DM Note: No Derek this week so Eloy was bubbled except for some occasions - running Epic doesn't leave much headspace for playing PCs as NPCs!| DM Note: No Derek this week so Eloy was bubbled except for some occasions - running Epic doesn't leave much headspace for playing PCs as NPCs! |
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The transition was abrupt; from the dim stuffy closeness of the tomb to the blazing heat of the Khabran desert. The sun above was a hammer, and each could feel every drop of moisture swiftly drying from their skin and their mouths. Spread below them where they stood on rise was a vast expanse of ruins, the crumbling remnants of a once-mighty city. In the distance could be seen the outlines of a harbor at the edge, ragged quays reaching blindly out into the sand where the long-vanished water once was. To their left, the desert had already begun to claim the city, sand dunes cutting across the ruins. Hopefully the Hall of the Conjurors wasn't underneath that!
Here and there in the ruins were roughly circular indentations in the ground, ten feet or so across, bordered by smashed rubble, as if a giant hammer had smashed some of the buildings. In the drying heat, it was impossible to tell how recent these were.
Gazing across the wide desolation, the scale of the search came home to the adventurers, and they began thinking of ways to improve their chances. Almost together, they conceived the idea of trying to draw on the memories of their Gods through the Regalia. Gorfang raised the wristband to his eyes, and concentrated on seeing the city as its' maker must have; Lynien intentionally de-focussed her mind and stepped forwards, allowing the Sandals to guide where her steps fell. Her path angled off to the left, and Gorfang followed, nodding to himself - the direction felt right.
As they walked, each felt the ground shift slightly under their feet, and Lynien could hear a very faint rumbling on the edge of hearing. Gorfang drew his swords, though there was nothing to see. The rumbling came again, loud enough for the orc to hear this time, and this time it didn't end, growing louder as the ground shook beneath them. Small stones bounced around and the remains of a building to their right tumbled with a crash.
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Huge forms began to shoulder their way out of the ground, climbing from beneath the sand like burrowing insects; massive animals, armoured with heavy bony plates, feverish red eyes glaring aggressively at the three intruders. Ten at least closed in around the humanoids, bearing down with unmistakable intent. Lynien perceived a touch of the fiendish in them, and tried calling to them in Abyssal but to no avail - they weren't that intelligent.
Eloy shifted himself into Nullity and disappeared from everyone's attention, while Lynien went invisible and darted off at an angle. To her consternation, at least one of the creatures veered off to follow her, tracking her swift feet with its' tremorsense. Gorfang merely chuckled nastily, stood his ground, and hefted his swords.
As the first creature reached Gorfang, he dealt it a crashing blow directly atop its' heavy head. The armour split, and blood flowed, but to his amazement, it didn't go down. Have to hit them harder, then! he thought, shifting his grip on his weapons.
Lynien stepped into her own shadow, rotating herself out of phase with the material plane. The charging beast thundered straight through her incorporeal form, its' head swivelling as it tried to work out where she had gone. Sprinting safely out of the closing ring, she turned, ready to take further action; but there was no need.
The snarling, leaping blur that was Gorfang Deathdrinker lashed blows left and right as the huge creatures came at him, battering them aside in sprays of blood and severed limbs. In moments it was over, and he stood alone on blood-soaked sand, looking down at the corpses. Despite the speed of his victory, they'd been tough, many requiring three or four strikes to kill; ordinary adventurers would have been in serious danger surrounded by them.
No more seemed to be forthcoming, although the ground rumbled and shook from time to time, so once Eloy had reappeared, Lynien resumed her holistic routefinding and the three carried on towards the Hall of the Conjurors. After about half an hour's walking, they found themselves at the edge of the sand dune encroachment onto the city. Half buried under this was the remains of a building, which unusually seemed to have been built partially underground in the first place. All that remained now were trench-like corridors sunken into the ground, leading back to where the roof remained under the sand dune.
The racial memories they were drawing on through the Regalia told them that this was indeed the Hall of the Conjurers. Eloy waved Bereloth above the sunken passages, reporting that there were no secret doors but that there was a strong residue of magic; Lynien added her opinion that there weren't any traps. The presence of magic was easily explained; what had obviously been the entrance hall had a large pool of fresh-looking water in the centre. It was about ten feet deep, clear of crystal and completely clear of sand. Visible at the bottom was a glyph of the Eye of Isetbashyat, done in mosaic and glowing faintly.
