Post/Author/DateTime	Post
aelryinth 10-31-06, 03:36 PM	Shadows of a Savage Tide Henri eyed the rest of the group with his usual wariness…a useful survivor trait picked up on the roads of his youth. Despite the mutual battles shared, he was still wary of this motley group of people he’d found himself thrown into, not the least of which was getting involved in noble politics. And it was noble politics, even if they didn’t realize it. The things he’d found out about their patron’s brother with some careful digging, and then the follow up information on the people said murdering knave hung out with…the others were in over their heads, and simply didn’t know it. Maybe if they were lucky, the ones they were messing with would also look over their heads…he doubted it, but you never knew. Rose, of course, didn’t have a clue. Forged were generally pretty blind in social situations, and the mere idea of a druid Forged still goggled his imagination. The fact that her armor plates were all made of dark green ironwood with vestigial spikes on them only made the image the more ludicrous…as if the squirrel that enjoyed sitting atop her carved head like some strange plumed ornament to the living helm that was her somehow sadly carved face didn’t do the same. That said, he’d seen how hard those fists of hers could hit, and if the vines that seemed to be growing in and around her were a bit disconcerting…well, Forged were disconcerting enough. Eshe would probably understand better what they were dealing with. The Karrnathi wizardess was a consummate professional, who knew how to fight better then most wizards and wasn’t afraid to show it. She was one of the students of the new Silver Waters philosophy coming out of the Redhand Principality to the north…and wore a black wolf badge on silver to proudly proclaim her allegiance to the equally weird and new kingdom arising around the improbably named Fort Lewt, and the grim reputation of the Karrn they called General Ruin. Now that was a proper moniker for a Karrn, he reflected, looking away from the slender, toned spellcaster before she could catch his eyes. The Wolves had a reputation for professionalism and proficiency, and the trading house they had established here in the city was making a lot of nobles and natives nervous. The Prince of Redhand was a resurrected Karrn archmage or something, by all accounts, a nearly legendary hero who had ‘retired’ into the position of leading an entire city back to power after the ravages of the Age of Worms. And, said man was a member of the very party of likewise legendary people who had stopped the Faceless god of worms from claiming a divine mantle during that horrible time. Her bodyguard, Threk, was a true Wolf…a heavily armored, towering mountain of muscle, tusks, and scars, shoulders so broad as to be almost ape-like in build. Half-orcs were not a common sight in Karrnath, but he’d heard that a fairly sizable contingent had established themselves among the feared elite heavy scouts of the Wolves of Ruin, and this young one was no different from the rest. Few people would see the intelligence lurking in the reddish eyes, seeing instead the jutting tusks and bristling body hair, looking past the immaculately kept armor and weapons that signified this wasn’t merely one big, ugly pile of trouble, but a smart and disciplined world of hurt. He didn’t slouch, he didn’t swear, he didn’t drool, and he had excellent table manners, too. The fact he had rather strong body odor was helped by continual baths and, surprisingly, to the presence of Rose, who seemed to emanate a freshness of the air that simultaneously dealt with the humid stink, the ever-present rot of fish, the smell of too many people in small places, and the sweat of a big armored half-orc with airy lightness. Forged Druid. Right. His own job, of course, was to be the sly one. He loathed having to do it, of course, vastly preferring to avoid a fight or have one straight up rather then being a skulking whisper-monger…but it had become plainly apparent to him that he was the only one who could do the job, and so it had fallen to him. His life of travel had taught him how to relate to people, to loosen tongues and find places and things…and, not coincidentally, to get lost among such stuff and be unobtrusive about it all. But the rogues of Sasseroon certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone like them to come crashing into their lives. The guild of the Water Dragons was no more…Threk had unceremoniously dumped the severed head of the former guild leader, no less then the eldest daughter of the ‘noble family’ in charge of the waterfront area, onto the table at the great hall where said nobles met, along with a slew of retrieved documentation entailing exactly what said woman had been up to. Of course, they hadn’t known she was the eldest daughter at the time her head had been lopped off, but those were the breaks… Happily, the very fact that he was a plain, leathers-clad nobody in a party with two Wolves and a forged Druid meant nobody paid much attention to him. He hid his accent well and had been in the city longer then the others…he knew it better then many people who had lived there all their lives. Now, their lovely patron, the noblewoman who oversaw one of the busier districts of this seaport, had another job for them. She wanted them to find her brother, and bring him back to account for his actions. Henri winced…he had no evidence but drunken words and whispers, so nothing to bring up the fact that not only had the knave robbed his own sister and family, he’d likely murdered his own parents to gain the inheritance. The fact his younger sister had gained it all had obviously derailed his plans…Henri found it startling the young Lady was still alive, in all honesty. But now, he looked out over the water past the others…the sheltered harbor that was the prize of the Principalities, that was beckoning them to a cove nearby, a place pried out of his informants via a slip of the tongue and the drink to grease it through. They’d be taking ship there…going overland through the surrounding sea swamp and jungle was not only time-consuming, it was far more dangerous. He’d lined up a ride, and the sea was beckoning him, a break in the long roads that had brought him here. Rose didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it all, plants and salt water not mixing, but the Wolves had taken the news with the stoicness of Marines and without batting an eye. Sure, they were a reliable bunch…but could he trust them? Did he want to? His roads were past, his tracks hidden, his name buried…he had no desire to resurrect them now. But gold, a new road, adventure, new sights to see…these were luring him on with a force so strong it was almost physical. To be on the road and on the move again…he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt even as the fear returned, too. -------------------------- Eshe smoothed her close-cropped black hair back as she surveyed the dead creatures, thoughtfully impaled on the arrows of Threk and Henri. Even as she examined the twisted, warped forms of the monkeys, trying to ignore the windy, thin cries rising up out of Rose’s chest as the Forged beheld the ravaged forms of the animals, she could see they were smoking, holes starting to appear in them as if they were collapsing or dissolving from within. Clinical detachment had been drummed into her some time ago. As a Wolf spellcaster, her duties encompassed the whole of troop support…artillery, enhancement, scouting, movement, and especially recovery. She wasn’t yet powerful enough to fill all those capacities, but that was why she had been dispatched to this city in the midst of nowhere. The Wolves were mercenaries now, for better or worse, and she had been selected as a representative for the ‘new’ model of Wolves, those not dominated by the bitterness and hate of lingering resentments from the Last War. Which is not to say she didn’t have her own agenda. Bettering herself from the near-total poverty of her family, and removing herself from being married off to burden some other family or produce more sons of Karrnath to die in newer and more glorious battles were merely minor accomplishments at this point. Her background of living in a port city like Korrth had served her well, even as it hampered her in the more rural duties of wilderness survival that characterized the elite of the Wolves. Stealth training was not her strongpoint, however…she had come to the Wolves, and especially the Lady Hazé, to learn magic, and this she was doing. The reputation of the Wolves was cemented by what the locals called the Night of Worms, when a great brood-fiend had come marching out of the jungle to lay the city to waste. One of the few wizards of the city had gotten the bright idea to call up the Wolves, the very people rumored to be dealing with these creatures. Only a few minutes after the writhing, Worm-imbued army had come marching into the southern quarter of the city and down towards the docks, covering everything with a vile, choking green mist, the Stormwolf had hove into the sky over the town and a squad of Wolves led by none other then the General himself had rappelled down into the heart of the mist. Only a few minutes later, the mist had literally exploded into racing sheets of white flame, devoured by the appetite of the black blade Thorn. Reeling Worm-born were getting hacked down and blasted by sheets of silver magic and silver swords unlike anything the locals had ever seen. They’d gawked at the great black airship. They’d gawked at the grim men hacking their way through the terrible tide of undead that had most of the town troops mewling in terror to merely consider them. They’d gawked at the big white circle blasted into the stones of the city where nothing remained of the horrendously powerful, vile creature that had led them. General Ruin had somewhat later politely asked if he might not be able to open a trading house in the city, and the leaders of the city had literally fallen over themselves to grant approval. Eshe had seen it all, undergoing basic naval and marine training aboard the Stormwolf. That had been the first time it really struck home that the General wasn’t just serving a great Karrnathi leader, but that she was serving under a living legend. She had seen it all, and she wanted to be able to BE like that. Albeit without the General’s terrifying scars, those she could do without. Getting posted here had been a surprise, of course…there were no end of duties for warriors as elite as those being turned out at Fort Lewt and Fort Hole. Among the Wolves, and especially those of Cyran blood, work in the Mournland was most prized, for both danger and the rewards in both gold and reclamation of heritage. The slaying of Valenar was never far from the minds of those who’d survived the Plains of Blood, and elves certainly were less then welcome at the Fort unless of proven Cyran or Karrnathi origin. Certainly those dispatched into the Mournland quickly got better at what they had to do, or they quickly got dead. Back to business. These animals, they looked to be common monkeys, had been warped and twisted by powerful magic…extremely powerful magic, judging by the hateful, violent cacophony of cries in the jungle beyond, where the beasts sounded like they were tearing one another apart. The massively overgrown jaws seemed the only common point…jutting bones, extra heads, spiky growths, tentacles, extra eyes and limbs, all wrapped up in a hateful jumble of frenzied hunger. As she watched, the four monkeys crumbled into stinking goo, drying out with near magical speed from a hissing pool of burbling acidic goop, to a mere steaming remnant and crumbled, warped skeletons. Not the kind of thing to be lightly tossed off. She pulled a flat glass crystal from her bandolier, rapidly wove the entire sight from beginning to end as a small illusion, and infused it into the glass. Her superiors would want to see this. Henri was at the top of the cliff, looking over into the hidden cove beyond on his belly. Slowly, he got to his feet…a clear sign of either total idiocy, or lack of need for stealth. Given the wary, hunted look he always seemed to be sporting, she doubted it was the former. Seeing how far a former Aundairean – yes, she’d been able to pick out the shadows of his accent, and more to the point, his too-fancy Aundair Swordhawk fencing style – had come to get away from whatever was haunting him, she had little reason to either trust or distrust him, but he’d proven capable at his job, which had included the type of intelligence gathering that was the forte of spies, informers and the like, she had to wonder who he had crossed to run this far. Her superiors would find out. They tended to be interested in the background of adjutant operatives. Rose was another local, such as they were, wandering out of the jungle with little memory of what had become of her. Deep mahogany-green, and carved with more artistry then it seemed most warforged were, and definitely on the slender side, she had displayed a remarkable green thumb (hah!) and been attending to the gardens in one of the outer city’s parks until lured away by Master Cupral, the polished Forged who directed the Wolves’ business interests in the city. General Ruin had a startlingly open mind about the Forged and their place in the world, and encouraged their education and recruitment wherever possible. Rose had been given a warm welcome and answers for what became a torrent of questions, as Eshe recalled. Her whisperwind voice was gentle and soothing…even if her wooden fists, suddenly sprouting knuckle-long thorns as hard as steel, were anything but soothing to those who crossed her, and she was developing into quite the pugilist. Still, the Forged’s empathy with living things seemed to be her strongest trait, and Eshe knew enough of the unmoving face and posture of the Forged to know that Rose was seriously upset at anything that could do this to poor animals. Threk moved up to stand beside Henri, towering nearly a head over the slender human. Eshe knew he’d be taking in the tactical situation, formulating a plan of approach and assault based on the new data he’d be seeing…something few would expect of a member of his breed. Ostensibly, his job was to protect her. In reality, his job was to protect everyone the best he knew how, and keeping her alive as her gifts emerged would only help that. She noted how his large hand rested upon the handle of his axe, and did not come off of it. That was not a good sign. She gave Rose a solid whack on the shoulder – the distracted Forged wouldn’t feel anything less forceful – and hurried to move up beside him. The smoke fires they’d seen and the animal carnage was clearly indicative of what had probably happened to the camp down below. Eshe swore, wondering exactly how much of their mission had changed, and if the humans who’d been down there had been changed as these poor beasts had. She hoped not, but pessimism had its day. Whether the conniving bastard they were being sent to fetch was also here was another matter entirely. If he’d been transformed and was dead, they’d have to hope to find some identifying marks among the remains. “Let’s go. Henri, please test the way,” the startlingly smooth, deep bass of Threk’s voice broke into her survey of the hazy situation. Their scout paced off down the path quickly, eyes darting and wary for movement. ------------- Threk put up his axe and calmly motioned for the others to do likewise, stepping carefully backwards to give the beleaguered pirate captain some room. By the way she’d been tossing about familiar insults and witticisms in her northern Lazaar cant, these things dissolving and crumbling as they tried to get to her and eat her had been her former crew and shipmates. Given the too-bright, fevered stare of her eyes, and the real skill with which she’d been plying the rapier she was holding, he was inclined to not kill her…her precious crew of pirates had gotten a horrible final reward, and as far as he knew, these ‘Scarlet Dragons’ had never dared attack a ship flying a Wolf flag. There’d only been a couple pirates who’d dared that end, and their explosive endings had rather proven the point that the General didn’t support the idea of piracy for profit, especially as applied to his own ships. “Henri,” he rumbled out, as usual making the slender Aundair jump with the timbre of his voice. “Have a kind word with the beautiful woman with the sword, and see if she might not know the location of our primary objective.” The human blinked, translated that, and quickly put away his own rapier to step forwards, hands wide reassuringly, and start some dialogue. He wasn’t a wordsmith, but he was the best they had in this situation. Eshe was doing a quick scan of the area for anything magical…and hopefully not anything as bad as the crumbling black shells carefully tucked into a lead carry-box in his own pack. Her eyes had streamed black tears just looking at the remnants of the magic on the things, and it had come quickly apparent that whatever magic had been associated with them, it had been the center of the transformative magic which had doomed this pirate cove. The woman’s story confirmed it, Threk listening carefully, just like Eshe was, to the story of the unleashed magic. Their quarry had obviously escaped their clutches, just as he’d managed to slip away back at the port. His lazy eyes opened slightly as the pirate revealed that she’d sent her second in command back after their employer, in the mistaken belief that the noble house had planned this escapade from the beginning, and holding the blood responsible for the downfall of all concerned. An honest error, if a stupid one…his trainers would have chastised her immediately for such linear logic. The Lady’s brother had proven himself a devious thinker, and the Lady herself far too inexperienced for such a clever ploy. Efficient misdirection. Whatever, they had best pursue a tactical withdrawal and return home quickly. Given the reluctance of their initial transportation to stick around, and the nervousness they’d displayed at the cacophony arising from the jungle about, he had little doubt that their ride had withdrawn and left them to fend for themselves in getting home. Happily, one of the ships of the pirates seemed to have escaped the general chaos and fire that had seized the rest of the camp, and was still floating out in the harbor. He smiled inwardly at the chance to claim such a prize…a ship was fine booty in and of itself, along with the rest of the loot they had been able to claim as they made their way through this cave complex. He was a bit startled when Rose spoke up and in her gentle windsong voice advised the pirate Captain that she was infected with some sort of fever, possibly arising out of the very thing that had transformed her crewmen. He was even more surprised when the wooden Forged presented a pouch of some herbal tea that could be mixed up and drank to possibly help fight it off. Born with a healer’s heart, he noted, noticing also that her spiked fists were gore covered with the remnants of these strange mutates and she took no notice of it. Indeed, it had seemed that, if anything, she fought these transformed, unlucky souls all the more harder simply to lay them to rest. He remembered a question once asked of General Ruin by a typically clueless newcomer, as they watched him take apart their instructors in anything but mock combat; smoothly, effortlessly, so far beyond the skill of anything Threk had ever seen that his mouth still wanted to gape open remembering it. The human had asked a question about protecting the healers, inferring that they were soft, unable to care for themselves. Gods, those eyes. Calm, still, death. The idiot had frozen up as if he’d had a gauntleted fist about his throat. “A Healer,” the General had said, in that whisper-grind of his mangled voice, “knows best how to save you, and knows best how to make you die. What you want to have happen is to never have one of those gentle souls start practicing the taking of life, for they will show you how you failed…and they will never be there to save you again.” He eyed those spiked knuckles again, smiled to himself, and scratched the healing scar on his side where one of the feral things had managed a lucky hacking strike with a cutlass. Hands of a healer. Druidic, clerical, bardic…he didn’t much care by what tradition the healing magic came from, he was a soldier and he appreciated it all. He rather suspected Rose herself wasn’t entirely sure, which didn’t make it any the less effective. Henri was turning away from the Captain, obviously done talking, and the woman seemed somewhat less uneasy and paranoid. Eshe’s finger rapped gently twice against the back of his right arm. She was done. He moved his arm out and in…he’d gotten his tactical map of the area down, able to firmly visualize the complex for a full later report. After all, nothing said the Wolves couldn’t use a secret port in the middle of nowhere with ready-made defensive works in place. Pirates didn’t get to have all the fun… ----------------------- Rose knew little about sailing, but she was strong, far stronger then she looked, ironwood being a molded part of her body, and the fibers that gave her movement and life tougher and stronger then normal human muscle. Work was a good thing – it kept the Forged’s mind off the horrible things she had witnessed. The flesh-and-blood members didn’t have her insight or empathy into the wild. She could feel every grain in the wooden hull of the ship they were sailing, she could picture with incredible clarity each and every tree these planks had been hewn from. Raising her head, she could inhale the wind the sails were catching, swirling it about the chamber within her head, feel the pollens and nectars of distant vegetation carried on the breezes. The agony of the land about where the…thing…had exploded made her ironwood skin crawl. The land had been screaming for cleansing, for the grace and relief of burning, purifying fire to rid itself of this blot of infection. She’d felt only an echo of similar potency when she stood about the inner courtyard of the Wolf Trading Enclave, where the Broodfiend had died, and where it had been Fed to the Land by Thorn. Fell, terrible power, scoured clean and given freely back to the land itself. Truly, the General of the Steel bore a most frightening, and most noble, weapon, to be capable of such a thing. More then anything else, it had inspired her to learn more of these Wolves, and if there was something more profound then merely selling their services for bits of worthless metal behind their activities. Hard fingers caressed the wooden figurehead of the ship, carved and sanded to an exaggerated resemblance to a half-fish, half-human creature she believed to be called a mermaid, highly stylized with embellishments that didn’t seem quite realistic. She had best learn more of the sea if she was to live upon an island, and go traveling upon ships over the water. Master Cupral had been endlessly patient with her questions, as had the other Forged she had met at the Wolf complex, which numbered almost all of those present within the city. Henri was at the wheel of the ship. Rose wasn’t adept in all the forms of human expression, although she studied them intensely…a lot could be read in the voluntary and involuntary movements of a humanoid’s mobile face. He seemed to be radiating both fear and eagerness as he clung to the wheel. Such a strange combination. Threk was busying himself with the ropes, his natural might and obvious training helping him keep the ship on course. The wizardess, Eshe, was down below, taking inventory of the ship and what had come with it. The half-orc had informed her that possession of a ship was quite a prize…it required substantial gold outlay to construct one, and capturing one, even as small as this, intact, was quite a coup. Rose ran hard fingers over patterns of grains that had seen the wearing of countless hands, and saw again the forest giants from which they had been carved, an echo of the life they had once had. Magic tingled, ready to be called upon, swirled with possibilities. Some of that life could be brought forth, and in a fashion, perhaps those trees could live again… ---------------------------------- Threk levered his axe out of the skull of the batrachian with a grunt, snarling as he saw the pirate who’d brought the loathsome creatures here leap out the bedroom's second-story window. A fellow urukhar, but lost to the lure of gold and green…or perhaps not, given his loyalty to his captain. The Lady was breathing hard, Henri’s rapier in her hand, while the slender man kept one knife at the ready, the other laying at the base of the window with blood upon it from where it had been buried in the fleeing mate’s shoulder. Eshe calmly drove her stiletto into the base of the skull of one of the slumbering creatures she’d brought down with her magic…it barely jerked with the clean strike, and without a change in expression, she proceeded to the next. Rose was covered in slime and gore and bits of froggish skin…she had charged into the knot of the things, scattering them right and left, and found herself grappling one of them. Grappling a Forged with iron hard thorns sprouting all over her body was a messy business. Threk noted the carpet in the room was quite ruined. “The rest of the manse still needs to be secured, Lady,” he stated in his slow, solemn manner, a mode of speaking that drew attention. As he said this, he moved quickly to secure the doorway through which they’d entered, shield up and axe ready. He pulled his head back in time to dodge the thrown spear, which whipped past him and thunked solidly into the headboard of what he assumed to be her bed. “Perhaps, Henri, you should release our allies and allow them to contribute to the defense once again?” Hurt pride in the face of the other sellswords was enough for him to tell that they’d be motivated to do their absolute utmost not to let down the Lady again, especially given the performance of the relative newcomers to her service. Their disappointing defense would, of course, only serve to make his own team look that much more proficient, and he didn’t intend to do anything to disappoint that image. He closed the door forcefully, planting his armored foot behind it, and something froggish slammed into the far side with an angry belch, loosening the hinges. Spears and fists beat impotently on the thick wood for a few blows as he shook his head in wonder at the density of their savage little brains, and then the door shuddered under a heavier impact of body weight. The second impact he timed perfectly, hitting the door at the same moment and taking most of the force himself. As he outweighed the frog-men almost half again, the door merely shuddered a little and didn’t budge much. Behind him, the released guards were scrambling for their gear and weapons, while Rose hurriedly chanted spells to heal the worst of injuries, and Eshe moved up to flank the door, which shuddered again against his shoulder, and then a crude axebit popped through the wood next to his shoulder as the rage of the creatures got the better of them. A second strike punched through and bounced off his armor, which elicited a further flurry of angry axe strikes. “Rockborn, if you could kindly open the door on a three count?” he asked, except it was not a question. The Dwarf eagerly hurried up to grab the knob as Threk held up three fingers, and counted down. His spring backwards surprised everyone but Eshe…he shouldn’t have been able to jump so far wearing so much metal. The door swept open, and forced by the weight of those behind, the batrachians spilled into the room. Literally, because Eshe’s foot caught the oversized feet of the lead one, and it went crashing to the ground almost at Threk’s feet. His axe came down once with a solid crunch and split its skull, and he heaved back up with practiced rhythm, lifting the corpse half off the ground before his axe came free, stepping to one side to smash the second one out of the way. The three people with ready bows released point blank into the knot of swamp-dwellers, and Eshe tossed a flask of something around the corner. There was a woosh and explosion of snow and ice, and the overeager frogfolk were suddenly happy to be anywhere but here. Threk drove the handle of his axe down on the skull of his hop-happy opponent, who learned to his dismay that the top of the kite shield coming up under its oversized chin had rather sharp edges for a reason. With a grunt of pure brutal power, Threk hurled the frogger away, ripping its inflatable throat out in a spray of gore in the process, waited for the second volley of shots to drop two more of the frogmen, and then was after them with one of the few holdovers from his barbaric youth…a wild and savage howling warcry, shaking the ceiling panels, that heralded that yes, a Wolf was coming, and coming for them! Life is good. Axe ready to cut, he pounded after them, Rose on his heels with her pieces of frog-hide still wetly hanging from her, as fearsome and bloody a backup as he could wish for. The others hurried to keep pace, even the Lady getting caught up in the excitement and hurrying along behind them. "Feed the Land!" he howled, as he caught up to the slowest of them before they could hop down the staircase to the first floor in their haste, and his axe came down. Eyes blazing with the savage joy of his forebears, he didn't slow down, crashing through the railing to plummet into the middle of the knot of those gathering below, striking one with heavy boots and crushing it flat, taking hold of his axe, and letting his reason go for pure animal fury. Yes, life was very good, indeed. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 10-31-06, 03:47 PM	This, of course, starts with the second installment of the new series, assuming they've already met, fought the villain of the first encounter and her burgeoning guild, and are on the trail of our oppurtunistic murdering noble son. Rose is a druid, however I went with the Avenger option...more a martial artist/spellcaster, and less of the wildshaper thingie, which breaks stories far too easily, and the more martial nature fits a Forged better. Eshe is an Wizard heading for War Weaver, dipping Eldritch Knight and Spellsword eventually. She'll be a bit behind in offensive spell power, but her function is as much or more support duty then taking down a foe by going nova. There is no better adventuring support class then a War Weaver for a mage. Threk is a half-orc paragon, with barbarian (berserker) levels, and has or will dip fighter and ranger, heading for Dread Commando. Henri is a swashbuckler/ranger of Aundairean descent, with a somewhat cooler backstory then the others relating why he's out there. Enjoy the Green, the Grim, the Guard and the Guide! ==Aelryinth
lordalm 11-08-06, 05:11 PM	Very good read. Part of a on going game or just some fiction whipped up? Where is the rest posted or why haven't you posted the rest? Want more!
Kid SixXx 11-08-06, 05:21 PM	Very good read. Part of a on going game or just some fiction whipped up? Where is the rest posted or why haven't you posted the rest? Want more! Aelryinth posts the fiction as the Dungeon adventure path progresses. Most likely the stories will stall because of the delays in the official conversions of the Savage Tide adventure path from Greyhawk to the Eberron setting. If this one is half as good as the Age of Worms fiction he did, we all should be in for a treat.
GimliGloinson 11-08-06, 05:31 PM	If this one is half as good as the Age of Worms fiction he did, we all should be in for a treat. Can you point me at/near the AoW?
Kid SixXx 11-08-06, 08:10 PM	Can you point me at/near the AoW? For some reason, I can't find the old story via Google. The old board might've eaten it. :tantrum: Hopefully Aelryinth has spare text somewhere he can send to you.
aelryinth 11-09-06, 02:57 PM	Wow, you are right, they did prune it away. I do have all the original stories on Word files, of course...but reformatting them to this board is a complete and total PITA (takes about a half hour per story, and there's 8 or 9 o them!) Do they still have a link to the old boards? that would be the easiest way to find them. If anyone would like the old stories, I can send them as a batch of files to their email if they would like. ==Aelryinth
ranger of the north 11-16-06, 11:25 AM	I sure would like the AoW stories! email: wandslinger@hotmail.com As for this one, holy crap awesome. I love stuff like this, and yours is great.
aelryinth 11-16-06, 03:28 PM	Delivered. Halfway done on "Captain's Log", which is Part Two. ===Aelryinth
GimliGloinson 11-16-06, 03:41 PM	If anyone would like the old stories, I can send them as a batch of files to their email if they would like. ==Aelryinth Damelos, por favor! :D
aelryinth 11-16-06, 07:32 PM	Give me an email, Gimli. I think they'll exceed the private messaging limit for our WoTC account. Even better would be if someone could host them online...I don't have a web page, so they are just sitting on my hard drive. ==Aelryinth
Thramzorean 11-16-06, 08:14 PM	I'm definitely interested to read your previous stuff aerlynith. Could you please forward to: thramzorean@yahoo.com Cheers! :D
aelryinth 11-17-06, 02:32 AM	Done. ===Aelryinth
sidekick 11-17-06, 04:42 AM	Ohh ohh ohh me too me too. I'm creetbee@yahoo.com Cheers!:cool:
Delazar 11-17-06, 05:32 AM	gief! fausto_passarelli@hotmail.com thx!
GimliGloinson 11-17-06, 08:43 AM	Give me an email, Gimli. I think they'll exceed the private messaging limit for our WoTC account. Even better would be if someone could host them online...I don't have a web page, so they are just sitting on my hard drive. ==Aelryinth Oh, sorry. joshuakanapkey@yahoo.com Thanks, Aelryinth! I look forward to reading it.
aelryinth 11-17-06, 02:52 PM	Done, done and done. Please keep in mind that the folders aren't in order, although the stories should indicate what Part of the Path they are covering. You'll have to arrange them yourself. City of Lacc takes place after the AoW. And much of the story is based on what happens after/between fights...I don't actually write up many of the fight scenes, because it gets repetitive and hey, you can imagine a fight scene better then I can write up, anyways. The stories are written up based on the fact that you have and have read the Age of Worms from Dungeon Magazine. If you don't know what's going on, that's the place to look! Enjoy. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 11-17-06, 04:33 PM	Savage Tide II – The Captain’s Log Threk eyed the little crystal speculatively. Eshe used it when scribing mundane notes in her books, saving her the need to carry around a lot of scribe-tools and ink. His own penmanship was just this side of unintelligible, despite his best efforts. He was certain Aureon had cursed all writing implements to be unwieldable by his ham0sized fists. Still, keeping a journal was the sign of a good soldier and officer…it allowed one to write down one’s successes and mistakes, go back over them at a later time, and draw forth new insights. Too, his memory was not as razor-sharp as, say, that of Eshe, or the General, and it frequently got more then a little clouded when he stayed in combat mode too long. He composed what he wanted to say, focusing on the crystal, and watched dark lines gather and flow across the thing, in what he recognized was the penmanship he always wished he actually had. Grunting in approval, he started to play it across the blank page before him, and the subtle magic of the crystal sent the words leaping from glass to paper in perfect lines, easily readable. Ah, the subtle wonders of magic. He hid a smile and kept on with the words. Captain’s Log, First Entry: Tomorrow we leave on the journey to Farshore, the colony established by the now-deceased parents of our current patron, Lady Vanderboren. It is to be a long voyage, covering some thousand leagues, and expected to take several months. Our patron has become quite taken with this colony established by her parents. Scrying has revealed that it still exists, despite the lack of resupply, and she seems determined that this last legacy of her parents will not fall. Accordingly, she has managed to find a vessel, crew, and other potential backers, as well as other colonists interested in starting a new life. However, those same demands required use of a second vessel, which, coincidentally, we happened to secure from the Water Dragons’ disaster at their hidden cove. With the aid of several of Eshe’s summoned magical servants and the rest of the team, I was able to captain her back to Sasserine, and she has been undergoing extensive refit since that time. The Wolves’ fleet is admittedly small…the Storm Wolf’s superior speed and size seem to suffice for most of the cargo carrying demands the General requires. However, there are some vessels being used for more mundane tasks, generally operating out of the Redhand principality to the north, and adding our vessel to that number was perceived as a good move by Major Cupral. Accordingly, our vessel was drydocked, a remarkable process done by no less then Master Molder Lord Trencher himself, who simply raised the entire vessel out of the water on a stone berm with a single spell! His magic was crucial in speeding the process along, as he came very much prepared to accelerate the refit. A spell to literally grind away the accumulated barnacle growth on the hull, and the workers were free to apply their resealers. On top of all this, a new innovation was added…sheets of molten bronze were added to the hull after it had been temporarily strengthened to resist fire, shaped and bolted into place with remarkable speed. This will allow the hull to resist parasitic elements and inevitable ocean damage, and provide a much stronger measure of defense against attack from below. Lord Trencher, seeing that I was the nominal captain of the vessel, also winked and noted that he was going to make it easy for Eshe to work ‘special surprises’ into the vessel, especially the plating. Above and beyond this was the appearance of the Lady Hazé herself. Here, Threk paused to catch his breath. The effort of focusing on the crystal fairly made the image of the great Lady leap into his mind’s eye, and any male who was not moved by a sight like the graceful Khorovari was most likely in his grave, rotting hard. The Lady has an impressive mastery of magic, to say the least, including a great familiarity with reinforcement techniques. Eshe herself was rendered almost mute as she watched the Lady casting numerous spells to strengthen the hull, masts, and superstructure of the vessel, rendering the wood first as hard as steel, then further strengthening the whole of it on top of this. Despite this vastly increased strength, the ship itself retains its flexibility, and even with the additional bronze plating, handles more surely then it did before…or perhaps the additional lessons I have been energetically pursuing courtesy of some experienced ex?-pirates among the local Lhazaar merely make it seem so. Both Eshe and Rose managed to secure some of the Lady’s time, and discussion of many things natural and arcane ensued. Seldom have I seen Eshe so at a loss for words…it seems that the Lady does most of her teaching telepathically, for faster and clearer education. If she is as brilliant as she is beautiful (and the General has stated her intellect simply overwhelms her appearance), then such contact must have been truly an extraordinary experience. In recognition of our recovery of the vessel, the team has been gifted with a set of Pack Rings! This is truly a great honor…generally only full Wolf Commandoes are issued such a set, but Major Cupral felt it was warranted. These rings will allow us to maintain silent communication amongst ourselves at some distance, and in addition, the Officer’s Ring I wear will allow direct communication with the Major or his superiors as they deem necessary. A secondary enchantment to sustain us in harsh climates and reduce our need for sleep means we shall soon be as productive as Rose or the other Forged have proven they can be, in their own way, and reduce the need for provisions for us. I have a feeling the extra alertness will be necessary on this long voyage. While the issuance merely makes us a Wolf Pack in the command structure, Henri promptly proclaimed that we are ‘Sea Wolves One’, and the name has stuck. Major Cupral is inordinately proud that a Marine unit attached to his division was the first to achieve Pack status on its own. The offending sea maiden figurehead was removed from the ship and replaced with something a bit more martial…a winged wolf that looks vaguely draconic. The Sea Raptor was rechristened with proper fanfare and some excellent wine, and proper provisions laid in. Master Henri’s previously downplayed talents for navigation will serve us well…it seems he has been a follower of the stars most of his life. Eshe will be serving as Ship’s Mage, while Rose has agreed to serve as both healer and cook! It seems she was given with a minor device that increases her sense of smell and taste even if she requires no sustenance. It also renders any exhalation she undertakes to be very pleasantly scented of wildflowers. As a private note, she has received her very own copy of A General’s Guide to Glop, and An Army and its Stomach, both seminal guides in cooking for large numbers of people. I anticipate no morale problems from the food during this voyage. Our passengers are a mixed lot, including an itinerant Silver Flame priest (who is notably silent in this place, given the prevalence of the Silver Waters philosophy hereabouts), a shifty wanderer, a gnomish biologist of advancing age, and, of all things, one of the local noble’s sons. This last fool had the gall to attempt to bring his prized steed along, and was whining and moaning about his accommodations the while. Fortunately, Lord Trencher happened to be in town that day, and overheard the simpleton’s tirade. He promptly shrank the admittedly magnificent animal down to the size of a toy and then petrified it, advising me to stow it below, and if the nobleman had any more doubts about his comfort level, he could make the trip alongside his steed and be there in figurative moments! (He informed me via my Pack Ring that Eshe could easily break the spells binding the horse upon our arrival.) Said nobleman shut up and stowed his gear as instructed. Quite gratifying. Of course, my comment that if he wanted to bunk with me might have had the same effect. I notice that many higher-brow humans have a certain aversion to persons of my ancestry after we have been overseeing the cleaning of the bilges down in a hot, sweaty hold…and then finding out I was the Captain after giving me sufficient excuse to tear his face off with my tusks seemed to take the heart out of him. The Raptor has plenty of extra cargo space, which has been filled with a great deal of things a colony far from home would like…paper, clothing and tools of all kinds. The Lady Vanderboren was pleasantly surprised by the contributions enacted by the Wolves, as her finances did not have quite the breadth necessary to completely fill our hold with goods. Of course, I imagine that there were negotiated terms for trade goods being taken from the colony in return for such investment, which I am sure will be done equitably. Threk paused then, casting a wary eye towards the hidden compartment where the Focusing Cone rested, and lifted the crystal momentarily from the page. The device was both a scrying enhancer and a potent teleportational focus…those attuned to it would be able to leap across the leagues to where it was placed with perfect safety and accuracy. It also would allow a sufficiently equipped force to come to the ship even if misfortune actually sunk the vessel, doubtless the reason why it was being transported this way instead of by Lady Hazé simply whisking herself to the far colony and planting it somewhere safe and hidden. With it in place, the Wolves would be able to place a factor in the colony, and assure it of continual resupply and export of trade goods, albeit in limited number, without reliance on the irregularities of ocean travel. A superb strategic move…with potent enough magic, Threk assumed that even a fairly large number of people might be moved into place in mere moments…for conquest or defense, it was not his knowledge. Either would be interesting, he was sure. The maps to our destination are somewhat old, but as accurate as current divination and past visual exploration can make them. One of our tasks during the trip, falling particularly to Henri, will be to take constant readings to assess and improve the accuracy of the charts. Such things are worth a great deal of money, and the finer the charts he makes, the more Henri will share in their dispersal. I am certain he is eager to be off and prove his worth. Threk paused again, considering his next words, shrugged, and wrote on. Divinations revealed dark days ahead…more literal then figurative. I envisioned the impact of storms, but the Raptor is as seaworthy as any ship afloat. I was advised that there are events centered about the ship and its crew, as if we were being caught up in threads of destiny. Major Cupral, who relayed this to me, nodded his agreement with the assessment of the situation, drawing a parallel to the events of those who participated in the pre-events of the now legendary Age of Worms, and how the threads of destiny swirled about them. I protested that we have no Witch of Siberys or great General with us, and his reaction was to scoff, and inform me that if all heroes of legend needed such hamfistedness applied to their paths, there would be no heroes to speak of! Chastized by a member of a race that did not exist in my grandfather’s time, I remained silent. But, I must admit to a great sense of anticipation if this is true…what awaits for us, lost in the islands of Sargon’s Teeth, among the islands of ancient Xen’drik? I must confess, I am quite eager to know if this rede of our future has truth to it… Captain’s Log, Day Two… It seems our zealous attention to security was not shared by the ship of our patron…they had a stowaway! Of even more amusement, this spy had an agenda of her own…the disembowelment of the ir’Meravanchi. It seems there was a bit of a relationship between the two in the past, and he ended it rather badly. I admit to being displeased at having lost a passenger so soon…the spy’s sabotage was well done, and the arrival of the sharks was quite timely. I’m afraid that I will not be plagued by the pithy protests and whelpish whining of the cad for the rest of the voyage. Henri’s sharp eyes did notice the difference between failure and sabotage, and although the passengers might have been responsible, Eshe suggested a ship to stern sweep in proper Wolf fashion would be validated, as the Lady Vanderboren had not undertaken such an action. Cleverly concealed in a crate that could be opened from within, the lair of the stowaway was found, and then it was a matter of searching for her via Rose’s new aptitude at scenting. The stowaway was not very forthcoming about her employers or her master, but from the array of tattoes I suspect the Water Dragons have an interest in the Lady’s brother’s whereabouts, and still dream of vengeance. I believe they should have used a shifter and just stayed among the colonists as valid passengers, but you can’t blame a Lhazaar for a lack of subtlety. On a curious note, the scars on her hands did mark her as an avid member of the Blood of Vol…and the General is known to fairly loathe that faith. Perhaps it is not such a coincidence? On a better note, Lady Vanderboren’s cook is somewhat more experienced then Rose, and passed on some new recipes my thorny Packmate is eager to try out. An excellent dinner to celebrate the beginning of our voyage. Captain’s Log, Day Ten… We make excellent time. The spells supplied by the Lady Hazé allow the spellcasters on both ships to maintain favorable and focused winds to drive our vessels along at rates approaching those of the finest Lyrandar ships. I cannot help but notice and be proud of the nimbleness of my vessel compared to our heavier patron’s ship, but then, I am a Marine and I see our duty as escort as much as complement. If there is trouble, I prefer to interdict it before it can threaten our patron. We passed the infamous Webbed Wall today, the crew watching silently as the Q’barran jungle slid past, festooned top to bottom with great webs and truly massive spiders in the trees and on the ground. Henri’s sharp eyes picked out a water spider that had surfaced between us and the shore, silent and watching us with lidless eyes…the main body was longer then the ship’s launch, and it likely would have straddled the hull. Fortunately, it could not catch us, but woe to any fool who dared set foot in this place… Sail traffic has actually been fairly steady, although ships are maintaining a careful distance from us, for the most part. Sasserine’s flag is not friendly to pirates, nor is the Black Wolf on White. One vessel did come bearing in at some speed, obviously with elemental aid. My rapid and prompt challenge seemed to deter it rather hastily from whatever mischief it intended as I easily interdicted its course and closed in on it. I am perturbed by the number of Sarlonan vessels I am seeing, especially at anchor at the jungle border forts we have passed. General Ruin has expressed deep misgivings about the interests of the Riedrans, and it is known they have a great deal of influence in Q’barra. If they are taking over the staffing of the border forts, that is a great deal of exposure on Khorvaire’s East that could be used to assemble a substantial force of their own. When next the Major contacts me for an update I will relay this. Captain’s Log, Day 17… Resupply at Q’barra’s main port seems to have had an unforeseen side effect. The priest, Father Ferres, came down with what at first we thought to be a virulent jungle fever that incapacitated him with startling speed soon after we left port. Eshe’s keen eyes noticed that he had some sort of growth implanted in him, and with great care and a sharp knife carved the thing out of him. She proclaimed it the fetal stage of some extraplanar creature called a slaad, and if it had been allowed to hatch, the creature might well have ravaged the entire ship all by itself. It seems that Q’barra holds a nest of Khyber worshippers interesting in spreading chaos, and our passenger was little more then a courier to them, to be done away with in a spectactular and grisly manner worthy of their patronage. Yet another detail to be forwarded to the Major…extinguishing the cult would be a fine deed, but likely beyond our current abilities, and definitely should be related to the proper authorities. As I write this, the Black Pit is sliding by on our stern. This is the charred remnants of one of the early Q’barran forts, ravaged by the lizardfolk of the jungle and turned into a sacrificial pit of dire portents. It has been a decade since the fall, and still nothing grows there, a grim reminder of the strength of the savage creatures who have called this place home for millennia. The Q’barrans, like most humans, tend to forget in their heady air of conquest that this land has many, many more races that have dwelt here far longer then they. Captain’s Log, Day 27… Praise to be for the bronzed plating! It likely saved the Raptor from a dire fate. We had hove to at the mouth of the River Roazhim, where we make the turn south into the open ocean to the crossing to the scattered islands of Xen’Drik and Sargon’s Teeth. A nasty fog sprang up and obscured vision, and we were somewhat jumpy, yet still unprepared for what at first appeared to be flotsam coming to life and assaulting the ship and us! It was a massive ooze, drooling acid that thankfully had little effect other then surface scoring upon the treated hull of our vessel. A barrage of magical flame, oil, and carefully distant polearm work seems to have slain it before it could devote much effort to the destruction of the hull…or the crew. It seems to have devoured a fair number of other sailors and officers, as calcifying remains were still present inside its mass…and some booty, as well. We are profiting already! Navigator’s Log, Day 35… One wouldn’t think that such a simple magic as I learned from the Lady Hazé would be so eminently useful, but the Triangulation effect has been of immeasurable use in keeping us on course and being able to note even minute deviations of the charts from reality. The ocean crossing goes without incident. Eshe’s ensorcelled winds keep us on track, Rose sees no inclement weather ahead, Captain Threk keeps discipline with fearsome skill…but there are still worries. We are on a route outside the well-established passages, and there remains the sahaugin to deal with. The standard contracts of passage will not work in this area, and if they decide to accost our two vessels as we near the first islands of the Teeth, things could get messy quickly. Suitable tribute for passage has been allocated in the event the sahaugin choose to be reasonable…and this is not a good location if they choose not to be. Too, the smaller islands we are meant to encounter could well be inhabited by pirates, monsters, or worse…the charts merely tell locations, not inhabitants. In the meantime, I keep the ship on course and my eyes on the stars, and think about the other things the Lady Hazé spoke to me of. She knew things about me from a glance that I had never dared speak of to anyone…and some things I did not know myself! A Witch of Siberys with an interest in me…I do not know whether to laugh or to cry. The spells and magical winds driving the sails are keeping us on course despite the power of the Pearl current beneath us trying to send us off course. Praise to be for the simple magicks that make travel easier! Captain’s Log, Day 44… After managing to cross the ocean without stirring the wrath or interest of the sahaugin, we discovered the reason why. Fort Greenrock, an independent enclave upon one of the early, small islands that behold the entry to the Teeth, has been burned to a cinder. Very tellingly, there are no inhabitants left behind. The seaward sign of the fort displays many of the barbed bolts used by the shark-men, and the sands indicate a great deal of traffic into and out of the waters of the bay, as well as shed blood. The fate of those who lived here is both certain and grisly…we can but pray for their souls, and I will alert Major Cupral to notify the proper authorities. Hopefully, the natives here put up a glorious defense and cost the sahaugin such that they deemed intercepting other vessels to be too dangerous…we shall see. Succeeding days will have us passing several islands of various sizes, many of them adorned with the crumbling remnants of the ancient civilizations that dominated Xen’drik. Our gnomish passenger is fairly beside himself with eagerness, as he was promised as part of his passage the chance to investigate one of the larger and more famous pyramidal ruins. Captain’s Log, Day 51… Our exploration of the temple-pyramid is complete, with surprising success. If, by success you mean recovering booty that perhaps dozens of prior explorations missed, and doing battle with life-sucking wisps and demonic bats, oversized vermin, and ancient sorcerous traps, that is. Professor Forol has had more excitement then he ever craved, and certainly seems to be eager to press on and live the island behind us. His gratitude to Eshe for crystal-recording the ancient glyphs and rooms has happily kept him out of our way as he laboriously scribes and interprets all the various sights he can coax out of the crystal. As for us, we recovered a fair amount of more marketable swag, including a rather strange golden idol of savage and fearsome aspect, which Henri assures me is not of Jotun manufacture. It clearly has substantial value if we could get it into the hands of a collector…unlikely at our destination. I wonder how prior searchers missed such valuables…typical treasure hunters are interested in booty and would be unlikely to quit until recovering all the valuables they could. Most strange. Even stranger is the sense that something is tailing us in these waters. Henri has been the only one to get a look at it, for it seemed to glow once under the moonlight to him, before vanishing. I have seen only a glimpse of a dark shadow beneath the ocean at some distance. A great whale, perhaps? I have not seen it surface and blow, however…however, we are no threat to the whales and hopefully have not incurred the wrath of a leviathan or some other great beast of the deep. Captain’s Log, Day 58 A small spot of excitement today, as we were accosted by a pair of ragged pirate vessels, doubtless hoping to prey on some unprepared merchantmen of Riedran origin, as the Sarlonans cross the island chain we are forging through on the way to and from Stormreach. They were clearly not ready for my enthusiastic readiness to engage them and confront a more manageable foe…this is the type of battle I have been trained for! The Blue Nixie managed a spirited defense as well, but we did not let the ships get away with their foul crews, who sported grotesque mutilation and tributes to unwholesome entities…fallen cultists and by their sharpened teeth, likely cannibals. They were put to the axe, their ships holed, and what booty they had secured. Of more interest was the fact that as we left, a flight of wyverns came gliding in, first to circle our ships curiously, then to swoop in closer in challenge. Eshe solved that problem with an illusion, animating the figurehead and spitting out a very real bolt of lightning at one over-confident scale-wing, and the whole pack beat a hasty retreat at this display of draconic wrath. They satisfied themselves with plucking corpses out of the waters, away from the hungry sharks, and flying away with them. Captain’s Log, Day 62… We stopped to secure our fresh water supplies at an idyllic cove of one of the larger islands, complete with its own river plummeting down with crystalline purity. Of course, this is now Xen’Drik, and the beast that called the cove home was happy to render our opinion of the safety of the place somewhat moot. Eshe’s fiery missiles and Rose’s burning hands were sufficient to kill the multi-headed creature as we kept it away from the passengers and crew, my task being lopping off the heads and theirs searing each stump in turn. On the practical side, we also managed to secure a fine portion of meat to complement our stores for the next few weeks. It was good for the crew to dine on large steaks after weeks of more mundane meals, and the Pack enjoyed the repast even if our rings made it unnecessary. Where the Nixie’s chef got this glorious recipe for hydra braised loin cuts I have no idea, but it was certainly delicious. Rose slapped on aquatic insertion gear to explore underwater and make sure no more large surprises were in store below, as Eshe levitated barrels of water on discs of force and refilled them at the waterfall for us and the Nixie moored further out. After an hour and more of detailing the grisly remnants of the many vessels that looked to have been torn apart by the beast of the cove, she surfaced with some magical gear that seemed to have survived the ravages of the elements. Who knew that sailing a ship commanded such profit? I will have to pass on just how lucrative this profession is to some of my kin…those who do like fighting monstrous beasts and the like, that is. Captain’s Log, Day 68… Well, our first meeting with the sahaugin ended rather badly. The toll the creatures demanded was clearly ruinous, and then Henri’s somewhat too-clever negotiations caught the threatening ‘toll agent’ in a lie, spilling the fact that these weren’t even its own tribal waters, it was poaching on those of another weakened clan and attempted to make some free swag! I admit I was probably a bit presumptuous in my outrage and zeal to test myself against these creatures that dared attack a surface settlement, and removing the creature’s surprised head was likely not the most diplomatic of moves. A storm is brewing on the horizon, one Rose assures us is not of natural origin. Given the number of shark-men raiders that were cooked by the electrical discharge into the waters about the Raptor, and stymied by her below-waterline toughness, it is likely that one of their legendary priestesses is taking all the vengeance she can…from a safe distance from the correct tribe’s wrath, of course. Standing orders are to make for the colony even if the ships are separated, and given the roiling black of the coming clouds, and the even stranger red lightning, this looks to be a fine blow to test out the ship and crew in proper fashion. I only hope the priestess shows herself, that Eshe might show her some of the power of surface spellcasters, and that I might return a barbed bolt into one of her goggling eyes. Captain’s Log, Day 71… We’ve finally encountered something that truly tested Rose’s belief in the verdancy of the natural world, and put it to fire and axe in proper fashion. This place, Henri revealed, was called Ship’s End…a great and deadly living Sargasso, leagues in diameter. Foul plant-like ‘young’ birthed by the ‘Mother Sargasso’ at the center of this ‘natural wonder’ assaulted us, as animated fronds of seaweed lashed at any showing themselves upon the deck, attempting to drag us to a horrid fate. Even charring the waters black about us could not free the ship…the green stuff simply grew too fast, and we had little choice but to first scout some of the neighboring ships also caught haplessly in this morass of the green, but to take the assault to the Mother herself. The storm brought forth by the sahaugin was not meant to sink us, but to drive us into the slow death this place promises. We determined that daring to attack instead of simply delay our fate was far preferable. Rose was truly a formidable sight in this battle, with her limbs ablaze with druidic magic, her spikes treated with energies anathemic to the horrid growth all about, leaping onto and grappling the Mother in a flurry of two thorned unwomen having it out on one another, whilst my axe dealt with the Mother’s pods of ‘young’ (grown from hapless crewfolk, I am told), Eshe’s dessicating blasts, and Henri…well, he certainly attempted to keep our enthusiasm up. Perhaps he should be using another weapon then a rapier. We did manage to plunder what we could of the ships of the great morass before the green mess totally unwound, and rode back to the Raptor aboard one of Eshe’s levitating discs as the great Sargasso began to disintegrate, and the legions of ‘children’ wailed and broke apart. The energetic thrashing in certain areas hastening the breakup, especially as the doomed ships finally sank to their fate, tells me that something enjoys these waters and did not dare the wrath of the Mother, and is working on breaking up the sargasso itself. Whatever it was, it was huge…easily longer then the Raptor and far faster…our curious traveling companion? However, the Mother may have inflicted a dying curse on us, such as it is…another storm assembles on the horizon, and this one is completely natural and dreadfully powerful. We are close to our goal…I would be much wroth if, having survived the spellstorm of the sea devils, we are to brought low by the uncaring maw of the Devourer. As we weathered the first storm with ease, I swear we will triumph over this new challenge! Captain’s Log, Day 74… Even Lady Haze’s spells could not reinforce the Raptor enough to survive being driven full onto a reef by the power of a hurricane. Thankfully, we were able to ground the ship even as the storm began to pass, but with a distinct problem…even though we are able to fix the rents and holes in the hole, we were driven far above normal tide levels, and the ship is officially grounded. Even at high water, the ship is completely beyond the waterline, and we have not the manpower to drag her back to her home. I must admit that the sight of a ship thrown thirty paces up a sandy beach and ensconced cheerfully among the patient palms of this island IS an amusing sight…but it is also a deathtrap to remain. Certainly there are forces in the jungle that will whelm to our arrival, and pick us off as meals alone or en masse. Seaworthy but landlocked, the Raptor will remain where she is, as we draw what provisions and supplies we feel we will need, and seal the ship against less intelligent intruders. We can return with greater muscle, or perhaps the high command can restore her to the waters when they make contact (doubtful, as they will not want to reveal their influence or power so soon, I should think, and I have seen enough of Wolf activity to know just how busy the General and his staff usually are). Thus, we are going to be heading overland, crew and colonists alike, into the wilds of one of the larger islands that once composed Xen’drik. I have a feeling that this will be at least as entertaining as our ocean voyage, and I bid the Raptor a sad farewell for now…I will return for my ship, of that you can be sure! Supplies supplemented by the eel-like beasts which didn’t like us being driven atop their reef-tubed homes (I wasn’t very patient with them, as I didn’t like the situation much, either), we assemble for a trek through the jungle. Ah, for a teller-of-tales to compose a saga for us…one journey ends, and another begins! ====Aelryinth
lordalm 11-19-06, 04:46 PM	Very good as usual. Much crunchyness....
