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  1. - Top - End - #151
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    Your DM is a lucky man.
    I know, i remind him constantly of this.

    - The battle with Ara Mathra is my favourite so far. The descriptions, the attacks, the pauses for healing. Very well written.
    - “Kneeling by the ancient basin that once housed the undying flame, Willow sat with closed eyes, deep in prayer. She did not relish the slaughter of thousands, she did not feel pride with her hands doused in their blood.” – This is what I was talking about. The difference between Lawful Evil and Chaotic. She has done what she must, but she sees the destruction of thousands for what it is – a massacre. Again, very well written.
    - The description of the horde is far better in Daveryn. Though the writing is better, it also shows the development of the bugbears as they have grown in experience. Excellent writing.
    Thank you!

    - Either you are naturally suspicious, or you have a good sense for treachery. Trickling in thoughts of Thorn and his plans. Maybe it is that cryptic mind of yours, but you seem books ahead of yourself. How early did you figure out who Thorn was?
    Very suspicious. I am unfortunately a very paranoid person. Though it helps me in this game lol.
    The first mention of Samuel Havelyn in Balentyne was enough to set me spinning lol. Thorn and Havelyn being the same person was actually one of my first theories (to my DM's amusement) among about a thousand others. But it was Brother Thrain's comment "i served with the cardinal' that confirmed my suspicions. I'm that ar**hole that ruins every movie by figuring out the plot a few minutes in.

    - Are the shrouds of the daywalkers part of the campaign? I can’t seem to remember. They would have made the choice to become a vampire much simpler. How do they work in your game?
    I believe it is part of the campaign, but my DM changed it slightly. The original item is as follows:
    Shroud of the Daywalker
    Aura moderate necromancy; CL 9th
    Price 18,000 gp; Weight 1 lb.

    DESCRIPTION
    This funeral shroud at first glance appears to be made of the finest
    silk no doubt in some dark color such as black, burgundy
    or deepest blue. However upon closer inspection, it reeks of
    death and corruption.
    When worn by the living, this shroud makes the wearer seem to be
    undead. Nonintelligent undead cannot detect the wearer as if
    cloaked by hide from undead. Even intelligent undead may fail
    to notice you unless they succeed at a DC 11 Will save.
    When worn by a vampire, however, this shroud has a very different
    effect. The darkness woven into the cloak shrouds the vampire
    and allows them to move about during the day. Instead
    of taking damage from sunlight, they are only dazzled in areas
    of bright sunlight or within the radius of a daylight spell.
    Regardless whether living or dead, once per day, as standard action,
    the wearer may call forth the darkness within the shroud
    to make them invisible for up to nine minutes.

    DM negated the invisibility, and the smell lol. It does not allow full protection from the sun, but it allows us to function normally. It allows a vampire to move through the sunlight hours, not necessarily dazzled, but unable to perform complicated tasks. Talking, walking, running, shopping etc is all fine. But fighting, climbing, tumbling etc, the light is too off-putting to allow concentration. So it basically makes us commoners in the sun light. It offers no extra powers or tricks.

    - I also like your description of the slow transformation, the first night, the hangover, etc. How far along the transformation are you?
    It goes in feats. Better explained here: https://the-way-of-the-wicked.obsidi.../wikis/vampire

    At the present moment, Willow, Garvana and Pellius are The Initiated.

    I was supposed to catch up on paperwork today. But I fear, I will not be doing that. This is far more entertaining.
    Haha! I think reading this is a far better idea.

  2. - Top - End - #152
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    I did not think that vampire erotica would be enjoyable. But.......

  3. - Top - End - #153
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Did you solve Eiramanthus' puzzle that quickly? It took my group hours of further exploration, and even then we had to use divination.
    And what happened with your teleport in game? How did you end up in the manor with the General? Did the teleport go haywire?
    Also, the island was excellent. Set the tone of an exotic and alien world well.

  4. - Top - End - #154
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Zombie

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    Did you solve Eiramanthus' puzzle that quickly?
    I can verify the time taken - we literally read the message on the door and then Minderp saw the 'Chessboard' and we all had to shut the hell up while she solved it right away. Think it took her about 2 minutes of real time :P

  5. - Top - End - #155
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by Jimmah View Post
    I can verify the time taken - we literally read the message on the door and then Minderp saw the 'Chessboard' and we all had to shut the hell up while she solved it right away. Think it took her about 2 minutes of real time :P
    Puzzle Wizard

  6. - Top - End - #156
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Well, i am up to date. And i must say, it was worth the time.
    A few thoughts:
    - The return of Switch is made all the more intriguing by the reveal of his stats. Is he one of your concepts? Or the DM? Did you source his stats from some where or make them yourself? Either way, with your permission, I'd like to use him in one of my games. If it was you who made him, you have a knack for evil character creation.
    - The scene in Hell is especially well written - it had my skin crawling.
    - To Jimmah, did you play out the character transfer scene? Or was it done behind closed doors? I am curious to know how a sorcerous beat a barbarian/what ever else he was.
    - To Minderp, you are getting far better at writing the - ahem - 'carnal scenes'.
    - "Garvana rasped a callous incantation, fingers darting in eldritch patterns, as she lifted a small Asmodean pendant into the air. The metal pentagram ripped from her fingers, torn viciously into shreds before it transformed into a terrifying beam of spine-chilling malice." - I like the creative descriptions of spells in the newest writing, the use of somatic and material components. Also, the traps in the King's Chambers and disarming them.
    - In the latest chapter, your description of Naburus was excellent. Very well written. Did your DM put you all on the spot again? Did you play out the conversation or use diplomacy?
    - The reunion with your hound was made all the more sweet now that i know your affinity for dogs.

    And i am up to date. I eagerly await the next chapter.
    Thank you for taking the time to write this, it is a captivating and enjoyable read.

  7. - Top - End - #157
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    And what happened with your teleport in game? How did you end up in the manor with the General? Did the teleport go haywire?
    I have mentioned it in another comment, my ability to roll high on a D100 is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous! I mean, so ridiculous that more often than not i roll either 98, 99 or 100. In one teleport i rolled 3 times, using Heropoints to reroll out of frustration. And i actually rolled a 100, then a 99, then another freaking 100.
    With the general, first roll was a 100, causing a mishap.
    Then following directly after on the reroll, i rolled a 99. So i heropointed. And somehow managed low enough to only end up with a Similar Area.
    I am clearly cursed. But the party still insists that i roll, because hey, its entertaining.

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    - The return of Switch is made all the more intriguing by the reveal of his stats. Is he one of your concepts? Or the DM? Did you source his stats from some where or make them yourself? Either way, with your permission, I'd like to use him in one of my games. If it was you who made him, you have a knack for evil character creation.
    You are more than welcome to use him.
    Most of it i made up myself, using the stats of an average Infernal Duke as a guide for power level/amount of spells/feats etc. But i made him specific to a servant of Belial. So his spells are focused on mind control, lust, debauchery, and of course a little sadism. His base started as a salikotal devil, and i built on from there. His description is a mix of my own writing, the descriptor for an Infernal Duke and a build for Belial himself that i found on another forum. Used part of his description but changed it to suit Switch, Skathos if you will, paying tribute to the archdevil who created him. If you want to check that out, its here: http://www.enworld.org/forum/showthr...he-Fourth-Hell

    - The scene in Hell is especially well written - it had my skin crawling.
    I like this scene too!! I believe i have captured the evil of Hell, but fear i need to write another scene, to capture the order and law. Stay tuned...

    - "Garvana rasped a callous incantation, fingers darting in eldritch patterns, as she lifted a small Asmodean pendant into the air. The metal pentagram ripped from her fingers, torn viciously into shreds before it transformed into a terrifying beam of spine-chilling malice." - I like the creative descriptions of spells in the newest writing, the use of somatic and material components. Also, the traps in the King's Chambers and disarming them.
    Thanks! This has been a focus of mine of late. Otherwise the battles and spells seem to meld into same-same territory.

    - In the latest chapter, your description of Naburus was excellent. Very well written. Did your DM put you all on the spot again? Did you play out the conversation or use diplomacy?
    We played it out. We were not allowed to use dice or skills. We had to convince Naburus ourselves. The DM set the scene so well, the dark and ominous cavern, the terrible threat that each and every word would be heard and judged, with no way for us to take them back. It was excellent!

    - The reunion with your hound was made all the more sweet now that i know your affinity for dogs.
    But doooooooooogs!

    And i am up to date. I eagerly await the next chapter.
    Thank you for taking the time to write this, it is a captivating and enjoyable read.
    Thank you! That is a very nice thing to say. And now, i shall go and squeee like the female that i am...


    Quote Originally Posted by Jimmah View Post
    I can verify the time taken - we literally read the message on the door and then Minderp saw the 'Chessboard' and we all had to shut the hell up while she solved it right away. Think it took her about 2 minutes of real time :P
    But Jimmmmmmaaaaahhhh, puuuuuuuuuuzzles!!!

  8. - Top - End - #158
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    To someone who only plays 3.5 What is the difference between rogue and unchained rogue?

    Also, from trying to read pathfinder rules, it seems that the immunity to critical hits is much more rare there. So less chance of Willow sharing the fate of lady Clementine.
    Last edited by Braininthejar2; 2017-04-16 at 02:51 PM.

  9. - Top - End - #159
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by Braininthejar2 View Post
    To someone who only plays 3.5 What is the difference between rogue and unchained rogue?
    Being fairly new to playing Unchained (Willow is my first), I’m not the best candidate to explain it, but hey! I’ll try.

    Unchained: While much of the unchained rogue will be familiar to those who have played the*original rogue, there are a number of new class features that greatly enhance the power and flexibility of the rogue. Chief among these is the*debilitating injury*class feature. A rogue with this ability can severely hamper her foes, giving her a much-needed boost to her offense or defense, depending on the situation. In addition, with*finesse training, the rogue now gains*Weapon Finesse*for free at 1st level. This ability also lets her add her*Dexterity*to damage rolls with one weapon starting at 3rd level. Finally, the*rogue’s edge*ability ties into a new system called*skill unlocks. With this feature, the unchained rogue can master a small set of chosen skills, outperforming all those characters without access to such talents.

    http://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/unch...gue-unchained/


    As a personal note, I am terrible at remembering the changes. Perhaps it is my inexperience with playing RPG’s altogether, but I find it confusing to remember and put into play, I just end up forgetting to add the bonuses or use the rules specific to me.


    Spoiler: Debilitating Injuries
    Show

    At 4th level, whenever a rogue deals*sneak attack*damage to a foe, she can also debilitate the target of her attack, causing it to take a penalty for 1 round (this is in addition to any penalty caused by a rogue talent or other special ability). The rogue can choose to apply any one of the following penalties when the damage is dealt.
    Bewildered: The target becomes bewildered, taking a –2 penalty to AC. The target takes an additional –2 penalty to AC against all attacks made by the rogue. At 10th level and 16th level, the penalty to AC against attacks made by the rogue increases by –2 (to a total maximum of –8).
    Disoriented: The target takes a –2 penalty on*attack rolls. In addition, the target takes an additional –2 penalty on all*attack rolls*it makes against the rogue. At 10th level and 16th level, the penalty on*attack rolls*made against the rogue increases by –2 (to a total maximum of –8).
    Hampered: All of the target’s speeds are reduced by half (to a minimum of 5 feet). In addition, the target cannot take a 5-foot step.
    These penalties do not stack with themselves, but additional attacks that deal*sneak attack*damage extend the duration by 1 round. A creature cannot suffer from more than one penalty from this ability at a time. If a new penalty is applied, the old penalty immediately ends. Any form of healing applied to a target suffering from one of these penalties also removes the penalty.


    As for Rogue’s edge, this gets very confusing. But Willow has unlocked Acrobatics, Escape Artist, Perception and Stealth. Again, I forget to apply the new rules most of the time. We use Herolab to play our games on, and the unlocks don’t show anywhere in the character sheets, so I forget they exist most of the time. Some of them have really cool and beneficial changes, some of them are pretty pointless.

    Spoiler: Rogue’s Edge
    Show

    Acrobatics
    With sufficient ranks in*Acrobatics, you earn the following.
    5 Ranks: You can move at normal speed through a threatened square without provoking an attack of opportunity by increasing the DC of the check by 5 (instead of by 10). You aren't denied your Dexterity bonus when attempting*Acrobatics*checks with DCs of 20 or lower.
    10 Ranks: You can attempt an*Acrobatics*check at a –10 penalty and use the result as your CMD against trip maneuvers. You can also attempt an*Acrobatics*check at a –10 penalty in place of a Reflex save to avoid falling. You must choose to use this ability before the trip attempt or Reflex save is rolled. With a successful DC 20*Acrobatics*check, you treat an unintentional fall as 10 feet shorter plus 10 feet for every 10 by which you exceed the DC, and treat an intentional fall as 10 feet shorter for every 10 by which you exceed the DC.
    15 Ranks: You do not provoke attacks of opportunity when standing up from prone.
    20 Ranks: You double the result of any*Acrobatics*check when jumping and never fall prone at the end of a fall as long as you remain conscious.


    Escape Artist
    With sufficient ranks in*Escape Artist, you earn the following.
    5 Ranks: If you take a –10 penalty, the time required to use this skill is halved; escaping a grapple or pin is a move action, and escaping a net,*animate rope,*command plants,*or*control plants*spell is a standard action.
    10 Ranks: You can attempt to escape from any entangling effect as a standard action with an*Escape Artist*check (DC = the effect's save DC + 10). You can attempt an*Escape Artist*check as a move action to set the DC for a creature to escape from ropes or bindings; you gain a +10 bonus on the check if you instead attempt it as a full-round action.
    15 Ranks: You can escape any entangling effect (as above) as a move action. As a standard action, you can attempt an*Escape Artist*check (DC = the effect's save DC + 20) to suppress a*slow*or paralysis effect for 1 round, plus 1 round for every 5 by which you exceed the DC. This action counts as purely mental for the purpose of being able to take it while paralyzed.
    20 Ranks: You can escape being entangled, grappled, or pinned as an immediate action with an*Escape Artist*check (DC = the effect's DC + 10 or the attacker's CMB + 10). You can attempt to suppress a*slow*or paralysis effect as a standard action (increasing the DC by 10), a move action (increasing the DC by 15), or an immediate action (increasing the DC by 20).


    Perception
    With sufficient ranks in*Perception, you earn the following.
    5 Ranks: You remain alert to sounds even in your sleep, and the normal DC increase to*Perception*checks when you are sleeping is halved. The distance modifier on the DC of*Perception*checks you attempt is reduced to +1 per 20 feet.
    10 Ranks: The distance modifier on the DC of*Perception*checks you attempt is reduced to +1 per 30 feet. In addition, you gain a +5 bonus on*Perception*checks to notice or locate an invisible creature or object.
    15 Ranks: You remain alert to sounds even in your sleep, and the normal DC increase to*Perception*checks when you are sleeping doesn't apply to you. The distance modifier on the DC of your*Perception*checks is reduced to +1 per 40 feet.
    20 Ranks: You gain a +10 bonus on*Perception*checks to notice invisible creatures or objects. The distance modifier on the DC of*Perception*checks you attempt is reduced to +1 per 60 feet.


    Stealth
    With sufficient ranks in*Stealth, you earn the following.
    5 Ranks: Reduce the*Stealth*penalty from sniping by 10.
    10 Ranks:*Stealth*check penalties for moving quickly are halved, including the ability unlocked at 5 ranks, moving full speed, and reaching concealment after creating a distraction.
    15 Ranks: If you attack after successfully using*Stealth, your target is denied its Dexterity bonus against all attacks that you make before the end of your turn.
    20 Ranks: If you attack after successfully using*Stealth, your target is denied its Dexterity bonus against all attacks that you make before the beginning of your next turn.

    http://paizo.com/pathfinderRPG/prd/u...llUnlocks.html



    As far as i know, there's not a massive difference to the original rogue, they just remade it to ensure a rogue stays versatile. Though getting a sneak attack can take a lot of round and play sacrifice, when they manage to get one, it is worth the wait. And rogue's being the skill-monkeys, they are made even skilled-er-monkeys.

    Also, from trying to read pathfinder rules, it seems that the immunity to critical hits is much more rare there. So less chance of Willow sharing the fate of lady Clementine.
    Lol, i had to look this up. But yeah lol, immunity to critical hits it usually a creature feat, as in oozes, swarms, incorporeal (if attack is made without the ghost touch abiltity) etc.
    It's pretty uncommon for humanoids to have immunity to crits, but not completely unheard of.

  10. - Top - End - #160
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Humanoids no, but in 3.5 both undead and constructs are immune to crits (and thus sneak attack) by default - that's a big problem for rogues, especially in good guy campaigns, where undead bosses are common.

  11. - Top - End - #161
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by Braininthejar2 View Post
    Humanoids no, but in 3.5 both undead and constructs are immune to crits (and thus sneak attack) by default - that's a big problem for rogues, especially in good guy campaigns, where undead bosses are common.
    Although constructs are immune to just about EVERYTHING else, they aren't immune to crits or sneak. Same with undead, immune to all mind-affecting effects, bleed, death effects, disease, paralysis, poison, sleep effects, and stunning. Immune to any effect that requires a Fortitude save. Not subject to nonlethal damage, ability drain, or energy drain. Immune to damage to its physical ability scores (Constitution, Dexterity, and Strength), as well as to exhaustion and fatigue effects.
    But critical and sneak are good! Lucky for Willow.

  12. - Top - End - #162
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal


  13. - Top - End - #163
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Sorry for the lack of posting, we've had a delay in playing due to sickness.
    We're due to play again this Sunday, so there will be stories hopefully within a fortnight.

  14. - Top - End - #164
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    A fortnight is a long time to wait.

  15. - Top - End - #165
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    A fortnight is a long time to wait.
    We have finally played again! Just about to start writing it up!

  16. - Top - End - #166
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Finally, the long awaited next chapter!
    Sorry for the delay, we're hoping to keep up a more regular playing schedule again, so hopefully the next won't be so far away!


    Spoiler: Chapter 43 - Fallen - Part 1
    Show

    The dawning sun warmed the cold chill of night that had fallen over the lush green farmlands of outer Ghastenhall. The leaves shed the thin ice formations that spring’s darkness had brought, shining drops of water that fell to feed the shrubbery below. Though the sounds of early rising farmers herding their cattle still bounded along the empty grass plains, the number of them had dwindled over the spring. Ghastenhall had been the first region to be hit with the dreaded Tears of Achlys, and it was here that the worst of the sickness and death resided.
    By the slow trail upon horseback, the Forsaken made their way along the dirt road towards the main city, eyes tracing the quiet expanse. As had become expected and fashionable, Willow and Traya wore silken veils across their faces, draping the fine fabric along the bridge of their noses and low along their chins. It was a futile attempt by the populace to shield themselves from the deathly plague. Though it offered no real protection from the vile and sentient sickness, it offered commoner and noble alike a naïve hope of preservation.
    Willow had first seen them appear in Matharyn only days before they had left. Like most plagues, the first casualties of the sickness fell from the ranks of the poorest. With the lack of nourishment from hefty food stores and the brunt of the coldest weather by lack of shelter, the poorest of the fair city were always the first to fall. When the plague reached Matharyn, the veiled fashion had already infiltrated every street. The common folk wore flanks of harsh wool or scuffed linen around their faces, while the nobles and the upper classes took the chance once more to flaunt their station. Ghastenhall had always been the cultural hub of Talingarde, first in line with the raging change of trends and fashions. And so it was here that the veiled craze had truly taken off. Veils for women came in an array of vivid shades, embellished with intricate patterns woven in shimmering gold thread, or strung with glass beads in glittering hues. Veils for men were tighter fitting and threaded with much less frill, in colours of bold blues and greens.
    Though of late, her mind and time had been preoccupied with the like of battles, gods and kings, Willow could not deny her affinity with the standard of dress. With spring’s arrival the colours had changed, gone were the dark and rich fabrics of winter, entering bright shades of blooming flowers and sprouting plants. Greens in emerald rich and smooth teal – pinks in soft pastel and glowing fuchsia – yellows in sun bright and warm honey. Trotting along upon her steed, Willow wore a long and draping gown of burned amber, a short sleeved dress with a collar that extended into a head wrap and finished in veil that softly reached across her lower face.

    As usual, Pellius and Garvana shunned the need to follow the fashionable trends. Clad in their armour, looking much the part of wandering adventurers, they forwent the veils and opted to stride through the streets with their faces open to the warm spring winds.
    “What is it we’re looking for?” Traya asked, peering over the mauve silk that draped along her face, “Potions?”
    “And scrolls,” Garvana huffed, uneasily guiding her horse out of the path of a cart filled with the plagues latest victims, “We need to protect ourselves from the dragon’s breath.”
    “I think we’ll need more than a few trinkets,” Traya scoffed.
    What they knew of the fearsome Strider-in-the-Dark was not nearly as much as they would have liked. Yet, what they did know, was enough to instil trepidation within them.
    “The dragon’s breath may be frighteningly powerful,” Garvana frowned, “But it cannot hurt to have even the smallest amount of protection.”
    “I still do not like the idea of fighting such a beast,” Traya scowled under her breath, looking to the others with an arched and knowing brow, “For one, though the undead may not be at risk to much of its ways, some of us are still breathing… and would like to stay that way.”
    “We may not have a choice,” Willow said quietly, moving her steed closer, “If there was a way to procure the Heart without encountering the Linnorm, the Heart would not be there…”
    “There must be another way,” Traya sighed, shaking her head, “This is suicide.”
    “Suicide is usually something we have a way of evading,” Garvana laughed.
    “It may be possible…” Willow began thoughtfully.
    “What may be?” Traya frowned, looking to Willow.
    “There may be a way to slip in unnoticed. Perhaps while the dragon sleeps. If I am able to sneak through unseen… it may be possible to retrieve the Heart and escape before the dragon knows anything is afoot.”
    “Now that,” Pellius laughed, “Sounds like suicide.”
    Willow shrugged as an easy grin lifted her lips, “It may well be worth a try.”
    As the soft clip of horse hooves echoed along the cobblestone streets, the Forsaken made their way through the town towards the marketplace, passing the tune of sickly coughs and wheezes as they went.
    Tethering their horses to a stable post along side the Wellspring River, they continued on foot through the streets of Whitequarter. As the sounds of people and cheer grew, they neared the grand market square. The hours passed as they perused the fine and peculiar wares of the visiting merchants, filling their pouches with vials of curious potions and brews. After visiting the weapon-smith to purchase a new and stronger bow, the afternoon sun began its descent, as their casual and meandering steps brought them alongside the path of the river.
    Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in Willow’s head, loud enough to halt her steps.
    “Barnabus Thrain of Ghastenhall sends greetings,” the gruff and aged voice said, “I know Sir Richard’s whereabouts and mission. I remain at the Great Library in Ghastenhall. Seek me there. Hurry.”
    Willow frowned, looking to the others who had continued on as if they had heard nothing. As Pellius noticed her halt, he turned to her with a questioning look.
    “You did not hear that?” she asked quietly.
    “Hear what, my lady?” he responded with a frown.
    “Brother Thrain’s message.”
    “What message?” his frown deepened.
    “It must have been a spell of some kind,” Willow whispered, looking around her with suspicion, “He said he knows the whereabouts of Sir Richard, and his mission.”
    “What did he say?”
    “To meet him in the library, with urgency…” she replied, “Curious…”
    “Suspicious,” Pellius scoffed.
    Willow took a quick look around before making up her mind swiftly.
    “Tell the others,” she nodded curtly, turning back towards where she had left her horse, “I will meet up with you this evening.”
    “Be careful, my lady,” he frowned, brow crushed in distrust.
    “I always am,” she winked with a grin.
    As she quickened her pace and wove her way through the throng of people, she made it to the side of her steed as a sudden cheer erupted around her.
    “He has done it!” cried a man in elation, “Mitra has delivered the noble knight to us, and he has brought about the cure! Mitra be praised!”
    Willow frowned, turning her head towards the tearful man, watching his delighted face radiate with pious joy. With swift steps and a feigned excitement, she arrived by his side.
    “What is it?” she asked, the frown vanished by will, replaced with innocence, “What has happened, sir?”
    “Mitra has saved us, my lady!” he gushed warmly, “The Shining Sun sent us our dear Sir Richard, and the benevolent and brave knight has found us a cure to the vile sickness! Cast off that veil, my lady! Mitra’s love was all we needed!”
    “Sir Richard of Havelyn?” Willow asked, a feigned joy coming over her face, “Oh, light be praised… how wonderful.”
    “The one and the same, my lady!” he laughed happily, “He has saved us!”
    Willow smiled, inclining her head towards the man as she returned to her steed. It was with a new urgency that she lifted into the saddle, ignoring the momentary looks of shock as a noble woman mounted a steed unassisted. She swiftly dug her heels into the horse’s sides, ushering it quickly out of the busy paths and onto the main streets. Though the cure was no threat to them, actually aiding their cause by allowing the masses to recover in order to serve, it was a boost of morale that reminded the people that Mitra was not completely unaware of their plight. Sir Richard of Havelyn had been a thorn in their side from the moment he had made himself known. He needed to die. Not a legendary battle in the eyes of the light, he needed to be extinguished in the dark – to be forgotten by all.


