attempted (and failed) to channel some of that energy into himself when they first arrived.
Confronting Dridana's demiurge, required consultation of another book entirely. Atlas Games' Seven Strongholds has rules for when mortals come face to face with the divine called Primal Dread. The dice were unfavorable at this point, and only the two newbies of the party managed to hold their ground when stared down by the fallen goddess; the others all epically failed their Primal Dread checks and ran, panicked.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Oct 27, 2008)

Jon Potter said:


> "This power here is somewhat intoxicating... huh?" Noxin slurred, idly slapping Huzair on the shoulder. The wizard stumbled to the side, colliding lightly with Saelus. Both mages looked angrily at the barbarian, but Noxin wasn't paying them any attention. Instead, he gripped Windblade tightly in his fist, muscles rippling as he marvelled at the raw energy coursing in the air around him.
> 
> "I think I can feel this fueling me..." he grinned breathily, his eyes wide as he raised the air sword above his head.
> 
> ...




Not to give anything away, but nearly the same situation occurs in my game Jon, only it works for the PC in question and a new deity is created in the process....


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## Jon Potter (Oct 27, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Not to give anything away, but nearly the same situation occurs in my game Jon, only it works for the PC in question and a new deity is created in the process....




Ah, the vagaries of the dice. Not quite sure what Noxin would have been the god of, but it would have been interesting if it had gone another way in my game.

As it is, things are about to get bloody...


I look forward to reading all about it in you story hour. With my new work schedule I'm finding less and less time to keep up with my story hour habit.


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## Neurotic (Oct 27, 2008)

*Characters*

Could you give overall level or classes of characters?

You have interesting story hour and I find in-group conflict refreshing altough they still lack proper suspicion toward new PCs...

I'd probably end up like Ahlear with my suspicion


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## Jon Potter (Oct 27, 2008)

Neurotic said:


> Could you give overall level or classes of characters?




The PCs at this point in the gamed ranged from 7th-9th levels.

Huzair - fire elemarn (a genasi variant) wizard/thief
Morier - drow eldritch warrior (a fighter-sorcerer type class)
Noxin - half-giant fighter/barbarian
Saelus - human fighter/wizard/spellsword
Shamalin - half-elf cleric



> You have interesting story hour and I find in-group conflict refreshing altough they still lack proper suspicion toward new PCs...




I'm glad that you're enjoying the story, but at times, the level of inter-party strife borders on game-breaking. It does keep things interesting though.



> I'd probably end up like Ahlear with my suspicion




Before or after his rebirth? After his death I think that the problems he had with the party are pretty straightforward. Before his death, I think that he was just too independently-minded to be able to put the group's needs before his own.

Actually, some of the seeds he sowed back in Colybury come back to haunt the party later on... but I'm getting ahead of myself!


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## Jon Potter (Nov 2, 2008)

*[Realms #458a] The Scions of Mist and Magma*

Noxin began backing up slowly, trying to keep an eye on both the screaming demiurge and the moving pile of stone and dirt. Thankfully, the former was fading away even as the living mountain reared up.

"Windblade, could you cause a bluster strong enough to push that pile o' dirt?" the half-giant asked the sword in his hand.

"My mastery of wind is enough to force a roc from the skies," the sword sighed, "but this... it is beyond me. It is the work of the Goddess Herself."

The half-giant cursed and looked at Saelus. "You got any ideas there, commander?!" he asked, stepping backward again. His heel collided with Waveblade as he did so.

"Rr- Rr- Right," Saelus managed to say, his lips shivering as if from the cold. "I will gather Stoneblade; maybe the earth heap will recognize it as its link?" He seemed to want to turn but for a moment was unable to look away, but he mastered himself and picked up the fallen greatsword.

"You gather the Water, and if I can, I will pick up Fire as well," the Colonel went on, gathering confidence as he slipped on the familiar mantle of field commander. "Hopefully the Earth Elemental is slower then us. We can outpace it and keep alive that way..." He stooped and picked up Flameblade as well and held both swords high in the air, gripping them at the ricasso just beneath their hilts, so as not to appear battle ready.

"Stoneblade," Saelus commanded, "address this Elemental, please, and show him we mean no harm!"

"ARE YOU MAD, FLESHLING?" the gray sword thundered. "IT ACTS BY THE DEMIURGE'S WILL ALONE. THERE WILL BE NO REASONING WITH IT!"

"These attacks serve only to distract you from your goal," Flameblade added. "If you all fall here, then there will be no resurrection for Dridana and no destruction for the Rot Queen!"

"See if you can distract that pile of dirt!" Noxin said to the Colonel as he stooped and picked up Waveblade in his off-hand. He turned, hunched in a defensive stance with the two Elemental Blades leaning in towards each other, almost crossed in front of him.

"I have not prepared -" Saelus started to bark back and then Noxin touched the two blades against one another. There was a strangely sibilant ripping sound and the two weapons flared with a brilliant aquamarine brilliance.

And suddenly Noxin was holding only one sword; a greatsword of a length that rivaled the one he kept strapped across his back. It was much too big to be wielded by anyone smaller than he was, and would have looked well-suited in an ogre's eager hands. The weapon was surrounded by a luminous haze and dripped moisture onto the already wet ground.

"I AM CLOUDBLADE, SCION OF MIST, MIGHTIEST OF THE ELEMENTAL BLADES!" the enormous greatsword hissed. Noxin looked at the weapon and blinked.

"Oops," he said.



Some 150 feet away, Morier and Huzair collided with the edge of the demi-plane, and though it looked like roiling clouds it was as solid as a brick wall. Morier struck it and rebounded into Huzair, cushioning he latter man's impact somewhat and sending both of them onto the ground, bleeding from scrapes and gashes that leaked, not red blood, but rather the emerald tendrils of some sort of plant that was trying to grow out of their bodies.



Saelus looked at Noxin's mist-cloaked blade and then up at the earth elemental. The monolithic creature would be upon them any second. The Colonel touched Stoneblade and Flameblade to one another decisively and there was that same rending susurration and the two swords pulsed with an angry orange glow for a single heartbeat. When the light died down the wizard held a single sword, a sabre that smoked blackly and glowed as if it had just been pulled from the forge.

"I AM MOLTENBLADE, THE SCION OF MAGMA, GREATEST OF THE ELEMENTAL BLADES!" the sabre roared in a voice like an earthquake.



"What the-?" Huzair cursed, pulling at the bloom of greenery that was forcing itself out of the abrasion in his cheek. It hurt to tug at them, as if they were part of him, somehow. "What is this? What's going on?"

Morier got to his feet. his breath coming in ragged adrenalin-fueled gasps. He too had some leafy shoots protruding from a gash about his right eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly as Shamalin clanked out of the tall grass, nearly collided with him and then slammed bodily into the edge of the pocket dimension with a sound like a struck gong. She rebounded and landed at Morier and Huzair's feet.

She blinked up at them, her eyes still filled with shock and awe. Verdant tendrils were peeking out of a cut at her hairline.

"H-how?" she stammered. "How can we cope with this? So much power. So much pain."



The elemental stepped forward and a fist the size of a cottage swept around, low to the ground and struck Noxin. The half-giant was a big man and he was very adept at standing his ground in a pushing contest, but he may as well have been trying to hold back an avalanche. The gargantuan elemental struck him hard and the awesome blow lifted him off his feet like he was made of straw. The big man flew bodily through the air and slammed into ground beside the Colonel, bounced once and then rolled up against the wizard's legs.


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## Jon Potter (Nov 10, 2008)

*[Realms #459] Up, Up and Away!*

"Ow..." Noxin grimaced, spitting blood. There was a cut along the side of the half-giant's jaw, Saelus saw, and from it were sprouting verdent, leafy tendrils. The wizard jerked back his own leg from beneath the big man and saw that fingers of green were poking through a hole torn in his polished boot by the flying barbarian.

He quickly looked back up at the elemental and saw its fist going up, up, up... 80 feet in the air at least.

"Saelus, don't leave my side," Noxin suggested, brandishing Cloudblade. "I am going to fog up the surroundings and give us some cover!" The wizard held up his hand and shook his head.

"My _Sandstorm_ will be much better in laying cover," Saelus told the barbarian.

"Cast your spell then!!" Noxin replied and assumed _Gaseous Form_.

Smiling a smile through gritted teeth, the wizard said, "I was about to."



"Flor have mercy!" Shamalin cried out and targeted herself with a _Dispel Magic_. Even as she cast it, however, she felt the magic going wrong. The power in this place - Dridana's power - was overwhelming. It filled every bit of the demiplane, warping the effects of magic, and wrestling it away from the cleric like a bully taking a baby's toy. The delicate matrix of the _Dispel Magic_ exploded in Shamalin's head, sending waves of unrestrained magic pulsing through her body.

She screamed and staggered to the side, her mind an unfocused, buzzing, snarl.

"Shamalin!" Morier cried out as the Mercybringer convulsed. Huzair gritted his teeth and looked up at the island above.

"I am going up!" he announced. "This is a distraction." He activated the _Ring of Invisibility_ and drew forth his _Scroll of Fly_. "_Vola!_" he intoned. As Shamalin had, he felt the hands of Dridana trying to undo his magic at the source, but he worked around it on the fly and rewove the spell before it could come unravelled.

The scroll crumpled to dust in his hands as the spell took hold.



Saelus kept a wary eye on the elemental's enormous fist as he worked the somatic components for his _Sandstorm_ spell. The threads of magic began to come apart in his mind, but he held them fast and released the magic more or less at the elemental's feet. A raging storm of dirt and grit sprang up around the monolith of stone, completely blocking from view its body from the waist down.

The elemental's fist came down on Noxin with the force of a landslide and passed harmlessly through the half-giant's _Gaseous Form_. The wisps of barbarian parted around the stony fist and reformed in its wake. He grinned a misty grin.

"Wow! This is pretty cool," he said and looked down at Saelus. The wizard was hiding at the edge of his magical _Sandstorm_, hidden for the moment from the elemental. "HEY, SAELUS!" he called, and when the wizard gave no indication that he'd heard him, the half-giant realized that he wasn't actually speaking... which sort of made sense given that his mouth was made of fog or something. He shrugged his gaseous shoulders and looked around. "Well, I guess I can't talk," he thought to himself. insubstantial lips moving out of habit. "Okay... Well... Up seems to be the way to go... UP!"

And with that thought he _Levitated_ toward the island.



Shamalin tried to focus on the miracles she'd prayed for that morning and found that she could not. Her mind was reeling from the damage the unrestrained magic had done to her and she could not concentrate enough to cast even an orison. Knowing that her spells were beyond her, she struggled for a moment to push back a rising panic, considering all the while how, not long ago, this would have been a welcome end. The irony of meeting her death at the hands of a Goddess of Good, considering Shamalin's past, was not lost upon her even in her befuddled state. But there was a small task that yet needed to be finished.

Shamalin began praying, a desperate appeal to Flor... and Umba... and Shaharizod... and Brogine... and anyone else she could think of. She pleaded on behalf of all those who had sufferred and fallen on the journey to this point -  a cry for divine intervention... to make Dridana see the reason behind their purpose here.



Hearing the barely intelligible litany of prayer coming from the Mercybringer's lips, Morier thought that she had somehow been driven mad by the magical backlash he had seen her suffer. He was about to go to her aid when a rope dropped down in front of him.

"Come on Morier!" Huzair's voice called down from above. The albino looked up and saw that the rope ended in mid-air 15 or so feet above his head. The wizard's voice was calling from somewhere above that point. "The fate of the world lies with us. Grab the rope! Let us go save the world!"

Happily and without reservation of any sort, Morier grabbed the rope and felt an ineffectual tug on it.

"You are going to need to use the _Levitation Dust_ I gave you!" Huzair's annoyed voice told him. "I do not know how someone so small can be so damned heavy!"

Morier concentrated with all his might, managing to _Levitate_ off the ground and was immediately pulled toward the floating island by Huzair's tether.



Saelus backed away from the _Sandstorm_ as quickly as he dared. The elemental was still visible from the waist up, which left its two enormous fists free to crush him like an insect. It didn't do so, however. Instead it raised those fists and emitted a thunderous sound like stone breaking against stone. A web of cracks rose up its body from some point inside the _Sandstorm_ and then it fell apart. Slabs of rock ground away from its torso, amid a torrent of raw earth and gravel. With a ground-jarring thud it dropped into the whirling cloud of sand and vanished.

Mouthing a prayer of thanks for his good fortune, Saelus concentrated on the _Levitation_ spell active upon him and rose upward.



Huzair quaffed a _Potion of Cure Light Wounds_... his last such elixir... and felt a moment's reprieve from the greenery splitting his wounds open from the inside. The sense of relief passed quickly however and then he could feel the plants working their terrible work again.

Dangling below the _Invisible_ wizard, Morier did not have even that much respite and he winced as the tendrils of green sprouting from his forehead forced their way down over his eye to brush against his cheek, threatening to block his sight. He shook his head, parting the vines and allowing him to see clearly.

He regretted it almost at once.

He could see Saelus floating slowly upward, thirty feet or so above the ground and at least twice that from the bottom of the floating island above. Noxin was harder to spot, but their was a humanoid-shaped cloud of fog three quarter's of the way to the island that seemed of the proper bulk to be the half-giant. Below them the _Sandstorm_ churned, and rising from the center of it was a vast misty shape that Morier immediately recognized.

"Air elemental!" he called up to Huzair.

"Crap!" the wizard called back.



"Most holy Dridana, goddess of nature... do not fear us," Shamalin prayed aloud. "We've come to rescue you from your prison tomb. Hear me!"

She did. And she came.

The glowing smoky face materialized before the cleric, eyes glowing with divine agony and madness. The Mercybringer looked into those eyes and was immediately struck blind, sap exploding from empty sockets that had once held eyes. The demiurge opened its mouth and spoke a word. Shamalin stiffened and fell to the ground, dead.

A gore-slicked creature of wood and leaf, vaguely humanoid in shape, tore itself from the half-elf's corpse, adding its own cries of torment to those of the demiurge.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Nov 10, 2008)

I almost guessed it, though I thought Shamalin's body would fuel a twisted plant (like a hangman's tree) while Shamalin became a dryad. All the more to protect the crazed diefic hortalculturist.


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## Jon Potter (Nov 11, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> I almost guessed it, though I thought Shamalin's body would fuel a twisted plant (like a hangman's tree) while Shamalin became a dryad. All the more to protect the crazed diefic hortalculturist.




Good ideas, HM. Again, I ask: where were you when I was planning this encounter?

Another Primal Dread check (and another failure) for Shamalin laid the cleric low. The plant creature that births itself from Shamalin's remains is a Child of Syllisia from Atlas Games' Touched by the Gods, quite possibly the first 3rd party d20 product I ever bought and one of the most influential on this campaign.


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## mdougherty331 (Nov 15, 2008)

Hey Huzair has a translator!  Some of your stuff is on, but I do not mean him to as bad as you make him out.  He wants the power, but for the respect that Morier has.  At least that is my motivation.  He is all about glory and getting his props for sure.  Ruling the world....well it would get him laid.


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## Jon Potter (Nov 16, 2008)

*[Realms #460] The Heart of the Matter*

Noxin looked up at the jagged bottom of the floating island and urged himself toward its edge, using the natural flight granted by his _Gaseous Form_ to change his approach so that he Levitated up to the island along the edge. He was almost there, he saw with mounting excitement.

Perhaps there was something to be said for floating after all...



"Does it see us?" Huzair called down to Morier as the wizard hauled them both toward the edge of the island. He focused entirely on flight, not daring to slow down now with the threat of an air elemental added to their already dire situation.

Morier, dangling below, looked at the new elemental and fancied that he could already feel the powerful currents of wind whipping around the towering thing. But it was likely his imagination as the misty shape seemed to be still gathering itself together.

"Not yet!" he called up to the mage. "It's not fully formed. We've got a few moments... but that's all" Above him, Huzair grinned invisibly.

"That's all we'll need," he said as they reached the island and flew up over its upper surface. In a small voice to himself he added, "I hope."



Saelus looked up at Noxin's misty form as the barbarian vectored toward the edge of the floating island. The wizard was going to come up at least twenty feet from the edge, but there was nothing for it; he didn't have the benefits of the mist blade.

"Sword," Saelus said, holding the weapon he did have before him so that he addressed the crosspiece more or less. "Now that you are merged, do you know more about the keys?"

"WE ELEMENTAL BLADES ARE THE KEYS!" the sword crackled and spit and Saelus noticed now that the blade's orange glow flared and brightened with each word the weapon spoke. Blast furnace heat was coming off it in waves that the wizard could feel but was not bothered by in the slightest. "WITHOUT THE FOUR WHO ARE ALL THE HEART CANNOT BE FREED!"

"And what happens if we merge the blades further?" Saelus asked. "Taking the two blades down to one?"

"YOU WILL HAVE UNITY!" Moltenblade told him. "FOUR ELEMENTS AS ONE! MASTERY OVER ALL! THE POWER TO FREE THE FRUITFUL ONE'S HEART WITH A SINGLE STROKE!"



Noxin drifted over the lip of the island at roughly the same time as Huzair and Morier flew in from the opposite direction. They all got a very clear view of the flat parcel of land that was somehow suspended in the air. Grass grew long and verdant on every available square inch of ground, and near the center of the island, two majestic oaks spread their leaves as if to the warmth of the sun. At the edge nearer to Noxin, a bubbling natural spring provided a perpetual supply of water which spilled out over the edge, causing the drizzle of tiny raindrops that fell onto the land far below. Not far from the spring crouched the remains of a ruined temple. A large reddish gem embedded into a pedestal of silvery metal stood near the edge where Huzair and Morier approached. The crystal gem and its base were the only things on the island that were not once living.

Noxin could tell at once that the temple had been defiled. Its remains, however, showed that its design was antiquated with outer walls constructed from hardened peat and an inner wall from shrubbery; trees formed its supporting columns, vines and latticework trellises its statuary. All were in a state of decrepitude and disrepair that could only come from eons of neglect.



Morier could tell at once that the gemstone on the pedestal was Dridana's Heart, and as soon as his feet cleared the edge of the island he released Huzair's rope and ran to the pedestal. The stone was larger than any the eldritch warrior had ever seen before - nearly the size of his head and utterly flawless. Upon inspection of the giant gemstone he could see visions of nature scenes slowly spinning within its translucent surface: serene plains, sparkling waterfalls, and peaceful dales festooned with oak and weeping willows all drifted within the rose-colored crystal. Forest animals could be seen playing beneath the trees as leaves fell gently around them.

It was beautiful.

"Are you crying?" Huzair's voice asked from somewhere nearby. Morier did not tear his eyes away from the gemstone.

"The Heart, Huzair," he said, breathlessly. "We've finally found it!"


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## Jon Potter (Nov 23, 2008)

*[Realms #460a] An Unlikely Hero*

"Great!" the wizard replied. "Now what do we do with it?"

"The swords!" Morier said quickly, turning away from the gem with reluctance. "We need them. Now!"

"Yeah... well I sort of... dropped mine back when the giant face screamed at us," Huzair admitted, shuddering invisibly. Morier nodded.

"Me too," he told his invisible companion. "Hopefully Noxin or Saelus picked them up."

"Well, where are they?" Huzair groused. "We are in kind of a hurry here!"

"I saw Saelus and Noxin _Levitating_ toward the island," the albino told his friend. "But I think the elemental's going to get to them before they get to us." There was a pause during which they listened to the rising howl of the wind below and Huzair reached a decision.

"Good-bye, my friend," the wizard's voice said and then his Valiant Vessel traveler's purse appeared in the air and thunked down at Morier's feet. "It was a pleasure fighting with you." The eldritch warrior looked down at the bag his eyes grew wide with concern.

"Huzair? What are you thinking?" Morier called but there was no response. The mage was already gone.



Saelus was urging himself along the jagged underside of the island when he heard Huzair's voice coming from somewhere nearby. 

"The Heart is up top, Colonel," he said. "I hope to hell you brought the swords with you."

"I have half of them," Saelus replied without slowing his methodical pace.

"Then move your ass," Huzair replied. "I will try slowing the elemental."



Huzair looked down at the thing forming itself below him. Distortions in the vapor and wind of the thing suggested two eyes and a ragged mouth. It seemed to stare right at him despite the fact that he was _Invisible_ and he suppressed another shudder.

"I cannot understand why we are rescuing you, Dridana. This quest has killed so many of us already," Huzair cried out to the spirit of the goddess he'd come here to save. "I hope you are worth saving!"

And then he dove to the right, _Wand of Scorch_ ready in his hand. He pointed and spoke a command word unleashing a tongue of magical fire that struck the vaporous elemental squarely. The flame was caught up in its swirling body as it began to spin, transforming in an eyeblink from a humanoid to a sixty foot tall cyclone.

The whirlwind came at him so fast that he could do nothing to avoid it. And then he was gripped by the wind, buffeted from all sides and scoured by debris caught up in the tornado with him.



Saelus _Levitated_ over the side of the island and stepped easily onto the grass beside the bubbling spring. He spotted Morier and started to run, Moltenblade hot in his fist.



Noxin's _Form_ had remained _Gaseous_, content to slowly drift forward. But upon seeing the wizard running toward the pale elf, he dismissed the effect. As soon as he regained his solidity, he began to run, displaying the speed for which his barbarian tribe was famous.



Morier picked up Huzair's _Handy Haversack_ and found the flap unclasped and open. Attached to the top was a scrap of parchment on which was a note written in the wizard's spidery script. It read:

"If you are reading this, I am dead.
Morier, divide my stuff the best you see fit.
Your decision is my final wish.
Tell the old man I died a hero.
Your friend, Huzair."​
Morier looked up and mouthed the word, "No."



Suspended within the cyclone, Huzair tried to activate his _Ring of Blinking_, but it did nothing; belatedly, he considered that this pocket dimension must have no connection to the ethereal plane. And as the winds ripped at him, shredding his flesh, he focused his Concentration on casting one last spell.

"This is a manuever I learned from Blackheart," he told the elemental through gritted teeth. "See you on the other side."

Then he spoke two words of magic, _"Pilae inflammati!"_ and detonated a _Fireball_ on himself. It blew the elemental's whirlwind apart from the inside and reduced Huzair Blacksmoke to a cloud of ash.


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## Jon Potter (Nov 30, 2008)

*[Realms #460b] At*

Saelus ran with Moltenblade held out in front of him as if making a cavalry charge, albeit on foot... which he found distasteful. Not that infantry didn't have their place. Of course they did, but his place was not amongst their ranks. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the barbarian moving in fast from the far side of the island, and although he had well over twice the distance to cover it looked as though the half-giant were going to reach the albino only a few moments after Saelus did.

Clearly, Noxin was well-suited to the role of footman.

The wizard skidded to a halt a few paces away from Morier and held the Scion of Magma up in one hand while bracing his other hand on his knee. He huffed and puffed for a moment before managing to get out, "Morier? Where are the others? I think our mage has bought us a few seconds."

Morier said nothing for a moment as, grim-faced, he slung the _Handy Haversack_ across his body. For a moment he could not believe that Huzair had done what he'd done, but then he focused on what yet remained to do, snapping at once to full attention.

"Shamalin was struck mad or something," the elf said, sparing a worried look over his shoulder in the direction he and Huzair had come. "She was babbling and-"

Noxin thundering up to the pair stopped Morier in mid-sentence. An enormous smile split the half-giant's face. 

"Well, this is it then! Lets free this goddess!!" he said, excitedly. "But first..." He produced three small vials, holding each by the neck between the fingers of his left hand. He offered them around and then downed the remaining one in a single gulp. His wounds closed somewhat, but overall the effect wasn't all that great. He snorted and tossed the empty potion bottle over his shoulder.

As Morier chugged his healing elixir, Noxin held out Cloudblade. "Saelus, join that sword here," he said, giving a nod to the blade the wizard held in his hand. "Morier, grab a hold!  We will plunge it into the gem together! That's how this works, right?"

"Just breaking the 'gem' will suffice, I am of a mind," Saelus replied, first sniffing and then downing the potion. He looked at the half-giant and held up the empty vial. "I will repay you this potion if we get through this ordeal."

Noxin turned an eye to Saelus ."Lad..." he started to say and then ever so slightly scrunched his face, as if to resolve himself. "There's time for debate later. Let's just get this done!".

And again he thrust the sword forward to be combined with the Colonel's. Moltenblade and Cloudblade crossed blades with a sizzling sound and the air was rent as a pulse of light flared brilliant white around them. When it faded, Saelus was holding a new sabre that seemed at once more common and more fantastic than any of the previous elemental blades. It was made of steel - or something that looked like steel - engraved point to crosspiece with a motif of intertwining vines and leaves. The whole radiated the wholesome yellow glow of sunlight.

"Hey!" Noxin growled. "How'd you get the sword?"

"I don't-" Saelus started before his new weapon interrupted him.

"We are Unity, the Four Who are All," the sword said, its voice not unlike the voice of the samsara sword, Morier observed mutely. Although this talking blade seemed to be speaking with a single voice that still somehow spoke in harmony with itself. 

Those words - 'the Four Who are All'. How many times had he listened to Ledare talk about them around the campfire? They had hypothesized dozens of possible meanings for the phrase and now... here was the explanation, concrete, with no ambiguity. And where was Ledare?

The albino looked at his two companions and reflected on the irony... or poetry... of finally reaching this climactic moment with only these two relative strangers at his side. Vade, Ixin, Feln, Lela, Karak, Ixin again, Ahlear, Anania, Huzair... all had paid the ultimate price to put him where he stood at the moment. He stood, slack-jawed, overwhelmed by the circumstances.

His reverie did not last long.

"Whoah!" Noxin shouted, readying his greathammer as he looked up at something above and behind Saelus.

A volume of water the size of a large inn rose up from the spring into the crude shape of a humanoid. Its limbs were thick tendrils of water that loosely resembled arms and it raised these above its vague suggestion of a head. Its voice rose up like the crashing of surf during a hurricane.

"Time's up! Now move!" Saelus commanded as he shoved Unity into Morier's hands and shoved the albino towards the gem. The elf stumbled once, but with the blade in hand, he knew exactly what to do.

He leveled it at the metal pedestal and the sword spoke, "At long last..." Then a twisting ray of energy erupted from the blade, bathing the gem simultaneously in fire, lightning, ice, and acid. The metal pedestal dissolved into slag under the elemental barrage, leaving the gem suspended in the air at chest height.

The water elemental cried out in frustration and collapsed back into the spring even as a rumbling sound rose up from all around them. The swirling iridescent clouds that bordered the demiplane seemed to be rolling closer, swallowing up the plane in the process.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Dec 1, 2008)

With the insane diety near saving and the demi-plane ready to expel the survivors. I'm left wondering do we see some reincarnations from the nature goddess or do we see ?

And as for those that came before:

Ixin - I think would have been proud to die for this cause and would have been fine with Morier holding the decisive strike.

Karak - The dwarf would have been insulted that a human got to do the job a dwarf was born to do (save the world)

Huzair - What? Aw this sucks, where's all the chicks that should be waiting for me? Man I hope I get raised, this afterlife thing is just not my style.

Alhear - Well, he has a dry sense of humor (very dry, almost dessicated ) so he'd likely view it as another chance to prove to nature it can be circumvented.

Feln - He's in paradise and couldn't be bothered to be reached for comment. 

Shamalin - Would be the most distraught, watching the god wracked with insanity and unable to see that the party is there to help. Out of the above I feel as if she could chose not to come back, instead viewing her mortal work as completed with the return of the Heart to its rightful state. Emotionally invested in the outcome, victory comes at the release of duty and therefore a sense of accomplishment. 

ah well, just the observations and opinions of a raving madman.


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## Burningspear (Dec 1, 2008)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> With the insane diety near saving and the demi-plane ready to expel the survivors. I'm left wondering do we see some reincarnations from the nature goddess or do we see ?
> 
> Alhear - Well, he has a dry sense of humor (very dry, almost dessicated ) so he'd likely view it as another chance to prove to nature it can be circumvented.
> 
> ah well, just the observations and opinions of a raving madman.




Interesting you think a Druid would show nature it could be circumvented, 
Heh, but anyway, have a nice read .


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## Jon Potter (Dec 2, 2008)

Burningspear said:


> Interesting you think a Druid would show nature it could be circumvented,




Umm... Ahlear *is *the guy who returned from death as a mummy. That's pretty much the definition of circumventing nature.


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## Jon Potter (Dec 7, 2008)

*[Realms #461] Something Divine*

"Great... swallowed by a cloud!!" Noxin grumbled as he turned in a circle, greathammer at the ready, searching the area all around for some clue as to what was happening. There was little to see apart from the clouds rolling ever closer.

"Perhaps the sword knows something?" Saelus suggested and Morier raised the sabre in his hand. It was just a sword now, he sensed; whatever spark of life it had possessed before freeing the Heart had been spent in the process leaving just unthinking metal behind.

"No," he said, his eyes never leaving the floating gemstone as he absently dropped the weapon at his side. "Its intelligence is gone."

"Well we sure started somethin' here," Noxin said, anxiously. "Let's grab the gem and start thinkin' about finding a way out before we get swallowed up!" He started for the glowing ruby, but Morier was closer and the albino stepped forward and clutched it in two hands before the half-giant could take a second step.

Time then seemed to stop for the eldritch warrior. The instant of contact with the gem stretched out impossibly, and in that dilated moment, every second that had passed since he'd entered the Grove of Renewal was played out before him in the heart of the stone. It was like he had been born that day, as if nothing he had done before then was important.

What had previously seemed a random set of encounters with a constantly chaging cast of characters suddenly became a clear picture. Every second organized, planned, and carried out with meticulous efficiency. Madness was replaced with clarity. Every soul had been sent to do his or her part, each marking a moment that allowed the next step to be taken. The roles could well have been reversed. It could just as easily have been he who had sacrificed to put someone else in this moment... at this place and this time.

Images of people from the past streamed across the stone's roseate surface now, some nameless faces, some far more familiar. Even those that seemed strangers at first were quickly connected now to names he had heard spoken; Kirnoth, Finian, Soriah... all had passed on before he joined the group, but somehow they all looked familiar and provided him a somewhat unexpected sense of comfort at this moment. Transient faces like Windstryder, Bisayo, and Grisham who had been with the group for what seemed like an instant before disappearing, now smiled and greeted him like old friends. Vade, Feln, Lela, Ixin... none of this would have happened, he knew, without their sacrifice.

Ledare now stood before him and he lowered his head in reverence. It was her devotion to this cause that had made him come along with the group in the first place. Their paths had intersected more than once in this lifetime, maybe for a reason. He lifted his head and her image was at once replaced by the figures of Shamalin, Ayremac, and Karak. They had been among the tiny handful of people he would have called friends. Then the old Ahlear that he remembered from Hillville Junction appeared... not the strange, petrified, cloth wrapped stranger that he seemed to have become in the end... and that image faded just as quickly. Huzair then turned to face him, cigar jutting from his clenched teeth. His was the only image to speak.

"I was always going to be the hero, my friend. You knew that, didn't you? Come on, it was inevitable," the wizard chuckled. "Nominate me for sainthood or something, would ya? It's the least you could do. And, hey, remember me fondly to the old man next time you see him. Tell him I did good."

And then they vanished. He felt small... physically... emotionally... spiritually.

_"I am with you,"_ a woman said and time lurched back into motion.

The gem was gone!

But at the same time, it wasn't. Morier touched his chest, feeling the shape of the gemstone beneath his chain shirt... half-embedded in his chest. Oddly, this did not bring any feeling of alarm to the albino. In fact it brought him a sense of comfort and warmth - _"I am with you"_ -  that he couldn't quite explain.

"Come on, Morier!" Noxin urged. "This place is goin' fast!"

Morier looked around and saw that the clouds were closing in on all sides. The three of them stood in the middle of a circle that was maybe fifty feet across and shrinking fast. This didn't really concern him too much.

"Don't worry," the eldritch warrior said, grinning slightly as the clouds closed in.

"Don't worry!?" Noxin yelled, brandishing his hammer as if he might smite the clouds into retreat. "I'd say this was a damned fine time to start worryin'!"

"If you're going to pull a miracle out of the air, now would be a good time to do so," the Colonel admitted, sparing a glance at Morier.

The elf just smiled as the clouds closed in.



And then they were floating in a void.

No... not quite a void, there were monumental cloud formations in the silvery distance and multi-colored lights twinkled here and there like stars. But it was quite empty nonetheless.

"What the-?" Noxin said, dumbfounded. Colonel Saelus looked around and made an assessment.

"We're on the Astral Plane," he said.


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## Jon Potter (Dec 23, 2008)

Well, it's been two weeks since my computer died and I was able to I post an update! But I've got a new hard drive with _most_ of my old data so things should settle back into the regular once-a-week schedule.

But... for now let's drop a couple of updates to make up for the last couple f weeks, shall we?


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## Jon Potter (Dec 23, 2008)

*[Interlude #1] Reconnect at the Wedding*

"The bride looks beautiful," Del assured his friend and mentor as the father of the groom stole a moment from the social necessities of his son's wedding to stop at their table. They were in one of the larger banquet rooms at the Janissary Guildhall. Colorful tapestries hung from the ceiling and all of the wall sconces were lit. It was a warm and festive feeling… a reprieve from the recent troubles Barnacus had experienced.

It still seemed strange to Del that the festivities were not taking place at the castle, but with the city in the state it was of late few people got near the King. Hasding Island was completely blockaded by Elcadian naval vessels making sure that no one could bring plague to His Majesty again. It was a sound strategy, he knew, but it was causing rumors to spread. In the short time he'd been back in the capital he'd personally heard a human commoner assert that King Haermond had gone mad from his sickness and had locked himself in his own dungeon!

Cadeus Thurgood settled into the chair, fidgeting with his finery. "She does at that." Then he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "But her mother has us all fit to be tied! If that's any indication of what's in store for Geoff… the gods save him!" The men chuckled and Del excused himself to fetch a round of drinks for the group.

Cade’s gaze followed the man he had raised as a son as Del wove his way through the crowds. The compliment had been sincere enough, but Cade knew the effort it must be taking for Del to participate in the celebration. It hadn’t yet been two full moondances since word had reached the janissary guild of Ledare Eelsof’faw’s untimely death. The news had hit Del particularly hard, and was evidenced in his face even now. Cade looked away and toward a handsome, middle-aged elf seated at the table. "I see you two have reconnected?"

The elf smiled warmly and inclined his head. Long, thick, dark hair was pulled stylishly back, leaving a widow’s peak in the middle of his forehead. His clothes were exquisite, from his family's finest collection Cadeus would guess, although he was sure that Deandra would know at a glance. His wife had an eye for fabrics that Cadeus couldn't match. Still, he thought it a fair assumption to make; Maleko Maltalia always seemed to be superbly dressed with not a wrinkle in his clothes or a hair out of place. 

"Yes it’s great to see Del again," the elf explained. "The janissaries of Barnacus have provided excellent service to my family, and we owe them a great deal. I owe them my life.” Cade nodded. Frequent caravan attacks had always plagued the kingdom's border. Over the past few years the Home Legion's efforts had curbed some of the violence. Since the plague, however, road bandits were once again wreaking havoc on an already fragile trade industry. And the Legion was stretched far too thin to do much more than occasionally stanch the flow of gold from the merchant guild's coffers. It was not a good situation.

It surprised Cade a little that the wedding was going as well as it was. Many of the local burghers had closed up shop and fled the city weeks ago. And those that remained in town were ill-tempered at best. The Maltalias, it seemed, were one of the few families who seemed to harbor no ill will toward the king and his janissaries these days.

Maleko continued, “When Del approached me and wanted to speak, I sensed something was troubling him. I would do anything that I could to help him. Not only am I indebted to him, but I consider him to be one of the most honorable men I have ever encountered… a credit to his training and to you. Is there trouble with his family?"

"No trouble," Del interrupted depositing several overflowing tankards of ale on the table. "Let's not distract from the proud father’s momentous occasion." He handed Cade a drink and then gave Maleko a look that the cleric immediately understood. 

“Of course… to the bride and groom!” Maleko toasted. The men drank heartily, each one noticing as Del drained his tankard and reached immediately for another.



Later that night as Maleko returned home, he heard footsteps approaching swiftly behind him and a jolt of fear shot through his body. Quickly he turned, glancing over his shoulder only to be relieved to see it was only Del.

“Maleko, I wish to speak with you,” Dell boomed as he trotted to catch up to the elf. Maleko did not mind having an escort walking at night. He had reason to be nervous. 

In the time since his first abduction he had grown much more cautious. After the second abduction he had learned of the cruelty of men. That time he had used his magic to “disappear” from the caravan and had hoped to escape. Only the fact that a bandit had seen him vanish allowed them to catch him. The man had threatened, yelling into the dark, “I will kill one of your merchants each minute you do not show yourself.” Unfortunately, it took one minute for Maleko to see that the brigand was not bluffing, so he had little choice. He could not bear to see another of his employees die because of his inaction. That life would forever weigh on his conscience, he feared. 

“Your company is always welcome, Del. What words do you wish to share with me?” Maleko inquired. 

“I heard from Cadeus that you were no longer working for your family; that Grey House had employed you,” Del spoke carefully. 

“That is true. I would not want everyone to know this, but I trust you may already know Grey House is in disarray. All the senior members are missing. Abernathy, who looks after the estate, has given me this,” Maleko said and unveiled a bracelet, encrusted with eight gems. He offered it to the janissary and Del saw that one of the gems was aglow with a feint orange light. As the circlet moved in his fingers, the glow seemed to shift from gem to gem, always glowing brightest toward the southwest.

“All of the members of Grey House have disappeared," Maleko said as Del returned the bracelet to his thin hands. "Several unfortunately have met their demise, but many have an uncertain location. This is the assignment I have accepted. I am to discern what has happened to the members.” Maleko had a look of uncertainty that he quickly tried to cover with a thin smile. 

Del nodded, taking it in. He knew that Ledare, too, had been working for the Grey Company. But whether or not she had still been under their service at the time of her death he did not know. The fact that the entire Grey House had uncertainty surrounding it was startling news. And Del suddenly found himself needing to find out more.

“One of my comrades who participated in your rescue worked for the Grey. She spoke very highly of them. Ledare Eelsof’faw … You may recall her.”

“Indeed I do. When you were rescuing me, she jumped a mile when I cast Web on the baddies who were escaping,” remarked Maleko. He kept the feeling that she had been more than just Del’s comrade to himself adding only, “My sympathies.”

Del looked off into the darkness. “I left Awad to become a janissary. And I’ve spent years stamping out small evils.” He paused, searching for the words. “I was good at it. Better, even, than I might have been at home working the shipyard. It was the life I thought I was meant for… making a difference.” He was quiet. 

“Suddenly it all seems meaningless…” he said at last and his words trailed off, dragged down by the weight of emotion in them. Maleko waited a moment to see if he would continue, but his companion seemed lost in his own thoughts. The elf sighed.

“As you may know life for an elf is long, and we generally pursue many interests. My father has his business and his human wives to keep him busy. My life has... well, not been quite as fulfilling," Maleko said. "Being an elf... well, mostly elven at any rate... with an extended life span when compared to humans or even half-elves... our interests often change over time.” Del still seemed wrapped in his own thoughts as he looked off down the street toward the sea. Light was spilling out of the Needle and Thread Tavern some blocks away, but that was the only sign of life along the route.

"I have worked at being a merchant with my family, which made me a good fortune. It allowed me to explore my gifts as a sorcerer… until I fell in love. Her name was Alana. She worshiped Nethlar and my love for her drew me to him as well. I so admired her and the followers of Nethlar’s desire for knowledge and truth." for a moment, Maleko's own voice thickened with memory, but he'd reconciled himself with his wife's death years ago. He went on, "Well, as mixed marriages go it was great, but not meant to last forever. She passed on decades ago. I then wished to adventure after her death seeking escape. Father thought me naïve and foolish. He was right.” Maleko smiled in the darkness.

“I had a run in with unscrupulous adventurers and well…. was only saved when my father paid my ransom. I lost any trust I had for humankind there and then." His mouth twisted as if he'd bitten down on something bitter. "Well, I then moved on to the safe profession of teaching and working for father only occasionally. Teaching was rewarding for a while, but after a score of years… I find myself yearning for more out of life. With the recent closing of the school due to the plague, this latest opportunity seemed a logical and serendipitous choice."

"I do wonder myself why I was approached for this job and questioned Abernathy thoroughly on the matter. Poor man lost everything: his masters, his family, everything except that sweet, but ill mannered dog that follows him around incessantly. I-" Maleko stopped in mid-sentence, feeling suddenly that he'd given Del more of an ear-full than the janissary wished for. The half-elf was too diplomatic to say anything, of course, but Maleko sensed something in Del's demeanor nonetheless.

"Forgive me. I ramble so. It must be the wine," the elf said, stifling back a feigned yawn. "We shall continue tomorrow? Breakfast tomorrow at the Five Elements? Considerably after the rooster crows.”



“This gift from Abernathy, how will it help you locate the Grey Members?” Del asked the next morning after the serving wench, Maggie, had brought him another tankard of ale. They sat in the common room of the Five Elements Inn. The early morning crowd had cleared out, and only a handful of patrons were lingering. Maleko thought that Maggie had been especially attentive to them at first, trying, it seemed, to catch Del's eye, but had eventually given up when he gave her no notice and now she virtually ignored them. The two men had spoken lightly of other things during the breakfast meal, but Maleko sensed that it was all leading up to this.

“The glow indicates the direction of the closest coin. The strength of the glow indicates how close we are.” He demonstrated, turning the bracelet in his hands. As it had last night, the glow remained steadily pointing to the southwest no matter what direction the object was turned. The glow seemed rather weak in the light of day, however. “We are nowhere near where this coin is. I asked the Abernathy to accompany me, but he insisted he is too old and grief stricken to be of any good in the field. He takes the loss of each member of the Company very seriously and had felt a connection to some of the new members who had perished. He said they were really a good, eager bunch overall and feared that their inexperience may have led to their deaths.” Del's face darkened at that and Maleko thought perhaps that he spied wetness in the half-elf's eyes, but then they hardened again.

"I worry for Abernathy and have asked father to look in on him from time to time," Maleko added and Del took a long draught from his mug. Maleko wondered, fleetingly, if the man was drinking to bolster his nerves or if this was always his way.

“What would you say to some company on your quest?” Del asked suddenly. He didn’t give time for an answer before continuing. “I’m a fairly experienced tracker, and I’ve some skill with a sword.” He suddenly felt foolish and smiled. “The truth is, I’d be abandoning my post, which is a serious offense. That could make things… difficult down the line.”

“I would be honored Del, but what about your career, your family name? Why not just ask for a leave of absence?” Maleko asked belatedly realizing by the look on Del’s face that he needed to lower his voice. Del shook his head in response.

“Given all the recent trouble, the king has restricted any extended leaves. Cade pulled all the strings he had just to get me home for Geoffrey's wedding," the half-elf said sullenly. "No. If I'm to join you it will be outside the scope of my duties. But whatever Ledare was pursuing for the Grey Company, it was with a passion that went beyond even her janissary duty. She was involved with something really big - bigger than anyone knew, and she believed in it wholeheartedly. And if I can carry that banner now, then I have to do it. Even if it means leaving one cause to take up another." Then his voice dipped lower and he said into his mug, "I owe her that."

Maleko nodded, his mind racing ahead. “I fear traveling alone could be dangerous, but I have ways we can avoid much trouble if necessary. I think your sword and my sorcery will be a good team," the elf said eagerly. "We can endure the elements through my magic, or hide from trouble if we choose not to fight it.” Maleko secretly hoped he could avoid such conflict. “I can also heal wounds when I pray, although I fear Nethlar may have forgotten about me in the years since I left the clergy.”

“You seem to have served his cause well in other capacities. The priests of Nethlar value the truths of history which you have taught,” Del suggested and Maleko nodded. 

“We can take two of my father’s horses and leave tomorrow. It is best he not know that you are accompanying me, of course. I do not wish to have my family involved in any conspiracy. No offense,” Maleko kindly inserted.

“Of course. None taken,” Del replied, his face showing the conflict he felt between choosing his personal needs over his sworn duty. This was not a decision he had come to easily. He had run away from one life long ago, in pursuit of something. And here he was about to run again. But what else could he do?

“It’s done then. I will meet you before sunup tomorrow,” he announced firmly, clunking his tankard down on the tabletop loud enough to draw curious glances from the other patrons. “I have a few things to take care of before that.”


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## Jon Potter (Dec 23, 2008)

*[Interludes #2] Day One*

The next morning Del arrived at Maleko's home shortly before sunrise. It was a small, but exquisite house in the wealthier section of town. Maleko opened the door even before Del could dismount. "I should have known you would bring your own steed. Father can pick up Mister Billy when he stops by to pick up my pets this morning," Maleko said, referring to the horse he had intended to bring along for Del. "Please come in."

Del followed Maleko into one of the most elegant homes he had seen. His boots echoed off the polished floors. Artifacts of obvious value were tastefully displayed. The prosperity of the Maltalia family was apparent in every aspect of the place. "Can I get you anything?" Maleko asked, reflexively. Del declined and Maleko continued with schoolboy enthusiasm, "I have trail rations, my sleeping bag, and a tent. I have connections in most of the major cities and towns in Elcaden. My family name carries weight in some circles." There was not the slightest hint of a boast in the tone; Maleko was merely stating the truth. As he spoke, he fingered a beautifully decorated long sword that hung at his waist. 

"I did not want to carry this since I know I will never use it," he admitted, "but father said if people see it, they are more likely to leave you alone. Image is everything, he always says." 

Del suddenly became acutely aware of his own image reflected in one of the mammoth gold-gilded mirrors that hung on the wall. He almost didn't recognize the man looking back at him - errant strands of brown hair already escaping the tie at the base of his neck, several days growth of beard shadowing his face, weather-worn travel clothes…all that was the same. However, without his janissary insignia, he seemed a stranger to himself.

As Maleko continued to point out his preparations, a gnawing concern began to grow in the back of Del's mind. It appeared his companion had no experience traveling or camping except at the finest of inns. Maleko, being perceptive, addressed that fact immediately. "I can take care of myself and even you, if needed, by other means. I'll admit that I do enjoy the finer things in life, but can 'rough' it if I must." He smiled disarmingly, "I just prefer not to."

"I'm not worried." Dell insisted, although in the back of his mind, he was. 

His concerns, however, did not last long. And as Del relaxed that evening in the soft bed of the Frog Hair Tavern he began to think that for years, perhaps, he had been going about it all wrong. Certainly this was preferable to the discomfort of a hard dirt floor. A flame crackled in the firepit, the scent of seasoned meat still hung in the air from dinner, and the ale had formed a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would be easy to grow accustomed to such luxury, he decided, if that was the path you found yourself upon. 

As his thoughts turned to Ledare, as they often did in the last waking moments of the day, Del wondered exactly what kind of path he was now on.


Elsewhere...​ 

"You know those texts by rote, my boy," Justiciar Galmache said from behind him. "And the answers you seek do not lie in The Writ of Umba."

"I never thought that I would hear you say those words, Justiciar," Ayremac answered without turning. "How many times did you send me to the The Writ during my training?"

"As many times as was necessary for you to understand the words of the Soul Judge well enough to act as Her agent in the world," Galmache told him and eased up to the holy warrior's side. He splayed a hand out over the text of the illuminated manuscript and continued, "But that time is years passed. Any clarity The Writ holds for you is already in your heart. Your answers are not here." Ayremac sighed.

"Then where are they, Justiciar?" Ayremac asked, turning his emerald eyes to the cleric. There was confusion in the holy warrior's face and no small measure of grief there as well. Galmache smiled at him.

"In the one place you've been avoiding these last few weeks, Ayremac," the man explained, placing a hand on the Officer's arm. "Out in the world."

The holy warrior sagged as if a great, invisible hand were pressing on his shoulders.

"I- I don't think I can," Ayremac said, his voice barely a whisper. "Everything I thought I was fighting for-"

"Is still out there," the Justiciar assured him. "You were called as an Officer of Umba. You are Her sword in the world. You are meant to bring Her justice to the people, not wither away in the dark beneath a mountain of dusty tomes."

"My allies are gone," Ayremac argued. "I am but one man." Galmache patted the holy warrior's cheek.

"Even a single candle may banish the darkness, my boy. You know that!" the cleric smiled. "And anyway, you have an ally. Ixin is eager to re-enter the fight." Ayremac looked surprised.

"Ixin?" he asked. "Surely she isn't well enough to-"

"You underestimate her resilience, I think," the priest answered. "Twice now she has returned from the Walk of 100 Days. It has made her strong in unexpected ways. She has taken to the secrets of The Writ and is anxious to return to the field. To be sure, her training is not complete, but I can think of no better teacher than the one who released her from her imprisonment." The Officer smiled weakly.

"You overstate my involvement in that. All I did was bring in the sword," he said. "And I don't know if I'm ready to take on a student. Even Ixin." The priest nodded.

"All I ask is that you think about it," Justiciar Galmache answered. "Think about it and I will pray to Umba for guidance."


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## WetWombat (Dec 24, 2008)

YAY!  Ixin's back!


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## Jon Potter (Dec 24, 2008)

WetWombat said:


> YAY!  Ixin's back!




My wife will be happy to hear about your enthusiasm toward Ixin. Although this time around, she's strictly an NPC.

And for those of you playing along at home - this is the third distinct version of Ixin.

Originally she was a Drakeling (from Green Ronin's _Arcana: Societies of Magic_) aristocrat/sorcerer.

After her death in the Grove of Renewal and her subsequent rebirth she was re-imagined as a half-dragon sorcerer (variant from _Unearthed Arcana_).

This last time she's straight human, straight sorcerer with a bunch of draconic feats and a couple of levels of Dragonheart Mage from _Races of the Dragon_.


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## WetWombat (Dec 26, 2008)

What's not to like about ANY of the Protaganisti?  Or the author of the story, for that matter?  I've thoroughly enjoyed following along on the adventures of the Grey Company, Jon, and thank you for taking the time and effort to share with us!

THE Wombat! (Mildly Damp)


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## Jon Potter (Dec 28, 2008)

*[Interlude #2] Meeting Cerrakean*

"We're very close," Maleko said, his voice an excited whisper at Del's shoulder. He held a silencing finger to his lips, but spared a glance over at the glowing bracelet on the elf's wrist. It was shedding as much light as a torch now and the janissary was concerned that the device was becoming a liability rather than an asset at the moment.

Still, after so many weeks on the trail, it was hard not to be a little excited. Remembering that an illegal army was massing in the area helped a little in that regard, of course. They'd managed to avoid detection so far, thanks in no small part to the information that they'd been able to secure about Miller's Pond when they stopped to resupply at the Wayward Fool in Bereford. Or what was left of the Wayward Fool; the inn had sustained obvious heavy damage recently and the owner, Lodar Manford, asserted that the only reason there was anything at all left of the outpost was because of the Wyverneye Militia.

Del knew there was no Wyverneye Militia sanctioned by the Realms Council, which made them an unknown quantity. And an illegal one to boot. Del felt certain that an eyre court would agree with his assessment and bring the full weight of Pellham's legions down on this-

He stopped suddenly, extending an arm to halt Maleko's progress as well. He could hear the sounds of steel on steel. There was battle up ahead and-

Maleko jerked backward, letting out a startled shriek that Del felt certain would alert anyone nearby to their presence. The half-elf turned, sword raised defensively and nearly let out a cry of alarm himself. Maleko was held fast, suspended amidst a tangle of elongated limbs that either gripped the elf or held blades to his body. His copper-colored eyes stared fearfully from above a long-fingered hand that was clamped across his mouth. A misshapen face stared at Del from over the mage's shoulder, its eyes big and black, its teeth sharp and pointed.

Del had never seen such a horror before, but he'd heard them described enough times by Ledare that he didn't have any trouble identifying it. "Chagmat!" he hissed, setting his feet into a combat stance.

"Half-chagmat, actually," a gravely voice said behind him. He turned and saw two figures amidst the trees there. One was a large hobgoblin with brick-red skin carrying a pair of black scimitars at the ready. Her mouth was spread in a toothsome grin. The other was an unkempt human with black hair and beard. He carried a longsword in one hand and a handaxe in the other; the latter was drawn back and ready to fly. Blood oozed from a diagonal cut on his right cheek.

"And he's a friend of ours," the man said, grinning sardonically. "So why don't you drop the sword and maybe Grimbor'll think about lettin' the tree-hugger loose."

"We are not your enemy," Del said levelly, lowering but keeping a firm grip on his sword. His eyes flicked to the chagmat and he saw that it was watching him with too-human eyes. In everything that Ledare had ever told him, the chagmat had been the enemy and he imagined again the horror she must have felt as a child spirited away by monsters such as this. He could sense Maleko's panic at being held by the creature, but the elf's demeanor was outwardly calm.

"I ain't gonna ask again," the black-haired human growled, adjusting his grip on the handaxe. Instinctively, Del gauged the distance for his crossbow. But in the next instant he was forced to violently launch himself out of the path of the whirling handaxe. Having come remarkably close to his left ear, it stuck threateningly in a tree trunk not far from his head.

"Grisham, stand down," the hobgoblin barked.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist!" the man laughed. "I put it right where I aimed to."

Del straightened, eyeing Grisham. He stared back at Del defiantly, the shadow of a beard he wore doing little to hide the muscles that bunched anxiously along his jaw. There was, somehow, another axe already in his hand. Del allowed his sword to drop.

"See, now," Grisham said stepping close enough to kick Del's sword aside before darting lightly back once more out of reach. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"I truly hope that you are Cerreakan. If not we may be in greater trouble than I fear," Maleko told the hobgobblin with blunt honesty. His voice was even, but Del could sense the underlying strain to maintain that facade of calm. His tension ratcheted up even more when the hobgoblin glided forward, scimitar-first as if she were a kite and the curved blade were pulling her.

"How do you know my name, elf." the hobgoblin replied angrily guiding the sword ever closer to Maleko. With a sudden subtle motion of her wrist, she punctured a hole in his fine tunic.

"You fit the description Abernathy gave you to the exact detail," Maleko expressed as calmly as possible. He did a good job given the circumstances. In his best immitation of the caretaker Maleko added, "She is an impatient gal for any shenanigans and takes no guff." Grisham guffawed.

"That's one way to describe her, alright!" the man said his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But I can think of a couple others that get to the point a whole lot quicker!" Cerrakean sighed at the man but kept her eyes and swords trained on Maleko.

"Of course, elf, you could just be playing me for a fool," she hissed, baring pointed teeth. "You could have picked that description based on what you've just seen here." Maleko swallowed and forced a smile.

"If you move your sword about six inches to the left you might find something of interest," he said and the hobgoblin narrowed her yellow eyes suspiciously. Then, in one fluid motion she sheathed the scimitar in her left hand and then turned to reach that same hand inside his shirt. Her fingers curved around a familiar object and she let out a bemused snort.

"Let him down, Grimbor," she said her posture easing into calm at once. "He is not a threat."

"Are you sure, lady?" Grimbor asked, hesitantly. His voice was human and youthful, and full of adolescent uncertainty. Cerrakean removed the coin from Maleko's shirt and displayed it to her comrades.

"He's Grey Company," she said simply and let the coin drop. "Let's get them back to the manor house. I want to hear how they came to be in possession of that coin." Grimbor let Maleko drop immediately and then scuttled back up into the trees above. He disappeared almost at once among the branches.

Grisham leaned in to Cerrakean. "Demetrius is gonna want to meet these two," he whispered loudly and the hobgoblin nodded.

"He'll get his chance," she said and Grisham shrugged and stowed his throwing axe. After a brief pause she asked Maleko, "So how is our beloved Abernathy? Any news from Barnacus?"

The elf dusted and smoothed and tucked his finery back into some semblance of the style he preferred. As Grisham pulled his axe from the tree behind him, Del stooped and retrieved his sword. Sheathing it he answered, "The capital is in disarray but the crown is consolidating power to maintain the peace we have. Some ranking members of the Legion have resigned their commissions as a result."

Cerrekean paused and said. "Pah! You can tell me later. We need to get back to the manor. Follow me."


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## mdougherty331 (Dec 30, 2008)

Jon Potter said:


> My wife will be happy to hear about your enthusiasm toward Ixin. Although this time around, she's strictly an NPC.
> 
> And for those of you playing along at home - this is the third distinct version of Ixin.
> 
> ...




I am glad she got some love too.  Maybe it will encourage her to come and be involved more.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 4, 2009)

mdougherty331 said:


> I am glad she got some love too.  Maybe it will encourage her to come and be involved more.




