| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| Kethra Ragefist |
Posted - 10 Dec 2009 : 04:31:58
A few notes before you begin: I do not own the Forgotten Realms. These character's are of my creation, with the exception of Velsharoon, who is a 3rd Edition Realms Deity. This is my story, so please do not indulge in plagiarism. Infiri is something of a very unique character. Technically, her class levels are Witch 10/Infernal Witch 12/Fighter 8 (The Witch and Infernal Witch class and prestige class are found in The Witches Handbook, by Steve Kenson, Published by Green Ronin Publishing). She is a half fiend, possesses no wings as per norm, but still has the power of flight at will. When you imagine her voice as she is speaking, think of the character Tia Dalma (Calypso) from Pirates of The Caribbean.
Judmos Steelfinger: 13 Flamerule, 1371 DR, Year of the Unstrung Harp.
My search has not been in vain. This day marks the two year anniversary that Infiri and I began our search for the lost empire of the Moilian Nightlord Mulvayus, whom history - it seems - has remembered as 'The Wraith Lord'. My expectations were exceeded greatly. According to the lore I have unearthed, he was once a man like any other, and was taken by the gods of darkness and transformed into their unliving will. I am so close now. So very close.
I arrived in the place the people of this land call Candlekeep two days ago and it has been most useful in revealing a few pieces of this oh so intricate puzzle I have pursued without ceasing for the past two years. The Iron Crown seal on the book her Darkness bequeathed to me has indeed been recognized as the banner, and personal seal of The Wraith Lord, whose empire I have discovered lies to the utmost reaches of the north, somewhere beyond Anaroch.
I have waited years for this time to come, and now that it is within my reach, I will know at last my true heritage, and what I am really capable of. It is only a matter of time now. Power is mine, all I need do is take it. And take it I shall...
Some years before:
The column of roaring, green fire erupted into life in the middle of Judmos’ sanctuary, and when it was over and the fire gone, the Hellwitch Infiri stood there, in all her exotic, ghastly glory. Her skin was the color of rusted armor, and ritually scarred in several places with vile symbols and runes of power. It would have had to have been magic that scarred her flesh so perfectly and deeply, for no ordinary blade would pierce her skin, even to leave a scratch. Her hairless head and striking face were unmarred by tattoo or scar, but her ears held many thick rings. Her eyes were like two molten pools of fresh, roiling lava, and gave off a harsh and menacing radiance. Somewhat short, standing her tallest at five feet and two inches, it betrayed a strength that could have easily crushed any normal person completely. Her hands ended in feminine, but powerful claws that could have slashed stone into pieces of gravel with nothing but an act of will. Around her long, almost serpentine neck was a tight fitting necklace of shrunken heads, their mouths still moving in silent screams, pleading to be shown mercy, to be released, or to be destroyed. All about her form dangled many horrible, grotesque things that she used to fuel her fearsome and formidable spells.
She looked around the office at her lovers many trinkets, books, and components. She made to take a step forward, and the air before her literally froze. The grey mist that was not there before began to gather itself into a terrible presence. Infiri smiled, revealing her long, white teeth that had all been filed away into sharp fangs, and waited. The presence then slowly formed itself into visibility. A large being of shadow and utter cold, its malevolent red eyes reflected its hatred for all things warm and alive. It had the power to pull the heat from the very bone and consume it, leaving its victim nothing more than a frozen shell. It held its drain in check, however, as it recognized its masters lover, and dissipated once more. Infiri loved her lover's little play-things, as she called them, because if he didn't have the power to control them, they would utterly destroy him. She appreciated the daring, and the outright audacity. It was highly attractive to her, and the main reason she remained so interested in the human mage. He was truly one of the most powerful, cunning, and daring mortals she had ever laid her eyes on, or known. She shivered in delight thinking of him, then moved over to take a seat in front of his desk.
Judmos must have stepped out, because he wasn't anywhere in the room. So she took the time to look over the arcane paraphernalia that was scattered about his desk. Bone wands - a gift from her - that contained powerful slaying spells were racked before a book. He was studying them in detail, and that made her smile. Judmos had always been fascinated by her craft, but had never pretended to understand it. To him, power came from lost lore, and the pages of moldy books and grimoures. It didn't matter to her where power came from, and she admired the fact that he was smart enough to master it no matter the source. There was a jar containing a white mist, and as she looked at it, it formed the face of a man, and emitted a quiet, anguished scream. She chuckled in delight, and blew it a pouty kiss, to which it began to sob in pain. Three human skulls, each containing various spells, pulsed with power in her sight. Curious, she reached out to touch one, when a hand came to rest on her bare shoulder.
