The
Axe of the Dwarvish Lords – PART TWO
|
Back
to PART ONE
Recap:
Heroes from afar, even other worlds, have come to the Halls of the
Thane, most via the wizard Tizun Thane's portal-mirrors. The
courageous heroes defeat invading hordes of the goblin king - but
discover that the surrounding province of Ulek has been insidiously
infiltrated. It is now ruled by traitorous thralls of East Ulek –
not a benevolent 'economic community', but secretly an orcish empire
of evil!
However, hope remains: the Fierce
Axe -
the Axe
of the Dwarvish Lords!
It has the power to unite the Dwarven folk, and bring them all
together against their foes. The demonic Abomination of Diirinka has
been manifesting, a sure sign the Axe is abroad – but in enemy
hands. The hands of Goblin-King Akhil
GreatAxe...
--------------------
ORIGOL
CRITICIZES FARADIN'S COMBAT STYLE
“You
must
have
noticed, Captain! His fighting-style was wrong, like a rank amateur
who'd never wielded axe afore!” ranted Origol the dwarf priest,
Lord Faradin's spiritual advisor. “He did nothing to the gobbo
king - just stood there! But for my axe-cast, and that explosion,
Faradin would now be dead and the battle lost! Afore that, aye, he
bested many gobboes – but
not with his axe.
Many
fled, went mad or just fell, dead. It was more like... like magic!”
The priest's face was by now a deep red.
“Axe-Father, Lord
Faradin killed many goblinz, put more to flight, and defeated their
king.”, Corith Rune-Axe replied, in defence of his Lord. “Has
he mayhap gained more powers from ze Father of Battle, or ze Mirrors?
If you azk, he muzt tell you,
straight away, Your Graze...”.
“Well, perhaps...”
says Origol, calming slightly. “Yes, indeed I will. Follow me,
Captain!” and he marches out, Corith falling-in right
behind.
The two find the dwarf-lord in the Hall of Mirrors, as
so often lately, heavy with incense. Priest Origol immediately
demands to know what powers Faradin used to defeat the goblins.
“It
is well you ask so directly.” says Faradin Thane, fixing Origol
with steely gaze. “You are most valuable, Origol – the
Final
Key,
I gather – and must not be... lost.”
“I, er... what?” Origol starts to reply, suddenly
concerned, instinctively reaching for the holy symbol medallion round
his neck. But from behind Corith strongly seizes his arm.
A
strange look fills Faradin's face: “Yamanu-ilma,
I command you! Take this dwarf and keep it safe from all harm!”
he
intones. At once Origol is slammed by an intense blast of wind, from
no visible source, incense smoke swirling around. Lifted and pounded
seemingly by the air itself, Origol fades... “Return
to me its harness, gear – and beard.”
continues
Faradin Thane. And the priest is gone.
The
dwarven Thane continues an eldritch chant for hours over Origol's
snow-packed field plate armour, clump of light brown hair inside,
while Captain Corith guards the doors outside. At long last Faradin
Thane emerges – followed by a lumbering Origol. Then the
dwarf-lord makes a pronouncement to the gathered residents of the
Halls.
“His Noble Grace Axe-Father Origol has performed a
holy ritual which formally and irrevocably confirms myself, in the
person of your Lord Faradin, as the Chosen One of Clanggedin
Silverbeard, Father of Battle. This has granted new miraculous powers
to myself, but has cost His Noble Grace much spiritual effort. He is
therefore not to be overly taxed or unnecessarily disturbed. As I am
now the holy avatar of your god, my orders are to be obeyed without
question. Anyone expressing doubt of my judgement is guilty of
blasphemy and any of you hearing such must immediately cut down the
blasphemer or be damned. Now return to your duties. Dismissed.”
--------------------
SIC TRANSIT CLAUDIA NOVA
“That
sounds perfickly within reason and Dwarven law!” says Captain
Grmok as the crowd disperses. But many are not so sure and depart
nervous and fearful, yet close-mouthed. Self-reliant enchantress
Claudia Nova is certain, however – and determined to leave the
Halls as soon as possible.
Later that night she
surreptitiously returns to the Mirror Hall doors. Though barred and
locked, by Thane's order, they are no barrier to 'Mistress Knocker'.