sidekick 12-07-06, 05:34 AM	Hey there Aelyrith. I just wanted to say that I’ve read your AoW docs you sent me – very cool. I'm trying to avoid reading this one as I'm playing in a STAP game currently, but there was something I wanted to ask about the Wolves of the North and specifically the Stormwolf... I was wondering, how did you (or your Players) create the Stormwolf? I’ve figured out that it’s a non-elemental powered airship, but I’m curious as to a) how it works, b) its armourment and c) its dimensions. Its too cool to not get a cameo in one of my campaigns at some point in the future…
Bluenose 12-08-06, 01:29 PM	Very nice story, one I'll be looking out for in the future. If it's not too much trouble, could you send me the AoW story. timn100 at hotmail.com
aelryinth 12-09-06, 12:57 AM	HEllo, sorry for the delay, I've been having a lot of internet trouble, and the cable company a lot of trouble fixing it. =============== THe Stormwolf is actually the brainchild of the General and Haze', with efforts from Lady Silver, Trencher and his wife Anna all thrown in. It is indeed a non-elemental powered Airship. The primary components thereof is the soarwood from several airships caught in the Mourning, and salvaged by Marcus and Haze' at the earliest possible dates. THe extra lift capacity is made by the use of 'Heavystones', simply large blocks of extraordinarily dense materials enchanted with a Reverse Gravity effect. The immense weight of these devices, ensconced in several locations within the hull (sealed within and used as structural beams and the like...they are effectively shielded from any external assault and far more durable then mere steel) acting against the force of gravity, offsets the combined weight of extra cargo, crew, and non-soarwood additions. The magic empowering these can be turned on or 'neutral' as need be, to generate more or less lift, and as a result the Stormwolf can carry far more weight then any other airship its size. Forward momentum is done by usage of Perpetual Motion Engines. These are a variant of the Heavystones, but the reverse gravity effect is instead a Skewed Gravity effect...Gravity is always at a right angle to the connecting arm of the Engine. Thus, gravity forces the ends of a cross into a perpetual spin of motion...the heavier the cross, the heavier the engine it can drive. The propellors of the Stormwolf can send it leaping across the sky at over a hundred miles an hour if need be...slow for a modern day airplane, but the fastest thing in the skies of Khorvaire. Force screens about the leading edges of the hull in teardrop pattern allay wind resistance, and similar screens above the ship allay any harmful affects from non-living objects raining down from above. All Wooden parts of the hull are considered to be first treated with Ironwood effects (Hardness and HP as Steel) and then backed up by permanent Hardness spells at 20th level (+10 hardness, effectively Hardness 20). The Sonic Cannon are effectively Sonic Orb/ Sonic Fireball staves on Mounts, with modifications for being useful with Wand Mastery and helping increase accuracy. As the Elite Wolves are 9th level characters, so are the elite Cannonneers of the Stormwolf. The Main Gun is three of these devices bound together, with a much higher then normal default caster level, with its preset targetting fixed on the point before the prow where the Deflect and Anticipate Teleport spells drop anyone so callow as to attempt dimensional attacks onto the ship wind up. Infusions are often used on the Cannons before usage to maximize the damage per charge. As a singular side effect of the Cannon, they reverberate with unique sounds for each wielder, and thus each one going off sounds different for each Cannoneer...except the Main Gun, that's based on Trencher and Haze'. As a floating fortress, the Stormwolf is the collaboration of both the individual wealth of the characters in the story, and continued investment by the actions of the Wolves as a whole. The Stormwolf can be captained and guided by a being without magical abilty simply by mechanical manipulation of the gears that power the props, and the numerous stubby 'wings' that surmount the hull in several places. While it has sizable cargo capacity, which are often supplemented by dimensional expansions or Magnificent Mansions and the like, the Stormwolf is first and foremost a Warship, and the 'average' crew member is a 6th-8th level character, with the Elites 9th level and the officers ranging up to Epic at the end of the current storyline (on a par or superior to the Bloodcloaks of the Sharn book). As initially presented, the Stormwolf is simply a plot vehicle for getting Marcus Ruin from one place to the next quickly, as he cannot teleport. Later in the story, as loot piles up, I trot out some of the improvements that are finalized and added in 'off-camera', and simply expand the scope of the actions of the crew. Marcus Ruin is the commander of an Super-Elite band of warriors, it would be passing strange not to make use of them. The Wolfskates are simply the SHip's Launches, empowered with Reverse HEavystone keels and their own props, made to transport fairly large amounts of goods and people. The Pups are more like one man fighters, with their own Sonic Cannons, PME's, and intended only to blast things...very fast, very agile, like a 3D swamp skimmer that can reach 150 MPH or more. Noise is kept down from props by use of Sound Bubble effects (as opposed to Silence). It's believed by the crew the sonic energy of the props churning the air is fed directly into the Ship's Guns. Other things used by the ship could easily include Arcane Ballista, Dragontear dispensers (leaving a trail of alchemical fire), Catapaults throwing arcane ammunition (likely highly explosive arcane ammunition!), Magic missile rods for close range support fire, sovereign glue harpoons for boarding actions, and the like. The General is a military genius with several powerful spellcasters under his command, and his wife is an Artificer/20. He is likely to be suprised by no tactic, he loves to be pre-informed of any and all suprises and methods of his foes, and he has no fear of magic whatsoever. And yes, Haze' does have the ability to scuttle the Stormwolf almost instantly and violently should it fall into the wrong hands...and like the General, will not hesitate to do so if it seems it might be captured and not be able to be retaken. Of course, said capturers are going to have to deal with the fact that only those who know the correct runic pattern can bypass the dimensional lock about the vessel...and can't be blocked from having access. Nasty hit and run assaults by high level spellcasters would make holding onto the vessel living hell, even were it not for the high levels of its crew. Between telepathic interlocks of the Wolf Unit rings making alarms instantaneous and shipwide with the speed of thought, standard infiltration measures like shadow walking, invisibility and gaseous form addressed by usage of the sentry positions, the high level of the crew, and the foresight of the General, taking the Stormwolf away from him is not something to be lightly attempted by any of the normal powers of Eberron...much as they might like to. The fact that the Stormwolf might be intelligent is entirely possible and totally plausible. The ship's intelligence would likely be a willing sentient being bound to the vessel, probably a former officer or dying loyalist...NOT an elemental servant. After all, the Wolves prefer to ride intelligent horses...no reason they wouldn't prefer an intelligent ship, too! ============ Relations: While the governmental agencies of Eberron react with great trepidation to the mere existence of such an incredible vessel as an independent force, these are overshadowed by the exploits of Captain and crew. The General can, of course, make more of these if they just destroy the first...and could then sell such vessels to the foes of those responsible for the destruction of the first, who would fall all over themselves for such a pressed military advantage. Too, ship and crew have made no significant political moves or any true Empire-building, other then some expansion into mercantilism once dominated by House Lyrandar...which, of course, makes House Lyrandar VERY unhappy. However, the very public destruction of the Wormhead, basically installing a 'puppet Prince' in Lhazaar who also happens to be one of the great old heroes of the Last War, the continuing destruction of broodfiends, and the buildup of Fort Lewt, as opposed to trying to seize any contested lands of the Five Kingdoms, have many breathing sighs of relief. He has not even attempted a concerted campaign against the Valenar, who, though they might relish the challenge, likely would suffer terribly in such a crusade. House Lyrandar is, of course, taking the brunt of the fallout of the existence of the Stormwolf, and not taking it well. This is by no means unintentional, as the General is punishing them for their support of the Valenar and their usage of elemental slaves, and he doesn't think well of their attitudes a House, either. With one stroke he reduced the lofty eminence of the Mark of Storm to that of a gaudy peacock, while he mans the falcon and dragon of the skies...with no magic whatsoever. There have been numerous attempts at sabotage of the Stormwolf, but by and large this has been tremendously difficult because of the skills of crew and officers. Retribution was also prompt and VERY expensive (House Lyrandar stopped sending agents hired through fourth and fifth parties after the sixth ship went down over the Mournlands, with only a single sailor found from each vessel, each looking as if they'd died of wolf bites to the throat.) Astronomical sums (heh, Epic sums!) have been offered to the General for the plans, means to build, and/or construction of such vessels for any of the Five and most of the Twelve, the Aurum, and whatnot. The General routinely ignores them, and their agents routinely wind up missing...then the handlers of those agents, and then the superiors of the handlers, and then the superiors of the superiors... ================ In a normal campaign in Eberron, the General is going to be turning things on its ears simply by being of Epic level with his lieutenants. The things Epic level spellcasters can accomplish with magic can very easily break the traditional Kriegstanz the setting is built upon...having an awesomely powerful group of independent individuls running around doing their own thing without loyalty to nation or house is going to unsettle a lot of individuals, and the implications of what he could do were he to set his mind to it are unnerving. Remember, he wiped out an army of literally tens of thousands or more of undead around Korth...he killed a God A-borning...multiple dragons...a Dracolich of legendary might...has hobknobbed with Solars, counts two Archmages as allies (both anti-Undead Karrns), and he regularly plunders the Mournland for spoils in support of the many Cyrans who have flocked to serve under him (and who ignore their Prince in New Cyre). He's a VERY unsettling force...and no longer secretive nor 'mad'. =================== As a 'backdrop' for Fort Lewt, keep him around level 15 and just use the Stormwolf as a transport vessel. It's still crewed by super Elites, but the massive magical investment hasn't taken place to upgrade it (replace the Cannons with salvaged Arcane Ballista, and the like). Powers are still trying to take the ship away from them, but given his complete and proven willingness to scuttle that which is taken from him, attempts are very careful and not very successful, as he's signficiantly higher level then almost anyone that could be sent against him. Lyrandar will of course loathe his ship's very existence, and at the same time be almost deliriously eager to get their hands on plans, as would House Cannith. Since those plans are pretty much exclusively in the heads of the Mark and his officers, politicking is the order of the day! ====================== As a continued storyline character, he's also bloody busy, as I've repeatedly made clear in the story above...those broodfiends haven't all gone away, and the longer he takes to kill them the harder it is to kill each one. The Riedrans made an infiltration attempt on him by mind seeding the nanny of his children, and starting the brainwashing therein...he caught it, and is now moving against the Dreaming Dark much more actively, building more alliances, spreading word of what the Dreaming Dark is doing...and in particular, hunting down each and every one of Talashara's mind seeds and undoing them, making each and every victim a weapon to be used against them. So, he's not going to be solving minor problems...that's what the Wolves are for. This doesn't mean he's not aware of them...but literally, he doesn't have the time to address them. The heroes above have the support of their organization, to an extent...but Haze' is not going to come in and bail them out of their problems like a 23rd level spellcaster with nothing to do but cater to PC's. The characters above got some help upgrading their ship because it's a Wolf ship, and personal attention was done in a telepathic, compressed time format learning session because she simply had to be elsewhere. If you have other heroes, he might be peripherally aware of what they are doing (his intelligence network among the Cyrans, especially, and any who've had to flee from Kyuss-spawn, is entrenched and growing), but finding a man who literally goes to a new city a day and who has the time to deal with them is something else. And then trying to get him to believe that whatever you are doing is more important then what the Riedrans and qu'ori is trying to do is going to be a tough sell. Hiring Wolves is possible...but could get pricey...and the Wolves generally are busy, too. He's always looking for more junior trainees, however! If you are Favored In House, have a Mark and are NOT excorciate or exiled, a member of the Blood of Vol, a necromancer, use negative energy, or the like, don't come applying for a position. It could get bloody. On a side note, his School of the Forged at Fort Lewt specializes in teaching 'drone' Forged of their rights and capabilities as freed beings, awakening them to life as more then simple 'worker ants'. The unfortunate tendency of such Forged to sneak out and spirit away their brethren back to Lewt off their 'slave labor' in places like Thrane, Karrnath, and Breland doesn't make him very popular among certain elements of the wealthy and powerful, but he ignores them. Lastly, Kaius III (I) fears him like no other living person. Ruin is a model officer of the highest standards of Karrnathi honor...a peerless warrior who spurns all magic...has a spotless military record and is a proven genius at combat in all theaters of war...and absolutely loathes undead. There is definite support in the Rekkenmark for him should he chose to declare himself a warlord and take the Throne of Karrnath, and likely precious little could be done to stop him...although the fact that he is not a warmonger like some of the unhappier warlords does count against him. Happily, he has shown absolutely no prediliction to making such moves...and in recognition of this, absolutely no interference is given his operations at Fort Hole on Karrnath's southern border with the Talentas. If Ruin were to find out that not only is his nominal king a Vampire, but the very man who instigated the Last War, sold out Karrnath to the Blood of Vol, AND instituted the widespread use of undead in the Karrnathi forces...things could get rather ugly rather quickly. =========== Stories on the way. ========= Just got the newest Dungeon. Next story should be up soon. =Aelryinth
aelryinth 12-09-06, 01:08 AM	Very nice story, one I'll be looking out for in the future. If it's not too much trouble, could you send me the AoW story. timn100 at hotmail.com Done ==Aelryinth
lordalm 12-09-06, 06:40 PM	Me too please. megamarines@yahoo.com
aelryinth 12-09-06, 10:07 PM	Me too please. megamarines@yahoo.com Done. ==Aelryinth
aelryinth 12-10-06, 06:49 PM	Episode III – A Hiking We Will Go Getting nearly two dozen non-coms across a land filled with carnivorous dinosaurs and other prehistoric beasties was not something that he had looked forwards to, until a much simpler solution had presented itself. Turn them into combatants, of course. They were frontier people looking to make a new life for themselves, which meant they had a certain level of energy and enthusiasm and get up and go. They would also be living in an area with carnivorous dinosaurs and other prehistoric beasties, and it would be a very good thing if they knew how to take care of themselves. He didn’t have a lot of time to teach them, but that was fine. If he didn’t teach them, they were going to die, and he made that abundantly clear to them. Actually, the jungle made it abundantly clear to them, when the first Sword Tyrant came crashing out of the jungle twenty paces away from the motley group with their spears, and they fled like terrified sheep…which resulted in two of them getting eaten, another one trampled to mush, and took much too long for Threk and the others to bring the huge monstrosity down because it was running all over willy-nilly after the food that was being nice enough to advertise its location and not fight back. But at the last he hamstrung it, Eshe filled its mouth with a helping of fiery rays, Rose got it to feed on a couple hapless summoned animals that got in its way instead of the tasty non-coms, and Henri, amazingly, got in the kill shot with a spear he plunged deep into one eye. He had them bury the dead, after making them cut the unfortunate bastards out of the dino’s stomach. They wailed and dribbled and got covered with blood and guts and gore. Then they started taking him seriously. He gave them the boarding pikes off the Raptor and made them drill. Those who whined the most he calmly held under a barrel of Tyrant blood until they half-drowned. The flies loved them the most. Protests died away as he administered discipline with an iron fist, having neither time nor patience to coddle them. He couldn’t condition them the way they needed to be conditioned, but breaking them and drilling them he could do. When the first flock of predatory birds showed up, the only two who died were also the only ones who ran. The ones who collapsed into a thicket of spears lived…and ate the drumsticks of the one they killed. Tyrant hide made for nice armor, too…so they scraped the meat off the dino hide and cut and sewed and stitched and fit as best they could. It was serviceable, not great, but certainly better then nothing. Master Farlo’s knowledge of what to eat and not eat was not exactly comprehensive, so Rose took over that part, using her spells to determine the identity of things, which Master Farlo eagerly wrote down for posterity…when he wasn’t marching and practicing formation beside the others. He had a week, he had food, Rose could secure fresh water, one of the passengers was a decent scout who could assist Henri, and Eshe could get airborne as needed. By the time the third flock of birds came, the whole lot of them collapsed into an unwieldy square that held the things at bay with a hedge of steel. Eshe and missile fire soon brought them down. One of the things even tried to charge them and got itself impaled before killing anything, to the wonder of the settlers. Enthusiasm picked itself up, which he firmly squashed by loud and appreciative calls for another Sword Tyrant to show itself and really give them a challenge. The telepathic communication of their Pack rings was a godsend, as was the lack of need for food and water. The four of them could well be alert and productive while the settlers swept, which led to a much more secure sentry rotation and the ability to get planning minutia done during the night. They had to leave most of the cargo behind, it consisting of practical stuff like cloth, nails, tools, lumber and civilized amenities that had little place where they were going. They also had to disguise the Raptor from passing ships…he doubted any would come by, but just in case he had it festooned with rigging and nets to break up the outline, and as many living vines and branches woven into the whole as possible to make it nigh unidentifiable from a distance, unless you knew exactly where it was. Eshe’s force disks would help with transporting extra water, to be on the safe side, and rations could be supplemented with the meat of things that were trying to eat them. Henri and Rose had already scouted out the preliminary route Master Farlo had laid out for them. They had a good idea of what could and could not be eaten, some rough hide armor for everyone, and the willingness to get the heck out of there and back to someplace fairly civilized. Some of the brawnier men even volunteered to carry shields, a good sign. Now, to just make it fifty leagues over hostile terrain filled with all manner of nasty carnivores and unknown beasties dating from the time of the Jotuns. Threk smiled. Life was good. ========================== Henri got along with the non-coms much better then the rest of the party. It was by design, really…he’d grown up traveling, he knew travelers, and he was far better at dealing with people then with monstrosities. In other words, he wasn’t really a Wolf, more of a hound. He related to them more, too. To the Wolves, it was just another assignment, and a challenging one, made to be overcome with skill, strength, training. For him, it was a journey to another new place, another new land, new wonders to be seen, which closely dovetailed with the new lives the survivors with them hoped to lead there. Amella and Leshkione, the most skilled of the ‘non-coms’, were basically under his command, and he was the member of the Wolves approached with problems and questions. He could handle them far more diplomatically then could Threk, with his hugely intimidating ramrod posture, tusks and ritual scars…and walking around in heavy armor in this heat. Rose was, of course, not at all in tune with the wants of common people, and Eshe was an intellectual elitist wielding magic, not someone who worked for a living. Amella was very apprehensive of leaving the water behind…a sea rat all her life, a skilled navigator, she shared a bed with him, a relationship that had developed so easily with their similar skills it was almost inevitable. The two of them had also fallen somewhat uncertainly into a parental role for the ship’s cabin boy, Tavey, who was constantly trying to prove himself, although he got quickly silent whenever the Captain was around. He’d felt the half-orc’s fists too, and even had a scar on the side of his head from his smart mouth while drilling. He was inordinately proud of the fact that he did have a scar after Henri had carefully explained to him that he was being treated just like everyone else, including those much older then him, and being given a respect beyond what he’d earned. So he’d best earn it, or the Captain would be very disappointed…and without saying it, Henri would, as well. The lad had perked up and was overeager to try anything now…but tempering that really fast, as well as getting better at ducking Captain Threk’s half-hearted fists. The Pack Rings were godsends for any kind of scouting work, and Henri was able to move around with much more speed and freedom knowing that he had instant communication back to the rest of the team. Lesh was in charge of maintaining his backtrail, a job the half-fey scout accomplished with quiet skill and readiness. This was supremely dangerous territory, for all its beauty…animate plants, carnivores, huge dinosaur herds passing by, outsized vermin of all sorts, and all of them perfectly willing to dispose of small, fragile humans by deliberation or accident. Threk had decided that blooding his band of hastily-trained would-be settlers would be far more effective then merely diverting around each and every threat, and every day at least one hostile encounter with some deadly native of the island took place. The ubiquitous ‘terror birds’ seemed to be the most common, taking over a predatory slot normally held by the larger raptor-class dinosaurs, and the cry of ‘Drumsticks!’ soon got the newly forming soldiers gamely leaping to positions as yet another hunting pack of the oversized birds came racing after Lesh or Captain Threk, and happily hurled themselves onto set spears grounded firmly against their charge. The crossbows from the armory started getting quite a workout at times, too…nobody wanted to get close to a monstrous animate vine that looked to be the size of an elephant, and flaming bolts ignited by Eshe’s magic assailed that creature until it was ablaze and the whole jungle writhing around it. He’d seen dino-wrangling by the Talentans, but he’d never seen a herd of colossal plant eaters as huge as those present on the island march lumbering through the thick forest while the whole company waited along the treeline for them to pass…and picked off a few of the monstrous beetles who decided that brontosaur leavings weren’t quite as tasty as human could be. They walked through a tumbled and lost city of the Jotuns, festooned with webs, where scuttling forms retreated into the shadows at the sight of openly wielded flame, and multiple eyes glinted at them from the yawning darkness of great buildings older then the races of all Khorvaire. He had no idea of knowing how old the spider-woman was he negotiated passage with, but her spider-form was the size of a steer, and it was certainly better to entertain the old creature with tales of distant lands then tempt the wrath of all the arachnids on all sides. Messing with nature spirits generally was never a wise course. The settlers were particularly jumpy, but Captain Threk’s threat to personally feed anyone who shot at a spider without a direct order had the desired effect of keeping even trigger-happy Kelsi in line with things. Her directions to an ancient pass under the mountains, a place carved by slaves of the Jotuns in ages past, was dead on, too. Of course, the very idea that such a suitable lair would be either uninhabited by monstrous creatures, or guardians powerful enough to dissuade such beasts, was quite unthinkable. Especially when, you know, the tracks of literally scores of terror birds led into and out of the place... ================= “Ground those spears and point them at the sky! Impale them as they come down!” roared Threk, his voice magically enhanced by a flicker-hand of a cantrip, his axe out and flashing bright silver along the edge. He stepped forth, raising axe and shield and howled his challenge in proper bestial fashion, and the primitive, bestial power of that war cry, heard so often these last few days, banished any fears, any thought of disobedience. Boarding pikes snapped skywards as the settlers flowed together, aiming skywards. Gargoyles, thought Eshe, mentally filling in the reason for the emptiness of the village they’d passed by. Who knew how many, but this was only a hunting party, obviously. She watched the biggest of them veer with his wingmate directly towards the Captain, screaming their own screeching, nerve-skittering cry in return. The squad directly behind him tensed in readiness, poising themselves to pounce if the creatures did the unthinkable and actually dared to land, pleased to actually have something to fight after the nerve-wracking disturbances ever since the company had emerged from the buried Mountain tunnels. Sure and they’d have stories to tell their kids. They’d seen the huge matriarch of the Terror Bird flocks, the paralyzing horror of ancient Elven mummies, slaved to forever preserve the tunnel and the dead buried there (damnable Elven burial rites), tomb robbing for the keys needed to get out of the accursed necropoli, monstrous centipedes over ten paces long doing battle with Threk and Rose over a bridge held up by age alone; a massive living ooze that would have devoured them all had Eshe and Rose not burned the horrible thing to a foul puddle of stinking goo…and lastly the bull-sized crabs that had made the mistake of showing themselves to hungry, frightened people just looking for something edible. Even Threk had been startled with the enthusiasm the people had fallen upon the three hapless crabs and impaled them…but he enjoyed the feast with them quite proudly. It was Eshe who had noticed they were being watched, part of the routine scans she did at optimal times…and then something had tripped one of the alarms she’d quietly laid down at a prime observation point of their next campsite. Henri had picked up on it next, but it was Lesh who’d caught a glimpse of a massive, simian-like creature moving through the trees a safe distance away from them, little more then a blur of camouflage magic. Eshe’s investigations into those sites had revealed the passage of a malevolently evil entity not native to the world, and Rose’s equally quiet questioning of the plant life confirmed the same. They were being stalked by a fiend. Not a rakshasa, thankfully…Eshe wasn’t sure how she’d have to react to being stalked by one of the truly ancient overlords of the past taking a shine to them…but the level of evil didn’t seem that refined or powerful. Brutal, savage, wild, feral…like the jungle around them, with none of the beauty. Their worry communicated itself to the settlers without a word being said…soon, whispers of something watching were being passed around. The first night had been the darkness spells dropped on the camp, instantly dispelled by revealed flames that gave them a glimpse of a startled figure in the trees far above them before it instantly vanished. Teleportation. Eshe had narrowed her eyes and prepared spells accordingly. She was fairly certain it was some form of demon, and the simian appearance strongly indicated a bar-Igura of some sort. They had the reputed ability to snatch up victims and teleport away with them, a sickening thought with this many civilians around who would be terribly vulnerable to such a tactic. It would be her job to stop this from happening. It took two more days for her to actually get a visual lock on the beast, as a magical eye caught it arranging bird carcasses telekinetically just outside human visual range for them to find. She watched it at work, jutting fangs, muscles working in unnatural ways under the mangy hide, eyes bright with hate and ferocity, unaware it was being watched in turn. Threk almost killed it. A simple illusion to replace his ever-wary presence in the camp, and his almost uncanny stealth had delivered him almost right to the side of the beast. It certainly hadn’t expected a flying, half-berserk Urukhar to come out of nowhere and drive the cold-iron hammer-side of his war axe into the side of the demon’s skull with force enough to split a horse’s skull like an egg. Preternatural reflexes had saved it, as it lept away in shock and pain, and the second strike smashed off one of the demon's jutting tusks instead of finishing the job. An instant later, it was gone…but it knew that they knew. Rockslides with human skulls and illusions to unnerve them failed to do anything but. They were mere snipings, and it wasn’t even snatching up the weaker members of the band…nor did it come that near to the camp again when they did settle down along the beach path. The day before they’d camped in the remnants of a village built in what surely looked like an optimal bay along the shore. No remains of any villagers, and precious little sign of a struggle. The place had been abandoned for several seasons at the least, the canoes useless, the homes decaying and barely usable as shelter…and conspicuously cleaned out of anything useful. Something had come and killed everything…sahaugin from the sea was the first guess. Gargoyles made such a better explanation. Death from the skies that could ignore mundane weaponry with ease. Eshe watched the second pair peel off towards the rear of the column where Amella held the people together, and timed her spell as they descended on the line there with four sets of claws spread wide, screaming confidently. Not the best of time to be hit by a fireball. The impact of the spell slammed the gargoyles down violently, charred and burning and screaming in pain…and the spears waiting for them didn’t waver. One drove himself fully onto two points with a shriek of surprise, the other tore past them and landed atop grim Joske, who obligingly went down under the creatures claws so that Amella could precisely run the thing through the ear with her gleaming rapier. It was rather surprised as she and dark-eyed Frezilia drove forwards and threw it off the narrow ledge. The leader of the gargoyles found itself in a screaming match with Threk…and even more shocked when instead of hewing into it with his axe, he rammed the hand-long spike of his waraxe into its abdomen and heaved it upwards, using its own wingbeats to help the process. Four spears drove into it with great enthusiasm, two of them quite deeply indeed. The creature sqwawked wildly, flailing around, claws raking at his armor and face as it tried to bite him and stab him with its horn. Threk just laughed at the beast as the settlers pressed in, then wrenched his axe out and back with the tremendous strength of his heritage, and brought it all the way around in one wrist-snapping blur of movement. Skull cloven and with a gleaming spear in its ear, the gargoyle was hurled over the side of the cliff with casual disregard, just after the second one, which had two spears buried deep in its back from whence it had unwisely ignored the settlers on the Captain’s other side. The settlers cheered their victory, spitting after the screeching things they’d killed so easily. They quieted down as they saw Threk scanning the skies. “There were enough of those beasts to wipe out that village behind us…a village that should have had its own defenders. Keep your eyes on the skies.” Heads turned at the sound of an enraged, howling cry, like a great demonic monkey bellowing in pain. Threk’s, noticeably, did not. “Mouse bites cat,” he offered to those around him, a spark of satisfaction on his otherwise emotionless face. “Monkeys shouldn’t pick at flowers. Flowers have thorns.” The Kobwashkin twins shook their spears in understanding, grinning hard…they had the weapons enchanted by Eshe’s magic as soon as Henri had relayed the presence of the gargoyles approaching from the south. That Rose was harrying the creature that was toying with them was a definite morale booster. Still, it was fleeing any confrontation, although it was definitely getting angrier. If it could be taunted into range of her spells, they could lock it into place and Threk would bring a proper end to the thing. ======== Eight of the unnatural creatures. Rose raised her flaming hands away from the charred skull of the great four-armed beast that had led them, a truly monstrous mutation reeking of some ancient and corrupt power. Her forearms had sprouted monstrously thick, strong and very, very sharp spikes, along with most of her body, and she had simply lept onto the back of the beast as it sought to rip Captain Threk apart with a blizzard of overwhelmingly strong, powerful attacks. It hadn’t exactly enjoyed it when her fists burst into flame, she had slammed her arms into it, driving in the burning spikes, wrapped it up with her legs, and embraced its horned skull in a corona of flame. It had clawed at her, ripped at her, but she had held on as the berserk Captain had torn into it with his axe, and Eshe smashed a pair of fiery rays into it to add to its miseries as she and Henri kept the main force of the party intact and under the cover of a set of sea caves conveniently chosen as the battleground for the battlegroup of gargoyles hunting for them. They hadn’t expected this monstrous four-armed creature, a gargoyle king called a gargorian, to be leading the pack…a truly terrible foe. If they hadn’t had advance warning and been prepared to take it and its horror down, it could well have killed them all. Spurred on by the Captain’s screaming fury and Henri’s exhortations, the settlers had performed above their weight, holding at bay the majority of the gargoyles, gathering them into place so Eshe’s magic and a preset magical trap of fire could rip into as many as possible. The leader clearly hadn’t expected Threk to take the fight right to it, nor for the ripping power of the Urukhar’s gleaming axe. It also hadn’t expected its head to be set on fire and to have nearly a hundred and forty kilos of Forged on its backside, spikes dug firmly in and rending and roasting it as it matched fang and claw to hewing axe. There’d been too much damage to its wings to fly away, and Threk had sheered off one leg just before its eyes charred away and flames began to rage down its throat. Slowly, the Forged unpeeled herself from the massive corpse, aided by the panting Threk, using the enhanced strength Eshe had granted them to move around the massive carcass. Great gouges in her ironwood plating were massive evidence of the ripping, frantic struggle the gargorian had undertaken to get free, and sap-like internal fluids leaked with bright green hues from the wounds, including a massive triple row down her face that likely would have ripped a human’s skull wide open. She could feel the extent of the injuries…the gargorian had nearly torn her head off with its final blow. Carefully, she willed away the flames and spikes she had called into being, and carefully drew to herself healing power…not the positive power Eshe could tap into, nor the transarcanic power of the spells used to repair other Forged, but the more organic, natural powers of Nature itself, clutching the living armor that was skin and shell. The dark green ironwood plating hummed with new life. Slowly, the rents began to close of their own accord…and, to her surprise, leave behind nascent, thorn-like growths in her plating. As she watched, several of those began to spout leaves…small, tiny, but leaves nonetheless, as thorns extended and melded together into long, slender vines and cords that wrapped slowly and languidly about her. A flash of golden energy washed over Threk, and she felt Eshe’s magic pulse through the web connecting the Pack, adding some of its healing energy to her own attempts. Thoughts from Henri as he pulled out a wand and was carefully and quickly seeing to any of the injured people with speed and energy. The Urukhar was in the worst shape, his armor battered and rent by the terrific power of the creature…but his eyes were deep with triumph despite the pain of what she assumed to be at least two broken ribs. He would be taking considerably more healing then merely one spell. “Save it for yourself,” he ordered, feeling the offer and instantly rejecting it. “I want our spellcasters in prime shape in case that demon comes back. I’ll get some love from that wand Henri is waving around.” His nearly blood-red eyes turned towards the top of the cliff above, and she followed his gaze, feeling the dark menace lurking above there. With a nod, she chanted the second of her healing spells upon herself, heaving herself to her feet. With a feeling of some great satisfaction, she helped the Urukhar heave the gargoyle king’s corpse over the side of the cliff trail, but not before the Captain took the spiked, jagged crown from the charred head, and calmly deposited it upon her own. Despite herself, Rose felt inordinately proud at the gesture that the credit for the kill was hers…and when it fit perfectly, to the extent of twisting about the floral pattern of the identifying symbol upon her head, she realized that the fact that it had survived the flames that had devoured the brains of the creature was not a coincidence. Living vines writhed slowly over the surface of her ironwood plating as the gashes continued to mend. Her fists clenched, and new thorns flexed into place, ready to serve with but a thought. She hadn’t dealt the demon a blow as severe as had Threk, but the surprise of her assault the day before had alarmed it and again spurred it to magical flight. The Captain had left a broken tusk to it as a reminder of his attack…hers had been merely a scratch it seemed able to rapidly heal. But the jungle was whispering to her, saying to her that something very bad, very unnatural was coming up. It was unlikely they’d travel much farther tonight…she would have to give voice to her warnings. The Captain considered seriously anything and everything the rest of his Pack told him, and she knew Henri had been on edge as well. They’d both felt something increasingly uneasy in the air. When this Cliffside trail finally ended, she had the feeling their journey was not going to get any easier. ======================================== ===== “They have Forlo and Tavery!” The desperation in Amella’s voice jerked Threk’s head around, and his nostrils flared with the carrion-eating stench of the ape-demon. His axe still had demon-gore dripping from it as he spun, seeking another one of the bounding creatures, but the mists all about them were eagerly, hungrily silent. Of course, they’d take out the weakest. He’d counted six…three of them were dead, and Broken Tusk wasn’t among them. Luring them on? They’d snatched the right ones to egg them onwards. Eshe, he thought grimly, but the wizardess was already on it. The spells she’d been using were geared to making sure the beasts did not surprise them easily, and now she was uttering a divination spell to clarify things…not that he had any doubt of where they had to go. Since entering the swamp and being trapped in this manifest zone, Rose had been slowly guiding them to the locus of the effect. Without thinking, he moved in that direction even before Eshe pointed. Henri was moving quickly to save the injured, leaping from one to the next with his wand…the initial assault would have been overwhelming and catastrophic if the settlers had not been so able to move into their squares and ward off the hit and run attacks of the bestial creatures, while Rose’s spiked fists and his axe moved out to take a deadly toll on them, and Eshe’s spells and readied missile fire also did the job. They’d lost Joklin, the joking miller lad. A passing swipe by Broken Tusk had nearly ripped his head off before he could get into formation. Threk ground his teeth together. “We find them and we kill them!” he roared out in defiance of their fear, and it took only a breath for the calls for death to come back at him. == Eshe’s disks of force caught the pair of prisoners handily just above the surface of the pit, taking their weight easily and smoothly gliding away from the dangerous statue. Threk stood silently over Broken-Tusk, his axe inscribed with a gleaming symbol of divine wrath, the ape-fiend’s skull a crushed ruin. But that wasn’t where his attention was. The pack watched as the heads on the statue began to jerk, the four serpentine arms to move, first at the tips. As in all the bad serial novels, the ancient demonic statue was coming to life. “Lead me!” he roared, and with all the vigor of his barbaric upbringing, he was charging, praying that he got to the statue before it could fully animate. Something round and green flashed past his shoulder, smashed into the chest of the creature, and promptly ate a sizzling, bubbling hole into the pseudo-stone of its body. Even better, a stone arcing overhead turned into a boulder mid-flight, smashed into the huge statue, and set it rocking backwards as it exploded into fragments against the thing. Rocking. With a roar of promise, Threk jumped, putting all hundred and fifty combined kilos of his armor and weight behind his booted feet. He smashed into the thing at a full run, kicked off despite the jarring impact, and had the satisfaction of watching the creature topple backwards as it tried and failed to catch its balance. He bounced backwards, rolling smoothly and back to his feet, and was shocked at how rapidly the thing recovered its feet and its balance, despite being a thing of animated stone. Not that it helped, as the second of Eshe’s spells drove into the center of its chest again, and this time the hole became more like a crater, cracks beginning to spread across the entire chest as it flexed and stood up using all four tentacles and its legs together. With an oath, he spun around, just out of reach, building up momentum, and threw his axe at it. It bit dead center in the middle of the crater, and there was a spark of light at the impact, flaring along every crack and line and crevice in the creature. Both heads reared back with an earsplitting howl, too-pure light flared out of carved sockets and mouths, and Threk ducked for cover instinctively as The Light came out and the golem exploded in a proper ending to the sorry tale of its life. It was some very long moments before Threk lifted up his head, taking a deep breath, noting instantly the room was somehow darker…ah, the fire pit had gone out. And, and the oppressive, demonic atmosphere was gone. Rose?, he inquired roughly. The currents of evil are gone, the Forged replied quickly. The power of the manifest zone is receding quickly. Good. Without preamble, he got back to his feet, and cast his eyes about until he found his axe, glowing softly with the magic Eshe had laid on it still. Henri was smoothly unlooping the chains from around Master Forl and Tavery. They both looked a bit singed about the edges, and a little rocked by the experience, but he saw the fighting spirit, the awe coming alive in the boy’s eyes as he was set free…and the dread and fear in the older gnome. Without any sympathy, he reached down and hauled the scholar upright, glaring deep into his frightened eyes. “Never, ever let them make you a victim,” he snarled to the gnome. “Remember that you led us to their lair, and now you’ve set everyone free of this place. Do not give them your fear…give them your scorn. You did your job well.” He spat eloquently on the floor, in the direction of the destroyed statue, and headed for the doorway out. As he passed Tavery, he pressed something into the boy’s chest, who clutched at it automatically from where he swayed on the floating disk. Broken Tusk’s other tusk. Gnome scholar and human boy looked at one another, and then Tavery’s eyes lit up with a gleeful triumph, victory trumping fear. With much exaggeration and much less eloquence, he too spat on the ground of this unholy place, and lept off the disk, clutching his prize and falling in quickly at Henri’s side. The gnome looked about this place that had struck more fear into his heart then he’d ever thought he’d survive, reflected on the terror of the ape-demon, the bloody eyes of the Captain, and a focus of true evil power going up in a nimbus of Light. And he had led them here. A sharp, cunning smile, and an impish, dark light flashed behind his eyes, and Master Forl leaned forwards to spit as well, quite officiously. He, however, did not get off the disk, drawing himself up straight and simply turning around to meet Eshe’s knowing stare. Without another word, they all took their leave. Rose was the last to depart, and her gesture was silent and swift, waving her arm across the room…and in the darkness, hundreds of flower petals fluttered down, filling the air with the scent of life and nature. The Forged could think of no greater insult to this evil place. ================= The Swordtooth’s head came down, and Henri was gone. Just like that. For a second there was total and complete surprise. Their trek was at an end…they could see the Wall, the divisor that separated the tribes of the southern peninsula from the beasts of the interior of the island. An hour, two, perhaps three, and their journey was over. For just a moment, they had relaxed, they had begun to hope. And Henri, their guide across the whole of the island, was gone. The Swordtooth reared up and around with ponderous speed to face the rest of them, roaring at them, a massive titan of the jungle, the biggest carnivore of the land, roaring for them to flee and be picked off and hunted down. Threk went berserk, his answering howl primal defiance and utmost rage at this betrayal by the fates. He could feel Henri’s panic – the man was being crushed and seared inside the behemoth’s stomach, his fear and horror mounting by the second – and Threk knew they had mere seconds to get him out of there before he was crushed, suffocated or simply dead. He barely registered the screams and rage of the settlers behind him as he charged. A score of gleaming pikes, racing after him as he lowered his axe and headed for the beast. It was perhaps a little started that anything so small - a whole bunch of anythings so small – would dare to charge it. It opened its mouth to roar again, and lunged at Threk as he came into range. Threk let the massive jaws tear away his shield, wedging it into the massive teeth and letting it go, nearly tearing his arm out of joint. Ignoring the pain, he laid his second hand to his axe and heaved upwards at the lowered throat, to where he knew the great vein throbbed like a hose, sensing distantly the healing magic pouring through Eshe’s Web of magic, and found his axe biting deep. He continued on as preternatural speed flowed through him also, whipping around with all his power to drive the gleaming edge of his axe into the back of one tree trunk of a leg as the massive head came up, biting down on his steel shield with tremendous power…and finding, probably to its amazement, that the shield didn’t instantly buckle. And the underside of its jaw and throat made for great targets for the lunging spears. A veritable nest of steel, moving with inhuman speed, flashed upwards for the underside of the jaw, the gaping rent in the neck, and plunged home deeply. Those same hands held on grimply as the head swept back down, and stout wooden shafts splintered and broke and men and women went flying as the Swordtooth swept the area before and under it clear…and roared again as two braced shafts plunged into a great eye, and two others jutted out of the inside of its propped open jaws. Threk hacked onto that leg, dancing aside from massive talons as the Swordtooth spun, and a stomp that would have flattened the elder Kobwash to pulp was knocked aside just enough. He felt, rather then saw, the tendon go, and as weight came down on that leg, he was already rolling away as the startled Tyrant fell. He felt Rose hurtle up, and without pause, dive fully between the Tyrant’s jaws, and the somewhat surprised beast swallow her instinctively. Leshkione, just outside reach of its jaws, waited as its head came up, and released precisely, driving a clothyard shaft deep into its second eye. Surviving spears drove in at the thing from the top, avoiding the flailing claws and feet as it tried to get up and failed again. Healing magic flashed in the air, mending those who’d been tossed away by the sweeping lunge of head or tail, and a half dozen crossbow bolts sang out, some finding purchase in mouth or throat, many just sticking uselessly in the beast’s thick hide. Ignoring the kicking legs, Threk bounded right in between them and hewed into the massive belly, opening up a huge gash, raging for the attention of those within, hacking for all he was worth to open up a massive wound into the stomach area and get them free. The functional leg came up, around, caught him like a toy, and flung him away as easily as he might swat a mosquito. Before it did, however, he saw a black arm, festooned with spikes and slick with gore, erupt out of the wound he’d opened. Eshe’s bolts of fire plunged into the Tyrant’s mouth once, twice, lighting up the inside of its neck and skull as they detonated, shooting flame out the gaping, blood-spurting wound in its throat. With a coughing roar of disbelieving defiance, the massive beast’s head came smashing down. Rose ripped her way out with Herculean effort, driving her arm into the body and using the spikes for leverage as she pulled herself free. The acids of the stomach smoked over her but did not damage as she pulled herself out, nor did she lose her grip on the one she’d dove in to save. A lot of hands were ready to help, but flinched back as the smoking acid seared their flesh, crying out as they saw the seared ruin that was left of Master Henri, the favorite of all of them. And he was not breathing. Eshe was there instantly, chanting words more like prayers, hands cradling the head where the acid had completely eaten away the skin, and golden light flared from her fingers as she ignored the searing of her own flesh. He hit the ground hard, limply…and then he coughed. Rose did not stop, pulling him sideways and out of range of any last kicks of the Tyrant, and Eshe scuttled sideways easily to keep pace, chanting another spell to heal, and this time golden light flared over his skin, making him gasp and twitch as skin reformed in the wake of it…and something more. Silver black light answered the golden in a spray of stars and coruscant glory. A scream torn from deep inside Master Henri forced itself out of his throat as some great light from inside him burned its way free, lashing over and about him in ribbons of brilliant hues and brutal claiming of territory. Eshe paused only a moment, along with Rose, staring in shock, then continued with their spells…one a spell of quick healing, one to vastly accelerate the natural process. Henri writhed feebly as the flares of light from inside him lashed over him, inscribing, claiming, proclaiming, seizing him for their own. The settlers gawked, and even the two healers backed away as the light continued. “Hrn.” Eshe blinked and turned around to look at Threk, blinked again as the Urukhar ripped his long knife through the straps of his breastplate, said armor piece spouting three hands-deep holes in it, and tore it away to let it hang freely. Without another word, he pulled a steel flask from the pouch at his waist, and drank it down, never taking his eyes off Henri. “Stars and Silver,” he whispered, as four ribs on his right side visibly snapped back into place, giving them only a grunt for their due. “He’s got a Witchmark, just like Lady Hazé.” The lights from within had faded, leaving the scribed Mark etched over most of Henri’s upper body, including two telltale ribbons down through his eyes, glowing with the stars and edged in harsh silver. All eyes turned upwards towards the winking trail of Siberys far above, which seemed to echo the stars in his Mark. “That’s an Orien pattern,” muttered Engus Kawl, a farmer and ranch hand, craning his neck. “I’d recognize the pattern anywheres…but the color -!” “He’s been claimed by Siberys. Poor bastard.” Threk’s no-nonsense voice left no illusions or fact to chance. “He’s not…it's not a Khyber Mark?” Amella asked fearfully, worriedly. “Not a chance in all the Hells you can think of,” scoffed Threk, staring down at Henri with some sympathy. “I’ve seen the Mark on the back of the Lady Hazé…she’s got one just like it, but hers is a Medani Mark. Khyber marks don’t look anything like that shade, nor do even the most powerful Dragonmarks. That’s a Witchmark, all right.” “What does it mean, Captain?” Engus asked, voicing the concerns of everyone there. “It means Fate’s got great things in store for him, whether the bastard likes it or not.” He stifled another grunt as Eshe plied a wand against his side…and then more carefully against the ear that was dangling free by only a scrap of skin. “Get him to someplace comfortable, Rose. He’s gonna wake up hurting and with his soul bound to Siberys…I’ve never heard the Lady say she enjoyed the experience.” The Forged complied instantly, gently reaching down to lift the scarred, Marked, almost naked man in her arms with ease, and remove him from the trail. Threk turned on the settlers, looking down at them all, and nearly a score pair of frightened, yet determined eyes looked back at him. He lifted his axe. “I think you all deserve a trophy of this fight. All true warriors should remember a worthy foe.” And he strode towards the jaws, and the dagger sized teeth waiting there. Shocked at hearing the merest scrap of praise from the Captain, the settlers paused for just a moment…and as the great black axe rose and fell and he bellowed for Engus to stand forth and receive his prize, they all stepped forwards, fighting to keep the grims off their faces and their pose solemn as, one by one, name by name, he hewed off teeth from the jaws of the slain Tyrant, and gave their due to each and every one of them. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 12-10-06, 07:04 PM	Ah, the implications of White Raven manuvers. Who knows what you can turn a band of 'mere' 2nd-3rd level characters into when you charge? A 'Witchmark' is something I've never bothered to stat up in my game, by the way. It's merely the 'third' set of Dragonmarks....Eberron marks (the default 'Dragonmark'), Khyber Marks ('Aberrant marks'), and Witchmarks, which bind you to Siberys (I count Siberys Marks as just powerful Dragonmarks). Witchmarks give you a tremendous affinity for the magic associated with the underlying House mark. they have enormous implications for Warlock/Witchcraft style effects centered around the magic of the Mark and related effects. They also ONLY occur when a being who could inherit a Mark dies and is brought back to life (in the above, the Revivify that Eshe uses does the job). It also spurs some Psychic Reformation style things about the character, so Henri is going to go thru some changes even as he struggles to be free of his Mark...not that that is going to work. For the longer term readers, there's also the implication of the Forsaken who is consequently born as this Mark manifests. General Ruin might have been the mightiest mage of his generation, if Haze' had not been claimed by Siberys. Who then, has had their Fate eliminated by Siberys choosing Henri? ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 12-11-06, 01:40 AM	By the way, the conversion notes for Eberron are up at Paizo, here: http://paizo.com/paizo/news/dungeon/v5748eaic9kcu I honestly am underwhelmed, but then again, the whole focus on the city is almost irrelevant...we aren't exploring the history of the city, nice as it may be. You have exactly 1.5 adventures in the city and then you leave it behind forever...and the rest of the adventure transplants itself to Xen'Drik so painlessly you have to wonder what it was really originally made for. ===Aelryinth
WarlockOfSiberys 12-11-06, 04:26 AM	Awesome. I lack words. I'm glad I couldn't sleep, otherwise it would have been another day until I could have read this. Now how did Threk find out what Lady Haze's back looked like? And these Witchmarks, you say you haven't statted them, but what does Haze's do? I've read all of your AoW, and I don't recall anything she may have done... but it has been awhile.
