Three fiery tendrils rise up from Mero’s hand and jump towards the three sisters, like snakes jolting towards their prey. The Blackstar closest to him, the lady they were tasked with searching, gets hit first. Her cloak singes, as does her hair, and the raging flames burn her fair skin. The sister she called Althrea can duck right in time, but the woman in the back, Shavaria, is less lucky. Now that the back of the room is clearly lit by the sorcerer’s scorching ray, they can see the fey’ri better. She has a strange monocle in front of one eye with a deep pink glass. The heat of the flames crashing into her face bursts the tinted glass and shards pierce her face.
“My eye!” She screams in agony. “You blinded me, you walking piece of scrap metal!”
“Serves you right for what you have done to everyone”, Mero replies. “And to the spectators!”
The unharmed Blackstar takes a step forward, making sure she has a clear view on Mero and on the hallway with the other intruders.
“You are not the only sorcerer here, golem.” She speaks with a smile that reveals all her devious intentions. “Let’s see how you manage against your beloved eye monster when your friends can’t help you.”
She points her clenched fists forward, one to the spectator and the other to the corridor. She opens her hands, palms pointed upwards, revealing a small pile of metal dust in the left hand and a thin strand of a silk-like material in the right. She inaudibly whispers a few words and blows the dust towards the spectator in the middle of the room. When the powder touches the metal on the beholder’s skin, the aberration begins to grow. Within seconds, it doubles in size, its growl grows deeper and it gets a lot more intimidating and menacing than it already was before.
As this ominous spectacle takes place and draws in everyone’s attention, Althrea flicks the silvery strand at the hallway. It moves quickly through the air and changes its shape. When it’s halfway it has taken the form a spider, but before it reaches its targets in the corridor, it explodes into a thick greyish web. The entire hallway, including everyone standing there, is caught in a sticky, magical web.
(Spell save DC 12 versus dexterity 18)
With Oslando and Bruq on the front of the line, Lyssa was relatively out of the line of the arachnid spell. The rather heavy strands stick to some of her hair and to her torso, but she can pull herself free, stumbling through a small unwebbed way past her half-elf companion and entering the room. Jewel, her baby stycha, is safely hidden in her backpack and lets out a muffled crow, too soft for the siren to hear.
(Natural 20 versus AC)
“Mero, I don’t think we can save this one anymore. It’s been maimed and influenced by these wicked women. I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
Lyssa takes another step forward and looks at the embers that still rise from Mero’s hand. He puts her hand on his metal skin and stares at the beholder, meeting his lifeless gaze.
“You just made this a lot easier for me, witch, and a lot more painful for your minion.”
She hums and rapidly raises the tone she does it with. The metal parts on the spectator’s skin start to vibrate violently, turning bright red and orange. The edges melt, set its skin aflame and cause a pain so severe that it screams in agony. Its wail echoes throughout the entirety of the basement.
“Quickly, Sha!”
The sister in the front of the room, having extinguished the fire caused by Mero, turns to the fey’ri in the back while pointing at the spectator. She does as she is told and runs to the beholder. She holds two small magnetized pieces of mineral in her hand, both floating around one another. She directs them to her minion and the stones quickly turns around it, restoring some of its vitality and cooling down the heated metal.
“You can have your revenge on that wench later, Blinky”, she says. “Kill the golem first!”
donderdag 30 juli 2020
zondag 19 juli 2020
Chapter 5.25: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
“Foul witches!”
Mero shouts at the top of his non-existing lung. He shakes himself free of Dargothoth’s clamping grasp and leaves him sightless and guideless behind as he walks towards the front of the group. His steps scrape the stones loudly and furiously, dust whirling up left and right.
“What have you done to my uncle’s children?”
The others stay close behind him, but are still partially in the corridor. Mero is the only one actually in the room. His sudden presence brightens the flames of the black candles. The three women no longer remain shrouded beneath a veil of shadows. They are all wearing cloaks in dark colours, partially hidden beneath their deep red fleshy wings. One of them whips her demon tail, creating a sharp echoing throughout the room, demanding silence.
“We have taken back what this world stole of our master.”
The fey’ri closest to them speaks with a recognizable voice, one that especially Dargothoth remembers vividly.
“You!” He clenches his fist while he growls in her general direction. “You did this to me! You use the name and markings of the Faceless God to instill fear in others, but you are no servant of him. He spoke to me and ordered your execution. You are going to lift this heinous curse immediately and we will kill you quickly. The other options are far worse.”
The sivak’s threats are met with maniacal and belittling laughter.
“You talk with a lot of big words for a blind lizard”, the lady in the back says. “You speak like you know everything, while in truth, you know absolutely nothing.”
Even though she was right about his sight, she wasn’t entirely correct. With the power granted by the Faceless God, he could see the aura of a demon near him. Dargothoth can see the glowing symbol of Gor-Thar in front of their faces and he knows what his own blessing looks like. What he doesn’t recognize, is the red rune-like glyph he sees when he looks at the three fey’ri. It’s a red vertical line with two straight branches on both sides attached to it, all pointing diagonally upwards. Three circles are beneath each other on the left and right of the central line, looking like drops of blood dripping down. He does not know what it is, but he has seen very few things within this world. He can consult his god later.
“Dargothoth is right”, Mero says with audible disgust, not taking his eyes of the spectator. “I will burn the meat of your flesh for what you did to the spectators, to the demons of this town and to my friend. Stop this ritual. Now!”
The woman in the back takes a step forward. She looks intrigued, observing him from top to bottom.
“Your design is wonderful”, she says with a soft and calm voice, like there’s tension whatsoever in the room. “I will make you my next pet after I’m done with Blinky here.”
She nods her head in the spectator’s direction. The beholder has more pieces of metal than skin left, some eyestalks are replaced by strange tubes and most of its teeth are shards of metal. It looks like the automaton Oanoa created, but this one is alive. Or was, it’s difficult to tell.
