Citadel Drezen part two, the caverns beneath Drezen
The seven adventurers: Antwon the Cavalier, Kand the Wizard, Torvan the rogue, and Vig the Ninja/Paladin, with their friend Kendra, and new friends Jestak the Barbarian and Joran the Wizard, descend into the tunnels carved underneath the Citadel Drezen. Joran explains that while the stairs had been dug out and plans found for caverns and mines, the crusaders never got around to completing the lower levels of the Citadel, but the demons with their cheap labor were able to carve an intricate series of chambers, used for nefarious purposes.
One of those nefarious purposes was the imprisonment and torture of various Crusaders; the stairs lead down into such chambers. In the basement an oppressive feeling of chaos and evil suffuses and surrounds Our Heroes - it will be harder to cast spells of goodness and order here. There is a low susurration of maddening whispers, too low to make out details but enough to distract The Heroes from their task, and to sap a certain measure of their focus and discipline.
The light is a bloody-red that oozes from fungal blooms on the walls, and there is a scent of old stale sweat, blood, urine, and despair.
It is a bad place.
"My chambers are down here, Heroes, but you shall not find them. Your friends will begin to die soon. And once they are all dead, I shall turn my attentions to you. I might suggest you take your own life, but nothing really matters - one way or another, the road ends in death and blackness for all of us. Watch as your Army succumbs to my plague."
The walls fade out, and the party watches as the army of Paladins, the associated support personnel, the rescued Crusaders, and even the redeemed Tieflings start to reel from a strange sickness, blotchy patches of skin and bloated reddening pustules forming upon them.
"Staunton Vhane is a real upbeat person," Antwon thinks, as he hums a song for comfort, a song from his youth when he was more carefree.
As Our Party leaves this entry chamber - their visions go dark...
Imagine a play, about a Prince from a faraway land. Somewhere like our Denmark, perhaps. The party watches themselves watching the play, inside the audience which is mostly vampires.
The play on the stage is about the Prince and his family and court, and intrigues therein - a ghost of a murdered father, perhaps telling true about fratricide. The players are all ghouls and ghasts, and a terrible odor rises into the audience, where you watch yourself and your friends on stage, performing the play and giving your lines.
The current scene is of a company of players, hired by the Ghoul-Prince to perform a scene suggested by his father, a scene similar to the one where he was slain by his brother. The players are zombies, and you shuffle around in the play-within-a-play, as zombies yourself, watched by the ghoul players, who give their performance to you and the other vampires - you watch this as you are performing it, and
And Adivion Andrissant is there, as a vampire-theatre-goer, in the stands next to you. "I'm torn," he says to you in an aside, "On the one hand, Life forever, free from morality - but free from mortality as well. One little letter different, but a vastness of implications."
Kendra starts to speak but then becomes frozen, as does Adivion, and whatever else the Dream-Adivion might have said is lost. You also become frozen, with the rest of the audience, as the play continues, you and your Ghoul friends continuing with your monologues and dialogues, until you also freeze in place, just as the poison is poured into one zombie's ear by another zombie.
Antwon's father is here and all is frozen except you, The Party, and the ghost, who speaks three lines:
"How's that vengeance going, son?"
"Ah well - I'm dead, you know - what do I care?"
"Take care of yourself, Antwon."
And we're back, in the Abyssally-charged nightmare that is the basement of Citadel Drezen.
Staunton Vhane once again encourages the party to give up, because nothing has any meaning, and here in the caverns beneath the Citadel his voice is different, as if the morose cartoon-donkey tones were joined by the voice of an Emperor from a popular fantasy series about a series of Wars, set in space among the Stars.
The party, however does not give up. They soon come to the torture room, with a Vrock and three Babau demons! Battle is joined! Several tieflings, a clutch of Ghouls, a Chuul demon, a handful of Vampire Spawn and their Vampire Lord join the Fray!
It is a tense combat. Both Jestak and Joran fall, torn apart by demons and stabbed by the Vampire's Cruel blade. As things generally progress, however, The Heroes emerge bloodied but unbowed, and victorious over their foes. The torture chamber and cells are searched, and a large library of books discovered in the Vampire's sitting rooms, and
And.
Imagine a Triptych - a three-paneled work of art, generally used to depict three scenes, with some connection between them. Our Triptych, that we are viewing, is of Vig, and three definitive scenes from his life. Let us take them in backwards-time order, most recent first, reading right-to-left in the face of convention.
