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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2007 9:54 pm Post subject: The Night of Screams (Story & Adventure Log) |
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EDIT: 1 Aug 2007
Okay, now that I've finally gotten some players into the Night of Screams, this thread should soon shift from me writing stories, to being an adventure log. I'll need somebody to do a gamelog from here on, guys. Note that a well updated and written game log may be grounds for bonus xp.
As for storyline progress, I've got a bit part up for Gryphon and Darkhope which comes just before the party finds the pair in the market square, and then more on the two Hiregaards and Tiber Septim soon.
Part 1 (Picking up where the King in Yellow arc left off in the town of Lamid)
The combat was going badly. These holy men fight well, for a bunch of puerile servants of a toothless old war god, Orm thought. He and Zyrena had already felled two of the minor deacons, but his magic was running low, and that thrice-cursed, ham-fisted witch of a paladin had already knocked Zyrena unconscious.
Said paladin couched her lance in her arm and spurred her horse forward, ready to run down the cleric of Orcus. "Just try, you stupid wench, just try," Orm muttered to himself.
The paladin surged forward, her mount's hooves clattering on the blood-slick pavement of central Lamid, still drenched in the ichor of the plane-touched townsfolk Orm and Zyrena had gleefully sacrificed to Orcus. At the last moment, muttering a prayer to the Demon Lord of Undeath, Orm sidestepped and swung his mace upward with all of his (paltry) might.
The mace struck the paladin full on in the face with a sickening crunch, throwing the holy warrior off of her horse. The paladin landed on the ground with a solid thud.
Orm readied his mace, turned around in search of the other cleric, just in time to see the cleric of Hieroneous raise his sword to the level of the demon-worshipper's throat. "Checkmate. And now, Escheron scum, you will pay for the blasphemies you have committed upon the bodies of these poor townsfolk."
Enough. I tire of this tawdry little brawl. A shockwave of mental energy ripped through the minds of the party standing in the town center, stunning all those still conscious. Out of the shadows near the town hall emerged a single Illithid, flanked by two cloaked guards. One of the guards strode up to the stunned cleric, decapitating him with a plain short sword. The other merely watched as the Illithid strode up to the stunned Orm and divested him of the Carcosa Codex and the Serpent Kings of Ancient Pharagos.
At last. The tomes are within our grasp. Now, House Axom wil rise to glory. No longer will we be bound by wyrmblood scum, now we will...HHRRK! The mindflayer's gloating was interrupted by his "guard"'s blade sliding into the base of the flayer's neck.
How? Why...?
"You sought to use us, Illithid. You thought that the servants of the great and lightless deeps of the starless voids could be manipulated so easily. It is you who have been fooled, Axom filth. The Blessed sends her best regards. It is unfortunate that you will not live to see the grand holocaust we plan to offer to the King in Yellow."
With that, both assassins disappeared from sight.
To follow, preferably later tonight:
Part 2: The Coming of the King.
Part 3: Chaos.
Part 4: Fragments.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Wed Aug 01, 2007 10:14 pm; edited 3 times in total |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Thu May 10, 2007 9:45 pm Post subject: The Coming of the King |
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Part 2: The Coming of the King (Adapted from Dungeon 134)
The party had licked their wounds and rushed back to Arcania City in an attempt to recover the Carcosa Codex from the servants of the Beloved and Sophia Lasirlan. As the sun began to set over the Firannos Ocean, the heroes managed to get into the packed Worm's Tongue Theater where Sophia Lasirlan had begun the premier performance of her "play".
The Worm's Tongue was eerily quiet as they entered, the audience enthralled by the performance of the King's Players. The stage was decorated to resemble a great throne room. At center stage sat a looming throne of sickening yellow-green stone gilt with golden runes that writhe and twitch as one stares at them. Behind the throne stood a colonnade of pillars, beyond which rose an amazingly realistic background of an alien city of spires and domes looking down on the dark waters of a lake reflecting four strange moons glowing in the sky above. On the throne was seated the titular king of the play, a figure dressed in tattered yellow robes completely concealing the actor's face and body. Beside the King stands Sophia Lasirlan, wearing a yellow-green cloak and revealing clothes, her face hidden behind a feminine porcelain mask. Although she wears a mask, her voice is clear, and the lips of the mask seem to move to match her words.
"Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies, but stranger still is Lost Carcosa, where the King in Yellow reigns! Your Emperor is gone, you who bow before blue-scaled worms, and now the King is coming to take his place!"
The heroes tried to surge forward, but as they reached the stage, nauseating pulses of psychic energy radiating from numerous Yellow Signs assaulted them from all sides, bringing them to their knees, save for one.
"You have seen the power of Him who dwells in Far Carcosa, demon's thrall. Shall you now bow before the will of the King in Yellow, or do you intend to defy Him whose will shapes the starless void?"