“Yes”, a different sisters says, the one that has not spoken yet, “you do have some spare parts left, right? And if he proves to be as worthless as the floating eye freaks we used for our ceremony, we can just melt him for new components.”
The demon in the back claps her hands with excitement.
“That would be fun!”
The lady in the deep purple robe raises her hand.
“Althrea, Shavaria, enough. We can’t have trespassers think that we don’t take them seriously.” A devious smile reveals her pointy canine teeth. “I will give you a final warning. Leave and we will not pursuit any of you. We will be gone before the start of next month. We have what we came for and are just finishing our business here.”
She turns and gestures to the circle of candles behind her. With a few flowy movements of her fingers she brightens the room even further. The spectator floats away from the center, back to Shavaria, the fey’ri in the back near the wall. Now that nothing is blocking the view on the custom made shrine in the centre. A couple of big metal rings, all thin and dark grey, levitate and turns slowly around their own axis. With the rings, dozens of small milky eyes float in the same way. A few bigger eyes, precisely as big as the central eye of a spectator, slowly turn around the scenery, their discoloured pupils continuously looking at the centre.
(21, 10 and 15 versus AC)
Mero’s anger reaches its limit. The power he learned to tap into in the realm of his uncle burns with a fiery temper in his soul. He can feel that fiery energy move to his hand. It materializes as an orange sphere of fiery energy the moment he loses is patience.
“Screw your final warning.” The sorcerer shouts and he raises the hand containing the burning magic. “This ends now!”
Mero shouts at the top of his non-existing lung. He shakes himself free of Dargothoth’s clamping grasp and leaves him sightless and guideless behind as he walks towards the front of the group. His steps scrape the stones loudly and furiously, dust whirling up left and right.
“What have you done to my uncle’s children?”
The others stay close behind him, but are still partially in the corridor. Mero is the only one actually in the room. His sudden presence brightens the flames of the black candles. The three women no longer remain shrouded beneath a veil of shadows. They are all wearing cloaks in dark colours, partially hidden beneath their deep red fleshy wings. One of them whips her demon tail, creating a sharp echoing throughout the room, demanding silence.
“We have taken back what this world stole of our master.”
The fey’ri closest to them speaks with a recognizable voice, one that especially Dargothoth remembers vividly.
“You!” He clenches his fist while he growls in her general direction. “You did this to me! You use the name and markings of the Faceless God to instill fear in others, but you are no servant of him. He spoke to me and ordered your execution. You are going to lift this heinous curse immediately and we will kill you quickly. The other options are far worse.”
The sivak’s threats are met with maniacal and belittling laughter.
“You talk with a lot of big words for a blind lizard”, the lady in the back says. “You speak like you know everything, while in truth, you know absolutely nothing.”
Even though she was right about his sight, she wasn’t entirely correct. With the power granted by the Faceless God, he could see the aura of a demon near him. Dargothoth can see the glowing symbol of Gor-Thar in front of their faces and he knows what his own blessing looks like. What he doesn’t recognize, is the red rune-like glyph he sees when he looks at the three fey’ri. It’s a red vertical line with two straight branches on both sides attached to it, all pointing diagonally upwards. Three circles are beneath each other on the left and right of the central line, looking like drops of blood dripping down. He does not know what it is, but he has seen very few things within this world. He can consult his god later.
“Dargothoth is right”, Mero says with audible disgust, not taking his eyes of the spectator. “I will burn the meat of your flesh for what you did to the spectators, to the demons of this town and to my friend. Stop this ritual. Now!”
The woman in the back takes a step forward. She looks intrigued, observing him from top to bottom.
“Your design is wonderful”, she says with a soft and calm voice, like there’s tension whatsoever in the room. “I will make you my next pet after I’m done with Blinky here.”
She nods her head in the spectator’s direction. The beholder has more pieces of metal than skin left, some eyestalks are replaced by strange tubes and most of its teeth are shards of metal. It looks like the automaton Oanoa created, but this one is alive. Or was, it’s difficult to tell.
“Yes”, a different sisters says, the one that has not spoken yet, “you do have some spare parts left, right? And if he proves to be as worthless as the floating eye freaks we used for our ceremony, we can just melt him for new components.”
The demon in the back claps her hands with excitement.
“That would be fun!”
The lady in the deep purple robe raises her hand.
“Althrea, Shavaria, enough. We can’t have trespassers think that we don’t take them seriously.” A devious smile reveals her pointy canine teeth. “I will give you a final warning. Leave and we will not pursuit any of you. We will be gone before the start of next month. We have what we came for and are just finishing our business here.”
She turns and gestures to the circle of candles behind her. With a few flowy movements of her fingers she brightens the room even further. The spectator floats away from the center, back to Shavaria, the fey’ri in the back near the wall. Now that nothing is blocking the view on the custom made shrine in the centre. A couple of big metal rings, all thin and dark grey, levitate and turns slowly around their own axis. With the rings, dozens of small milky eyes float in the same way. A few bigger eyes, precisely as big as the central eye of a spectator, slowly turn around the scenery, their discoloured pupils continuously looking at the centre.
(21, 10 and 15 versus AC)
Mero’s anger reaches its limit. The power he learned to tap into in the realm of his uncle burns with a fiery temper in his soul. He can feel that fiery energy move to his hand. It materializes as an orange sphere of fiery energy the moment he loses is patience.
“Screw your final warning.” The sorcerer shouts and he raises the hand containing the burning magic. “This ends now!”
vrijdag 10 juli 2020
Chapter 5.24: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
Their footsteps echo softly throughout the corridor. They can’t see any sign of the red slime monster they just faced. It fled through the cracks, partially beaten but not defeated. They don’t know if it will come back, but it’s not their primary concern.
“Bruq, are you hanging in there?”