aelryinth 12-11-06, 03:21 PM	Most of the Wolves have probably seen the markings on her back, and they all know she's a Witch of Siberys. She doesn't flaunt the Mark, but she doesn't bundle up to cover it anymore, either. The first thing anyone would suspect on seeing the non-standard hues is that it is a Khyber Mark, of course...but Khyber marks aren't full of stars when they are active. Her affinity is for divination spells, of course, but also she has unlimited use of Magic Missile as a spell (her 'Shards'), a very strong affinity for force magic, and/or can channel positive energy into healing magic. Unlike Henri, however, she's a very powerful spellcaster. She's denied usage of negative energy entirely, can't shapechange, and is very poor at charm style and conjuration magic (which is why she very seldom uses them). She's also extremely good at unravelling magic...when her eyes fill with stars (going celeste, I call it), she reads magic like a book, and she's very good at unravelling the spells of others. She's also good at teleporting, but that's by learned design. Henri is the Guide, and his Mark is manifesting so that he might fulfill the function. He's going to be superlatively sensitive to any kind of dimensional crosspoints, which, given that the later adventures take place in the Abyss, means that negotiating even the most chaotic of worlds is going to be relatively easy. This is going to be in addition to his Orien abilities, but I'll be folding in things like a Warlock's ability to Flee the Scene and fly, a Horizon Walker's ability to Dimension Door, the abilities of an Orien Blade, and so forth into him as he levels. Is this following exact class progression? By no means. But it really helps the story along. He also has to grow into his Mark, and become a Master of his Mark, which should be pretty entertaining. After all, they just came out with a book FULL of Dragonmark feats...be a pity not to use some of them, wouldn't it? Henri could potentially become very powerful...it's going to be interesting to see where he goes! After all, time is just another dimension... And the trigger event for him is not just that he was 'killed'...it's the fact that, if he wasn't fleeing his heritage and actually had a Dragonmark, he could just have popped out of the Tyrant's stomach at any time, and his death is a result of his own cowardice in facing his past. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 12-27-06, 09:33 PM	Interlude on the Savage Tide “Threk? Is that you?” His voice was weak and strained…not surprising giving his almost non-stop screaming and shaking from the fevered fits as the Witchmark slowly wound around him and darkened in deep pulses of stars and shadows. His fingers were bleeding and his skin covered with scratch marks, where’d he tried to pull off the Mark that had laid claim to him…and in some cases had gotten his fingers under the Mark, wrenching and yanking on it futilely. The claw-like scars on his throat were particularly nasty. “I am here, Henri.” The gruff, deep voice of the Urukhar was immensely reassuring, and their guide relaxed somewhat at the response. “Why can’t I see anything, Threk?” Henri asked, instinctively reaching out on the Packrings, and finding the others, waiting close by…and pleased to see that he’d regained consciousness, by the emotions filtering back to him. “Because you nearly clawed your eyes out, Master Henri, and it’s taking the spell some little time to fix the damage.” Threk’s voice was non-judgmental and terribly frank. “I clawed…?” Slowly, the guide reached up to touch his eyelids, feel the scars and the…strange shape of his eyeballs. He snatched his hands away almost instantly, horrified. “You have been claimed by a Witchmark, like that of the Lady Hazé. Yours, however, seems to reflect an Orien heritage, whereas hers incorporates some of the stylism of Medani.” There was a faint shuffle and creak of finely oiled armor, newly mended from Swordtooth damage by magical spells. “How is the pain?” Henri’s breath hissed out slowly, but his attempt to rise was thwarted by an immovable hand…not that his body didn’t scream in protest. “You have been unconscious the greater part of a day. Rose comes, bearing you the remnants of the feast the islanders cooked up for all from the body of the Tyrant that swallowed you. You will eat if I have to shove the food down your throat. You have lost weight and blood, and our rings provide us freedom from needing food for energy, not to rebuild what we have lost.” Henri swallowed slightly, remembering the feeling of being trapped, crushed, burning, dissolving in that impossibly tight, squeezing pressure. His breathing started to come hard, until a ringing cuff across his cheek, more polite distraction then cruel intervention, stopped it. “Cease dwelling upon it. The beast is dead. Your job is to survive and make sure such a thing does not come to pass again.” The deep, guttural voice of the Urukhar held little sympathy. Henri breathed deeply and carefully in the silence for a long minute or two, enough time for him to hear a cloth hanging be pulled aside, the familiar creak of wooden skin and flesh, and then an equally quiet retreat and surge of reassurance from the oddly stiff, yet focused mind of the Forged druidess. Steel skirled on steel as a knife cut. “Sit up,” Threk ordered, suiting order to command by expeditely grabbing the hand of the blinded guide and helping him upright, despite the labored pain such motion cost him. “Drink.” A gourd was pressed into his hand, and he drank, suddenly ravenously thirsty, and the cold water tasted like paradise only his most inner instincts forestalled him from gulping down wildly. Instead, he managed to sip a mouthful at a time, deliriously savoring each chilled swallow. “Eat.” His other hand was placed on the Urukhar’s wrist, who calmly began to spear chunks of meat and fruit and vegetables and feed them to the tired, stricken man. -What, what does having a Witchmark mean for me?- the man asked, using the Pack rings to communicate around the mouthfuls of food. It was Eshe who responded to this, from her place outside the hut, where he could hear the distant sounds of drums, and what sounded like dancing and laughter. –It means Siberys has tasked you with some deed that needs being done. Congratulations – if you survive, you are cursed to be great, as Lady Hazé put it.- He wanted to wilt. – I did not want a Dragonmark.- Even in mental speech, it was a despairing whisper. - That is rather irrelevant. It appears the Mark wanted you. – Eshe seemed rather amused. – Marks are a gateway to an easy living in Khorvaire, Henri. Why would you deny your Heritage? - -There are certain…obligations that come with having a Mark. And I both did not want those obligations to be mine, nor to be involved with those who had my life planned out for me…- -Running from your House?- Threk spoke along the telepathic channel so the others could hear him. – Some sort of violent altercation?- -That is one way of putting it. Family can be…quite emphatic in getting what it wants, and mistreating those outside its arms.- Henri tried not to wonder why an Urukhar would use a word like ‘altercation’. There was a general murmur of assent from the others. –Well, from what I remember on the Lady’s Mark, and she’s done extensive research on her own capabilities, you needn’t worry about your House being able to exploit your Mark. Dragonmarks and Witchmarks operate on different levels. For instance, while the Lady has great facility with divinatory magic of all sorts, she does not have any special linkage with dragonshard items attuned to Medani. Her prowess is tied more to the essence of what the Mark represents, and how it interacts with her capabilities as a spellcaster. You are not a wielder of magical energies, for the most part, so it stands that your Mark will act upon your other skills…as a guide, and a warrior, I would assume.- Eshe’s dry, clinical voice was oddly reassuring with its impartiality. -The Mark of Passage deals with movement and moving things and goods – Threk noted, almost to himself. –A warrior who is a master of going places, and getting in and out of them. A dangerous being, who can strike from anywhere, at any time.- Henri could feel the almost glowing red eyes upon him. –This Mark has changed your life, despite anything you might wish or feel to the contrary, Master Henri. Denying its power is both foolishness and will likely be the death of you. Siberys has claimed you, and the power of the Mark you bear will be needed in whatever task or tasks are ahead of you.- His careful feeding of the blinded guide had not slowed, carefully strong and patient. –It is something we will have to work on with you. Are you aware of the broader gifts that wielding a Dragonmark allow a person of your House?- -I know the powers of those who have strong Marks, I’ve seen them used my whole life- he whispered back. –And there are those who develop the powers of their Marks in odd ways, or to be powerful. The Blades of Orien are heroes within the House for what they can do…- -Such gifts are among the least of things that a Witchmark can do for you, if you choose to develop it.- Eshe’s voice was firm. –The Lady’s skill with magic was the focus of her Mark. We shall have to work with you to develop the focus of yours.- Henri felt a quiet upwelling in his heart, a deep stirring he had not felt in a long time, and stopped the heavy hand coming to his mouth as he caught his breath. – I do not wish to be a burden, nor thankless for what you are offering. I will repay you in kind. – -You will dive into the jaws of a great beast to recover ME? – Rose asked in voice of wind over thorns, clearly amused. – I will be putting off repayment for some time, if at all possible, I am afraid. – Henri almost choked on the meat of a Sword Tyrant at the image. – We are all weak if one of us is weak, Master Henri. It is to our benefit that you stay strong, and get stronger. – Threk resumed his task silently. -As to our tactical situation,- he continued on, as if it were only natural to be feeding a blind man while reviewing such things, - the natives are helpful and quite impressed that we killed the howling demon, the winged stone terrors, and a Sword Tyrant on top of all that. They’ve agreed to escort us through their territory and to the colony which was our goal, located off an island a few days travel to the south. You will need your strength, your eyes, and to come to at least a basic understanding of your new gifts in that time…I’d rather not have us showing up at the doorstep of our employer with someone who has a Witchmark they can’t use.- -I’ll start trying out simple things as soon as I’ve regained my strength. Did we lose anyone to the Tyrant?- he asked, trying to shove away the mental image of that awful stomach. -Just you, but Eshe brought you back. I think swallowing you and Rose, and beating me around, was quite a distraction for it.- Threk’s dry synopsis made Henri smile despite himself…the Urukhar had no penchant for tale-telling or grandiose boasting. For all that, he did have an idea of how to reward a warrior. When Henri finally managed to down the last of what must have been a heaping platter of food, he found a wine bottle pressed into his hand, one that must have been lurking at the bottom of Eshe’s pack. And when the Urukhar rose in a strangely quiet creak of his oiled mail and departed the room, it was only a matter of minutes before someone else came stealing into the room, and when Amella’s slender arms wrapped protectively around him, Henri found that he wasn’t so tired, after all. ========================== In comparison to the travel through the wilds of the jungle, the trip to the colony was uneventful and tame. They saw no dinosaurs bigger then wild dogs, and the natives gave them no trouble after seeing the teeth each of them wore prominently…with the Pack wearing two! The pace was easy, yet steady, the trails clearer and well-traveled, and much safer. After the stresses of the jungle journey, it was almost idyllic. Henri’s recovery was remarkably swift, aided along by the magic of Eshe and Rose. It took two days for his eyes to regrow completely, but he gamely stumbled along with the rest of the people, Amella serving as his eyes. At night, when the settlers rested, he stayed awake with Eshe, and together they worked on piecing together the powers of his Witchmark. Using the rings as a telepathic platform allowed her to input her own visualization of the area into his mind. Magic was used on several levels, to find out what he was sensitive to and could perceive even without being able to see. It was quickly deduced that he was now extremely sensitive to any form of dimension-altering effect around him, whether that was messing with space or time. He was able to unmistakeably orient on Eshe if she started moving in and out of dimensions and changing position, and started exhibiting an uncanny ability to fix his exact location in relation to any point he knew, once he used the spell Lady Hazé had taught him to get a fix on where he actually was. With deep concentration, he found himself able to slide between points in space, much as the ancient powers of his Mark allowed others of his lineage to do, and with practice, he could move further and more accurately. He could also move other objects around, switching positions or calling them to him, an ability Threk was eager to get him to exploit for combat flexibility. When the dark blur that was his sight became a light blur, and finally resolved into colors, Amella’s face was the first thing he saw in fine focus as Eshe removed her hand, and the resulting kiss raised whooping cheers from all the settlers and their guides. The fact that his eyes were now almost pitch black instead of their former muddy brown wasn’t taken as a bad sign, although the delicate whorls of the mark that cut right through them was quite disconcerting to him when he first saw it. That night, he watched the stars and drew on the power of his Mark, and Eshe watched his eyes go celeste. He gasped as he looked about, not understanding what he was truly seeing…patterns and waves without color or hue in the visible spectrum, existing side by side and within one another, yet completely exclusive, slowly moving and shifting as to great, unseen tides. -You are seeing the Dance of Worlds. – Eshe didn’t keep the envy out of her voice. – It is said that the movement of the many planes about Eberron are tied to the stars, and one who is skilled in reading how they intersect and overlap can become very powerful. You have indeed a great gift, Henri, though it be subtle and will take you time to learn its worth. – Henri looked about, feeling his spatial awareness leaping in all directions, looking for signs of those unseen boundaries, sensing it most strongly about the purse at Eshe’s waist, able to picture and discern the tiny pocket dimension expanded inside the leather. It was eerie to see the two objects being the same, yet totally different, witnessing them on alternate layers of reality. – Learn to use this ability, for it can in many ways pierce what magic would conceal. For instance, a great dragon in human form should occupy a great deal of area…you should be able to perceive the fact that this human child is, in actuality, an immense creature. Likewise, the ties of otherworldly beasts to their homeworlds should be immediately apparent to you…it would behoove you to learn all you can of such things, to better aid those you fight alongside.- Henri sighed and let his Sight return to normal. “It appears I have a great deal to learn,” he murmured wistfully. “You are a clever man…I have no doubt you will claim mastery of your Mark the same way it has claimed mastery of your Fate.” Her gray eyes were steady and sure, and he could feel her mind working, judging how to make his gifts work with her, for her, alongside her own talents. He resolved not to disappoint her assessment, if not her own desires for power. Moreover, he did not want to disappoint Threk, who was also working with him on his swordplay, and had been a source of solid strength for everyone in the party to lean on. With a couple more scars to add to his repertoire, the Urukhar looked more ferocious then ever, and the settlers responded to his orders with something almost approaching military efficiency. ==================== A great cheer went up when they finally saw once again the open ocean in the distance, although they were cresting the first of some rolling, descending hills at the time, and it took the rest of the day to make it down to the village that lay across the waters from the colony. Negotiating passage on the outrigger-bound long war canoes of the islanders was not difficult, impressed as they were by the sight of outlanders in full armor and/or wearing Tyrant teeth, and it was with great anticipation that the group settled into some empty huts for the night, and arose early the next morning to make for the colony. Threk’s warnings about great beasts in the waters did not fall on deaf ears, however, and tales translated by the natives backed him up. However, the colony was only a few leagues across the water, and hopes were high and the settlers animated as they looked forwards to finally making it to their new home. Master Farlo almost, but not quite, managed to forget his new plant connection that Rose had been toting for him all along in his excitement. His wails as the canoes prepared to push off were quickly assuaged by the appearance of the Forged druid carrying the overweighted pack and securely stashing it in their canoe. ============== “Fire!” Threk stood in the bow of the canoe, his broad nostrils flaring at the telltale plume of smoke rising over the palms ahead. First one, then another…his big hand dropped to the axe at his waist as a second plume began to rise beside the first. The cry was taken up by the other outriggers, spread carefully across the waters, hands pointing and voices crying out in alarm. -They are coming from the location of the colony,- Eshe translated promptly, her mind acquiring that particular steely sense of a spellcaster shifting their thoughts to prepare for combat spellcasting. Threk grit his teeth, and waved the momentarily paused boats to resume their pace…this time at an increased rate. Rose provided the tempo…or rather, Master Farlo did, taking a pair of daggers and beginning to beat them against the steel-hard wood of her skull loudly and skillfully. The non-rowers took up the rhythm vocally, and with startling speed, the canoes suddenly began to almost race across the waves. Threk was in the lead canoe as it rounded the edge of the bay upon which the colony was built, and thus was the first to see the ships at anchor there, crimson sails lifted up in bloody homage to the Dark Gods, and the snarl that burst forth from his lips was more animal then man. “Grab your spears!” he ordered in a thunderous voice, laden with doom and bloodthirst. “By all the gods, we did not march through that jungle, slay all that would stop us, and reach this final step to be denied by the likes of the Crimson Fleet!” “Hoist your spears and prepare for battle! We shall show the bastards what crimson truly is!” There was only the briefest of shouts, spears lifted once to show readiness, crossbows being dug out as Threk pointed towards where the canoes were to beach themselves. -Will the natives fight with us?- he asked, more a professional courtesy then an expectation of their willingness to die for outlanders. Eshe conferred briefly with the senior of the boat she was upon. – He says that they are no match for the savages who fly the sails of blood, they have not brought their war gear or arms. He wishes us well…he probably wants to hurry home to his village and warn them of the attack, in case the Crimson turn against his people.- -Tell him we understand him and thank him mightily for his generosity. Once we defeat these bastards, I’ll make sure to help his people with their defenses so they won’t need to fear this kind of attack, and instead, that the Crimson will fear his people!- The elder’s dark face broke into a wide smile at those heartening words, and he bobbed his head in understanding. With a crunch of wood on dark sand, Threk’s canoe hit the sands of the beach, and he lept off of it with a dozen others to haul it forwards on to the sands, the more easily to offload the stashed gear, an action repeated by the other four outriggers one by one. With equal speed, the canoes were pushed back out into the waters, leaving the settlers with their packs strewn across the beach. “Leave the gear!” roared the Urukhar, as Eshe strapped on his armor with professional speed, and the few others who had it did likewise. “It will only slow us down, and carrying it closer will do no good if you are dead!” His axe rose. Spears lifted in quick readiness, and grim faces stared back at him, starting to feel the fury that was making the scars stand out brightly on his face. “We came to find your new home. Now, it seems we must save it. Prepare to show the bastards crimson!” Spears pumped once, twice, but there was no sound, a lesson hard learned in the jungle. He turned and without another word set up a punishing pace that would bring them up on the colony from the north. Streaming silently after him, images of fire and blood and the screams of the dying in their hearts that would soon be filling their ears, the would-be settlers, now would-be saviors, of the besieged colony streamed silently after him. ===Aelryinth
Deal_with_a_Devil 12-28-06, 03:08 PM	Could i have the AoW stories please :) Thanks in advance josh_canwell@hotmail.co.uk
aelryinth 12-29-06, 01:51 AM	On the way. Hey, more comments are soothing to an author's ego, people :) ===Aelryinth
lordalm 12-30-06, 03:17 PM	:bow: :bounce: :bravo: :thumbsup: :inlove:
aelryinth 01-03-07, 12:20 AM	Query: Would you like me to post what the COlonel (general) and his like are up to during the course of all this going on? This story arc is supposed to take 2-3 years, so there could be a lot of background stuff going on in the meantime. And if you want to see an adaptation of a module or Dungeon module using the Wolves, or some of the other stories about their backstories, please say so. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-05-07, 04:09 AM	Rah! just got my Dungeon today. Have to go back and do a minor edit...it's not the Crimson attacking quite yet. Still, Threk is going to be in his glory, and so are the spellcasters as they start erecting defenses. heh, bringing a score of colonists thru also swings a lot of votes their way. Didn't even know about that:) ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-07-07, 02:53 AM	The Rise of Farshore Part 1 It became immediately obvious to Threk that whoever these pirates were, they weren’t very good at their jobs, and probably wannabes trying to cash in on the reputation of the feared Crimson Fleet. Henri had whisked himself ahead of the rest of them, shoving hastily barred doors open without opposition, as all the fighting was taking place from the invading portion of the docks, and the survivors streamed unimpeded into town, breaking apart with chopped gestures under the guidance of Threk, Amella, Henri, Rose and Leshkione, with Eshe overhead giving orders and guidance with either mental calls or quickly woven illusions projected here and there. The pirates literally did not know what was hitting them as the tight squads literally plunged into them out of nowhere, looking remarkably like barbaric invaders and half-berserk natives after the trials of their survival trek. Disorganized, more concerned about looting then any kind of organized opposition, the first pirates looked up just as the silent survivors slammed into them with ready spears, and died squawking in shock. Eshe’s mission was mercy and recon, offensive firepower was to be spared unless she saw an enemy mage or someone in great and immediate trouble. So it was that she dropped for just a moment to spend minor magic to defend an scholarly older gentlemen who looked like he’d fallen trying to get his research notes or something out of building starting to burn nearby. A second spell and the building flames huffed into a great cloud of smoke that went slowly floating skywards. A half-orc chasing after an attractive redhead rounded a corner out of sight ahead of Henri. His eyes narrowed, and abruptly he was gone from under the blades of a trio of pirates, who only had a second to start in surprise before two of them went down with sharpened steel in their livers, and the last was only a couple breaths behind them. Henri winked into sight almost right next to the half-breed, a particularly ugly specimen of the breed with puce-yellow skin and alarmingly porcine features. Said brute looked at him in shock, blinked at the short sword that had inserted itself into his thick neck, and found himself falling away from a well-placed kick as a twist of the blade sent the death wound spraying blood wildly. Gurgling, the pirate hit the ground and didn’t move for much longer. “Lady,” he saluted the shocked colonist with his best rakish smile and bowing salute. Then the tattooed warrior looked away as Eshe spoke of forces gathering down by the docks. An instant later he was no longer there, leaving the amazed woman to wonder if she’d been talking to a ghost or somesuch. Rose strode through the storehouse, holding out her hands, and about her the flames quivered back, sank to the merest of wisps, and finally were crushed beneath her will. The residents stared in awe as the fire seemed to retreat fearfully before her, and then flee entirely, saving the building, the stores within, and the woman trapped inside with willpower alone. Leshkione’s archers and crossbowmen covered Amella’s band as they swept up to the town chapel, which had been ringed by pirates trying to both break in and set fire to the structure. The pirates didn’t recognize the threat until the grimly silent and savage-looking survivors were almost on top of them…and the first arrows drove home, dropping a pair of them to the ground in pained amazement, and then the spears struck their flank hard. From above, Eshe contributed a pair of fiery pulses at what looked at the toughest of that crew, literally blasting flesh from bone and leaving blackened bone upper torsos to fall smoking to the ground, still clutching their blades. Their nerve faltering under a three-pronged assault, another volley of arrow fire and a second well timed screaming charge from Amella broke their nerve entirely, and they turned and fled wildly for the harbor. Unfortunately, they had to get past Threk, who simply didn’t let that happen. Driving mercilessly down the center of town, the Urukhar had simply butchered every startled pirate crossing his path, and calmly altered his path as Eshe noted the course and speed of the fleeing pirates. Just as they came sprinting into the main road down to the harbor, he and his spears hit them from the side, and there was nothing silent about the feral howl he released as he drove into them with his dripping axe. Finding a fully-armored tower of steel massacring them would have broken them completely even if he’d bothered to let any of them live. With no hesistation, he continued on, leaving twitching bodies behind, as the other companies came sweeping in parallel. The leader of the raid wasn’t hard to discern…no other idiot would have dared to look as garish, with nooses hanging from him all over, with skulls, bones, and worse things hanging from them, filed teeth, and a scimitar with almost as much blood on it as was on him. Despite his fearsome appearance, that unworthy blinked as the squads of survivors came rounding the houses and down the streets in total silence and eerie rhythm behind the figure of a massive warrior clad in full dark steel. His cry to form up a defense got at least a semblance of a line moving into place around him as wide-eyed pirates raced to positions, gawking at what was racing at them, and not slowing down in the slightest. If they’d been fired up at the success of their sudden raid, the howling war cry that rose from that axe-bearing, shield-toting figure in full armor froze their blood cold. Then four archers floating on a magical disc rose behind the line of spears racing at them, released as one, and the first pirates dropped. Threk was having nothing of the crewmen who made the mistake of getting in his way, not that any of them wanted to. His waraxe ripped right and left in one swing, clearing his way to the captain in a shower of blood as the man retreated wildly. Henri, racing in with two short swords plunging in, lept high…and just before the sword points reaching up to take him in the chest could touch him, he vanished. Ready spear points drove in under the uplifted swords, and smashed the second hole in the line. Five paces to the side, Henri materialized and plunged both blades home, dropping two more pirates who thought they had cover behind stacked barrels. Rose was off the ground, all wood and thorns as she moved with startling grace into full splits, rotating. It was rather like getting hit by extended morningstars backed by cesti and spikelogs. Nearly a hundred and fifty kilos smashed right through the first pirate as his sword barely gouged the plates on her forearm, and he was virtually impaled on the streams of thorns and vines growing across her torso, her feet smashing skulls and hurling pirates back as the survivors moved quickly to flank and cover one another after the devastating initial charge. -Henri, Eshe, secure the ship.- Threk’s mental voice was like the center of a hurricane, an awful calm over the snarling savagery that was slamming the pirate captain backwards in a hurricane of steel. That man’s scream of defiance as his upraised arm suddenly wasn’t raised to parry, but instead falling of its own weight to the ground, was terrible to hear…and completely overwhelmed by the bestial roar of triumph as Threk’s axe came down and promptly split his skull to the teeth. Perhaps even more unnerving was the way that triumphant roar was taken up by the survivors, and the surviving pirates died in mere seconds afterwards. Still frothing at the mouth rather too much, Threk didn’t let that get in his way. “Form a line!” he roared, volume doing what good manners could not, and they obeyed instantly, collapsing together in a tight line to prevent any retreat from the town for those pirates who were starting to trickle back to the ship. He looked back in time to see what was probably the second mate go heaving over the side, his belly and neck opened wide, two other pirates draped over the sides of the ship, and a flight of coruscant darts from Eshe overhead disposing of another pair. “Rose, Eshe, Henri, mercy and pursuit duty. Drive them down here, and we’ll feed them to the Land!” Mental words matched the orders, and promptly the three were heading out again…one streaking through the air, the other a flowing, too-swift figure of bloody thorned vengeance, and the other winking out of sight and appearing on a house top some distance away before blinking away again. He smiled toothily. It was all over; the pirates just hadn’t caught the news yet. ====================== “Captain Threk! It is good to see you again!” The Urukhar rose promptly to his full height as their Lady Patron came striding onto the deck, looking sooty and smudged and a bit bloody on her fine clothes, and rather more attractive then he’d ever seen her for it. The rapier still naked in her hand had obviously seen some use, and her ever-present bodyguards in green had, as well…though not enough, in his opinion, noting it looked as if the Lady had done rather more fighting then they had, with a critical eye. “Lady Vanderboren,” he replied gravely, saluting sharply. He heard the merest shuffling behind him, and roared out, “ Attention! Your Lady is present!” There was almost a snapping as the surviving colonists came to attention. “Stand and salute!” His axe lifted, a score of spears rose up in unison, came down with a thump together. Looking rather unconvinced of their sincerity, Threk turned back to the rather impressed noblewoman, who was looking over the assembly in some amazement. “My apologies for their rudeness, and our tardiness. We will endeavor to do better next time, your Ladyship.” Her smile at his perfectly serious words would have had the survivors grinning, except for his abrupt look back wiping any answering smiles from their faces. “It seems to me that your arrival was most timely indeed, Captain!” She looked past him to the captured pirate ship, and around at the array of bloody, sprawled bodies. “I see the Wolves deliver on the services they promise!” He snorted in scorn, looking over the carnage. “This is not the work of Wolves. This is the work of Dogs!” His arm snapped out and a shout answered him from the survivors behind him, punctuated by the pounding of enthusiastic spear butts. “One day they’ll be Hounds, maybe. I’ll be working with them on that.” This time the shout and spear-clap was even louder. “Eshe says the town is pretty much pacified, Lady Vanderboren. I didn’t trust this lot to get here fast enough bearing packs, and we left ours on the beach to the north. Permission to retrieve them before we start on recovery?” Bemused, she waved her hand in a dismissal. “I look forwards to hearing your report, Captain.” “Yes, Lady.” He saluted, ramrod straight, and turned precisely on his heel. “All right, you lazy Dogs! Double time back to where you dropped those heavy, heavy packs, and any of you who lag behind get to be dragged by the rest of you! Form up and move out!” And without any sign that all the metal he was wearing slowed him down at all, the Wolf Captain led the survivors back the way they’d come, under the incredulous eyes of Jade Ravens, Lady, and the residents of Farshore. ==================== -What’s the situation?- Threk asked bluntly, glowering at the little man that was the only pirate survivor of the attack, thoughtfully apprehended by the Jade Ravens and spared for the useful intelligence he could provide. Eshe did not prefer the employment of will-sapping magicks, but interrogation of prisoners was an area that magi of the Wolves were also expected to be able to assist in as needed. Coupled with the honesty and charismatic words of the Lady, the two women were determinedly coaxing out the relevant details of the pirates from the miserable excuse for a man, and what they were finding out, coupled with the information pulled out of the decrepit scow of a pirate vessel, was not looking good. His fear of the huge Urukhar who did nothing but stare at him and finger that very impressive waraxe seemed to help the process along. -We seem to have gotten ourselves into the middle of a rather heated political environment. It seems another Meravanchi has decided he has a Better Way to do things.- Despite his tattoes, or perhaps because of them, Henri’s amiability was working as well as ever getting people to talk…especially the Jade Ravens. He especially seemed to be fascinating the raven-haired sorceress of that band, much to Amella’s irritation. -Meravanchi? Same family as that idiot who got himself eaten by sharks on the second day out? - Threk asked scornfully. -Aye. The elf, Oldavin, coughs up all sorts of stuff after he’s got a few in him…he’s rather miserable here. It seems the Meravanchi wants to take over the direction of the town’s expansion, go on a somewhat more offensive footing…such as conquering the local tribes and using them as labor to raise goods for trade and enrichment. Seems he’s got some ambitions of returning to Sasserine with enough wealth to take away running the family from the idiots who run it now.- -So he doesn’t give a damn about the colony itself, just the money it can make him in the short term. Start working that angle. I imagine those people who’ve come out here to find a better life aren’t going to throw in with someone who thinks they are just tools to make him richer.- Threk was offended at the very idea. -You know he’s also a member of the fighting guild in Sasserine, and heads up the local militia?- Henri asked quickly. -You mean he used to head up.- That got some amused feedback from the others. Since the arrival of the Dogs and their Captain, the militia was almost neutered in importance, and their continued drilling and enthusiastic backing of the Wolves and their Captain was drawing both new recruits and defectors from Meravanchi’s squad. – Does he know about the alliances we’re trying to establish with the local Olman? I imagine they wouldn’t amuse him.- -Probably not yet.- Henri found that idea amusing, as well. -Rose, what have you and Lesh uncovered?-Threk asked calmly. Wind over thorns blew in their minds. –The reports of Scalefolk on giant lizards towards the center of the island are accurate, as is the report of fine timber stands. Their patrol patterns have been extending out recently…they are getting aggressive and doubtless planning to push off interlopers from their lands.- -Pity them. The mines?- The extinguishing of the Scalefolk wouldn’t cost him any sleep at night. -I am no expert, but these could certainly use the expertise of someone like Master Trencher…or at least a professional miner. Also, I don’t believe there is anyone in town who can finish the raw stones.- -Correct, nor even a basic artificer. The local alchemist needs to get a complete shop upgrade, I believe, Eshe?- -Correct- the wizardess answered, without breaking her conversation with the pirate. -How bad are things looking on the invasion news?- Henri asked, trying to make light of news and failing. -Rather interesting. These incompetent fools were just trying to loot and run...they hail from a squalid cesspit called Rat's End on an island a day or three sailing away. The actual Crimson Sails want to raze and take over. The Sails aren’t as crazy as most of this lot…there’s a lot of Lhazaar among them. But the common factor seems to be that most of them are die hard members of the Blood of Vol…or some very radical offshoot of it.- Threk summarized much of the information being dragged out of the pirate with a hook hand called, imaginatively enough, Lefty. -Very interesting.- Rose was naturally wary of a Cult that had so much involvement with the undead…and as a whole, the Blood was not one of the more welcome religions of Sasserine. -The General will be interested, if he doesn’t already know. The incoming fleet has to come all the way from Khorvaire, so we’ve time to prepare this settlement for the attack…and if it’s one thing Wolves are good at, it’s defending a strongpoint. Let us hope the Crimson continue to undervalue our skills.- There was a chorus of agreement from the other members of the Pack. ================== Threk narrowed his eyes as he almost negligently cut the last of the fiery bats out of the air, Eshe’s coruscant frost-trailing darts accounting for most of the rest. The edge to his axe gleamed with an icy chill for a moment before evaporating in the persistent sunlight. “You heard that bat-thing too, right?” Eshe asked him, dusting off her hands. “Yes. Bat idol.” He frowned deeply. “Why do I have the sudden feeling somebody is playing games with us?” “We can probably narrow down the time the idol was stolen to sometime between now and the last time the Olman visited the shrine it referred to. I would lay odds that it is going to be very close to the time the expedition left Sasserine.” Eshe was not a stranger to how the machinations of the Big Thinkers worked, and how the power of Fate very often didn’t have anything to do with the Prophecy at all. The chieftain of the village, a woman as was custom among the Olman tribes, was approaching them now, a warily grateful look on her face. Of course, the two volcanoes spitting and rumbling in the distance with a startling degree of synchronicity to the announcement of the bat-demon thing would rather unsettle just about everyone, and indeed make a case for direct involvement of the gods hereabouts. Which one could certainly be argued…not that it mattered. Active volcanoes were not fun things for anyone. “Left the damn thing on the Raptor, didn’t we?” Threk said under his breath. “Two birds with one stone,” Eshe returned softly, managing a confident smile as the dark-skinned native approached, her deep brown skin and hair white with age almost a perfect contrast to the rather pale skin and black hair of the Karrnathi wizardess. “Use illusions to illustrate that we found the idol some distance away, and it is still on our ship. We’ll have to recover it and get it to the shrine, and somewhat quickly.” =============== Henri wasn’t sure what kind of shifter this creature was, nor the exact clerical or druidic tradition it embraced. The mutated raptor beast prowling around outside the grounded ship was definitely some sort of mascot or animal companion, but he didn’t let that bother him. He could definitely see something very inhuman about this shifter…a demonic bloodline, a whiff of the otherplanar to his enhanced senses. Whatever, popping out of nowhere and proceeding to plant his blades in the back of the bastard who thought that making a lair out of the beached Sea Raptor didn’t bother him at all…and when he expertly criss-crossed his weapons to complete the move, the unshifter perished with rather shocking speed. The agonized roar of its raptor companion was cut short by a fusillade of spells and precise missile fire, sending it stumbling and falling rather quickly, to kick a bit and then go limp. “Dinner,” announced Threk, rising from the brush with a dozen Dogs from downwind. “And save that hide! Eshe, get the rest of the crews in here, I want the Raptor floating out of here by dawn.” His eye fell on the scattered bones of the Sword Tyrant, now just gleaming ivory. “And here’s more teeth for us!” ==================== Along with the aid of a summoned earth elemental (a test of Eshe’s growing abilities) and a great herbivore that Rose lured out of the wilds to lend its muscle to the task of moving the ship and getting timbers into place to roll it out into the sea, the Raptor was indeed made ready for sea travel, other spells quickly resealing the hull and mending minor breaks while the double-sized work crew worked urgently to get her back in shape. Just beyond the reef, the captured scow Hellfish, currently only with a skeleton crew, waited to head back home. A Channel had already been pounded into the reef by the elemental…and the local oversized eels once again adding themselves to the ship’s stores. A great cheer went up as the Sea Raptor was hauled down to the rising waters and put back out to sea. Turned around by the might of the elemental and the great dinosaur, the Raptor sailed through the channel smashed through the reef with only a little scraping, returning to the sea. On the bridge, Threk eyed the idol with a suspicious eye, but Eshe had been unable to feel any magic about it. It was something wanted by a divine power…important enough all by itself. He watched the great diplodocus plod away with thunderous footsteps, his eyes considering the value of such a beast. The mountains ringing this section certainly didn’t allow this particular behemoth to come with them, and Farshore had no native dinosaurs of this size on the island. Still, the jungle certainly had others, and if they could get one to Farshore…well, wouldn’t THAT be a surprise to any invading forces. Yes, it would certainly be worth the effort to get their own ‘dragon’ to defend the town…the two big hurdles would be getting the creature to the island, and the other would be feeding something so immense. He would have to talk to Rose and Eshe about options in this area. =================== The Olman guide swallowed. Gigoto was his name, an older man, god-fearing and a skilled guide, having personally visited the shrine more then a dozen times over the years. Steering outlanders in their strange garb and ways to the Shrine would surely be no different then taking a party of his own tribesmen to offer things up to the Bat-God. Of course, he had not expected them to be flying there! His delight in the sensation was balanced by his fear that the magic would fade, and his knowledge that the territoriality of the sky-riders was every bit as impressive as that of the great beasts on the ground. The outlanders didn’t seem bothered by either of these worries, trusting in the pale skinned woman who cast the spells implicitly. From a gradual ascent to nearly a thousand paces above the island, offering the amazed guide the kind of view of the island that he would remember the rest of his life, their course was almost self-explanatory…head for the great volcanoes, and find the shrine upon the slopes between them. ==================== “Not a part of the treasure in his vault.” Threk repeated the bat demon-thing’s words rather ominously, turning the strange, over-sized tooth in his big hands with startling delicacy. Their guide, not very conversant in the trading tongue, was instead waving around the bat-hilted, flaming blade he’d selected as part of his loot, clearly delighted with his powerful find. Rose was fitting a talon claw amulet to the thorny vine from which hung the Tyrant Teeth she was slowly and carefully carving into something ornamental…and even as she was doing so, it looked like strips or scales of old, brown bone were rising from the strange rooty flesh of her body beneath her ironwood carapace, sheathing her in even more brown. “Which means, someone put something in his Vault without his knowing? The same person or being, perhaps, that took his precious idol from him?” Eshe suggested knowingly, rolling a magical black and white pearl around in her fingers, carefully eying the bat-like figures carved into it with incredibly minute detail and skill. Certainly none of the current Olman could have made such a toy… Henri twisted the obsidian ring about his finger, formed in the image of a bat’s wings grasping his finger…and it was grabbing him, he could feel the ring shift as he twisted it. He vanished from their sight as effectively as if he’d just transported elsewhere. Threk leaned over with a sniff, confirming that he was still present, as he slowly stuck the strange tooth into his purse. “Someone is playing games with us,” he growled, and turned to look at Henri as their scout faded back into sight, stopping for just a second to nudge the fang his way. Dark eyes with a tattoo spearing right through them faded into empty stars, and Henri first considered the fang, then his eyes started to lift – Rose calmly placed her very heavy Forged hand over his eyes. “Turn it off, Henri. Be rapt in the Dance of Worlds some other time.” With an effort of will and a deep breath, the Orien Witchmarked did so. “There’s definitely a connection to something there…I’m not sure what. The connection leads…nowhere is the best place to describe it. Some place that’s not really there.” He shrugged at their expressions. “Or maybe beyond my comprehension, or something. It’s definitely not something as basic as being aligned to one of the thirteen worlds…I’d be able to pick up on that. It came from somewhere else.” “Wonderful.” Threk shoved it away more urgently, clearly thinking to let some of the high-ups investigate it more fully when given time. The agate-like fiery stone he’d inset into the smaller of his own two tyrant teeth trophies seemed to wink as he did so, as if something somewhere was watching, and approving. “We have at least another day or two before the ships make it back to Farshore. Is there anything else we should do while we are out here?” “The Vanderboren journal mentions more then one race of intelligent beings on this island,” Eshe supplied, the pearl vanishing into the purse at her waist. “We’ve already met a representative of the spider-folk she hinted at, but we’ve not seen the raccoon-folk…and the unshifter we ran across is something I do not think we wish to encounter anew, as we have our own problems.” “She described the little folk as small and friendly, but not afraid. That makes them natural potential allies, particularly if we can offer the adventurous a somewhat safer place to settle. A lot of extra eyes and ears never hurts,” Henri judged calmly. “Especially if they can shoot arrows or stick a spear in a pirate’s groin. That sounds like a good idea.” Threk considered it, glancing sideways at their traipsing guide, who was breaking into what sounded like a long and prayerful paean of thanks to the fire god-demon. “We have to return this man to his village first, and get word spreading. A formal alliance with the Olman benefits everyone, and I’d like to get started training a mixed force. These people have potential, living in a land as strong as this…they’ll make good Dogs.” His smile was rather sinisterly reassuring. “And then there is the Lady’s request for tar supplies.” Threk turned up his nose at the mention of the flammable stuff, a born fire hazard…but also highly useful in many ways, once properly treated. He fully intended to start replacing wooden structures, especially the walls and other fortifications, with proper stone once these annoying interruptions stopped happening. “We should be able to negotiate for large quantities from the Olman, who know where there is a pit of the stuff close to their village.” Rose had no feelings on raiding a supply of such stuff, considering it more an aberration of nature then an example of it. She was rather firm on insuring that deforestation did not occur on Farshore Island itself, to the grumbling dismay of some of the more energetic loggers who found were now finding themselves replanting trees as fast as they could cut them down. “Let’s take care of that minor problem,” sighed Threk, wondering when it was all going to end. “We’ve got a town to build up, and these nuisance deeds are costing us time best spent preparing for the invasion.” =================== This island seemed to be absolutely swarming in Sword Tyrants. Threk hacked off the ripped, stunted left forelimb of this truly monstrous, old beast, scarred and partially crippled and all the awesomely stronger for it. Happily, they had plenty of experience killing oversized predatory dinosaurs now, and while it had taken an extraordinary amount of punishment, their ability to assail it from the air, and to wink in and out of sight and assault it invisibly, had been too much for the beast to easily overcome. Threk turned his eyes on the cluster of phanatons who were crowding in close to watch him, clutching their small spears warily as their huge eyes watched his every move. They hooted and chirped and hopped and darted and were a distraction…but they weren’t getting in his way, which was probably because of the way his waraxe was slicing through the thick hide of the Tyrant with all the aplomb and ease of a skinning knife in his huge hands. “The Lady was correct, they are speaking a very unusual dialect of the fey tongue,” Rose spoke to him, helping him with the skinning by hauling at the edges of the hide, a minor spell preventing curious hordes of insects from converging on the great mass. Salvaging the hide was better then leaving the entire body to rot, and the Olman who had come to gather up a load of tar wouldn’t be hauling the meat away, more was the pity. The massive teeth would make for excellent ivory, however…and another prize. Threk was already considering mounting them onto his armor. “Think you can open negotiations with them?” The phanaton were paying much more attention to the two of them then the other humans, although they were keeping a careful distance from the Olman, who were warily filling up their baskets with tar on the far end of the pits. “Certainly. Should I offer them their fill of the meat? The organs are likely great prizes to their people.” “By all means, and even preserve the food so they can carry it home. No need to be uncivil about it all.” Hearing the startlingly beautiful Sylvan tongue start echoing and blowing its way out of her vocal cavity was a surprise for him, but it nearly drove the raccoon-monkey-people wild with excitement. There were squeals of delight and suddenly she had the whole pack clustered around her thorned and armored feet, yet somehow managing not to get in the way as she helped Threk work on skinning the beast. Her continued words generated much excitement, and then the entire pack jibbered and snatched at knives carved of sharpened stone and ivory and lept all over the carcass with impressive agility and sense of purpose. They knew what they were doing, hooting and hacking and pulling at him for his attention with his great sharp arc of metal. He politely handed away his dagger to what looked like the oldest of the bunch, directing the eyes with cuffs and calls and many a shaken fist, and the little fellow looked ready to faint as he accepted the gleaming metal of the blade. It looked more like a sword in his small, agile fingers then a knife, and indeed he held onto it with two hands as he took off, taking every opportunity to start hacking on key portions of the carcass and show off his new property. -Quite inspired. They are calling you ‘Fang-Giver’ now.- Threk snorted with amusement as the sharper then razor edge of his axe peeled away at the massive hide, being pulled back by a dozen hands and prehensile feet with great eagerness. They didn’t seem to mind he was wading in innards and covered with blood…indeed, some of them were eagerly hacking at the flesh as they carved out their prizes. Henri’s silent call had them raising their heads a fraction of a second before the phanatons also sat up bolt upright, eyes orienting to follow their ears as something came crashing through the brush. It wasn’t a Sword Tyrant, but one of the Queens, the next size down, looking mean and hungry and eager to lay claim to a kill. The phanatons shrieked and raised their spears and challenged it in a loud and shrill chorus…after scampering safely behind Rose and Threk, of course. “Rose, stop the damn thing and tell it it’s perfectly all right to feed…but if it so much as snaps at one of us, I’m going to kill the damn thing dead, dead, dead.” The Forged Druidess obligingly stopped her stripping duties to fearlessly stride out to confront the rapidly charging allosaur. Watching her face the creature down was an interesting experience…Threk returned to work as soon as he saw its stride start to slow, watching the little racoon folk out of the corner of his eyes. This impressed the phanatons every bit as much as when the monstrous lizard actually came to a halt directly in front of the wind-voiced, floral scented Forged, snuffing and whuffing deeply, jaws working but not quite reaching her as it snapped and hopped from foot to foot. When she reached out to lay her hand upon the ridged head, and forced it down into a position of submission, the little folks humming hymn of reverence was almost comically sublime in its synchronicity. An allosaur could eat a lot of meat, which conveniently got a lot of it out of the way as the phanatons set to carving up big sets of it and tossing them aside for the very approving dinosaur to snatch up, flip gracefully, and swallow. The fact that it could be doing the exact same thing to one of them was not lost on the phanatons, but the reassuring presence of Rose next to the beast was enough to insure that they began to take especial delight in this task. The allosaur seemed to enjoy not having to dig for its meal, or strip flesh from bone, or rip open the thick hide. Threk eyed the beast with more and more interest. -You are thinking to tame this hunter?- Rose asked carefully, reaching out to lay her thorned hand on the side of the predator, almost protectively. -I’m thinking he’d make one hell of a mount…and unlike a Tyrant, is something I could probably control without too much problem…and a lot of help and training from you. Or, you could follow the lead of the General…he likes to Enlighten his best steeds, and bring them to sentience.- Rose turned her considering gaze upon the massive beast thoughtfully. –I have never done so before…but that is certainly no reason I cannot do so now.- -And I happen to know that allosaurs can be taught to swim rather easily.- He eyed the massive tail, which would be a great tool for propelling the beast through the water. One thing about training at Fort Lewt was that you met a lot of the Talentan dino wranglers, and picked up a lot of stray facts that way. -Feeding him might be a problem.- Rose indicated, as another twenty-kilo cut of abdominal flesh was snatched out of the air and hungrily swallowed. The dinosaur had consumed at least three hundred kilos of meat and showed no signs of stopping. -A Necklace, made up with the same magic of sustenance as our rings, will take care of its appetite. It will need to eat only to grow, and that won’t be a primary drive. Save us a lot of time and headaches, too.- The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Picturing himself riding around on the back of this beast with a rather hefty lance in his hand was quite an image. –Think you can do it?- -Yes.- No doubt in her mind at all. His eyes fell on the phanatons. –Imagine if we could get a dino wrangler down here and teach these little guys how to run herds of dinos?- Her deep green, glowing eyes considered the capering, happy phanatons considerately, and her carved head nodded once in agreement. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-07-07, 02:56 AM	Whew. That first part alone is 13 pages of word, and there's still a bunch of mini-stuff to handle. I don't know how many of you are getting Dungeon, but this part of the adventure is actually supposed to extend a minimum of three months, and possibly over six months. Can you imagine the effect a bunch of tenth level characters, including two primary spellcasters, can have on a town with six months of spellcasting? Heh. ===Aelryinth
lordalm 01-07-07, 03:07 PM	I really liked the post. I just don't have the time or funds to hunt down the old Dungeon stuff. Any chance that its going to be collected some where or when?