We can dream, but I think that ship has sailed. We'll have to content ourselves with Ixin as an NPC.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 4, 2009)

*[Interludes #3] The World Serpent Inn*

Ixin looked at the face in the mirror and felt an icicle touch her heart. Her *HUMAN* heart. Without the fiery magic of a draconic fundamentum to warm her, everything had felt cold to her since they brought her back. But this was different, she knew.

It was very difficult to look in the mirror and see a stranger's face staring back.

She raised an unfamiliar hand to touch the unfamiliar face reflected in the silvered surface and was unsurprised to find the hand trembling. She licked her lips nervously and the woman in the mirror did the same.

"Munthrek-pothoc," she muttered under her breath and watched the woman in the mirror mouth the words.

The High Justiciars hadn't wanted to tell her the name of the girl whose body she was wearing, but she managed to coerce Ophiel into indulging her curiosity. In life, her name had been Moranea of Briofield, and she had died from exposure after getting lost in a snowstorm. She was pretty by the standards of the people hereabouts with hair as dark as a moonless night and eyes the color of damp moss. There was a peculiar dusting of freckles across her nose, and her lips were thin - too thin for Ixin's liking. But it was either this or the sword.

Not a hard decision to make, really.

She'd died once and come back, after all. Somehow, it seemed wrong not to do it again. So she'd agreed to have Ayremac's friends draw her soul out of the samsara sword and put it into this girl's body, eager to discover the purpose in her second rebirth. There had to be a reason why death couldn't hold her.

Didn't there?

"Lady Chaririejir?" a voice called from outside her chamber door. It was Ophiel, the lesser Justiciar who had been assigned to attend Ixin until she fully recovered. Time was her senses had been so acute that she would have heard Ophiel's footsteps approaching down the hall long before the woman ever reached her door. But that, like so many other things, had changed forever.

"Yes?" Ixin replied, shyly clutching her dressing gown closed across her body, which, to Ixin's way of thinking was far too squat and frail. She'd lost a full foot in height and close to a hundred pounds of muscle by taking up residence in Moranea's body. Not to mention scales, claws, wings, and every other proof of her illustrious heritage with Clan Vermillion.

Her door opened, letting in a chill draft from the hallway that sent a prickle of gooseflesh running over Ixin's body. She shuddered, hoping that Ophiel wouldn't notice; the Justiciars were sure to interpret any sign of frailty as a sign she was not fit to leave their care. Ophiel met Ixin's eyes and the look of concern on the Justiciar's face told the sorceress that the woman had noticed the tremble.

"Yes?" Ixin repeated, a note of indignation in her voice as she lifted her head and squared her shoulders.

"Are you unwell, my lady?" Ophiel asked with enough genuine concern that Ixin felt her irritation melt away. She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said. "It's cold. That's all." She looked away and caught sight of the strange, dark-haired woman in the mirror. "I never used to get cold," she added.

"I understand," the Justiciar said and Ixin almost wanted to scream that she did not. No one could possibly understand what it was like to find yourself so alien. But she didn't. Instead she said, "Thank you."

Ophiel smiled and went to the wardrobe. She drew out some fur wraps that would help to keep winter's teeth out of Ixin's flesh. She lay them across the bed and said, "The High Justiciar is going to be reading from the Writ after lunch today. I thought you might want to join me." Ixin looked at the guileless woman and smiled.

"That would be fine," she said.



Elsewhere...​

"This is a waste of time," Cerrakean grumbled, swiping casually at a thick, woody vine that hung down before her. Her glittering black scimitar neatly severed the vegetation, dropping it with a muffled fwump! to the ground. She stooped to duck through the new opening. A moment later, Maleko did likewise, although he continued to consult the _Tome of Worldly Memory_ without looking up.

"On the contrary, Cerrakean, this is the only use of our time that makes any sense," the elf assured her. "All of the divinations indicate that the other coins - and the other Grey Companions - have gone to the Astral Plane. So unless you have some undisclosed ability to _Plane Shift_ us there, finding the World Serpent Inn is our best chance to continue the hunt." Cerrakean snorted and spat a gobbet of phlegm into the undergrowth.

"Who builds an inn out here in the middle of nowhere?" she asked. "This is pure wilderness. There's nothing for miles!" The elf sighed.

"Not yet," he told the hobgoblin. "The Inn won't achieve cotermination with Orune at the Fairy Well portal until tonight at sundown. So you should spend more time looking for it and less time arguing with me. If we don't find it by sundown, we'll have to wait an entire moonsdance for the next cotermination." Cerrakean pressed on, her lip curling back from yellowing fangs.

"Elves..." she muttered and swiped disgustedly at some more vegetation.



The Fairy Well was all but invisible beneath its tangled shroud of vegetation. Together Del and Cerrakean were able to clear away enough of the greenery to reveal the Well's dark shaft leading into the depths beneath the forest floor. The repeating symbol of a serpent curled into a horizontal figure eight eating its own tail was worked around the lip of the Well and Maleko let out an excited laugh at its discovery.

"That's it!" he cheered. "That's the symbol of the World Serpent Inn!" Cerrakean looked first at the symbol and then around them at the press of trees.

"So where's the inn?" she demanded and Maleko raised a thin pale hand.

"The inn will arrive at sunset," he told her with the certainty of one who trusted absolutely in his books.



Sunset wasn't far off, but each of them possessed excellent night vision so it wasn't immediately apparent when Orin's Shield at last took its rest. Their first indication was the faint sound of voices coming from the Fairy Well. As they peered down into its black depths, the smell of cooking meat and pipe smoke rose up to meet them. Far below them they could make out the light-etched outline of a door set into the side of the shaft. They could also see that there was now a wooden ladder leading down from the top of the well to the door.

Maleko went for it at once, but Del put a hand on the elf's elbow. The janissary looked meaningfully at his own arms and armor and said, "Perhaps I should go first." Maleko smiled sheepishly.

"Of course," he said, motioning to the ladder. "Good idea."



The descent was easy enough and the sounds of voices and the clink of glasses and cutlery grew louder as Del drew nearer the door. At last he reached it and paused. Below him he could see the surface of the water reflecting back the starlight above. And looking upwards he saw his two companions peering at him expectantly over the side.

"Go on!" Cerrakean urged and Del nodded, pushing on the door.

It opened easily onto the central chamber of the World Serpent Inn which resembled nothing so much as any one of a dozen well-appointed taverns Del had been in during his lifetime, with plank floors underfoot and venerable wooden beams overhead. This common room was a large, rectangular chamber dominated by a pair of flagstone fireplaces, one at each end in which fires burned and spits of meat sizzled and popped. Great tables and heavy oak chairs fill the space in between, and patrons gathered around these tables in groups of twos and threes to chat, but many turned to regard him as he entered. A balcony with more tables, accessible via a spiral staircase in one corner, formed a partial second floor for the chamber and more faces looked down from this vantage point as well.

Many of the faces were human, although he saw one with dark skin and horns sitting at a table with a well-groomed half-orc. At another a massive creature which appeared to be made at least half of stone drank with a pair of dwarves with brass skin and beards that seemed to burn perpetually without being consumed. What Del at first took for an avarial was just ducking through a doorway at the rear of the chamber; but his wings were too shiny, his platinum hair too perfect for him to be anything less than a celestial. He had with him a young woman who spared Del a backward glance that seemed to burn as she left the room.

"You should go see Mitchifer, the barkeep," a buzzing voice to Del's left said. The half elf turned to see what looked like an animated suit of articulated plate armor. It bore a curious triangular mark of three circles connected by lines upon its helm and a series of raised characters were worked into its breastplate: KRK-7.

"Even I can tell that you are lost, fleshling," the armor said, its voice underscored by a tinny buzzing like a wasp's wings. It raised a three-fingered hand and pointed at a burly, bearded man standing behind the bar. "Speak with Mitchifer. He will tell you what to do."

His first inclination was to chase down the celestial. Someone of such an honorable nature might prove to be a beneficial ally in a place like this. But that door was now closed, and Del had serious concerns about what dimension he might find, should he go chasing celestials out doors of taverns that disappeared at regular intervals. Scanning behind the bar, he decided on the man he presumed to be Mitchifer and began in that direction.

He had spent plenty of time in taverns with Omar Lagasse, but leaving Maleko and Cerrakean at the top of the well behind the door gave the place a surreal feeling. Most of the patrons turned their attention away as he maneuvered across the room, but he had to endure a few lingering stares.

Mitchifer was somewhere in his middle forties, and looked as if he had tended bar all his life. He had the practiced air of a man completely within his element. As Del approached, Mitchifer gave him an appraising glance and placed a pewter mug of ale in front of him. 

Del gave a slight smile and nodded his thanks. He took a long draught and began to organize his thoughts when two more mugs were slapped down next to the first. He frowned, thinking perhaps Mitchifer had misread him as a man of the drink, at which point Del paused to consider that perhaps he had been drinking too much lately. But then his shoulder was gripped roughly and he half-turned to find Cerrakean and Maleko sidling up to the bar as well.

"Going to leave us in the well while you have all the fun, were you?" Cerrakean joked, her pointed teeth bared in a grin. 



Before long, Maleko and Mitchifer were engaged in a detailed discussion of beer and ale brewing techniques. It just so happened that the Maltalia family had learned of some unusual fermentation processes in the course of trading with the hill dwarves of Rockhome.

Officially, trade with the dwarves was declared illegal when the Diviners rose to power in Hule, cutting off contact between Rockhome and the rest of Orune, but Del said nothing on the matter. Maleko had been able to correctly identify the type of grain used to produce the keg beer Mitchifer was serving this day, much to the barman's amazement. And that sort of connection was just the thing to turn the man's attitude in their favor. Mentioning the questionable legality of how Maleko had obtained that knowledge would do nothing but hurt their cause.



Del and Cerrakean passed the time mingling with the more "approachable" patrons in an effort to glean information which might help in their search. Del spoke at length with the a pair of humans and Cerrakean went head to head in a game of drunken daggers with the bearded dwarves. But, in the end it was Maleko's camaraderie with Mitchifer that yielded the best results. The barkeep was confident that the person who could deliver them to the Astral Plane was Grawl, captain of an astral tradesman called the Dire Hag. And the best way to find him was through his agent, a halfling by the name of Bloj who operated in the City of Doors. 



The trio resigned to their rooms for the night, Maleko promising to send along a barrel of the Maltalio's finest ale as a personal gesture of gratitude.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Jan 5, 2009)

Ixin better be careful, the next time she comes back she's likely to be reduced to having merely a dragon bloodline, and the time after that she'll come back as a kobold as her draconic heritage keeps bleeding away each time.

Imagine the party's conundrum if some unsavory person in the WSI was looking for a group of nieve Primes to do a job for them... Like a _purge the wicked_ balor?


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## Jon Potter (Jan 11, 2009)

*[Interludes #4] The Astral Ship*

"He sent for you, too?" Ixin asked as she approached Ayremac. The holy warrior was standing in front of the door leading to High Justiciar Coliam's private suite of chambers. This part of the Court was ancient and cramped and Ayremac looked wholly out of place in such surroundings - like a bit of polished mithril in a dung heap. He almost seemed to glow.

"Yes," the half-celestial sighed. "And judging by your presence here as well, I can guess the reason for his summons has to do with Justiciar Galmache." The woman looked curious.

"Oh?" she asked, stepping up to him and clutching her fur wrap more closely about herself.

"Yes. He seems to feel that you and I need to get back to the world," Ayremac told her and she looked back at him, her square jaw set proudly. She was so unlike the Ixin that he'd known before the samsara sword - short where she'd been tall, round where she'd been angular. But the look of grim determination on her face was the same as it had been in the days following her recovery in the Test of Fire. Even if the features were changed, the expression was the same.

"Sunathear-othokent," she said in draconic, her tone proud, almost haughty before she switched back to the common tongue. "He's right. I welcome the chance to test my magic against evil once more."

"You may well get your chance, Lady Chaririejir," Justiciar Galmache said as he approached the pair with a chalice atop a wooden serving tray in his hands. Ayremac looked at the man and frowned.

"What have you done, honored justiciar?" the Officer of Umba asked and Galmache shook his head and stepped up to the door.

"Not, I, my boy," the cleric replied. "The High Justiciar sent for you himself." He rapped on the door and then went inside, leaving the way open for Ayremac and Ixin to follow.

The High Justiciar's chambers were surprisingly simple. They were well appointed, but far from lavish with floor to ceiling bookshelves on nearly every wall, their shelves packed with tomes and scrolls of law. The chamber was warm (which pleased Ixin greatly) and light with the scent of recently-burned incense.

The High Justiciar sat in a wing-backed chair across the room with an ancient book spread across his lap. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had the look of a man who had endured a sleepless night. Galmache and Ayremac and Ixin all bowed respectfully as was customary, awaiting a word from the leader of the church.

"Rise, all," Coliam said and they did. Justiciar Galmache offered the chalice and the high priest took it and drank before speaking further. "You know of the temple at Amphabese?" he asked, looking at Ayremac and Ixin.

"Yes, Lord Justiciar," the holy warrior said at once, but Ixin shook her head.

"I do not," she admitted and High Justiciar Coliam nodded sagely as if he had expected this. He gestured at Ayremac.

"Tell her, Sword Ayremac," the cleric instructed and the half-celestial nodded deferentially.

"The temple at Amphabese stands outside Ciron's Town on the River Luggh, just east of Morganth," Ayremac began. "It served as a bastion of our faith since before Ciron's Town itself was founded and has withstood invasion by orc and goblin hordes from Roybernth more times than can easily be counted."

"And what of Fedifensor?" the High Justiciar prompted.

"Fedifensor was a holy sword, a mighty relic that was instrumental in sending more than one fiend back to the lower planes," the holy warrior told Ixin. "It was lost three centuries ago during a demon attack on the temple at Amphabese." Ayremac looked to Justiciar Coliam for verification.

"Last night, I received a vision from Umba Herself," the High Justiciar said. "In it, She told me that the time had come to recover Fedifensor." He sipped from the chalice and looked levelly at Ayremac and Ixin. "And that you two are the ones who will do it."



"Quite auspicious, your being called like this," Justiciar Galmache said later as they retraced their steps through the Court of Umba. "You two get sent on a holy quest while I stay here fetching wine for the Lord Justiciar." The cleric tapped on the wooden serving tray he carried under one arm. Ayremac cast a sidelong glance at his mentor and snorted lightly.

"And you had nothing to do with the High Justiciar's choice?" the holy warrior asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. Galmache feigned indignance.

"You wound me, my boy!" he moaned. "To think that I would go behind your back to-"

"I KNOW you would go behind my back if you thought it the right thing to do, honored justiciar," Ayremac interrupted. "The question is DID you." Justiciar Galmache looked gravely at Ayremac and then laughed.

"Ah, you know me too well!" he chuckled. "But as I said before, the answer is no, I did not. Your name came down from on high."

"But-?" Ixin began, her brows knitted in confusion. "I know that I've only begun my studies of The Writ, but doesn't Umba's First Precept forbid such direct contact?" She looked from Ayremac to Galmache and back again.

"Indeed it does," the cleric said. "But you misunderstand what the Lord Justiciar told you. When he says that Umba spoke to him directly, he means the message came in a dream and most likely by one of Her heavenly attendants." The sorcerer nodded her understanding.

"So there is room... potentially... for High Justiciar Coliam to have... interpreted... the message... incorrectly?" Ixin suggested, picking her words with the utmost care. She felt at ease with the clergy of Umba, but she realized all too well that she did not fully understand the intricacies of the church and didn't want to inadvertently tread on any taboo subjects.

"The High Justiciar is very adept at interpreting such dreams," Galmache said, smiling reassuringly. "You and Ayremac will find Fedifensor... if anyone can."

"But why us?" the Officer of Umba protested. "There are Justiciars here and in Widdershin who have more experience... Officers who wield greater power..." 

"You let your own insecurities hide the obvious from you, my boy" the cleric replied. "The Lord Justiciar chose you because Umba chose you. And Her wisdom is beyond measure." Ayremac said nothing, but it was clear that he was unconvinced.

"Fedifensor is a mighty weapon for Good, Ayremac. It is anathema to fiends, true, but is also bane to undead. Do you truly feel no kinship for such a blade? Can you not imagine the good you could do with it in your hands?" Galmache continued. "And it has gone beyond the walls of our realm. Into the planes beyond. Who better to seek it than you, whose blood flows with the powers of those planes, and Ixin, who actually hails from worlds beyond?" Neither holy warrior nor sorcerer said anything at that and Justiciar Galmache shook his head and waved a dismissive hand.

"To question the wisdom of choosing you to recover this symbol of hope - in this dark time - not only flirts with blasphemy, it calls your own intelligence into question," the priest said. "Now go prepare yourselves. We will cast what divinations we may to better guide you in your quest. But you will leave in the morning."



Elsewhere...​
The alley was close and dark and Del took an immediate dislike to it. It was a good site for an ambush and if, as Del suspected, this purulent halfling, Bloj was leading them into a trap, then this would be a likely spot for the double cross. He caught Cerrakean's eye and saw that she had come to the same conclusion. She nodded once and mouthed the words, "Be ready."

The ex-janissary focused on Bloj's back as the hobbit led them away from the main street. Del spared a quick glance upward and found that he could no longer see the sky, which was something of a relief since there wasn't actually any sky to see. That had been the first thing that he'd noticed upon stepping through the portal to this... place. Where there should have been the blue of Merrika's Vault, he could dimly see the rooftops of distant buildings. Somehow, the entire city was built on the inside of a sphere though how this might be possible Del didn't know. It hurt his head to think too hard about it and made his stomach twist uneasily to look up at those buildings so far away and imagine another traveler looking up and peering down on him...

He collided suddenly with Maleko. They had stopped in front of a dilapidated hovel whose upper story canted dangerously over them as if it might pounce at any moment. Or just give up and collapse into rotten timber.

"Here we are," Bloj said, smiling a brown-toothed smile and gesturing daintily at the door. It was largely unremarkable apart from the door handle which was worked into the shape of a wrought iron anchor. Cerrakean snorted.

"THIS is where your SHIP is?" the hobgoblin growled and leaned down to put her face near the halfling's. "Inside a building?" Cerrakean's face was enough to make most men recoil, but Bloj merely made a kissing motion with his painted mouth and reached inside his garish longcoat. He produced a strange brass key graven with symbols and having three angular protrusions coming off an oval ring.

"You're not on the prime anymore, gorgeous," he told the hobgoblin. "Stop thinking inside the little box you call reality and open your eyes to the possibilities." He turned toward the door as Cerrakean took a threatening step toward him. Maleko held up a manicured hand to stop her and shook his head when she looked up at him. She made a fist and shook it at the halfling and the elf pointed to his eyes and then gestured at the door.

Bloj smirked as though he had eyes in the back of his head and was enjoying the drama playing out behind him in pantomime. Then he struck the brass key against a small brass plate set beside the door and it began to hum in his hand. He passed the vibrating key over the splintered surface of the door in a well-practiced and very complex pattern. Then the door itself began to fade and Bloj turned back to the companions, casually stuffing his key back inside his coat. He smiled.

"See, sweetheart?" he said. "You can't go judging things at face value out here. Doing that'll get you dead right quick! Welcome to the Dire Hag."

Maleko wasn't really listening to what the halfling was saying, he was entirely absorbed looking inside the ramshackle building. It seemed to be filled with silver mist. A gangplank stretched from the stoop of the door off into the fog and dimly he could see what looked like a three-masted schooner made of gray wood with furled, black sails. A large shadowy figure jangled toward them along the gangway and Maleko stepped back when he saw the chain-draped shape for what it was: a kyton, a chain devil.

"Ah, here's Shroud now," Bloj said, apparently unperturbed by the fiend's presence. "He'll collect your payment and take you to see Captain Grawl."

The chain devil stepped fully into view its mouth and eyes and nose cavity glowing orange as if its entire head were hollow and lit from within by a torch. Barbed and hooked chains depended from its body, a bizarre combination of jewelry and  clothing and weapon all in one. It extended one thick hand and waited payment.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 18, 2009)

*[Realms #462] Elsewhere on the Astral Plane*

"So, we're on an Astral Plane... or is it THE Astral Plane?" Morier asked, surveying their surroundings such as they were. It didn't take long. "I don't mean this to be as ignorant as it probably sounds, but are there... things here?" He regarded his companions hoping for some clarification. Noxin just shrugged

"Don't look at me!" the half-giant said, letting out a bewildered chuckle. "Hey, I heard there IS an Astral Plane... but that's about it. I never took no interest in it. I don't think this place has much treasure, after all."

"Not as such, no," Saelus said and scanned around, and when he did so the other two saw that his eyes had taken on a bright, emerald green color and his complexion had changed as well. It now had a pale, greenish tint dotted with sandy freckles. His hair, it seemed, had become even darker, being the brown of freshly-turned earth. But where it had previously hung lank, it now seemed much more vibrant and healthy. His mustache, too, just seemed to stand so much stronger, nearly shrouding his mouth entirely with its lush growth. He sighed expansively and the fronds waved in the breeze. [1]

"I should have payed more attention to the planar classes when my teacher was talking," he admitted. "I was always more interested in alternative summonings, like our _Sandstorm_ cover. Morier? Any idea which way to go now?" He looked back at his companions and smiled at their curious expressions. "What are you two staring at?" he asked, bewildered and for a moment neither man answered him.

"Nothin', Colonel," Noxin said at last. "You just look kinda... green in this weird light is all." Saelus nodded and gestured widely to take in the whole of the plane.

"Yes. Well this place will take some getting used to," he agreed before turning his attention back to Morier. "But as I was saying, does your connection tell you where to finish this tale, Morier?"

Morier carefully took inventory of himself and heard an echo of a voice - "I am with you" - coming from somewhere deep within, but the constant presence of the Pull was gone. For the first time in moonsdances he had no idea which way to go.

"No," he admitted, his eyes drifting around in their sockets looking for something... anything... to give him an indication of which way to proceed. But he saw nothing save his allies, two virtual strangers to him. Rather lamely he said, "I guess checking out our immediate surroundings would be the first order of business then..."

"I think I see a rock floating over there," Saelus said, pointing. "Let's get to that, regroup, take inventory, and see where we will go after that."

"Well, it seems as good a plan as any," Noxin said, anxious to put something solid beneath his feet.



The rock turned out to be quite little indeed, with just enough space on a single side for the three companions to sit or stand without pressing against one another. It was generally ovoid in shape, flattened on two opposing sides and jagged around the circumference, as if it were a piece punched out of a larger wall of stone. It was fairly close, though far enough away to determine that Saelus was the fastest flier amongst them. Morier did not lag far behind, but Noxin could only muster a speed half what the war-wizard could. He seemed made of lead.

Still they all made it to the drifting bit of stone, and settled onto it gratefully. They sat in silence for a time, each man taking inventory of himself and his place in the current situation. Presently, Noxin took up a position as guard, hammer at the ready in two huge hands as he stared off into the silver void, happy to have something to do. Saelus, occupied himself examining the depleted Unity sword, having scooped up the sabre before the demiplane collapsed and deposited them on the Astral. Morier sat and looked sadly at the scrap of paper on which Huzair had scrawled his last words. After a time, he picked up his dead friend's _Haversack_ and opened the polished brass clasps.

"I would like to take possesion of the mage's spellbook," Saelus said at once and Morier glowered at him. "Not to be greedy, you understand. But I need some spells out of it, and Huzair and I did discuss giving each other access to our spell repertoires."

"Huzair's ashes haven't even hit the ground yet, Colonel," the albino spat, color rising unnaturally to his cheeks. The intensity of his glare made Saelus blink.

"I am willing to give it back to the party afterwards if that is what you all want..." he placated. Noxin huffed.

"It don't matter to me," the half-giant said over his broad shoulder. "Unless it's a book o' treasure maps I ain't all that interested."

Morier's face softened and he sighed and held up a hand. "Just... Just give me a moment to look through the bag. Okay?" Saelus nodded and gave the eldritch warrior the time and space to do so.

After a time that may have been a minute or an hour - it was difficult to judge - Morier called to the mage.

"There's two books in here," he said and produced a pair of traveling spellbooks. One was bound in black leather and adorned with silver studs. The other was green and cut in a maple leaf design favored by elves. "One of them's Huzair's original, but the other I think, belonged to a friend of Shamalin's. Huzair was working out the spells in it. I'll let you have your choice of one."

Saelus took one and Morier returned the other to the traveling bag with a surprisingly heavy heart. He laughed sardonically at that thought and pressed his hand against the gemstone half-embedded in his chest.

"What's so funny?" Noxin asked, grinning but Morier shook his head.

"Nothing," he said and got to his feet. His face was once more serious as he began, "Okay. Now that we have the heart, we need to reunite it with the body. Which, you will remember, had been 'cast into the void'."

"Remember?" Noxin snorted, his own smile gone. "Seems to me, I'd have to know it first to remember it, wouldn't I? You've been playin' things pretty close to the vest, so far, Morier."

The albino looked up at him, appraisingly and nodded. "That was not entirely by design, Noxin," he said and fished a small scroll from his belt pouch. "I am not the most trusting of men, I'll admit, but we've not had a lot of downtime since we first met either. A single evening is not enough time to grasp the whole of our quest."

"We seem to have some time now," Saelus suggested, gesturing once more to indicate the entirety of the Astral Plane.

"I agree. And here's the important information about our current path," Morier began, unfurling the scroll and reading what he'd written there. "Aphyx ripped Dridana's heart from her chest and imprisoned its essence inside a gemstone of immense size... Her body, the goddess of filth cast into the void where it drifts still... Once the heart is reunited with the body, the Fruitful One will be reborn. And great and terrible shall be her wrath."

There was silence for a time after that as Noxin and Saelus pondered this information. At last the barbarian shrugged.

"I wonder if her wrath will be towards those who put her back together?" he considered, his brow furrowed as he thought.

"I would suspect not," Morier said. Then his face darkened a bit and he added, "But nothing would really surprise me."

"So, we are looking for a great floating corpse of the Goddess Dridana?" Noxin observed, looking around as if it might be drifting by at that very moment. It wasn't.

"Yes," Morier told him. "Unfortunately, I've been relieved of the Pull that guided me this far, so we really just have to fumble our way into information. Unless anybody sees a road sign pointing the way." He smiled at that and Noxin returned the grin.

"Ah, but information is where i come into the picture," Saelus said, holding up one thin finger and tapping the side of his head. "I have a great ear for listening in on details about what we are trying to find."

"Well, I am pretty well known in my tribe as a treasure seeker, and finder of clues... and... stuff... too," Noxin frowned as his assertion lost momentum. He looked away.

"So, where Noxin has a detailed eye for oddities, I have the ear for it," Saelus said, utterly oblivious to the fact that the half-giant was exaggerating his own abilities. The wizard smiled. "We complement each other that way. It seems good to me."

"Even so, we are sorely undermanned right now, especially when you consider what the cost in lives has been in getting us this far," Morier reminded. "We've no healer among us, and while the three of us may well swing hefty swords, we are fighting some serious evil, and we're going to need help. The sad fact is that everyone I have met since I left Hillville Junction is either dead or can't seem to reconcile themselves with being here doing what we're doing. Somehow or another, we have been provided for every step of the way. Balance has been assured by replacing each departure with a new arrival, but I can't possibly presume to know how long that's going to last. And looking about the ground we're standing on right now, I don't expect a lot of help to come walking up to us prepared to join our fight."

"That does seem unlikely," Saelus observed, peering once more into the distance.

Noxin pointed at Morier's chest and bluntly asked, "That thing give you any abilities?" Morier took a step backward and nearly went over the side of their little island. His hand immediately went to the spot where the gem protruded from his sternum.

"What?" he stammered. "I don't-"

"Come on, Morier! You think we can't see it?" Noxin laughed. "All I'm sayin' is, I know your group carried those swords around for a while an' never figured to fuse 'em together... Maybe this gem gives you an ability as well." He shrugged. "Huzair talked to me about his trip to the Astral Plane. He said he tricked people into thinking he was more powerful then he was. Maybe you could do the same... That gem, in your chest, maybe it will alter other folk's perception of you. You know, if they use the Weave to try and tell things about you. That'd be somethin' at least." Morier considered the barbarian's words, his hand still pressed to his chest.

"Maybe," he admitted at last. "But Huzair was a far more powerful wizard than any of us really gave him credit for. And you can't either discount the fact that he might have been the best con artist there ever was. So his experiences here may prove to be far different from ours... In fact what he told us of his experiences here may have been far different from reality too."

"Well, you knew him better than me," Noxin said. "But we should get movin' on... to somethin'. Sittin' in this void ain't my idea of fun."

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

[1] Saelus received the half-plant template found in Green Ronin's _Advanced Bestiary_ from his experiences on the demiplane imprisoning Dridana's essence. Noxin had the same opportunity but his player declined.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 25, 2009)

*[Realms #463] Ship Ahoy!*

"Let's rest for a while, anyway," Saelus suggested. "I could use some time to look over this book and heal up a bit." He stretched out as much as the limited space would allow. Noxin huffed and looked at some of the green vines growing from his open wounds.

"I guess," he said and wrapped the vine around his finger and then yanked it out of his body. It came free with a sucking sound and revealed about half a foot of blood-slicked roots. "Ow!" the half-giant grunted and cast the thing into the void, disgusted.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Morier said. In fact, he KNEW it wasn't... somehow. Noxin glanced down at him and nodded.

"Yeah," he admitted and looked critically at the bleeding rent near his elbow where the plant had taken root. Morier approached with his hands open and spread wide unconsciously mimicking the way he'd seen Malcolm approach wounded animals years before.

"Let me have a look," he said, his voice throaty and distant, his eyes glittering like rubies in the strange silver light of the Astral Plane. Noxin could see that same red glow pulsing from beneath the albino's chain shirt, but as Morier laid his hands on the half-giant's arm, that glow turned to a deep green. Jade fire crackled around his hands and played across Noxin's wounded arm. The barbarian jerked the limb away so violently that he almost sent himself tumbling backward off their little piece of solid ground.

"What did you do?" he demanded, glaring down at the pale elf. He hadn't been hurt by the discharge of energy, but you couldn't be too careful when it came to magic. That was a lesson he'd learned a long time ago.

"I don't know," Morier said, nonplussed. He looked at his hands and then up at Noxin's fierce visage. "I just... sensed... that I could heal you."

"Heal me?" the half-giant barked and then looked at his arm. As he watched the wound there was closing seemingly of its own accord. He noticed too that his ribs, which had been paining him since the hit he'd taken from the elemental, were growing less and less bothersome by the second. He grinned and said, "Huh!"

"Is this the work of the gem?" Saelus asked as he watched Noxin's injuries slowly correct themselves. Morier pressed a hand to his chest again and considered.

"I think so," he said. "I mean I guess it is." Saelus nodded and turned to face the eldritch warrior.

"Then the next logical question is: can you do it again?" he asked, indicating his own injuries with a wry smile.



After Morier used his new-found ability to heal both his companions to full health he returned to Huzair's _Valiant Vessel_ bag and Saelus buried his nose in his new spellbook. Noxin put on the pair of goggles he kept perched on his broad forehead. Then he went back to his vigil, scanning all around for any sign of anything.

Anything at all.

And for a time there was silence.



At last, Noxin could bear it no longer and sighed expansively.

"I say her body's got to be around here, and it's got to be huge," he told the others. "I say we start sniffing around, asking sly questions about dead gods, etc." Morier looked up from a piece of parchment he was perusing and angled his head at the Colonel.

"It seems as though Saelus is the 'information guy' here," he said. "We'll let him see what he can find out."

"We still have to come up with the right questions in the right circumstances," the mage said, glancing up from his book. Noxin sighed again.

"Didn't you meet some dead god doctor or something?" the barbarian asked. "Huzair mentioned him while we were resting. Couldn't we just use his research as a cover story?"

"We do want to ask it subtly, as we don't want to let our opponents find out how far we have gone, and/or have yet to go," Saelus explained, bookmarking his spellbook with a finger and turning his green eyes on the half-giant. "I have no knowledge of that doctor type you describe, so I can only guess, and I dislike guessing in such topics. In my experience, it's not healthy to do so."

"Yeah. Well sittin' here ain't exactly increasing our chances of-" Noxin began but stopped as a new voice spoke from nearby.

"Oh, hello," it said cheerfully. "Are we there?"

Morier stood, holding what looked like a stone tablet in two hands. "No," he said to the tablet. "I'm afraid we ran into a little unexpected trouble."

"Morier?" Saelus asked, cautiously and the albino turned the tablet around. A wizened stone face was worked into the other side of the plaque, with an intricately carved beard and eyes that seemed to twinkle with intelligence despite being made of stone.

"Saelus... Noxin... Let me introduce Grandfather Plaque," Morier said. "He's been languishing in the _Handy Haversack_ for... Gods! How long has it been?"

"There's no point in asking me," Grandfather Plaque answered, a smile touching his stony lips. "Time means little to one such as me."

"Fascinating!" Saelus said. "You're a guardian construct, correct?"

"Correct," Grandfather Plaque said, swiveling his eyes around to look at the wizard. "I specialize in guarding doors."

"Well there ain't a lot of doors around here just now," Noxin grumbled, removing his _Eyes of the Eagle_.

"No, I don't believe there are," he said. "Umm... Where... are we, exactly?" Morier handed the talking face over to Noxin.

"Why don't you explain it to him while Saelus rests?" Morier suggested and Noxin looked from the albino to the stone face and back again. Then he shrugged and turned his broad back on the others.

"Well, let's see... I was born in a little place called Red Cave," Noxin began and his tale stretched on for some time. Grandfather Plaque listened attentively, asking questions (mostly about various doors) when he was confused and eventually Noxin reached the point where Morier pulled the construct from Huzair's _Haversack_. By then, Saelus had studied the spellbook to his satisfaction and Morier had finished for the time being going through the items that Huzair had left behind.

"Can we all agree that we can't sit here, doin' nothin'?" Noxin complained. "Let's just pick a direction and start floating."

"Oh, that should be interesting," Grandfather Plaque mused. "I've never floated before."

"I'm ready," Morier said, looking at Saelus. The wizard nodded back.

"Let's float that way," the Colonel suggested pointing in a more or less random direction and began floating that way. The others followed.

"Oh, what fun!" Grandfather Plaque chuckled merrily.



He was wrong, of course.

The journey wasn't fun at all.

What it was was boring.

Very boring.

Right up until they spotted the ship.



It was Noxin who saw it first, thanks to his magical goggles, and he called it a ship because it was obviously a vessel of some kind. It wasn't like any ship that any of them had ever seen before, however. It looked a bit like an insect or giant spider, with four leg-like projections at the fore of the vessel that curved forward - at the same time graceful and deadly in their aspect. Behind those bladed projections bulged a large "pod" along which were visible numerous round windows. As it glided silently toward them they could see at least three weapons that looked a bit like ballistae mounted on the ship's hull.

"Guys... Hold for a turn," the half-giant called gripping his goggles with both hands as if doing so might improve the image. "I am seeing a monstrous ship ahead." He pointed and offered the goggles to Morier and Saelus in turn.

"These glasses should give us an edge, so hopefully they have not seen us," the barbarian said hopefully. "I would say we form up, you two behind me, and let this thing pass. We could try and maintain our distance from it, and then move on."

A hatch amidst the long projections on the ship was open and lit from within. Silhouetted there were several ready shapes, so big that they dwarfed even Noxin. Saelus peered at them through the goggles and blanched.

"Those are umber hulks!" he said, alarmed.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 1, 2009)

*[Realms #464] The Away Team*

"Umber hulks!" Grandfather Plaque squeaked, as Noxin was about to hand him off to Morier to stuff back in the haversack. "That's not good, not good at all," he began to babble. "I had a cousin once who was the door knocker for a nobleman. Mounted on solid stone and yet... yet, completely run through by an umber hulk! Whatever you do, don't look in their eyes!" He took a shuttering breath, then composed his features and suggested lightly, "Perhaps we ought to go the other way?"

"What?" Noxin scoffed, smiling at Grandfather Plaque as if the construct were growing senile. "I'd always heard that these umber hulks can actually be pretty friendly. If you look into their eyes you're supposed to catch a glimpse of your future. That's all." Saelus looked at the half-giant with his jaw resting nearly on his chest.

"Right. Noxin, here I have to correct you," the colonel said taking the glasses of his face and handing them back to the barbarian. "Those Umber hulks actually confuse the opponent who looks too much into their eyes, in order to make quick work of them. So the only future you'd see would be a short one, I am afraid to say."

Well... I guess I could be wrong," Noxin admitted, crestfallen. "Maybe it's leprechauns I was thinking of."

"Umber hulks aren't at all friendly creatures," Grandfather Plaque asserted. "Umber hulks like to eat people!" Saelus nodded thoughtfully at this revelation.

"I thought so," he said, sagely. "I was not taught of the dubious races and their feeding habits, but it does bring to mind like creatures such as trolls and similar typical creatures."

"So, we just avoid these buggers and move on I guess," Noxin said, reiterating his earlier plan.

"I don't think that's going to be possible," Morier said, pointing at the vessel, which was closing unerringly on their position. 

"Well... They seem to be turning this way, boys," Noxin observed hoisting his hammer and moving to put himself between the ship and his companions. "I guess we just don't look in their eyes... right?"

"That will certainly help," Saelus suggested.

The spider-like vessel slowed and stopped still at a distance of 200 feet and the umber hulks began to spit forth from the open hatch. There were six in all and they moved directly to intercept. The first two had already broken from the pack when the ballista located on the belly of the strange ship belched smoke and what looked like a ball of goo exploded behind them, filling a ten foot area with sticky strands that rapidly hardened and collapsed in upon themselves.

"What's that they're shootin' at us?" Noxin growled. "Snot?" He set himself to meet the coming wave of attackers trying his best to look as threatening as he could against critters that outweighed him by about twice.

Morier raised a hand and the gem on his chest flared green. A _Storm_ of _Ice_ exploded amidst the umber hulk's ranks, catching all but the lead pair in its punishing chill. Their pain-filled cries and the accompanying crackle of hailstones on armored flesh seemed startlingly loud in the strangeness of the astral plane. But none of them took much time to reflect upon it as it became apparent that none of the hulks had been destroyed by Morier's attack.

"It appears that we are not negotiating with these beasts," Grandfather Plaque observed and pursed his lips. Four bolts of energy flashed from his puckered mouth, arcing around Noxin to strike the nearest of the umber hulks in the chest. The _Magic Missiles_ burned four tiny holes in the creature's carapace, but it did not seem terribly inconvenienced by the damage.

Saelus was obliged to float to the side a bit in order to line up his own attack, but he presented a crystal prism at the horde of monsters and spoke the words of a spell. It went off immediately, faster than any spell he'd ever cast in his life, and it almost caused him to miss as a result, but he was a seasoned war wizard and the _Quickened Rainbow Blast_ struck three of the hulks, including the only one that remained uninjured.

They were more agile than their bulk would suggest, however, and the nearer two managed to avoid the spell's full effect. The third, bore the brunt of the damage, shrieking again as it took the hit.

None of them fell and then they were upon them.

As they closed their aberrant nature was plain. The powerfully built creatures looked like a bizarre cross between a great ape and a beetle. Their low, rounded heads were dominated by massive pairs of mandibles and rows of triangular teeth. Above these were two big compound eyes like a beetle's, with two smaller eyes like an ape's in between. Armor plates covered virtually all of their chitinous bodies, whose scattered feelers resembled sparse hair.

The lead pair flew straight at Noxin, swiping at him with their claws and opening bloody rents in the half-giant's flesh. He took it and moved closer, swinging his hammer with all of the power his considerable frame could muster. The head of the massive weapon struck the hulk beneath the left arm, crushing its shell and spinning it around in the air. His follow-up connected beneath its head, snapping it up with a wet cracking noise that would have signaled the end of a less hardy foe. The umber hulk merely shrieked and floated backward away from the barbarian's hammer, trailing copious streams of blood as it did so.

With a thought Morier charged forward toward the weakened creature, the words of a _Bull's Strength_ spell on his lips as he went. Ravager was in his hands, and the saw-toothed blade seemed hungry after so long unused; it sliced downward, severing at the elbow the warding limb the hulk raised. The force of the blow buried the bastard sword in the monster's cranium, ending its life with a crunch.

A trio of hulks closed on the group, two heading for Morier and Noxin while the third went for Saelus. As they came they used their maddening gaze intending to soften up their opponents. But they underestimated their foes. The supernatural effect slid off Morier's natural spell resistance without effect and Saelus' will had been fashioned into a bulwark during the years of his training. Noxin...

Well Noxin enjoyed neither immunity to spells nor any great mental fortitude. But he did bear within his heart a strong hatred of anything that attacked him, and through his haze of _Confusion_ that desire burned like a beacon. He looked at the new arrivals and marked one as his target.

As it turned out, Grandfather Plaque had also marked that same creature as his own. The tiny construct sent a quartet of _Magic Missiles_ careening into the umber hulk's head, peppering its smaller pair of eyes with bolts of magical force.

The last of the hulks came in hard and fast, ignoring the use of its confusing gaze in favor of simply smashing its foe into ruin. It suffered for its haste, missing Saelus entirely as the colonel drew the Unity blade. He warded himself with a _Quickened Protection from Evil_ followed immediately by a _True Strike_ spell that was likewise _Quickened_ by the nature of the Astral Plane. Then he moved back, out of the umber hulk's immediate reach, forcing the creature to advance on him if it wished to attack.

Noxin was about to launch himself at the hulk he'd determined most deserved his wrath when he chanced to look into the face of the nearest of the creatures. It's weird eyes seemed to fill his vision and he decided that THIS was the foe for him. It would die and then so would anything else that stood against him.

The umber hulk, of course, had other ideas.

It slashed brutally at the half-giant with its claws and snapped at him with its scimitar-sized mandibles intending to end the barbarian's threat for once and all. Noxin was a wily opponent, however and he managed to deftly avoid all but one of the attacks. He took the slashing claw on the shoulder and the explosion of pain there brought his rage to the surface. It ripped free of its mental bonds, heralded by a primal roar of fury that gave the umber hulk pause. Which was long enough for the barbarian to slam his greathammer into its chest with a mighty underhand blow. The umber hulk doubled over and sailed backward ten feet from the impact.

Morier charged at it, channeling a first circle spell into Ravager as he went. The jagged blade slipped easily between the plates of armor protecting the hulk's flank and sent lightning coursing through its body. It was grievously wounded, but still managed to cling to life.

The umber hulks looked stupid, but they were anything but. They perceived no effect from their confusing gaze, and so they closed on their enemies. Two went at Noxin and one went for Morier. The barbarian suffered another scratch along his thick arm, but otherwise both warriors were protected by their armor.

Grandfather Plaque flew around, pelting his chosen enemy with _Magic Missiles_ and taunting the creature in Terran.

Saelus' gambit paid off and the umber hulk he was squared off against hurled itself at him with a single claw attack rather than utilizing its full array of natural weapons. The war wizard retaliated with his sabre, landing a glancing blow to the creature's throat that seemed to do little apart from anger the thing.

"Make kills and make it count!" the Colonel roared encouragement to his companions.

Some distance away, the severely wounded umber hulk turned its gaze purposefully on Morier forcing the eldritch warrior to lock eyes with it. As had happened to its fellows, however, its _Confusion_ power could not best the albino's spell resistance. Frustrated and rightly fearing for its life, it tried to withdraw, turning its back to Morier - which was all the more opportunity that he required. He buried a foot and a half of Ravager into the hulk's kidney eliciting a short-lived cry of pain as it violently expired.

Leaving Morier facing Noxin across the thing's fallen body.

The barbarian, in the grip of both his own battle frenzy and the umber hulks' repeated _Confusion_ attacks, looked at the albino without recognition. Foaming spittle flying from his lips he moved forward, propelled at Morier seemingly by the force of his hammerswing. The flaming head of the thing - which, Morier noted with strange detachment was actually bigger than his own torso - struck the albino squarely, knocking him backward passed the two hulks that lurked in the air nearby. Each took an opportunistic swipe at him, but neither managed to penetrate his armor. They fell on him anyway.

With Morier out of reach, Noxin directed his follow-up attack on the nearest of the umber hulks. This time, however, the blow went wide, glancing harmlessly off the creature's carapace. It turned from Morier and almost contemptuously slashed Noxin across the face, opening his flesh to the bone. Its second claw ripped open his throat sending blood spraying in all directions. He lingered for a moment, too angry to realize that he was dead on his feet. But then its enormous mandibles scissored down onto him, ending it.

And him.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Feb 1, 2009)

I've had a barbarian take the beserker PC before, usually he'd end up killing another party member rather than getting himself killed. Hopefully it won't result in Morier's death. 

Morier's probably thinking "it's got to be me, all of the rest of the party dies around me."


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## Jon Potter (Feb 1, 2009)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Morier's probably thinking "it's got to be me, all of the rest of the party dies around me."




For a long time, that was Ledare's angst. She got over it, eventually.

And things get much, much worse for Morier in upcoming installments.


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## darkhall-nestor (Feb 3, 2009)

That is so ruthless wow the party is down to 3 and stuck on another plane

The perfect time to ambush them with 12 umber hulks and a plane sailing ship full of god knows what, illitheds? Drow?

OVER KILL heavy on the KILL

That exceeds RBDMing by a long shot

P.S. 
Can’t wait for your next post


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## Jon Potter (Feb 5, 2009)

darkhall-nestor said:


> That is so ruthless wow the party is down to 3 and stuck on another plane
> 
> The perfect time to ambush them with 12 umber hulks and a plane sailing ship full of god knows what, illitheds? Drow?




Come on now! Drow wouldn't be very exotic; Morier *is* a drow, after all. And the illithids don't come until much later. So you'll have to just keep guessing.



> That exceeds RBDMing by a long shot




Is that flattery I hear? 

But seriously, things aren't _quite_ as bad as they seem right now.

For everyone but Noxin, I mean. For Noxin things are just as bad as they seem.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 8, 2009)

*[Realms #465] Taking Slaves... or Not*

Morier channeled another second circle spell through Ravager driving the bastard sword into the nearest hulk's abdomen. It shrieked in pain, but the cries were almost drowned out by the crackling sizzle of lightning arcing between the eldritch warrior and the umber hulk. Morier was unaffected by the feedback from his _Elemental Blade_ attack, but the umber hulk quivered and smoked from the terrible assault. It was clearly a few heartbeats away from death, but it clung stubbornly to life nonetheless.

Its fellow flailed desperately at the albino, but Morier managed to avoid both its claws. However, in doing so he set himself up for a direct hit from its mandibles. They slashed down savagely around his bare head, but despite the full brunt of the hulk's strength it left little more than a scratch on the albino's pale cheek.

Grandfather Plaque was so far managing to stay away from his own adversary's reach, forcing it to chase him down time and again. And each time moving just out of its grasp at the last second. He maneuvered himself so that his umber hulk was isolated from his allies and opened his stone mouth wide. He let loose with a _Shout_ that ravaged the hulk with sonic energy. Fine cracks that leaked a dark ichor spread across the creature's carapace as it writhed momentarily before expiring.

Saelus, too was trying his best to fight a tactical battle, but with somewhat less success than the tiny construct. The colonel's opponent lashed out a heavy claw and locked a grip on the man's leg. He tried to bring the Unity Blade down onto the thing's wrist, to break its grip, but the chitinous exoskeleton turned the sabre aside without damaging the creature in the slightest. Then it drew him into its embrace.

He tried desperately to twist free of its clutches, but each of its arms was bigger around than his entire body and he found himself crushed impotently against its scratchy, plated chest, his weapon pressed uselessly at his side.

From the corner of his eye, Morier saw another explosion of goo appear off to his right. The ship was still firing on them, but it was well clear of the combatants and quickly collapsed in upon itself. The eldritch warrior ignored it and instead launched himself at the horribly wounded umber hulk before him, burying nearly half of Ravager into the creature's belly. It spasmed weakly against him and fell still, tiny droplets of its blood forming a cloud around both it and Morier.

Before the albino could draw his bastard sword free of the thing, its companion was upon him. It locked its claws onto the elf's shoulder, but before it could solidify its grip, Morier twisted, dragging Ravager from one hulk's entrails and burying it in the other's. This time, he didn't stop with only half the blade and he sank the weapon deep. Hot lifeblood soaked his hands even as the jagged point of the sword erupted from the hulk's armored back. It let out a single spluttering gasp and sagged onto the elf. [ 1 ]

Grandfather Plaque spit another salvo of _Magic Missiles_ at the last umber hulk, striking its back with deadly accuracy as it fled toward the spider ship with Saelus in its clutches. It winced, but did not slacken its pace. The war wizard struggled, but it was hopeless; he was pinned.

Morier launched himself after the umber hulk rapidly closing the distance and sinking his blade into its flank. The creature shrieked but kept going, unwilling to lose its captured prey in favor of striking at another. It dug its claws deeper into the colonel's flesh and pressed on even as another volley of _Magic Missiles_ sizzled across its carapace.

Saelus felt the hulk's blood washing over him as it labored toward the ship. The mage chanced to look up and saw that the arachnoid vessel was turning, angling away from the combat.

Morier charged into the thing again, but this time his blade ricocheted off its armor without injuring the hulk in the slightest. Of course, that same armor offered no protection from Grandfather Plaque's _Magic Missiles_, and a moment later, four bolts of force pelted its head, cracking its carapace and causing the dead hulk to somersault forward, releasing the rumpled colonel as it did so.

"The ship," Saelus rasped, pointing just as the spider ship began moving off into the void faster than any of them could fly. They were left floating amidst the wreckage of battle.

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

[ 1] Morier scored a critical threat, rolled a critical threat to confirm the first critical, rolled a third critical threat to confirm the second threat, and the last roll was a hit (not a threat). But a triple crit is enough to trigger my instant kill rule. And so he did.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 15, 2009)

*[Realms #466] Searching for Solace*

"The ship," the mage said again and Grandfather Plaque sailed over to look into Saelus' face.

In a most bewildered voice the construct asked, "Certainly you don't mean for them to return?"

"I am loath to let a ship like that get away," the colonel explained. "It is a good opportunity for us."

"They are UMBER HULKS!" Grandfather Plaque countered, gnashing his stone teeth against each other as he spoke. "Not to mention that we are outnumbered and that ship was launching the most unfavorable green substance." He scrunched up his nose in distaste as he looked at the drying balls of goo floating nearby.

"They weren't all umber hulks," Morier said and launched himself in the direction of the ship. Grandfather Plaque again opened his mouth to protest that course, but it became apparent that the eldritch warrior was only approaching some debris left in the ship's wake, not seeking the ship itself. He drew up beside a small object that at first looked like a bundle of sticks, but at the others floated nearer, its true nature presented itself. It was an arachnoid corpse, frozen to death in Morier's initial _Ice Storm_.

The spiderlike thing had a long, flexible neck and an eel-like head with tiny, needle-sharp teeth. Its body was covered with stiff hair, dyed in complex designs, and it wore a light leather harness from which depended a small crossbow and quiver of bolts. Its small black eyes stared at them lifelessly, but still seemed to convey a sense of rapacious cruelty even in death.

"What is it?" Morier asked, prodding the body with Ravager.

"I don't know," admitted Saelus as he came closer for a better look.

"Nor do I," Grandfather Plaque said.

"Well judging by the gear its carrying and the design of that ship, I'd wager that it was in command of the umber hulks," the albino said as he sheathed his sword.

"A reasonable assumption," Saelus agreed as he looked at the thing's vicious head.

"I still think we are far better off floating along on our own," Grandfather Plaque announced.

"I agree," Morier said and Saelus looked up.

"I suggest we gather all this so, at least in some way, we have something out of this combat other than the loss of an ally," Saelus said gravely looking at Noxin with the respect he deserved as a great warrior.

Morier drifted toward the barbarian's ripped and bloodied corpse and mentally added another mark to the tally of companions who had died at his side. He could undo this, he sensed. The power now pulsed within him to draw Noxin's soul back from Myrkuhl's domain if he chose and the temptation to do so was very strong; they needed all the help they could get after all. But he resisted the desire. It would be taking an action he believed should be reserved for the gods... or at the very least someone who had a greater spiritual connection to a god than he did as an Eldritch Warrior.

Yes, he had the ability but the ability wasn't truly his, he knew. He was merely a vessel for the power. It was temporarily bestowed on him and using it to reincarnate Noxin would, he decided, be a misuse of that power.

Sighing, he took the barbarian's greathammer and eased it into Huzair's _Valiant Vessel_ bag. HIS, _Valiant Vessel_ bag, he corrected. It didn't truly belong to Huzair any more than the hammer still belonged to Noxin. Morier felt a weight settle uncomfortably on his shoulders as he thought about events and his place within them.

"Morier, you might want us to make use of the glasses he had," Saelus said suddenly. He indicated the goggles worn high on Noxin's forehead. "The clearing of sight does add significantly to the view you get when wearing the glasses." Morier looked at the goggles and stripped them from the half-giant's body.

He looked sadly at them and muttered to himself, "I don't feel like I've seen clearly in a while now."


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## Jon Potter (Feb 22, 2009)

*[Realms #467] Rescue Party?*

They rested, despite Saelus' protests. "I still say we should press our advantage," he asserted. "A ship without most of its crew won't go far." Neither Grandfather Plaque nor Morier had much inclination to seek further battle, however and so they rested.

There was no convenient ground nearby so they were forced to lash the umber hulks together into a rough approximation of terra firma. The amalgamation was bizarre and more than a little grisly considering that Noxin's remains were part of their improvised island, but pragmatism won out over sentiment.



Morier used his newfound powers to heal the worst of the colonel's injuries and then Saelus settled in with the spellbook he'd gotten from Huzair's _Haversack_. After a while, he paused long enough to scratch out a rough magical formula onto the back of a nearby umber hulk.

"By the way, Morier, I have an idea that could use Noxin as the host for a spell of creation," he observed, tapping out the ritual he'd outlined on the hulk's carapace. "So that we might have a companion of sorts that is able to fight for us. But it does probably then need that hammer to wield." He then pointed at the _Valiant Vessel_ bag into which Morier had placed Noxin's magical gear. Morier looked over at the wizard's writing and, while he couldn't understand all of it, he saw that it was far from complete, having just the barest suggestion of how such a thing might be accomplished in theoretical terms.

"I'm laying no claim to the weapon, Saelus," the albino said. "It's just too big to carry any other way." The war mage nodded and went back to flipping through his new spellbook to see if he could find an _Identify_ spell in its pages.

Morier began examining the potions.



A few minutes later, Saelus closed the book with a frustrated sigh and said, "I think the other spellbook contains an _Identify_ spell, and unless you're capable of casting such an incantation, I need access to that spell." Morier looked up at him and put the stopper back into the potion vial he was examining.

"I'll get it," he said, getting to his feet. He handed the mage a clutch of potion bottles. "Take a look at these three and see if you can tell what they are. I deduced that the other one's a _Potion of Invisibility_."

"That will come in handy," Colonel Saelus said, accepting the other three vials.

Morier soon had recovered the second spellbook from the _Handy Haversack_ and he waited for Saelus to examine the potions. The mage was only able to identify one with any certainty: a _Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds_. The other two vials were quite similar, but there were enough differences that he wasn't comfortable saying they were all _Cure_ potions.

Saelus took the second book, black-bound and adorned with shiny metal studs, and settled in with it while Morier brooded with his thoughts and Grandfather Plaque circled their "island" on watch duty but growing more and more enamored with his freedom on the astral plane.



"Gah!" Colonel Saelus growled snapping the spellbook shut some time later. "I can't make heads or tails of this encoding matrix! I can barely make sense of the handwriting! The formula is idiosyncratic and needlessly grandiose!"

"That sounds like Huzair," Morier said, smiling wistfully at the thought that the wizard was managing to annoy folks even after his death. Huzair would be proud of himself if he only knew.

"I can't learn this spell," Saelus muttered bitterly. "Not now anyway." Morier stood up and walked over to the mage, extending his hand for the spellbook.

"Well, the items aren't going anywhere," he said, patting the _Haversack_ at his side. "And neither are we unless we get moving."



They unlashed their "island" and repackaged the corpses so that Saelus and Morier could each tow some of the bodies; Saelus had an idea of making suits of hide armor from the umber hulks and since the bodies did not decay on the astral plane there was no hurry in shelling them.

With no indication of a direction to head, they followed the path of the fleeing spider ship. Contrary to Grandfather Plaque's very vocal protests.

