Primal magic is a talent typically requiring the focused study of a wizard and the temperance of a saint. It's also not a talent that the House holds in particularly high regard, given its difficult-to-tame nature.
And so, coming from a noble line of practiced spellcasters, it came as no great surprise when Father discovered that I possessed a natural affinity to it (along with the will, or as he said, the "reckless abandon" to use it), he was none too thrilled. So disenchanted was he, that it may have contributed to the reason I began the familial rite of passage when I did. An educated mind would note the timing as suspect. However, the typical mind is rather content to believe only what its eyes tell it.
And so I had set off, decades earlier in my life than is typical for the alchemists, clerics and wizards of the House. Not exactly rare for the occasional sorcerer, however. That said, sorcerers are themselves a rarity in the House. In retrospect, I can better understand the reason Father had acted as he did, for which I bestow unto him neither forgiveness nor accusation. It simply is.
Some weeks ago, a courier had found my manservant, Patsy, and passed along to him a letter intended for myself. He told Patsy that a number of these parcels had been sent across the land, with specific instruction to return, regardless of success in reaching me.
I had intentionally gone a great distance as to prevent most forms of scrying from being particularly useful. Father had made up his mind in regards to my destiny (and perhaps punishment for my hubris), and I was ready for it. As such, it came as something of a surprise to receive a message of any sort from the House, even more-so than running into the noble Foxglove, one so familiar with the practices of the Kane House this far from home. I had initially thought that perhaps Father had regretted his decision and bade for my return or forgiveness. But instead, to my merriment, I found that Father had thought the same I had about the experience.
The letter had reached me a bit worse for wear: its seal crumbling but still intact, if only just. But the book that came with it was in reasonable condition, and so I decided to look into what Father thought must needs enter my possession.
In his letter, Father stated his continuing concern for my well-being in regards to my primal affinity, but did so this time without scorn. He also said that the contents of the book — should I have temperance enough to study it — would offer his perspective of wielding chaos as an augment to my other inherent abilities. Naturally, the expectation was either that it were to be a deposition of the dangers of primal use or a fantasy highlighting some hero's fall, precipitated by his overuse of it. But it turned out to be neither. Instead, it was a copy of what appeared to be Father's personal journal from right before he himself ventured into the world.
The journal itself was clearly not the original — too new. Yet, it had at the same time it was also obviously been penned by his hand. Evidently, he felt the contents within were too personal or valuable for another scribe to know. Just how many of these copies he made wrote, and scattered across the land in search of me, is not presently discernible.
On the surface, his stories and musings appear much like my own: his then-present disapproval of the practice of sending heirs out into the world, as well as the melancholy surrounding his loss of his older brother when he, too, was sent out into the world. In great detail, he wrote about the injustice that was his brother's fate, that no amount of his body was ever found, nor even the location of his fall known. Father had loved his brother greatly, enough to dedicate his journey to answering the questions surrounding his presumed demise.
As I continued reading, I noticed something of a memetic quality to the writing. As I read on, the contents of the journal appeared to dissolve from a personal log on the feelings and events of his adventure, to densely packed notes; a dedicated study of his own positioning into power. After studying the notes within for some time, it became quite apparent to me why Father so derided my primalist activities. He had, in a sense, studied and dedicated every waking hour of his to the very antithesis of my atunement. Instead of attempting to shape a semblance of order from a chaotic maelstrom and into a spell, he instead sought to take the original shape of the spell and, through a disciplined and highly ordered mind, shape it into something else while it was being cast; the basic shape would remain the same, but the properties encapsulated could be greatly enhanced.
I have mused on Father's notes for many weeks now and have attempted to make enough sense of them to duplicate the results myself. I had, of course, sought to temper the chaos stemming from my atunement, aiming to more predictably shape the spell, or failing that, to shape the reality of its failure to my advantage, at least. Today, however, I feel I have the answer at long last. During one of my attempts to fuse the highly ordered into the highly disordered, I ended up creating more chaos in its failure than ever before.
There were no survivors.
Thankfully, my targets weren't ones I had any intention of leaving alive, but I digress. I too was affected, and now stand much shorter than I used to. And, in being thus affected, I have realised that the basis of these two schools of thought are inherently contradictory. Father's method of shaping requires a highly ordered mind. And unfortunately, while primalism seeks to shape things into something more ordered, it requires the mindset to be in a complete disarray in order to channel it. There is simply no way of switching my mindset to a well-structured thought before whatever spell I'm attempting must be released.
This breakthrough is perhaps the last piece I require, to put Father's work into practice. Instead of combining two paragons of power, I shall wield chaos in my left hand, and order in my right. The nature of the world itself, after all, lies somewhere in between. And in between, I will have true understanding of it.
What Father's purpose was for sending me his notes remains uncertain. Whether it's a personal appeal, to try to get me to not rely on the unpredictable, or an attempt to pass along familial knowledge as inheritance is not mine to know.
Nevertheless, tomorrow I will be able to put my theories to practice once again. And should I be successful, I will be one step closer to my goal.
Mod Abuse: A Rise of the Runelords Campaign by Eliphal
30 posts
• Page 2 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
Part V, Musings on the Research of Rhothomir Kane III
by Luna » 12 Feb 2015 03:54
- Luna
- Site Admin
- Posts: 7
- Joined: 16 Dec 2012 01:57
PART VI: Divine Intervention
by Gielnor » 16 Feb 2015 23:30
FROM THE JOURNAL OF BARUN BURADUM
DAY 8
Normally I’d be ashamed to say I’m writing from the confines of my bed, but considering the circumstances I’m just happy to be alive. Hell, by all accounts no one should be able to tell the tale I’m about to put down. And yet by a combination of uncharacteristic competence and His divine grace, here we all are, and our foe is dead.
After a night’s rest in the dungeon’s antechamber, we descended the hidden stairs into the depths below. We immediately noticed that the entire floor was sloped to the west, as if the dungeon had tilted before the upper levels were finished. A quick study of the masonry confirmed this, as the stonework was both finer and much older that the level above. I also noticed that the air on this floor was much more pleasant than it had any right to be in an ancient ruin. Talathel determined the entire floor was enchanted with a transmutation aura that kept the air as fresh and cool as a brisk autumn day.
We entered the first hall, and found a magnificent vaulted space flanked by rows of statues. The statues were eerily similar to the one we found in the catacombs: in one hand they grasped a book, while the other hand held a long, curved glaive (not removable this time, despite Kane’s best efforts). However, every single statue had been defaced to make their faces unrecognizable. Someone clearly had a bone to pick with this guy.
We approached the next door and revealed a hallway, flanked by a pair of alcove’d statues of the same style as the ones in the previous room, again defaced. What we immediately noticed is the peculiarly polished tile of stone directly between the two statues. Not wanting to risk our own lives before even getting into a proper fight, we sent in the treant to test out the pad.
By the way, somehow the tree had doubled in size overnight, and was now scraping the ceiling with every step. I’m not sure what Talathel is feeding that thing, but he may want to give some to Kane.
The instant the tree set its weight on the pad, a mighty clattering noise came from the ceiling. Somehow the tree managed to dart its massive bulk back toward us as two portcullises crashed down on either side of the statues. The statues suddenly came to life and thoroughly blended the space in between the gates with their glaives. Anything trapped inside would have been cut to ribbons. To finish the show, the statues returned to their resting positions as the floor gave way to a pit below, before sealing up and raising the gates once again.
So, shiny floor panel is bad. Good to know.
Orik remembered that the room just beyond the hallway has a lever in it that will disable the trap. Entering that room alive became our top priority.
Everyone agreed to try and leap over the trap, with me going last since I’m shite at jumping even without two hundred pounds of gear. Ty bounded over the tile with ease, and Kane just managed to clear it despite his size. Talathel just barely clipped the tile as he crossed, but twisted out of the way as the portcullis slammed shut once again. There wasn’t any more room in the hallway at that point, so they waited for the trap to cycle again so they could escape should anything threatening come out of the next room. Ty opened the door, and though I couldn’t see inside the room I could tell whoever was there was threatening as all three immediately started scrambling backwards, Kane leaping back into the statue chamber as Orik and I prepared to strike the first thing to come out of that room.
At that moment a familiar and sickening howl echoed through the room. This time around, both Orik and the treant managed to overcome their fear, but both Ty and Talathel freaked the fuck out. In a panic Ty dashed across the trap, despite my yells to jump, shutting the gates and trapping the druid alone on the other side. Cornered, Talathel scrambled out the door behind him as a figure sprinted across the hallway. My glimpse was brief, but I could tell in an instant who it was. A flowing crown of shocking silver hair capped her lithe, beautiful form, but her beauty was scarred by a diabolic set of ash black armor, and an arm warped and deformed into a monstrous demonic talon.
The figure who had charged out of the room was Nualia. And our barely armored druid was about to face her alone.
Nualia wouldn’t be hounding Talathel completely unharrassed, however. As soon as she crossed the hallway, Kane raised both his hands and with a shock of energy sent a barrage of tiny bolts out of each of his fingertips. The bolts passed between the portcullis bars and slammed into Nualia’s exposed midriff. Kane smirked as he saw the demoness wince.
I’d like to take a moment to make a public service announcement to any young women wanting to take up a career in adventuring, just in case I ever decide to publish this as a memoir. When shopping for protective armor, for your own safety, please use armor that covers your entire torso. Yes, yes, I understand that you want to show off those abs you’ve built from cleaving goblins in half over the summer, but that stylish breastplate tube-top isn’t going to do you any good when an angry cultist stabs you in the kidney. Same goes for all you guys who want to show off your pecs, which are conveniently located just above your lungs. Remember kids: dress smart to fight smart!
Anyway, clearly Talathel was about to get his ass handed to him, so I scrambled toward the gates waiting for them to open, praying that I could get across before the druid was gutted. Obviously I couldn’t see what was going on in the next room, but I could hear a lot of struggling, and at one point the hallway started to flood with a stream of… spiders, I think? I don’t want to think of where the hell Talathel’s been keeping that many spiders. Suddenly I heard a shout from behind me.
“STEP BACK!”
I pressed my back against the wall as Kane threw one of his flame balls through the portcullises and into the hallway. Again, I lost sight of it as it rounded the corner, but there was a distinct burning smell and a loud thundering noise from the next room. Apparently Talathel somehow was not dead yet. Finally, with a loud clatter, the portcullises slit back open. I let forth a war cry as I took a running start toward the trap.
… And immediately tripped on the leading edge of the flagstone, toppling square into the middle of the pressure plate.
In a panic I heard the gates start to slide downward again. Without thinking, I tucked in my arms and rolled across the floor, reaching the opposite side just as the portcullis crashed behind me. I stood up as quickly as my armor would let me, using Fury as a handhold. Talathel had apparently heard the trap cycle open too, as he came running into the hallway as soon as I got onto my feet. He was clearly alive, but Nualia’s bastard sword had done a number on him. He quickly pointed to the doorway he came from and shouted at the mage, “KEEP IT ROLLING THAT WAY!”
I quickly grabbed his arm and ushered him behind me. “Stand back, lad!” I shouted, stepping toward the door he had just emerged from. “I’ll keep this angry broad occupied for ye-"
I was interrupted as Nualia’s forgotten Yeth Hound suddenly leaped from the opposite room, aiming for the druid. I quickly shoved Talathel out of the way and raised my shield just in time to block the incoming bite. Just as suddenly Nualia charged in from my other side. She swung down hard with her giant blade, but the strike bounced off my pauldron. I grinned as Fury began to glow with holy light.
“You picked tha wrong dwarf ta mess with, lass.”
With a great heave I slammed the hammer into her side, throwing her against the wall. She grimaced and coughed, but then grinned manically as her grip tightened on her sword. She brought the blade down on top of me again, this time just missing the pauldron and digging the edge into my shoulder. Obviously distracted, I felt another shooting pain in my leg as her damned dog dug its teeth into my leg, pulling hard as it tried to topple me over. One does not simply topple a dwarf, however.
I heard another clatter behind me as the trap opened once again. Talathel leaped back into the relative safety of the statuary hall as Ty jumped in to take his place. However, I was getting tired of getting attacked from both sides, so I turned toward the archer as I whacked the dog on the head.
“Get back! I need a clear space!”
Ty nodded and leaped back across the trapped floor, and with my rear finally open I backpedaled away from the flanking doors. The hound was the first to step into the hall to try and get at me once again… just as I wanted. I hunkered down behind my shield as a storm of arrows and magefire flew over my head: the dog had just stepped into the line of sight of the rest of the party. Within moments the beast was engulfed in magical flame and fell limply to the floor.
At that moment Nualia entered the hall in a rage, raising her sword high over her head and bringing it down hard. This time, however, I wasn’t distracted by a giant dog on my opposite side and thus raised my shield in time to deflect the blow. As her sword hit the edge of my shield, she shouted and stumbled backwards as a flurry of Ty’s arrows pierced her torso. I attempted to get another swing at her, but she smiled coyly as she danced out of the way. Her smirk was short-lived, however, as she was then struck by Kane’s disarm spell.
Now, I’m not sure if Kane had tweaked the spell to do this, or if it was just his magic going off the deep end again, but the spell seemed to interpret “disarm” as “remove her demon arm”. With a fiery blast and a spray of blood, Nualia shrieked in pain as her transformed appendage disintegrated. She briefly grasped the stump before falling to the ground. She was dead from blood loss before I reached her.
Before doing anything else, I stepped over her body and into her sanctum, finding the trap switch and pulling it before signaling the others to cross.
As always, Kane took plenty of time to examine both Nualia’s corpse and her study. Her breastplate was quite well made, but was designed to incorporate frightening demon claws and an infernal red glow. Not exactly the kind of armor a paladin should be seen strolling through town in. Also, I’m not a C-cup. As Kane sifted through Nualia’s belongings, Orik bent down and examined her enchanted bastard sword.
“… Y’know, I’d be willing to forego my fee in exchange for this sword, if you’re interested,” he said, turning the blade in his hands. Kane seemed appalled by the idea of exchanging a sword worth a thousand gold for a couple days’ worth of mercenary pay, but was willing to let Orik use the blade until the dungeon was clear, at least. Nualia’s body plundered, we stepped back into her study.
The circular room was lined with rows upon rows of shelves, stuffed with all manner of bizarre and unsightly curios: human skulls, strange gemstones, pickled appendages in brine jars, and unidentifiable plants to name just a few. Kane rifled through the mess on the desk and soon uncovered a journal not unlike the one we had pulled from Tsuto. I won’t go over the details; all I say is I felt a pang in my heart as I read what turned an innocent girl into this monster.
Kane, however, took particular interest in the later sections of the diary, especially those concerning the catacombs we had recently cleared. Nualia called the glowing altar we ran into a “Runewell of Wrath,” a powerful artifact powered by the torments of enraged mortal souls. She noted, however, that the Runewell shouldn’t be used until it is properly suffused with enough wrathful energy, and that should it be drained before that time she was not certain how, or if, it could be reactivated. Kane shot me a smirk as he read that last passage aloud before turning his attention to the centerpiece of the room.
Said centerpiece was a large stone basin filled with pure, shimmering water. Kane displayed his usual reckless abandon by immediately scooping the water with his palms and drinking deeply from them. He stood still for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought, then turned toward me and seemed to consider me for another few moments. After an uncomfortable long and awkward stare, Kane shrugged and turned on his heel toward the door, pulling a small notebook and quill from his robes as he strolled into the hall.
Writing off the social faux pas, we followed him into the room where Talathel had been fighting the demoness. I decided not to ask him about the dozens of small black spiders still skittering around the floor. At the end of the hall was a giant stone column, carved into the shape of a massive stack of coins. Talathel spent a few minutes scouring the pillar, and before long he uncovered two small, coin-sized slots on either side of the shaft. After trying a few different combinations (since we’re all cheap bastards), Talathel dropped a pair of gold coins into the slots and stepped back as the pillar rumbled and descended into the floor. Kane tapped my shoulder and whispered a single word into my ear.
“Greed.”
Then I understood why the statues in the hallway looked so similar to the one in the catacombs.
A brief exploration of the rooms beyond the pillar confirmed Kane’s theory. As the door to the first of the three rooms opened, I reflexively grasped my hammer as a ghostly face appeared sitting on a grand throne.
The spectre did not react to our intrusion, however. In fact, it seemed that we had stumbled into it mid-speech, and our barging in had not stopped it in the slightest. The ghost’s figure was similar to the statues that flanked him, but somehow his face too was unreadable as if worn away by the ages. Kane walked straight up to the spectre and inspected it as it continued to mutter in a strange tongue. He briefly announced that it was not a ghost proper, but a sort of permanent illusion spell, before stepping away from the throne toward the next room. He made a point of quickly tapping the book on one of the statues, and with a glance I could clearly see the familiar figure of the seven-pointed star on its cover.
The second room did not contain much of note. It looked to be a sort of armory, filled with all manner of strange and disturbing sharpened implements. Kane scraped away the valuables before approaching the final set of doors. The insets were intricately carved with a grand bas relief, and at the center was a small indentation in the shape of the seven-pointed star. Kane knocked on the door, and was answered by a heavy slam. We decided to try and find the key to this room, because what could go wrong?
We doubled back through the dropped pillar and approached the last unexplored room at the southern end of the hall. These double doors too were intricately carved, but with a pair of imposing skeletons instead of delicate runes. Not knowing a bad omen when we see one, we shoved open the doors and ventured inside… except for Kane. He notably stayed outside while the rest of us moved on.
The room was apparently a burial chamber, lined with about half a dozen dark, upright sarcophagi, silently staring at us from their shadowy alcoves. The room was eerily silent. Suddenly, I thought I heard a faint scraping noise coming from one of the coffins. Carefully lifting my lantern, I slowly approached the worn face of the nearest sarcophagus and held the light to its face.
Then, with an unearthly screech, a great billowing mass of darkness surged from the coffin’s lid and passed through my frame. I felt a terrible chill as my armor suddenly felt heavier on my body. Glancing over, I could see that both Orik and Ty were being attacked by a matching pair of shadows. We were in deep trouble.
Orik attempted to lunge at the spectres with his loaned magic sword, but with his strength drained the shadow easily dodged his blow. I surged another holy blessing into my hammer, but like Orik I was slowed by my new weakness and swung wide. The monster grasped me again and I could feel my muscles wither inside my skin. I realized with a start this was how I was going to die.
The shadow suddenly released me with a sudden screech, clawing at itself as a ray of red light struck it. I gasped and fell to the ground, looking over to the source of the ray: Kane. With a burst of light Kane instantly blinked into the corner of the room, and as the shadow before me dissipated into nothing the sorcerer shot a great gout of flame from his hands, incinerating the shadow that had been hounding Tyvelian. Ty took advantage of the reprieve and limped out of the room, clearly drained of energy and his usefulness nil with his lack of magic.
Kane smirked and looked toward me. “Do I have to kill everything today?”
However, this still left a single shadow in the room, and it towered over Orik as he attempted to back out of the room. He had hardly moved a step when the figure plunged its incorporeal hand into his chest. With a hideous moan, Orik withered and collapsed to the floor, dead. Thrilled with its upcoming thrall, the shadow turned in my direction and started making its way toward me.
I did not yield. Even with the mage’s intervention, another attack from the shadow would kill me and turn my corpse into one of its own. And then my partners… hell, maybe I can even call some of them friends… would be struck down in turn. But I wasn’t going down without a fight. With what little strength I could muster, I set my hammer on the ground and slowly marched toward the shadow. As it began to rise over me, I lifted my hands and reached toward it.