Once inside the dusty chamber she goes directly to the large mirror
opposite and pulls off its covering tapestry, which falls with a dull
thump billowing dust all around. Already wearing the travel-ring of
her own make, the mirror shows to her sight a scene of far-away
Kendra, in Keoland – home!
Then she spots something odd
nearby: a 'hole' in the swirling dust – shaped as a diminutive
manikin... a shade-image, lurking like a shadow. Mistress Nova gasps
and leaps for the mirror. The dust-shape jerks; Faradin Thane appears
in its place, completing a mystical pass – and the mirror-scene
blazes with sudden fiery lava. Claudia twists backward, madly trying
to stop herself, mid-transition; her ring explodes in green
lightning. To normal sight, the mirror shows naught but the dusty
room, as ever. But now also reflects half the would-be traveller,
oddly bisected by its surface, right hip to left temple. It leaves a
bloody trail as she slips down the glass, eyes flicking and
part-mouth flapping. The carcass slumps to the floor, spilling
giblets and gore, arm and charred hand flopping backward. Her eyes
stop and stare upward, lifeless.
The dwarven Thane's cold grey eyes glint like sparks of sword steel, mouth twisted in evil amusement. “Enchantment wrought less craftily than mine own, mayhap. Now with all thyself, forgotten in the silent worlds of death. Yet thou canst let others learn: Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.” And he utters a strange high-pitched cruel laugh.
--------------------
THE
FORTIFICATION OF FOGHOLLOW
Victorious
general, Sword-Lord Zelinus, is carried shoulder-high (about 3ft)
around the town of Foghollow by grateful dwarven soldiery. But the
ceremony is melancholy, not joyous as before, due to the many dwarves
lost. Often they stop as Zel invokes holy healing to the most
seriously injured, and speaks words of respect over the honoured
fallen.
Before long, atop a hill west of town, the body of
intended-bride Runa Morklist is found with those of her honour-guard
– horribly drained of life, as were victims of the Abomination
in battle. Her father, clan-head Starag Morklist immediately
initiates extended mourning with ritual weeping. The Morklists march
slowly away southwest, carrying their dead home to their hold.
Intended-groom Durrl Filwhyr tries to join them but is turned away
with threatening glares and growls: the feud continues. He pauses
briefly, then begins briskly giving orders for other burials –
and fortification.
Pragmatic deals are swiftly struck, and
outer-lying dwarven homes pulled down – the stone blocks
carried and used to fill gaps between those closer-in. By dark, a
squat wall has begun rising along the new north edge of town. Masons
in charge ask Zelinus what form the chapel to his goddess should
take; jewellers ask how she wears her hair.
Within the week
all is completed.
-------------------
A NOBLE LORD'S
EXILE & FLIGHT FROM THE HALLS
Noble Lord Guthwin of Huric
finally returns to the Halls, weary and disconsolate, bearing
grievous tidings: the fall of one paladin, one kingdom – one
civilization. Riding his equally-weary steed Lightning through the
portal-mirror, he notes with dread the horrific remains of Mistress
Claudia left to rot. He is at once on guard. Evil has preceded
him.
Hearing from the mirror-hall door-guard of the battle
won, his relief is short-lived. A brief exchange with that odd mage,
Zapp, redoubles the Air-Priest's concerns as they hurry to hear the
Divine Faradin Thane's latest pronouncement in the throne room. “What
news of Cantabria, Father?” “Lost, to Evil. What of these
Halls?” “Likewise.” Quickly asking the Lord of Sky
& Air for guidance, he enters.
“...forever. A
lesson to spies who wouldst leave without my permission.” the
Thane concludes, to fearful silence from the gathered stony-faced
dwarves. Flanking the oversized throne, his Captain and Priest lead
forced applause. It dies at once as Guthwin boldly steps forth to
bow.
“Your Divine Magnificence,” he begins, “I
would have such leave. I am no spy but, dutiful to Mighty Ukko, must
depart to consecrate a place for his worship. These Halls are not
suitably purified, as those sworn to do so have not yet got
around to
it.”, glancing sidelong at Sword-Father Clave – who
immediately flares. “Why
you jumped-up little...!”
the
Sif-ite snarls, before etiquette masters his temper.