Saelus quietly suggested to Morier that they return the construct to the _Handy Haversack_ in order to have some peace and quiet.



This time when the ship approached, they did not see it until they heard the cry of "Ahoy!"

They turned to see what looked like a narrow longboat approaching from behind them at an oblique angle. It was close enough for them to see that a bearded human dressed in robes stood at the fore, his hands hovering over a massive crystal embedded in the bow. Light from the crystal washed over him and his companions, four tall, skeletally-thin humanoids with jaundiced flesh bearing a variety of large, bladed weapons stowed about their person.

Morier recognized them from Huzair's description of his brief time on the astral plane. "Githyanki," he said to Saelus.

"Ahoy!" the human shouted again. "Do you require assistance?"


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## Hairy Minotaur (Mar 1, 2009)

Jon Potter said:


> Morier recognized them from Huzair's description of his brief time on the astral plane. "Githyanki," he said to Saelus.
> 
> "Ahoy!" the human shouted again. "Do you require assistance?"




Yes, the Githyanki are widely regarded as helpful and gregarious throughout the known planes. In fact they're downright angelic.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 1, 2009)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Yes, the Githyanki are widely regarded as helpful and gregarious throughout the known planes. In fact they're downright angelic.




Ah, the beauty of no meta-gaming and skill ranks in Knowledge (the planes) of 0. It's a beautiful thing.

I did change the githyanki slightly to make their society Lawful (sort of like Star Trek Klingons), but other than that they are what they are.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 1, 2009)

*[Realms #469] Remember Me?*

"I see none of us who needs assistance," Saelus said with a nod to the bearded human. The war mage did not want to show any form of weakness in front of an unknown race... particularly not one that carried so many greatswords and halbards. "Though a question comes to mind: have you seen a spidership come by?"

"A spidership?" the robbed man said as he maneuvered the ship closer to Morier and Saelus through some inexplicable means. "A neogi vessel?" he asked and the githyanki in the boat seemed to grow suddenly agitated. Saelus merely pointed at the dead umber hulks.

"We fought off the away team, but the ship got away, unfortunately," he said as if it were all in a day's work. The boatman stepped away from the crystal and put a foot up on his boat's gunwale. He leaned on his knee and peered at the detritus of lashed bodies. His eyebrows went up.

"Just the two of you?" he asked, clearly surprised. Grandfather Plaque shot upward and closer to the man.

"Two?!?" the stone face said irritably. "I helped!" The boatman drew back in surprise from the flying construct and Morier saw several of the githyanki tighten grips on their weapons.

"Yes!" Morier jumped in. "Grandfather Plaque was instrumental in our victory." The boatman nodded.

"Even so... three against a neogi vessel and their slaves," he said and whistled appreciatively. "No mean feat there. You are clearly not men... or constructs... to be trifled with." The albino nodded.

"And how is it that you've crossed our path?" he asked and the man stepped back from the gunwale and gestured around at the astral expanse.

"Salvage!" he said with pride. "Lots of stuff gets lost in the  astral sea... some fool puts a _portable hole_ inside a _bag of holding_... an archmage breaks a staff... You'd be surprised what ends up just drifting out here."

Morier glanced at Saelus and Grandfather Plaque and decided that he probably wouldn't be all that surprised, really.

"So you and your crew fly around looking for lost junk?" Saelus asked and the boatman chuckled.

"It's not all junk, my friend," the bearded man said. "Most of it is magical gear, truth be told. And I'm not talking about potions and scrolls, either. I'm talking the good stuff! Rods, amulets, cloaks... Why Gisir Okemocik has an entire wall decorated just with weapons that folks have recovered from the void and brought to Akiv-tchai over the years."

"Akiv-tchai?" Morier asked. "Where's that..." He paused realizing that he'd never learned the man's name. The boatman smiled and bowed slightly.

"I am Olimir Frisig," he said. "And Akiv-tchai is a githyanki trading outpost... well, really it's THE githyanki trading outpost, at least the only one this close to the Chain of Tears."

"The Chain of Tears?" Saelus asked and Olimir shook his head, bemused.

"You folks are new to the astral, aren't you?" he asked. "The Chain of Tears is Buomman territory. It's a bunch of floating rocks mainly. The githyanki go in there looking for driftmetal every now and again, until the Buommans chase them out. It's not worth the trouble if you ask me."

"Now umber hulk carcasses..." Olimir added, angling his head at their burden. "Those could fetch a tidy sum at Akiv-tchai... if you were looking to unload them, I mean. I'm heading back that way... I'd be happy to give you a tow."

"I am right to assume the towing would not be for free," Saelus asked. "After all, you're a business man and I don't think you would be going the same way for free, no?" Olimir smiled.

"In truth, I am going that way. On the astral sea there are many directions to head, but not many places to go," he admitted. "But yes, a small travel fee would be appropriate, I think. Say... 10% of the profit from your sale of the umber hulk corpses?" The boatman put his foot back on the gunwale and leaned over the side to nod at the two companions. Morier nodded back.

"We'd be happy to pay you a percentage of whatever we can barter for their sale in exchange for the ride," the albino said, looking to Saelus. The war wizard regarded Morier with a strange expression that was obscured by the _Eyes of the Eagle_ that he wore. "What's a fair price, Saelus?"

Saelus looked as if in thought. He took the glasses off for a second and thoughtfully worked his temples, then he said, "I think 6% would be more then enough." With that he extended his hand to indicate he was haggling and expected a slap on his hand from the boatman with a counter offer as he'd seen done in certain bazaars in Elcaden. Instead, Olimir bent low and grasped his hand in a firm shake.

"Done!" he said. "Attach your ropes to the stern and we'll be on our way. It shouldn't take long, but I must concentrate to pilot the ship."



After some time, they reached Akiv-tchai. The outpost was built in, and projecting out from, a roughly spherical piece of astral debris they judged to be 200 feet or so in diameter. Four towers jutted out from the central section at roughly symmetrical angles while a fifth projection, longer and thicker than the towers, was topped by a bulbous sphere with four smaller towers jutting out near the edges of a large set of double doors — the only apparent route by which to enter the complex. And it was toward this that Olimir guided the longboat.

Without the largest of the projections, the outpost closely resembled a jack, of the sort used in the “ball and jacks” game played by children on Orune. But a sinister jack, to be sure, decorated everywhere with iron spikes and riveted metal plates.

As their boat neared the double doors, Olimir slowed its progress and two of the githyanki flew from the ship to the portal and, heaving mightily, pushed the valves open so that the dimly-lit interior of the stone sphere became visible, lit dimly by _Everburning Torches_. Their flickering light illuminated several mooring platforms that jutted from the far side of the hollow sphere, pointing like wooden fingers toward the huge double doors. There was another ship docked at a far platform, but Olimir deftly steered their boat toward one of the center docks. The other pair of githyanki grabbed mooring lines and secured the ship.

"Welcome to Akiv-tchai," Olimir said as he turned from the crystal and stretched his back.

This chamber was spherical, about 100 feet in diameter and decorated everywhere with reliefs of githyanki warriors and huge fire-breathing dragons laying waste to strange humanoids with heads that looked entirely like octopi. The large set of double doors thudded closed behind them on the outside wall as the first pair of githyanki moved to rejoin them. A smaller set of double doors were on the opposite wall evidently leading deeper into the outpost. Four 10-foot-wide passages lead away from the sphere, each of them a 30-foot-long corridor down which the silvery light of the astral plane flickered. Judging by their placement around the place, Saelus imagined that they were actually the inside of the smaller towers they had seen when approaching the place.

"It seems awfully empty for a trading outpost," Grandfather Plaque asserted as he floated around.

"Don't worry," Olimir said. "I sent word ahead that we'd be arriving."

As if on cue, there came a loud clunk from the double doors at the front of the chamber as a bar was drawn away. Then they opened and a squad of githyanki floated into the room in a tight, regimented formation. They bristled with weapons and wore baroque armor that glittered with filigree in the light from the _Everburning Torches_. They immediately spread out into a loose cluster as a pair of githyanki flew out, their armor slightly more elaborate than the others. They were followed by a third whose armor was more impressive yet, and it became apparent at once that he was in charge of this group. He sneered imperiously at Olimir and his passengers.

"Wait here," the boatman said to Saelus and Morier. "There are some protocols that need to be followed." He favored them with a thin smile and drifted toward the cloud of grim-faced githyanki. But instead of speaking with their leader he simply joined their ranks and smiled back at Saelus and Morier once more.

"Well, Morier," a voice said from the rear of the group, "We meet again." A figure was there and he moved forward as the githyanki parted to make room. He was a man dressed in black with a white goatee and he bore a staff with a loupe of gold at its apex.

"Dr. Akerman?" Morier sputtered, incredulous.

"Indeed," the loremaster said, grinning. "And I believe you have something that I want."


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## darkhall-nestor (Mar 1, 2009)

Where is the cavalry?

I am wondering when the new PC,s will show up.


I was thinking they would have gotten together before that darned spider ship turned up

But still you stretch it out so painfully

It seem at this point if Morier dies it would essential be a TPK
Not literally but in essence.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 2, 2009)

darkhall-nestor said:


> Where is the cavalry?
> 
> I am wondering when the new PC,s will show up.
> 
> ...




Well, I've messed about with the timeline a bit in order to keep things interesting for the story hour readers (or 'painful' as you so aptly put it). There's actually a fair bit more adventure with the cavalry before any survivors meet up. I wanted to get to the dramatic reappearance of Dr. Akerman before I went back to the other side, but that's next on my posting agenda.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 2, 2009)

*[Interludes #5] :):):) for Tat*

"Sure," J'ann said with a sparing nod of his head beneath his dark cloak. "We know where Akiv-tchai is."

"We could point you in the right direction," J'inn added, taking up the thread of thought where his twin had left off. "Make your quest a little bit easier." This was indeed good news, Ayremac thought, staring off into the silver void of the astral plane. Finding the location of Fedifensor in such an empty place would prove daunting without knowledgeable guides. He suspected divine intervention had placed he and Ixin on intesecting paths with the pair. 

"But first we need you to do something for us," J'ann finished and both men smiled, a strange expression on their rubbery white faces.

"And just what's that?" Ayremac asked, impatiently. It seemed that no one did anything out of the goodness of their hearts anymore.

"Have you heard of the neogi?" J'inn replied and Ayremac shook his head.

"I have," Ixin admitted somewhat distastefully. Her past haunted her at odd times; there were memories that she could not shake regardless of what body she wore. "The Dragon's Claw had occasional dealings with them back on Mid'Gaard. Slavers, aren't they?" J'ann nodded but his twin began a stuttering song that reflected his opinion of the neogi. The Buomman* habit of singing alien and discordant songs at odd times was beginning to grate on Ixin's nerves.

"B-B-B-B-B-Bad! B-B-B-B-B-Bad! B-B-B-B-B-Bad! B-B-B-B-B-Bad to the bone!" J'inn warbled and J'ann nodded more vehemently.

"They certainly are!" he agreed. "Slavery is one of their crimes, but the list is long regardless."

"In that case, I'll not do anything to benefit them," Ayremac said flatly. "No matter what information you try to tempt me with." J'inn smiled and held up a finger.

"Precisely!" he exclaimed. "We thought you might say that."

"You do sort of project an image of incorruptible goodness," J'ann agreed, gesturing fleetingly at Ayremac's wings, hair, eyes. "Lets a body know right away where he stands with you."

"Very refreshing!" J'inn said with a nod. Then he quickly changed verbal directions and added,  "We'd like to take down a group of neogi operating nearby."

"And we'd like your help," J'ann added and Ixin glanced at Ayremac, locking eyes long enough to read her own thoughts reflected there. They needed the Buommans' help to find Akiv-tchai and Fedifensor and taking down some vicious slavers was a worthy act in its own right.

"We're listening," she said, turning to look at the smiling twins.

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

*FYI, These are not true by-the-book Buommans, obviously. They represent a mash-up of Buommans (from the Planar Handbook) and Dvati (from the Dragon Compendium), favoring the Dvati in most everything but name.


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## Kristeneve (Mar 5, 2009)

Happy DM Day, Jon!  
You said it darkhall-nestor, he's bad to the bone.  But he's our beloved DM and we're the ones who keep coming back for more.   Maybe someday he'll have mercy.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 8, 2009)

*[Interludes #6] The Dire Hag*

"As we agreed. Half now," Maleko said, smoothly regaining his composure after the startling appearance of the fiend. He handed the chain devil a bag holding various magic items that they'd each sacrificed to this endeavor - his _Tome of Worldly Memory_, and _Personal Oasis_, Del's headband and belt, Cerrakean's extra boots. "But the rest are ours to use until we have found the remaining coins. Not a moment before we are returned to the prime material plane. As was agreed." Maleko's voice was firm, hiding his fear or this creature, a personification of evil such as he had only ever before read about. Seeing such a thing in person was much more frightening than the drawings he had seen. The chain devil scowled at Maleko and the elf felt his stomach turn to water despite his facade of calm.

"The Captain was not pleased about that arrangement," Shroud hissed, its voice like death itself. It hefted the bag as if judging its worth by weight alone and then, satisfied, nodded once at the group. "I will take you to him, mortals."

He turned and Del, Maleko and Cerreakan followed with Bloj putting himself at the rear of the party. He did not seem to want to get in the way of any disagreements there might be.

Maleko saw at once that his assessment from the door was correct; there was a three masted ship veiled within the blue-gray mist. He grinned inwardly but thought nothing more of it. Del, however, was intrigued, for where Maleko saw just another ship (albeit one in a peculiar locale) Del saw hundreds of tiny differences between this vessel and ones that sailed the seas of Orune. They jumped out at him as they moved to the forecastle, and he found himself gawking at each mysterious eccentricity in turn.

For her part, Cerrakean cared little for the ship or its arcane detailing. Her eyes were fixed on those crewmen that she saw. A few githyanki were loitering about the deck near the stern. Three of the larger ones were pushing around a smaller one apparently trying to get him to do their mundane duties on the deck. It was plain to the hobgoblin that strength ruled in this crowd and weakness was something they preyed upon. Cerrakean smiled. She could work with that.

They neared the captain's quarters and the kyton instructed the group to wait before disappearing inside with a rattle of chains. As soon as the devil was away behind a closed door that left the four apparently alone at the front of the ship, Maleko cast a spell. He intended to listen in on the conversation by _Comprehend_ing the _Language_.

"Little Fairies! I could break them in half and use their bones to pick my teeth," he overheard one crewman say to another. The pair were staring threateningly and unapologetically at him and his companions.

"The captain thinks that he can make a profit off them, though," the other replied, spitting over the rail. "So we have to behave at least until the mission is done." 

There was suddenly a loud roar from beyond the closed door to the captain's quarters. "I want payment now tell them! Rules have changed!" Grawl yelled. "There is too much danger and if they die, I don't get my money!" Maleko turned to Del and Cerrakean, equal parts nervousness and resolve written on his face.

"Look mean," he instructed the pair. "Put your hands on your weapons. We are going in there." Then he opened the door and walked in. The others followed and he told Bloj to shut the door in a firm tone the others had never heard him use. The halfling, used to having orders barked at him, jumped to immediately.

The captain's quarters were not unlike those that Del had seen on countless sailing ships. There was a desk or table at the rear of the chamber that was overflowing with charts and maps. A strange device of brass and crystal that the half-elf thought might have been some sort of astrolabe stood atop a metal pole bolted to the floor. The floor itself was covered haphazardly by rugs several layers deep that looked to have once been rich in color and design; now they were all a uniform grayish-brown color and laced with creeping black fingers of mold.

Shroud stood in the darkest corner of the room, its eyes and mouth glowing lantern-like from the shadows. A huge Githyanki was stooped before him, his head brushing the ceiling between rafters. His body language and finery told Maleko at once that this was Captain Grawl. The elf strode forward - his boots making unhealthy squishing noises on the carpets - and pointed his finger at the Captain.

"Your agents agreed to half now, half later. How dare you go back on your word to us? Your name will be spread across the astral plane as a 'kigfarlnal'," Maleko said. He indicated the bag of magic he'd given to the kyton which was now lying at Captain Grawl's feet. "There is half of the items agreed upon." The captain's lip pulled back from yellowed stumps.

"Who do you think you are, barging in here?" Grawl hissed making a threatening movement towards Maleko who barely flinched. Del and Cerrakean quickly drew their weapons and the chain devil appeared to ready itself for combat. Grawl made no other move, controlling himself - almost as if he were testing the party. He studied them and then nodded.

"No one profits if we fight. Let's settle down to business," Captain Grawl said motioning for Maleko to sit at the chart-draped table and for the chain devil to stand down. The Githyanki spat on the floor and pointed to one of the maps, seemingly at random. "This mission of yours is much more dangerous than first thought. How do I get paid if you all die while you are off in some area like the God Islands? Do you even have a clue, elf, as to the risks you put us in going there?" Grawl asked showing much more reason than anger in his tone for which Maleko was grateful. It had been a gamble forcing his way into the Captain's Quarters with a show of bravado and if Grawl had taken it as a challenge to his authority he felt certain that this would have turned into a very short voyage indeed.

"Point taken. Would a percentage of the treasure we find there improve your opinion of this mission? High risk, high reward?" the elf asked, steepling his slender fingers as he spoke. "When your name was mentioned at the World Serpent Inn, it was greeted with great respect... even fear. They said that you and your crew did not know the meaning of fear and were skilled warriors who could handle most anything." Grawl nodded as if he expected nothing less of his reputation. He considered the proposition. Carefully.

"I want 20%. And an additional 20% if you use any of my manpower," he said at last and Maleko sensed that he'd reached the limits of his bargaining room.

"Agreed," he said with a single nod that brought a disquieting smile to the captain's face.

"I will have Zogah show you to your quarters," Grawl said. 

"And tell the crew that when this is over, they should leave us alone. Any other action would show great disrespect for your authority," Maleko said as he got to his feet. Then in an off-hand way he added, "Of course, I know you have the unquestioned control of your men." Grawl snorted.

"That I do! They do exactly as I say or there is trouble," said the Captain. He grinned his predatory grin. "They will leave you alone... provided your end of the bargain is upheld."



The ship sailed a little bit later. Or rather it ceased to be coterminous with the City of Doors and moved fully onto the Astral Plane. It was hard to say how long the voyage lasted on the astral plane, but it was enough time to for them to stow their gear and get comfortable in their small room.  

Since no one could judge time very well on the astral plane they each did various things to amuse themselves or prepare. Maleko read from his tome. Del practiced some sword play, every once in a while catching a glance from Maleko. Cerrakean bantered and argued with the crew members and seemed right at home. 



At some point a knock came at the door and the Captain stood there with Cerrakean when Maleko opened it. "Your gem says we are very close," Grawl explained without preamble. "But the ship is going no further because our lookout has spotted a Neogi Deathspider directly in our path. Those foul slavers are best avoided."


They followed one another quickly up on deck to view the ship which had brought Captain Grawl's vessel to a standstill. The sight of it made Del's head spin; another improbable image in a time and place already difficult to fathom. It was clearly a vessel, but one that gave the immediate impression of a mammoth arachnid: long slender legs, a bulging abdomen, and sails of glistening webbing. It was both intriguing to behold and frightening, due mostly to the reaction of Grawl's crew. Where they had been raucous and unreserved before, an ominous silence now held them as all eyes beheld the Neogi Deathspider. It hung in the distance of the silver void, a dreadful silhouette before and a little above the bow of the Dire Hag, presenting its stern and a bit of its belly and port side to them.

Shroud jangled to the captain's side as soon as he reappeared on deck.
"They do not attack," the fiend said simply and Grawl nodded, scratching at his leathery chin.

"Perhaps they've not seen us," he suggested in a whisper and Shroud shook its dark head once, its chains rattling as it did so.

"At this range? That is unlikely," the kyton said. "More likely she is a derelict."

"And a prize bit of salvage at that," Grawl muttered, suddenly grinning like a wolf. He turned to Maleko. "Elf, how would you like to re-negotiate our terms?"

"What are you proposing?" Maleko asked, tearing his curious eyes away from the spider ship to look up at Grawl's steel-gray eyes.

"You three scout out that ship for me, secure it, and I'll forgo my 20% claim to any further treasure that comes of your business," the githyanki offered, his eyes flicking eagerly back to the Deathspider. "Deal?"


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## Jon Potter (Mar 15, 2009)

*[Interludes #7] Re-negotiation*

"Captain, first give us all you know about the ship and who could be on it. Do not hold back anything you know would be useful from your experience," Maleko replied as the elf, too looked back over at the strange ship. "Also we get any choice items we find on the ship." Grawl's gaze snapped back to the elf at once.

"Is that so?" the githyanki growled, baring the brown stumps of his teeth as he glowered down at Maleko.

"If you want our help, it is," the wizard said coolly. The captain started at that, surprised by Maleko's nerve. Behind Grawl, Cerrakean barked laughter.

"You'll find that the elf's got a bit o' steel in him, captain," the hobgoblin said, scratching shamelessly. "He doesn't back down from a debate and if you want to cross swords... Well, then you'll want to talk to me or brown eyes over there." She jerked a thumb in Del's direction. Del drew himself up and squared his shoulders as the captain turned to look at him. Grawl sneered and squinted back at Maleko.

"You can keep what you can carry. No more," Grawl proposed and Maleko nodded.

"Agreed," the elf conceded. "What did Shroud mean by calling the ship a derelict?"

"He meant it's a derelict," Grawl sneered. "The neogi don't just sit by an' let another ship size 'em up the way we're doin'. If that was anything less than a derelict, then we'd be swarming with umber hulks instead of bickering over terms like a couple of mercane!" He spat on the deck near Maleko's impeccably polished boots.

"Can you spare any of your men to accompany us or are there any brave ones who may want to find some treasure or show their skills in battle?" the elf asked and Grawl burst out laughing. He turned to the crew and spread his ropy arms.

"Who wants to join these three on a mission to the deathspider?" he asked and the crew seemed to shrink away from him. No one spoke up. "Come on, now, lads! Don't be shy!" His cruel grin did not falter as he turned to look once more at Maleko.

"It seems you'll be needing to earn your own-" he began but a single shout from the back of the huddled crew halted him. The crowd of crewmen parted and a female lizardfolk limped forward. Her scales were light tan in color, but ashen and crisscrossed by cracks and scars and gouges. Her left eye had been sewn shut, bisected neatly by a terrible scar.

"I will go with them," the lizard woman hissed. Her tongue, long and pink, forked out of her mouth, tasting the air. Grawl snorted.

"Well, elf, it looks like you'll be havin' help after all," the captain said. "Let me introduce Jinissi, former slave of the neogi." Del perked up at once. It was easier to leave behind the regalia of the janissary than it was to lose the training and the very mention of slavery was abhorrent to him. He felt immediate sympathy for this former slave... despite her snake-like aspects.

"How did you come to be in service aboard the Dire Hag?" he asked her and she turned her head to regard him with her one eye.

"Captain Grawl bought me at auction on God's Rest," she said simply. There was a slight sibilance to her speech but otherwise her common was flawless. Del eyed the captain again and the half-elf wondered just how much he'd compromised his morals in the furtherance of this quest. And on the heels of that thought came another: How much more was he willing to give up?

"Aye," Grawl said. "But that was years ago. She's earned her freedom thrice over since that time." Jinissi nodded deferentially to the captain.

"What do you know of that ship?" Del asked her. "What is its layout? Number of crew? Defenses? Weaknesses? Whatever you can tell us." Now she nodded at Del.

"The Deathspider is built to be a raider. The legs serve as piercing rams, skewering and crippling other vessels so that the neogi's umber hulks can swarm the enemy and capture them easily," she said, displaying through her descriptions a keen intellect lurking behind her reptilian appearance. "Usually it will carry a crew of four neogi, double that number of umber hulks, and perhaps a dozen slaves."

"Sounds like fun," Cerrakean quipped and Del saw a glint of anticipation in her eye as she looked over at the Deathspider. Could she really be that confident? A single umber hulk would present a challenging opponent, facing eight at once seemed mad.

"What of the Neogi? What kind of fighters are they?" the hobgoblin asked, eager to assess the full threat. Jinissi hissed laughter, but there was no hint of mirth in her cold eye.

"They are frail fighters," she said and gestured to the halfling, Bloj. "Not much bigger than him. One blow is enough to put them down." Cerrakean grinned at that.

"How do they fair against spells?" Maleko asked and Jinissi shrugged.

"I am no spellcaster," she admitted. "But I do know that the neogi are strong of mind. They are capable of exerting their will over others."

"Great," Maleko said under his breath. 

"You look as if you have seen difficult days... and lived to tell about them," Del said. "We welcome your aid." 

"The neogi are not kind to their slaves," the lizard woman hissed, touching the scar on the side of her head. "Especially not those who see the open skies and dare to dream of freedom." She looked at the vessel drifting ahead of them and her scales flushed with bridled emotion.

A similar rush of adrenalin surged through Del at the prospect of exploring the deathspider. He could get a closer look at what he surmised, from this distance, to be a weapons platform of some kind, although one unlike any that he'd seen before. It looked like a ballista, but it lacked a bow. What was the ship made of? He could see no seams in its construction. How did it move? Certainly not by those gossamer bits of webbing that festooned its hull. Enduring the icy stares of Grawl's crew he had surreptitiously studied as much as he could of the Dire Hag. The Neogi Deathspider seemed far more compelling and Del smiled, envisioning a shipyard full of such vessels.

But the reality of the situation reigned in his enthusiasm. It was highly unlikely that such a vessel would simply be abandoned. Given what Jinissi had told them, it had a significant crew. Where were they now? And why were they not reacting to the Dire Hag's presence?

"Captain," Maleko said hoping to appeal once more to the githyanki warrior's pride in his power and rank, "some of the equipment we gave you for this voyage would be useful to us at this time. If we could have them back for this mission we would increase our chances of bringing you what you desire." Grawl made eye contact with the elf giving him hope of success. Maleko added looking in awe at the ship, briefly peeking to see Grawl's reaction to his comments, "I think that this is a great treasure and you would achieve great prestige if you were to help us obtain it. It certainly would be exhilirating to fly such a magnificent vessel as a Neogi Deathspider." 

"Think of the tactical advantages such a vessel would afford. With a Deathspider always at your flank, no one would dare to oppose you," Del added, seeking to bolster Maleko's argument. "You could turn your enemies with a mere showing of force and save your own ship the wear and tear of battle."

"You are Clueless!" Grawl snapped. "Flying a Deathspider will invite attack from every vessel on the Astral Sea! The Githyanki would strike at us on sight! As would the Illithids. Even other neogi vessels would hunt us!"

"Then what are we doing here?" Cerrakean growled. "Why risk approaching the thing if it's worthless?" The captain shook his head, smiling ruefully.

"It's not worthless, you prime-bound idjits!" he told her. "There's armaments, an' cargo to be salvaged. Not to mention the Helm, for The Lady's sake!"

"The Helm?" Maleko prodded; he could almost hear the capital letter in Grawl's words.

"Aye, elf. The Helm," he confirmed with a nod. "Have you not wondered what makes ships sail on the Astral Sea? There's no wind to speak of, or had you not noticed that?"

"I noticed," Del said quickly and Grawl rolled his eyes.

"Every ship requires a Helm to power it," the captain said. "It's thought that propels a body on the Astral. But there's limits to what a single mind can haul under its own power... unless you've got a Helm." Maleko looked again at the Deathspider.

"And this Helm is valuable?" he observed.

"If it can be removed... and if you know where to sell it," Grawl told him warily.

"Well, to secure it, you should be willing to give us temporary use of the items we gave you as payment for passage then," the elf suggested in a perfectly reasonable tone but the captain shook his head.

"You ask too much, elf," he told him. "Those items were part of a separate negotiation. You'll not be seein' them again so let's speak no more of it. Either you're willin' to go or you're not. Now what's it to be?"

This time it was Del's turn to bristle. He hadn't the stomach for Grawl's condescension. "May I remind you, sir, that you are still under our employ. Your ship has been brought to a standstill." He gestured to the crew. "Your men are afraid. They won't maraud a Neogi deathspider for you. Yet you would send us to do your scutwork without the full support of our protections, and lay claim to what we find?" Grawl turned to look at the half-elf as if he couldn't believe what the man was saying.

Jinissi took a surreptitious step away from Del, keeping her one eye on the captain.

"If we decline this proposition, what do you intend? To turn around and go back?" Del went on, not noticing the growing tension in the crew as he kept his attention and ire focused on the githyanki. "That outcome is certain - you will have nothing of the reward. You have just as much as stake in a successful endeavor as we do. Hand over the magic items and take their worth out of what we find."

Captain Grawl scratched at his leathery chin and turned away from Del, shaking his head. He reached out and took a short length of chain off of Shroud's body. He held it in his two hands as if weighing it and then tossed it onto the deck.

"You make an interestin' argument, prime. An' you've a lot of opinions about me an' my crew an' how things ought to run on my ship," the captain said, his tone even, but his demeanor menacing. "But there's only one way things run on the Dire Hag and that's MY way!" He made a gesture with his hand and Shroud's eyes and mouth glowed more brightly.

At the same moment, the short length of chain the captain had dropped onto the deck in front of Del twisted and writhed like a snake, growing impossibly long as it reared up from the boards. If Del had had a weapon in hand, he might have been able to swat the thing away, but his hands were empty and so it wrapped twice around his body almost before he knew what was happening. He squirmed to get some leverage, but then his arms too were encircled in chains and he was pinned.

"Don't hurt our 'employer', Shroud. It's not his fault he's so ignorant," Captain Grawl said as he stepped up to Del. The githyanki gestured at the silver vastness around the ship. "Look around you, boy. There's no law out here but my own. The way I see it, my offerin' to re-negotiate was more kindness than I had to show. So you'll either explore the deathspider or you won't, but either way this is where you're gettin' off this ship. The question really is, will you be gettin' back on again."


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## Jon Potter (Mar 22, 2009)

*[Interludes #8] Boarding Party*

"Well I guess we go explore the deathspider, Del," Maleko said nervously. Held immobile by the length of chain, Del managed a single small nod.

"Sounds good," he croaked, looking sideways at the elf. "Let's do it."

"See now, Shroud," Captain Grawl sneered. "All we needed to do was find the proper means of persuadin' our 'employers' and they jumped to right quick!" He signaled to the kyton and the chain holding Del dropped to the deck and slithered back to the devil like a snake. It wound its way up Shroud's leg and disappeared amongst the other links.

Del, bent slightly with hands on knees, breathing heavily. "We'll need to collect our weapons and armor," he said after a moment and Grawl smiled, indicating the hatch to below decks with a flourish of false gentility.

"Of course you do," he said.



"I imagine that Grawl's happy to be rid of us," Del said as he tightened a strap on his chainmail. Maleko nodded without looking up from his packing.

"We went to the well once too often challenging Grawl," he sighed. "We gave him little choice by questioning his knowledge and decisions so many times."
Del turned on the elf, tossing his scabbarded longsword onto Maleko's bed as he did so.

"Questioning his knowledge?" he snapped, incredulous. "He stopped his ship upon seeing the deathspider; no attack forced him to abandon his course. Then he suggests you and I take the risk of securing the ship - a ship they won't even approach? And for what? Nothing more than we could carry? That's trollsh*t. We did nothing more than press him for our gear - a reasonable thing given what he was suggesting we do." Maleko ignored his companion's outburst, and busied himself with his gear. Near the door, Cerrakean snorted.

"I am not one to turn down a potential fight but I have recently learned to be somewhat more humble," she observed and crossed her arms. "Seems to me that spidership is a bad ass trap waiting for some unsuspecting dolts and this "captain" is simply looking for a bit of amusement. If we die, he loses nothing and if we live, he gains."

"I think that your assessment of the captain's motive is correct," Maleko told her. "He seeks maximum profit for the least risk. It is a common motivation among businessmen." Del snorted.

"So Grawl's a businessman, now?" he asked. "And if we opt to end the bargain now without that final payment, would he be that much more motivated to just kill us outright?"

"Perhaps," Maleko said. "Sometimes you can predict a man's actions by the actions of the ones surrounding him. But I'm not sure that will help us here."

"Well then, do we pay him and let him go which probably means he drops out of the picture until there are spoils to commandeer?" Del asked. "Or do we explore the deathspider as he wants?"

"If the two of you want to explore that ship, I will fight with you. And I am quite sure we WILL be fighting," Cerrakean assured them, stretching like a lion. "But seems to me we are better off heading off this ship on our own." Del nodded, considering.

"We are where we needed to be, more or less. And I agree, we're better off without him," the half elf told them as he strapped on his longsword. "But, as much as I hate to say this, we probably shouldn't burn that bridge any more than it already is. Maybe Grawl would step in to assist us if it meant saving his investment."

"Perhaps," Maleko said again. Then he lowered his voice and added. "I've been considering the possibility of taking the deathspider as our own to cruise the astral."

"It's like no ship I've ever seen. Could you pilot such a thing?" Del asked, his own volume matching Maleko's. The elf shrugged easily, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his underlying excitement with the possibility.

"I won't know until I see it," he said. "Up close." Del met the elf's eyes and grinned at his companion's barely-contained enthusiasm.

Shaking his head ruefully he said, "I too would like to explore the deathspider, but I'm a little concerned that we'll have no cover while approaching it. Unless we have invisibility spells or something." He looked at Maleko and the elf shook his head. "Well we need to have a plan; rremember what the neogi are famous for. I don't want to end up like Jinissi. Any ideas?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Marshall," Cerrakean said as she dug in her ear with her pinkie finger. "But isn't that your job? You can point me at the bad guys an' be sure that I'll take 'em down, but I'm not much of one for planning." Del sighed.

"Well whatever the plan, we need be on our guard," he said. "if we decide to go ahead and explore that deathspider, you can be certain Grawl will attack us when we're through."



Using Jinissi's knowledge of the deathspider's layout, Del was able to formulate a quick plan of approach that left them exposed to enemy fire for the least amount of time. Short of magic that they didn't have, however, there was no way to traverse the distance between the two ships without any exposure at all, so it was a tense "sprint" across the void for all of them. 

The lizard woman went first, followed by Del, Maleko, and Cerrakean. Jinissi was slow even in flight, and Del was obliged to slow his own pace lest their ranks bunch up and present too tempting a target to any area of effect spells. He'd seen _Flame Strikes_ and _Cloudkills_ take out entire units of troops on the battlefield and although the astral sea required that he think in an entirely new set of dimensions, he knew that the same risk from spellcasters would apply.

They made the rush from ship to ship without incident, alighting on a balcony that ran along the middle of the swollen "belly" of the spider ship. There was a nearly invisible door set in the hull and Jinissi crouched down beside it and unfurled a leather bundle of shiny metal tools. Using these she quickly went to work on a lock that was cunningly concealed in the hull beside the door.

While she worked Del had a few moments to study the hull closer and he was amazed. The entire ship appeared to be made of some sort of smooth ceramic material... or perhaps it really was the carapace of a gargantuan spider. Whatever the case, it looked to be without seam that he could spot. Even the balcony on which they stood seemed to grow directly from the main hull itself without a break. He couldn't even begin to imagine the feat of shipbuilding necessary to construct such a vessel.

A soft click from the door drew him back to the task at hand and he look at Jinissi just as the lizard woman was rolling up her bundle of tools. She stood and her tongue flicked the air.

"I disabled the trap on this door," she told them in a sibilant whisper. "The inner doors should be clean apart from the officers' quarters on the middle deck. Beware opening one unless I've checked it first." Cerrakean chuckled softly.

"Lizard girl, any desire to explore beyond this ship?" the hobgoblin said quietly. "You would be welcome to join us, in my opinion." Jinissi turned her one eye on Cerrakean and a transparent eyelid blinked quickly across it.

"No," she said with simple finality and the hobgoblin shrugged.

"Be ready," Del said. "Remember that these neogi can dominate your mind. But focus on the task at hand and I'm sure that you'll find the _Force of Will_ to resist them."

"Oh, I'll focus on the task at hand all right," Cerrakean grinned and drew her scimitars.

Del looked at Maleko and the elf nervously licked his thin lips once then nodded. The wand he gripped in one hand was steady; the longsword in his other was not but Del did not mention it. Instead he nodded to Jinissi and the lizard woman pressed a hidden catch causing the door to spring open.

It slammed forcibly into Del, almost sending him toppling backward over the balcony's railing. Maleko lashed out a steadying arm, righting the half-elf before he fell. A massive creature flopped out through the door and Cerrakean darted forward, stabbing with her scimitar so quickly that Del didn't even see the sword move. It was just suddenly buried half-a-foot into the head of what Del assumed was an umber hulk. It was large and covered with chitinous armor and stiff, bristling hair. Its head bore a pair of mandibles that were the equal of Cerrakean's scimitars in size. Two pairs of eyes, one small and humanoid, the other large and multi-facetted like an insect, dominated the rest of the skull. The hobgoblin's blade had sunk into the rightmost eye, shattering it in the process.

The blow would have killed it if it hadn't been already dead.

The shell of its armored chest was covered with cracks and bore a rent on one side from which ichor-slicked meat protruded. There were half a dozen scorched holes pock-marking its breast and shoulder.

"_Magic Missile_ strikes," Maleko assessed with a glance.

"It hasn't been dead long," Cerrakean told them and started to move through the hatchway to the ship's interior, but Jinissi managed to slither through ahead of her.

The only warning of the attack was nine musical notes whistled from the darkness. Then a flying kick sent Jinissi staggering backward onto the balcony. She collided with Cerrakean and the hobgoblin kept her on her feet.

Her attacker appeared in the doorway, a point of sudden stillness amidst a swirl of black fabric. His face was pale as milk, and strangely formed with only the barest suggestion of a nose and eyes like liquid night. He smiled and extended one hand in a beckoning gesture.

Behind him those whistled notes came again, this time followed by a man's voice singing, "Everybody was Kung-Fu fighting!"


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## Jon Potter (Mar 29, 2009)

*[Interludes#9] An Unexpected Turn*

Maleko raised his wand and spoke the command word sending four _Magic Missiles_ arcing unerringly into the cloaked figure's chest. The man yelped and tumbled out of the doorway. Cerrakean slipped passed Jinissi and headed into the spider ship after him.

The interior of the deathspider was lit only dimly by light from the doorway and from an interior chamber to the center right. The bulk of the chamber was taken up by strapped down cargo, so much of it that Cerrakean did not have an unobstructed view of the far side of the room despite the fact that it was only about forty feet across. The cloaked man was not ten feet from the door, clutching at his chest where Maleko's magic had struck him.

"You want to dance, pasty?" she asked, taking a step toward him. Then she noticed the second figure - the twin of the first in every way - moving amidst the boxes of cargo.

He stood and, waving a feather, said, "An orc walks into a bar with a parrot on his shoulder and the bartender says: 'Wow, that's really neat. Where'd you get it?'...'In Mordor,' the parrot replies. 'They're all over the place down there!"

Cerrakean felt the magic take hold of her mind, despite the lingering echo of Del's instructions to not fall prey to such attacks. Lips twitching she dropped to her knees and from there to her side where she lay, clutching her stomach and twisting with laughter that sounded more like shrieks of pain than mirth.

Lying on the floor, she saw a third figure step out of the inner room. She was short with dark hair and had her face painted to resemble a skull. Four fist-sized spheres of light floated around the woman's head, and Cerrakean saw gems of various colors glittering in her hair.

"We've got more trouble," the woman said over her shoulder. Then she drew a scimitar and started forward.

All Cerrakean could do was watch her come.

Then she was suddenly lying outside on the balcony and Del was standing where she'd been. The skull-faced woman looked surprised as the half-elf appeared and swept his longsword around in an arc that connected with her midsection, drawing a bloody line across her belly. She tried to invoke some kind of magical protection but nothing happened and she shrieked in pain instead.

"You'll pay for that, pirate!" she snarled, green eyes flashing in the glow from her floating lights. Del saw them flick toward something behind him and then he heard Jinissi hiss to his left. She threw a dagger at one of the two men and it nicked his arm before sailing off into the darkness beyond.

Outside on the balcony, Maleko knelt beside Cerrakean and quickly checked her over. There was nothing he could do for her, unfortunately.

"It's _Tasha's Hideous Laughter_," he told the hobgoblin. "Try to remain as calm as you can. It shouldn't last long." Then he stood and hurried toward the open doorway Peering around the corner, he saw the lizard woman scuttling into the shadows behind some crates to his left while ahead and to the right Del squared off against a woman wearing a cloak trimmed in cloth-of-gold and cut in style that had been popular half a decade ago. On his far right, he saw the man he'd earlier injured casting a spell and looking at Del.

Before Maleko could issue a warning, a translucent bone-white fiddle bow appeared behind Del and sank into his flesh. It tried to saw back and forth, as if attempting to play him like a fiddle, but the half-elf was made of sterner stuff than expected and the spell dissipated without effect.

"You'll have to do better than that, neogi scum!" Del shouted at the spellcaster, while never taking his eyes off the woman before him. Or rather he didn't until the angel stepped out of the inner room. Then his eyes did stray.

The angel was dressed in armor the metallic green of a fly's belly with a glowing brand in one hand and a shield that reflected that light like a mirror in the other. Wings of platinum-gilt feathers arched from his shoulders seeming to glow in their own right. His eyes were like two tiny green lanterns set in an inhumanly perfect face as he regarded the scene with a grim scowl.

"What new treachery is this?" he growled. "Speak quickly, raiders, or be judged solely on your actions!"

Del felt the immediate, icy fingers of doubt tighten in his gut. He lowered his sword slowly, confusion playing across his face. How could a celestial be in league with the neogi slave traders?

The angel squared his shoulders and stood tall, striding forward into the fray as if he had no doubt that he would be respected. He was actually a little shorter than Del, but his presence was immense; he seemed to fill the room.

"Jinissi, are these Neogi?" Maleko hissed from the doorway. But he could no longer see the lizard woman. She had vanished amidst the shadows and if she replied or even heard him he did not know.

“Yield now! I am an Officer of Umba and you will face my justice,” he said, raising the burning brand, which Del now saw was actually a glowing morningstar. The half-elf's eyes swept the room, searching out the woman with the skull painted face he had just slashed. She was breathing heavily a pace or two behind the celestial, clutching her abdomen and glowering hatefully at Del.

“Choose now, for my judgment will be swift if your intentions are not made clear,” the angel warned, his eyes burning into Del like emerald fire.
Confused, Del noted and reviewed the reactions of those they had just encountered.

It was possible...

Maleko was quicker with his response.

"We thought you to be hostile towards the ship we were on and went to explore to protect our interests," the elf said, stepping into the ship slowly, his hands at his side. "Neogi are feared tryants and you are using their ship. Any creature who rides in this type of ship will draw the wrath of many races based on their reputation. We are men of peace on a quest to find some of our men from the prime material plane." 

“Fool… drop your weapon and silence yourself," the celestial commanded. "Do you honestly think an Officer of Umba would use a foul transport such as this? Why do you think you find it barren so?”

Maleko's mouth opened slightly and his eyes darted around in their sockets as he mentally put together the Officer of Umba's words with the evidence they'd seen so far.

“I will not ask again," the celestial said, grim-faced. "Yield!”

They did and the celestial lowered his morningstar.

"That's it?" one of the cloaked men scoffed.

"Did you see what they did to J'inn?" the other asked, incredulous. "And just look at your sorceress!"

The angel turned his head slightly to regard the woman and his features softened to show genuine concern. "Ixin, are you well?" he asked.

"I'll live, Ayremac," she said, casting a contemptuous glance at Del made all the more menacing by virtue of her face paint. "The saurivaecaesin got a lucky hit in. It's only a flesh wound." The Officer of Umba nodded and Del drew a _Potion of Cure Light Wounds_ from his belt, offering it to the dark-haired woman.

"Perhaps this will ease your pain?" he said and Ayremac turned an appraising eye on him.

"We will hear from these men," the celestial said. "And we will learn of their intentions. And then we will pass judgement."


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## Jon Potter (Apr 5, 2009)

*[Realms #471] Reaping What's Been Sown*

"Morier, who is this man and what exactly is it he wants?" Saelus asked his companion while keeping his eyes trained on the githyankis and others in the vicinity. He did some quick tactical calculation regarding the feasibility of fighting his way out of this situation.

The preliminary numbers did not look good.

"Surely you told your friend about our fateful meeting and the subsequent business in Colybury?" Dr. Akerman said, drifting forward slightly as he spoke. Morier clenched his teeth, inwardly cursing himself for falling so easily into Akerman's trap.

"It must have slipped my mind," the eldritch warrior grumbled and Akerman made a tut-tut sound.

"What a pity. People have no grasp of what they do," the loremaster said to Olimir. Anger touched his face then and he turned back to Morier. "That day in Colybury was the most important day of your short, violent life, elf! You saw divinity in those streets... the very stuff of creation! A wiser man would have taken heed of what he'd seen there. But you? You let it slip your mind!"

"My, my, my... Morier, you know how to kick some dust up, now don't you?" Saelus said raising an eyebrow towards Morier and slowly drawing a graven _Rod_ from his belt. The albino caught the action and nodded once.

"Sorry I missed the significance," Morier said to Akerman. "I must have been distracted by you acting like a carrion crow, picking at the corpse of a madman looking for something shiny!" Akerman's lips snapped shut into a tight line.

"You sound like that rat-loving druid now, Morier. I expected better of you," the loremaster snapped. "Enough banter! I want the sword and you will give it to me now!"

Sword? Morier made a staying gesture to Saelus and looked up at Akerman in confusion.

"You know we don't have the samsara sword," he said. "You were there when Ayremac took it to wherever he went."

"Frothingham!" Akerman spat as if the very word tasted foul. "He took it to the temple of Umba in Frothingham and the short-sighted fools destroyed it! An original Brypur Vutha-isk! Bathed in Rhianne's blood and forged before the Witch King fell! Broken upon an altar to the very god who was birthed by Rhianne's death!"

"So the samsara sword is no more," Morier replied. "Then what sword are you talking about?"

"Don't act coy, Morier," Akerman cautioned, fixing the albino with a dubious stare. "Surely you noticed the similarities between the samsara sword and the one you carry even now?" The mage pointed at Ravager with his staff. "It too was forged by Brypur Vutha-isk and bathed in godsblood. And as such it belongs in the archives at the Sepulcher of Heaven."

Morier raised his eyebrows and glanced at the hilt of the sword in question. He'd taken it after Ledare died battling Blackheart. Where she'd gotten it, he didn't know. And frankly if parting with the blade kept them out of a much more significant situation, he didn't much care.

"While I can admit no significant attachment to this particular weapon, I have to say that your methods leave at least a little to be desired, Akerman," the albino said, looking up at the wizard and his entourage. Akerman made a dismissive gesture.

"You seem a reasonable fellow, Morier. I admire your pragmatism. If I'd known it were just going to be you with whom I dealt then I might well have approached you differently," the doctor explained. "I expected to contend with the other... less visionary members of your troop. And so I took some precautions." He indicated the githyanki surrounding him and smiled.

"After the way that the druid treated me in Colybury I don't think you can blame me for expecting the worst of our meeting," Akerman added and gestured fleetingly at Saelus. "What's become of your former traveling companions?"

"They've taken a different path," Morier said quickly and Akerman nodded.

"Just as well for you that they have," the loremaster told him. "Viewpoints as extreme as theirs tend to have an unreasonably polarizing effect."

"Even still, I am, as you said, a reasonable man," Morier replied. "And surely you must understand that any good warrior worth his weight needs a weapon that he can rely on to do something for him." The doctor shrugged.

"My arena is the library. I make no pretense of being a warrior," he told the albino and gestured again to the githyanki. "Hence my reason for surrounding myself with worthies such as these."

"In your travels you must have come across something you're willing to part with in exchange for this one," the eldritch warrior suggested and Akerman nodded gravely.

"Ah... I see. You're proposing a trade?" he asked and Morier nodded. "Alas, I have nothing with which to barter. All of the funds that Memento Mori gave me for this mission went to secure the githyanki's assistance. But Gisir Okemocik has an extensive collection of weaponry. Perhaps you can reach some sort of arrangement with him?" The wizard looked hopefully at the lead githyanki and the leader narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps," the githyanki said turning his eyes to Morier.

"But even if the Gisir makes some sort of deal with you, Morier. I'm afraid that's outside the bounds of our discussion," Dr. Akerman said in an apologetic tone. "Either you'll give me the sword or the githyanki will give it to me after they've destroyed you. Either way, I will have it. The question is whether you want to leave Akiv-tchai alive or not."


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## Jon Potter (Apr 13, 2009)

*[Realms #472] The Not So Great Escape, Part I*

"Funny thing, that last little clause you mentioned," Morier laughed and stepped back till he was flanking Saelus. "I find it funny anyway." Akerman looked at him quizzically.

"I'm sorry, you've lost me," he told the eldritch warrior. And Morier shrugged.

"You see I had just brought myself around to the conclusion that your willingness to barter might well have been the only thing preventing me from having to kill you, which honestly, I have no true desire to do, but will do so to protect myself," the albino explained. "Such an educated man as yourself must see the irony in it, that we have both established each other as 'reasonable men', given that you have decided to kill me to take what you want, and I have decided to kill you to stop you taking from me what is no more rightfully yours than it is mine. And we could both get what we want without the risk of either of us dying, if you hadn't thrown that last clause in."

"You misunderstand me, Morier," the doctor said. "If other means were an option, then I would gladly barter with you for the sword. But Loremaster Starsoul tasked me to retrieve the weapon and presented me with a sum of coin to do so. Unfortunately I have spent that sum to secure these githyanki retainers and-"


"Shut Akerman up for a few seconds," Saelus mumbled to Grandfather Plaque and, sensing his intention the construct pursed his stone lips sending four _Magic Missiles_ flying unerringly into Dr. Akerman's chest. Even as the wizard staggered backward, Morier touched his own chest and _Call_ed a _Lightning Storm_ into being. He pointed at Akerman and a bolt of _Lightning_ shot down at the man from the ceiling, striking an unfortunate githyanki warrior in the process. The githyanki was blown apart by the bolt, but Akerman dodged out of its path, singed by its passing, but largely uninjured.

Saelus followed Morier's attack with a _Quickened Sandstorm_ spell, centered just behind the main body of the opposition. The magical cloud of swirling sand extended over the prow of the ship, but it didn't really deter Saelus. He moved there and extended a hand to the crystal that governed the ship's motion, trying to gain control of it as Morier severed the mooring lines.

Grandfather Plaque, unable to see his opponents any longer opened his mouth wide and Shouted into the cloud of dust and grit. The effects of the sonic attack were not immediately apparent, but he did not eliminate their enemies entirely, for a moment later the githyanki leader flew from the cloud, and extended a hand at the boat. A cone of glowing _Doom Scarabs_ washed over the three companions, opening numerous bleeding wounds on Saelus' and Morier's exposed flesh. Grandfather Plaque seemed unaffected and Morier did not seem nearly as hurt as the colonel.

Three of the githyanki warriors emerged from the cloud, but they were too far away to do anything but brush sand from their eyes and get their bearings. The two sergeants appeared next, one of them warded by some sort of magic that clung close to his body. The other pointed his sword at Morier and fired at him a pair of _Scorching Rays_. The eldritch warrior shielded his face reflexively, but he needn't have worried as the fiery rays dissipated harmlessly against his spell resistance.

Morier retaliated by _Call_ing a _Lightning_ bolt down onto the man. He twisted away from the worst of it, but still took some electrical damage from the bolt's passing.

"Get us out of here!" the albino shouted to Saelus, and the war wizard complied by forcing the ship backward so fast that Morier nearly toppled over the side. The colonel held his hands over the glowing crystal, but he was looking backward over his shoulder at the doors leading out. He slammed into the two githyanki guards who had been closing with them, killing them both, and continued on, ramming the boat full speed into the rightmost door. The stern struck hard, gouging a minor dent in the wood, and sending shockwaves through the small craft that finally did upset Morier's balance, knocking him prone against the bottom of the boat. Saelus lurched forward and caught himself on the prow, maintaining his balance by the slimmest of margins. In horror, he looked at the door, and saw that it was still soundly closed and looked like it could take several more such blows before giving way.

"Can you do anything about these doors?" the colonel asked Morier and the albino considered for a heartbeat before nodding. "Good, because-"

Saelus' words died in his mouth as the rush and hiss of swirling sand abruptly stopped. Akerman hovered across the chamber, his hands held in the final somatic gestures of the _Dispel Magic_ he'd just used to eliminate the colonel's _Sandstorm_. With the cloud gone, they could see the rest of the opposition. The githyanki that Morier had hit with a lightning bolt hung dead and smoking in the air, while off to the left and a bit below him, two of his fellows and the boatman, Olimir, writhed, clutching their bleeding ears, victims of Grandfather Plaque's _Shout_. The remainder were battle-ready and spreading out into formations.

"Oh dear!" Grandfather Plaque exclaimed and peppered Akerman with another barrage of _Magic Missiles_.

The githyanki leader barked out a command and charged the boat, his greatsword flashing. He brought his sword down onto the prone Morier's shoulder, and although the eldritch warrior's armor absorbed some of the impact, keeping Morier's arm attached to his torso, it could do nothing to eliminate the _Shocking Grasp_ spell the githyanki channelled through the sword. Luckily, his spell resistance could, and the electrical attack fizzled uselessly.

One of the two sergeants cloaked himself in protective magics, while the other pointed a sword at Saelus and hit him with a _Ray of Enfeeblement_. The colonel felt himself weaken to the point where he could no longer support the weight of his armor. Encumbered, he slumped forward, borne to the bottom of the boat beside Morier as the two githyanki moved into flanking positions.

"You will yield or this one dies," one of them barked out in the common tongue.


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## Jon Potter (Apr 19, 2009)

*[Realms #473] Githyanki Justice*

Morier stared up at the githyanki snarling down at him, its greatsword poised to strike. He could hear Saelus cursing and grunting with his effort to move and knew that there were two more githyanki that he couldn't see quite close by. Sitting up, he stripped off the scabbarded bastard sword and tossed it over the side of the boat.

"Take the gods damned sword, you parasite!" he cursed at Akerman. The most basic tennet of Morier's eldritch training had taught him not to let his anger get in the way of his judgement in battle, and he realized that was precipitously close to a breaking point. But the stakes were too high right now, and he felt as though some humility at the moment might be the only option to keep Ackerman from getting far more than he bargained for out of Morier. "Take it and run, far, far away. And hope against all hope that our paths never cross again."

"I doubt that they will." the githyanki captain sneered menacingly at Morier.

The colonel, pinned against the bottom of the boat, tried to surreptitiously cast a spell, the shout of warning followed by a searing pain as a longsword pierced his shoulder told him that his bluff had failed. Thankfully, with the spell _Quickened_, he was able to cast it before being struck, and he felt some of his lost strength returning to his limbs.

"Morier, it was you who attacked first," Akerman shouted. "I wanted this to go peacefully. But now-"

"Now, they belong to the githyanki," the commander said, still keeping his sword pointed menacingly at Morier. "Now they will go before the Gisir for judgement."

"W-what?" Akerman sputtered. "That was not part of our arrangement!"

"That deal was struck before they killed three of my men," the leader said. "I will have to answer to the Gisir for those deaths and I will not go before him without the guilty parties in hand."

"We belong to no one," Saelus said as he slowly heaved himself to his knees. "You are all parasites, trying to get your way by intimidation, thinking we would be compliant."

"You will be compliant. Or you will be dead," the leader said. "And if you are intimidated by us, do not feel shame. We are githyanki and you are only a crude human, after all." The colonel regarded the leader defiantly, standing straight despite the fact that he was flanked by the two githyanki sergeants.

"You all started the offensiveness by trying to imprison us under false pretenses," Saelus said. "If you would have but asked for the sale of the weapon without covertness, we might have been more willing not to spill any gith blood or otherwise.."

"Do not confuse the githyankis' actions with those of Dr. Akerman," the leader cautioned. "We agreed to this tactic because we have a long-standing trade agreement with Memento Mori and the payment was adequate. Our methods are more... straightforward." Morier got to his own feet, gesturing disgustedly at Dr. Akerman.

"Had your gracious benefactor over there been straightforward with anyone about what he was doing from the start, this entire operation would have been unnecessary," he told the leader meeting the githyanki's cold black eyes. "If you're suddenly overcome by a need to bring everyone to justice, you can't possibly overlook the man who made all of this possible. Bring Akerman before the Gisir too." The loremaster let out a startled shout and began drifting closer.

"Now wait just a minute," he began, but Saelus cut him off, emboldened by both Morier's suggestion and Akerman's reaction to it.