"I bow before none other than the Demon Prince of Undeath, Orcus the Undying...But I digress, playwright. Why would I want to stop you?" Orm motions to his incapacitated companions. "Loyalty is a commodity in short supply among the servants of the Fourth House. You seek to destroy Arcania City, cultist? The Arcanians have oppressed the loyal servants of the Lords of the Abyss for centuries. It is time for us to have our revenge. It strikes me that your spell is the perfect opportunity to revenge myself on Vran Targaryen and all those sniveling cowards who cannot accept the supremacy of the Orcus. Do what you will, Sorceror." And with that, Orm stood his ground and watched the spell unfold.
"It seems that we share similar goals, demon-worshipper. You may watch."
With that Sophia Lasirlan wrenched the mask off of her face, revealing a roiling mass of ebon tendrils where her face should be. The mask meanwhile, still bore the features of the playwright, it's lips still mouthing the words of her summons.
"Mighty Hastur, King In Yellow, as this pallid mask is merely a veil that hides the truth of what I have become, so too is this reality merely a mask that you shape with your dread will. We call upon thee, Unspeakable One, to cast off thy mask and reveal your true glory, to bring your dread enlightenment upon the weak-willed worms of this city! Arise, Hastur, and claim the holocaust that we offer you! Take this city and make it as one with thy dominion over the City of Carcosa and the Dark Waters of Lake Hali!"
The throned figure arose, and began to float into the air, the mask flying from the hands of the Sophia-thing and onto the cloaked figure's face, consumed in flash of nauseous energies. With an unearthly roar, the figure's cloak fluttered and came alive, driven by an unnatural wind, as the background became one with the reality of this plane, the dark waters of Lake Hali rushing into the Worm's Tongue.
The Sophia-thing rose, its body immaculate, save for the face, writhing with squamous tentacle-limbs. "Behold, the King In Yellow!" She/it rose from the stage, descending into the city of Arcania.
And Madness followed...
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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Posted: Sat May 12, 2007 3:28 pm Post subject: |
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1 Aug 07: minor edits to make Vhaerun's reasoning and conclusions vis-a-vis Talon Kasra and Corwin Gryphon clearer.
Part 3: Fragments (POVs come from various characters in the city)
The Silver Dragon
Vhaerun Targaryen sat in his office, quietly reflecting on the past few days. The sudden restlessness of the Fourth House, the storm clouds gathering over the Firannos Ocean, Lysean and Selentine forces massing on the north and south, the assassination attempts on himself, the Lord Regent, and the Speaker-to-Animals, all in all, it's been a busy month, he thought to himself. Arcania is entering a crux point. For centuries, we have turned our attentions inward, fiercely protective of our isolation, our privileges. Throughout our history, we have struggled against each other in a careful equilibrium of spite and self-interest. But now, with Vrahn's reforms and Arcania's newfound power, all bets are off... The Eldritch Knights were being stretched to the limit, and the power struggles between Vhaerun and House Rotaphar were aggravating the situation even further. I may have to make a move against those damned tigers soon, Vhaerun mused.
"He's here Vhaerun."
The voice startled the half-blue. Leaning against the side of the Knight's office was a young woman wearing black leather armor that blended into the shadows of the dark room. She ran a hand through her short, dark hair, and smiled at the seated nobleman. "I'm sorry, did I surprise you bossman?"
Vhaerun grunted. "Sooner or later Rhianna, your penchant for sneaking around and surprising people will get you killed."
"Hah. They'd have to catch me first, Knight-Captain."
"Hrmmph. Bring him in Ree. This meeting might change everything."
Rhianna strode out of the room, and returned a moment later escorting in a young man wearing the uniform of the Duchy of Bastion's navy, a fresh scar livid on his left cheek.
"Hail and well met, Lieutenant...Tal Highguard."
Tal smiled. "I think the time for masks is over, Prince Targaryen. Talon Kasra-von Hiregaard at your service, your Highness."
"The title of Your Highness might be a little premature, Lord Hiregaard. I am, after all, only an illegitmate child of one of the last Targaryens. I do not have a blood claim to the Targaryen Throne. Please, be seated. We have much to discuss. I take it the terms of our concord are agreeable to you, Lord Hiregaard?"
Talon grimaced. "Just Talon would be fine, Lord Targaryen. In fact, I think first names would be preferable, if it would be fine, Vhaerun?"
"Of course. Taking into account your scar, I take it you managed to survive the assassin the Lyseans sent?"
"I should have taken heed of your warning, Vhaerun. Back then I thought you just wanted to get on the good side of the Ironborn. Yes. The concord is agreeable. I've discussed the matter with my advisors, and while some would prefer that the Isles stand on their own, we have no choice other than to seek a profitable alliance or be ground to nothing between Selentia or Lysea. Perhaps an Arcanian Solution may serve to defuse the tensions in the Firannos."
"Excellent." Vhaerun motioned to a pair of pens on the table. "Shall we ratify the treaty then, Talon. I know you need to rush back to Bastion soon."
"Yes. Corwin? The papers please."
A young mage handed a sheaf of papers to Vhaerun and Talon. "Anything else Tal?" Corwin Gryphon adjusted his eyeglasses. "No, thanks Cor."
