SESSION 23A: LET SLIP THE DOGS OF HELL

June 7th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

“WHO DARES TO VIOLATE THIS SANCTUARY OF CHAOS?”

They whirled around and looked up. Above, on a balcony in the tower directly above them, a demon with a goat-like head was floating several feet off the ground. It carried a vicious looking axe with a blade that gleamed in the sun.

Its powerful legs pushed off the wall behind it, propelling it above their heads. It then dropped to the balcony, floating a few inches above the floor as it swung the axe towards Tee’s head.

Tee tumbled backwards, rolling to her feet in a low crouch. Tor and Agnarr pushed past Ranthir, raised their swords – which they had held uneasily by their sides during the conversation with the Cobbledman – and attacked.

The demon caught Tor’s blade with the broad side of his axe, but Agnarr’s sword cut deeply into its arm. It felt as if he was chopping into a block of solid wood, but the magic blade cleanly cut through the thick skin and found the blood and bone below.

The demon threw back its head and howled in pain. It swept the axe violently back and forth – first smashing the broad side of it against Tor’s head (sending him staggering) and then reversing the blow to smash into the Agnarr’s ribs.

Agnarr gasped as the axe cut through his armor and deep into his side, sending a gush of blood pouring from the wound. The demon’s horns jutted forward, smashing into Agnarr’s forehead.

Elestra reached out, feeling the Spirit of the City and using her own force of will to energize the strength of it around her.

Ranthir, meanwhile, was thinking quickly: He hit the demon with a powerful disenchantment, causing its levitation charm to vanish. The demon fell, landing awkwardly and stumbling forward.

Agnarr, grimacing through the pain, took advantage of the momentary distraction and swung his sword again.

The demon whirled away from the blade, but it still cut deeply into his side. Then it ducked under Tor’s blade and leapt over the parapet, murmuring demonic syllables. Arcane powers caught it up in the air and it levitated out over the central courtyard.

As it turned back to them, Elestra finished gathering her strength and focused a sizzling arc of lightning which tore through the demon where it flew. But the demon seemed entirely unfazed as the electricity leapt from its horns and arced through its body, instead crying aloud: “You will rue the day that you crossed the path of True Chaos!”

Tee, who had retreated back into the keep itself, suddenly heard heavy footsteps thudding across the stone ceiling above her – which would mean that something was on the roof! “Look out!”

But she was too late to warn any of them. Two hounds of hell leapt from the upper level, landing on the balcony near Tor and Agnarr. Their skin had the appearance of cooled lava; their eyes were smoldering pits; and their nostrils breathed gouts of flame. As they skidded across the balcony, they turned and gaped their mouths: Twin cones of flame washed across Agnarr and Tor.

But Tor had raised his shield at the last possible moment, and Agnarr had eased in behind it: Although they still felt a little broiled in their armor, they were mostly angered by the fell beasts.

Although that might have been more true for Tor than it was for Agnarr, because a huge grin was growing across the barbarian’s face: “Dogs! They’re dogs!”

Tee called out from behind him: “You are not allowed to keep one!”

The smile fell from Agnarr’s face, and he dutifully moved forward with Tor. Their blades worked in quick unison and – although the hounds were covered in skin like liquid stone – their magical blades made quick work of them.

Meanwhile, the demon had fled – abandoning his hounds, reaching the far wall of the keep, and dropping down out of sight.

THE SQUARE TOWER

With the demon gone and the demonic hounds reduced to a pile of burning slag, Elestra released the powers of lightning she had called and the smell of ozone faded from the air. Turning to the others she said, “So where to now?”

“I still want to try to get to the square tower,” Tee said. “If Maquent’s journal is still accurate, then the other half of the spiral contrivance or key or whatever it is must be hidden in there.”

There had been a trapdoor in the ceiling of the room filled with arcane symbols and the remnants of old rites, so they climbed up through that to reach the roof. From there they were able to cross over to the square tower.

But they found that the square tower had no doors or windows. Tee donned her boots of levitation to reach the top of tower, but there was no entrance there, either. She then spent the better part of half an hour scouring every inch of the tower’s 24-foot high walls, convinced that there must be some hidden entrance.