"You know, if I hadn't showed up when I did, you may have been blasted to ash by touching that." Judmos said, the tone of his voice telling Infiri that he was smiling.
She smiled, slowly moved her hand to his, and with a quick jerk she pulled him from his feet, over her shoulder, and into her lap. Judmos laughed like a small boy at this, playfully, and unafraid. Infiri stared into his stone grey eyes, cold and heartless, yet full of passion like her own. The keen intelligence that twinkled within those eyes was something that stole her imagination to a place she had never been when it came to considering another. What else was this man - so powerful, so adept - capable of? What else ran around inside his head, rose and fell within his imagination? As she looked at him, her eyes narrowed in promise as she slipped her long, pierced by three golden studs, forked tongue from between her fangs to lick her lips.
"Bein' ashes mite be wort knowin' true power." She stated huskily.
Judmos moved his face closer to her's and breathed on the side of her face. "It would be, aye, it would be. But it would also be a terrible waste of a magnificent woman such as you. So why don't we save being ashes for when it is unavoidable, hmm? I can think of a few interesting ways your body could be bent in my arms that a pile of ashes couldn't be put into." He smiled again, and Infiri crushed his head into her's, kissing him deep and harsh.
Judmos winced in pain, and then shivered in pleasure as he felt her teeth pierce his lip and tongue. She drew the blood into her mouth, and kissed him all the more passionately. In his mind, he smiled broadly. He could taste the poison of Infiri's kiss, a kiss that had slain much greater men than he. But fortunately, experimenting with the most terrible poisons and plagues that had ever stricken the world and all it's peoples rendered him immune to venom, poison, and disease. Something that he knew Infiri would never grow tired of marveling over, nor stop being thankful for. She now had a lover that wouldn't die after her first kiss. The foreplay, however...
He pulled back, taking a deep breath in, and held her away from him as best he could. He had to stop, and so did she or it would go further and continue for hours, perhaps even days. There was no time for that now.
"Later," He told her, breathing hard. "Right now, we have business."
She looked as if she might be angry for a moment, then simply smiled and considered him. "I hope it's better dan what we just put on hold," She said, picking him up, standing herself, then sitting him down on his feet. "I haven't seen you in days, and dis was not what I expected, or wanted."
"You have been busy, and so have I." He replied, walking around his desk and searching through a certain drawer. "I have missed you much, and I know you have missed me, too. I wasn't lying when I said later, you know." He looked up with a smile, and winked. "The Crone wishes to see both you and I at our earliest convenience."
Infiri turned her back to him and rolled her eyes, pretending to consider a large cauldron that was brewing off to the side. "What is da nature of dis audience?" She asked, barely able to hide her scorn.
"If it were not important, she would not have saw fit to bother either one of us. You know she doesn't like for us to be bothered by trivial matters that the rest of the brotherhood busies themselves with. She thinks we're above that, and she is correct." He says, moving over to her and turning her around to look at him. "You have your coven, and I have my research here. I've created several spells over the last few months that have proven invaluable to the rest of the brotherhood, spells that have won us many battles. I think I proved my worth as Archmage to her after those successful trial runs. There are still even more that only you and I have knowledge of, as my gifts to you. What say you, my love?"
"Dey are impressive, yes. Wordy of da reward you have been given. And you have increased my own power on a most broad level." She replied, a pout clearly in her tone. She looked into his eyes then. "I am happy for you, love, and for me, but dis is becomin' to much of a contest between me an' da Crone. She be da one havin' all your attention, and havin' your best. What about Infiri? Was it not Infiri who stole your heart an' didn't give it back? Warmed dat cold skin wit da fires of her own best an attention?"
He smiled at her, "Oh, it was in fact you, and no doubt." He replied to her sincerely, resting his face on top of her bald, almost burning scalp. She was always so hot, and Judmos so cold. It was another of the many perks of their cooperative relationship. "I have to admit I don't know what to say. I'm only trying to do what is best for everyone at the points in time that I have to work with. I know it gets a little hectic sometimes, but you and I are stronger than a little chaos and disorder. It can't be that way always, but it has been that way for a few weeks now. What could we do about it, to suit us more?"
"Da answer to dat question will have to come after da meeting, will it not?" She asked him, clearly resenting the fact that they were on a time table.