It wasn't clear if the water was magical or the pool, so in the end Lynien unpacked a bowl and took some back a ways into the desert before testing it again. Sparkling and clear, the impossible water looked appetizing and fresh - and was enchanted. It had to be, really; it would have dried up in hours if not. The Identify showed it to be imbued with mild divination magic, not very threatening, so Gorfang took the bowl and drank it down, while Lynien stood back and watched him warily in case anything alarming happened.
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Gorfang looked around, flexed his arms, rolled his shoulders. Nothing. Refreshing, yes; fresh, yes; magical, apparently not. He shrugged. "Boring!" he grunted, and turned to return to the Hall of the Conjurors. The bowl dropped from his hand in shock. The ruins were gone - replaced by a vast, glittering city of white stone and gleaming marble, massive square buildings and soaring minarets!
His gaze ranged along it, trying to work out what had happened, and he realized he could dimly see misty traces of the original ruins superimposed on it. He concentrated, and the two flipped over - now the city was a faint image over the ruins. He was seeing the city of Hathkesa as it had been in the days of its' power... Turning, he used this to identify where the Hall of the Conjurors extended to under the sand. "There," he pointed, "we need to get through to there." Walking around the pool of water, they headed down the nearest corridor. Niches left and right held small piles of dust flecked with splinters of bone; Gorfang's 'memories' showed these had once been mummified guardians. The last two niches were under the remaining roof, sheltered from the sun, and in these stood the last two guardians. As the three approached these, the figures stepped out of their places to face them.
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Gorfang and Lynien slowed as they reached the mummies, which regarded them for a moment and then bowed deeply. Gorfang and Lynien walked on, and behind them heavy footsteps could be heard as the mummies fell in and followed.
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A light was visible ahead, flickering blue and orange. This brightened as they approached the next junction. There, they found each corner of the crossroads contained a plinth, bearing an elemental of some sort suspended in mid-air. One was a roiling ball of fire; opposite that was a swirling mass of water. A constantly shifting mass of earth and stones was opposed by a miniature hurricane. Eloy, remembering the hard time he'd had with the water elemental in Lylnor's library, eyed the water column uneasily as they passed, but it did not react.
Beyond that, they came to a circular room completely filled with a massive Blade Barrier spell. Again, this was something they'd encountered in Lylnor's library. On that occasion, Gorfang had simply walked through one, but the size and density of this gave him the impression that if he tried that this time he'd regret it. As he and Lynien considered their approach, Eloy gave them a cheesy grin and cast Dimension Door, appearing neatly on the other side of the whirling barrier. Gorfang borrowed Gozan's helm from Lynien, went ethereal and walked calmly through the deadly blades. Lynien's training had given her the secret of incorporeality and she too phased out of the Prime Material to bypass the trap.
Beyond, they found a small rectangular room studded with archways. Reverting to his 'historical' view of the Hall, Gorfang read off what was written above each one. Abyss, Seven Heavens, Nine Hells, Celestia, The Beastlands... If these portals worked this was a veritable treasure-house of interplanar transport. Gorfang and Lynien looked at each other, tempted. "Where do you want to go today?" asked Gorfang, then shook his head. Where had that come from? "Suppose we'd better stick to the job," he said regretfully, and stepped into the portal marked Sigil.
DM Note: Click the picture to learn more about Sigil, cutter!
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The second step through the portal took them from blazing desert heat to the light bustle of a rainy city street in a snap. Despite popping out of thin air into a bustling thoroughfare, the three adventurers attracted precisely zero attention and no panic. At second glance, the reasons became obvious; many of the occupants of the street would get weirder things than the three heroes with their breakfast cereal, and the city was built on a sloping surface that eventually curved up and around over their heads in an incredible sky-spanning strip.
The street they were in appeared relatively well-to-do, though it was hard to tell; the inhabitants seemed to be from all across time and space, and what constituted 'good' or 'bad' for them was open to discussion. All the buildings were constructed, as was most of Sigil, from anything that came to hand, producing a patchwork effect in most places. Gorfang looked around and fastened on the one building he could identify any time, any place, anywhere; a tavern. Marching across the street, he pushed open the door and ducked inside. Eloy remained outside, observing the street and its' inhabitants and tucking information away.