The right-most panel is of the caverns under Sandpoint, and as you watch you can see the scene shift and change, depicting the moment that Vig and The Heroes gained their Mythic powers. We have seen The Party go through that already, several missives previous - I will leave it to you for the revisiting, if you so desire.
The center panel shows a much younger Vig, in the Nidalese city of Nisroch. Vig's been through a harrowing couple of years, where the 'training' is scant different from 'abuse' or 'torture', and is about to undergo the final rituals.
His mouth will be sewn shut, and his vocal cords cauterized with white-hot metal wires. Vig is sixteen, and about to join the Silent Enforcers of Nidal. He is drugged and beaten, and hardly has the wherewithal to stand while the Priest of Zon-Kuthon, dressed in leather and metal and worshiping a god more pain than anything else, holds him up.
A voice like butterflies in the night says "Run!"
The torturer/priest is frozen but for her wide eyes, filled with fear, Vig runs, hardly knowing where he will go, not even glad for the rescue but only desiring escape. Perhaps our young Vig will head West to the frontier of Varisia?
Now let us turn our attention to the left-most panel. Vig is 14. He and eight others - and you - are crucified, tied to upright posts with your arms outstretched. You have been on the cross for most of the day and breathing has become agony. There are two voices, both like angels, but angels gone wrong - not like honey, but like molasses mixed with arsenic.
Jerribeth and Arushalae are here. They are sisters, and they are demons, and they have a book. They watch you, dying, crucified in the sands of the World Wound.
There is a crystal vial with a glowing purple liquid inside. One by one, three people are fed the potion, three people are read to from the disquieting book, and three people die horribly - although, compared to the slow death of crucifixion, perhaps a quick death, no matter the immediate pain, is preferable.
The fourth has freed her foot, somehow, and as Jerribeth moves to pour the fluid into her mouth, her foot kicks out into Jerribeth's face. Jerribeth snarls and tears her throat out with her claws, growling and then looking distraught at the blood that has stained the book in her hand.
You are here, crucified. Vig is here - Arushalae, Jerribeth, the book. A cloud of butterflies, some black some blue, emerge from the book.
Jerribeth burns, and teleports away with her precious book, screaming as her wings melt off her back. Part of Vig's soul is lost. The crucifixes fall and the captives drop to the sand.
The eyes of a succubus, now with half a soul, fill your vision. She stops and picks Vig up in her arms, and as she looks into Vig's/ Your face, she also looks at you lying on the ground, and then at you, and The Party, observing the scene from outside the Triptych.
Arushalae holds Vig and starts to walk away, but then stops, turns to the other captives lying dazed on the sands, and walks back towards them.
The vision fades, and Our Heroes come to their senses in a Vampire's library, surrounded by chittering, maddening whispers and feeling weary at the evil that permeates them from this place. Finishing their explorations of the cell block, They find one cell that is different from the others - one cell has hundreds of butterflies carved on the walls, and a prayer to Desna (reproduced on the previous post), and a feeling of... grace. Of Goodness. The Heroes could rest here, free from the whispers and the evil, if they did not care about the Army dying outside the walls of the Citadel.
Vig moves to enter the cell, and Our vision grows dark... a table. You are there, as are The Heroes, as are the Seven Runelords. You recognize them from their statues in the Lady's Light; the table is covered in good food, and the conversation flows pleasantly and well. You find yourself having a fine time, making small talk with these Runelords, until you realize that there is an undercurrent to the pleasantries, as - for instance, when Belimarius remarks how much she likes Xanderghul's cloak of feathers, she is really saying something like "I recently had over four thousand people put to death for worshipping the Peacock God".
Before the reality of this meal can sink in, the diners freeze, and Alaznist looks at you. Looks at Our Heroes. Looks around at the other Runelords, and says, "Shut up, Bitch," to Sorshen.
Xanderghul, Zutha, and Krune waver, as if they were somewhat blurry, or their colors were washed out.
Belimarius is frozen, absolutely still. Karzoug twitches. Sorshen is silent, but also watching you.
"So - where are we?" asks Alaznist. "The World Wound? That place seems pretty fucked up. Maybe you need some powerful magic to help. The kind of magic that an Ancient and recently Awakened Mage might be able to help you with."
"I doubt that I would be your first choice of allies, and I am sure that our methods differ. But perhaps we can help each other - and each get what we want? Something to think about, anyway."