aelryinth 01-07-07, 06:47 PM	This is actually a storyline based off the CURRENT Dungeon magazines coming out. If you want to order back issues, Paizo sells them online and can ship them out to you. I gloss over a lot of stuff in the stories simply because I'm making the assumption you've read the magazines and know the backstory and protaganists involved. They collected the First series in a large module set for taking you from level 1-20, complete with extra material. Age of Worms MIGHT get the same treatment. Not sure at all on Savage Tide. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-08-07, 05:55 AM	The Rise of Farshore, Part Two “I am an Urukhar. My people were first born of humans and a race called the Orcs, but we are a people unto our own, as well.” Threk was heroically tolerant of the phanatons who wanted to clamber over him, especially their extremely small and almost unbearably cute pups. They were extremely interested in his armor and how he could stand to wear it in the heat and humidity of the jungle. The scouts were also impressing the others with their reports on how quietly he could move, and melt into the shadows, for all his size. Eshe’s translation spell was making conversation much easier. Her two floating disks supporting oversized two hundred gallon barrels also meant that the phanaton scouts had brought home a massive amount of tar, enough to keep the village supplied for several months. The Tyrant organs had prompted a massive feast of celebration for the death of the grand old bastard, a famous member of the species by all the accounts going on around the visitors. Rose was deep in conversation, along with Eshe, who was using illusions to illustrate various talking points, to the undying curiosity of the oldest phanatons who found themselves craning for better looks with scarce more reservation then the many spectators and young phanaton who were warring over the preferred seating on Rose’s head, and getting dizzy smelling the strange, alien blossoms called ‘roses’ that sprouted here and there from the thorn-like vines that wound about her. Henri was delighting the phanatons with his habit of disappearing in mid-tale and reappearing somewhere else, in a different poise, continuing the story as if nothing had happened, while they squealed with delight and raced to be the first to catch him and get the best seat to hear more. All in all, it looked like this was going to be a very successful diplomatic mission. The phanaton he’d given his dagger to was very interested in such a generous sort, and looked to have some pull with the younger warriors and more adventurous tribal members. Convincing them of possibly setting up a colony on Farshore Island didn’t look like it would be that difficult. “Great Fang-giver!” Still bemused by the fact he could understand their yipping speech, Threk looked down at one of the older phanatons, carefully plucking at his metal ‘skin’. “Star-eyes, he is not moving!” Star-eyes? Threk followed the pointing claw, and sighed mightily as he saw Henri staring rather slack-jawed northwards. “Ah, yes.” Without hesitation, he reached down and pulled the phanaton up onto his shoulder, where the much smaller fellow balanced easily, chirruping with delight as Threk rose to his full height. With careful balance, he made his way across the rather cramped branches and platforms with surprising ease, stopping to the side of where Henri was gazing up at the stars and things only he could see, his eyes celeste and his face rather blank. “Now, when you see him like this, what he is doing is looking at the Dance of Stars. Very powerful, very dazzling. Sort of being like a seer. When he does this, you have to break him out of it.” Casually, he hefted the phanaton on his shoulder down onto Henri’s lap, delicately took both of the fellow’s paws in his massive hands, and carefully lifted them up and put them over Henri’s eyes. The Aundairean blinked, shook his head, and drew back, reflexively reaching up to grab the obstructing hands. Threk didn’t back off, forcing the phanaton forwards, as Henri’s eyes were still celeste, keeping them obstructed. Henri was unable to brush off the blockade, and finally shook his head, his eyes fading to 'normal', or what passed for them. He made a face when he saw Threk towering over him with a grinning phanaton in both of their hands. “Next time he does it, make sure you nip his finger. He will come out of it a little faster.” Threk solemnly looked about at Henri’s audience, who all held out their tiny hands and mock-nipped once in almost perfect synchronicity to show their understanding. Henri winced, and Threk’s stoic face betrayed nothing as he turned away, although eager phanatons were now watching the Star-Eyes very closely, eager to have their chance at this solemn duty. The scarred, grim Urukhar reflected that life could get a lot more fun with one of these little fellows around. ================== “What a remarkable sensation.” Not quite the first words you expect to hear out of a dinosaur’s mouth. The big raptoral dino tilted his massive head, looking down at the rather exhausted Rose (mentally, not physically, of course), and then around at the calmly seated other Wolves. “This is…speech. Very strange.” Arms about the size of a normal humans, looking rather small on the huge beast, reached up to cradle the massive head for a moment with three clawed fingers. “I believe I have a headache. Yes, that is the proper term.” “Your brain just got about three times larger. There’s some growing going on inside your skull,” Eshe supplied helpfully. “It will pass.” “Ah, you can speak, also! That’s what all you strange bipeds were always doing. Always found it most confusing. Of course, it didn’t stop me from eating you…but I rather find the notion a bit disturbing now. Strange.” He tilted his head, easily as large as the phanaton he had turned his attention on. “Do these little fellows speak, too?” “Yes, although their language is a bit different then the one you are speaking. Chip-chip?” Eshe indicated, and the phanton drew himself up to his full height, looking a little awed, and bowed formally. “Greatings, o Great Hunter,” he said in his dialect of Sylvan. “I am Chip-Chip of the Tribe of Treeshome.” “Fascinating!” The dinosaur crouched down lower with incredible ease. “I’m…well, that is strange. I don’t seem to have a name.” He replied in perfect Sylvan, too. “Prince.” Threk said it calmly and shortly, and the massive, fang-filled head swung around on him with amazing speed. “Prince? That’s a term…hmm. I seem to recognize that my kind of…dinosaur…is sometimes called Fang Princes or Fang Queens.” “Aye. And until you choose a name that is yours and yours alone, you will be known by the proper sobriquet of your people. I trust that is amenable to you?” Threk was utterly unconcerned with the curiosity of the great beast, and his lack of fear showed plainly. “Prince. Yes, that will do nicely, until I can ponder the matter more deeply.” The allosaur lifted up to his full height, his head well over five paces off the ground. “Prince. Indeed!” His head tilted back and out came a truly celebratory roar that ruffled the leaves of the forest giants all around them for a full ten heartbeats, echoing into the jungle and gradually fading away. His head came back down to scarcely above the height of Threk, were he standing. “And I believe I have you to thank for this remarkable state of being?” he asked the seated Forged solicitously. Thorn-ornamented fingers reached up to caress the ridged scales of the dinosaur’s jaws. “You have the power of the Land to thank. I am merely a vessel of its power. If you wish to thank me, then thank the Land, for it saw the need for you and your strength to be more then a simple beast. I think, mighty Prince, that you are going to be something very special.” Scales shifted, and they had the strange realization that sentient dinosaurs could look slightly embarrassed even as they seemed to get prouder. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint the Land,” the dinosaur rumbled gently in his profoundly deep voice. “Is there anything you would ask of me?” “Well, as a matter of fact, there is,” Threk stated calmly, again earning the attention of the carnivore. “There’s a rival pack of bipeds coming after our people…and a lot of them. We’re looking for some help in keeping them out of our territory.” An allosaur’s cheery smile doesn’t look all that different from a hungry smile. “Well, now, I think I’m rather admirably equipped to help with that kind of duty. How might I be of assistance?” ======================= “I must say I’m going to enjoy working with you and Mistress Rose rather a lot, Captain Threk,” Prince rumbled over his shoulder. “We’re going to try and keep your life pretty interesting! And don’t worry about your appetite…we’re getting something to take care of that so you won’t have to worry about devoting a lot of time to hunting! You’ll be able to eat at your leisure!” Threk had to half-shout to be heard, because the dinosaur was running at great speed…across the ocean, pacing the ships to either side easily, clawed feet tearing up the water in gleeful points of spray, tireless, empowered by Rose’s magic. Clinging firmly to Threk’s back and the straps thereon, Chip-Chip was having the utterly terrified and thrilling time of his life. It was a very crude saddle, consisting of mostly folded cloth and leather over the spinal ridge of Prince’s back, tied on with some very strong ropes with crude stirrups firmly fastened thereto, and a rough leather strap about Prince’s neck and chest giving a handhold. Reins were, of course, unthinkable at the moment. But Prince had been willing to try it…especially since he got to experience running atop water. The trio had quite an audience of sailors pointing at them, they made quite a spectacle. “Quite a hike to this Farshore island of yours,” Prince commented, unperturbed by the attention, and rather enjoying it. “Yes! No Tyrants there, either…probably the reason it was selected!” Threk shouted back. “Ah, I rather agree with that. Swordtooths have been stealing my kills since I was a hatchling.” It was the closest thing to a grumble of dislike Threk had heard from him. “Well, I’d like to work on making sure that such a thing never happens to you again!” The great head tilted from his arrow-straight course enough to allow one eye to revolve back at him. “Where I come from, there are dinosaur riders in great numbers, and the deeds mount and rider can do in unison are truly fearsome! Of course, they ride mere clawfoots, not Fang Princes!” The slitted eye opened up a moment, betraying great interest, before narrowing again against the glare of the sun. “Really? I would like to hear more of this, Captain!” “I’d be delighted, once we have less wind and more time!” Threk shouted back, suppressing a grin. This beast was a hunter and a killer, for all of whatever strangely erudite personality he had gained from the Enlightening, and being a mightier killer would appeal to it strongly. It appealed to Threk even moreso, when he rode the mighty allosaur right up the beach, scattering the fishermen and people gathering to greet the returning ships as Prince let loose a roar of greeting…and Lord Meravanchi, perching in aristocratic superiority atop the finely bred stallion that had once been the property of his nephew, found his horse bolting wildly away from the presence of the great predator. “You’re right, Captain, that was rather fun!” the dinosaur proclaimed in a, well, inhumanly loud and satisfied voice, to the astonishment of the rapidly retreating bystanders. Then he sniffed in interest, turning sideways. “Hmm. Do I smell…fish?” The great head turned inquiringly, sniffing VERY loudly. The gawking fishmonger could only stare in terror as the dinosaur leisurely came up to his shop and bent his fanged head down. From behind him, Threk grinned and waved to get the petrified monger’s attention. “Master Jinger, if you could go fetch the early catch? This big fellow just made a very long run and is rather hungry.” There was a deep warning rumble from the area of the allosaur’s belly, and Threk laughed as he slid off, Chip-Chip agilely getting a higher perch on his shoulder and helm, looking around in fascination at the strange city of the Khorvairans, unlike anything the Phanaton had ever seen. “Y-yes, Captain,” the wiry Lhazaar managed to gasp out, and Threk’s roar of laughter belied the impatience of the dinosaur’s twitching tail as he bustled away to get the older fish…ALL of the older fish. “Treat him well…I imagine he’s going to be supplying you with most of your fish when the mood strikes you,” he whispered conspiratorially to Prince, who bobbed his head once in acknowledgement. Yes, things were indeed looking up. =========================== An allosaur rampaging all around the area claimed by the colonists had the nice effect of keeping the suddenly aggressive troglodytes to rather rapidly consider their expansionistic plans, especially after Prince ate a couple of them in passing. That bought Threk time to gather his budding corps and get some real, devoted military training in…and start working on the fortifications. The stores aboard the Sea Raptor were incredibly welcome and appreciated. They also allowed the local alchemist to whip up a great brazen collar for Prince, enchanted with the same kind of magic that was imbued into the Pack Rings of the Wolves, taking neatly care of any hunger and thirst the allosaur had, and thus leaving him free to exert himself as he wished. He still ate, and ate frequently, because the exercise he was being put through still required mass to build muscle, and dinosaurs, of course, never really stopped growing. But instead of the massive volumes of meat, Prince soon developed a rather refined palate of what he liked to swallow down…and fresh fish of all kinds soon topped the list. The fishermen quickly grew to appreciate him, also, as he rapidly and eagerly took up swimming lessons. The massive counter-balancing tail was also an excellent underwater propellant, and the aerodynamic running form of the great raptor was also fairly well streamlined. The presence of the allosaur swimming around discouraged casual predators, and made even larger ones think twice, as Prince was very protective of his territory. Bouyed with a protective spell, and quickly realizing that healing was available if he got into a fight, his aggressive stance soon had the natives of the waters not venturing too close to areas where he trailed. At the same time, he learned quickly that there were things in the waters to steer well clear of, and indeed, to warn the fishermen of and get them out of the water. Fish as big as a caravel were not something to tempt. Herding fish into nets and scouting out schools for the boats helped increase the fishermen’s hauls, which was appreciated by anyone as the town went onto a war footing, and everyone needed food to keep going. Threk was almost continuously busy, the extra hours of work gained by the ring enabling him to handle paperwork and administrative duties with Eshe while his people slept. The next days plans were always in place as the Wolves gathered to set up agendas, and rather quickly soon began to dominate the whole of the town’s way of thinking. Lady Vanderboren and Lord Meravanchi were both disquieted by the rapid exercise of power by the Wolves, although the latter was mitigated by the continued deferral shown her by the Wolves, and her continual inclusion in any matters relating to the town or townsfolk. Quickly enough, she realized that they were functioning as a circle of advisors and she could literally ride them to the Mayorship with the amount of influence they were exerting, almost all on her behalf. Being of a more diplomatic bent then any of them, she rapidly began to consolidate her political base, and by the time the election actually came around, the vote was simply a formality. Lord Meravanchi was less then pleased…even less so when, the next day, over a hundred Olman from the various villages arrived to participate in the training exercises Threk was working on. Threk blooded his new recruits on the first troglodyte raiding party, scouted out well in advance by the threescore phanatons quietly infiltrated into the forests to establish themselves. The Khorvairans were for the most part delighted by the diminuitive race of tree-dwellers, and found them useful scouts, indeed, while the Olman considered the treefolk lucky spirits. Threk drilled them, marched them, crushed them under his will and built them back up as they had never imagined they could be…and he led the way in everything, never letting them do anything he wasn’t capable of doing himself. He took great delight in the grim reality of the obstacle courses, the bruises and gashes, and the forced teamwork that made the mixed and separate squads force to come together or everyone suffered together. Advanced weapon drills he pursued with vim and vigor, and Leshkione soon had a decent core group of archers and scouts to work with, as well. They worked on the new fortifications going up, the citizens with less militaristic duties occasionally drilling alongside on fire details, running healing carriers weighed down with rocks, picking out defensive strongpoints that could be put in place to channel intruders this way and that. Eshe was the primary reinforcing spellcaster, coordinating with Rose as the defensive works rose up with incredible speed. Walls of stone were soon in place the full length of the shore, buttressed and replaced the wooden walls section by section, and the watchtowers rose another five paces and were made of all stone. The cliffs were carved up, and whole masses of stone sloughed off as mud into great troughs and slid down to the streets, and the shocked Khorvairans found themselves walking down the main street of Farshore, covered in stone in less then a handful of days by mud returned to its original form. The infirmary was overhauled and a Healing Pit put into place for use of mass healing magic and superior access to patients, along with growing stocks of poultices, bandages, and other needed supplies. The woodsmen were working overtime carving new barrels and building timbers. Henri served as troubleshooter in general, poking his nose into everyone’s business, and also doing a great deal of detailed exploring…both of Farshore and the mainland. The Wolves keep quiet on just how far his powers were developing, especially his teleportational duties. The pirate Lefty, under careful watch, was serving with the militia with rather more energy then he’d ever served as a pirate. He’d been a mine of information since his life had been spared, eager to prove his worth above and beyond being a turncoat. In short order, the rather astonished little man found himself instructing landlubbers in how to sail a ship, and helping Threk in teaching soldiers how to be even more…to be Marines. Threk wanted as much advance warning on the Fleet and intel as possible. Henri was uniquely suited to both exploration of the Isle, especially its shores and borders, and setting up watch points from points south all the way to the northern tips of the islands. Furthermore, he could also travel to the numerous smaller islands surrounding the Isle of Dread if need be by use of flight magic. Accompanying him was a younger Phanaton named Drum-Drum, whose duties were keeping Star-Eyes well fed and solemnly making sure he didn’t get lost in the Dance of Stars. The Wolves’ map of the Island’s borders soon grew very detailed indeed, Henri’s travels communicated to Eshe and frozen into a permanent floating hologram in the expanded council room of the Vanderboren mansion. Henri also received the most acclaim from the colonists for discovering the mysterious thief that had been plaguing Farshore for many months, making off with accumulated trade goods and personal belongings with incredible skill and pluck. The creature was a strange dweller of the border realms of reality, jumping into and out of Eberron’s plane of reality to make his thefts…but such tricks only drew Henri’s attention the more strongly, instead of evading them. The Aundairean easily tracked the creature to the high cave where it had secreted its prizes, surprised it, and kept right up with it as it tried to flee by crossing the planes, slaying it quickly and returning to a hero’s welcome. ============== Threk turned up the oil lamp with a hiss, and Lord Meravanchi froze as the light rose, revealing the mighty half-orc seated across the low table on the man’s best couch. For a moment, fear, anger and hate warred on the Lord’s proud face, before being forcefully put aside for a display of bravado. “You have a strange schedule for personal calls, Captain. Or am I to assume this is…professional?” His hand dropped to the curved blade at his waist tellingly. “Family business.” The rough voice of the Urukhar perfectly matched his harsh and bloody eyes. Threk folded his callused fingers before him and regarded the Lhazaar noble with a cold, calm expression. “Stop posing and have a seat. If I wanted to dispose of you, Prince would have spat out your bones some time ago while taking one of his morning swims.” The Meravanchi stiffened, then realized he was not only not impressing the Urukhar, he was making himself look even more ridiculous. “As you say.” He turned to his bar, quickly picking up two classes of Aerenal crystal and filling them with ice balls taken from a precious canister attached to his bar. Over this he poured a fine Karrnathi brandy, hesitating only a moment as he considered poison, and then thrust the thought away. He carried both to the table, sitting himself down in his favorite chair as he deposited glass and bottle on the finely carved hardwood of the table. Threk took it without hesitation and lifted it in an easy salute to the man he had effectively replaced as the fighting heart of Farshore. The Meravanchi returned it somewhat sourly, and both drank. “Family business, you say. I was not aware you were of noble blood, sir.” The cutting remark didn’t bat an eyebrow. “You know, of course, that Lady Vanderboren’s parents are both deceased.” It had been a bit of a shock to learn that, but, the Meravanchi considered, payment enough for abandoning them for years. He, and he alone, had held the colonists together during that time period, and just as he was about to consolidate his grip here and realize his ambitions, the relief ships had arrived, with new blood, new ideas…and a new Vanderboren. “What of it?” he replied gruffly. The two Vanderborens had been good people, but his view of them had soured considerably as they failed to return to the colony they had founded. “I have been in contact with my superiors in Sasserine.” Ah, now that was interesting…a line of communication with the homeland! A secret confirmed, at least. The Meravanchi leaned forwards despite himself at this news, eager to hear more. “And what does your General have to say? Is he going to send a company down and annex the whole island into his growing empire?” That remark had no more effect then his first. “Perhaps you’d like to ask the General himself that someday, but I was referring to the Factor in Sasserine. I made a request of him, and he has informed me of the results of my inquiry. It took him a bit of digging, of course…muck likes to stay buried where it won’t smell quite so badly.” Lord Meravanchi suddenly felt a little chill. Family business, the half-breed had said? It was now plain that his family was the subject of their conversation. “Indeed? And what did your metallic superior find out?” he asked dismissively. “The Vanderborens returned to Sasserine with much fanfare after their success here, and immediately began to make preparations to return. But, things kept coming up. Again. And again. And again.” The half-orcs eyes looked like lamps of their own in the dim light. “First, a shortage of needed goods. Then, one of the financiers backed out. Then, dispensation of some properties had to be attended to. A pirate attack and the disappearance of a contracted ship and captain. A flurry of required meetings on Sasserine’s civil works. A series of lectures on the flora and fauna of the Isle here which could not be turned down. A request for help from an old family friend fallen on suddenly hard times. “And lastly, when a ship newly commissioned for the voyage here burned mysteriously to the waterline, killing all aboard. A rather remarkable set of coincidences for a couple who were obviously and energetically trying to return here, and simply found themselves unable to do so.” Hearing such things spoken of in such harsh, curt tones made them even sharper then they might have for a noble experienced in matters of intrigue. He could draw lines of cause and effect as well as any man. “Someone was making it difficult for them to return,” he reasoned, almost despite himself, trying to dismiss the idea, and finding it warring with his personal evaluation of the character of the Lord and Lady Vanderboren. “And whom do you suppose was behind all those various arrangements?” Threk asked, leaning forwards to pour himself another drink, and then lifting the bottle archly. The Meravanchi hesitated, then leaned forwards to get his glass filled again. “Family,” he found himself whispering, picturing his brother’s scheming face, indolent with the pleasures and privileges of his baronial title. “Indeed. You harbor great resentment for the Vanderborens, when it was your own brother who arranged for delay upon delay for their return, hoping that without the help they brought, your own nature would see to your death.” The tusked Urukhar took a swallow of the brandy thoughtfully. “Although it was the Lady’s brother, seeking to claim the Vanderboren fortune, who actually killed their parents,” the Meravanchi looked up in shock at this piece of news, “he was aided by the invisible hand of your own sibling, who insured that the deed had no obstruction and any witnesses soon got very quiet, indeed. That a mere slip of a girl would inherit the entirety of the Vanderboren wealth and name instead of a wastrel and murderer, and that she would energetically take up where her parents had left off, he did not anticipate in time to stop her, and so she is here. “Congratulations, Meravanchi. Your brother is responsible for the deaths of the Vanderborens and your own continued exile.” The nobleman found himself breaking out into a cold sweat. His motivation to return home being to wrest control of the family from his sibling had been one of the primary factors that had lost the election…the free-willed Lhazaar hadn’t liked the thought of him using them as pawns to enrich himself as they endeavored to set up a new life. If news got out that his family was responsible for the deaths of the Vanderborens, it could easily be seen as a move by him to consolidate power. It would take little for an angry mob to be whipped into a fury by the right words, and his own fate come to an abrupt end. The half-orc was no fool. He now had leverage…immense leverage. The nobleman found his dreams crumbling to dust and ashes. “So. And you are telling me this why?” The glowing red eyes looked back at him, considering. “The Crimson Fleet has reached the northern end of the Isle of Dread.” Meravanchi inhaled despite himself at the news. “They will be here inside a fortnight. Likely they will follow a course down the western side of the Island, make a layover at Rat’s End, and then proceed immediately here to deal with us. “We are going to kill them.” The Urukhar’s voice held no doubts whatsoever as to that eventual end. “Doing so will leave us in possession of several new ships…ships that need cargoes and captains to deliver them home…and to return. “Lady Vanderboren has indicated her intentions to remain here as long as possible. I believe she is hoping that Eshe’s magic will soon be strong enough to enable her to teleport home to take care of any family business there, or arrange for a steward to do so, at the least. “Your presence here is undermining community consolidation. Your followers are causing discord, work stoppages, harsh words, and even occasional bouts of violence here and there. Your personal animosity towards the Lady is known to all, as are your ambitions. “You cannot remain here.” Said in the exact same cold, calm tone that he would probably use to deliver Meravanchi’s death sentence. “I am giving you an out. The ships that are coming are going to be conduits of wealth…the wealth you need to revenge yourself upon your brother. A half-dozen voyages with the trade goods from this colony in your hold have an excellent chance of generating a considerable portion of the wealth you require…and the Lhazaar know the shipping trade far better then I, so I believe.” The pools of red, looking like bloody silvered pools, eyed him unwinkingly. “A ship, a crew and a cargo. A second, and perhaps a third if you return.” “And if I do not take you up on your generous terms?” the Meravanchi asked, staring at his glass. There was a tremble of the floor, as of an immense weight hitting the ground, and the nobleman looked up in alarm, his mouth going dry as a great scaled form moved past his window…past the high walls, past the guards who had not called out an alarm. He watched the long tail swing past out of sight in two long, heavy steps, and then it was gone. He turned back to the Urukhar, finding himself on his feet and clawing for his sword…and then spun around completely. He was alone in the room. The door was still closed. And the half-orc, no, the Wolf, had been in his normal suit of full armor… The Meravanchi swallowed and downed the rest of his drink. Life, it seemed, had taken a course somewhat differently then he had planned. =================== Henri swung easily outside the porthole, invisible and swinging easily with the ship’s motion. He had a clear line of sight into the captain’s cabin, the third of the ships that he’d visited this night, and could clearly see the swirling crystal ball said fellow was staring into. He could barely recognize the demonic figure as the Vanderboren brother, so transformed was he. The tainted magic flowing off him, stinking of Shavarath, was ample proof of where at least some of the patronage of the Fleet came from. Surprise, surprise, not really, thought Henri, glad for the masking magic Eshe had laid upon his thoughts for this trip. Threk’s assumption that they would pull into Rat’s End had been right on the money. This was, of course, nearly a week too late to help the pirate base, which had hosted the Sea Raptor and a invading force of marines from Farshore eager to pay back some of the terror they’d felt nearly two months earlier when the Hellfish had attacked them. Wisely, the natives of the hold had simply fled, and the marines had looted everything of value and burned the rest. Thus, the fleet had gained precious little by taking port here…except some advance intelligence that their opponents were perhaps not quite so easily dealt with, and almost iron-bound assurance that they’d stop here, and allow Henri to get a better idea of what exactly they were up against. Only his dimensional awareness let him avoid betraying his presence as the demons manifested. He could feel their arrival, a stinking tide down the streams of reality, and fought down the gorge as suddenly and abruptly the demonic captain suddenly had a trio of truly extraplanar natives stuffed into his little cabin…vulture-men things, terrible, radiating a bloodthirsty corruption that had him heaving back and away from the porthole lest their unworldly senses see him despite his invisibility. Their hideous screeches and the tide of their thoughts made him want to gag, as the door to the captain’s cabin was thrown open, and the demons exited, to the terror of the crew and the laughing pleasure of the captain. With a wild screech of freedom, the first of them lept skywards, eager to test out their wings and spread fear. Henri felt a surge of pity for the luckless folk of Rat’s End, who he was certain were going to end up being the playthings for demonkind, but his work was hardly done. Gritting his teeth, he called up his will, and felt the Witchmark surge about him, whisking him across the waters to the same position on the stern of the fourth ship. He would have to take the risk that the cavorting demons would not see him and would be seeking easy pleasures. If there were other surprises, Threk wanted to know them. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-08-07, 05:56 AM	Another twelve pages of Word. You know, when there's no dungeons to explore, there's a lot more you can write out! ==+Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-10-07, 12:52 AM	The Rise of Farshore, Part 3 The defenses against the pirate fleet started before they even entered the sheltered cove wherein Farshore was placed. Prince, of course, had been enjoying his swimming lessons, and from there it had been a quick leap to teaching him the next step in heightened maneuverability…flying. Of course, it wouldn’t do to be spotted on the approach, so that was made underwater…breathing water, courtesy of Rose. Henri’s intelligence was priceless, of course, as was the hasty lessons in teaching Prince how to read basic words and understand them. The Blood Serpent was the name of the vessel the serpentfolk sorcerors were on. Henri had no way of knowing how the Crimson Sails had managed to barter their services, but Threk hadn’t liked the idea of a trio of sorcerers throwing around spells, and wanted them eliminated early. Prince had thought that a wonderful idea. He came shooting out of the water from behind the caravel, the last ship in the line, a multi-ton arrow launched from the depths. With great aplomb, the allosaur then descended upon the ship, feet first, targeting the captain’s cabin. The stout lumber was not designed to take the unbridled plunge of several tons of dinosaur, and exploded inwards under the impact of his huge raking talons. Prince had a glimpse of scaled folk, comfortable furnishings, the smell of lots of human blood, and the stink of shock and awe…and then he was ripping, tearing, and rending heartily. The serpentfolk went down under a mass of collapsing wood and dinosaur flesh, which Prince happily pranced upon and pounded into pulp and splinters with a remarkably delicate dancing pattern he’d practiced numerous times with Threk, looking for all the word like a dinosaur doing a Lhazaar jig. His massive tail whipped around as his head heaved up, and the room literally blew apart around him as his massive body tore it apart. To say the crew was a mite surprised was not a stretch of the imagination. Having an allosaur suddenly on board is likely to be the cause of quite a bit of alarm. Especially one wearing your captain’s door. Prince obligingly charged them, jaws gaping wide…but not even bothering to roar. Many pirates dove overboard rather then face him, shrieking for their lives…a bunch of others joined them as the massive tail came whipping around to crush ribs and launch them over the side. More then a couple were simply pounded underfoot into bright red pulp, and kicked over the side disdainfully, or tossed that way with a shake of bloody jaws. Steel-tipped claws drove down into those who got too close, and Prince made his way across the deck with disturbing lightness, somehow managing not to collapse the wood that should not have been able to support his weight, trotting lightly right up to the foredeck to pursue the screaming crew, and then pivot and sweep like some great dino dancer and send them screaming overboard with the impact of his tail. He spared a glance upwards at the trio of crewmen who’d managed to get into the net sails, and the lookout up in the crow’s nest, trotted back to the captain’s cabin and mashed the rubble there flat a few more times for added squishy emphasis, and then, with startling agility, dove right overboard and hit the water with almost no splash as the leaderless ship began to list. The pirates up high just swallowed as a dark shadow came up under the struggling men in the water and jerked them down one, by one, by one…dark stains soon spread across the waters, and only a few minutes after that, it seemed dozens of fins materialized out of nowhere to join the fun. His job done, Prince speared through the water underneath the hulls of the other ships, leaving the sharks to sort out what tidbits were going to be eaten. He reflected that he could have torn out the hulls of the ships out here, and likely stopped the fight before it started…but also that Rose or even Eshe could have done likewise. For whatever reason, they wanted this fight to happen…and more likely, they wanted the intact ships. They were within sight of Farshore, and it was extremely likely the attack would not be called off simply because one of the ships was late. Bloodthirstiness was the key indicator for a crew of Crimson, and pulling out now would be unthinkable. -------------------------- Prince came flying up out of the water with a gracefulness and poise belying his size, hit the beach running, and vaulted over the stone wall with one impossible stride before sliding to a halt behind it, still dripping…and expelling up a barrelful of sea water from his lungs all over the stone street. “The snakefolk are flat, Captain!” the allosaur stated as he crouched down, and a half-dozen townsfolk hurried to surround him, bearing the rough barding that had been made for him, and a massive saddle. One held up a big bucket, and poured a torrent of fish scraps down his throat, which he accepted with obvious gusto, before doing the same with a large barrel of fresh water. “Excellent!” Threk was on the wall above him, clearly enjoying the view of the hapless vessels coming in to their doom. All around him, townsfolk crouched, while numbers of others were running willy-nilly through the streets pretending to panic, and the alarm bell of the chapel was ringing loudly and enthusiastically. Of course, the Olman and phanatons were nowhere to be seen…he wouldn’t want to give the invaders any ideas now, would he? The ships were charging pretty much right for the shore…this was low tide, and even if they were grounded, they could just float off again when the tide rose. Good timing, shallow waters. A couple hundred bloody and experienced pirates who, if they looked a bit non-plussed by the stone walls and towers, were reassured by the people fleeing the town and the lack of defenders. They piled over the sides of the ships and into the surf, and came charging up the sands, screaming madly and ready to plunder, kick butt and take names, heading for the gaps in the walls with steps where the fishermen could take up their catches. A few even helped each other up the walls where defenders were, although most of the defenders were ducking behind shields or hurling spears rather impotently. And then, the bell in the center of town stopped ringing. Prince stood up to his full height, stepping forwards onto the stone wall that cut town from harbor and perched up atop it like some great flightless bird. The whole rush of the pirate horde slowed to a halt as they saw him, agleam in armor (a dinosaur?), with a fully-armored figure on his back holding a six-paces lance in one hand and a big black axe in the other, and a basket with a couple of diminuitive monkey-things armed with bows, of all things, on the saddle behind him. Prince roared. He’d been working on that roar, smoothing it in, adding some flourish and melody to it, and it rose and fell and rose again, booming out of those massive jaws and utterly overwhelming the suddenly muted warcries of the pirates, echoing and re-echoing off the cliffs and barriers about the city. With a surge, the defenders were suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder all across the walls, with bows aiming down and spears waiting. “Kill them!” Threk roared, in a voice that carried every bit as much as a dinosaur’s bellow, and Prince hurtled full on into the densest cluster of pirates close to them, massive talons promptly crushing two flat, grabbing another in his jaws for a screaming bite, and then spinning with wicked speed to send anything close enough to swing at him ducking, diving or smashed brokenly away. The two impaled by lance and inheriting an axe to the face didn’t quite manage to dodge the latter in time, but it was a moot point for them, and the phanatons riding archer gleefully put arrows into the nearest pirates attempting to scramble away. The pirates who’d hurtled up the steps and into the alleyways found themselves driving into thickets of overlaid spears, pressed by the men behind them, unable to retreat as the well-drilled lines of colonists pressed forwards, impaling them haplessly. The first volley of arrows ripped out, followed by javelins and spears, and then the militia of Farshore was leaping over the side of the seawall, while the archers in the towers and cliffs to either side revealed themselves as hooting phanatons with quite a discriminating and accurate eye, raking fire across the skeleton crews on the pirate ships. Out of the water exploded a giant crocodile, catching one man in his jaws and biting him in two, denying the men easy access back to their own ships. In mere moments, the croc was joined by one, three, six others, exploding out of the water to cause panic among the most cowardly of the pirates, scattered between and among the ships to drive the men out of the water, causing huge and bloody commotion with rending jaws and lashing tails. Prince and Threk simply ran down the beach, orienting on anyone who looked like they might be taking command, and alternately impaling them, biting off their heads, cleaving in their skulls, or simply trampling them into bloody masses underfoot. With a rising shout, the Olman swept in on the flanks, closing off the ends of the beach, and making their way down it with disciplined strides, every man covering the one next to him, driving the pirates together and back as the town defenders collapsed into knots of spears and swords on the beach. The pirates, their lines disorganized by a crazed dinosaur and rider rampaging through them, tried to form up as the first line of Olman hit the first knot of defenders, shifted down, and now a double line was coming at them, spears over spears, while the archers on the walls and cliffs picked out their targets mercilessly. The ear-splitting shriek of the vulture-demons leaping skywards made heads turn, but forewarned was forearmed, and almost as they were screaming, Prince was leaping into the air to intercept them. It’s not every day that even demons get smashed into by several tons of flying dinosaur…a dinosaur with polished metal claws on his foreclaws and legs, and a weirdly, brightly polished mouthful of fangs that gleamed pure white as Prince barreled into the middle most vrock and promptly tore it out of the sky, while the lead one managed to choke and gawk at the massive lance tipped by cold iron that had been driven completely through its chest and deposited there. With an inarticulate roar, Threk lept from his saddle into the face of the last one, axe raised high in both hands, while Prince bit down on his foul-tasting prey, spinning end over end and driving them both back down into the deeper water away from shore as dinosaur and demon clawed at one another with claws, legs and fangs against talons and beak. The two phanaton riders cut their basket free and found themselves floating in midair with a good view of the pirate ships below. Chip-chip and his friend Prrrip, the two best archers among the phanatons, promptly put their excellent sniping position to good use. Vanthus Vanderboren watched the disaster unfold as he stalked to the front of his vessel. With a massive splash, dinosaur and demon drove into the waters of the bay, their battle not slowing for a moment and turning the waters about them into a frothing mess. The lanced vrock hit the ground in the midst of the massacre at almost the same time, where one of the green-armored bodyguards for his sister promptly and theatrically beheaded it, just to be sure. The Wolf captain and the last vrock were spinning around in midair, dueling with axe and talons, and the vrock seemed to be getting the worst of it. He clutched the bag at his side, his trump card, looking for a flash of golden hair and green…there! Pointed teeth adorned his smile now, as he spread his new wings, and launched himself in the direction of his sister. She saw him coming, of course, and the horror of recognition on her face only made it better for him as he came closer, gesturing out to exert his will upon the closest of her henchmen to her – Henri dropped down on him from above, both blades biting deep as his feet smashed into the demonic Vanderboren’s back. The guide kicked off in midair, sending the Vanderboren down, out of control, even as the once-man’s wings spread wide to break his fall and Vanthus spun in midair to strike at the one who’d attacked him. No one was there. He almost managed to reach the ground before Rose smashed into him with her full weight behind an extended foot, nearly breaking his breastbone with the impact. His blades lashed across her ironwood plating, drawing sap-like fluid, but he snarled as the poison on his blades proved, of course, to be useless. Her answering spin-kick nearly tore open his arm before the too-heavy-to-be-so-graceful Forged danced away, moving with a speed every bit as dazzling as his own. Then Henri was there at his side, standing right next to him, looking sharply away. Vanthus instinctively followed the line of his sight as the half-breed drove his bigger opponent down out of the air, and only acute paranoia saved the former noble from instant death as the blade driving up under his guard for his throat in a masterful feint was evaded with a desperate backwards jump, hissing hotly along the side of his neck. He lashed out with supernatural speed in retaliation…and found himself striking empty air once more. His sister’s lunge caught him by surprise, as did the determined rage on her face, striking his flank before retreating with magical speed beyond the lashing reach of his blades and stabbing tail and the furious flurry of his wings. Incensed, he threw himself forwards, a blur of motion of scimitar and sickle and multiple limbs, enjoying the expression on her face as she saw death coming at her – His weaponry rang on ironwood limbs as abruptly she was no longer there. The Forged smashed aside his weapons with a flurry of limbs every bit as quick as his own blades, uncomplaining of the strikes that bit through her armor and the thick wooden hide growing upon her, and he could feel the unnatural power and strength suffusing her limbs as she slammed his attacks aside and began her own offensive. Vanthus backpedaled with wild yet sure grace, feeling the heavy impact of those wooden fists and the power behind them, and wanting nothing to do with full contact. His sister’s rapier neatly pierced his left shoulder, and he almost lost his sickle, and barely escaped being drawn into what was certain to be a killer embrace on the Forged’s madly spiked, no, thorned, body. With a curse so deep it seemed the very air blackened about his mouth, he nearly took his sister’s eye out with a lash of his tail, making her stumble back in shock as his wings beat once in time with a sudden jump, to send him arcing atop the sea wall. One of the nearby archers didn’t get away fast enough, and died almost instantly to a backhand lash of the serrated longsword in his hand. He ignored the pitiful volley of arrows that bounced off of him, wavering on his feet, watching instead his hand open and release his scythe limply as it dangled there, too numbed from the blows that had come smashing in upon him to retain his grip. The Dwarven Raven was there for his sister, muttering a spell to banish the poison and close the wound on her face as he helped her keep her feet. That explained all the crocodiles… “Oh, very well done, sister,” he purred, his scarlet eyes glowing with a hellish light. “A surprising defense…I most certainly did not expect it of you. Certainly much more energy then our dear departed parents mustered when I burned them alive!” If he expected his statement or the inhuman laughter to faze her, he instead found himself surprised as she straightened to her full height and pointed her rapier at him, her bodyguards drawing in about her. “Old news, thing that was once my brother. Perhaps you should save your witty comebacks and dramatic revelations for your death gurgle, instead!” Vanthus snarled, inhumanly deep and loud, a sound that could never be made by a human throat. His left hand had lost its strength, but not all its nimbleness, as he slid two bloody fingers into the purse at his waist and lifted out the contents to show her, smiling with victory. “Ah, dear, dear sister mine, I shall remember those last words of yours, as you and all you’ve done become nothing more then savages and ruins!” His wrist started to move, to fling the great dark pearl down – And a shortsword clattered loudly and harmlessly to the ground at his feet. Vanthus blinked. Almost stared. Then looked down to see the tattoed warrior at his sister’s elbow idly tossing a black sphere from one hand to the other opposite a twin to the blade at his feet, juggling them deftly. Henri shrugged apologtically. “I’d look out if I were you.” Vanthus stared in disbelief. How had – impossible – and then he followed the man’s eyes upwards. Prince came down emphatically, driving the fallen heir right into the stone, which decided it had rather had enough abuse, and crumbled under the impact and weight. That didn’t help Vanthus at all, of course, as weight and claws combined to crush him flat, smear him bloodily across the sundered stones, and then rend him into pulped and bloody pieces beneath the sprawling mass of dinosaur atop him. The last two clusters of desperately fighting pirates, ringed by double and triple rows of spears, were shocked by the abrupt and complete demise of their leader, slain by a dinosaur falling out of the sky. Prince, his torso’s armor ripped away and slashed by a dozen ugly wounds from the claws of the vrock, surged to his feet and let out a trumpeting bellow of triumph to the skies at his victory. The first fireball detonated into the middle of the pirates in solemn counterpoint, ending any notions of surrender quickly as half of them died instantly to the fiery blast, yet the flames didn’t quite reach the spears of the defenders at all. The second knot had only a few seconds to realize their fate and surge forwards in a desperate breakout, impaling themselves on the spears in their frenzy to be free of the trap…and the second fireball came slamming down to reduce the majority of them to ash and charred bone. Up above, Eshe looked over the mass of the battlefield, the beach a mess of bloody bodies, entangling plant growths, trampled corpses, and other things, nodding once. All that remained was to secure the ships, whose crews were either dead or belowdecks, seeking cover from the phanatons in the cliffs to either side. She lifted the rod in her hand, a minor illusion making it flash once, and with shrill, whooping cries, the phanatons launched themselves from the sides of the cliff, glider membranes spreading out to send them descending expertly across the waters and onto the masts, yardarms, netting and other high points of the pirate ships. Expertly holding on with prehensile hind feet, their bows were drawn out again to cover the soldiers heading for the boarding nets, Threk leading the way from the air. His means of getting them to come out from below was simple. Prince, the worst of his injuries dealt with by Rose, raised a taloned foot and drove it down on the deck, punching though the thick timbers right above the main hallway where the pirates were waiting to make their stand. They gawked at a full hand of metal driven right through the timbers of the main deck from his cutting claw. “Come up and die like men with blades in hand,” the Urukhar stated coldly. “The next step he takes is with both feet and his full weight, and you get to die like mice under his heel.” He gave them marks for bravery. They came up, one after another, and they died like men to the blades of Tolin, Threk’s axe, Henri’s short swords, Lord Meravanchi’s or Amella’s rapiers, and Rose’s fists. One tried to leap for it, and a dozen arrows impaled him before he managed to clear the deck towards the water below. Repeated several times, the ships soon were theirs. -------------------------------------------- Eshe’s spell of mass healing rippled out all about her, the area of the magic’s effect expanded greatly by the silvery disk beneath her. She was standing on a platform on a raised plinth, while below her a concave pit had been dug out, the wooden lid normally covering it pulled aside, and double layers of wounded men in bunks and beds were there, waiting for her to arrive. The more urgently needy men were on the ground level parallel to her, with yet others more lightly injured actually sitting high on rope swings, or crowding on the floor, all trying to get within the clearly marked line of the effect surrounding the pit and the disk she stood on. The spell rippled out in a wash of golden light, playing over the wounded. Even the most gravely injured gasped and moaned softly as the light seemed to coalesce upon their wounds, and their insides seemed to hum and churn and bubble with renewed energy and vigor. Eshe watched the healing magic quickly begin to seal up the injuries of the fighting men, closing scars, banishing burns, restoring lost blood, skin, muscle and minor flesh. It could bring back a knuckle’s worth of finger, but not an entire one…a tooth, but not an eye…limitations that she could deal with in time, and with more power. But, with one spell, she effectively banished the injuries of over two score wounded and more, to the amazement and great appreciation of the priest and healers who were in attendance. Men and women who had been near death felt their gashes and punctures slowly seal up, the threads and bandages holding them together pushed firmly out of the way, muscles knit and skin seal and tendons reform and nerves link back up, and in mere minutes most of them were standing, thanking the healers and especially the Maga Eshe profusely, awed by the power of the magic she had unleashed that had done what might have needed days, weeks, or months to recover from. Eshe waved away their praises, calmly noting that she was doing one of the primary jobs expected of a Wolf spellcaster. --------------------------- “No prisoners were taken because no prisoners were taken. Do you truly think you could cause such bastards as those to fear you more then the likes of their Captain…or the Scalefolk?” Threk idly gestured at the only intact Yuan-ti skull they’d recovered from the last ship, which had never quite managed to join the battle, nor been able to escape a flying dinosaur and rider and maga come to claim it. It was a source of amusement that the only ship not to reach the engagment was the one that had sustained the worst damage. “They would have mutinied, taken back the ship, and put you to the sword. The few fools on the last ship are still almost too terrified of what the serpent folk did to tell us much. “I think you’ll find a lot of Olman willing to volunteer to serve as sailors, sir. They’ve quite a talent for the sea. I’d like to see you and Miss Amella get at least two vessels heading back to Sasserine with full loads, and a third would be helpful…Oldavin could captain that one, for at least one voyage.” Threk had obviously put some thought into this. Manthalay sighed, but his outrage over the loss of potential crew was merely a starting point. “What manner of cargo are we talking about?” In the last few weeks since their victory over the Crimson Fleet, animosity between his followers and those of Lady Vanderboren had dwindled to almost nothing, helped along by their mutual victory and a distinct lack of animosity displayed by the displaced nobleman. “We’re expanding both the logging camps and stepping up work on the finer hardwoods. The phanaton have a natural talent for wood carving and fitting, even if they are somewhat erratic as workers. The Olman are not civilized workers, either, but they are extra labor and they are willing to learn. The victory has helped cement trade relations, and Rose has been working closely with them on securing more of the more profitable spices, and perhaps trying to cultivate them.” “And the animal trade?” the nobleman asked carefully, and Threk frowned. “As long as it doesn’t impact the breeding population, we’ll be able to scare up some of the more colorful avians and smaller reptiles. Rose doesn’t mind much, since she believes a decent number of them will ‘escape’ and settle into the forest about Sasserine, and the trade will slowly die off in time. As for larger specimens…this is probably not a good time to start that kind of trade. There are security issues with the transport, and sparing men to hunt for dangerous predators when they can be engaged in more constructive work is not a good goal at this time.” The Meravanchi grit his teeth – the rare beast trade was highly profitable. Phanatons alone could probably command a princely sum as curiosities in the slave trade, but that was something he knew would be a death sentence from the Wolves, and a dire betrayal of their arrangement with the new Phanaton colony here. “I notice you have still been improving the defenses and the security of the town, despite our victory.” Eshe had been erecting newer, higher stone walls in a new ring well outside the current living area, slowly drawing a new arc day by day around Farshore that could be converted into a larger settlement. Indeed, the first streets and plots were laid out already. The Wolves were planning ahead for new settlers, and there was a great deal of land to be claimed and cleared to what hopefully would be the start of a larger settlement. Threk was silent a moment, his bloody eyes dipping slightly. His jaw worked a moment, and the nobleman realized that Threk was pondering exactly how much to tell him. “I believe you are lucky,” the Urukhar finally admitted, and managed to surprise the nobleman. “Farshore’s security issues have not gotten easier with the demise of the Crimson Fleet. Indeed, I believe they may have gotten worse.” That was indeed a sobering thought. “Have you discovered something? The troglodyte tunnels, perhaps?” The pitched battle fought against the stinking Scalefolk in their network of caves had been hardfought and hardwon, but the spoils and sense of righteous victory coming out of it had only enhanced the camaraderie and drive of the joint military force. It was well known that the Wolves had plumbed some of the deeper caverns, and not said much upon their return. “The tunnels…they were OLD, Meravanchi. Very old. Millenia…and carved not by giants, or elves, or anything human. And they went down…down farther then we wished to go…” “Khyber?” Manthalay breathed out, suddenly seeing a very real cause for concern. “Yes, we believe so. Eshe has gone back to block the tunnels…repeatedly…and set some long term alarms to let us know if they are breached. “The Crimson are dealing with a brotherhood of the Snake-folk…we identified identical tattoos on the corpse of each one, indicating a clan or family unit, and at least some form of rank. The Crimson also do a great deal of raiding in and around Stormreach, particularly of Riedran vessels. As any fleet that works the seas of Xen’Drik must, they have relations with the sahaugin, the shark-men. “The Olman have few tales to speak of the Sahaugin here…which is extremely curious. As either raiders or traders, contact with them should be fairly regular, and the Olman should either fear the seas greatly, or be in regular contact with the sahaugin…unless there is something here in the local waters that is either strong enough to keep the shark-men at bay, or is something fearful enough and sleeping that the sharkfolk don’t want to risk waking it and incur its wrath. “Regardless, they are soon going to know that the Crimson failed here…and the presence of additional surface dwellers might well mean that whatever undersea powers dwell here might well be weakened enough for the sharkmen to establish a footing…and any tribe friendly to the Crimson is highly unlikely to be friendly to us or the Olman.” Threk’s knuckles cracked loudly as he flexed them, looking away again, composing his thoughts. The Meravanchi found himself intrigued by the breadth of the half-orc’s insight and ability to plan. His speech might have seemed rough and pretentious, given his accent and background, but he was no fool, and startlingly careful. “The presence of a single Khyber-hole wouldn’t deter me so much, as with enough raw violence to the stone, it could be plugged. I am more disturbed by the influence of Khyber, and darker realms, upon the main island itself…and the attention it is attracting,” Threk finally admitted. “Your scouting expeditions with Master Henri.” The two warriors, with some phanaton guides and the allosaur Prince, took regular expeditions into the interior of the Isle, resulting in an ever more detailed map, one which he had marveled over from whence it floated in the council chamber of the Vanderboren manse, a room colloquially now known as the ‘Wolves’ Den’. “Yes. We have seen a great number of creatures in the jungles there that, simply put, do not belong there. Great spider constructs, normally seen only on Shavarath. Mutate animals, twisted by the touch of Khyber or fell planes, and plants warped and wild. There are true demons out there, demons which should be bound to Khyber, or native to other realms, creatures we were lucky to see afore they saw us. We have had to ward our very thoughts to prevent detection by these creatures…it appears that the ancient Fane polluted by demonic power we encountered on our trip here was not a fluke, but instead an almost common occurrence…” Thick fingers drummed on the table as he went on slowly. “We investigated a fallen temple dedicated by the rakasta, a legendary race of catfolk believed to dwell upon the island some time ago. Instead, we found a couatl.” Manthalay’s breath hissed out as he recognized the name of the holy serpent, most celebrated by those who clung to the Silver Flame. “He yet protected the temple out of ancient obligation to the rakasta, who he advised and raised from savagery…until they were slaughtered, annihilated by their demented kinfolk, who dwell in the ruins at the very heart of the Island. Ruins, Henri assures me, which have very strong bonds to Khyber, and other, fell places. We retrieved the belongings of the rakasta with the blessings of the rainbow servant, who felt his duty discharged and departed after gifting us with his name. I do not know whether to be delighted or worried to know that there is a very powerful race of Khyber-spawn at the heart of the Island…although I believe I have already seen one, guarding our ship and claiming it as a lair from where it was beached. “The Riedrans are also here, and in some numbers.” “Riedrans!” Manthalay did not know whether to be shocked or delighted…the glance sent at him assured him the latter was the better principle. “What are they doing here?” “Exploring. Looking for clues as to what befell the ancient civilization here. Not only is such knowledge power, it may provide a clue for what caused the Mourning. They are also attempting to kill anyone they come across. Thrice we came across their explorers, and each time they attacked us instantly upon sensing our presence. We did manage to track them back to their vessel, and Henri’s infiltration revealed that they are exploring the savage island to our south. Apparantly, they didn’t know we actually had managed to sustain a colony here. “Given their extreme reactions to us, and our distance from Khorvaire, and their empirical arrogance from their settlement in Xen’Drik, we may well be facing an almost overpowering Riedran invasion, if not forced annexation, unless we can clearly and forcefully demonstrate our strength to them. Even then, I anticipate they will attempt infiltration and subversion, perhaps by trying to add in a ‘trade representative’ here.” “And lastly, there is the matter of the Pearl.” Meravanchi leaned forwards, very interested now. “Yes, the Pearl, a very dangerous thing, it’s been rumored. You’ve hidden it from everyone with questions about it, despite our protests.” “It is the Mourning in a fist. It is death.” Threk’s voice was flat and his stare was chilling. “We saw what it made of the men in a pirate base just south of Sasserine, what it did to the very beasts, some of the plants…turning them all into savage, mutated, twisted Things, mad with bloodlust, driven to destroy, frenzied with pain and hate and rage…” The Urukhar, scarred and grim, shuddered as his eyes took on a haunted look. “Rose later tried to determine how great an area the thing had affected, by taking note of the birds, especially, and where none were nesting. “If that Pearl breaks, everything and everyone within nearly two kliks of it will get turned into a slavering, maddened, murdering beast, save a lucky few. Everything unaffected will be the first frenzied prey of those who are. Farshore would have drowned in blood and horror had he managed to drop the Pearl…I doubt any of us would have gotten out of there alive.” The Meravanchi swallowed as that haunted stare met his. “The Mourning. Held in your hand,” he whispered. “That is not the worst part.” Threk closed his eyes. “This is the second such Pearl that we have seen, that the traitorous Vanthus has seen. The first, was near Sasserine. From the explanation given by the sole surviving pirate there, it activated by accident. I believe it was supposed to be detonated in Sasserine, proper.” Manthalay found his mouth going dry. “And now, we find that the verminous wretch of a brother had another one. Intact. Presumably given to him, and one he was unafraid to use, after his blasphemous transformation. “And if he had one, a murdering bastard who could not have been with the Crimson Fleet long, who might else have procured one, where did they get them from, and where are they sending them?” Captain Threk closed his eyes, allowing the pale-faced nobleman to recover and ponder those words. “Exactly how many Pearls are out there?” “That Pearl is now embedded in stone some two paces deep, awaiting the arrival of the General or Lady Hazé to study it more closely. No one is going to touch or use it until then; the danger is far, far too great.” Lord Manthalay Meravanchi nodded slowly, agreeing with that assessment. “You have…many things to worry about, Captain Threk,” he noted, unable to think of anything witty at such a time as this. Threk’s eyes snapped open, and suddenly there was a fire there, a blazing anger that was not going to be quenched by mere remembered horrors, or the promise of future ones. “And this means I need to train you a fine crew, so that you can be strong for the voyage home. I must build the strength of the Olman, and of Farshore. I have to see the resources expanded, our reserves established and deepened, and the people made ready to face an attack that most certainly is going to come some time, from some direction. “Are you ready to do your part, Lord Meravanchi?” the Urukhar challenged him, staring, daring him to back down. His blood rising, Manthalay responded without thinking. “Show me where the Crimson bastards are, and I’ll put them to the sword, demons and all!” “A fine start!” Threk agreed fiercely, leaning forwards. “Now, let us discuss what you are going to need to make that long trip back home…and what you need to bring back with you.” ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-10-07, 12:53 AM	Aaaand another 13 pages of Word. heh. Next up, a write up on Prince. Dang, for a DC 22 Will save, an intelligent dinosaur trained for fighting can become really, really nasty! ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-10-07, 01:04 AM	Prince NG Huge Magical Beast (awakened Allosaurus) Init: +6 Senses: Low Light Vision, Scent Listen +17; spot +17 AC: 18 (touch 12, flat footed 16), up to 27 (flat footed 25) with Improved Mage armor and Barkskin +3, Ring of Protection +1 HP: 150 (12d10 +84) SAVES: Fort: +14 Reflex: +10 Will: +10 Speed: 55 feet Melee: Bite + 22 (3d8 +9), +2 claws +17 (1d6+5) Space: 15 feet Reach: 15 feet Base Attack: +12 Base Grapple: +29 Attack Options: Improved Grab (bite); Rake +22 (2d8+5) x2 Special Attacks: swallow whole (size M or smaller); Trample 1d8+13 Abilities: Str: 28 Dex: 14 Con: 22 Int: 14 Wis: 15 Cha: 11 Feats: Improved Initiative; Dash; Improved Toughness; Track; Improved Natural Attack (bite) Skills: Listen +17, Spot +17; Intimidate +19 (uses Str); Swim +14; Mounted +10; Read Languages +2 (Common, Sylvan); Jump +24 Possessions: Crude brass Necklace of Sustenance (No need to eat/drink; Needs only 2 hours/sleep), Bracers of Magic Fang +1, Good; Shifting tattoes; optional Plate Mail Barding; Warclaws (claw attack, as one size larger) of cold iron; Dewclaws of Cold Iron (feet); Ring of Protection +1 Rake: Prince can bring his rear claws into play on any round he begins grappling a foe (or when flying, since he doesn’t need them to stand on then!). His massive rear claws are usually sheathed in cold iron with a minor anti-rusting enchantment, and count as cold iron for purposes of DR or Regeneration, but are not increased in damage. Swallow Whole: See MM II, p. 70. Note that Prince doesn’t particularly like to swallow sentients anymore, and this is more a ‘permanent disposal’ method then an attack form. Especially since sentients tend to wear a lot of metal (and possibly magic), he’s likely to regurgitate someone swallowed after they are dead. Trample: Reflex half, DC of 24. DC is Strength based. Notes: The Shifting Tattoos on Prince allow him to shift his coloration in either bizarre or camouflage patterns, serving both as a means to identify him on sight (he makes a prominent Wolf emblem on his chest, and flame-red, gold and silver patterns on his hide) or to hide more effectively (+8 circumstance bonus to Hide Checks when not moving in areas of heavier vegetation). The bonus to Hide checks can be further enhanced with the aid of others, and Prince is a natural hunter, and very patient, adept at not moving for very long periods of time (able to take 20 on Hide and Move Silently checks). Scent/Tracking: Prince uses his Spot modifier for his tracking modifier due to his keen sense of smell and animal instincts. Warbeast Template: In addition to the changes made by his Awakening, most of Prince’s XP has gone into training and retraining to make full use of his natural gifts. Thus, his feats are somewhat different from a ‘natural’ allosaur, and he has the ‘Warbeast’ template, which effectively grants him an Elite Array of Physcial Ability Scores. (15, 14, 13, or Str+4, Con+4, Dex +2) and +2 to his Natural AC. His Run feat was replaced with Dash, which makes him more nimble in normal combat and for long term travel, if not for short run bursts. He can wear armor in the form of custom barding, but prefers the ease of an Improved Mage Armor spell, and a Barkskin spell if Rose is around. He also has the full amount of skills suitable for a Magical Beast with a 14 Int (a ‘lucky roll’, as it were). His additional Stat Raise at 12 HD was put into his Con Score, raising it to 22. At 16 HD, he will raise his Wisdom. Prince’s Bracers of Magic Fang +1, Good make all his natural attacks both Magical and Good Aligned. As a side effect, all his claws and teeth are a gleaming, extremely clean ivory white, regardless of surrounding conditions or how much battle he has been in. When stalking, he naturally keeps his mouth shut, and his claws are normally covered anyways. Prince’s Necklace of Sustenance frees him completely from the need to eat and drink, and effectively gives him limitless amounts of energy, meaning he doesn’t have to conserve energy between meals like a normal allosaur (he can still become fatigued and the like). This, and his almost non-existent need for sleep, have made him quite the roamer and energetic traveler, ideally suited for patrols. He still likes to eat, and looks forwards to growing ever larger and stronger as he ages, but most of his short-term growth is likely to be as a War Raptor. Prince’s Swim rate is 40, although he cannot make a Run move while swimming. His massive tail is extremely useful for propelling him through the water, and he greatly enjoys the taste of fresh fish, a delicacy he seldom, if ever, had while a wild carnivore. Prince has received a great deal of training with attacking while airborne, particularly with bringing his massive rear claws into play. If coming down onto an opponent from above (such as jumping on them) or while flying, he has no impediments to bringing his rear claws into play immediately, while on the ground he has to establish a hold first. He particularly enjoys slamming down onto something from above, combining a Trample with two Rakes with the full force of a charge action. Although only Threk and Rose are likely to have noticed it, and possibly the phanatons, Prince smells faintly of roses, a side effect of his Awakening. The Mounted skill is the obverse of the Ride skill. Prince can make a Mounted Check for a trained rider against an attack roll to negate a single hit per round against his rider. He can add his Mounted skill synergy (+3) to a rider’s Ride skill to allow a Rider to Mount or Dismount as a free action. Prince retains all of his knowledge from his time as an animal, although his perspectives have of course shifted enormously. Thus, he knows a large amount of the southern area of the island, and is actually familiar with a wide range of the inhabitants…but he doesn’t know how to describe them in proper context, since his impressions of them were more of fight/flight/food/danger then ‘huge spiderlike thing with cleavers on the front feet…’ Prince makes his Intimidate checks with his Str score rather then his Charisma, taking the form of a massive roar of challenge that can be heard for miles. He applies his size modifiers if appropriate. He is also learning to modulate his roar to be useful as something like a hunting horn, and can make it almost melodious. His natural voice is extremely deep and sonorous, and rather mellow and thoughtful. While not a particularly good singer, he certainly is loud and enthusiastic enough for twenty men. Long conversations with the Wolves during the long night hours has given him a remarkable understanding of ‘civilized culture’, and the training and teamwork Threk in particular has done with him shown him how beings can work in tandem and develop together. He has a secret desire to see the great Talentan Plains where the halflings have been dwelling with dinosaurs for thousands of years. Prince is a rapid favorite of the phanaton communities, who love his shifting tattoos and crawling all over a massive predator who isn’t going to eat them. They also are happy to scrub him down and buff his scales if he wants them to. Prince prefers to have a phanaton or two riding with him as scouts…he scarcely notices the weight, appreciates the extra set of eyes, and their natural stealth allows them to scout ahead of him so that he might surprise their enemies. Prince is a part of Eshe’s War Weaver Web as the 5th character. Although he doesn’t have a Pack Ring, he has learned to recognize the common spells she sends through the link, especially his favorite, Fly…although he likes Haste, Bull’s Strength, Improved Mage Armor, and Improved Invisibility, as well. A timely cure is always appreciated (usually taking the form of a Vigor Spell once battle is done). Prince’s size and strength allow him to carry and drag a massive amount of weight ( he can carry 1600 lbs as a light load). Although he doesn’t particularly like being used as a beast of burden, pitching in and using his great strength to help doesn’t bother him, although he’d rather be out patrolling and fighting. Prince’s biggest dream is being able to kick the crap out of a Tyrannosaur. He has very sour memories of being chased away from kill after kill by the bigger dinosaurs, and payback would be both sweet and confirmation of his own superior status. In the meantime, watching Threk drive a heavy lance into the heart of one will have to do. ==Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-11-07, 10:00 PM	Just some spacing. ==Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-11-07, 10:17 PM	The Rising of Farshore, The Interlude Threk blinked, and his surprise went right through the Pack ring to the rest of the party, scattered as they might be. “My apologies for the visit, Captain Threk. I steal what time I can get when I can get it, and I thought it high time that a personal visit was in order.” “Great Lady.” Threk saluted as formally as he could, given the dusty and dirty state of his armor. “My apologies for my appearance, I’ve just returned from a training run through the deeper woods for the new recruits, and –“ Hazé negligently waved her hand, and Threk tensed as a, well, rather delightful flaming sensation started on the weathered soles of his feet, burning its way all the up to the roots of his hair and particularly tickling his earhairs and nostrils. Sweat and grime burned away, his armor gleamed, the pores on his skin opened up, and he found himself relaxing so abruptly he almost fell over. He caught himself with a scowl of discipline, and her eyes danced mischievously at having put him off his center. She inclined her head at the chair next to her, and he hastened to comply despite himself. With a pop! of displaced air, Henri was in attendence, having scooped up Rose somewhere along the way, and Eshe slid along the dimensions into presence only a heartbeat later. All were waved to seats, and he got to see the violet flame dance up all of them to remove any concerns about appearance or personal odor…although Rose’s wildflower aroma soon filled the air headily, drawing an appreciative sniff from the great Khorovari. “I see you’ve been doing a remarkable amount of exploring. Master Henri’s doing?” she asked graciously, waving a hand at the detailed holographic map floating over the table above a projecting crystal. The other Witchmarked blushed furiously at the recognition. “It hasn’t all been afoot, as should be proper…some aerial drawing of borders, observations from high points, and the like,” he hastened to add, and she lifted a single finger and silenced him as effectively as a muzzle. “An excellent job. Probably the finest map that exists of the Island and its environs. I realize you have a great deal more to do, and the haze of details on the innermost parts of the island suggests prudent caution about the forces that are still lurking there.” Henri’s blush went even brighter, and she caught Threk’s questioning look. “Yes, Captain, I’m aware that there is a formidable presence about the island. It has kept away the sahaugin, and, I believe, it dealt with the sole brood-fiend that was dispatched to this island during the end of the Worms conflict. My spells indicate that a fiend was indeed sent here, and it died somewhere in the center of this island. Any force which could take one down is not to be underestimated.” Threk’s and Henri’s eyes met…they had been debating a reconnaissance further into the interior, and mutually made the decision that such was probably not a good idea…yet. “Demonic influence, Lady, a tremendous amount for such a small place,” Rose spoke up from her seat next to Henri. “Their incidence rises the closer one gets to the center of the island, especially among the animals, and the more savage dinosaurs. And from what I could discern from the few trails we attempted to follow, it seems the younger ones exit the central regions in a fairly steady flow…born of tainted ones, possibly, but the blood is too strong. Given what the Land tells me, and Master Henri’s observations, I believe that they are being brought directly here at regular intervals.” Hazé lifted an eyebrow and looked to Eshe. “The Demogorgon is active here.” This was news to the others, but Eshe knew it was her job to reveal her best guess as the Wolf Weaver on site. “Our initial contact with demonic influence centered around a shrine dedicated to him, with an animated statue in his likeness that was the center of power. The servant demons are also known minions of his – he prefers the more primitive, bestial forms of demonkind, with an affinity for primal jungles and savage seas. He is also credited with the development of the spider-constructs called Retrievers, and we have seen no less then four of such things as we’ve penetrated the jungle, along with toadlike hezrou and more of the apish bar-Igura.” “The presence of a couatl here on an active basis would virtually confirm the presence of a powerful Lord of Dust. The Demogorgon itself…yes, that would fit all the details, such as the nature of the Black Pearls.” Her golden eyes at once darkened and brightened, a startling effect. “I understand you managed to capture one intact?” “It awaits you here.” Threk clearly pictured the location of the entombed thing in his mind, touching his forehead, and felt gentle, yet almost searingly powerful thoughts caress his mind for just an instant, stifling a gasp at the sensation. “I will retrieve it promptly, and inform you of what I learn. Your report and conjectures dovetail nicely with the facts you have presented…we have already warned certain parties to be aware of their existence, but such items, of small size and destructive potential, are the worst dream of any security agency. The only way to be sure we have stopped them is to cut them off at the source.” Threk almost breathed a sigh of relief. “The General is -?” he began hopefully, and watched her shake her head. “Marcus,” she began, the only person Threk had ever heard dare to refer to the General by his first name, “is otherwise occupied with a threat every bit as broad as these Pearls, and considerably more subtle. There is also still the clean up from the Wormdeath still ongoing, which takes rather more time then any of us would like to devote to it, but no other power seems to be taking the faintest interest in doing so, and so it falls to us. “And if by now you have not figured out that the reason you are all here is to stop this threat once and for all, you have not grasped the significance of having a Witchmarked among your number.” Her dazzling smile fair made to liquify Henri where he sat. “This, then, is a threat that might prove as deadly as the Wormgod?” Eshe breathed, her dark eyes lighting up at the thought. “Perhaps not so mystically important, and instigated by a being, not an alignment of cosmic forces beyond our ken…but every bit as important to the folk of Khorvaire, at the least.” Hazé steepled her fingers knowingly, golden eyes momentarily affixed on some point in midair. “There are several forces moving here, it would seem, but the two most important are the Riedrans, and the Lords of Dust.” Her eyes dipped back down to Threk. “How effective have you been at eradicating the Sarlonan presence here?” Threk spread his huge hands apologetically. “I have no means of observing all the approaches to the island. In the southern jungle and along the coast, the phanatons have been of great help, and have actually killed a pair of the parties themselves after witnessing their reactions to us, and word given them by their observers. Their main base seemed to be on the wild island to the south west of us, and while it seemed we surprised them with our arrival and the ruthlessness of our attack, we might well have missed a team or two when we scoured the place. I can truthfully say we’ve cut their influence and forces down significantly in the south, but I have no knowledge of the north…which, I believe, the Crimson have somewhat more grasp on.” He indicated the point of light where Henri had observed a sheltered bay on a northern island…one of the staging points the Crimson Fleet under Vanderboren had stopped at, and confirmed by the ex-pirate Lefty. “You may wish to start a further investigation into the Pearls there, but with some care. I will not direct you…the nature of the Witchmarked is to get hurled into the path of oncoming disaster, so I’ve a feeling that whatever road you take will, in the end, result in the appropriate set of circumstances to generate a great deal of violent disagreement with nefarious individuals.” “An adventure novel aborning? Perhaps I should be taking notes?” Eshe mused aloud. Lady Hazé grinned, clapped her hands together, spread them wide, and everyone blinked as a half score of weighty volumes was suddenly between her hands, thumbing loudly onto the table. “Notes are very good things, and it is MOST annoying when I reread Chapter One of my life and find, to my disgust, that my memory gets jogged about some utterly insignificant thing happening that is blooming into utter disaster beneath my nose today...or bore a sweet fruit that was completely unintentional. Feh!” She clapped her hands together, the books vanishing as abruptly as they’d come. “Now then, I’ll not be directing your future for you, nor will I be putting in a direct hand. You do not want the weight of the things that Marcus or I have to deal with spilling over on you. Thus, you will have to deal with much of this yourselves…not that I won’t try to help in somewhat more subtle ways. But do not expect the Stormwolf to come sweeping in to destroy your enemies…that kind of heavy hand will attract all manner of attentions you simply do not want. “Your requests for aid at a more practical level to aid the colony I can handle. Moreover, the reliability of the shipping to and from Farshore needs to be established and become entrenched. I’ll be exerting some mild unluck for those with plans on interdicting your first trade convoy, to insure it reaches your home ports, and there should be little shortage of extra colonists once word starts getting out. I can easily sneak in a squad of older Wolves nearing retirement age who’d like to have a go at raising a family…and who can take over routine military duties here, freeing up your time for the island itself. Several levels of professionals can be inserted among the colonists to get the quality levels and profits of the colony up to standards. “I am also going to be talking to the Olman chieftains.” That roused their curiosity. “It is entirely likely that Farshore will be receiving continual influxes of new residents, to the number of up to a thousand a year or more.” The four looked at one another with some dismay. “Yes, this colony is not laboring under the extreme threat level that Stormreach is, and the profitability of the lifestyle is sure to draw some interest among the war-weary and independent. The trouble that follows on this is that it also draws the opportunistic and the Empire-builders. “The most secure part of the island is that already settled and largely tamed by the Olman. It is quite clear from your reports that the Olman are simply not equipped to deal with a modern military force intent on conquering them, and indeed, they would make a fairly ideal labor caste because of their inability to revolt properly. They also must realize that a continual influx of Khorvaireans, and the raw numbers where we come from, mean that, in the end, their defeat is certain. “I am going to inform them of certain steps that need to be taken among the tribes if they wish to retain their grip on their homeland. I will be speaking with the Phanaton as well…they are also in tremendous danger, perhaps because their trust in you has been wholly justified, and the unscrupulous will wish to play on that trust. Material aid is unlikely to either…but knowledge is, as ever, the finest weapon one can have, played properly.” “That is…extremely generous of you, Lady Hazé,” Threk agreed, rather impressed despite himself. “May I assume the General does not wish to annex Farshore as part of his long-term plans?” Hazé smiled again, that flash of white that seemed to light up the whole room. “Captain Threk, he already has, with the full support of the inhabitants. He is simply doing it how it was meant to be done, and not at the point of swords and the grasp of flame.” She spread her hands meaningfully. “Do you not feel like great conquerors?” Her golden eyes sparkled in appreciation. Even Rose’s flowers seemed to blush as the truth of that sank home. “Yes, you have conquered hearts instead of bodies. Magnificently done. Continue at this pace, and you will soon have a great kingdom of your own!” Her golden eye gave them a knowing wink as she leaned forwards, and a stylus and paper winked into view in her hands. “Now then, to particulars. Tell me all that you wish to have return on your ships, and I’ll endeavor to see as much of it is miraculously available as possible. And give me a very good idea of the cargoes, and let’s see how much of a manipulator I can be in squeezing out the maximum amount of profits for it all.” Her conspiratorial tones and mischievous smile was all that was needed to draw them in with playful enthusiasm, as Wolves and Lady started bandying about information, data, logistics and other onerously dreary topics with rather a surprising amount of laughter and good humor. --------------------------- Three months later… Henri watched the three ships vanish into the distance. Two of Lady Vanderboren’s Jade Ravens were going with the convoy…the elf Oldavin, dreadfully chipper at heading back to civilization, and bemused Teslikaria, convinced to ride along to bring the convoy luck (bound to happen, and sure to enhance her ego, he mused) and insure they had a competent spellcaster along with them. The holds were full of spices, hardwoods both carved and not, ivory, a plethora of colorful birds and reptiles, barrels of preserved fruits and liquors (one of Meravanchi’s brainstorms, and the rumworks were being expanded now in anticipation of much future business), sugars, Olman art, and even some of the ancient statuettes and things the Wolves had picked up in their careful explorations of the interior. It would be at least six months again before he saw Amella. A good woman, a good Captain…and highly likely to get involved with the elf, who was in incredibly high spirits and serving as First Mate. He didn’t gainsay her that…it was the way of those who traveled to seek companionship where they found it, at long distances from lovers and spouses. He would miss her, but he would welcome her on her return…and if his eye wandered discreetly along the way, well, things were bound to happen that way. He saw Tolin, the warrior among the Jade Ravens, ever more at Eshe’s elbow these days, looking a strange mix of alarmed, glum, and delighted at being brought to heel by the Wolf Weaver. Her raw magical ability was of course impressive, as was her failure to be charmed by his good looks. Not the brightest of people, it had become quickly apparent to everyone how he withered in her presence, until he had decided to actually do something about it and started serving with the military and getting some real Wolf training under his belt. Now that Meravanchi was gone, he was the second most competent warrior in Farshore…but a quiet aside from Threk that actual Wolves would probably be among the colonists returning was inspiring him to new dedication to his craft. His showy displays of swordsmanship had turned Eshe right off…Karrns were not Lhazaar, and wasted bravado came across as effete and weakness. Embarassment was as much a motivator as pride, and he had, with Lady Vanderboren’s blessings and no doubt impetus, made himself available as Threk’s second among the island military, and was proving almost competent by Wolf Standards. Threk was showing him the Karrnish glory of pure professionalism and skill, and it had caught hold as a subtler way to make his case. The Dwarf, Kiel, was often to be seen with Rose, the two of them conferring over the direction the island and its ecology would take. By agreement between the two, Kiel’s domain was the town, surrounding area and island of Farshore, in order of importance, freeing up Rose to pay more visits and attention to the Olman territories and prepare them for an influx of people, and look for threats thereto. Kiel was also starting to take some careful explorations into the wilder areas of the island with Rose, using his ability to change into animal forms to careful effect as he first heard of, then saw the very real dangers of the place for himself. He also had an almost addictive fancy for riding on Prince, which Henri, among many others, found very amusing, and was certain that the dwarf was looking to gain his own allosaur companion someday. The remaining two Crimson ships had been gifted to the Olman, who had been muchly impressed by such a gift. While there were a sizable number of Olman filling out the crews of the departed convoy, an Olman-only crew would enable them to make their own trades among their villages, their own explorations of the island in ways that their outrigger canoes simply did not allow. Of course, the training included spending a great deal of time in Farshore, learning the language of Khorvaire, the customs, as well as the ins and outs of sailing a vessel. Lefty the ex-Crimson , training a crew of former savages, was in his element, finding his calling in life as he’d never imagined he could…and being careful to steer away from talk of taking up the pirating trade again, of course. By the time the convoy returned, the Olman would perhaps be capable of sailing across the seas with their own cargo and profits to be made. Eshe’s magical talents were largely being put to use in mass construction. The second wall about the city was largely completed, and buildings were going up…buildings with stone foundations, the beginnings of a sewage and water supply, a water tower, ever-expanding stone streets, ditches and terraforming, rooms being cleared into the hillsides, the shape of the cove and harbor being solidified, lifts being erected and the docks extended out to aid in the unloading of ships instead of being forced to beach them, and all the like. She directed the crews working on construction projects and public works with the keen eye of a combat engineer applying her talents to civilian aims…and made her talents available to the Olman, too. Most of the Olman villages were now ringed by walls of stone, which helped keep out vermin and smaller predators, and the best of the huts and houses were raised on stone plinths, with carpentry skills from Khorvaire slowly making grounds over the traditional straw and bamboo homes of the natives. Eshe also went on explorations into the interior, particularly those excursions devoted to ambushing and destroying demonic creatures, and also spent a great deal of time working with the warbands training under Threk, familiarizing them with magic, what it could do, and applications of it. On top of all this, she soon found herself with a double handful of very eager Olman students, quietly supplied by the villages after their chieftains had the kind of talk with a ‘star-eyed goddess’ that none of them would ever forget, eager to develop their magical skills for the good of their people and nation. Few understood where she got the energy, but the coolly professional Wolf Weaver handled it all with remarkable aplomb and skill…and her reputation as a stern and unforgiving taskmistress preceded her from construction to warbands to magi wherever she went. Threk himself was also busy, endeavoring to build up a training program worthy of being called Wolves, while at the same time emphasizing the unique nature of the setting and backgrounds of those he was training. The Olman now outnumbered colonists almost three to one among his trainees, but the Olman had a unique culture, divided among fishers, crafters, hunters and farmers, and he had to divide his training regimen to maximize usage of their background and their gifts. The fishers, of course, were producing the maximum number of sailors and marines, and it was from them that he expected and received the highest amounts of discipline as they strove to be worthy of the great honor of being gifted with not one, but TWO of the great ships of the outlanders! He dearly wished Amella was still present to help with the training, but Lefty was doing a remarkable job, almost despite himself. The crafters, in addition to being shown that greatest of secrets, the precious knowledge of how to work metal, were being turned into his combat engineers, and were working most often with Eshe on ways to work the land, apply technology both crude and advanced to it, and made more and more familiar with math and the power of mechanical advantage. He was forging a mastery of defense among them, instilling in them a sense of scholastic advancement, and prodding them and Eshe’s ‘Weaverlings’ as those who safeguarded the future of their people, as the other clans would safeguard the present. The hunters and the farmers were those who were proudest to take after him, both claiming him as one of their own. From the hunters he claimed his sneaks, his scouts, his ‘stealthy bastards’, showing them how to make finer bows and arrows, and while they taught him the secrets of the island, he taught them the secrets of killing, of military ambush and tactics, of reading and assessing the enemy, and the pride of quiet service and skill in service to an ideal. From the farmers he drew the strong, the disciplined, the defenders, the men who would stand on the walls and not yield, who would pick up axe and spear and knife and defend shoulder to shoulder with their brothers. These were the ones taught traditional methods of the march, the formation, of shields and armor and how to hold and press a line. Men who could plow a straight line could march a straighter one, and men who could work all day could march or run all day if need be, too. Competition to get on his ‘blooding runs’ was fierce, even if some of those who went never came back. He first scoured the Riedrans from the Island of Black Teeth, as the Olman called it, and then progressively began to hunt the beasts that lived there, slowly clearing the island for settlement and not incidentally providing a lot of ivory and meat for his hunting men. These men were also the ones he drew his cavalry from. With Rose and Kiel’s help, it proved almost startlingly easy to capture, break, tame, and train two small companies of cavalry, one mounted on clawfoots, and the other on the great terror birds that had bedeviled them when they first set foot on the island. Numbers of these were kept small at first, of course, because of the problems of properly supplying large carnivores with enough food…but one look at a dozen wildly whooping Olmani warriors tearing across the land on great birds and reptiles was enough to make every warrior vie for the right to be one of the truly elite, especially when racing in a flying wing with the magnificent allosaur Prince leading them all. The riders made fine couriers, but that duty usually fell to the scouts, expected to be able to run all day and all night from village to village, keeping everyone informed of what was going on. Henri himself served with the scouts, the Olman thinking of him more as a great painted spirit then a man, what with his ability to move from place to place without being seen. His easy manner, but quiet and deadly competence, as well as his love of and ready supply of stories of the wonders of Khorvaire and their own native tales, set the tone for the entire group of would-be Fangs, and his high expectations of them were every bit as motivating as Threk’s. Naturally, he kept up his explorations. His ability to teleport easily encompassed the whole of the island, although he steered well clear of those areas with unstable dimensional zones. His job was to infiltrate, observe, report…not to fight. Still, if he could claim some knickknack with little risk, he would do so…and his continual phanaton escort made cheerfully good company, too. While he couldn’t teach the gift of his Mark, there was absolutely nothing that said he couldn’t pass it on…and there were a great number of Olmani women very interested in having children who had the power to blink about like spirits do. A fairly large number of said women were also suspiciously pregnant, among all the very large numbers of other Olmani women also expecting, and the number of liaisons among the natives and colonists was developing nicely, especially as the number of men among the colonists outnumbered the women almost three to one. Henri was perhaps quicker to realize just how widespread a phenomenon this was then any of the other settlers, but kept his thoughts to himself. Henri had managed a slight grimace at Hazé’s quiet directive to have a very large number of offspring among the Olmani, scattered as widely as possible. The power of Dragonmarks would give the tribe a definite advantage in the future, and in dealing with the Dragonmark-dominated economy of Khorvaire, when the time came. That it would suck them into the manipulations of the Prophecy was unavoidable, but her analogy of being included in the tide or swept away haplessly by it was something that resonated with him strongly…especially at the last thing he had learned from her before she departed. She had had a babe with her, and two young boys, both of them scarred, lean, both frightened and angry, attempting to hide their awe at this starry-eyed goddess who had taken them from their homes, and was now preparing to whisk them to a place far, far from their home. She had told him the date of the child’s birth, the time, down to the minute. Henri had looked down at the young girl-child, not even weaned, carried in the Khorovari’s arms, and felt his heart leap into his throat. She was Forsaken. He could feel the pull instantly, feeble as it was, but the tie to him was there. His heart wilted. “By the Host,” was all he could whisper, as he stared at the child whose Fate had been stolen from her, that he might be claimed by Siberys. His eyes fell on the boys…scarred by what looked like dinosaur attacks, one of them with a permanent limp, beaten and bruised the both of them. Children who had led difficult lives, underfed, isolated and friendless, probably orphaned, but still alive. “Yes,” Hazé had whispered to his silent question. “These simple people, who have known little to no magic for centuries, are prime for the making of the Forsaken.” She reached out and gently laid her hand on the curly hair of the older one, then the younger. “And their lack of fate has not been kind to them…it never is. The General is keenly interested in all of the Forsaken, and for me to find three of them here, among these tribes, is a jewel plucked from the river.” Her golden eyes were soft as she pulled the two boys in closer to her, and her eyes faded to stars as they hesitantly hugged her. “Come now, we go to meet your Elder Brother. He is looking forwards to meeting you.” And in their dark, pained eyes, Henri had seen hope flare like a newborn sun. And then, the Lady of Stars was gone. He could see the trail of her passage, streaking north on wings of magic stronger then any he could possibly manifest at this time, magnificent in its precision and control. One day, such power and control would be his, simply knowing it was possible made certain of that. Trying to ignore the feeling of cowardly, gutless thievery that forced itself into his mind when he pictured the helpless child whose destiny had been stolen, a destiny that might have been as grand and glorious as any being could hope to have, Henri had wished himself away from there, from the island of the Usi, and back to Farshore, where such thoughts would not plague him…at least, not always. ==+Aelryinth
lordalm 01-14-07, 01:38 PM	Awsome read as always. Care to give a little back ground on your Witchmarked and Forsaken? I am intrigued.
aelryinth 01-14-07, 08:59 PM	Three levels of Dragonmarks - Dragonmarks, Khybermarks, and Witchmarks. I see Siberys Marks as just 'stand alone' Dragonmarks. They are still extensions of Eberron Dragonmarks. Furthermore, Eberron Dragonmarks are a feat, and thus entail a choice of your own. As a NPC, they may be an 'event', but they typically manifest in respond to a need or desire. Witchmarks don't respond to anything. You don't pick a Witchmark...it picks you. A Witchmark can manifest at any level...think of it like taking a Mark of Siberys at First level...the mark is there, you just can't use it. But as time goes by, the power you can draw from it rises and rises over time. A Witchmark is inherently closer to Warlock like powers then it is to spell-like abilities. It has no special affinity for Dragonshards...it's affinity is for the pure magic the Mark represents and the positive energy of Siberys. A Witchmark only manifests in the event of a lethal event...death and resuscitation being most likely, but also being raised from the dead would work, or drowning and coming back, etc. The trauma of the event on mind, body and soul provides an opening for the manifestation of the Mark...and if Siberys wants you, it takes you. Do I have mechanics worked out? No, not really...it's more a part of the backstory. Haze' has her main claim to fame from her Mark as being unlimited ability to cast Magic Missiles, much like an Eldritch Blast...her Mark effectively enhances her levels in wizardry, and she has broad ability with magic focusing on positive & radiant energy, force effects, and divinitory magic. Henri is more a warrior type, but his sensitivity to dimensional magic, and abilty to start bouncing around, is only going to improve with level. Think of him as an Orien Blade with zing. ==================== Whene'er a Dragonmark manifests, a Forsaken is born. One strides the road to glory, the other forever forlorn. When any individual manifests a Dragonmark, somewhere, at the moment of birth, a Forsaken is created...a creature severed from the Prophecy. Their Fate in the Prophecy is removed, and that energy is used to bind the Dragonmarked into the Prophecy itself, and form the foundation for the power of the Marks themselves. This relates to ALL Dragonmarks. Forsaken are born only of the races which can manifest Dragonmarks. And this also applies to each Dragonmark that manifests. Manifesting a Dragonmark steals all the magical potential that the Forsaken once had. Siberys Marks rip away superbly talented magical ability...those people who might have been PC's. Dragonmarks rip away the power of talented NPC's. Aberrant Marks rip away those of NPC's who might gain magical powers via NPC classes. Witchmarks steal the powers of those who were destined for great magical might, stealing it and binding it into the prophecy. General Ruin once had the destiny to be the greatest mage of his generation...that power passed to the Mark that Haze' bears. Forsaken are rare and almost mythical, seldom recognized for what they are, and the fact they actually exist suppressed by the Dragonmark Houses. Dragonmark Heirs, like anything tied to the Prophecy by use of magic, instinctively discriminate against Forsaken even if they don't know who they are. Someone who is actually a powerful Forsaken is so rare, however, that they tend to be but whispered rumors...which is how the Houses prefer they remain, anonymous and all too prone to dying young. A Forsaken is a template applied to a character at birth. Effectively, it denies them any and all magical ability, and provides for an increased resistance to magic. Throughout their entire lives, Forsaken are 'leaning against the wind'...Fate has no place for them, and they tend to get crushed by events, slain out of hand, unable to ever 'go with the flow', because they simply can't fit in. They are Forsaken by the Prophecy itself, and have no place in life. Most Forsaken never reach adulthood. Any creature with magical ability will be instinctively guided into adversarial actions against a Forsaken to 'clean them up', with the result that Forsaken tend to die/be slain out of hand before they can possibly defend themselves. If a fireball is targeted from above at a thorp, the house that gets targetted has a Forsaken child in it. If the raiders thunder through a homestead, a Forsaken gets trampled under the hooves of the Mockery priest leading it. If a plague ravages a community, the priests will never quite have enough Cure Diseases to treat him, and he will be the last one selected to get personal care, thus supplies are likely to run out, etc. Forsaken tend to get bullied, abused, picked on, alienated, ignored, and accused as unlucky and rebellious and cursed....which, to be frank, they are. Thus, it is extremely rare for a Forsaken to acheive adulthood and actually start gaining levels. Forsaken, by simply the law of large numbers, tend to be born to lower class individuals...peasants, farmers, the poorer, most populous sections of humanity. Marked people tend to come from the wealthier classes...those who have gained levels, have wealth, noble bloodlines, and the like. In combination with the unluck they inherit killing them off seemingly randomly or out of hand, and their lower order of birth, Forsaken are greatly outnumbered by surviving Dragonmarked individuals. Forsaken are hugely self-reliant individuals. Not being able to rely on magic, and the incredible stress of existences spent always being rolled over by the Prophecy forge incredibly strong and skilled individuals. Forsaken have a template similar to the Vow of Poverty, gaining, instead of supernatural and magical abilities, skills, feats and inherent bonuses to stats as they level, along with an ever increasing resistance and immunity to magical effects. As such, Forsaken focus almost exclusively on martial classes or those with heavy skill point allotments, in order to compensate for the lack of magic in their lives. Forsaken are the wildest card in the Prophecy, for they do not belong in the Prophecy at all. They can butcher the Prophecy, alter the course of it in ways it is not predicted to go, and just plain make a muck of things. Among the most subtle of effects of the Forsaken is that the limitations placed on those subject to the Prophecy get stretched and thinned. Forsakers being around allows normal folk who would normally never exceed level 2-3 to keep gaining levels, as the same limitations on their Fate that keep them low level are teased apart in the prescence of a Forsaker. Likewise, NPC's tend to accumulate somewhat higher levels and classes then they would without one being around. General Ruin is by far the highest level Forsaken in the current setting of the story, and he knows of almost no others. His childhood was hell, and only the fact that he was such a damn bastard allowed him to survive it. His very existence is serving to turn a lot of events on their ear...he has been heavily involved in the resolution of the Age of Worms...he commands more high level followers then most of the Rulers and House Barons of Eberron, including the highest level characters in the setting...he can't use magic, but flies the most powerful airship in the setting (that takes no magic to control), has an archmage for a personal advisor and Archificer for a wife...he's started an alternate faith, a home for Cyran refugees away from the other Four nations, doesn't agree with the Karrnath fixations on the Blood of Vol and the Undead, is basically forging his own kingdom...and is the first line of defense against all sorts of extraplanar threats. In Epic terms, he's probably an Epic Leader and Legendary Commander, or at least an aspirant to such. His Forsaken 'level boosting' filters down to his followers, and to the Squad above, raising them from just another bunch of NPC's and setting them on the road to the Savage Tide, knocking off any others who might have been destined to take the job. He's inserting the Wolves in places here and there as both merchant house and mercenary force, in pretty much direct competition with some Dragonmark House interests, and he's evolving the way that competition manifests. And nobody really wants to mess with someone who killed Dargathra, destroyed a would-be god, obliterated tens of thousands of Worm-born assaulting Korth, and wrestles brood-fiends for breakfast. He's shaking things up, giving the Prophecy fits, and is absolutely determined not to ever, ever, EVER give in. IS he Elminster? No...that would be more Haze's job, except she's the ONLY Elminster level mage around, and there's not enough hours in the day to fix everything that's going on, and she doesn't have an omniscient deity pointing a figure in the right direction. Plus, doing what Marcus wants tends to cut across the Prophecy and make things unpredictable for the real players of the Prophecy, and that's generally a good thing since otherwise they'd be pulling her strings... ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-15-07, 08:34 PM	War Raptor This is the fifth in a series of classes I’ve made up for intelligent animals. Basically, the premise behind each class is training the animal to make maximum usage of its natural gifts and instincts, maximized by the fact that it is now intelligent. The class is meant to be used in conjunction with the Awaken ability, or a similar spell/effect that grants sentience to an animal. Guidelines on Awaken An Awaken spell does the following to an animal: Changes the type to Magical Beast (Augmented Animal). This changes HD to d10 (+1 Hp/HD), BAB to +1/Level Roll 3d6 for Int, and 1d3 (or just +2) to Charisma. Wisdom is unchanged. The animal can speak one language you know (but not read it), plus an additional language that you know for every bonus point of Int. It also evolves the ability to speak in a normal voice. Electives: Giving the +2 HD is probably not necessary, given the extra HP from the die change. Note that a change to Magical Beast means that a lot of Druidic buff spells no longer work on an Awakened animal. Retroactively raising the skill points to 2+Int for the animal is generous and hardly unbalancing if you are making the same assumption that it can speak a language. The Animal Itself: It can basically be assumed that if you are going to Awaken an animal, you want a superior physical member of the species. This can be handled by simply assuming elite Ability scores (15, 14, 13) for the physical stats. This results in a +4, +4, and +2 to the Physical Stats, in whatever order you chose to apply them. War Raptor training assumes these bonuses are in place, either as a result of superior breeding, or because of the intensive training the Raptor is put through to bring out its physical talents. 1) Enlightening, Born of the Land, Warbeast 2) Uncanny Dodge (no Dex), Wisdom bonus to AC 3) Evasion, Favored Enemy I 4) Savage Attack +1d8, Raptor Feat 5) Uncanny Dodge (flanking) 6) Favored Enemy II 7) Raptor Prince, Raptor Feat 8) Savage Attack +2d8, Improved Evasion 9) Favored Enemy III 10) Raptor King, Raptor Feat Progression: As Magical Beast or Dire Animal (Full BAB, all Good Saves, d10 HD) Skill points: 4 +Int/level. As an Enlightened Beast, the Raptor receives a free Rank of Survival per Hit die. Skills: Hide, Move Silently, Spot, Listen, Jump, Animal Empathy, Use Normal Device, Mounted, Climb, Swim, Sense Motive, Knowledge (Nature), Handle Animal Bonus Feat: All Animals are assumed to have Scent, Low Light Vision. Enlightenment: This presupposes the Raptor is entering the class, and gains the default assumptions thereof. If it gained HD from being Awakened, it does not gain a HD for this level. The Raptor will generally have the alignment of its creator. It specifically is allowed to retroactively bring its skill points up to the full amount possible for its increased intelligence, using the War Raptor skill list, and the 2+Int typical of a Magical Beast. Born of the Land: Druidic spells that specifically target animals can still affect the War Raptor. However, the War Raptor has no intrinsic magical ability, and cannot, for instance, learn how to become a spellcaster itself. Likewise, the affinity to natural magic is what makes learning about the land (Knowledge/Nature) a class skill. If the War Raptor chooses to take a HD advancement without the class abilities applying, such is considered a Natural HD and will apply towards an eventual size increase. War Raptors have an instinctual aversion to non-Animal beasts of all sorts, specifically those kinds with magical templates applied, and almost all magical beasts, and Dire animals. They regard such creatures as competition and unnatural, and typically react to them with hostility and rivalry. They tend to be rather protective of normal animals, even prey. Warbeast: The War Raptor class presupposes the existence of a fighting regimen and training exercises developed specifically to advance the skills and natural gifts of bipedal predatory dinosaurs (and can be adapted to more aggressive herbivores if need be). The War Raptor gains proficiency in the use of Warclaws, Dewclaws, Tailstars, and all forms of Barding. Furthermore, it gains a +2 Bonus to its Natural Armor Class. Its natural feats are often trained away or upgraded during the course of its training, and it is taught how to comport itself in individual and group battle situations. If it takes the Mounted skill, it learns how to handle being Ridden and work with a rider. Example: An Allosaurus has the basic feats Alertness, Run, Toughness and Track. Warbeast training would drop the Alertness feat (additional skill ranks are used to replace it) for Improved Initiative. Run, a flight instinct feat, is replaced by Dash, which is more broadly useful. Toughness is replaced by Improved toughness, since the Allosaur always qualifies. Track is still useful. At 12 HD from the Awaken bonus, the new feat chosen is Improved Natural Attack (Bite), resulting in an increased Bite dmg from 2d8 to 3d8. Uncanny Dodge: This is a predatory killing machine with enhanced senses and hardwired to fight, moreso then any barbarian or monk born. Uncanny Dodge exactly as the rogue class skill. Wisdom Bonus to AC: When in light barding or no armor, the Raptor adds its Wisdom bonus, if any, to its AC. Monks, after all, learned their combat awareness from watching animals. Evasion: Predatory Reflexes take over from rational thought. Exactly as per the Rogue ability. Favored Enemy: Exactly as per the Ranger. The initial FE for a Raptor will almost always be Humanoids/X (if raised among such as a warbeast), Animals (if taken wild), or Magical Beasts or Aberrations (if Awakened from a companion beast of a ranger or druid). While the later FE can vary, it must always be a creature type the Raptor has frequent contact with and reason to learn about. Given natural rivalry, it is logical to assume Magical Beasts and Animals are taken at first opportunities if otherwise, and then Aberrations out of pure revulsion if not. Savage Attack: This is a bloodthirsty mixture of instinct and cunning fighting, and applies in any situation where Sneak Attack Damage or Skirmish Damage would. However, it does not stack with either type, nor qualify as either type for other benefits. Raptor Feat: At these levels, the War Raptor gains a bonus feat or ability from the following list: Fast Movement (exactly as Barbarian), Improved Natural Armor, Improved Natural Attack (define which attack), Multiattack, Pounce, Swallow Whole, Awesome Blow, Trample, Improved Grapple, Improved Grab, Improved Bull Rush, Overrun, Mighty Natural Attack, Power Attack, Augmented Critical (define attack), Spring Attack, Rake, Rend, Tail Attack. Raptor Prince: The War Raptor radiates an aura of command instantly perceptible to normal animals and to those with Wild Empathy. It can command a number of creatures of its own type (raptors) = to its HD+Cha as a standard action, effectively using Aid Another to assist them all, giving them orders with Animal Empathy (effectively, +2 TH or +2 AC). The Raptor Prince may not command predatory Dinosaurs with a higher HD then its own, and may not command dinosaur Herbivores with a HD higher then twice its own HD. Such animals as it commands must also have a base Friendly attitude to the Raptor Prince. Raptor King: The number of animals the Raptor King can command doubles, and it specifically may command any Animal Prince, as well, regardless of Hit Dice limits (an Allosaur King can command a Tyrannosaur Prince). Attitudes must still be friendly, of course. Equipment: Warclaws, Dewclaws, Tailstars: These are simply natural add-ons strapped onto a Raptors normal attacks. They increase the effective size of the natural attack for foreclaws and legs by one size category, and can be enhanced magically. Tailstars additionally can add a Tail attack if the Raptor does not have one, dmg = normal size +1.5x Str mod, that does blud/pierce dmg. If the Raptor has a Tail attack, dmg is increased by one size category. Dewclaws are characterized as Lesser Dewclaws (which do no damage increase, but may add other special types and effects, such as Cold Iron Dewclaws) and Greater Dewclaws (as Lesser, +which increase dmg by one size, but decrease speed by 10') Skills Mounted: The obverse of the Ride skill is available to intelligent creatures who serve as mounts. If they have at least 5 ranks, then once a round, they may make a Mounted check against an attack roll that has hit their rider…if successful, the rider takes no damage. They may also make a Mounted check DC 20 to allow a rider to mount as a free action. If the Rider has at least 5 Ranks in Ride, the mount gets a +2 synergy bonus to their Mounted checks. If these numbers are 15 ranks, this bonus rises to +4. The obverse is true for ranks of Mounted, benefiting skilled riders. When making saving throws against effects that encompass or target Mount and Rider, the better of either’s saves may be used to save against the effect. The lower bonus to synergy from ranks of Mounted/Ride applies as a circumstance bonus to this save. Note that Mounted is Wis related…it’s more important to be able to move with and predict the activities of the rider then be nimble and balanced…that’s the rider’s job. Use Normal Device: this is the art of using human-designed gear with jaws and paws. Animals with this skill can open doorknobs as a standard action (DC 15), a free action (DC 25), saw thru ropes with a dagger in the teeth (DC 15, slowly, DC 20 as a standard) or slowly hunt and peck and type out a letter on your computer like a one-fingered human (DC 30). Animals with prehensile paws receive a +10 bonus on this skill. Note that they must still figure out or be shown how to use them…this skill is more about manipulation then experimentation. Use Normal Device checks allow animals to put on their own custom barding/armor, or help another animal to do the same, and similar feats. Raptors, with fairly agile claws, receive a +5 bonus on any checks with something they can readily manipulate in their foreclaws. Handle Animal: Used mostly for herding purposes, a check to herd horses, sheep or ankylosaurs of DC 15 is much easier then the check to communicate with them (Animal Empathy, DC 25) Animal Empathy: Used to communicate with other animals, as well as alter initial reactions. A DC 5 check is enough to relate simple warnings (Fire! Enemy!), with progressively higher checks conveying greater meanings. A DC 25 check with a similarly intelligent animal is virtually talking even if one or the other party cannot ‘speak’. This use of the skill is penalized for –5 if not talking to a member of the same type (raptor to canine, etc), –10 if across prey types (herbivore to carnivore) or –15 to Men or other non-animal bipeds. If both parties have Animal Empathy (5 ranks), they gain a +4 bonus on the checks. Learn Language: An Enlightened animal can spend one point to learn a verbal language, and then another point to learn its written form. An animal gains a +2 bonus to Sense Motive checks against a being whose language it understands, since they pay considerably more attention to body language then most bipeds do. Unlike humans, Enlightened animals don’t learn languages they aren’t regularly exposed to, and don’t have intellectual aspirations. Trying to teach a War Raptor Celestial basically wastes a lot of time if the Raptor isn’t around devas or in a church where services are held in the tongue…and it’s not addressed regularly in that language. ==+Aelryinth
aelryinth 01-19-07, 07:28 PM	Well, I hit a thousand views. Now if there were just some more comments to go with it! ==Aelryinth
BigJroni 02-12-07, 10:01 AM	First of all I have to say that this is a great story. One of the main problems I have always had with Eberron is that it seems impossible to continue a campaign past 9th-10th level, either for lack of evils to fight or for lack of peers. This version of Eberron definitely side steps those problems. I also like the new dragonmark category you added and the concept of the Forsaken, as well as the war raptor class. In addition the challanges these charachters face seem as overpowering as their level is compared to the rest of Eberron. Please continue with the next installment, it would be very interesting to see how it ties into Eberron, especialy how the aboleth fits in. Good luck to the Wolves.