Dargothoth’s words are softer than usual. His blindness seems to make him kinder, even if it’s only a little. It’s his dependency on others to be his eyes.
“Still pretty beaten up.” Bruq’s answer is accompanied with a deep sigh. “If you have some energy left, I would appreciate a little more of your healing hands. They do the trick a lot better than my goodberries.”
The satyr chuckles. His face aches.
“Sure”, the cleric says. “Come here.”
The sivak stretches out his arm, his hand making a stop sign. He waits until he feels the touch of the satyr’s skin. When he feels his leathery armour, he moves around with his finger to find an exposed piece of skin.
“That tickles!”
While Bruq laughs, Dargothoth pulls back his hand with visible disgust.
“If you’re going to fuck around, goatman, you can choke on your goodberries.”
The hunter holds up his hands and quickly shakes his head, to no avail of course.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please.”
He grabs the priest’s hand and places it to the side of his head. His scaled dark hand is cold to the touch. Bruq tries to ignore the thought of how many lives were ended by his icy grip, by the necrotic energy that it spread more often than it gave relief. It’s difficult to trust someone who takes away parents from children and shapeshifts into others to hide his monstrous face.
“Fine.”
The familiar blue glow warms his skin. More pain fades this time, like a gentle stream of hot water washing away the dirt. His swollen eye socket and cheek remain, however, and the popped blood vessel in his eye as well. Lyssa notices it.
“Let me help as well”, she says with kindness in her voice.
She scrapes her throat. The little stycha on her shoulder mimics the sound.
“Blow to the cheek and blow to the head.
Lungs without air and eyes bloody red.
Restore the body and take away the pain.
End this suffering and take away his bane.”
Every melodious word is literally music to Bruq’s ears. He feels calm. He closes his eyes and sways tranquilly from left to right. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze meets the siren’s gaze.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
The satyr looks at Dargothoth for a second, but he doesn’t respond. Lyssa, on the other hand, giggles.
“You’re welcome. I fixed your bloody eye, but I couldn’t fix the rest of your face. I’m sorry.”
She bursts into laughter and Mero joins her.
Oslando bids them to keep it down.
“We don’t have to give our position away more than we already did… It was funny, though.”
The half-elf doesn’t have any visible wounds to heal, but he feels miserable. Whatever it was that the oblex did to him, it left mental scars. He knows it took something from his memory, but he can’t remember what. He does know it really hurts. It feels like his head is going to explode.
He takes out the wand of healing and presses the knob to his right temple. As one of the three light blue lines fade away, Oslando can feel the pressure in his head disappear as well. He hoped the fuzziness would go away as well, but a proverbial fog remains.
“Are you alright?” Mero walks up to the half-elf and looks at him with his glowing eyes. “I didn’t see you get hit.”
Oslando shakes his head. He swallows down the discomfort and smiles faintly at the sorcerer.
“No, I didn’t get hit. I just felt really weird, but now I’m alright. Don’t worry about me. You focus on Dargothoth and we’ll keep going.”
(Perception 7) (Stealth 13 versus perception 12 and perception 20)
They have quietly opened the door and decided that Mero should walk as far behind as possible, afraid his metal body makes too much noise as they walk down the staircase. They can hear multiple women chant, but it’s unclear what they say. It’s obvious that they are where they need to be and it is dangerous territory.
They want to discuss, to strategize, but any kind of sound could give away their position. As they progress, they see the black candles on a stone table at the end of the corridor in the dimly lit room. Three shadows are casted on the wall and dance on the dark stones, but there is something else in their midst. Something that, now that they are closer, is staring directly at them with four small eyes and one big central one. It shrieks and a metal sound echoes.
“Welcome, saviours of Saal”, one of the women says. “Feast your eyes and we will feast on them!”
“Bruq, are you hanging in there?”
Dargothoth’s words are softer than usual. His blindness seems to make him kinder, even if it’s only a little. It’s his dependency on others to be his eyes.
“Still pretty beaten up.” Bruq’s answer is accompanied with a deep sigh. “If you have some energy left, I would appreciate a little more of your healing hands. They do the trick a lot better than my goodberries.”
The satyr chuckles. His face aches.
“Sure”, the cleric says. “Come here.”
The sivak stretches out his arm, his hand making a stop sign. He waits until he feels the touch of the satyr’s skin. When he feels his leathery armour, he moves around with his finger to find an exposed piece of skin.
“That tickles!”
While Bruq laughs, Dargothoth pulls back his hand with visible disgust.
“If you’re going to fuck around, goatman, you can choke on your goodberries.”
The hunter holds up his hands and quickly shakes his head, to no avail of course.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please.”
He grabs the priest’s hand and places it to the side of his head. His scaled dark hand is cold to the touch. Bruq tries to ignore the thought of how many lives were ended by his icy grip, by the necrotic energy that it spread more often than it gave relief. It’s difficult to trust someone who takes away parents from children and shapeshifts into others to hide his monstrous face.
“Fine.”
The familiar blue glow warms his skin. More pain fades this time, like a gentle stream of hot water washing away the dirt. His swollen eye socket and cheek remain, however, and the popped blood vessel in his eye as well. Lyssa notices it.
“Let me help as well”, she says with kindness in her voice.
She scrapes her throat. The little stycha on her shoulder mimics the sound.
“Blow to the cheek and blow to the head.
Lungs without air and eyes bloody red.
Restore the body and take away the pain.
End this suffering and take away his bane.”
Every melodious word is literally music to Bruq’s ears. He feels calm. He closes his eyes and sways tranquilly from left to right. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze meets the siren’s gaze.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
The satyr looks at Dargothoth for a second, but he doesn’t respond. Lyssa, on the other hand, giggles.
“You’re welcome. I fixed your bloody eye, but I couldn’t fix the rest of your face. I’m sorry.”
She bursts into laughter and Mero joins her.