"The Crone's instructions were at our earliest convenience." Judmos replied neutrally. "Right now, it is not convenient for either one of us. So let us consider it." He moved away from her slowly to an arm’s length, then motioned to the chairs before his desk.
She looked at them, then back to him and smiled widely. "No." She stated plainly. "Now dat I am sure dat I have your top consideration, we will go and get dis out of da way. After, we will 'talk'."
The look Judmos gave her revealed that he was clearly pleased with himself for winning her trust and respect to another level, and pleased with her for her understanding of both of their powerful positions and responsibilities. He nodded once, stretched out his hand, and a tall staff topped by a jawless, bleached white and rune carved human skull appeared in his grasp.
"The sooner we go, the sooner we're back. And the sooner I can begin my apology..." He smiled with promise, causing Infiri to erupt into girlish, giddy laughter. He put his arm around her waist, drew her close to him, and her laughter was combined with the roar of flame. The column of green fire engulfed them both, and they were gone from Judmos’ office, Infiri's laughter still echoing eerily from the walls.
NOTE: The freshest edit of the first part of the story. Be sure and keep checking back, because I will be editing this post very often. |
| 4 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Kethra Ragefist |
Posted - 13 Dec 2009 : 00:10:40
Deep into the bowels of the mountain that housed the main temple complex, The Crone lead the Hellwitch and the Necromancer. The places they passed through were places that no light had ever illuminated, and likely never would. All around them, the flashing points of red that could only have been the eyes of monstrous guardians darted here and there so swiftly that they may as well have only been glimpses of a nightmare. The hissing and spitting, whispers and silent mumblings seemed to come from all around. It would have crumbled the will of any other mortals, and sent them fleeing from this place with all haste, screaming in terror. Those that did not would likely suffer a fate worse than death, or any sort of torment the typical mind could imagine.
They traveled down the immense cavern for what seemed like hours in silence until they finally arrived at a set of double doors forged from pure adamantine. Engraved in their faces were angrily pulsing runes of power, stirring with barely contained might that bathed the air before them in baleful red glow. Holding them together in the center was a plain, iron disk that was placed at just the right height to be even with the hunched Archpriestess, with a single hole in its center. They stopped, and The Crone began a swaying, roiling chant. The hand she extended toward the disk crackled with sickly red energy, and she stuck her index finger into the hole. The doors let forth a terrible wailing, then a low moan. The disk slid aside when she drew out her finger once more, and the doors swung inward, revealing only more darkness.
“Whatever you may see in this chamber, do not stray from behind me, or you will never leave this place. Slow and steady is the way we go now.” The Crone firmly stated over her shoulder, shuffling into the blackness before them.
Judmos and Infiri did as they were bid, and were right on her heels. When they passed beyond the portal, the doors slammed shut so quickly that the gale of wind they produced almost threw Judmos from his feet, but they made no sound. Not even a scraping upon the stone floor. After he recovered himself, he swallowed hard, and returned to Infiri’s side.
“Darkness,” He began, looking around then ahead to where the lich was still slowly shuffling. “What is this place?”
The Crone smiled inside, not slowing her pace. “This is The Vault of Secrets, Judmos. Everything I have collected and gathered over my service as the voice and hand of The Undying One on this world is stored – and very well guarded, mind you – in this place. It is, and is not, a part of the Prime Material. Things here are not what they seem and there are many things here that will seek to destroy you, or anyone else, for no other reason than to simply do it. That is why it is important for you to pay mind only to me. Both of you are in the most danger you have ever been in, or will ever be in again. Do not fear, because I will let no harm befall you.”
Infiri scowled at The Crone’s back, the heat emanating from her body growing hotter. She turned her smoldering eyes to the endless darkness of the chamber around her and removed a wand from her sash, subtly readying herself for battle.
Judmos cast a silent abjuration, but otherwise made no move to do anything else but follow after the lich without faltering.
There was suddenly, and quite abruptly, cold laughter assaulting the ears of the three. It continued until it resembled the roar of a maniac, gasping for breath. The Crone paid it no heed, but Judmos and Infiri were visibly shaken by it. Infiri hissed angrily, darting her gaze back and forth across the darkness. Judmos clutched the Negastaff in his grasp tightly, turning his knuckles white, as his eyes began to scan the darkness as well.