The
Thane is amused. “Very well, priest. You have Our leave to
depart. Take what you need.”
“Your Magnanimous
Divinity is most generous,” Guthwin replies. “With goblin
hordes abroad I will need guards. I will take these mercenaries...”
he says, sweeping a hand to include all those who previously served
Makhan, “...and gift Your Divine Presence with four
thousand silver pieces
in
return...”, which tremendous sum brings gasps from Cantabrians
present, “...and I do swear to return with them to defeat any
evil forces
threatening
these Halls.” This brings an excited babble of approval from
the crowd – but stony silence from the throne.
The Thane is
not amused. His cold grey eyes glare like sparks off steel. “Go,
priest. Go now.”
Leading
a column of happily-marching heavily-armed dwarven troops, Noble Lord
Guthwin of Huric finally rides out of the Halls, but now with
weariness dispelled by determination – to defeat Evil.
-
With all eyes on the Air-Priest's retinue departing from the
Hall's front door, no-one sees the flight of three others from a back
window, covered by magical protection, non-detection and
invisibility...
-------------------
THE NEWS AT
THRUNCH
“...slaughtered by religious extremists, whose
leader – a human fanatic called 'Lord Zell' – is believed
to be thrall of an other-world war-demon.” sang Corky Snobbin
of the Bardic Brothers Company, to the crowd gathered outside Thrunch
City Hall. “The general responsible has been relieved of his
command.” the wild-eyed bald dwarf continues.
“It's
not all bad news, though. Here on the podium with me is Mayor
Cluggin, our Secondary Minister, to say a few words...”
“I
agree with Corky,” says Cluggin. “Lessons will be
learned. To head-up an Inquiry, I have already recruited the
militarily-experienced Commissioner Aliz Kleinkey (for a very
reasonable 'Golden Hello'). His Inquiry will be very swift,
thorough-going and cost-effective – barely more than 3... er, 5
Gold Forges per citizen – and will show conclusively that this
Government's reforms need to go further. Now our state is the modern
United
Provinces of Ulek,
no
longer an outdated 'Principality', more old regiments must be
replaced by the new Army
Reserve,
better-suited to tackle this sort of banditry in the modern
post-Hateful world of the peaceful Economic Ulek Union. I am working
hard to ensure these reforms are implemented straight away!”
“Thank
you, Secondary Minister. And now more Good News...!” chirrups
Snobbin. “His Serene Highness, Prince Olinstaad has commanded
work on the new 'Highway of Speed To' East Ulek start immediately!”
He pauses for cheers - but hurries on to fill the silence. “Primary
Minister Kamrin said 'It'll cost only 100 Gold Forges per citizen –
what a bargain!'. In further announcements, our tireless P.M. has
also pinky-swear
promised to
hold a referendum, which some stupid, wrong and noisy citizens seem
to want, with the simple question 'Should
our Provinces be United?'.
Don't we all hope those silly-billies now finally shut up!” he
japes.
Then, winding-up: “And in local headlines:
Economic Boom looms as eager migrant workers march in; Magical Drones
tested to monitor intolerant citizens; Apprentice Loans sold to
Scarlet Brotherhood charity; Over-occupancy evictions ease housing
crisis; Active Citizens Network recruitment makes swift
progress.”
“Now for a special announcement by
long-time Bardic Brotherhood Company treasure, Easterna Rantson.”
the baldy Snobbin concludes, smirking at a private joke, “And
finally, Easterna...?”
“And
finally, Corky...”
the
curly-bearded dwarf-crone smirks in reply, then instantly turns
serious: “All the years I knew Jimeuz Vile was a demonic
monster, in the heart of our Company, I wished there had been a law
forcing me to tell someone.” she confides to the crowd. “I
hope there soon will be.” she adds, looking sidelong at the
departing Cluggin, who adopts a serious expression and nods as if
caring. “Until then, in readiness...” the elderly
dwarf-woman continues, brightening “...my organization –
'Evil-Line' – is expanding to hear reports of any sort of
evil-doing. Not just baby-eating, but all forms of cannibalism –
even of old folk! We want to hear about any signs of demonocracy,
like intolerance,
to help stamp it out. So, please,
if you see anything like that... DON'T TELL ANYONE! Except my special
friends at Evil-Line, or in the Bardic Brothers Company or your local
street's Active Citizen Representative. Remember, tittle-tattling to
others could be slander: a crime carrying a heavy fine. That would be
a shame when you only want to help, and be a model citizen. Just like
everyone else in your street - unless, of course, you know different?