“Come and get me, bastard. I… will not… fail.” I said, and grasped the spirit. At that instant, a booming voice echoed within my soul.
“NO. YOU WILL NOT.”
The room filled with a grand golden light, and with a final terrible screech the shadow was blasted into oblivion as a glorious surge of Torag’s might surged through my body. The entire room was suffused with His energy, and as the monster disappeared a wave of light continued through it into Orik’s withered corpse. The color in his skin suddenly returned, and as the light finally faded he gasped backed to life, before slumping into unconsciousness. I stood in shock for a few moments as the energy dissipated, before the full weight of my armor finally pressed back down on my weakened frame and I fell onto my haunches, desperately catching my breath.
Despite my exhaustion, I looked toward Kane and summoned a grin.
“Looks like ye don’t have ta kill everythin’ today after all, elf.”
-----------------------------------------
We were all alive, but there was no way we could continue exploring with Orik unconscious and both Tyvelian and I drained to the vitality of elderly men. Handing the mercenary’s limp body to the treant, I gingerly leaned on my hammer as a walking stick as we climbed the stairway back toward the surface.
And so I think you’ll excuse my laziness as I lounge in my bed with a cup of Talathel’s herbal tea on the nightstand. The tea actually isn’t bad, though I’m not sure the druid should know I’m spiking it with rum. Dwarven habits die hard. As it turns out the druid’s knowledge of natural remedies extends quite a bit beyond the recreational sort, and with his help and some bed rest I expect to be back to fighting shape within a couple of days. Even Orik, despite being on the edge of death’s door not a few hours ago, seems to be healing up nicely. Unfortunately for him Kane insisted on taking Nualia’s sword off of him when we dragged him out, but I’ll see to asking the elf if we can at least give him some hazard pay.
Man literally died for us, after all.
Cheers, Torag. I have no idea why You’ve granted such grace to such a lowly son of yours, but if I ever doubted you before, I’ll never do it again.
-BARUN
DAY 8
Normally I’d be ashamed to say I’m writing from the confines of my bed, but considering the circumstances I’m just happy to be alive. Hell, by all accounts no one should be able to tell the tale I’m about to put down. And yet by a combination of uncharacteristic competence and His divine grace, here we all are, and our foe is dead.
After a night’s rest in the dungeon’s antechamber, we descended the hidden stairs into the depths below. We immediately noticed that the entire floor was sloped to the west, as if the dungeon had tilted before the upper levels were finished. A quick study of the masonry confirmed this, as the stonework was both finer and much older that the level above. I also noticed that the air on this floor was much more pleasant than it had any right to be in an ancient ruin. Talathel determined the entire floor was enchanted with a transmutation aura that kept the air as fresh and cool as a brisk autumn day.
We entered the first hall, and found a magnificent vaulted space flanked by rows of statues. The statues were eerily similar to the one we found in the catacombs: in one hand they grasped a book, while the other hand held a long, curved glaive (not removable this time, despite Kane’s best efforts). However, every single statue had been defaced to make their faces unrecognizable. Someone clearly had a bone to pick with this guy.
We approached the next door and revealed a hallway, flanked by a pair of alcove’d statues of the same style as the ones in the previous room, again defaced. What we immediately noticed is the peculiarly polished tile of stone directly between the two statues. Not wanting to risk our own lives before even getting into a proper fight, we sent in the treant to test out the pad.
By the way, somehow the tree had doubled in size overnight, and was now scraping the ceiling with every step. I’m not sure what Talathel is feeding that thing, but he may want to give some to Kane.
The instant the tree set its weight on the pad, a mighty clattering noise came from the ceiling. Somehow the tree managed to dart its massive bulk back toward us as two portcullises crashed down on either side of the statues. The statues suddenly came to life and thoroughly blended the space in between the gates with their glaives. Anything trapped inside would have been cut to ribbons. To finish the show, the statues returned to their resting positions as the floor gave way to a pit below, before sealing up and raising the gates once again.
So, shiny floor panel is bad. Good to know.
Orik remembered that the room just beyond the hallway has a lever in it that will disable the trap. Entering that room alive became our top priority.
Everyone agreed to try and leap over the trap, with me going last since I’m shite at jumping even without two hundred pounds of gear. Ty bounded over the tile with ease, and Kane just managed to clear it despite his size. Talathel just barely clipped the tile as he crossed, but twisted out of the way as the portcullis slammed shut once again. There wasn’t any more room in the hallway at that point, so they waited for the trap to cycle again so they could escape should anything threatening come out of the next room. Ty opened the door, and though I couldn’t see inside the room I could tell whoever was there was threatening as all three immediately started scrambling backwards, Kane leaping back into the statue chamber as Orik and I prepared to strike the first thing to come out of that room.
At that moment a familiar and sickening howl echoed through the room. This time around, both Orik and the treant managed to overcome their fear, but both Ty and Talathel freaked the fuck out. In a panic Ty dashed across the trap, despite my yells to jump, shutting the gates and trapping the druid alone on the other side. Cornered, Talathel scrambled out the door behind him as a figure sprinted across the hallway. My glimpse was brief, but I could tell in an instant who it was. A flowing crown of shocking silver hair capped her lithe, beautiful form, but her beauty was scarred by a diabolic set of ash black armor, and an arm warped and deformed into a monstrous demonic talon.
The figure who had charged out of the room was Nualia. And our barely armored druid was about to face her alone.
Nualia wouldn’t be hounding Talathel completely unharrassed, however. As soon as she crossed the hallway, Kane raised both his hands and with a shock of energy sent a barrage of tiny bolts out of each of his fingertips. The bolts passed between the portcullis bars and slammed into Nualia’s exposed midriff. Kane smirked as he saw the demoness wince.
I’d like to take a moment to make a public service announcement to any young women wanting to take up a career in adventuring, just in case I ever decide to publish this as a memoir. When shopping for protective armor, for your own safety, please use armor that covers your entire torso. Yes, yes, I understand that you want to show off those abs you’ve built from cleaving goblins in half over the summer, but that stylish breastplate tube-top isn’t going to do you any good when an angry cultist stabs you in the kidney. Same goes for all you guys who want to show off your pecs, which are conveniently located just above your lungs. Remember kids: dress smart to fight smart!
Anyway, clearly Talathel was about to get his ass handed to him, so I scrambled toward the gates waiting for them to open, praying that I could get across before the druid was gutted. Obviously I couldn’t see what was going on in the next room, but I could hear a lot of struggling, and at one point the hallway started to flood with a stream of… spiders, I think? I don’t want to think of where the hell Talathel’s been keeping that many spiders. Suddenly I heard a shout from behind me.
“STEP BACK!”
I pressed my back against the wall as Kane threw one of his flame balls through the portcullises and into the hallway. Again, I lost sight of it as it rounded the corner, but there was a distinct burning smell and a loud thundering noise from the next room. Apparently Talathel somehow was not dead yet. Finally, with a loud clatter, the portcullises slit back open. I let forth a war cry as I took a running start toward the trap.
… And immediately tripped on the leading edge of the flagstone, toppling square into the middle of the pressure plate.
In a panic I heard the gates start to slide downward again. Without thinking, I tucked in my arms and rolled across the floor, reaching the opposite side just as the portcullis crashed behind me. I stood up as quickly as my armor would let me, using Fury as a handhold. Talathel had apparently heard the trap cycle open too, as he came running into the hallway as soon as I got onto my feet. He was clearly alive, but Nualia’s bastard sword had done a number on him. He quickly pointed to the doorway he came from and shouted at the mage, “KEEP IT ROLLING THAT WAY!”
I quickly grabbed his arm and ushered him behind me. “Stand back, lad!” I shouted, stepping toward the door he had just emerged from. “I’ll keep this angry broad occupied for ye-"
I was interrupted as Nualia’s forgotten Yeth Hound suddenly leaped from the opposite room, aiming for the druid. I quickly shoved Talathel out of the way and raised my shield just in time to block the incoming bite. Just as suddenly Nualia charged in from my other side. She swung down hard with her giant blade, but the strike bounced off my pauldron. I grinned as Fury began to glow with holy light.
“You picked tha wrong dwarf ta mess with, lass.”
With a great heave I slammed the hammer into her side, throwing her against the wall. She grimaced and coughed, but then grinned manically as her grip tightened on her sword. She brought the blade down on top of me again, this time just missing the pauldron and digging the edge into my shoulder. Obviously distracted, I felt another shooting pain in my leg as her damned dog dug its teeth into my leg, pulling hard as it tried to topple me over. One does not simply topple a dwarf, however.
I heard another clatter behind me as the trap opened once again. Talathel leaped back into the relative safety of the statuary hall as Ty jumped in to take his place. However, I was getting tired of getting attacked from both sides, so I turned toward the archer as I whacked the dog on the head.
“Get back! I need a clear space!”
Ty nodded and leaped back across the trapped floor, and with my rear finally open I backpedaled away from the flanking doors. The hound was the first to step into the hall to try and get at me once again… just as I wanted. I hunkered down behind my shield as a storm of arrows and magefire flew over my head: the dog had just stepped into the line of sight of the rest of the party. Within moments the beast was engulfed in magical flame and fell limply to the floor.
At that moment Nualia entered the hall in a rage, raising her sword high over her head and bringing it down hard. This time, however, I wasn’t distracted by a giant dog on my opposite side and thus raised my shield in time to deflect the blow. As her sword hit the edge of my shield, she shouted and stumbled backwards as a flurry of Ty’s arrows pierced her torso. I attempted to get another swing at her, but she smiled coyly as she danced out of the way. Her smirk was short-lived, however, as she was then struck by Kane’s disarm spell.
Now, I’m not sure if Kane had tweaked the spell to do this, or if it was just his magic going off the deep end again, but the spell seemed to interpret “disarm” as “remove her demon arm”. With a fiery blast and a spray of blood, Nualia shrieked in pain as her transformed appendage disintegrated. She briefly grasped the stump before falling to the ground. She was dead from blood loss before I reached her.
Before doing anything else, I stepped over her body and into her sanctum, finding the trap switch and pulling it before signaling the others to cross.
As always, Kane took plenty of time to examine both Nualia’s corpse and her study. Her breastplate was quite well made, but was designed to incorporate frightening demon claws and an infernal red glow. Not exactly the kind of armor a paladin should be seen strolling through town in. Also, I’m not a C-cup. As Kane sifted through Nualia’s belongings, Orik bent down and examined her enchanted bastard sword.
“… Y’know, I’d be willing to forego my fee in exchange for this sword, if you’re interested,” he said, turning the blade in his hands. Kane seemed appalled by the idea of exchanging a sword worth a thousand gold for a couple days’ worth of mercenary pay, but was willing to let Orik use the blade until the dungeon was clear, at least. Nualia’s body plundered, we stepped back into her study.
The circular room was lined with rows upon rows of shelves, stuffed with all manner of bizarre and unsightly curios: human skulls, strange gemstones, pickled appendages in brine jars, and unidentifiable plants to name just a few. Kane rifled through the mess on the desk and soon uncovered a journal not unlike the one we had pulled from Tsuto. I won’t go over the details; all I say is I felt a pang in my heart as I read what turned an innocent girl into this monster.
Kane, however, took particular interest in the later sections of the diary, especially those concerning the catacombs we had recently cleared. Nualia called the glowing altar we ran into a “Runewell of Wrath,” a powerful artifact powered by the torments of enraged mortal souls. She noted, however, that the Runewell shouldn’t be used until it is properly suffused with enough wrathful energy, and that should it be drained before that time she was not certain how, or if, it could be reactivated. Kane shot me a smirk as he read that last passage aloud before turning his attention to the centerpiece of the room.
Said centerpiece was a large stone basin filled with pure, shimmering water. Kane displayed his usual reckless abandon by immediately scooping the water with his palms and drinking deeply from them. He stood still for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought, then turned toward me and seemed to consider me for another few moments. After an uncomfortable long and awkward stare, Kane shrugged and turned on his heel toward the door, pulling a small notebook and quill from his robes as he strolled into the hall.
Writing off the social faux pas, we followed him into the room where Talathel had been fighting the demoness. I decided not to ask him about the dozens of small black spiders still skittering around the floor. At the end of the hall was a giant stone column, carved into the shape of a massive stack of coins. Talathel spent a few minutes scouring the pillar, and before long he uncovered two small, coin-sized slots on either side of the shaft. After trying a few different combinations (since we’re all cheap bastards), Talathel dropped a pair of gold coins into the slots and stepped back as the pillar rumbled and descended into the floor. Kane tapped my shoulder and whispered a single word into my ear.
“Greed.”
Then I understood why the statues in the hallway looked so similar to the one in the catacombs.
A brief exploration of the rooms beyond the pillar confirmed Kane’s theory. As the door to the first of the three rooms opened, I reflexively grasped my hammer as a ghostly face appeared sitting on a grand throne.
The spectre did not react to our intrusion, however. In fact, it seemed that we had stumbled into it mid-speech, and our barging in had not stopped it in the slightest. The ghost’s figure was similar to the statues that flanked him, but somehow his face too was unreadable as if worn away by the ages. Kane walked straight up to the spectre and inspected it as it continued to mutter in a strange tongue. He briefly announced that it was not a ghost proper, but a sort of permanent illusion spell, before stepping away from the throne toward the next room. He made a point of quickly tapping the book on one of the statues, and with a glance I could clearly see the familiar figure of the seven-pointed star on its cover.
The second room did not contain much of note. It looked to be a sort of armory, filled with all manner of strange and disturbing sharpened implements. Kane scraped away the valuables before approaching the final set of doors. The insets were intricately carved with a grand bas relief, and at the center was a small indentation in the shape of the seven-pointed star. Kane knocked on the door, and was answered by a heavy slam. We decided to try and find the key to this room, because what could go wrong?
We doubled back through the dropped pillar and approached the last unexplored room at the southern end of the hall. These double doors too were intricately carved, but with a pair of imposing skeletons instead of delicate runes. Not knowing a bad omen when we see one, we shoved open the doors and ventured inside… except for Kane. He notably stayed outside while the rest of us moved on.
The room was apparently a burial chamber, lined with about half a dozen dark, upright sarcophagi, silently staring at us from their shadowy alcoves. The room was eerily silent. Suddenly, I thought I heard a faint scraping noise coming from one of the coffins. Carefully lifting my lantern, I slowly approached the worn face of the nearest sarcophagus and held the light to its face.
Then, with an unearthly screech, a great billowing mass of darkness surged from the coffin’s lid and passed through my frame. I felt a terrible chill as my armor suddenly felt heavier on my body. Glancing over, I could see that both Orik and Ty were being attacked by a matching pair of shadows. We were in deep trouble.
Orik attempted to lunge at the spectres with his loaned magic sword, but with his strength drained the shadow easily dodged his blow. I surged another holy blessing into my hammer, but like Orik I was slowed by my new weakness and swung wide. The monster grasped me again and I could feel my muscles wither inside my skin. I realized with a start this was how I was going to die.
The shadow suddenly released me with a sudden screech, clawing at itself as a ray of red light struck it. I gasped and fell to the ground, looking over to the source of the ray: Kane. With a burst of light Kane instantly blinked into the corner of the room, and as the shadow before me dissipated into nothing the sorcerer shot a great gout of flame from his hands, incinerating the shadow that had been hounding Tyvelian. Ty took advantage of the reprieve and limped out of the room, clearly drained of energy and his usefulness nil with his lack of magic.
Kane smirked and looked toward me. “Do I have to kill everything today?”
However, this still left a single shadow in the room, and it towered over Orik as he attempted to back out of the room. He had hardly moved a step when the figure plunged its incorporeal hand into his chest. With a hideous moan, Orik withered and collapsed to the floor, dead. Thrilled with its upcoming thrall, the shadow turned in my direction and started making its way toward me.
I did not yield. Even with the mage’s intervention, another attack from the shadow would kill me and turn my corpse into one of its own. And then my partners… hell, maybe I can even call some of them friends… would be struck down in turn. But I wasn’t going down without a fight. With what little strength I could muster, I set my hammer on the ground and slowly marched toward the shadow. As it began to rise over me, I lifted my hands and reached toward it.
“Come and get me, bastard. I… will not… fail.” I said, and grasped the spirit. At that instant, a booming voice echoed within my soul.
“NO. YOU WILL NOT.”
The room filled with a grand golden light, and with a final terrible screech the shadow was blasted into oblivion as a glorious surge of Torag’s might surged through my body. The entire room was suffused with His energy, and as the monster disappeared a wave of light continued through it into Orik’s withered corpse. The color in his skin suddenly returned, and as the light finally faded he gasped backed to life, before slumping into unconsciousness. I stood in shock for a few moments as the energy dissipated, before the full weight of my armor finally pressed back down on my weakened frame and I fell onto my haunches, desperately catching my breath.
Despite my exhaustion, I looked toward Kane and summoned a grin.
“Looks like ye don’t have ta kill everythin’ today after all, elf.”
-----------------------------------------
We were all alive, but there was no way we could continue exploring with Orik unconscious and both Tyvelian and I drained to the vitality of elderly men. Handing the mercenary’s limp body to the treant, I gingerly leaned on my hammer as a walking stick as we climbed the stairway back toward the surface.
And so I think you’ll excuse my laziness as I lounge in my bed with a cup of Talathel’s herbal tea on the nightstand. The tea actually isn’t bad, though I’m not sure the druid should know I’m spiking it with rum. Dwarven habits die hard. As it turns out the druid’s knowledge of natural remedies extends quite a bit beyond the recreational sort, and with his help and some bed rest I expect to be back to fighting shape within a couple of days. Even Orik, despite being on the edge of death’s door not a few hours ago, seems to be healing up nicely. Unfortunately for him Kane insisted on taking Nualia’s sword off of him when we dragged him out, but I’ll see to asking the elf if we can at least give him some hazard pay.
Man literally died for us, after all.
Cheers, Torag. I have no idea why You’ve granted such grace to such a lowly son of yours, but if I ever doubted you before, I’ll never do it again.
-BARUN
- Gielnor
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Aug 2013 03:58
Part VI, Tyvelian's Log: Entry 2
by Spike » 18 Feb 2015 02:35
Tyvelian Rysland's Log:
Entry 2
I am bored. It has been insisted that I stay abed to “regain my strength”. I do not understand this concept. I have not taken any battle wounds and I can still fire a bow, so this time spent in bed seems pointless. I shall write my observations to make use of this time to the best of my ability. I attempted earlier to read Fat Hammer’s journal to pass time, but when I opened it, it was filled with useless symbols instead of writing. It appears I have thought too highly of Fat Hammer. Instead of proper writing, he simply doodles in his journal in a nonsensical manner. It is highly unfortunate that he does not use this time to better his physical form.
Upon entering a new floor of the dungeon, my compatriots began immediately studying the stonework. As I was not here for a class on masonry, I began to look for important things like traps and other dangers instead. Fortunately, one of my group had determined that the next room had an aura present in the flooring. I asked for a coin and tossed it in. Nothing occurred. I have wasted a small amount of money and am mildly upset. Apparently this aura is designed to make the rooms feel more comfortable. This is likely a waste of magic that could have instead been used to kill or maim us.
We entered a room with more statues and the group began their masonry master class again. While I am upset about wasting coins, I am more upset about wasting time studying the intricacies of derelict statues. We eventually came to a tile that was very clearly a trap. It was far too clean compared to the tiles around it, which were clearly worn. I considered using a coin but I would not like to upset myself again and thus I will refrain for now.
We made the tree go first. A sound tactical decision. The tree immediately activated the obvious trap and backed away. The resulting sound was that of gates crashing around the tiles. The statues then began swinging their edged weapons inside of the gates. When they finished, the tiles opened to a pit and then closed. Clearly this is not a place to step.