Vhaerun stared at the young mage. It can't be...but no...the resemblance is unmistakable. Shards, the two could use each other as shaving mirrors! True, this Corwin is shorter, and has blonde hair instead of brown...Interesting...Rhianna was right. The Gryphon bastard and Talon Hiregaard must be related. Half-brothers?
With their new alliance signed, Vhaerun prepared to usher his guests out of his office when a bright yellow-green flash momentarily blinded the Targaryen. He spun around, and saw a lance of yellow-green light climbing skyward coming from the Silver Hill district.
"What the hell is that?"
continued.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Wed Aug 01, 2007 10:39 pm; edited 3 times in total |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sun May 13, 2007 12:18 am Post subject: |
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Axom's Folly
Phaedrios, any word from Minoreth?
None, K'ai'gkul. The plan proceeds apace. The Blessed and her servant, the playwright Sophia shall open the gate, and in the confusion, House Axom shall strike with the aid of our Void-spawned allies.
The two mindflayers stood in silence in a secret chamber within Arcania City's ancient sewer tunnels, unused since Vargus the Second introduced the "waste-gating" practice of using gate spells to dispose of waste two centuries ago. Once a haven and sacrificial altar for a cell of the G'razzt worshippers of the Fourth House, this chamber now served as a marshalling point for House Axom's secret military forces. All across the city, the illithid and their grimlock battle-thralls had begun to secretly gather, awaiting the perfect moment to strike and seize control.
Can you feel it, Phaedrios, the power that we have unleashed? They have summoned the Tattered King himself! Now, while the dragons are occupied by the Void-spawned, now we shall strike!
Patience, K'ai'gkul. The signal has not yet been given. We will wait.
Suddenly, a commotion ran through the assembled grimlock forces. As one, the battle-thralls brought their weapons to ready, edgy and prepared for combat.
What....
I sense nothing, brother. The gimlocks are simply restless in anticipation of combat. The mind-scan reveals nothing
Then explain her, Phaedrios...
A woman stood in a pool of unnatural yellow green light, her face consumed by a roiling mass of squamous tendrils, and beside her, a cloaked figure in yellow robes. Startled, Phaedrios Axom took a step backward, and then composed himself.
Ah, Sophia, he began, only to realize that his telepathic senses could not detect any trace of a sentient human mind inside the thing that stood before him. His mental defenses were suddenly stripped from him by a bolt of psychic energies.
Phaedrios. Greetings. The Blessed sends her regards. Tell me, have you met the King in Yellow?
K'ai'gkul meanwhile counter-attacked with an illithid mind blast. A burbling sound came from the Sophia-thing. It took the illithid half a second to recognize it as laughter.
Do you really believe that your powers can harm those blessed by the King? We thank you for aiding us in bringing our dreams to fruition. With His blessing, our minds now operate on another level altogether. You cannot harm us, flayer. I declare our agreement null and void.
Grimlocks, attack! The battle thralls charged, only to be brought to a halt as a bolt of yellow-green energy disintegrated the entire front rank. The robed figure stepped forward, it's cloak moving eerily in the still air of the abandoned sewer. It removed it's hood, and a writhing mass of unspeakable things rushed out, consuming the grimlocks.
The last thing K'ai'gkul Axom saw was the true face of the King in Yellow. In that moment, the King's Blessing consumed him.
Continued.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 11:02 pm Post subject: |
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Dragon and Kingfisher
Parry. Riposte. Touche. Recover. Spin left to meet the blade of the next cultist. Feint with the blade, and then kick him in the groin. Anything more than his combat instincts had no more place in Talon Kasra von Hiregaard's mind.
Finish off the cultist with a stab to the throat. Slip back to en garde and cover Vhaerun's back. Talon and Vhaerun were pinned down in the remnants of the Eldritch Knights command center. Moments after the yellow-green pillar of energy lanced skyward, things went...crazy. First came the visions. Talon's head throbbed with memories of the strange, otherworldly vistas that assaulted his mind. The office had seemed to contract to claustrophobic nearness before expanding into impossible infinities, eventually fading away to reveal a strange, purple sun that danced a mad orbit in the unearthly skies, escorted by four moons. Talon had looked around, amazed and disturbed at the strange city that surrounded him. He remembered standing in the midst of a crowd of the strange city's inhabitants. The shambling crush seemed to be entreating him to join them. The last thing Talon remembered of the visions of the city was his attempt to get a better view of one of the dark metropolis's inhabitants. Then his mind had been wrenched back to reality, his head spinning. Then the transformations began.
Before their eyes, the guardsmen and even some of the Eldritch Knights began to transform into tentacled horrors, arms shifting into ropy tendrils of muscles, faces horribly deformed with mandibles or great jaws. The transformation drove these men and women mad, and the transformed ones assaulted the untouched, forcing the remaining Eldritch Knights to put them down. Pseudo-naturals, Corwin called them, creatures warped by strange magics of other planes of reality. They would later find out that these pseudo-naturals had begun transforming throughout the city. Since then, Vhaerun and Corwin had been fighting for their lives. The swarms of the transformed had scattered the remaining Eldritch Knights. Talon muttered a quick prayer to Kord for strength, and hoped that Corwin and Rhianna had managed to get clear.