fletch137 02-13-07, 03:18 PM	I don't know much about Eberron, but I've been following the Adventure Paths and your story here looks promising. I'm also interested in reading the story you'd come up with for the Age of Worms. You said you'd be willing to email those out? toppenmiddlebottom at yahoo.com Did you also do a Shackled City story?
aelryinth 02-13-07, 07:02 PM	I don't know much about Eberron, but I've been following the Adventure Paths and your story here looks promising. I'm also interested in reading the story you'd come up with for the Age of Worms. You said you'd be willing to email those out? toppenmiddlebottom at yahoo.com Did you also do a Shackled City story? No, I didn't do a Shackled City story, although I probably should hve. An Eberron adaptation of it would be most interesting, especially since the Cagemarks tie in so very nicely with the Eberron setting... I just had the urge to tell a story to salute the very fine modules of the setting, made up some characters, and went to town. this was about the time I was doing my 'Karrnathi sucks' thread, so I lifted Colonel Ruin and his Wolves and had fun with them. Age of Burbur stories on the way! ===Aelryinth
BigJroni 02-15-07, 12:22 AM	To awnser the question you asked a while back about the activities of the Colonel; it would be nice to know what the Colonel and other important charachters are doing but this definitely isn't the main part of the story so I think it is just a matter of personal preference. Speaking of the Shackled City AP; it should be possible to retroactively write them in. Although high level charachters are very rare in Eberron the charachters of the Shackled City never leave the area surrounding Cauldron and might retire to Ocipitus after completing the events. In such a case they would become almost like old legends which are fading into obscurity and disbelief. After all, it is better to boast a presence from the Colonel who shows so much power openly than that of charachters assumed long dead. In addition: what if the cagemarks were similar to dragonmarks..., though this probably wouldnt work.
aelryinth 02-15-07, 06:46 PM	Well, there's also the problem of digging out twelve back issues, rereading them, devising characters with suitable backstory, and setting up a timeline and fitting them in. Haze' is my 'bridge' character...I'd have her involved in Cauldron if at all possible, albeit not in the same manner as now. I'd also probably have the events take place at least five years before the end of the Last War, since the Age of Worms takes place as I've written it only a couple years after Thronehold. It would also be a good place to hint at exactly what had happened to the Archmage in Amber...Occipitus would be a good place for the sisters to get him out of the way, methinks. Ah well. maybe if I get a LOT more time on my hands. First part of Part Five, coming up! ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 02-15-07, 07:04 PM	Savage Tide V – Into the Lightless Depths “You wish us to negotiate with Emraag?” Threk sat back in his hefty chair thoughtfully, considering that option. It creaked under his weight, but the masterfully crafted ironwood held his weight easily, even with his omnipresent suit of armor, the adamantine plates moving like liquid steel over his skin now, as comfortable as his own leathery hide. “That is an impressive step, Lady Vanderboren. Any particular reasons why?” The flaxen-haired Lhazaar noblewoman leaned forwards earnestly. The view it gave him was half-calculated, half-tease, and half-gamble…he studiously kept his eyes upon hers. “There are…rumors spreading about me, and my family. That we have been tainted by Khyber, or demons, or otherworldly evil. That Van-“ she almost choked on the name,” that my brother merely gave into the effects of our bloodline, and soon I will become something just like him. I need to have something done to allay the fears of the people and cement my standing with them. You have been extremely helpful in establishing my place and power and cementing what alliances Farshore has been able to acquire…certainly one more would only add to our strength.” Threk contemplated that, his scarred lip worrying at one of his tusks in consideration. “And, of course, the lair of the creature is markedly near the place where the logs of the Crimson Fleet indicated they procured the Black Pearls.” “Yes.” Lavinia hesitated, studying the Wolf officer who was tacitly under her command. For all practical purposes, the Wolf Pack had ceased being employed by her save by nominal fees…she simply did not have the funds to pay them adequately for the services they were rendering for the colony. The work Eshe was doing alone was worth several years of back wages, especially in raising additional walls and paving the streets of the colony. Literally donating the spoils of the Battle of the Crimson Fleet to the town, and not making any effort to claim control of the town, when it was fairly plain that they had both the power and influence to do so, both unsettled people and worried them over the motivations of the Wolves’ superiors. Too, she had heard the rumors that the goddess-like archmaga who attended the General himself had actually visited the island and spoken with the Olman tribes…and much of their tribal pride and defensiveness had been set aside in the wake of her visitation. Most telling had been the Wolves’ confiscation of the Black Pearl. Nobody had been allowed to examine the device, despite pointed inquiries and just shy of outright commands to the contrary. That spoke volumes of the influence of the Wolves’ commanding officers…an invisible hand reaching even here, to this distant land. “It is a good plan. We can arrange for some of the statuary and knickknacks from the rakasta temple to be presented to him…they have significant artistic and historical worth, and should strongly appeal to the Glutton’s taste, given the prediliction the beast has shown for merchant vessels. However, mere bribery won’t solve the long-term threat he poses…we will need a treaty.” “My thoughts exactly. A negotiation of safe passage for ships flying the colors of my family…” “The latter gelding the Meravanchis….” Despite herself, Lavinia smiled at his forwards thinking. “It would also be appropriate to get such an agreement into place before the fleet returns…your erstwhile rival for Mayorship will be returning soon, with new colonists favoring him and news of home and supplies and wealth…and likely his own coterie of powerful allies to play off against us. The knowledge that he sailed freely because of your forwards thinking will take some of the wind out of his sails, and bolster Captain Emmerel’s standing at the same time.” Again, Lavinia found herself startled by how easily this crude looking Urkhar was seeing the problems of politics and trade unfolding, and how to move about them. He eyed her with eyes much too cunning for someone who looked so brutal. “You may wish to consider a political marriage to the Meravanchi,” he stated in terms as harsh and clear as they were unwanted and truthful. “Or extracting an oath of fealty. It should be fairly obvious that you can claim a title on your own merits hereabouts…the Olman should have little problem validating your title and claim to Farshore and the island. Making of him a vassal while also granting him a title of his own will help assuage his pride and turn his attentions back to his brother now that he has independent standing. A political alliance would cement both of your ambitions…he can claim joint Lordship of the isle while effectively managing things back in Lhazaar, and you can keep him out of your hair doing things that support the colony via the trade ships…as long as you maintain your own separate lines clearly sworn to the Vanderboren name, of course.” Her fair face, tanned by the burning tropical sun to a golden hue, twisted into a grimace at the observation. “Marriage to a Meravanchi? That family is a nest of vipers, Captain.” “He is better then his kin, by all reports…which is not to say he is not ambitious, ruthless and cunning. In other words, a typical Lhazaar captain. And there is also the matter that your family has no heir…something that only you can correct.” Lavinia found this discussion veering into very unexpected territory, and decided to go on the offensive. “Why, Captain, are you volunteering for the duty of sire?” she inquired playfully. She expected to embarrass him, but the dour Urkhar didn’t bat an eye. “No. There’s a distinct racial bias against my forebears among human nobility. If you desire an out of wedlock father, I’d recommend Henri…his Mark alone is proof enough of a noble background, and any tie to the Dragonmark Houses can be levered into a form of alliance. He’s got a wandering eye and quite the rakish reputation, and he is very popular with the people…I expect repercussions will be more knowing smirks then sneered comments on his parentage.” Lavinia found herself clearing her throat. “This discussion is getting far more serious then I intended, Captain.” “There IS a reason nobles don’t marry often for love,” Threk agreed without the slightest bit of sympathy. “I’ll leave you to ponder the weighty question of the future of your House while I make preparations for a trip to the north.” He rose in startling silence, saluted the young noblewoman precisely and formally as she did the same, and turned to stride out of the room with a precise, powerful pace, every inch the soldier. It was nearly an hour before Lavinia realized that the sacrifice of family artwork she’d intended as payment to the Glutton had been neatly sidestepped by the Captain, and she wouldn’t be forced to sacrifice any part of her heritage at all. ===================== “Good morning, great Emraag. I hope we did not disturb your slumbers unduly.” The quietly respectful voice was in perfect Draconic…a tingle of magic informed the Glutton that translation magic was at work. The monstrous dragon turtle turned his attention from the fascinating music spilling out of the long pipes being waved about by the human male to the commanding voice of the half-breed addressing him. Centuries old and experienced in combat, the Glutton had little trouble evaluating the power of the group before him as potentially dangerous, but nothing that might truly threaten him. The music was soothing and entertaining, and mollified his natural inclination to just eat them…even the artificial construct which smelt so delightful. Were those really flowers growing upon it? “I am Emraag,” the beast stated, with a warning huff of super-heated steam bursting out of his nostrils. His eyes widened slightly as he saw his breath part around the four people there harmlessly. Magic, and a fair amount of it…these bipeds had not come unprepared. “Who are you to trespass in my domain?” he roared at them, and despite themselves, it was gratifying to see them flinch at the sheer volume of his voice. Even the piping stopped for a moment as the stone they were standing upon seemed to shake at the thunder of his voice. “We have come to deal with the King of the Waters of Dread.” The half-breed waved expansively to the island to the south. “Despite the claims of various sahaugin tribes, bickering sages, and whispered tales of creatures that ruled these waters in the pre-Ages, we have come to the agreement that it is Emraag who rules these waters now.” Emraag was at once complimented and suddenly wary. Talk of the ancient things that had once claimed these waters, tales whispered only among his kind carefully, sparked a nervous fear in his heart. “Who dares challenge the power of Emraag in the waters he claims?” he bellowed, to both convey his pride and majesty as he heaved his great shell up further from the waters with a display of monstrous strength and power. “No one being of any consequence,” Threk replied calmly in the face of the beast’s anger. “My name is Threk, and I represent the interests of the colony of Farshore, the newest settlement of surface-dwellers upon an island to the south of the Isle of Dread. We seek an alliance with the King of the Waters of Dread, and the one who owns that Throne is Emraag the Mighty.” Mollified by the praise, the massive reptile craned his thick neck to look down upon the four. Belatedly, Emraag noted that the stones upon which they sat had been clearly cleaved off an outspur of dark basalt…probably that rumbling and crashing he’d heard before. With some interest, the Dragon Turtle noted that the cleared off area was a good ten paces across, enough to fit his entire body for some impromptu sunning, if he were of a mind to. “An alliance? Why should I have need of an alliance with air-breathers?” Emraag boomed, preparing to be amused. “It is the nature and right of Kings to form alliances,” Threk replied solemnly. “The best alliances are those which benefit both parties while presenting a threat to neither, and bolster both against some outside threat. “Great Emraag, things stir upon the Isle of Dread. Ancient powers that slumbered are now waking. The feathered serpents taste the air, and the Prophecy swirls and plays the game of demons and death once again. Would you hear our tale, and judge the merits of alliance with ones who present no threat to you…but might yet pose a threat to your foes, the ones who claimed these waters before the name Emraag was brought forth into the world?” There was a long, slow pause as the Dragon Turtle considered what was being said here, huge orbs of dark hue narrowing as they considered the four more closely. Thinking of the future was not something Emraag was inclined to do, and few of his relatives ever bothered to disturb him here, in this wild place. But that did not make him forget the tales told to him by his forebears, and the racial knowledge passed from one generation to the next of the dreadful things that existed in the lightless places of stone and water…and just how close some of those creatures might be. “Emraag is listening,” the Glutton said with both reluctance and interest, and to the somber tunes of the sea skirl, Threk unwound his tale. ------------------------------ They watched the massive shell disappear into the green seas with a collective sigh of relief, observing the wake of the Glutton’s passing as Emraag departed with his prizes…and their alliance, such as it was, set in the black stone before them. “So that is the Karrnathi Method.” Henri set aside his borrowed longpipes to grin at the Urkhar captain. “I must say, I’ve never seen fear, strength and power interwoven so masterfully into a diplomatic argument.” “He certainly wasn’t going to respond to higher goals, and if it is one thing the Karrns are good at, it’s the vagaries of fear.” Threk actually managed to grin back, quite proud of himself for taking the forward position of negotiating. He eyed the massive clawmark of the Dragon Turtle over the words of Draconic, as proper a signature as the beast could scribe, an indication of power and strength. Proper setting…a place where they could be comfortable, yet clearly surrounded by his domain, and easily reachable…and usable once they left, a place where tribute could be laid, or meetings held without compromising the lair of the creature. The right language, playing upon old fears, mention of the Prophecy, and the creature’s own conceit in analyzing the events taking place and realizing that something, indeed, was going on…and something it had no power or control, but which might truly and well affect the lands of its domain. His exquisite description of the Black Pearl and the magic associated with it had clearly brought forth a reaction…obviously, Emraag knew something of the power behind such construction without knowing exactly how or what was being done. He’d not bother ships flying the colors of the Vanderboren line…or the Wolves. He’d been rapt at the story of the Age of Worms, having only the slightest idea of the grand events that had swept up and passed him by, uncaring…and the mere idea that mortals could do the things Threk had described with blasé casualness had clearly got it to thinking about its own hide more and more. By the time Eshe had scribed out the simple terms of the agreement for him, the grand ruler of the Waters of Dread was like every other monarch, thinking about the security of his hide and his kingdom, in that order, albeit on somewhat a longer timeline then most creatures. Abandoning his territory was, of course, unthinkable…and the potential usefulness of having ‘allies’ around to take care of such things while simultaneously collecting tribute without risk made the deal all the sweeter. Threk had signed it with his axe, chopping out his name from the black basalt with clean strokes that sent the dense black stone flying…another hint to the Glutton that would clearly bring analogies to its own thick hide and shell. He was not invulnerable, and these little air-breathing bipeds were indeed powerful, in their own way. -All went well, then?- came the distant, reptilian voice of Prince, still upon the Island proper, watching their next target with the patience of a born hunter. -Quite well.- Threk replied with a sigh, as Henri prepared to deliver them off of the island. –Any new developments on your end?- -This places smells…bad.- The revulsion in the dinosaur’s thoughts was plain and surprising…the odor of troglodyte would not bother Prince in the slightest, being just a more chemical means of communication…but clearly something else was at work, probably the plague or disease the creatures were supposed to be carrying. -We’re on our way.- ======================================== ============ -Being led down a dark hole in the earth by a troglodyte heretic. This is definitely going into my journals as a low point of my scouting duties.- Henri’s cheerful recognition of the ridiculousness of their position, creeping along in the dark behind a shriveled, bandage-wrapped Scalefolk priest, made Threk smile despite himself. -We have seen a Cerulean Wall. Wonder enough for you?- was Eshe’s response, still clearly fascinated with the great and powerful spirit magic they had passed through. Ancient and mighty and clearly from a source not concerned with the couatls, yet drawing on the power of the souls of the departed, and their anathema for the creatures of the deeper places. This wasn’t power born of the Silver Flame…it came from a different source, and that source was something she was determined to discover and explore. It bore clear likeness to the Cerulean Sign that was one of the great holy powers identified with the Knights of Topaz and those that fought the creatures of ancient Khyber, and the idea that there might be great magicks bound to sources other then the Silver Flame was an exciting discovery. Perhaps this was something likened to the seals of the Gatekeepers…it would be difficult to tell. Prince was the most nervous of them. The dinosaur had never spent a protracted period of time underground, and the simple magic used to reduce his size had him feeling vulnerable and weak. He looked like a simple clawfoot at his current size, only a couple hundred kilos in weight, if that…but was also paradoxically enjoying his new surroundings and poking his head into all the small places he could not have reached before. He also knew that Eshe could dismiss the magic with a thought and restore him to his full size, and was anticipating a big surprise when that happened. He stood still and sniffed abruptly, lifting his head to nearly three paces off the ground. –Mushrooms. Many of them. And not the safe kind.- “You neglected to mention defenses for this ‘city’ down here,” Eshe growled at the wrapped troglodyte through her filtering helm. Aware that they’d be facing troglodytes again, the simple devices obviated the effects of inhaling all sorts of uncomfortable things…and greatly extended the length of water-breathing magic, if so charged. Rose’s presence clearly made the trog priest uncomfortable, not the least because her floral scents completely disrupted his own stinking pheremonal emissions. The trog, which called itself Irgzid, withered under her glare. “Not take this way in many rain cycles!” it screeched at them, looking around at five sets of glowing red eyes. More magic, to help them all to see in this lightless place, especially the humans. “A garden, the beings of Barbas grow, for food and shelter and goods!” “Wonderful. Another surprise, like that living stalagmite and that ooze.” Only flight magic flashed through her Wolf Web had saved them from the devouring embrace of the gelatinious creature, their masks had dealt with the poisonous air handily, and Eshe had elegantly turned the pools of burning acid in that cavern against the creature by creating jets of liquid to arc from them and cover the thing in hissing, burning fluids. By the time they’d left, it had been reduced to hapless goo, smoking and etching odd patterns into the rock as its body was dissolved away by the acids draining slowly back into their pools. The roper had simply been assailed from beyond the range of its tentacles until it could skitter to cover, and then Threk had gone in with a spell to slow the impact of its strength-sapping tentacles and hacked it to pieces with extreme prejudice. A search of the incredible array of bones and vermin shells had quickly yielded a magical cloak of some form of scaley hide that was now slung about Henri’s shoulders, cleaned up and looking rather dashing after one of Eshe’s cantrips. “A garden of mushrooms. This should be interesting. Prince, we’re probably going to need you to sniff a way thru,” Threk growled. “If you need light, say so and we’ll light up.” Their travel had been largely in darkness, both to acclimate them and so as not to provide advance warning to anything up ahead of them that there were surface-dwellers on the way. That wasn’t to say they didn’t have light sources available…any creature trying to swamp them in magical darkness was going to find that they had literally dozens of light sources available, probably to its immense chagrin. They’d come prepared for subterranean travel, not simply diving into the netherdeeps where Khyber’s influence was strongest. Prince sniffed and paced to the front, giving the troglodyte a sideways look that clearly said ‘snack’ and prompting the Scalepriest to get out of his way urgently. Stalking forwards, head held low, the miniaturized allosaur paced ahead, tail swaying with every step and nose sniffing a path as the cavern of pulsing, luminous fungi slowly opened into view before them. --------------------- “Aboleths.” Threk turned the word over in his mouth. It even sounded foul. The great undersea aberrations of Khyber…probably the oldest race extant on their world, bar the demons, the couatl, and the dragons. Once lords of the depths, brought low by some great event…some said the intervention of the gods of mortal creatures, allied in the past as they were not today, combining forces to strike down at them in a cataclysm that had forever shattered their dominance of mortal races in the ages before Dragons arose to their full might. Some even whispered that it was this blow that had raised powerful Dragons to godhood as the Sovereign Host and the Dark Six, if you were of a heretical mind. The Knights of Topaz discounted none of this, while also accepting it all with fatalistic appreciation. Certainly, even the creatures of the Dark Six dealt poorly with those of Khyber, and no race at all dealt with the aboleth without being utter fools or knowing that they were being used, just food on the hoof. He wasn’t a Topaz Knight, but the Order had representation among the Wolves, especially as possibly the greatest living member of their organization was one of the closest aides of General Ruin, and headed up the Church of Silver Waters in Redshore. He’d heard tales of Wolf-packs recruited for this or that dangerous endeavor dealing with Khyber, throwing around the names of daelkyr, illithids, beholders, aboleth, and other foul things. He didn’t know all of what they were, but now he was looking at one of them, and Eshe was dryly filling him in on the capabilities of the creature before him even as his martial eye took it in. It was the size of a whale, with four tentacles wrapped about its petrified body that looked eminently useful as flailing weapons. Eshe was talking about muck and scum that rolled off a scaleless body, enslaving and transforming those that breathed it in, and copious powers of illusion and mind control. These creatures were servants of ancient powers that might well have existed before the Host and their dark kin, wholly alien pure children of Khyber in the way that even the fabled Lords of Dust only hinted at. Eshe was telling him that they gained the memories of all that they ate, and could live forever…and their spawn gained all the memories of their sires. The secrets the creature must have stored within it, timelost memories from before the existence of the mortal races, dark and ancient secrets from the birth of Eberron. He wanted nothing more then to kill it. As the ‘mayor’ of the mongrelmen of this wretched town hinted at, Threk carefully placed his ear against the body of the creature, and after a moment could hear the slow, ponderous beat of its heart. Yes, this abomination was still alive. He backed away and took a deep breath. “Eshe, kill it,” he whispered. She hesitated only a moment, doubtless considering the secrets that it held that might be hers, that she might be giving up. Then her training reasserted itself, the temptation fading with the realization that she would never gain more then a drop of such knowledge before it would turn on her, and she would lose the battle regardless. The spell she spoke was new and the effect was most gratifying. A pale green ray of annihilation sprang from her palm, licked across the central and forward mass of the creature…and turned it to dust. Threk breathed a sigh of relief as various living innards poured out the remaining tail of the creature, pulsing and burbling with a suspended life now finally ending. He didn’t know how long the creature had been here…long enough for a dozen species of freed slaves to interbreed into the chaotic race of the mongrelmen that lived here…but its wait was truly over now. “It looks to me like someone didn’t clean up after themselves,” he muttered aloud to all of them. Prince warily sniffed the flesh of the creature, familiarizing himself with the scent, and idly kicked the stone-like shell of hide spilling out these guts and innards. Eshe nodded somberly, understanding the reference. Whatever great magic the ancient forebears of the Olman had worked, driving the water away from this underground realm, they had clearly not bothered to follow up with it and exterminate the creatures that lived here. “A duty, you think, that falls to us?” Rose’s breathy voice sounded somewhat more strident as she looked upon this crime against Eberron, an infestation upon the world that revolted her in ways she had not imagined possible. She could FEEL the antipathy of the Land towards the thing…as if nursing a very old and never forgotten wrong. “All I know is, if we find more of them, we kill them all and let Khyber itself sort them out. Questioning them is very much out of the question.” ====================== -Now.- Lightning flared in the crumbled temple, stabbing deep into a shadowed corner of the inky, slime-strewn pool, and for just a moment illuminating a whale-sized monstrosity waiting there as the water about it lit up with blue-white arcs of elemental vengeance. A mental scream sounded in all their minds as the huge bulk of the beast heaved itself to the surface instinctively to escape the lash of lightning blasting out of Eshe’s hands. That scream became a gargle as the bulk of Prince came down from above. The hapless troglodyte priest gawked as the size reduction spell fell away, and between heartbeats the descending mass of the allosaur reached its true size. With a triumphant roar, the dinosaur landed squarely upon the back of the surfacing aboleth, driving his claws deep into the things backside, and began to rip and tear with great gusto…taking care not to use his jaws and thus get any of the slime festooning the creature down his throat. Massive tentacles flailed at him, caught clearly by surprise…no doubt the creature had thought the allosaur a mere animal companion, instead of the true jungle hunter that he was. The fight was short, messy and ended with bits of aboleth strewn all about the rotting, crumbling cavern in fair tribute to the Olman that had built it around this foul creature. Prince roared his triumph to the deeps…once. The way the roof started shaking convinced him to quiet up rather quickly. “Father?” the bewildered troglodyte priest asked, stunned as he looked upon the ripped open corpse of the creature that had been playing him. “It used an illusion to fool you,” Eshe purred, not unkindly, her eyes roving the chamber and orienting on a great glyph inscribed up near the top of the cavern. She indicated it to Rose, whose glowing eyes looked on it for a moment before glancing away. “A thing of their own magic, but twisted back upon them,” the Forged druidess agreed. “A very useful tool, in the right hands.” “Indeed.” The same flying spell that had allowed Prince’s massive fall from above now sent her winging upwards, a recording crystal in her hand to gather a perfect display of the magical and physical nature of the thing. The power of the magic was unmistakable, and surely convertible to better uses. “I think it is time for you to go now,” Threk told the troglodyte priest, who quailed before his glare. “You are of no use to us further on, and your ‘father’ was helpful enough in its own way.” If Henri hadn’t caught the meanings of some of the Olmani carvings on the wall and pointed them out to Eshe, they still would have had some alert from smelling the copious amounts of slime gathered here and there about the place. But the trog’s brazen approach had robbed them of the stealth option…in hindsight, an excellent move since it meant they had seemed mere clueless dupes, and had wrangled out of it more knowledge then it probably had wanted to let slip. The trog scurried away, back along the way they had come. Doubtless he’d be back to snatch a mouthful of aboleth flesh for his belly, and hack off hunks for his trip back to the surface. Threk seriously considered killing him, but knew the impression he’d made on the Scalepriest would go far towards dissuading whatever tribe he ended up with from making assaults on others like them, and considered it worth the risk of showing a little gratitude. -Captain, I’d like permission to Light the place and make a full recording.- Eshe was descending from the ceiling now, holding out another crystal. -Granted. Henri, dig out the extra torches.- He pulled the rod strapped to his thigh off, twisted both ends, and two blazing flames of brilliance poured out their illumination into these lightless depths. Around him, other brilliant lights flared, adding their brilliance to the whole, and with quick gestures he sent the group flying all around the room for maximum illumination, placing fully a score of Eternal Flames hear and there for total exposure of the carvings and décor of the cavern. Eshe, holding her crystal, made a slow and stately progress around the chamber, a fan of magical lights playing over all the surfaces about her, recording it all for eventual review later. Thoroughness was part of being a Wolf, and there was gold in scholarly applications as well as forceful ones. When she was done, they gathered up their rods and the extra Flames, stowed and stashed them. Then they assembled before the way out as Eshe slowly and carefully sent another spell through the Web that bound them all, and they abandoned any pretense of being mundane, limited adventurers. The spell of flight that lifted their feet from the floor would last for hours, and greatly hasten their progress along the uneven, winding floors of the caverns. Prince, long and stretched out to conserve room, followed behind Threk as he led the way into the Deeper Darkness, his natural darksight enhanced by the spells of Eshe. The dinosaur’s nose would back up his visual acuity, and hopefully avoid any distant surprises even as Threk’s highly-trained eyes searched for visible ones. ====================== -Henri, exactly how deep are we?- Threk asked, staring in fascination and revulsion down at the cavern floor below them. -A solid two kliks below sea level…and leagues inland. It appears that we are heading towards the very center of the island.- Henri’s spatial awareness was absolute in this matter, quite sure of himself. The fact he probably could not teleport through the rock directly between him and the surface didn’t bother him…he had their route back perfectly locked into memory, and would be able to evacuate with startling speed if the need arose. -Creatures on the walls!- Threk shouted silently, his axe snapping to hand with startling speed, and his shield abruptly on his arm. –Two, four and nine! Oversized spiders!- Overgrown spiderforms didn’t disturb any of them…the jungles of the island above certainly had their share of gargantuan vermin. Prince flew directly at one, spinning in midair to present his feet. The horse-sized spider-thing reared up sideways to greet him, and still was not ready for that much tonnage at that speed smashing into it. There was a crunch and splat and much oozing of innards as its shell broke under the force of impact, and the dinosaur energetically kicked it off the wall. Limbs twitching spasmodically, it fell away towards the writhing cavern below. The impact of the body on the stone floor blew away the oversized insects writhing en masse there, crushing hundreds…and they promptly swarmed back onto the dead creature to devour it and their flattened kin with mindless and very undiscriminating hunger. Threk threw himself at the next, his axe flicking out like lightning as the two forward snap-claws of the beast reached out to gather him in. It instinctively reared back (sideways) in pain as the limbs went flying away, cleanly severed, and Threk was in and underneath the main mandibles, driving his shield between them, and his axe hewing up full force between the joints of its chitin undershell once, twice, thrice. Henri did much the same move, both hooked forelimbs of the creature snapping out scorpion-like to gather him in, as the mandibles opened wide to bite him in two. With a sharp click, they snapped clear on empty air, and his short blades drove into the two largest eyeballs from his place atop the creature. The beast also rose up…and Eshe’s triple array of flaming rays blew a hole in its underside a moment before the full mass of Rose’s body slammed into it and buried her thorned leg into some crucial part of its innards. Threk levered his hapless victim off the wall and sent it hurtling into the cavern below, then watched the floor surge towards the new meal. -Excuse me, I have to give the dear things some extra things to eat.- Hefting his axe, he swooped down towards the cavern floor, and what looked like great petrified fish down there. -Aboleth…several of them.- Henri noted, popping over to the farther side of the cavern to see if there were any others there Threk hadn't seen yet. Without fanfare, Threk spun into motion, and with three powerful blows, hacked open the side of the first aboleth, ripping away a chest-sized chunk and exposing the innards of the creature to the vermin about. It didn’t take much to bring some over to investigate this new prize, and in a matter of breaths, there was a thick black crowd pulsing over the new wound in the side of the aboleth, like a ravenous, festering sore. -That is a rather nasty way to go. Imprisoned for thousands of years inside their own skin, and then eaten alive from the inside out.- Rose’s mental voice indicated dry approval as Threk glided strongly over to the next one. There was a grinding crack behind them as Prince ripped open the belly of the still-twitching whip-spider they’d killed with his massive talons, eying the white flesh within curiously before dipping down to rip free a mouthful. A very large mouthful. -Would taste much better boiled in butter,- he commented, but he still swallowed with gusto and bent down for another helping. –It’s not bad cooked, however. Needs some sage.- Eshe raised an eyebrow at the feasting dinosaur, who kept a straight face better then any of them as he tore another mouthful free and lifted his head to swallow enthusiastically. He didn’t roar, however. =================================
aelryinth 02-16-07, 02:13 AM	Savage Tide V II - Into the Lightless Depths, part II -Excuse me.- Henri muttered telepathically, and bent off to the side, dry heaving up rather heavily. Nobody commented on it, trying to digest the view before them even as their minds rebelled at the thought of trying to comprehend it all. The architecture was…wrong. Not just the fact that it was designed for a subterranean, aquatic culture of age-old inhuman monstrosities. The edges on it were…fuzzy. Henri’s reaction alone spoke of the fact that something was playing with dimensions, and this place was not even what it looked like, and trying to make sense of it all was just not going to happen. Threk closed his eyes and knocked his forehead to dim the burgeoning headache spawning there. The purple fires that rose from the ground shed a light that was just all wrong on and across the city…the buildings seemed to be festooned with lights in a weird, organic part of the spectrum, more seeping then glowing, darkly alive and not friendly to cognition. The organic look to the buildings, the architecture that defied gravity (or rather, was now being forced to acknowledge it), the forms and flowing and very, very disturbing overall view of the place…it was like trying to comprehend a great truth he just couldn’t wrap his brain around and, in truth, didn’t really want to. “So, this is an aboleth city.” He looked back at the others, Eshe wincing and a drop of blood winding its way down from her nose as she determinedly scanned the magical auras of the place. Rose was staring slowly about, and he could feel her not-quite-human revulsion of the massive corruption going on all about here, awareness on a level he didn’t want to feel. Prince would have been dancing nervously from foot to foot, if he hadn’t been airborne, animal instincts screaming hate and revulsion and a desire to kill or flee this place. Henri, of course, had to put up with whatever dimensional alterations were still in force here, and obviously was seeing things he didn’t much want to. “I don’t think I’ll have much problem dealing with the Dance of Stars after this,” he muttered aloud, accepting the skin of wine that Threk held out for him and taking a grateful drink. “Damn, I wish one of you could have warned me. This place is an abscess on reality itself.” “How so?” Threk asked professionally. “Let’s just ignore how they are messing with linear space and introducing shifts, splits, and seizures in it. Those purple postules…that isn’t fire they are vomiting up. It’s more like shreds of dimensional pain. Those are bits of solidity and corporeality being torn apart there. I don’t even want to think what could DO that kind of thing. I think those flames could eat a soul.” “Some place to stay away from, then.” “If I knew a means to plug it, I would do. Host, it makes my head want to bleed just being in sight of them. There’s so much loose dimensional wiring here…tangled and crushed and mixed up. Whatever destroyed the place did a good job on the physical end, but the magical end is still clinging to the remnants. For instance, that purple you see there?” He pointed west. “ It’s really over that way,” he pointed south, “but to get there we’d have to start out in that direction.” He pointed along the cavern wall. “Excuse me, I’m going to throw up again. Thanks for the wine.” And he bent over and proceeded to do just that again. “Rose,” Threk nodded at Eshe, and the Forged put her spiked hand up gently over the Wolf Weaver’s eyes. Eshe jumped, and then, with more loss of decorum then they’d ever seen her display, urgently stepped to the side and proceeded to heave out her empty stomach as well. “So, Henri, where exactly is this city in relation to the surface?” Threk asked with forced casualness, trying to deal with the size of the place. It had to be over a klik long, nearly that wide, and a hundred paces tall, festooned from beginning to end with buildings that extended in bizarre, unwholesome twists and turns from ceiling to floor to wall, an image that brought forcefully to mind the impression of a city formed from oversized intestines. That fact that the closest of them seemed to be rippling every now and then only made the impression worse. The Aundairean wiped his lips and took another fortifying drink. “We are directly beneath the central plateau of the island. If you drove a spike straight up, we’d come out in the middle of it. Of course, that would be five kliks straight up…we’re over three kliks below sea level.” “Huh.” Air pressure alone should have made them buggy…probably a side effect of the Cerulean Shield. “And that aboleth back there wanted us to tear down whatever is keeping this place dry so they can have it back? It really did think we were stupid, didn’t it.” “Well, consider what it had to compare us to.” Eshe stood up, wiping her mouth, and accepted the skin from Henri. She went on in an effort to clear her mind and recover her composure. “Somewhere in this city, the kopru leech-men are making more Black Pearls, using the bilestone whose shells we found in the trog nest back above. It makes sense…bilestone is said to be the blood of Khyber, oozing its way through the cracks in the world. If there would be any race that could harness it, it would be the aboleth. And the kopru are servants of the Demogorgon…it would doubtless consider this place a prime location from which to find a place to harness such things. And while not enemies, the Lords of Dust and the aboleth are likewise not necessarily allies…there is no word of them acknowledging even the Rajahs themselves as their overlords. They are truly a godless race, and consider themselves above all others as the purest children of Khyber.” “The aboleth lets its contempt of the kopru show thru whenever the pearls were mentioned,” Henri mused aloud. “I suggest that it didn’t think the kopru were capable of making such devices. Certainly, it would take tremendous magical power to make them…and if so, it is likely the aboleth would not need to be involved. Consider how mundane the delivery source for the Pearls are…why not simply teleport the goods to where they need to go?” “Unless you don’t know where you are going, or can’t do it reliably enough to prevent the thing from going off,” Threk reasoned. “So, you are suggesting the kopru are more like…caravan guards?” “Or merchants…compensated for making a good and moving it from one place to another. But they aren’t expending massive amounts of magic to do it…so I’ve the impression that Pearls and bilestone are two separate things, one used to make the other…not used IN making the other.” Henri steeled himself to consider the city before them. “We know that something very powerful occupies the central plateau…something demonic and likely involved directly with the Demogorgon. From there, I think the pearls come down here.” “For a bath of bilestone?” Eshe turned that over in her mind. “It is a possibility. Something made to absorb the raw essence and power in bilestone and release it…it sounds like something a Cannith would do, letting natural processes power a magical effect for minimum expenditure of effort.” “Or unnatural processes, as the case may be,” Rose interjected, somewhat stiffly. “As you say,” Eshe agreed calmly. “This infers that the kopru are but cogs in a wheel, their principle function being to maintain the bilestone.” “Whenever is the servant of a demon not an expendable pawn?” Threk mused, more to himself then anyone else, his eyes turning skywards…or what passed for a blasphemy of a sky. “To deliver the device here which formed the Cerulean Wall, the most expeditious path would be straight down. I have the impression that if we searched the ceiling over the center of this place, we’d find a passageway straight up to the plateau above.” “To the heart of the pearl makers? An interesting angle to attack from…go right into the heart of your enemies and damn the consequences?” Eshe half-smiled. Threk scowled. “After suitable scouting, of course. Still, most likely a very unexpected angle of attack.” “True. But first, we must shut down the bilestone production. And that means finding it.” They all made faces in unison. None of them actually wanted to leave the comfort of the ledge they were on and actually go out into this warped realm of ancient, ungodly things. “Then we look for the kopru.” Threk scowled. “You mentioned their magical abilities included the power to dominate the minds of others, Eshe.” “So I did. Having to stave off such attacks will not be easy, especially if we must deal with numbers of them.” “But if their slaves are freed of their mental control?” “Ah. Chaos as they flee, most likely scattering all over the ruins trying to find a way home. Their forces will scatter as well, to round them up and search for whatever could be disrupting them. This will work even better if we can pin the blame on another powerful entity down here.” “It’s a fallen city. What is the likelihood that there is only one creature attempting to gain the secrets of the aboleth for their own?” ------------------------------------ -That brain-eating thing is putting up quite a fight. I guess they like it- mused Threk, as the five of them landed atop the pyramidal structure of stone-covered flesh that seemed to be the center of the kopru’s camps. Lightning and fireballs detonated in the distance, signs of the dark naga allies of the kopru letting loose, and the conflict was moving quickly away from the impact crater that was the haunt of the otherworldly monstrosity and the site of the head of the god that had wrought doom upon the aboleth. It hadn’t taken much observation to realize that the creature was obsessed with the statue, and it had not taken a whole lot more to start sowing confusion, chaos and heap blame upon the thing with a few choice illusions and dispelling of charms and flashy spells here and there. As expected, there was no trust, especially when a few kopru wound up without their brains to cement the issue of why, and the natives assembled up and went on the attack, leaving the Wolves room to attack. Threk eyed the sphincter-like hole in the roof, and the pattern of dots around it. -Rose, flame that mound there.- A handful of flame promptly scorched the area, burning away the mold and slime growing from the oozing ground and revealing a fourth circular opening. –Ah, four holes for four tentacles. Apply fists on three.- He counted off, and the bipeds slammed their fists down into the holes, and the opening in the roof snapped open with a sound like passing gas and a smell that would have been much worse, save for their masks. –After me.- he indicated in silence, and without preamble, the five of them descended, bipeds feat first and the shrunken Prince snaking down headfirst. --------------------------- The squid-centipede thing scuttled across the air, treading it like solid ground, little ripples making it look as if the air was weeping at the foulness of its passage, the touch of those bile-streaming legs seemingly pooling in the air in its aftermath. It probably wasn’t expecting a mere human-sized lizard to lunge for it like a charging shark, nor for said dinosaur to increase mass by a factor of sixty-four. The crash of the two behemoths shook the room, a truly vile stream of gouted bile vomiting out of the tentacled mouth of the creature, igniting even as it hit the air, and bathing the two creatures in foulest of green flames as they twisted and rolled over one another in midair, great tentacles plunging, lashing, holding as the long body wound around the allosaur, while huge jaws descended and began to work, keenly sheathed forearms grasped and held, the huge taloned rear feet pulled up and began to kick, and the allosaur’s tail flailed and smashed with a life of its own as well. The kopru priest popped up his head from the burbling pool of corrupt stuff, starting to lift his hands and release his spells upon these intruders to his domain. Rose came down on him from above, driving fearlessly into him headfirst and smashing him down into the pool with a clear lack of regard for its dangers. Threk’s contributions were somewhat more staid, being rather unwilling to get in the middle of the multi-ton combat by the two behemoths raging at one another in midair, he nevertheless contributed by three careful chops of his axe with artistic flair. Three of the squid-centipede’s tentacles went flopping free, cleanly severed, and really making hash of the thing’s ability to crush the life out of Prince whilst Prince’s jaws were levering ever more strongly closed. He eyed the pool where the priest was, spotted the lumps floating in them, and guessed what they were. A three pronged tail flailed in the air, whipped back down, and a pale body with a dark figure latched onto it with a hammering spiked fist roiled over and over in the stuff, the roses upon the Forged a brilliant, defiant red in the unwholesome light of this place. He moved into position with a ferocious grin, saw Henri flicker in next to him, and the Witchmarked reached out to grab both him and Prince in passing. There was the slightest of flickers, and he found himself coiled in the embrace of the startled squid-centipede thing, its hold rather loose as its prey had just shrunk several tons in size. Then Prince’s jaws came down at the back of its skull, the rear feet slammed down, braced, and the allosaur heaved. Duly noting the opportunity, Threk contributed one more axe blow directly underneath the rending jaws, and watched the thing’s neck get ripped away by a terrific effort by Prince, sending convulsions through the centipedal body and a completely impossible flood of bile pouring out of the neck stump and brain of the thing, coating them all in acidic flame…except Henri, who was standing back by Eshe, observing the whole thing. The thing began to swell at the joints, streams of unholy black ichor spraying out in every direction, and Threk scrambled free of its embrace before the body of the thing seemed to implode and be consumed from within, scattering the bile everywhere that had been within it, and releasing bones or carapace or chitin or whatever it was to fall to the floor with a hollow clatter. The main pool of the stuff, burning also now with a queasy green flame, heaved once, revealing the head korpu priest trying to lunge out of the pool, living thorns wrapped around him and blazing with anathemic cerulean flames. His entire face, torso and arms were streaming burning blood from where Rose’s thorned body had ripped into his flesh. Eshe’s orb of lightning took him square in the chest with no more then a fingerflick. His body convulsed as the shot took him square in the face, leaving a sizable absence of features at the impact point, and then the dead creature was falling back limply into the pool. Except for the extremely powerful shove from below that sent his body hurtling up and over the edge, not incidentally ripping off his head as the steely thorn-vines snapped closed. Smashed and battered, her flowers quite in disarray, Rose ascended from the bile on a corona of blue flame, the bile peeling away from her presence, the living lash of the plants that grew on and within her extending from both her hands. “Style points to the Forged,” Henri admitted with a straight face, as she was burned clean of the bile by the blue flame about her. -I think Prince and I could use some of that too…and clean off that corpse so we can strip it.- Threk ordered crisply, determined not to wait around. –Eshe, healing spells…we’re on the clock, and I don’t want them noticing us until it’s too late to do anything about it. I don’t want to be caged in this place, and we’ve still got our surprises to set in place. Move, move, move!- ======================= Six days later… -I think that’s the last of them.- Henri said, putting his foot on the skull of the dark naga impaled on his spear and slowly working it off. Threk sighed and sat down on a crumbled façade of what had been some sort of chitinous shell to a building, collapsing to a wayward bolt of lightning and crushing a couple hapless kopru beneath it. The lunglike organ beyond had been gasping in pain for the rest of the battle, and a lung four stories tall gasping is not something pleasant to hear. Prince had gone up and politely dug in his claws at the top, and let his weight carry him down to the bottom. Air supply had not been a problem thereafter, but for some reason the shredded thing had stopped moving. “I really, really hate this place,” Threk said aloud, the first audible word he'd said in nearly a week, looking at his axe, and letting the gore fling itself off the dark material that composed the axehead as he exerted his will. -The joys and wonders of responsibilities.- Eshe remarked. They’d booby-trapped the entire pyramid with a combination of explosive spells and poison gas down the main entry, ripping apart the room divisions as the main force of the creatures attempted to take shelter therein…and then killed them as they attempted to flee. They’d let the enemy rally, hit them again, rally, hit them again, concentrating on the surviving kopru, as the troglodytes attempted only to escape. The last few of the dark naga had fled for the surface, approaching what had to be the location of the descent hole of the Tear of Tlaloc, and using magic to bypass the stone molded to cover it. Threk had been content to let them get away…even the rings that allowed them to go with minimal sleep and no food or water had their limits. The brain collecting creature had taken an excellent toll on the lesser minions before Threk and company had become more of a problem…and Henri proved well capable of shutting down its normal tactic of ‘porting away, which left it rather vulnerable to a full-force flying onslaught of Rose, Prince and Threk. Dynamic cerebrominosis, Henri had quipped upon seeing how quickly it was taken apart. Eshe’s magic had been conserved for big hits and for liberating any and all of them from magical control, severing the link instantly and allowing them to function freely. After killing the brain collector, they’d let the remaining kopru and nagakin stew for a couple of days, before blowing the pyramid from the inside, taking more of a toll, and finally forcing them out. It had been a relentless grind, giving the creatures scant time to rest and get their act together before hitting them again, ripping apart their control of their minions, sowing chaos and unexpected death, and otherwise really messing up their comfy worship center to the Demogorgon. -How’s that statue, Eshe?- he asked with a sigh. -Disturbingly fragile. Clearly, this is not a power that was designed to last forever…or perhaps the power of the entity that empowered it has fallen. It is actually full capable of being destroyed by mundane means.- That was not good news. –And you can help it?- he asked, wary of the consequences. Inspection of the bile pools had already revealed that without their squid-centipede guardian thing, they’d rapidly begun reverting to bilestone form. In that form, the stuff could be easily disinagrated, and would not be usable for making more Black Pearls. Indeed, the ones gestating there had all broken apart and were useless. -I’ve already reinforced the integral nature of the stonework to make it harder to injure, and I don’t think anything with great sense would want the aboleth returning here…but you never know.- Threk grimaced, looking around at this unsettling place that was going to haunt him the rest of his days. –There isn’t any way we can do a proper job of churn and burn. The place is just too damn big. There’s multiple entries and exits, and all of them need to be scoured for signs of more petrified aboleth. I can understand that releasing the spirits maintaining the Cerulean Wall would be an act of mercy, what with them screaming and moaning and wailing all the time, but we can’t do it unless we do proper clean-up, or the process starts all over again.- -We’ll have to involve the high-ups. They’ve actually got the power to do something about this. Routine burn should be light duty…perhaps Master Trencher will get the job.- Eshe was fatalistic about the matter. -There is going to be nothing routine about burning this place to slag. The undermazes alone probably will take weeks.- Even picturing it made him glum. -Beyond our power. We play the cards we are dealt. If I ever attain the heights of power of Master Trencher, I will make it a point to come back here and burn the place to the ground. Then, I’ll collapse the roof so the aboleth cannot even rebuild from scratch. But that might be a very long time away.- He felt her mental shrug. – Then again, Lady Hazé might take a personal interest in this place, figure out some fiendishly clever manner of sucking all the random magical power out of the area and using it to fuel some nasty spell that solves all of our problems at once. If it wipes out all traces of her involvement, it might even be possible.- -We’ll have to grit our teeth, hope for the best, and see what the high-ups want to do.- He turned his attention skywards, and that hole in the ceiling. –We definitely have to make use of that.- -It will be trapped and secured by the time we can restock and return. I suggest Master Henri find as close an egress point to the surface as he can care to get to without being detected by whatever force secures the top of the area, thus preserving it as a possible insertion point and bypassing their defenses they will concentrate about the lower reaches of the shaft, especially if the bottom seal remains unbroken.- Threk turned to look at Henri at Eshe’s comments, who simply nodded and lifted off, heading for that hole, turning invisible as he did so. –It is likely they will secure the top of the shaft too…but having inserted into the middle, it is far more likely we can discern and overcome the defenses there if they don’t get any warning from the lower entry point..- -I believe I need to get within three hundred paces of the top?- Henri asked of her. -Correct…and do not forget the dimensional flux of the manifest zone about the plateau. Planting a focus will be very important.- -Oh, I wasn’t about to forget that mess.- Henri assured her, quickly winging his way upwards. –You know, it’s going to be damn hard to come back down here after being so close to the surface.- -We’ll be leaving quite soon, and you’ll be taking us out of here. Rose, how is your map of the surrounding cavern system coming?- The reply of the Forged was somewhat distracted. –Sculpting. The stone is screaming for release from pain. The Land wishes attention, to cleanse this place in fire.- Threk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully…the two volcanoes of the Isle weren’t all that far away, in all actuality…and flooding the place with lava would solve everyone’s problems…and probably blow a nice hole in the central plateau. That would solve some problems too. Still, highly unlikely the god in the volcano was going to do something as mundane as cleanup. -It’ll all go in the report. Hurry up, Henri. We all want to get out of here.- -Heading for the light, Captain.- came the sincere reply. ====Aelryinth
aelryinth 02-19-07, 05:16 PM	One of the key things about atmosphere in this adventure is the wailing and voices speaking of the spirits that are powering the Cerulean Shield...and you'll note that I have none of that. I also didn't mention the time delay between being assigned to head down and stop the orbs and them actually doing it. Off camera, the Pack Rings of the group have been expanded to include a Mind Shielding effect. This stops the unwanted telepathic bombardment of the spirits except when very close to the Cerulean Wall. Threk is very nervous about descending into Khyber and 'requests' it off camera for his team. Happily, the team doesn't have to actually sleep much because of the Sustenance effect, but being underground is still paranoia. I also gloss over the sheer distance of travel. It's well over fifty miles of underground travel from the shore to the aboleth city...made much easier once they start flying, of course. Yay for the War Weaver class! ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 02-20-07, 09:36 PM	Into the LIghtless Depths, Epilogue The Rune on the wall pulsed and glowed unevenly, as if in protest. Perhaps it was the unnatural magic of the place, or the wailing whispers of the spirits that watched it. But Eshe had formed it as instructed before the Wolves had departed this cursed realm, and done so with exacting care. The earth rippled and the Rune flared with a bright light that wouldn't be visible beyond three paces. The wall of the entry cavern into the fallen Aboleth city pulsed and disgorged the travellers. Dour and dark, Trencher cracked his knuckles meaningfully, sniffed the air, and cocked his ear sharply as the first curious whisper-moan of a spirit tugged at his hearing. "Aye, now, we'll be stopping that nonsense," he murmured, waving the eight Dwarves with him in and together. The simple gesture was enough to get them presenting their rings, and he spoke a complex warding spell over those silent hands, a glow from his ring extending out to cover all of them in a powerful ward for their minds. The background wailing stopped. That was good. Hearing that was like to drive a good Dwarf right mad. The silent travellers lined up for their first look at the awesome, awful vista of the crumbled Aboleth city. Those with magical power, or a strong tie to the stone, fought down their stomachs as they felt the corruption of the Land that was at the heart of all this magic. "Promised your clans training in the depths, exposure to the horrors of khyber, without daring the wrath of the daelkyr as yet," he murmured into the disgusted silence. "This place is not safe, but it be safer then the depths beneath Mror. The creatures here did not treat with the daelkyr, but their power was enough to forestall them. What creatures we encounter here are wanderers and no more." "What ye are looking for are secrets. By pact and Oath and honor and spell, all ye find is to be shared with all clans represented here today. We will investigate this city, strongly, patiently...and when we finish, we burn what we leave behind. I will summon the fires of the deeps, and the hot rock will swallow and consume what the waters left behind. "One team will be investigating the ways out. Your first job is to find any petrified aboleth, trapped by the receding waters, and kill them utterly. Map as ye will, survive and stay alive, alert me if you face a dire foe beyond you. "We are the Rockborn, and we do not leave a job unfinished. Let us practice here, amid the horrors of these former lords of the depth, and perhaps one day we may yet kneel before the throne of the King Under the Mountain, and ask our forgiveness for failing him and our people." Axes and hammers rose silently. With quiet efficency and determination, the dwarves of Mror entered the damned city. In a short amount of time, as aboleths reckon it, the first of the inhuman buildings there would fall into the circle of lava raised within and under it, and be consumed utterly by molten rock. Soon, too, would the first aboleth be hewed open and destroyed by Rockborn following the guide of a glowing amulet. Slowly, patiently and irrevocably, the Mror set about bringing about the final doom of this wretched city. ===Aelryinth
lordalm 02-26-07, 08:14 PM	Great stuff as always. I have been a bit busy with work and I am trying to catch up with what I have missed over the last month and a half or so. I look forward to seeing where the Dwarves and the Wolves tie into each other.
shadyspace 03-01-07, 01:58 PM	:bump: for great writing. I am curious as to why you went with a "third" type of dragon mark rather than a Siberys mark. For that matter why you made three different types of marks to begin with, though I do like the idea of abberant marks coming from khyber.
aelryinth 03-01-07, 08:21 PM	First of all, I wanted a character to have a powerful Mark without suddenly inheriting it...I wanted them to know it was coming, but to grow into it. Furthermore, I wanted it to be available to effect class abilities as they levelled, not some static "Spend a feat to get some more spell like abilities a day" thing. So, that's a Witchmark. It is more like, say, A vow of poverty, then a standard Dragonmark. Greater Teleport for an Orien Siberys Mark is nice...but 2/day at level 14? Yay. It gets the group in and out of danger. It's not really usable in combat. It's a freaking Town Portal from Diablo. Seriously, I want the Mark to be a living thing that completely alters how the character advances. The Orien Blade comes close to this...until you look at the Horizon Walker. For 'free', any character can get the abilty to Dim Door an unlimited number of times a day, once every d4 rounds. Now, that's a high level ability for an Orien Mark. It should be part of the Orien Blade...even unlimited use of Dimension Leap would work. but...nope. So, to write a story where the Guide actually is a master of dimensional travel and effects, I'm not going to limit myself to published PrC's with strange limits on what they can and can't do based on someone else's notions of game balance. Why can't you have a Mark that subsumes the powers of all other Marks, at cost of something else? That's what Henri is...he's pursuing a martial class that focuses on maximum exploitation of his Witchmark, something the Orien Blade should have been, and he's going to get abilities commisurate with his level...not another 10' range extension to his Dimension Leap, wa hoo. ============= As for the Dwarves and Wolves, Trencher is the big 'support mage' for the Wolves. He's mentioned in the first story where they set off from Sasserine...he's one of the higher-ups, a Dwarven Rockmage. He's obsessed with restoring his clan's name and honor and the respect of all the Clan's for failing in their duties to the Dwarven race as the Daelkyr eliminated the Dwarven kingdom beneath Mror. This is the start of an effort to build closer ties with and among the Mror by the Wolves towards this greater goal, pioneered by Haze', made possible by the General, and managed by Trencher, who is probably the most powerful Dwarf alive at the time of the story. Basically, he's 'blooding' some of the most powerful warriors of the Mror clans to the true dangers under the mountains, hoping to inspire other Dwarves to follow and start the slow, long process of reclaiming the kingdom of their forebears...and, perhaps, destorying the Daelkyr who infest the place. It means he's not out hunting Wormfiends, but thems the breaks! ====Aelryinth
shadyspace 03-05-07, 03:44 AM	I didn't mean to sound critical of a creative leap, I can sympathize with the creative restrains a d20 system imposes on creative writing. With that in mind, I do have one of those terrible d20 analytical minds that attempts to impose a system of numbers on what I’m imaging. I mistook your writings as emulating such a thing with a more theatric element until the Witch Mark appeared. Here I just assumed a plot device and wanted your reasoning for suddenly dropping one in. I haven’t read your previous Wormfiend works, thus it was a bit out of left field to me. I like what you’ve done, and wonder if there will be more involving our Savage Tide cast or will we be starting anew?
aelryinth 03-05-07, 06:38 PM	If you are asking if the story will go on, of course it will. however, I have to get the newest issue of dungeon before the next part of the story can come out, yes? :) Hence the 1/month updates. I've thought about buying the Enworld module, but they already had an 'official' novelization contest that i missed out on, so eh! ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 03-18-07, 07:32 PM	Savage Tide 6 The City of Broken Idols The return of the trading ships was cause for great celebration in Farshore, complete with magical fireworks, the drinking of a great amount of many-flavored rums and overly ornate tropical drinks, and the welcoming of new colonists, settlers…and factors for various business interests a bit more interested in the opportunities afforded by the Isle of Dread. Captain Amoela spoke of several close encounters with Crimson ships on the seas closer to Stormreach, but lucky weather and tides had conspired to see the fleet free and clear…and the one encounter that could not be avoided had resulted in the capture of two Crimson ships and the feeding of the crews to the ravenous sharks. Sahaugin involvement seemed to have been minimized…and at least once, she was certain the Glutton had taken a hand by crippling a ship or two from below. Raw supplies were always welcome, of course, but the influx of craftsmen and farmers was more welcome yet. Threk was quick to quietly greet the older Wolves who’d elected to face their semi-retirement in a tropical locale, retiring to the Den to brief them and bring them up to speed on the defenses and capabilities of the settlement. Captain Maravanchi also brought a number of rowdy fighting men and hunters determined to conquer the perils of the island, and of course capture a number of the more spectacular beasts for arena battles back home. Threk imagined a number of fatalities among these would damper their enthusiasm somewhat, especially since the center of the main island seemed to be spewing forth more tainted predators in the last two months. Master Trencher’s presence in the aboleth cavern was having a marvelous deterrent upon the re-establishment of the pearl business. To wit, the nagas and scouting eel-folk came sneaking into the cavern and didn’t come back out. There had been one single attempt to open the primary shaft and possibly attempt sending down some sort of assault force or another…the gout of lava that had torn up the shaft and showered down to coat the area about the top of the shaft with fiery death had convinced them to do otherwise. Master Trencher was one tricky bastard…a plug of conjured lava wouldn’t deny them access to the plateau top any more then it already did, but it sure got the natives to not bother attempting to find a new way down. Not that they weren’t planning an assault. They’d simply had a lot of work to do. Setting up homes, defensible locations, and clearing land were labor-intensive, but needed to have in place before the ships came back. The tidings of the northern Ulmani tribesman they’d saved from the ravages of the troglodyte diseases also bespoke a dire fate for an acclaimed missionary of the Sovereign Host who had been here for the initial establishment of the Church in Farshore, before electing to head inland and see to the conversion of the natives…whatever race those natives happened to be, as was the way of Host missionaries. With the arrival of Wolves and far more then a few grim former Cyran soldiers seeking a new life, the defenses of Farshore seemed fairly stable. With an administrative force quietly moving in to handle the mundane details of running the colony and dealing with lesser scale threats, it freed up Threk and his Pack to start focusing on the greater problem dealing at the center of the island, and as a result they quietly started removing themselves more and more from day to day operations, letting lesser officers and promoting capable underlings to share the duties and the spotlight. The arrival of the ships heralded a new beginning for the colony as a viable southern port, and it was likely other ship captains would be stopping in for a shot at some of the wealth Farshore was rapidly becoming a gateway to. Threk had spent much of the last month pumping the Demon Hunter Jakara for information on his tribe’s classical techniques, and seeing to it that these got disseminated rapidly, given the nature of the island’s denizens. He had also set up the warrior with several very welcoming Olmani women warriors, which soon had the man quite distracted from his glumness over being the last of his tribe as the combination of training successors and keeping all his lovers happy kept his mind off such depressing things. After all, there was nothing that said he couldn't start his tribe anew himself, was there? Henri had rapidly scouted out the home vale of the demon hunter’s tribe, confirmed their absence, as well as that of a half-dozen other tribes in the area of various races. He had also filled in more details on the top of the plateau with careful aerial surveys while invisible, maintaining a careful distance to avoid demonic scrutiny, and gathering intelligence on the inhabitants. Still, best to look in on this missionary, Noltus Innersol, who seemed to have somehow made peaceful contact with a tribe of lizardfolk and was leading them to start dealing with the suddenly energetic raids from the top of the plateau. And the disc he bore held some interest, too. ========================= Finding Irgzid the troglodyte living with the lizardfolk converted to the Host and thus being greeted as mighty heroes by the Scalefolk was not nearly as surprising as when one of the scaled sentries came hustling back into the artfully concealed camp and announced that their beloved priest leader was returning! Threk looked at Eshe, who just looked back. Threk glanced at Prince, in his shrunken raptor form, ambling about curiously, and the allosaur trotted out of the compound as if he’d heard something interesting out thataway. Henri’s handler, Chip Chip, went scampering up the nearest tree like a little nervous monkey…and quickly got ready his bow. “Alive? Interesting. Eshe attempted to communicate with the good priest yesterday…and only received silence. She then attempted to confirm if he was still among the living…and received a reply from the spirits in no uncertain terms that he was not.” The Scalefolk chieftain hissed as he took in those words from the grim tusk-faced warrior in his silent skin of black iron, and the way the Pack was dispersing and prepping weapons. Irgzid’s odors wafted out in a call of alarm and treachery that silently alerted all the nearby Scalefolk of the danger as well. “Are you certain of this?” the chieftain hissed, obviously torn between his reverence for the priest and anger at the trick being played upon them. “We’ll know in a moment,” Eshe replied, touching the wise scaled warrior on the forehead, before fixing a crystal monocle over her eye. “Why don’t we join the celebration for the returning heroes?” The chieftain eyed the rod in her hand, tipped by the iron-dipped beak of a vrock, and slowly nodded. The lizardmen were cheering in their hissing speech, somewhat subdued because of the alarm scents that the troglodyte acolyte was pumping into the air. Still, their enthusiasm was unfeigned and heartfelt as the battered, bedraggled priest and his lol-tongued greyhound of a dog came up the northern path, followed by half a dozen undeniably weary lizardfolk in the paint of scouts. The priest caught sight of them about the same time, his momentary alarm quickly covered by concern and a warm, expectant expression. Rissasshtak hissed silently as he suddenly saw exactly what Eshe was seeing. Without another thought, Eshe let loose her spell and collapsed the Weave she’d spliced together. The howling cold of cone was shot through with flakes of gold, sweeping over celebrating lizardmen and returning priest and cohorts alike with merciless chill from the iron rod in her hand. In the same instant, she and the four other members of the Pack vanished from sight. The lizardfolk screamed treachery at the attack, blinking to find themselves completely unharmed by the assault, and the members of the returning squad howling in a very unreptilian manner in agony at the golden ice covering them. And the priest was suddenly standing right next to his hissing lizardman acolyte. Invisible blades anointed in holy oil plunged in with supernatural speed, and the false priest convulsed, even as the iron weapon of the scalepriest smashed into the side of his skull. Driving blades trailed black blood from unseen points as they wound into the air and came together under the false thing’s throat with dazzling speed. The line of false scouts shuddered as the illusion they were concealed by was broken, revealing a line of once-human things, their skin flayed away, clad in the fur of some manner of demonic lion whose leathered hides and claws yet moved of their own accords with muscle still attached. They still had the wherewithal to be surprised as the first of them lost his head in a blur of motion, and the second one went down with a massive wound erupting in his chest, powering him back into the third one in line. A bloodthirsty war cry every bit as ferocious as anything they could come up with sounded from Threk’s unseen throat as he waded in, slamming a blow into what looked to be one with spellcasters apparel with tremendous raw force behind it, shearing through the once-Ulman’s protective living hide and into his side. Without slowing a moment, he kicked out his foot into the sucking wound, drawing an agonized cry from the bastard, and then his axe came around to split the fellow’s skull as he doubled over, continuing on to decapitate number three as he tried to catch his balance. The lolling-tongued dog, writhing at the steaming touch of the golden ice, erupted like a dark volcano, shooting to its awesome six-meter true form in under a second, howling angrily as its true nature became apparent to all…a mutated thing, with multi-jointed limbs on a giant baboon’s body, a mouth full of more teeth then any ape, and a size no natural ape would ever see. Prince hit it like an invisible Lightning Rail, smashing the multi-ton behemoth clear off its feet and into one of the wattle and daub huts, unseen jaws firmly on its throat, great forefeet dug fully into its chest, and as the two behemoths rolled over and over, he ripped and tore and shredded and kicked the hulking brute clear of him all at once, sending him crashing into a stand of mangroves which splintered under the crashing force of impact. With another proud cry, the allosaur was airborne and coming down on the creature again as it rose with confused speed to receive him, gagging on the massive wound on its throat and seeing only a wavering form shedding mud and scrap in the air from the demolished hut. The searing rays of fire that drove into its face gave it no let up, erupting from midair to stifle anything resembling formal thinking. Then Prince hit it from the side with both feet at full extension, the iron claws digging in and literally tearing off half its rib cage in a huge spray of gore that sent the creature tumbling helplessly into the ever-accepting waters of the swamp. Even with its life pumping ebon blood out of its throat, the shapechanging demon that was reverting to its true form turned on Henri and attempted to strike the invisible ambusher…except there was no one there. The paired blades found the throat wound from its left side, driving up and twisting with practiced finality, Henri literally spinning over the thing’s backside to get the leverage to pop off the creature’s skull like cork from a bottle. The last three survivors weren’t faring too well, either, for even as they separated to flee the lizardfolk were swarming in, throwing themselves at legs and preventing them from moving as the invisible axe tore into them with relentless fury. Demonic lion hide and supernatural endurance did little to save them as Threk’s axe circled and cut with incredible speed. Softened up by the terrible chill of the golden ice, they were cut down with great speed and remorseless savagery. And that was that. The dripping edge of the axe stilled in midair, shifting left, right, poised to spring again…and then Threk melted back into visibility with the rest of the Pack. Prince drove a gory foot down into the swamp waters, wrenched with impressive effort, and dipped down to grab and lift with his clawed forearms, pulling the massive head of the ape-thing free of the water in triumph, gore and stinking swampwaters streaming out of the oversized jaws. His roar rose like a savage, glorious warhorn, echoing and re-echoing in challenge and triumph through the trees and still waters of the swamp. Threk was not at all surprised when the lizardmen did their absolute best to emulate it. ============================= Their attacks on the island base of the demonic forces that held the top of the plateau was quite methodical and extremely pragmatic. The enraged Scalefolk converts to Pelor were employed simply as watchers, looking for any of the natives who left the islands, presumably on raids for more sacrifices or food or whatever foul purpose. The Pack would then intercept them, ambush and rather brutally massacre them. It was deemed more important to destroy the fundamental forces of the occupiers before going after their fortifications. Henri’s scouting attempts had made it very plain that there were a number of ‘skinwalker’ dwellings scattered about the island, and the fall of their leadership would make these warriors undoubtedly disperse into the greater island under their spellcasting leaders. In three days of waiting and ambush, these dwellings, located in the crumbling ruins of the ancient Olman cities and buildings, were wiped out. The pack mind of the skinwalkers actually came in useful here, as the merest feint would bring most of the skinwalkers out howling for a chance at blood and battle, whereupon they would be summarily dispatched by waiting axe, teeth, thorns, magic and steel. Prince even commented on the pleasing ‘bubbling’ effect of their tainted flesh being burned away by his sanctified teeth. With no reinforcements coming from the forest areas, more skinwalkers were drawn out of the temple by the demolishing of the terrible statues to the Demogorgon found erected in places of honor over the desecrated and fallen trappings to the ancient Olman gods. This, of course, brought the garrison of the fortress streaming out to hunt who or whatever was responsible for the attacks, prompting cat-and-mouse attacks all through the ruins as the demonic creatures, with some hastily summoned natives of Shavarath for added muscle, attempted to find and slay the defilers in their anger. This, of course, was the arena the Wolves worked best in, their telepathic communication every bit as effective and more as that of the demonkind, equally and more suited to rapid decimation of gathered forces, and very, very capable of picking off stealthy stalkers. The natives of the island were also unknowingly hampered by their own demonic natures giving off their presence like ringing bells, and Henri’s dimensional awareness able to sense their otherworldly energies from some ways off. Even a trio of elite assassin-demons, skeletal skulkers and killers from the unmerciful Plane of Battles, vanished into the jungles and ruins of the fallen city, and did not return…save as white spots among the fallen pillars and carvings. ================= They watched the thing in the pit burn…or rather, watched the inward-facing wall of flame burn it, cooking the air free of decay and rot and replacing it with a truly pungent odor of burning flesh...all kinds of flesh. Only Prince could smell it, of course, the rest of them being suitably masked and goggled for nocturnal assault. Poison gas, stench attacks and the like were all fairly common things when dealing with demons…coming in unequipped was simply not part of their modus operandi. The demonling outside had been…informative. His discontent with his posting, fear of the slayers who had quietly made the extra forces of the temple vanish, and eagerness not to join said forces in a terminal absence from the field of battle had proved a potent combination in getting him to wag his tongue. From a rough description of temple layout and levels, confirmed with some speed by divination magic, they’d been able to rapidly infiltrate the top layer of the temple, but so far had avoided the defenders, who seemed strangely confident that whoever was assaulting them would not dare to attack the temple proper…and so had succored themselves inside. -An ooze of flesh, meat, bone and hide. And here I thought I was prepared to be disgusted in new and inventive ways.- Henri sniffed, as the thing wailed in the corrupted voices stolen from a hundred sacrifices as it baked away. Trying to climb out of its pit was not working, of course, as the climbing parts came into direct contact with the wall of flame and simply burned away to ash. -Probably not the best of ideas. Anything passing by will smell the charred flesh instead of the normal odor.- Eshe noted, but Rose simply shrugged as the creature was quickly being reduced to charred and bubbling ash. There was a lot of meat there to burn, and Rose’s visual orifices were a harsh yellow of satisfaction in the light of the flames. -They are likely at guardposts, but didn’t conceive that we would bypass their rolling ball o’ doom trap so readily. Treachery has conquered more strongholds then war.- Threk mused, his armored form seemingly an extension of the dancing shadows in this room. –We’ve still the primary force of skinwalkers to face, and their chief…and whatever the guardian the demonling hinted at that wards the entry to this temple.- -From his description, I infer a wastrilith, a potent aquatic demon. The master of the temple must be potent indeed to command such a creature.- Eshe agreed. – It would be best to lure it out of its element, lock it down, and slaughter it quickly.- -Ah, the curiosity should bring it inside once we eliminate the skinwalkers…although doing that silently may be somewhat difficult, given their packmind. Still, it has proven extremely effective in bringing them running to their dooms…- Threk considered how to approach the assault. –First neutralize the spellcasters as the most dangerous, and the rest should die fairly quickly. The cheif might be a mighty warrior...but not if he fights alone. If there is any kind of alarm, they will likely gather in the central chamber to await a foe…albeit not from the direction we are approaching. Let us teach them of how to properly go about being hapless victims of superior warriors, shall we?- ==================== The majority of the skinwalkers were dead in the primary guard chamber, victims of a spell cavalcade from Eshe that had been merciless and precise. Of the four archers, one was being partially digested, one munched calmly in Prince’s jaws, and the remaining two crushed flat under the full weight of an allosaur doing a Lhazaar jig on top of them. The spellcaster hidden inside the stone face so that she might pummel invaders with spells in perfect safety found herself suddenly sharing space with Henri, both his short blades out and working in blurs of motion and death, banefires lashing at her as she screamed and flailed with the living arms of her demonic lionskin…to strike ironwood limbs that didn’t much care about the poison, and whose long thorns tore at the very limbs striking them. Rose seized the spellcaster as the damned sorceress screamed, roses and thorns bursting into sanctified flame all about her as vines lashed around her with frenzied speed, and the living helm and maddened eyes of the skinwalker could only stare as the plated jaws of the Forged druidess opened, and golden celestial fire came raging out to consume it in a blast of heavenly doom. The skinwalker chieftain and his consort had come bursting out into the main room, feeling the deaths and pain of their compatriots…just a tad too late to do much about it. They froze for a moment at the momentous sight of an allosaur crouched on the balcony, bits of skinwalker dangling and hissing in his too-white teeth, and Prince cocked an inquiring eye at them as he ground down and kicked once on the two beneath him, crunching bones and skulls and sending brains and blood spraying out between his ironclad talons. Then, for additional emphasis, he opened his jaws, spat out the remains of the one stuck in his teeth, and vomited the other out of his stomach in a pulpy mess before them, hissing nicely from the potent acids therein. That did get their attention for a fatal second. Henri and Threk moved in perfect unison, short blades plunging low into gut and groin, axe driving in at neck and shoulder. Henri wrenched and tore, completely unchivalric in his treatment of the female, and Threk’s axe came down again with supernatural speed before she could even scream, ripping through the thickest part of the demonic hide, the neck beneath, and continuing on to slice across the side of the chieftain before the towering skinwalker could react to the two intruders coming out of seemingly nowhere to destroy them. He was a skilled warrior, his obsidian razor-set club bursting into angry flames, and he screamed his defiance at the pair as he lashed out with every weapon at his command at the pair of them. Neither of the two was playing that game, however. Prince’s tail swept him off the landing like a toy with bone crushing force, catapaulting him right through the railing and to the floor below, where Rose was waiting, leaping up to grab him in midair, twisting and wrenching the pair of them into a straight plummet into the fire pit that dominated the middle of the room…a fire that was now shot through with golden flames. The cheiftain’s screams did not last very long. Rose lifted out of the sanctified flames with his corpse lashed tight to her, his body charring to black and ash with supernatural speed, and hurled it upon the stone floor to be looted of its belongings with aplomb. “She really gets the style points, you know?” Henri nudged Threk, who just grinned at the sight of the burning Forged coming down out of the pillar of fire. -Any reaction from out front?- he inquired of Eshe, who was observing that area via magical eyeball. -None. The sound bubble seems to have held, and it is bereft of direct line of sight. I see no direct sign of the demon from the vantage point I currently have…likely underwater within the area of the nets and the spells they bear.- -Rather unsportsmanlike of him.- He watched Rose and Henri rapidly stripping the crumbling body of the skinwalker chieftain, his demonic lionhide little more then hanging scraps of charred fur. –How about something loud, explosive, and toss this sucker’s body out there for effect. That should get some interest.- -It will likely notify its commanders, via teleport or telepathy or spell, and buff itself with magic, before advancing to investigate. We must be wary of being flanked or foes teleporting in.- Eshe informed him. –I am covering a potent runic symbol at the entry of the hallway…do not move the skinwalker hide.- A charred section of fur whisked down the main hallway towards the primary temple entrance. -We have been nuisances, have we not? Let’s see if pride and power do their thing. Calling for reinforcements would need a sense of humility or pure cowardice, neither of which I expect a demon as powerful as this to have in great measure.- Threk’s grim smile was readily discernable through the link. ================ The roar of magic and flash of magical fire brought Xerkamat to the surface in a flash, in time to see a brawny form, still smoking but definitely dead, complete its arc down the stairs and fall to the primary landing of the temple, where the blackened carcass promptly shattered into fine charcoal. Size alone identified the skinwalker chieftain it had once been, drawing a hiss of anger and fear from the wastrilith, as it considered what could so slay the mighty warrior so hastily…and how such foes could bypass its guardianship so easily. Something had been killing skinwalkers upon the inner areas of the island…quickly, thoroughly, leaving no trail or sign announcing their presence. Coupled with whatever force was now occupying the deep caverns of the aboleth, or whatever power was beginning to fill the caverns with lava, this did not bode well, and implied a final and direct assault upon the temple itself…except whatever force it was still refused to show itself in open battle. Terribly frustrated, and quite uneasy with a force that could kill off the powerful soul-eater Onatali before it could flee, the wastrilith was nevertheless eager to join battle with a foe, confident in its ability to send any attackers who so relied on stealth to their dooms. With a hiss, it notified its master, a surge of dark thoughts traveling back and forth, and felt the twin stares of Khala looking out its own eyes in readiness. It shrouded itself in unholy energies as its masters powers surged through it, and lifted itself completely free of the water, hovering for a moment in calculated mockery of the feathered serpents that had once adorned the temple frontage, a great and dripping slime-festooned eel of a demon-thing, and then slithered through the air carefully for the temple entry. It noted the Symbol it had placed upon the entry was intact, so it was unlikely any foe had come this way. Even at this distance, it could quickly see the charring and scorched stones of the main temple chamber, scattered sword-clubs and blackened corpses of skinwalkers. It paused for a moment, reaching out with its otherworldly senses to feel for the presence of minions of slothic Law or pitiful Good, and then slid forward through the entry, immediately rising to gain height… The impact of the teeth was unexpected…they bit into its writhing neck with hideous power and agonizing purity. Cold iron touched by sacred energies enwrapped claws that clamped about its body like manacles, and a massive weight drove the demon forwards unerringly…at the fire! With a roar that sounded more like a celestial chorus, the firepit became a column of golden sunflame. Below it, it felt the smashing impact of a powerful weapon driving into its spine, making it writhe in agony as banefire tore at the wound, and even as it instinctively rolled and bit and clawed at the great mass of its unseen attacker, raging and trying to break free, the pair drove into the firepit…and began to burn. The divine fire came hammering down from above as if to cement its doom, hitting it like the wrath of the old gods it had mocked, profaned, and defiled these many years. Holy fires devoured it in an inferno of torment and blessed judgment, and the claws and teeth of the great beast whose mass did not let it escape ripped and tore with relish and power, driving the fires in deeper as the water demon burned alive. For a moment it thought it saw a flash of white, and then a terrible pain plunged deep into its very soul. If it knew agony before, now it knew stark terror, as True Death rose upwards from within itself, and raged out to claim all that it was for the Land. The stone floor of the room flash-pulsed and was purged into utter whiteness as the demon was consumed, a telepathic scream silenced instantly, utterly, and forever. The blessed firewall roared silver and unwhite and gold as power suffused it, and it did not fade for long moments as the invisible mass of Prince rose smoking from the pit as a blur amidst the heat and fire, bathing in the sensations of the joyous flames for a moment before drifting out of it. -Now, let’s see what the bastards do about that.- Threk smiled, accepting his axe back from the allosaur, the black crystal cooling with great speed. It was not until much later that he noticed the golden glow deep in the crystalline edge of his weapon, but he had other things on his mind. --------------------------
aelryinth 03-19-07, 01:27 AM	Savage Tide 6.2 - The City of Broken Idols -Nothing? Nothing at all? Are demons even more stupid then we think?- Threk could hardly believe that at least something hadn’t been summoned in to help the remaining defenders, at least with the signs of thoroughness they’d displayed in dispatching of the skinwalkers. -I haven’t sensed any breaches of the dimensions indicating summoners…but the nexus point of the interference is definitely below us.- Henri shrugged as he studied the area with his eyes closed, actually missing Chip-Chip’s presence, but his little minder was out watching the shores of the lake with the lizardfolk. He had reported one thing via his own little Pack Ring to Henri…that a crocodile at least sixty feet long before his tail was included was swimming around in the lake. Of course, they’d assumed something monstrous was out there if the demons were present, and a titanic croc sure fit the bill. Threk considered if he should press on or go…Eshe’s and Rose’s most powerful damage spells were largely expended, leaving most of the rest of the fight to physical power and the existing flight magic upon them. Still, they had stealth on their side…and Prince’s ability to shift size to get his monstrous self into fights an allosaur had no business being able to get in was quite useful. But their combat losses had been minimal, and even immortal and uncaring creatures like demons might suffer a pang of curiosity or two…and things could go wrong from there. He pointed down the stairs. Eshe’s magical eyeball went zipping on down, a black dot in the darkness of the temple’s depths. They’d located two other possible approaches down, but this was the easiest of them…it did not require the opening of doors. -Primary guard room is empty. The broad stairs continue down with a passageway to the left.- They studied the blacklight illusion she kept up as the eyeball scrolled on. -Go left.- Eshe obliged the order, and the illusion grew as the eyeball zipped away to another chamber. -Urns. Some kind of fishfood and fishing supplies.- Carefully she moved the Eye into the next room, scanning it carefully and mapping it out. –Oysters of all sizes, including several gigantic ones. From appearances, these specimens seem to be tainted, as well. - There was a short pause as the opal descended below the waterline into the brackish water. –The water here is about thigh high.- -Two passageways out. It looks like the left one is an ingress for water, possibly leading outside. Try the right.- The enchanted opal rose from the waters and stole around the edge of the room with professional skill, the other watchers watching the view she was projecting as well as the unscrolling map. -Guards, finally.- Prince was getting bored with no fighting, but he loved watching the moving pictures, and picturing them off the holographic map she was drawing. -Eelfolk, and large ones. They have been tainted…observe the scales and horns.- Rose was not amused by this additional development. -They have an alchemical setup there. Assuming the Oysters are raw material for the Black Pearls, these are probably for treating such. Note the passageway down and out.- Eshe pointed out, focusing the Eye for emphasis. -Definitely a sort of guardpost. Mark them and retrace steps…let’s see if we are leaving anything important on our flanks.- Threk ordered calmly. The view of the opal spun around, and moved quickly back in the direction it had come, getting to the main chamber, and then sliding stealthily off to the side and down to survey the room beyond. -Water…very murky, there’s something in it. Secretions or oil?- Eshe hazarded, tilting up to scan the feathered servant frieze which crossed the ceiling, subtly marred in a way that hinted at cruelty behind the magnificence of the artwork. She then looked down, studying the stairs. – I think there’s a dropoff here…yes, this room is much deeper then the others. And if the plotting from the sacrifice chamber is accurate, there is a door right over there.- She indicated the spot on the wall by focusing the Eye and winking on the map. -Interesting. That trapdoor we found ended at the end of what might be a connecting hallway, that one to the right. There…motion. Something big just moved under the water.- Threk was very good at spotting things. -There was a simple wooden door leaking water blocking the way…and stairs leading further down from that direction. One might wonder if the water would drain away if the door was removed.- Rose mused aloud. -And thus revealing whatever is hiding inside here. I’d rather not have Eshe go depth plumbing and possibly lose the Eye. Make it look natural, Rose, and don’t touch the ground.- -Understood.- In total silence, the Forged spun in midair and soared quickly away, making for the unused room where they’d found a trapdoor leading down to a statue-filled room…except some of those statues had been more then statues. They waited calmly as she reported her movement…down the trapdoor, in the room, carefully avoiding the statuary, down the hallway, paying careful heed to the portcullis, and pausing before the water-swollen door at the far end. Her report that her spell had buckled the door and caused it to burst was immediately apparent, as the water in the chamber Eshe was looking at began to quickly froth and drain to the north with all haste. Rose beat a hasty retreat back the way she had come, careful to not knock into anything, and closed the trapdoor hastily. Threk considered the room of the statues…and what some of those statues might be, especially as the draining water caused the inhabitants submerged in it to straighten to their full heights with croaking calls they could clearly hear from up the stairs, and turn towards that hallway. -Eshe, do you think you could set up an Interdiction about the statuary room?- he asked carefully. –I imagine these toad-demons think they could simply teleport away from any real threat, and if Rose were to, say, make some noise from down that hallway, they’d be happy to investigate it…- Eshe smiled in understanding, watching the hezrou move off to investigate. –And if those guardians are not tied to the guardroom once activated, well, then…- -Center the effect on one of the golems if you can. You’ll have to get close enough to see them, of course…but this could save us a tremendous amount of time and effort.- He looked at the hammer backing of his waraxe thoughtfully. -If even one goes berserk, we should be able to lead it around by the nose. Two of them might be able to devastate the guardians of this place.- Eshe agreed, considering the possibilities. -Rose, drop a light off to the side in the statuary chamber. I want them to trigger the golems, and that means at least one of them entering the room. I’m going to see if I can slam as many as possible inside there before that portcullis we saw drops down.- Threk ordered calmly. -Why don’t I exchange places with one and head up the trapdoor?-Henri asked. Threk raised his eyebrows at the excellent idea. -Keep the door dark but open, Rose…let’s see how this plays out. Wait on the Interdiction until Henri has done his exchange.- he revised, agreeing implicitly to the tactic. Flying silently, they followed after the hulking, ogre-sized creatures as they strode down the tunnel. There was a short pause as about halfway down a huge volume of living yellow slime surged out of openings in the walls and over the demons…who merely uttered a pair of hideous words in tandem, and sent the massive bulk of the ooze dripping and drooping back into its holes. Undaunted, the demons continued down, arguing ferociously as the found the broken, swollen and twisted remnants of the door as the water gushed past them and down the stairs. One spotted the side passage and moved for it, pushing its head in and seeing the open door there…and a light down at the far end. No noise now, as the demons suddenly went quiet, but tramped eagerly towards the light, webbed feet splooshing on the damp stone wetly. Henri came up behind them, angling for a view of one of the statues that magical sight had revealed to be a bit more then just a carving. Even being near the hezrou made his eyes water, but he watched the first one step into the room towards the light…and right over the pressure plate. Excellent. That let the second one into the room. Quite invisible, he centered his will upon the golem, reached out, and did an exchange. In an instant, one of the statues vanished, making the toad-demons spin on the empty spot. Bulbous eyes saw a flicker in midair, then something came down very firmly on the pressure plate in the midst of the floor, and Henri lept up for the ceiling, twisting away from a wild strike by the hezrou. Behind him, he felt the dimensions close off as Eshe Interdicted the area and made such travel impossible. He also saw the statues shudder to life…and quickly lash out with crushing blows at the demons there. The portcullis over the door dropped down…nothing they or the golems could not hammer through, given time…but the one left outside turned around and gaped at the construct that had just appeared behind it somehow, and was blocking its retreat…and advancing to attack with a displeased expression upon its time-decayed face. The trapdoor closed quietly, but didn’t muffle too much the sqwawking roars and howls of astonishment and pain from the hezrou trapped below, the crushing and crashing of statuary, and the impact of large bodies upon one another. Threk had jammed his axe into the portcullis that dropped from the primary hallway, and Eshe hastily retreated out that way, allowing Threk to let it fall. -There is something coming up the passageway from below.- Prince indicated, cocking an attentive ear to something making its way up against the decreasing waterflow. The noise of the fighting was clearly audible, as the demons were being quite loud in their disbelief that they were about to die. -Back.- Silently, the trio retreated back down the hall the way they’d come, Threk stopping at the edge of his enhanced nightvision to see what was coming up…and being careful not to touch the walls where the slime was waiting for a free meal after being so impolitely handled by the demons. Another of the oversized, striped and horned eel-folk, slithering up against the flow of water, bracing itself with oversized claws against the stone walls, fanged lamprey-head leering back and forth as it wobble-squirmed its bulk along. It tapped the portcullis inquiringly, obviously not having seen it before…and then at least one of the demons gave out a horrendous belch of death rattle, and stopped shouting. That definitely got its attention. -How is the fight going?- Threk inquired calmly. -One in the room is dead, the second is trying to rip its way out and getting pulped…there it goes.- Another croaking death call, leaving only the one outside…which was getting pummeled down as it tried to grapple the hardened clay of the creature, it’s claws sliding off the shell-like skin, obviously in something of a panic as it tried to gnaw on something as hard as stone while malformed fists broke hide, bones, and eventually neck with thunderous blows. -It seems to be hesitating but active…the prior two have returned to their positions, but this one clearly is already violating orders not to leave the room, so it can’t obey the orders. That should cause a logical loop which…yes, it’s moving again, away from the room and down the corridor.- -We have to get it moving down the slope where the eel came from…assuming this thing runs away, that shouldn’t be a problem.- The kopru suddenly arched backwards as the golem came around the corner, and ran full into the portcullis as it headed for the kopru. One carved fist raised and began to slam into the bronze, wreaking havoc on the old, ancient metal with protests and relentless power. With a hissing call, the kopru slid out and down the slope with deceptive speed, leaving the golem behind to rend its way through the portcullis with the relentlessness of the mindlessly enraged…and start down after it. -You know, this could get quite amusing.- Threk looked back as Rose and Henri came around from the long way. –Henri, think you could pull that trick, oh, twice more?- Henri smiled slightly. –Give me a few moments to recover, and I believe so. I might even be able to retrieve our dropped torch and give it to our lovely maga to lure our fine finned friends along.- -They, of course, will be trying to lure the creatures up and outside if they’ve any sense. It would behoove us to block such attempts.- Eshe mused, picturing the chaos to come. -And the golems do look to be in need of some repair. Is there a quick and easy way of doing such?- Threk inquired loftily. -As I recall, the somewhat mutable and unstable elements of magic that comprise a clay golem are actually aided by the matter-state changing properties of acid.- Eshe’s voice had a sly undertone to it. –I have a spell that just might be wonderful in helping them along.- -Why, that sounds utterly marvelous.- -------------------------------------- Being two-headed, three mouthed, three tailed, and six-limbed had not, in the end, helped the great demonic creature stay alive. The two clay golems had quickly and mercilessly been able to dispose of the kopru…especially when the kopru retreating and attempting to lure the golems outside found their path of retreat blocked by a wall of solid force. Pinned in, they died even more quickly as a lethal green cloud of thick acidic fog swarmed over them, hissing over their slimy skins even as it made the clay melt and reform from the minor wounds inflicted on the statues. Such havoc, of course, roused the attention of the nonesuch beast which commanded the temple, drawing it out of its place of power with its hunting pack of crocodilian demons snapping about it's heels. The golems had been equally happy to take it and its pets on, while the green cloud billowed in about them, and had pulped several of the too-eager crocodilians before the master waded in and began to rip the golems apart with the raw power of his tentacle-clawed arms, even with the acidic fog helping mend them. Their own blows in reply were largely ineffectual, and what injuries were inflicted upon the monstrosity mended themselves at fearsome speed. That did, however, let the Pack wipe out the rest of his ‘hounds’, coming up behind the savage monstrosities and politely putting them down with extreme prejudice before pulling back into the fog cover before their master could unleash whatever foul magic he had upon them. The battered golems, of course, took no notice, continuing their berserk assault as he endeavored to rip them apart. Which is why when all four of them erupted on all sides of the demon that it really was something of a surprise, shooting up out of the water and laying into him alongside the golems with no reservations and merciless intensity. Prince bit down on one of the lashing arms and kept his hold, bringing up a foot in one thunderous strike and ramming it into the demon-thing’s gut with magically enhanced power. On the back side, Henri and Threk tore into his legs with mercilessly precise attack routines perfected by long hours of training, Threk’s axe blazing with a new golden light that slid through demonic flesh like butter, and Henri wielding a great golden blade that shone like the sun as deftly as the shortsword in his other hand. Rose’s hands pressed up against the flesh of the beast, ironwood blazing with sunflames that raged happily upon contact with its flesh. Eshe’s thunderous orb of sonic force was aimed perfectly despite her lack of line of sight to a target, just beyond visible sight and using the combined perceptions of her Eye, the clockwork teamwork of her companions, and magical enhancement to send the ball right into the central maw of the master as it was trying to spit or tongue lash or somesuch thing. The resulting sound was less thunder then belch, the thing’s chest cavity rippling obscenely with the force of the Orb's detonation within it. It swatted Rose away with bone-crushing force, and tore its bloody arm out of Prince’s jaws with a herculean effort. Prince rewarded that by spinning and lifting the tail he’d thoughfully inserted between the demon’s legs, and to its great surprise, it found its feet higher then its heads. Threk’s axe came down on the right, and Henri’s sword was only an instant slower in plunging after. Punctuating it came one more sonic orb from Eshe, hurled at point blank range as she swooped in above it and sent it down into the screaming maw after the first one. Golden and white flames blew away the acidic fog as they tore in two long streams down the length of the creature, ripping it open and boiling the mist away as a telepathic scream sent the Pack stumbling away at the pure vileness and horror of the entity's death scream. An overwhelming sense of rage filled the room as an ominous shadow, far, far larger then the creature they had killed, and clearly a greater version or cousin of it, suddenly loomed in translucent presence above the vivic death throes of its servant or child or whatever it was…a manifestation that could only be the Demogorgon itself, glaring at them with its too-knowing eyes of things mere mortals were not meant to know. It had seen them, now, and it was aware of what they had done. With a surge of power, Threk threw off the stunning force of that presence, ignoring it as he surged for the golems, who also were ignoring it as the mindless things they were, turning on his companions. His axe reversed in his hands, and the hammer backing it slammed into the center of the more wounded one’s chest, pounding it into rubble with one lethal blow, rebounding to slam into the second one once, twice, and send it crumbling after the first. Then, Threk permitted himself to fall to his knees in the now startlingly clear water, trying to wash the horrid death scream of the thing from his memory and his mind…at least until he could probably appreciate such a thing. -Captain Threk!- The voice wasn’t of his Pack…Threk blinked and took a moment to place it. It was…Lieutenant Thriber, the retired Wolf running the militia in his place. What gods-awful timing did he have to call them up at a time like this? -Sir! Farshore has been attacked! We believe the Crimson are behind the assault…wings of demonic invaders came in and assaulted the city! Our losses were minimal – more nuisance then anything – but the primary target was not the city, but the Lady Vanderboren, and possibly yourselves! Her mansion sustained heavy damage, and it appears the Lady herself was captured and has been removed by demonically empowered agents of the Crimson! Her bodyguards are attempting to mount a rescue attempt even now- - -Belay that last, and it’s a direct order from me. The attack is clearly retribution, and we will deal with it. Instruct the members of the Jade to get our ship prepared…we will return to Farshore before it is ready and going after her. In the meantime, see to the welfare of the people and the colony as the Lady would wish.- Threk’s eyes narrowed at the suspicious timing of the event…had the demonling betrayed them, or magical messages been sent to the Crimson about what was happening here on the plateau? It didn’t matter at this point. The Lady was missing, and it was pretty clear who was responsible for taking her. There would be vengeance, and it was not going to be pretty when it came. He relayed the news to the rest of the Pack, who simultaneously groaned and cursed…obviously, this was not going to be another raid followed by a period of recovery and peace. -Up and at them. Scour this place as best you can, make sure nothing is left alive to threaten anything else. Henri, is the demonic Nexus gone for certain?- Henri concentrated, looked down at the crystalline glitter of the purified stones left behind by the blazing annihilation of the demonic Aspect. –Aye, gone. The Isle should be clear of the Demogorgon’s influence now…although it doesn’t get rid of anything already here.- -Good enough! Loot, scoot, burn, and leave the rest of the clean up to the lizardfolk. We can ask Lord Trencher to collapse the place in one of his copious spare moments…we have work to do. Let’s go!- ============================= Epilogue: “This, I believe, belongs to you.” Jakara’s eyes opened wide as he beheld the bow, not knowing what it was, but sensing massive power and presence about it, clearly hinting at the power of the gods of his people. Lightning danced along the string, and the faces of the Three Great Gods were engraved upon the limbs. “This is the bow of the first Emperor of the Olman, the symbol by which he ruled. The disk that Innersol gave you was the key to opening the place wherein it was held against all who would defile and throw down the Olman. This is a weapon of a great warrior of the Olman people, and it should be wielded only by the best of their number.” Jakara fell to his knees, overcome by this gesture, and slowly, all about him, the mixed tribal force that had come to be trained in the ways of Wolf and Demon Hunter did likewise. “This weapon is a symbol of what your people once were. Your people were never cursed by the gods, never brought low for pride and arrogance…they were assaulted and destroyed in a war brought by unclean powers and the most evil of foes, using these.” He held up one of the incomplete Black Pearls that they had liberated from the Fallen Temple. “With these, the Demogorgon destroyed your people in one fell blow, turning the best and brightest of your folk to savages, and ruining all the greatness that was once the birthright of all who were gifted with the right to call themselves the Olman. “Take this news back to your people. It was never the gods who punished your ancestors. Throughout all these years, the gods have been waiting, waiting for the Olman to rise again, and claim vengeance for those slain in that dark time. “Your true foe is now known, and his name is the Demogorgon, one of the greatest of the Lords of Dust. Hear his name, remember his name, and burn it into your hearts, for now it is time for the Olman to rise, to reclaim this island, to take back their greatness! Let him know, and let him rue, for the Olman, they return!” Hundreds of voices rose in acclaim as the Demon Hunter Jakara accepted the bow of the Olmani Emperor in his hands. Truly, from that day forwards, the Olman would never forget what they had been, and would one day be again. ====Aelryinth Note: So, that’s about 8000 words in one day, and 12000 in two. Heh. What was that about a writing month some time back?
aelryinth 03-19-07, 05:10 PM	At the end of cleansing the Temple and the City, the adventurers are supposed to be in the neighborhood of 15th level. I thought the trick with the Clay Golems was a good idea, especially since the 'logic loop' is certain to send them berserk with inability to obey their orders. Three clay golems rampaging around the bottom area with DR 10/Adam@blud would be a nightmare for most of the inhabitants, except for the big guy at the end. o0 That aspect at the end is going to be one MEAN fight, all you hackers out there. he's got a monster of an AC, gaze attacks with high saves, energy draining spit attack, horrendously strong melee attacks, monstrous saves, SR 28, a whole slew of 'bodyguards', can teleport, greater dispel with CL20, and a whole mess of hit points with fast healing. He could easily take on three clay golems, although the wounding power of their blows would be annoying...a little, anyways. I'm sure they meant the bow to be a great gift...but a +2 bow with some spell-like abilities and power against Dragons of the Earth subtype just doesn't float my kazoo...and the shocking Burst makes it an anti-devil weapon, not an Anti-demon weapon. Minor artifact? Sure... better used as a thematic gift heralding the rebirth of the Olman. Someone tell me exactly how we are supposed to win Affiliation points by transporting a Titanic Croc 3000 miles to the ol' hometown? It probably weighs more then the ship being used to transport it....polymorph it and hope for the best? I found it interesting that the Skinwalker acolytes were higher level then the Skinwalker cheif...and I'm pretty sure he was shorted on skill points, too. The Sun Blade you get is a grand toy against Evil creatures, and works perfectly well one handed with your short swords, yay! I don't know what the totemic Demonslayer class does yet, but Henri and Threk might have a level or two in it. Rose is still a straight Druidic Avenger-type, focusing on sanctified spells and effects and plant-like enhancements. Have I statted up them? No, not really. threk would be the hardest...he could be a Warblade with a ranger level or two, some Dread commando worked in, and Orc or Half0Orc Paragon. Or he could be a Fighter/Ranger with Martial study and expanded utility Fighter feats, along with Commando levels (the trademark PrC of the Wolves, as it were...although I'd love to rewrite them as simply Fighter Sub levels). He's definitely really good with his axe, and I'm treating it more as an Ancestral Item that levels up with him then as a tool someone has to enchant. Henri has his expanded utility Blade of Orien levels helping him out, including free uses of his Leap or Dimension Door ability ala the Horizon Walker...he's taken more Dragonmark feats and is extremely mobile in combat. Note that a Sun sword qualifies as a short sword for all sorts of feats and things...including the SHadow Slayer feat that lets you add Dex to damage when weilding one of the weapons of the School. Eshe is at least a level 5 War Weaver, with Arcane Disciple (Healing) to accentuate her flexibility. She's also becoming proficient in sanctified magic given the nature of the opponents she is facing. She probably has more feats then I could really cram into a build, but that's easily explained away as spending the xp from the exploration of the island on additional training instead of levels. Prince is just big and strong and liking it that way. Use an item to allow him to reduce in size multiple times a day keeps him able to move into places he'd be normally too big. he makes a great recepient of buff spells and the like, although i haven't exploited this too much...yet. There's some really seriously strong Druidic buff spells out there. ===Aelryinth
BigJroni 03-25-07, 12:13 AM	I know this hasn't been mentioned recently, but what is the Silver Waters philosophy. Is it a split off from the Silver Flame, a Wolf creation, or something entirely different? The main reason I was wondering is because it was mentioned in the Age of Worms story as becoming one of the dominant religons, if not the dominant religon, of Alashtar.
WarlockOfSiberys 03-25-07, 01:53 AM	First, great stories, like always. I want to have a character like Henri so bad. A couple of things though: Is the Avenger variant you use for Rose something you came up with yourself, or can I find it somewhere online? Also, does Threk's armor boast some of the same enchantments as Col. Ruin's, (shadow/silent) and are those common for all Wolves? And, you say that by this time the characters are all around 15th level, how do you fit Henri into this? Is he actually the same level as the rest, even with his Witchmark powers, or does his Mark elevate him to be an equal? I know you haven't actually "statted" Witchmarks out, but his ability to leap back and forth non-stop would be a substantial boost to any character, a few LA at least I would think.
aelryinth 03-25-07, 05:43 PM	I know this hasn't been mentioned recently, but what is the Silver Waters philosophy. Is it a split off from the Silver Flame, a Wolf creation, or something entirely different? The main reason I was wondering is because it was mentioned in the Age of Worms story as becoming one of the dominant religons, if not the dominant religon, of Alashtar. Silver Waters is a variant on the Silver Flame that is less confrontational and more alliance friendly. It's much closer to a form of Soverign Host worship, and would be considered at best a borderline version of the Flame, at worst a perversion and heresy of the intent behind it. The essence behind the Waters is that not everyone can be a Flame and go forth and smite evil in grandiose manner...but the Flame does not exist without the people there to support him. Thus, the faith of the Waters is more about choosing your role...support the Flame, or BE a flame? In the case of the Age of Worms, the people of the city have seen exactly what happens when you let your faith dictate how you live, and the consequences of not doing the right things. Silver Waters found eager ground as there are some plenty powerful heroes there, and people aren't continually harangued to be perfect vessels of the Flame...they have the choice of being bright burning flame, or cool, strong waters that the fires can light and guide. Of course, I'm not a theologian, and Lady Silver would be the one to talk to, and her int and cha scores are way, way higher then mine. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 03-25-07, 06:41 PM	First, great stories, like always. I want to have a character like Henri so bad. A couple of things though: Is the Avenger variant you use for Rose something you came up with yourself, or can I find it somewhere online? Also, does Threk's armor boast some of the same enchantments as Col. Ruin's, (shadow/silent) and are those common for all Wolves? And, you say that by this time the characters are all around 15th level, how do you fit Henri into this? Is he actually the same level as the rest, even with his Witchmark powers, or does his Mark elevate him to be an equal? I know you haven't actually "statted" Witchmarks out, but his ability to leap back and forth non-stop would be a substantial boost to any character, a few LA at least I would think. The Avenger variants and swapouts for the druid class can be found in the SRD at http://www.d20srd.org/ look under Variant Rules, DRuid, and Other classes: Druid. I did a variant of both...gave up wildshape and the animal companion, for basically the latter abilities and Monk UA dmg by level, and AC progression. No Rage progression whatsoever, however. She can't spontaneously summon, either. Henri is 15th level. His Witchmark abilities are actually similar to how a lot of binder abilities work. He can do certain stuff, like Dimension Leap, a number of times a day and use them really quickly, as per his class. Other abilities are restricted to once every so often, like a Horizon Walker's Dim Door...maybe once or twice a combat. Using them at the ideal times is what makes them stand out. Note that while he has extreme motility in combat, he doesn't have a lot of offensive punch, as compared to Threk or Rose...but being able to move the heavy hitters into perfect position to unleash full attacks is pretty good in and of itself, and he's got at least some Sneak Attack damage (and Subtlety blades?). His strongest ability is actually his sensitivity to dimensional movement, and ability to anticipate/divert/react to the prescence of things with otherplanar origins or multiplanar connections. When the Wolves start having to world-hop in the last sections of the event, the Guide comes into his own. Marcus Ruin's armor isn't actually enchanted (it'd be non-magical around him), but it IS alchemically treated to neutralize glints and excessive noise (shadowslaked), and this would be common among all the Wolves. Threk's armor might be enchanted that way, it definitely has the slake on it, and remember that as a commando it reduces his Armor Penalty to nothing as his class levels increase. Probably a bonus on HS/MS equal to the enhancement bonus or something, combined with max ranks. Just the idea that someone in full freaking armor can move as quietly as someone in a stealth kit is a frightening thought to most people. ==Aelryinth
aelryinth 04-14-07, 12:03 AM	Savage Tide 7- Scuttling the Cove The clap of thunder drowned out the arguments and voices being raised and drove the majority of the assembled folk to their knees in sudden fright that the enemy had returned. That wasn’t quite what was happening, but when the five members of the Wolf Pack descended from the sky, any complaints about the rather abrupt tactic faded after just a bit of idle study of Threk’s face. Baron Meravanchi blanched as the Orcar dropped down onto the street before him, towering over him, black armor agleam despite being obviously battered and abused. “I-I cede the podium to Master Threk,” he managed to get out without too much of a tremor in his voice, and hastily vacated the crude stage of boards and stands erected for this meeting. The crowd quieted down nicely. The rest of the Wolf Pack hadn’t come down to the ground, either. “Why aren’t you running away?” Threk demanded of them, his coarse voice improbably loud and carrying very distinctly. “Please, tell me! Great and powerful beings have come down out of the sky! You can’t do anything to stop us! Run! Run like scared little chickens! Go, out into the jungle! Let the dinosaurs feed on your meet and crack your bones! Turn on one another for scraps of food! Go! GO!” His eyes glared at them all, daring any of them to follow his orders as he strode back and forth across that stage, his disdain and contempt infecting them all with shame and self-disgust. “If it was a Dragon, dropping down out of the sky, would you run in fear like mice? Some wild elemental storm, tearing through the town, unstoppable, savage? Flee, like little bunnies? Flee, from everything you’ve built?” “Do you really think that would save you, you miserable curs?” “You are whining like whipped mongrels about powerful beings coming down and kicking you in the ass. Boo hoo, sob sob. Powerful creatures have been doing that to our kind throughout all of history. Yet suddenly, the spirit that brought you to this land, that made you dare thousands of leagues of oceans, to carve out a place where you could make your dreams come true, deserts you? “Do you remember that spirit at all?” he raged at them, fairly spitting with the power of his emotion, driving them back and forcing them all to look away. “Do you remember what it was like, to look fate square in the eye and be willing to die rather then back down? I don’t see anyone here who looks like they can remember a damn thing!” “And this maggot!” He rounded on Meravanchi, who scrambled backwards at the picture Threk presented. “He is encouraging you to RUN, to FLEE like thieves in the night, not like the proud people who named this place Farshore, but like the craven curs of a pirate’s den with a name like Rat’s End! He wants to STEAL – yes, STEAL – the ships that are the life blood of this colony, take them away from here with everything he can lay his hands upon, return to Sasserine and his bloody-handed family with the wealth you gave your lives and blood to attain, and leave you all with your crushed dreams and fears in the night! “Go, Meravanchi. Go, and die, because you leave behind safety for death and madness. The Black Pearls, Meravanchi, they are out there. Remember them? I’m sure your spies have told you what they do now, did to the pirate base south of fair Sasserine. Do you know how many of those Pearls are out there, NOBLE man?” The appellation was twisted into the most cutting of insults, and the man could not speak. “Dozens, at the least. Scores, perhaps even hundreds. All over the lands. Even in fair Sasserine. Run, run back to the safe bosom of your viperous kin. Death and madness await you when the Pearls go off.” Meravanchi’s jaw worked, but no sounds came off. He rounded on the rest of the crowd, who swayed back. “Are you all still here? Rats, fleeing a sinking ship? Going to find a safe harbor where there is none? There is no place safer in the world then right here!” “These Demons you spoke of…were they any more terrible then the ones Vanthus brought on his first raid? Fah! They died, like all things die, to cold hard steel!” His axe fairly sprang into his hand. “They died because you fought! They died because you ALL fought! Because you knew that here, of all places, was the place to stand, the place to make a dream worth living! And you think because one pissant, cowardly bastard who struck some deal with demons and is now walking around again dares attack and run away that all of you should be running, too?” “I expected better of you,” he hissed. “I turned Dogs into Hounds, and I have Hounds vying to be Wolves. But this, THIS! TO find wretched, filthy CURS and MONGRELS among the unleashed Dogs and the baying Hounds and the howling Wolves…” “LEAVE, Curs and Mongrels!” His axe swept out in contempt. “I do not stand with you, I never stood with such as you! I spit on you and I will laugh when you die cowering in your holes, because Curs do not fight and Mongrels have no dreams!” “Away with you, rats of Meravanchi! Flee with this leech who goes home to his glory and his doom! But you will not STEAL from my Dogs and my Hounds and my Wolves! You will flee as rats flee, in terror and filth and fear!” He grounded his black axe between his feet very, very slowly, staring at the breathless crowd. “Before me, I want only Dogs, Hounds, and Wolves. If there are any Curs and Mongrels and Rats left in my sight by the time I lift my axe, it is not demons who will be the targets of your screams and curses…it is the Wolves who are howling for you to get off our land.” His eyes turned slowly around to look directly at Captain Meravanchi, who hesitated only a second before turning and fleeing from the village square. The people parted to watch him go…and only the most faithful of his reluctant retainers followed after him. His blackened helm snapped back around, and the crowd flinched. His too-red eyes narrowed, and people wilted under his gaze…but they did not run. “Soooo…suddenly you have grown spines. Or perhaps you remember that you walk on two legs, and don’t crawl through the dirt? Perhaps you remember that you have pride, that you have dreams, and that when you stood together, and when you stand together, you can WIN?” The soldiers in the crowd roared out a response, hefting their spears high in salute to their favored leader. “What is the Crimson, but thieves in the night, cowards who perish in the day? They died to you once, and they shall again! Do they think Farshore is going to let them steal our Lady? Do they think we will not come for her? Do they think that this island of dreamers who crushed them before is not waiting to crush them again? “What do you all think of them?!” This time, the whole crowd surged aloud, roaring, and the sneer on his face at their pitiful efforts only redoubled their efforts to please him. His fist snapped up, and closed like a vice. Their breaths almost choked as suddenly, instantly, there was silence. “A stinking thief came in the night. He came clad in terror, for he was afraid. Afraid of what would happen to him. He knew that I and my people were not here. He came in, he sowed his little seeds of fear, and then he fled like the coward he lived and died as. He was as craven as that rat of a Meravanchi, but he wore his fears openly and he gave them to you. “Give him back his fear. Give him back his terror. We are going after him. We are going to find the Lady, and we are going to return her to this, her home, and you, her people. “There will not be another skulking raid in the night, for he knows that to do so is to die…because we will take him and no pact with demons will save him again.” The axe in his hand fairly blazed with an inner golden fury along its glittering edge. “The Crimson may come…but they came before. And you killed them all, and you will kill them all again. And again. And again!” “Let them hear you bay! Dogs, Hounds, Wolves! I want them to know we are coming, and I want them to know fear!” he roared at them, and the explosion of sound as they gave up their fear for rage and anger was enough to take the scorn from his face…at least for the moment. There’d be no rats but those he did not want leaving Farshore. And Meravanchi would never set foot in this town, nor any ship that sailed the family flag, he was going to make damn sure of that. -Give them a focus for their anger, and suddenly everything is fine again- mused Eshe, observing everything…especially looking for cringing naysayers who might wish to upset the applecart. – I love the Karrnathi Method, Major.- -Did the Ravens get our ship ready?- he responded with cold calm, already thinking beyond the now. -Aye, and underway as we speak. We can teleport to her at any time…they are making best time possible.- -Let’s get these Dogs focused and their troubles on something appropriate. The Crimson cannot fail to follow up on an attack like that if they’ve any sense, figuring they’ve cut off the leadership…and with curs like Meravanchi around to supply leadership, the time to strike would be while the fear is hot. They are coming, and I want these people prepared to take them. And when they come, I want them to die.- ===================== “Good job, Lieutenant,” Threk told Tolin, who saluted them promptly as the entire party materialized on the main deck around the mainmast, which was scribed with the runework for the teleport focus that Henri could home in on. “Thank you, sir. We want our Lady back…I’m sorry if I seemed I wanted to upstage you by encouraging us to set off after her immediately.” “She was kidnapped by demons who could teleport and fly. The fastest ship in the world isn’t going to catch them if they choose to flee. We can only get to where she is now as fast as possible, and keep the Sea Wolf ready to support us.” He eyed the mixed crew of Jade Ravens, his most elite marines of both Olman and Khorvairan ancestry, and sailors with far more anger in their gazes then fear. “We are going to face the most dreaded pirates in all the southern seas, we are going to butcher them like cattle, and we are going to bring our Lady back! Everyone has a job to do, and we are going to do it!” The shout of the crew at sea was not quite so loud as the townfolk, but it was not something he had to coax out of them, either. ---------------------- “Major,” Henri said, moving up to where a brooding Threk was prowling the captain’s deck, while a ebony-thewed Olman stayed hard the course. Above them, a wind just short of gale-force was filling the straining sales with every ounce of speed the ship could muster, defying the prevailing wind currents…and about them, the sea was smooth as glass as waves disappeared fifty paces from the hull, to appear on the opposite side, undeterred. They were moving as fast as any ship on the sea could move, probably close on to twenty knots, and it took iron concentration and strength to hold the wheel. The Olman and the crew were loving every minute of it as Eshe, Rose, and Kiel’s magic drove them north and west towards the islands off the coast of Xendrik…the free Pirate Isles where Scuttlecove waited. “I thought you had to wait for morning to make a leap that far, Henri,” Threk replied, wheeling on the Aundair, plainly ready to leave now. “First light, we’re out of here, sir, but I just had a most interesting dream from an old acquaintance.” “’From’, Henri?” Threk asked, not amused. “You remember that foul-tongued pirate captain at the cove where the first Pearl lit off?” Threk nodded once. “She’s in Scuttlecove, itching for revenge, and she knows where Vanthus and the Crimson are.” “Ah, a magical dream sending. Interesting. Useful. Eshe nailed the Lady’s location down to the island, and the charts off Vanthus’ old ships give us the course. If we can scry a location of this captain, we can teleport directly to her.” “My thoughts exactly, sir.” -Eshe!- ================ “Blocked. Sendings as well…there is established interference. Something does not want word getting in or out surrounding our foul-tongued associate.” Eshe lifted her hands from the crystal ball. “And I lost the lock on Lady Vanderboren, too…which means she’s either in the presence of some of the most potent warding on the planet…or she’s not on the planet anymore.” “Harliss knew to be in an open area, and that was only hours ago.” Threk frowned, scowling at the news on the Lady…but it was not unexpected. Her brother was obviously moving fast. “Someone was warned. She’s been captured.” “The meeting point is likely a trap, then,” Rose observed with a hunter’s wariness. “If they extract anything from her about us coming, they will wait for us there.” “And become our best source of information on her whereabouts,” growled Threk, fingering his axe. “Can you make a blind leap, Henri?” “The dream was sent as part of our initial encounter with her, but during the course of it the surroundings changed to a tavern I’ve never been in…and probably don’t want to be in, come to think of it. I can take us there, and we can hope it’s the right place?” “No, we can confirm it. Picture it in your mind, and I can see if it is the place we seek,” Eshe said firmly. ================== At sunrise there was no activity in the tavern, so when they materialized invisibly, nothing greeted them but drunken snoring from the sailors scattered around in various stages of waste and misery. They wasted no time, their flight spells allowing them to drift silently and exit the place with a judicious crash of the door that hardly stirred those within at all. Outside, it looked almost as bad as it smelled, and it smelled bad. Even Prince turned up his nose at the reek, a stench derived from more then just waste… -Drugs…necromancy…Taint. How wonderful a combination.- Prince growled, enjoying his invisibility and flight, snaking through the air. -That would be the legendary Porphyry House?- Henri asked, pointing out the unmistakeable structure that dominated the center of what was basically a glorified shanty-town. The buildings here were in poor repair, and hadn’t been built all that well to begin with…and the listless, wasted nature of a lot of the natives didn’t encourage creativity anymore then the predatory gazes of others. The hue of the stone fairly made it ripple in the morning sun like a purple flower. -Ah, of course you would know about such an upstanding establishment.- Eshe just raised an invisible eyebrow at him, and he grinned. -It’s a landmark. Lefty was nice enough to lay out a rough map of the place from when he was here as part of the Crimson Fleet, remember?- -Ah, yes.- Eshe gathered them all in around one of her illusions, a hundred paces above the squalid, sprawling den of corruption below. Under Henri’s quick instructions, they rapidly identified the Palace, the towers of at least two local mages, the local ‘healers’, and several of the more prominent business places. -We can assume the whaling area is down by the docks. What do we have that can track Captain Harliss?- -Well, if she’s still wearing those earrings of hers, we’ll find her.- Eshe mused, recalling the distinctive silver-and-jade pieces. -And if not, we find who took them from her. If it’s down by the docks, we have our location.- ============== The axe came down almost delicately, and popped the head off the viper as neatly as cork from a bottle of wine. The transformed serpent-man never saw him coming, and more importantly, nobody else saw it die, as the thrashings of a serpent didn’t quite scale to that of a scaled half-breed of that ilk. -I do so love being underestimated,- Threk mused, letting the blood of the third disguised yuan-ti drop off his axe. They were definitely waiting for someone to approach, what with no less then three spotters up high…of course, the idea that someone would not be so stupid as to just walk into the Whalehouse instead of, oh, flying in, didn’t seem to have occurred to them. -Be nice. The intellectual and tactical ability of the average being they meet is somewhat below par.- Eshe sniffed, examining the rest of the area more closely for a long minute before digging out her Eyeball and sending it zipping down into structure below. As before, they gathered around her, watching the Eye lay out the rooms, this time in color as they played past. -There’s a survivor. Bait?- Threk asked, studying the unfortunate man, clearly diseased and battered to within an inch of his life. -I’d expect something more appetizing…someone emulating our fair and foul-tongued pirate wench, at the least,- Henri sniffed. –Don’t they have any sense of propriety?- -Her belongings are in that sack there.- Eshe focused on it, as the eyeball slid into another room below them, and revealed the scarred, jaundiced form of a large, armed and armored yuan-ti of monstrous size. –I’d guess that would be the leader.- -Yes, a smug tactical genius who looks like a leech with a half-split head.- Threk readied his axe. -That’s a sign of a Thrall of Demogorgon.- Eshe’s interruption gave him pause. –His mind has been split…it gives him some unusual mental capabilities.- -Enough to prevent him dying when Henri, Rose and I pop in on him all together?- Threk asked archly. -Ah.- Eshe made a mental ‘go right on ahead’ gesture. Henri grinned, waiting a moment as Rose murmured a prayer that made her fists sparkle with blue-white flames of the cerulean, then reached out and touched them both with the hilts of his drawn shortsword and incongruously long golden Olmani heirloom blade. The air popped. Eshe and Prince both dropped down lower to **** an ear at the startled inhuman screams that suddenly erupted below, and were just as suddenly silenced. -Let’s rescue the bait and see what he has to tell us.- Threk broke in calmly. –Oh, and loot these bastards.- =============== His name was Zimon Alveneer, and he turned out to be part of the local underground, a group called the Protectorate. In a city of corruption, the only way the good people could operate was to be secretive…which hadn’t saved them when the Leech had tumbled to Captain Harliss and she had inadvertently led them right to one of the group’s safehouses. He thanked them profusely yet guardedly, perking up as Rose mended his many injuries and the disease dripping from infected wounds, moreso as he recognized them from the descriptions Captain Harliss had made of them and rumors that the Crimson Fleet had also acquired of them. With his assistance, they rapidly acquired a far more detailed map of the city, and learned the likely whereabouts of the Captain…a tower of horrors where skinned harpies with direly powerful music broke the wills of all brought before them and pumped them of their secrets. With some hesitation, Zimon also asked if they could possibly find and aid any other members of his group who might have survived, giving descriptions of them, and vowing that he’d give them all the aid he possibly could after warning those at the other safehouse of the Order. Threk had no problems agreeing to that task, with a pointed note that their priority was recovery of the Lady and anything that might lead them to her. Henri was a bit more diplomatic, taking the man aside and noting that they were under a bit of pressure…and that the Wolves of Ruin themselves would probably be very interested in an operation such as theirs in Scuttlecove. ================== “Good morning, Captain Harliss. A pleasure to see you again…although really, you should wait until we know one another better.” His grin was belied by the speed with which he wrapped his cloak about her while she was still blinking from the effects of the healing potion he’d poured down her throat, took her up in his arms, and blinked away, leaving the sizzling undead thing that had guarded her to burn in the great birdcage where she’d been imprisoned. -Got her, Major.- Threk stomped his foot down and pulled his axe out of the cloven skull of the Harpy before removing the small earplugs that had completely deafened him for the duration, a move emulated by Eshe, and somewhat by Rose, who had to mend the damage she’d inflicted on her own auditory plates. Bereft of the influence of their most powerful weapon, the corrupt harpies had fallen remarkably quickly to fists, axe, and one was now resting comfortably down in Prince’s gullet. -I’ve a feeling that some of the slaves here would like nothing more then to flee this place forever. See if our new friends might not have a place for them.- His eyes wandered to a remarkably curvaceous shifter female, her fur shaved in patterns that left very little for the imagination, and obviously humiliated her greatly. –I think I’ve found one of his friends, too.- ================ The Minthouse was amusingly named for its role in counterfeiting. The Wolves added blood to the mix when they first dispelled the charms that were suborning the wills of a slew of native thugs being kept around by the yuan-ti, and then helped contribute to the resulting chaos with extreme prejudice…and a discretion which the passersby had no intention of disturbing, as the place was a known base for the yuan-ti tribe. The sorcerers were certainly startled at how quickly they died, being more then a match for the rebelling or fleeing slave-labor that had escaped their control, but even as they were congratulating themselves on their victory over weakling humans, Prince bit one of them in half, Threk took off one’s head, Henri drove his blades through the heart of a third, Rose was burying her fists down the throat of the fourth, and Eshe turned one into a stone decoration for the foyer with a touch. That gave them time to leisurely explore the Minthouse…and when a quartet more of the slavers wandered in from a sweep of the city, more hapless victims in tow, well, the Wolves were more then happy to treat them even less kindly then they were treating their victims. “Map,” Henri exclaimed, prying up a slightly too-loose floorboard and examining the contents, ignoring the rather impressive volume of blood spattering everything by now from the dead. Threk nodded to Rose, who immediately began to make rather violent preparations for summary cremation of the residence. It made a fine show for the citizens of the town, who were wondering who was moving in on whom, and wow, those gold and blue flames sure were pretty… ================= “Well done, Kiel, Lieutenant!” Threk complimented them both. The Wolves had returned to the Sea Wolf, to find it already in position to moor near the expected position of the Crimson base. In crocodile form, the Dwarven druid had quickly moved to investigate the base, piercing the potent magical defenses and illusions to lay his eyes on the final stronghold of the Crimson Sails. “Grossly undermanned, sir,” Tolin reported quicky, saluting briskly, as Threk eyed the hologram display that Liamae had erected for their perusal. “Liamae managed to spirit away one of the poor wretches they have serving as spotters, and he was eager to tell us everything he could. It seems Vanthus stole out of here with the prize ship and crew of the Cold Captain himself, heading for a trip to the Abyss and the realm of the demon lord the Sails serve.” There was a bit of strain in his voice as he had to relay the fact that they had indeed come in too late, despite all their half-nursed hopes. “Just after he departed, there was a nasty breakout of violence among the captains of the fleet at the Cold Captain’s apparent weakness, and near half of them rose up in mutiny and quit the harbor. Most of the rest are also out to sea, chasing after the mutineers…we saw some of these as we were incoming, but we were moving too fast and they didn’t bother to give chase.” “In short, there’s no better time to hit them while they are down. Very well down.” Threk clapped the Jade Ravens all on the shoulder, one after another. “Of course, your jobs aren’t done yet. You didn’t come all this way to rescue your Lady without extracting your own pound of flesh.” He pointed out the ships at mast in the harbor. “And I’d say a few hundred tons should satisfy your needs just fine. Prep the marines and a prize crew for a briefing. We don’t just take the Crimson…we make them pay.” Grinning in expectation, the Jade Ravens bustled to get ready for their own moment of glory. ============== Sound bubbles were the key to much of the assault. It’s remarkable how fiercely and straight up a lot of things will fight when they think the alarm has been raised, and reinforcements will be arriving any second to save their asses or to avenge their deaths. Within a sound bubble, you could make any kind of sound you cared to…but it wouldn’t pierce the shell of the bubble. It thus let the guards all wail and whine and make a fine ruckus and scream and die regardless. With Kiel’s briefing of the tainted wildlife and Liamae’s preliminary hologram, Henri and Eshe were able to insert without problem and begin a real assessment of the forces still left scattered about the base built out of wrecked and holed ships in impossible, crazy quilt fashion. Over the course of a few hours, the Wolves, Ravens and crew put together an assault plan, went over it numerous times, and when nightfall came again, moved out to execute it. The Slaad gatekeeper, a great froglike thing of Kythri, was the first to die, as Threk’s axe removed its head in two hammering blows out of nowhere. Employing the same technique as the abruptly deceased creature, Rose, animated the blockade to allow the ships egress, and the two ship’s boats with the marines and Ravens flowed through into the harbor, helped along by a friendly water elemental and the fact that although the tide was low, the water was rising suddenly. Cloaked by illusions and sound bubbles, the crews moved in on the three moored vessels, and with a great deal of unheard and bloody combat, proceeded to butcher the unsuspecting men aboard who were more concerned about their card games and dice then keeping watch. ======= The Wolves went hunting for bigger prey. The surviving Captains, half-demon wretches all, were the easiest to track down and slay, unsuspecting of an enemy in their midst until it was much too late and a glowing axe and blades were in on them, among them, and reaping the vengeance of the gods they’d defied loudly one last time, and sending their damned souls to the hands of those they were promised to. With them went random crewmen in bunks or watch stations...loudly, protestingly, yet completely unheard and unseen. Eshe and Rose handled the great retriever that dominated one foredeck of the suspended ships, Rose literally burning it out from the inside out and devouring it with flaming vines and flowers that erupted from within it, while Eshe disguised the whole sight from adjacent ships and decks with screening illusion. They left the roses of golden flame to smolder on the crumbling corpse of the demonic spider thing. The Chapel to Demogorgon exploded with thunder that would have sounded like the chorus of a thousand angels had anyone but the demons inside been able to hear it. Alas, it was the last thing the cloaked bar-Igura ever laid their ears upon, so they were unable to telepathically alert anyone in the vicinity. The bunkhouse for the yuan-ti suffered an influx of cerulean, flaming roses and the associated thorns and vines. Rose left their blackened bones enwrapped in the vengeful vines of golden hue with great satisfaction. ============================= “Cold Captain Wyther! Come forth…it is time for you to die!” the challenge roared out. The lemorian leader of the Crimson Sails lept to his feet in astonishment. Certainly no warrior could have approached closely enough to deal such a challenge without an alarm being raised – A creaking and sixth sense had him diving for the door to his quarters as the roof collapsed from the impact of a tremendous weight, and he smashed it to flinders and rolled, even as he grabbed his sword in passing and looked back in time to see the huge, flaming corpse of the anathema Seventh smash into his bed and the table he had just vacated. The massive body was sliced open in a dozen places, and from every wound and silently screaming serpentine head, flaming blue roses on blazing thorns jutted out and consumed the thing inside and out. Balanced on the walls of his quarters with impossible delicacy, a mighty allosaur in full armor, teeth gleaming impossibly whitely in the moonlight, grinned down at him as he backed slowly away, and let two things drop from its forelimbs, burning with hungry unwhite flames. Wyther gawked at the two upper bodies of his mighty servant Ziovyne…who looked like he’d been ripped in half before something had split both of his skulls apart. The allosaur belched and a half-digested, hairless wing splattered at the feet of the pirate lord. In the darkness, Wyther could see an outsized pair of lobster-like horned claws draped about the dinosaur’s neck like fresh trophies. “This is settled with steel.” Wyther slowly turned, to face the visored helm of a massive armored warrior with a gleaming axe whose edge was almost too bright to look upon, and a steel shield snapping up to guard, showing a black wolf on a gray field, head on. Motion above him caught his eye, a slender man with a glowing golden sword and frank smile balanced lightly on the yardarm above him, while a flash of light and scent forewarned him as a Forged girt in burning roses melted out of the mainmast of the Wretch. The entirety of the compound was deathly silent. A glance showed him the harbor was empty of both ships and any hint of life. He was alone and undone. “The reputation of the Godslayer, General Ruin, is well-earned,” he said agreeably, raising the blade that had seen him through a thousand battles, scanning the skies for some sign of the infamous flying ship of the Wolves of Ruin. “Let him come out, and see if he can claim the skin of the Cold Captain of the Crimson to set next to the skull of a god!” he blustered loudly. “The General is away dealing with important matters. You face me, a mere Major of the Wolves, and my name is but Threk! Stand your ground and die, maggot!” and Threk was at him. Wyther was momentarily shocked at the speed of his foe, the speed of his leap, and the staggering force of the blow he barely kept from taking off his head in a ferocious blur of movement. Still, he roared his own defiance, his heart pumping wildly as he realized for the first time in a very long time that he was fighting for his very life. The chance to reclaim what honor he had was too much to ignore, and with a bellow of enjoyment he pushed the bigger warrior back with inhuman strength. Threk recovered with a steady step completely unexpected in someone wearing so much armor, instantly poised and coming back in. Poisoned blades trailing frost beat on black armor as the Captain danced for position, parrying desperately as that axe came hammering in like the arc of the moon and sun. Threk did not let up, pressing, ever pressing, keeping up his pursuit with a sureness of footing even an experienced sailor could envy, while above the watching form of Henri moved from post to post without flinching a muscle, denying any sudden exit by flight with ready blade…not that Wyther had any intention of fleeing. He was cursing and laughing and mocking, a whirlwind of tail, wings, and blades, trying to overwhelm the massive steel-clad warrior who was having none of it, whose red eyes saw only death and nothing to fear in the jokes and japes of the marauder before him, only a dog of the sea to be put down. A crystalline edge sliced across Wyther’s chest, and the edge of that blow pulled a scream of agony from the corrupted man at the purity of the strike. With a crushing blow and spikes erupting out of his armor, Threk drove him backwards and directly into the mainmast, feeling bones crunch and grind under the impact as he drove into the man with his full mass and enchanted spikes bored into him. His shield warded away the last attempted thrusts of the hooked dagger, and the man’s sword was caught in the tines of his equally heavy axe. With his helm slammed full into the pirate’s nose, Threk’s red eyes bored into the unholy gaze of the transformed captain beneath his crowning horns. He said nothing…he had said nothing the entire fight. His entire stance was one of contempt, and as Wyver felt his end closing in on him, he forgot his bravado and struggled fiercely, trying to win free. The helm came back and snapped forwards, crushing bone and ivory, breaking off one of those jutting horns and smashing Wyther’s head back into the unyielding mast of the Wreck, and then Threk was off and spinning and striding away all in one smooth move, not giving a second glance for the defeated pirate. For a moment Wyther thought he was being let free, that this fool would dearly regret turning his back on the Cold Captain of the Crimson. Then his head was falling from his shoulders, and his soul was on fire as he was Fed to the Land. Burning unwhite, the corpse of the Crimson Sails leader slumped to the ground, venting a vengeful, soul-eating fire that would deny the Demogorgon his prize. Eshe’s healing spell coursed through the Weaver link, healing the minor injuries they all had. –Let’s go see what the famous booty of the Crimson holds for us, and then, Rose, I want this harbor and everything in it put to the torch.- Threk said without preamble. ============ Rose fixed the glowing gem of the wakeportal to the figurehead with a word and a whisper, despite her distaste for touching the thing born of corrupted magic. Henri had been able to discern its power with little more then a glance. The Jade Ravens were on their way to Stormreach, their prize ships crewed by folk desperate to escape Scuttlecove, the Jade Ravens along to make sure they didn’t merely move from one form of slavery to another. Despite his sympathy for their predicament, there was simply too much black-heartedness among the rescued and fleeing for Threk to let them in Farshore. The Ravens were under direct orders to get the people off loaded and then return to Farshore to aid in the defense of the colony when the Crimson came inevitably looking for revenge. With them had gone, surprisingly, Captain Narissa, eager for revenge and knowing the colony would be needing some additional muscle…and not being one who dared take her chances in the realm of the Demogorgon itself. Left behind on the Sea Wolf were mostly Olmani, particularly the most fervent students of the art of demon hunting, brought down from the center of the Isle of Dread by a man who would probably be the one King of the Olman tribes. “It is time for vengeance for ancient sins, for the fall of ancient glories, for the deaths of innocents and the genocide of a people,” Threk rumbled to the assembled crew, who were waiting expectantly, eagerly even. “We go to find the Lady of Farshore, we go at the behest of Fate itself to make right what is wrong!” “Henri! The helm is yours! Take us through and after the bastard!” From the wheel, the Aundairean simply nodded and concentrated, waking the planar magic of the device with the force of the tattoo that blazed on his skin, clearly visible through his clothing. With a great stinking rip in the very fabric of the sea, a great hole opened before them, plummeting straight down into lightless depths. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Guide drove the ship directly over the edge of that pit, and down towards the destiny he had been born to complete. ===Aelryinth
gaerfindel 04-17-07, 12:22 PM	jumps on the email bandwagon david.joslyn@gmail.com
aelryinth 04-17-07, 06:41 PM	Commentary This section of the Tide starts out with everyone at 15th level. Among other things, that allows access to multiple Mind Blanks, Discern Location, Greater Teleport, and the like. The mere idea that a bunch of 9th level characters are going to sail off and beat a bunch of level 15's to Scuttlecove is, well, laughable. So, I ditched that premise. Likewise, the idea that a bunch of 15th level characters is not going to verify Harliss' status when attempting to locate her is also dumb, at least if you aren't playing slash and hackers. The Wolves, of course, have a commando mindset...they are not about giving the enemy any chances to retaliate or run whatsoever. Sound Bubble is a level 2 or 3 spell originally from 2E. It basically makes a bubble that sound doesn't pass through in either directions, radius up to 10'/level, duration variable. It's very useful for taking out sentries, because it doesn't cut off all sound and alert those nearby...it just stops sounds from going from place to place. The problem with demons, of course, is telepathy...that's hard to stop. However, a protection from Evil effect would do it...or, simply kill them so fast they don't have time to get out the alarm, aka Empowered Sonic Sanctified Delayed Fireballs. The Cold Captain has a lot of usable melee buff loot on him, which is good, because by the flavor of it the party is going to have no down time from level 15 on to upgrade their gear, and instead are going to be reliant on handouts. The neccessity of time constraints to challenge high level people is annoying. While detailing the return to Scuttlecove is nice, there's very little need for a party to skulk about and actually interact with the inhabitants. Locate Harliss (or her 'distinctive' jewelry') and simply proceed from there. Going around on the streets is also completely unneccessary. A War Weaver can easily cast OVerland Flight on everyone, and it will last for hours with an Extend Metamagic rod. Invisibility means no one is going to notice if you simply stay above the range of a detect invisibility spell. The DC 23 Will save to avoid the clutches of the 'recruiters' is a killer, especially since it can instantly and utterly split up the party. Henri can shut this down for the party, but a normal party, everyone had better be Dimensionally Anchored, having guaranteed Will saves, or with Teleports of their own. Unless you can shut off their songs, the encounter with the Harpies is likely to be the end of the party. THe DC's of their songs are Will Saves, the song of horror being 27~! And yes, the CR for one of these 19 HD beasties is 13... Anyone notice Anathemas have regeneration/ force or adamantine? Heh. Mass magic missile dmg for the beat down, I guess. In case you are wondering, Rose is employing the magic of the Cerulean Sigil, an anti-aberration order with druidic roots. Hence, she gets to kill the yuan-ti...and you had better believe the Corrupt Monks of Scuttlecove are going to get to prove their fighting skills to her one final time when all this is over. The adventure assumes the Jade Ravens will not be seen again. Giving them their own fleet of ships and potential crews and setting them off to Stormreach to make their fortune is much friendlier then having them get beat up off camera and disposed of. With the loss of Meravanchi, I expect them to become major players in the Farshore trade scene, and Lady Vanderboren's most productive captains. Note that by the time you are allowed to learn the secrets of the Totem hunter class for slaying Demons, you are level 15...for a class that should be entered about level 7. It's a potent class for the module if you get into it early. At this late stage, it's just a distraction and something to 'dip'...bad way to intro a PrC. The Worm Slayer PrC for the Age of Worms, for instance, was made available about level 5, when it was a viable choice. Hah, Horizon Walkers can get the dimension dooring stuff by character level 11. I feel even less sad about giving it to Henri. I'm always amazed that they introduce an Evil town just for high level characters. The whole place is begging to be put to the torch by rampaging PC's delivering the wrath of the righteous, and the powerful evil folk aren't going to be able to stop much of anything. There's a lot of FR inflation here, too...the average Thug is now level 8. In Eberron, each of these mooks would be a viable captain of their own ship...here, they are mooks. Heh. Sure, sure, they have to be at least something of a challenge for demons and yuan-ti, or they are just begging to be killed...but, oi! It's funny how they also blatantly play up the 'prey on Good' angle, when it's the Evil folks preying on one another that is the real danger. For instance, the Death Slaad can go home when he kills 100 Good beings. Uh-huh. Not 100 followers of rival demon lords...Good beings? I like how they took the Ur-Priests out of the picture. Even in Eberron, the idea that something finally took notice of their Faith-theiving and did something about it (coinciding with the volcano that destroyed the old base of the yuan-ti tribe) is nicely appropriate...especially if it was Lords of Dust incensed over the fact... At the end of the module, there shouldn't be a Crimson Sails home base anymore. One or two fire elementals is enough to send the whole place into blazing ruin, which I'm sure could be done enthusiastically. That still leaves a 15 mage Lemorian running around rounding up 'independent' captains, and probably attempting to take over the fleet himself...but that won't last too long, either. Yeah, let's give the characters a whole hold full of loot...and then give them no time to really spend it, except maybe back at Scuttlecove and enrich all the evil merchants there, and buy minor, useless stuff. No need to upgrade current gear, uh-uh. But next month...into the Abyss, and the oceans of Khyber! ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 05-20-07, 04:10 PM	Oh, good, it wasn't purged. Where shall we begin? The first thing the characters run into is...a boat full of Arcanes (oops, mercanes) which they can use to buy anything their old hearts desire at any old time. Huh. I get the feeling that time constraints and level-appropriate equipment just don't jive here. There's also the problem of 'out with the old, in with the new' instead of 'upgrade my trusty axe I've had since level 1'. This whole setup is pure cheese to allow the party to convert the haul for the Cold Captain into level appropriate equipment, of course. It's not there logically...it's there to help the story along. The premise behind this module starts you at level 17, which means access to level 9 spells for most groups. The leisurely pace for exploration, expansion of the colony, taking on this or that encounter for extra xp, politics and the like now gets thrown out the window. Basically, you are in the Abyss, and best to keep your mind on business. That means precious little down time, especially since you don't know the precise time for the Savage Tide (i.e. DM fiat if you're wasting time). Your level, at least, allows for some excellent nova situations, recovery of hit points, and decent defenses. They are needed. The environmental DC's for Fort saves (poison, disease, stench) are over 20, and the saves for the special abilities of the demons you face also exceed 20 in virutally every circumstance. You can't completely rely on Mind Blank as a will defense, because half the demons are Advanced and have Greater Dispelling available to them. INvisibility and the like are less useful much of the time with the prevalence of True Sight and Detect Invis among the natives. The Demogorgon blocks div spells to find someone, so you have to look around for the lady you are trying to rescue personally. During the course of the fighting you are expected to advance to level 18. If you kill everything Bad (and what righteous party would not?), you might even hit level 19. How in the world did Ms. Vanderboren, Damsel in Distress (TM) suddenly pick up 3 more levels, and become six levels higher then the bodyguards she has been relying on for protection (the Jade Ravens) ? A Mary Sue, I guess...too beloved by the storyline to let just sink back into obscurity. Combats are going to be brutal and, well, smell...the author seems to like corruption and the whole sewer thing, and even introduces a demon made out of, to put it politely, waste. More fort saves all around, everyone! Ever notice how Orcus is the Prince of Undead, but Death Knights, probably the Kewlest type of Undead, are made by Demogorgon? Kudos to the author who put in Saint Kargoth, the First Death knight. Hope someone put points into Sailing, it's going to be a bumpy ride otherwise. And suddenly, we know there were 34 Black Pearls made, going from vague to precise without any idea of what happened in between. Maybe the number was in the logs of the COld Captain. ======================= The Wolves go into this fight with several defenses. 1) they are really stealth focused. Henri, with his Jaunting capacity, is especially good at this, and Threk, of course, is a slaying ghost. Flight spells basically help obviate Listen checks, suprise demons who don't think land bound mortals can fly, and allow attacks from unexpected angles. 2) the Demons in the module can't teleport, makes up nicely for Henri not being able to do the same...or being able to counter them. 3) The party's armor is going to be considered blueshined, meaning basically its immune to damage from acid and corrosive effects, among other things. 4) Mask filters obviate the environmental hazards, and will be issued to the crew, as well. Screen spells to hide the ship and stop/avoid potentially nasty random enounters and keep the suprise edge will be in force, and we want to preserve the lives of the crew, too. Darkvision goggles will be in place. In case of magical darkness (which demons can see through), Heightened Continual Flames (7th+) will take care of such things instantly. 5) Going Nova isn't really a viable strategy, as the enemy is too intelligent, even if they are fractured. When it becomes known a powerful group of mortals is around butchering everyone, that just makes the job harder. Lack of communication between the bosses will help matters, but unless you can wipe out whole sections, you are just making your job harder when survivors go fleeing to other factions. Ergo, your best strategy is to wisely grind through everyone, if grind you are going to do, saving spells for key moments and scouting for tactical edges. 6) Primary weapons are going to be treated ahead of time to be equal to cold iron and good, to get around demonic DR. It's going to be everywhere, might as well prepare for it. Evil Outsider bane is going to be on most everything. 7) primary mission is to cover Lady Vanderboren. After that, extinguishing the life of everything here. Information on the Savage Tide would be nice, but its not expected. 8) Killing the death knight Vanderboren is likely to be anti-climactic. He's not a truly formidable melee threat, the party knows about his charm-based attacks, and the ludicrous idea of him riding around on his nightmare raining attacks down on them is almost laughable...beast and rider are not going to be in the air that long, if at all. The real threat is his shadow demons with all their touch attacks. We're talking level 18 characters here, after all. While the module itself allows for negotiation with every boss to some extent, this is probably not going to be a priority for a group that has been beating on demons for some time now, and is expecting combat going in. The Wolves certainly aren't expecting to do so. ===Aelryinth
aelryinth 07-02-07, 08:17 PM	With the almost pure hack bias of the last two modules, my enthusiasm to post stories has waned...but I'll see about getting something out, at least. ==Aelryinth