Large Sword noted that a lever in the next room disabled the trap. I’m sure other things were said but I don’t have time for that. I leaped over the trap and made my way over to the room. Incompetent Mage was able to cross easily, but Absent Naturephile almost got himself killed as he has the grace of a large milk producing mammal. Perhaps he chose a tree to properly represent himself? I don’t wish to think on this longer.
As I pushed open the door, I noticed one of my kin standing in the room beyond with a hound. However, I could sense her killing intent the second I saw her. She is best left with a head full of arrows. The hound next to her made a piercing screech and then it hit me. I don’t know what it was, and I’m still a bit confused as I think back on it. Suddenly, I lost control of my body and began running back towards the group. Luckily, while I had no control over my body, I was still as agile as ever. My body forced me towards the trapped floor, but my mind weathered the storm. My training kicked into action as I sped up, sprinting over the floor tile as the gates slammed behind me. I continued running until the group was out of earshot and continued running up the stairs.
I finally gained control of my body upon reaching the upper level, but when I turned back to the staircase to go back, my body immediately locked up as if at the edge of a cliff. This feeling confuses me. I took a seat at the edge of the staircase. This was a gigantic waste of my time. I will need to train more to prevent this from occurring in the future.
Eventually the feeling subsided and I sprinted back down the stairs, past the party and over the trap. The corridor was now covered in dead spiders and Fat Hammer was fighting the woman I had seen. Fat Hammer turned around and yelled “Get Back!” As I needed to provide myself with a target, I leaped back over the trapped floor and drew my bow. Fat Hammer ducked and I was able to begin volleying arrows downrange at the woman. At my side, Incompetent Mage slung spells in the same direction. We both prepared for a second volley as the woman exposed herself by attacking Fat Hammer.
Before I continue, I should make a note. The woman we were fighting seemed to have a fair amount of armor… except on her torso. As a result, all my arrows were aimed at her torso. I’m not sure what she hoped to accomplish by not armoring this portion of her body, but it made for a fantastic target. As the second volley was unleashed, my arrows pierced her torso. Without missing a beat, Incompetent Mage threw a bright red blast at the woman, which immediately caused her demonic-looking arm to explode into blood. I shall make note that Incompetent Mage can cast an arm removal spell. Hopefully this will come in handy in the future. Enemies without arms are far easier to kill.
The only useful thing on the corpse of the woman was a very valuable looking weapon. Large Sword offered to forego his fee in exchange for the sword. Of course, Incompetent Mage’s wild lust kicked in as he practically frothed at the mouth while denying Large Sword of the new weapon. One would assume he plans to sell it. However Large Sword was allowed to use it in the meantime, which seemed like a somewhat sound decision as we couldn’t exactly sell it from inside of a dungeon.
We briefly entered a room where Incompetent Mage drank from a pool and then stood in the middle of the room for a minute before promptly leaving. His thought process appears to allow for a vast amount of wasted time. I disagree with this type of thinking, but I will put up with it as I don’t see any other way of utilizing his arm destruction spell for my own benefit. The group spent the next several minutes giving coins to a pillar. This seemed like an exercise in futility until they paid the pillar enough to move. This contraption is entirely useless. Why would I constantly spend time giving coins to a pillar in order to move about my base of operations? This seems like a large oversight. We found nothing beyond that point aside from more statues and rooms full of useless knickknacks. Incompetent Mage found a locked door and desired to find a key.
We returned to the previous hallway and went down into the other chamber. In the chamber, several shadowy figures leaped out at us and began attacking. The shadow attacked me several times, doing no damage but making me feel distinctly weaker. As Incompetent Mage entered the room, light flooded the chamber and several shadows were destroyed. I took this opportunity to exit the room as my body did not feel like it was in proper shape. From the doorway, I watched as Fat Hammer pulled a new trick out of his book. Fat Hammer began to walk towards the shadow. The shadow pulled its talons out of Large Sword, who appeared to be dead, and turned towards Fat Hammer. Fat Hammer did not swing his hammer, but instead dropped it and placed his hands on the shadow. Light stronger than the previous blast of light filled the room, vaporizing the remaining shadow. At that same moment, Large Sword sputtered to life, coughing up blood.
So now I am aware that Fat Hammer can channel the power of resurrection, this skill may also be of use to me later. He has mentioned previously that this is the work of his "god." I feel that he should continue exploit this "god" of his for personal gain. Perhaps he can keep us from crossing the black gate, should we come to it. We were soon carted back to town and instructed to rest. I previously mentioned my feelings on this, and those feelings still stand. However, I am feeling slightly better. Perhaps there is some merit to bed rest, but I still do not like it.
[Entry Ends Here]
Entry 2
I am bored. It has been insisted that I stay abed to “regain my strength”. I do not understand this concept. I have not taken any battle wounds and I can still fire a bow, so this time spent in bed seems pointless. I shall write my observations to make use of this time to the best of my ability. I attempted earlier to read Fat Hammer’s journal to pass time, but when I opened it, it was filled with useless symbols instead of writing. It appears I have thought too highly of Fat Hammer. Instead of proper writing, he simply doodles in his journal in a nonsensical manner. It is highly unfortunate that he does not use this time to better his physical form.
Upon entering a new floor of the dungeon, my compatriots began immediately studying the stonework. As I was not here for a class on masonry, I began to look for important things like traps and other dangers instead. Fortunately, one of my group had determined that the next room had an aura present in the flooring. I asked for a coin and tossed it in. Nothing occurred. I have wasted a small amount of money and am mildly upset. Apparently this aura is designed to make the rooms feel more comfortable. This is likely a waste of magic that could have instead been used to kill or maim us.
We entered a room with more statues and the group began their masonry master class again. While I am upset about wasting coins, I am more upset about wasting time studying the intricacies of derelict statues. We eventually came to a tile that was very clearly a trap. It was far too clean compared to the tiles around it, which were clearly worn. I considered using a coin but I would not like to upset myself again and thus I will refrain for now.
We made the tree go first. A sound tactical decision. The tree immediately activated the obvious trap and backed away. The resulting sound was that of gates crashing around the tiles. The statues then began swinging their edged weapons inside of the gates. When they finished, the tiles opened to a pit and then closed. Clearly this is not a place to step.
Large Sword noted that a lever in the next room disabled the trap. I’m sure other things were said but I don’t have time for that. I leaped over the trap and made my way over to the room. Incompetent Mage was able to cross easily, but Absent Naturephile almost got himself killed as he has the grace of a large milk producing mammal. Perhaps he chose a tree to properly represent himself? I don’t wish to think on this longer.
As I pushed open the door, I noticed one of my kin standing in the room beyond with a hound. However, I could sense her killing intent the second I saw her. She is best left with a head full of arrows. The hound next to her made a piercing screech and then it hit me. I don’t know what it was, and I’m still a bit confused as I think back on it. Suddenly, I lost control of my body and began running back towards the group. Luckily, while I had no control over my body, I was still as agile as ever. My body forced me towards the trapped floor, but my mind weathered the storm. My training kicked into action as I sped up, sprinting over the floor tile as the gates slammed behind me. I continued running until the group was out of earshot and continued running up the stairs.
I finally gained control of my body upon reaching the upper level, but when I turned back to the staircase to go back, my body immediately locked up as if at the edge of a cliff. This feeling confuses me. I took a seat at the edge of the staircase. This was a gigantic waste of my time. I will need to train more to prevent this from occurring in the future.
Eventually the feeling subsided and I sprinted back down the stairs, past the party and over the trap. The corridor was now covered in dead spiders and Fat Hammer was fighting the woman I had seen. Fat Hammer turned around and yelled “Get Back!” As I needed to provide myself with a target, I leaped back over the trapped floor and drew my bow. Fat Hammer ducked and I was able to begin volleying arrows downrange at the woman. At my side, Incompetent Mage slung spells in the same direction. We both prepared for a second volley as the woman exposed herself by attacking Fat Hammer.
Before I continue, I should make a note. The woman we were fighting seemed to have a fair amount of armor… except on her torso. As a result, all my arrows were aimed at her torso. I’m not sure what she hoped to accomplish by not armoring this portion of her body, but it made for a fantastic target. As the second volley was unleashed, my arrows pierced her torso. Without missing a beat, Incompetent Mage threw a bright red blast at the woman, which immediately caused her demonic-looking arm to explode into blood. I shall make note that Incompetent Mage can cast an arm removal spell. Hopefully this will come in handy in the future. Enemies without arms are far easier to kill.
The only useful thing on the corpse of the woman was a very valuable looking weapon. Large Sword offered to forego his fee in exchange for the sword. Of course, Incompetent Mage’s wild lust kicked in as he practically frothed at the mouth while denying Large Sword of the new weapon. One would assume he plans to sell it. However Large Sword was allowed to use it in the meantime, which seemed like a somewhat sound decision as we couldn’t exactly sell it from inside of a dungeon.
We briefly entered a room where Incompetent Mage drank from a pool and then stood in the middle of the room for a minute before promptly leaving. His thought process appears to allow for a vast amount of wasted time. I disagree with this type of thinking, but I will put up with it as I don’t see any other way of utilizing his arm destruction spell for my own benefit. The group spent the next several minutes giving coins to a pillar. This seemed like an exercise in futility until they paid the pillar enough to move. This contraption is entirely useless. Why would I constantly spend time giving coins to a pillar in order to move about my base of operations? This seems like a large oversight. We found nothing beyond that point aside from more statues and rooms full of useless knickknacks. Incompetent Mage found a locked door and desired to find a key.
We returned to the previous hallway and went down into the other chamber. In the chamber, several shadowy figures leaped out at us and began attacking. The shadow attacked me several times, doing no damage but making me feel distinctly weaker. As Incompetent Mage entered the room, light flooded the chamber and several shadows were destroyed. I took this opportunity to exit the room as my body did not feel like it was in proper shape. From the doorway, I watched as Fat Hammer pulled a new trick out of his book. Fat Hammer began to walk towards the shadow. The shadow pulled its talons out of Large Sword, who appeared to be dead, and turned towards Fat Hammer. Fat Hammer did not swing his hammer, but instead dropped it and placed his hands on the shadow. Light stronger than the previous blast of light filled the room, vaporizing the remaining shadow. At that same moment, Large Sword sputtered to life, coughing up blood.
So now I am aware that Fat Hammer can channel the power of resurrection, this skill may also be of use to me later. He has mentioned previously that this is the work of his "god." I feel that he should continue exploit this "god" of his for personal gain. Perhaps he can keep us from crossing the black gate, should we come to it. We were soon carted back to town and instructed to rest. I previously mentioned my feelings on this, and those feelings still stand. However, I am feeling slightly better. Perhaps there is some merit to bed rest, but I still do not like it.
[Entry Ends Here]
Last edited by Spike on 21 Feb 2015 09:04, edited 1 time in total.
- Spike
- Posts: 3
- Joined: 24 Mar 2013 01:56
Part VI, Musings on the Research of Rhothomir Kane III
by Luna » 18 Feb 2015 05:54
Today marks the first day of my attempts to put Father's theories to the test. I have little doubt of their validity overall, but sometimes practice doesn't turn out quite as well as it appears it should on paper.
Nevertheless, today had been a largely good day for the testing attempted. I doubt greatly that the others accompanying me would have approved with my use of highly experimental magic considering the environment. Thankfully, there has been no drawback so far, and while I've only attempted experimentation on more low level spells, their output has been impressive. Far more power surging through because of it.
Two and a half times as much at yesterday.
Curiously, the others with me don't seem all that interested in this development, though this may be in part due to their bearing witness to some pretty spectacular primal surges that I wasn't able to shape fully. I will continue to practice this methodology in the field and introduce it to more complex spellcasting in time. Temperance is a must.
On the page opposing, I have documented some of my musings on the subject to amend Father's notes with. I think I may be on to more than even he let on to in his notes, but they will with little doubt require weeks, if not months of careful study.
Of particular interest are three actions I had discovered in the midst of a primal surge earlier today. The spell that I attempted to shape was a simple ray of fire. What came out was a stream of hellfire with white-hot intensity, representing the maximum potential of such a spell. In addition, another spell ended up being cast at the same time, a high level spell that I've heard Father mention of, but remain fuzzy on the specifics to: time had simply ground to a halt for everyone except myself, in which I was then capable of maneuvering and planning my next method of attack. I daresay that the time given to me for this endeavour may well have saved the lives of everyone exploring with me.
I dare not speak of them what actually transpired, however.
This event has been more or less burned into my mind, and I have separated it into three distinctive components:
The First: The spell attached. The spell itself seems so convoluted that I doubt I'll be able to cast it again without some arcane intervention of another primal surge. However, I am determined to isolate this component eventually, if for no other reason than its tactical usage.
The Second: Unlike the first component, this was an unexpected modification of the spell I had intended. I could see, if only briefly, some pattern within that, should I be able to duplicate, would allow me to cast nearly anything at its maximum potential, predictably, and every time.
The Third: Also a component with structure (though more delicate), this appears to have allowed me to cast twice as fast as I normally am able. Minding that the second spell effect wasn't one I knew, it nevertheless may be possible to extract this effect to use on what I do know. It will, however, take even more time to disassemble than the second component. It might even take more than the first.
My musings yesterday touched on finding truth somewhere between order and chaos. I had expected developments such as this, but not so soon into practice.
[Following three paragraphs scratched out]
It would appear therefore that primal surges may have an [scratched out] and illogical, albeit predictable aspect to them. It's not something I entertain with a great willingness to invoke a second time, but perhaps I may be [scratched out] persuaded to try again under the right conditions.
I feel there is something even further to this that I should have seen in this primal surge, but it's just out of my reach for now.
Nevertheless, today had been a largely good day for the testing attempted. I doubt greatly that the others accompanying me would have approved with my use of highly experimental magic considering the environment. Thankfully, there has been no drawback so far, and while I've only attempted experimentation on more low level spells, their output has been impressive. Far more power surging through because of it.
Two and a half times as much at yesterday.
Curiously, the others with me don't seem all that interested in this development, though this may be in part due to their bearing witness to some pretty spectacular primal surges that I wasn't able to shape fully. I will continue to practice this methodology in the field and introduce it to more complex spellcasting in time. Temperance is a must.
On the page opposing, I have documented some of my musings on the subject to amend Father's notes with. I think I may be on to more than even he let on to in his notes, but they will with little doubt require weeks, if not months of careful study.
Of particular interest are three actions I had discovered in the midst of a primal surge earlier today. The spell that I attempted to shape was a simple ray of fire. What came out was a stream of hellfire with white-hot intensity, representing the maximum potential of such a spell. In addition, another spell ended up being cast at the same time, a high level spell that I've heard Father mention of, but remain fuzzy on the specifics to: time had simply ground to a halt for everyone except myself, in which I was then capable of maneuvering and planning my next method of attack. I daresay that the time given to me for this endeavour may well have saved the lives of everyone exploring with me.
I dare not speak of them what actually transpired, however.
This event has been more or less burned into my mind, and I have separated it into three distinctive components:
The First: The spell attached. The spell itself seems so convoluted that I doubt I'll be able to cast it again without some arcane intervention of another primal surge. However, I am determined to isolate this component eventually, if for no other reason than its tactical usage.
The Second: Unlike the first component, this was an unexpected modification of the spell I had intended. I could see, if only briefly, some pattern within that, should I be able to duplicate, would allow me to cast nearly anything at its maximum potential, predictably, and every time.
The Third: Also a component with structure (though more delicate), this appears to have allowed me to cast twice as fast as I normally am able. Minding that the second spell effect wasn't one I knew, it nevertheless may be possible to extract this effect to use on what I do know. It will, however, take even more time to disassemble than the second component. It might even take more than the first.
My musings yesterday touched on finding truth somewhere between order and chaos. I had expected developments such as this, but not so soon into practice.
[Following three paragraphs scratched out]
It would appear therefore that primal surges may have an [scratched out] and illogical, albeit predictable aspect to them. It's not something I entertain with a great willingness to invoke a second time, but perhaps I may be [scratched out] persuaded to try again under the right conditions.
I feel there is something even further to this that I should have seen in this primal surge, but it's just out of my reach for now.
- Luna
- Site Admin
- Posts: 7
- Joined: 16 Dec 2012 01:57
Part VI: Exit Interview
by Luna » 18 Feb 2015 06:03
The iron door slammed shut and the laughter from outside was silenced. Tsuto looked up upon hearing the footsteps with a scowling hatred. He had not forgotten his last encounter with the elf and was determined to not be humiliated a second time at his hands. His scowl soon turned to a grin and then laughter once his captor came into view.
"Ha! Looks like Lyrie gave you a workover. Didn't know the whore had it in her to do something like that, but I'm glad she knocked you down a peg." The elf didn't respond and instead looked him in the eye with what Tsuto now well knew was him attempting to show indifference. "Ah, but your friend isn't with you this time either, so am I to assume Nualia took him from you and now you have none? You seem the sort to drive away anyone that tries to get too cozy around you."
Satisfied, Tsuto decided to wait out whatever wrath was sure to follow. He had been mentally preparing himself for the last two days, and having looked fate in a eye and remaining unscathed, he was now certain that the miniaturized sorcerer had no actual teeth to his bark. He decided he would greet his certain treatment with a smile, instead.
The elf smirked slightly and Tsuto's grin quickly faded. Had he somehow been tricked to give up more information? Unlikely: Lyrie was the only arcane talent around to have done that to his captor. And while she was strong enough on her own, she had most certainly met her own end at the hands of this maniac. Maybe better to be silent from here on.
"Sorry, go on."
Tsuto sneered back, trying and failing to reform his grin. What had he given up? There was no doubt that Lyrie was already encountered and he already knew of Nualia. He was sick of these head games. He decided to wait him out.
After what felt like an eternity of staring and more than one mental fantasy of breaking his smug face up a bit, the elf finally spoke: "Here, let me motivate you." He gestured to a guard out of view.
And there she was. Somehow, the bastard had gone to the trouble of taking Lyrie alive. Gagged to keep her from being able to cast, she was there to hear it all. Not that it mattered in any way. He was not going to break like she seemed to so quickly, tears streaming down her face.
"I had expected to need to get you to turn on her first," the sorcerer said pulling out what appeared to be Lyrie's material component pack. "But I'm glad you made this easier for me.
Lyrie whimpered through her gag. "That's quite enough. Get her out of here," the elf said through a smirk. The guard left with Lyrie and her muffled sobs. Again this oversized rodent had humiliated him. And again he stood there in silence. He obviously didn't get the memo on three foot tall elves not being particularly intimidating.
The iron door opened. Careless laugher from outside. The door closing. Another eternity. More violent fantasies, this time involving disembowelment. He was looking forward to the day more with each passing minute.
Then, without a word, the elf reached into pocket and threw something on the ground. Tsuto refused to look at it, knowing it was another trick. Not this time. Yet another eternity. He wouldn't be tricked again. More time.
Finally the elf sighed and gestured to another guard out of sight. No cocky smirk this time. Tsuto let a small grin through. It didn't last long. The guard came in hauling a breastplate and a sword, and dropped both down with a resounding thunk.
Nualia's breastplate.
Nualia's sword.
Tsuto looked down at last to Nualia's medallion.
The elf rubbed his temple, feigning annoyance. "Let's try this aga--"
"FUCK YOU!" Tsuto shouted at the top of his lungs. "Do you expect me to believe this?! Everything with you is lies and deceit! You get nothing!"