"I'm sure I will see you soon, Heroes." Her voice wavers and burns with rage, and she snaps her fingers. As the scene fades, Sorshen winks at you - at Our Heroes...
And they are back, near a cell filled with good feelings.
I fear, Gentle Reader, that our time has come to an end for the nonce. I look forward to rejoining you to Our Heroe's missive soon!
One of those nefarious purposes was the imprisonment and torture of various Crusaders; the stairs lead down into such chambers. In the basement an oppressive feeling of chaos and evil suffuses and surrounds Our Heroes - it will be harder to cast spells of goodness and order here. There is a low susurration of maddening whispers, too low to make out details but enough to distract The Heroes from their task, and to sap a certain measure of their focus and discipline.
The light is a bloody-red that oozes from fungal blooms on the walls, and there is a scent of old stale sweat, blood, urine, and despair.
It is a bad place.
"My chambers are down here, Heroes, but you shall not find them. Your friends will begin to die soon. And once they are all dead, I shall turn my attentions to you. I might suggest you take your own life, but nothing really matters - one way or another, the road ends in death and blackness for all of us. Watch as your Army succumbs to my plague."
The walls fade out, and the party watches as the army of Paladins, the associated support personnel, the rescued Crusaders, and even the redeemed Tieflings start to reel from a strange sickness, blotchy patches of skin and bloated reddening pustules forming upon them.
"Staunton Vhane is a real upbeat person," Antwon thinks, as he hums a song for comfort, a song from his youth when he was more carefree.
As Our Party leaves this entry chamber - their visions go dark...
Imagine a play, about a Prince from a faraway land. Somewhere like our Denmark, perhaps. The party watches themselves watching the play, inside the audience which is mostly vampires.
The play on the stage is about the Prince and his family and court, and intrigues therein - a ghost of a murdered father, perhaps telling true about fratricide. The players are all ghouls and ghasts, and a terrible odor rises into the audience, where you watch yourself and your friends on stage, performing the play and giving your lines.
The current scene is of a company of players, hired by the Ghoul-Prince to perform a scene suggested by his father, a scene similar to the one where he was slain by his brother. The players are zombies, and you shuffle around in the play-within-a-play, as zombies yourself, watched by the ghoul players, who give their performance to you and the other vampires - you watch this as you are performing it, and
And Adivion Andrissant is there, as a vampire-theatre-goer, in the stands next to you. "I'm torn," he says to you in an aside, "On the one hand, Life forever, free from morality - but free from mortality as well. One little letter different, but a vastness of implications."
Kendra starts to speak but then becomes frozen, as does Adivion, and whatever else the Dream-Adivion might have said is lost. You also become frozen, with the rest of the audience, as the play continues, you and your Ghoul friends continuing with your monologues and dialogues, until you also freeze in place, just as the poison is poured into one zombie's ear by another zombie.
Antwon's father is here and all is frozen except you, The Party, and the ghost, who speaks three lines:
"How's that vengeance going, son?"
"Ah well - I'm dead, you know - what do I care?"
"Take care of yourself, Antwon."
And we're back, in the Abyssally-charged nightmare that is the basement of Citadel Drezen.
Staunton Vhane once again encourages the party to give up, because nothing has any meaning, and here in the caverns beneath the Citadel his voice is different, as if the morose cartoon-donkey tones were joined by the voice of an Emperor from a popular fantasy series about a series of Wars, set in space among the Stars.
The party, however does not give up. They soon come to the torture room, with a Vrock and three Babau demons! Battle is joined! Several tieflings, a clutch of Ghouls, a Chuul demon, a handful of Vampire Spawn and their Vampire Lord join the Fray!
It is a tense combat. Both Jestak and Joran fall, torn apart by demons and stabbed by the Vampire's Cruel blade. As things generally progress, however, The Heroes emerge bloodied but unbowed, and victorious over their foes. The torture chamber and cells are searched, and a large library of books discovered in the Vampire's sitting rooms, and
And.
Imagine a Triptych - a three-paneled work of art, generally used to depict three scenes, with some connection between them. Our Triptych, that we are viewing, is of Vig, and three definitive scenes from his life. Let us take them in backwards-time order, most recent first, reading right-to-left in the face of convention.
The right-most panel is of the caverns under Sandpoint, and as you watch you can see the scene shift and change, depicting the moment that Vig and The Heroes gained their Mythic powers. We have seen The Party go through that already, several missives previous - I will leave it to you for the revisiting, if you so desire.