    She slowed her steed on arrival at the great Library of Ghaster, swiftly dismounting before tying her horse to the post. As she approached the large doors, she unbuttoned the flank of amber fabric from her face, before dropping the customary toll of silver into the decorative iron tray. After walking the halls for a few moments, she found Brother Thrain amidst a stack of musty tomes, his wrinkled face pulled into his usual frown as he sorted through the mass of literature. When she approached, he looked up as she drew nearer, his grumbled frown easing as he recognised her.
    “Ah, Lady Clarentine,” he smiled, though the smile was barely a look of joy under the weight of his gruff demeanour, “Here for the symposium this evening?”
    “Of course, Brother,” she responded cordially, “I would not miss the opportunity to discuss Fillius Isenhour’s work.”
    “The usual time and place,” he huffed, nodding curtly as he turned from her.
    Willow smiled at his abruptness, she was rather fond of the aged brashly tempered man. As she awaited the sunset and perused the halls of the library, she thought on the troubling problem that the paladin was. The prophetic words that they had heard since they had begun their righteous mission for the Dark Lord, were that the son would bring about their doom. For a time, Willow had thought the words were of the Shining Sun, the very will of Mitra standing against them. But as they had continued down the path of darkness, culling the faithful and dousing the light of the holy lord, she had begun to rethink their words. The son. The son of Thomas Havelyn, the nephew of the fearsome Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. Perhaps it was he that was fated to bring about their doom. It was him that escaped the dreaded Horn of Abbadon, it was him that rallied the King of Talingarde to his cause, it was him that seemed to appear along every step of their dark path. And now, he had quested in the name of the Lord of Light and cured the evil Tears of Achlys. What could his next quest be, and how would the Forsaken be able to stop him?

    As the sun fell behind the horizon, Willow made her way to the familiar spiralling staircase that descended deep below into the basement lecture hall. As she approached the open doors at the bottom landing, she recognised the faces of Thrain’s guards as they nodded to her. A sudden thought arose in her mind as she saw them. Thrain had been with Cardinal Thorn long before the Knots had formed. If there was any who would stand by him, even while he strayed from his course into the disfavour of the Dark Lord – it would be him. And Cardinal Thorn was determined to eliminate the Ninth Knot. Was she delivering herself openly to his waiting arms?
    As she stepped over the threshold, the men sealed the doors behind her.
    “It is good to see you alive and well, child,” Brother Thrain said warmly from across the hall.
    Willow smiled to him, “And you, my friend.”
    Though she approached him casually, she felt the slight tug of wariness overcome her. She trusted him, though she knew not why. It may have been a childish folly, but she was eager and contented to add Brother Thrain to her very short list of true allies and friends. When she stepped to his side, he held his arms out to her. With only the slightest hesitation, she stepped into his embrace. When no blade pierced her skin, nor spell hit her flesh, she sighed quietly and returned his amiable hug.
    “You have been busy, I hear,” the aged priest chuckled, pulling back from the embrace and indicating a seat to the side of the lecture hall, “Curious that after your word with the terrible Chargammon, he turns his eye upon the Adarium.”
    “Coincidence, I assure you,” Willow smirked playfully.
    “Of course,” he grinned, “And I have heard the unfortunate passing of King Markadian, another coincidence?”
    “One of many,” she laughed softly.
    “Ah, well it is good you are well young Willow. The word is of much destruction and chaos across the lands, the battle of Fallingsbridge bringing the defeat of the king’s army.”
    “The bugbears fought well,” Willow nodded, arching her brow, “Though it seems they had the upper hand in the battle. For a strange reason, the army led by General Vastenus assaulted only the most well defended gate. Curious move on his part.”
    “Curious indeed,” the brother commented, giving no tell of clue upon his face.
    “You sent word of Richard of Havelyn,” Willow said with a frown, the easy smile dropping from her lips, “What is it you know?”
    The priest adjusted his seat upon the uncomfortable wooden pew, his aged bones creaking as he shuffled to face her.
    “It was a few days ago now,” he began, a worried frown pulling upon his lined brow, “That I received a piece of parchment that was being passed around amongst the priesthood. It spoke of a meeting actually here in this very room late at night. I was to tell no one but the faithful. How could I refuse an invitation like that?”
    “You are, of course, the most faithful,” Willow chuckled.
    “I am that,” he replied with a small laugh, “But, guess who was at that meeting? Not only your friend Sir Richard, but also the princess Bellinda. The heir to the throne of Markadian herself in this very room!
    “So she did survive,” Willow frowned.
    “Indeed,” he nodded, “She spoke for quite a while – very inspirational stuff. It seems she’s forming an army. She calls upon all true sons and daughters of Talingarde and Mitra to flock to her banner in this dark time. She’s gaining followers quickly. I would be careful around her. She seems... I don’t know... dangerous.”
    “We discovered something within the Adarium,” Willow replied, her frown burrowing slightly, “Bellinda is not the daughter of a foreign fallen queen, well, not exactly. She is the daughter of the silver elder wyrm, Antharia Regina.”
    “She is what?!” Thrain balked, shaking his head, “Truly? Until the other night, I had thought her only a childish brat. And it was her who slayed the black beast?”
    “We do not know for certain,” Willow shrugged, though there was nothing relaxed about her reply, “Someone had the ability to open the skies and rain meteorites upon him. And to my knowledge, there was only the princess and Havelyn within the room.”
    “Well,” he frowned, “Then I would advise caution around her. She knows all about us. Or at least a little. She spoke about the Knot of Thorns.”
    “That is Sir Richard’s doing,” Willow nodded solemnly, “He was the one who informed the King and guided the monarch against us.”
    “Then he must also be her source on the information,” he frowned, “She mentioned that there were nine knots and that the worst of those villains was the Ninth Knot who they think are likely the leaders. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way!”
    Willow chuckled softly, though her brow raised as she knew he did not know how close his words were to the current truth.
    “There were several things she did not know,” he continued, “Or was simply mistaken about. She never mentioned Thorn, she doesn’t realise that the Fire-Axe is part of the Nine, and she seems to believe that Chargammon was part of the Nine Knots. She specifically mentioned his death as slaying one of the Nine. I’ve no idea how you managed to convince Chargammon to attack the Adarium, but she seems to believe he was one of us.”
    “The meeting concluded with Bellinda talking to Sir Richard more privately, but I overheard everything. Bellinda is sending Richard to Chargammon’s lair. First, she wants to see if there is any information there about any of his allies. And also she wants the dragon’s hoard. She believes the money could be of use in raising and equipping her new army. He has already sailed for the island almost a week ago. If he has a fast ship he may already be there.”
    “Then perhaps we must make sure that he finds something there,” Willow said darkly, “And ensure what he finds means he will not be returning…”
    “Very good,” Thrain nodded, before frowning and looking to Willow, “I tried to relay this information to Thorn, but he’s not responding to my seals. Has something happened to the Cardinal?”
    Willow chose her words carefully. She would not lie to the man she considered a friend, yet his loyalty to Thorn could have proved an impassable obstacle. While the Cardinal still lived, and they still planned his demise, she would not test Brother Thrain’s loyalty to his life long friend.
    “He must have much on his mind,” Willow shrugged, “It has been some time since we have heard word from him. Do not fret, we will take care of the paladin. I must thank you for letting me know. He has been most troublesome. Have you heard word that the plague has been cured? Havelyn found a way to overcome the Daemon’s Gift!”
    For a moment, Thrain’s eyes narrowed slightly, as her evasive words lingered. Though, when she mentioned the Tears of Achlys, his mind turned from suspicion to curiosity.
    “Impressive,” he grunted, seeming put off by the feat yet impressed by it, “Do you know how he managed such a thing?”
    “No,” Willow shook her head gently, “I have only heard word of it on my ride here. We had heard he had begun a quest for the cure, yet we figured it was a futile journey. But he returned from wherever he was, in time to be by Bellinda’s side. Curious that he would be there at the opportune moment, that he would be there when Chargammon arrived. No one knew what we were planning. No one but the Ninth and Thorn.”
    Brother Thrain nodded his head in thought, as the revelations churned through his mind. After a time, Willow sighed a small breath.
    “I must go and inform the others,” she said with a small smile, standing to embrace the old priest, “We must head to Chargammon’s lair with all haste. I will keep in touch.”
    “Stay safe, young Willow,” he said seriously, with a small affectionate smile.
    She returned his smile, pushing down the guilt she felt at deceiving him, “And you, my friend…”


    When she returned to the farmland estate on the outskirts of Ghastenhall, she called the others into the parlour to relay what she had been told. As she revealed the details of Brother Thrain’s words, she was met with a mix of emotions; anger, determination and suspicion.
    “Are you certain the priest is not misleading you on Thorn’s orders?” Pellius scowled.
    “I am certain,” Willow replied, a truth in her words, “I believe he was truthful. He has not spoken to Thorn, and he seems unaware of the conflict between us. He reached out to us because he trusts us.”
    “Let us hope your friendship with him has not clouded your judgement,” Pellius frowned thoughtfully, “We must follow this up.”
    “What of Sir Richard?” Traya frowned, “We cannot allow him to retrieve Chargammon’s horde.”
    “We cannot allow him to live,” Willow scoffed bitterly.
    “But we must seek the Cardinal’s Heart,” Garvana interjected, “We cannot pursue Thorn without it!”
    “Thorn does not know we are after his phylactery,” Willow replied, “We need not worry, as long as we do not alert him to it.”
    “If the goal is to conquer the country,” Traya added, “Then dismantling the princess’ army must take priority. She cannot get her hands on that much gold.”
    “And the paladin must be stopped,” Willow said sternly, “If not for the trouble he has caused us, for the hero he is painting himself as. The Mitran’s are regaining their hope, we cannot allow this to continue.”
    “Agreed,” Pellius nodded firmly.
    “We need-
    A screeching cry from beyond the parlour walls silenced Garvana’s response. The sounds of metal clashing, painful screams and panic from within the dining room had the Forsaken drawing their weapons and quickly heading for the doors.
    “If those men are fighting again,” Garvana growled, “I will kill each one of them myself to set a damn example!”
    With blades clutched in hands, they stormed to the dining room and threw open the doors. What they found, was not a mere squabble between the more rowdy of their men. It was a scene of carnage, straight out of the gates of hell. Six devils, each standing over seven feet tall, layered in bristling spines that protruded from their bodies in ever changing lengths as they struck out and retracted continuously. Slick wet skin of the darkest green, lined with bright blood that dripped between the hundreds of barbs upon their frames. As the doors opened, six pairs of hungry shining black eyes slowly turned towards the Forsaken. Bodies of their men strewn about the floor, pierced with punctures that littered across their flesh. Two men still stood, one cowering behind a table and another held in the grip of one of the devils. In a feral and bloodthirsty display, the devil grasped the man and yanked him closer, the barbs striking out in unison. The man was skewered through the face and neck, killing him within moments, as the blood poured in cascade from his skin.
    It was not a fight the Forsaken could possibly walk away from unscathed. Each time they carved their weapons forward, their hands and wrists were bombarded by razor sharp spikes, barbs that tore shreds through flesh and punctured holes through their skin. But they had no other means of banishing the foul fiends. Willow leapt forward into the fray, slashing and slicing at the leaned muscled creatures beneath the guarding walls of spikes. As lightening flew from Traya’s fingers, it’s white blaze arced between the devils, searing the scaled flesh. Willow struck out with her vicious blades, thrusting forward with all her might, shrieking through clenched teeth as a barb tore straight through her hand. But she could not let the pain overwhelm her as she continued her onslaught, her eyes ablaze as the agony fuelled the anger within her. How dare these devils enter her home. How dare they think they had right, or might enough to take the Forsaken down. What was clear, was that they were here on Thorn’s orders. As she tumbled out of the path of the devils craning claws, she leapt forward with a callous swing and cleaved his bestial head from his body.
    “You defy the will of the Lord of the Nine by attacking us!” Garvana growled fiercely, “You will pay for such insubordination!”
    The snarling devil that launched his cruel claws towards her laughed, a feral and savage hiss.
    “The Hamatulan Host will drag you to hell,” he snarled in the infernal tongue, “And you can complain to the Undying Lord himself…”
    He lunged towards her, gripping hold of her shoulders and wrenching her towards him. Garvana struggled to free herself, but threw her hands up in front of her face as his blood ridden barbs struck out. As both hands were impaled upon barbs, she cried out in bitter agony, ripping them free as she reared back and plunged the spikes of her mace deeply into the creatures torso.
    As the second last standing devil was swiftly dispersed by Pellius’ vicious blade, Hellbrand eager to taste the blood of any sentient creature, the last devil saw his chance to take one of them with him. He charged upon thin almost insectile legs towards Willow. He swiped his claws and tore shreds from her chest, before attempting to leap over her head and grip her from behind. Though her strength was weakening, and her consciousness began to falter, she was still quick enough to react. As he leapt into the air, Willow snapped her hand upward, gripping hold of his razor sharp tail and yanking him back to the ground with every ounce of strength she had. As he fell, his barbs shifted once more, plunging into flesh and ripping long and agonising lacerations along her arms, neck and chest. She screamed a frightening and feral cry of outrage, her eyes blazing a hellfire crimson. As the devils body crashed to the floor, she plunged both of her blades into his skull.

    As Willow clung to the last shreds of undeath, her sight flashing with a mix of white light and utter darkness, the sprayed blood of the once living men riled the ravenous hunger within her. Suddenly, the thundering heart beat of a living being became the loudest force within her mind. Cold black eyes turned upon the poor soul that had managed to avoid the death that had met the rest of his men. When Willow saw him, his name vanished from her mind, his existence became nothing more than the blood that ran through his veins. In the blink of an eye, with a sound no more than a whisper, she appeared behind him. As her hands gripped his head and shoulders, her fangs plunged deeply into his neck. He had survived the battle, but he did not survive the aftermath. The only consolation he was offered, was a quick and painless death as the blood was drained from his veins. As his body slumped to the floor, the doors to the dining room flew wide open. The armed and ready ranks of the Forsaken guard charged into the chamber, led by the stern faced sergeant.
    “My lords!” the man called, quickly scanning the scene of carnage.
    When he saw the scattered remains of his men, and the still bodies of the barbed devils, he looked over the Forsaken and their wounds before bowing his head.
    “We were not quick enough,” he said shamefully, dropping to one knee by Pellius’ feet, “It is my failing, I offer my life as punishment.”
    “That would be a waste of resources,” Traya said dryly, shaking her head.
    “Get up,” Garvana spat, “There is no need for punishment, you are naïve to think this was something you could have prepared for. Double the guard around the manor, this may be the first of many.”
    “Yes, mistress,” he nodded curtly in all professionalism, before barking orders to his men, “Clean this mess up, take the bodies out back and burn them!”
    The Forsaken watched their men work for a moment, before moving to the hall outside of the destroyed dining chamber.
    “Gods be damned,” Willow cursed, flexing her fingers under the wincing pain of skewered flesh, “Thorn truly wants us dead.”
    “He will keep sending killers until he is successful,” Garvana snarled, wheezing through a chest that had been pierced by dozens of barbs, “We must not delay any longer.”
    “We must leave for Chargammon’s lair tonight,” Pellius said sternly, “The sooner we stop Havelyn, the sooner we can retrieve the phylactery and put an end to this pathetic betrayal.”
    “What of Jeratheon?” Willow frowned, “His loyalty was assured only as long as his sire lived. With his death, there is nothing holding him to his service.”
    “We best speak to him,” Pellius nodded, “Confront him now, rather than having him on our tail later.”
    “Traya,” Willow beckoned, turning to the woman, “Will you send him a message and tell him we wish to speak with him?”
    The sorcerer had been quiet since the last of the devils had fallen. It was only as Willow looked to her now that she realised why. She could hear the heart beating within the womans chest. She could hear the blood coursing through her veins. When death was upon Willow, she had turned on the closest living being, the bloodlust had overwhelmed her completely. The need for blood, the need to survive had become all that had mattered. What would have happened if Traya had been closer? Would she have turned on her ally, or remained strong enough to resist the call of the blood? It was clear in the wide eyes of the sorcerer that her thoughts were aligned.
    “Of course,” she replied cordially, inclining her head, “At once…”

    As darkness fell heavy overhead, after the Forsaken had healed the worst of their wounds, they made the quick ride through the farmlands to the edge of the forest that bordered their land. With their steeds tethered to the nearby trees, they awaited the black dragon. Though far larger than most beasts, Jeratheon was lithe and quiet for his size. The barest hint of flapping wings sounded before he dropped to the ground in a billowing wave of dirt and debris. While Raiju calmed the horses, the others approached the vile creature.
    “You bring me dinner?” the dark and malicious beast snarled towards the horses, a feral grin alight on his maw.
    “We bring news,” Willow said coldly, brows arched in distaste.
    “What news?” Jeratheon hissed.
    “Your sire is dead,” Garvana said harshly, wasting no time on pleasantries, “He was slain at the Adarium.”
    The great dragon threw his head back, laughing a rasp of bitter and bile.
    “If you believe that,” he grinned, “Then you are more foolish than I had thought.”
    “We saw him fall,” Garvana replied, lip curling, “We saw his lifeless corpse.”
    “He will be back,” Jeratheon hissed viciously, no question to his words.
    “That may be so,” Willow replied darkly, “But the Mitrans do not believe it. They have sent a band of men to Chargammon’s lair to retrieve his horde.”
    “They would not dare!” he snarled, “Vile sub-creatures! Have they no fear?! I will teach them true terror, they will pay for their insolence!”
    Willow smiled as she looked upon the great winged beast, “How fast can you fly there?”
    The answer she received was swift. Within seconds Jeratheon had launched himself high into the sky, disappearing within a blink beyond the cloud of dirt and dust he left behind.
    “Shall we wait for him before we teleport?” Traya asked, a sly smile lifting her lips.
    “No,” Willow laughed, “If he wants his revenge, he shall simply have to fly faster…”

  17. - Top - End - #167
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Mar 2016
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Spoiler: Chapter 43 - Fallen - Part 2
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    There were a few counted advantages that the Forsaken had over the pious paladin and his retinue. The Mitrans were unaware that anyone knew of their mission, they would not be expecting visitors to arrive in the desolate wasteland that was Chargammon’s dark and inhospitable lair, certainly not ones prepped for battle and slaughter. It was also their first time stepping within the home of the ancient black wyrm. The Forsaken knew the terrain, they knew the cavern filled with festering broth that Chargammon had called home, they knew where they were most likely to find the search for his horde. As they gathered together, linked by touch of hands upon shoulders, they knew exactly where to transport themselves.
    Willow was not one to believe in fate. She was more prone to believe in serendipitous moments, things occurring either by chance or simply beneficial coincidence. Stepping through the spiralling vortex that transported them to the large open cavern, only to be greeted by two unaware familiar faces, was one of those moments. The last time they had seen the two, was as they had vanished from sight with the sanctum of the crumbling Horn of Abbadon. Sir Richard of Havelyn and Brother Carthus Donnigan.
    “So,” Havelyn demanded harshly of his friend, in the moment before realizing the Forsaken were upon him, “Has that worthless wizard managed to dig anything out of his books yet?”
    There was no time for a reply, it was then that the paladin caught the fearsome sight of the Forsaken, accompanied by the flaming vision of the Nessian Warhound. It was then, that the air in the cavern changed. All his questing, all his hatred, had led to this moment. Once before he had been presented with the challenge. He had stood before the same foes, primed for righteous vengeance and personal revenge against those who had slain his father. Yet, the last time, he had failed. He had succumbed to the onslaught, and had been transported away and revived by his surviving allies. But now, as the bane of his quest stood before him, he was offered his vengeance once more. Unfortunately for him, those that stood in his way were on a quest of their own. And their quest, was watched by the most powerful force of them all.

    Havelyn screamed out a mighty battle-cry that echoed through the winding passages of the caverns, ripping his sword from its scabbard. The hatred he felt for the Forsaken overwhelmed his face, pulling his brow into a contorted scowl, his lip curling in a feral snarl. As he leapt into battle, his attentions were drawn to the greatest threat within the Forsaken, to the dark paladin that opposed and equalled his might in every way.
    Pellius held Hellbrand clutched in his fist, blazing eyes of fire flaring as he looked upon the paladin. This was the moment he had longed for; this was the moment every dark paladin lived for. They were matched in strength and might. Though they shared much in similarity, it was the core belief in their hearts that so vastly differed. When their words of prophetic promise called from their lips, and the crisp metal of their weapons clashed – they begun something that was far greater than either of them. Both of their gods granted them power to wield in their name. This fight, was a battle of the beneficent Mitra against the unyielding Asmodeus. The air thickened, as the aura of good against evil collided in a thundering blast. With sturdy and malicious words, each of them swore to their divine that they would slay one another. Yet, there could only ever be one victor.
    Surging forward upon strong and powerful legs, Pellius charged towards Havelyn, his vicious blade splitting the air as it travelled. Havelyn was swift in his defence, a shattering ring of metal on metal piercing the atmosphere. But the weight of Pellius’ swing was far to great to be cast aside. Hellbrand pummelled forwards, the force of its strike pushing Havelyn’s sword backwards and into the paladin with a grunting shatter. Retaliation was instant. Richard stepped back quickly, giving himself enough room to rear his weapon backward over head and carve it downwards, pushed by enough might to tear through Pellius’ defence, delivering a blow with as much brutish force. Their battle was set, and with the raw destruction they were causing one another with each hit, it would not last long.

    Before the paladins met, Willow was lithe and swift with her movements. She knew what this fight meant to Pellius, and she would not interfere unless there was no other option. She would leave the pious Paladin of Mitra to him, but she would not allow Havleyn’s allies to aid him. As the first sounds of metal clashing echoed through the empty stench of the cavern, she darted forward, slipping behind Donnigan unseen. His attention was garnered by the horse-sized blaze that was Sith, as he pounced forward and his blazing maw snarled and charred through flesh and fabric. Willow was swift in his consequence for distraction. She plunged her daggers through the crease of his armour, deeply into either side of his neck. Garvana rasped a bitter incantation, holding the small metal pentagram between her fingers, offering it to the darkness. The ground around her trembled, small cracks opening in the stone to allow the twisting and curling tendrils of ebony to escape. Though their caress upon Willow’s skin was warm and welcome, they did not greet the priest in such a way. They clung to his flesh and greedily siphoned the white wisps of life from his veins. The combination made for a swift death. As blood poured from the seams of the metal, his skin and clothing caught ablaze. Willow ripped her blades free, pushing the priest backward into the festering lagoon of putrid still water, causing an eruption of steam and spray to expel from the surface.

    As the billowing wave of water travelled across the stagnant lake, Willow turned to Pellius. His feral sword blazed forward, carving through with terrifying might, in a blow that should have been the last of the paladin. But as the blade collided, the air within the great cave shuddered. A blinding white light flared from the chests of the paladin and fallen priest, as the vision of golden shimmering wings encompassed them.
    “Arise, champion,” boomed a divine and androgynous voice from the ether.
    Suddenly, the weeping blood that fell from the paladin ceased and sealed. His chin lifted once more, as determination overtook his features. From the depths of the water, Donnigan’s body lifted to the surface, levitating slowly to bring him to his feet upon the stone shore. As sounds of thundering foots steps sounded from beyond the cavern, the rest of Havelyn’s entourage racing to aid their leader, Willow growled her fury, charging forward with the vicious intention of putting the priest back where he was. But this time, he was not interested in Willow or her snarling hellhound. He moved through the fray, simply accepting the onslaught of bladed daggers and flaming teeth, his sights set upon Pellius. It was a sacrifice, he gave his life once more, to do all he could to keep Sir Richard of Havelyn alive. With his last breath, he called upon the divine spirit of Mitra, channelling the glorious white light into his fingertips. As he reached forward and pressed the holy force into Pellius’ flesh, Willow’s blade pierced deeply into the back of his neck, before tearing free and drawing the last of his life with it. The white light swarmed along Pellius’ flesh, like a sentient force of good eager and hungry to purify and eradicate the evil within him. Though the skin on his cheeks sunk into hollows, the undead flesh shrivelled and clinging to bone – it did not deter or distract him. It would take more than the threat of death to stop him from slaying his nemesis.
    Havelyn lunged forward, putting every ounce of might and power into a single thrust. It all happened within the blink of an eye. As the paladin’s sword coated in thick coagulated blood propelled through Pellius’ torso, Hellbrand descended towards to him. Garvana shrieked a feral incantation, summoning a thick miasma of darkness with her hands, hurling it to towards him. Traya called out for the flames of hell to reach forth and claim the blessed soul, billowing swirls of crimson and copper, wafting in the stench of brimstone.
    All at once, the darkness and blazing fire light engulfed the paladin, Hellbrand cleaved downwards with terrifying might, tearing through the paladin’s shoulder and into his chest. In a cascade of charred and sickened blood that painted the stone of the dark cavern, Havelyn release his grip on the sword and fell to his knees. For a moment, the only sound to be heard was a deep expelled breath of defeat from Richard’s lips. With his friend dead by his side, and his mission once more a complete failure, he slumped in bitter despair. Bright crimson blood pooled from his lips, as he coughed through a wheezing chest. He looked up, staring at Pellius with emotion that enraptured Willow’s attention. It was the look of anguish, the look of despondency. He had failed, but moreover, Mitra had failed him. As if time slowed, the sound of echoing metal footsteps as Pellius slowly approached him stretched to a forboding song. With one hand, he pulled the steel sword from his torso, not making so much of a sigh as he tossed it aside. With slow and deliberate movements, Pellius lifted Hellbrand. It would be an honourable death, a soldiers death, a beheading. As the gleaming sword shone in the flickering light of the emerald torches, the infernal blade prepared to complete its hungered mission. Pellius’ lip curled, his brow contorting with vicious rage as he reared back and begun his frightening swing.

    “Wait!” called a familiar voice from deeper in the cavern.
    Pellius snarled as he pulled back from his sword’s decent, growling a low and malicious rumble at being interrupted and denied that which he’d been so eager to receive. The sounds of the approaching guard vanished, the cavern still and quiet as if time itself had stopped.
    “Spare him,” Dessiter said with a small grin, appearing beside the defeated paladin, “At least for a moment...”
    “Speak,” Willow clipped, narrowing her eyes upon him, “Quickly.”
    Dessiter looked towards her, inclining his head.
    “Richard,” he said with a patronizingly sweet feigned warmness, “It seems my associates are about to slay you. And who can blame them after all you’ve done to thwart their noble aspirations.”
    Willow listened intently to the devils words, her daggers clutched in her hands, her mind churning in suspicion as she watched what unfolded. The appearance of Dessiter was never mere coincidence. His presence indicated once more that the game of pawns in Naburus’ plan was vastly more intricate that they had thought.
    “My name is Dessiter, and I have been empowered by my master to extend you an offer.” “Never,” Havelyn whimpered, slumped upon his knees, little strength left behind his dejected words.
    “Never is a long time, dear Richard,” Dessiter smiled, “You have failed at your mission. Talingarde stands on the brink of disaster. Would you see your nation delivered into the hands of monsters? You can still save your people, Richard, you just have to let go of your pride.”
    Dessiter shook his head gently, speaking to the paladin as if speaking to a child, “Mitra has abandoned Talingarde and abandoned you. Tell me, if Mitra were truly so powerful, would you lie here helpless before my associates? No. You’ve followed a false god, dear Richard.”
    “Mitra has forsaken Talingarde,” Garvana scowled viciously, “The sun was never powerful enough to shield the land from the chaos, and so it turned its back on us.”
    “But you are in luck,” Dessiter chimed in, a light joy to his words, “My master is impressed by your skill in battle. He’s impressed by your doggedness and determination. He’s impressed by you, Richard. It is just that... you are working for the wrong side. You are working for a side that has already forsaken you. Tell me Richard, will you die here in this festering swamp like a dog… or will you rise once more?”
    For a moment, the festering cavern hung in silence. Though Garvana seemed eager to aid Dessiter in his argument, Willow was still trapped deeply in the grasp of distrust.
    “Will you accept our generous offer,” Dessiter continued, “And swear allegiance to a new master? I’m afraid this is a one time offer, Richard.”
    He looked to the Forsaken with a sly smile, “And judging from the look on my friends’ faces, I’d say that time is quickly running out...”
    It was a pitiful sight, the paladin crumbled in complete loss of hope and true and utter despair.
    “You have no real choice,” Garvana said to him, “There is only one way to defeat the chaos, and that is the order of the Lord of the Nine. You must accede.”
    “Mitra can no longer help you,” Traya said coldly, “Mitra cannot save this country. Only the most powerful being can, only the mighty Asmodeus can.”
    Willow watched the paladin with true curiosity. She watched the torment warring across his face, she watched the aching indecision play upon his heart strings. More curious than that, she watched how he stared eyes of strange longing towards Pellius. It was as if he longed for the certainty and conviction that exuded from him. As if he longed for undeniable truth in the conviction of his god. As if he longed for everything that Pellius was. With his brow contorting in agony, he wept.
    “Mitra,” he cried to the wind, “Why hast thou forsaken me?”
    The ground beneath their feet trembled, a rumble deep within the earth. Suddenly, a dark wind moved amongst them, a palpable evil that swarmed the cavern. Sir Richard of Havelyn cried a forlorn breath, before his body slumped to the ground in a state of unconsciousness. It was clear to those eyes who saw, that he was a Paladin of Mitra no longer. He had fallen. “Gods in Hell,” Dessiter grinned, “I never get tired of seeing that!”
    He turned to the Forsaken, “He’ll wake up soon enough, and when he does, Naburus would like a few words with the poor darling. It seems he is ours. I shall take him away, get him cleaned up and ready. I’ll return him to you after you have killed Thorn. You might want to decide by then what you are going to do with your own fallen paladin…”
    Before he vanished with Havelyn in flash of brimstone, he smiled, perhaps the single most evil smile Willow had ever witnessed.
    “Whatever it is,” he grinned, “I hope it is something really special...”


    When the thick air in the cavern cleared, the sounds of thundering footsteps grew closer to the wide mouth of the cave. Willow rushed to Pellius’ side, quickly looking over the worst of his wounds. For a bare moment, their sight collided. She saw the disappointment in his eyes, the frustration and dissatisfaction at having to restrain from the killing blow. But she saw acceptance, he knew that true conversion of such a soul was far better than death. From her pouch she pulled free a wand carved from a single piece of darkwood, twisted knots filed to sharp points, radiating a subtle throbbing blackness. She used the dark arcana to heal the worst of his wounds, before the clambering of steel boots appeared just beyond the bend of the cavern walls.
    “This way!” cried a deep voice.
    Though the Forsaken took cover behind the jagged stone, they saw only a glimpse of a familiar man before a thirty foot wall of erupting colour flashed into existence around them. It was the same wizard that had transported Havelyn from the halls of the Horn of Abbadon. The Forsaken were trapped within the glimmering force, splashes of vivid hues, a myriad rainbow of sparkling arcana. Willow knew better than to approach the wall, backing up to the centre of their surroundings, eyes wide as she looked to the others.
    “We have no defence in here!” Willow growled.
    Without a word, Traya transformed herself into the mass of shredding earth, sinking low into the stone before disappearing from sight.
    “Turn to gas,” Garvana growled, “We can escape over the wall.”
    But as Willow looked to Sith, knowing he had no way to escape, she would not leave him behind.
    “Go,” she said to Pellius and Garvana, quickly pulling free a scroll from the case strapped to her hip, “I’ll take Sith.”
    “You cannot travel through it,” Garvana rushed, “You shall have to go up to the surface and then come back down.”
    As Willow swiftly reached out and clutched hold of a fist full of fur, she nodded to Garvana as she watched them vanish into mist.
    “Dorith,” she said calmingly, taking a pointless breath to steady herself.
    As she read the incantation written upon the scroll, the two of them were torn through the vortex and spat out high atop the rocky mountains that housed the caverns beneath. The strong wind blasted into them, the salty seas crashing against the stone, showering them in brine and vapour. The skies above thundered in warning of the storm that was approaching the desolate isle, ricocheting bolts of lightening across the darkened canvas of sky. Within a breath, Willow pulled free another scroll, rushing the incantation to take her back down to the depths of Chargammon’s lair. Though she aimed their descent towards where the wizard had stood, they arrived to face much more than she had expected. Two rows of aligned soldiers, primed with bows and readied arrows. As luck would have it, Willow had arrived behind them, their sights aimed above the wall of colour, tracking the two mist forms that crept over the edge. These were no ordinary soldiers. They were Knights of Alerion, a specialised rank that usually charged mounted upon steeds, firing their fatal shots from horseback. But there was no room in the caverns winding passages for horses, and with their hastily donned mismatched pieces of armour, it was clear they had leapt into battle unprepared. As Sith caught their attention with a snarling growl that billowed small flames from his maw, the dozens of heads whipped towards her. There were a few faces Willow recognised, men she had seen before, serving with her husband, though she knew not their names. Only one of them she recognised, a lean olive skinned man, dark locks pushed back off his face – Taal O’mara, a close friend of her husband and family. When he saw her, the shock he wore lasted only a moment before the hatred and bitterness overwhelmed him.
    “Harlot!” he hissed, quickly turning to train his sight on her.
    Willow grinned as Sith roared with savage fury, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the ranks of knights. The flames coursed their way across the men, burning, scorching, blistering. As the first wave of arrows came hurtling towards her, Willow lithely darted out of the path of the majority of the splintered wood.
    “Turn about!” bellowed the captain.
    Almost faster than her eyes could track, the rank of knights moved with practiced expertise to change formation and aim each arrow upon her. Though they were fast, not all were fast enough. She danced about with her blades, tearing them through flesh in a flurry of slashes, felling the two who dared to move in her reach. As the others drew their arrows, a sudden eruption exploded from the stone beneath them. Traya, in the form of the earth itself, exploded into a vile and searing black and poisonous sludge. Large chunks of toxic earth were flung in all directions, hammering into the metal and steel worn by the knights. As the dirt collided with flesh, it seared upon the bones, melting skin and scorching muscle like meat. It was too much for most of the knights, the screams of agony a chorus that paired the crashing metal as they felt writhing to the ground. But as the acidic sludge flew towards the wizard, a strange shield that surrounded him, forced the dirt to part around him and fall inert back to the ground.
    “Nessith!” Willow rasped, commanding Sith to attack the wizard.
    As the great warhound pounced forward, the wizard’s eyes widened. As the magic surrounded his throat, he opened his mouth and expelled a booming word that carried the force of a thousand winds. The power within the word was so great, the air was thrust forward in a blurred vision, pummelling into the flaming chest of the hound. Though Sith whimpered against the pain, digging his claws into the stone to stop himself from being flung across the room, he did not shy from his approach. Once the force had passed, he leapt forward and craned his vicious maw wide, devouring the wizard in a few savage and snarling bites.
    Only three of the knights remained standing, one of whom was Taal, furious and scowling, eyes blazing with hatred. They swiftly looked to one another, casting aside their bows and drawing their swords, hoisting them high into the air.
    “FOR MITRA!” they cried in unison, before Taal cried on his own, “And for Audric!”
    They charged towards Willow, screaming their wrath as they neared. But they did not get a change to taste vengeance, they made it only far enough to arrive by her before the ground erupted in a gigantic fist of stone, gripping hold of their burned and blistered bodies before closing itself and crushing them beneath its enormous fingers.


    They took rest for a moment, surrounded by the stench of charred flesh and blood, to heal their wounds and recover their strength. While Pellius helped pull free the three arrows that had managed to pierce through Willow back, Garvana looked over the dead and Traya quickly scouted the great chamber.
    “You knew him?” Pellius asked, nodding his head towards Taal’s crushed corpse, losing one of the arrows to pull it free.
    “A long time ago,” Willow said quietly, “He was – gah, damn it – he was one of my husbands friends. Stood by his side at my trial, seemed to take it almost worst than Audric. Death is better than you deserve, traitor. Those were his last words to me.”
    “Little does he know…” Pellius chuckled, wrenching the first arrow free.
    “Curious to see him here,” Willow frowned, “I would have thought he would have been at Fallingsbridge. It makes me wonder if Audric was there.”
    “Would he not have been?”
    “That legion,” Willow said, talking of the deceased archers, “Were known as the Sun’s Arrow, in battle they are paired with a league called the Sun’s Shield. Mounted archers that surrounded knights with great shields and spears. They were part of the same battalion. Audric is a Shield. If the Arrows were not in the battle, it is likely neither were the Shields.”
    “So your beloved husband may still live?” Pellius chuckled, tugging on the last arrow.
    Willow winced as she scoffed a laugh, “It is likely.”
    “Good,” he replied, pulling the metal head free from her back, “I should like to meet him.”
    Willow arched her brow, looking over her shoulder to Pellius.
    “And I should like him to meet with the end of my blade…”

    After a time spent scouring the rest of the cavern passages, they found a small camp in the centre of a large and open cave mouth. It was clear by the strewn about pieces or armour, discarded metal plates still filled with half eaten rations and the low flickering campfire, that the knights had been at rest when they heard the call of their paladin. Huddled in the corner were twelve horses, tethered to a post driven into the stone, saddles and bags piled by their side. The steeds watched the Forsaken with warily interest, restlessly shuffle their feet, unease within the dark and foreboding chamber. Further into the caverns, they found a separate camp tucked away from the noise of the soldiers, one filled with tomes and books piled along the sides of the canvas tent.
    “The books that Havelyn mentioned,” Garvana concluded, a frown on her brow, “I wonder what the wizard was hoping to find within them?”
    “We can take them with us,” Pellius dismissed, waving his hand, “We must find this horde and move on from here.”
    “We have searched the whole cavern,” Garvana sighed, “And it is no where to be found.”
    “Not the whole cavern,” Willow said quietly, her brow pulled low.
    “You have an idea, my lady?” Pellius asked, brow arched in question.
    “The water,” Willow said slowly, “It was stagnant, still and putrid…”
    “Of course,” Garvana said plainly, shaking her head in frustration, “Chargammon has been dead and Jeratheon has been with us.”
    “If I was dragon,” Willow drawled, rolling her eyes at Garvana, “And I wanted my horde away from prying eyes, I would want it where it was hard to get to and kept close to me at all times…”
    For a moment, wide eyes stared towards her.
    “Beneath the water!” Traya said in realisation.
    “Close to him,” Willow nodded, “Not easily accessed.”
    “And who is volunteering to jump into that filth?” Garvana grimaced.
    “For the treasures he has to have hidden there,” Traya grinned, “I am…”


    Traya was not the only one willing to dive into the putrid water to search for the illustrious horde of Chargammon the Black. Though she protested at first, even Garvana was willing to delve into the liquid. One of the advantages of their slow transformation into vampirism, was that they did not yet share all the weaknesses that affected their undead kin. Though being completely surrounded by water had an unease settle in Willow’s stomach, she knew it was safe to traverse the lake. Safe, as they could be in the lair of one of the great fabled terrors the land had ever known.
    After a time swimming beneath the surface, they found only two possible options. Hidden deep in the lowest part of the cavern, was a tunnel that led further out into what they believed was the surround seas. On the other side of the lower cavern, was a boulder larger than a house. It was far larger than anything they could move, even as the four of them tried in unison. Traya used her curious arcana to form into stone and tunnel through the walls, returning a short time later with a disappointed scowl on her face.
    “It’s gone,” she growled, treading atop the feral water, “It is all gone. There’s nothing there save a few scratch marks!”
    “Do we have the wrong place?” Garvana frowned.
    “Or has someone been here before us?”
    “Could Jeratheon have beat us here and retrieved it via that tunnel?”
    “No,” Willow shook her head, “He is far too afraid of his sire. Someone else must have taken it when they heard word that Chargammon was dead.”
    “Risky,” Pellius commented, arching his brow.
    Willow scowled as she thought over their options. With an idea forming, she dove back beneath the surface and swam down to deepest tunnel. With keen eyes searching the harsh stone floor, she followed the passage out towards the sea. With no need to breathe, she took her time winding through the thorned coral, looking for even a single clue as to what happened to the treasure, or who could have taken it. It was a single piece of glistening gold that caught her attention. A single coin, resting atop the seabed, as if it had been dropped there recently. With the gold in hand, she wound her way back to the others, climbing upon the stone shore, cringing at the stench that had soaked into her hair.
    “What did you find?” Garvana asked intently.
    “This,” Willow said, holding up the coin, “On the floor of the sea at the foot of the tunnel. It could be coincidence, but it could be our thief.”
    “How did they move that boulder?” Pellius asked sceptically, “And why did they put it back?”
    Suddenly, a loud and vicious snarling roar sounded from deeper in the caverns, followed by the savage noise of slaughter.
    “To keep that one unaware as long as they could,” Willow offered with a laugh, standing from the stone to greet Jeratheon.
    When the black dragon stalked into the open cavern, he looked over the Forsaken with bitter distaste.
    “You did not leave me much to eat,” he hissed, cold black eyes scanning the dead Mitrans around the cave.
    “You should have flown faster,” Willow scoffed, arching her brow and crossing her arms.
    His response was a snarling bite, snapping his venom dripping teeth towards her.
    “Your sire’s horde is gone,” Garvana said plainly.
    “An easy way to say you could not find it,” Jeratheon laughed venomously, “You did not think you would find it so easy?”
    “We found where it was,” Garvana replied coldly, “Beyond that great boulder. But it seems we were not fast enough. Someone, or something, beast us to it.”
    Though a small flinch gave away his shock that they had figured it out, he snarled his reply.
    “Too proud to admit you could not move the boulder?” he hissed.
    “It is not there,” Willow sighed in frustration, unimpressed by his attitude, “Something large enough to remove the boulder, and put it back, has taken it before we had a chance to get here. I would wager it was a large aquatic beast, brave enough to test the knowledge that Chargammon had been slain.”
    “And what makes you so certain?” Jeratheon growled low in his throat.
    Willow lifted the coin to his sight, “This.”
    With a sense of smell far keener than that of a human, the beast drew harder through his flaring nostrils, his eyes flaring with hatred and anger as he recognised the scent of his father.
    “Where did you find that?!” he hissed viciously.
    “By the foot of the tunnel out at sea,” Willow replied, arching her brow at his great snarling head so close to her, “Laying atop the seabed, as if it had been dropped there recently.”
    His dark eyes flared wide, as he threw his head back and roared a bestial cry of wrath. Without a word, he leaped out into the air, plunging below the water in a crashing wave of exploding water. The Forsaken looked to one another, as Sith growled his displeasure as the water hissed along his flames.
    “Shall we await his return?” Willow asked.
    “We do not know where he is going, or when he will come back,” Garvana frowned.
    “But there is a camp already set up,” Traya suggested, “Food and supplies. I could certainly use a rest.”
    “And if there was one place,” Willow laughed, “That we could sleep in safety away from the Mitrans, it would be here…”

    When the sun lifted from the horizon, and the darkness of night was banished once more, the crashing sound of water awoke the Forsaken from their sleep. They moved quickly through the cavern, to be greeted by the foot of the large dragon pinning a creature to the stone. A man with skin and scales the colour of soft pale sapphire, long wet locks of white hair, and a long curling tail in place of legs. His scaled torso was torn and battered, seeping blue blood that pooled around him.
    “Tell them, what you told me,” Jeratheon hissed callously.
    “Please,” pleaded the merfolk, “Mercy, I beg of you, mercy!”
    Willow stepped forward to the crying creature, drawing his sight towards her.
    “You will find no mercy here,” she said coldly, “You will give us what we want, or your death will be far longer and more painful than it need be.”
    “Please,” he whimpered, “Please…”
    “Tell us,” Willow said calmly, “If you have information, it may be enough to spare your life.”
    “Did you take the treasure?” Garvana demanded.
    “Not I,” he wept, shaking his head, “It was our lady. The elder wyrm, Benthysara…”


  18. - Top - End - #168
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Well worth the wait.

    The battle between Pellius and Richard Havelyn was fantastic. Good against evil, righteous fanatics locked in a battle that transcended both of them. Brilliant.

  19. - Top - End - #169
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Daemon

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    I love it. I love all of it. Just one thing.

    Thou wasn't used interchangably with you. You was the formal version, thou informal. Slowly, we just dropped the word thou.

    Point is, thou isn't the right word.

  20. - Top - End - #170
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    Well worth the wait.

    The battle between Pellius and Richard Havelyn was fantastic. Good against evil, righteous fanatics locked in a battle that transcended both of them. Brilliant.
    Thank you! It was very dramatic to play, and super fun to write!


    Quote Originally Posted by FocusWolf413 View Post
    I love it. I love all of it. Just one thing.

    Thou wasn't used interchangably with you. You was the formal version, thou informal. Slowly, we just dropped the word thou.

    Point is, thou isn't the right word.
    Oh, thanks! I know little of their uses, i just wrote it as the DM said it. Would the right word simply be you?
    Also, fascinating that you was the formal version, it seems so informal compared to thou. But i suppose that is because it is the one we use today so regularly.

  21. - Top - End - #171
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Daemon

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by minderp View Post
    Oh, thanks! I know little of their uses, i just wrote it as the DM said it. Would the right word simply be you?
    Also, fascinating that you was the formal version, it seems so informal compared to thou. But i suppose that is because it is the one we use today so regularly.
    Yeah, you would be right. Thou is like you're talking to a friend. Even if it's informal as an insult, which doesn't make sense with who Richie Rich is as a person, it would be weird. But hot damn, that entire scene was thrilling.

  22. - Top - End - #172
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    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by FocusWolf413 View Post
    Yeah, you would be right. Thou is like you're talking to a friend. Even if it's informal as an insult, which doesn't make sense with who Richie Rich is as a person, it would be weird. But hot damn, that entire scene was thrilling.

    Thanks for the info!
    Glad you're enjoying the story, am writing up the next chapter as i speak.

  23. - Top - End - #173
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Sorry for the delay to anyone waiting, life has a way of always being in the way lol.
    Finally, the next chapter!
    Hoping the following one should not be far off!


    Spoiler: Chapter 44 - The Devil's Heart - Part 1
    Show
    Flickering strays of light danced across harsh cracks of stone, lighting the arches of crevices, casting black shadow beneath them. The low burning flames of the campfire hissed as another shattered piece of wood was thrown upon the embers. Empty hollow caverns carried echoes of sound through their endless turns, most ends of the winding labyrinth still and cold, deafeningly silent. Chargammon’s lair was never an inviting place. Yet now, as most of its previous inhabitants were deceased or had fled the inhospitable land, it was more a silent graveyard than a domain of a legendary beast. But not all was quiet and deserted. In the centre of the foreboding caves, there were a few who still remained, clustered around a stolen camp, their loud and frustrated voices filling the caverns with the only sounds that echoed in the stone chambers.
    “But it is not only one dragon’s horde,” Garvana grumbled, “It is two.”
    “And you believe they will be an easy capture?” Willow scoffed, shaking her head, “You will simple swim in and slay the elder wyrm? The beast who lives and breathes in water? You will swim in your very water worthy full plate and valiantly slay both the dragon and the merfolk who revere her, and take both hers and Chargammon’s horde?”
    “I did not say it would be easy,” Garvana snarled back, “But the prize would be far worth it!”
    “Not easy, but near impossible!” Willow laughed, looking over Pellius and Garvana in their encumbering steel armour, “You two can barely swim as it is! What are you planning? To sink to the bottom and simply walk in? What happens when the final stages of the transformation manifest? We are trapped deep within the one thing that can kill us all without so much as a fight!”
    “Can you not see the gain?” Garvana snapped, “We could use the gold to equip our men with the very best! We could outfit our men and transform them into an army!”
    “An army of a hundred!” Willow laughed.
    “One hundred and eighty four!” Garvana corrected indignantly.
    “Garvana,” Willow sighed, “It is irrelevant. Our first priority must be the heart. The longer we wait to kill Thorn, the longer he has to prepare for our arrival. He knows we are coming for him!”
    Garvana scowled, shaking her head.
    “Pellius,” she said, looking to him for support, “What are your thoughts? Surely you see the benefit of retrieving the hordes first?”
    Pellius frowned, the crease in his brow darkening as he thought on his words.
    “The last dragon’s horde we raided held such vast treasures,” he said quietly, his eyes tinting with greed, “And he was far younger than Chargammon…”
    “Pellius…” Willow sighed.
    “But it would be a fatal mistake to underestimate Thorn,” he continued darkly, looking to Garvana, “If he does not already realise we have the location of the phylactery, he will figure out that we seek it in time. And once he does, he may well move it to avoid us getting to it. Without the heart, we have no way of truly destroying him. And if it is moved, I can not see us stumbling on its location again. We must act on this first.”
    “Traya?” Garvana asked, turning to the quiet sorcerous with a small hope.
    “The heart must take priority,” she said simply, “I wish my first meeting with Thorn to be on our terms, not when one of his minions greets us with a blade in the back.”
    For a moment, Willow thought Garvana would continue arguing. She seemed unwavering in her opinion, set on fighting for her plan until the choice of the others was swayed. But she sighed, pursing her lips as she looked them over.
    “Alright,” she conceded, “We will see to the heart first.”
    “Perhaps you can tell Jeratheon if he wishes to retrieve his sire’s horde,” Traya scoffed, “Then he is welcome to do so himself…”

    “We are still left with no way to get to the heart,” Garvana pointed out, “If we do not wish to fight the linnorm, how do we get passed him?”
    “We do not know enough about him,” Willow shrugged, “We know nothing but old tales and rumours. How can we prepare an infiltration without anything more substantial?”
    “Can you not scry him?” Traya asked Garvana.
    “I do not know enough to get a clear reading.”
    “What about with that wizard’s book?” Traya suggested, sifting through the pile of tomes, pulling out an ebony leather bound book, “There was an illustration of Nithoggr, perhaps you could use that as a focus?”
    As she flicked through the pages quickly, she opened up the tome and turned it towards Garvana. A painted likeness of the fearsome creature sprawled across the page, white piercing eyes of evil, callous black spikes lining his long back. Garvana took the book and furrowed her brow. She traced along the picture with her finger, slowly closing her eyes as she expelled a steadying breath. Quiet enchanted words fell from her lips, as a soft wisp of blue followed the path her fingers were tracing. As her chanting echoed through the cavern, accompanied by the crackle and hiss of the flames, her eyes opened to reveal the glazed and clouded pupils beneath. Her chant ceased, as the vision she was given manifested in her mind. As she watched the reveal, she quietly described the images that flashed through her mind, in a calm and emotionless voice enraptured in divine arcana.
    She described the bleak rocky high mountain range, monumental slate peaks jutting into the sky, higher and more desolate than any within Talingarde. She saw the cairn, not located on the peaks or slopes of the mountains, instead upon an elevated plateau shadowed by the giant bones of the land. The long stretched valley surrounding the mountains, sparse and desolate. The majestic, endless pine forest of the north retreating from the mountains, leaving only the occasional scrub and stunted bristlecone. Harsh winds sweeping through the slate, scouring and keeping it largely free of accumulated snow. Thundering rain blowing off the western sea, pummeling the grey stone, coating it in thick torrential falls of coursing water and ice. As her vision tunneled forward, her words described the unending surroundings of snow and stone. And then, the beast himself. Coiled around a pillar of stone, utterly still and silent. A serpent of enormous size, created of timeworn bone, jagged and cracked spines sharpened to points. She saw him lying atop a glittering horde of uncountable gold, silver and amber.
    Slowly, the fog across Garvana’s eyes dissipated. She blinked rapidly a few times, before shaking her head gently and looking up to the others. For a moment, there was simply silence within the cavern.
    “What do we do next?” Traya asked, in a soft and timid voice.
    “We must prepare to meet him,” Garvana replied, wary eyes looking at each of them.
    “We cannot fight him,” Traya balked, “It would be certain death.”
    “He is enormous,” Garvana conceded, “He appears as great a threat as Chargammon was.”
    “Then all we need is to call meteors down from the heavens,” Willow scoffed.
    “Or throw a dragon of our own at him,” Garvana joked, “Even Jeratheon would not stand a chance at defeating him.”
    Suddenly, a curious thought arose in Willow’s mind. Her brow furrowed, as her eyes widened.
    “Perhaps we don’t need Jeratheon to defeat him…” she said carefully.
    “What do you mean?” Pellius frowned.
    Willow laughed in shock at the obvious revelation that surfaced.
    “What is one of the main traits that define a dragon?” she smirked, “Besides the greed for their treasures?”
    “They are terrifying?” Traya offered, rolling her eyes with a chuckle.
    “They are territorial,” Willow explained, arching her brow, “What would rile a dragon enough to make him temporarily leave his horde?”
    “Another dragon invading his domain,” Pellius realised, brows shooting high.
    “Exactly!” Willow grinned, “We do not need Jeratheon to fight Nithoggr. We only need him to tease the beast and lure him away on a wild chase.”
    “And you think he will be willing?” Traya scoffed.
    Willow shrugged as the smirk lifted her lips, “Who said anything about willing?”

    The midday sun blazed above the city of Ghastenhall as the Forsaken returned to their manor in the farmlands. They had given instructions to the black dragon to await word of their decision on how to proceed. Heading out on horseback into the city, Willow and Pellius made their way to the marketplace. With Garvana’s description of the barren lands of slate and snow, Willow searched for something more inconspicuous to wear over her shining black leather armour. In the tailor’s shop, she found what she was seeking. A long and loose cloak with a hood, made from fine white wool and the fur of a grey wolf. Should she have had blood flowing to her limbs, the warm the cloak offered would have been a necessity. But as it was, the colours of the soft cloak would offer perfect camouflage upon the rocky iced slopes.
    As she made her way back through the marketplace, on route to meet up with Pellius to return to the manor, her steps took her passed a stall filled with arcane curiosities. The strange contraptions glittered with bronze linings and gaudy embellishments, but it was not the shining jewellery that caught Willow’s attention. It was a simple box of steel, fastened with a sturdy pin. As she moved closer to the unassuming box, she recognised the dense weight of lead that lined its interior.
    “My lady has something she wishes to keep hidden from prying eyes,” said a smooth voice in a foreign tongue.
    Willow looked up to the merchant, a lean man with dark olive skin and contrasting fair hair, sharp angular cheekbones and jaw.
    “Perhaps,” she said easily, looking over the small box.
    “The lead is double coated,” he said smoothly, “And it has the ability to shield even magical means of prying.”
    Willow knew this already, but her fear was that what she was trying to hide was not merely some small insignificant trinket. She knew enough to know the heart of a lich was intricately connected to its owner, but she did not know if the connection was great enough to pass through the lead guarding the box. It was a precaution well worth the gold that the merchant was asking. She smiled as she looked to the foreign man.
    “I shall take it…”

    “It is settled,” Pellius nodded firmly, looking to the others gathered in the parlour of Silkcreek, “We shall inform Jeratheon at dawn, and head north to scout the place before he arrives there.”
    “We still do not know how we are to get in there passed the dragon!” Willow scowled, “We do not know how long Jeratheon will keep him occupied. It may take us longer than we have to even find his horde.”
    “We cannot know anymore, my lady,” Pellius smirked, shaking his head softly at her impatient frustration, “That is why we must scout first.”
    “And if we alert Nithoggr to our presence before Jeratheon arrives?” she frowned.
    “Then our plans change, but Jeratheon remains the distraction.”
    “What if the heart is not in the horde?” Traya asked warily.
    “I believe it will be,” Pellius dismissed, “It is wise to keep it amongst things that the dragon will personally defend.”
    “And if it is not?” Traya pressed.
    “Then our plans change,” Pellius sighed, “But we cannot plan anymore until we see the cairn.”
    “Yes, but-
    “Enough,” Pellius clipped, standing from his cushioned chair, “There is no point in arguing. It is growing late, we must rest. We will give Jeratheon his orders at dawn and then move north. We will complete our planning after we scout the area.”
    Pellius gave a quick glance around, as if daring anyone to oppose him. When he heard no objections, he nodded his head firmly. He looked to Willow, offering his arm. She chuckled quietly to herself as she accepted it and stood from her seat.
    “Good night,” Pellius said, inclining his head to the others, “Be ready before dawn.”
    Together, the pair made their way up the stairs, entering the bedchamber they shared in a warily silence. As Pellius closed the door behind her, Willow made her way to the dressing room, but the open tome on her writing desk caught her eye. The creature of death and acid that awaited them, the painted eyes seemingly staring through the pages towards her. For a moment, she simply stared back at his likeness, feeling the creeping chill of forewarning seeping into her flesh.
    “You are truly worried,” Pellius said quietly, a deep curiosity to his tone as he searched her face, “You were not this wary even when we met Chargammon. Yet, this beast truly scares you?”
    Willow smiled softly as she closed the book.
    “We wanted only to talk to Chargammon,” she replied, arching her brow, “Not to prowl in and steal from him.”
    Pellius smirked, slow steps bringing him closer to her.
    “Prowling,” he said, in voice deep and sultry, “Is what you do best.”
    When he reached her, Willow grinned a sensuous smile, lifting her chin to look into his eyes. Suddenly, his rough hands gripped her shoulders, spinning her away from him. In contrast, his fingers slowly undid the fastenings of her gown, she spoke in a low and husky tone.
    “But when I prowl alone,” she said, “I am silent.”
    Though she enjoyed the feel of his firm hands tracing down her spine, her brow refused to release its grip upon her frown.
    “If I am alone,” she continued, though her voice was softer and tinted with worry, “And I am discovered, I am dead. If we enter together, there is no question we will be discovered – and then we are all dead.”
    She heard his soft exhale as he finished pulling free the laces. Gentler hands turned her back towards him.
    “You know there is no point worrying until we see the cairn itself,” he said with a slight arch to his brow.
    “I know,” Willow sighed, looking into his eyes.
    She admired his conviction. She admired his ability to simply push the matter aside until all the hands were revealed. She lifted onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, before turning from him and returning on her way towards the dressing room.
    “Oh, I had almost forgotten,” he said distractedly, “I have something for you.”
    As Willow pulled her arms from the sleeves of the gown, letting it drop as she stepped out of it, Pellius retrieved a small paper wrapped package from his pack. Standing in the black petticoat and slip she wore beneath the dress, Willow eyed the package with intrigue.
    “What is it?” she asked, arching her brow as she placed her gown atop the bed.
    “A gift,” he said easily, holding it out to her.
    With a small smile on her lips, she accepted the package, pulling the yarn string free and unfolding the paper. Inside was an ebony box lined in silk, adorned with intricate embroidered patterns. She shot Pellius a questioning look as she made her way to the dresser stool, placing the box and its wrappings upon the vanity. When she carefully lifted the lid, she smiled at what she saw.
    “They are beautiful,” she breathed, “Thank you, Pellius.”
    A pair a finely crafted gloves, made from the softest silks woven into the firm raven leather. With perfectly tapered fingers lined with curious black stitching in the shape of arcane runes, and long cuffs that seemed to expand and retract effortlessly. With a gentle touch, she lifted them from the cushioned box, sliding them on her hands.
    “They are a perfect fit,” she smiled, looking to him.
    With a sly look of knowing, he reached for her hand, closing her fingers into a fist. She frowned, but watched with curiosity as he forced her fingers to knock on the hard wooden vanity. It would have been a strange thing to do, if not for the fact that her knuckles did not make a sound upon the wood. Her eyes flew wide, looking to him quickly. He laughed at her reaction, and grinned as she tried again on her own and laughed at the lack of sound.
    “What are they?” she asked, eyes wide in eager curiosity.
    “Whispering Gloves,” he replied, “The fingertips are enchanted with a very small spell of silence. I saw them and thought you would get particularly good use out of them.”
    “They are very clever,” she grinned, “And particularly beautiful.”
    “They have another function too,” he said, nodding to the gloves, “If you press a finger to your lips, you can speak a silent word that travels only to the ears of someone in your sight.”
    “Truly?” Willow said, turning her hands over to look closer at the runic embroidery.
    She felt the grin slide upon her face as she lifted her finger to her lips. She looked to Pellius with eyes of mischievous delight, and whispered a few words that would make any woman or noble man blush. Pellius’ brow arched high as the words arrived in his ears. He lashed out and grabbed her hand, forcing it against her lips as he lifted her and dropped her backwards, crushing her firmly into the dresser. His own words reached her ears as his weight slowly descended upon her.
    “And if you clasp them over someone’s mouth,” he rasped lustfully, “Their screams will never be heard…”


    “You have decided?” Jeratheon hissed.
    “We have,” Willow replied, unfazed by the dripping acid that fell from his jaw so close to her feet, “The elder wyrm and the hordes must wait. We have another more pressing matter to take care of, and we have a task for you.”
    Though he hissed his disapproval, he narrowed his eyes upon her.
    “We have to retrieve something from the lair of Nithoggr, the Strider-in-the-Dark,” she said firmly, brows raised in confidence, “You are to draw him out of his lair.”
    The beast threw back in head in vile and hissing laughter, flaring his vicious teeth.
    “You expect me to take on that creature for you?” he snarled.
    “No,” Willow said plainly, ignoring the spitting sound of crackling leather as the acid that sprayed from his laughter seared its way through, “I expect you to create a distraction. Rouse his anger, and keep him from his horde long enough for us to retrieve what we need. In payment, I offer you a prize, taken from the linnorm’s horde.”
    The savage creature lowered his head towards her, eyes of venomous green piercing into her, a fierce annoyance flaring warning in his gaze.
    “Bait,” he snarled, lashing his teeth closed over the word, “You wish me to be bait.”
    “I wish you,” she growled back, “To complete the orders you are given. Draw him out, and we will handle the rest.”
    “No,” he hissed, daring her to face the wrath of asking again.
    But Willow knew exactly how to gain his compliance. She did not need to force him, he would follow faithfully, for fear would keep him in line.
    “You dare defy the command of your sire?” she asked with cold warning, “Was it not his word that bound you to a century of our command?”
    She watched as fury overwhelmed his features. She saw his anger threaten to take hold and allow him to unleash his blistering breath upon her. But he did not. His fear for his sire’s wrath far outweighed the arrogance he harboured.
    “Fine,” he hissed, “I will draw his attention. But then I am gone.”
    “You have three days to get there,” Willow continued, returning easily to her calm and cold tone, “Do not be late. I assume you know where the beast dwells?”
    “I do,” he rasped, hatred and resentment flaring.
    “Good. Be there.”
    The ferocious black dragon lifted his head, watching Willow for a moment. She believed in fear, she believed it was the greatest motivator of all. But for a moment, as his acidic gaze took in her worth – she felt the slightest tinge of doubt. Then he turned from her, lowering down to propel himself into the air. Before he took off in a cloud of dirt and dust, he snarled his last words towards her.
    “Do not forget my reward…”

    The black beast disappeared into the dawning sky, as the Forsaken led their steeds back towards the Silkcreek Homestead, to prepare for their arcane jump into the white wilderness of the north. Clad in fur and wool, they stood together and stepped through the otherworldly portal. Garvana guided their journey, primed with the vision of the edge of the pine forest, far below the towering slate giants. When they arrived, the battering winds blew a steady gale, as harsh rain pelted the iced slopes. Even as summer slowly arrived to the land of Talingarde, here there was no trace of the warmth from the sun, no lush green fields or flourishing life. Here there was only ice, snow and slate. High above them to the north, were the bones of the world. The description that Garvana had given could not have done them justice. With their size, it would be easy to describe them as the stone bones of a creature of unfathomable size, trapped in deep slumber beneath the ages gone of snow and ice.
    “We must find shelter from this rain!” Garvana yelled over the thundering winds, “Can we use the overhang to avoid the worst of it?”
    “Quickly!” Pellius called, “Over there!”
    Steps were slow and heavy, pushing against the coursing air that seemed bent on denying them movement. After almost an hour, it was in the cover of two towering ice sheets that they found momentary refuge. Though the rain still poured down along the crusted ice, the wind simply wound around the walls and continued its unending billow.
    “We cannot sleep here,” Traya chattered, shuddering against the cold, pulling her fur coat closer around her.
    “We may have to,” Garvana frowned, “If we cannot find anywhere better.”
    “I saw something roughly a mile back,” Willow suggested, wiping away the ice that had formed along her hair, “A mound of some kind. I could not see it very clearly, but I saw what looked like an old foundation to some kind of building or house.”
    “It is worth a look,” Pellius nodded, dropping his bags and pack to ground, “I shall go with you.”
    “I shall try and set up camp,” Garvana said, though her unsure tone mirrored the thoughts of the others.
    Traya seemed relieved to have a reason to keep out of the rain, “I’ll help.”

    Willow and Pellius trudged their way back through the ever moving snow and sleet, careful of their steps as the water flooded the slate and stone beneath their feet. When Willow spotted the uneven ground she had seen before, her keen eyes searched the surrounding land through the bristled pine forest. As they approached, Willow pushed aside the built up dirt and ice with her boot, revealing the base of what was once stone walls. Carefully moving atop the foundation, she found a board of rotted wood, a cellar door lost to time long ago. She pulled her hood lower over her face to shield it from the brunt of the hammering rain, crouching low to examine the cellar. Even with hands as careful as hers, as she lifted the door it crumbled between her fingers. There was a crevice hidden underneath, a tunnel that once would have been wide enough to fit a person. But now, it was filled with ages of dirt and debris, sealing off whatever lay beneath. She looked up to Pellius, seeing his frown pulled tightly.
    “I have a shovel back at camp!” he leaned in close and yelled.
    Willow nodded, but her eyes slowly drew to the towering spires of the mountains. She knew better than to think of sleep when they knew so little about what dwelled around them. From where they stood, they could see the slate dome that sat atop the iced plateau, the harsh rock building almost five hundred feet across merely a spec in the distance. Even as far away from it as they were, the stench of death and decay seemed to encompass the surroundings. That, was the Cairn of Nithoggr.
    She stood from her crouch, indicating to the mountains and the dome as she leaned closer to Pellius.
    “I shall scout the outside,” she said as quietly as the wind would let her, “And see if I cannot find another way in. I will be back before nightfall.”
    Pellius’ frown lowered, but he nodded softly, “Be safe, my lady…”

    It took three hours of painstaking march for Willow to reach the clear and barren plateau. At first impression, it seemed little more than a jumble of loose stone forming a massive circular pile. It was only as she drew closer that she saw it for what it truly was. A great earthen mound, buttressed by pylons of stone, with walls that were twenty feet deep at their shallowest point. To have built so massive and solid structure, there on the high and inhospitable plateau, was a feat of no less than legendary status. She knew dragons to be creatures of pride and place, but she struggled to imagine even a dragon having the patience and strength to construct such a place.
    The flat iced land of the plateau stretched wide along the foot of the over hanging peaks, sheltered from one side by the mountains that towered above. The western winds bypassed the tall structure, forming an ever coursing tunnel of powering breeze that swept along the bare sheets of slate. Willow kept low in a crouch as she approached the enormous dome, eyes struggling to pierce through the endless rain that poured, the wet drops forced sideways along with the dominant wind. Though it made her perusal far more difficult, it offered the same shielded view to any who would watch her ascent. She did not wish to risk giving away their presence, so she found a small nook in the towering ice sheets to the side of the plateau, keen sight observing the dome. It was from here that she spied a curious bulge in the rocky formation, centered in the very top of the construction. A large boulder made from stone, that only slightly did not match color of the rest of dome. It was instinct that had her climbing the slate structure, with the aid of the curious magic that accompanied the vampiric curse, her feet and fingers clinging to the rock with spider-like ease. Though she could have scaled the dome in minutes, she was far more cautious in her climb, afraid of rousing the beast that dwelled within. When she reached the crest of immense structure, she felt a small smile tug upon her lips. Her instincts had been right. Though the boulder had to have been centuries old, in relation to the rest of the slate structure, it was a new addition to the foreboding home. It stood more than twenty feet tall, resting within a large crevice in the slate. Willow narrowed her eyes upon the surrounding slate, noting the deep scratches that littered around the boulder, giving her the impression that it had been shifted and moved countless times. She carefully circled the peak, trusting the magic of her curse to keep her feet planted firmly beneath her even as the storming winds ripped through her clothing. Along the northern edge of the boulder, she spotted a small cluster of crumbled slate nestled at the base. She crouched low, using silent and attentive hands to shift the slate free, quietly opening a small gap in the stone. Expelling a small steadying breath, she lowered herself down, peering into the cavern below. It was then, that she saw him. The fabled beast slumbering upon a glittering mountain of treasure and scattered bones. Nithoggr, the foul black serpent, the evil creature of death and decay. Where the single beam of light pierced the pitch black chamber, Willow saw the linnorm for what he was. A serpent, yes. But not raven scaled or ebony skinned. Made entirely from bones of bitter white, pitted and scarred with a thousand wounds and cuts. His head was crested with horns and bone spurs, that jutted from his skull like a great crown of death. The beast was coiled around an ebony monolith, an ancient and powerful magic that seemed to envelop Willow’s skin as her sight drew to it. But even that could not draw her sight for long. Watching the beast brought the undeniable feeling of dread into her chest. She spied trinkets and riches, but she was not interested in them. They had come for a purpose. They had come for the phylactery. Where would it be hidden? Where would she have hidden it? Within the walls of the chamber? Away from the beast, but safe within his home? No, Willow believed it would be deep within the horde, somewhere the beast would protect with every ounce of his viciousness. Yet, she believed it would not be in a simple case, for Cardinal Thorn would need somewhere to reform upon his rebirth. A box, or a coffin. She took the time to steady her balance, leaning over the hole in the slate, before scouring the horde with her eyes. There were chests and boxes aplenty. At a glance, she spied at least fifteen possible targets. From her vantage point, she could determine nothing more, needing to get down and amongst the treasure to find anything further. With a final look to the terrifying visage of the sleeping beast, Willow pulled back from the gap, carefully replacing the stones where she found them. She stood up upon the crest of the dome, rain lashing the flesh of her face, wind tearing the hood from her head and ripping her hair free. As the long locks whipped through the thundering gale, she looked out along the unending pine forests. The Forsaken had fought and faced some of the mightiest foes in the land, following the most risky and foolish plans. Yet, this could have been the most risky. It was a single thought that echoed in her mind, as her eyes traced the expanse. What is more foolish, she thought – facing the Strider in the Dark, or attempting to steal from him?


  24. - Top - End - #174
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Mar 2016
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Spoiler: Chapter 44 - The Devil's Heart - Part 2
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    It was a further three hours to traverse down from the plateau and return to find Pellius having finished digging through the old cellar doorway. When she arrived by the ancient site, she peeked into the tunneled hole, seeing the flicker of a campfire beneath. Carefully dropping down, she found herself within a small chamber, walls carved from rough stone in a place shielded from time.
    “What is this place?” she asked Pellius, looking over the small recesses in the stone.
    “Old,” he answered, standing from where he was unpacking his belongings, “Very old. It has been here possibly since before humans came to Talingarde. Look at these.”
    He guided Willow to a crevice in the wall on the opposite side of the room, where Garvana and Traya stood. The recess housed a curious figurine, carved crudely from stone. Though it vaguely resembled a human, it bore a long slanted forehead, sharp angular features and tall antlers that grew from its head. Turning her head to look at the others nooks, it was clear that once they had been filled with similar carvings, though the long wear of time had taken its toll on the others.
    “I have never heard of such creatures,” Willow said quietly, eyes raking over the statue, looking for something to spark recognition, “But so little is known of the north. Well, little more than it being inhabited by savages.”
    “An ancient civilization,” Traya said in awe, “That would fetch a grand price with the right scholar.”
    “Indeed,” Pellius nodded, arching his brow to Willow, “My thoughts exactly. But I fear to touch it, for it seems it may crumble within my fingers. It needs one with a gentler touch.”
    Willow smirked, turning to the leather sack that Pellius carried. It was a curious bag that radiated arcana, a curious magic that expanded the inside of the bag immeasurably. Willow reached her hand in, pulling out a simple wooden box. She placed in on the ground, opening its latch to reveal the silk lining that comfortably housed three potions. Though Pellius had insisted that glass vials would be safe within the bag alone, Willow had always been more cautious. She quickly removed the vials and slipped them into her pouch, readjusting the silk to fit a single item. She returned to the figurine, using careful fingers to lift it from its rest and place it within the box. She shifted the silk around it, ensuring its snug fit before sealing it away.
    “And that is why,” Pellius chuckled, “We wait for you.”
    “Did you find anything at the dome?” Traya asked, a frown pulling her brow.
    “I did,” Willow nodded, placing the box back in the arcane bag, “A second way in, direct into Nithoggr’s treasure horde.”
    “Truly?” Garvana said, brows rising, “Did you see him?”
    “Yes,” she replied, a slight chilled trepidation encasing her words, “The depictions do not do him justice.”
    “They do not,” Garvana agreed, an understanding in their shared glance.
    “So what is the plan?” Pellius asked, a firm charge in his voice, “Do we use this second entrance?”
    “I think it is most wise,” Willow responded, nodding stiffly, “It is at the very top of the dome, an easy exit for Nithoggr. It is closed by a large boulder, but there is a gap in the stone large enough for a person to fit through. Though, if my assumption is correct, when Jeratheon appears, Nithoggr will use this exit and cast aside the boulder. It is the most direct opening to the outside.”
    “And we what?” Traya scoffed, “Hide by the boulder and hope he does not see us?”
    “I will hide by the top,” Willow shrugged, ignoring the snapping tone, “We do not know how long Jeratheon will keep him away, we need every second we can get inside that chamber.”
    “Did you see the phylactery?” Garvana frowned.
    “No,” Willow shook her head with a small laugh that held little humour, “It will not be that easy. The horde is far larger than we could have imagined. We have our work cut out for us…”

    They spent the night in uneasy slumber, hidden from the barreling rain, listening to the deafening howl of the winds. This far north, there was not a moments peace from the ravaging weather. Even as inland as they were, the sound of the seas pummeling the stone edge of the isle could be heard as if they were atop the shore itself. When dawn finally arrived, it brought no change save the light of the sun. They had given Jeratheon three days to travel the skies to the bitter lands claimed by Nithoggr. And so they had at minimum another day and night to await his arrival. As the Forsaken rose for the day, they each had a different way to pass the time. Pellius had chosen to scout the surrounding forest, to find a few places of refuge, small nooks where he could hide should the dragon manage to catch his scent upon their escape. Traya refused to leave the safety and comfort of their camp, choosing to keep her blood warm in the hidden chamber, rather than risk the biting cold of the forest. Garvana was not content with the extent of Willow’s scouting, and so she took off early towards the dome, intent on finding more information on the cavern and its inhabitants. For a moment, Willow had thought on accompanying the stubborn woman, but decided against it. Close to camp there was an overhanging rock, complete with a slender shelf of ice, large enough to house her comfortably and shield her from the rain. From this vantage point, she could keep watch on both the camp and the northern mountains. She nestled in, pulling her fur and wool tightly around her, opening the tome they had found in Chargammon’s lair to the pages dedicated to the Strider in the Dark. There she spent the day, learning everything she could on the feral beast of death, watching his caverns from afar.

    It was a few hours later, that a curious sight unfolded high along the sharp plateau. In a flash of brilliant colour, explosions of bright fuchsia and shimmering green erupted through the air, before something rippled into view. From as far away as Willow was, it was hard to make out what had appeared in the skies, but as she lowered her book and quickly pulled free the arcane lenses from her pack, she narrowed her eyes upon the curious descent, seeing a fur hood fall from atop what she now knew was a creatures head. A laugh tickled her tongue as she recognized the figure, falling from the skies and hitting the ground with an unceremonious thud, a spray of water shooting outwards as she landed. Garvana gathered herself, sparing a quick glance behind her before she sprinted the long haul towards camp. Though clad in heavy steel, the trip downwards was quick when it was run as fast and desperately as the woman had run it. Willow could not help the chuckle that escaped, watching the small spec of Garvana, sprinting through the wind swept slate. She strained her eyes to scan the plateau, but saw no more colours nor pursuing guard. She quickly grabbed her book and slipped it into her pack, deftly dropping from her high perch to the wet ground beneath. She skimmed towards the cellar, quickly jumping into the hole, to the obvious surprise of the startled sorcerous.
    “Garvana is on her way back,” Willow said quickly, “And she may not be alone.”
    Traya was quick to her feet, grabbing her fur cloak and wrapping it around her.
    “What is going on?” she rushed.
    “I am not sure,” Willow replied, dropping her back in the corner, checking the fastenings on her sheathes, “I saw an explosion of colour, spells of some kind I think, and then Garvana fall from the skies. She–
    “Fell from the sky?” Traya balked.
    “Yes,” Willow laughed, “I have no idea. But I can see no one chasing her, though she is running this way as if something is.”
    “Have you seen Pellius?” Traya frowned, scurrying towards the exit.
    “Last saw him heading west, about an hour ago. I have not seen him since.”
    The pair scaled the rock wall, looking to the north, but seeing nothing amongst the arching lands. Willow returned to her perch, climbing along the jagged ice to see higher across the valley, spying the small image of Garvana still running towards them.
    “If she keeps up the run,” she yelled over the wind, “She’ll be back within the hour!”
    “What about the lair?!” Traya yelled, her frown pulling low.
    “Quiet and still!” she replied, tracing the plateau with her sight, “I do not see anything!”

    After Willow helped pull Traya up the ice and into the nook, they waited and watched the slow approach of Garvana, eyes keen for the threat she was trying to escape. As she crested the last hill towards the camp, Pellius returned from his own trek, brow pulled low as he spied the pair crouched in the alcove.
    “What was that magic?!” he yelled, “Did you see it?!”
    Willow swiftly stepped off and dropped from the perch.
    “Yes,” she nodded, walking to his side rather than shouting over the crying wind, a humorous smile lifting the corner of her lip, “Did you see Garvana fall?”
    “Fall?” he frowned, “Fall from where?”
    “The skies,” Willow scoffed, “Just after the spells. She appeared from no where and fell to the ground. We’ve watched her return; she should be here any moment.”
    Just as she spoke, Garvana appeared upon the hill.
    “What happened?!” Pellius demanded.
    Willow could not help but grin at her sheepish expression.
    “It is a long story,” she dismissed, stalking passed them towards the cellar.
    “If there is anything we have in abundance,” Willow commented, trying to hide her grin, “It is time.”
    The woman scowled, shaking her head before dropping into the hole. Pellius shot Willow a serious look to silence the giggle that fell from her lips, before he followed Garvana into the camp. When both Traya and Willow dropped down, the three of them looked to Garvana expectantly. The woman ignored them for a moment, while she stripped off the heaviest pieces of her armour, wiping the ice from it that had formed between the funneling rain and cold chill of the wind.
    “You will have to tell us eventually,” Willow sighed, though the grin still tugged at her lips, “I simply must know the story behind that amazing fall.”
    “You saw that?” Garvana said, frowning in indignation.
    “Of course,” Willow chuckled, “I spent the day watching the dome, remember?”
    Garvana expelled a heavy breath, shaking her head before taking a seat.
    “Should we be wary of anything tracking you here?” Pellius asked firmly.
    “No,” Garvana huffed, “They did not follow outside of the dome, I think their instruction is to defend the lair, threats within it only.”
    “They?” Willow asked, arching her brow.
    Once more, Garvana sighed heavily.
    “I found another entry into the caverns,” she began, “Not quite so direct to Nithoggr, but to the inside. Actually, there was dozens of them. A small network of tunnels, leading in every direction. I have no clue what carved them, but they were everywhere. I followed one for the better part of an hour, deeper into the cavern, but apparently picked the tunnel that lead up towards the entry. But, the entrance is not unguarded.”
    “What did you find?” Traya asked, a trace of worry in her voice.
    “Three stone guardians,” she said quietly, “One who looked much like that statue we found in here. But the other two were different. One was carved to look like it had flesh made from rough stone, no details on its face, just crude stone. The other, had the face of a canine.”
    “And the three of them were together?” Willow asked, “I have never heard of such things. Except possibly the stone skin, could it have been an elemental?”
    “No,” Garvana shook her head, “It was not an elemental. It was a guardian statue, one of good and chaos...”
    Garvana described the powerful auras carried by the guardians. Imbued with the might of good and the wrath of chaos. They had shouted words of pure force towards her, words in an undecipherable language, words of chaos that punished those who repel against them. They had brandished archaic blades towards her, moving in perfect unison to destroy or banish the intruder of the cavern that they were bound to protect. The words had carried such might that they had rung a piercing wail inside Garvana’s head, blinding her senses and dulling her vision. She had tried desperately to dispel the foul magic, but struggled to understand her own words as they fell soundlessly from her mouth. Her arcane tricks had failed as the three had converged upon her, leaving her little choice but to flee out of the entrance. They blocked her exit with their raging swords, and so she had turned herself to gas to slink threw their offence. But she had not counted on the powerful wind that thrashed along the plateau. In the form of mist, she was swept away and forced high into the air, no way to fight its course that moved above the dome.
    “The statues followed me to the exit,” Garvana continued, “I could not hear anything, but I saw the blasts of magic. If the wind had not been so strong, I would have been hit. But I could not fight the wind, it was moving to fast and pushing me too high… so I had to transform back…”
    “Are you hurt?” Willow asked warmly, though the way she bit her lip to contain her laughter deceived her caring words.
    “I am fine,” Garvana snapped, lifting her chin, “But I recommend we do not try getting in that way.”
    Willow grinned, unable to stop the soft laughter, “Perhaps that is best…”

    It was deep into the darkness of night when the Forsaken were shaken from their sleep. The ground trembled beneath them as Willow’s eyes flickered open, to see Traya who had been awake and on watch, standing by the overhead entrance, looking up with wide eyes. Footsteps, from the sounds of a dozen creatures, heavy and thundering, but slow and methodical pace. Willow quickly threw off her blanket, grabbing hold of her blades that lay by her side. The Forsaken were trapped. Enclosed within a small room with only a single way out. With a swift look to the others, Willow pulled free a scroll from her case and motioned to each of them. Though Garvana and Traya nodded, quickly moving to her side, Pellius shook his head firmly, gripping his blade defiantly. Willow rolled her eyes, signalling her impatience, yet he simply shook his head again. She scowled under her breath, but quietly read the words of the scroll and transported the three of them up into the hidden alcove she had spent the day in. Trepidation set in swiftly. Six curious shaped earth elementals, shaped in a form that vaguely resembled humans. They were slowly shuffling around the foundation that once housed a building, speaking in voices that crackled like grinding stone. As one moved towards the cellar door, Garvana stood from her crouch.
    “What are you doing here?” Garvana snapped, “What do you want?”
    Only one of the beings bothered to look towards her, at least, Willow assumed it looked towards her. Where its face should have been, was simply portion of rough stone with no features. Grinding stone greeted her, no words they could understand. Traya reached out and lay her hand on Willow’s shoulder, whispering an incantation under her breath. Suddenly, the rustling stone morphed to crudely strung together words that Willow could understand.
    “Shelter?” said one of the stone shapes, in a questioning tone.
    “Defilers?” growled another, in a more accusatory voice.
    Yet, they did not attack, nor seem bothered by the presence of those who stood above them. Slowly, two of them sank beneath the surface, moving towards the centre of the cellar.
    “Have we done something to offend?” Willow asked, assuming she had understood the magic correctly.
    “Shelter?” repeated the being.
    “Defilers?” chimed in the other two left above the surface.
    As one of them leant forward and lay its hand upon the stone foundation, hovering for a moment as if listening to something Willow could not hear, points and clues seemed to connect and align in her mind. Defilers, they had said. To damage or mar a place or person. Perhaps, she thought, her assumption had been correct. The guardians Garvana had awoken, she had described one looking much the same as the creatures that stood before them. She made slow movements as she dropped to the ground, keeping her intentions clear as she slowly made her way towards the cellar. When she dropped into the small cavern, she heard the ground shifting as the other beings followed her through the earth, squeezing into the chamber with the two already there. But Pellius was no where to be found.
    “Pellius,” Willow said carefully, a sudden worry now she was encased in such a small chamber with six massive earthen beasts, “I need the figurine we took. Quickly.”
    For a moment, all was eerily still, as Willow’s panic began to rise. But just as she thought on her slender chance of possible escape, Pellius rippled into sight beside her. Though he looked to her in an uncertain glance, he pulled the wooden box from the arcane bag. He handed it to Willow, who slowly unfastened the latch and carefully opened the lid. When the beings saw the statue within the silk, a rumble of grinding stone that sounded much like growls filled the chamber. Willow slowly made her through the throng of elementals towards the crevice where the statue once lay. With cautious hands she lifted it from the box, replacing it where they found it, laying it on its side just as it had been. As she stepped back from the crevice, hoping her hunch had been correct, she returned by Pellius’ side and awaited their fate. One of the beings reached out its hand, touching the stone carving with an almost loving gesture. It paused for a minute, once again listening to something that Willow could not here. It turned to the others, speaking only a single word.
    “Complete,” he rasped.
    With no more emotion or reaction, they turned into the walls and disappeared beyond the stone. For a moment Willow and Pellius simply remained where they were, in silence they listened to the fading sound of crumbling rock.
    “Very clever, my lady,” Pellius commented, brows still high and wary.
    “Very lucky,” she replied, with a half hearted chuckle.
    When Garvana and Traya returned to the underground chamber, they looked perplexed and suspicious as the spied the empty room.
    “Are they gone?” Garvana asked.
    “I believe so,” Willow shrugged.
    “What did they want?” Traya frowned.
    “Their statue,” Willow replied, indicating to the figurine back on its shelf, “I think they are accepting of us resting here, but not to touch or break anything. They were questioning if we were using the cellar for shelter or if we had come to defile the place.”
    “They just left after you put it back?” Traya scoffed, “And we are expected to sleep soundly here tonight?”
    Willow laughed, turning to the sorcerous with an arched brow, “And do you have any better ideas?”


    As the sun lifted from the horizon and the Forsaken emerged from the cellar, the sound of enormous wings blowing gusts of air powerful enough to strip bristles from the pine trees caught their immediate attention. Jeratheon, the seething black dragon circled low over their position, battering them with waves of loose branches and pinecones. Willow looked up to the beast, pressing her finger to lips and speaking into the silence of the magic gloves.
    “Wait until we reach the dome,” she said, pointing with the other hand towards the foreboding stone structure, “Then draw the beast away.”
    The vicious dragon nodded stiffly, snarling to show he was still displeased with his part in the plan, before taking off towards the south to await their signal. With a last check of their gear and weapons, the Forsaken gathered together, hands upon each other’s shoulders. With a final glance to one another and a slow shared steadying exhale, the magic whisked them away, through the coursing portal and up to the iced plateau. It was there that they split up, Willow quickly and quietly scaling the rocky dome while the others found their own places to hide from the beast as he emerged from his slumber. When she arrived at the top, she lowered herself into a jagged crevice in the slate, lying flat upon the surface – ready and waiting to pounce. When the roar of the young black dragon echoed across the expanse, the hairs on Willow’s neck stood on end. The anticipation built within her, as she watched the boulder with enraptured attention. Jeratheon snarled out another frightening roar, the sound of his beating wings passing overhead, before he turned for the west and began to make his way out to sea. Suddenly, the boulder was thrown from its rest, barrelling down the side of the dome. Willow cursed under her breath, swiftly rolling out of its path, keeping as low as she could. It was then that the feral beast arose from the dome, glaring white eyes piercing the skies, his large nostrils flaring wide as he sniffed for the scent of his prey. As he took off into the sky, Willow felt the fear and repulsion slither along her skin, as he moved in absolute and utter silence. Once he had travelled far enough away, she swiftly pounced towards the gap, taking a deep breath into her still and useless lungs before taking the leap to jump down into the darkness below.

    The small glimpse from above that she had seen could not have truly told the story of the piled wealth that she fell upon. Glittering gold, shining silver and smouldering amber filled the chamber. Heaped upon itself, spilling to the edges of the cavern, more wealth than Willow had ever seen in one place. This horde differed vastly from the carefully arranged prize of Eiramanthus. The copper dragon had garnered his wealth and treasures with pride, meticulously organising each section. He had grouped together matching piles of silver, boxes filled with gold, special trinkets upon their own pedestals. He showed respect and admiration for each individual piece, cherishing the story of its attainment along with the prize itself. But here, this was a horde fuelled by nothing more than greed. The legendary greed of a draconic fable. There was no order among his treasures, broken chests pouring their contents into the fray, scattered pieces of armour and silk torn between and buried beneath buckets of coins and the unbearable weight of metals. The bones of countless creatures scattered amongst the treasure told the fatal ending of any man or beast foolish enough to enter the great Strider in the Dark’s lair. There was no order or care here, just an insatiable need to collect more and add to the teetering pile of treasure.
    It was hard to keep concentration on the task at hand. Willow had never considered herself possessed by greed, but standing in the presence of such immense riches took more self control than she would have liked to admit. As the sound of Garvana and Pellius dropping from above echoed behind her, Willow snapped out of her dream, shaking her head quickly as she scanned the room. While Traya waited above and watched for Nithoggr’s return, the three of them set out into the treasure horde to begin their search. Willow had thought long and hard on where the heart was most likely to reside. With her momentary vision of the horde, she had thought over all she had seen. She was sure it would be buried deep within the gold heaps, keeping it safe from accidental discovery or destruction under the dragons weight. She was also sure it would be disguised as something simple and unassuming. She had seen many chests big enough to serve as a coffin, but one plain wooden box stood out in her memory. She had only seen the corner of it, the rest buried deep within the mountain of coins. But from what she had seen, it fit every piece of her assumption. Her eyes scanned the horde, widening as she saw her target, laying at the foot of the great stone monolith in the centre of the chamber. Though she ached to inspect the curious pillar that radiated such strong and powerful arcana, she pursed her lips as she decided against it, keeping her attentions on the pine box. She deftly climbed the crumbling pile of gold, using all of her strength to sweep off wave by wave of coins from her goal.
    “Are you sure this is it, Willow?” Pellius called, scrabbling atop the heap to aid her in clearing the coin.
    “No,” Willow growled, hefting another wave from the box, “But it is the best guess I have.”
    “You are usually right,” he laughed, giving her a wink as he pulled the corner of the box, shifting it further into the open.
    She could hear the rasping incantations falling from Garvana’s lips, as the woman’s eyes glazed over in white magic.
    “I think you are,” Garvana said, “There is something in there. Immensely powerful, a treasure of the utmost evil.”
    “That sounds like it,” Willow chuckled, heaving more gold from the top.
    “I HAVE LOST SIGHT OF HIM!” Traya called from above.
    “Quickly,” Willow rushed, “We must not dwell here long.”
    With another heave from Pellius, they had the wooden box half way out of the golden mountain, but not far enough to get it open. Willow heard Garvana skittering around the horde, throwing treasures into her bag, using her seeing magic to find the most powerful and arcane treasures amongst them. As she swept another cascading flood of coin from atop the box, she swore as only more seemed to fall from above it.
    “Damn it to hell!” she cursed.
    “Help me pull it!” Pellius commanded, heaving with the box firm in his grip.
    As she made it to his side, they grasped a corner each and hauled backwards.
    “HE IS COMING BACK!” Traya cried, terror shaking her voice, “YOU MUST HURRY!”
    Willow and Pellius shared a look, swiftly nodding to one another. They gritted their teeth and pulled with all of their combined might, throwing themselves backwards. It was enough, and all at the same time, too much. The heaved the box free, but their momentum could not have been stopped. They were flung backwards from the wooden crate, skidding along the coin and bone, as the box sailed down the side of mountainous heap. Willow pounced up to her feet, scrambling atop the coin towards the box, unable to stop the smile that rose upon her lips. It was not a simple crate or box they had been hauling, it was a coffin. She flung the lid open, the wood smashing against the metal beneath, flinging splinters of wood across the horde.
    “HOW LONG TRAYA?!” Pellius yelled.
    “HE IS ALMOST HERE!”
    The coffin was lined with soft silks and luxurious satins, cushioned paddings sewed into the intricate walls with gold threaded embroidery. Though the return of the beast was imminent, and Willow should have been crushed by fear and urgency – for a moment, she was calm and enraptured. Laying inside the box, were two glass vials filled with curious liquid, a silver pendant bearing the star of their dark lord, and small finely wrought golden chest. As if in a haze, alone within the chamber, Willow hands reached for the chest. With careful fingers, she opened the case and a fire of determination lit within her. Held within by sharp metal wire, was a withered and burned human heart, pierced by vicious iron thorns. This was their prize. This, was what they needed to fulfil their duty to their undying lord. The phylactery of the treacherous lich, the heart of Cardinal Adrastus Thorn.
    Suddenly, time returned in a rush of spiralling vision.
    “GET DOWN HERE, TRAYA!” Pellius yelled, “WE HAVE IT!”
    “TOO LATE!” she screamed, utter terror echoing her words, “HE IS HERE!”
    Willow clamped the small golden chest closed, head spinning to the others. She threw the box into her pack and started sprinting towards Pellius. As she passed, a calico sack filled with spilled amber chunks caught her eye. She scooped it up with her free hand, before leaping over a fallen chest in her way. Suddenly, the massive dome shook beneath them, the glittering mountain trembling as it scattered its sliding coin. A voice from above, filled with raw and devouring hatred and fury, a bitter sound that pierced a freezing chill along Willow’s spine.
    “VA’ROKKA!” seethed the voice in consuming malice.
    The ancient draconic word for thieves spat towards them, as Willow’s sight drew upward towards the crumbled opening in the dome. What she saw, forced her steps to falter. When hidden by shadow or obscured by pelting rain and snow, the beast merely seemed a gargantuan foreboding mystery. But as it descended upon them, its serpent bone body creaking as the osseous jagged matter glided together, Willow felt the truth of fear sink deep into her chest. Eyes that shined a bloodied crimson, seething with pure and unadulterated venom, glaring a hatred more vile than any that she had seen before. They had offended the linnorm in the most atrocious of ways. Instead of facing the beast in valour and honour, they had squirmed into his home and defiled his most precious and sacred place. They had dared to try and steal from him. For a moment, Willow’s feet were paralysed amongst the glittering coin beneath her. Though she heard the panicked and rushed footsteps of Garvana and Pellius charging towards her –for a moment, she could do nothing but cower beneath the approaching dragon.
    The few seconds that followed, passed like years eternal. Willow’s hands felt weak as they fumbled in her scroll pouch, desperately reaching for the edge of parchment, dragging it free through the leather opening as the beast drew nearer. She felt the weight of Pellius’ hand grasp her shoulder, a second before Garvana’s did the same. She warred with her eyes to draw away from the dragon, words stumbling from her mouth as she stuttered the incantation. The feral creature’s maw opened wide as he plunged down from the ceiling, a hundred sharp and jagged teeth larger than her arms glistening in the rays of light from above. Time was counted in heartbeats, though none echoed from their chests. With one beat, the words finally whispered their way from her lips. With two beats, the beast’s open jaw lunged at her. With a third thundering beat, the maw snapped shut with the force of bone shattering compression. Yet it simply crushed through thin air. The coursing vortex of magic tore upon their flesh as it hurled them through the spiralling portal, dropping them out carelessly into the small cellar beneath the ground in the pine forest. As the three of them were thrown to the stone floor, Nithoggr’s ire was heard in a soul-crushing roar that shook the ground around them. They looked to one another, wide eyes struggling to exude relief as the shattering of rock and stone echoed across the frosted expanse.
    “Do you have it?” Garvana rushed, flinching as another eruption of stone trembled.
    Willow quickly pulled the clasp of her pack open, sighing a heavy breath to see the glittering gold chest within her bag.
    “Yes,” she nodded, throwing a glance around the room, “But where is Traya?”
    “She must have retreated to the manor,” Pellius said quickly, “I would advise us to do the same. Now.”
    Suddenly, the earth rumbled as sounds of exploding stone and thundering blasts of enormous debris rained upon the slate valley. As they huddled together and the enchanted words sang in the small chamber, they were gifted with a final warning before the portal whisked them away.
    “I WILL FIND YOU VILE SCUM!” Nithoggr roared in vicious promise, “AND MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR AN ETERNITY…”

  25. - Top - End - #175
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

    Join Date
    Apr 2017

    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Please tell me that Garvana actually did run off alone and return in such splendid and bright glory.
    That indeed would make my day.

    Once more, excellently written.

    The final scene with Nithoggr was exceptionally tense. The dynamic in the cavern was set very well, the panic, the rush, digging digging, the prize, his return and your single second away from death escape.
    Fantastic.

  26. - Top - End - #176
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    Daemon

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    Mar 2014
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    Chicago
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Yes!!! I love how you end everything with a quote.

  27. - Top - End - #177
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Quote Originally Posted by overlordseamus View Post
    Please tell me that Garvana actually did run off alone and return in such splendid and bright glory.
    That indeed would make my day.

    Once more, excellently written.

    The final scene with Nithoggr was exceptionally tense. The dynamic in the cavern was set very well, the panic, the rush, digging digging, the prize, his return and your single second away from death escape.
    Fantastic.
    Haha, yes, i wrote it exactly how our DM described it to me. One minute the cavern in the distance was still and quiet, the next - colourful explosions of magic erupted in the air with Garvana falling from a great height amongst them. It was a very funny scene to play out.
    And thank you, our DM did a great job at setting the scene, we were all hanging on to the edge of our seats lol.

    Quote Originally Posted by FocusWolf413 View Post
    Yes!!! I love how you end everything with a quote.
    Thank you! It can be a while between stories, so i need to keep you hanging on somehow.

  28. - Top - End - #178
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    And the next one!

    Spoiler: Chapter 45 - Infernal Sanctuary - Part 1
    Show

    Wisping cracks that bellowed like lashing fire, ripping currents echoing in a battering flood like an ocean crashing upon stone, ear-piercing wails like the cry of a thousand souls. And then, silence. What had been deafening, had become serene and still. Where the atmosphere had been crushing in its oppressing weight, in an instant it had eased and relented. The Forsaken had stepped through the arcane portal, leaving behind the terror and deathly place that was the Cairn of Nithoggr, and stepped out into the safety and warmth of the parlour at Silkcreek. Garvana, Pellius and Willow appeared in the flame lit chamber, to see Traya pacing back and forth in anticipation. As she sorcerous saw them, she sighed in relief.
    “You have what we went for?” she asked, wary of the servants within earshot.
    “We do,” Willow nodded, dropping her pack upon the oak small table, along with the calico sack filled with chunks of raw and unworked amber.
    “Leave us,” Garvana commanded the servants harshly, “We are not to be disturbed.”
    The two women that had been cleaning the shelves in the parlour, had jumped back in fright when the three of them had suddenly appeared. They were quick to bow their heads and obey their orders, scurrying to the doors before sealing them closed behind them.
    “You are unscathed?” Traya asked, looking over them.
    “Barely,” Garvana scoffed, eyes wide as she shook her head.
    “And the beast?”
    “Furious and seething,” Willow replied, a small smile lifting the corner of her lip.
    “Can he track you here?” Traya frowned.
    “Not this far south,” Pellius said confidently, “Our scent shall vanish at the campsite.”
    Willow chuckled as she unlaced the white fur cloak she wore, dropping it upon the leather couch, “Though we would do well to not revisit him anytime in the next century.”
    “I had not planned to,” Traya smirked.
    Willow grinned towards the sorcerous, before the smile faltered as her eyes drew to her leather pack. She approached it slowly, her lips drawing to a purse as she knelt down in front of the small table. With careful fingers, she unlatched the metal clasp, opening the flap to reveal the shimmering gold box hidden within. As the fire light pierced a ray along the shining surface of the box, hitting the carved patterns and reflecting it back in a spiral of glimmers along the parlour walls, the others fell silent in what could only be trepidation. With almost timid hands, Willow reached into the pack and pulled free the small yet heavy finely wrought golden chest, setting it down upon the table. She slowly lifted the lid, revealing the withered and charred human heart, pierced by razor sharp iron thorns.
    “The Devil’s Heart,” she whispered, her fingers instinctively recoiling from the box.
    For a moment, the chamber was quiet. The Forsaken simply gazed upon the decayed heart, curious eyes scouring the bloodless vessel. Though vile and repulsive, it did not seem the great artifact of evil that they knew it to be. It did not incite anger or fury, just a simple touch of pity. It was the heart of a soul so consumed in hatred, so enraptured in anger and vengeance, that its owner gave away every ounce of his humanity. And yet, as Willow’s mind curved along the dark and twisted story of Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, she could not help but see the similarities of their tales. Two souls condemned to death, rescued and given a second chance. Two souls battling to the last of their strength to see their almighty and undying lord reign supreme upon the mortal planes. Though they shared much, still they turned upon one another. She could console herself with the knowledge that it was his madness that had driven him to suspect disloyalty where none had lain. His unquenchable thirst for destruction and revenge had tainted his sight and forced him to see enemies among his own number, among his own servants. And it was for this, that he had to die. It was the unhealthy obsession with revenge even where it was not fit to be served. Yet, he had saved them. He had given them another chance at their vengeance, another chance to prove themselves worthy. He had lifted Willow from the furthest she had ever fallen, from the premature death, having accomplished nothing even worthy of note. He had paved the way for her victory, he had guided her to the path she was to walk in the name of the great Asmodeus. It was with a bitter turn of her tongue that she realized, his usefulness had expired.

    “Do we destroy it now?” Traya asked quietly, interrupting the silence that hung in the room.
    “Not until we are certain of our next move,” Pellius said sternly, “We must not give him a chance to recreate it. This is the one thing that will assure our victory, we must not play our hand until the time is right.”
    As the metal clicked as Willow closed the lid to the small chest, a strange familiar smell wafted through the room. Suddenly, in flash of hellfire and brimstone, a beastly visage appeared within the chamber. Standing far larger than an ogre, scaled in crimson plates bristling with barbs and razor-sharp layered scales. Its massive head crowned with cracked horns, only matched in number by the vicious fangs that fell from its venomous maw. Two jagged wings draped from its back, leathery webs edged with sharp dagger-like bone-spurs. Clutched in its hand was a vile heavy chain of wrought iron, littered with hooks and barbs draped with caught scraps of flesh and stained dark by blood. The wickedness of fire in his eyes lifted his wry smile as he spied the Forsaken. In the blink of an eye, Willow snatched the golden box from the table, throwing it to the chair behind her as she backed up and drew her blades. As the others followed suit, the fiend did something that none of them could have expected.
    “Wait!” he called out, throwing his hands out to halt them, “Thorn has sent me, but I do not wish to attack you. If you wish to speak, you must help me with three tasks. First, bring before me something I can kill. Quickly now!”
    All eyes in the room narrowed upon him, blades primed to carve through flesh. But for a small time, none moved towards him.
    “Jonah!” Garvana called aloud, as her slow steps took her warily towards the door, keeping her sights on the devil, “Get in here, now!”
    As the young servant quickly entered through the door, the colour washed from his face as he saw the towering beast that awaited him. The loud thud of the door slamming shut seemed to crush into chest, as the terror overwhelmed the small man. Before he had time to turn to flee, the devil grinned in feral glee. He launched towards the poor soul and cleaved his vicious claws through the weak flesh in a shower of blood that cascaded throughout the chamber. It was with relish and joy that he devoured his victim, too quickly for even a cry to escape the lips of the man before he was splayed before the Forsaken.
    The beast turned towards them.
    “Now that you have seen me slay something,” the fiend grinned, wiping blood from his scaled chin with his forearm, “Would you all agree that you have been taught a lesson in bloody slaughter?”
    Willow’s brow arched, as her mind slowly followed the devil’s curious behavior.
    “Indeed,” she said in satire, “The harshest lesson.”
    “Very good,” he smiled shrewdly, looking between each of them, “Lastly, all of you must prick your fingers and let me taste your blood.”
    The other brow was quick to follow the first. Though the devil spoke with a casual ease, as if he were asking a mere question, Willow knew the power of a human’s blood to a devil. Yet she was undeniably curious. It was with eyes that narrowed tightly upon him, staring back into his deep and sinful gaze, that she sliced her finger with her blade, squeezing the bare taste of cold congealed and blackened blood, holding it out to him. His tongue lashed like a serpent, coiling around her finger as it slid across the dark taint. When the others offered the same, the devil turned to them with a sly and wicked grin.
    “Delicious,” he rasped, with a prideful tone, “I have done as my master commanded me. I have found you. I have slain. I have taught you a lesson in bloody slaughter and tasted your blood. My mission is near its end. I must also report back and bring him his phylactery, but he didn’t specify when. I think I’ll get right on that in a century or two… assuming the master still survives.”
    The fearsome devil stretched out, powerful muscle rippling beneath hard scale. He sported a toothy smile, clearly pleased with his own guile.
    “It is my understanding that Naburus has appointed one of you the new high priest of Asmodeus. Is this so?”
    “It is,” Garvana said warily.
    “Hah!” the devil grinned gleefully, “Excellent. Send the Marquis of the Fourth Misery my regards when next you see him.”
    “And whose regards are those exactly?” Willow asked, arching her brow.
    As he spoke, the Forsaken slowly sheathed their weapons, though Willow refused to move any further away from the phylactery she guarded behind her.
    “Ah, pardon my rudeness,” he said dramatically, inclining his head, “I am Zaerabos, Emissary of the Duke Zaebos, exalted and immortal lord of the seventh suffering. And you all need no introduction, I have heard much of your deeds and long desired to meet you. Lord Pellius Albus, The Fist. Lady Garvana Forthwise, The Prophet. Lady Willow Monteguard, The Nameless One. And the newest of your illustrious rank, Lady Traya DeMarco, one who is yet to earn her name…”

    He looked over them as he spoke, clearly holding much more knowledge on the four of them than he said. But as he did, he smiled.
    “Truly you serve Hell well, and I admire the many atrocities you have authored in your wake. I have just come from the Agathium. It is Thorn’s belief that you will be visiting him shortly. Is this so?”
    “We have a few things to discuss with the master, yes,” Willow said slyly.
    Zaerabos laughed, “No doubt it will be a grand family reunion.”
    “While it is a pleasure to meet you, Zaerabos, Emissary of the Duke Zaebos,” Willow said cordially, with only a touch of acid, “I assume you have concocted a way around Thorn’s orders for a purpose, not merely a polite chat with new friends.”
    The devil grinned as his sight drew to her, looking her up and down with a slight tilt of the head.
    “The lashing tongue I have heard so much about,” he said quietly, before inclining his head once more, “You are correct of course. I have come to make a deal. As I said, I have just come from the Agathium, a place that I have spent much time. A place, you are planning to infiltrate. I know the location and layout of the cathedral, and I know much of those who dwell within its walls. I could provide you with much to arm yourselves with before you take on such a task.”
    “Such things sure come at a high price,” Willow commented, arching her brow.
    “Not a high one,” he smirked, “But a fair one.”
    Zaerabos strung his great chain on his hip, clasping his hands behind his back in a relaxed position. He smiled, continuing easily as he spoke.
    “I ask two things. First, Thorn possesses a silver amulet with something dear to me inscribed upon it. I will require a solemn oath that you will return the locket to me, unopened, unread and unscryed.”
    “What is on this amulet?” Garvana frowned.
    Before Zaerabos could answer, Willow replied for him.
    “The means for Thorn to send him to us,” she said, a small smile lifting her lip.
    The devil eyed her for a moment, an intensity in his gaze although his grin never faltered.
    “The second thing I require,” he continued, “Is a place on the council of whatever kingdom you establish once you have taken control of Talingarde.”
    “What would you want with that?” Garvana asked, her frown burrowing in suspicion.
    “You are devoted servants to the darkest power of them all,” he said earnestly, “You are primed to overthrow a country dedicated to the enemy, and raise the Undying God-Fiend in his place. What servant of hell would not wish to be part of such a noble and legendary venture?”
    “Quite a shining notch to add to your belt,” Willow smirked, “To have had a hand in such a thing. But what is it you could do for us upon the council? I see no fault in trading the amulet for information on the Agathium, but a long standing position of power in the running of Talingarde? What benefit would we gain from it?”
    “I would make a fine assassin,” he said with a toothy grin, “Just be sure to be specific with your orders.”
    “Specific, detailed and exact,” she scoffed.
    “Precisely,” he grinned.
    Willow turned to the others, brows arched high. She gave a gentle shrug as she spoke.
    “If the information on the Agathium is as useful as he claims, I see no reason to not accept his offer.”
    “I would add a clause,” Pellius said coldly, “That under no circumstance would you aim to do the four of us any harm. That any orders given or contracts taken, anything pertaining to one of us being harmed, the orders be made void. That your position on the council be valid only as long as your loyalty to us remains.”
    “That is fair,” the devil nodded.
    Pellius frowned heavily, shrewd eyes tracing over the fiendish creature. The distrust was clear in his face, but it seemed that he too could not fault the possible gain from agreeing with the devil. As he nodded, so too did Garvana and Traya.
    “We have a deal,” Willow said, “The location of the Agathium, a sketch of the layout and everything you know about every person or creature, alive or undead, who resides within its walls – for a position on the council of the new reign of Talingarde, granted valid only as long as your loyalty to us stands, and the return of your amulet.”
    “Unopened, unread and unscryed,” he insisted, arching his scaled brow.
    “Unopened, unread and unscryed,” she agreed with a smirk.
    “I have your solemn oath?” he asked, “On the Infernal Might of Asmodeus, facing all his wrath in consequence of breaking your promised word.”
    “You do,” Willow nodded.
    “And all of you?” he continued, looking to the others, “I have your oath?”
    “Indeed,” Pellius said curtly.
    “Yes,” Garvana agreed, though the suspicion still laced her tone.
    “You have mine,” Traya nodded.
    The beastly fiend grinned a large and glee smile, clapping his hands together firmly.
    “Very good,” he chuckled, looking to Willow with dark and sinister eyes, “You shall not regret this…”

    Zaerabos had been truthful, he did indeed know much about the Agathium and those who dwelled within its walls. Thorn had called his servants home and set them to defend him at all costs. Yet, if the devil’s information was to be trusted, Thorn was truly being consumed by madness and paranoia. Trusting no one enough to call them together and mount a true defence, scattering his forces within the chambers – giving the Forsaken an advantage that they would make fine use of.
    The fiendish creature had warned them that frost giants had been called to guard the upper cathedral, including the monstrously dangerous frost giant king, Ingolfr Issox. He warned the Forsaken not to bother with words, laughing that the king was far too daft for treason. Always at his side, was Queen Ellisif. A much more cunning and intelligent giant, wise and crafty behind her humbled smile. Zaerabos revealed that she was not happy with serving Thorn, and if presented with the right offer it was possible her loyalty may be swain.
    He spoke of a pious man, venomously loyal to Thorn, stubborn and unbreakable in his servitude. He warned them that Marcel Wolfram would die for the cardinal, that he would wield his mace Engelhammer, an artifact of hell itself, in Thorn’s name to the bitter end.
    And lastly, he told them of a man who seemed to leave a sour taste in the devil’s mouth, described as a weedy cretin who reeked of death. A coward, who was sure to teleport and flee at the first sign of trouble. Yet one whose loyalties may very well shift with the changing winds. Grigori Shirkov, a necromancer.
    With the crudely drawn map passed between hands, the devil gave a final grin to the Forsaken, before the white puff of smoke enveloped him. With a final drift of brimstone, he vanished.