The Crone stopped and turned to regard them. “Unsettling, is it not?” She asked them, seeming to lament the laughter. “The voice you now hear is all that remains of Dilythamir, the last sorcerer king of Narfell. The mightiest of the Demon Binders of that ancient and long fallen empire, he refused to share the secrets of his success. Thus is the result when the wish of Velsharoon is refused. Pay him no mind.” She turned slowly, and the laughter was replaced by a soul shaking scream of rage, which trailed off into silence once again. “Come on now. We’re nearly there.”
No matter how hard Judmos and Infiri tried, they could not penetrate the darkness that permeated the chamber with their sight, concealing what could only be guessed at being the largest horde of magical artifacts, relics, records, and instruments of power that either would ever be near. The Crone raked the air with one hand, and the darkness unnatural darkness fled before her to reveal a chamber lit by a single candelabra. There was a large table and atop it was a single, large and heavy book. Beside the book was an iron helm, too large for a human to don. When Judmos merely caught a glance of the edge of its magical aura, his eyes exploded in pain. He threw his arm over his eyes and yelped. Infiri looked back to him, and grabbed hold of him to keep him from falling. The Crone turned back to regard them.
“Yes, it takes a moment to get used to.” She told them, motioning toward three chairs.
Infiri lead him to one of them, and sat him down, then turned on The Crone angrily. “You could have gave a warnin’! You knew dat his mage-sight is permanent. Or are de eyes of your Archmage wort nottin’ to you?”
“I have not had eyes for a very long time, Infiri.” She replies calmly, unmoved by the anger of the Hellwitch. She looks past Infiri to the Necromancer. “Judmos, my apologies. It was a simple oversight on my part. Can you still see?”
“Yes, Darkness.” He replied sincerely, rubbing the tears and blurriness from his eyes. “It was not too severe. What object did I glance that nearly struck me blind?”
“We will come to that shortly, Archmage.” She replied. “First, I need to tell you a story. A story that you will find most illuminating and well worth the wait. Then I will have some questions for you that are very important. After this, I will tell you anything that you wish to know that is within my power to answer.” The lich sat down in one of the seats, looked up at Infiri, and motioned to the chair beside of Judmos, bidding her to be seated along with everyone else. Infiri held the gaze of the lich, still a little upset over her lover’s injury, and then did as she was bid.
The Crone looked over at the ancient book resting upon the table and laid a hand reverently on it. It was massive, the black leather of its cover had turned almost white from age, but its lock and seal was still intact. It was a disk similar to the one that held the doors to The Vault of Secrets closed, but there was no finger hole. Instead, there was a small, thimble sized cup in the center. The Archpriestess removed a vial from inside her robe and uncorked it. She tipped the vial carefully, until one single drop of what appeared to be blood fell from the rim and landed inside the cup. There was a squeal, a very loud crack, and the disk slid aside. The book immediately swelled in girth, its pages released from the pressure of the seal.
“A tenday past,” The Crone began, turning her attention back to Judmos and Infiri and replacing the vial inside her robes. “I entered the Halls of Vaught and into the very presence of Velsharoon himself by personal invitation. As I prostrated myself before his throne and reached out to touch his feet, time and space ceased to exist for us. In the span of a single breath I watched the rise and fall of the entire Moilian Empire. Do you know of Moil, Judmos?”
Judmos came out of his grogginess with a snap, his full attention fixed on The Crone. He took a slow intake of breath to steady his already racing heart, but all he could do was simply nod three times in answer. Finally! He dared hope for more than he ever thought he would know of his ancestry.
“Then you know before it’s fall, it spanned across uncounted planes of existence, worlds that had completely submitted to the will of The Nightlords, vast armies of living and undead alike all gathered under the banner of one Emperor.” She leaned back in her seat then as much as the hump in her back would allow and stared into his eyes.
Judmos was trembling openly under the weight of such knowledge. After years of study, it appeared to him as if he had only scratched the first coat of paint on a much larger object than he had ever dreamed. “I was unaware of this, Darkness.” He breathed, his eyes not moving from her.
The Crone waved her hand at the table before Judmos, and a decanter of water along with two large goblets appeared. “Have something to drink, and listen closely.”
Judmos, not having to be told twice, picked up the decanter and filled one of the goblets with water. He offered it to Infiri, but she waved it away, still in rapt attention of The Crone, waiting for her tale. He took a drink, and waited for the lich to continue.