Ranthir, meanwhile, was looking through Maquent’s journal. Just as Tee, in frustration, was giving up on her search, Ranthir reread the entry from Noctural 14^th, 787 YD. Then he read it out loud to the others: “I have somewhat befriended the Cobbledman. He grows more mad with each day, however. I hid my half of the spiral contrivance in his tower with him. I shall not even tell Radanna. Of course, she will not tell me where she keeps her half, either, but there’s only one place it could be. Certainly no one could sneak a ladder up to that secret door without her knowing about it.”

“If the key is in the square tower and it requires a ladder to reach the secret entrance, maybe that entrance isn’t on the wall of the tower – maybe it’s under the tower.”

They returned down to the large, empty room on the fifth floor of the tower. “We should be directly beneath the tower here,” Ranthir said.

Tee floated up to the ceiling and quickly found a bit of false plaster. Scraping that aside with one of her dragon-hilted daggers, she revealed a small keyhole. She took out the key she had found in the nook below the ruined garden and found that it was a perfect fit.

When she turned it, however, the entire stone block – 6-feet to the side – came loose and fell. It slammed into her and spun her down and to one side. Agnarr, standing below, was caught squarely by the block and driven to the ground.

Dominic rushed forward to help. Agnarr pushed the rock off of his crushed legs and waited patiently for the priest’s holy energy to repair his broken bones. “I’m getting tired of falling rocks in this place.”

“I think they went with cheap mortar,” Dominic said, reaching out to lay a hand on Tee’s bleeding scalp as she settled woozily to the floor next to them.

“When we move in here it’ll have to be the first thing we fix,” Ranthir said.

“We aren’t moving into the demon-infested house,” Tee said.

Tor smiled. “It won’t be demon-infested when we’re done with it.”

“That’s right,” Elestra said. “We’ve already scared off one demon today.”

“He’ll be back,” Tee said grimly.

The stone block had revealed a hole leading through the floor into the bottom level of the square tower. Niches carved in the sides of the hole would make it easy for someone to climb up if they were at the top of a ladder, but they were superfluous for them: Tee’s head was clearing now and so she floated up through the hole.

She emerged into a small, square room. A ladder of iron rungs driven into one wall led up to a trapdoor. The other walls of the room were covered with carved niches. Most of these niches were empty, but in four of them Tee could see flasks of liquid. In another there were a half dozen sticks of black-and-gold incense. In a sixth lay a small gray idol.

Tee grimaced. “I hate idols. Idols haven’t been nice to me.” She unlaced her boots and dropped them down so that Agnarr could follow her up.

Tee climbed up the ladder to the next level of the tower. Here she found a plain room of stone with an iron chest lying off to one side. The ladder continued up to a trap door of stone secured with a thick iron bar.

The lock on the chest proved tricky, but Tee eventually managed to get it open. Inside she found bags of silver and gold coins, a thick candlestick of pure gold, and a finely-crafted headband of woven silver. Laying at the bottom chest was half of a circular disk of black obsidian with a bright red stone spiraled through it.

Tee climbed back down the ladder and found Agnarr peering quizzically at one of the niches. “Don’t touch anything. I’ve found Radanna’s half of the contrivance… key… whatever it is.”

“Now we just need to kill the Cobbledman for the other half.” Agnarr grinned.

“I don’t think we’ll need to kill him. He seemed all right with the idea of letting us borrow it.”

“I thought it was inside of him. He grabbed his chest when he was talking about it.”

“I think he was just grabbing at something under his shirt.”

“Oh.” Agnarr thought about this for a second and then jerked his head towards the niches in the wall. “Should we take this stuff?”

Tee glowered at the idol. “I guess we’d better figure out what it is. Why don’t you go back down and send Dominic up to look at it.”

Agnarr shrugged and jumped down through the hole.  He handed the boots over to Dominic, who murmured a prayer to Vehthyl and floated up just high enough for his eyes to clear the edge.

He was able to quickly identify the flasks as containing unholy water. The incense had a strong aura of magic about them.

“And the idol?” Tee asked.

“It has no enchantment upon it. I think it’s safe.”

Tee picked it up and found that it was formed of compressed ash. It was really nothing more than a trinket. She stuck it in her bag, decided against taking the unholy water, and then gingerly picked up the incense.

Dominic, meanwhile, had floated back down to join the others. Agnarr threw the boots back up, Tee laced them up, and floated down. She held out the sticks of incense. “Ranthir can you identify what these are?”

Ranthir took them and raised his eyebrows. “I can, actually. These golden runes on the side are unmistakable. This is vision incense. The six sticks must be burned simultaneously, and their conjoined enchantments create a powerful connection between this world and the dreams of those nearby. Great truth can be found in the visions revealed by incense like this. There are many in Isiltur who use it.”