The elf sighed again. "Leave us." Here it comes. It was more bullshit. He needed information. And he would get none. Silence again. This one didn't last long. Suddenly a spell. He was trying to break Tsuto magically again. But Tsuto was ready this time. He stared down his nemesis in defiance and would not be broken. Another spell. And another. And another.
"I am beginning to severely dislike you."
Another spell. Something different this time. Casted southpaw. Something wrong, he could see it in the elf's face. A sudden and painful burning, followed by sudden boils of the flesh and vomiting up gold coins. This sorcerer's magic reflected his personality. He was fucking insane, and more powerful than he appeared. He probably didn't even know it.
Tsuto felt his will breaking. Was it possible? Had this insane... thing... done it? Had he killed his Nualia? The elf growled. And unusual loss of decorum. No doubt he was going to do something equally awful again.
"I have nothing now."
Tsuto sobbed, and the mage withheld. This was it, the rest of is life was in front of him. It was too late for victory, but maybe there was something else to be gained. "What do you want from me?" he managed to choke out.
After a brief pause, the mage responded. "I want to know only one thing. Is Sandpoint safe now?" That was it. After all of his toying with Tsuto, all he wanted to know is if Nualia was the worst of what was coming. And unfortunately, it was.
"Yes."
"Fine." The mage turned to leave.
"Wait." Tsuto managed to choke out. "Please." The mage stopped and looked at Tsuto. "Have you told them?"
"Yes. It's not like I could not."
"Then am I to be put to death?"
"That's between you and the magistrate." He turned to leave again.
"Please, wait!" The mage paused again, but looking more annoyed.
"What. Do you want." This was it, perhaps the last conscious decision he was ever going to make.
"I know I'm in no position to demand anything of you. But if you would consider for me. Please, leave me with my dignity. Let me... let me keep it."
No response. The mage left at last, and Tsuto was left in silence, truly alone.
"Ha! Looks like Lyrie gave you a workover. Didn't know the whore had it in her to do something like that, but I'm glad she knocked you down a peg." The elf didn't respond and instead looked him in the eye with what Tsuto now well knew was him attempting to show indifference. "Ah, but your friend isn't with you this time either, so am I to assume Nualia took him from you and now you have none? You seem the sort to drive away anyone that tries to get too cozy around you."
Satisfied, Tsuto decided to wait out whatever wrath was sure to follow. He had been mentally preparing himself for the last two days, and having looked fate in a eye and remaining unscathed, he was now certain that the miniaturized sorcerer had no actual teeth to his bark. He decided he would greet his certain treatment with a smile, instead.
The elf smirked slightly and Tsuto's grin quickly faded. Had he somehow been tricked to give up more information? Unlikely: Lyrie was the only arcane talent around to have done that to his captor. And while she was strong enough on her own, she had most certainly met her own end at the hands of this maniac. Maybe better to be silent from here on.
"Sorry, go on."
Tsuto sneered back, trying and failing to reform his grin. What had he given up? There was no doubt that Lyrie was already encountered and he already knew of Nualia. He was sick of these head games. He decided to wait him out.
After what felt like an eternity of staring and more than one mental fantasy of breaking his smug face up a bit, the elf finally spoke: "Here, let me motivate you." He gestured to a guard out of view.
And there she was. Somehow, the bastard had gone to the trouble of taking Lyrie alive. Gagged to keep her from being able to cast, she was there to hear it all. Not that it mattered in any way. He was not going to break like she seemed to so quickly, tears streaming down her face.
"I had expected to need to get you to turn on her first," the sorcerer said pulling out what appeared to be Lyrie's material component pack. "But I'm glad you made this easier for me.
Lyrie whimpered through her gag. "That's quite enough. Get her out of here," the elf said through a smirk. The guard left with Lyrie and her muffled sobs. Again this oversized rodent had humiliated him. And again he stood there in silence. He obviously didn't get the memo on three foot tall elves not being particularly intimidating.
The iron door opened. Careless laugher from outside. The door closing. Another eternity. More violent fantasies, this time involving disembowelment. He was looking forward to the day more with each passing minute.
Then, without a word, the elf reached into pocket and threw something on the ground. Tsuto refused to look at it, knowing it was another trick. Not this time. Yet another eternity. He wouldn't be tricked again. More time.
Finally the elf sighed and gestured to another guard out of sight. No cocky smirk this time. Tsuto let a small grin through. It didn't last long. The guard came in hauling a breastplate and a sword, and dropped both down with a resounding thunk.
Nualia's breastplate.
Nualia's sword.
Tsuto looked down at last to Nualia's medallion.
The elf rubbed his temple, feigning annoyance. "Let's try this aga--"
"FUCK YOU!" Tsuto shouted at the top of his lungs. "Do you expect me to believe this?! Everything with you is lies and deceit! You get nothing!"
The elf sighed again. "Leave us." Here it comes. It was more bullshit. He needed information. And he would get none. Silence again. This one didn't last long. Suddenly a spell. He was trying to break Tsuto magically again. But Tsuto was ready this time. He stared down his nemesis in defiance and would not be broken. Another spell. And another. And another.
"I am beginning to severely dislike you."
Another spell. Something different this time. Casted southpaw. Something wrong, he could see it in the elf's face. A sudden and painful burning, followed by sudden boils of the flesh and vomiting up gold coins. This sorcerer's magic reflected his personality. He was fucking insane, and more powerful than he appeared. He probably didn't even know it.
Tsuto felt his will breaking. Was it possible? Had this insane... thing... done it? Had he killed his Nualia? The elf growled. And unusual loss of decorum. No doubt he was going to do something equally awful again.
"I have nothing now."
Tsuto sobbed, and the mage withheld. This was it, the rest of is life was in front of him. It was too late for victory, but maybe there was something else to be gained. "What do you want from me?" he managed to choke out.
After a brief pause, the mage responded. "I want to know only one thing. Is Sandpoint safe now?" That was it. After all of his toying with Tsuto, all he wanted to know is if Nualia was the worst of what was coming. And unfortunately, it was.
"Yes."
"Fine." The mage turned to leave.
"Wait." Tsuto managed to choke out. "Please." The mage stopped and looked at Tsuto. "Have you told them?"
"Yes. It's not like I could not."
"Then am I to be put to death?"
"That's between you and the magistrate." He turned to leave again.
"Please, wait!" The mage paused again, but looking more annoyed.
"What. Do you want." This was it, perhaps the last conscious decision he was ever going to make.
"I know I'm in no position to demand anything of you. But if you would consider for me. Please, leave me with my dignity. Let me... let me keep it."
No response. The mage left at last, and Tsuto was left in silence, truly alone.
- Luna
- Site Admin
- Posts: 7
- Joined: 16 Dec 2012 01:57
Part VI, Addendum: Bedside Matters
by Gielnor » 18 Feb 2015 06:10
Barun was making the best of his time stuck in bed. In his journal a finely detailed sketch of a grand new Warhammer was beginning to take form. With any luck, the last locked room under Thistletop was the last remaining threat to Sandpoint, and when they disposed of it Barun would be free to continue his wanderings once again. He planned to mark this milestone in his life by crafting a magnificent Warhammer in Torag’s honor to replace the aging Fury before heading back out into the world.
The dwarf paused in his designs as he heard conversation coming from the doorway. Turning his head toward the noise, he saw Rhothomir talking with Talathel, his temporary doctor. Talathel gave the sorcerer a thumbs-up and allowed the sorcerer into the room, shutting the door behind him as the druid stayed outside. Barun grinned as the elf approached him.
“Kane! Fancy seeing ye here,” he beamed, placing his notebook down on the nightstand and trading it for a cup of tea. “Has the rest o’ the town adjusted ta yer new stature yet?”
“Some giggles aside,” Rhothomir replied, pulling a chair up to the dwarf’s headboard. He struggled slightly as he sat himself in the oversized furniture. Finally settled, he directed his attention back toward the paladin. “I just came back from my errands. Mayor is quite pleased with us. As people tend to be, when they know they're not going to be burned to death.” He rummaged through his robes for a moment before retrieving a tattered leather-bound book. Barun recognized it at Nualia’s journal.
“Did you actually get a chance to read this?”
Barun’s cheery grin fell from his face. “I glanced through it, aye. Sorry tale it is. Poor girl…” he trailed off as he considered again how easily a child of Heaven had been led into the pits of damnation.
“Mm,” Rhotomir replied in his standard, non-committal way. “After this evidence, things aren't looking so well for those that we captured. We promised Orik that we'd take the wizard alive, and we did… However, I'm just as certain that she'll go to her death anyway, along with the half-elf.”
It was Barun’s turn to be matter-of-fact, for once. He grunted slightly as he retrieved a small metal flask from under his pillow and poured the contents into his tea. “Well, considerin' what I've heard o' the Magnimar jail, that may be the better fate for 'em,” he noted, taking a sip of his spiked beverage. He didn’t have time to waste pity on unrepentant murderers.
“Still trying to work it out in my head,” Rhothomir said. He looked conflicted. “I actually came directly from the town dungeon. Went there right after seeing the mayor. I had to know…” He paused, and motioned for the flask still in Barun’s hand. The dwarf raised his eyebrow as he passed it over.
“Thought ye weren’t much fer drinkin’?”
“Sometimes you need a drop.” The elf replied as he twisted the top off the flask and took a small sip. Barun chuckled as Rhothomir sputtered slightly and grimaced, looking down at the flask.
“Egads, dwarf.”
Barun retrieved the flask and nonchalantly took a swig from it before returning it beneath his pillow. “Got that from under the bar. Turns out Ameiko keeps some exotic stuff down there, if you know how ta ask fer it.”
Rhothomir shook his head before continuing. “Anyway, I went to break him again – and don’t give me that look. I didn’t harm him… intentionally.”
“Let yer temper get tha best of ye, lad?”
“Well, temper isn’t really the issue. I had Nualia’s effects with me, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Though I can’t say after all this time he should start believing me… but yes, I got annoyed. Even with magic, he was hard to break. In the end though, he finally did.”
“And? What’d ye get from ‘im?”
“Well, I only had one question for him: if Sandpoint was safe now. He sort of... broke down at that point. Anyway, as best as I can tell, the town will be fine. For now.”
Barun grinned and leaned back into the headrest, putting his hands behind his head. “So, then once that damned dungeon is clear, I suppose our job in Sandpoint is done with?”
“Quite likely. I would almost rather not return, save for why Nualia was there in the first place.”
“Well if whatever's in that locked room is as tough as it sounded, it may be wise not ta leave it by its lonesome.”
“It's pretty obviously not in there of its own accord, though. The journal states that much. Considering the state of everything else around it, it would be a disservice to the town to not rid of the threat. That image from before has been cycling for ten thousand years at this point. What do you suppose the odds are that whatever is in that room will continue to hold?”
“Depends on whether or not another goblin tribe or reckless cult is dumb enough to move in and try again.” Barun paused and looked Rhothomir dead in the eye. “Ya want ta take that risk?”
“Mm. I'd rather the option that results in less of the town being massacred in the future, near or distant.”
“I think we're in agreement then.” Barun nodded as he inspected his arms. They were still withered and aching, but the feeling was returning to them fast. “It'll be a couple days for me to be back in fightin' shape, I think. But then I think we need ta make one last trek east and tie up our unfinished business.”
Rhothomir nodded and began fishing through his robes again, this time retrieving the seven-pointed medallion he had pulled from Nualia’s bleeding corpse. “How many more of these artifacts do you suppose we'll run into?” he said, flipping the necklace in his palms.
“Yer not suggesting we try an' find more of them gods-forsaken ruins, are ye?” Barun replied, out of curiosity more than worry at this point.
“I wouldn't mind it. You don't have to join me when that happens, of course. Not like I have any leads right now. Anyway, I wanted to discuss this a bit. Do you remember what Talathel said about it?”
The dwarf shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. “It’s been a long day. Refresh me memory.”
“It's an exquisitely made piece. Magically, it will boost your resistance and even your ability to take blows. It's also the bit that would prevent a body from decaying. Seems pretty useful doesn’t it?” The elf lifted the cord into the air and spun the medallion, staring long at the rotating disk. Barun looked slightly concerned at the elf’s enthrallment.
“Ye alright, Kane?”
“Talathel didn’t see everything,” Rhothomir replied, not removing his eyes from the medallion. “There is also some kind of anchor in here. It allows whoever made it to scry upon whoever is wearing it.” Rhothomir remained still, but locked eyes with the dwarf. “In case you were wondering why I told you not to use it. Glad you’re working on your trust, by the way,” he finished with a smirk, finally returning the medallion to his palm. It was Barun’s turn to stare at the necklace.
“Bloody hell, mate. Ye can’t sense if there’s someone… y’know… actively trying to spy on it, can ye?”
“Unfortunately not. The reason I haven't gotten rid of it is that I might be able to deconstruct it. Maybe make it work in our favor, or make a few of them. I doubt that Nualia made this, so I wonder who did.”
Barun paused to think for a moment before replying. “If I remember correctly, her journal mentioned a whole cult of folk o’ like mind ta her back in Magnimar. Could one o’ them be responsible?”
“Possibly, but they would have to be rather heavily influenced by the Thassilon Empire. Not out of the scope of possibility. Could also be that the thing was made by an actual Thassilonian who is long dead. For now I’m not going to chance it. Which brings me to this.” He finally returned the medallion to his robes, swapping it for yet another book. Barun recognized this tome as the one he had seen Rhothomir writing in back in the ruins.
“When did ye start keepin’ a diary?”
“Just things I don't want to forget the details of. Not really a diary as much as experiment notes. So, that image we saw. I also saw it when I drank those waters. So I wrote down what it said.” Rhothomir opened the notebook and began thumbing through it. The dwarf leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued.
“The entire message wasn't there, but here's what I got from it,” the elf remarked, finally finding his spot in the journal. “’ …is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…’” The message stopped abruptly, and Rhothomir closed the book. “If you recall, Alaznist was the Runelord of Wrath, so I can conclude that this person was a rival Runelord. And given the state of things, probably the Runelord of Greed.”
Barun nodded. “I gathered as much, considering the similarity ta what we saw under the Glassworks.”
“Mm. I assume it's the Earthfall that was upon them, or the fall of the Thassilon Empire. Same thing, ultimately. But he mentions his strength beside the fact. Sounds to me like he was looking for a way to weather the Earthfall.” Rhothomir paused, pulling the medallion from his robes and looking at it briefly. “Maybe he found it.”
Barun understood the implication, but he didn’t like it. “Ye… Ye don’t suppose he actually survived, do ye?”
Rhothomir returned the medallion to his pocket once again. If he was worried, he wasn’t showing it. “Just a passing thought. Though it's worth mentioning that there have been a handful of arcanists that managed to figure out how to not die of old age. Unfortunately, most end up dead anyway due to hubris, since immortality doesn't mean you're also invulnerable.”
“So considerin' these Runelords were of... how'd ye put it... "mythic power," becomin' immortal would be a drop in the pan if they could weather the damned Apocalypse.” Barun quickly gathered his wits as he realized he sounded like a nutty conspiracy theorist. “As ye put it, it ain’t likely. But the alternative scares me.”
“Well, if they could. Given their power I would very much expect them to try to reestablish the empire the moment they came out of wherever they went.”
“And yet they clearly didn't... hm” Barun stroke his beard in thought. He didn’t know what to make of all of this.
“Either way,” Rhothomir said, interrupting the silence as he jumped from the chair, “If we're going to work together after this, it's only going to get more difficult. To this effect, I'm suggesting we discharge Orik from service. I don't imagine he'll disagree after the recent events.”
Barun decided not to tell Rhothomir he was planning on leaving town… at least, not yet.
“I don't suppose so, aye. But... I'm thinkin’ he deserves a touch of hazard pay after what we put him through. He did bloody die for us, after all.”
“Mm. How much do you think would be appropriate?”
“Well, barrin’ that sword he had his eyes on… 50?”
The elf nodded. “Seems fair. I’ll let him know. You rest up though.”
Barun grinned. “Thanks, lad,” he said, taking another sip of hard tea. Rhothomir walked to the door, but paused as he reached toward the handle.
“Barun.” He said, not looking away from the door.
“Aye?”
“Am I a just person?” The elf’s gaze remained averted. Barun could tell that the elf was troubled, even behind his cold façade.
Barun grabbed his notebook from the table and resumed his sketching. “That’s between ye and whatever gods yeh’ve chosen, lad. And I’d have a long talk with ‘em before makin’ that judgment.”
Wordlessly, the elf stepped into the hall.
The dwarf paused in his designs as he heard conversation coming from the doorway. Turning his head toward the noise, he saw Rhothomir talking with Talathel, his temporary doctor. Talathel gave the sorcerer a thumbs-up and allowed the sorcerer into the room, shutting the door behind him as the druid stayed outside. Barun grinned as the elf approached him.
“Kane! Fancy seeing ye here,” he beamed, placing his notebook down on the nightstand and trading it for a cup of tea. “Has the rest o’ the town adjusted ta yer new stature yet?”
“Some giggles aside,” Rhothomir replied, pulling a chair up to the dwarf’s headboard. He struggled slightly as he sat himself in the oversized furniture. Finally settled, he directed his attention back toward the paladin. “I just came back from my errands. Mayor is quite pleased with us. As people tend to be, when they know they're not going to be burned to death.” He rummaged through his robes for a moment before retrieving a tattered leather-bound book. Barun recognized it at Nualia’s journal.
“Did you actually get a chance to read this?”
Barun’s cheery grin fell from his face. “I glanced through it, aye. Sorry tale it is. Poor girl…” he trailed off as he considered again how easily a child of Heaven had been led into the pits of damnation.
“Mm,” Rhotomir replied in his standard, non-committal way. “After this evidence, things aren't looking so well for those that we captured. We promised Orik that we'd take the wizard alive, and we did… However, I'm just as certain that she'll go to her death anyway, along with the half-elf.”
It was Barun’s turn to be matter-of-fact, for once. He grunted slightly as he retrieved a small metal flask from under his pillow and poured the contents into his tea. “Well, considerin' what I've heard o' the Magnimar jail, that may be the better fate for 'em,” he noted, taking a sip of his spiked beverage. He didn’t have time to waste pity on unrepentant murderers.
“Still trying to work it out in my head,” Rhothomir said. He looked conflicted. “I actually came directly from the town dungeon. Went there right after seeing the mayor. I had to know…” He paused, and motioned for the flask still in Barun’s hand. The dwarf raised his eyebrow as he passed it over.
“Thought ye weren’t much fer drinkin’?”
“Sometimes you need a drop.” The elf replied as he twisted the top off the flask and took a small sip. Barun chuckled as Rhothomir sputtered slightly and grimaced, looking down at the flask.
“Egads, dwarf.”
Barun retrieved the flask and nonchalantly took a swig from it before returning it beneath his pillow. “Got that from under the bar. Turns out Ameiko keeps some exotic stuff down there, if you know how ta ask fer it.”
Rhothomir shook his head before continuing. “Anyway, I went to break him again – and don’t give me that look. I didn’t harm him… intentionally.”
“Let yer temper get tha best of ye, lad?”
“Well, temper isn’t really the issue. I had Nualia’s effects with me, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Though I can’t say after all this time he should start believing me… but yes, I got annoyed. Even with magic, he was hard to break. In the end though, he finally did.”
“And? What’d ye get from ‘im?”
“Well, I only had one question for him: if Sandpoint was safe now. He sort of... broke down at that point. Anyway, as best as I can tell, the town will be fine. For now.”
Barun grinned and leaned back into the headrest, putting his hands behind his head. “So, then once that damned dungeon is clear, I suppose our job in Sandpoint is done with?”
“Quite likely. I would almost rather not return, save for why Nualia was there in the first place.”