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The warming, familiar hubub of an inn greeted them as they walked to the bar. The place was moderately busy, though only a low percentage of the customers were human. This didn't bother the two; only a low percentage of them were human, either. The barman, though, was human, and he turned to Gorfang and Lynien as they walked up to his bar. "Good evening," he said, "what can I get you?" Gorfang grinned. "Ale," he said, "two pints. Oh, and whatever the woman's drinking." Lynien lifted an eyebrow. "A small wine," she said calmly. The barman looked at her. "Wine for a human." He paused. "Mostly human," and turned to get the drinks. Lynien was a little taken aback; normally she took pains to conceal her origins from casual observation. Maybe, though, planar crossbreeds were more common here. She offered a handful of local coinage - which had magically appeared in her coin pouch as they crossed the street (fancy that!) - and the barman very gingerly nudged them around to indicate what was enough. "Barman," said Gorfang as he made the coins vanish. "Cedric," introduced the barman. "Do you know where to find a man - person - thing (possibly) - called Cherwell?" Lynien smiled helpfully, "We're new here," she added. Cedric nodded affably. "Yes, I thought you were clueless," he said. A shattering punch from Gorfang took him in the sternum, catapulting him backwards into the kegs behind him, down which he slithered to sprawl coughing and groaning on the floor.
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Lynien tilted her glass quite calmly. "I don't think that's quite what he meant..." she suggested. Gorfang growled, and leaned over the bar, reaching down to grab the unfortunate Cedric. A hand fell on his arm, long and gaunt but humanoid. His eyes travelled up the arm to the face of a githyanki warrior, still holding a cup of something in his other hand. "Easy," he said, "He's a good barman for a non-gith." Gorfang snarled. "Back off!" he barked, but did not continue his reach. The gith opened his hand and lifted it an inch or so above the orc's arm. "I don't have to take that from a barman," said Gorfang, "I'm invincible." The Gith grinned. "Only the Lady is invincible, my friend," he said with amusement.
Looking back at him, and beyond to the rest of the tavern, Gorfang adopted his Spirit Stance, using the insight of Hektis to evaluate the level of threat of the tavern's inhabitants. Perhaps to his surprise, the Gith wasn't the most dangerous; that honour went to .. something .. sitting shrouded in darkness in a corner. Whatever it was, it was bigger than a man. But like most of the customers, it was content to sit and watch developments. Some of the customers were beginning to wave various numbers of fingers and pass coins back and forth.
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Lynien clambered across the bar and slid down to sit next to Cedric. "I apologize for my companion," she said easily, "he's not always like this, but he's got a temper." The barman didn't react, struggling for air, and she passed him a healing potion. Cedric swigged it down and his breathing eased. As he got his bearings, Lynien glanced at the crowd again. In any situation like this, she'd expect to see her fellows plying their trade... but there was nobody. This either meant that Sigil had no thieves - or that they were good enough she couldn't see them. Neither seemed likely!
"What you need," continued the Gith, "is a tout." Gorfang glared at him, in case this was another dubious phrase. "A guide," the Gith added patiently. "Try Leggord, two doors down," he added. Gorfang finished his second ale. "Thanks for that," he said, "unless you want to fight?" he added hopefully. The Gith shook his head. "I see no need," he said, looking at Cedric who was now fully recovered - though unwilling to rise from behind the bar.
The tout Leggord's stall was where they'd been told it would be, in one of the many market-places scattered through Sigil, and the man himself was seated behind its display of maps and a sign offering guidance for money. Leggord himself was a tall thin man with little hair and - revealed when he spoke - a forked tongue. With a jolt, Lynien realized he was, like herself, a tiefling - a human touched with fiendish ancestry. Now we instantly distrust each other she thought. "Shall I do the talking again?" asked Gorfang archly. "No," said Lynien hastily, "it's my turn." She asked him if he could take them to Cherwell's, and he nodded. "When can we go?" she asked. Leggord flipped his booth's sign to Out - Back Soon, picked up a staff and stood up. "You ready?" he asked Gorfang. "I was born ready," the orc answered. Lynien chuckled. "But you got taller," she commented.