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Cliffhangers – Campaign Journal: Session 23B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 22C: WORKINGS OF THE CHAOS CULTS

May 18th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were covered in a haphazard array of magical circles, symbols, and strange characters. The sight was almost dizzying. After little more than a glance, Tee called out for Ranthir to join her.

Ranthir quickly identified the symbols as belonging to a variety of rites, although none were immediately known to him. He did note that many of them bore a more than superficial resemblance to the rites performed by the Seyrunian demon-binding cults of the previous century. And others seemed to have something to do with the creation and binding of energy. Some simply seemed to be mad scribblings to which Ranthir could not ascribe any immediate sense. One particular section of the wall had been completely covered in charcoal, and then written upon in chalk:

Tee, meanwhile, had discovered that one of the wood panels on the floor was loose. Prying it up revealed a small cache containing two books and a gold ring bearing the device of a broken square:

Ranthir was immediately distracted by the books. Eagerly taking them from Tee’s hands he began flipping through them.

TRUTH OF THE HIDDEN GOD

What appears, at first, to be a copy of the Book of Athor is nothing of the sort: The pages inside are covered with scrawled diagrams and heretical desecrations of the Nine Gods.

A closer reading reveals this to be a cult manual for the “Brotherhood of the Blooded Knife”. The cult venerates chaos in all its forms, focusing their blasphemous rituals around the practice of human sacrifice. These sacrifices are given to a Galchutt named Abhoth, who they venerate as the “Source of All Filth” and the “Lord of the Zaug”.

Disturbingly, much of the book is given over to material designed to mock the holy rituals of the Church. It appears that the cult establishes itself secretly in society by posing as other religious orders. Actual followers of the deity may choose to join them, usually to their dismay – either they come to join the cult itself or they die beneath the cult’s “blooded knife”.

In other cases, a few cultists will infiltrate another religion and use force, blackmail, magic, or simple persuasion to sway its members into secretly worshipping chaos. This process can take years, but eventually the cult eats the other religion from the inside out, consuming it until the temple is entirely a front for the altars of the Brotherhood hidden in their subterranean complexes.

The last few pages of the book appear to be a prophetic rambling of sorts, beginning with the words: “In the days before the Night of Dissolution shall come, our pretenses shall drop like rotted flies. In those days the Church shall be broken, and we shall call our true god by an open name.” The remainder of this section is a description of the faux religious practices for a fanciful “Rat God”, with the apparent intention being that a church could be openly established for this “god”. Eventually, the prophecies, say even this “last pretense” will be abolished and “Abhoth shall be worshipped by all who are not blooded by the knife”.

TOUCH OF THE EBON HAND

The pages of this volume are filled with disturbing and highly detailed diagrams of the most horrible physical deformities and mutations. A closer reading quickly reveals that these deformities – referred to as “the touch of the ebon hand” – are venerated by the writers as the living personification of chaos incarnate. Particularly prized are those functional mutations – an extra eye or oversized arms, for example.

The rest of the book describes horrid rites which make it clear that the Brotherhood of the Ebon Hand not only idolizes deformity and mutation, but seek to inflict it and spread it as well: Ritual scarring. Magical alteration. Alchemical experimentation. Chaositech-induced mutation.

Members of the cult have no distinctive garb, but they usually bear the symbol of a black hand in some form: A tattoo. A charm. A small embroidery on their clothes. Or so forth. Of course, most of them are also marked by their mutations.

THE COBBLED MAN

As Tee continued searching, Elestra also came into the room. Looking over Ranthir’s shoulder she pointed at the charcoal wall: “We’ve seen three of these symbols now. The hand, the knife, and the broken square.”

“I wonder what the others could mean.”

“Something to do with the cults, I guess.”

They continued chatting quietly as Tee probed at the walls and the floor.

Dominic, in the tower outside, stood looking in at them. And then pain rushed through his body as a heavy blow landed across the back of his skull.

Stumbling forward he felt a horrible wave of nausea rip through his body. Turning he saw a horrific, monstrous man: A second head had been awkwardly attached to its shoulder, and the muscles of its arms and legs were grotesquely over-developed. The hair on both of its heads was greasy, lanky, and sparse. The eyes on one of the heads was shut, but the eyes of the other were filled with rage. In its right hand it clenched a silvery rod.