“Well if whatever's in that locked room is as tough as it sounded, it may be wise not ta leave it by its lonesome.”
“It's pretty obviously not in there of its own accord, though. The journal states that much. Considering the state of everything else around it, it would be a disservice to the town to not rid of the threat. That image from before has been cycling for ten thousand years at this point. What do you suppose the odds are that whatever is in that room will continue to hold?”
“Depends on whether or not another goblin tribe or reckless cult is dumb enough to move in and try again.” Barun paused and looked Rhothomir dead in the eye. “Ya want ta take that risk?”
“Mm. I'd rather the option that results in less of the town being massacred in the future, near or distant.”
“I think we're in agreement then.” Barun nodded as he inspected his arms. They were still withered and aching, but the feeling was returning to them fast. “It'll be a couple days for me to be back in fightin' shape, I think. But then I think we need ta make one last trek east and tie up our unfinished business.”
Rhothomir nodded and began fishing through his robes again, this time retrieving the seven-pointed medallion he had pulled from Nualia’s bleeding corpse. “How many more of these artifacts do you suppose we'll run into?” he said, flipping the necklace in his palms.
“Yer not suggesting we try an' find more of them gods-forsaken ruins, are ye?” Barun replied, out of curiosity more than worry at this point.
“I wouldn't mind it. You don't have to join me when that happens, of course. Not like I have any leads right now. Anyway, I wanted to discuss this a bit. Do you remember what Talathel said about it?”
The dwarf shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. “It’s been a long day. Refresh me memory.”
“It's an exquisitely made piece. Magically, it will boost your resistance and even your ability to take blows. It's also the bit that would prevent a body from decaying. Seems pretty useful doesn’t it?” The elf lifted the cord into the air and spun the medallion, staring long at the rotating disk. Barun looked slightly concerned at the elf’s enthrallment.
“Ye alright, Kane?”
“Talathel didn’t see everything,” Rhothomir replied, not removing his eyes from the medallion. “There is also some kind of anchor in here. It allows whoever made it to scry upon whoever is wearing it.” Rhothomir remained still, but locked eyes with the dwarf. “In case you were wondering why I told you not to use it. Glad you’re working on your trust, by the way,” he finished with a smirk, finally returning the medallion to his palm. It was Barun’s turn to stare at the necklace.
“Bloody hell, mate. Ye can’t sense if there’s someone… y’know… actively trying to spy on it, can ye?”
“Unfortunately not. The reason I haven't gotten rid of it is that I might be able to deconstruct it. Maybe make it work in our favor, or make a few of them. I doubt that Nualia made this, so I wonder who did.”
Barun paused to think for a moment before replying. “If I remember correctly, her journal mentioned a whole cult of folk o’ like mind ta her back in Magnimar. Could one o’ them be responsible?”
“Possibly, but they would have to be rather heavily influenced by the Thassilon Empire. Not out of the scope of possibility. Could also be that the thing was made by an actual Thassilonian who is long dead. For now I’m not going to chance it. Which brings me to this.” He finally returned the medallion to his robes, swapping it for yet another book. Barun recognized this tome as the one he had seen Rhothomir writing in back in the ruins.
“When did ye start keepin’ a diary?”
“Just things I don't want to forget the details of. Not really a diary as much as experiment notes. So, that image we saw. I also saw it when I drank those waters. So I wrote down what it said.” Rhothomir opened the notebook and began thumbing through it. The dwarf leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued.
“The entire message wasn't there, but here's what I got from it,” the elf remarked, finally finding his spot in the journal. “’ …is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…’” The message stopped abruptly, and Rhothomir closed the book. “If you recall, Alaznist was the Runelord of Wrath, so I can conclude that this person was a rival Runelord. And given the state of things, probably the Runelord of Greed.”
Barun nodded. “I gathered as much, considering the similarity ta what we saw under the Glassworks.”
“Mm. I assume it's the Earthfall that was upon them, or the fall of the Thassilon Empire. Same thing, ultimately. But he mentions his strength beside the fact. Sounds to me like he was looking for a way to weather the Earthfall.” Rhothomir paused, pulling the medallion from his robes and looking at it briefly. “Maybe he found it.”
Barun understood the implication, but he didn’t like it. “Ye… Ye don’t suppose he actually survived, do ye?”
Rhothomir returned the medallion to his pocket once again. If he was worried, he wasn’t showing it. “Just a passing thought. Though it's worth mentioning that there have been a handful of arcanists that managed to figure out how to not die of old age. Unfortunately, most end up dead anyway due to hubris, since immortality doesn't mean you're also invulnerable.”
“So considerin' these Runelords were of... how'd ye put it... "mythic power," becomin' immortal would be a drop in the pan if they could weather the damned Apocalypse.” Barun quickly gathered his wits as he realized he sounded like a nutty conspiracy theorist. “As ye put it, it ain’t likely. But the alternative scares me.”
“Well, if they could. Given their power I would very much expect them to try to reestablish the empire the moment they came out of wherever they went.”
“And yet they clearly didn't... hm” Barun stroke his beard in thought. He didn’t know what to make of all of this.
“Either way,” Rhothomir said, interrupting the silence as he jumped from the chair, “If we're going to work together after this, it's only going to get more difficult. To this effect, I'm suggesting we discharge Orik from service. I don't imagine he'll disagree after the recent events.”
Barun decided not to tell Rhothomir he was planning on leaving town… at least, not yet.
“I don't suppose so, aye. But... I'm thinkin’ he deserves a touch of hazard pay after what we put him through. He did bloody die for us, after all.”
“Mm. How much do you think would be appropriate?”
“Well, barrin’ that sword he had his eyes on… 50?”
The elf nodded. “Seems fair. I’ll let him know. You rest up though.”
Barun grinned. “Thanks, lad,” he said, taking another sip of hard tea. Rhothomir walked to the door, but paused as he reached toward the handle.
“Barun.” He said, not looking away from the door.
“Aye?”
“Am I a just person?” The elf’s gaze remained averted. Barun could tell that the elf was troubled, even behind his cold façade.
Barun grabbed his notebook from the table and resumed his sketching. “That’s between ye and whatever gods yeh’ve chosen, lad. And I’d have a long talk with ‘em before makin’ that judgment.”
Wordlessly, the elf stepped into the hall.
Last edited by Gielnor on 19 Feb 2015 06:11, edited 1 time in total.
- Gielnor
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Aug 2013 03:58
Part VI: Parting Gifts
by Luna » 18 Feb 2015 06:45
Rhothomir exited the Rusty Dragon and into the street amongst the crowd's poorly stifled laughter. Realistically, the laughter wasn't much a concern to him since it had only helped his casting abilities somehow, but the attention itself was annoying.
It had been some hours since speaking with Barun and Rhothomir had just discharged Orik, much to Orik's own relief. It was a relief to Rhothomir as well, as he usually left such tasks to his servant instead. Doing so this time would have however been poor form.
There was much to do while Barun and Tyvelian rested. Coinage to reduce, unwanted gear to sell, proceeds to split. Unfortunately, there were far more grim issues to deal with that night.
Rhothomir stopped by the local jail once more, perhaps for the last time. Again he gained audience to his captives. First was the wizard. He brought a guard for this encounter. The girl was obviously distraught from the prior proceedings, but was still a danger due to her casting ability. The gag would have to stay on.
"Remove her arm bindings, chain her instead" he ordered to the guard. The guard looked back at him quizzically at first, but knew better at this point than to question this particular vigilante. He decided it to be a better idea to just do as he was told for now.
The arm shackles of the floor, coupled with the one around her neck made certain she wouldn't be able to vocalize anything required to cast a spell. It would however allow her the freedom of movement Rhothomir wanted.
"As you may be aware, you're likely to be put to death for your crimes," he began. No aggravated sobbing on this news; she must have already been well aware. "Tsuto is looking at the same fate." Sobbing this time, as expected. "I would ask you if you had any final wishes, but I'm afraid I can't risk taking that gag off of you. And besides, I think I know what you want."
Rhothomir entered the cell. Even though she sitting on her feet, he could still stand fully upright and meet her eyes. And so he did so, before placing a small pouch before her.
"The contents of this thoroughly disgusted me, but I feel I should return them to you for the time you have left. Turns out, it was the least demented part of you."
Rhothomir withdrew from the cell, his gift delivered. As he turned the corner to head out of view, he saw Lyrie pull out a tuft of Tsuto's hair and caress it. The sobbing had ended.
One down. The easier of the two.
Next, Rhothomir spoke with the guard on duty, requesting to serve the prisoner's meals so as not to be disturbed, but not to force the guard to wait unnecessarily. The request was eagerly granted, and so Rhothomir went back inside, pausing for a moment to pull something from his bag.
He sighed heavily, considering his options. Sometimes the just thing to do, perhaps even the good thing, was beyond the letter of the law.
He rounded the corner to Tsuto's cell. By now any spell would have worn off of him, but the half-elf was still out of rage despite it. He put a bowl down and unlocked the cell.
"It took me a bit to formulate a response." Tsuto looked up at him. "I will force nothing upon you. But if it's your dignity you seek, it's in the bowl on your left."
Tsuto looked at both bowls. "What will it do to me? Is there any pain?" Rhothomir looked at him, but Tsuto didn't lock eyes with him again.
"No. You will only sleep. Wrath does not become us." Rhothomir left the cell and locked it behind him.
"Thank you."
"Goodbye, Tsuto."
It had been some hours since speaking with Barun and Rhothomir had just discharged Orik, much to Orik's own relief. It was a relief to Rhothomir as well, as he usually left such tasks to his servant instead. Doing so this time would have however been poor form.
There was much to do while Barun and Tyvelian rested. Coinage to reduce, unwanted gear to sell, proceeds to split. Unfortunately, there were far more grim issues to deal with that night.
Rhothomir stopped by the local jail once more, perhaps for the last time. Again he gained audience to his captives. First was the wizard. He brought a guard for this encounter. The girl was obviously distraught from the prior proceedings, but was still a danger due to her casting ability. The gag would have to stay on.
"Remove her arm bindings, chain her instead" he ordered to the guard. The guard looked back at him quizzically at first, but knew better at this point than to question this particular vigilante. He decided it to be a better idea to just do as he was told for now.
The arm shackles of the floor, coupled with the one around her neck made certain she wouldn't be able to vocalize anything required to cast a spell. It would however allow her the freedom of movement Rhothomir wanted.
"As you may be aware, you're likely to be put to death for your crimes," he began. No aggravated sobbing on this news; she must have already been well aware. "Tsuto is looking at the same fate." Sobbing this time, as expected. "I would ask you if you had any final wishes, but I'm afraid I can't risk taking that gag off of you. And besides, I think I know what you want."
Rhothomir entered the cell. Even though she sitting on her feet, he could still stand fully upright and meet her eyes. And so he did so, before placing a small pouch before her.
"The contents of this thoroughly disgusted me, but I feel I should return them to you for the time you have left. Turns out, it was the least demented part of you."
Rhothomir withdrew from the cell, his gift delivered. As he turned the corner to head out of view, he saw Lyrie pull out a tuft of Tsuto's hair and caress it. The sobbing had ended.
One down. The easier of the two.
Next, Rhothomir spoke with the guard on duty, requesting to serve the prisoner's meals so as not to be disturbed, but not to force the guard to wait unnecessarily. The request was eagerly granted, and so Rhothomir went back inside, pausing for a moment to pull something from his bag.
He sighed heavily, considering his options. Sometimes the just thing to do, perhaps even the good thing, was beyond the letter of the law.
He rounded the corner to Tsuto's cell. By now any spell would have worn off of him, but the half-elf was still out of rage despite it. He put a bowl down and unlocked the cell.
"It took me a bit to formulate a response." Tsuto looked up at him. "I will force nothing upon you. But if it's your dignity you seek, it's in the bowl on your left."
Tsuto looked at both bowls. "What will it do to me? Is there any pain?" Rhothomir looked at him, but Tsuto didn't lock eyes with him again.
"No. You will only sleep. Wrath does not become us." Rhothomir left the cell and locked it behind him.
"Thank you."
"Goodbye, Tsuto."
- Luna
- Site Admin
- Posts: 7
- Joined: 16 Dec 2012 01:57
PART VII: GIANT ENEMY CRAB
by Gielnor » 18 Feb 2015 08:22
FROM THE JOURNAL OF BARUN BURADUM
DAY 11
I should have figured that after spending a whole weekend recuperating that I would be on the edge of death yet again only an hour after returning to Thistletop. I should probably look into writing a last will and testament sooner rather than later. I’ll see if there’s any attorneys in town that can help me write one up before I leave.
After a couple days of bedrest my muscles felt better than ever, so we began packing up for what we thought was the final expedition to Thistletop. We elected to release Orik from our service, as he would still need a couple of days to recuperate. Between a rather hefty hazard pay and having literally died working for us, Orik did not seem disappointed in our decision. He did mention that he would give us a good name when he returned to Magnimar in a few weeks, which I will admit surprised me. I’m not sure if we’ve deserved that reputation, but I won’t complain.
By noon we had once again reached the deepest level of the island stronghold, venturing first into the last room we had left: the burial chamber. The floor was charred by Kane’s ridiculous flame spell from our last visit, and despite the banishment of the shadows I could still whiff a faint lingering of their evil in the air. To Kane’s credit, he only briefly scoured the room before escorting us to safety, and so upon our return we began our usual treasure hunting. Kane managed to dig up the key to the locked room after some slightly desecrating digging, but more intriguingly I found yet another hidden doorway while studying the walls. The air coming from within was much damper than the rest of the dungeon, and the walls were of roughly hewn stone rather than clean masonry. We decided to hold out on exploring this final chamber until we had uncovered what was waiting for us behind the locked doors.
After a brief walk, the double doors once again stood before us. Kane retrieved the key from his pocket (yet another seven-pointed star, as it happens), and handed it to me. Seems like I’ve become the default front line at this point. I carefully inserted the key into a perfectly sized indentation at the dead center of the door. With a twist and a light clank, the doors swung open to reveal a pit of fire and… nothing.
This was the third time we had encountered an invisible foe in almost as many days, and this time Kane was prepared. He retrieved a scroll from his robes and read it aloud before looking back into the room. Notably, he looked quite a ways toward the ceiling, even for his height. Since we were all still blind as bats to whatever was inside, Kane began chucking spells into the room while calling out the beast’s location as best he could. With a wave of his hand Talathel threw a sparkling fire into the room, and with a gentle flash the monster was illuminated. It didn’t wait long after being revealed to fully show itself, however.
With a terrible moaning roar the creature flashed into existence. It was like a mountainous wolf the size of a horse, but with a head twisted into a vaguely goblin-like shape. Apparently this was the god the goblins above had been so excited about. As I switched to a proper battle stance, I noticed a soft whimpering to my side. I looked over to see Talathel on the verge of tears despite his maintained grip on his spear: apparently the monster’s call had an effect I hadn’t noticed. Kane seemed to have been affected too, now that I mention it: he did his best to cover it up, but he was breathing rather heavily and was moving with a certain… melancholy.
Our foe revealed, I charged into the room as Tyvelian and Kane began chucking projectiles inside with increased ferocity. I imbued Fury with holy… um, fury, and slammed it into the monster’s face.
Imagine my surprise when it came straight out the other side without any brains or blood attatched. The monster shot me a devilishly intelligent grin. I think Kane shouted at me to get out of the room at this point, but before I could respond the monster tore into me like a tornado. Within a couple of seconds there was more exposed muscle than skin.
The studies of the paladin espouse the virtue of honor. A holy warrior should always face combat bravely and without retreat. If the enemy proves greater, than the paladin should die, and die with dignity.
However, honor assumes that your combatant is on roughly even terms with you. And this guy wasn’t even reading from the same book as me. So I turned and darted my bloody ass out of there.
Once I reached the end of the hall, I noticed that I wasn’t being followed by thunderous footsteps. By all rights the creature should have plowed right through the rest of the party to get to me, and yet it stopped squarely at the doorsill, taking a few arrow shots from Tyvelian before retreating into an unreachable corner. After a brief glance at each other, the rest of the party slammed the doors shut once again as I limped back toward them.
“The room’s warded.” Kane explained. “The barghest can’t get out unless the ward’s broken.” Barghest, huh? I have a buddy back in the Mountainhome who used that as a nickname for his old iron skillet, though after seeing the beast in person I fail to see the resemblance. I quickly glanced over what was left of my body.
“Well unless ye want ta drag me corpse out of the dungeon tonight, I’m not goin’ back in there,” I said. “Got any other ideas?”
“I might,” is all Kane replied, before making his way back toward the dungeon stairs.
As he explained to me later, his “plan” is to make a dozen fireball scrolls (and have Talathel make a few of his own variant, just in case) and chuck them one after the other into the room until the barghest is good and dead. It’ll take nearly two days to scribe them all.
Normally I’d call this dishonorable and stupid, but considering I look like a mummy from all the bandaging on me I can’t really offer a rebuttal.
-BARUN
P.S. I noticed yesterday morning that this book wasn't where I had left it. I suspect that sneaky little tyke has been trying to take a peek at my notes. I doubt he can read dwarven runes, however, so until he does something truly worrying I'll let him play his little detective games.
-------------------------------------------
DAY 14
I almost died to a crab today. I think that’s all I need to say to start this entry.
Our second shot at taking down the barghest is barely worth mentioning. Just as Kane described, Talathel tossed a couple balls of lighting into the room, then the mage spent the better part of five minutes chucking flame balls into the room before shutting the door behind him. When we opened the door, the monster was quite dead. Huge surprise. We carefully approached the singed corpse to make absolutely sure it was dead. Tyvelian leaned toward me as we inspected the body.
“Why did this one stand in the corner making waste?" he muttered to me. “Isn’t it better to fight and die?”
I don’t exactly remember what kind of questions I was asking at his age, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Once the barghest fell over, Kane (of course) searched the room for valuables. All he found was a simple-looking ring, but it had a trick up its sleeve: as he put it on, a shield of shimmering light suddenly sprung from it. Of course, it was in the shape of a seven-pointed star. Considering he’s the only member of the party who doesn’t use both of his hands at all times, he gladly took it for himself.
We finally returned to the burial chamber and carefully treaded down the rough, damp hallway. The stone soon gave way to mud and sand, and before long we emerged in a giant cavern filled with water. Kane’s jaw nearly dropped when he saw what sat at the bottom: giant piles of gold and silver strewn across the silt of the tidepool, and at the center sat a ridiculously massive helm, clearly sized for a giant at nearly five feet across and plated with gold.
Of course by this point we are all paranoid as fuck, and so it took us nearly five minutes to even think about getting near the water. It didn’t help that when we glanced back at the pond after a couple minutes, we noticed that the helmet had turned toward us. Ty suggested that Talathel try and speak to the bunyip back outside and get it to retrieve the treasure for us. I refused, since a) it would mean delaying another day as the druid prepared the spell, and b) the mutant freak had no reason not to simply devour Talathel as soon as he said “Hello”. After some extended bickering, Kane finally got tired of our shit and carefully stuck his foot into the water.
A giant hermit crab about the size of a small bear suddenly scuttled free of the helmet and began swimming toward the elf at an alarming rate. Kane quickly yanked his foot from the water, and the crab suddenly stopped to turn back toward his home.
After a much quicker discussion, the rest of the party arranged themselves around the shore of the pool and I made a deliberate step into the water.
NOTE FOR FUTURE SELF: If anyone requests for you to be the bait for a giant hermit crab, DON’T FUCKING DO IT.