The center panel shows a much younger Vig, in the Nidalese city of Nisroch. Vig's been through a harrowing couple of years, where the 'training' is scant different from 'abuse' or 'torture', and is about to undergo the final rituals.
His mouth will be sewn shut, and his vocal cords cauterized with white-hot metal wires. Vig is sixteen, and about to join the Silent Enforcers of Nidal. He is drugged and beaten, and hardly has the wherewithal to stand while the Priest of Zon-Kuthon, dressed in leather and metal and worshiping a god more pain than anything else, holds him up.
A voice like butterflies in the night says "Run!"
The torturer/priest is frozen but for her wide eyes, filled with fear, Vig runs, hardly knowing where he will go, not even glad for the rescue but only desiring escape. Perhaps our young Vig will head West to the frontier of Varisia?
Now let us turn our attention to the left-most panel. Vig is 14. He and eight others - and you - are crucified, tied to upright posts with your arms outstretched. You have been on the cross for most of the day and breathing has become agony. There are two voices, both like angels, but angels gone wrong - not like honey, but like molasses mixed with arsenic.
Jerribeth and Arushalae are here. They are sisters, and they are demons, and they have a book. They watch you, dying, crucified in the sands of the World Wound.
There is a crystal vial with a glowing purple liquid inside. One by one, three people are fed the potion, three people are read to from the disquieting book, and three people die horribly - although, compared to the slow death of crucifixion, perhaps a quick death, no matter the immediate pain, is preferable.
The fourth has freed her foot, somehow, and as Jerribeth moves to pour the fluid into her mouth, her foot kicks out into Jerribeth's face. Jerribeth snarls and tears her throat out with her claws, growling and then looking distraught at the blood that has stained the book in her hand.
You are here, crucified. Vig is here - Arushalae, Jerribeth, the book. A cloud of butterflies, some black some blue, emerge from the book.
Jerribeth burns, and teleports away with her precious book, screaming as her wings melt off her back. Part of Vig's soul is lost. The crucifixes fall and the captives drop to the sand.
The eyes of a succubus, now with half a soul, fill your vision. She stops and picks Vig up in her arms, and as she looks into Vig's/ Your face, she also looks at you lying on the ground, and then at you, and The Party, observing the scene from outside the Triptych.
Arushalae holds Vig and starts to walk away, but then stops, turns to the other captives lying dazed on the sands, and walks back towards them.
The vision fades, and Our Heroes come to their senses in a Vampire's library, surrounded by chittering, maddening whispers and feeling weary at the evil that permeates them from this place. Finishing their explorations of the cell block, They find one cell that is different from the others - one cell has hundreds of butterflies carved on the walls, and a prayer to Desna (reproduced on the previous post), and a feeling of... grace. Of Goodness. The Heroes could rest here, free from the whispers and the evil, if they did not care about the Army dying outside the walls of the Citadel.
Vig moves to enter the cell, and Our vision grows dark... a table. You are there, as are The Heroes, as are the Seven Runelords. You recognize them from their statues in the Lady's Light; the table is covered in good food, and the conversation flows pleasantly and well. You find yourself having a fine time, making small talk with these Runelords, until you realize that there is an undercurrent to the pleasantries, as - for instance, when Belimarius remarks how much she likes Xanderghul's cloak of feathers, she is really saying something like "I recently had over four thousand people put to death for worshipping the Peacock God".
Before the reality of this meal can sink in, the diners freeze, and Alaznist looks at you. Looks at Our Heroes. Looks around at the other Runelords, and says, "Shut up, Bitch," to Sorshen.
Xanderghul, Zutha, and Krune waver, as if they were somewhat blurry, or their colors were washed out.
Belimarius is frozen, absolutely still. Karzoug twitches. Sorshen is silent, but also watching you.
"So - where are we?" asks Alaznist. "The World Wound? That place seems pretty fucked up. Maybe you need some powerful magic to help. The kind of magic that an Ancient and recently Awakened Mage might be able to help you with."
"I doubt that I would be your first choice of allies, and I am sure that our methods differ. But perhaps we can help each other - and each get what we want? Something to think about, anyway."
"I'm sure I will see you soon, Heroes." Her voice wavers and burns with rage, and she snaps her fingers. As the scene fades, Sorshen winks at you - at Our Heroes...
And they are back, near a cell filled with good feelings.
I fear, Gentle Reader, that our time has come to an end for the nonce. I look forward to rejoining you to Our Heroe's missive soon!
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