Through the shattered doorway of the library Talon saw another mob of pseudonaturals approaching. "Vhaerun, we have incoming!" The half-dragon snarled, spinning around and gathering his breath. "Clear the way Tal!" And then, the half-dragon roared. A line of lightning spat out from Vhaerun, felling a dozen of the tightly packed monstrosities. The crowd dispersed.
"Whew. I hope that's the last of them for a while, Knight Commander...What in the name of the Nine Heads of Tiamat is that thing!"
Into the room shambled a young blue dragon, its head and torso wreathed in black ichor that bubbled and writhed with unnatural vigor. Vhaerun appeared to recognize the drake. "Galak?"
Wheezing for breath, and shuddering with the effort to stay still, the dragon replied: "General...Targaryen, I....I can't...control myself...run!"
The shock of seeing one of Arcania's dragons humbled by the power that was creating these pseudo-naturals stunned Vhaerun. As he stood there, gaping at the sight, the dragon Galak completed its transformation, the ichor flowing over the dragon like black resin, coating it with spikes, pustules, and other vile growths. It leapt at Vhaerun, catching the battlemage flatfooted and knocking him to the ground. Its jaws prepared to crush the prone half-dragon.
Talon shouted a battlecry and drove the point of his sword into the creature's right eye. The dragon-thing bellowed its rage and pain, and as Talon pulled back for another strike, the drake whipped its tail around, knocking Tal off his feet. The dragon pinned the young warrior to the floor and prepared to deliver the coup de grace. The last thing Talon thought he would see was a bright flash of the blade-teeth coming down.
Shink.
With a bright flash, a bastard sword decapitated the corrupted dragon. Tal blinked, and then looked upward at a Knight wearing the white and black colors of the Knights of the Silver Dragon over full plate armor. The Knight cleaned off the bastard sword in his left hand, while warily keeping the bastard sword in his right hand ready to meet any new threat. Emblazoned on the Knight's surcoat was a coat of arms: A kingfisher and dragon rampant, each facing the other.
A kingfisher? Only one house uses a kingfisher in its coat of arms...
The Knight bellowed, his voice echoing in his great helm. "Vhaerun! What in the Nine Hells is...this boy doing here?"
Vhaerun staggered to his feet, and looked at Talon and then replied. "Ah. Knight-Commander...Highguard. Thank you for the assist sir. Young Hiregaard and I have been pinned down here for the past half-an-hour slugging it out with the transformed. We..."
"Get him out of this city Vhaerun. Now."
Vhaerun rolled his eyes up. "Yes sir. I'll need a team to fight our way to the docks. I can only hope that his ship is still intact."
"I brought Dengar and Halgern with me, they're in the great hall gathering your surviving Eldritch Knights. Take the two of them and get Talon Kasra to his ship."
"Wait a freakin' minute here, I still have comrades missing out there! I am not leaving without them."
The armored knight turned on the young nobleman. "With all due respect Young Kasra, you do not appear to realize the gravity of the situation. Arcania City is under attack from within. Forces from House Axom are gathering in the sewers, military units loyal to House Rotaphar are marching towards the Azure Palace, Eldritch Knights are being attacked and assassinated, Fourth House cultists are running riot, and to top it all off, these pseudo-naturals are attacking anything that moves! With all that's happening, the Knights of the Silver Dragon cannot afford to have to worry about the safety of the heir-apparent to the Iron Isles as well!" With that, the knight began to storm off.
"And what about you, Knight Commander?"
"I will take a force to the epicenter of these pseudo-natural assaults. I'll try to shut it down. Now move, Vhaerun!"
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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Posted: Thu May 24, 2007 10:37 pm Post subject: |
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Slaughter
The Eldritch Knights were the pinnacle of four centuries of Arcanian military philosophy. Trained in the disciplines of spell and sword, armed with the best equipment that the Arcanian treasury could provide, each man and woman in the Eldritch Knights was considered the equal of a hundred lesser warriors in the field of battle. The Eldritch Knights were Arcania's best and brightest.
And they were being slowly and surely overwhelmed.
The Knights sent volley after volley of fireballs, lightning bolts, and ice storms into the mobs of pseudonaturals, scattering them again and again. Each whirlwind of elemental fury slew hundreds of outsiders and transformed townsfolk, but their numbers seemed limitless, as waves of yellow-green energy transformed more Arcanians and hordes more of the far-spawn marched out of the portals.
Among the hordes of gibbering lunatics stood humanoid forms coated in black skins of resinous chitin festooned with arcane paraphernalia. These monsters, the kaorti, began casting their magics. The next wave of fireballs was suddenly dispelled by the power of a Kaorti conclave. Unopposed, the onrushing wave of pseudonatural creatures swarmed over the Eldritch Knight positions in a dozen places. The carefully planned killing field devolved into a massive melee as the farspawn pitted tooth, claw, and kaorti resin-blade against the enchanted steel and mithril of the Eldritch Knights.