Oslando bids them to keep it down.
“We don’t have to give our position away more than we already did… It was funny, though.”
The half-elf doesn’t have any visible wounds to heal, but he feels miserable. Whatever it was that the oblex did to him, it left mental scars. He knows it took something from his memory, but he can’t remember what. He does know it really hurts. It feels like his head is going to explode.
He takes out the wand of healing and presses the knob to his right temple. As one of the three light blue lines fade away, Oslando can feel the pressure in his head disappear as well. He hoped the fuzziness would go away as well, but a proverbial fog remains.
“Are you alright?” Mero walks up to the half-elf and looks at him with his glowing eyes. “I didn’t see you get hit.”
Oslando shakes his head. He swallows down the discomfort and smiles faintly at the sorcerer.
“No, I didn’t get hit. I just felt really weird, but now I’m alright. Don’t worry about me. You focus on Dargothoth and we’ll keep going.”
(Perception 7) (Stealth 13 versus perception 12 and perception 20)
They have quietly opened the door and decided that Mero should walk as far behind as possible, afraid his metal body makes too much noise as they walk down the staircase. They can hear multiple women chant, but it’s unclear what they say. It’s obvious that they are where they need to be and it is dangerous territory.
They want to discuss, to strategize, but any kind of sound could give away their position. As they progress, they see the black candles on a stone table at the end of the corridor in the dimly lit room. Three shadows are casted on the wall and dance on the dark stones, but there is something else in their midst. Something that, now that they are closer, is staring directly at them with four small eyes and one big central one. It shrieks and a metal sound echoes.
“Welcome, saviours of Saal”, one of the women says. “Feast your eyes and we will feast on them!”
donderdag 25 juni 2020
Chapter 5.23: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
(Spell save DC 13 versus strength 4)
“We need to kill that thing instead.”
Oslando points his shortsword to the gelatinous blob at the end of the corridor. A faint sound of wet slim being dragged across the floor sends a shiver down his spine. It sounds rancid.
He moves carefully but determinedly along the wall, just out of the reach of the fake Phenilias, and stops about twelve feet away from it.
“I hope this works.”
He drops his cold enchanted shortsword. The sharp noise startles Dargothoth and confuses the others. He thinks back to the easier spells Oanoa learned him, called cantrips. He practiced this spell a couple of times and it seemed rather easy back then. Hopefully, the stress doesn’t get him.
A white crackling bolt of lightning appears in its free hand. The static noise fills up the entire corridor, like raging bees and wasps buzzing in their ears. He lifts his hand and slashes the lightning bolt forward. It expands, forming an electric whip, and wraps itself around the imposter. Smaller tendrils of white energy hit his body everywhere, scorching away the fake appearance and revealing its true red slimy body before restoring its image.
With a roar the half-elf pulls on the whip. His target gets pulled up almost right up to him with just a feet or two left in between them. He don’t know how heavy this ooze creature is, but he seriously doubts he could have pulled it this far without magic.
The tether connecting it with the big red blob is getting stretched. It seems like more and more tension builds in it.
“Look”, Oslando says as he notices this. “Maybe if we get it disconnected from that red slime thing it will die.”
(Intelligence 15)
Dargothoth taps quickly on Mero’s arm.
“I know what this is!” He is almost shouting. “This sounds like an oblex. The big red thing is the body, that Phenilias clone is just an extension of it. You can’t kill it by hurting that, you have to damage the main body!”
(12 versus AC) (Spell save DC 14 versus constitution 7)
Bruq, still weakened from his beating, moves up to the main body and stabs his glaive forward. Too bad for him, the oblex felt this attack already and prepared to reshape its body. The weapon pierces nothing but air. The satyr pulls back Dreadbane and regains his fighting stance.
In the meanwhile, Mero has picked up on the technique of pushing and pulling that Lyssa and Oslando are doing.
“Stay here”, he says calmly to their cleric. “I’m going to blast this thing to pieces.”
The sorcerer gets behind the demon-shaped ooze and claps his hands together. A loud wave of forces crashes into Phenilias’ back. The red string snaps and the imposters gets launched into the air. It loses all details and shape as it get reduced to nothing more than a greasy pool spread across the ceiling and walls.
“And now for the main course!”
Mero turns and is met with disappointment. The oblex is getting smaller and smaller, but not because it’s dying or something like that. It quickly moves through a crack in the floor, molding its body, and the faces inside the blob take on even more horrendous forms. It takes only seconds to disappear completely.
“Fuck!” Bruq stomps his hoof on the floor. “You better flee, you spineless mucus pile!”
He growls in anger, teeth grinding, and he turns to his allies. He shrugs roughly.
“Now what?”
Lyssa walks up to him.
“We heal our wounds.”
Oslando gets up beside her.
“And finish what we became to do”, he adds.
“We need to kill that thing instead.”
Oslando points his shortsword to the gelatinous blob at the end of the corridor. A faint sound of wet slim being dragged across the floor sends a shiver down his spine. It sounds rancid.
He moves carefully but determinedly along the wall, just out of the reach of the fake Phenilias, and stops about twelve feet away from it.
“I hope this works.”
He drops his cold enchanted shortsword. The sharp noise startles Dargothoth and confuses the others. He thinks back to the easier spells Oanoa learned him, called cantrips. He practiced this spell a couple of times and it seemed rather easy back then. Hopefully, the stress doesn’t get him.
A white crackling bolt of lightning appears in its free hand. The static noise fills up the entire corridor, like raging bees and wasps buzzing in their ears. He lifts his hand and slashes the lightning bolt forward. It expands, forming an electric whip, and wraps itself around the imposter. Smaller tendrils of white energy hit his body everywhere, scorching away the fake appearance and revealing its true red slimy body before restoring its image.
With a roar the half-elf pulls on the whip. His target gets pulled up almost right up to him with just a feet or two left in between them. He don’t know how heavy this ooze creature is, but he seriously doubts he could have pulled it this far without magic.
The tether connecting it with the big red blob is getting stretched. It seems like more and more tension builds in it.
“Look”, Oslando says as he notices this. “Maybe if we get it disconnected from that red slime thing it will die.”
(Intelligence 15)
Dargothoth taps quickly on Mero’s arm.
“I know what this is!” He is almost shouting. “This sounds like an oblex. The big red thing is the body, that Phenilias clone is just an extension of it. You can’t kill it by hurting that, you have to damage the main body!”
(12 versus AC) (Spell save DC 14 versus constitution 7)
Bruq, still weakened from his beating, moves up to the main body and stabs his glaive forward. Too bad for him, the oblex felt this attack already and prepared to reshape its body. The weapon pierces nothing but air. The satyr pulls back Dreadbane and regains his fighting stance.
In the meanwhile, Mero has picked up on the technique of pushing and pulling that Lyssa and Oslando are doing.
“Stay here”, he says calmly to their cleric. “I’m going to blast this thing to pieces.”
The sorcerer gets behind the demon-shaped ooze and claps his hands together. A loud wave of forces crashes into Phenilias’ back. The red string snaps and the imposters gets launched into the air. It loses all details and shape as it get reduced to nothing more than a greasy pool spread across the ceiling and walls.
“And now for the main course!”
Mero turns and is met with disappointment. The oblex is getting smaller and smaller, but not because it’s dying or something like that. It quickly moves through a crack in the floor, molding its body, and the faces inside the blob take on even more horrendous forms. It takes only seconds to disappear completely.
“Fuck!” Bruq stomps his hoof on the floor. “You better flee, you spineless mucus pile!”
He growls in anger, teeth grinding, and he turns to his allies. He shrugs roughly.
“Now what?”
Lyssa walks up to him.
“We heal our wounds.”
Oslando gets up beside her.
“And finish what we became to do”, he adds.
woensdag 17 juni 2020
Chapter 5.22: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
(19 versus AC) (Perception 20)
Mero is overwhelmed by anger. A fire burns inside of him, one he has felt few times before, but always when experiencing something unpleasant. He felt it when he was talked down to as a slave, put back in his place and cast out by those who couldn't see past his former straw body.
Now, he feels that same sensation of fury boiling inside of him. These Blackstar hellions have been torturing his uncle’s children and cursed one of his few friends. But there’s a different warmth inside him as well, one he discovered only recently after Oanoa showed it to him. He can feel all that heat building up in his hand as a big sphere of fiery magic appears.
“You’re going to pay, fake wizard.”
Mero lets out an angry roar and hurls the raging fire at the cloaked demon. It hits him right in the chest, ember flying everywhere. Peculiarly, his clothes don’t catch fire. They don’t even blacken. Instead, his skin turns red like a ruby and ripples. One heartbeat later, it’s like nothing happened.
(17 versus AC) (DC 15 versus wisdom 10)
The demon seems unbothered by the flames and keeps his focus on the satyr and half-elf in front of him. He pulls back his right arm again and launches his pseudopod hand right into Bruq’s face. He hits hard. The sound of bones breaking echoes throughout the corridor and blood pours from the hunter’s nose. He blinks a few times and takes a step back. Everything is spinning. It feels like he’s standing on a ship during a heavy storm. His vision narrows, black spots blur his gaze. He leans on his glaive to maintain his balance.
The imposter Phenilias turns his head to Oslando. His eyes glow red and he sluggishly opens his mound. His jaw dislocates with an unpleasant squishy sound and his mouth becomes a gaping maw. The way he inhales air sounds like a man on his deathbed, a hollow gasp and fluids gurgling from deep within lungs.
A noise quickly fills Oslando’s head, like he’s stepping into a blizzard and the snow is raging all around him. He cringes, squints his eyes and grinds his teeth. Images flash in front of his mind’s eye. He sees a female staring lovingly at him and then shift her caring glare to an elderly human being. She holds his hand. The man coughs. Oslando blinks. The image has changed. He sees a family of elves and a family of humans shouting at each other, making angry gestures, most of them into his direction. Those are the main scenes that keep repeating, passing by faster and faster each time he sees them. The details fade, however. Their expressions, their emotions, the context, the meaning, it all dies down, deafened by the noise. This is no time to recollect distant memories, but the half-elf feels like he couldn’t even if he tried to. A part of him is missing, but he can’t seem to recall what exactly is missing. What was he even thinking of?
In the meantime, Dargothoth lifts his right hand, trying to feel who is in front of him.
“What is happening?” He sounds somewhat concerned. “Tell me, Mero, what can I do?”
The sorcerer moves his head from Oslando to Bruq and decides the latter needs their help the most.
“Bruq got hit twice, pretty badly, it seems. You should try and heal him.”
Mero guides the cleric two steps forward and Dargothoth feels the hunter’s leather hide beneath his hand. He can feels the satyr’s heavy breathing. With fleeting focus a light blue glow envelops the cleric’s palm. Bruq’s breathing steadies, becomes deeper and less rushed, but a lot of the pain remains. For now he seems steady enough to pull through, but this thing in front of them isn’t even what they came for and with two hits he already nearly killed one of them.
(Spell save DC 15 versus constitution 9) (Perception 11)
Lyssa hums. She remembers what Cyrzana taught her, back in Oanoa’s plane. It was the same spell the gnoll shaman almost killed her and her allies with back in the Enochian Tower: the shatter spell. An intense rumbling sensation builds within her chest. It feels like the air punches her lungs.
She spreads her eyes wide open, focusing on the space just behind their enemy. She hopes she estimates the distance correctly and none of her friends will get hurt. Her humming grows louder and she opens her mouth.
A piercing burst of sound explodes behind the imposter breaks the stones on the wall and sweeps up the dust like black smoke rising up from a smouldering campfire. The wave of force crashes into the demon’s back and pushes him away. Without any stumbling or imbalance, he slithers forward in the exact same pose as he’s currently in.
His movement moved the shiny strand of red slime connected to him as well. There is something attached to it, at the end. A blob of ooze, same size as Phenilias, was hiding around the corner, but is revealed now. The sulphuric smell intensifies. It has vague images of faces floating in its gelatinous body.
“Hells!” Bruq raises his glaive. “What in the name of Baalzebul’s slimy snail trail is that?”
Mero is overwhelmed by anger. A fire burns inside of him, one he has felt few times before, but always when experiencing something unpleasant. He felt it when he was talked down to as a slave, put back in his place and cast out by those who couldn't see past his former straw body.
Now, he feels that same sensation of fury boiling inside of him. These Blackstar hellions have been torturing his uncle’s children and cursed one of his few friends. But there’s a different warmth inside him as well, one he discovered only recently after Oanoa showed it to him. He can feel all that heat building up in his hand as a big sphere of fiery magic appears.
“You’re going to pay, fake wizard.”
Mero lets out an angry roar and hurls the raging fire at the cloaked demon. It hits him right in the chest, ember flying everywhere. Peculiarly, his clothes don’t catch fire. They don’t even blacken. Instead, his skin turns red like a ruby and ripples. One heartbeat later, it’s like nothing happened.
(17 versus AC) (DC 15 versus wisdom 10)
The demon seems unbothered by the flames and keeps his focus on the satyr and half-elf in front of him. He pulls back his right arm again and launches his pseudopod hand right into Bruq’s face. He hits hard. The sound of bones breaking echoes throughout the corridor and blood pours from the hunter’s nose. He blinks a few times and takes a step back. Everything is spinning. It feels like he’s standing on a ship during a heavy storm. His vision narrows, black spots blur his gaze. He leans on his glaive to maintain his balance.
The imposter Phenilias turns his head to Oslando. His eyes glow red and he sluggishly opens his mound. His jaw dislocates with an unpleasant squishy sound and his mouth becomes a gaping maw. The way he inhales air sounds like a man on his deathbed, a hollow gasp and fluids gurgling from deep within lungs.
A noise quickly fills Oslando’s head, like he’s stepping into a blizzard and the snow is raging all around him. He cringes, squints his eyes and grinds his teeth. Images flash in front of his mind’s eye. He sees a female staring lovingly at him and then shift her caring glare to an elderly human being. She holds his hand. The man coughs. Oslando blinks. The image has changed. He sees a family of elves and a family of humans shouting at each other, making angry gestures, most of them into his direction. Those are the main scenes that keep repeating, passing by faster and faster each time he sees them. The details fade, however. Their expressions, their emotions, the context, the meaning, it all dies down, deafened by the noise. This is no time to recollect distant memories, but the half-elf feels like he couldn’t even if he tried to. A part of him is missing, but he can’t seem to recall what exactly is missing. What was he even thinking of?
In the meantime, Dargothoth lifts his right hand, trying to feel who is in front of him.
“What is happening?” He sounds somewhat concerned. “Tell me, Mero, what can I do?”
The sorcerer moves his head from Oslando to Bruq and decides the latter needs their help the most.
“Bruq got hit twice, pretty badly, it seems. You should try and heal him.”
Mero guides the cleric two steps forward and Dargothoth feels the hunter’s leather hide beneath his hand. He can feels the satyr’s heavy breathing. With fleeting focus a light blue glow envelops the cleric’s palm. Bruq’s breathing steadies, becomes deeper and less rushed, but a lot of the pain remains. For now he seems steady enough to pull through, but this thing in front of them isn’t even what they came for and with two hits he already nearly killed one of them.
(Spell save DC 15 versus constitution 9) (Perception 11)
Lyssa hums. She remembers what Cyrzana taught her, back in Oanoa’s plane. It was the same spell the gnoll shaman almost killed her and her allies with back in the Enochian Tower: the shatter spell. An intense rumbling sensation builds within her chest. It feels like the air punches her lungs.
She spreads her eyes wide open, focusing on the space just behind their enemy. She hopes she estimates the distance correctly and none of her friends will get hurt. Her humming grows louder and she opens her mouth.
A piercing burst of sound explodes behind the imposter breaks the stones on the wall and sweeps up the dust like black smoke rising up from a smouldering campfire. The wave of force crashes into the demon’s back and pushes him away. Without any stumbling or imbalance, he slithers forward in the exact same pose as he’s currently in.
His movement moved the shiny strand of red slime connected to him as well. There is something attached to it, at the end. A blob of ooze, same size as Phenilias, was hiding around the corner, but is revealed now. The sulphuric smell intensifies. It has vague images of faces floating in its gelatinous body.
“Hells!” Bruq raises his glaive. “What in the name of Baalzebul’s slimy snail trail is that?”
zondag 31 mei 2020
Chapter 5.21: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
“Phenilias is dead”, Bruq says and he tightens his grip on the Dreadbane glaive. “We went to his home and we found his wife’s head. She told us he was killed before her own eyes.”
The demon’s face remains stoic, his expression unmoved, but he is thinking, be it in silence. Then he lethargically shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you think my wife has told you, but I’m standing right in front of you, alive, breathing and talking. I don’t know how I could convince you otherwise, but I frankly don’t care. You are trespassing and I have more important matters to attend to. Gelen’daray.”
His ‘goodbye’ sounds forcing and more unkind than before. He gestures to the door. His expression changes. The corners of his mouth go down and his nose rises, like something disgusts him.
“Gelen’daray.”
He repeats himself, slowly and forcefully.
“You can’t convince us that easily.” Bruq walks up to him and Oslando joins him, not leaving his side. “Our lantern showed us this is the source of both transmutation and necromancy. Whatever caused this is here. So, even if what you say is true, the Blackstars are still here. If we stop them, we stop it all. That’s also what you want, right?”
The demon takes a step forward and the stench of sulphur gets more intense.
“You mean my lantern”, he says, almost shouts. “I made that thing with my own bare hands to save this city.”
(Perception 21)
He takes another step with his hands raised, showing the wrinkles and scars acquired throughout the ages. He trembles slightly. It could be from old age or from the anger and frustration he has been building up throughout this conversation.
While Bruq and the demon discuss, Oslando observes the person blocking their path. He notices something they couldn’t have seen before due to the way they were positioned. A narrow glistening strand of red slime is attached to the end of his cloak. It’s difficult to see - it’s that thin - but it runs all the way across the floor and disappears around the corner.
“Stand back, Bruq”, the half-elf says and he points his flaming sword at the demon. “That’s definitely not Phenilias.”
(26 versus AC)
The satyr follows Oslando’s gaze and tries to look around the figure in front of him.
“Fine!” The demon shouts before the hunter has a chance to see what the half-elf saw. “Have it your way!”
He pulls back his arm and swings at Bruq. The demon is out of his range to hit him, but then something strange happens. His claw deformes into a red slimy blob and stretches out to smack the satyr on his left temple.
It must have hit a nerve or something, because a raging ringing echoes in his head. Bruq closes his eyes and shakes his head, but to no avail. A mental picture flashes in front of his mind’s eye. For a short moment, the monster hunter sees his own head chopped off, a hollow expression in his eyes and his lower jaw limply hanging open. His new glaive is stuck in his beheaded corpse
(7 versus AC)
He looks at his weapon with trouble in his eyes. Could it be this weapon is going to be the death of him? But why would it? He needs to shake this feeling and get his thoughts straight. For now, only one thing matters to him. He got attacked and now he must retaliate.
“Oslando’s right. Let’s get him.”
Bruq jams his glaive forward, trying to pierce his shoulder, but alas. The imposter’s body changes shape, lowering the left side of its body and evading the satyr’s attack.
His first attack with the Dreadbane weapon, a complete miss. He hopes Gor-Thar won’t hold it against him. He hopes this troubling image in his head wasn’t a vision of what awaits him.
The demon’s face remains stoic, his expression unmoved, but he is thinking, be it in silence. Then he lethargically shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you think my wife has told you, but I’m standing right in front of you, alive, breathing and talking. I don’t know how I could convince you otherwise, but I frankly don’t care. You are trespassing and I have more important matters to attend to. Gelen’daray.”
His ‘goodbye’ sounds forcing and more unkind than before. He gestures to the door. His expression changes. The corners of his mouth go down and his nose rises, like something disgusts him.
“Gelen’daray.”
He repeats himself, slowly and forcefully.
“You can’t convince us that easily.” Bruq walks up to him and Oslando joins him, not leaving his side. “Our lantern showed us this is the source of both transmutation and necromancy. Whatever caused this is here. So, even if what you say is true, the Blackstars are still here. If we stop them, we stop it all. That’s also what you want, right?”
The demon takes a step forward and the stench of sulphur gets more intense.
“You mean my lantern”, he says, almost shouts. “I made that thing with my own bare hands to save this city.”
(Perception 21)
He takes another step with his hands raised, showing the wrinkles and scars acquired throughout the ages. He trembles slightly. It could be from old age or from the anger and frustration he has been building up throughout this conversation.
While Bruq and the demon discuss, Oslando observes the person blocking their path. He notices something they couldn’t have seen before due to the way they were positioned. A narrow glistening strand of red slime is attached to the end of his cloak. It’s difficult to see - it’s that thin - but it runs all the way across the floor and disappears around the corner.
“Stand back, Bruq”, the half-elf says and he points his flaming sword at the demon. “That’s definitely not Phenilias.”
(26 versus AC)
The satyr follows Oslando’s gaze and tries to look around the figure in front of him.
“Fine!” The demon shouts before the hunter has a chance to see what the half-elf saw. “Have it your way!”
He pulls back his arm and swings at Bruq. The demon is out of his range to hit him, but then something strange happens. His claw deformes into a red slimy blob and stretches out to smack the satyr on his left temple.
It must have hit a nerve or something, because a raging ringing echoes in his head. Bruq closes his eyes and shakes his head, but to no avail. A mental picture flashes in front of his mind’s eye. For a short moment, the monster hunter sees his own head chopped off, a hollow expression in his eyes and his lower jaw limply hanging open. His new glaive is stuck in his beheaded corpse
(7 versus AC)
He looks at his weapon with trouble in his eyes. Could it be this weapon is going to be the death of him? But why would it? He needs to shake this feeling and get his thoughts straight. For now, only one thing matters to him. He got attacked and now he must retaliate.
“Oslando’s right. Let’s get him.”
Bruq jams his glaive forward, trying to pierce his shoulder, but alas. The imposter’s body changes shape, lowering the left side of its body and evading the satyr’s attack.
His first attack with the Dreadbane weapon, a complete miss. He hopes Gor-Thar won’t hold it against him. He hopes this troubling image in his head wasn’t a vision of what awaits him.
woensdag 27 mei 2020
Chapter 5.20: The Sightless Citizens of Saal
Oslando holds up the lantern. The burning candle’s warm glow turns to a deep blue flame, but almost immediately after a thick smoke fills the lantern’s glass chamber. The light dies and the smoke dissipates.
“Transmutation and necromancy”, the half-elf says quietly. “Shapeshifting and curses. The source of this plague must be inside. If we find lady Blackstar here, we know it’s her.”
He draws his swords, the flaming one in his right hand and the cold enchanted one in his left.
Bruq follows his example and draws his improved glaive. This could be the first time to use this weapon, made in the image of Dreadbane, Gor-Thar’s favorite instrument of war. The wood is cold to the touch and a short flashback to the temple of fear crosses his mind. That tree that haunts his dreams… Whatever waits for them inside this house can’t be worse than that. He spins the glaive and the twin-headed axe was a low whistling sound. He can do this.
“I’ll open the door”, the satyr says.
He steadily walks forward, trying to not make sound. With his glaive at the ready, he quickly swings the door open. A wide hallway stretches out in front of them. Very little natural light comes in through the slit-shaped windows. Not that there’s much to shine some light on: except for dusty tiles and another door at the end of the hallway.
(Perception 19)
“You guys smell that?”
Bruq holds up his nose and inhales deeply. A rancid cough follows and he tries to waff away the scent of rotten eggs. He wipes away a tear in the corner of his eye.
“Yes, that’s sulfur, alright. This place keeps getting better and better.”
Oslando walks up to the satyr, looks at him and nods. He turns his head to the others and signals them to follow.
“We’re going in.”
(Stealth 7)
They try to be silent, but the long hallway carries every echo like it’s a shot from Lyssa’s blunderbuss. Dargothoth’s feet shuffles across the stone floor. He makes little steps to make sure he doesn’t fall or walk into something. Mero holds the cleric’s lower arm so he can guide him a little, even if he doesn’t want him to. For now, the sivak doesn’t protest.
They don’t know if they made too much noise or if it’s just coincidence, but a figure in a red cloak walks around the corner at the right of the hallway and looks at them. It’s a male demon, so it can be lady Blackstar. The man looks older than the average demon they’ve seen walking around in Saal. It’s only somewhat notable feature is the hollow gaze in his eyes.
“You don’t look like you belong in Abaddon.” His voice cracks, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Why have you come here?”
(Perception 5)
He has no weapons in his hand, so he doesn’t pose a threat for now, but who knows what he wants from them. The robe he wears is normally worn by wizards and such, so anything could happen, really.
“Look at me”, Dargothoth says with a furious tone. “We’re here to stop whatever is causing this curse. We have come for the Blackstars.”
The demon chuckles.
“You don’t need to worry about all that, ucha’ari. I’ve got it all under control. I found a way to solve it all and if I didn’t hear you enter, I might had broken the curse already. Thank you for helping us all, but you can leave. Please, it would be easier.”
Their confusion makes them wary. They turn towards each other, hoping someone else processes all the information more quickly.
“How?” Mero’s question is simple, but it’s the right one. “Who are you?”
The demon holds his head up, chin high, creating a hautain aura. He takes his cap off revealing his horns and magical eyes.
“I am Phenilias Arkhon”, he says sternly, “the village mage. It is my job to protect the citizens of Saal and if you want to disturb my ritual to cure this curse, you will have to go through me.”
“Transmutation and necromancy”, the half-elf says quietly. “Shapeshifting and curses. The source of this plague must be inside. If we find lady Blackstar here, we know it’s her.”
He draws his swords, the flaming one in his right hand and the cold enchanted one in his left.
Bruq follows his example and draws his improved glaive. This could be the first time to use this weapon, made in the image of Dreadbane, Gor-Thar’s favorite instrument of war. The wood is cold to the touch and a short flashback to the temple of fear crosses his mind. That tree that haunts his dreams… Whatever waits for them inside this house can’t be worse than that. He spins the glaive and the twin-headed axe was a low whistling sound. He can do this.
“I’ll open the door”, the satyr says.
He steadily walks forward, trying to not make sound. With his glaive at the ready, he quickly swings the door open. A wide hallway stretches out in front of them. Very little natural light comes in through the slit-shaped windows. Not that there’s much to shine some light on: except for dusty tiles and another door at the end of the hallway.
(Perception 19)
“You guys smell that?”
Bruq holds up his nose and inhales deeply. A rancid cough follows and he tries to waff away the scent of rotten eggs. He wipes away a tear in the corner of his eye.
“Yes, that’s sulfur, alright. This place keeps getting better and better.”
Oslando walks up to the satyr, looks at him and nods. He turns his head to the others and signals them to follow.
“We’re going in.”
(Stealth 7)
They try to be silent, but the long hallway carries every echo like it’s a shot from Lyssa’s blunderbuss. Dargothoth’s feet shuffles across the stone floor. He makes little steps to make sure he doesn’t fall or walk into something. Mero holds the cleric’s lower arm so he can guide him a little, even if he doesn’t want him to. For now, the sivak doesn’t protest.
They don’t know if they made too much noise or if it’s just coincidence, but a figure in a red cloak walks around the corner at the right of the hallway and looks at them. It’s a male demon, so it can be lady Blackstar. The man looks older than the average demon they’ve seen walking around in Saal. It’s only somewhat notable feature is the hollow gaze in his eyes.
“You don’t look like you belong in Abaddon.” His voice cracks, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Why have you come here?”
(Perception 5)
He has no weapons in his hand, so he doesn’t pose a threat for now, but who knows what he wants from them. The robe he wears is normally worn by wizards and such, so anything could happen, really.
“Look at me”, Dargothoth says with a furious tone. “We’re here to stop whatever is causing this curse. We have come for the Blackstars.”
The demon chuckles.
“You don’t need to worry about all that, ucha’ari. I’ve got it all under control. I found a way to solve it all and if I didn’t hear you enter, I might had broken the curse already. Thank you for helping us all, but you can leave. Please, it would be easier.”
Their confusion makes them wary. They turn towards each other, hoping someone else processes all the information more quickly.
“How?” Mero’s question is simple, but it’s the right one. “Who are you?”
The demon holds his head up, chin high, creating a hautain aura. He takes his cap off revealing his horns and magical eyes.
“I am Phenilias Arkhon”, he says sternly, “the village mage. It is my job to protect the citizens of Saal and if you want to disturb my ritual to cure this curse, you will have to go through me.”
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