The crab was astoundingly fast in the water, and before I could even raise my hammer it wrapped a claw around my ankle and pulled me onto my back with a jerk. The rest of the party hurriedly tossed spells and arrows at the creature, but with another tug it started to pull me into the water. I tried to wriggle myself free before it pulled me under, but its grip was strong and I could only hold my breath as it dragged me beneath the surface. I could not help but note the irony that after facing a rampaging demoness, a cadre of vicious ghosts, and a goblinoid monster from another plane… I was about to be murdered by a fucking crab.
But lucky me, Torag apparently wants me to die with a bit more dignity than that. Just as the crab was about to pull into its “shell” a sharp splashing noise shook the water. An arrow appeared right between its eyestalks. With a quick convulsion and a rapid clicking noise the crab went limp and released me from its vice grip.
Between the weight of my armor and Fury, I simply sank to the bottom instead of floating to the surface. Luckily I can hold my breath for quite a long time, so I started to simply walk along the sea floor. But then I glanced at the empty helmet behind me and remembered the magical cords on my shoulders.
I can only imagine what it must have looked like as I slowly emerged at the other end of the pool, walking along the bottom of the pool like a hallway and dragging a quarter-ton golden hat behind me. With a final heave, I dragged the helmet onto the shore before turning back toward the others.
“Here’s yer bloody treasure, Kane. Now let’s not ever fucking do that again, aye?”
-------------------------------------------
And with that the threat of Thistletop is no more. It took a few hours and a few rather confused workmen to clear out all the treasure of course – I’m still not entirely sure what Kane is gonna do with that workbench – but for all intents and purposes Sandpoint is safe again. The linchpin in the goblin conspiracy is dead with half of the chieftains besides, and Shalelu is already sending us reports that infighting has sprung up among the survivors. Lyrie will face justice, and I expect the magistrates in Magnimar will sentence her to death for her crimes.
As for Tsuto… funny thing, that. They found him dead in his cell a couple of days ago. Apparent suicide. I’m not exactly surprised, but I can’t help but wonder where he found the means to off himself while locked behind bars.
Anyway, Sandpoint is safe at last, and I think I’m finally free to journey elsewhere. Kane mentioned possibly trying to find more Thassilonian ruins, but he doesn’t have any leads. Besides, there’s still so much of the world to see and I’d hate to lose more time. That said, I’m not leaving immediately.
Hammer and Tongs recommends the crafting of great works as thanks to Torag’s blessings, and I can think of no better occasion to forge a new weapon. Fury has served me beautifully, of course, but it would be foolish to call it perfect. I’ve learned so much in the last few years and even more in the last fortnight. And this new warhammer will be the symbol of all of that. Besides, Lyrie’s little trick demonstrated that it’s always a good idea to be redundant. I expect it to take at least a week to forge if I give it the care it deserves, and so Sandpoint will remain my home for at least a small while.
A final note for You, Torag. Looking back through this journal, I noticed many a time I was questioning or doubtful of Your intentions. And yet with the perfect vision of hindsight, I can see all of those apparent bumps in the road were simply the rough ingot of Your designs being hammered into perfect shape. And perfect it is.
Cheers, Torag. And cheers, Sandpoint.
-BARUN
[END RISE OF THE RUNELORDS MODULE ONE: “BURNT OFFERINGS”]
DAY 11
I should have figured that after spending a whole weekend recuperating that I would be on the edge of death yet again only an hour after returning to Thistletop. I should probably look into writing a last will and testament sooner rather than later. I’ll see if there’s any attorneys in town that can help me write one up before I leave.
After a couple days of bedrest my muscles felt better than ever, so we began packing up for what we thought was the final expedition to Thistletop. We elected to release Orik from our service, as he would still need a couple of days to recuperate. Between a rather hefty hazard pay and having literally died working for us, Orik did not seem disappointed in our decision. He did mention that he would give us a good name when he returned to Magnimar in a few weeks, which I will admit surprised me. I’m not sure if we’ve deserved that reputation, but I won’t complain.
By noon we had once again reached the deepest level of the island stronghold, venturing first into the last room we had left: the burial chamber. The floor was charred by Kane’s ridiculous flame spell from our last visit, and despite the banishment of the shadows I could still whiff a faint lingering of their evil in the air. To Kane’s credit, he only briefly scoured the room before escorting us to safety, and so upon our return we began our usual treasure hunting. Kane managed to dig up the key to the locked room after some slightly desecrating digging, but more intriguingly I found yet another hidden doorway while studying the walls. The air coming from within was much damper than the rest of the dungeon, and the walls were of roughly hewn stone rather than clean masonry. We decided to hold out on exploring this final chamber until we had uncovered what was waiting for us behind the locked doors.
After a brief walk, the double doors once again stood before us. Kane retrieved the key from his pocket (yet another seven-pointed star, as it happens), and handed it to me. Seems like I’ve become the default front line at this point. I carefully inserted the key into a perfectly sized indentation at the dead center of the door. With a twist and a light clank, the doors swung open to reveal a pit of fire and… nothing.
This was the third time we had encountered an invisible foe in almost as many days, and this time Kane was prepared. He retrieved a scroll from his robes and read it aloud before looking back into the room. Notably, he looked quite a ways toward the ceiling, even for his height. Since we were all still blind as bats to whatever was inside, Kane began chucking spells into the room while calling out the beast’s location as best he could. With a wave of his hand Talathel threw a sparkling fire into the room, and with a gentle flash the monster was illuminated. It didn’t wait long after being revealed to fully show itself, however.
With a terrible moaning roar the creature flashed into existence. It was like a mountainous wolf the size of a horse, but with a head twisted into a vaguely goblin-like shape. Apparently this was the god the goblins above had been so excited about. As I switched to a proper battle stance, I noticed a soft whimpering to my side. I looked over to see Talathel on the verge of tears despite his maintained grip on his spear: apparently the monster’s call had an effect I hadn’t noticed. Kane seemed to have been affected too, now that I mention it: he did his best to cover it up, but he was breathing rather heavily and was moving with a certain… melancholy.
Our foe revealed, I charged into the room as Tyvelian and Kane began chucking projectiles inside with increased ferocity. I imbued Fury with holy… um, fury, and slammed it into the monster’s face.
Imagine my surprise when it came straight out the other side without any brains or blood attatched. The monster shot me a devilishly intelligent grin. I think Kane shouted at me to get out of the room at this point, but before I could respond the monster tore into me like a tornado. Within a couple of seconds there was more exposed muscle than skin.
The studies of the paladin espouse the virtue of honor. A holy warrior should always face combat bravely and without retreat. If the enemy proves greater, than the paladin should die, and die with dignity.
However, honor assumes that your combatant is on roughly even terms with you. And this guy wasn’t even reading from the same book as me. So I turned and darted my bloody ass out of there.
Once I reached the end of the hall, I noticed that I wasn’t being followed by thunderous footsteps. By all rights the creature should have plowed right through the rest of the party to get to me, and yet it stopped squarely at the doorsill, taking a few arrow shots from Tyvelian before retreating into an unreachable corner. After a brief glance at each other, the rest of the party slammed the doors shut once again as I limped back toward them.
“The room’s warded.” Kane explained. “The barghest can’t get out unless the ward’s broken.” Barghest, huh? I have a buddy back in the Mountainhome who used that as a nickname for his old iron skillet, though after seeing the beast in person I fail to see the resemblance. I quickly glanced over what was left of my body.
“Well unless ye want ta drag me corpse out of the dungeon tonight, I’m not goin’ back in there,” I said. “Got any other ideas?”
“I might,” is all Kane replied, before making his way back toward the dungeon stairs.
As he explained to me later, his “plan” is to make a dozen fireball scrolls (and have Talathel make a few of his own variant, just in case) and chuck them one after the other into the room until the barghest is good and dead. It’ll take nearly two days to scribe them all.
Normally I’d call this dishonorable and stupid, but considering I look like a mummy from all the bandaging on me I can’t really offer a rebuttal.
-BARUN
P.S. I noticed yesterday morning that this book wasn't where I had left it. I suspect that sneaky little tyke has been trying to take a peek at my notes. I doubt he can read dwarven runes, however, so until he does something truly worrying I'll let him play his little detective games.
-------------------------------------------
DAY 14
I almost died to a crab today. I think that’s all I need to say to start this entry.
Our second shot at taking down the barghest is barely worth mentioning. Just as Kane described, Talathel tossed a couple balls of lighting into the room, then the mage spent the better part of five minutes chucking flame balls into the room before shutting the door behind him. When we opened the door, the monster was quite dead. Huge surprise. We carefully approached the singed corpse to make absolutely sure it was dead. Tyvelian leaned toward me as we inspected the body.
“Why did this one stand in the corner making waste?" he muttered to me. “Isn’t it better to fight and die?”
I don’t exactly remember what kind of questions I was asking at his age, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Once the barghest fell over, Kane (of course) searched the room for valuables. All he found was a simple-looking ring, but it had a trick up its sleeve: as he put it on, a shield of shimmering light suddenly sprung from it. Of course, it was in the shape of a seven-pointed star. Considering he’s the only member of the party who doesn’t use both of his hands at all times, he gladly took it for himself.
We finally returned to the burial chamber and carefully treaded down the rough, damp hallway. The stone soon gave way to mud and sand, and before long we emerged in a giant cavern filled with water. Kane’s jaw nearly dropped when he saw what sat at the bottom: giant piles of gold and silver strewn across the silt of the tidepool, and at the center sat a ridiculously massive helm, clearly sized for a giant at nearly five feet across and plated with gold.
Of course by this point we are all paranoid as fuck, and so it took us nearly five minutes to even think about getting near the water. It didn’t help that when we glanced back at the pond after a couple minutes, we noticed that the helmet had turned toward us. Ty suggested that Talathel try and speak to the bunyip back outside and get it to retrieve the treasure for us. I refused, since a) it would mean delaying another day as the druid prepared the spell, and b) the mutant freak had no reason not to simply devour Talathel as soon as he said “Hello”. After some extended bickering, Kane finally got tired of our shit and carefully stuck his foot into the water.
A giant hermit crab about the size of a small bear suddenly scuttled free of the helmet and began swimming toward the elf at an alarming rate. Kane quickly yanked his foot from the water, and the crab suddenly stopped to turn back toward his home.
After a much quicker discussion, the rest of the party arranged themselves around the shore of the pool and I made a deliberate step into the water.
NOTE FOR FUTURE SELF: If anyone requests for you to be the bait for a giant hermit crab, DON’T FUCKING DO IT.
The crab was astoundingly fast in the water, and before I could even raise my hammer it wrapped a claw around my ankle and pulled me onto my back with a jerk. The rest of the party hurriedly tossed spells and arrows at the creature, but with another tug it started to pull me into the water. I tried to wriggle myself free before it pulled me under, but its grip was strong and I could only hold my breath as it dragged me beneath the surface. I could not help but note the irony that after facing a rampaging demoness, a cadre of vicious ghosts, and a goblinoid monster from another plane… I was about to be murdered by a fucking crab.
But lucky me, Torag apparently wants me to die with a bit more dignity than that. Just as the crab was about to pull into its “shell” a sharp splashing noise shook the water. An arrow appeared right between its eyestalks. With a quick convulsion and a rapid clicking noise the crab went limp and released me from its vice grip.
Between the weight of my armor and Fury, I simply sank to the bottom instead of floating to the surface. Luckily I can hold my breath for quite a long time, so I started to simply walk along the sea floor. But then I glanced at the empty helmet behind me and remembered the magical cords on my shoulders.
I can only imagine what it must have looked like as I slowly emerged at the other end of the pool, walking along the bottom of the pool like a hallway and dragging a quarter-ton golden hat behind me. With a final heave, I dragged the helmet onto the shore before turning back toward the others.
“Here’s yer bloody treasure, Kane. Now let’s not ever fucking do that again, aye?”
-------------------------------------------
And with that the threat of Thistletop is no more. It took a few hours and a few rather confused workmen to clear out all the treasure of course – I’m still not entirely sure what Kane is gonna do with that workbench – but for all intents and purposes Sandpoint is safe again. The linchpin in the goblin conspiracy is dead with half of the chieftains besides, and Shalelu is already sending us reports that infighting has sprung up among the survivors. Lyrie will face justice, and I expect the magistrates in Magnimar will sentence her to death for her crimes.
As for Tsuto… funny thing, that. They found him dead in his cell a couple of days ago. Apparent suicide. I’m not exactly surprised, but I can’t help but wonder where he found the means to off himself while locked behind bars.
Anyway, Sandpoint is safe at last, and I think I’m finally free to journey elsewhere. Kane mentioned possibly trying to find more Thassilonian ruins, but he doesn’t have any leads. Besides, there’s still so much of the world to see and I’d hate to lose more time. That said, I’m not leaving immediately.
Hammer and Tongs recommends the crafting of great works as thanks to Torag’s blessings, and I can think of no better occasion to forge a new weapon. Fury has served me beautifully, of course, but it would be foolish to call it perfect. I’ve learned so much in the last few years and even more in the last fortnight. And this new warhammer will be the symbol of all of that. Besides, Lyrie’s little trick demonstrated that it’s always a good idea to be redundant. I expect it to take at least a week to forge if I give it the care it deserves, and so Sandpoint will remain my home for at least a small while.
A final note for You, Torag. Looking back through this journal, I noticed many a time I was questioning or doubtful of Your intentions. And yet with the perfect vision of hindsight, I can see all of those apparent bumps in the road were simply the rough ingot of Your designs being hammered into perfect shape. And perfect it is.
Cheers, Torag. And cheers, Sandpoint.
-BARUN
[END RISE OF THE RUNELORDS MODULE ONE: “BURNT OFFERINGS”]
- Gielnor
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Aug 2013 03:58
Part VII, Tyvelian's Log: Entry 3
by Spike » 21 Feb 2015 09:04
Tyvelian Rysland’s Log:
Entry 3
I was inspired to write down some of the tactics I saw today. I must figure a way to use these for myself.
I will skip more writing on my state of bed rest. I feel that I am already aware of how much rest I have had and there is naught more to write about it.
We returned to the dungeon and back to the door that we had found locked earlier. Large Sword had been dismissed from our service as the group had determined that having a man with a giant weapon who was willing to die for us was not useful. I disagree, having a person who is willing to be thrown in front of giant monsters first is most useful. If this was not the case, why was he being paid to begin with? The group’s motivations once again elude me. I have recently been reading during my rest and learned about a writing technique known as “simile” that I would like to explore.
As an experiment I’m going to rephrase my previous statement. The group’s motivations once again elude me not unlike a quickling. Hopefully I have done this correctly. I will return to this in the future to attempt this technique again, but I digress as there are more important things. We opened the door to find… an empty room. Incompetent Mage was ready this time and used a scroll to give himself vision of the creature he believed to be in the room. He found it and with the help of Absent Naturephile’s fire, the enemy was quickly revealed to us. Fat Hammer charged into it and then realized that he actually charged into no such thing. The creature immediately hit Fat Hammer, practically causing him to collapse on the spot. He had just enough strength to move himself out of the room. A different sort of plan was needed. We attempted to fight it from range but it insisted on cowering in the corner and possibly making waste.
The next day Incompetent Mage executed an excellent strategy. He filled the room with dangerous objects and then closed the door. Sure enough, the creature died. Perhaps we simply need to fill each room with dangerous objects and then wait an hour before entering. It would likely prevent the strain combat has on our bodies. I am not absolutely sure if this would work every time but I am betting that many creatures would fall to this strategy.
I leaned over to Fat Hammer and requested to know why the creature chose to make waste in the corner rather than fight the party in a struggle of glory. He did not have an answer for me. I am once again moderately upset. I should not waste my speech so easily.
We continued on until we reached a room filled with treasure and covered in water. I deemed that this would be a place for some sort of creature to live, but the party did not seem content with my thoughts on the matter. I attempted to suggest that Absent Naturephile walk head first into the water to speak to what might live within, but the party appeared to think that I wanted to send him outside to retrieve the unattractive whale monster in the large hole we passed earlier. I am not sure how else to communicate this to them. Eventually Incompetent Mage decided to live up to his name and stick his foot in the water, which provoked the rage of a large hermit crab that lived within. When his foot was retracted, the crab’s rage subsided.
Fat Hammer decided that it was time for him to do his duty to the party and disarm the danger using his meatbag. He made steps into the water and immediately was accosted by the large crustacean. I drew my bow and immediately lodged several arrows into the creature. I yelled to Fat Hammer to stay still. Fat Hammer did not stay still.
I must make a quick note here. I take pride in my ability to hit things, but I would like to say that Fat Hammer was the model of inefficiency in this situation. Had he remained still I would have been able to quickly dispatch this creature, however he decided to splash about like a small dog being introduced to water for the first time. I just used a simile again successfully, I am pleased! Back to the subject at hand, Fat Hammer has prevented us all from progressing in the battle quicker by struggling against the force of the large crab. Tactically speaking, it is not ideal to thrash about while someone you are allied with is attempting to split the enemy’s face open with arrows. Had he just remained still for several seconds, I would have easily been able to remove the crab’s spirit from his worldly form. However, it became much more difficult.
Fat Hammer’s thrashing had now caused the crab to retreat underwater. It would have been a heavily ironic lesson for Fat Hammer had he died here. However he would not be around to learn from this lesson if I simply allowed him to die. I believe in teachable moments and this would certainly be one if I had any control over the situation, which I did. I stepped to the edge of the water and focused my energy into my bow. Feeling the spark in my body, I unleashed a torrent of arrows towards the crab, who was still retreating further into the deep.
Soon, I heard the death rattle of the crab beneath the water and Fat Hammer emerged seconds later carrying a giant golden helm. I suppose I should consider this a success for the group, even though the work involved was mine own. I pulled out my paint and made another tally on my arm for the crab. It is a shame he is dead, as he fought better than Fat Hammer. Unfortunately, the crab could not become one of the group as it is unlikely we would be able to reason with it, so I will settle for Fat Hammer.
I return to pray for those I have slain and think on the events of the day. However, my meditation that day felt off. Something was going to happen, and for the first time I am not sure how to feel about it. Darkness has seeped into my thoughts heavier than I had felt them prior. I shall push these thoughts to the side, as they are not effective in my mind. However I will be wary of this in the coming days.
[Entry Ends Here]
Entry 3
I was inspired to write down some of the tactics I saw today. I must figure a way to use these for myself.
I will skip more writing on my state of bed rest. I feel that I am already aware of how much rest I have had and there is naught more to write about it.
We returned to the dungeon and back to the door that we had found locked earlier. Large Sword had been dismissed from our service as the group had determined that having a man with a giant weapon who was willing to die for us was not useful. I disagree, having a person who is willing to be thrown in front of giant monsters first is most useful. If this was not the case, why was he being paid to begin with? The group’s motivations once again elude me. I have recently been reading during my rest and learned about a writing technique known as “simile” that I would like to explore.
As an experiment I’m going to rephrase my previous statement. The group’s motivations once again elude me not unlike a quickling. Hopefully I have done this correctly. I will return to this in the future to attempt this technique again, but I digress as there are more important things. We opened the door to find… an empty room. Incompetent Mage was ready this time and used a scroll to give himself vision of the creature he believed to be in the room. He found it and with the help of Absent Naturephile’s fire, the enemy was quickly revealed to us. Fat Hammer charged into it and then realized that he actually charged into no such thing. The creature immediately hit Fat Hammer, practically causing him to collapse on the spot. He had just enough strength to move himself out of the room. A different sort of plan was needed. We attempted to fight it from range but it insisted on cowering in the corner and possibly making waste.