"It was the false pretense Akerman instigated that led to your men's deaths, so if anyone is to blame for the whole debacle he is," Saelus said, looking seriously at the captain. "Akerman is the instigator of all this and therefore as responsible as we are for defending our own right and lives because of his machinations." The captain considered this and then looked at Dr. Akerman.

"And what do you have to say about this?" he asked the mage and Akerman snorted.

"You know Memento Mori would never intentionally harm one of your men. We've been business partners with the githyanki for decades," the loremaster said and the captain nodded. "I think that they are saying whatever they can to lessen their own burden of responsibility."

"I think you are correct," the githyanki replied. "But I also think that they raise a good point. If you had let us execute my plan we could have killed them and taken the sword without incident. Instead, you orchestrated this elaborate ambush because you did not want their blood on your conscience. Well now you have the blood of three githyanki warriors there instead." The mage gulped audibly.

"Now hold on, Perragourp," Akerman stammered. "You don't want to anger Loremaster Starsoul. Your Gisir has enjoyed a very profitable arrangement with Memento Mori and- "The captain held up a hand.

"This is a matter that must be decided by Gisir Okemocik," Perragourp said. "It is beyond my area of expertise." He made a circling gesture with his hand and barked out an order to his men.

Of the companions, only Grandfather Plaque understood the Gith tongue: "Take them! Take them all!"

"I don't fancy the thought of being weaponless," Saelus admitted, causing the captain to pause and look back at the man over his shoulder. "No githyanki would want to be weaponless."

"You presume much comparing yourself to githyanki, human. No githyanki would allow himself to be captured thus," the commander snarled turning to face the colonel. "You are no githyanki."

"Even if we might be a lesser race in your eyes, surely you can understand the desire to maintain our honor by keeping our weapons and such," Saelus pressed, making the githyanki snarl and raise his greatsword. He aimed it at the colonel's throat, ready to stab it home.

"I need only bring one of you alive before the Gisir, human," Perragourp hissed, sighting down the length of his sword. "I could execute you now." Saelus met the githyanki's eyes and held them.

"You really shouldn't antagonize Olin Perragourp," Akerman cautioned, a note of fear in his voice. Saelus ignored him.

"I will comply to being brought before the Gisir if you but allow our honor to be kept in light of Akerman's failing to have any honor in his dealings," the war mage said and Perragourp's eyes narrowed. Then he let his sword drop and threw back his head.

"Ha!" he barked once. "I like you, human. The heart of a warrior beats beneath your soft skin. And because I like you I offer you an opportunity for githyanki justice." He gestured to the two warriors flanking Saelus. "If you can best one of my two sergeants in single combat then you and your companion may retain your honor and your sword. If you are beaten then your life and your honor are forfeit."


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## Jon Potter (Apr 26, 2009)

*[Realms #474] Into the Lion's Den*

Saelus considered his own depleted strength and the steely look onthe faces of both githyanki sergeants before reaching his decision.

"I appreciate you having more honor now then Akerman will ever have in his entire life but I must politely decline your offer," the war wizard said, sheathing his sabre. As Saelus reluctantly unfastened his swordbelt, the githyanki captain sneered at him.

"Pathetic," Perragourp growled. "You are a joke. A parody of a warrior. Nothing more."

Saelus bit back on his pride and offered up his weapons to the captain. "Take care of them till I get them back, please," he said and the githyanki let out that single barking laugh again.

"I think you are less the brave warrior and more the fool who does not realize the situation in which he finds himself," the captain said and gestured to his warriors to seize the two interlopers.



Morier, Saelus, and Akerman were manhandled through the far doors and into a corridor that was twenty feet wide, forty feet high and eighty feet long, opening ultimately into a wide entry hall with two rows of fat, stone columns running straight to another pair of heavy double doors - these made entirely of some unfamiliar gray metal. Two guards were stationed there and they banged on the doors as the group approached with its prisoners.

The doors yawned open into another impressive spherical chamber that seemed almost like a smaller version of the first room they'd been in. It lacked doors opening onto the astral plane, of course, and possessed no mooring platform, but its geodesic surface was carved everywhere with intricate bas reliefs of the githyanki at war. Four doors led off the chamber at various positions and a single, ten-foot wide corridor plunged into the depths of the outpost.

The prisoners were dragged to a door on the leftmost wall that let into a ten-sided chamber dominated by an enormous bat-winged throne flanked by a pair of worked columns. Each arm of the chair was carved into the shape of a snarling dragon, and a king's ransom of jewels glittered on the back of the throne. Seated there was a singular githyanki wearing elaborate filigree armor decorated with precious stones. A crimson crown seemingly made entirely of light shone on his sallow brow, its ruddy glow reflected on the edges of the numerous weapons mounted on the wall behind the chair. A huge silver greatsword of baroque design was propped casually against the arm of the throne.

The githyanki prostrated themselves before this figure and forced their prisoners to bend as well until the Gisir (for who else could it be) spoke a word and all were given leave to rise. Captain Perragourp then spoke at length to the Gisir in a language that neither Morier nor Saelus could fathom. If Akerman understood the exchange, he gave no indication, but merely stared resolutely ahead into the distance.

"The Gisir has reached his verdict," Perragourp said after what seemed like a long time in conference with his leader. "In deference to our long-standing partnership with Memento Mori and the duplicitous nature of our encounter, he has seen fit to show leniency."

Both Morier and Saelus let out a sigh of relief. Akerman, who was more familiar with the githyanki idea of lenience did not alter his demeanor.

"Over the next two days, there will be a trial by combat with opponents chosen by random lots," the githyanki went on. "The first two combatants will face off in mortal combat after vespers. The winner of that exchange will go on to face the third defendant after the next service following. The ultimate champion will go free."

"So rules Gisir Okemocik."


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## Jon Potter (May 3, 2009)

*[Realms #475] Resisting Arrest*

While Perragourp was pronouncing what amounted to a death sentence for at least two of the defendants, Morier looked about the room. He took inventory of which guards possessed which of his belongings that he would need if he was to escape. Too many items were in too many hands to get them all back together. He'd have to make some tough choices. He looked across the way at Saelus, absorbing the sudden sting of unpleasant realization: he couldn't get them both out of here.

The odds were insurmountable... He might be able to get himself free, but trying to save them both seemed a certain failure. Perhaps Saelus could avail himself of the circumstances Morier would create. He hoped so, but he simply couldn't take responsibility for both of them. Not now.

Whether the decision was cowardly or just was a question he could consider at length later - if there was a later. Perhaps the line was too fine to distinguish anyway. But the stakes had risen too high with his possession of Dridana's spark for him to be squeamish. Akerman's presence magnified the problem a million times.

He drew on the power of The Heart...

The Gisir, realizing what was happening, shouted out a warning and snatched up his greatsword in a single motion.

One of the two githyanki standing behind Morier brought his own greatsword up and then down intending to split the albino from crown to crotch, but the eldritch warrior twisted his body and the blade whistled down inches from him.

Perragrourp cursed and sent a _Quickened Flame Bolt_ at the albino. Morier's innate spell resistance foiled much of the attack, but the conjured orb of flame struck him in the forehead nonetheless, disrupting the delicate matrix of power forming within The Heart and causing the _Owl's Wisdom_ spell he'd been attempting to dissipate without effect.

It left behind a red burn mark on his pale forehead and a new sting of realization: maybe he wouldn't even be able to save himself...

The Gisir shouted out some kind of command and Morier was driven to the floor by a press of githyanki warriors. His face was forced roughly into the stone while his arms were twisted back. Neither caused him any injury; the Heart made him highly resilient although it did nothing to prevent him being pinned and held immobile. Looking through the chaotic storm of jaundiced limbs and wiry torsos, the albino saw Saelus trying to make use of the distraction and make good his own escape.

The war mage leapt on his nearest opponent, simultaneously seizing and drawing the githyanki's greatsword. Then he slashed downward with the blade, opening its belly in a single stroke that sent a cloud of blood billowing into the air as the githyanki collapsed in shocked horror. In the next instant, the colonel disappeared beneath a pile of githyanki warriors and though he struggled valiantly, he didn't do so for long.


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## Jon Potter (May 6, 2009)

*[Interludes #10] What's a Nice Bunch Like You Doing in a Place Like This?*

Ayremac looked from Del to Maleko and nodded slowly.

“In an effort to be diplomatic," he began, "my mission here is simply to purge this vessel. As you stated, association with a Neogi vessel is somewhat questionable in itself."

"Diplomatic?" Maleko scoffed. "Once you start with insults it's a bit late for diplomacy, don't you think? I can't say I am fond of being called a fool."

“I apologize for the unkind words," the Officer of Umba said. "With the threat of battle, I tend to fall back on the heavy weight of authority that can break the will of the common criminal. You are obviously not such a man, and no disrespect was intended.”

Del breathed easier at this and again offered his potion to Ixin.

"Are any more of you 'kung fu fighters' injured?" Maleko asked, stepping closer with his holy symbol of Nethlar displayed. "I assume that is what you call yourselves since that was the battle cry we heard."

"Yeah, we're hurt," the pale twins admitted in unison, stepping closer. One was gingerly probing his chest where Maleko's _Magic Missiles_ had struck and the other was holding a bleeding gash on his arm from Jinissi's dagger.

"We did not see an Officer of Umba when we engaged you. I am relieved we did not kill any of your crew," Maleko apologized. "Were you prisoners here? Neogi are famous for their mind tricks; I was worried that you could be deceiving us." Ayremac looked at him impassively and touched the holy symbol of Umba worked into his breastplate.

"In the name of She Who Judges," he intoned and invoked his _Sacred Healing_ ability. Ixin and the twins both visibly relaxed as the healing took hold and Ayremac turned his attention back to Maleko and Del.

"You needn't worry about deception from me" he said definitively. "Now what brings you here?”

"We mean to explore this, the ship of the alleged enemy neogi," Maleko explained, "and perhaps go back to the ship we came from with what we found here." Del immediately caught the significance of his friend's assertion that 'perhaps' they'd go back. He wondered what Jinissi thought of that statement and suddenly realized that she was nowhere in sight.

“There was another amongst your party…” Ayremac began, picking up on clues in Del's demeanor.

"One of our party is missing," Maleko said, only just noticing her absence. "Jinissi, the lizard folk. bears hostility towards Neogil she was their prisoner once and has lots of information about this ship. Come out please, Jinissi."
She did not come out and Ayremac glanced about for the lizard woman.

“Ixin, do you see the cloaked figure?” he asked.

"No," the skull-faced woman told him as her four globes of floating light spread out to better fill the cargo hold with illumination. "But I'll find her."

"Not likely," Cerrakean croaked from the hatchway leading out. "Not if she doesn't want you to find her." With a single motion the hobgoblin sheathed her scimitars across her broad back.

"Do not underestimate my abilities," Ixin snapped and Cerrakean snorted.

"It's not about you, sweetheart," the hobgoblin sneered as she hopped over the umber hulk corpse. "But I know her type and you're not gonna just trip over her in the dark."

"Perhaps you could assist in the search?" Ayremac suggested. He looked at one of the twins. "Perhaps you'd like to go as well, J'inn? To keep the two groups in contact?"

The three searchers moved off through a doorway that led deeper into the deathspider, leaving Ayremac, Del, Maleko and the second twin, J'ann, to exchange information.



“So you are in the service of a githyanki captain?" the holy warrior asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you pirates?” Del shook his head fiercely.

"No!" he said quickly. "We hired his ship and crew as transport on the Astral plane, but it has proven to be a difficult contract." Maleko nodded.

"He is a seasoned trader here, with his own code of conduct and a devil as a first mate," Del went on. J'ann, stepped forward.

"You came on the Dire Hag?" he asked, surprised. Del nodded and J'ann shook his head. "I'm surprised you made it this far. Grawl isn't known to follow the spirit of a contract."

"The only law out here is his law was how I believe he put it," Maleko smiled and saw the Officer of Umba's lip curl in disgust. "I do not know if Grawl is totally bad; he just has his own interests first and foremost."

"His interest in this vessel is not to be taken lightly," Del asserted and Ayremac turned his gaze on the half-elf.

"And just what is his interest?" the holy warrior asked.

"He wants us to commandeer this ship for him," Maleko answered simply. "But since it could be said that you were here first, it seems we have little right to take it from a just party."

"I have no desire for this evil vessel," the Officer of Umba said. "It's helm must be destroyed, but the rest belongs to the Buommans as far as I'm concerned." He indicated J'ann and the pale man nodded his thanks.

"Captain Grawl and his crew may not feel the same way," Maleko cautioned. "If we deal with him, I suggest you change your tone to be more polite. He would certainly not tolerate being called a fool."

"If this Grawl consorts with fiends, there will be no deals," Ayremac said flatly and Del and Maleko exchanged a glance.

"What have you found about the ship so far?" the elf asked, deflecting the conversation away from talk of the Dire Hag.

"It was all but deserted when we arrived," Ayremac said. "There was a single neogi on board and two of those umber hulks." He indicated the massive aberration wedged in the open hatchway. With a new note of icy bitterness in his voice he added, "Their slaves were all dead."

"Drained of life by the ship's Helm," J'ann explained. "Deathspiders use a Lifejammer Helm powered by the vitality of whoever's attached to it. There's a half-dozen withered husks on the bridge that used to be strapped into the thing."

"That's why the Helm must be destroyed," Ayremac said. "Ixin can burn it before we leave."



"What do you know of this ship and its crew and slaves?" Cerrakean asked, her voice a low whisper in the darkened hallway.

"The crew are all dead," Ixin replied, spreading out her _Dancing Lights_ to show more of the corridor. "The slaves were all dead when we got here."

The hallway from the cargo hold sloped downward toward the front of the ship. Six doors were set in the walls, three on either side, and all were locked. Ixin sent a globe of light to the far end of the hall where another door stood, this one half open. "Those lights are just gonna alert Jinissi to our pursuit," Cerrakean grumbled and Ixin turned a sharp eye on her. 

"You would have us stumble about in the dark?" the sorcerer snapped and Cerrakean shrugged her meaty shoulders.

"I can see just fine in the dark," the hobgoblin grinned. She turned to the Buomman and asked, "What about you, pasty?"

"I can see in darkness," he admitted. "And my name is J'inn."

"And I'll bet you a gold piece that Jinissi's got no trouble with the dark either," Cerrakean said, smiling at Ixin. "That just leaves you, sweetheart. You can hold J'inn's hand if you're scared."

"Do not mock me, trolblood!" Ixin snarled, raising the scimitar in her hand. "I am Ixin, daughter of Ventisjir the Red, granddaughter of Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith of Clan Vermillion!"

"Sister, I don't care who you are," the hobgoblin said in a low purr. "But you want to put that sword away. There's not a spell-slinger alive who can cross blades with me and walk away." Ixin looked at her and curled her lip in disgust.

"This will not help us find the lizard woman," J'inn interceded. "That was our task, was it not?" Ixin sighed and looked at him, lowering her sword with a nod.

"Yes," she admitted. "Ayremac would not be pleased to see me let my pride get in the way of our success." Cerrakean raised an eyebrow.

"Are you and the angel...?" she let the question hang in the air, but the lascivious grin on her face left little doubt as to her intimation. Ixin shook her head.

"He stood by me when everyone else I cared about had given up on me," she said. "He has earned my respect and friendship. That is all." Cerrakean shrugged.

"Pity," she said. "He's real pretty to look at." Ixin turned her eyes away and changed the subject.

"I can dismiss the _Dancing Lights_ if you think it will aid our cause," she said but Cerrakean shook her head.

"Don't bother," the hobgoblin replied. "Just keep 'em back and let me and J'inn go up front."


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## Jon Potter (May 10, 2009)

*[Interludes #110] Suppressive Fire*

"J'inn has not found the lizardfolk yet," J'ann told Ayremac. "But it seems that she's heading for the bridge." The holy warrior considered the information and sighed.

"Let J'inn know that we're on our way," he said. "If they do find her tell them to contain her until I arrive."

"She's after the helm," Maleko said nervously.

"There is little that she can do alone," Ayremac confided. "The helm requires two to operate, and it's not like she can just remove it from the ship."

"That's Grawl's plan," Del told him as they started to move toward the door.

"Then he will be disappointed," Ayremac said.



Another umber hulk corpse lay slumped on the boarding deck. This one was visibly burned on one side of its body, and an unpleasant smell filled the area. A narrow staircase spiraled up into a hole in the ceiling. A pair of double doors were closed at the far end of the room, and two smaller hatches let out onto the "spider leg" grappling rams. The door on the left stood open and smoke was billowing around the opening.

"Smokestick!" J'inn announced when he looked at it.

"She's signaling the other vessel," Ixin guessed and Cerrakean nodded, gesturing to the staircase in the center of the room.

"Where's that go?" she asked.

"The bridge," Ixin told her as she and J'inn sealed the hatch. Cerrakean shot up the spiral stair at once into the domed chamber above.

It was an oval room twenty feet long by perhaps fifteen feet wide made, it seemed, entirely of glass. Two of the enormous, forward-thrusting spider legs flanked the chamber, and the main body of the ship rose up at the rear, giving Cerrakean a clear view of some type of ballista-like weapon mounted there. The chamber was dominated by what looked like a double-sided throne with a seat extending from each side of a central back. The whole was worked in a motif of interconnected bones and spider webs. The seat facing forward had a commanding view of the area in front of the deathspider and was cushioned in red velvet. The seat facing backward, however was unadorned and had a cage of bone that still held a shriveled humanoid corpse imprisoned within it. Half a dozen similarly desiccated humanoid corpses lay on the deck around the throne.

Jinissi was outside, clinging to one of the grappling rams beside her signal smoke. Beyond her, Cerrakean could see that the Dire Hag had maneuvered closer, and a boarding party that included the chain devil was making its way toward the deathspider.

"We're about to have company!" Cerrakean yelled down the stairwell and J'inn darted toward an exterior viewport. Ixin stepped back from the sealed door and crossed her arms.

"Let them come," she purred glowering at the hatch as if she could somehow see the boarders beyond.

"Remember why we are here, Ixin," Ayremac cautioned as he and the others entered the boarding deck. "Standing and dying for no good reason will not help us find the sword."

"Well whatever we're going to do we'd best do it quickly!" J'inn cried from his spot at the port. "We've got maybe 10 seconds before the boarding party's banging at the door!" Del looked around at the chamber, noted the presence of two of the ballistae-like weapons, and formulated a plan.

"Can you operate that weapon?" he asked J'inn and the Buomman looked at him strangely.

"Enough to fire it, I suppose," he answered. "Reloading it might be another matter, but..."

"Fine then!" Del cut him off. "You do that. Target the party first and then the ship if you can manage it." He looked at Ayremac and Maleko and asked, "Can we get this ship powered up?"

"I told you it's powered by-" Ayremac started to argue, but the marshall stopped him.

"I'll volunteer to act as the source," he said quickly. "And we're out of time to argue! Though I've never seen a ship powered this way, I have some nautical experience. Grawl has an entire crew and a ship at his disposal... we need to take advantage of our position here."

“Del, that sounds like a great plan," Ayremac conceded with a nod. Then he moved to join Ixin at the hatchway she and J'inn had just locked. "I will secure the door.”

"Okay, let's give this a try," Maleko sighed and started to follow Del up the stairs. "I really have no clue what I am doing, mind you."

There was a sudden roar as J'inn and J'ann fired the ballistae-like weapon. It rocked back violently, propelled by the explosion of fire belching from its muzzle. If it hadn't been contained by a pair of stout chains it would likely have ended up on the other side of the chamber.

As it was the deafening blast gave everyone pause until J'inn and J'ann, peering out through the port gave twin whoops of joy as they slapped hands.
"We got 'im!" they cried in unison.

Their shot, hurried and untrained though it was, still struck with deadly accuracy, impacting the kyton squarely and vaporizing his torso entirely. The shot then exploded into a mass of webbing that caught all of the surviving boarders in its entangling strands. Ayremac hurried over and looked out at the Buommans' handiwork.

"Well struck!" he congratulated them both.

"I still would feel more comfortable if we could block the entrance," Maleko said nervously. "Who knows where Jinissi is." Cerrakean slipped eel-like passed him on the stairs and vaulted down to the boarding deck.

"I do!" she barked. "She's outside on the hull."

"Well that's good," Maleko said, relieved and the hobgoblin raised an eyebrow.

"Is it?" she asked. "We already know that she can pick the locks on this thing. And I don't have a clue how many ways into the ship there are. Do you?"


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## Jon Potter (May 17, 2009)

*[Interludes #11] Route!*

"Not really," Maleko admitted. "But if we find her, perhaps I could help. I could _Web_ her and then she would be easy to remove." The elf started back down the stairs but Cerrakean shot him a staying look.

"I can deal with Jinissi," she said. "That's what I'm good at. You stick to what you're good at and let me do my job." She cocked a thumb back up at the hole in the ceiling that led to the helm.

"We should all go take care of this situation," Maleko insisted. "I don't want the lizard woman catching any of us alone after this." Cerrakean's lip curled back from her fangs, but before she could say anything Ayremac spoke up.

"I’ll try and help Cerrakean rid us of our stow-away, Maleko," he said. “Meantime let's try to get this ship moving anyway. I think your plan to pilot the ship was a good one and we don’t want to be sitting ducks. If you want to try to get this thing moving, we may be able to at least give this pirate a challenge." The elf scowled but turned back up the stairs. After one step he paused and asked, "J'inn and J'ann, can you reload that weapon?"

"Maybe..." J'inn started.

"I've never done it before," J'ann finished.

"Why?" they said in unison and each cocked his head at Maleko in exactly the same way.

"I don't think Shroud is done for. If I am not mistaken, he will regenerate soon enough," the mage told them. "Mr. Jangles will not be happy when he comes 'round."

Ayremac paused at that announcement, considering. Then he turned to Cerrakean and asked, "You're sure you can handle Jinissi alone?" She looked at him like he was mad.

"Does an elf crap in the woods?" she asked and set about opening the hatch to the outside. Ayremac nodded at her back.

"Ixin, I don’t like the idea of you and I splitting up," he told his charge. "What say we head out and see if we can finish off that boarding party?”

"There will be justice," she said and Ayremac smiled at the zeal in her eyes. He'd had that same enthusiasm when he'd first read Umba's Writ.

"Maybe one of us should stay guard here in case the lizard woman comes back," Maleko suggested and Ayremac paused at the door as Cerrakean darted out into the silver void.

“Obviously, your party can do as it chooses," he told the elf and followed the hobgoblin outside. Ixin grinned at the mage and then she too disappeared outside.

Maleko sighed and Del called from the helm above, "Are you coming?"



Finishing off the boarding party was a simple matter. Ayremac called down a _Holy Smite_ on the webbed mass of pirates and from the resulting cries of pain easily determined that every one of them trapped within was evil. Ixin came in close and spoke a quick word of benediction, "Umba's wisdom is infinite."

In the past, Ixin's draconic fundamentum was responsible for producing her dragonfire. It was as natural a thing for her as laughing and it used to bring her almost as much joy. But now, since returning from the samsara sword, she was wholly human and possessed no organ to generate her fiery breath. But regaining that power had been the focus of every free moment she had had in Frothingham and through hours of meditation and concentration she'd found a way to convert the energy from her spells into dragonfire. The higher the Circle of spell she sacrificed, the hotter her breath burned. She drew now on the power of a single 2nd Circle Valence, opened her mouth and breathed fire on them.

The effect was horrible and instantaneous. Most of the pirates were directly caught in the cone of flame and charred to a cinder at once. Some few of them were on the periphery of the mass, but they could not avoid the spreading flames as the _Web_ burned. Weakened as they were by exposure to Ayremac's _Holy Smite_, they were swiftly immolated by the purging fire.



Cerrakean's prey wasn't nearly so cooperative. Jinissi was sneaky and knew her way around the Deathspider, so it was little wonder that the hobgoblin had trouble finding her. In truth, despite Cerrakean's earlier bravado she may well have never found Jinissi if the lizardfolk hadn't simply darted off the ship into the void. At first, Cerrakean couldn't figure out what she was doing, but then looking up, the hobgoblin noticed that the Dire Hag was turning away, executing a retreat from the scene.

Jinissi didn't want to be left behind.

But she was slow. Too slow as it turned out and Cerrakean caught up with her before she'd closed half the distance between the two ships. She struck the lizard woman scimitar-first in the back, opening a terrible wound there. Hissing, Jinissi looped around, trailing droplets of crimson as she came at the hobgoblin with her shortsword. The weapon stabbed out and drew a line of blood along the inside of Cerrakean's right thigh.

"Let me go," the lizard woman hissed, her long tongue tasting the air, but Cerrakean just snorted laughter.

"Not a chance, honey," she said and her two scimitars became a blur of motion as she sought some opening in her opponent's defense. She found none, and as Jinissi parried her last attack, the lizard woman hissed menacingly.

"You are not so skilled when facing an opponent rather than stabbing them in the back," she said and tried to bring her shortsword up into Cerrakean's belly. The hobgoblin batted the blade away with her own and slashed across Jinissi's left bicep with her other scimitar.

"Keep talking," the hobgoblin shot back as her opponent recoiled in pain. Cerrakean came in close and Jinissi stabbed her in the side.

"Oh, I will, wretch," the lizard woman laughed as hobgoblin blood leaked from the puncture in Cerrakean's gut. Cerrakean stopped the laughter short by slashing her across the snout.

Jinissi stabbed her again in the thigh.

Cerrakean opened a matching wound in Jinissi's.

The lizard woman reared back to drive her sword into Cerrakean's gut and the hobgoblin's two swords flashed out like a pair of scissors opening horrible wounds in Jinissi's throat. The lizard woman made a gurgling sound and clutched feebly at her ruptured neck, but she could do nothing to stem the flow of blood and after a moment she was still in the center of a crimson cloud.

"Try talking now," the hobgoblin growled, spitting on the corpse.



"This is taking too long," Del hissed through gritted teeth.

"Are you alright?" Maleko asked as he tried to get a sense for the strange controls governing the ship's movement. He stared at the spinning tangle of concentric circles and glowing nodes of light that hung in the air before him, and thought that at last he was seeing some logic to the display. The bright red hourglass at the core clearly represented the deathspider and if he could get it to tilt forward and to the left...

The entire ship shuddered and lurched forward, beginning a laborious turn to port.

"I'll be fine," Del panted behind him. "Just do what you have to do." If Maleko had been able to see the half-elf he might have thought differently. Cold sweat was streaming down the Marshall's ghastly white face, and his eyes were pressed tightly shut with the effort to keep his voice even despite the steady pain that came from being strapped into the lifejammer helm.

"Hold this heading," one of the twins hollered up from below.

"Can you close the distance any?" the other asked.

"I... I don't know," Maleko admitted. The controls were so... alien.

"Then just hold it right-" The cannon fired below followed an instant later by disappointed cursing.

"We missed," they yelled up. "And Grawl's ship is moving off."

"Do we pursue?" Maleko asked eagerly as he frantically moved his hands over the glimmering controls. "We've got them on the run!"

"No!" Del panted through gritted teeth. "We powered up this ship to help deal with Grawl's attack. If the Dire Hag is sailing away, I see no benefit in chasing it down at the physical expense of our own manpower."

"If we run though would it not appear to be that we are afraid? Perhaps letting me take my time to get the control of this ship would be good," the elf suggested, his attention rapt upon the controls. "We can't power it too long using ourselves. That's not a great plan, although it may work."

"I see no reason to run risks to hunt him down," Del groaned. "Unless you want to take a turn sitting in this seat." Maleko sat up with a start and rushed around to where the half-elf was imprisoned within the cage of the second throne. He began releasing him at once.

"You're right of course!" the mage said. "I do not want to power this ship with a person unless essential for our survival. Very brave of you, Del. Are you alright? I am sure it was excrutiating." Pale-faced and sweating, Del leaned forward in the chair breathing heavily.

"I'll live," he said tremulously. At that point Ayremac poked his head up through the hole in the floor.

“We may have won a bluff here," he said. "The ship is moving off with haste. I thought for sure the pirate captain would pursue, but he may think this ship is better manned that it is. Let's not give any evidence that it is not the case.”

"We have now made a life enemy of Grawl, I'm afraid," Del breathed and the holy warrior scowled.

"You look unwell," he said matter-of-factly. "Perhaps some rest is in order."



"What in your journeys has brought you to the astral plane?" Maleko asked later after they had regrouped. J'inn, J'ann and Cerrakean were all on sentry duty studying the silver void for any sign of other ships, the Dire Hag or otherwise.

"We are on a quest," Ixin said proudly and Ayremac nodded.

“I am not sure how familiar you both are with the path of Umba, but I am what we call an Officer," the celestial told Maleko and Del. "I am given the honor of dispensing Umba’s justice on the material plane. I also bear the responsibility to take on the missions of my elders, the Justiciars."

"I am familiar with Umba," Maleko said. "I am a priest of Nethlar, the Lorekeeper." Ayremac smiled.

"Good," he said. "In any case, my personal teacher, Justiciar Galmache has asked me to search the Astral Plane for a sword… Fedifensor, to be specific. Have you heard of it?”

"Who hasn't?" Maleko laughed. "There're entire books written about Fedifensor and how it figured into the defense of Amphibese and southwestern Pellham."

"Well, I've never heard of it," Del admitted as he rubbed his brow. 

“Fedifensor is a holy sword, a mighty relic, actually, that is imbued with the holy power to overcome fiends and send them back to the lower planes,” Ayremac told him.

"In the high tongue it's name translates as 'Defender of the Faith'," Maleko said, grinning. "Finding it after all the years since it was lost would be amazing!"

"What about you?" Ixin asked, unmoved by Maleko's enthusiasm for minutia.

"We have come to the astral plane in search of surviving members of Grey House." the elf said proudly. He was looking at Ayremac when he spoke, pointing at a gem bracelet he wore on his left wrist, so he missed the look that passed over Ixin's face. Del saw it however and made a point of watching her as Maleko spoke.

"We are tracking them through this device. It is telling us if we are closing in on their coins," Maleko went on. He pulled out a pierced mithril coin threaded on a chain from around his neck to demonstrate. "They may or may not still be alive. We may encounter difficulty if they were murdered or something. I never mentioned that before to Del or Cerreakan, but I assumed they thought of that possibility. There are very few surviving members left after a battle at Myth Drannor, so we are very concerned that the Grey Company continue."

"This is familiar to you," Del said to Ixin and she looked at him quickly. There was fire in her eyes, and recognition. She sighed and nodded.

"I travelled for a while with some who bore such coins," she announced and her eyes seemed to visibly glaze over with memory. "I even wore one myself for a time. A smallfolk... A dvergar... A fairyborn... A trolborn... All of them are dead now. All dead."


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## Jon Potter (May 24, 2009)

*[Interludes #12] Synchronicity*

Del could see that there was more to be told about Ixin's former companions, and he perked up at the prospect of information related to the story that he and Maleko were pursuing.

"What can you tell us of your time spent with these Grey Members?" he encouraged, unable to completely mask the anxiousness in his inquiry. Ixin looked at him, her eyes smoldering.

"They were my friends," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "Like Ayremac, they stood by me when I had no one else. But as I said, they have all taken the Walk of 100 Days."

"For how long did you travel together?" he went on. "Where were they headed?"

"I don't know," Ixin faltered, stumbling over her imperfect memory. "Half a year, perhaps." Ayremac stepped in, sensing his companion's growing discomfort.

“Funny that the gods would put us together like this... on a neogi ship, chased by pirates, in a world foreign to us all,” the Officer of Umba mused and Maleko nodded.

"It does amuse me at times what the Gods put mortals through," he said. "It cannot just be a coincidence that we have found you here." Now it was Ayremac's turn to nod in agreement.

“I am not sure how our stories will intertwine, but it seems that combining our efforts here may be the best course of action,” he said.

"It might be beneficial for us to travel together, for a time, given that we now have a common enemy," Del suggested. "There is no guarantee that the sword and coins are together here on the Astral plane. But as we are each in search of something, maybe we would be smart to band together toward that end. Depending of course on where we go from here."

“I am not sure if you believe that the gods help control our destiny, but I traveled with the party you speak of... Ixin and I both did, as a matter of fact," Ayremac admitted, and Del started as if someone had poked him in the ribs with the haft of a spear. "I never carried a coin, and by the time I joined the party no one had even met the Grey Company. They were simply carrying on a shared mission. A mission passed down by those whom had traveled with them and died.”

Maleko opened his mouth, but then stopped, aware that Del would ask about Ledare if he wanted to know more and respected the former janissary's choice not to ask for more details. He imagined it would open a flood gate of emotions the half-elf did not wish to share or struggle to control in his weakened state. 

"It must be a most worthy cause if these people continue on the path laid for them by their comrades," Maleko said and Ayremac nodded.

"It is most worthy indeed. The fate of the world hangs in the balance," the holy warrior admitted and even Ixin nodded sullenly.

"Then why are you two no longer with them?" Del asked, carefully noting the pair's reaction to his question. Ayremac looked stung, but Ixin seemed positively defeated.

“I was pulled away by a disagreement of faith," the Officer said. "My companion here was dead, so perhaps she can be forgiven for abandoning the quest."

"Dead?" Maleko asked, shocked. He knew that there were divine miracles that could pluck the souls of the recently dead from Purgatorium, but there was always a tremendous toll to be paid for such meddling in the natural order. He'd never known anyone who'd petitioned the gods for such a boon, much less anyone who'd actually returned from the Walk of 100 Days.

"Yes," Ayremac assured the elf. "But it is, perhaps, a tale for another time." Maleko looked at Ixin and noticed that the woman's demeanor had worsened as the conversation wove its way toward the subject of her death. He was unsure what it meant, but he was diplomatic enough to let the subject lapse. He nodded and Del picked up the thread of the dialogue.

"Will this disagreement of faith you speak of be a problem should we meet your former companions?" the half-elf asked.

"I don't see how," Ayremac told him. "That issue is passed and I find it interesting that you not only search them out but that you have the tool that would help me find them.”

"The gods have their hands in this," Maleko said with a reverent nod.

“Would you join my quest and in return I will aid you in yours?" Ayremac asked the two men. "We will find those that carry these coins, and then we will find Fedifensor.”

Maleko looked at Del and the two shared a moment's unspoken debate.

"Our quest is merely to find these men. I will have to see what their agenda is before I could in good conscience pledge my service to your cause," the elf explained. "I believe it to be a great cause, but I would first wish to see what happens with these men we seek."

"I understand," Ayremac said and he looked at Ixin. After a moment, Del stood clapped his hands together.

"What now?" he asked and Maleko reflexively looked at his bracelet. Then the elf looked up at Ayremac.

"How do we find Fedifensor?" he asked. "You do not have a jeweled bracelet as I do."

"True, but we already know where Fedifensor is," the Officer told him. "It is being held at an outpost on the astral plane called Akiv-tchai."

"J'inn and J'ann know where that is," Ixin added. "They agreed to show us the way in exchange for eliminating the threat of the deathspider."

"Which I'd say we've done," Del said and his assessment was met with nods all around.

"Yes," Ayremac said. "Let's find the Buommans and complete our bargain."



They were on the boarding deck. J'inn had opened the double doors at the front of the chamber and was standing watch there with Cerrakean. J'ann had opened up two lockers that contained a variety of weapons and other objects mounted within. There were plenty of curved swords of a sort similar to Cerrakean's scimitars, some sized for use by creatures of smaller than man-like stature. The majority of the items within, however, looked superficially like crossbows, ranging from hand-sized designs up to weapons with heavy brass-plated stocks. All of them lacked actual bows, their missiles likely propelled by magic, but it wasn't hard to imagine how they were used.

"We found their weapon lockers," J'ann announced. "Most of it's pretty standard stuff. Nothing magical." Ayremac's eyes swept over the contents and settled on the Buomman.

"I think that we've fulfilled our part of the bargain we struck earlier," he said and J'ann nodded.

"Of course. Of course," the Buomman nodded. "J'inn and I have already sent a _Whispering Wind_ to the Cabal. Others of the Dirge will be here shortly to secure the ship."

"Which means that you'll need this," J'inn said from the front of the chamber. He held a small piece of stone cut in a diamond shape in his hand and offered it to Ayremac. "This is a bit of Avik-tchai, itself. Concentrate on the stone and it'll point you in the right direction." Ayremac accepted the object and smiled gratefully.

"You have my thanks, J'inn," he said.

"No worries," J'ann replied.

"What will you do with the deathspider now that it's yours?" Del asked as he once more gazed around at the marvelous craft. J'inn and J'ann both shrugged.

"Strip it," J'inn said.

"Burn it," J'ann added.

"Leave it as a warning that the neogi are not welcome in the Chain of Tears," J'inn finished. And Ayremac looked concerned.

"Certainly, I won't stand in the way of you burning this evil contraption," he said. "But might I just say that for one... much of this ship is wood, if you start a fire, you may not be able to put it out. Also the pillar of smoke will be seen for miles, and you may have visitors... scavengers, or previously defeated evil captains, coming back to see what happened."

"Don't worry... 'bout a t'ing...," J'ann sang in a strange lilting accent. "'Cause every little t'ing, is gonna be alright..."

"Just so," J'inn agreed nodding his head to the rhythm of his twin's song. "We'll wait until our fellows arrive before engaging in any pyromania."

"In that case, I suggest we leave now," Ayremac announced, turning his attention from the Buommans to his companions. "I have not tired while on this plane, and I don't think we will."

"The astral plane has the timeless trait," Maleko assured him. "We'll have no need for sleep other than the recovery of spells."

"So we just leave?" Del asked and Ayremac nodded.

"I have no more business to tend to on this ship and I am eager to see old friends," he said.

"Are we sure we're heading in the same direction?" Maleko asked, holding up his bracelet and angling it about until he was sure of the proper heading toward the mithril coins. 

Ayremac looked at the glowing bracelet and held up the touchstone he'd gotten from J'inn. It lay flat on his palm for a moment and then it spun like the needle of a compass to point off into the void. Its path and the path set by the Maleko's jewelry seemed the same and Ayremac smiled.

"It seems the fates are confirming we quest together," he said and Maleko smiled, happy to have their ranks bolstered.



"Do you think we should stick around to see the helm destroyed?" Maleko asked after they'd taken a final pass through the ship. "Just to be sure."

"We are close now, my friend," Del countered. "Are you really sure we should stay to watch this ship burn when what we've traveled so far for may be within reach?" Maleko looked at the half-elf and could see that despite Del's attempts to conceal it, he was extremely eager to press on. The mage-priest would not stand in his friend's way.

"Let's go," he said, patting Del reassuringly on the back.



It was with mixed feelings that Del left the deathspider, knowing as he did that its helm would soon be engulfed in flame. He had felt a part of the ship, briefly, in the cage. It had tugged at his physical will and drained him in a way that was impossible to describe. It had certainly not been pleasant; he pitied the creatures who had been sucked dry and left as little more than husks by such an instrument. But it was exhilarating just to know that powering a vessel in such a way was possible. It opened up a whole host of possibilities for his family's shipbuilding trade back in Awad... If Del had been in a position to share this unique experience with them... But he was not. Still, it was something new to consider. Someday when he was old and gray, perhaps he could return to the shipyard and take his family's business in a new direction. Would they welcome his experience? His brothers might. His father... well, who knew what the world would look like by then...

"Are we ready?" Ayremac asked, his question lifting Del from his reverie and plunking him back into the cold hard reality of the present. The marshall looked at his companions and nodded.

"Ayremac, you and I will take point," he said, having already determined that they two were the fastest amongst the group. "The rest of you stay together, but not too tight."

"Yeah!" Cerrakean barked. "Stay out of-"

"Fireball formation," Ixin finished and the two shared an appraising look. After a moment, Cerrakean snorted laughter and slipped into position.

"What she said," the hobgoblin croaked.


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## Jon Potter (Jun 2, 2009)

*[Interludes #13] The Doorman*

They traveled for a time that was difficult to gauge, only once spotting anything worth seeing in the silver expanse - a bit of astral flotsam that they used as a temporary rest stop so that Maleko could trance and replenish the spells he'd used to heal Cerrakean's injuries. Ixin and Ayremac too rested, leaving the hobgoblin on watch with Del until the others awoke.

Nothing assailed them and after prayers they set off once more, following the heading set by their magical "compasses".



Some time later, they saw it.

Avik-tchai. Inside which lay both a holy sword and several mithril coins.

The outpost was built in, and projecting out from, a roughly spherical piece of astral debris they judged to be 200 feet or so in diameter. Four towers jutted out from the central section at roughly symmetrical angles while a fifth projection, longer and thicker than the towers, was topped by a bulbous sphere with four smaller towers jutting out near the edges of a large set of double doors — the only apparent route by which to enter the complex. The whole was strange and vaguely sinister, festooned with Iron spikes and riveted metal plates.

There was no immediate sign of anyone manning the outpost, nor did there seem to be any way to enter or leave it but by way of the large wooden doors.

"Charming..." Cerrakean mused and spat. The gobbet of spit flew several feet away and then hung suspended in the void. Ixin looked at it and the hobgoblin before screwing her face up in disgust.

"Yes..." the sorcerer sneered. "Quite." Cerrakean snorted at her and sneered right back.

"We can't all be pretty little things like you, sister," the hobgoblin told her. "Somebody has to do the heavy lifting." Ixin opened her mouth to retort but Ayremac silenced her with an admonishing look.

"Do we just knock?" Maleko asked earning his own look from Del. "I was only kidding," the elf assured him.

"I will sense what I can about this place," Ayremac said as he spread his wings out of habit and rose upward. "I suggest we all do the same."

"We don't all have angel powers, glitter boy," Cerrakean grumbled.

"We all have eyes," Ixin told her and turned her attention on the outpost



Further scrutiny yielded little in the way of new information. Several of the towers were capped with what looked like glass skylights and the glow of light from within was dimly apparent. However, other than that faint glow, there was no sign that the place was inhabited.

Even to Ayremac's "angel powers".

"I will attempt the door," the holy warrior resolved. "I have resistances to certain harm, so I may be better able to hold off a surprise attack"

"I will ask that we show some restraint on insulting any githyanki," Maleko said quickly, looking directly at Ayremac. "They are quick to anger."

"I am well-versed in diplomacy, Maleko," the Officer of Umba replied. "I do not make a habit of hurling insults at strangers."

"Of course not," the elf back-pedalled."I just meant that I have had experience dealing with Grawl with moderate success so far. I do not think he saw me as a threat. Where as you... he does. He saw me as a business opportunity. Maybe we can pull the same thing off here." Ayremac looked at Maleko and then at Avik-tchai.

"Perhaps," he said. "I have no desire to shed blood if it can be avoided."

"I can go either way," Cerrakean grinned ferally and Del looked at her disapprovingly.

"Let's proceed forward as a group," the marshall said after a moment. "But remember what I told you and stay spread out."



They made it to within 100 feet of the outpost doors before anyone hailed them.

"Stop where you are!" a gravelly voice shouted. It was not readily apparent where the voice originated, but its words reached their ears perfectly well. "Avik-tchai has been sealed to traders by order of Gisir Okemocik pending the outcome of today's trial. You will wait until-" The voice paused then and when it spoke next, its tone had softened quite a bit.

"Oh, I say!" the voice chuckled. "Don't I know you?"

Ayremac saw the speaker then. The stone features of Grandfather Plaque smiled at him from the lintel above the double doors leading into Avik-tchai.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Jun 6, 2009)

So do the players know the coins are there or are they "hoping" they will be? It will be interesting to see if they are there how many of them you've decided to leave for them. 

Interestingly the party has yet to see a dead god yet......


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## Jon Potter (Jun 9, 2009)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> So do the players know the coins are there or are they "hoping" they will be?




They're pretty confident. There's only so much I can do to keep the obvious meta-issues out of the discussion. The characters might see the gods' hands in events, but the players know what the DM's been telling them.



> Interestingly the party has yet to see a dead god yet......




You have no idea what's in store for these poor suckers - I mean "valued players" - before they get to glimpse a dead god.


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## Jon Potter (Jul 2, 2009)

*[Interludes #14] Revelations at the Gate*

“Grandfather Plaque??" the holy warrior gaped. "Is that you?” The stone face smiled warmly.

"Indeed it is. It's good to see a familiar face in such a vast emptiness as this," the construct mused. " It's funny, I spent years in a forgotten shrine imprisoned in the dark behind a brick wall. But all this... nothing .. is worse, somehow!" Ayremac nodded compassionately.

"May I approach?" he asked and Grandfather Plaque looked thoughtful.

"I suppose so," he announced after a moment. "My instructions were to repeat the message I gave you and to keep interlopers from breaching the gate. I see no reason why I can't visit a bit with an old friend." Ayremac drifted closer until he was less than 10 feet from the doors and the graven face.

“Grandfather Plaque, I bring friends in peace," he said as he moved, motioning for them to draw slowly nearer as he did so.

"Well I don't wish to speak too ill of my new masters, but I dare say that you'll find little peace hereabouts," the stone face told him. "The githyanki are a bit sword-happy if you take my meaning."

"You have new masters?" the Officer of Umba observed. "Do you still travel with the party? Are they inside?” Grandfather Plaque looked discomfited at that and his eyes roved around for something to look at other than Ayremac.

"Well... two of them are," the construct admitted after a moment. "I tried to bargain for their release, but... but... the githyanki tricked me."

"What do you mean?" Ayremac asked and Grandfather Plaque sighed.

"I offered my services as guardian in exchange for the others' release," the construct said. "Not a bad station, warding such a grand door in such an exotic locale, I thought. And they were going to kill them otherwise, I just knew it."

"So what happened?" Ixin asked and Grandfather Plaque flicked his eyes toward her.

"Oh, hello," he said congenially. "I don't believe we've met."

"Yes, we have," she said. "I'm Ixin." The construct squinted at her.

"Nooo..." he said, drawing out the syllable as he appraised her. "I never forget a face. Ixin looked quite a bit different with-" Ayremac cut him off.

"It is Ixin. She was reincarnated," the Officer of Umba explained succinctly and Grandfather Plaque's face took on an expression of exaggerated awe.

"How terribly interesting," he said. "You simply must tell me all about it. Right after you explain how it is that you came OUT of my first door without ever going IN."

"Grandfather Plaque!" Ayremac said firmly, drawing the construct's attention back to him. "I don't mean to be rude, but you were telling me about what happened to the party."

"Oh yes! Sorry," the face smacked its stony lips. "I made my offer to become a part of Avik-tchai and they agreed to let one of them go in exchange for such a deal. And I thought that one was better than none so I agreed."

"Who did they release?" Ayremac asked.

"Well, I hoped it would be Morier," Grandfather Plaque admitted. "He was always nice. A bit morose, perhaps, but at least he didn't keep suggesting that they stuff me inside the Handy Haversack when he didn't like what I had to say, like Saelus!"

"Who's Saelus?" Ayremac asked. "I don't know him."

"A military man, I believe," the construct told him. "War wizard, or some such. Uniform, shiny boots... quite dapper really. But also quite rude! So I was glad to see that they didn't let him go in exchange for my vigilance."

"Who did they release?" Ixin asked. "Shamalin? Huzair?" Grandfather Plaque looked at her sadly.

"Noxin told me that they were both dead," the construct said glumly.

"What!?" Ayremac exclaimed. "Shamalin's dead?" A cyclone of emotions whirled inside him, but before he could even begin to make sense of them Grandfather Plaque hit him with another revelation.

"They released Dr. Akerman," the stone face said dejectedly.

"Akerman?!" the Officer of Umba snapped. "What were they doing traveling with that parasite?"

"Well, they weren't actually traveling with him," the face said. "He sort of lured them here... into a trap to get some sword that Morier had." Ixin and Ayremac exchanged a glance.

"A sword?" the sorcerer asked. "What sword?"

"I don't know..." Grandfather Plaque admitted. "Some big ugly thing with a jagged blade..."

"Ravager," Ixin said shaking her head. "It's been in the party for a long time. Draelond used to carry it. Then Ledare had it. Morier must have taken it after she was killed." Del drifted forward at the mention of Ledare.

"This is all fascinating stuff. But it isn't getting us anywhere," he said before turning his attention to Grandfather Plaque. "You mentioned a trial. What is that all about?"

"Well, Morier and Saelus killed a few githyanki before they were captured," the stone face told him. "They are on trial for murder."

"I can imagine the kind of law that would govern in this place," Del mused, thinking of Grawl. "I fear they will get no fair trial here." Ayremac seemed to agree with the half-elf's assessment; his jaw clenched angrily.

"When he left, Akerman told me it was to be a trial by combat," Grandfather Plaque explained. "Morier is to fight Saelus to the death... with the winner going free."

"How is that justice?" Ayremac shouted, his hand straying to the handle of his longsword. Ixin drifted closer and put a staying hand on his arm. He took a cleansing breath and nodded to her. When he spoke, his voice was restrained, calm, even. "This is a mockery of law, Grandfather Plaque. You must realize this."

"I fear that the only law here is that of Gisir Okemocik," the stone face admitted sadly. "He rules Avik-tchai and the githyanki obey him unflinchingly. He is the law here."

"Where I go, Umba's law goes with me," Ayremac assured him, the holy warrior's ire rising slowly again. But he retained his composure when he asked, "Can you allow us to enter?"

"Oh, no!" Grandfather Plaque said hurriedly. "My orders were very clear."

"Your orders!?" Ayremac shot back, visibly angered once more. "Our friends are in danger in there and you worry about following orders?" Grandfather Plaque looked nervously around at the assemblage, his eyes flicking meaningfully to the longsword at Ayremac's hip.

"A bargain was struck! My services for a prisoner's freedom," the construct explained.  "True, the deal was not the one I intended, but I agreed to the letter of the agreement and the githyanki adhered to that. I am bound by my oath. Surely you understand that." Ayremac opened his mouth to speak, but Maleko slid forward to cut him off.

"One time we were traveling with the caravan up the Coast Highway toward Hillsburg. We passed an apple orchard where a farmer was working. Our team leader yelled to the man, 'How much for a barrel of apples for me and my men?' He replied 'Five gold pieces for a barrel of any of the apples off of these trees.' We got a barrel and loaded it up," Maleko recounted. "A little way down the road we opened them and they all were rotten. We sent a man back to ask him for another barrel. The farmer replied 'I said for any apple of those trees. Those apples were off of those trees. I will not give you more apples, dandelion eater!' Is that contract fair?"

"Well... um... It does not sound fair," replied Grandfather Plaque thoughtfully and the elf nodded. 

"It was deceptive - like yours was. Akerman is the rotten apple. You should not be obliged to honor this," Maleko went passionately on. "Now, it was not worth fighting for apples, but a life is at stake and you must let us in. A code of honor among merchants was broken in our case. A world may be broken if you do not help us."

"You can be instrumental in righting the wrongs that have been done," Del added.

"It is never too late to start anew," Ixin suggested. "Take it from one well acquainted with new beginnings."

"You were meant for greater gates than this," Del said, relentlessly laying on arguments until it seemed at last that the stone face was convinced.

"I WANT to help you. Really, I do," Grandfather Plaque said. "It's just that... I... I don't want to see any more of my friends get killed. And that's what will happen if I let you storm in there. I haven't been deeper into the outpost than the mooring platform beyond this door, but I know that there are dozens of githyanki in Avik-tchai. Dozens! All of them are ready and willing to take up arms against you. Many of them are spellcasters as well. It's folly."


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## Jon Potter (Jul 3, 2009)

*[Interludes #15] Have Fun Storming the Castle*

Ayremac’s thoughts wandered briefly as the group pondered their options.

How things had changed in his life. When he thought back… to Arland, his former self, the human who strived to achieve respect in the world of politics in his small community did not even seem like him. It was a completely different person who walked home at night to his wife and family. At that time, his faith was something he used to meet more people in the community. It was an obligation, a part of his routine. Even his own angelic blood was something he thought of as a small piece of his mother inside him… not something that was within his power to tap into, but simply a part of his history that made him who he was.

Now, floating in another dimension, Ayremac... Ayremac the Warrior of Umba, the Holy Warrior of Umba, the faithful follower of his Justiciar, student of his church, and worshipper of Umba... felt as if he had finally come into his own.

He was no longer numb to his heritage and the divinity of the Gods around him. He was no longer feeling the searing, blinding pain of loss. He was no longer unsure of his capabilities amongst trail-tested adventurers.

Ayremac was ready to be strong for those around him, strong for those who would perish in a world where Aphyx was powerful, strong for those who would take the Walk of One Hundred Days. He had seen many things on the trail, and could feel Umba’s wisdom guiding him to make decisions that would allow him to work with this team better than he had the last. He needed them to achieve his goals, and although he could not forsake his faith, he would not expect others to tip-toe around it.

Ayremac caught himself… this was not the time for this sort of reflection. He made a mental note to pray on this later, but now…

“Maleko, Del… What do you propose?" he asked his companions. "Do you think we should charge in? Challenge the leader? Or search the outside for other entries?”

"There are no other entries," Grandfather Plaque reminded.

"The idea of challenging Gisir Okemocik is interesting," Del said, thinking aloud. He and Ayremac shared a glance and the holy warrior nodded.

“Yes, interesting… Could we use a duel as a distraction?" Ayremac considered. "What do we know of how these duels take place?”

"I don't think there's any formality to it," Maleko said. "But if you challenge the leader to a duel he'd be honor-bound to accept. If he did not he'd lose face in front of his troops and likely end up shipped back to the Lich-Queen on  Tu'narath, the githyanki capital. Not a pleasant fate, let me tell you. The Queen Vlaakith sucks the life from any who fail to-" Cerakean shoved him in the shoulder, cutting his recitation short and earning herself a startled look.

"Save the lecture for after we rescue angel eyes' friends," the hobgoblin growled, cocking a thumb at Ayremac.

"So we're going to challenge the leader of this place to single combat?" Ixin asked, looking around at the assembled faces.

"I say we go in with lots of bravado and claim the right to challenge the leader, yes," Ayremac said with a nod and a grin. Cerrakean laughed.

"Yeah!" nothing can go wrong with that plan," she scoffed.


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## Jon Potter (Jul 5, 2009)

*[Realms #476] The Waiting is the Hardest Part*

"The next time you want to initiate a fight, give me some warning!" Saelus was shouting from his cell somewhere to the right of Morier's. "The element of surprise is a sound tactic against one's enemies, but surprising your allies is utterly useless!"

Morier sighed and slumped back against the rear wall of his cell, doing his best to block out the colonel's tirade. Not that the wizard's venom was entirely without warrant, Morier knew; he'd been ready to leave the man to seek freedom on his own. But knowing that in some part he deserved the diatribe did not make enduring it any easier.

At least Akerman had the decency to keep his mouth shut.

He cursed the wizard again for drawing him and Saelus into this situation. Part of him hoped that he'd be paired up to fight Akerman when the time came, despite the fact that he knew hastening the start of the duel would lead inevitably to a conclusion in which only one of the three combatants would be left alive. He wanted to make damned sure that it wasn't Akerman who walked away from this, but moreover he needed to make certain that he survived. Not for his own sake, of course. He'd long ago reconciled himself with the likelihood of his own death, but the quest complicated things. What would happen to Dridana if he were killed while bearing her Heart? He didn't suppose it would be good. At the very least it would put the Heart into unsympathetic hands. And how long then would it be before actively hostile hands got hold of it?

The more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that his own death would, in due course, mean death for Orune.

He sighed again, feeling very small and very alone beneath the weight of his responsibility. He wished that Huzair was here with him; he'd likely be able to bluff his way out of the cell right before he set their jailers on fire. The thought brought a wan smile to the eldritch warrior's lips, but it lingered there for only a moment before a voice shattered his reverie.

"Again, Morier, I am sorry that it came to this," Akerman said from the other side of the bars on the front of Morier's cell. The doctor was still battered and was being escorted by two githyanki, but he wasn't manacled and the warriors didn't have their hands on him. "It was not my wish to see you imprisoned."

"Is it time for us to fight, Akerman?" the albino hissed, glowering up at the wizard from the corner of his cell. "Are you hoping that your contrition will spare you from my wrath?" Doctor Akerman snorted and raised his head so that he looked down his nose at Morier.

"As a matter of fact, elf, I've been freed," he said, smiling as Morier jerked involuntarily at that news.

"What?!" Saelus bellowed from own cell. "How did you talk your way out of the trial?" Akerman made a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I didn't. your Grandfather Plaque did," he called to Saelus, smiling again at the expression on Morier's face. "He agreed to guard the gates of Akiv-tchai in exchange for one of us being set free. He just wasn't specific enough about which one. And, as I said, Memento Mori has enjoyed a long trade relationship with the githyanki." He grinned smugly, but backed away sharply as Morier curled his feet beneath himself and lunged cat-like at the wizard. The albino impacted the bars and clawed futilely at Akerman's coat.