Good Night!”
And the crowd disperse as their beloved
dwarven granny-figure grins and waves from the podium, to
reassuringly familiar strains of Corky Snobbin's troubadour horn...
-------------------
CEREMONY IN FOGHOLLOW
Noble
Lord Guthwin rides up to Foghollow's makeshift town gates leading the
dwarven mercenaries, now marching not-so happily. On the trail from
the Halls they had discovered the remains of many Thrunchian dwarves,
and given them what decent burials they could. Swathes of the
retreating goblin hordes indicated they combined and went West,
towards Thrunch.
Soldiers from the now-combined 38th &
99th Thrunch recount how traitor-general Kleinkey had ordered two
other regiments from his 'Peace Force', the 5th and 71st, northward
to the Halls – to suffer the ill fate of ambush by Red Orcs
from Goblin-king Akhil's army, it appears. The heaps of orc dead
found near the site by the dwarf-merc scouts are some consolation but
not much.
However, the mood soon brightens. Makhan joyfully
greets his Mercenary band and priest Guthwin addresses him: “Master
Flint, I hereby formally relinquish these troops back to your
command. Though I do so on the understanding you will allow them to
return with myself to liberate the Thane Halls from Evil, as I am so
sworn. The terrible and insidious nature of said Evil I must discuss
with you privately and at length... er, are you listening?”
But it's clear Makhan is not listening. Determinedly greeting
his way through clamouring ranks, he reaches Scout Gimlis hiding at
the rear. He takes her hands and whispers in her ear. She nods, now
smiling. Makhan turns to his onlooking troops: “An' my first
order is this – Carry
my Bride to the Temple! At the double!”
Huge
cheers erupt from the gathered mercs as deeply-blushing Gimlis is
hoisted aloft. Through the town gates, Makhan leads the
quick-marching procession straight to the temple of Berronar...
When there, Filwhyr-clan matriarch Cliara firmly ushers
Gimlis to a side-room, despite Makhan's protests. He is forced to
wait, but Curate Durrl embraces him, and hands him two silver rings;
then they wait together in knowing silence. Meanwhile mage-mayor
Sharwynd and the elves Geradil, Quidderil and newly-arrived Evalin
and Arnumielle, rush around to magic-up suitable decorations under
direction of dwarven High Priestess Arlinna; Evalin looks hard at
Makhan, then makes a mystical pass that smartens him slightly.
After a minute or two, wizened matriarch Cliara re-emerges
but all eyes turn to her most splendid companion - garbed in flowing
white dress of finest fabric and furs, ceremonial full helm adorned
with jewels, and modest bouquet of spring flowers.
Makhan
stares. The gathered congregation falls suddenly silent, watching the
bride glide gracefully toward the altar on their left, hardly any
noticing the groom stumbling along on their right. There, before High
and handmaiden Priestesses, twin rings are goddess-blessed and given,
and vows exchanged – once Makhan, agape and dumb-struck at
Gimlis' beauty on opening her visor, finally recovers his voice. As
the celebrations go on late into the night, in a palatial pavilion of
silk which appears on the town square and amidst somewhat unusual
melodramatic fireworks from the elves, he can only look into her eyes
and say “I do”.
-------------------
SEVEN
KEYS TO CLANGGEDIN'S SEAT
After the departure of Mage Zapp
from the Halls, the Thane takes inventory. He finds the Wish Ring
empty, in a small chest with some beruned papers and five rods: gold,
silver and 3 other metals. The simulacrum of dwarf-priest Origol is
summoned to his presence, and commanded to divulge related memories
it retains from the original.
“Lord Faradin used the
last Wish,” intones pseudo-Origol, “... to bring him the
keys of Clanggedin's Seat – our second greatest dwarven city,
centuries lost. Those rods are five of the keys. With those keys, he
hoped to unseal the city and restore that dwarven kingdom. However,
Origol... I...” the creature hesitates, “... felt obliged
to tell Faradin the truth.”
“What truth?”,
the Thane asks.