The next day Incompetent Mage executed an excellent strategy. He filled the room with dangerous objects and then closed the door. Sure enough, the creature died. Perhaps we simply need to fill each room with dangerous objects and then wait an hour before entering. It would likely prevent the strain combat has on our bodies. I am not absolutely sure if this would work every time but I am betting that many creatures would fall to this strategy.
I leaned over to Fat Hammer and requested to know why the creature chose to make waste in the corner rather than fight the party in a struggle of glory. He did not have an answer for me. I am once again moderately upset. I should not waste my speech so easily.
We continued on until we reached a room filled with treasure and covered in water. I deemed that this would be a place for some sort of creature to live, but the party did not seem content with my thoughts on the matter. I attempted to suggest that Absent Naturephile walk head first into the water to speak to what might live within, but the party appeared to think that I wanted to send him outside to retrieve the unattractive whale monster in the large hole we passed earlier. I am not sure how else to communicate this to them. Eventually Incompetent Mage decided to live up to his name and stick his foot in the water, which provoked the rage of a large hermit crab that lived within. When his foot was retracted, the crab’s rage subsided.
Fat Hammer decided that it was time for him to do his duty to the party and disarm the danger using his meatbag. He made steps into the water and immediately was accosted by the large crustacean. I drew my bow and immediately lodged several arrows into the creature. I yelled to Fat Hammer to stay still. Fat Hammer did not stay still.
I must make a quick note here. I take pride in my ability to hit things, but I would like to say that Fat Hammer was the model of inefficiency in this situation. Had he remained still I would have been able to quickly dispatch this creature, however he decided to splash about like a small dog being introduced to water for the first time. I just used a simile again successfully, I am pleased! Back to the subject at hand, Fat Hammer has prevented us all from progressing in the battle quicker by struggling against the force of the large crab. Tactically speaking, it is not ideal to thrash about while someone you are allied with is attempting to split the enemy’s face open with arrows. Had he just remained still for several seconds, I would have easily been able to remove the crab’s spirit from his worldly form. However, it became much more difficult.
Fat Hammer’s thrashing had now caused the crab to retreat underwater. It would have been a heavily ironic lesson for Fat Hammer had he died here. However he would not be around to learn from this lesson if I simply allowed him to die. I believe in teachable moments and this would certainly be one if I had any control over the situation, which I did. I stepped to the edge of the water and focused my energy into my bow. Feeling the spark in my body, I unleashed a torrent of arrows towards the crab, who was still retreating further into the deep.
Soon, I heard the death rattle of the crab beneath the water and Fat Hammer emerged seconds later carrying a giant golden helm. I suppose I should consider this a success for the group, even though the work involved was mine own. I pulled out my paint and made another tally on my arm for the crab. It is a shame he is dead, as he fought better than Fat Hammer. Unfortunately, the crab could not become one of the group as it is unlikely we would be able to reason with it, so I will settle for Fat Hammer.
I return to pray for those I have slain and think on the events of the day. However, my meditation that day felt off. Something was going to happen, and for the first time I am not sure how to feel about it. Darkness has seeped into my thoughts heavier than I had felt them prior. I shall push these thoughts to the side, as they are not effective in my mind. However I will be wary of this in the coming days.
[Entry Ends Here]
- Spike
- Posts: 3
- Joined: 24 Mar 2013 01:56
Part VIII: Who are You? (Who, who? Who, who?)
by Gielnor » 24 Feb 2015 04:56
FROM THE JOURNAL OF BARUN BURADUM
1st of Lamashan, 4707 A.R
The metal resisted my goading yet again today. What I expected to take less than two weeks is quickly becoming a month-long endeavor, if not more. I am not dismayed, though. With this much working, the core of the new hammer (still need to think of a name before I christen it) will be wrought as hard as diamond. Hopefully Ameiko won’t reconsider her offer of free bedding any time soon, as I’ll be working at the Sandpoint shops for a few more days at-
[The writing ends abruptly, as if the writer was interrupted mid-sentence. The phrase is left unfinished, with a new paragraph beginning beneath.]
Oh cripes. The hammer’s gonna have to wait. Looks like the town is being pulled into another dangerous situation, and this time I’ve been pulled into the fray against my will. Gods, where to begin?
The interruption up there was caused by a knock at the door. I swung it open to reveal Sherrif Hemlock, his stoic face streaked with a subtle hint of concern.
“Hello, Buradum. I need you to gather the other members of your party as soon as you can. Can you do that?”
“Er… I’m not sure where they all are right now, but I’ll do me best. What seems ta be the problem?”
Hemlock quickly glanced to his sides before replying. “I can’t tell you now, not in public. We can’t risk getting the town into a panic. Just find your friends and we can discuss the matter in private.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll go look for ‘em. See you shortly.” He nodded and walked down the hall as I turned back into my room and quickly assembled my basic town wear. The full set of plate armor I ordered was finally finished yesterday, but there’s no way I’m getting it on without any help, so I opted for the simple vest-and-hammer combo before heading out into the streets.
My first stop was the Hagfish, since that was the only place where I knew for certain a party member was. Talathel and I quickly became friends after the Thistletop raid, since he’s the only other member without a stick up his arse at all times, and he had told me the night before over drinks that he was going to take another shot at his life’s goal: to conquer the Hagfish Challenge. It’s not exactly a lofty goal, to be sure, but honestly I’m just glad he has a goal at all.
Today was not his day, it seems, for I walked into the tavern just in time to watch him heave a mugfull of eel slime into the tavern’s dedicated Challenge Bucket. I quickly hoisted his arm over my shoulder and dragged him out of the bar.
“Up ye get, lad. Ye tried yer best. Now on yer feet son, the sheriff’s wantin’ a meetin’ with us. That’s it, lad… and wipe yer mouth.”
Talathel sputtered and moaned as we left the building. “Ugh… I’ll get it down*burp* one day…”
Once the druid had finally stopped dry heaving at every street corner, we stopped by Kane’s room back at the inn. Any semblance of conversation between us had completely died after our return from Thistletop, excepting the occasional money share negotiations. Today he was in his room, studying from a massive stack of books, just like he had been doing every day for the past two weeks. He didn’t even look up from his work when we walked in and told him about the sheriff. Instead he merely nodded to his butler, Patsy, who took care of that needless waste of air called “talking” for him.
“Master Kane will be occupied by his studies for the remainder of the afternoon,” he said. Big surprise. He’d probably be content with reading in that room until Sandpoint falls into the sea. “However,” he continued, “if Master Hemlock is willing to accept an audience in this room, then Master Kane will entertain his inquiries.”
Knowing that was the best we were gonna get from the mage, I thanked the servant before trying to find our most evasive quarry: Tyvelian. I had seen nothing but glimpses of the boy in the last two weeks, and it took a lot of pointed questions from the druid around town to finally pin him down. We finally found him in a curio shop far off the beaten path, buying a pouch full of god-knows-what. I somehow managed to convince him to tag along with us, and after a brief stop by the sheriff’s office (Hemlock was slightly annoyed by Kane’s insistence on the meeting place, but he knew the mage well enough to expect as much) we were finally all gathered around Kane’s book-covered table. The sheriff took a quick look around the room before beginning.
“First of all, thank you again for your stand against the goblins two weeks ago,” he began. “Without your efforts this town would be in ashes. Which is why… or partly why… I am entrusting you with this new situation.” He paused, sighing shortly before continuing.
“To put it shortly, there’s been a murder in town. Under normal circumstances I would handle such a crime myself, but these are not normal circumstances. You probably have heard of the “late unpleasantness” since you’ve arrived. A grisly string of murders a few years back that ended in the burning of the chapel and Father Tobyn’s death. Well, I fear something similar may be starting right now.
“The murder happened last night, best as we can tell, down at the Lumber Mill on River Street. Two bodies, both found by one Ibor Thorn. We have him down at the jail right now, mostly for his own safety, because he’s a bit of a wreck. I’m worried because this isn’t an isolated incident – this is the second murder this week.”
I interrupted him. “Now hold on, why didn’t ya tell us about the first one?”
Hemlock shot me an annoyed look. “I was getting to that. Again, normally I would handle this investigation myself, but there’s two reasons why I am turning to you for help. Firstly, the town guards are a bit green and, frankly, the crime scene is gruesome. You all have seen your fair share of death and dismemberment, though, so hopefully you can handle it.”
The sheriff paused as he pulled a crumpled, stained note from his pocket. “The second reason… is that the killer seems to know you all personally. Specifically you, Barun.” He stretched the note towards me.
Wot.
I took the note in hand. It was short, barely a sentence long, but I had to read it fully a couple times over just to ensure that, yes, I had no idea what it was talking about. Still don’t. After a minute of confusion I finally read the note aloud to the others.
“We have spoken of this before, my master. Now it begins. Join the pack and it will end. Signed, Your Lordship. What the bloody hell is this?”
“Now hold on,” I said, taken aback. “Is this bugger implying I’m behind all o’ this?”
“That seems to be the case. I don’t doubt your innocence, but I can’t guarantee the same for everyone else in town. Thus you can see why investigating this matter yourself is a good idea.”
“Yer bloody right it’s a good idea. What have ye got?”
The sheriff nodded and retrieved a notebook from his pocket. “The victims were Banny Harker, one of the sawmill workers, and Katrine Vinder. We assume the two were in a romantic relationship.”
I could feel the color run out of my face as soon as he said the second name. “Vinder… Ven Vinder’s daughter?”
“Yes. He’s actually down at the jails as well. Flew into an absolute rage when he found out, and we had to lock him up to keep him from going on a rampage. Why, do you know him?”
“Eh… ye could say that, aye.” I didn’t dare mention the same man had chased me out of his store in a flying rage a month prior. I hope to hell I don’t have to talk to him any time soon, especially in that state.
“Anyway, what was unusual about the bodies is what the killer had done to them… well, one of them at least. One of the bodies has a strange, seven-pointed star carved into his chest.”
Oh cripes.
Kane looked up for the first time since the conversation began. He frantically dug through his notes before pulling out a single sheet of paper – the same one he had sketched on during one of our nightly meetings, as it happens.
“Did it look like this?”
Hemlock looked surprised at the sorcerer’s seeming precognition. “Um… it does, as a matter of fact. How the hell did you know?”
The mage didn’t respond, as he had already dug back into his stack of books.
The sheriff took a few moments to recover his train of thought. “Um, right. Other matters of note. Again, we have Ibor in custody back at the barracks if you want to question him, but I recommend investigating the sawmill itself before anything else. There’s a crowd starting to build down there, and it’s best that we clear the area as quickly as possible so that we can prepare both of the bodies for burial.
“You may also want to talk with old Brody Quink. He’s a bit of a recluse, and it’s easier to talk to a tree than get a word out of the old man-“ I risked a quick snicker at Talathel- “but he’s the best expert on Varisian history around. If you want to find any more information on that strange symbol, he’d be the one to talk to.
“Finally, I’ve got the details on the first murder case back at my office. In short, I’m concerned because the bodies had the exact same symbol carved into them. I can tell you more once you’ve finished up at the mill. So, can I count on your help?”
“Damn right ye can. From me at least. Talathel, Ty, Kane? What say ye?” Talathel nodded in agreement, while Tyvelian simply said, “uh, sure?” I’d be surprised if he was paying attention at all. Kane said nothing, but had finally closed his book, clearly interested. Hemlock seemed pleased, and left to tell the guards of our arrival.
Once he left the room, Kane asked me for the note. He studied it carefully for a few minutes, scrutinizing every line and crease in the paper. This uncovered nothing. After a few minutes, he shrugged, and half-jokingly sniffed the note for any other clue. Imagine our surprise when he visibly retched. Apparently it smells quite bad. He held the note at arm’s length, wrapped it in a spare handkerchief, then without another word left the room and made his way downstairs.
Oh gods, here we go again.
---------------------------------------------------------
There was indeed quite a crowd gathered around the lumber mill when we arrived. It looked like half the town had taken the day off of work to gawk at the latest news. That’s one of the benefits of living in a huge city like Highhelm: you don’t need to worry about a hundred bloody neighbors eyeballing your corpse when you kick it. Before we could enter the building, Kane grabbed my shoulder and whispered into my ear.
“Are you sure you should be next to the scene of the crime?” he asked. Clearly he was concerned (for lack of a better term) of rumors of my involvement spreading around town.
I brushed his hand off of my shoulder. “What kind o’ murderer would come back ta poke at their own kill, in front of a hundred people?” Kane simply shrugged in reply. As we approached the guards, they simply nodded and allowed us through. Except for Ty, because he had somehow wandered off between leaving the inn and reaching the crime scene. Still haven’t managed to find the bugger again.
The first thing I noticed, before even seeing the room, was the gods-awful stench. It was the stench of rotting death, but it was far more than a lingering whiff – it permeated the whole room like an awful fog. Then I saw the bodies. Torag save me, what a scene. Now it was clear why only one of the bodies had been marked. Splattered across the middle of the room was the poor girl’s remains… or what was left of them. By the looks of it she was forced into the saw blade while it was running, and it did not make a clean cut. I had to look away for quite a while when I saw how much alike the mangled fragments of her face were to her sister’s.
The boy did not have it any better. The butcher had taken the hooks the lumberjacks use to move the logs into place and pinned the corpse to the wall with them. Unlike the girl I had a hard time reading his face, as his lower jaw was completely ripped away. And just like the sheriff had said, gouged among the dozens of other awful wounds was the familiar form of the Sihedron.
We weren’t dealing with a killer. We were dealing with a monster.
After taking a few minutes to gather our thoughts, Talathel began performing forensics on the more intact body. He quickly found something of note: five deep gouges on each side of his torso, spaced out exactly like human hands. The permeating smell was even stronger around these particular wounds. Kane impersonally took a few unseen notes in his journal before something in the center of the room caught his eye: a large lumber axe, embedded blade-down into the floor. The handle looked to be covered in bloody hand prints, while the head was coated with a nasty mixture of green, slimy flesh and small shards of bone. Kane yanked the axe free and brought it close to his face, only to nearly drop it again as he dry-heaved over the floor.
When he recovered, Kane picked up the axe yet again (this time keeping the head far from his nose) and held the bloody prints up to Katrine’s surviving hand. They matched perfectly. As I walked over to the axe and finally got a strong, gag-inducing smell of it, I finally recognized the stench.
“This axe has touched an undead.” I told the others. “An’ by the looks of it, so has everythin’ else in this room.” I looked over again at Harker’s marked chest. “But I’ve never known a simple zombie ta carve complex ancient runes inta a corpse before. Or leave a corpse uneaten, for that matter. So we’re dealing with either an intelligent undead, or a necromancer’s servant. Or an undead necromancer. Which I’d rather not think about.”
With everything of note extracted from the building proper, we made our way to the adjacent river shore. Suddenly Talathel’s pointed ears shot up (I did not know they could do that) and he started sniffing the air excitedly.
“Guys, I smell… I smell zombie!”
He quickly found a set of barefoot human-sized footprints, which lead from the lumber mill, along the shore, and finally to the end of a nearby dock, the end of which was coated in flecks of more awful-smelling flesh. Talathel’s sniffing became even more excited as he dove into the water and wade across to the opposite shore, frantically gesturing to us as he sniffed at a certain spot on the ground. When we finally made it across, it was clear what the druid had found. There was a small clear area in the surrounding reeds, filled with more footprints, all facing the river. It had a perfect view of the lumber mill.
Talathel continued sniffing the ground on all fours when we arrived.
“Smells like zombieeeeee!”
I did my best to put on a nervous grin. “Thanks?...”
The druid suddenly rose up onto his knees and looked at me.
“What?”
---------------------------------------------------------
While I felt sorry for the lad being locked up in the town jail for being a bystander, I completely understand why Hemlock did it. The boy was an utter mess when we came to visit him. I shudder to think what he might do to himself if the guards didn’t keep an eye on him. Unlike our dearly departed friend Tsuto however, Ibor was left unrestrained and well fed. He whimpered as I unlocked the cell door and went inside.
“W-what do you want? I-I already told the guards everything I know. Please don’t make me think about it again.”
I gently placed my hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad. We won’t make ye tell us anything yer not comfortable with. We’re just trying to get ta the bottom of things and make sure justice is served, but we cannae do it without yer help. Now, please tell me what happened last night.”
He paused for a long while, then finally let out a long sigh. “A-alright. I’ll tell you. Last night, H-Harker and I were working late at the mill. Then Katrine came by. She had been sneaking out of her father’s place a lot lately. I didn’t feel like hearing them go at it all night, so I kept the sawmill on and went home. I’m sure the neighbors complained about the noise, but that wouldn’t be anything new.”
That hesitation at Harker’s name. I knew there was something in the subtext he wasn’t revealing to me.
“Lad, you and I both know yer not tellin’ me everythin’ about Harker,” I said. Thorn looked hurt, but said nothing. I smiled gently and tapped the holy symbol on my lantern. “Don’t worry, you can trust me. Torag’s promise.”
Another long pause, and another sigh. “Y-yes, you’re right. I haven’t told you everything.”
To make a long story short, the lumber mill is owned by one of the four noble families in town, the Scarnetti’s. According to Ibor, Harker had been padding the books and pocketing some of the Scarnetti’s money. Of course, the Scarnetti’s did not have a reputation of fair and legal proceedings, and there have been long and persistent rumors around Sandpoint that many of the town’s criminals were on the family’s payroll.
A new little gem gathered, I thanked the lad, and we made our way to one final stop before returning to the sheriff.
---------------------------------------------------------
Brodert Quink’s hovel must have looked like a peek into heaven for Kane. Every square inch of wall was coated in strange and obscure literature: calandars, town records, history books, geological surveys, hundreds of sorts of maps, and thousands of unidentifiable works besides. The old man was buried up to his neck and the tomes, and in a familiar response didn’t even look up from his particular book of focus as he told me to go away.
“Ah, what if I told ye we were lookin’ for information about Thassilonians?”
That perked the old man right up. “Now why didn’t you say so? Are you here to learn about the old “lighthouse”? Of course, everyone in town calls it a lighthouse, but I have a theory that it had a much more advanced purpose.”
“Er, no thank ye sir. We’re actually here abou-“
“Proceed.”
That was Kane, speaking for the first time since we had left the inn. Oh no.
In most cases I wouldn’t mind a lesson in ancient history, especially since from what little I’ve seen of Thassilonian works they were damn good craftsmen. But at this time I had neither the time or the patience, and Quink’s voice droned on for so long that I could barely stay awake. Every time I tried to finally get to the point, Kane would fire off another history question and cue another lecture. At one point Talathel, clearly as enthralled as me, tapped me on the shoulder and asked for a drink, and so we spend a good portion of the time swapping my flask back and forth. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally lost my patience.
“Alright, that’s fantastic, but what you you know about great bloody seven-pointed stars hacked into corpses??” Torag, forgive my lack of tact, but gods damn.
After taking a moment to recover and asking why the hell we needed to know that, Brody revealed that he knew little about why the victims would be marked with a Sihedron, other than that the killer must have at least some in-depth knowledge of ancient history. There was some discussion of the connection between the ancient Thassilonians and necromancy, but nothing particularly enlightening as far as I can tell. I promised Quink that we would bring any new Thassilonian evidence to him (much to his delight) in return for his silence on the matter, before finally heading back to the sheriff’s office.
Something bizarre happened on the way there, though. Kane started off long before us, as always. However, me and Talathel followed him out just in time to watch him reach for a woman’s scarf, completely fail, then continue walking like he hadn’t done anything.