"Save your aggression for tomorrow, Morier," the mage said as he turned to leave. "You'll need your strength to fight. I daresay you won't be preparing any spells in those magic-proof cells."

"You had better hope that it isn't I who wins out tomorrow, Akerman," Morier said. "A warning - as one 'reasonable man' to another. I'll be coming for you if I survive." Akerman said nothing as he exited the dungeon on his way to freedom.

Despite his unwillingness to admit it, Morier knew that Akerman was right. The eldritch warrior had felt his inner energy fade as soon as he entered the holding cell and knew instantly that his plans to use Dridana's 'gifts' to avoid battle would have to be amended. Any possibility of escape would have to be put aside, and he would most certainly have to face Saelus in the sentenced fight to the death. Until then, no healing, no transformation, nothing. Another roadblock in what was turning out to be one giant mess that somehow seemed to get worse at every turn.

He sat back against the wall of his cramped cell once more and contemplated the strange sense of calm that had settled over him. Even in the midst of the madness he was embroiled in and with the highest stakes imagineable on the line in a matter of moments, the chance to sit in silence and collect his thoughts was a welcome one for the eldritch warrior. Initially he didn't fear a battle with Saelius, but he knew that was a dangerous and foolhardy stance. He absently traced the outline of the gemstone with his finger while he pondered the circumstances, and slowly the gravity of it all worked its way into his thoughts. Why shouldn't he fear Saelus? Surely he had killed or ordered the killing of dozens like him, fighting for what he believed to be the right cause; why was Morier any different? He seemed a skilled warrior and a knowledgeable tactician, and he would be fighting after all, for his life. Treating it any differently could be a serious mistake.



The night - such as it was - passed without further interruption. Morier never actually became tired, so he did little more than sit in his cell and stare at the bars ruminating on his predicament. Saelus’ diatribes sputtered out at some point for which the albino was grateful although he wondered if perhaps the war mage was using the silence to settle into the unpleasant business of planning a method for killing Morier in the upcoming trial. Probably. It would make sense and the colonel seemed a pragmatic fellow. He was the sort of man that, under different circumstances, Morier would have considered a valuable ally. But the circumstances were not different and so rather than a comrade in arms Saelus was an obstacle standing between the eldritch warrior and what he’d come to think of as his destiny. A destiny that would doom the whole of Orune if he failed to achieve it. Weighed against that, the loss of the colonel’s life seemed a tolerable choice to make – not a welcome one, but one that Morier was prepared to endure.

He too was a pragmatic fellow.

Life had become cheap. It was little more than a macabre form of currency to be spent in purchasing another foothold from which to fight Aphyx. But this was different, he was being asked to take a life from one who would fight alongside him on any other day. He wasn't sure he could do it... but was there an alternative? He had tried every angle and it seemed he was cornered. He would have to satisfy the githyanki bloodlust in order to walk out alive. The day he grabbed the gemstone (A day ago? A week? A year? It seemed impossible to tell now) the stakes were raised beyond his imagination, he had an obligation to survive. Taking Saelus' life wouldn't be easy, but it would be necessary and perhaps it could even be simple and painless for him. He felt as though if he could access the deepest part of his connection with Dridana, there was something there that could help him fulfill what had become his obligation. His conscience would let him take the most grave of actions for that reason only... to survive.



So it was that when a cadre of githyanki came to escort him and Saelus to the trial Morier had already devised his own plan of attack - one that he hoped would end the trial swiftly and decisively with as little suffering for the colonel as he could manage.

The rattling of swords outside his cell made him sit up with a start. He and Saelus were led out into a large anteroom and stood facing one another for a moment before Morier spoke in a confident and resolved tone, "I'm sorry. Goodbye Saelus."

"Wha... You're Sorry? Why you arrogant bastard, I'll dismember you before you even know what hit you..." The colonel continued his incoherent diatribe as he was dragged off by a team of githyanki soldiers. It didn't make what Morier was about to do any easier, but he was satisfied that he had made his apologies and said his farewell.


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## Jon Potter (Jul 12, 2009)

*[Realms #477] Trial by Sword and Spell*

"The rules of the trial are simple," Perragourp sneered at Morier and Saelus. "The fight is to the death. The survivor goes free with all his possessions. You may use any means within your power, but if any githyanki are harmed during this trial then you will feel the full weight of our power and both of your lives are forfeit."

As the githyanki commander drifted out of the arena, Morier looked over at Saelus and saw the curious mix of emotions that he himself felt reflected in his one-time companion's face. A sort of grim resolve predominated, but conflicting glimpses of uncertainty and anger flickered briefly in the man's mustachioed features. The albino was about to offer some words of understanding when the Gisir barked out a command of some sort in his harsh, alien tongue and a roar of approval went up from the assembled githyanki. They began to clash their weapons together in a cacophonous rhythm that both urged the two combatants to fight and spoke of the fate that awaited them if they did anything but.

Morier looked up at the warriors lining the walls of this spherical chamber and grimaced; there were dozens of them, perhaps as many as a hundred. If the Gisir didn't honor his end of this arrangement, whoever was left after the trial would most certainly be killed here. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he missed the fact that the trial had started until Saelus hit him with a _Quickened Rainbow Blast_.

The waves of energy struck him square in the chest, sizzling with destructive power. But the albino's innate spell resistance saved him from damage; the beam struck him and dissipated harmlessly. Morier looked over at the war mage as the man followed up his first spell with one that Morier recognized at once: _True Strike_. That meant that Saelus was going to go hand-to-hand and the eldritch warrior again cursed Akerman for the theft of his bastard sword.

Morier called on the Heart, imbuing himself with _Owl's Wisdom_ as he watched the colonel charge forward quick-drawing the Unity Blade as he came. The albino tried to avoid the attack, but guided by magic, Colonel Saelus _Struck True_, opening a wound in Morier's left arm. The Heart protected him not at all from the blow, and he felt his limb go numb as the sabre bit through his flesh and into the bone of his upper arm. The pain and shock of it was enough to break his concentration and he felt the _Sunbeam_ spell he'd been coaxing out of the Heart go awry, fizzling out before it could fully coalesce. Dimly, from a long way off it seemed, he could hear the githyanki cheering their approval as his blood erupted around him in a cloud.

Even without the benefit of magic Saelus was a skilled swordsman, and he pressed his momentary advantage with a blow to Morier's midsection. The impact drove the albino back, but failed to cause any damage as Morier's mail protected him from injury. Saelus withdrew from the melee, then, setting himself up for another devastating charge attack if Morier didn't prevent it.

With an apology in his own heart, the eldritch warrior cast _Finger of Death_ and with a gesture caused Saelus to jerk backward, his face twisted in a rictus of agony as tendrils of negative energy worked their way through his body. Although the spell failed to kill him outright, the damage done to his already weakened body by the sudden influx of negative energy did. He sagged backward, his limp body gone ashen from Morier's attack.

Another cheer went up all around him as soon as Saelus' death became evident, but Morier felt no elation at his victory, only a moment's relief that he might well be able to achieve his destiny after all. It didn't last long, because in the next moment the cheering stopped as all eyes turned to the door leading toward the exit of Avik-tchai. Hovering there with feathered pinions spread was an angelic figure dressed in glittering green plate mail. In one hand it bore a sword and in the other a mirrored shield and when it spoke, its voice was full of commanding bravado.

"I am Ayremac, holy warrior of the goddess Umba," he shouted, leveling his weapon dramatically at the Gisir. "And I challenge you to a duel!"



Ixin nudged Ayremac's wing and whispered, "We're too late." She pointed over at Morier hovering beside the limp corpse of a man in polished hide armor. "The trial's already over."

"If that's your boy, then this is a bad call. We should turn and run," Cerrakean growled in the holy warrior's other ear. "I specialize in fighting groups, but even at my best I couldn't take this many."

Ayremac looked again at the jaundiced humanoids arrayed around the perimeter of the spherical room. He supposed them to be githyanki without bothering to ask. They were all of them arrayed for war, with oversized weaponry and ornate armor of a variety lighter than he wore himself. And near a large doorway on the left was a singular specimen with a massive, club-like scepter in one hand and a magnificent greatsword strapped across his back. His armor was a filigree of gold and on his head burned a crown of fire.

This then was the Gisir.

"This is who we came to rescue?" Maleko asked from the rear of the group. His voice was filled with shock and more than a bit of disdain. "But he's... he's a drow." Sensing the swell of racial enmity rising in the elf, Del jumped in to discourage Maleko from doing anything rash.

"Look around you, my friend," the marshall said, laying a reassuring hand on the elf's thin shoulder. "We know very little of the men involved here and I've seen many a desperate man. Let's not judge him based on his will to survive alone."

Maleko grimaced, but nodded at his friend although it was clear that the elf held little hope that anything positive would come from an association with a degenerate fae of the night below.

"And anyway," Del added, pointing at Morier's bleeding arm. "Look at him. He could use your healing right now, not your prejudgement."

"I have to touch him to do that," Maleko replied, barely containing his contempt for such a proposition. But before he could say more one of the githyanki near the Gisir detached himself from the throng and drifted confidently forward, sword-in-hand.

"The mighty Gisir of Avik-tchai, Okemocik accepts your challenge," the lone githyanki relayed. "He wishes to know what you offer beside your head as trophy of his victory and what you demand of him in the unlikely event that you prove triumphant?"


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## Jon Potter (Jul 21, 2009)

*[Realms #478] And Now... the Main Event!*

Ayremac delivered his reply to the whole of the room, voice booming. "If I win, I ask for my choice of weapon in this stronghold." 

The githyanki representative turned to the Gisir and conveyed the response and after a moment, the ruler inclined his head. Several of those assembled made a show of hoisting their own swords, suggesting they were in possession of the desireable blade. Even Maleko, who knew less about swords than he did about a great many other things had to admit that there were some magnificent examples of the weaponsmith's art amongst the assemblage.

Ayremac seemed unimpressed with the bravado shown by the spectators. His eyes never left the githyanki who spoke for the Gisir as he continued dramatically, "And if you win, I will carry out a quest of your choosing. I make this oath to you under the judicious eyes of Umba. You will note… our fight will not be to death, but to submission or unconsciousness."

The room erupted into a sudden rage of protest at that and it took a barked command from the Gisir to silence the crowd.

"Bah!" the githyanki messenger spat once the room had settled. "Your terms are unacceptable. Only a game involving real risk is worth playing! The duel is to the death or not at all." He eyed Ayremac eagerly, "Or do you withdraw your challenge?"

Del felt the air crackle with anticipation. It was clear that these people thrived on aggression and battle. As such, he suspected that it would be difficult to rescind the challenge. And he knew they would be unable to assist Ayremac in this fight - either by sword or by magic.

He took a moment to consider the man who had drawn them to this place. Both Ixin and Ayremac had identified him as Morier, and Maleko had further identified him as a drow, which seemed at odds with the figure floating somewhat dazedly in the center of the spherical chamber. For one thing, Del had always heard that drow were black-skinned, but this elf was white as paper with hair to match. His eyes were the same color as the blood that tattooed his left arm and hand: ruby. He wore a chain shirt of gleaming mithril and carried a gleaming Valiant Vessel bag across his torso. He had a baldric that held an empty sheath, but carried no obvious weapons. Still there was a something dangerous in the way he held himself - something that spoke of a capability belied by the uncertain expression on his face.

Morier's wound continued to bleed openly, but the albino too seemed to be waiting for Ayremac's decision. Del was eager to learn what he could from the keeper of the Grey House coins, but he knew that would have to wait until they were safely away. 

"I will fight by your side, celestial, if that will hasten our departure from this place," he said in a low voice.

"And I," Ixin announced firmly.

Ayremac raised his hand only slightly and declined with a respectful nod. "We shouldn't risk more lives."

Maleko pushed forward, discreetly offering his spellsink scarab. The holy warrior glanced down at the device and shook his head.

"We do not want to enflame this situation further," Ayremac hissed. "There are too many swords here to see them all turn against us."

"From what I know of githyanki, the Girsir is the only one you have to worry about. Ask no quarter and give none. Other than that... anything goes," Maleko reassured him. "Githyanki are cruel and sadistic, but they follow their oaths absolutely." 



"Well, angel!?" the githyanki who spoke for the Gisir demanded, managing to make the word 'angel' sound like a curse."Do you forfeit your challenge or is the duel to be to the death?"

Ayremac turned once more to the messenger and announced with steel in his voice, "I do not withdraw, Gisir. We will fight, and to the death." There were encouraging shouts from the assembly. "Who will oversee this duel?" The messenger laughed thinly at that and raised his sword. indicating the whole of the room with a single, dramatic flourish of the blade.

"All those assembled here will oversee the challenge," he told Ayremac. "We are githyanki. Secrets do not become us!"

"Then lay out your rules for this fight, and let us get to it," the holy warrior replied earning a sneer and a nod of deference from the messenger.

"The rules of the challenge are simple," the githyanki told him. "The fight is to the death. The survivor claims the head and weapon of the loser as trophies. You may conduct the challenge using any means within your power, but if any other than your opponent are harmed by you during this trial then your life is forfeit."

Morier, who had only minutes before heard the nearly the same speech, raised his good hand, attracting Perragourp's attention. "Ummm... can I? Am I, uhhh... Can I... go... now?" the albino stammered and Perragourp sneered at him and nodded once.

"The call of githyanki blood has been answered by the justice you have done here. Your name is cleared of all charges and you are free to leave," the commander told him. Then he pointed at Ayremac and added, "But do you not wish to stay and witness the Gisir behead this fool?" Morier looked briefly at Ayremac and the cadre of strangers he'd surrounded himself with then shook his head.

"I've had enough of bloodbaths for the time being," he said. "I'd really just like to get out." Perragrourp seemed disgusted by the eldritch warrior's lack of vision and raised his sword to indicate the door by which Ayremac had entered. Without a word Morier turned and willed himself in that direction.

As he drifted, stone-faced, passed Ayremac, Maleko held up a hand. "Hold one minute, Mori'Quessir," he said, producing his glowing bracelet. It was glowing like Orin's Shield now and Morier, Ixin and Cerrakean all winced away from it, shielding their eyes. "This device says that you have possession of the coins belonging to Grey House. I am looking for an explanation as to what happened to them!" 

Del looked with bewilderment at Maleko. His mind reached back to the details of the elf's past, wondering when the seeds of this undisguised contempt had been sown. At the moment it did not matter - they were in enough of a fix. "Not here," he implored his friend quietly.

"Listen to your friend, Darthiir'waela," Morier said wearily and fixing his gaze pointedly on the hall beyond, moved out of the arena.

"We have followed your law and custom, challenging you in an open forum," Ayremac said after Morier had gone on. "Gisir... as a warrior, I trust you will return the honor by allowing my commrades to leave unaccosted, win or lose."

"We will not speak yet of terms," the githyanki speaker, Perragrourp, growled, "You have yet to offer anything of value to the almighty Okemocik."

Again Ayremac's voice rang out. "I put my armor and shield against my choice of weapon from Avik-tchai." The githyanki buzzed amongst themselves approvingly, recognizing the quality and craftmanship of Ayremac's gear. 

"It is done," the githyanki spokesman confirmed after a moment's consultation with the Gisir. "Prepare yourself." He drifted back as both the Gisir and Ayremac drifted forward.

"Their eyes are on me," the holy warrior hissed over his shoulder as he went. "Now is the time to leave."

The Gisir had left his heavy rod behind, but he held his elaborate greatsword and it danced and flashed like quicksilver in his hands as he spoke in a harsh, alien language to the assemblage. They listened and as they had done before during the trial they clashed their weapons together in an approving and at the same time threatening manner. The Gisir spread his ropy arms, drinking in his people's enthusiasm and then he looked at Ayremac with a predatory smile on his emaciated lips. The light from his glowing crown caught pricks of red in his otherwise jet-black eyes. He nodded.

And the duel was begun.



"Angel Eyes has got a pair, that's for sure," Cerrakean muttered as she turned away from the duel. "But he's right. We should get the hell out while we have the chance." Maleko nodded, casting one last look at the holy warrior as he squared off against the githyanki commander.

"Good luck, Ayremac," he sighed. "May the gods be with you."

Dell put a hand on Ixin's arm and she shook it off with a single violent motion. "We should go, Ixin," the marshall assured her. "There's nothing more we can do for him now."

"I'm staying," she said without looking at him. Her jaw clenched with restrained fury as she watched the Officer of Umba go to his fate. He recalled what she had told them about the circumstances surrounding her recent rebirth and Ayremac's part in it. In her mind, Ayremac had saved her life. Del thought of being bitten by an adder half-a-lifetime ago and of the young janissary-in-training who had saved his life and he knew at once that Ixin would not be persuaded. 

"We'll wait for you outside," he told her and then he too left the chamber and the bloodthirsty roar of the githyanki spectators.



Ayremac regarded the Gisir and steeled himself. Then he spoke a word in the tongue of the angels and called down a _Holy Smite_ on the githyanki. A burst of divine power exploded around the commander and Ayremac watched without pleasure as the energies wracked the githyanki's frame. When they subsided the Gisir looked up at the holy warrior, his cracked lips pulled back from blood-slicked teeth. He spoke a litany of syllables and drew the palm of his hand along the blade of his greatsword, drawing blood and infusing the weapon with dark magic. Then Ayremac saw the Gisir smile and narrow his eyes slightly an instant before he felt an unseen force press in all around him.

The Officer of Umba struggled, but couldn't escape the telekinetic assault. He watched the Gisir's smile broaden as it became obvious that Ayremac was caught. The Gisir slid closer and Ayremac felt the unseen force press in on him from every direction, grinding armor plates against one another, flattening his wings and sword and shield uselessly against his immobilized body.

This was it, he thought. He'd been presented with a simple choice: succeed or fail... live or die. And he'd failed. He was going to die.

The Gisir approached slowly... gloating... drawing out his victory for the enjoyment of his people... making an example of Ayremac to those who would challenge his rule. Ayremac roared an animal cry born of frustration that tore his throat raw and flecked his lips with foam.

Then he activated his _Shield of Blinding_.

The Gisir, caught totally unaware, let out his own cry then as the startlingly bright light burned his eyes and broke his concentration. Ayremac felt the telekinetic grip on his body drop away and he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he hefted his longsword and came at the blinded githyanki from the side _Smiting_ the _Evil_ creature. His longsword came down on the Gisir's right shoulder, opening the joint to the bone and cutting away a messy slab of meat. A mist of blood spread in the air, peppering the celestial's armor and dotting his wings.

Somehow, despite being blinded and enduring the grievous wound to his left arm the Gisir still clung to the belief that he could best the Officer of Umba. He swung his greatsword around clumsily, and Ayremac batted it away almost casually with his shield.

He would not be denied.

He raised his sword and brought it down across the githyanki's back again, hard enough to nearly make the Gisir drop his weapon. The githyanki yelped in pain and fear, his blind face stricken suddenly by the realization that after untold decades of rule he might not survive this latest challenge to his authority. Fear touched his soul.

His greatsword whistled uselessly, desperately, through the air above Ayremac's head. The holy warrior ducked to the side and thrust upward with his own sword driving a foot of steel into the flesh beneath the Gisir's armpit. Blood sprayed outward under brief pressure as the blade pierced the githyanki's black heart, ending Gisir Ocemocik's life and the duel in one decisive blow.


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

OOC- The Gisir rolled a natural 1 for his saving throw to avoid being blinded by Ayremac's shield. Ayremac then did a Smite Evil on the githyanki and rolled a critical hit in the process. At that point, blind and crippled, the outcome for the Gisir was destined not to be a happy one.

Ultimately, I wasted my time statting up the dreaded Gisir of Avik-tchai. Ayremac didn't end up taking a single point of damage in the duel.


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## Jon Potter (Jul 29, 2009)

*[Realms #479] Fedifensor*

"I believe our goals are one, Mori'Quessir... uh... Morier," Maleko said as he caught up with the albino in the port at the entrance to Avik-tchai. "We do need to discuss our situation with you and, as a representative of Grey House, I need some information from you as well." Morier sighed and stopped. He touched his chest and Maleko saw gold-green light - like sunshine striking a forest floor - spread beneath the drow's fingers. Then Morier looked up at Maleko.

"Look, elf. I don't know what Ayremac told you about me, but I've never been to Grey House," he said. "And I've got a lot on my own plate at the moment so you'll forgive me if I'm not overly keen on hearing about 'your situation'." Maleko could not have looked more shocked if Morier had actually reached out and slapped him, but he recovered quickly.

"As I mentioned before," he began, "I have a device which points the way toward certain mithral coins and-" Morier held out his arms wide.

"I don't have any money... mithral or otherwise," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. Then an expression of realization blossomed on his features. He patted his traveler's purse and nodded. "Maybe in the bag. It's a Valiant Vessel bag - a _Handy Haversack_. There's a lot of stuff in there that I haven't even looked at yet. Your coins might be in there, but I don't have the time to look right now." Cerrakean snorted in disgust nearby.

"I thought Ixin said this guy was an honorable man," the hobgoblin scoffed. "Isn't that what she said, Del?" Morier looked critically at Cerrakean and then at Del.

"Ixin?" the eldritch warrior asked. "How do you know Ixin?"

"We met her when we met Ayremac," Del explained, pointing back the way they'd come. "I tried to convince her to leave with us, but she's determined to stay and watch the duel." Morier nodded.

"Different Ixin," he said. "I knew a woman by that name, but-"

"She was reincarnated, genius," Cerrakean interjected waving her fingers in front of her face. "Comin' back from the dead tends to change folk. Or so I hear."

"Speaking of hearing," Maleko said, looking back down the hall toward the spherical arena. "Does it sound awfully quiet back there, or is it just me?"

The stunned silence of the githyanki stopped Morier in his tracks. Had Ayremac actually...? He paused for a moment at the oversized doors that were about to swing open for him and headed back in the direction of the imposing hush. His own speed outpaced Maleko and Cerrakean quickly and he slowed just a fraction in order to remain a measured distance behind. 



Ayremac hovered for a moment, sword in hand, other hand on the Gisir. There was no sound in the chamber apart from his own breathing; the githyanki seemed stunned into silence at their commander's death. Silently, and without moving his lips, the holy warrior prayed for his opponent to have an uninterrupted Walk of 100 Days and to ultimately stand before Umba for the true judgment that only she could provide.

Ayremac thought briefly, as he often did when facing death - be it among friends or enemies - how much he doubted his own judgment of others. Could he truly know if the Gisir was evil, leading his people in their own customs? Certainly it was not the life that Ayremac had chosen, but who knew what path had led the githyanki to his current place? Of course, judgment was his duty and he upheld it to the best of his ability and without letting others know of his secret self-doubt.

Quickly, Ayremac withdrew his sword and held it above his head, not avoiding the blood floating in the air as it painted his armor and splattered where it chose. He thought for a moment that the bloodier he looked the more respect he might actually find amongst this warrior clan. He circled slowly in place, meeting every githyanki stare.

Ayremac then pulled the head of the Gisir back, and with one solid and passionate motion removed the head and pushed the body away. It tumbled off, leaking blood as it drifted.

The chamber erupted in violent cheers and the clashing of weapons as the Officer's actions further inflamed the githyanki bloodlust.



Indeed, Ayremac had triumphed and the group came upon the scene just as the Gisir's head was being mercifully and swiftly removed from his body. Morier knew that the Gisir would not have had the same compassion, but watching Ayremac take the high road was nothing new. That fact could be frustrating, but it was hard to fault his devotion. He could make a valuable ally. 



Standing solemnly, blood-stained, his own head held high and the head of the Gisir by his side, Ayremac waited for the crowd to settle. Then he addressed the githyanki. “I will claim my weapon but I offer this head to you, if you wish to honor your dead.”

"If you do not wish the trophy then we will send the head back to Tu'narath, as is our custom," the githyanki translator spoke, gliding forward to swoop up the Gisir's sword, which had fallen free of his nerveless fingers. With the weapon in hand, he looked at Ayremac for what seemed to the holy warrior to be a moment too long. Ayremac stared back at him and the githyanki looked away, offering up the silver sword in to hands. He released his grip on the Gisir's topknot and took the blade, eager not to offend them by refusing it.

"I will take the additional sword of my choice and you can be rid of me," Ayremac said and the githyanki nodded deferentially.

"Of course. A bargain struck is a bargain honored," he said. "You may, of course, examine any of the weapons in Avik-tchai, but the Gisir's private collection contains the most impressive items." Ayremac nodded.

"A good place to start," he said and the githyanki gestured toward an opening in the side of chamber.

"Right this way," he said and led the way into a ten-sided chamber dominated by an enormous bat-winged throne on the far wall. The throne itself was flanked by a pair of intricately-worked columns. Each arm of the massive chair was carved into the shape of a snarling dragon, and a king's ransom in jewels glittered on the back of the throne. All this grandeur held Ayremac's attention for only a few moment's before he looked at the wall behind the throne.

It was decorated by weapons of nearly every type Ayremac had ever seen and several that he couldn't identify. They were all arrayed in orderly racks and at a glance he guessed there to be a hundred weapons there. Maybe more.

Nodding he turned the Ixin and handed her the Gisir's greatsword.

"I think we're going to need Maleko's help with this," he said.



Morier floated with the group back to the throne room, surprised at the relative calm of the githyanki who had, after all, just watched thier leader's beheadding. "A strange people, to be sure" he thought to himself.



"The Bards of Brogine could not create words to adequately describe the glory you have achieved today," Maleko said, patting Ayremac approvingly on the shoulder. "Praise Umba for giving you the strength to achieve your goal."

Del smiled and offered Ayremac his flask in admiration. "Such a battle has earned you this much," the marshall said, but the holy warrior refused.

"Offer again when we are through with this place," he said with a thin smile. Del considered, shrugged and took a long draw himself before slipping it back into its pocket. Maleko watched his friend critically and quickly changed the subject.

"So... one of these is your sword, is it?" the elf asked and Ayremac nodded.

"I was hoping that between you and Ixin, you might be able to narrow down the choices a bit," the holy warrior said and Maleko nodded back.

"I should be able to narrow down the choices to magical and non-magical with little trouble," Maleko said. "If we could wait until tomorrow I could pray for the ability to _Detect Good_. Surely a Holy sword would radiate that in abundance."

"We haven't that kind of time," Ayremac cautioned, looking meaningfully at the armed contingent of githyanki waiting by the room's entrance. Mleko nodded.

"I see what you mean," he said and turned to Ixin. "I'll start on the left."



The task was not as difficult as it first seemed. Most of the displayed weapons were not magical - which made sense given the nature of the githyanki. The most powerful weapons would be better served in the hands of able-bodied warriors rather than languishing unused in a wall-mount. And that was true here. There was a scattering of magic weapons - most of them sized inappropriately for use by githyanki - but of those that were the right size one was a sword.

It was mounted high up on the wall, barely visible from the floor of the chamber. But once spotted, it was obviously the object of Ayremac's quest for it was etched in along the fuller with runes that spelled out its name in Celestial: FEDIFENSOR.

Ayremac reached for the weapon when Ixin laid a hand on his arm. "Does that look familiar?" she asked, indicating an axe that hung on the wall nearby.

"What?!" Ayremac snapped, dragging his eyes away from the _Holy_ sword with difficulty. He looked where his protege was pointing and his jaw dropped open in surprise. "It can't be!" he coughed.

But it was.

Hanging on the wall a few feet away from Fedifensor was another _Holy_ weapon - one that Ayremac himself had had a hand in enchanting: Karak's waraxe.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 3, 2009)

*[Realms #480] Holy Sword!*

"Can't be what?" Maleko asked quickly, but Ayremac did not hear him. Instead, he went over to the axe, emotions stirring again, his mind instantly racing to what improbable events could have led the axe to hang on this wall. He had always assumed that Karak had just chosen to move on... into the winter land, even though it was quite unlikely he would have left the party that way.

"It's Karak's axe," Ixin answered the elf, giving Ayremac a chance to examine the weapon.

"Who's Karak?" Maleko asked next, his voice hushed.

"A dwarf who traveled with us for a time," the sorceress told him, her own voice lowered to a whisper as she explained. "Ayremac told me that he disappeared the same night that I was killed."

Maleko looked at her with surprise on his face. Reference to her deaths and subsequent reincarnations was shocking to him and it seemed to stir something unwelcome in Ixin as well. Her lips were set in a tight line and she did not meet his eye.

"Can any of you tell me how this waraxe came to be here?" Ayremac asked as he turned to the group of githyanki. Several of them looked at one another and muttered in their own tongue, but Perragourp, standing a few paces distant from the band shook his head.

"No," the translator replied. "This collection is... was the Gisir's obsession alone. Perhaps it was recovered from a raid. Perhaps it was purchased from a trader. Only the Gisir would know for sure." 

"Do you have any dwarven prisoners here?" Maleko asked, earning a glare from Perragrourp.

"No," the githyanki answered. "In warfare, the githyanki ask no quarter and grant none. In matters of law, Githyanki justice is swift. We have no need to keep prisoners for long." 

“Does anyone know where this weapon came from?” Ayremac asked, managing to sound casual despite his curiosity. He looked at the githyanki arrayed behind Perragourp as he pointed at the dwarven axe. The warriors looked at one another and then at Perragourp, speaking in their native language with confused tones.

"My warriors do not speak your tongue, celestial," Perragourp told him, his own tone one of restrained anger. "If it will hasten your departure, I will circulate the question among the troops. Then you can take the axe and be gone from Avik-tchai."

“I have made my choice,” Ayremac stated plainly although he was careful not to indicate which weapon might be his choice. “But I believe I recognize this waraxe from a previous battle. I would like to know if one of your warriors can tell me the tale of the one who carried it.” They could almost hear Perragourp's teeth grinding from across the chamber.

"Your stalling tactics try my patience, celestial," the githyanki growled, his grip tightening noticeably on the handle of his sword.

“Tell me that story, and it will hasten my departure,” Ayremac said with amicable gentility. Without another word to the outsiders, Perragourp turned, barked some orders at his men and flew from the throne-room



Ayremac and Ixin went back to speculating on the axe and the whereabouts of the dwarf who had owned it. As Del did not know Karak, he just watched and listened to the theories as they were bandied about. Maleko seemed quite interested in their musing and he was devoting his attention to the pair as they conversed. Cerrakean was splitting her own time between watching Morier and the githyanki guards left at the door. For his part, the marshall was suitably impressed by the Gisir's weapon collection, and he found himself sipping from his flask and admiring the gleaming display. Here was a maul big enough for no one smaller than a storm giant to use. Beside it was a double scimitar such as he had seen used by certain weaponmasters in Hule, but this one was suitably sized for an ogre. He briefly considered the damage one of the Iron Gut ogres who defended the Borderlands could do with a double scimitar of such proportion and shuddered at the image his mind created.

"We need to be away from this place," Morier said to him, his voice low but not quite a whisper. "The githyanki make me uneasy, and I would just as soon be away from them as soon as possible." Del tore his eyes away from the weaponry and glanced over at the posted guards. They were staring back with open animosity on their faces and Del could well imagine the zeal with which warriors would lay into them were Perragourp to give such an order.

"I'm not one to run from a fight," Cerrakean offered, "but in this case I think we're pushin' our luck hangin' around here. If it comes to crossed swords, I think we'll be in real trouble." Del looked at the hobgoblin and nodded.

"Let's make sure it doesn't come to that," he said.



Perragourp returned not too much later and began speaking at once, eager to be rid of these interlopers.

"The axe was recovered from an illithid nautiloid that was seized by a githyanki boarding squad near the Chain of Tears," the commander relayed. "There were no dwarves aboard the vessel and no indication of how the axe came to be in the illithid's possession."

"Illithid?" Ixin muttered, confused. Maleko leaned in to her ear and whispered two words that sent a chill up her spine.

"Mind Flayers."


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## Jon Potter (Aug 9, 2009)

*[Realms #481] This is Why We Fight!*

Stopping for a breath, allowing the many possible stories of Karak to play one last time through his mind before settling on the most hopeful option, Ayremac turned to Fedifensor and lifted the weapon from its display mounts. Holding the blade briefly, turning it, and then finding an appropriate place on his belt to store it, he turned to Perragourp.

“I have chosen my pride and will be on my way,” he said with a nod.

"So be it," Perragourp hissed, eager to be rid of these outsiders.

Ayremac motioned for the group to follow and then began to move towards the exit. As he approached the githyankis, he stopped and spoke.

“Perragourp, I know you are ready to be rid of us, and we will hasten our departure… but would you be willing to part with the axe?" he asked, casually, as if it were an afterthought. "It looks like a holy weapon of a god you and your warriors do not worship. You could honor the weapon by allowing it to be wielded in the hands of someone who knows that god, and reveres them.” The githyanki's face screwed up in disgust as if Ayremac had offered to feed him a spoonful of troll excrement.

"You show your ignorance of our ways, angel," Perragourp sneered. "The githyanki have no god. The githyanki need no god. We serve the lich-queen and she has guided us to greatness these past hundred generations! That a weapon would be honored by dedication to a god means nothing to me... No. It means less than nothing! It is an insult to an instrument whose only honor is in glorious battle."

Ayremac opened his mouth to apologize, but Perragourp went on quickly.

"But that being said, you are correct that the weapon holds little value for us," the githyanki continued. "Its magic runs counter to our philosophy which is why it was relegated to the Gisir's collection rather than seeing use in the hands of an able-bodied warrior. What would you offer in trade for it?"

Ayremac reached to his belt and pulled his morningstar from its place in a non-threatening way. He cradled it up and looked hopefully at the githyanki.

“This weapon is well-tested in battle, and although I have always wielded it in the name of my god, it bears no dedication. It is infused with inner magic, and sheds light when grasped.” He clutched its haft, displaying the lit affect.

“Would this be of sufficient value to close the trade?” The githyanki snorted in response.

"You insult me!" Perragourp spat. "You claim the axe has import and then offer this... toy in exchange? I would sooner see it safely out of the hands of god-headed fools than accept such an offer!" Ayremac lowered the morningstar at once, nodding sagely.

"Ah, take no insult. I offered and you did not accept," the holy warrior replied as he busily returned the morningstar to its place on his belt. "The weapon was of only trivial interest and I cannot afford to spend more than this on such frivolity."

Ayremac looked back at the waraxe, sad he could not reclaim it... feeling as if possessing it might have brought him closure... or at least given him something to mourn. He looked at Ixin and she held out her empty hands, shaking her head slowly.

"We will take our leave," Ayremac said to Perragourp. "You have been more than hospitable and I don't wish to wear our welcome." The githyanki's lip curled back from his jagged teeth.

"You mistake adherence to custom for hospitality and tolerance for welcome," the githyanki corrected. "And know this: if our paths cross again what tolerance we have shown will be at an end. You will be met with steel and steel alone." Ayremac nodded as if such a statement was a perfectly natural one to make.

“So be it then," he said. "We will be on our way."

And they were, heads held high, not looking back.



They traveled in silence for some time. Ixin was the slowest flier and so they maintained her pace as they went, unwilling to string their ranks out too thin, but when they spotted a bit of floating detritus off to their right, they veered off their more-or-less random course to assess their situation.

Ayremac was blunt with the group, asking, "Del, Maleko, Cerrakean... if you would be so kind as to allow Morier and I a moment." Ixin moved to join the two but the Officer held up one gauntleted hand. "Ixin, bear with me," he said with an apologetic smile. "Let me help Morier adjust."

She struggled not to look hurt and nodded her understanding. "As you wish."



Once Ayremac and Morier were some distance away - though only far enough to give their conversation some privacy - Ayremac grabbed Morier's shoulders, grinning.

"Men-at-arms are not know for sentiment... and you and I especially so...but I must," he said before embracing Morier joyfully.

"It's good to see you, friend," the holy warrior beamed, releasing the albino. "I did not expect to find you here, but the gods are good, and they have brought us together. For you to be in the same place as my quest... it's unbelievable! Only the fates could be responsible."

Morier listened intently as Ayremac detailed the events on the path that had led the celestial to Akiv-tchai and somehow back to standing in front of him now. However it happened, it couldn't have been more fortuitous and thus, Morier thought, the gods surely had a hand in it. The eldritch warrior noted that he had recently found his mind wandering from time to time into a spiritual area he had not inhabited quite so fully in the past. His hand crept unconsciously to the protrusion on his chest, reassuringly tracing its contours.

"What is that on your chest?" Ayremac asked, noting the motion.

In response to the question, Morier began to peel away enough of his armor to reveal the spot in his chest where the gemstone had implanted itself. "She is with me," he said, knowing that the celestial knew enough of the situation that he would fully understand the meaning of those words.

And he did, instantly noting the symbolic placement of the gem for which they had so long been questing.

"The Heart," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Morier nodded and quickly closed up his armor.

"I never imagined that I could harbor her essence and I'm wary of revealing this situation to anyone," he told his companion. "But I have always believed your motives to be pure. You are one of the only people I feel I can fully trust now."

Ayremac nodded, considering. Then he pointed at the others. "I will also vouche for Del and Maleko and Cerrakean," he said. "I have not traveled with them long, but they helped Ixin and me out of a tight spot when they could have turned on us and saved themselves. Not saying they are saints, but I would trust them with to guard my back at this point."

Morier looked over and saw that the others had noticed he and Ayremac looking and gesturing at them and were moving toward them. Del was fastest and he spoke as he came.

"Keeping counsel with oneself is wise indeed," he said. "But let me share something first with you: this is not about the coins in your satchel. I know next to nothing of their history and even less of yours. You are struggling to some kind of end against an insurmountable force, and of that I do know a little. Enough to be certain that your cause is dangerous... and compelling. Enough to know that one does not walk away from it but becomes swallowed up by it." Morier nodded, impressed by the half-elf's words.

"You do seem to know more than most," he said. "From where does this knowledge come?" Shifting a bit, uncomfortably aware that he was going to have to go down an unpleasant road in order to be level with Morier, and knowing what such a journey would involve, Del broke out his flask again. He took in a burning mouthful of courage.

"Grey House is the origin of the investigation," Maleko said before Del was forced to speak and Morier nodded.

"So you have said," the eldritch warrior replied. "But as I told you, I have never been to Grey House."

"I was trained within the janissary ranks of Barnacus," Del blurted, looking hopefully at Morier. He futilely willed understanding into the albino and waited for that to be enough. It wasn't and Morier simply raised one prompting eyebrow in response.

"Your quest has claimed a life which I would give anything to have back," Del confided, shakily, "but whose allegiance to that very cause supersedes even death."

"Indeed it has consumed countless lives, including a great (and seemingly ever-growing) number who have fought beside me," Morier admitted. "Mercenaries in search of one self-serving prize or another come and go, with names I sometimes cannot recall after the fog of war sets in. But only a small handful have come here out of a sense of duty toward a cause. Which claimed life has brought you here?"

"My comrade was Janissary Ledare Eelsof'faw." He said the name as if its syllables were jagged and might cut his tongue if he lingered too long on them. "She spoke of an effort to prevent the return of Aphyx to this world... of armies mobilizing in anticipation of that day. Indeed, I had some dealings with this myself along the borderlands. Strange creatures... not wholly one beast or another but some twisted, dark combination. She... she insisted that Aphyx was seeking a vessel... a body..." Del shook his head, as if to jar his memory.

"I will admit that my recollection is more bits and pieces of fact," the marshall continued. "But I can tell you: she was changed by this. And her spirit was wholeheartedly pledged to this cause; that I can remember as if it were yesterday."

Morier heard little of the words that followed the name. He pushed back the sudden rush of memory, reaching out involuntarily to grasp the janissary hard just above the elbow. "You know Led... knew... Ledare?"

As dark and solitary as his thoughts had seemed earlier that day, the sudden reappearance of Ayremac and now a contemporary of Ledare seemed to bring light. Two who had truly understood, who had come not for gain but out of service, were suddenly among him; even if it was in combination of spirit and form. Although he was sure that she never knew it, it had been Ledare who unwittingly turned him from a lone warrior searching for little more than solace in battle, into a torchbearer for this fight against Aphyx. It seemed impossible that others could be around her and not be driven by her sense of devotion and service. It was following the loss of Ledare that Morier felt compelled to pick up her mantle of leadership, but he had never felt a cohesive group available to follow his lead.

Perhaps now...

"Yes!" Del said, smiling nervously at the albino's sudden enthusiasm. "We... trained together at the academy." He down-played their involvement for some reason, not ready as yet to detail the true depths of their relationship.

"You could hardly have spoken a name for which I have greater reverence, Janissary," Morier told the half-elf "Ledare Eelsof'faw is the very reason I stand here today having been bound by the essence of a goddess who will rise to fight Aphyx." Del listened intently, willing his face to reveal nothing of the emotional surge inside him. A dozen questions boiled their way to the surface of his thoughts - things he had wondered in the cold stillness of long nights awake. But he checked them carefully.

"She is why I am here as well," Del told him. "But know that I have come willingly; no gods have summoned nor kings commanded me. I am here to do what I can to aid in your quest. That is what she would have wanted."

"She was very inspirational," Morier began. "Her dedication to-" Del held up an unsteady hand, his expression forestalling any further discussion on the topic.

"I do not need to know the details now, maybe never... But if you are willing I should like to know more when there is time," he said, his voice measured and controlled. The flask shook ever-so slightly in his hand as he lifted it once again. Maleko noticed the flask and the tremor and concern bled into the elf's eyes.

"Now about this shifty elf who seems to want to pick my pocket for spare coins..." Morier mused, looking at Maleko. The elf's eyes widened in shock at the suggestion and he puffed up his chest proudly. A thought and a small gesture transformed his clothes into clerical robes.

"I apologize if I appear like I want your money. Nothing could be further from the truth," he said. "The coins are tokens to signify membership in the Grey Company. Possession allows membership. It appears from what I have heard that you would be one whom Grey House would be proud to have as a member. Am I correct Cerrakean?" The hobgoblin sniffed.

"I reckon," she said blandly. "If there were still a Grey House to be a member of. The more I think about it, the more I think that the Grey Company's pretty well through." She shrugged and scratched at one hairy armpit.

"So long as you live, Cerrakean, there is a Grey Company," Maleko assured her. "You're a Grey Lord are you not?" She shrugged again.

"That doesn't really mean much any more, elf," she sighed. "One Lord doesn't really make a Company, now does it?"

"There's still Abernathy, don't forget. And Ocif. And the House itself," Maleko went on. "I have a coin. And Morier has more." Cerrakean's expression darkened and she turned away, muttering, "I reckon," one last time.

"Regardless, Morier, I would be honored for you to keep one of the coins," the elf said, nonplussed by the hobgoblin's attitude. "I believe you have ones in your possession that once belonged to Ledare Eelsof'faw, Finian Telteppe, Kirnoth Val Satha, and Draelond Khemir. They were the last recorded members to possess these items."

"Of those you named, I only ever knew Ledare," Morier said and Ixin nodded.

"Finian and Draelond both fell before Morier joined," she told them. "Finian died days prior, but Draelond was killed the very day we first met Morier. In fact if Draelond had not fallen in battle, we might not have been so quick to welcome Morier into our group."

"It's strange to hear you speak so knowledgeably of such things," Morier admitted to her. "You look so different from the Ixin I knew." The woman's eyes flashed at the albino and then she looked away.

"I AM different, Morier," she said. "When one falls so many times into its embrace, the grave eventually leaves its mark on you."

"What of Kirnoth?" Maleko asked, hoping to take the focus off Ixin's deaths and rebirths for a moment. Morier and Ayremac exchanged glances, remembering their battle after securing the Keys.

"That's complicated," the sorceress said her eyes downcast. "We think that he's been turned to Aphyx."

"That's horrible!" Maleko exclaimed. "All the more reason to repopulate the Grey Company with honorable souls. If you were to give them to me, Morier, I would be honored to offer one to Del, Ixin and Ayremac."

Morier looked around at them and shrugged. He opened the _Valiant Vessel_ bag and found the mithril coins on top as if they were the last items placed within although he was sure that he hadn't seen them on previous inspections of Huzair's things. He held them up and Maleko took three and distributed them around.

"We would be honored if you accepted these symbols of our order and continue to fight for our cause," Maleko said once he'd passed them out. "They also would work as a wonderful tracking device should we be separated if that is all you wish them to be. I believe in your heart, each of you know this is the right thing to do."

Morier looked at the coin in his hand and wondered whose it had been previously. It didn't really matter. It was only a symbol. He wondered if Ixin remembered the tiny pin he'd given her and the others in Hillville Junction. That too had been a symbol. The VQS... Vla'rinnyn Quarth Sila... Brotherhood of the Order Bringers... He laughed at himself and slipped the coin around his neck.

Ayremac, for the first time since... well, since a long time ago, felt the seeds of cooperation, comradre, and fellowship being sowed. It brought a smile to his face. As much as skulking around the temple, safe, warm, and well-fed, was a welcome break from time on the trail, it was nice to be back in the thick of things and to be back with a face he recognized.

"Morier, do you know which direction we should go?" he asked, expecting an immediate: yes. Instead, Morier just looked at him seriously.

"We must find her body, Ayremac, and we cannot afford delay," the eldritch warrior said, turning that serious look on each of his companions. "I may harbor the essence of a goddess, but my body is decidedly mortal. The stakes are suddenly unimagineably high, and I hope that may go some way in explaining why I had to dispatch Saelus in the manner that I did just before you arrived."

"It does," Ayremac nodded. "And I can well understand your desire for haste. I believe that we are all behind you on this. So which way do we go?" Morier sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said and Ayremac looked shocked.

"But you always know where to go." he exclaimed. "What about the Pull?"

"Gone once I found the Heart," the eldritch warrior told him, apologetically.

"So... what? We just pick a direction and take off blindly?" Ixin scoffed.

"That would be unwise," Maleko cautioned. "The Astral Plane is vast. Infinitely so, in fact. Drifting around aimlessly will accomplish little."

"Well I wouldn't suggest heading back toward Akiv-tchai," a familiar voice chirped. They turned and saw Grandfather Plaque hovering behind the group. He smiled back at them sheepishly. "I sort of... abandoned my post... Can I come with you?"


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## Jon Potter (Aug 16, 2009)

*[Realms #482] Along Came a Spider*

"You are welcome to join us, Grandfather Plaque," Ayremac told him.

"Not that we know where we're going," Ixin added and the construct raised a stony eyebrow.

"Oh?" he quipped. "At loose ends are we?"

"Something like that," Maleko nodded. "Do you know anything about the astral plane?" The wizened face pondered that question for a moment.

"No. My field of knowledge is actually limited more or less to doors," he admitted at last, adding, "But I can speak Terran!"

"I'll remember that if we meet any earth elementals," the mage-priest replied glumly.

"Well we can't just drift around without a heading," Del said. "That much is clear."

"Right," Maleko said with a firm nod. "And from what you've told us, Morier, we need to find the God Islands. That's the only thing that I can think of that comes close to what you're describing."

"So where's that, fancy pants?" Cerrakean asked and Maleko shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said. "I've read little on the astral plane and even less on the subject of dead gods. But if we're going to find Dridana's body, the God Islands is the logical place to start." Cerrakean snorted.

"Yeah!" she groused. "If we knew where that was!"

"I could pray for some guidance," Maleko suggested, indicating the holy symbol he wore. "Nethlar is all-knowing..." Cerrakean threw up her red hands.

"All we do is sit around and fret and pray and get nowhere!" the hobgoblin cursed. "We need to act!"

"Cerrakean, your attitude is not helping the situation," Del interceded. "If you have nothing constructive to add-"

"What about J'inn and J'ann?" Ixin interrupted.

"What about 'em?" Cerrakean snapped, but Ayremac smiled broadly at the sorcerer.

"Ixin, you're a genius!" he beamed. "That's a fantastic idea." The mage blushed and for a moment, her red face was visible even through her ceremonial face-paint.

"Who or what are J'inn and J'ann?" Morier asked.

"They're natives of the astral plane," Ayremac told him. "If anyone can act as guides for us, it's them."

"Fine," Morier nodded. "But let's not divulge too much to them or anyone else regarding what we're up to. The success of our quest might depend on our discretion."



The group conferred, using Ayremac's touchstone to establish the direction that lead to Avik-tchai, and determining through consensus the route by which they'd approached the citadel from the deathspider. Once they had that fixed in their minds, they estimated the proper vector that would take them back there from their present location.

It was at best a rough estimate, but it was better than nothing.



The astral plane was barren.

They all knew that, of course, but it was truly hammered home after they'd been flying for what seemed like a long time without any change in their surroundings. They saw twinkling motes of color flickering in the distance and enormous clouds of far off luminescence that billowed up and swirled through the action of unfelt currents. But they saw nothing solid or living in all the time they travelled... how ever long that actually was.

Eventually, they saw a shadow in the distance ahead of them and a bit below, and as they approached it resolved itself into a vast cloud of stones and rocks that stretched off into the silver twilight, growing denser as it went. Most of the stones were small, the size of a thumb or fist. But some were as big as heads or whole torsos, and at the limits of visibility they could see ones that were larger still.

"The Chain of Tears," Ayremac said, gesturing to the drifting mass of stones. "J'inn and J'ann live somewhere in there."

"Somewhere?" Cerrakean scoffed. "And just how are we supposed to find 'em in there? There isn't a door to knock on!"

"Last time, Ixin and I just waited," Ayremac explained. "Eventually, they found us."

"Eventually?" the hobgoblin sneered and Ayremac nodded sagely.

"Crap," she spat and grabbed one of the drifting rocks, hurling it into the cloud. It struck one of its fellows and ricocheted setting off a satisfying chain reaction of clattering stones. The hobgoblin grinned and grabbed another.



They passed the time like that for a while, but eventually they tired of the game and contented themselves with other tasks as they waited, swapping stories, resting and keeping watch. Eventually, Del pointed at a shape coming toward them from the expanse of the astral sea bordering the Chain of Tears.

"What's that?" he asked warily as he squinted at the shape. Ayremac looked where the half-elf was pointing and his face grew pale.

"It's a retriever," he said grimly and immediately set about readying himself for combat.

"A what?" Morier asked, squinting at the shape as it drew inexorably closer.

"A sort of demonic golem," Maleko explained. "They're created through foul sorceries to serve powerful demons as warriors and servants. Most texts speculate that their overall design emulates the corporeal appearance of the bebelith in-"

"Maleko!" Ixin snapped, drawing the elf out of his recitation. "Can you tell us anything useful?" Maleko nodded, his eyes fixed on the retriever. It looked like an enormous spider, and while it was difficult to tell for sure at this distance, it seemed to be big - twice the size of a man, maybe more. Its four front limbs ended in wicked black cleavers, each like the blade of a massive scythe. A cluster of multi-colord eyes glowed atop its small head.

"It's a construct, not a demon, so it won't be hurt by any magic that targets a living creature. Necromantic effects, and the like will be useless. As will mind-effecting spells," he said. "It's very singular in its purpose; it was sent for a reason and it won't stop until it's dead or it's retrieved what it's after." The elf looked from the approaching thing to Morier's chest and realization flooded his features.

"Oh!" he said and met the albino's eyes.

"Oh," Morier agreed.


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## Jon Potter (Aug 22, 2009)

*[Realms #483] This Spider's Got a Bite*

Maleko looked abashed, surprised that he hadn't more quickly put together the retriever's presence and Morier's desire to keep a low profile. "Quickly, let's fall back into the debris and we can tangle it in my _Web_," the elf suggested, pointing at the cloud of rocks at their backs. "It may buy us time against its blades and other attacks."

"Right," Cerrakean agreed, her voice full of uncertainty. "I'm more used to fighting people, not big bugs!" Ixin snorted at the hobgoblin's reticence and stood defiantly at Ayremac's side.

“Morier, you at least should move back into the debris field. If this thing is as powerful as it looks you may need to make a run for it," the Officer of Umba told him, while never taking his eyes off the construct as it moved slowly toward them. "We will hold it here, and if you think we can take it down, then come out and join us… if not…” Ayremac fixed his eyes on Morier’s, pausing for only the briefest moment, but conveying in that span all the things that warriors could in such a moment.

“You run…" the celestial said, gravely. "Your mission - your cargo - is too precious.” Morier sighed.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Ayremac," the albino said, pausing for a breath to cast a _Quickened Bull's Strength_ on himself. "But if it gets passed you, then what? It'll leave me all alone with this thing on my trail. The best bet is to stand here and face it together. The more force we can bring to bear on it now the better chance we have of ending it."

"Well spoken," Grandfather Plaque said, hovering near Morier's shoulder. "You can certainly count on what meager powers I have." Morier smiled and nodded then reached for his empty scabbard.

He paused, nonplussed.

"Here you go," Maleko said, unsheathing his longsword. "I do not know how to use it well, anyway." He tossed the brilliantly-decorated sword to the albino who deftly caught in in one hand. It was a far lighter weapon than he was used to, but its craftsmanship was obvious at a glance.

"Bhaal's balls!" Cerrakean cursed, unsheathing her black scimitars with a dangerous hiss. "If everybody else is gonna line up to get killed, I reckon I can take my turn in the queue!"

"That's the spirit!" Del said adjusting the bolts in his repeating hand-crossbow. "Together we can win out!" Cerrakean sneered at the half elf and twirled her scimitars with deadly precision.

"Save your pep talk, brown eyes!" she grumbled. "You'll need that breath to give your condolences to the survivors... If there are any."

"Maleko?" Ixin asked without taking her eyes off the retriever as it drew slowly closer. "Do you suppose that thing is in _Magic Missile_ range?"

"I think it is," Maleko said, brandishing his wand.

"Let us find out!" Grandfather Plaque added with a wink.



And so the battle was enjoined at range. Ixin, Maleko and Grandfather Plaque unleashed a salvo of _Magic Missiles_ that peppered the Retriever mercilessly. It absorbed the eleven bolts of force and kept on coming. Ixin's spellcasting was _Quickened_ by the very nature of the Astral Plane and she found herself able at once to cast _Magic Missile_ again, so she hit the construct with another three for good measure.

One of the Retriever's eyes flared red in response and a crimson ray lanced out at Ixin, striking the sorceress before she could move to avoid it. She managed to invoke a spell shield which abrogated some of the damage, but all it really did was prevent her from being immolated at once. She still suffered greatly, screaming out as flames danced over her shoulders charring the flesh on her face and neck and searing the hair from the side of her skull.

Morier darted forward, slipping an arm through the crook of the woman's elbow in an effort to haul her away from the front line, but she shook him off.

"Le' me go!" she growled, her words barely intelligible since her lips were split and swelling. Her left eye was a blackened horror, but a fierce determination shone in the other. "I can do this!"

Del raised his hand crossbow and squeezed off a couple of shots. The first struck amidst the cluster of eyes on the Retriever's head, but the second was wide and the bolt sailed off into the silver void, disappearing rapidly from sight.

The construct absorbed the damage and kept on coming.

"Fall back into the rocks!" Ayremac commanded. "Now!"

Morier, Del and Cerrakean started in that direction, but Ixin paused long enough to cast a _Quickened Magic Missile_, working the enhanced magic despite her devastating injuries. Three _Missiles_ impacted the Retriever but it came on, undaunted. Grandfather Plaque spat four _Missiles_ of his own at the thing.

It absorbed the damage and kept on coming.

Rather than add his wand to the attack, Maleko moved toward Ixin, spontaneously channeling the energy from a second spell valance into a _Cure Moderate Wounds_ spell. "Ixin, wait," he ordered. As the woman turned Maleko placed his hands gently on her head, praying, "May Nethlar give you the strength to continue your quest for the knowledge to save our world from the plague that has befallen it."

At his touch, the worst of the blackened char flaked off, revealing angry red skin beneath. Ixin looked at him gratefully, her green eyes swimming with relief. She felt the pain from her burned head subside and a warm wave went through her body as the healing took place.

"Thank you," Ixin said kindly. Then she quickly turned to reface the menace that approached with a sneer of hated.

"Maleko, if we're going to try trapping it with your _Web_ spell, then we need to fall back!" Ayremac said again and the elf nodded his understanding as he hurried off into the field of stones. "That goes for you too, Ixin. I'd rather not usher any more friends so soon to Umba's judgement."