“There is no city.” replies his
creation. “Clanggedin's Seat was sealed a thousand years ago
when sore-pressed by the giants' invasion, which also destroyed the
human kingdom of Cantabria. When the giants were defeated and fled
from the land, dwarven priests came from the other cities to unseal
it. The rituals are well-known. However nothing happened. It was
found the city was gone - lost forever. This is the hidden truth
which Thingol, Sage-Priest of Dumathoin reported to Origol... me...
in Faradin's absence, years ago.”
“Hidden truth?”, presses the Thane.
“The
permanent loss of an entire city would be a terrible blow to the
spirit of dwarven folk.” the imitation continues. “Tales
were told it would open only to the Chosen One, or to the Fierce Axe,
or some such – so the hope of the people would live on. Over
generations, the truth suppressed, even its location was forgotten.
Some now even believe it was closed due to economy, not enemy
assault. In a similar way, Origol... I... withheld some of Thingol's
report from Faradin. Until recently, when he wished for the keys -
and received those rods.”
The simulacrum pauses, then:
“I... Origol... had been right to withhold that knowledge. Once
Lord Faradin learned the truth, a great weariness came upon him. As
he put it, 'a strangeness and longing beyond life's longings'. And
soon after, he went to the mirrors of Tizun Thane – your
mirrors, my master.” Suddenly angered, the Thane orders his
creation back to its quarters.
-------------------
A
FESTIVE WISH
“Dem wasps wuzz baad!”,
grumbles N'Grunnj Half-ogre, as he and the elven mages recover from
their 'firework display' after the dwarf wedding. “Felt like
they wuzz tryna suck uzz brainz
out!”
“We
are so
lucky
to have you with us - you're virtually invulnerable to such attacks,
Grunjy.” replies Arnumielle Starshadow, swishing her fine gold
hair and knowingly widening her violet, slanted eyes at the others as
N'Grunnj looks shyly away.
“Lucky the wasps were vulnerable
to our fire spells, like normal ones,” says Evalin, the
diminutive half-elven magician formerly known as Mage Jack Zapp. “Or
they might have spoiled the celebrations.”
“They were
not natural creatures.” adds Geradil Courana, druid-elf of the
Hepmona jungles, “Created by foul unnatural sorcery, for
sure!”
“Sir Geradil, not all
'sorcery'
as you call it, is foul or unnatural-”, Evalin begins to
object, but...
“What does it matter, anyway?”
interrupts Quidderil Lightfinger, the filcher-mage. “Speaking
of powerful
magic though,
shouldn't we slip back to the Halls and pick up that Wish-ring?
Better not leave that in the possession of Faradin, or whatever sort
of fiend he's become now!” (At this Arnumielle shifts
awkwardly, Geradil notes).
“No point. No magic left in it.”
replies Evalin. “Sorry to disappoint you but my detection was
clear. I saw the discharged ring in a chest with some faintly-magic
rods. My guess is Faradin – the real
one
– couldn't resist using the ring and wished for the 'keys' he
needed to unseal that dwarf-city under his Hold. The keys are rods,
just like that – hang on, I copied the details...”
Evalin's short search produces a sheet of parchment showing
details of the key-stones
and the caverns.
“It's an interesting problem, but
perhaps academic now.” he continues, as the curious elves
gather round to look - and the half-ogre momentarily glances.
“Each
key-stone pedestal is numbered and has a slot for a key-rod and three
runes. Chambers 2 and 3 of the six have not yet been found so far.
Wish I knew their runes! The top ones are simple pictoglyphs
indicating one of the six dwarf gods. The other runes are more
interesting, of a type I've never seen before...”
“What?”
blurts
Geradil, in disbelief. “You really don't recognise them? They
must be the most well-known runes on Oerth!”
And through
the night, with their guilefully cunning inhuman intellects, the
elves ruthlessly deduce and decipher the runes...
-
Geradil
names the runes unknown (to Cantabrians) and Evalin recalls the
metals of the 5 rods (Gold, Silver, Platinum, Iron, Steel), so the
party can identify them. (Runes known
thus far). Then Geradil lists other Greyhawk runes, so the party
can try to work out what the remaining runes may be. (Runes
of Greyhawk).