For a moment, sheer numbers almost overwhelmed the Knights as half a dozen were immediately pulled down and mobbed by the attackers, chewing out holes in the defensive line. Sir Kalan Vikall, the local commander rushed into the gap accompanied by Rhianna Darkhope and the mage Corwin Gryphon. Darkhope's shortswords cut a swath through swarm of farspawn, buying Kalan and Corwin time to get into position. The two casters cut loose with a flurry of chain missle spells focused on the Kaorti, gutting their numbers. Stray missles of force shotgunned through the hordes of farspawn, cutting the crowd into ribbons.
The momentum of the attack halted, allowing the remaining Knights to rally. Routed, the kaorti withdrew out of Kallast square. A ragged cheer rose up from the Knights, only to die down when they saw another mob of farspawn approaching.
Sir Kalan turned to Darkhope. "Rhianna, take the boy and run. Tell Vhaerun we will as long as we can, but we're running out of spells."
Darkhope frowned. "Respectfully, Kalan, I can be of more help out here. This doesn't have to be a last stand, you idiot!"
"I am not a kid too, Sir High and Mighty Knight! You Eldritch Knights don't have a monopoly on battle magic you know! Rhianna and I can help!"
"Yes, you can help, but if you stay and fight here, then I've got no one else left to escort out these civilians. Make a brake for it while you still have a chance."
Rhianna muttered an unladylike expletive. "Fine. Be a freakin' martyr. Damn you and your crazy codes of chivalry. Let's roll Cor."
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 10:27 pm Post subject: |
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Slaughter, part 2
We're down to half a dozen, Sir Kalan Vikall thought. The ragged remnants of his company of Eldritch Knights stood surrounded in the midst of Kallast square. They had withstood three more swarms since he'd sent Rhianna and the Corwin off with the civilians, but this fourth wave would be their last.
"Spell check! Who still has something to throw? We might as well give it everything we've got." Tyros and Ferrick brought out their component pouches, fumbling in the darkness for their spell components. "All right, use all of it up you two. The rest, defensive formations. Keep them from Tyros and Ferrick for as long as possible. It's been an honor boy's and girls, now let's go down fighting!"
The mob surrounding the survivors roared, and charged with mad enthusiasm into a fusillade of spells from the two spell-flinging Eldritch Knights. Fireballs burned through the attackers, orbs of acid turned far-spawned abominations into sizzling pools of goop, and missles of pure force punched fist-sized holes in mutated flesh. Still, we don't have enough spells left. This'll barely slow them down. "Prepare to engage! For the glory of Arcania!" The Knights braced for impact.
The front rank of charging aberrations met swift death on the swords of the Knights, but the rest ignored their fallen comrades and simply swarmed over the Arcanians. Tyrosh was first to fall, pinned under the weight of three dead attackers. As he struggled to free himself, an unengaged pseudo-natural roared, and then smashed a rock down on the Arcanian's helmet with a sickening thud. Miria and Norrick were next, engulfed by a tentacled, swarming mass that Kalan could scarcely believe was once human.
A rippling series of explosions suddenly tore enormous holes in the mob. Surprised, the farspawn turned tail and scattered.
"Sir, reinforcements! Look!"
Out of the smoke and darkness, armored figures began advancing towards the three remaining Eldritch Knights. As they stepped out of the haze, Kalan got a better look at them.
"No. They aren't reinforcements...They're the Fourth House..."
The cultists advanced towards the knights. Their armor was adorned with spikes and blasphemous sigils praising the glories of the Lords of the Abyss and their weapons, jagged and barbed affairs of steel halfway between torture implements and instruments of war, were dripping with blood. Behind the cultists stood an enormous beast, a six-meter tall mass of fur and muscle, its tentacled arms whipping about in a random circle of destruction as its two baboon-like heads swiveled their gaze towards the three Knights.
The great beast roared, and the cultists charged, foaming at the mouth and smiling with sadistic glee.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 11:57 pm Post subject: |
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The Lord Regent
The silver sword felt perfectly natural in the hands of the Lord Regent. A memory of his days among the living surfaced: He remembered hating these weapons. The silver swords had always seemed over-complex and cumbersome. But not this one. No. Wielding this blade, weapon and warrior were as one, the enchanted liquid metal flowing and melting, subtly shifting its weight and balance in anticipation of the Lord Regent's every move. The sword knew his thoughts and aided him, guiding the Death Knight's strikes and placing his cuts and parries into the perfect position to deal maximum damage.
The Death Knight cast his gaze across the corpse-strewn throne room of the Azure Palace. No one would take this sword from him. Not the dragons, not the Rakshashas, and most definitely not the Gith swordstalkers.
Yes. None shall separate us, my Champion. None shall enslave us. Together, we shall carve a glorious destiny in blood and fire.
"Yes. But first, you must fulfill your end of the bargain, sword. Free me from the remnants of Vrahn's magical grip, and together we shall seek our revenge."
Then you know what to do, my Champion.