“As I stood at the side of the Undying One, we were at a time in the youth of the first age of Moil. They were very similar to the Netherese – masters of the arcane, brilliant spellcrafters – only their obsession over life and death lead them to unequalled brilliance in the art of Necromancy. It influenced all aspects of their lives, and each passing year they learned more and more, mastered secret after secret.
Velsharoon took me to the citadel of the only king at the time, to a shop of one man in particular. A weapon and armor smith charged with arming and armoring the king and the royal family. The smith and his family lived and worked inside the palace, and enjoyed every privilege of being a part of the nobility. The smith’s work was unequalled in all the lands of the kingdom, his every blade, spear head, or suit of armor a work of art and unfailing in their edge or protection.
Soon, the king began paying tutors to cultivate the smith’s talent of sorcery so that he could enchant his weapons and armor to be even more powerful. He prospered greatly, as did his family, and the king had yet to lose a single battle, or suffer so much as a scratch in a single melee.
Not long after the renown of the smith spread to every corner of the kingdom, a powerful warrior decided to test these legends for himself. He challenged the king’s son – the only crown prince in his line – to a duel over the heart of a princess from another kingdom. The king and prince laughed together at this, and the prince accepted the challenge without hesitation. How could he lose, being armed and armored by the magnificent creations of the sorcerer smith? They met in the great hall of the palace, all of the nobility were present to witness the battle, for the king bragged that it would be but a short battle, and they would feast afterward in honor of his son’s victory. The battle was short, yes, but the prince did not leave the hall with victory. The warrior cut him down in five moves. He ran the prince through the heart, left him lying in his own blood, and demanded of the king that he immediately release the prince’s fiancé to him.”
The Crone paused, watching Judmos clutching his goblet so hard that both of his hands had gone white. She regarded him for a moment longer, and then turned to look at Infiri, who was just as enwrapped in the tale as he, though she was doing a much better job of hiding it. She smiled at them, and continued.
“The king naturally turned his fury upon the smith. He rose from his throne and demanded of his men to seize the warrior and the smith both. The smith pleaded with the king, proclaiming that he was faultless for the prince simply being bested by a better warrior. The warrior was furious, and fought off as many of the guards as he could, until they finally overpowered him. They threw them both into a cell together, and left them there.
All the while, the king fumed and raged, driven to the brink of madness by the death of his only son. So he discerned the only way he could have his vengeance upon the smith who he blamed utterly for this failure was to allow him to watch the death of his own family. He sent his guards to bring the smith’s wife, sisters, and his four children to the palace.
The smith’s wife was no fool. She knew as soon as the battle was over that her husband would bear the blame for the death of the prince. She took her infant son to her handmaid, who mounted a horse and fled the city at full speed as soon as the knowledge of the prince’s defeat reached them. A few days later, the royal guard showed up, and dragged them all to the throne room. They brought the smith and the warrior in as well, chained and bound. The smith continued to plead with the king, begging him to see reason, and spare his family. His pleas fell upon utterly deaf ears. The king then ordered his court wizards to flense the flesh of the smith’s family from their bones with spells, all while he was forced to watch.
When they were finally dead, they hung suspended in the air before the throne and the gathered crowds, monstrous, and dripping gore. The smith could no longer scream for his family, he hadn’t the strength left. The king ordered his men to release him, brand his face, and cast him from the gates of the city. Exiled, alone, and outcast from everything he knew he simply began walking. The Undying One and I followed him.”
NOTE: There is more to come, I was just running into a wall at this point. |
| Kethra Ragefist |
Posted - 11 Dec 2009 : 23:09:51
The Temple of Eternity, located deep inside the secluded range of mountains known as The Fire Peaks, was a monument to the forces of darkness, corruption, undeath, murder, disease, and unadulterated evil on the Prime Material, and it's unending influence in all the multiverses. For uncounted centuries, she who is known only as The Crone - Lich and Archpriestess of Velsharoon - has kept this unholy place a vile and powerful secret to only the most prestigious, powerful, and trustworthy (as far as evil can be trusted) servants of the dark gods, and the cause of evil. It was a place where the sane lost themselves in the whispers of malevolence, the just overwhelmed by the coldness of carelessness and the righteous consumed by the bleak and unending dark of wickedness.