From the shadows, previously unnoticed grey elf Findecano Arcamenel suggests Truth, Trickery & Copper: Berronar Truesilver being the dwarf goddess' full name; Abbathor being of nefarious repute, and copper being the other monetary metal.
However
the others are unconvinced. "But there was no copper rod with
the others. Faradin apparently Wished for the keys, yet only received
five. Why?" wonders Mage Evalin, and War-priest Grokhoin also
demurs: "Not 'nefarious'! Though somewhat obsessive, the Trove
Lord is a loyal member of the Morndinsamman, Moradin's divine family.
His followers are steadfast allies against enemies of dwarfkind.
Abbathor's dedicated priests would not ascribe Trickery to him - nor
claim for him so lowly a metal as copper, I'd warrant."
-
Elf
warrior-mage Kayentelva, from the far ancient world of Ghinor, makes
a suggestion: “I know I'm not really a part of this but I'll
guess. Would the rune for Berronar be house as in the safety of home
(is a house?), the rune for Abbathor be Darkness and the metal be
Electrum?”
"Home!" exclaims dwarf-priest
Grokhoin, "Yes, of course that must be it - what better
principle for our beloved hearth goddess?" he says, to much
nodding and general approval from all dwarves present. "But
noble Abbathor is not associated with darkness..."
"...and
electrum still wouldn't explain the missing rod..." interrupts
Evalin, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
-
The
War-Priest declaims the continuing denigration of one of his
pantheon. “I will not hear more of this! Noble Abbathor is
loyal to Moradin. Over him, the All-Father chose the Silent Keeper
Dumathoin as Protector of the Mountain Dwarves - and Abbathor
has remained true, despite himself greatly coveting that honour.
Blood is thicker than water!”
At that, Evalin leaps
suddenly up. “I have it!” he exclaims. “The Wish
did not bring Faradin a sixth 'metal' - because it was already in
his... possession. The slot is vertical, about a pint in volume. Oh –
and did I mention - the tunnel to the Abbathor chamber is guarded by
vampires...?”, he grins and looks around at the gathered
party-members, as if all were now made quite plain.
“Is
the 'metal' blood and the rune honour?” replies Kayentelva.
Evalin keeps smiling and looks to the dwarven high priest – as
do all.
“Ah, Honour – of course! How fitting.”
pronounces Grokhoin, “Aye, and Blood – metallic and most
valuable, that which binds us together! How vital the unusual
insights of Lord Abbathor can be...”
Under Geradil's
guidance, Evalin sketches-in the final runes; that for blood being
represented by the sigil more commonly called Death: Clanggedin's
Seat – Runes of Opening.
-------------------
RETURN
TO THE TOMB OF HORRORS
The wide-gaping mouth of the great
green devil-face opened onto a Promethean city of slender towers,
thrusting up from an impenetrable abyss of darkness, spread out below
an ominous skyscape of roiling black clouds, periodically limned with
silent electrical discharges of unimaginable magnitude. Most party
members had already gone through and dropped to an intersection of
the thin bridges connecting nearby towers. However, the instant his
metal hand reached in, the Sphere snapped back to absolute blackness
and Ferric was immediately sucked into the void.
In that last
moment myriad thoughts flashed through his brilliant, but wasted,
mind: a lifetime of decadent wickedness, a career of mocking
betrayal, nudging heroes into failure and irrelevance. Then finally,
when that pious paladin's quest could be delayed no longer, he was
ordered to go too – and ensure no interference with Lord
Acererak's plans or the Dark Intrusion.
Sword-Lord Zelinus
and brave companions had ridden back to the Thane's Halls, to destroy
the demonic Shadow Dancers. 'Fools',
Ferric sneered.
Sword-Father
Clave, after long devotions and detailed divinations, announced “Our
Divine Lady has revealed to me how to open the way. It's necessary to
use of the two now-reunited halves of the Amulet of the Void and the
dusty remains, or 'form', of the dread demi-lich. We must...”
'Windbag',
thought the half-elf.
Then
Ferric had breezed in and hurled his backpack onto the table, sending
items carefully placed there flying. “Yes, yes, yes –
it's obvious.” he interrupted, “Touch the amulet to the
green face, sprinkle lich-dust over us, and pop through. Simples!