The Lord Regent took the silver sword, considered his deathless reflection on its mirror-like blade, then reversed his grip and plunged it into his midsection. A convulsive spasm rippled through the Death Knight, and a now unfamiliar sensation ran through him: Pain. It had been close to a decade since the Death Knight, then still a mortal, had felt anything this painful. Still, it too passed. The Lord Regent staggered to his feet, and felt a satisfying emptiness within him. Emperor Vrahn Targaryen the First no longer had any hold on him.
"Where to now, sword? You promised me an army. Take me to it."
East. We go east, beyond the Great Waste and the Orc lands. There, you will find your army. Prove yourself to them, and they shall bend their knees to you, for you are my Champion. You are the Chosen of the Lich-Queen, Death Knight. You will be the instrument of my resurrection.
"It will be done. I have been waiting for a long time to leave this dragon-infested pest hole of a city."
The ex-Lord Regent spread his wings, the feathers black as night, the red trim on the edges making the feathers look as if they had been dipped in blood. He soared into the darkness as the city of Arcania burned all around him.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Sun May 27, 2007 12:20 am; edited 1 time in total |
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Xtian
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Goderator
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| Joined: 30 Nov 2006 |
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| Location: Avernus |
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:09 am Post subject: |
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Oh yeah!
What will be his new title?
You don't need to answer the question if you don't want to.  |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:21 am Post subject: |
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Still not sure on that one. Will see what would be campaign appropriate. He's going to be gone for a while as he travels past the great waste towards parts unknown, so that should give us some time to cook up a suitable title.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Tue May 29, 2007 10:06 pm Post subject: |
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Darkhope and Gryphon
Duck, weave, sidestep to the left and let the clumsy little bugger overextend...wait for it..., now! With a deft twist, Rhianna slid her shortsword past the tentacle that the pseudo-natural had raised. Slashing diagonally downwards, she cut through the beast's hamstrings, kicked it back into the center of the mob, and then sprang back to en garde.
Three mutants closed in, circling her warily and watching for the perfect moment to strike. Rhianna wasn't that patient. She feinted towards her right with her gladius, swiftly pulling her arm back as the beast took the bait, trying to take her arm of with a jagged blade of razor-spikes. With the blade-encrusted arm overextended, Rhianna slid her left hand dagger in between the pseudo-natural's ribs. She felt something squishy go pop, and hoped that that was the beast's heart, or whatever passed for one. The other two mutants were not idle, and even as Rhianna brought her left arm back to her guard stance, the beasts leapt to the air. This is almost too easy. The Mandrakor ducked down, and the mutants slammed into each other, landing in a pile of flailing tentacles-limbs. She dispatched the stunned pseudonaturals. At any other time, this might even be fun. Still, there were more of the mutants shambling down the alley. Even quantity has its own brand of quality...
She looked back. "Any time now Corwin!"
A dozen feet behind the Mandrakor rogue, Corwin Gryphon knelt down and pointed a peculiar looking staff at the monsters. "All right, this should do the trick Ree! Down!" Rhianna dropped prone.
"Shirak!"
The staff head, a claw-shaped assembly of blades clutching a crystal orb, began to glow. Rhianna braced herself for a titanic blast of mystic energies.
The staff continued to glow. The shambling mob continued to advance forward.
"Varking hells..." Corwin began fumbling with the various studs, gems, and decorations on the staff.
Rhianna groaned. Right. Clumsy snot-nosed academic little twit! She started to drag herself back to her feet.
A bright light flashed behind her, and then a baseball sized mass of elemental fire leaped from the quarterstaff and raced out towards the onrushing mob, detonating with a thunderous explosion. The concussive blast knocked Rhianna back prone. As the smoke began to clear, the rogue brushed off some ash and tentacle bits from her hair. She looked up and saw Corwin standing above offering a hand to help her back up, the bandages on his arm singed and splattered with farspawn ichor.
Rhianna took his hand and hauled herself back up. "About blasted time you got that staff working you twerp."
Corwin smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that Ree. Whoever designed this thing's trigger mechanism needs to be hanged. I couldn't find the damned trigger in the dark, so..." The young mage began to cough violently.
Rhianna rushed to his side, catching the young man before he could fall. "You idiot! Mistress Brightflame told you that..."
*cough* "Yeah...that damned Arcanophage disease is going to kill me if I keep on casting like that..." Corwin steadied himself. "But I couldn't just let them get you!" He started to wipe off some of the blood on his gloved hand, hoping that Rhianna wouldn't notice.
"Twerp. I'm not some damned crystal statuette. I can hold my own, if you haven't noticed. C'mon. We're heading out of here Cor. I promised Hir...I mean Vhaerun that I'd keep you safe, Gryphon."
"Wait. I think I know what's causing all this, Ree, and it's got to do with that varking pillar of light out in the middle of the Silver Hill district," pointing with the staff towards the yellow-green fire spreading skyward.
Rhianna turned to look at Corwin with a smile. "Oh. Wow. Wisdom of the Red Knight, I hadn't noticed! Of course it's got to be the bloody freaking pillar of light! Your genius never fails to astound, Master Gryphon!"
"Stop calling me that dammit!"