“WHY ARE YOU IN WUNTAD’S ROOM?”

Its voice was a dull boom. Its words sullen.

Tor, reacting almost instantly, rushed up the stairs from below. Emerging into the cramped base of the tower, he was clipped nastily along the side of his head. Like Dominic, he felt a nauseous wave pass over him. Shaking it off, he swung his sword – opening a vicious gash in the creature’s arm.

Ranthir rushed out, as well. “Can’t we just work this out?” But his voice was drowned out in the sudden chaos of the melee.

But then Tee shoved her way past him and her voice carried a greater authority: “Stop it! Wuntad sent us! Stop it now!”

The creature froze, its massive hand hovering to deliver a devastating blow on Tor. “Wuntad sent you?”

“Yes,” Tee lied, putting as much earnestness into her voice as she could. “He sent us.”

“He’s been gone so long. I’ve been alone for so long…” The dimwitted voice was filled with painful sorrow.

Tee softened. “Are you the Cobbledman?”

“… someone called me that. Once. They left too. A long time ago.” The Cobbledman clutched absently at the rags on his chest. “They left me all alone… Do you have any food?”

Ranthir fumbled at one of his pouches and then held out an iron ration. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Can’t leave.”

“Why can’t you leave?”

“Wuntad put something in my brain. Make me loyal. Make it hurt to leave. Can’t leave until Wuntad say I can leave.”

Ranthir had a sickly certainty that this was a betrayal of the flesh. He could see telltale lumps beneath the Cobbledman’s skin – tubes and… other things.

“What happened to Wuntad?” Tee asked.

“Don’t know. The angry men in the metal suits came. There was lots of angry noise. I hid in my tower. And then everyone left… You’ll leave me, too, won’t you?”

No one had an answer for that.

“Cobbledman,” Tee said carefully. “Do you have a piece of metal that looks like a spiral?”

A look of something very like panic entered the Cobbledman’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Could we have it?”

“No! No! My friend gave it to me! I have to keep it safe! She said so!” His hand groped against the rags on his chest, clutching something beneath them.

“I understand,” Tee said gently. “But if we promised to bring it back, do you think we could borrow it? You could even come with us.”

“Maybe…” The Cobbledman seemed to be losing focus. “Do you have any more food?”

Ranthir gave him some more and the Cobbledman chewed it absentmindedly. “I’m going to go to sleep now. So very hungry…”

He began shambling back across the bridge and disappeared into this tower. They watched him go, sadness and pity filling their hearts.

“Well,” Tee said. “At least we know where one part of the spiral key is. Now we just need to find out where Radanna hid hers.”

NEXT CAMPAIGN JOURNAL

SESSION 22B: AT THE TOP OF PYTHONESS HOUSE

May 18th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Meanwhile, the skeletal leader – in a frenzied flurry of blades – had been cut down by Tor and Tee. Tee, inspecting the body, discovered the chain armor was of superb quality. The woman had also worn a ruby ring and matching gold bracelet worth a small fortune. On the interior of the bracelet was inscribed a name:

RADANNA

Laying near the gruesome remains of whatever deadly ritual had been held here there was a slim, red book. On the cover, traced in blood, was the symbol of a spiral. Ranthir began examining it as Tee continued searching the room.

THE SCARLET OATH

On the cover of this book, written in blood, is the symbol of a coil. On the first page is an oath:

“I pledge my body, soul, and purpose to the furtherance of chaos. We shall act as one. We shall breathe as one. We shall think as one. And in our crimson coils we shall choke out the life of those who would bring us death. We shall choke out the order which stifles life. We shall choke out the civilization which crushes liberty.”

The rest of the book teaches the ways of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Coil. The cult acts like a virus – their faces hidden; their identities submerged into the Coil itself. The members of the cult do not mix in normal society, preferring to remain cloistered in remote temples or hidden demesnes. The only time the cultists make an appearance is to carry out a Purging. During a Purging the cultists appear en masse to carry out some act of terrible destruction.

The cult chooses a target, seemingly at random, and then show up to burn down a building; set fire to a field; slaughter a family; or deface a monument. They are neither subtle nor gentle. They show neither mercy nor fear. Usually, their raids come so suddenly and unexpectedly that they meet little resistance. They usually appear in numbers so great, they simply cannot be stopped—a hundred cultists to burn down a single house, a dozen to murder a merchant walking down the street. They disappear quickly, often using spells to cover their escape.

(more…)