As the sorcerer complied with his order, Ayremac spared a look back at the Retriever. It had closed half the distance, and as he watched, he saw another of the construct's eyes flare like a star. Before he could do more than register what he'd seen, a ray of brilliant white struck him in the breastplate, riming his armor with hoarfrost and chilling him savagely. Despite his innate Celestial resistance to both magic and cold, being struck by the ray felt like having a red hot poker driven into his chest. He activated his _Sacred Healing_ ability and felt his injuries begin to ease as he moved off into the cloud of stones.


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## Jon Potter (Sep 1, 2009)

*[Realms #484] The Final Messenger*

It was slower going within the drifting mass of rocks, all it took was Cerrakean suffering a stout blow to the head for them to realize the folly of moving through the unpredictable cloud with haste. The Retriever was only mildly inconvenienced by the stones, it seemed. It came on with the ting-ta-ting-ting of stones on its armored carapace heralding it.

The construct aimed another ray at Ayremac - this one a brilliant blue color - but a largish stone drifted between him and the Retriever, and the Officer of Umba was spared its effects as a cloud of sparks exploded around the stone. Ayremac hastily called on his divine heritage and invoked a _Cure Serious Wounds_ spell, channelling the power into his own frostbitten body.

"Is this far enough to enact your plan, Maleko?" the holy warrior called and the elf surveyed the surroundings.

"I'm not sure how effective this is going to be," Maleko admitted. "I've never cast _Web_ in such an environment nor read of any mage who has. I could see the spell slowing it down, or at least tangling its legs and requiring it to take time to cut its way out. But-"

"But it's our best shot right now," Ayremac interjected. Maleko nodded his understanding and began to cast.

That's all the farther he got before the _Quickened Web_ went off, filling the area around the Retriever with a many-layered mass of sticky strands. The construct was surprisingly agile for something so huge, and aided, as Ayremac had been, by the intervention of a drifting rock, so it wasn't immobilized by the _Web_. But it still plowed straight forward through it, entangling itself rather badly as a result.

Another of the Retriever's eyes winked, and a sickly gray beam lanced out at the elf who had impeded it. Maleko tried to dodge, but despite the intervening rocks and stones, the ray struck him in the leg and he felt the limb grow heavy. A strange sensation spread through his body and he recognized it from descriptions he'd read in the memoirs of adventurers and explorers who had survived encounters with medusae. He very nearly succumbed, but he was able to resist the _Petrification_ attack by the slimmest of margins and looked up in time to see another bolt from Del's crossbow clatter across the construct's hull.

“Keep its attention on us…” Ayremac directed and maneuvered closer to the thing. At a command, his _Shield of Blinding_ flashed dazzlingly catching the entangled Retriever full in its array of eyes. It thrashed around, obviously blind.

Ixin urged herself forward casting a _Quickened Scorching Ray_ at the disoriented Retriever. Somehow she managed to miss, despite her target's size and relative helplessness. She followed that spell up with another _Scorching Ray_ that sent fire washing over the Retriever. The _Webs_ entangling it began to go up as well, but that only served to burn the thing further.

Grandfather Plaque, flew between Ixin and Ayremac, coming closer than the others and opened his mouth to deliver a vicious _Shout_. The sonic attack struck the Retriever solidly and sent a network of hairline cracks across its body.

Maleko drew his wand and sent a quartet of _Magic Missiles_ into the Retriever, which did little now besides thrash amidst the burning webs. It lurched forward toward the last opponent it had seen nearby, a cleaver the size of a greatsword reaching out blindly toward the Officer of Umba. The claw slammed down on a rock nearby causing the stone to explode in a hail of gravel. The strength behind that blow was titanic, and Ayremac did not wish to be on the receiving end of such if he could avoid it.

As another pair of bolts from Del's crossbow stabbed down into the Retriever, the holy warrior raised Fedifensor. He could sense the evil that had created the construct; it radiated from the thing like a palpable field of malevolence. The sword was eager to destroy it and so was he.

He _Smote_ it, driving the longsword into the twisted mess of blades and eyes that served as the construct's head, and the Retriever fell beneath the blade. The twin purities of Law and Good stabbed deeply at the malignant auras of Chaos and Evil that drove the thing, disrupting it. For a moment it shuddered and twitched, but then it belched a cloud of abyssal smoke and came apart, bleeding tarnished cogs and rusty springs.

"Is everyone all right?" Ayremac asked, looking around at his companions. His enquiry was met with nods and calls of assent. "Good," he replied, sheathing Fedifensor. "I think this thing-"

"Bringing your battles to our doorstep, now?" a voice whispered out of the air in their midst. It was J'inn, or J'ann. It was impossible to tell which. "Rather poor form, considering how well we aided you when last we met. Wait. We'll be right there."

"Where are you?" Ayremac asked, looking about for any sign of the Buommans. There was none. "J'inn? J'ann?" Maleko shook his head.

"Don't bother, Ayremac," the elf said "That was a _Whispering Wind_ spell. They probably can't hear you. They could be miles from here."

"They must be close enough to see us," Del observed. "Their timing is too good for them not to have witnessed the Retriever's destruction."

"Good point," Maleko admitted. "I hadn't-"

"What the hell is that?" Cerrakean demanded, pointing with one of her scimitars at the mass of floating debris that had been the Retriever. They followed her blade and saw a darkened metal sphere no bigger than a walnut etched entirely with runes and sigils. It was moving away from the debris with intent on a course that mirrored the construct's initial approach.

"I don't know," Maleko admitted. "I don't think that Retrievers normally do that. At least none of the ones I've ever read about."


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## Jon Potter (Sep 6, 2009)

*[Realms #485] The Buommans Return*

"I think we should definitely attend to this thing," Del observed. "If the Retriever's sole purpose was to destroy whatever it was after, I am sure it is trying to report back its failure in that regard."

"Actually, a Retriever's sole purpose is to 'retrieve' whatever it is after, not destroy it," Maleko corrected earning himself a disapproving look from Del. The elf quickly added, "I imagine a _Web_ would totally encompass it now. Maybe some of Ayremac's holy magic would do the trick here as well."

"Perhaps," Ayremac said drifting to the fore of the little band and calling down a _Holy Smite_ on the fleeing object. It did not slow down in its course.

"Or perhaps not," Cerrakean smirked and Ixin cast a withering look in her direction.

"_Web_ it is then," Maleko announced and cast a _Quickened Web_ on the thing, entombing it in a net of sticky strands and floating rocks. He followed that up with another _Cure Wounds_ spell that completely erased Ixin's suffering. Only the ruined face paint and the hair burned away from her head on one side remained as a reminder of the Retriever's attack.

"Thank you," Ixin said again and cast a _Quickened Magic Missile_ spell, sending a trio of bolts into the entangled thing. It was still moving so she followed it up with another _Magic Missile_ spell. It seemed unfazed by the attack and Ixin growled lightly and rolled her shoulders, ready to begin another barrage of force on the thing, Ayremac knew that she could cast that spell more than of a dozen times before needing to rest; he had seen her do so back at the Court in Frothingham. But Maleko laid a hand on her arm before she could begin the casting again.

"Don't bother," he told her. "While _Magic Missile_ is a favorite of martial-minded spellcasters everywhere - and rightly so - it does have its limitations. I believe this thing exploits one of those imitations." Grandfather Plaque drifted forward, floating backward so that he could grin at them as he went.

"Allow me to try," he said before turning around and moving close to the entangled thing. He opened his mouth and _Shout_ed at it, pulverizing it utterly with sonic energy. He drifted back with a smug smile on his stony lips.

"Well done," Del said and Grandfather Plaque rolled his eyes in a way that said 'all in a day's work'.

"He seems pleased with himself," Ayremac remarked to Morier, grinning at the construct's self-satisfaction. Morier's face, when the holy warrior turned, however was serious. 

"Ayremac, I appreciate the protection, but I am highly unaccustomed to taking a back seat in battle, and it's not something I intend on doing much of going forward," the albino told him. "If I feel as though my life is in danger I will retreat, but I simply can't stand back and let everyone else protect me."

"But the Heart..." Ayremac began and Morier shook his head.

"I understand the sentiment," he countered, "but remember that I have survived this long by fighting where the situation warrants... No need to change that now." Ayremac considered this and then nodded his agreement.

"The heart of a warrior is not easily stilled when battle calls," he said. "I will not stand in your way if you feel that the front lines are where you should be."

Del too registered Morier's desire to be involved in subsequent fights, and realized as Ayremac did, that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. If the drow wanted to fight then no amount of baby-sitting was going to keep him out of the fray. However, he also knew that there was no denying the importance of the magic Morier bore in his chest, and he made a mental note to adjust his tactical planning to place someone close to the drow at all times.

“Now, what are you comfortable revealing to J'inn and J'ann?" Ayremac asked the eldritch warrior as he sheathed Fedifensor at his hip. "They will want to know why we need access to the God Islands, I'm sure.”

"If you are willing to vouch for the Buommans, as you have, then I am willing to be fairly trusting," Morier replied with a single nod.

"What can we offer J'inn and J'ann for their help?" Del asked and both Morier and Ayremac turned to look at him.

"You don't think that the goodwill of having previous interaction with most of this group, will be enough to get them to help?" Morier asked and Del shrugged.

"I don't know, " he admitted. "I'd like to think so, but I like to be prepared for other eventualities, too."

"I think the time for preparations is passed," Maleko said, pointing. "Here they come."

The Buommans approached from deeper within the Chain of Tears, moving with great speed through the rocks. Their movements were balletic and sinuous, involving a great del of spinning and rolling as they tumbled forward through the roiling cloud of stones. Occasionally they would use a rock as a jumping-off point to propel themselves forward, other times they would clasp hands and wheel one another on through force of limb alone. It was an impressive display of agility and cooperation which, several of the group suspected, was entirely put on to impress them.

"What brings you back so soon, Ayremac?" J'inn called when they got close enough.

"We hardly had time to miss you," J'ann added, spinning through the air to stop at his twin's side. "Did you make it to Akiv-tchai?"

"I did," Ayremac said. "Your help was invaluable."

"And you made it out alive," J'inn observed, elbowing his twin. "I was confident that you would." J'ann scowled and produced a silver piece that he reluctantly handed over to J'inn. 

"So what brings you back to the Chain of Tears?" J'ann asked. "This isn't exactly the safest part of the Astral Sea as you can tell." He indicated the remains of the Retriever and swatted a smallish stone away from his face.

"We need to visit the God Islands," the holy warrior said and J'inn and J'ann's faces snapped shut like books.

"That isn't going to happen," J'inn said simply while J'ann sang softly, "Never gonna get it. Never gonna get it. Never gonna get it. You'll never get it."

"It's vitally important," Ixin interjected and J'inn sniffed.

"It always is," J'ann observed gesturing dismissively.

"Good bye," J'inn said, turning to leave. "Don't come back here."

"It's no longer safe for you," J'ann added.

"Wait!" Morier said, drifting forward. "We have been charged to visit the tomb of the goddess Dridana. It may have a crucial bearing on the outcome of a scourge set upon the material plane by Aphyx."

"Then you have been charged falsely," J'inn said. "There is no tomb to visit."

"And any who would charge you thus are fools," J'ann added. "You can go back and tell them I said so."

"Look," Morier snapped. "No one told us where to go. We've been feeling our way through this pretty much in the dark, but we know that we need to reunite Dridana's Heart with her body. And we've got the Heart!" He pulled aside his mail enough for the verdant glow of the gemstone to spill out across his pale features and those of the two Buommans. "We just need to find her body."

J'inn and J'ann turned to look at Morier and wonder began to spread across their faces. J'inn drifted forward slowly, hand outstretched to touch the gem.His pale fingertips brushed its surface and his mouth opened in astonishment. Morier drew back and covered the gemstone once more.

"We can take you as far as Discord," J'ann said, his entire demeanor changed from antagonism to cooperation. "But it's not up to us to take you to the other God Islands."

"That is up to the Threnodies, and ultimately the Guardian himself," J'inn added before looking at his twin and saying, "I imagine that at the very least they'll have to pass through the hall of mirrors."

"But they're not Buommans," J'ann observed and J'inn shrugged.

"Not for us to decide," he replied and beckoned for the group to follow him. "Come on, we'll take you to Discord."



The journey was impossibly fast. They came upon the massive settlement mere moments after setting off after J'inn and J'ann. A largish rock drifted in front of them and when it passed from their field of vision beyond they saw Discord.

And what a sight it was.

A stone head of immense size hung suspended in the silver expanse, its angle in space suggesting repose although its unseeing stone eyes were open and staring off into the void. Its features were unmistakably female and serenely beautiful. The twisted arrow, Chaos symbol of change was worked into the vast otherwise unblemished forehead. The stone neck ended in a jagged break about mid-way down and of the stone body there was no sign. The entire left side of the stone head was covered with buildings like some kind of strange tumorous mass. A large stone keep with crenelated towers rose above the thatched roofs of the smaller buildings, and numerous figures, no bigger than grains of sand to the enormous stone head moved about and between the buildings.

"Relative of yours?" Cerrakean asked, nudging Grandfather Plaque with her elbow. The stone construct said nothing; he was speechless.

"Welcome to Discord," J'ann said, gesturing expansively as they drifted closer and closer to the settlement and the great stone head filled more and more of their field of vision.

"We'll find a place for you to stay until we can speak with the Threnodies on your behalf," J'inn added. "Meantime, feel free to look around."

"Just don't try to leave without an escort," J'ann cautioned. "This part of the Astral is... unforgiving of those unused to it."


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## Jon Potter (Sep 14, 2009)

*[Realms #486] Discovering Discord*

Discord lived up to its name. While the design of the settlement was not as alien-seeming as the githyanki fortress had been, most of the party were immediately put off by the place. Everything seemed to thrum and vibrate, filling the air with a sound at once jarring and sonorous to most everyone's ears. Only Morier and Cerrakean seemed to find the sound pleasing and the hobgoblin was soon humming along with it adding another layer of sound to the constant piping and buzzing that filled the air as they followed J'inn and J'ann.

"If you feel like dancing, you should feel free," J'inn said, pointing to a square as they passed. There were dozens of Buommans there engaged in revelry. Some of them twirled and capered while other strummed lutes or twittered away on pipes.

"No one will mind," J'ann added. "But I would advise against any spell use."

"Magic is unpredictable in Discord," J'inn explained. "You might end up hurting yourself... or someone else."

"Are there any merchants in town?" Ayremac asked, his tone betraying some of the discomfort he felt listening to the weird, cacophony of sounds all around them. "I might like to buy some potions or magic trinkets of interest if there are." The Buommans both turned, hands going thoughtfully to their wan chins. Their movements were synchronous, almost choreographed.

"Certainly the Threnodies have a selection of magical items that they might be willing to part with," J'inn remarked to his twin and J'ann shook his head.

"But they might not be willing to even meet with them, let alone trade," J'ann replied. "K'ree and K'raa might have something to trade, though." J'inn nodded.

"Good thinking!" he remarked, patting his twin on the shoulder and turning to address Ayremac. "We'll take you there once we've got you situated, before we set off to meet with the Threnodies."

"We haven't an inn as such in Discord," J'ann said. "So we thought you all could use our house as a "'home base', so to speak."

"A place where you can leave your armor... your weapons... things you won't need while you're here," J'inn added. "You can rest there if you wish, or explore the town."

"And as J'inn said, we'll take any who wish to see K'ree and K'raa," J'ann said and gestured to a small dwelling cobbled together out of mismatched blocks of cut stone with a roof composed largely of pitted and battered shields with a few rough hewn planks in between. There was a colorful mosaic of geometric tiles set into the wall beside the door.

"Our house," J'inn observed and J'ann crooned, "is a very, very, very fine house."



K'ree and K'raa's dwelling was much like J'inn and J'ann's although slightly larger. Despite the added square footage, the place seemed tiny due to the abundance of junk piled about. It was heaped on tabletops, hung from the rafters and swept into drifts in the corners. Most of it was true junk: broken wands, torn cloaks, swords with broken blades. But there were a few items of apparent worth mixed in: armor and weapons clearly manufactured by githyanki, some ornate diadems and bracers, a stack of heavy tomes. One wall glittered with a rack of colorful potion vials. And what had at first appeared to be a suit of plate mail armor slouched in a corner revealed itself to be an inanimate golem upon closer inspection.

"K'ree?" J'inn called as they entered the building.

"Are you here?" J'ann chimed and a female Buomman lurched up from behind a workbench. She looked much like J'inn and J'ann though she was stockier than them and a pair of ashen scars crossed her pale face like a letter V turned on its side. She held a falchion which she at first pointed at the newcomers but quickly lowered it when she saw who it was.

"What do you want?" she angrily growled, sheathing the weapon across her back in a single deft movement.

"They've been like this since their mate-pair died fighting the mind-flayers,"  J'inn whispered to the group while J'ann explained who they were and what they wanted. The female Buomman stepped out from behind the bench, wiping her hands on the leather skirt she wore, and displaying the swollen belly of a pregnant woman.

"I have no idea what most of this stuff even is. It belonged to my husband," she said to them and her expression grew more irritated. "If you have something to trade, you're welcome to sift through it. Just don't expect my help."


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## Jon Potter (Sep 20, 2009)

*[Realms #487] One Last Zinger*

Cerrakean turned over what looked like a small brazier with the toe of her boot and snorted, "I'll be outside enjoying the local color. I'm not much of one for picking through trash." K'ree gave the hobgoblin a withering look and Cerrakean grinned back. "No offense, darling."

"J'inn and I will introduce you," J'ann said, motioning for the door. Cerrakean nodded and moved in that direction. Just before she and the twins stepped outside, she asked, "So you boys have anything to drink around here?"

"Maybe I should keep an eye on her," Grandfather Plaque suggested to Morier. "I cannot see myself having need of anything I might uncover here." The albino nodded his agreement.

"Just make sure she doesn't insult anyone too badly," he told the construct.

"And don't let her get into any fights," Del added as Grandfather Plaque headed out into the perpetual twilight.

"What about the rest of you?" K'ree asked. "Are you going to look through my husband's things or did you just stop by to criticize the wares?"

"Morier, I do suggest you look for a blade," Maleko said as Ayremac approached K'ree to make some diplomatic overtures. "As much as I doubt I will use it, I do need to get my sword back from you. I find that even if one wears the robes of a sorcerer, the fact that one carries a sword is a deterent to trouble. Brigands seem to understand that better."

"I wouldn't mind a magic sword, if one were laying about unclaimed," Del admitted, his eyes moving across the haphazard collection of merchandise. "I don't have much by way of coin, though."

"She did mention trade did she not?" Morier said and unslung his _Valiant Vessel_ bag. He flicked the clasp and began to empty the contents of the Handy Haversack into the center of the floor, amazed as always at the volume of material that poured forth: weapons, scrolls, various and sundry clothing and other more... personal... items that Morier was unaware Huzair had squirrelled away. When the bag finally seemed as though it had given up its full bounty, three final rolls of parchment tied together with a single red string thrust themseleves into Morier's hand and the bag exhaled a sigh of relief. These parchments felt thicker and more worn than the others, so Morier curiously untied them, suddenly hopeful that he had found some piece of Huzair that would trigger a memory. He missed his friend, and noted sadly that he was already starting to lose the memory of his voice.

Morier unfurled the scrolls with an almost childlike enthusiasm, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Rather than a set of unfinished letters or a personal journal though, he found himself holding up a series of nude figure drawings he instantly recognized as Ledare, Hildegunna, Ixin, Shamalin, and Anania. He was suddenly very aware of the many eyes fixed on him, watching to see what he had been so eager to uncover, and he now found himself searching in vain for a plausible way to talk his way out of the perfect parting shot from the master of parting shots. He half expected Huzair's near-maniacal laughter to shatter the silence, but it never came. Instead the hush hung heavier with each passing second.

"I..." Morier struggled to explain as he felt his face grow hot. "These are... not... You see..." 

“Morier, there is no reason to be bashful," Ayremac said, stepping up behind the eldritch warrior. He took the parchment from Morier's hands and glanced at the top one approvingly. "You seem to be a talented artist… although…” He eyed the second drawing more closely and withdrew with a raised eyebrow. “Is that Shamalin?? and…” Turning to Ixin he felt color touching his own cheeks. “Oh, my… well… I, uh… okay…” The drawings seemed very wrong suddenly and he thrust them away into the first pair of hands willing to take them. Then he turned his full attention to examining a stack of tattered books on the far side of the room.

Ixin looked at the drawings Ayremac had given her and she shuffled through the curled parchment scrolls. She recognized all of the subjects apart from Hildegunna and she stopped at last on the image of herself, as she had been. The drawing showed her seated from the rear, half-turned to display a wide muscular back. Her wings were folded neatly and her dorsal scales were meticulously rendered. Her face was in profile, her expression confident and serene.

Ixin looked up at Morier then with tears coming to her eyes.

"I did not draw those, Ixin," Morier said quickly. "It was Huzair. Not me."

"Sure..." she said through a voice heavy with emotion. "Blame the dead guy." She took the drawing of herself and handed the rest to Maleko before stepping outside.

The elf looked at the drawing of Shamalin on top without recognition. She was just a half-elven maid apparently bathing in a shallow stream. The picture was quite lovely really, although there was a sort of haunted sadness in the woman's eyes that the artist had captured perfectly.

"What a talented artist Huzair was. I bet he could have made a fine living working in that field. Kind of a Selejian influence, with the ultra-realism, I see," Maleko observed with an appreciative nod. "You can practically count the hairs on-"

Maleko stopped suddenly. He recognized Ledare's face on the page, even if he had never seen the janissary in such a position or such a state of undress. He quickly shuffled to the next drawing, a human female he did not recognize with a prominent jaw and pale hair worn in thick plaits that fell across her shoulders and down to her-

Del's sudden intake of breath at his shoulder made Maleko shuffle on to the last picture: a wood elf looking directly at the viewer with her arms raised as she buried her hands in her thick hair.

Del fixed Morier with a hard look, considering for the first time all that these drawings might imply. Morier held up his hands meekly.

"Truly, I did not draw those," the albino assured him and Del considered. He decided that he'd have to accept that there was a story waiting to be told about these drawings: one that he had to be willing to hear if he wanted to know the details of Ledare's past.

"I believe you," Del said simply and without looking at them too closely took the drawings of Ledare and Hildegunna, rolled them together and slipped them out of sight. Then he nodded and busied himself looking at the broken golem.

Maleko saw Del draw out his flask and upend it into his mouth. The elf shook his head, looked down at the two remaining drawings - elf and half-elf - and shook his head again. He rolled them up and presented them back to Morier.
"You should be ashamed of yourself for keeping those pictures," he admonished. "Especially out of respect for your deceased friends' modesty."

"If I'd known they were there, do you think I'd have pulled them out for everyone to see?" Morier said, loud enough for all those present to hear. "Huzair had too much time on his hands. The way he always talked, I thought he was scribing scrolls all the time, not... not this." He tossed the drawings of Shamalin and Anania back onto the pile of gear he'd poured from the _Handy Haversack_.

"Well, I would be interested in buying some of these scrolls perhaps," Maleko said, picking up a scroll of _Cause Fear_ at random. Morier made a dismissing gesture.

"Take them," the eldritch warrior said. "If you can use them, they're yours." Maleko shook his head.

"It is only fair that I should pay for them," Maleko observed, drawing his coin purse from his robes. "I could not accept these scrolls for free when you are in need of a fine sword to do your work." Morier looked at the elf and nodded.

"Right," he said, looking around at the piles of bric-a-brac. "A sword..."


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## Jon Potter (Sep 25, 2009)

*A heads up to any readers*

Just to let any lurkers know: this game has finally come to an end. So although we're still 20+ posts away from the final installment, it's coming.


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## Neurotic (Sep 25, 2009)

Too bad. Make it good finish


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## Jon Potter (Sep 26, 2009)

Well it actually comes to a conclusion rather than ending at some strange random encounter, so that's good, right? It doesn't end where I had actually expected it to, however. In fact it ended with several planned adventures left unexplored.

There is the possibility at some point that we'll come back to this, but I did want it to actually end rather than just trickle to a stop.


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## Jon Potter (Sep 27, 2009)

*[Realms #488] What about Karak?*

They searched long and hard through the contents of K'ree's home, but in the end Morier ended up taking Ocemocik's mercurial greatsword from Ayremac in preference to other lesser items to be found among the bric-a-brac. Ayremac wanted for little and so found nothing to spark his interest, passing his time instead by aiding Del in his search for a suitable weapon. Del ultimately satisfied himself with some minor potions and a battle axe which, while not the weapon type to which he was used, was enchanted in some way, Maleko assured him. Maleko made out better than the others finding a circlet, scrollcase, gloves and book that he deemed desirable.

In exchange for the items (and a bit of help organizing the chamber's contents) they traded a goodly portion of the spoils they'd acquired and which were doing little apart from languishing in the Handy Haversack. Only Morier felt any pang of regret turning over to K'ree Noxin's Greathammer and some of the other items that had belonged to the albino's former companions.



It was while they completed their business and secured their new gear that Melako finally brought up an issue that had been troubling him since their time in the githyanki outpost.

"Something is bothering me," he sighed looking somewhat apologetically at Del and then to Ayremac. "Your friend's war axe was obtained from a githyanki attack on a mind flayer ship near here in the Chain of Tears."

"Karak," Ayremac said with a nod. "That's what the githyanki told us, yes."

"Why do you bring it up?" Morier asked as he adjusted his baldric to accommodate his new and somewhat ungainly weapon. Maleko looked nervously at the pregnant boumman on the far side of the room.

"Well I was thinking," he began delicately. "Perhaps are these not the same mind flayers that killed K'ree' mate?" K'ree looked up, her pale, nearly featureless face hardened. Her jet black eyes shone wetly in the silvery light.

"I see that J'inn and J'ann have been spinning tales again," she snarled, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands rested atop her swollen belly, but they were clenched into fists as she looked with murderous rage at the disassembled golem leaning in the corner. "Mir'vann and Mir'vinn were killed by one of those... mechanical things... in the service of the mind flayers." Del squinted at the thing noticing something for the first time.

"That symbol on its head," he said indicating the three connected circles blazoned above its dark eye sockets. "I've seen it before on a mechanical man in the World Serpent Inn." K'ree looked away from the golem turning her eyes to the half-elf.

"It is the flayers' mark," the buomman told him. "It appears on all of the golems we've faced. If you met one, you were lucky to escape with your head still attached." Del looked skeptical.

"It did not behave like a killing machine," he said. "It spoke to me."

"I've never heard of a golem that could speak," Morier observed. "They're mindless things... like the retriever we faced."

"Not all golems are such," Maleko corrected. "There are rumors of a race of intelligent, free-willed constructs called maugs originating from the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus on the outer planes. They plan and react like living creatures." K'ree nodded.

"Lately, these golems have behaved as you described," she told the elf. "Their attacks haven't been the mindless frontal assaults we used to face. They've been coordinated and deadly, with an intelligence we haven't seen in the past."

"And they attack you without provocation?" Ayremac asked and K'ree shrugged.

"They don't attack us on Discord," she explained. "But rather attack us when we patrol the Chain. We only occassionally see the mind flayers themselves, and their purpose isn't clear to us, but their methods are: they slaughter us and anyone else on sight."

"Perhaps we could find out what happened to Karak if we were to plan an attack on this crew of mind flayers," Maleko suggested and all eyes turned to him.

"You want to attack a den of mind flayers?" Del asked, flabbergasted.

"I don't have an issue with tracking down Karak," Morier said, nodding at Maleko. "After all, it's Karak, and it would be the right thing to do." Ayremac considered and nodded at the eldritch warrior.

"Agreed, but is poking a hornet's nest with a stick the best tactic?" the holy warrior wondered. "Even assuming we can find the nest in the first place; this Chain of Tears is not a small area in which the mind flayers could be hiding."

For a moment, Morier expected to hear Huzair's frustrated grumbling as Ayremac brought up stinging insects and their dens. But none of those present had heard Morier's speeches on the subject, and Huzair was dead and gone.

"We've narrowed down the likely spot where the mind flayer lair is hidden," K'ree told them. She reached for her falchion. "If you really want to hunt them down, then I'll take you there."

"The hell you will!" J'ann said from the doorway and before K'ree could argue he strode purposefully inside shaking his head. "Do you know what would happen if the Threnodies found out that a buomman was directly assaulting the mind flayers? Even if you weren't carrying a child?"

"The flayers killed my life mates!" K'ree growled. "Can you imagine how hard it has been for me every day to resist the urge to go there and attack the place by myself? And now you bring these strangers here and they, of their own accord and for their own reasons want to seek out the flayers?"

"Can you imagine what would happen if you went there and failed? The flayers would send their forces to Discord!" J'ann argued. "And what does K'raa think of this?"

"We speak with one voice," K'ree asserted and J'ann nodded.

"I thought that you might," he said, his tone softened. "And I can understand your desire to seek out some measure of revenge. But I can't let you go off and invite death to Discord. I will tell the Threnodies if you persist in this folly. J'inn is there now." K'ree's body shook with emotion and she cast her falchion to the floor.

"They killed my life mates!" she said again and then moved out the back door of her dwelling and was gone. J'ann looked pained and then turned to the others, grim-faced.

"If a group of independent agents were to assault the mind flayers for reasons of their own, that would please the Threnodies and the rest of our cabal," J'ann said. "We could point you in the right direction to find such creatues if you wished it, but no buomman can aid you further in this course, lest the attack fail and bring the mind flayers' revenge down upon us." Ayremac started to speak and J'ann held up a staying hand.

"But know this: the Threnodies have already agreed to show you the way through the Gate of Duality to the Guardian of the God Isles," the Buomman said. "You have already earned that right and destroying the mind flayers will earn you nothing more apart from our gratitude."


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## Jon Potter (Oct 4, 2009)

*[Realms #489] The Threnodies*

"Should we perhaps conclude our mission, then, before seeking Karak?" Maleko asked and Ayremac looked at him incredulous.

"It was you who suggested that we side-track to find him in the first place," the half-celestial sputtered. "And you've so quickly changed your mind?" Maleko nodded, unperturbed.

"It occurs to me that we're very close to a major goal," the elf explained. "So... maybe we should take care of the business at hand and get to the God Isles before attacking the Mind Flayers."

"I agree with Maleko," Del said. "I think it's probably best if we don't go off side-tracking now in search of this Karak. For Morier to have been so steadfast in his mission up until now, only to deviate at this point... well... It just makes more sense to carry on with our current direction. Let's move on and continue in our quest." Ayremac sighed.

"We have strode this road for so long, Morier, you for longer then any other," the Officer of Umba observed and fixed his emerald eyes on the eldritch warrior. "I think that you will need to make the final decision." Morier considered for the space of two heartbeats and then nodded.

"Once we have taken care of the business at hand would be a more appropriate time to go in search of Karak," he said with conviction. "And I will lead that expedition at that time if any of you choose to come. But for now, let us move toward the God Isles quickly... at least as quickly as one can do anything in this place." Ayremac seemed relieved to hear that and nodded his acceptance of this decision.

"I have to say I agree," he said. "We have no way of knowing how long we have been here... the Astral is a funny place when it comes to time. What seems like days to us here, could be weeks... possibly months or years from the stories I have heard. I think the sooner we join the body and heart, the better."

"Very well," J'ann said with a nod. He gestured toward the door. "I'll escort you to the Tower of Song. We can pick up the others on the way."



From the outside, the Tower of Song looked much like any keep common to the Prime, with a high curtain wall topped by crenelated battlements and a single massive gate consisting of a pair of heavy doors. Unlike the rest of Discord, the fortress seemed planned and not cobbled together from bits of debris. Its walls were of a brilliant white stone perfectly cut and fitted so that there was barely a seam between blocks. The whole place seemed the hum as they approached and that single low note jumped in volume once J'ann sang a brief melody and the great wooden valves opened before them.

The inside of the place was a riot of whirling colored lights and glittering mirrored surfaces. A complex, buzzing melody was playing from somewhere within; to Maleko it sounded like the upright guitars favored by the nomads of the Sind Desert. And as they stepped into the hall it settled into a throbbing melody accompanied by deep, echoing drums. A chorus of voices sang down in harmony from numerous niches that lined the high walls. Buommans dressed in brightly-colored costumes gyrated there and sang:

_"Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"​_
The song went on, carried by dozens of voices and filling the hall with resonance. The lyrics were only half-sensical, making references to things and people of which none in the group had ever heard. By the time they reached the  inner doors at the far end of the hall, the song had settled into its repeating chorus:

_"I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light. He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon and he's gotta be larger than life!"_​
The doors closed behind them, pinching off the sound so completely that the ensuing silence seemed to physically press in against their ears, disorienting in its completeness. There were six figures seated in the center of a massive domed chamber whose sunken floor descended in a series of polished steps to a flat circle upon which were clustered the six gilt thrones. Massive stone buttresses rose upward to a gold keystone overhead from which depended a glowing crystal that slowly spun making coin-sized dots of light dance across every surface in the place.

J'inn was standing amidst the chairs and he stepped toward the group at the same time motioning for them to approach.

"These are the ones we told you about," he said to the seated Buommans. To the group he said, "These are the Threnodies, lead singers for the Cabal of the Dirge."

"J'inn and J'ann have told us that you seek the God Isles," one of the Threnodies said, languidly lifting a hand.

"This is not a task to be lightly undertaken," the first's twin added. "There is the Cavern of the Self to be considered."

"And even completing that hazard, there is still the guardian to convince," another Threnody explained.

"No mean feat in and of itself," said a fourth. "And not one that a non-Buomman has undertaken in any of our lifetimes."

"True," said the fifth. "We are unsure what will happen if a non-Buomman passes through the Gate of Duality."

"But it will assuredly be dangerous," said the final Threnody. "We would urge you to reconsider this course of action."

"Everything dies," said the first Buomman. "And it is best not to tamper with that progression."


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## Jon Potter (Oct 11, 2009)

*[Realms #490] The Gate of Duality*

That final thought rang in Morier's ears. Until now it had seemed a sometimes overwhelming but nonetheless straightforward task; they had to reunite Dridana's heart and body to stop Aphyx and restore order on the Material. But now that they stood at the doorstep of that goal, a single, simple statement seemed to kick away at its very foundation. Everything does indeed die, and it suddenly seemed absurd that he was about to tamper with that progression. Who was he, after all? How could a lone Eldritch Warrior and a handful of his companions presume to tamper with the path the Gods had laid out?

"It is true everything dies, but we need to do this to save our world," Maleko said, answering the albino's unspoken question. Del half-bowed diplomatically.

"Yes. Thank you for your counsel, but we choose to continue nonetheless," the half-elf said, sounding to Morier's ears like words he had heard Ledare say in the past. "For us, that is the intended progression."

"We do not seek to thwart the Gods' will but to execute it," Ayremac said with certainty. "For it is Umba herself who has set me on this path." Ixin nodded at his side and then half-turned to glance at the brooding Morier.

The eldritch warrior steeled himself and forced the uncertainty from his mind. Now was not the time to let doubt creep in. Perhaps these were the thoughts and questions that he would confront in the "Cavern of the Self" the Threnody had spoken about, but right now the faces of Huzair, Karak, Shamalin and others urged him on. He had questioned his survival at each step of this process, and somehow he stood here having persevered. This may be the end of the road, but if so someone or something would have to force him to stop, he was not about to bow out gracefully.

"We appreciate your sentiment," Morier said, "but there seems no other way to stop the current plague of evil sweeping across the Material Plane from which we came. We have been charged with a task, and we intend to walk the path laid before us in effort to complete it. If it is not meant to be, surely the Fates will intervene."

Without answer the six Threnodies looked at one another and nodded.

"So be it," they said in chorus. Then they stood and gesturing expansively with their hands began to sing a rising note that went on impossibly long and grew impossibly high until it seemed to pass nearly beyond the limits of their hearing. At that point, the air before the group began to shimmer and vibrate in concert with the ever-rising note of song until at last it seemed to grow solid, becoming almost at once a circular reflective pane in which the assembled travelers beheld themselves. For a moment, Morier thought he saw behind them the shadowy ghosts of those who had gone before: Ledare, Huzair, Feln, Karak, others... But when he looked more closely, they were gone, a trick of the light and nothing more.

"Behold, the Gate of Duality," one of the Threnodies said and for the first time, they realized that the Buommans had stopped singing.

"Passing through it will take you to the Cavern of the Self," said a second.

"There you will find the path to the Guardian," said a third.

"Beyond the Guardian lay the God Isles," explained the fourth.

"For we Buommans the journey is one of reflection leading to unity," said the fifth.

For you..." the last began, her voice trailing off. "The path is uncertain."

The group all nodded, expecting nothing less.

"Thank you," Morier said, and taking a deep breath, he stepped forward toward himself, hand outstretched. He touched the mirrored Gate, his fingertips touching the fingertips of his double and then he pressed forward and his arm disappeared into his double's arm, his shoulder into his double's, his face into his face, and then he was gone.



And through.

Morier stepped out into a mirrored tunnel that stretched off into the distance as far as he could see. It was irregularly shaped, but at the same time, intricately worked looking as if every single surface and outcropping had been polished flat into a tiny mirror in which the albino saw reflections of himself staring back. But each reflection was different and imperfect: here he was as an infant, his face bruised and bleeding from some forgotten beating, here his visage was twisted in rage, spittle flying from his lips in mute fury, here he laughed in mirth, here he slept fitfully. Everywhere he looked he saw himself looking back, but none of them showed him the reflection he expected to see, but rather a frozen reflection of his own past.

He peered closer, at a nearby surface seeing an image of himself surrounded by darkness and swirling snow. He touched it and...



Cold instantly slapped at his exposed flesh and the eldritch warrior shivered violently, his legs buried up to his knees in snow. The cold light of two Sunrods glittered at either end of a small windbreak made of piled snow. In the lee of the shelter, Ledare and Feln were shivering. Neither was dressed for the weather, and the half-ogre was nearly naked. He was saying something barely audible above the wind.

"What?" Morier gaped, looking around. But there was little to be seen apart from darkness and swirling snow. A massive standing stone loomed several feet away. "What?"

"I said: it may be possible to move back through the dolmen, warm up, and start this test again," the half-ogre slurred, his lips blue with cold and white with frostbite.

"Morier, are you alright?"  Ledare asked, her brows knit with confusion. Even that small effort seemed to take a great deal out of her. "You seem disoriented."

"What?" Morier sputtered again.


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## Kristeneve (Oct 12, 2009)

This is one of my favorite parts...again!


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## Jon Potter (Oct 15, 2009)

Kristeneve said:


> This is one of my favorite parts...again!




I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was a fun concept to play around with, and I had lots of fun with the planning of it too. Though by the time in the campaign that this finally rolled around it was a bit anti-climactic.


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## Jon Potter (Oct 18, 2009)

*[Realms #491] The Cavern of the Self*

The group stood looking at the mirrored gate. The single piercing note that the threnodies had invoked still vibrated about in the high-ceilinged chamber, but the moment after Morier stepped through seemed to draw out before them.

"So are we gonna follow him, or what?" Cerrakean barked and Maleko looked at Ayremac who looked in turn at the threnodies.

"Do we need to wait or can we just step through after him?" the holy warrior asked and the Buomman angled her head slightly.

"We do not know," she admitted, and something within her posture and tone made it seem that she thought him foolish for asking such a question.

"As we told you, the Cavern of the Self is a journey that a Buomman takes alone with his twin," said a second threnody.

"But no Buomman takes this journey with any save his twin," added a third.

"And none save a Buomman has made the journey in our memory," said a fourth.

"We cannot tell you what is the right thing to do," the fifth Buomman told them.

"Truly, we do not know what you will find on the other side of the Gate," confided the sixth.

"Great..." Cerrakean muttered.

"Well," Maleko said, getting that look on his face that he wore when working out a problem in his head. "It seems that we've come this far with no guarantee of certainty. And it is plain that the only way forward is through." And saying thus, he stepped forward and through the Gate, leaving his stunned companions to gape at their reflections.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Cerrakean laughed. "Fancy Pants is full of surprises!" And then she followed him, leaping easily through the portal and disappearing.

"I thought she'd be the last one through," Ixin observed to Ayremac.

"That's what she'd like you to think," Del told her, and smiling sadly back at them, stepped through and was gone. Ixin and Ayremac exchanged a look.

"I don't want to be the last one," she told him and he grinned a glowing grin.

"I'll do it," he told her, gesturing with his sword hand for the Gate. Ixin reached out her left hand and clasped his firmly.

"Together?" she suggested and, still smiling, the holy warrior nodded once and they stepped through.



"Amazing," Maleko hissed as he passed through the gate and into the mirrored tunnel beyond. He;d seen a great many wonders and read about scores more, but nothing quite like this. The place was lit dimly from some unseen source, but that dim light was reflected off every surface until it filled the space with brilliance. And in every polished mirror he saw himself smiling back, but not with his face as it was now, but as if the reflections were moments in time plucked from the long years of his own life and displayed here for himself to see.

"The Cavern of the Self," he said nodding his understanding. What else could it be? And what better way to reflect on one's self than to study it in this way... each moment frozen for minute study. Thrilled to begin, he glanced quickly around, noting with some measure of surprise that he'd had a generally happy life.

He didn't normally think of his life in that way, but judging by the smiling and laughing faces that predominated, his many years had been just that. There were others, of course, moments of frozen grief.. or anger... or boredom. In one dark image, he wore the face of a man in terror, his eyes wide, his mouth a gaping rictus.

When had he looked like that, he wondered and drifted closer. He touched it and...



A chorus of night insects filled his ears. He smelled pine needles and damp soil and wood smoke. Branches clawed at his face and snatched at his cloak. His feet were wet, his shoes soaked through with mud. Where was he?

"Las' chance, points!" a voice in the distance called from behind him. "Show ye'self now, or this 'ne's the first ta get a new, red grin!"

Maleko froze. He knew where he was! And turning around he saw a sight that had haunted him nearly every day for the last three years: his steward, Glaltariand on his knees, his hair in the fist of the brigand whose name he had never learned. The human had a knife of what looked like orcish steel pressed against Glaltariand's exposed throat.

Maleko knew from past experience that the brigand's threat was not an idle one. If Maleko did not show himself, then Glaltariand would die.

"I'm here!" Maleko shouted without hesitation, moving as quickly as he could back through the trees to the camp. "Don't hurt him! I'm right here!" The brigand shouted for his crones and Maleko saw several burly shapes moving toward the treeline where he was likely to emerge.

"Dont give yourself up, sir," Glaltariand shouted bravely in elvish. "The bastards will just kill us all anyway!" The brigand who had the steward's hair snarled and carved him open from ear to ear, a sheet of blood sprayed outward, glistening wet and red in the firelight.

"No!" Maleko screamed as he burst from the trees. "No!" Hands were on him then and the elf struggled impotently. He felt tears on his face, and he let them come. He'd done things differently this time. Glaltariand was supposed to live.

"I surrendered," he shouted. "Why did you kill him? Why?" The brigand smiled a gap-toothed yellow smile as he stepped nonchalantly over the dead elf's body and up to Maleko. He held the knife in front of Maleko's face, it still dripped with his steward's blood.

"I kilt 'im 'cause I reco'nized the crest on yer wagons, points. Ye're a Maltalia! Yer family's got more gold'n Waukeen hisself," the bandit sneered. "Can't kill you, pretty boy. Ye're the only one worth the ransom we'll demand. But I reckon it'll set the proper tone if I send along yer friend's head with our demands."


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## Jon Potter (Oct 25, 2009)

*[Realms #492] Back in the Air Walk*

"Come back into the shelter," Ledare gestured. "You'll freeze to death out there." She fixed Morier with a concerned look, but snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes, obscuring her vision. She rubbed them away and looked again at Morier, who was staring at her in disbelief. He hadn't moved.

"Feln, get him in here!" she nudged the half-ogre next to her. It was a soft command, but delivered with all the firmness and expectation of one accustomed to compliance. And for a moment, Morier was overcome with a warm rush of relief, not realizing until now the extent to which responsibility for issuing commands and making decisions had weighed on him.

Feln rose and covered the distance between them in a single stride. His long arms stretched out and picked Morier up by the armpits, hoisting him into the makeshift shelter like a parent might do with a stubborn child. Once the albino was out of the direct wind, Feln let him go, but Morier did not release his own hold. Instead, gripping the ogre's meaty arms in his own he embraced his friend vigorously.

"You are losing it," Feln snorted, awkwardly patting Morier on the back as the embrace lingered. At last Morier stepped back, looking at Ledare and Feln for a long moment.

He recognized the surroundings of the test of air in the Grove of Renewal and could sense exaclty why he had been taken back to this moment. He had relived it in his mind nearly every day since it happened. This was the moment, intentional or not, that he had accepted the weight of this entire quest being placed onto his shoulders. He wondered what would have become of Feln or Ledare if they had stayed with him, and he wondered what would have happened if they had stood next to him while the water guardian who lay just beyond the doorway on the other side of this test had explained about Dridana's heart and body. Would the three have shared 'the pull', or would they each have been given their own information that may have made the trip easier, possibly even leading to their ultimate survival? He had played out a dozen scenarios in his mind, always wondering how each would have changed the path...

And now it seemed, he had a chance to find out.

The cold bit hungrily into his flesh, snapping him back to the present moment and Morier made his decision. The fates had gotten him here, that much he knew for sure, and changing any part of the timeline that had gotten him here could be disastrous. He knew that it had been hard enough to get Ledare and Feln to leave him here the first time around, and trying to explain his current state of mind to them would surely lead them to believe that he had lost control of his mental faculties. And it would be harder still to get them to leave him under those conditions.

"I have a plan, and the plan is only big enough for one person," he shouted over the driving winds. Remorse made the words taste like ash in his mouth. "I have enough draughts of healing to sustain myself, but it's only enough for one person. If the two of you go back, I am sure that I can succeed here. Please... go!" Then, heartbroken, Morier pulled his collar stiff around his neck and turned his back to his two companions.

He remembered of course, that the argument would not end there - Ledare rarely made any decision without first debating its merits from every side - but for the moment he could no longer face them. He wanted to tell them everything, he wanted them to know that he had seen their futures, and he wanted to be able to save them from those fates more than he could stand to think. It was even more difficult knowing that with Dridana's heart and the powers that accompanied it he may well have the power to save them all and bring them through the test alive, but he feared the results of doing so. The Threnody who spoke of the Cavern of the Self spoke of it as another test, which meant that there was likely a 'right answer', and Morier braced himself to give what he thought would be that answer. 

He wasn't sure what he would do if changing the past was actually the right answer and he convinced Feln and Ledare to leave as they had before. Doubt swirled around him like the snow as he waited for the argument he knew would continue, hoping he had the wherewithal to hold his stalwart position. And hoping even harder that doing so was the right thing to do.

"There's no way I'm leaving you alone on this mountain," Ledare told at last and the eldritch warrior almost sighed with relief. He half-turned to look at her. 

"Someone needs to succeed," Morier said, remembering this argument from the first time they'd had it. "Not all of us."

"You're right. Someone needs to survive this. But how does leave you alone here on this mountainside help anyone survive?" the Janissary asked. 

"I can use spells to boost my constitution and my healing draughts will ward off frostbite, and maybe Garn-Zanuth will have a hand in my survival. But I cannot keep two of us alive... or three. Staying here is certain death for you and Feln," Morier countered. "I don't have-"

"I won't be a burden and I don't expect you to waste your spells on me," Ledare interrupted, her eyes pleading. "Morier, you especially know how many friends I have already lost. I just can't do it." The statement ripped through to his heart for he felt that pain more acutely than she would ever know.

Feln joined the argument, "Do you honestly think you would be more likely to survive if you were alone?" He regarded Morier with ice chip blue eyes, the expression on his face suggesting that he expected the elf to say no.

"Yes," the eldritch warrior said instead. "I do." Ledare shook her head stubbornly at that.

"And what makes you so certain?" she challenged. "Why does our staying with you make you more likely to fail?" Morier shook his head, feeling his certainty wavering.

"I don't believe that I will survive only if you leave, I believe that I can survive if I have only myself to look out for," he sighed and held out his hands in a pleading gesture. "I cannot make you leave, but I cannot aid in your survival if you choose to stay. The Guardian said that ONE of us needs to complete the Renewal, not all of us. I can make it, and would rather have you waiting for me at the end than try to decide how best to honor your frozen corpses on this side."

Morier hoped his companioms would engage him in the discussion just one more time. His mind had changed, and he wanted them to make him act before it changed yet again. He certainly thought he now had the means to help Feln and Ledare survive with him, and had these been the circumstances when he first encountered this test, he would have done exactly what he was suddenly intent on doing: changing the past. The results of that action, like so many other things it seemed would be left for another to decide. 'The Cavern of the Self' it was called, and he was going to do what his "self" was screaming at him to do, not what he thought was expected of him.

Morier opened his mouth then and changed the course of history. He was beside them, crouching in the snow, the story of the past spilling forth. And accompanying it - a strong sense of release, an unburdoning that he had not anticipated when he'd suddenly made this choice. He began with their decision to turn back and allow him to go on alone, ignoring the denial plainly visible on their faces. He talked about the desperation he had felt, fearing failure, and the frantic plea for help which had ultimately saved his life. He paused to catch his breath and observed the uncertain glance which passed between them. Not to be deterred, he pushed on, describing his audience with the Water Guardian and the charge he had been given: to reunite the goddess Dridana's heart and body in the place beyond the Green. And here he slowed, choosing carefully his words to describe the first gift bestowed upon him to aid in that quest: the Pull. At that revelation, Feln shifted closer for a better vantage point and regarded Morier's head critically. After a moment, he settled back once more in silence. Ledare was equally perplexed. She had listened intently to Morier's story, struggling to process it all, but decided she could no longer sit back as the elements took hold of her friend's reason. 

"Stop," she insisted, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just stop. This is quite a story you have concocted to get us to leave you here, Morier, and you may very well believe it.."

In response, Morier held up a staying hand and very slowly and purposefully removed his chain shirt. All at once the three companions were bathed in the brilliant radiance of a glowing gemstone embedded in his chest. The gold-green light of the forest floor in summer pushed back the harsh darkness, and limned the trio's half-frozen faces.

Ledare thought for sure that she was freezing to death. They had spent too long talking and now she was dying, awash in a swirling sensation of brilliance which made her dizzy. She began to fall but Morier reached out to steady her. At his touch the healing powers vested in the gemstone coursed into her body. Suddenly she felt gloriously warm and alive once more as the power filled her by degree. She gaped, incredulously, at Morier.

"We're staying with you," she said and her words seemed to shatter the stillness of that revelatory moment.

"Holy trollsh*t!" Feln bellowed. "What is that?!" Morier's hand went protectively to his chest.

"It's... I... I don't exactly know. A souvenir from the Astral plane," he attempted with a weak smile. "There is so much more I have to tell you." 

But it was clear that the story would take longer than the surrounding elements would allow them. Ledare was already looking cold again, and Feln's sallow skin was taking on an alarming blueish tint. It was time to take the next step. He could fill them in on all of the particulars once they had returned to the Termlane Forest. That's where he would be reunited with... and here his mind faltered. No, that wasn't right. Ledare and Feln would be with him. Well, the gods would decide where this new path would lead. He hoped they would be merciful. Abruptly, Morier stood up. But Feln's protest halted him.

"Wait. If what you say is true, then all these things that you have done, these favors that you have received were because of the choices you made along the way." The half-ogre's lips were frozen and rubbery. Morier reached out and instantly relieved his friend's unspoken pain. A large smile washed across Feln's face, only to disappear as his mind returned again to their present prediciment. "How do we know that things won't change if you alter your course now?"

Ledare nodded slowly. "He's right. If this is all true," she gestured unnecessarily toward his chest, which Morier had modestly covered once more, "how do we know that changing your actions won't destroy the chances of success?" 

Inch by inch, the coldness began to surround Morier's heart again. This was not what he had expected. But Ledare was smiling at him.

"Morier! You've made the right choices. You've gone so far! And, whatever you have done, you have been granted favor by the gods! I knew you would be invaluable to us. You are on the only path we know for certain can succeed."

He shook his head sadly. "I have thought of all this before," he told them. "But there are things you should know..."

Feln stopped him once more. "Don't tell us." And suddenly Morier felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. Except that it was immeasurably heavier this time. Crushingly so.

Ledare stood, and her voice assumed that familiar commanding tone. "We must go back through the portal. You must go on. We will meet again, Morier. Have faith." Her arms encircled him in a warm embrace, in spite of the chill in his soul. Feln followed with a bone-crushing grip. And then they turned to leave, making their way through the knee-deep snow toward the dolmen that led back the way they'd come.

Morier watched their progress, giving stern consideration once again to the situation in front of him. He couldn't predict an outcome. Nothing had prepared him for the decision he was about to make, but he knew for sure that the circumstances had changed since the first time this scene unfolded, and now he had options. 

In a moment, he had set the plan in motion. Using the power of the Heart, he activated a quick spell that would open the door closed to most except the most powerful Druids, hoping that the power he now held could alter the course of events... wondering if he should.

A mere moment later, the once blinding snowsqualls had diminsihed to flurries and the winds stalled. Ledare and Feln, as though in lockstep, stopped abruptly just short of the portal and looked skyward... and then back at Morier. "Morier," Ledare fumbled, "you... did you... you can't.... are you.... you shouldn't..."

"It's too late. It's done. It would be pointless for you to turn back now. You may as well come and sit down with me and watch the snow melt." He smiled, knowing that Ledare would have more to say, but it seemed to him a fairly straightforward argument. They hesitantly turned and began back toward the makeshift shelter they had helped construct before they left.

"I fear you've made a grave mistake," Ledare scolded as they settled back down "You've come so far toward our goal, living with the sequence of events as the Gods intended, why alter them now?"

"For several reasons, not the least of which is that I'm not entirely convinced that the events playing out before us are real. A cadre of Buommans asked me to step through a door in the Astral plane into the Cavern of the Self, and I haven't the slightest notion what impact any of this has on events there in the Astral, or for that matter back on the Material plane." Morier told them with a wry smile on his face and a rare lightness in his heart. "But what I do know is that every night before I fall asleep, I lie in wonder at what might have happened if I hadn't convinced the two of you to leave me alone on this snowy mountaintop when it happened the first time. This time I know that Dridana has imbued me with the power to take the first step toward finding out. If just one of us made it through here the first time and that gave us the power and ability to get where we are now, what if three of us had made it?"

"Then events would play out all wrong," a voice snarled from behind the snow wall. The three companions turned toward the source of the sound, just in time to see Morier stride into view. Only it wasn't really Morier - not the Morier they knew, anyway. His features were hard and a finger length scar ran along his right cheek from nose to jaw. He wore his hair held back in a long pony tail that writhed and whipped behind him as if in a strong gale. But his eyes were the strangest thing; they were featureless orbs the color of a springtime sky before a thunderstorm. His clothing and gear were largely the same as Morier's although he wore gauntlets that Karak had claimed from some hoard or other and he carried Ravager sheathed across his back.

The impostor stepped up and faced Morier. His fists were balled up at his sides and tiny sparks crackled and jumped over them as he studied his doppelganger.

"What you've done already may well have ruined things in ways you can't imagine," the Not-Morier said. "And I can't let you upset things any more than you already have."


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## Jon Potter (Nov 1, 2009)

*[Realms #493] Forging the Future*

Maleko's gaze darted around the clearing. The bandits had secured his small caravan, he saw, leaving him as the last and most valuable loose end to tie up. These rogue's were efficient at their black-hearted business.

He had been escorting the caravan containing fine cloth back from Awad when the brigands waylaid them. The seven guards and merchants accompanying him had been looking forward to a few days away in the Freeport and had enjoyed themselves there. Not only were they employees, but friends. Maltalia Lanneralanna was one of the best places to work in all of Barnacus if not all the Realms. The Malatalias were, of course, known for paying well but also for treating every employee from the expert seamstress to the hunched up old man who swept up at night with the respect every living being deserved. He was glad that their time in the notorious port city had been filled with as much pleasure as work.

For his part, Maleko had merely been looking for some peace with his time away from the capital, or so he remembered now standing once more in the one place to which he never wanted to return. Memories washed over him in a flood. He had been teaching at the University in Barnacus but it was late summer - the students all returned to the country to aid their families' harvest. Generally speaking, that left him with little to do so he welcomed the chance to get out of town when his older brother, Kepano, had suggested he help escort a Lanneralanna caravan to Farmin.

"Malie," his half-brother had told him on that long ago day over a bottle of Redwood Fireamber. "You'll enjoy the ladies of Farmin! You'll not find their equal in all of the Realms. Go and have some fun!" 