The Crone sat on the Throne of Spirits - a relic so prized and sought after that only she knew of the room where it was kept - illuminated by a single, black candle. Her face was caught forever in a lipless grin, and in the sockets where her eyes had long ago rotted away were two bright, hateful red pin-points of light. Her snow white hair was matted, and flowed freely down to her feet, and covering her hunched, withered form was a plain, unadorned robe of utter darkness that not even the strongest light would reveal as a piece of clothing. Her skeletal hands steppled before her, she listened to the whispers of her god, and of his servants. For days she had been here without so much as moving a finger, all the while listening to the will of Velsharoon.
"I understand, and obey." Were the only words her old, huskily dry voice uttered before she willed herself to another place within the temple, shuffling down a dimly lit corridor toward the main chapel. The Crone stood only four feet, so hunched over was her form, but it did not conceal the immenseness of her power. As she passed the under priests and acolytes of the temple, they fell before her to prostrate themselves utterly and barely dared to breathe as she slowly passed them.
The large and seemingly endless corridor she now passed through was known by many in the temple to be The Hall of The Damned. Enemies of the temple, treacherous servants, and champions of good all caught forever in endless captivity and torment within the very stones. Even now, if one stopped to listen, could be heard the cries of pain, the pleas for forgiveness and to be set free. It was music to her ears. She continued on with a dry laugh of satisfaction.
At the end of The Hall of The Damned entered into an immense chapel capable of easily seating thousands. All halls, corridors, and doorways within the temple itself ultimately led to this place, as a symbol of the unavoidable will of the god of undeath. Here were no less than one hundred clerics at all times, performing various rites, sacrifices, giving council to those who come for it, and aiding those who work the will of evil. This was the place she spent most of the days of her unlife, completely and utterly obsessed with seeing through the mechanizations and will of her patron and his cause. Ah, and there stood the two who were going to be the instruments of manifesting the latest wish of the Undying One.
Judmos and Infiri took to one knee as The Crone approached, and lowered their gazes to the floor. Inside her mind, she allowed herself no small amount of pride for bringing the powerful Necromancer and the Hellwitch into the fold of her Fellowship, and as she moved closer, she laughed once more in dry but satisfied mirth.
"Rise," She bade them, her single word carrying to every corner of the vast chamber, at first resounding powerfully from the black marble, then whispering inside the skulls of those inside the chapel. Several people looked up sharply at the disturbance, then shivered when they discerned the source and quickly went back to what they were doing.
Judmos and Infiri rose at the same time, regarding the ancient lich with more or less admiration, but no small amount of respect. "I am pleased to do your will once more, Darkness." Judmos told her.
"An I be glad to help, as well." Infiri replied. Technically, the Hellwitch wasn't a member of the Fellowship, but she and those who served her were powerful allies, as well as willing participants in the unfolding plans and desires of those who did belong to the Fellowship.
The Crone was no fool, and was aware that Infiri’s first loyalty was to herself, and her second to Judmos. The only reason the Fellowship was a concern of hers at all was because her lover was Archmage. But for now, Infiri had offered her resources and talents in return to be kept in the loop and know of the in-doings of the cause and its goals, so she tolerated the Hellwitch, and even allowed her access to the Temple.
"You both are treasures and much appreciated friends to this Order and Fellowship. That is why I have a task for the two of you to pursue together. A task that I will trust to no one else. If you will hear it, then we will go and discuss it at once."
Judmos remained carefully impassive, but on the inside he was roiling with interest and dread. Something so important, out of all her servants and allies, she chose the two of them? He didn't trust it, but he could not refuse it, either. It was too good of an opportunity.
"I will hear what this task is, Darkness." He replied to the Archpriestess. He slowly looked over to Infiri, eyebrows raised in silent question, silently hoping she would comply and not make this difficult.
Infiri regarded him for several long moments, and when she saw in his eyes that there would be no answer of 'no' from him and a strong desire to know, she turned her gaze to the lich, and nodded once.
The Crone smiled - a horrific sight - and motioned with one ancient hand for them to follow her as she turned and started down The Hall of The Damned once more. Regarding one another again, Judmos and Infiri complied, following slowly behind her right into the quiet weeping of the walls. |
| Kethra Ragefist |
Posted - 11 Dec 2009 : 20:03:33
Infiri, Judmos, and the other characters that have yet to be revealed are all from a campaign I previously - and on occasion - still run. I started this story some time ago, and have only just started working on it again.
Thanks for your complement, and be sure and check back often. |
| Cleric Generic |
Posted - 11 Dec 2009 : 18:59:10
Thats some prime material material right there. Good stuff sir, despite your diseased state.
Are these characters part of a game or book your working on or some such? |
|
|