I may need to see if the local sanitorium treats cleptomania.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe. Three small-time conmen that had been a thorn in my side for far too long.” The sheriff frowned as he inspected the criminals’ records, a bright red “X” now stamped next to each of their names. “I knew they were going to end up dead sooner or later. They were young and fresh, and it was only a matter of time before they tried to scam somebody worse than them. That’s why I didn’t give their murder much thought, despite the brutality. Until today, that is.
“The bodies were found last week. Two guards were on patrol outside of town when they were attacked by a madman just outside of Farmer Bradley’s farm. The man is currently in the Sanitorium, but the important part is that after the attack the guards retreated into Bradley’s barn to find shelter. That’s where they found the bodies.
“The corpses were hung and mutilated in a similar manner to Harker, but we also found a note among the remains.” Hemlock flipped to another page in the records and pulled out a crumpled note. It was less stained than mine, but in the same unsteady hand and with a touch of that same undead scent.
“Messrs. Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe,
A deal has come about that I need capital for. It involves property and gold, and though I am not at liberty to tell you the exact details, it will make us all rich. Come to Bradley’s barn on Cougar Creek tonight. We can meet there to discuss our futures.
-Your Lordship”
“We had Father Zantus preserve the bodies for us,” he continued. “You may inspect them if you think it will help.”
We inspected the corpses only briefly, and on each body found the same calling card we had found on Harker: a pair of hand-sized claw marks, smelling of undeath.
---------------------------------------------------------
I can’t believe after all I have done for this town, I risk having my entire reputation destroyed by a single madman. But I cannot falter. If I do, the killer has already won. I must challenge this darkness, and show the good people of Sandpoint that I am the light.
There is one man in particular I will have to convince. I do not look forward to it, but if I am to see justice served… I will have to get Ven Vinder on my side.
Torag guide me.
-BARUN
1st of Lamashan, 4707 A.R
The metal resisted my goading yet again today. What I expected to take less than two weeks is quickly becoming a month-long endeavor, if not more. I am not dismayed, though. With this much working, the core of the new hammer (still need to think of a name before I christen it) will be wrought as hard as diamond. Hopefully Ameiko won’t reconsider her offer of free bedding any time soon, as I’ll be working at the Sandpoint shops for a few more days at-
[The writing ends abruptly, as if the writer was interrupted mid-sentence. The phrase is left unfinished, with a new paragraph beginning beneath.]
Oh cripes. The hammer’s gonna have to wait. Looks like the town is being pulled into another dangerous situation, and this time I’ve been pulled into the fray against my will. Gods, where to begin?
The interruption up there was caused by a knock at the door. I swung it open to reveal Sherrif Hemlock, his stoic face streaked with a subtle hint of concern.
“Hello, Buradum. I need you to gather the other members of your party as soon as you can. Can you do that?”
“Er… I’m not sure where they all are right now, but I’ll do me best. What seems ta be the problem?”
Hemlock quickly glanced to his sides before replying. “I can’t tell you now, not in public. We can’t risk getting the town into a panic. Just find your friends and we can discuss the matter in private.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll go look for ‘em. See you shortly.” He nodded and walked down the hall as I turned back into my room and quickly assembled my basic town wear. The full set of plate armor I ordered was finally finished yesterday, but there’s no way I’m getting it on without any help, so I opted for the simple vest-and-hammer combo before heading out into the streets.
My first stop was the Hagfish, since that was the only place where I knew for certain a party member was. Talathel and I quickly became friends after the Thistletop raid, since he’s the only other member without a stick up his arse at all times, and he had told me the night before over drinks that he was going to take another shot at his life’s goal: to conquer the Hagfish Challenge. It’s not exactly a lofty goal, to be sure, but honestly I’m just glad he has a goal at all.
Today was not his day, it seems, for I walked into the tavern just in time to watch him heave a mugfull of eel slime into the tavern’s dedicated Challenge Bucket. I quickly hoisted his arm over my shoulder and dragged him out of the bar.
“Up ye get, lad. Ye tried yer best. Now on yer feet son, the sheriff’s wantin’ a meetin’ with us. That’s it, lad… and wipe yer mouth.”
Talathel sputtered and moaned as we left the building. “Ugh… I’ll get it down*burp* one day…”
Once the druid had finally stopped dry heaving at every street corner, we stopped by Kane’s room back at the inn. Any semblance of conversation between us had completely died after our return from Thistletop, excepting the occasional money share negotiations. Today he was in his room, studying from a massive stack of books, just like he had been doing every day for the past two weeks. He didn’t even look up from his work when we walked in and told him about the sheriff. Instead he merely nodded to his butler, Patsy, who took care of that needless waste of air called “talking” for him.
“Master Kane will be occupied by his studies for the remainder of the afternoon,” he said. Big surprise. He’d probably be content with reading in that room until Sandpoint falls into the sea. “However,” he continued, “if Master Hemlock is willing to accept an audience in this room, then Master Kane will entertain his inquiries.”
Knowing that was the best we were gonna get from the mage, I thanked the servant before trying to find our most evasive quarry: Tyvelian. I had seen nothing but glimpses of the boy in the last two weeks, and it took a lot of pointed questions from the druid around town to finally pin him down. We finally found him in a curio shop far off the beaten path, buying a pouch full of god-knows-what. I somehow managed to convince him to tag along with us, and after a brief stop by the sheriff’s office (Hemlock was slightly annoyed by Kane’s insistence on the meeting place, but he knew the mage well enough to expect as much) we were finally all gathered around Kane’s book-covered table. The sheriff took a quick look around the room before beginning.
“First of all, thank you again for your stand against the goblins two weeks ago,” he began. “Without your efforts this town would be in ashes. Which is why… or partly why… I am entrusting you with this new situation.” He paused, sighing shortly before continuing.
“To put it shortly, there’s been a murder in town. Under normal circumstances I would handle such a crime myself, but these are not normal circumstances. You probably have heard of the “late unpleasantness” since you’ve arrived. A grisly string of murders a few years back that ended in the burning of the chapel and Father Tobyn’s death. Well, I fear something similar may be starting right now.
“The murder happened last night, best as we can tell, down at the Lumber Mill on River Street. Two bodies, both found by one Ibor Thorn. We have him down at the jail right now, mostly for his own safety, because he’s a bit of a wreck. I’m worried because this isn’t an isolated incident – this is the second murder this week.”
I interrupted him. “Now hold on, why didn’t ya tell us about the first one?”
Hemlock shot me an annoyed look. “I was getting to that. Again, normally I would handle this investigation myself, but there’s two reasons why I am turning to you for help. Firstly, the town guards are a bit green and, frankly, the crime scene is gruesome. You all have seen your fair share of death and dismemberment, though, so hopefully you can handle it.”
The sheriff paused as he pulled a crumpled, stained note from his pocket. “The second reason… is that the killer seems to know you all personally. Specifically you, Barun.” He stretched the note towards me.
Wot.
I took the note in hand. It was short, barely a sentence long, but I had to read it fully a couple times over just to ensure that, yes, I had no idea what it was talking about. Still don’t. After a minute of confusion I finally read the note aloud to the others.
“We have spoken of this before, my master. Now it begins. Join the pack and it will end. Signed, Your Lordship. What the bloody hell is this?”
“Now hold on,” I said, taken aback. “Is this bugger implying I’m behind all o’ this?”
“That seems to be the case. I don’t doubt your innocence, but I can’t guarantee the same for everyone else in town. Thus you can see why investigating this matter yourself is a good idea.”
“Yer bloody right it’s a good idea. What have ye got?”
The sheriff nodded and retrieved a notebook from his pocket. “The victims were Banny Harker, one of the sawmill workers, and Katrine Vinder. We assume the two were in a romantic relationship.”
I could feel the color run out of my face as soon as he said the second name. “Vinder… Ven Vinder’s daughter?”
“Yes. He’s actually down at the jails as well. Flew into an absolute rage when he found out, and we had to lock him up to keep him from going on a rampage. Why, do you know him?”
“Eh… ye could say that, aye.” I didn’t dare mention the same man had chased me out of his store in a flying rage a month prior. I hope to hell I don’t have to talk to him any time soon, especially in that state.
“Anyway, what was unusual about the bodies is what the killer had done to them… well, one of them at least. One of the bodies has a strange, seven-pointed star carved into his chest.”
Oh cripes.
Kane looked up for the first time since the conversation began. He frantically dug through his notes before pulling out a single sheet of paper – the same one he had sketched on during one of our nightly meetings, as it happens.
“Did it look like this?”
Hemlock looked surprised at the sorcerer’s seeming precognition. “Um… it does, as a matter of fact. How the hell did you know?”
The mage didn’t respond, as he had already dug back into his stack of books.
The sheriff took a few moments to recover his train of thought. “Um, right. Other matters of note. Again, we have Ibor in custody back at the barracks if you want to question him, but I recommend investigating the sawmill itself before anything else. There’s a crowd starting to build down there, and it’s best that we clear the area as quickly as possible so that we can prepare both of the bodies for burial.
“You may also want to talk with old Brody Quink. He’s a bit of a recluse, and it’s easier to talk to a tree than get a word out of the old man-“ I risked a quick snicker at Talathel- “but he’s the best expert on Varisian history around. If you want to find any more information on that strange symbol, he’d be the one to talk to.
“Finally, I’ve got the details on the first murder case back at my office. In short, I’m concerned because the bodies had the exact same symbol carved into them. I can tell you more once you’ve finished up at the mill. So, can I count on your help?”
“Damn right ye can. From me at least. Talathel, Ty, Kane? What say ye?” Talathel nodded in agreement, while Tyvelian simply said, “uh, sure?” I’d be surprised if he was paying attention at all. Kane said nothing, but had finally closed his book, clearly interested. Hemlock seemed pleased, and left to tell the guards of our arrival.
Once he left the room, Kane asked me for the note. He studied it carefully for a few minutes, scrutinizing every line and crease in the paper. This uncovered nothing. After a few minutes, he shrugged, and half-jokingly sniffed the note for any other clue. Imagine our surprise when he visibly retched. Apparently it smells quite bad. He held the note at arm’s length, wrapped it in a spare handkerchief, then without another word left the room and made his way downstairs.
Oh gods, here we go again.
---------------------------------------------------------
There was indeed quite a crowd gathered around the lumber mill when we arrived. It looked like half the town had taken the day off of work to gawk at the latest news. That’s one of the benefits of living in a huge city like Highhelm: you don’t need to worry about a hundred bloody neighbors eyeballing your corpse when you kick it. Before we could enter the building, Kane grabbed my shoulder and whispered into my ear.
“Are you sure you should be next to the scene of the crime?” he asked. Clearly he was concerned (for lack of a better term) of rumors of my involvement spreading around town.
I brushed his hand off of my shoulder. “What kind o’ murderer would come back ta poke at their own kill, in front of a hundred people?” Kane simply shrugged in reply. As we approached the guards, they simply nodded and allowed us through. Except for Ty, because he had somehow wandered off between leaving the inn and reaching the crime scene. Still haven’t managed to find the bugger again.
The first thing I noticed, before even seeing the room, was the gods-awful stench. It was the stench of rotting death, but it was far more than a lingering whiff – it permeated the whole room like an awful fog. Then I saw the bodies. Torag save me, what a scene. Now it was clear why only one of the bodies had been marked. Splattered across the middle of the room was the poor girl’s remains… or what was left of them. By the looks of it she was forced into the saw blade while it was running, and it did not make a clean cut. I had to look away for quite a while when I saw how much alike the mangled fragments of her face were to her sister’s.
The boy did not have it any better. The butcher had taken the hooks the lumberjacks use to move the logs into place and pinned the corpse to the wall with them. Unlike the girl I had a hard time reading his face, as his lower jaw was completely ripped away. And just like the sheriff had said, gouged among the dozens of other awful wounds was the familiar form of the Sihedron.
We weren’t dealing with a killer. We were dealing with a monster.
After taking a few minutes to gather our thoughts, Talathel began performing forensics on the more intact body. He quickly found something of note: five deep gouges on each side of his torso, spaced out exactly like human hands. The permeating smell was even stronger around these particular wounds. Kane impersonally took a few unseen notes in his journal before something in the center of the room caught his eye: a large lumber axe, embedded blade-down into the floor. The handle looked to be covered in bloody hand prints, while the head was coated with a nasty mixture of green, slimy flesh and small shards of bone. Kane yanked the axe free and brought it close to his face, only to nearly drop it again as he dry-heaved over the floor.
When he recovered, Kane picked up the axe yet again (this time keeping the head far from his nose) and held the bloody prints up to Katrine’s surviving hand. They matched perfectly. As I walked over to the axe and finally got a strong, gag-inducing smell of it, I finally recognized the stench.
“This axe has touched an undead.” I told the others. “An’ by the looks of it, so has everythin’ else in this room.” I looked over again at Harker’s marked chest. “But I’ve never known a simple zombie ta carve complex ancient runes inta a corpse before. Or leave a corpse uneaten, for that matter. So we’re dealing with either an intelligent undead, or a necromancer’s servant. Or an undead necromancer. Which I’d rather not think about.”
With everything of note extracted from the building proper, we made our way to the adjacent river shore. Suddenly Talathel’s pointed ears shot up (I did not know they could do that) and he started sniffing the air excitedly.
“Guys, I smell… I smell zombie!”
He quickly found a set of barefoot human-sized footprints, which lead from the lumber mill, along the shore, and finally to the end of a nearby dock, the end of which was coated in flecks of more awful-smelling flesh. Talathel’s sniffing became even more excited as he dove into the water and wade across to the opposite shore, frantically gesturing to us as he sniffed at a certain spot on the ground. When we finally made it across, it was clear what the druid had found. There was a small clear area in the surrounding reeds, filled with more footprints, all facing the river. It had a perfect view of the lumber mill.
Talathel continued sniffing the ground on all fours when we arrived.
“Smells like zombieeeeee!”
I did my best to put on a nervous grin. “Thanks?...”
The druid suddenly rose up onto his knees and looked at me.
“What?”
---------------------------------------------------------
While I felt sorry for the lad being locked up in the town jail for being a bystander, I completely understand why Hemlock did it. The boy was an utter mess when we came to visit him. I shudder to think what he might do to himself if the guards didn’t keep an eye on him. Unlike our dearly departed friend Tsuto however, Ibor was left unrestrained and well fed. He whimpered as I unlocked the cell door and went inside.
“W-what do you want? I-I already told the guards everything I know. Please don’t make me think about it again.”
I gently placed my hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad. We won’t make ye tell us anything yer not comfortable with. We’re just trying to get ta the bottom of things and make sure justice is served, but we cannae do it without yer help. Now, please tell me what happened last night.”
He paused for a long while, then finally let out a long sigh. “A-alright. I’ll tell you. Last night, H-Harker and I were working late at the mill. Then Katrine came by. She had been sneaking out of her father’s place a lot lately. I didn’t feel like hearing them go at it all night, so I kept the sawmill on and went home. I’m sure the neighbors complained about the noise, but that wouldn’t be anything new.”
That hesitation at Harker’s name. I knew there was something in the subtext he wasn’t revealing to me.
“Lad, you and I both know yer not tellin’ me everythin’ about Harker,” I said. Thorn looked hurt, but said nothing. I smiled gently and tapped the holy symbol on my lantern. “Don’t worry, you can trust me. Torag’s promise.”
Another long pause, and another sigh. “Y-yes, you’re right. I haven’t told you everything.”
To make a long story short, the lumber mill is owned by one of the four noble families in town, the Scarnetti’s. According to Ibor, Harker had been padding the books and pocketing some of the Scarnetti’s money. Of course, the Scarnetti’s did not have a reputation of fair and legal proceedings, and there have been long and persistent rumors around Sandpoint that many of the town’s criminals were on the family’s payroll.
A new little gem gathered, I thanked the lad, and we made our way to one final stop before returning to the sheriff.
---------------------------------------------------------
Brodert Quink’s hovel must have looked like a peek into heaven for Kane. Every square inch of wall was coated in strange and obscure literature: calandars, town records, history books, geological surveys, hundreds of sorts of maps, and thousands of unidentifiable works besides. The old man was buried up to his neck and the tomes, and in a familiar response didn’t even look up from his particular book of focus as he told me to go away.
“Ah, what if I told ye we were lookin’ for information about Thassilonians?”
That perked the old man right up. “Now why didn’t you say so? Are you here to learn about the old “lighthouse”? Of course, everyone in town calls it a lighthouse, but I have a theory that it had a much more advanced purpose.”
“Er, no thank ye sir. We’re actually here abou-“
“Proceed.”
That was Kane, speaking for the first time since we had left the inn. Oh no.
In most cases I wouldn’t mind a lesson in ancient history, especially since from what little I’ve seen of Thassilonian works they were damn good craftsmen. But at this time I had neither the time or the patience, and Quink’s voice droned on for so long that I could barely stay awake. Every time I tried to finally get to the point, Kane would fire off another history question and cue another lecture. At one point Talathel, clearly as enthralled as me, tapped me on the shoulder and asked for a drink, and so we spend a good portion of the time swapping my flask back and forth. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally lost my patience.
“Alright, that’s fantastic, but what you you know about great bloody seven-pointed stars hacked into corpses??” Torag, forgive my lack of tact, but gods damn.
After taking a moment to recover and asking why the hell we needed to know that, Brody revealed that he knew little about why the victims would be marked with a Sihedron, other than that the killer must have at least some in-depth knowledge of ancient history. There was some discussion of the connection between the ancient Thassilonians and necromancy, but nothing particularly enlightening as far as I can tell. I promised Quink that we would bring any new Thassilonian evidence to him (much to his delight) in return for his silence on the matter, before finally heading back to the sheriff’s office.
Something bizarre happened on the way there, though. Kane started off long before us, as always. However, me and Talathel followed him out just in time to watch him reach for a woman’s scarf, completely fail, then continue walking like he hadn’t done anything.
I may need to see if the local sanitorium treats cleptomania.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe. Three small-time conmen that had been a thorn in my side for far too long.” The sheriff frowned as he inspected the criminals’ records, a bright red “X” now stamped next to each of their names. “I knew they were going to end up dead sooner or later. They were young and fresh, and it was only a matter of time before they tried to scam somebody worse than them. That’s why I didn’t give their murder much thought, despite the brutality. Until today, that is.
“The bodies were found last week. Two guards were on patrol outside of town when they were attacked by a madman just outside of Farmer Bradley’s farm. The man is currently in the Sanitorium, but the important part is that after the attack the guards retreated into Bradley’s barn to find shelter. That’s where they found the bodies.
“The corpses were hung and mutilated in a similar manner to Harker, but we also found a note among the remains.” Hemlock flipped to another page in the records and pulled out a crumpled note. It was less stained than mine, but in the same unsteady hand and with a touch of that same undead scent.
“Messrs. Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe,
A deal has come about that I need capital for. It involves property and gold, and though I am not at liberty to tell you the exact details, it will make us all rich. Come to Bradley’s barn on Cougar Creek tonight. We can meet there to discuss our futures.
-Your Lordship”
“We had Father Zantus preserve the bodies for us,” he continued. “You may inspect them if you think it will help.”
We inspected the corpses only briefly, and on each body found the same calling card we had found on Harker: a pair of hand-sized claw marks, smelling of undeath.
---------------------------------------------------------
I can’t believe after all I have done for this town, I risk having my entire reputation destroyed by a single madman. But I cannot falter. If I do, the killer has already won. I must challenge this darkness, and show the good people of Sandpoint that I am the light.
There is one man in particular I will have to convince. I do not look forward to it, but if I am to see justice served… I will have to get Ven Vinder on my side.
Torag guide me.
-BARUN
- Gielnor
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Aug 2013 03:58
30 posts
• Page 2 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest