IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 27D: THE MAW OPENS

September 7th, 2008
The 15th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

AT THE CITADEL OF MIGHT

Dominic and Agnarr, however, had continued on to the Citadel of Might. At first glance the Citadel appeared to be a rather intimidating fortress, but a closer inspection as they drew near revealed most of the apparent fortifications to be nothing more than a façade.

Entering the building they found a rather confusing scene: Various pieces of furniture had been broken and a half dozen or so unconscious bodies had been leaned up against the nearest wall.

Agnarr grabbed the nearest upright person. “What happened?”

The man shrugged. “They just went crazy. We had to knock ‘em out.” He finished propping up the last of them. “Now, what brings you to the Order?”

“I received a letter. I’m here to confirm that I’m still alive.”

“That’s definitely better than being dead,” the man grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Agnarr.”

“Ah. Right. I remember sending that letter this morning.”

“What was the last job I got here?”

“You having problems getting paid?”

Agnarr shook his head. “I’m just curious.”

“You don’t remember? Did you take one too many blows to the head?” the man laughed. Agnarr laughed with him.

The man checked the guild’s records. “Actually, it looks like you never took a job here. But you’re all paid up. And your locker’s squared away. And you’re alive. So you’re good to go.”

“Locker?”

The man showed Agnarr to a locker in a small side room. Agnarr waited until he left and then smashed the cheap lock.

The first thing that caught Agnarr’s attention was his original greatsword – the blade that had been given to him by the people of his clan. He lifted it with a grin, feeling the familiar weight settle comfortably into his hand.

Putting the sword aside for a moment he looked through the rest of the locker’s contents. There was a suit of padded armor (suitable for practice sessions), a sheaf of blank parchment, and several charcoal sticks suitable for writing. These latter items seemed to confirm that Agnarr had been literate during their period of lost memories.

“You know,” Dominic said. “If you learned it once, you could probably learn it again.”

Agnarr grunted noncommittally. He put the padded armor on and found it to be a perfect fit. And since he’d already put on the armor, he decided to go sparring for a bit. But this left him vaguely unsatisfied as he easily gained the upper hand against the cheap hired muscle making up most of the crowd there.

After an hour he put the armor away, secured the greatsword in his bag of holding, and then returned to the front desk.

“The lock on my locker’s broken. Can you get that fixed?”

“Huh. It must have gotten busted up during the brawl. We’ll get that fixed right up for you.”

THE SHORTEST INTERROGATION

Once Dominic and Agnarr returned to the Ghostly Minstrel, Tee gathered all of them – except for Elestra who was still out prowling the streets somewhere – in her room. Once there, she and Agnarr revealed the identity of the dark elf and reminded the others of the prophecy they had seen in Pythoness House:

The Saint of Chaos shall return and the Banewarrens shall ope their maw. And the name of doom shall be Tavan Zith.

“What does that mean?” Elestra asked.

“I don’t know,” Tee said. “Let’s ask him.”

She pulled Zith out of her bag of holding. Tor bound him securely. Tee blindfolded him. And Dominic healed him.

As soon as Tavan Zith awoke, however, they all felt a sickening, bursting feeling erupting in their chests. Agnarr instinctively smashed the pommel of his sword into the dark elf’s nose, breaking it and sending him plunging back into unconsciousness.

But it was already too late. Dominic’s skin was toughening into a thick, fibrous, sickly grey substance. Tee, meanwhile, suffered a quivering pulsation starting somewhere in her ribs – she felt uncontrollable power surging through her limbs, trying to tear its way out of her.

Then, suddenly, she felt Tor’s hands on her shoulders. “Fight it, Tee! You can fight it!” His voice was strong and reassuring. They were an anchor. She found herself focusing on those words and pulling away from whatever was fighting to tear itself loose from inside of her.

The moment passed.

Agnarr looked at Dominic. “Is that another sign of Vehthyl?”

Ranthir examined Dominic and determined that the effect wouldn’t persist for more than an hour or so.

But now they weren’t sure what to do. Zith was clearly dangerous. And he seemed to bring with him grim tidings. (“Although our saint did kick their saint’s ass,” Agnarr said, patting Dominic on the shoulder.) But they didn’t have any way to control him. Or even to question him, apparently.

The best idea they could come up with was to perhaps toss the entire thing into Lord Zavere’s lap, although Tor pointed out that they had often done that before. Perhaps too often.

While they were mulling the issue over, however, a knock came at the door. Tee quickly gestured for Tor and Agnarr to get Zith’s body hidden out of sight behind her bed.

They opened the door cautiously… and found Tellith standing on the other side.

“Jevicca Nor is waiting downstairs. She’s asked to speak with you. She says its urgent.”

“We’ll be right down,” Tee promised.

Agnarr looked down at his acid-stained clothes and panicked. He couldn’t let Jevicca see him like this. He headed to his room to change. Tor and Dominic stayed in Tee’s room to watch over Zith. Which left Tee and Ranthir to head downstairs and meet with Jevicca.

As they came down the stairs into the lobby, however, they were taken by surprise at the sight of her. Jevicca looked imperious and stood taller than they had ever seen her before. There was a palpable difference between this Jevicca and the Jevicca who came to enjoy the camaraderie of the common room.

“What is it?” Tee asked.

“I’m here on behalf of the Inverted Pyramid. We should speak in private,” Jevicca said.

They took her back up to Ranthir’s room. Agnarr joined them on the way. Once the door was safely shut behind them, Jevicca began to speak…

… AND THE BANEWARRENS SHALL OPE THEIR MAW

“Those who know the true history of the world speak of five ages: The Age of Stars, the Age of Gods, the Age of Sorcerers, the Age of Dragons, and the Age of Man.

“In the dawning years of the Age of Sorcerers – countless millennia ago and long before any written history you have ever read – the Great Sorcerer Ptolus founded the first city of Ptolus. Little is now known of the sorcerer Ptolus, but Ptolus had an apprentice named Danar.

“In time, Danar eventually became a Great Sorcerer in his own right and near the city of his master he built a fortress named Mosul Pearl. The world was troubled then, and Danar became distressed at the great evil that seemed to be growing in its strength. And so Danar sought to rid the world of its corruption. He studied the secrets of  evil artifacts, objects of dark power, trapped essences of vanquished fiends, demonic relics, and even the last vestiges of particularly horrible diseases. He named these “banes”, and he began to gather them from all corners of the world.

“Danar did not seek to destroy them, however. He believed that, if destroyed, the evil of the banes would be released back into the world and manifest again in some other form. Destroying banes would only begat new banes.

“Instead, Danar constructed a vast catacomb beneath the fortress of Mosul Pearl. He named this place Tremoc Korin – the Banewarrens. Within its well-warded vaults he sealed the banes, locking them away from the world for all time.

“But Danar’s goal was folly. Concentrating so much raw hatred and despite – so much darkness and evil power – in a single place was a terrible mistake. The earth itself, no longer able to tolerate the concentrated evil that the banes represented, thrust Tremoc Korin away from itself – creating a tall, impossibly high and narrow spire atop which Mosul Pearl still stood.

“Danar, however, was undeterred. And, in time, the evil he had gathered seeped into his soul. Danar was corrupted himself and his soul turned to darkness. He became the Banelord, transforming his castle to the dark keep of Jabel Shammar, and using the banes he once strove to keep out of evil hands to spread his own evil across the land.

“Ptolus and his city were destroyed by the Banelord. And then, having succored his strength, the Banelord attacked the civilized lands for thousands of leagues in every direction, raining destruction down upon the world and all its inhabitants. In the end he was defeated by an alliance of Great Sorcerers and god-touched heroes who were marked by the Sigils of the Pantheon. From this alliance the First Conclave of the Sorcerer-Kings was born.

“But the Spire remains. Jabel Shammar remains. And it has been long believed that the Banewarrens remained… sealed and impregnable beneath the surface of the earth, but still filled with ancient evils. Many – including Ghul himself – have come to Ptolus seeking a way into the Banewarrens so that they might claim that power for themselves. But they have always failed. The terrors of the Banewarren have remained lost.

“Now, however, we believe that has changed. We detected the surge of wild magic you encountered in Oldtown earlier today and our subsequent divinations reveal that a path has been opened into the Banewarrens. We don’t know how and we don’t why, but we desperately need to find out what’s happening. And we’d like you to do it for us.”

Running the Campaign: Trigger & Stitch – Campaign Journal: Session 28A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index