"What, Master, or Gryphon? You've got skills enough to be called a decent mage already, and as for Gryphon, well you aren't the only bastard in the world, if you haven't noticed that yet, Corwin."
"I...ah frag it all!" Corwin turned away and stared at the beam of light.
Rhianna's mocking smile softened a bit. "Look, I'm sorry, I brought it up. Now c'mon, Cor."
"I think I know how to shut it down. And if this Arcanophage thing is going to kill me anyway, I may as well try to do some good while I'm here, right? Now c'mon!" With that, Corwin surprised Rhianna by sprinting towards the Silver Hills, the epicenter of the disaster.
"You freaking little twit! Don't tell me you're suddenly going hero on me dammit! Black Knight give me strength! When I catch up with you I will beat your arse silly you hear!" And with that, Darkhope gave chase.
continued.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Wed Aug 01, 2007 10:41 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Wed Jun 06, 2007 9:15 pm Post subject: |
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Knight-Errant
The beam of light pulsed skyward, radiating arcane energies from the King In Yellow's realm. On a hilltop overlooking the city of Arcania, a man and a woman watched as the fire and chaos spread.
"We're too late. Too damned late."
"You always were too damned late, Tiber. You were too late to save Count Theron from the Mandrakori. Your forces were too late to prevent the sack of Silvermyr. And too late do anything except be inexorably dragged into the Battle of the Daemonscar."
The man swept black hair away from his eyes, looked up at the lance of energy, and spat to the ground.
"Too late. Story of my damned life, Gwyn! And to think they call me some sort of military and political genius. Idiots. I was too late to stop the Mandrakori Crusade. I found out too late what that witch Vlaakith was really up to in the Mandrakor wars. I couldn't stop Zetch'r during the Gith war, and now, I'm too late to stop a bunch of madmen from tearing reality apart! Damn it all to hell, Gwyn!"
The pale woman who stood beside him smiled. "And yet somehow the world manages to endure. You give too little credit to your fellow men and women of Pharagos, Tiber. You are too late to prevent the Night of Screams, Tiber Septim. So what are you going to do now?"
Above them a flight of unnatural-looking tentacled bat-things were harrying a blue dragon whose scales shone with an alternating pattern of silver and blue.
"I'm going down there, and I'm going to close that gate. I imagine Tristan is going to need all the help he can get. It'll be good to see that old warhound again. I imagine you'll be joining me also, Gwynn?" Tiber looked up at the dragon, which was being swarmed and pulled down. "I imagine that your half-brother could use some help."
Gwynn'hareth let out a delicate laugh that was almost drowned out by the dragon's battlecries. "Brother was always too arrogant, lording it over the rest of us. Just because he's older and sired by Father and the Matriarch doesn't make him any smarter than the rest of us. Stronger perhaps, but not smarter or wiser. He's always been such an ass. Still, kin is kin, after all Ti. I think he's in no position to refuse any assistance I can provide. I think I will join you, Tiber. It'll be so entertaining rubbing it in Brother's face centuries later."
Tiber watched the city burn. "There's got to be something wrong with me, Gwynn. I know that I could have done more to prevent this. I know Arcania is burning to the ground. I know people are suffering and dying, and I hate it, and I want to stop it. So why do I feel thrilled? Excited?"
As Tiber spoke, a gradual change came over the woman beside him, her skin turning into a mass of silver scales, her face turning into a draconic maw, and her clothing unfurling into a pair of wings. Still, her voice retained a slight hint of delicacy and amusement even as it was being uttered by a dragon's tongue.
"Maybe it's because you've always known the true extent of your skills, Tiber, but you've always held back. But now, you've got a cause to fight for, an enemy without mercy. Now, as against the Mandrakor, and against the Gith, there is no need to hold back. And you love it. Fighting for a just cause. I remember Father saying that it was your greatest weakness, next only to your hubris."
The rogue knight chuckled. "The old wyrm knew me well, Gwynn. C'mon. Let's get this party started."
Gwynn'hareth roared, and together, the silver dragon and the rogue knight rose into the screaming darkness above Arcania.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Last edited by Revan on Wed Aug 01, 2007 10:42 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Wed Aug 01, 2007 9:50 pm Post subject: Episode story journal |
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Okay, now that I've finally gotten some players into the Night of Screams, this thread should soon shift from me writing stories, to being an adventure log. I'll need somebody to do a gamelog from here on, guys. Note that a well updated and written game log may be grounds for bonus xp.
As for storyline progress, I've got a bit part up for Gryphon and Darkhope which comes just before the party finds the pair in the market square, and then more on the two Hiregaards and Tiber Septim soon.
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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Posted: Tue Aug 07, 2007 12:27 am Post subject: |
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Detour
By the light of the burning city, Talon Kasra and his escorts slunk towards the docks. The Mandrakor commando Dengar was at point, Kasra in the middle, and the Silver Dragon Knight Halgern taking the rearguard.
A rippling series of explosions boomed in the darkness. Talon tensed, resisting the urge to run wildly for cover and reveal the trio's position.
"Damn it Dengar, I don't like this. I never liked Arcania much, but we can't just stand here and watch it burn to the ground! But no, we're not just standing around and doing nothing, we're running away!"
Halgern butted in before Dengar could reply. "We have our orders, Lord Kasra. Your safety is our utmost concern. You are one of the few leaders in the Firannos Sea in a position to defuse the brewing storm. We can't just let you die in a meaningless skirmish in a-"
"If you two will stop discussing politics for a while gentlemen, I'd like to point out that retreating down Kallastin Square to the port is no longer a viable option."
The party had just reached the edge of Kallastin Square, leading towards the main avenue to Arcania's port. Kallastin Square had turned into a war zone. Fourth House warriors and cultists tangled with pseudo-natural monstrosities. In the middle of the plaza, holding out against all odds stood a small detachment of Eldritch Knights in pitched battle with a massive two-headed demon ape.
Halgern cursed under his breath.
Talon broke into a half-smile. "Well Halgern, your orders said to take me to the docks, right? Since we can't take this route, I'd suggest a detour."
"A detour? Where?"
The young warrior couldn't suppress the grin that broke out on his face. "Well, the only other route I know that could take us dockside would be through the Silver Hill theatre district, which would be...right over there." Talon waved in the general direction of the pillar of yellow-green fire.
Halgern's jaw dropped. The veteran knight turned around to view the carnage in the plaza. In the middle, the demon-ape had just ripped apart an Eldritch Knight and was busy chewing on another's leg. He grunted, and considered the pillar of fire silently. Beside Halgern, Dengar stood, chuckling.
"You know Sir Halgern, I like how this boy thinks. You've got spirit kid, just like your father. I like it. I'm taking point. We're taking the detour. But, no stupid moves, Talon. If you get killed, I swear, I am going to gate myself into whatever hell you end up in and kill you again for all the trouble you'd cause me. Now let's move out, ladies!"
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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Revan
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Sith'ari, Chosen Heart of the Force
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| Joined: 04 Dec 2006 |
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| Location: Korriban |
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Posted: Tue Aug 07, 2007 9:00 pm Post subject: |
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Darkhope and Gryphon (cont.)
He could feel the burn. Deep within his lungs, Corwin could feel the Arcanophage parasites slowly eating at his flesh. The young mage choked back a bloody cough and kept on running onward, concentrating on the one-two-one-two rythm of his strides to keep his mind off the pain.
In the distance, the pillar of fire beckoned, the raw output of eldritch energies singing a siren song to Corwin. Even exhausted and fevered, he could feel the ripples of the raw, untamed power flowing through him, almost overwhelming all conscious thought. Ironically it was the Arcanophage that saved him from sensory overload, the parasites greedily consuming as much energy as it could get its greedy little paws on.
Behind him, Corwin could hear Rhianna calling out to him, urging him to slow down and let her catch up. I can't stop running. If he stopped, or even slowed, Corwin feared that he wouldn't be able to summon the strength to move again. Keep running. It isn't far. Just a couple more miles to the intoxicating rush of power. Just a few more miles...
Ahead, he spotted a pack of mutants clustered around a market square, blocking the path. Corwin lashed out with magic missiles beforefollowing up with a fireball. Some cold, rational part of the wizard's mind was telling him that he couldn't possibly have cast those spells. He'd used up almost all of his memorized spells earlier during the flight from Kallastin Square. The very effort of casting could even have killed him, what with the disease wracking his body. What's happening to me?
"Corwin! Look out you idiot!"
Out of the mists, a farspawn towered over the young mage, it's flesh and muscle tattered, but still surprisingly whole. Where the horde of pseudonaturals had fallen, the behemoth remained. It roared, and then lashed out at the mageling.
The blow from the spiked pseudopod should have killed Corwin. As the blow struck, a black streak knocked him off his feet. The pseudopod struck a glancing blow, sending the mage flying into a pile of rubble. He could hear sounds of fighting in the distance, but a red haze of pain staggered him as he tried to get back to his feet.
Struggling to get back to his feet, Corwin heard the behemoth roar. And then he saw her. The towering behemoth held the battered form of Rhianna Darkhope, her leather armor spattered with blood seeping out from her wounds.
"NO! RHIANNA!"
Corwin staggered to his feet. And then, he unleashed hell.
---
Pain. It burned in his lungs, coursed through his seared arms. He cradled Darkhope's fallen form. She smiled weakly at him.
"Cor, you idiot...don't do anything that stupid again...your father would have my head if anything happened to you, not to mention what your brother would do."
"What? Brother? What the hell...what are you talking about? Stay with me Rhi! Dammit, stay with me!"
"You mean...you don't know?" Rhianna coughed up some more blood, and then shuddered.
"Rhi? Rhianna? Help! Somebody! Please!"
Corwin's pleas for aid echoed in the night.
[i](Storylining note. This is just about where the rest of the party comes in and saves their asses.)[/]i
_________________
Words are the only bullets in truth's bandolier. And poets are the snipers.
-George Wu (The Hyperion Cantos, Dan Simmons) |
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