    The slow flicker of flame danced through the chamber, the soft warmth from the fire place drifting through the night air, thawing the cold chill that settled after the sun had began its slumber for the evening. Garvana had retreated into the fields to train with Pellius, echoing the clash of metal across the lands, accompanied by the strenuous grunts and sharply lashed commands. After counting the treasures they had pilfered from the great dark beasts lair, Traya and Willow remained in the parlour, resting in the comfort of the waltzing flames.
    “Where are you from, Traya?” Willow asked conversationally, gently pulling the large amber chunks free from the calico sack, grazing her eyes upon the rarer and more perfect shards before lining them along the small table, “You are Talrien, yet I cannot pick the dialect. You have the manners and mannerisms of a noble born, yet I have not heard of House DeMarco...”
    With the long flank of luxurious silk in her hands, Traya’s eyes narrowed, looking up to Willow. For a moment, Willow could see the suspicion and what seemed almost like fear in her gaze. But as quickly as it had come, an internal decision seemed to pass across her face. A small sigh escaped her lips.
    “You have opened your home and shown me hospitality better than I have known in a long time,” she said gently, “So, good manners alone dictate I satisfy your curiosity.”
    As she spoke, Willow put down the amber piece, leaning back into her chair and tilting her head slightly as she listened.
    “Firstly,” Traya began, “You should know I bear you or the others no ill will, we were never truly enemies, and as you have seen by my actions, I am no devout Mitran.”
    “That thought has long passed,” Willow smirked.
    “However,” she continued, “Unlike you, I have come to this life not entirely by my own design, so you must forgive me as I have seen and done much recently that I would have never dreamed of in my past life…” A small smile lifted her lips. “Or perhaps I am deceiving myself and I have always been on this path, our patron seems to have a way of putting us in the right place at the right time. To break a true believer like Sir Richard is something I never thought I would witness, let alone provoke...”
    For a time, the sorcerous stared away into nothing, thoughts dancing across her face like words written in a book, while Willow remained quiet and simply observed. After a moment, Traya refocused her sight on Willow and smiled, shaking her head as if to clear it.
    “But enough of such serious matters,” she said with a slight lift, “You wish to know of my life and I have a suspicion that we are somewhat kindred souls. Forgive me, but I must make some assumptions about your life too. Like yourself, I am from a wealthy family, privileged and powerful. And I believe, much like yourself, I could think of nothing worse than simply being married off to a simpering fop as a trophy to be displayed at formal events.”
    Willow grinned, arching her brow as she nodded gently in agreement, indicating for the woman to continue.
    “I left Daveryn when I came of age - you should ask the Baroness for the juicy details, I am sure as there was quite the scandal at the time.”
    “You hail from Daveryn?” Willow asked curiously, searching her memory for word of the noble house, “I have never heard of DeMarco of Daveryn…”
    “No, of course not,” Traya chuckled, “I was forced to take my mothers maiden name when I left. I was stripped of my title. Perhaps you know of House Parvellyn…”
    Willow could not stop the sudden laugh that escaped in shock, “Parvellyn? You are Trayania Parvellyn?”
    She laughed in reply, sighing a heavy breath, “I was Trayania.”
    The sly smile lifted Willow’s lip, as the pieces of the scandalous story seemed to fall into place, “Now that answers a few questions.”
    Traya smirked, shaking her head gently, “Not that it matters now. The successes your... our ally has had...”
    She drew her face away for a moment, a slight ashen tinge overcoming her profile. Willow knew where her thoughts were trailing; if her family had resided in Daveryn, it was likely they had died in waves of bugbears as they took the fair city. But she knew there was little she could say to appease her sorrow. It was a quiet moment, but when she returned her gaze it was filled with a stoic acceptance.
    “Well,” she shrugged, far more nonchalantly than her eyes could muster, “I shall not be visiting with my family again.”
    Willow smiled gently, nodding her understanding.
    “I suppose it was fated that I got out when I did,” she chuffed.
    “Did you ever marry?” Willow asked, “Before you left?”
    “Marry?” she chuckled, “No, I have never been married. Well, I suppose you could say I am now...” She turned in her seat, gently pulling the shoulder of her dress aside to reveal a small pentagram burned into her skin. “I left home to escape being trapped in an unequal union, and I seem to have found my way into another.”
    Willow laughed at her lopsided grin.
    “At least it is one of my own making,” Traya said firmly, “I am confident at least that this union will prove exciting nonetheless.”

    “So what of you?” Traya asked, bringing a lighter air to her voice, “I know much of your past, well at least that which traveled the vines of rumours among the nobles.”
    “Most of that is likely rubbish,” Willow laughed.
    “Most likely,” Traya grinned, “I am sorry to say, though terribly beautiful, your eyes do not quite light up the night sky.”
    A laugh burst from Willow’s lips, a true and hearty chuckle that tickled her tongue.
    “What are you saying?” she giggled, “That my black luscious locks do not cascade on an ever-blowing wind?”
    “It is more like a gentle breeze,” Traya laughed, relaxing back deeper into the chair.
    “What is you wish to know?” Willow asked, the grin still tugging at her mouth.
    The sorcerous looked at her for a moment, curious eyes searching her face, as if considering how far to push Willow’s open and easy manner.
    “What did you do to end up in Branderscar?” she asked, “I was long gone from home when it happened. I remember hearing word of some great atrocity, but no one spoke of what it was.”
    A wistful smile fell upon Willow, as her mind churned back upon the lead up to her greatest downfall.
    “I planned the death of the dear Princess Belinda,” she replied, a small chuckle following her words, “Though of course, I did not know what I know now. My plan would have been folly.”
    “An ambitious idea,” Traya commented slyly, “What did you wish to gain?”
    Willow laughed softly, “Ambitious, but daft and barely thought out. I had thought that by ridding the country of the heir I would weaken the monarchy, and when the time was right, I would have every member of the Darius line assassinated. My long term goal was short sighted at best. I had dreams of House Monteguard ruling the country, yet I had no real plan how to put them there. I was young, even though it was not all that long ago. I was… a child, playing with powers that I did not understand.”
    Traya frowned, tilting her head slightly, “What do you mean?”
    A sudden memory flashed through Willow’s mind. Hidden in the depths of shadow, clad in slick raven armour, blazing scarlet eyes of fire piercing like blades into her soul. His hand, greedily reaching for her throat. Her throat, offering itself willingly, almost desperately. As she blinked, she looked up at Traya, the easily smile gone from her lips.
    “You mentioned before,” Willow said softly, “That you had not come to this life entirely by your own design…”
    “You speak of the vision?” Traya asked quietly, a wariness coming over her features.
    “Much more than that,” Willow replied, a defeated laugh expelling from her chest, “It is all connected. I have been playing with powers that I do not understand from the moment of my birth. Even now, I am still parading with more confidence than I feel…”
    Willow sighed as she sat forward in her chair, delicately rubbing her eyes in an exhausted frustration.
    “Have you thought anymore on that vision?” she asked curiously, looking up to the sorcerous who sat straighter backed in her chair.
    “Do you believe in fate Willow?” she said quietly, looking off into the flickering swell of the fire, “Do you believe that all things happen for a reason or that we are simply acting out a grand play devised by the gods for their amusement?”
    She paused for a moment as her sight returned to Willow and her eyes narrowed in dark intensity.
    “I believe that what I was witness to in that vision...” she continued, “Well... I believe it was fated. I believe you are a being of true fate, and you always have whether you knew it or not. I do not pretend to understand what that fate might entail in the coming times, but my intuition tells me simply toppling this kingdom is barely the start...”
    For a moment, Willow stared a blank gaze towards the sorcerous. Her words mirrored the very thoughts that had run through Willow’s mind. Whether fate was the correct word to describe such a thing, she did not know. But it seemed that every move she had ever made had been designed and crafted by one with the unending knowledge of how time would play out.
    “The green eyes,” Willow said finally, in a soft and quiet voice, “I know who he is…”
    “Those eyes have haunted my dreams,” Traya replied, grimacing at the thought, “I have never seen such… evil.”
    A small laugh from Willow had her looking up, arching her brow in question.
    “I have known him for more than a decade,” she responded, “Though it is clear he has known me for far longer. The same man who has seemed to have a hand in everything I have done. He was the assassin I hired to eliminate the princess, the lover I took while I still shared a bed with my husband. He was the one who set my fall from grace into motion, he was the one who trained me to become an assassin myself. He has been there, every step of the way. If your vision was true… he was there long before the beginning.”
    “You have no clue what he wants from you?” Traya asked cautiously.
    “He is an Infernal Duke,” Willow laughed, a tint of maniacal frustration in her tone, “One of the darkest souls crafted by the very pits of hell itself. His plans seem more complex and intricate that I could ever grasp. Yet, I am at the centre of this. I have dreamt of being a power far greater than my ambition could possible stretch, and there he is… always.”
    As Willow looked up to Traya, she saw the curious smile lifting her lip. Her eyes were reading far more into Willow than she was comfortable with.
    “What is it?” Willow asked, narrowing her eyes and slightly lifting her head indignantly.
    “Forgive me,” Traya said, wiping the smile from her face, “I am overstepping my place.”
    “What is it?” Willow demanded.
    “It is simply…” she said carefully, “You have… feelings for him.”
    At that, Willow laughed. She shook her head gently, expelling a long breath.
    “I have many feelings for him,” she laughed, “Revulsion, hatred, anger, fear, disgust, abhorrence… And lust. Uncontrollable lust. An attraction far stronger than anything I could ever deny. We have a connection, completely volatile and eruptive. Yet, I crave it. I crave him...”
    Willow snapped her head towards the sorcerous, piercing her with a flaming gaze of warning, “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will cut out your tongue.”
    Stunned silence greeted her words, then to her surprise, Traya laughed. Though her eyes widened slightly, she simply smiled back at Willow.
    “I believe that you would,” Traya smirked lightly, “As distasteful as that concept sounds, you can be assured your thoughts are safe with me. I have no intention of betraying your trust.”
    Willow’s eyes narrowed for a moment.
    “I…” she said through pursed lips, “I apologise, though the truth of the threat still stands. I have never had someone to confide in… Trust is not something that comes easily.”
    “That is clear,” Traya grinned, arching her brow, “But tell me… do you love him?”
    “Love?” Willow laughed, falling back into the cushioned chair, lifting her feet and tucking them beneath her, “No. He is not a creature to be loved. I could never love someone, or something, I despised so much.”
    For a moment, a calm silence lingered in the chamber, the sounds of the crackling flames whispering through the stone walls.
    “You are not still troubled by the vision you saw?” Willow asked curiously, staring into the dancing lights.
    “No,” Traya replied easily, “Who am I to judge you based on a vision? I have had a mountain fall on me during the banishment of a demi-god, I have wielded the raw power of Hell in the quest for vengeance, I have fought heroes of the realm and been victorious and I have grown in power far beyond anything I could have possibly imagined… How can I consider your conception stranger than my life?”
    Willow laughed, conceding to the sorcerous’ point, unable to refute it, “Well, when you put it that way…”

    When the sun rose over the mountains to the east, returning daylight to green and lush farmlands, the Forsaken rose from their slumber with it. They had almost everything they needed to complete their next task. They had an exact location of the foreboding Agathium, they knew exactly where Thorn awaited them. And in their hands was the means to defeating him. The heart pierced by thorns, the phylactery bound to him.
    “How does one destroy a phylactery?” Willow asked, frowning as she watched Pellius pull the withered husk from its golden chest.
    “With strength alone,” he replied, pushing aside the box to lay the heart on the table.
    As Garvana and Traya gathered around the table, they simply looked at the decayed heart. Alone on the surface of the wooden plank, the dark and powerful artefact of evil seemed so much less. A human heart, shrivelled and burnt flesh wrapped in callous wire, long and thin thorns of charred metal piercing it from each side. It seemed only a swift breeze away from crumbling upon the treated wood. But Willow knew well how deceiving appearances could be.
    She placed the leadlined box by its side, using careful fingers to lift the vile heart and arrange it inside the cushioned padding. The box was smaller than the golden chest, easier to carry with her as they traversed the city in preparation. Though they had a guard of almost fifty at the manor, she would not risk the Forsaken’s chance at success by leaving it in their care. As she looked to the small chest that had housed the phylactery, she was struck with an idea. Though she had planned to give Jeratheon a large chunk of raw amber as his reward for service, she found the golden chest a far more fitting prize. Finely made of pure gold, it reeked of death and darkness. Though it lay empty, it had held the heart for an age, its evil seeping into the layers of silk and clinging to the solid walls. Even without the sight of magic, Willow could feel the aura pulsing with dread as her fingers traced the intricate edges.
    “Traya,” she said, looking to the sorcerous as she took the chest from the table, “Send Jeratheon a message, tell him to meet me in the fields at sundown.”
    “Of course,” she nodded, before swiftly rasping an incantation, painting patterns in the air with her fingers.
    “Thank you,” Willow inclined her head, before looking to the others, “I shall be heading into town shortly, does any one wish to accompany me?”
    “I will,” Garvana offered, indicating to the piled treasure behind her, “We must find buyers for all that we took from the dragons horde.”
    “Oh,” Willow frowned, “That reminds me…” She pulled a small curious shard of amber from her pouch, one she had found amongst the others, yet a peculiarity all of its own, “Will you have a look at this for me?”
    The small shard of translucent amber housed an entire dragonfly delicately preserved within it. Upon its surface was an ancient rune carved into its surface, one that Willow did not recognise. Garvana took the shard from her, brow furrowed as the arcane words drifted from her lips and her eyes hazed in shimmering fog.
    “It is an old friendship rune,” Garvana said, blinking rapidly as the fog cleared, “It strengthens an existing bond between a master and creature bound to him. It allows for the master to… well, effectively shield the creature from harm while transferring it to himself.”
    “Bound to him?” Willow frowned.
    “Sith, for example,” Garvana explained, “You could feed it to him, and if he was in danger, you could take the blow for him.”
    “Useful,” Willow replied, taking the shard back as her brows rose slightly, “Are we keeping anything else from the horde?”
    “This,” Pellius said proudly, pulling a jeweled crown from his pack.
    As he placed it on the table, Willow’s eyes traced the metal workings of the hammered gold, admiring the settings of splendid but crudely cut emeralds.
    “Another crown to add to your collection,” she chuckled, arching her brow.
    Pellius lifted his chin with regal stance, “And many more to come…”

    Dusk was approaching when Garvana and Willow returned to the farmlands, slowing their steeds to a trot as they pulled into the stables behind the manor. While Garvana had prowled the marketplace in search of buyers for their rare and exotic trinkets, Willow had visited the famed master jeweler on the southern shore, carrying her bag laden with amber. She had commissioned three pieces made of the precious stone; an intricate bracelet chained with rich gold, a short necklace set with three small but particularly beautiful shards, and a head piece much like a circlet, but with coiling gold that bordered the frame of her face and along the shape of her ears.
    As the sun fell below the horizon, Garvana entered the manor to attend to her own matters, while Willow called for Pellius to escort her to the far northern point of their lands. They travelled together upon horseback, Willow sitting side-saddle behind him as they cantered deeper into the lush green grass that covered the expanse. As they neared the edge of the forest, their horse whined in unease, slowing its own steps anxiously. As it drew to a halt, Willow dropped from the steed’s back, unlacing the lid of the saddlebag and pulling free the small finely wrought golden chest. With confident steps, she approached the barrier of trees, her keen sight spying the seething beast within, long before he showed himself.
    “Your prize,” she said loudly, staring through the dense cluster of branches directly into his eyes, “Taken from Nithoggr’s horde, in reward for your service.”
    The sounds of snapping branches and torn shrubs echoed from the forest, as the fearsome black beast pushed his way into the open clearing. His eyes glared towards her, blazing with venom and bile, as he craned his neck to stand far over her at his full height. His great nostrils flared suddenly, as he drew air heavily into them, lowering his head to draw scent the chest.
    “It reeks of him,” he hissed in vicious glee, before further smelling and tilting his head, “And something else… something far more wicked.”
    Willow simply stared at him, letting no emotions pass over her face. She held out the golden chest, her reactions swift enough to tear back her hands as he swiped the chest with his great claw and snatched it from her. Clearly pleased with his gift, he tucked it closer to him as he sniffed once more.
    “But I do not smell the vermin’s blood, you let him live?”
    Willow let the corner of her mouth lift in a small smirk, “Killing him would have only wasted our time. We have what we went for.”
    Jeratheon rasped a venomous hiss, “Pity.”
    “We shall call on you again when your services are needed,” Willow said coldly, turning up her lip, “Until then, go prance around or hunt or something of the sort.”
    A feral growl rumbled from his chest, while she turned her back and returned to Pellius upon the horse. As she accepted Pellius’ hand, helping her lift herself back upon the saddle, the seething ebony dragon pierced her with a savage gaze filled with threat.
    “Hunt?” he hissed, “Be careful what you wish for…”

  29. - Top - End - #179
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    NinjaGirl

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    Mar 2016
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    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    Spoiler: Chapter 45 - Infernal Sanctuary - Part 2
    Show

    The hour of midnight was ushered in by the faint rays of white from directly overhead, the glowing moon in the centre of the black canvas of sky. With the shining point of her ruby blade, Willow methodically carved the five points of the Dark Father’s star into the soft wood of the table. With a soft click of her fingers, Traya summoned a flick of fire that danced between her fingers, using it to light each of the nine candles that circled the star. As Willow turned and opened the clasp to the lead-lined box, Garvana began a low and rasping prayer in the infernal tongue.
    “Lord of the Nine Hells, Master of Darkness, Prince of Suffering – we beseech you, accept this sacrifice…”
    Willow pulled the withered heart from the box, placing it within the middle of the pentagram, before stepping back and allowing Pellius to take centre stage.
    “Accept our offering as promise,” Garvana continued, “As oath, that we swear to vanquish the traitor, the being from which this heart came…”
    Pellius pulled Hellbrand from its sheath, the dark blade glistening in the flickering light of candle flames. He pointed the vicious blade towards the heart, his brow contorted in concentration and determination, slowly liftng Hellbrand above his head.
    “We swear to follow your word, your bidding, your wish. We swear to slay the treacherous Adrastus Thorn, we swear to reap your vengeance upon him, and deliver him to you bathed in blood. To you, God-Fiend, this we swear!”
    As the frightful sword carved downwards towards the table, splitting the air as it thrust itself towards the heart, a sudden rush of blistering wind pulsed from the phylactery. A crack of lightening lit up the night sky, flashing brilliant light into the small chamber. With a gust, the flames upon the candles were urged higher and brighter, the slender fires now raging atop their waxed towers. Willow felt the touch of blazing heat upon her flesh, the caress of fiendish bliss pushing her onward. The way the eyes of the others lit up in exhilaration, it was clear they too felt the grace of hell. Pellius cried out a fearsome roar, as Hellbrand charged downwards, and a ripple flowed over his muscular arms like a wave of exertion. With a final push, the blade pierced the withered and charred heart, sounding an eruption of steel that ricocheted across the stone walls of the chamber. The blade pushed through the rigid flesh, carving downward with every ounce of might that Pellius could muster. The air in chamber chilled to biting crisp, a palpable feeling of battle, one will warring against another. Pellius roared, veins rippling along his flesh, white painting his knuckles as he crushed Hellbrand in his grip. Until suddenly – one will faltered, collapsing under the strain. A gust of wind expelled from the heart, extinguishing the flames around it. The sword slashed through the charred flesh with no more effort than pushing the blade through butter. The mighty swing followed through, and the immense strength of the swing shattered the table beneath into splinters that ricocheted off the stone floor. The withered heart fell, hissing a feral whine of piercing shrill, before its flesh slowly began to simmer and boil. A scream, one of pure wrath and fury thundered through the chamber, bringing with it a frozen wind that sapped the last ounce of warmth from the air. And then suddenly, there was nothing. Nothing save the sound of a simmering liquid, the heart melting into the stone floor, leaving behind only a trace of ash in its wake.

    Under the last shadow of darkness before the sun rose once more, the Forsaken travelled through the churning portal, headed for the northern lands of Talingarde. Garvana had her eyes closed, visualising the location and description of the Agathium, guiding their journey through the vortex. With a shared sighed breath, they stepped out into the wilderness. With their only comparison being the windswept barren lands of Nithoggr’s domain, what they found themselves within was a truly peculiar paradise. Here, the ancient pine forest of the Savage North spread far and wide its in glory, its branches free of snow and filled with lush summer green sprouting pine needles. The first trace of sunlight shimmered along the petals of wild flowers that bloomed in an array of bright and brilliant colours. Buzzing insects drifted amidst the summer foliage, small butterflies with intricate patterns in a myriad of shades, birds dancing through the trees calling to one another in their soothing and lyrical songs. Geese, grackles, ducks and sparrows – even the occasional white snowy owls patrolling the high morning skies looking for small prey beneath. The soft sound of cloven hooves retreating away from where the Forsaken landed, the flash of white tailed deer scattering through the winding shrubbery. The forest was a paradise, flowing with life and natural harmonious wonder. Yet, when eyes drew to the north – they saw a sight blazing in misplacement and looking utterly incongruous. A structure of immense and intimidating vision. A palace of evil, a cathedral of darkness. Sitting atop the bending hill still covered in snow and ice, yet surrounded by the deep walls of a lush green valley. Baring black and red veined stone buttresses, decorated by leering gargoyles rising from the ice. A circular stained glass window of enormous proportions dominated the facade. In glass and stone, devotion to the great Asmodeus was shown clearly and unquestioned. It appeared more a cathedral meant for thousands of petitioners, rather than a subtle hide out for a condemned run away priest. Willow’s eyes widened as she marveled at the glorious construction. To her, the site spoke of a waiting faith. It suggested a day when the infernal faith of the devil god would no longer hide in secret, a day when pilgrims by their thousands would make the long journey to the hidden cathedral, to find it within the lost world of ice and paradise. It spoke of their future. It spoke of their grand crusade against the Mitran faith, their conquest of the isle of Talingarde.
    For a moment, the Forsaken simple stared in awe upon the dark temple.
    “Is this what temples look like in Cheliax?” Willow asked Pellius, in a quiet voice.
    “Yes, some,” Pellius nodded, his brow arching slightly, “But only the largest of them.”
    “It is…” Willow said slowly, feeling a rush of warmth flood her chest, “Intimidating… inspiring…”
    Pellius gave a knowing smile, “You would like Cheliax, my lady.”
    Willow smiled in return, unable to draw her eyes away from the dark edifice.

    The sound of flowing water coursing along a stream and crashing gently upon the face of rock, signaled how close they were to the northern edge of Talingarde, the seas passing by while it was warm enough to remain thawed from the winter frost. It was along that churning sea that their failsafe and contingency plan anchored nearby. In secret, in the dead of the night as they had returned from Nythoggr’s lair, Pellius had ordered his guard led by Thorangir to the ship docked upon Ghastenhall’s shore. They had set sail, travelling as fast as they could, in the fastest ship money could buy – to the harsh seas of northern Talingarde. Within the hull, hidden beneath sacks of grain and wool, were three sturdy wooden coffins. It had been a risk, leaving Pellius, Garvana and Willow without the safety of their sanctuaries, but a risk they had to take. They could not infiltrate the Agathium with no where to reform should they have fallen to Thorn’s hateful onslaught.
    They had told no one. For as they had spent their days waiting in Ghastenhall, they were weak and vulnerable. They had not simply waited in order to peruse the markets and sharpen their swords, they had waited for word of Thorangir’s arrival on the northern coast. And when it came, they had gathered together, walking through the portal – walking towards their fate.

    “Will you scout the temple, Willow?” Garvana asked, “It seems far safer for you to go alone first, rather than us blindly approaching Thorn’s domain.”
    “Of course,” she agreed, though her frown burrowed slightly.
    “Tread carefully, my lady,” Pellius said quietly, “We do not know what Thorn has prepared for us. He will throw everything he has at us; he will do whatever he can in order to stop us.”
    Willow cast a quick look towards him, nodding solemnly before she turned to the north and took off through the forest. She whispered the command word to her ring, feeling the subtle touch of invisibility tracing over her skin, as she quickly ran between the winding trees. She left no visible footprints as she passed through the shrubbery, finding her way towards the arching paths that led towards the great entry that grew nearer with each step. Her eyes scoured the ground as she ran, wary of any stone out of place, any markings in the earth to indicate a trap or ambush. As she began the climb along the black marble paths, she slowed her steps to a silent crawl, hearing nothing but the surrounding wildlife awakening. At the head of the grand pathway, stood an enormous set of double doors that rose more than fifteen feet tall. Every inch of the archway and marble door was adorned dark iconography, under nine great iron bands etched with devils dancing through briars. The servants of hell swirled through burning thorn bushes, bowing only before the great image at the top of the door – a shadowed figure, larger than life, a silhouette of a being topped by a great crown of thorns.
    Though Willow was enraptured with the intricate carvings and hellish figure that watched over the entrance, the trepidation that pulsed within her kept her hands far from the door and her eyes scouring the etchings. Zaerabos had warned them of a trap, though he knew little of its details. Willow’s keen sight found the scripted runes hidden within the bordered illustrations upon the archway. They were carved along the entire stone structure, running delicately along the floor, in amongst the decorative tile. She knew not what kind of spell it would activate, and without Garvana to read the magic, she was clueless to discern it. For a moment, hidden within the shroud of invisibility, she studied the runes and searched for the one to deactivate it. When she thought she had found it, she made a point to memorize its sequence, before she turned her attentions to the glass window above. Using the curious arcana enchanted in the raven leather boots she wore, she slowly flew upwards, hovering beneath the oppressive visage of the Archstar. She was cautious as she leant closer to the crimson glass, straining her eyes to see through the frosted finish. With the aid of the torches on the walls, she spied five blurred figures pacing the large open main floor. As she flew to the east, she slowly cruised though the air, circling the immense building, searching for another opening or way in. When she returned to the entrance, she frowned. They were left with two options; smashing their way through the intricate stained glass windows, or facing the arcane trap and walking through the front door.
    Willow dropped to the marble floor, retracing her steps swiftly as she returned to the others. When she arrived, she smiled at the small relief Pellius failed to hide beneath his stern demeanor.
    “Well?” Garvana demanded, though it seemed out of unease rather than short-temper.
    “We have only the front door or the windows,” Willow reported, “Neither is appealing. Zaerabos was truthful, there is a trap guarding the door, extremely well hidden. And breaking the windows would announce to the entire castle that we have arrived… and they are rather beautiful, it would be a shame to shatter them.”
    “Beautiful?” Pellius laughed suddenly, shaking his head, “You are worried that they are too beautiful to break?”
    Willow shrugged, a grin lifting her lip, “I like this place. When Thorn is dealt with, someone must keep this place from falling into disrepair…”
    “Enough,” Garvana snapped, “Are you confident you can disable the trap?”
    “Fairly,” Willow said honestly, “But it seems powerful. Thorn has gone to great lengths to hide the trap that well. I cannot see it being a simple lightening bolt…”


    The morning sun had slowly begun to rise as the Forsaken made their way towards the great cathedral. The flames that danced along Sith’s furred hide lit the path in front of them, while Rajiu and Yastrew, the fiend Pellius had summoned, followed closely behind. When they arrived at the door, and Willow found the runes she had memorized, Garvana looked over the magic with her glazed eyes.
    “It is a powerful trap,” she whispered, though any eyes watching would have clearly seen their approach, “A violent ray of death, one that disintegrates flesh and bone. Are you truly certain you can disable it?”
    Willow hesitated for a moment, looking over the runes once more, making sure she was correct in her conclusion. As she remained silent, Pellius came to a conclusion of his own.
    “Enough of this,” he said brashly, “I will not let a trap stand in my way.”
    Before Willow could stop him, he steeled himself against the fearsome magic, striding forward into the caress of the vicious trap. Unfortunately, he had overlooked a simple matter. Thorn did not simply have a powerful trap and patrolling guards defending the entrance to his residence – he had also locked the front door. Pellius stepped forward confidently, hand grasping the glistening steel handle, continuing his movement directly into the marble doors. As his armour sounded a large clash against the door, the trap fired a frightening crack of green searing magic in a flash, striking Pellius in the chest. Though it did not sear his flesh the way it would have any other. Whether by sheer size of constitution, he was able to cast off the worst of the malevolent arcana. He stumbled backwards a few steps, frowning deeply as the giggle tickled Willow’s tongue. A stern look from Pellius silenced the sound, though her grin could not be held even as she bit her lip. With a smile on her face, she turned back to the door, confidently marring three of the runes in order, before pulling her tools free to see to the locks. She felt a sigh leave her lips as she grasped the handle and the beam of vicious light did not zap her the way it had Pellius. And as she opened the door to the grand cathedral, she felt the air she had drawn into her lungs wheeze outwards in awe.
    The massive chamber that opened out in front of her, was a masterpiece of baroque architecture, a blissful retreat for devil kind, an unrivalled piece of artwork dedicated purely to the Lord of the Nine. The floor was adorned with marble tiles of ebony and crimson, arranged in intricate geometric patterns, polished to a glistening mirror shine. Two grand staircases rose on the sides of the chamber, leading up to a regal balcony that Willow stood upon, overlooking the enormous space. Ribs of black marble connected to broad pillars that support the weighty vaulted ceiling, that rose more than a hundred feet at the apex of the dome. But the ceiling, was more than a simple stone or marble roof. A sculpted mural depicting the frolicking of devils, all in subservience to the centre of the marvelous depiction. A magnificent king upon his ebony throne – red skinned, horned, infinitely wise and ultimately implacable – the First Among the Fallen; Asmodeus himself. The painted devil god smiled, as if he knew his victory was inevitable. The walls were richly decorated in almost unfathomable detail. Countless works of art, all united in their themes; the supremacy and power of hell, and the promise rewards to those who would but subsume their will to the greatest of all wills – immortal and undying Asmodeus.
    Yet even as Willow’s wide eyes traced over the enormous expanse along the ceiling, they were distractedly drawn to the centre of the grand chamber. For it was neither empty nor unguarded.
    “Finally!” the foreboding figure rumbled in a deep resonating bellow, “Warm blood to spill!”
    Four frost giant warriors, and their king. But Ingolfr Issox was no mere frost giant, far more than that. As if drawn directly from a ballad of ancient days, as pure an example of the old blood that had been born on the island in a millennia. He was truly enormous, easily twice as tall as more typical giants. His body seemed almost carved out of deep compressed glacier ice – sapphire blue and iron hard. His breath steamed with primal hoarfrost, billowing in bursts of ice and shards, his great beard cascading down his face like an avalanche of icicles. And in his hand, he hefted a greataxe made of pure ice, far larger than any weapon she could have imagined, yet he moved it through the air as if it weighed as much as a feather. He was a vision of the ice titans of old, those who once stood in defiance of all the gods.

    The frosted face lifted in a ravenous grin, brandishing his mighty weapon in a taunt to the Forsaken. Before they each had time to funnel through the door, the ground trembled as he stepped forward towards them. He opened his great mouth and roared with the fury of a howling blizzard. Icicles and frost suddenly formed in a sharp and jagged mass in front of his mouth, before he thundered a breath of pure might and forced the ice into an eruption that showered the entire balcony in white and sapphire snowstorm. Shards of ice ripped through flesh and clothing, the cold seeping the warmth from skin as the wind barreled into steel armour in an unrelenting torrent. At once, Willow activated her leather boots and flew high into the air above the giants, while Sith charged to the edge of the balcony, replying in kind with his dastardly hellfire breath billowing in searing flames. As the burning wave of fire reached the iced giants, a feral hiss of melting frost and cracking ice echoed off of the stone walls.
    Traya rasped a curious incantation, transforming her pale white skin into shimmering copper scales, when suddenly her arms and legs expanded, her head swelled and her snout morphed forward as gleaming fangs fell from her lips. When the haze of the frosted mist cleared, a ferocious copper dragon stood in Traya’s place. Moving lithely, much like a serpent, the dragon slithered up the marble wall and perched atop the large ribbed pillar, staring down upon the chamber with glistening amber eyes. It roared in savage fury, rattling the windows and shaking the marble floor beneath them. A fearsome cry, so terrifying that the fear surged like a washed wave over the frost giants, a procession of widening eyes and whitening faces. And as Pellius and Garvana, one clad in dark and malevolent black steel, wielding the vicious flame drenched Hellbrand, the other clad in glimmering steel, hefting a black stained mace, reeking of the Dark Lord’s will – the imminent threat and promise became all too much. Terror took hold of one of the frost giants, his axe falling from his fingers and clammering to the floor. His steps unsteady as he began to stumble backwards, fear convulsing along his limbs. As he turned to flee, a blade of ice carved through his flesh, slicing him cleanly in half.
    “Coward!” snarled Issox.
    As the giant’s body slumped to the floor, white eyes of malice looked to the others, the king glaring a terrifying warning to the others. There would be no mercy for them from either side. They would face the Forsaken, or they would face his wrath. It was a threat that bolstered their resolve, colour returning to their skin, determination returning to their faces. The bellowed out their battlecries, two of them charging for the stairs as the last gathered a large chunk of stone from the floor and hurled it up towards the leering dragon. In response, Traya showered them in a flood of fire that rained upon the large chamber like a writhing storm of flame.
    Willow soared through the dancing fire, craning in a long arch by the eastern side of the chamber, as Sith sprinted to mirror her on the opposite side, leaping over the oncoming giant to continue towards Willow’s target. The onslaught came upon the frosted being from both sides; the blistering fire of Sith’s bite paired with two pointed blades plummeting deep into his back.
    Pellius readied his weapon, his brow contorting as he charged at full force over the balcony, launching into the air with his heavy descent aimed directly at the king. Hellbrand diving downwards, striking the enormous giant in the shoulder, tearing through the frozen flesh with shattering might. Though Issox grimaced against the flaming swords assault, a sadistic glee overwhelmed his face. He reared back his frosted axe, and as Pellius landed heavily upon the stone floor, the king cleaved viciously in an unending flurry of blows. For one his size, he moved in blurred haste, launching one attack after another with no intention of ceasing for breath. Pellius met his every blow with blazing fury, unwavering in his own rush forward, gritting his teeth as the iced axe clashed against the hellfire of his blade. Each time the terrible weapons met, a war of elements took over the battle. As the fire blazed through the ice and melted its onward journey, the ice fizzled and the cold consumed the light of the heat, dousing the potency with each strike.

    Garvana stood upon the balcony, hands raised high above her head, holding her palms opened and wide.
    “Those who refuse the will of the undying Asmodeus,” she rasped venomously, “Will taste his glorious and dire wrath!”
    She turned her fingers to crooked eldritch angles, chanting in a deep and rumbling voice. A spark of flame lit between her splayed fingers, and as she thrust her hands together, pointing them towards the floor, the marble tile trembled. Cracks that ricocheted like strikes of lightening raced across the ground, surrounding the king and his warriors. A chilling laugh sounded from the balcony, as Garvana ripped her hands apart, as if yanking on an unseen cord. Blazing flames erupted from the cracks, the whiff of brimstone seeping into the chamber, as the dark fires slithered towards the iced flesh.
    As the dark fire raged along the tiled floor, Raiju launched himself into the air above the fray, with his vicious glaive grasped in both hands. He charged downwards, arching the blade and thrusting it forward, hacking into the giant king with practiced and disciplined prowess. But his attack had brought him too close to the enormous beast of frost, in close range of his iced axed, in reach of his terrifying blow. The frosted blade tore through the air, hitting Raiju with the full force of his mighty swing, cleaving through his torso, splitting bone and flesh in a shower of crimson blood. As the scarlet being fell from the air, dropping into the swell of the flamed floor, the dark inferno consumed two of the giant warriors. The last standing guard released a gust of ice and frost, but his winter wind was cut short as Sith pounced upon him, the feral fangs of his maw sinking deeply into his throat – his breath silenced as the maw slammed shut.
    A thundering clash rang out across the Agathium floor, the shimmering ice axe crashing against Pellius’ chest, the pummeling blows ripping strength from his limbs. Willow could see Pellius waning, his eyes glazing slightly as his lids dipped, his steps fumbling as he refused to pause in his assault. But so too was Issox, a blood of the darkest blue seeping from his wounds, his frosted breath drawing short and staggered. With a final push, Pellius launched another attack, crying out in furious wrath as he thrust his fiendish blade into the king’s stomach. Although his attack had indeed had its intended effect, surrounded by gushing blood as the blade tunneled deeper into his stomach – the king saw his chance. He turned his axe to the side, drawing it to the side as he hefted it backwards to prepare for his swing. When it came, it was with such raw power that the air itself seemed to funnel forward in a raging tempest. When the flat side of his axe barreled into Pellius, it flung the heavily armored man off of his feet, sending him skidding along the floor, his unrelenting grip on his sword ripping it free from the giant’s stomach, tearing the wound sideways. As an almighty thud sounded as Pellius hit the chamber wall, the giant king collapsed to his knee. Dark blood pooled from his lips, the panted frost breath freezing the liquid into icicles that broke away and scattered along the floor. He roared like a screaming wind, sapphire eyes blazing a fierce blue, as he slammed the pommel of his axe into the ground to steady himself as he began to rise once more.
    It was then, that a familiar rasping chant slithered through the hall, a dark and ominous incantation that fell from the copper dragon’s grinning maw. As the king’s eyes drew to Traya’s resting place high above the cathedral floor, he pushed himself to a stand and began to straighten out, lifting his vicious iced axe. He did not get another chance to use it. Willow shielded her face from the cascading eruption of blood and bone as the king’s head split and exploded. The tiles were bathed in blood as the large fist unclenched, and the enormous weapon of ice slipped from his fingers. It shattered, into thousands of ice shards that showered the ground in a glistening chilled wave. The frost giant king slumped forward, the floor trembling under his weight as his headless corpse collapsed.

    From the far end of the chamber, a soft grinding metal sounded, a curtain being drawn aside. Looking up from the sea of charred and bleeding corpses, the Forsaken brandished their weapons and turned to greet their observer. They faced a woman, a true beauty of frost giantkind – Queen Ellisif. Short for her kind, she stood only at a bare thirteen feet tall, with flawless skin like the smooth surface of a frozen lake. Long locks of flowing gold fell heavy upon her shoulder, braided in an intricate weave, decorated with glistening shards of gems. She wore a gown of finely tailored skins and furs, and a necklace crafted from the shields of would-be giant slayers. Intelligent eyes of blazing amber seemed to access those who stood before her. She arched her brow as she seemed to form a decision.
    “What a fool my dolt of a husband was,” she said in a surprisingly soft voice for one her size, though her tone was of one who was used to being in command, “To charge such powerful servants of the High God Asmodeus. I would beg your forgiveness, but I see that he has met the eventual fate of all idiots.” She gave a sly smile. “Well done, champions of hell. I would wager from all the noise and commotion at your arrival that you are the Ninth Knot, am I correct?”
    Willow slowly lowered her blades, gently sliding them into their sheathes without breaking eye contact with the Queen. She could see the truth in Zaerabos’ words, she was indeed far more intelligent than her husband. She was the brains behind the leadership of the frost giants, she was cunning and clever, and it was clear she was after something.
    “You are indeed correct,” Willow replied, walking towards her with a slow but confident step, Sith prowling close by her side.
    Willow did not miss the way the Queen’s eyes widened at the Hellhound’s approach.
    “Ah, very good,” she said cordially, a smile across her face, “Thorn has spoken highly of you. He described you as highly dangerous foes and untrustworthy monsters who will do anything to get what they want. Rarely have I heard the Cardinal heap such praise upon visitors.”
    The others marched forward, forming a line in front of the regal woman, almost like a barrier to prevent her escape.
    “Ah, my manners have fled from me,” she said softly, a charming smile as she looked to Pellius and Garvana, before arching her brow as Traya in her dragon form approached from behind, “I am Queen Ellisif, high lady of the frost giants.”
    “Garvana Forthwise,” she said proudly, not deigning to nod or bow, “High Priestess of Asmodeus in Talingarde.”
    The queen quirked her lip, “Well met, High Priestess.”
    “I am Pellius Albus,” he introduced in the strange language of giants, inclining his head respectfully, “A pleasure to meet you.”
    “Ah,” she replied in turn, a warm almost sensuous smile looking upon him, “So nice to hear one with a cultured tongue.”
    She looked to Willow with her brow quirked, before her eyes darted once more towards the fiery creature.
    “I am Lady Willow Monteguard,” she said, almost a bitter sweetness to her tone, reaching out to trail her fingers through flaming fur, before switching to the language of giants herself, “And this mighty beast of hell, is Sith.”
    The Queen did an excellent job of hiding her utter distaste and recoil, but not well enough to shield it from Willow’s keen seeing eyes.
    “Yes, well,” the Queen said, pursing her lips slightly, “I would ask that it remain outside while we talk. As a show of good faith…”
    Willow’s brow arched slowly, staring an unwavering gaze back at the frost giant queen. She rasped a low command in infernal, earning her a rumbling growl in response. She smirked as he bared his teeth to the queen, before begrudgingly following Willow’s command and slowly prowling to back through the chamber, turning back to them and waiting by the slumped body of the king.
    “Thank you,” Queen Ellisif said cordially, though her eyes lingered upon the Hellhound, “It is a courtesy I will not overlook. Now, I presume that you are here to kill Cardinal Thorn.”
    As if a wave passed over them, the bluntness of her question had one brow raising after another.
    “Ah,” she smiled slyly, “I can see I am right. You are embarked upon a difficult and dangerous mission. He is downstairs imbedded in his fortress. There are traps, his lieutenants and worse.” She clasped her hands behind her back formally. “Of course, while I can not claim to know everything that Thorn has prepared for you, I do know quite a bit. If only we could come to some sort of arrangement, I would be only too pleased to help.” She looked between them, arching her brow. “I have told you what I can offer. What do can you offer me, Lords of the Ninth Knot?”
    It was Willow who stepped forward, cold eyes as she let out a biting reply.
    “I have neither the time nor the inclination to play a game of bids and guesses. You clearly have a deal mind. Name your price.”
    The queen let a small smile lift her cheeks, as she looked over Willow with eyes only a female accessing the caliber of another could muster.
    “Very well,” she said, dropping the coy act, “I require two things, and I will accept nothing less than a blood oath. As I assume by your past actions, you are planning to overthrow Talingarde, instating Asmodeus as the supreme. If this is so, I require the Ninth Knot to include me in the privy council, when a new king of Talingarde is chosen. Second, I require a guarantee that the traditional lands of the frost giants are returned to me.”
    “Traditional lands?” Willow repeated, arching her brow, “That would be the entire lands north of the wall, am I correct?”
    For only a fraction of a second, Queen Ellisif’s lips pursed, before returning to her formal stance.
    “Yes, you are correct.”
    “That is quite an ask,” Willow commented, “A great deal of land and power, for information that we may already have…”
    The queen shrugged gently, dismissing Willow’s words nonchalantly, “It is land you have little need of.”
    “There is but one problem,” Willow sighed, smiling sweetly as she turned to look up at the grand mural upon the ceiling, “I find myself growing quite fond of this place. And if I am correct, it falls directly in your proposed lands.”
    “It would be yours,” the queen countered, “And if used as a cathedral dedicated to the God-Fiend, I would ensure the open passage of pilgrims. Though,” she smirked, “I of course cannot ensure the command of every being that dwells in the Savage North…”
    “Of course,” Willow replied sardonically.
    “Well then,” she said formally, “Do we have a deal?”
    Pellius stepped forward, his brow furrowed low.
    “You ask for an alliance,” he said sternly, “But I do not hear the promise of an ally. If you wish to represent the people of the frost giants, by garnering a seat upon the council of Talingarde, then I would expect a truce between our people. If we put the call for aid, the frost giants must respond.”
    “Naturally,” she responded, without missing a beat, “And I would assume that such a thing goes both ways. If the frost giants called upon you, you would respond in kind.”
    For a moment, the Forsaken and Queen Ellisif simply stared at one another, seemingly sizing the other up. With a swift nod from Pellius, Garvana and Traya nodded too. As the amber eyes drew to Willow, she tilted her head slightly at the queen.
    “A seat on the new council of Talingarde, in addition to the promised aid of an alliance. The return of the traditional frost giant lands, marked by the great wall, excluding the Agathium and its surrounding land. And in return; all information you have on the Agathium and Thorn’s plans and defenses, along with your oath that you and your people will honour the alliance should the call be made.”
    “Agreed,” Queen Ellisif nodded firmly, turning from them towards the northern end of the chamber.

    She climbed the small set of stairs that led up towards a grand dais, the Forsaken following closely behind. As Willow neared the podium, a strange lingering heat of infernal power seemed to draw her forward. A blaze lit within her chest, the diabolic drum beating heavy in her ribcage, the touch of her fearsome lord pulsing in resonating melody. She knew what she saw was no ordinary altar, no simple stand in which to place decoration. Carved of the darkest black marble and lined in shimmering gold, decorated in infernal aphorisms praising the wisdom of the all-knowing prince, and cursing the heavens that dared to find him unfit to reign. A great golden star woven with thorns dominated the back plate, among legions of eternal candles that illuminated the ebony altar, bathing it in a pale glow that only added to its ominous presence. And centered upon the black slate, was a great bowl molded of pure gold, encrusted with precious bloodstones inset deeply into the black stone.
    Willow could feel the laced strings of hell that twined around the altar, the deep connection it shared with their Infernal Lord. This was a true unhallowed site, a sanctified and blessed altar to Asmodeus.
    “The truth is blood upon the altar,” Willow read aloud, reaching out to trace the infernal script carved into the black marble.
    The queen stood to the side of the grand altar, lifting the small ruby athame from the black surface and turning back to the Forsaken.
    “Will you, Willow Monteguard of the Ninth Knot, swear upon your blood and the High-God Asmodeus that you will adhere to the terms of our deal, and the promises you have made here today?”
    Though it was hard to draw her eyes away from the profane altar, Willow gave a last look towards Pellius. With his inclined head, she turned to the queen and nodded solemnly.
    “I swear it. Will you, Queen Ellisif of the Frost Giants, swear the same?”
    “I swear it.”
    The queen slashed the ruby blade along the palm of her hand, before holding it out to Willow. When she drew it against her own, a sudden rush of blazing wind seemed to fulminate from the altar. Her words and actions were being watched closely; she was binding herself to her promise and facing the wrath of the darkest should she break it. Though the blood did not flow from her wound as the blue blood fell from the queens – it did not matter. An oath sworn upon the blood was an unbreakable bond, for the living and the undead. She grasped the queens hand tightly, as unseen tendrils of infernal power tied an unbreakable link between them. As they released hands, the linking twine did not dissipate. And nor would it, as long as both of them still lived…

  30. - Top - End - #180
    Pixie in the Playground
     
    Devil

    Join Date
    Apr 2017

    Default Re: Willow's path; The Way of the Wicked - Campaign Journal

    You managed both deals without slaughter, colour me impressed.
    Though at present time it seems your deals are heavy weighted to favour both the devil and the queen.
    I will be interested to see how you uphold/manipulate these deals.
    Our party ended up refusing both deals. A few of the players refused to let the devil taste their blood - meaning no completion of his orders so no deal. And the queen.. well, one too many failed diplomacy rolls. Players would not hand over the north, and with terrible diplomacy, no chance at a lesser deal.


    I actually laughed out loud when i read - "Unfortunately, he had overlooked a simple matter. Thorn did not simply have a powerful trap and patrolling guards defending the entrance to his residence – he had also locked the front door. "


    Again, well done. Very entertaining to read.

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