Stop wasting time, let's go.” Clave had scowled, but nodded
confirmation. 'Oh
witty me!', the mage congratulated himself.
After
passing through the mirror, excavating the Tomb mound, and carefully
traversing the lurid trap-laden corridor, they had reached the green
devil-face. Touching the amulet to this frame turned the infamous
mouth-sphere into a portal onto the dark, cloudy actinic-lit city of
towers. 'Moil
– accursed by Orcus', he recalled, 'Way-station to the Fortress
of Conclusion'.
Lich-dust
scattered over all, they jumped one-by-one. Pretty Arnumielle said “A
kiss for luck”, embraced Ferric passionately, removed a
hair-strand from his dandy finery with a cantrip, and asked “Do
you want to live forever...?” as she rolled backward through
the mouth-portal with a seductive wink. 'Clever
girl', Ferric now realises - too late.
So
he followed her [WISx5(50%):51
– Fail],
sucked
into the most notorious Sphere of nothingness. As the multiverse-hole
ends his existence, Ferric feels Clave's grasp [WISx5(90%):96
– Fail; DEXx2(30%):17 - Success],
an instinctively brave but vain and suicidal rescue bid. 'At
least that ####### do-gooder goes with me...',
then - Annihilation. Gone and utterly destroyed.
-------------------
KNOWLEDGE FROM THE TOMB
Their
way blocked by the Tomb of Horrors' great green devil-face and its
infamous black 'mouth', would-be questers return home. Elf
warrior-mage Kayen Telva carefully brings the hawk familiar of the
iron-limbed half-elf whose surprise annihilation thwarted their
mission. Wotsisname (Ironic Ferrous-arm?) will have no further need
of it, for certain.
Back in Foghollow, Mage Evalin is
persuaded to perform the ritual bonding the bird as familiar to
Kayentelva. “I thought you had a familiar already – that
other hawk?” Evalin had protested. “No, that's Dray –
he just hangs around. He's a paladin, you know.” Kayentelva
replied. Mage Evalin looked quizzically from one to the other, then,
shrugging, stoked-up the brazier of herbs and began the lengthy
incantations. After many hours, the bond is made.
In following
days Kayentelva is pleased to discover, as he had hoped, the hawk
retains memory of some of its former master's spells: Charm
Person,
Mending,
Continual
Light,
and Wizard
Eye.
Charm
he
already knows, and he comes to understand the others after
considering them for 3 days, 5 days and, astoundingly, just 1 day
respectively! Thus he is somewhat reconciled with others of his
repertoire seemingly not functioning on this plane, leaving him with:
(1st) Sleep,
Unseen Servant, Magic Missile, Light, Feather Fall, Detect
Magic/Identify, Charm Person, Mending;
(2nd) Invisibility,
Stinking Cloud, Web, Continual Light;
(3rd) Dispell
Magic, Fire Ball;
and now (4th) Wizard
Eye.
Fifteen spells – comfortably encompassed by his intellect and
fetish-bow, without even recourse to the mental capacity of his new
familiar (with whom paladin-hawk Dray converses quite
amicably).
However, he is disturbed to discover other
knowledge the bird has retained from its ex-master, whom it thinks of
not as Ferric but as Angarauko
– 'Iron
Devil', in elvish. Kayentelva is unfamiliar with the persons and
places involved, so discusses these memories at length with Mage
Evalin, whose home-world they concern. And Evalin is indeed most
concerned.
-------------------
FOR YOU, THE QUEST IS
OVER
Some heroes did not ride back from Foghollow with
Zelinus, but made their way on foot. Sir Geradil Courana, Drac Ular
the Archer,
Dan
the Dwarf, Absinthé
the Bardess
and Schikell Jayess follow a forest trail, keeping off the main track
to avoid goblin troops, as suggested by the cunning grey elf
Findecano.
A chill grey mist descends, and the going becomes difficult. Before long the mist lifts again and air warms, considerably, however the foliage becomes denser and wet underfoot. Fortunately though, after a seeming age, the ground gradually rises and the heroes find themselves passing through relatively sparse pine forest once more.
Then,
through a gap in the trees, they catch sight of a tall steep hill
that rises to a prominent fang of rock...
-------------------
To
Be Continued - in “Return to the
Glitterhame”...