Twenty minutes later they stopped by a fairly impressive building. Leggord pointed up at the sign, a stylized doorway with a single large eye looking through it. "Cherwell's," he announced simply. Gorfang wasn't convinced. Whirling, he snagged a passerby by the arm. "What's this building?" he asked. "Cherwell's Portal Trader's," the man answered. Gorfang nodded in satisfaction. "That'll be three coppers?" added the man hopefully. Gorfang ignored him and paid Leggord, before walking into Cherwell's. The passer-by shrugged. "Worth a go," he said to himself before carrying on.
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The door opened into a large shop area, decorated with paintings of attractive and interesting interplanar destinations, all being accessed by smiling, successful-looking adventurers of one kind or another. Security guards were dotted around the edges, grouped in pairs – one handy-looking fighting man and one competent looking spellcaster.
Men in merchant’s clothes were visible here and there, usually talking to one of the dozen or so customers present. However, dominating the whole room is what the adventurers at first took to be a statue of a Beholder – wearing a single-lens sunglasses of all things – on a padded plinth against the back wall. After another look, however, they realized that it was not a statue… it was real!
"You’re new customers," it grated, "and you look a bit out of the ordinary, even for this place. You’re Primes, and what we call Clueless here… it doesn’t mean what you think. You have the smell of Powers about you. I guess you’re here to trade; I’m interested to hear what you want to buy, and I’m curious why I’ve never heard of you before."
Gorfang nudged Lynien, who had a moment's reluctance about letting the disk go. She'd tentatively identified it as a Chaselaine Disk - a form of powerful trap for a soul. She presented it now, watching the slowly rotating 'dancer' in a new light; the figure seemed more despairing than delightful now. Cherwell chuckled. “Oho!” he rumbled in great good humour, “someone really wanted to secure my services! Let me see that!” and he Telekinesised the disk over to his desk, where he extended his eye-stalks and watched the dancer spin and pose from every possible angle with evident delight. "Your patron..?" he paused, hoping for a name to be slotted into the sentence, but continued when it wasn't, "... sends this in exchange for what?" "A key to a portal to the City Forever - and the portal's location of course," Gorfang answered.
A shout brought one of his salesmen over, fawning and dry-washing, evidently Charmed. Cherwell sent him to collect something, and he returned with a small ivory cat, about 2” long. “This is the key to the portal you want - to the City Forever,” he said with considerable amusement. “Getting to it is your own problem; it’s in the wine-cellar of the Barracks. Doubt the Hardheads will just bow you past, hahahaha!” His salesmen laughed in sycophantic unison. Gorfang gritted his teeth. "How do we get in?" he asked with control. "Ah!" replied Cherwell, "more information. Another transaction." "We've already paid you," protested Lynien. "That was for the key," said Cherwell. "Now we're established and trusted business partners, we can do more business. What do you have to trade for this information - for believe me, I do know the answer. I have a contact for you that can get you into the Barracks."
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An idea struck Gorfang. "I think this might interest you," he said, and slowly drew a black dagger from his belt, fingers around the blade not the hilt. Instantly, most of the nearby security teams became sharply focused on the conversation; none drew weapons or cast spells, but all were poised to do so. Cherwell frowned - impressive on a creature with an eye a quarter the size of its' entire body. "I have little use for knives," he said, "especially unmagical ones. What does it do?"
Gorfang spent some time verbally fencing with Cherwell, trying to get him to give the name upfront before he demonstrated the Opener, but the wily beholder wasn't having any of it. Both were clearly enjoying the contest of wills, but it wasn't going anywhere. "Very well," said Gorfang. "Let's suppose your business's safe is in the cellar here." Cherwell grunted non-commitally. Gorfang activated his Anti-Magic Field gem, knelt down, feeling with his mind for the edges of reality. "Now, watch this!" he announced with a flourish, and drove the dagger into the planks. It penetrated with a solid thunk that left it embedded a couple of inches.
Gorfang hauled it out, staring at it in disbelief. He jabbed it into the air several more times, seeking for the opening, while Cherwell and his staff and customers watched in some bemusement. Finally he stopped. The knife that could cut to anywhere wasn't working!
"Yes?" said Cherwell politely. "What else have you got?"
This was too much for the adventurers, and they left without another word.
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Session Date: 14th December 2011 |
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