Maleko, of course, had not partaken of such activity. But Kepano, he knew, had only been trying to help him get out of the rut he had been in for the decade since his human wife had passed. She'd suffered a protracted illness that had drained Maleko nearly as much as it had her. On more than one occasion Kepano had suggested that Maleko had become a professor at the university only to pass time after her death. Looking back on it, Maleko wasn't sure that his brother had been all that far from the truth.

He had joined the clergy of Nethlar only after meeting his wife who also worhiped the god of knowledge. Maleko loved serving Nethlar as he believed wholly all the tenants of that faith, but not with the same passion his wife had always exhibited. She gained very high status among the elders and was highly respected, but during the twenty years they were there together he had progressed only moderately within the church heirarchy. Of course, Maleko was also distracted by his first love, sorcery, as well as the family business and his personal research into the history of The Realms. As his father had always said, it was in the nature of elves to be distracted by more than one career in order to occupy their time among the short-lived races. 

Upon his wife's death Maleko lost his love of service to Nethlar and gave it up in favor of work at the university and periodic stints as representative for the family business. It was- 

"I 'ad me enough o' the look on tha' pointy-eared fairy's face already," the bandit said, shocking Maleko out of his reverie. "Wish we could slit 'is throat too!" He laughed gruffly and the band of brigands joined the laughter. Maleko felt the sharp crack of a dagger hilt striking the back of his head and everything went black.



Del was momentarily awestruck by the mirrored hall beyond the Gate of Duality. It was so... alien that his mind could barely wrap around it. He stopped there, his eyes nervously searching the faces that stared at him from the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The many reflections of himself seemed to hold him in place with some unguessed power. But after a moment he forced himself forward, keeping his eyes ahead as he looked for an end to the corridor. He drifted along - for there was once again no sense of up or down - images of himself laughing here, grimacing in pain there. At the corner of his vision he saw himself screaming orders on the battlefield while above him and on the left he was weeping over a fallen friend, his features spattered with fresh blood.

He paused then and forced himself to look closer, for there was a certain commonality in all the images he realized. More than just the fact that all the faces were his own, there was a unifying theme present throughout the images: restlessness. Truly, he seemed happy in many of the images, but in none of the reflections did he seem at peace.

That realization troubled him and he drifted closer to a nearby image that showed himself as he had been half a lifetime ago. He couldn't have been much older than fifteen in the reflection, still living in Awad, no doubt. He was young enough then that the cares of the world shouldn't have yet found purchase in his heart, but even there he saw a restless dissatisfaction in his young eyes. A nervous wanderlust that kept him from finding the happiness he craved.

He reached out a gloved hand...



...and nearly fell off the wharf into the ocean below. He pin-wheeled his arms and lurched back from the edge, colliding as he did so with a heavy barrel. He steadied himself on it and looked around. There were rocks below and in front of him, a steep set of stone stairs, glittering with black wetness in the moonslight climbed up a sea wall to his left. Behind him...

Behind him the Lunamer was at anchor, riding low in the water, her holds filled with goods for trade in the northern reaches. She was a gorgeous ship, every bit the beauty he had remembered her to be, and fast! She'd outrun a trio of pirate schooners when they'd skirted the Thyatis Archipelago, ending their threat without ever entering ballista range.

He was in Awad again. Haladar Shipyard was just around the curve in the seawall, he knew. But this was not the Awad he'd passed through when he'd returned recently to his post on The Borderlands. This was the Awad of his youth. It was just like...

Just like the night he'd run away.

Emotion blossomed in Del's chest then, and without really realizing he was doing it, he slammed his fist against the barrel by his side.

"Ouch!" said a muffled voice from within the barrel and Del's battle axe was in his hand at once. He stepped into a strategically advantageous position keeping the axe between himself and the barrel and the barrel between himself and the water.

"Wh'o' there?" he demanded "Show yourself!" There came a whimper from the barrel and two small hands thrust slowly skyward from within. They were small and pale and dirty, like an infant's hands, but somehow too weathered to be an infant's and they were followed a moment later by a round face dominated by two fearful eyes that brimmed with tears.

"Please don't kill me!" the halfling whimpered. "I was just resting here in this barrel, honest. I wasn't hiding from any Garn-Zanuth meanies. What would they want with me anyways? I love those guys! Honest!" Del shook his head and lowered his axe.

"I'm not going to kill you," the half-elf said and the hobbit's demeanor changed at once. He sprang up onto the lip of the barrel and perched there, his legs dangling. He was small, even by halfling standards, perhaps only a child himself.

"Oh! That's good!" he chirped, all threats of tears forgotten. "Who are you? My name's Vadenhuffer T. Briarhopper IV - don't ask me what the T stands for - but my brothers call me Vade. What are you doing out here at night anyway? Not thinking of sneaking onto one of those ships I hope 'cause I was thinking about it, but then I remembered that I don't really like fish all that much. I'm more of a fruit person myself. Do you like fruit?"


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## Jon Potter (Nov 8, 2009)

*[Realms #494] The Butterfly Effect*

"The fruit man told me to stay away from his apples," the halfling said with only a moment's pause. He shrugged his small shoulders. "I assumed they were spoiled. Very good of him to tell me. Then I see him yelling after me: 'Put down my oranges you rascal!' Papa used to call me a rascal. I like that fruit man. So all I have to eat now are these grapes." Vade smiled as he pulled a whole bunch from his bag.

"They are very good; have some," he said handing Del the bunch.

"Call me Del," he responded, waving off the proffered grapes. He stowed his battle axe and looked around himself once more. It seemed odd, this change from the way he remembered things. Almost of their own accord his eyes were drawn in the direction of the Lunamer once more, and the pressure in his chest began to expand. It had been a brash decision to stow away in the cargo hold so many years ago, yet the yearning which had directed his head then powerful still. 

He looked down at himself, wondering. In returning to this particular life-altering moment, was he meant to enact a different outcome? Was that the intent of the Cavern of the Self? What if he had never climbed aboard the ship in the pitch dark? Never happened across Omar Lagasse and his madcap adventuring? What secrets might be revealed by merely slipping back into his room and waking at dawn's first light to work with his brothers in the shipyard?

Then, with gale-wind force a realization hit him. Would choosing a different path exonerate him from his failure to embrace the Haladar legacy? Would it negate the strained relationship with his parents which had followed? The feelings in his chest whirled uncontrollably. Was he truly being given the chance to select a different outcome for himself? One that might prove his father had been right all along and finally still the restlessness in his heart?
While the rash headstrong feelings from his youth still existed, he had to admit that the older, wiser Del was attracted to that possibility.

Vade's exaggerated sigh signaled to Del that he was waiting for a response. 
"I happen to know where there is a whole shipload of fruit," he told the halfling with a smile.

"OOOH... I would stow away on a ship full of fruit... if that is what kind of ship you were interested in stowing away in?" Vade said with a mouth full of grapes. He then expertly spit several at a duck floating nearby and giggled. "Let's go take a look. What kind of fruit do you like best?"

"There are some peach orchards just west of town that I used to visit quite often as a child," Del told the halfling. "Those were happy times, So I guess that peaches are quite dear to my heart." Vade hopped down off the barrel and wiped his hands on his breeches.

"Peaches are dear to my stomach," the halfling grinned. "Are there peaches on your ship? Because if there are then I might just have to race you there. And I'm pretty fast! Just ask Deuce. He'll tell you." Del laughed.

"I don't think you need to worry, Vade," the half-elf told him. "I don't think I'll be stowing away on any ships tonight." Despite that decision, his eyes once again drifted toward the Lunamer and he thought wistfully of the expression on the cook's face when he had discovered Del's hiding place.

"So what are you doing down here on the wharf?" Vade asked. "I happen to know that there's  lots nicer spots in Awad to hang out. Warmer spots. Drier spots. Spots that don't smell so much like fish." Vade scrunched up his face and rubbed his backside. "Of course lots of those kinds of places have mean old humans with brooms too." Del chuckled in spite of himself and pointed at the Lumaner.

That's the ship I was talking about," he told the halfling. "And I know for a fact that Captain Lorbain only acts mean and old. He's a fair man if you treat him the same." Vade looked over at the ship.

"I've never been on the ocean before," he admitted with a tone of consideration. He looked up at Del and asked, "And you're sure that there's lots of fruit on board? 'Cause I already told you I don't like fish and if all they have is-"

"You mustn't take that ship, Vade," said a voice from the shadows along the sea wall. "You're meant to head north by land." Vade darted behind Del's leg as the half-elf was once more readying his battle axe. There was a chuckle from the darkness followed by the scrape of metal on stone and a figure detached itself from the shadows and started slowly toward them.

"You won't need that if you heed my warning," the voice said and it had a very familiar ring to it. "You must not try to change things here any more than you already have." The figure stepped into the light and Del saw that it was him. Almost. He was wearing heavy plate armor rather than elven chain, and he carried a longsword scabbarded at his waist, but otherwise he was an exact duplicate. He shook his head sadly at Del.

"I can't believe you were really thinking about staying in Awad," the simulacrum scoffed. "Huzair said that you would, but I told him he was wrong. And then you went and did it." He sighed and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I offer you the choice of boarding the Lumaner as you were meant to or an honorable death in battle," the Not Del said without irony. "The choice is yours."


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## Jon Potter (Nov 15, 2009)

*[Realms #495] The Way things are Meant to Be*

The passage of time seemed strange to Maleko as he relived his past, but the elf recalled spending three days as a prisoner of the bandits. During that time, he himself was not treated poorly, though he had not remembered the whack on the head before so perhaps some small things were subject to change. That thought brought renewed visions of Glaltariand and Maleko's inability again to prevent his steward's death. And though none of his other comrades were killed outright, they were beaten just for the brigands' amusement. None suffered much beyond a few bumps and bruises, but it was horrible to have to watch and listen as his trusted employees were abused to satisfy their captors' unwholesome bloodlust. Maleko knew that they wanted to keep him looking good until they could exchange him for their ransom; they needed him alive and uninjured if they were to collect his father's gold.

He knew from experience that these brigands would never see one single noble of the ransom they demanded,but he did not betray his knowledge of events, and instead played most things the same as he had before. He mostly kept his mouth closed and his eyes and ears opened, listening and looking for any weakness. He counted 16 different men, all human and from their accents he could tell they were all from Hillsburg. Banditry had been on the rise of late thanks to the recent disputes over (of all things) trade. The local economy suffered as the cost of moving goods along the caravan routes climbed, but Maleko knew that things would get far worse in years to come. He also knew when the Janissary patrol would come to rescue him and recalled that was when and where he first met Del as well as Ledare.

He knew these things because they had already come to pass.

The difference this time was that he wanted revenge. He knew that the man who had slit Glaltariand's throat would hang from the gallows and rot, but that wasn't enough. It never had been. Maleko wanted to make him suffer. Killing the man himself would make him feel better, he supposed, easing the crushing guilt for a friend twice-slain because of Maleko. Things had not happened differently even though he acted differently and he wondered if he could change what happened or whether it was set and only minor details would change. Regardless, he went through his repertoire of spells to be ready if the chance for action presented itself. He thought of what had happened at the time of the rescue, considering the events as they had happened carefully and poring over the memories in minute detail. He had been talking, he remembered, with the head bandit regarding the food or lack there of his men were getting. When Maleko called him over, the man, named Declan, had gone to the fire to get a piece of meat. With the bit of pork slapping at the end of his fork, Declan had come over to taunt Maleko.

"The sooner yer rich old man coughs up the gold, the sooner your pretty little ass goes free," Declan had sneered, waving the meat in Maleko's face. "Then you can free your worthless guards. Easiest caravan we have ever taken, Points." He then raised his hand, probably to swat his captive, but Maleko recalled that as soon as Declan made a gesture towards him with his hand, an arrow had struck him through his forearm and the camp was then stormed by Janissaries. 

Several rangers hired by the Maltalias had easily tracked the brigands to their campsite and led the Janissaries straight to them. The Hound was one of the finest trackers in all the Realms and he was a friend of the Maltalia company. The rangers had approached with stealth, silencing the guards and allowing the Janissaries to get close enough without being discoverd for the raid. It was an excellent plan his father had contrived with the Janissaries. 

Maleko knew that Glaltariand's head being sent to his father had enraged the man rather than filling his heart with fear as the bandits had hoped. Given the thirst for blood these bandits displayed, the patriarch questioned whether his son would be returned alive even if he paid. Most bandits in the past century that his father had worked the business had asked only for a moderate ransom and sent a note with adequate proof, usually a ring or seal taken from the leader of the caravan. Amaril Maltalia had always felt is was only the poor trying to feed their families, and the brigands only took the valuables and later released the prisoners. This time however was cold blooded murder. Killing a family friend was not something Maleko's father had taken lightly.

And the Maltalias enjoyed some measure of influence within Barnacus. Certainly the name, Maltalia Lanneralanna, was enough to draw a squad of Janissaries from the King.



Ledare stood up at once, and Morier saw her hand go to her hip, where her sword would have hung had she brought one with her into the Grove. Behind her, Feln rose up, his bulk dwarfing the half-elf. Thick cables of muscle rippled beneath his hide as he judged this new Morier, warily. The Not-Morier's gaze flicked to them and a smirk touched his lips.

"Don't try it, Feln," he growled. "You're no match for me and I'm not above killing you if I must. I've had to make a lot of tough choices since the last time you and I saw one another and too much depends on my success for me to be squeamish about old friends."

Morier's stomach knotted at his doppleganger's words. Whether it was the words themselves or the unnatural sound of hearing his own voice speak them, he couldn't tell. He had been so sure that he could act here without repercussion, and it instantly set in that he may have made a critical error... but then again, he may not have. This might be another part of yet another test. The lines between reality and fantasy had been blurred to indistinction recently. Either way, it appeared now as though he may have no choice but to meet this corollary of his decision head-on.

He turned to face himself and stared hard into not-quite-his-own turbulent grey eyes set in a smouldering stare. There seemed to be nothing of substance behind them, he held no particular skill at sensing that, it was just a feeling. Eyes that lacked a soul, or maybe just eyes that lacked his soul. The two stared at one another for a long while, each trying to read the other, trying to see past the eyes into what dwelled beyond.

Stunned, Ledare and Feln could do little more than watch in disbelief.

A strong gust of wind blew across both of their faces and the Not-Morier didn't waver while the real Morier squinted hard to avoid losing his duplicate's gaze. It was then that he first sensed the question worming its way into his mind. He pushed hard against it and busied himself searching again for something behind the stormy orbs that stared back at him. Again the question flashed, more urgently this time. He wondered if the lifeless eyes staring back at him had noticed and steeled himself to avoid giving his thoughts away.

The dream had come on more than one occasion. Although he may not have been fully aware of it at the time, the pattern was making itself evident now, and he felt foolish for not having seen it. It had come the night after Feln first died, growing in intensity when Ledare was killed. and then Lela, and Karak and Ixin, and finally, the most vivid and troubling of them all had come on the astral plane, after both Huzair and Shamalin had been taken. And now a vaguely-familiar version of it was playing itself out in front of him.

The eyes looked different here though; it was not like peering into his own eyes as he had in the dream so many times before, but instead these were darker eyes, sinister and stormlike that seemed to be holding nothing but rage. In all of the other encounters he had simply stood, voiceless and imposing, but this time he spoke. Slung across his back though, as it had been every time, was Ravager.

In each successive dream, the menacing non-Morier seemed to be looking at his very real counterpart with greater impatience, and although nothing had ever been said, he knew that there would eventually come the confrontation between them. And he feared it more than any beast or transformed, grotesque, demon that Aphyx could throw at him.

As bizarre as the circumstances felt, there was suddenly something about the situation here in the Cavern of the Self that seemed a lot less like vagary than reality.

"Are you ready?" rang the voice in his head. It was his own to be sure, but he couldn't tell where the thought had come from. "Why are you afraid? What does he have that you don't?" More questions, and Morier was growing increasingly aware that an answer would have to come. Maybe this was the goal of the cavern, maybe this was what the Buommans knew when he stepped through the doorway.

"It should be an even fight, shouldn't it?" came the voice again, this time with a menacing edge, as though it was intended more as a challenge than a request for an answer.

And then it came, not as a trickling stream of water from a rainspout, but as a tidal wave crashing over him at once. What if the Morier in front of him, the one who had set the wheels of this showdown in motion long ago, had wrung every bit of potential from within himself? What if he posessed the spark that had ignited his Eldritch abilitites and had fanned those flames to a roaring fire? Morier didn't fear losing an epic, hard fought battle between two powerful warriors, he feared total annihilation by one that should have been an equal. Morier knew that he had spent so much time adrift, rudderless and wandering, that he had let his own fire die down out of malaise. Confronting his own untapped potential was as horrifying a fear as he could imagine, and now it stood before him.

"Ah, so it seems you have answers," he managed to say through lips gone dry and papery with anxiety. "What have I ruined?"

"I'm not here to answer your questions," the Not-Morier sneered. "I'm here to stop you from dooming thousands."



"Run!" the halfling yelled as he took off along the docks. Following the curve of the seawall toward the Haladar Shipyards Vade disappeared almost as suddenly as he had appeared out of the barrel leaving Del to confer with his alter ego in private.

Del did not watch him go, keeping his eyes fixed on his doppelganger He studied the man carefully; looking for any other noticeable differences between them, fairly certain that this was some trick of the mind.

If it was, however, it was a damned thorough one. The double was correct in every detail. His beard was grown in a bit more than Del usually let his go, but otherwise, it was himself as he might look dressed in heavy black armor.

"If I die in battle with you," Del mused, his head reeling a little at the absurdity of that, "then I won't end up boarding that ship."

"But I will," the Not-Del said simply. "According to Huzair that's the important part. It must be one of us, not Vade. Events must play out as they were intended."

"But Vade and I never really connected or discussed the possibility of stowing on board the Lunamer the first time," Del countered. "So history has already been altered to some degree."

"But not to a sufficient degree to change the future," his double shot back. "I don't understand half of what Huzair tells me since he got the _Headband of Othmus_, but he was very clear that events must play out as they were intended."

"I'm sure you must know that I've never been one to do a thing simply because someone tells me to do it," Del replied. "Even if the one telling me is me." His double scowled, growling in his throat in a most un-Del-like fashion.

"Don't be so damned stubborn! This is a flashpoint, Del. If events change here too radically, then everything will come unravelled!" his simulacrum said to him. He struggled for a moment and then began to explain. "Look, time is like a river. Vade was always hiding in that barrel, the first time we just crept silently passed and never met him. Interacting with him as you have is like throwing a pebble into the river of time; it doesn't change much. Having him stow away on the Lumaner in our place is like dropping a boulder; it will have catastrophic consequences on the future."

"We were meant to board that ship. Not Vade. We were meant to meet Omar Lagasse. Not Vade," he said. "He's meant for a Byric prison in less than a half a year. If things turn out differently..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his hand which still rested on his sword's pommel.

"As much as I'd like things to turn out differently, I have sworn an oath," the Not-Del explained gravely. "If you will not board the Lumaner then I am to slay you and take your place. The choice is yours."


----------



## Jon Potter (Nov 22, 2009)

*[Realms #496] Perspectives on Problem-Solving*

Del allowed himself a glance over at the ship laden with trade goods and, as he well knew, the first adventure of a young boy's lifetime. That thought - his own desire to seek out that adventure despite what he knew - made anger flare within him.

"Why am I back here, then?" he demanded of his other, heat in his voice. "Can't you see I'm not the original me who made the decision you are so adamantly protecting? What's the sense in sending me back if I'm only to do exactly as I did before?" He threw up his hands, but his mind seized upon something his doppelganger has said moments before. 

"As much as you would like things to turn out differently... What's that supposed to mean?" Del moved away from the barrel Vade had so quickly abandoned, putting himself in a better psotion should they come to blows. He watched his double register the move and allow it. For all his anger and frustration, Del could not help but be intrigued. And again, his eyes took in this different Del. His armor. His demeanor. Which path to the future was he from? He could see no evidence of his own shortcomings, and was suddenly consumed by the desire to ask how his mirror twin felt about snakes. Instead he demanded, "Tell me what you know. To whom have you sworn an oath?" His twin made a harrumphing sound and shook his head. 

"Does it really matter? An oath has been sworn. That should be enough," the Not-Del shot back, shifting slightly to keep his eyes on his twin. Del sniffed and opened his mouth to retort when his twin added, "To the king, Del. I've sworn an oath to the king and Realms Council. Or what's left of it."

"Okay. Killing me and assuming my place on the Lunamer would be terribly difficult, wouldn't it?" Del probed, sounding more confident than he felt. "For how long could you keep up that charade, knowing what you know? How could you possibly remember enough to make the EXACT same decisions all over again?"

"I don't have to. And neither do you," his double answered. "Here and now are all that matter. These events have already happened before. If we don't change what happened here - at this flashpoint - then the rest will play out as it was meant to." He sighed and shook his head then. "Look. I don't understand it any better than you do really. I told them that I was the wrong one to send here, but Huzair said it had to be me. So here I am. Here _we_ are."

A rush of adrenalin assailed his senses as Del's mind raced with possibilities. Somewhere, Huzair had instructed this Del to come back and make certain that some earlier version of himself boarded the Lunamer on this night. But that future hadn't been the one that he himself was from, since Huzair had been killed before he had even joined Morier's quest. 

"If Huzair knows for certain that getting on board that ship will set things straight, then he must know it will cost him his life. And the lives of countless others." He allowed the words to settle and saw the realization of their meaning in his own eyes. 

"I can save her," he whispered. "I can save her with just a pebble."

"You can't," came the reply. Emotionless. Certain. 

"I know how she died. If I could..."

"You can't."

"I don't care what Huzair told you!" Del screamed at himself. "Huzair can't know for certain. No one can!"

And, with that, he attacked - the anger and frustration of the past surging through him, both exhilarated and terrified by the prospect of fighting himself. His other met the advance blow-for blow as the cacophony of metal split the still night air.

They pressed each other up and down the wharf, neither one being able to claim advantage. While he had expected to know his counterpart's fighting design, it became clear that different experiences had shaped the style and art for each . Del struggled to press an advantage, and his doppelganger did the same. They were both suffering when a familiar voice rang out, halting each man dead in his tracks.

"For the love of Flor, stop this nonsense!"

Del wanted to shake his head and clear his senses of what he thought he had just heard, but found that he could not move. The voice had come from behind him. He feared that by turning to look, the whole thing would melt away - nothing more than another dream, so like the others.

Instead he remained absolutely still and studied his twin, whose eyes were riveted to the space just beyond him. He witnessed emotion play across the Non-Del’s face, and the look was so raw he could feel it echo inside himself. His counterpart’s eyes flashed, as if in anger, and then softened. He made no move either, but his eyes tracked the newcomer. 

“I was unsuccessful,” Del’s other spoke softly - half question, half statement of fact. It was answered by a soft chuckle. 

“You are a very stubborn man,” was the response. His twin acknowledged this by lowering his sword. Del knew they would fight no more.

He felt a presence just behind him and held his breath. A hand rested on his shoulder for the space of a heartbeat, and then gently turned him around. Ledare smiled up at him in the darkness.

“Don’t be troubled, Del,” She said and though he could not be sure for whom she spoke, it didn’t really matter. He drank in every detail of her: her robe, the holy symbol around her neck, the lack of a sword at her waist, her hair longer than he remembered. Her sober eyes caught the moonlight. This was at once not the Ledare he knew and exactly her.

“Please, Del,” she whispered, and this time her words were for him alone. “You are meant to board that ship. It is the only way.”

“Do you know what that will mean?” he struggled, barely managing to get the words out.

“I know what that will mean in this lifetime,” she answered firmly, giving him nothing.

“I…” He faltered, looking for the right words. “I should never have left…” But she held up a hand to stop him. 

“Time will set things right. You must be true to what was in your heart on this day.” She gestured around them in the night.

“What about what is in my heart today?” he demanded, still arguing.

“It will resolve… in time.” Her eyes flickered to the Del standing behind him now, and for a moment he felt a pang of jealousy. They exchanged a look that he could not decipher, but he felt resentment for this other Del. After a moment, Ledare once more directed her attention toward him and stepped closer. She reached up to touch him lightly on the face.

“This cause is bigger than one life. Or two. We cannot fail. Please..." 
Del reached out to grab her and he heard a grunt from his double behind him followed by a startlingly sharp stab of pain as his twin's longsword stabbed through his torso. The slick, red point erupted from his gut just below his ribs and he stared dumbly at it for a moment before looking up questioningly at Ledare. He saw that her face was screwed up in horror as his blood sprayed her white robe and spattered her face.

"No!" she said. "Del. This didn't have to be!" Del saw that she was looking not at him, but at his double. He felt a hand on his back and the blade slid free with another excruciating stab. He heard his battle axe thunk down on the dock and then a rushing sound began to fill his ears.

His twin was speaking, but the voice - his voice - seemed to be coming from a long way off and he could barely hear it over the building hiss that was filling the world. He felt cold. The night was darkening and tilting drunkenly. It was only with a titanic effort that he was able to stagger around, his hands pressed uselessly at the red torrent on his belly.

There he was with his sword still clutched bloody in his fist. He was talking with Ledare - seemed to be pleading with her - seemed to be...

He stumbled forward into himself, his sudden limp weight overbalancing his murdering double and sending them both tumbling backward over the side and into the cold water of the bay. The shock of the water momentarily revived him and he saw the Not-Del drawn like an anchor to the bottom by the weight of his heavy plate armor. The darkness drew in again and before it overtook him Del had a moment's satisfaction at knowing that if he couldn't have her then at least his murderer wouldn't either.

Ledare looked down at the dark water as the delicate forces that held that tiny bubble of reality apart from the rest failed, ruptured by the deaths of the two Dels. A moment later, the entire thing collapsed, catching her spirit like a fish in a net before spitting her, gasping and sputtering onto the Astral Plane. 



The time of Maleko's rescue was approaching. Things had happened almost identically as things had before, despite his attempt to change things. Maleko had made a mistake again and was forced to relive the most intense pains he could imagine feeling. His wife's death had been almost a relief by the end for her suffering had ended at last. But the suffering for Glaltariand's family had just began. And it was as a result of Maleko's action.

"Declan, my men are hungry. Let them eat," Maleko said, as he recalled saying the first time he'd lived through this horrible situation. "You are going to get your money; starving them will do you no good." As he had done before, the bandit leader bent over to grab a piece of meat and headed for the fire to begin his taunt. And as if on cue the whipping noise of an arrow punctuated by a scream came at once followed by the sounds of armored men crashing through the bushes. Declan was holding his imapaled forearm as he was tackled unceremoniously to the ground. 

Maleko was surprised to see the familiar face of Delaroux Haladar emerge from the fray. With efficiency the janissary passed off his groaning prisoner to one of a number of legionnaires who had their small camp surrounded. Maleko couldn't help but notice Del's demeanor: confident, responsible, a perfect model of the king's guard. How he had changed in three short years.

"Maleko Maltalia?" Del asked in an urgent tone and Maleko nodded. "Sir, we have been instructed by your father to take you immediately to safety." Maleko tried to remember what he had said before, but drew a blank.

Instinctively he replied. "Not until I see all my men are accounted for. I am sure I am very safe being surrounded by many of the finest soldiers in the Realms. I appreciate you and your men's bravery." Nodding Del took out his knife and freed Maleko's hands quickly then gave him the knife to cut the rope that tied his legs. 

Once he was free Maleko had the chance to do what he had hoped: to kill the man who murdered his steward. It would be easy, two guards were holding him tying his hands. He walked over casually with the knife in his hand in an unthreatening manner, hoping to suprise the guards and stab the fiend. Then Maleko froze in his tracks. He saw a female Janissary report to the commanding officer.

"Sixteen brigands and 5 prisoners accounted for, sir," she said and Maleko recall then that two more of his men had died from their wounds in captivity. This enraged him further as he thought that perhaps they had been beaten to death for the bandit's entertainment. His hand tightened on the knife hidden in his hand and he might have carried out his plan then and there had he not been distracted by Ledare. She had been barely an acquaintance before, but the artwork he had seen at K'ree's shop back on Discord had burned the image of the half-elven soldier into his head.

Of course, she was wearing a good deal more now that she had been in that drawing.

Morier had mentioned Ledare's passion for duty and honor on more than one occasion and Maleko believed that he could see it in her manner even now. It made him think. Would killing this bandit honor anyone? Would it ease Maleko's pain? Or Glaltariand's family's? His steward would still be dead. As Maleko recalled, the captured brigand's had provided a great deal of information about the criminal operation near Hillsburg before being hanged on the gallows in Barnacus. Killing Glaltariand's killer would only hurt the greater cause. And moreover, Maleko did not even want to see the man again nor give him the pleasure of seeing Maleko's grief, which he was quite certain he wasn't hiding very well. Avoiding the temptation to kill, he decided, was the best route. To keep focused on thoughts other than revenge, he decided to approach the commanding officer, it was what a leader of men would do, after all.

"Maleko Maltalia, sir," he said extending his hand. "Our company owes you a huge debt for your bravery and service. You have demonstrated once again why the Janissary Guild of Barnacus is the pride of the Realms." The captain said something in reply, but off to the side Maleko noticed Del speaking with Ledare.

"Your aim was perfect! Are you alright?" Del asked referring to a trickle of blood on her cheek.

"Damn thorns. Why did I pick to hide behind the thorny bush?" she laughed. They smiled at each other and Maleko felt suddenly intrusive. He glanced around to see if their affection for each other was as obvious as he felt it to be. But the other soldiers were either unaware or conveniently engaged with the business of securing the camp.

The Captain of the Janissary was still replying to Maleko's comments even though the elf was barely listening. "It is good merchants like you that allow Barnacus to thrive," the man was saying. "It is our duty to protect you and your goods."

What did he say next? 

"The way Officer Haladar rushed in to save me from this brigand was commendable. If more men like him were serving on the Borderlands, those issued would be solved in no time, I'm sure," Maleko said in an off-hand way. But he saw a light go on in the Captain's head. Maleko had intended only to compliment Del, but nearly choked on his own words as soon as they had been uttered. Had this comment been responsible for Del's assignment to the Borderlands? That had been the mission, he knew, which had separated Del and Ledare for good; Del had told him as much once, late at night after too much Firewine. Was it possible that he was the one responsible for keeping them apart? Maleko would never know.

He had not intended to change what had happened for he feared the affects such changes would have. Ledare for example, might have never joined Grey House and started this entire journey. How would that change things? The possibilities seemed very unclear. The effects on the world that even minor changes to the past could have, truly boggled his mind. He felt... he felt... faint...

"Guildsman Maltalia!" the Captain shouted, shooting out a hand to grab the elf's arm and steady him. Maleko staggered a bit on his feet and blinked up into the Janissary's eyes.

"I'm okay," he said forcing a smile. "Just a little light-headed." The Janissary nodded, obviously unconvinced.

"Janissary Ledare," the captain said, motioning sharply. "Take Guildsman Maltalia into that tent and have him rest while we finish securing the camp."

"Yes, sir!" she replied and hurried to help Maleko into the tent. She poked her head inside to make sure it was clear and then held the flap open for Maleko to enter. "There's a cot to the left," she told him. "You can lie down. I'll stand guard just outside." He felt a little silly. Had this part happened last time? He didn't remember it, but he didn't get the opportunity to wonder as, passing through the tent door, he stepped out into the Astral plane.



Ledare took a step forward and she saw Morier's double track her movements from the corner of his eye. "Look. Feln and I were prepared to leave here in an effort to have the future play out as it has so far. You might find it easier to convince us than to kill us. Tell us what you know." The doppelganger smiled a genuine smile filled more with sadness than mirth.

"Ever the diplomat, Ledare. I've missed that," he mused. "I tried to fill that role after the Heart... but ultimately, I'm better at destroying my problems than I am at talking them away."

"You're talking now," she observed and the Not-Morier's smile broadened.

"What can I say? You're good," he grinned. "And if you and Feln want to leave the Grove, then be my guest. Take him with you if you can manage it. That would solve everything nicely." He angled his head at Morier.

"I've got to stay and complete the tests," the real Morier said and his double laughed.

"I knew you were going to say that," the double told him. "It's funny really, Ledare had half-convinced me that this might end without me having to kill more of my friends. I should have known better."

He turned and looked sadly at Ledare. "See what I mean?" he asked. "I'm not much of a negotiator." And then, in one fluid motion, he drew Ravager from its sheath and charged straight at Morier, the weapon held over his shoulder in a two-handed grip.

The attack was swift and savage, but Morier anticipated it with uncanny prescience. He stepped back and to the left and the jagged blade slashed down on empty air, clanging violently off the bare rock where he'd been standing. As his double struggled to recover, Morier was already pivoting on his left foot, his mercurial greatsword a silver blur in his hands. The blade came around in a vicious arc that crackled with lightning.

It was aimed to take off the double's head, but Not-Morier simply ducked beneath the swing and reached up with his left hand, touching the real Morier on the chest and releasing a _Shocking Grasp_ spell into his body. The spell bypassed Morier's Spell Resistance like it wasn't even there and sent lightning coursing through his body.

The double tried to capitalize on the momentary distraction by delivering a follow-up blow with Ravager, but the bastard sword glanced harmlessly off Morier's mailed shoulder.

Morier Battlecast a _Bull's Strength_ spell and his muscles swelled with temporary might. The greatsword came around again in a deadly arc, but this time Morier aimed low, trying to take out his opponent's legs. His twin leapt up and over the blade, easily avoiding the blow, before landing hard and driving upward with Ravager in an attack of his own. Morier caught the saw-toothed blade on the fuller of his greatsword and the electrical attack channeled into the stroke dissipated uselessly, filling the air with the smell of ozone.

The twin combatants pressed each other mercilessly, their style and skill so evenly matched that neither seemed capable of besting the other. For Ledare, the fight was made even more surreal by the fact that the duplicate Morier wielded Ravager - her Ravager! Left to her by Draelond's untimely death and, she thought, waiting with Karak and the rest of her gear at the portal to the first test.

Morier took two steps back and drew on the power of the Heart to _Call Lightning_ from the dark sky. He raised his hand and clouds coalesced from the ether drawing into a knot that glowed and sparked before spewing forth a bolt of electricity. Morier's double saw it coming and tried to dodge, but the strike was too fast and it struck him solidly, bypassing his spell resistance and shocking him to the core.

Rather than dropping, however, he let his momentum draw him forward, reached out a hand and hit his twin with another _Shocking Grasp_ spell. This time, however, the magic slid harmlessly off Morier's Spell Resistance and the disappointment and surprise filled the Not-Morier's face. He swung Ravager half-heartdly as he stepped back, sneering at his opponent.

"You've got the Heart, don't you?" he asked and after weighing the value of lying to himself, Morier nodded once. Conflicting emotions swam momentarily across Not-Morier's face then he clamped shut like a steel trap and cold calm showed in his strange stormy eyes.. "Huzair had it where I come from. I had to kill him too."

"What?!" Morier cried, incredulous. Was this truly himself as he might have been? Was it within him to kill his friend? He thought for a moment of Colonel Sealus and _Called_ another _Lightning Bolt_. His doppelganger managed to avoid the worst of this attack, however, and seemed little injured by the electricity, certainly not as much as he ought to have been. He grinned up at Morier sardonically.

"He was corrupted by the Heart," his dark reflection told him, swinging Ravager around in an overhand chop that Morier barely had time to parry. "Surely you've felt the call of its power, Morier? Felt the need to protect it even over the lives of your friends?"

"No!" Morier shouted back. He Battlecast a _True Strike_ spell and brought his mercurial greatsword around in a tremendous blow that would have taken off a lesser opponent's head and fried the corpse into a cinder. Morier's simulacrum deflected the killing blow with his vambrace and shrugged off the dreadful effects of the Second Circle spell he'd used to fuel his _Elemental Blade_ attack.

And it was his last Second Circle spell.

"You will," Morier's double replied cooly. He was staggering slightly now and Morier saw that, despite his pretense to the contrary, he was near to collapse. "I saw what you did here, already... changing the weather so your friends  could pass the Test. Despite the fact that you know that goes against the entire point of the Tests!" He lurched forward with Ravager in a two-handed grip and tried to bring the blade up under Morier's defenses, but the eldritch warrior blocked the attack and _Called_ another _Lightning Bolt_.

His double had more than enough life in him to avoid a direct hit and this time his own Spell Resistance dissipated the glancing strike without injury.

"You're on the path, Morier," Not-Morier said. "No mortal can wield that kind of power without succumbing. Especially not you! I know what's in your heart!" Morier's double gestured with his hand and a _Fog Cloud_ began to rise in the area. But before it could obscure him from view, Morier Battlecast his last _True Strike_ spell and lunged forward, cleaving his double's left leg from his torso. Not-Morier screamed and teetered backward while his leg fell to the side. It wasn't blood that spewed from the gruesome wound, it was darkness, and that darkness soon filled Morier's vision entirely, blotting out not just sight, but sound as well, filling him with emptiness.



He opened his eyes onto the silvery void of the Astral Plane. He saw that others were there as well: Maleko was to his left and beyond that was another - Ixin perhaps. But his vision was dominated by the enormous figure that hung before him in the void. It was easily the size of a hill giant, but with flesh of total blackness, like polished obsidian. It was bedecked in finery of gold and platinum and regarded him with inscrutable serenity. An aura of power and unfathomable age surrounded it, making Morier want to hide from its presence.

Then it raised an arm very slowly and deliberately, pointing off into the distance at an oblique angle, and while he couldn't see anything in that direction, he somehow knew that it was pointing to the God Isles.


----------



## Jon Potter (Nov 29, 2009)

*[Realms #497] Jumping the Shark*

Her heart fluttered wildly within her chest as Ledare looked around, trying to make sense of where she was. She was standing on a large flat rock that seemed suspended in an unearthly expanse of silver mists. An enormous ebony figure floated nearby, dominating the sky.

This had not been a conscious jump - no portal or spell this time. She registered the presence of other figures in the near distance, but was distracted by the crimson color of blood on her robes and hands. She tasted that blood on her lips. Del's blood and suddenly her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. What had gone wrong? She needed time to think.



Maleko sighed contentedly, awash with a sense of relief from the his experiences in the Cavern of the Self. He took a deep, cleansing breath and smiled. Guilt had been lifted off of him for his actions of the past and his heart threatened to soar right out of his chest. No matter what he had done it seemed - surrender or hide - his steward would have died. And if he'd tried to combat the bandits... Well, an attack on the caravan would likely have resulted in even more deaths. So he was relieved and felt happy about what he'd learned in the test.

A soft cry to his left drew his attention and he saw a figure on the ground nearby. She was dressed in robes that should have been brilliant white but were instead splattered with the bright red of fresh arterial blood. She was propped up on hands and knees, her disheveled auburn hair hanging loose about her face which was, he saw twisted into a look of anguish that-

He stopped, not quite believing what he was seeing. It was Ledare Eelsof'faw



The polite sound of a throat being cleared drew Ledare back to the present - whichever present that now was. Instinctively, her hand groped the air at her side where her sword should have been. But of course it wasn't there. She struggled to rise, but felt dizzy and thought better of it. So, with an utter loss of presence, Ledare stared at the well-dressed elf as he approached. A flicker of recognition ignited in her brain and then went dead. The effort of remembering was a heavy, burdensome task - like moving through the sludge of the swamps near Byr. 

"Are you hurt?" the elf addressed her, stopping a few paces away. He had lustrous dark brown hair and eyes that (like her own) were the bright color of polished copper. His face was kind, and though he wore an ornate longsword at his hip, his arms and hands did not seem the arms and hands of a swordsman.

"Are you injured?" he asked again, trying to coax a reply from her through his body language. Ledare could not form the answer and so shook her head slightly. With a colossal effort, she pushed recent events into a corner of her mind and tried to focus on this place. She looked beyond the elf and registered the large black shape of the giant, its luminous skin reflecting the strange twinkling lights of the astral plane. Another figure stood on the ground nearby and as he turned toward her Ledare's breath caught in her chest and disbelief filled her. 



"Maleko? We need to get moving," Morier commanded. He cast a look up at the giant, shuddering at the coldness that seemed to emanate from its dark body. The bleak finality of cemeteries, tombs, and funeral shrouds surrounded the huge figure. "I don't think this guardian thing is one to let us hang around and chat for -"

He saw Ledare and stopped, agog. Morier had been certain that he didn't really have the ability to change things in his own past - that he was acting in a vacuum. But here was proof to the contrary. Ledare. Alive. The reaction on her face mirrored his own emotions and they stared at one another across the Astral plane.

"I think we three are the only ones to pass the test," Maleko announced, breaking the stunned silence.

"Test?" Ledare managed to croak and the elf nodded.

"Yes, we all went into-" he started to explain and Morier cut him off.

"Ledare! What- How- " he struggled, but the questions died on his lips. Died. He looked up at the giant again, meeting its inscrutable gaze. The black gulfs of its eyes seemed to take in everything, but offered nothing in return. They were the cold, dark eyes of death itself. Morier tore himself away from the twin abysses and looked at his remaining companions.

"We need to go. Now," he said, forcing all his questions aside. "If the others were coming out, they would have. We can talk about what happened in the Cavern once we're underway."



Ledare followed the pair numbly. She had no armor, no weapons, and could find no clear path of reason with which to explain how the fates had landed her here. She whispered a prayer to Flor for guidance and plodded along toward what Morier described as the God Isles. What might have been the glimmer of a response presented itself as the slow realization that this party still epitomized the struggle against Aphyx, however uniquely. And so, in that sense, she belonged here now. 

She stole glances at her companions from time to time as they flew almost certain now that the elf was familiar. Yet she couldn't quite place him. It was Morier who seemed truly foreign despite the fact that he looked exactly as she last remembered seeing him. He did not, however, appear to have any of the characteristics of the strange doppelganger she remembered encountering with Feln during the Air Walk so long ago. It had been following that bitter fight between the two Moriers that the true Morier had vanished. And it had only been because of his mysterious ability to alter the weather that she and Feln had been able to finish the quest successfully. She had never seen him again until now and had always assumed him dead. Was this the same man? Had he somehow been dragged through time and space as she had been?

For his part, Morier was quiet and introspective too, making her reluctant to seek answers to questions her brain could not quite fully comprehend.


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## Jon Potter (Dec 6, 2009)

*[Realms #498[ Divergent Paths*

As they continued to travel, the barren emptiness of the Astral Plane seemed in direct contrast with the congregation of thoughts and emotions swirling inside each traveler's mind. Ledare was completely out of sorts, but not even she exceeded Morier in the feeling of shock and confusion.

Ledare was alive!

He'd dreamed of saving her on countless occasions, but as many times as he had played out the scenario in his own mind, Morier never expected to have need to consider how he would react if it actually happened. A string of questions flooded his mind; Had he pulled Ledare from an alternate plane? Was there another Morier there? Had someone found the Heart in Ledare's reality? Who? Where was it now? Morier closed his eyes and tried to force the questions away. He reopened them slowly, hoping to find he had been hallucinating. For as much joy as the sight of Ledare gave him, her appearance carried with it a tremendous sense of dread.

"What have I done?" he asked himself, quietly but aloud.

"What do you mean, Morier?" Maleko asked. "Done what?" The albino looked at him, his mouth opening and closing slowly like a fish's. He was beyond words. Ledare, keenly aware of Morier's confusion drifted forward to speak.

"Morier, do you remember, long ago, on a mountain top when you changed the seasons?" she asked him. "There was... another Morier, and a fight. When you disappeared, Feln and I were forced to go on without you. We held out hope that you would be waiting back with Karak when we returned, but you weren't." She stopped and stared straight into his eyes for a long moment before finding her own words again: "Morier, we thought you were dead. Where have you been?"

"I..." Morier groped for explanation. "Ledare, in my world the fight on the mountain top wasn't long ago; it was moments ago. It was an instant before that figure pointed us in this direction. I thought it was a test. I didn't think I could actually..." He trailed off, realizing that he would need to compose himself before he could make any sense to anyone. He pulled a deep breath.

"In my world - in my reality - you and Feln turned back at the Test of Air," he told her and her expression creased with the effort of making sense of his words. "Do you remember the conversation we had on the mountain top just before I changed the weather? I told you about the outcome, that I had succeeded in getting the Heart? Do you remember that?"

Ledare considered.

"I don't know; it was so long ago... We talked about this, Feln and I, after you left. We thought the changes you made were intended to avoid some kind of undesirable outcome." Her voice quavered, but she controlled it and continued. "But it seems all our own outcomes went wrong. Maybe the other Morier was right after all. Trollspit! We managed to muck it all up! Thank the gods you were able to get out alive."

"I don't know how much the gods had to do with this," the eldritch warrior grumbled, feeling that the weight of responsibility rested squarely on his own shoulders and not elsewhere. Ledare nodded her acceptance, but from the way that she clutched her holy symbol in her fist, it was plain that she didn't share his feelings on the matter.

"When you didn't return, we kept going. The Water Guardian bestowed some kind of mental pull in our heads that directed us toward the Keys..." her voice trailed off. "But you know about that, don't you?"

"Yes," the albino said nodding. "Except that in my reality I completed the Tests alone."

"That must have been a temendous burden to bear alone. Feln and I often imagined what would have happened to our quest if we had died before we found the Cradle. But at least there were two of us." She shook her head and sighed. "We went to find the Keys intent on rescuing the Heart. But..." Her voice trailed off as she recalled something that the other Morier had said on that mountain top long ago. Her eyes fixed momentarily on this Morier's chest and then widened. "Morier, that Heart destroyed Huzair."

It was all becoming more than Morier was able to process. His mind raced and swirled at the complexities of everything he had taken in over the last few hours. Alternate pathways of reality with alternate outcomes... it was the stuff of myth and ether really. None of it seemed real enough, yet nothing about it was any different from the gossamer-draped existence he had been surrounded by from the moment he opened his eyes on the Astral plane.

A part of him wanted to know everything about the voyage that Ledare had taken from the moment he left the mountain top until now, but every new detail seemed to cloud his own thinking even more, so he hesitated to ask for much. But somehow the idea of the Heart destroying Huzair was one he couldn't let go of. Morier considered two possibilities; Either Huzair had gotten to the Heart after Morier did, and reaching it on Huzair's reality constituted some sort of terminus that resulted in his death since Morier already possessed it. Or in that universe, Huzair was given Dridana's powers in much the same way he had been, and the power turned Huzair. The mage had always lived his life perched on that precipice, and seemingly limitless power might be enough to push anyone over. Morier wanted to believe neither, but the first possibility at least gave him a sense of comfort about his lost friend. 

"Destroyed him? How so?" he asked and Ledare looked away. 

"You killed him, didn't you?" she asked after a moment, fixing her gaze once more on Morier. The shocked expression on his face was a relief to her; she didn't much like the idea of her friends killing one another.

"No I did not!" he said with finality. "Huzair may have been an ass much of the time-"

"But he did many good things as well," she added and the eldritch warrior nodded his agreement. "You had a connection with Huzair, didn't you, Morier? He spoke of your past, the time you spent together under the guardianship of - someone whose name I can't remember..."

"Garan-Zak" Morier supplied it for her and Ledare nodded. It was yet another detail - a joining point from their multiple pasts - more delicate and complex than a web, and she shuddered at that thought.

"And if Huzair told you of our friendship, then what would make you think I killed him?" the eldritch warrior pressed.

"You said it yourself," she told him. "Or rather that other version of you did. Back on the mountain top, I mean."

"That wasn't me!" Morier nearly shouted. "I would never... Huzair died saving the rest of the party."

"Your Huzair sounds different from mine," she said. "There was unrest within our party. And Huzair was often at the center of things." She searched for a suitable explanation and Morier recalled how heavily discord had often weighed within his own party - doubly so for the leader.  "A quest such as our draws its strength from the fortitude of its followers," Ledare went on. "And we were a group of strong personalities, one in particular with whom Huzair did not see eye to eye."

"He rarely saw eye to eye with anyone," Morier mused. 

"It was settled, though," she said flatly. He paused, but she did not elaborate, and Morier knew it was yet another story to someday be told. "I thought perhaps that would be the end of our troubles. Turned out, it was only the beginning."

"So what did Huzair do with the Heart when he had it?" Morier asked and Ledare looked at him strangely.

"We never found the Heart, Morier," she told him.

"But the Pull..." Morier began and the Janissary shrugged uneasily.

"The more I ignored it, the more it began to fade," she explained. "I haven't felt it for some time." The eldritch warrior looked at her as if she were speaking Abyssal.

"You IGNORED the Pull?" he asked and Ledare sighed.

"When it became obvious that we were never going to get passed that damned Grandfather Plaque I did!" she said with a trifle more venom than she intended. "The thing guarded a door warded with a magical riddle that we could not solve. Huzair convinced us that the answer was: the leper. But it wasn't." Morier smiled and then laughed, but it was a thin, manic laugh, filled with anxiety but little mirth.

"The answer to Grandfather Plaque's riddle is: the healer," Morier said, still chuckling nervously. Ledare short him a scornful look.

"There's little reason to laugh, Morier," she told him. "Feln died at that door - slain byGrandfather Plaque's magic." That fact snuffed the albino's chuckles at once.

"I didn't mean-" Morier started and then he sighed. "My Huzair tried the same answer; I convinced him otherwise." Ledare looked pained and she cast a sidelong glance at the elf.

"Well you weren't there to help us," she said. "We failed that test and could go no further. So, yes, I learned to ignore the Pull and eventually it went away entirely. It was a bitter blow, being blocked as we were."

"I can imagine-" he began but she cut him off at once.

"I'm not sure you can, Morier," she snapped. "We were aimless for a time after that. We scoured the entirity of the Cradle, looking for another way into the Tests, but could find none. After we accidentally opened a dimensional tear to the Negative Material Plane we were all too physically drained to consider further assault on Grandfather Plaque. So we left, at loose ends for the first time in a long time. Huzair did not do well with that."

"Is that what caused the friction within your party?" Maleko asked and Ledare looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was even there. He started to offer apology but she shook her head.

"It was the start of things, I think," she admitted. "But the real rift didn't occur until we stopped the Aphyx cultists from freeing Zagaroth from his prison."

"Zagaroth?" Maleko asked , his face creased with thought. "You mean the Witch-King of Erlacor?" Ledare nodded.

"The very same. His prison was in the City of Gold under the ice on the coast of the Frozen Sea," she said and then offered Morier a strained smile, adding, "Beyond the fork's three tines."

"The poem!" the eldritch wwarrior exclaimed. "You finally discovered its meaning!" Ledare nodded, but any thrill she felt about that discovery had long ago faded away.

"We did," she said. "But at great cost." Morier looked at her quizzically. "Is there anyone... special... for you, Morier?" she asked and Morier started. They had never talked like this, even before the Air Walk, when they had traveled together. He shifted uncomfortably.

Ledare explained, "Huzair had... a... a ladyfriend."

Morier smiled sardonically, "Of course. Only one?"

She laughed, "Well, one he was particularly fond of - an elf named Anania. She was beautiful. She died, an accident really. Huzair was... very angry." Morier sighed and looked off into the misty void.

"I've really mucked things up, haven't I?" he groaned, shoulders slumping. Ledare drifted over and lay a comforting hand on one of those shoulders.

"I understand your concern about how things stand now, Morier, but I think you must trust yourself. There is a reason why you have made it so far in this quest - farther than anyone else. More and more I am not surprised that it is you," Ledare spoke earnestly. "Yet, maybe, after a time your steadfast tendency to always do what seems right becomes calculable. Like right now, you assume the weight of responsibility not only for your own but for everyone else's actions too. For all that has passed since last we saw one another, you haven't changed much." He looked at her then and she smiled at him, encouragingly.

"What is not like you... what differs so dramatically from the past, is what you did on that mountain top," she went on. "The unpredictability of your choice to alter a history that was, for all intents and purposes going along remarkably well, might just be an incredibly strategic move. Have you considered that?" He smiled back at her, though it was a wan smile that required real effort to stir.

"I hope what has just transpired has not changed the fabric of reality," Maleko said aloud though it was unclear whether he was speaking to anyone in particular or just to himself. "Perhaps, it is just an anomaly of the Astral Plane. and we shouldn't worry. We are so close to success, and on a clear track, though;I would hate to lose what we have gained."

The elf looked directly at Ledare then and suggested,"Tell more us of your world. Who was with you. Obviously I never found you in Ledare's reality," Maleko added, looking pointedly at Morier. Ledare shifted uncomfortably.

"I honestly don't know what will happen. I understand your concern - you have done all the right things so far," she admitted. "I may be a distraction." Maleko clucked his tongue.

"I wouldn't saay that, Ledare," he told her. "In fact, without you, I dare say there wouldn't be a quest to undertake." She regarded him with surprise.
"How is it you know me?" the Janissary asked the mage and Maleko smiled at her warmly.

"You and Del saved my life in Hillsburg, along the Coast Highway when you rescued my caravan from brigands. You shot a man through the forearm with your crossbow," he told her excitedly. She smiled slightly as the memory came back to her and she suddenly recalled why his face looked so familiar to her.

"That I did," she agreed.

"I am forever indebted to you and to Del," he said. "I am so sorry for his loss." Just as suddenly, her face darkened and Maleko hastened to add, "He became a great friend. He spoke very fondly of you." Ledare raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"He missed you greatly and mourned your loss," he concluded. "It was obvious the burden it put on him and served as one source of motivation for this cause." Ledare nodded hesitantly, her expression intent as she put things together for herself.

"So in your reality, I died." She spoke slowly, as if tasting each possibility. She was tempted to ask how, but there would be time for that later. "Earlier you mentioned tests... Del was in a test, or at least at a crossroad, I think. I don't know what he was trying to do... maybe alter his own future?" She looked quizzically at Morier, but the albino had sunk deeply into his own thoughts. "There was another version of himself there too. They fought." She stared down at her still soiled robe. "It ended badly for both." She was silent for a moment, lost in thought.

"Oftimes, we are our own worst enemies," Maleko said, somewhat lamely he thought once the words had passed his lips. But the words prompted Ledare to nod and look at him.

"But how would that have contributed to me being here?" she asked and Maleko tapped thoughtfully at his lips with one slender finger for a moment before ultimately shrugging.

"We have no idea how your... I mean our actions affected reality. Any assumptions may be premature, although caution should be wielded," he explained. "For all we know we could have been in a separate dimension completing the test and everything around us remained the same as when we went in. Only you came out instead, Ledare. All theories are plausible at this point. For instance, in Zarnack the Magnificent's first volume on time travel, 'Chronomancy and the Fixed Prime Fallacy', he discusses at length the spontaneous creation of alternate timelines when changes occur at what he called chronologic hot spots or flashpoints-"

"Okay. Okay," Ledare interupted. "I get the idea." She had heard all about flashpoints before and didn't think she could take hearing all Maleko knew of the subject.

"Of course." Maleko replied graciously but she caught a note of disappointment in his voice.

"I might like to read that book if you still have it," Ledare offered and Maleko smiled.

"Alas, the copy that I read belonged to the Mageholme library in Barnacus," the elf apologized. Ledare sighed.

"By the way," the Janissary observed. "I need a sword. And some armor."


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## Jon Potter (Dec 13, 2009)

*[Realms #499] Auld Lang Syne*

They pressed on for a time through the void until they reached a point where they could just make out a series of monumental stones adrift at the limits of their vision. Those islands of rock lay directly in their path and none of them had any doubt that they were the the God Isles. In truth, their only doubt came from the fact that they knew not what they would find once they reached the Isles. After so long in pursuit of this goal, it took tremendous effort for Morier to call a halt to their advance, but he did.

"We should rest," he told the other two. "We don't know what we'll be facing once we reach our goal and I need to regain my spells."

"Do you think we'll be fighting?" Maleko asked, a note of nervousness in his voice. Morier shrugged noncommittally and Ledare stared off at the floating rocks, hazy and indistinct in the misty twilight of the Astral Plane.

"Every other leg of this journey has required steel as well as wit," she muttered bitterly. "I see little reason to think that this will be any different." Maleko looked at her with concern, wondering again by what alternate path she had arrived in their midst.

"Ledare's right," Morier said and pointed at a smallish chunk of astral debris that drifted nearby. "We'll camp there."

"You can take first watch," she said to Morier. "I'll take second and Maleko third. As spellcasters you'll need uninterrupted time to rest." The albino raised his eyebrows.

"I was about to suggest the same thing," he told her and she cast her eyes downward.

"Of course," she said, reddening. "My apologies. Old habits." Morier smiled at her and began moving out.

"It's nice to know we're on the same page," he said wryly.



The longsword Maleko had graciously offered her was much more ornate than anything Ledare had wielded before. She suspected the jewels alone were of great value; the entire thing was polished to perfection. It was a magnificent work of art, and she wondered briefly how he had come by it. Another question to add to the tally. The weight of it felt good in her palm, as if such a solid reminder could anchor her to the here and now by its presence alone. She swung the weapon a few times, experimentally, and found she had to make several adjustments with her robe to avoid its becoming entangled on the gleaming steel.

She looked up to find Maleko watching her with interest. "My thanks," she said, raising the longword in a half-salute. "Are you sure you have no need of it?" He held up a tidy gloved hand and shook his head.

"It was a gift from my father," he told her as if he'd been privy to her earlier thoughts. "He wanted me to be able to defend myself if it came to crossed blades. But I don't think I've weilded it out of necessity more than thrice in all the years that I've had it." Ledare looked at the sword and saw her indestinct reflection in the polished fuller.

"You're a lucky fellow in that case, Maleko," she said, wondering how many times out of necessity she'd weilded a weapon like this one to save her own life or the life of someone she cared about.

"Not really," he told her with an ironic chuckle. "I just have other means of defending myself. And I think, given the current circumstances that I'm better defended with that sword in your hands than hanging at my hip." She nodded her acceptance and slid the weapon back into its scabbard.

Of course, she had noticed right away that this Morier did not carry Ravager as his double had so long ago. She wondered what had become of that sword. That consideration had been followed by a twinge of regret, wondering if she would have been able to make a difference in Del's test had she been armed. The Gods played bitter games allowing men to be destroyed at their own hand - whole histories and realities snuffed out in an instant. She wondered if weapons endured without consequence and added the fate of her former weapon to her list of questions for Morier.



For the moment, though, Morier was through with questions. She'd asked him about Huzair's death and the albino had pressed his hand to his face, sighing.

"I can't do this right now, Ledare. Events all turned bizarre and started to unravel once we stepped through the door to the Cavern of the Self, and it might all be illusory," he told her. "Of course that might just be a self-satisfying explaination for all of it, since it would seem to be growing more difficult for one not to question his own sanity at some point in sorting through all of this." She looked at him morosely.

"I don't feel like an illusion, Morier," she told him and he nodded.

"I know, Ledare," he said. "And I can only imagine how confusing this all is for you, because I know how confusing it all is for me. But I can't focus on it right now. Not so close to our goal..." Ledare looked off into the distance, grim-faced.

"I realize that, practically there is a job to do and it needs attention," she assured him. "So perhaps we can all try to lock things away in a chest for now and move along. But be careful, Morier. Things we think we've locked away and buried have a way of coming back on us at inopportune times."

She turned back to Maleko and saw the elf holding her holy symbol by its chain with a far-off puzzled look in his eyes. There was something unsettling about his expression and she prodded him gently to get his attention. He blinked rapidly and looked at her.

"I was trying out my new _Gloves of Object Reading_," he told her. "I thought it might shed some light on your past, maybe explain in part why you're here."

"I told you I'm willing to answer your questions," she explained and Maleko grinned bashfully.

"I know. But as I said, the _Gloves_ are new and I wanted to try them out," he admitted and Ledare chuckled.

"So why did you look so puzzled just now?" she asked and Maleko held up the necklace.

"The holy symbol gave me exactly the reading I expected," he told her. "You were the most recent owner, and before that it belonged to Matriarch Lenoire, cleric of Flor."

"She gave it to me when I first converted to the faith of the White Lady," Ledare confirmed and Maleko nodded.

"Again: it's exactly the reading I was expecting," he told her. "But then I tried to do a reading on the chain and... well the _Gloves_ are giving me conflicting information. Like the readings overlap." Ledare frowned, trying to remember where she'd picked up the large chain and found that she couldn't. Maleko looked at her.

"Do the names Tarawyn Alusiil and Melengar the Black mean anything to you?" he asked. "Because before you, both of them appear to have owned this chain."


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## Jon Potter (Dec 20, 2009)

*[Realms #500] Dead Gods*

Ledare straightened at the mention of the names. "I have heard about Melenger the Black. He was the custodian of a magical artifact called the Rod of Ruin. Long ago, before your time even Morier, I traveled with... with a company of great friends. We happened upon something like that - a rod of great power, although we didn't know its nature and there were mixed feeling about what should be done with it."

Morier shook his head and snorted to himself, thinking in turn of the Rod of Withering and the Samsara Sword and of how both had divided his own group.

Taking the chain from Maleko's hands, Ledare continued, "Kirnoth carried it for a time. I always thought he threw it into the sea." She paused a moment, fingering the chain thoughtfully. It was solidly-made, each link scribed with a fillifgreed design and disks of silver polished to mirrored smoothness were worked into its length at regular intervals. It seemed momentarily odd that she didn't remember getting the chain, but she was adrift in a sea of oddity and a forgotten necklace represented but a single cup-full of confusion.

"Those were distant lifetimes," she said at last. "I don't know how I came to possess this chain. But it is of no small significance that it should now bear the symbol of Mercy." She placed the chain once more around her neck and stood abruptly. "Flor's ways are mysterious and powerful indeed, but I will be quite ineffective at doing her good work without some kind of armor!" Maleko held up a finger and began sifting through his gear.

"I have some scrolls of _Mage Armor_ that I could use to benefit you in combat. It's not plate mail, but it will help turn aside a blade," he told her and she nodded. "There are some Nethlar-granted miracles that I could also impart on you after my prayers. _Shield of Faith_ comes immediately to mind..."

"Anything will help," she admitted. "My thanks, Maleko." She looked at Morier and saw that he had his back to them, his attention pointedly not focused on his companions but rather on the insubstantial world of glittering vapor that surrounded them. She stared hard at the back of the albino's head, wondering what was going on inside. She was so fixated that she very nearly missed hearing Maleko's last comment.

"I really wish you could remember where you got the chain," the mage-priest told her. "It may tell us where this Black Bishop is."

But, alas, she had no answers for him.



Morier settled in to take his turn on watch while the others rested.

He was struck by the comfort he once again felt in a moment of solitude. It was a familiar feeling, but one that he hadn't felt for quite some time. There was a time when he seemed the "solitary warrior", moving from place to place, leaving before bonds could be tied to others. But his recent travels, particularly those with Ledare and Huzair, had opened him to the idea of companionship. He looked thoughtfully at these sleeping comrades but didn't feel the same ties he had before.

The familiar face, and the new one for that matter, were at once comforting and distressing to Morier. He remembered the coins he once had forged and given to Ledare to mark her membership as a member of the "Order Bringers" and laughed aloud a sarcastic chuckle. If this was "order" it left something to be questioned of what "disorder" felt like. Where had the line between reality and ether begun to blur?

He wanted badly to talk to both of his new companions, but he needed more time to sort out his own questions. Simply seeing them seemed strange enough. Talking to them seemed like madness. Developing bonds with them was crossing the line into complete lunacy.

He turned from them and looked ahead, focusing his energies on keeping watch. When Ledare spoke, he started violently and very nearly drew his sword. She was- obviously - no longer sleeping, and she crept quietly from her spot near Maleko to not disturb the elf's rest. Morier sighed and turned away from her again.

"Choosing solitude doesn't make you more likely to succeed, Morier. It just makes you more alone," the janissary said and settled on her haunches near, but not actually beside the eldritch warrior. She gazed off at the distant islands of rock, half-glimpsed in the mist. "You've come this far thanks to the blood and the grit of those who chose to make the journey with you... Don't discredit them because you are afraid to lose anyone else. One man alone is not going to defeat Aphyx, no matter how strong. It has been a team effort, regardless of what reality you are from." She paused, and silence blossomed between them. Morier kept his attention focused beyond their tiny oasis of substance in the vast emptiness.

"If this is all nothing more than an illusion - a trick of your mind - then make the most of it," Ledare encouraged. "Learn something from it. Don't retreat inside yourself until it makes sense; it may never make sense! Use the opportunity it presents to you!" Her voice rose and she glanced back at Maleko, but she hadn't disturbed the elf's reverie. When she looked back Morier was facing her with a grave expression on his face.

"You misunderstand, Ledare," the albino explained. "It's not that I don't want to. Actually I want to quite a lot... I just... I feel like he's losing my damned mind." Ledare looked at him and there was nothing of jest n his face. He meant everything he said.

"Oh, you mean that!" she said, grinning and running a hand through her auburn locks. "Sorry, can't help you with that." Morier blinked and then a grin played across his own face and he chuckled under his breath. He reached out a hand and gave Ledare's fingers a squeeze.

"Give me time, Ledare," he said. "I just need time to wrap my brain around all that's happened... or may have happened.. or-" She patted him on the shoulder and nodded.

"Get some rest," she said. "It's my turn to take watch." He agreed and moved to take her recently vacated spot near Maleko.

"Oh, and, Morier?" she asked quietly. "What exactly are we supposed to be doing in the Gods Isles?" He regarded her earnestly and then shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said. "Unite Dridana's Heart and Body. I'm sort of hoping it'll be obvious once we get there." Ledare smiled at him and shook her head.

"Maybe we should have asked that yucky death guardian a question or two before we ran away," she suggested and Morier shrugged again.

"Maybe," he admitted. "We're operating a bit off the map here."



For her part, Ledare spent the slow hours of the watch reviewing any details from her experiences that she thought might help them in the next leg of the journey. The bits and pieces of the journal entries and cryptic poems that she had collected over time swirled in her mind like the far-off twinkling lights and the strange, moving conduits of the Astral plane. When the threads of memory inevitably led her to the scene on the wharf of Awad, she felt a mingled sense of sadness and disbelief. Was it by design that two lives had been extinguished and her own soul hurled into the present situation? Or was it randomness. Might there be still other realities harboring names and faces from her past, all alive and well somewhere? It seemed preposterous to even consider. And yet, here she was in the company of one whom she had thought dead. One who had, instead, taken up the cause and fought on in some parallel world without her. Her heart swelled with pride at that. 

The soft sounds of Maleko stirring from his trance broke into her reflection. Maleko - a well dressed and well spoken stranger who seemed to already have connectinos to her life - a different life, full of facets and ramifications she knew nothing about. Ledare sighed deeply and begrudgingly admitted the feeling that, like Morier, this tangle was truly beyond her ability to grasp. And, contrary to her own advice, it seemed that shutting out the confusion brought - if not peace - then the closest semblance to it she would find in this place.



They set off in the morning - or what passed for such on the Astral - after Maleko had prayed to Nethlar for both guidance and those miracles he thought might be necessary. The latter included the spell _Shield of Faith _which he hoped to cast on Ledare should the need arise. None of them were naive enough to believe that it wouldn't.

At first, it seemed as though they were racing simply toward an immense island of stone suspended in the silver void. But as they drew nearer and the island grew larger , they realized the truth. One by one their eyes followed the lines and contours of the rock and each in turn made out feminine arms curled tight against the body with hands that covered stone breasts of enormous size. Between the two hands - in the center of the figure's chest - was a hole that seemed filled with solid darkness, an absolute void. An expression of shocked pain and grief was frozen on the face of the gigantic humanoid whose cold stone eyes stared unseeing at the misty expanse of the astral sea. The whole contorted "island" was at least four miles long and made entirely of dry, gray stone.

"My god..." Maleko breathed as he beheld, and grasped what he was seeing.

"Not your god, Maleko," Morier corrected, his own voice a whisper. "But a god nonetheless."

"Or what's left of one," Ledare added.



They pressed on, wary of opposition, but finding none, until they reached a point some thousand feet or so above the great stone corpse. There, with their vision dominated by the massive corpus dei, they seemed to breach some invisible barrier and felt the tug of gravity reassert itself on them. It pulled them inexorably downward in a slow _Featherfall_ toward the figure's feet as if that were the only proper place for mortals on the body of a god. An uneven, landscape of broken and blasted rock stretched out ahead of them as they touched down.

"We're here," Morier said unsteadily as if he couldn't quite believe it. Maleko cast _Detect Magic_ and found that, unlike the rest of the Astral Plane, on this God Isle the normal laws governing magic were in effect. His spell was not _Quickened_ or otherwise metamagically enhanced. It still worked properly, however, and the vista around him began to light up as he concentrated on the spell.

"Amazing," he said as he looked around. The whole place was awash with magic of every type, but at much lower levels than he feared it might. Some of the gear that his companions wore glowed with more power than the God Isle itself. In fact...

He noticed that Ledare's necklace was glowing particularly brightly, and it was quickly glowing brighter still. He analyzed the dweomer with a thought, his knowledge of spellcraft making the process nearly effortless: _Conjuration_ magic of the _Teleportation_ subschool. Odd, he thought. Either the necklace was about to gate somewhere or...

With a shouted warning he reached out and jerked the necklace off Ledare's head at the very moment that the device flared with light and the area within the circle of the chain became a portal to somewhere else. Had he been a moment slower, the effect would have neatly decapitated the janissary. As it was, the necklace clattered down to the rock nearby and for a brief second, they saw a window looking in on a stone chamber.

Then that image was eclipsed as a seething mass of rats bubbled up and out of the tiny gate, their brown-black bodies scrabbling madly over one another with singular purpose.


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## Jon Potter (Dec 27, 2009)

*[Realms #501] The Voice of Aphyx*

Morier snapped from his self-imposed silence at the sight of the advancing rat swarm. "We've got to get some protection on Ledare, NOW! Maleko,stay by her side with me until we can keep her safe!" He drew the mercurial greatsword and interposed himself between the rats and the Janissary. Ledare regarded his back with displeasure and nimbly side-stepped him, brandishing the longsword she'd borrowed from Maleko.

"I don't need to be surrounded and protected like a little girl!" she grumbled, assuming a defensive stance. She spared a look at Maleko and ordered, "We've got to close that portal!"

The elf looked at the Janissary and then at the rapidly growing pile of rats. He nodded. "Nothing good will come out of there. I am sure," he said and cast _Web_. He'd never actually cast the spell in any way other than vertically and he wasn't sure what the results would be as he did so now. The spell behaved more or less as he'd hoped, however, forming a sticky carpet that completely covered the forming rat swarm and the necklace portal, stopping a few feet from the companions' boots.

Ledare let out a yelp and Maleko cringed. He'd forgotten her reaction the last time he'd cast _Web_ in her presence. He turned to apologize and saw that she'd forced a smile onto her face.

"Well done!" Ledare told him and then turned to look only at Morier. "Did we do this; bringing them here?"

"I don't know," Morier shrugged and began drawing on the power of the Heart.

"Morier, I think you need to make haste to get the Heart to the heart on this god's body," Maleko began, but before he could say more a strange vibration in his feet made him stop.

"What's-?" Ledare managed before the vibration became a violent shaking, the ground quivering and undulating like waves at sea. Maleko and Morier were both thrown off their feet by the tremor, but Ledare, bolstered by the divine grace she enjoyed as a holy warrior of the White Lady, remained upright. That left her in a position to see the fissures open in the rocky ground, spreading out from Morier like the spokes on a wheel.

One of them sped out, opening directly beneath Maleko and the elf let out a cry as he started to fall down the opening. She snapped out a hand and grabbed his wrist, hauling him up and out by brute force.

An instant later the fissures all around closed; the one that had threatened to swallow Maleko pinched shut on the hem of his cloak, holding him in place until he worked it free - and making plain the fate he would have suffered had he tumbled down the fissure.

He looked, wide-eyed and pale-faced at Ledare and started to thank her, but a curious squeaking voice spoke from the mass of Web nearby. It was the voice of the rat swarm speaking, somehow, through some bizarre modulation of the individual rat's voices.

"Ledare!" it said. "I'm so glad the gate didn't kill you. It'll be so much more fun to watch the albino keep using the Heart and do it himself. And he will you know. Eventually he kills all his friends."

Ledare turned to look at Morier - who was just getting to his feet.

And she knew what the rats were telling her was true. How is it that he among all of them had survived so long? He claimed that he hadn't killed Huzair, but how could she know? All she had was his word.

The word of a killer.

He'd likely do the same thing to her and Maleko.

If she let him.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 3, 2010)

*[Realms #502] The End of the Line*

Morier staggered to his feet and stepped toward the others. "Stay close," he commanded. "We're getting out of here." He drew again on the power of Dridana's Heart and Ledare watched in horror as his doing so made the God Isle begin to tremble again.

"Maybe we don't need to drop everything and run," she argued, her face filled with uncertainty. "The rats aren't attacking yet; they're just talking. Maybe they can help us." Morier, who was concentrating on the miracle he was working, said nothing in reply, but Maleko looked at Ledare as if she were mad.

"They aren't attacking because I webbed them," the mage retorted, a note of alarm rising in his voice as the quaking of the ground mounted. "What makes you think they are here to help us?" But the Janissary didn't get a chance to answer because at that point Morier finished invoking _Wind Walk_ and the effect was instantaneous and dramatic.

It was as if the God Isle were a sheet of glass and Morier were a dagger slammed pommel-first against it. The ground directly beneath his feet fairly pulverized as he completed the spell and an expanding network of cracks radiated outward from him. The terrible shaking of the ground drove both Morier and Ledare off their feet, while this time, Maleko kept his. As had been the case with Ledare moments before, it afforded him an excellent view of the shattered ground as fissures began to open up all around.

One yawned open beneath Morier and the albino teetered momentarily on the edge of the crevasse, limbs scrambling for purchase on the crumbling ground. Then he overbalanced and fell head-first into the fissure.

Maleko shouted something unintelligible and lunged for the eldritch warrior, trying to save Morier as Ledare had saved him, but he was a fraction too slow and the earthquake - godquake, Maleko thought absently - quieted, the cracks closing at once with gruesome finality.

"No!" the elf shouted, digging with his thin fingers at the tiny crack that remained on the surface.

"Oh, the irony is delicious," the rat swarm tittered as Ledare got to her feet. "Be a dear, Ledare, and see if you can't burn these _Webs_. I know how much you dislike anything to do with spiders."


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## Hairy Minotaur (Jan 10, 2010)

Was that the first time you'd used cranium rats against them? I can't use them against my group anymore, the first time I say there's rats in the alley/trash/celler they yell attack and wipe them out regardless of how mundane they were.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 10, 2010)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Was that the first time you'd used cranium rats against them?




These are actually something slightly different. It's a Demon Flock from the 3rd party PDF _Bodies and Souls: 20 Templates_. Essentially a demon that possesses a swarm. And this is the 3rd time the players encountered this Demon Flock, known affectionately amongst the faithful as The Voice of Aphyx.

The first time was way way back when they lost Kirnoth.
The second time was after they had gotten the four elemental swords.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 10, 2010)

*[Realms #503] Race to the Finish, part 1*

Maleko stopped what he was doing and looked at Ledare intently. She in turn was looking at him with a somewhat glassy sheen to her eyes. She waved his sword at him and asked, "Maleko, have you anything to start a fire?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened and where it was likely to lead if he didn't act. And Maleko... Well, Maleko wasn't really a genius, but he was an attentive student with a wide breadth of knowledge and he was intimately familiar with the power and limitation of _Charm Person_. Both counted well in his favor now. He knew that, so long as the rats asked Ledare only to do things that she was already predisposed to do (like destroy a giant spider web), their control of her would be unbreakable by the Janissary's willpower alone. He also knew that there were some very simple ways to counter the effects of a _Charm_ spell.

"I have a spell that will allow you to create fire," the elf lied as he got to his feet and began casting _Protection from Evil_. The rats, it seemed were attentive students as well.

"It's a trick, Ledare!" they hissed. "He's in league with Morier! He's a killer!" Ledare's sword - HIS sword, Maleko reminded himself - came up into a defensive position and she regarded him suspiciously. Then her expression grew swiftly surprised as she looked at something behind him.



Morier willed himself fully into gaseous form as the rock walls slammed shut, saving himself from a horrible death. It took a moment to orient himself in the dark confines of the fissure, but when he did it was simplicity itself to vent his body up and out into the misty twilight above.

He billowed up from the crack almost directly behind Maleko, who appeared to be facing off against Ledare, oddly enough. Ledare saw him and spoke his name, her eyes going wide with surprise at his sudden, gaseous reappearance. Stealing her distraction, Maleko reached out a hand and touched her lightly on the forehead and she twitched as if energy had flowed through her, which, Morier supposed, it probably had.



Maleko turned to look and saw a vaporous, _Wind Walk_ing Morier hovering behind him. The drow pointed up the God Isle toward the chest, mouthing words that neither of his companions could hear. And then he was gone in that direction, borne away by a breath of chill wind.

"Well, that was disappointing!" the rats chittered. "I was so hoping that-"
Ledare turned and casually thrust her sword through a squirming rat. It spasmed and writhed on her sword point, but as soon as she withdrew the blade it returned at once to health.

"A little upset that Morier got away?" the half elf asked. "Good! That means he's that much closer to doing good."

"He will fail," the rats squeaked. "You all will. Better to just sit down and wait for this all to end. Isn't that right, Maleko?" The elf looked into the many rats' eyes and felt the force of will that controlled them probing his own defenses. He smiled. His defenses were considerable.

"Not likely," he said. "I am an elf and a priest of Nethlar. Your petty mind tricks don't work on me." He dropped another _Web_ atop the first for good measure and beckoned to Ledare.

"Just the same, Ledare, we should probably put some distance between us and... that," he suggested, indicating the rat swarm which was doubly entangled now. "All it would take is a moment's weakness on my part and I could become its thrall."

"I like that plan," the Janissary conceded. "My sword does nothing to this creature, as I feared."

They took off, loping along up the stone shin of the God Isle, but they hadn't made it more than a hundred feet when they heard the woompf of spreading fire behind them. Turning they saw Maleko's double web quickly going up in flames, consuming the entire mass in a few seconds. It was difficult to tell at this distance, but the rats seemed wholly unaffected by the flames.

"Please feel free to run," Maleko said to his companion as he watched more rats boil up from the unblocked portal on the stone ankle. "I can take care of myself if need be."


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## Jon Potter (Jan 18, 2010)

*[Realms #503] Race to the Finish, part 2*

Not taking his eyes off the distant carpet of rats, Maleko dug in his pocket and produced a tiny vial that he held out to Ledare. It was little bigger than a shot glass with a stopper of pewter worked into the delicate shape of a hummingbird. "Ledare, with this potion you can _Fly_ safely to Morier," the elf said, turning to look her in the eyes. "I will cast _Expeditious Retreat_ and evade this rat swarm." The Janissary balked, gently but firmly pushing the vial aside.

"I won't leave you to-" she began but the mage-priest cut her off, thrusting the tiny bottle back into her hands.

"I have the power to protect myself," he said with total confidence. His apprehensive glance back toward the smoke from his burning Web gave away the truth of the matter: he was afraid, perhaps more so than he had ever been in his life. But he was trying to conceal it and Ledare could appreciate that. She'd known trained soldiers who quailed in the face of the enemy and did less to hide it than Maleko was.

"Go and do not look back," he explained firmly and she acquiesced. 

"I knew Morier would surround himself with capable allies," she told the elf as she took the bottle and pulled the stopper. "Well done!" She brought the bottle to her lips, inhaling its fragrance - like boiled chicken - as she did so. The translucent yellow liquid was on her tongue by the time Maleko drew the proper roll of parchment from his _Infinite Scrollcase_. She felt a sensation of effervescent lightness spread through her body as he began to intone the spell on the scroll, and as that scroll crumbled to dust in the elf's hands, Ledare had lifted off the ground and was _Fly_ing away up the leg of the God Isle.

"Run while you can!" Ledare heard the rats squeaking somewhere behind her. "There's no where for you to go!"

Morier flew along at an exhilarating, dizzying speed, up the thickening peninsula of the statue's leg, and thence over twisted shapes that seemed imprisoned within the surface of the stone. He could glimpse them only in passing, but they seemed like stone statues of animals and people, half-fused to the rock as though they had been partially trapped when the god isle formed. There was a profound sadness in their frozen stillness, and Morier was glad when the growths gave way to the smooth hillock of the island's belly.

He shot upward, tracing the gentle curve as it steepened and when he crested its crown he had a strange, ant's eye few down the rocky torso. He could see the dark crater that was his destination some miles away, an ugly wound between the mountainous breasts. Seen from here it seemed ominous indeed, a rent that should have shown the inside of the god isle but instead showed only darkness.

As he paused, contemplating the view the ground beneath him and all along the slope of the belly began to crack and crumble. And from each patch of disturbed soil arose a creature of wood. Here rose a lion, there a trio of wolves, over there a crocodile of prodigious size - all made of living wood. Their limbs lacked joints or seams, but they moved with a whip-like speed just the same, creaking and groaning as they pulled themselves from the ground. The thorny horrors that served them as mouths left little doubt as to their intent and Morier willed himself away at once, easily outdistancing the strange, wooden creatures.



The ability to fly was exhilarating, or rather it would have been if Ledare's thoughts hadn't been consumed by the fact that Morier would easily reach their goal before she and Maleko did, making them of no help to the eldritch warrior. It was also darkly amusing that Maleko, running on foot below, was quickly outdistancing her.  She had momentary visions of herself in her Janissary plate struggling to keep up with Finian and Kirnoth. Of course, Maleko was exerting a lot of energy running and Flying took only as much effort from Ledare as walking.

It was perhaps a minute or two later that Maleko was forced to slow his pace as the headlong charge took its toll. Ledare began to close the gap and was thinking that she might catch him in another minute or so when an expanding wave of sepia energy washed over them, dispelling both _Fly_ and _Expeditious Retreat_.

Ledare felt the buoyancy go out of her body and she dropped gradually to the ground. Ahead of her she saw Maleko stumble and fall prone, propelled by his own momentum. Once she landed, she raced over to him.

"What was that?" she asked the mage as she helped him to his feet. Maleko straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair.

"An _Epic Dispelling_, I think," he said, sounding a bit winded from his run. "But magic at that level is purely theoretical. I don't know of any wizard who's passed the Ninth Circle limitation and you'd need to transcend that in order to cast magic of that magnitude."

"Perhaps Morier's reached the heart?" Ledare suggested and Maleko nodded.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "What do we do now? I have another scroll of _Expeditious Retreat_ but I can only cast it on myself. And I don't have another _Potion of Flying_."

Ledare looked around. There was no sign of the pursuing rats, but she didn't suppose that truly meant they'd abandoned the chase. Ahead and to the left, at the limits of her vision she saw a strange warren of twisted statues. The strange misty quality of the air on the astral plane obscured them in part, but they seemed like stone statues of animals and people.

Those statues blocked the shortest path to their goal, and circumventing them would add time to their journey.



He made good time in vapor form and covered the distance between belly and breast in well under a minute. His attention was drawn to the vast black pit that filled the floor of the valley between the two stoney drumlins. The void seemed to fill his senses and tug at his guts, gaping, waiting to-

His thoughts stopped abruptly as an expanding wave of sepia energy washed over him, dispelling his _Wind Walk_ (and, he realized belatedly, his _Owl's Wisdom_ as well). He became solid and flew through the air at great speed for another thirty feet before plowing into the rocky ground and tumbling grotesquely along it for another fifteen. It would have killed anyone else, but Morier had the Heart and it protected him from most injury. Still, the crash was disorienting and it took him a few moments to collect himself and get unsteadily to his hand and knees.

"Sorry about that," a woman said from his left. He looked up and saw the speaker standing nearby. She was beautiful in a dark, unearthly way that was at once disturbing and arousing. Her hair was a wild mane of black locks and her eyes burned with a dark intensity that made the eldritch warrior's limbs go weak. And her eyes commanded his attention so much that for several moments he didn't notice that she was utterly naked apart from a leather cloak that was clasped at her throat and trailed down over grave-pale shoulders. In her hands she carried a greatsword in a sheath of leather that seemed to be perpetually crumbling away into dust though it never fell entirely to pieces.

She smiled and took a languid, enticing step forward. "Sometimes I forget my own strength," she said lightly.

Morier felt another wave of apprehension turn his guts to water. He'd felt this before. Before he'd gotten the Heart, when they'd been confronted by Dridana's demiurge. There was no mistaking the Primal Dread he felt. And it could only mean one thing.

Whoever this was... whatever she was... in some part at least, she was a god.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 25, 2010)

*[Realms #503] Race to the Finish, part 3*

His body resisted his attempts to master it. His limbs felt like insensate things of lead. His guts kept clenching spasmodically, ready at any moment it seemed to disgorge the contents of his stomach. Every fiber of his being wanted to flee from this divine being. Well, almost every fiber.

"I am with you," he heard a woman say in his ear and found the will to move.

"I am Morier Thulien and I come to this God Isle in peace, to reunite the heart and body of the Goddess Dridana," he managed as he labored to his feet.

"I know who you are, Morier," the god-woman said, a note of amusement in her voice. "And I know why you're here. I've been following your progress with some interest. I must confess: I'm surprised that you made it this far. Surprised and impressed." She began to walk around him, slowly as she spoke, and Morier noticed that she wasn't really walking; she only seemed to be. Her bare feet trod daintily upon the air a foot or so above the actual ground.

"You've come a long way to get here and lost a lot of friends in the process," the divinity went on. "But have you even once considered the ramifications of what you propose to do? Think of the chaos you'll bring to Oerune!" Morier looked sharply at the woman, but only from the corner of his eye; it was easier that way. Who was she? He had supposed her to be Dridana, or some form of Dridana's essence, or demiurge, or another avatar of some sort... but given the circumstances around here she could be anything.

"What will be Calaam's reaction to such a flagrant disregard for his edict that what is dead should stay dead?" the woman asked. "And what will become of the poor Beastlords when Brogine's sister rises to reclaim her dominion over those things that grow in the ground. Surely Brogine will take back from the animal spirits his own concerns for those things that crawl!"

"Who-?" Morier struggled to ask, but the woman went on.

"And what of Kossuth, and Grumbar, and Istishia, and Akadi?" she asked him. "They only rose to power with Dridana's retreat. When she once more calls her own the power of the elements what will become of the Elemental Lords and those who revere them? Have you really thought this through or have you just plowed ahead through stubborn momentum alone?"

"Who are you?" Morier demanded through gritted teeth though he thought that he knew the answer already.

"I am a god, Morier. I am known by many names on many worlds," she said with a wave of her delicate hand. "To some I am Incabulos, to others Nurgle. On some worlds I am known as Abhoth. On others Moander or Marbas. Labels are really only important to you mortals. Gods transcend such limitations."

"Aphyx," he managed and the woman laughed lightly.

"Yes, I'm known by that one too," she said.



Ledare had been trained to assess battlefield situations and make quick decisions. Granted, their current situation was a bit beyond what he training allowed for. But she fell back on what she knew trusting the wisdom of experience to carry her through.

"We should make for the statues," she said, pointing in that direction.

"Are you sure?" Maleko asked, eying them suspiciously.

"Brogine and Dridana were twin gods of nature, so the animals may be an indication of something," she replied. "Perhaps Brogine tried to send aid in Dridana's final moments." Maleko considered this and shrugged.

"These statues can't be too much worse than the rats," he admitted and started to hustle in that direction.

As they drew closer, the sense of foreboding that seemed to hang in the air around the thicket of stone figures grew stronger. Eventually, while still some 100 feet from the nearest of the half-formed statues, Maleko staggered to a halt. Ledare turned to look at him and he held up a finger while he caught his breath.

"I have a spell that will offer us some guidance here," he said after a few deep breaths. "I can cast _Augury_ to learn whether passing through the statues will bring weal or woe." Ledare spread her hands in confusion.

"Why didn't you do that before?" she asked before adding diplomatically, "I like the idea of having a little guidance here."

"It takes a minute or so to divine the future in this way," he said somewhat apologetically. "I didn't want to take time that would allow the rats to gain ground on us. I don't want them to catch up." They both looked back the way they'd come as if expecting to see the moving carpet of rats approaching, but there was no sign of them.

"You should do it," Ledare urged. "I'll keep watch." The elf nodded and started to pray, leaving the Janissary to scan the way they'd come for the rat swarm. After a minute, Maleko stopped his muttered prayers and shook his head.

"The statues are dangerous. Alone they would cause us harm. We cannot defeat them and the rats too. We must take the long path around them," the elf announced and pointed up along the mammoth slope of the God Isle's hip. Ledare sighed and nodded disappointedly as they started up and around in that direction. As they went Maleko drew an empty scroll case from his things and tossed it in the direction of the statues.

"Perhaps this will mislead our pursuers into thinking that we passed that way. And perhaps the statues will take care of the rat entity for us," he said optomistically. Ledare grinned at him.

"Good thinking, Maleko," she said approvingly. "Without the benefit of the gods' guidance they may well blunder into their doom as we almost did." The mage-priest nodded and fished a coin from his pocket.

"Quickly! We must go, And this may help us stay hidden." he said and held up the silver coin. "Nethlar will provide us protection by hiding the noise we make." He cast _Silence_ on the coin he was carrying and all sound vanished at once, swallowed up b the magic. He clenched the coin in his fist and smiled at Ledare before pointing onward up the body toward Morier and the Heart. As they raced up the hillock of Dridana's hip he glanced back over his shoulder to look for pursuers thinking he would throw it at the rat creatures if they followed in range. Perhaps it would disrupt their spellcasting.

He hoped that was the case.



Morier shuddered at that as if someone had doused him with ice water, but with effort he brought himself under control. His heart was thudding in his chest nonetheless.

"Don't be afraid, Morier," Aphyx cajoled. "I put on this form because I thought you would find it to be the most agreeable. But if you don't like it, there are others..." As she spoke, her voice took on a curious change in tonality and glancing up, the eldritch warrior saw that her face was rotting off her skull. Her mouth was like a sagging leather purse full of corruption. Her eyes were two puncture wounds writhing with maggots.

He looked quickly away, feeling madness rising in him.

"One form is as good as another to me, Morier," Aphyx went on and her voice reversed its transformation until it returned to the womanly tones he'd heard before. "It is you mortals who attach such significance to the appearance of things." Morier took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. She'd resumed her previous form.

"As a mortal, I don't believe that I possess the power to alter the course of events you foresee here," he told her, surreptitiously eyeing his surroundings for some advantage.

"You're probably right," she said. "But it's often surprising just what you mortals are capable of. I was being truthful when I said that you had impressed me making it this far."

"Oh," Morier grunted.

"Well, yes. You succeeded any number of times when I thought you were going to fail," Aphyx said. "For instance, I had Rake try to get even one of those druids' keys from Grandfather Plaque for decades without success. And you got them all in less than a moonsdance. That certainly surprised me!"

"So tell me, what do you want from me?" he asked , looking furtively at the gaping hole in the God Isle some short distance away.

"Nothing, of course," Aphyx replied. "I want you to do nothing. Leave here and go back to your world. Let events unfold in the natural order of things. Do that and you have my word that I will trouble you no more."

Morier said nothing.

"Perhaps I can offer you something else as a reward," she said."I know where Karak is; I could bring him here. Or I could take you to Dr. Akerman; there is a score to settle there is there not? Or Huzair... I could bring you a Huzair. Not the one you knew, but one as real as the Ledare I gave you." He looked at her and saw the dark face split into a toothy smile.

"Or," she said , wagging a finger at him as if he were driving a very hard bargain and she'd just caught on to him."Or, I can just promise not to make you watch me slowly strip the flesh from Maleko and Ledare's bones. Now doesn't that sound better than all that chaos you're thinking of causing?"


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## Jon Potter (Jan 31, 2010)

*[Realms #503] Race to the Finish, part 4*

Ledare and Maleko had scaled the hip and faced the daunting swell of the belly rising up ahead to their left when the air around them sizzled with magic. Maleko looked around frantically, sure in his heart that the rats had caught up to them. Of course, he'd been vigilant about watching for them so it would have been a feat of magic in itself for them to catch up to them unaware, but still he looked for them again.

There was no sign of pursuit however and as energy arced through the air around them he felt the distinct tingle of conjuration magic. He opened his mouth to warn Ledare that they were being forcibly Teleported somewhere before remembering that he carried the Silenced coin. He couldn't warn Ledare of anything.

And the next second it didn't matter anyway. There was a lurch, the bottom dropped out of his stomach and then they were elsewhere.



Morier pondered the options that Aphyx had presented and for a moment the possibilites seemed worth considering. Maybe by walking away he could retain the Heart, keep the power, and possibly bring Huzair back... or find Karak on his own. 

The thought was a fleeting one, however. He forced it from his mind and tried to refocus, looking desperately for any opportunity to avoid further confrontation with Aphyx and get to the spot where the Heart should be. The idea of sacrificing himself to put the Heart and body back together was one he had considered often in his private moments and he had resigned himself to doing just that if the need arose. Now, confronted with that possibility, he wondered if simply jumping from the edge of the stone breast into the giant hole below would do it. It couldn't be more than a dozen paces to the breach, he guessed. Six seconds was all he'd need to make that distance.

If he could manage it, he would try.

"I'm growing bored with this, Morier," the goddess sighed. "You're delaying... hoping for help to swoop in and rescue you, no doubt. But it's not coming! Ayremac and Ixin did what I expected them to do in the Cavern of the Self; they changed their own past and stayed at home to live the simple life." She said this as if it were a grave insult to desire the peace of a loving home. "That's why you lot won't succeed. You're weak!"

"I'm here," Morier said, goading her just a little, hoping to keep her talking while he edged slightly nearer the hole in Dridana's chest.

"Yes. You're here," Aphyx admitted. "But only because I sent another version of you to the same point in time to make sure that the Heart would end up where I wanted it to. Just like I sent Ledare back to face Del with the means to bring my servants here innocently around her neck. It's all gone according to my plan. In truth, the only surprise in all of this is the elf. Maleko didn't try to change his past; he completed the challenge of the Cavern on his own merits without any help from me." She shrugged. "I had hoped that Huzair would make it this far. He would have been easy to manipulate. His appetites were so... predictable."

"You're lying," Morier snapped. "You didn't plan this!"

"Am I?" she laughed lightly and that laughter was more chilling than a berserker's battle cry. "How do you account for it then? How did your own double make his way to the mountaintop test of the Air Walk? And how did Ledare... long dead Ledare... return from a test that Delaroux entered? I think you're too quick to believe in the power of coincidence, Morier. Or perhaps too eager to deny my influence in your life!"

She started to cast a spell then and Morier seized the opportunity to run for the hole. He'd made it nearly as far as the edge when he felt a powerful force grip him, as if a giant, invisible hand had reached down from the void and clutched him in its fist. He struggled but it was useless and though he resisted, the force spun him around until he stared back at Aphyx. Beside her, likewise immobilized by the goddess' magic, Ledare and Maleko hung in the air. Ledare tried to speak but no sound came out and Aphyx laughed at this.

"How nice," she mused. "Maleko's taken the initiative and _Silenced_ them both so that they won't bother our conversation with their incessant screaming. I do imagine they'll scream quite a bit as I slowly draw the life out of them. Or can we end this now? You give me the Heart and I let you all live. I won't ask again without the taste of your friends' souls on my tongue."



When they reappeared a heartbeat later, they were still on the God Isle, though their immediate surroundings were different. The sky before them was dominated by a pair of mountainous stone breasts, demurely covered by equally titanic stone hands. The valley between the mountains was filled with a jagged opening in the rock that was in turn filled with a pane of utter black. Morier was there, his back to them. He was running toward that rent in the stone, but as Maleko watched, the albino jerked stiffly and was hauled bodily off the ground by some invisible force.

Maleko moved experimentally and found that he too was hemmed in by some force he couldn't see. He wasn't completely immobilized, so it wasn't _Paralysis_. There was no visual manifestation, so one of the various _Bigby's Hand_ Evocations was impossible. _Telekinesis_, he decided after three seconds. Definitely _Telekinesis_. 

Ledare tried to raise her sword, but whatever force held Maleko and Morier seemed to have grabbed hold of her as well. She was able to thrash around, but she couldn't seem to bring her weapon up into any sort of meaningful position. She tried to speak, but the _Silence_ drank her words.

Maleko looked at her lips trying to suss out the words, but then his attention was drawn passed her to a woman standing - no, he noted, not standing - hovering. She was hovering half-a-foot above the surface of the God Isle - off to the side. She was beautiful in an abstract, otherworldy kind of way, and utterly naked, but her eyes were what caught his attention. They were dark, at once a poisonous green and the yawning black of an open grave, and they swam with madness. She smiled a carrion bird's smile and  something seemed to emanate from her, a force that palpably struck both Maleko and Ledare filling them with Primal Dread.

They would have run if they could, but instead, they just writhed there, suspended by the magic of a being both knew to be a god.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Feb 1, 2010)

Jon Potter said:


> She shrugged. "I had hoped that Huzair would make it this far. He would have been easy to manipulate. His appetites were so... predictable."




Heh, predictable in their chaos. 

Oh for a few loadstones now.... that's a fun telekinesis breaker.

Aphyx gets her marionetes to dance for her now. Whether this series of events were planned or not, they are now. I think I hear the Jack-in-the-box turning in the distance.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 1, 2010)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> I think I hear the Jack-in-the-box turning in the distance.




That's very generous of you, HM. What you really hear is a mortally-wounded campaign dragging itself toward the finish line, inch-by-grueling-inch.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 8, 2010)

*[Realms #504] No Way Out*

Morier sagged in the spell's grip, the hopeless weight of despair finding a home on his heart.

"But who to sample first, eh Morier?" the goddess asked, eying Ledare and Maleko as if they were entrees on a buffet. "The elf intrigues me; as I said he's a bit of an unknown in all this. But I think it'll have to be Ledare. Sweet, sweet Ledare. So like the one that my Death Knight killed." She sighed and then turned back to Morier, a smile on her lips. "He almost killed you too, you know. If Karak had healed her instead of you... Well let's just say that things would have turned out differently."



Maleko and Ledare watched the silent exchange without understanding. Ledare struggled impotently against the force that held her pinned, but her sword seemed useless. If she'd had Ravager, she mused, then maybe she could accomplish something. But she didn't have Ravager and even if she did there was no guarantee that she'd be able to do anything differently. But she couldn't give up. She'd never quite forgiven herself for giving up on getting the Keys, and she wasn't about to surrender again while there was fight left in her.

Maleko glanced down at his hand where the Elcadian silver crown winked, the anchor for his Silence spell. Then he looked up at the woman's back, noticing for the first time that what he had taken for a leather cloak draped over her shoulders was actually a pair of neatly-folded, bat-like wings. Judging the distance as well as he could, he tossed the coin, hoping that it would land near her feet. His aim was extremely poor, however and the coin fell mid-way between them and to her right. It landed on its edge, bounced once and then spiraled to a stop, still close enough that both he and Ledare were still _Silenced_.

The goddess turned, her unearthly visage twisting with indescribable rage and they saw her as Morier had briefly glimpsed her earlier. Her face hung with the mold-blackened flesh of a corpse, fresh from a wet grave. Squirming maggots spilled from her gaping mouth in a hideous shower as she bellowed silently at them. And her eyes... her eyes were gone, replaced by two dark sockets within which worms writhed. Insects fat and dark and disgusting crawled across her flesh and swarmed about her in a cloud. The smell was most unpleasant.

Both Ledare and Maleko screamed like children though no one could hear them. But their mind-blasting terror was so complete that even if someone had been able, neither would have cared. They felt a wash of disorienting madness come upon them as their spiritually-limited mortal minds tried unsuccessfully to encompass the manifold emanations given off by the angry goddess. Their souls shrank away from the assault, seeking an escape that their bodies were denied by the spell that held them. [1]



Morier took the opportunity, while Aphyx was distracted, to make one last attempt at breaking free. He strained against her magical might, but it was impossible; her spell's grip was just too strong.

And then she turned, her eyes searching the ground for the coin. Finding it, she used her power to hurl it away. Sound returned and with it came the goddess' composure. She sighed, her face once more beautiful as she regarded the eldritch warrior.

"I think I've changed my mind," she said. "I'm going to drink the elf first. It'll be more fun to watch both you and Ledare lose another friend to this foolish crusade of yours. Unless, of course, you want to end it all right now and give me the Heart."


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


[1] That's _Energy Drain_ to you and me. Five levels of _Energy Drain_ actually.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 14, 2010)

*[Realms #505] The One Where Everybody dies*

At Aphyx's words, a look of panic crossed Maleko's face. "No!" he pleaded. "Don't drink my blood!" Aphyx chuckled and glanced over her shoulder at the mage-priest in a coquettish manner.

"Your blood?" she smirked. "I'm going to drink your soul, little elf, not your blood. There'll be no afterlife for you, I'm afraid. No touching reunion with your god. Nethlar, isn't it? Just like Ledare, here, will never receive Flor's waiting embrace." Ledare shook with impotent fury, unable to break Aphyx's magical grip, but unwilling to stop trying.

"Don't give it to her, Morier," the half-elf commanded earning a reproachful look from the goddess.

"You mortals and your pathetic hope," she mused cruelly. "Morier WILL give me the Heart. That's a fact. The only question is whether he'll give it to me before or after I drain you two dry."

"No!" Maleko pleaded. "If you need me to kill Morier for you and give you the Heart, I'll do it." Ledare turned and gaped at Maleko.

"What?!" she demanded, writhing against the magical hold with renewed vigor. It was no use, of course; the goddess' might was unbeatable. Aphyx smiled.

"Of course," she chuckled again, a sadistic mirth twinkling in her dark eyes. "Why, you are unpredictable, aren't you? You were too scared to act inside the Gate of Duality. You are the weak link that I need to break."

"No! Stay strong, Maleko!" Ledare pleaded and Maleko hung his head.

"I am sorry," he said with shame. Morier stared in disbelief. He had thought more of the elf and a small, involuntary groan of defeat escape his lips. Aphyx's smile broadened unnaturally, full of teeth and eager, it seemed, to feed.

With a casual gesture the goddess released Maleko as Ledare struggled uselessly. There had to be a way to break free, the one-time Janissary thought. Aphyx couldn't be all-powerful, could she? If she were then why bother talking with them at all? Why not just TAKE the Heart? Why not...? Why... Not...?

Ledare's mouth dropped open as she realized what Maleko had already sussed out a few moments prior. There could be only one reason why Aphyx would parlay for the Heart rather than simply taking it from them: because she couldn't. Somehow the Heart contained power that kept Aphyx from just attacking Morier and ripping it out of him as she'd done with Dridana eons before. And that meant that they had an advantage, slim though it was.

While Ledare pieced this together in her mind, Maleko hesitantly approached Morier and drew his wand. He raised it slowly, deliberately, and pointed it toward the drow. His features set with grim resolve, the elf stared at the helpless Morier and spoke the command words, quickly turning at the last moment to fire the missiles instead at Aphyx!

The _Magic Missiles_ dissipated harmlessly against Aphyx's titanic Spell Resistance and she laughed.

"Well that was embarrassing," she mocked and reached out a finger. Before Maleko could do anything to avoid it, she had brushed it lightly across his chest. He felt a coldness move through him as the goddess' finger came away trailing a wisp of ectoplasmic soul-stuff. She brought it toward her mouth and a nightmarish tongue, well over a foot long and covered with festering boils lapped up the tiny bit of Maleko. The elf staggered, barely alive and tried feebly to raise the wand.

"Use the Heart!" Ledare screamed at Morier.

"Head for the hole," Maleko squeaked as if finishing Ledare's sentence.

Morier did as he was bade, drawing on the power of the Heart. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble as he did so, as if the use of the Heart were awakening Dridana from her death-like slumber. Aphyx looked at him and her face twisted with emotion - rage or fear, Morier couldn't tell which. Then her concentration faltered and he felt the grip on him slacken.

Ledare felt it too and she squirmed free, falling unexpectedly to the stone. She tried to land on her feet, but the shaking ground sent her sprawling. Maleko, who was already standing managed to maintain his balance, though beside him Morier fell awkwardly to the ground. It didn't matter though, as next moment his _Meld With Stone_ spell took effect and he vanished completely into the body of the God Isle.

"Noooo!!!" Aphyx screamed and as she did so, her body seemed to dissolve like a rotting husk. Her human features fell away, shredded by the writhing mass of jellied tentacles that thrashed within. Both Ledare and Maleko looked at the thing that was Aphyx and felt their minds pushed to the very brink of sanity and then thrust violently beyond into the twisting darkness where madness dwells. Before darkness swallowed all sensation and all thought they both heard a woman's voice speaking sweetly to them.

"I am with you," she said and then they heard no more.


---------​

Almost no one realized what the heroes had done. There were no memorials erected to honor their sacrifice and their names did not at once become legend. Because they had fought for so long in the shadow of a spreading plague with the specter of complete societal collapse looming large over the land, their names went unremembered by most. Their actions, however, were felt across the Prime... or at least the tiny sliver of the Prime Material Plane that was home to the Realms.

In that place, their victory over Aphyx on the Astral Plane was felt far and wide by virtually every living thing on Orune. Even if they did not know to thank the companions, thousands owed their lives to those unremembered few.



In the town of Frothingham in Pellham a man of singular beauty looked out his window at a cloudless blue sky and dreamed of flying. He wondered briefly if the gods might have more in store for him than the life of a bureaucrat and an unexplainable pang of regret touched his heart. Then his wife called him from the kitchen and he quickly forgot the fleeting emotion as he scooped his children into his arms and headed in for breakfast.



Further north and to the east, a group of adventurers milled around the morning campfire. Krint, the dwarf, busied himself with the last scraps of food and the dregs of Padgett's coffee while Antinua prepared her day's spells from a green-bound tome. Nearby, Shamalin intently watched Amaury spar with Deas. She admired the graceful way in which the former darted lithely around his more heavily-armored opponent and the Mercybringer did not bother hiding her smile as she did so.



More northerly still, in the warren of Battle City's back-alleys Janissary Draelond shoved two manacled separatists out through the doorway of their safe house into the waiting arms of his fellow Janissaries. Thanks to a well-executed undercover sting the safe house hadn't turned out to be all that safe for these disloyal enemies of the crown. The rebels were former members of the King's Legion though, and they hadn't been easy to capture. It had taken a rare combination of guile and muscle to earn their trust and break the group's back from within. Omar Lagasse smiled as his large protégé lifted both men up by their collars and tossed them into the back of the prisoner transport.



Far to the east, in forbidden Hule three wizards stood in the incense-choked air in the uppermost chamber of the Tower of Heavens. It had cost the elder pair a princely sum to gain audience with the blind prophet and as mages they each risked their very lives by coming to the land of Cretia the All-Seeing. But with three words from his ancient lips the Chosen of Othmus made it all seem worthwhile.

"Morier has succeeded," the prophet rasped at which point Angwyn ap-Llewellyn clapped his thin hands and let out a whoop of excitement. He turned to the second man and grinned.

"I knew it had to be him!" the white-bearded wizard beamed, his blue eyes twinkling like sapphires in the dim-lit chamber. Garan-Zak nodded back at the man, patting him affectionately on the shoulder.

"Yes, Angwyn, you're very clever. And well too that you kept the Timeheart Medallion all these years or you might never have realized that the time stream had been altered," the swarthy wizard said. He turned to the third and scowled. "And there goes your chance to aid him in his quest, as well. I told you to go with him back in Reaping when you had the chance, but you had to go visit the Pleasure Prison of the B'thuvian Demon Whore for a full year!" Huzair grinned and leaned forward to light a cigar from one of the many candles ensconced around the room.

"Look, the stuff I learned there Morier can't teach me," he mused and exhaled a column of smoke. Garan-Zak shook his head disapprovingly.

"You had the chance to save the world!" the elder mage scoffed. "And instead you fritter your life away."

"My brother always used to say that time was of the essence," the blind prophet croaked. "But that was a long, long time ago." Huzair gave the withered old man a look that seemed capable of setting him ablaze and then he snarled.

"Thanks for the words of wisdom, old man," he said, pointing his cigar at the Chosen of Othmus. "I expect this kind of crap from Garan-Zak; he always did think that ap-Llewellyn got the better apprentice, But I don't have to stand here and take it from some dusty old relic hiding on the ass-end of nowhere."

Then he turned and hurried from the chamber. Once he was down at the base of the tower, far from Garan-Zak and Angwyn ap-Llewellyn he clutched the balustrade in anger and fumed silently for a time. When he had his anger under control he reached into his Valiant Vessel bag and pulled out a copy of  'Chronomancy and the Fixed Prime Fallacy'.

"I just fritter my life away, huh?" he snorted smoke. "Well, we'll just see about that, old man. We'll just see about that."


*The End*

----------------------------------------​
OOC- And that's it. At last we close the book on The Realms of Enlightenment. At least for the time being. Thanks to everyone who followed along all these years. It's been fun for me and I hope for you as well.


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## darkhall-nestor (Feb 16, 2010)

what do you get for resurrecting a god?


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## Hairy Minotaur (Feb 16, 2010)

Jon Potter said:


> "Yes, Angwyn, you're very clever. And well too that you kept the Timeheart Medallion all these years or you might never have realized that the time stream had been altered," the swarthy wizard said. He turned to the third and scowled. "And there goes your chance to aid him in his quest, as well. I told you to go with him back in Reaping when you had the chance, but you had to go visit the Pleasure Prison of the B'thuvian Demon Whore for a full year!" Huzair grinned and leaned forward to light a cigar from one of the many candles ensconced around the room.
> 
> "Look, the stuff I learned there Morier can't teach me," he mused and exhaled a column of smoke. Garan-Zak shook his head disapprovingly.
> 
> ...




Look, if no one was keeping the B'thuvian Demon Whore busy for a full year then imagine the horror she would have wrought in her breeding attempts! Any self-serving lady's man would've done the same thing. You should be so lucky to know someone who is versed AND practiced in the sexual arts of the Neo-Otyugh.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 16, 2010)

darkhall-nestor said:


> what do you get for resurrecting a god?




A warm feeling? A pat on the back? A lollipop?

I didn't really have to decide that since we ended the campaign in order to try something else. Although I was thinking along the line of a free template, a level-up, or something on that level, pretty much anything they cared to ask for would have been entertained.

Ledare could have gotten Del back, for example. Or at least a version of Del.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 16, 2010)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> Any self-serving lady's man would've done the same thing. You should be so lucky to know someone who is versed AND practiced in the sexual arts of the Neo-Otyugh.




Huzair's very... open-minded.


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## Neurotic (Feb 16, 2010)

Becoming Chosen One or demigod in the service?

Excellent story, it's unfortunate you had to close it up.

Congratulations!


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## Jon Potter (Feb 17, 2010)

Neurotic said:


> Becoming Chosen One or demigod in the service?




That would definitely have been fitting, particularly for Morier. But the problem with that is that I wouldn't want to force that kind of tie on a character. 



> Excellent story, it's unfortunate you had to close it up.
> 
> Congratulations!




I'm glad that you've enjoyed it. It's definitely been fun to write and post.


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## Kristeneve (Feb 19, 2010)

Ledare could have gotten Del back, for example. Or at least a version of Del.[/quote]


Hmmmmm....somehow I think I knew this.  It is fitting.  Duly noted and filed away for future use.


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## Hairy Minotaur (Feb 23, 2010)

So Jon, what did you do with all that "free" time on Sunday since you didn't post? Does it feel odd yet? 

Actually a more fitting ending would have seen the goddess volunteering the party to be her champions and having them fan out to re-establish her faith and clear the way for her to reclaim her place on the prime. Gods have a funny way of taking a prize and turning it into work.


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## carrot (Feb 23, 2010)

Ahh great story! Just curious but what were the final character stats like?


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## Jon Potter (Feb 24, 2010)

Hairy Minotaur said:


> So Jon, what did you do with all that "free" time on Sunday since you didn't post?




I worked on my new, non-D&D game, of course.



> Does it feel odd yet?




Oh hell yeah. I've been doing this every week for several years. And now, suddenly... I'm not.



> Actually a more fitting ending would have seen the goddess volunteering the party to be her champions and having them fan out to re-establish her faith and clear the way for her to reclaim her place on the prime. Gods have a funny way of taking a prize and turning it into work.




Maybe that *is* what happened... or will happen if we decide to pick it back up in the future as Kristeneve suggested we might. I really did try to leave the door as wide open as I could under the circumstances.


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## Jon Potter (Feb 24, 2010)

carrot said:


> Ahh great story! Just curious but what were the final character stats like?




Thank you very much, carrot.

The characters weren't really very high-level at all, due mainly to character (and player) attrition. Morier was the highest level - at 10th I believe. And he had a Divine Avatar template that made him quite durable.

The other characters were a bit behind him on the power-curve.


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## Kristeneve (Feb 24, 2010)

Actually a more fitting ending would have seen the goddess volunteering the party to be her champions and having them fan out to re-establish her faith and clear the way for her to reclaim her place on the prime. Gods have a funny way of taking a prize and turning it into work. [/quote]

*
A splendid idea!*


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