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 A tale of High Adventure…The Fall of Blingdenstone
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 01 Mar 2014 :  17:51:02  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote  Delete Topic
Greetings fellow scribes,

Moved by a recent thread here on Candlekeep (http://forum.candlekeep.com/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=18938) about which game world scribes would want most to visit/live in I've decided to share a story that a friend (and fellow scribe) of mine and I wrote about just such a situation.

Those of you who follow my blather hereabouts know I run 'Play Yourself' style adventures. Games where the players around the table ARE the characters in the game. They get stated out and dropped into the Realms as themselves and must survive on their wits, charm, and accumulated knowledge of all things Toril.

Along the way, they get to interact with famous people, places, and events of the Realms and fulfill the fantasy of meeting their heroes, seeing things with their own two eyes they have only imagined before, and saving the day (or sometimes not as the case may be, Lol).

The following fan fiction tale deals with one such event and how it played out around the table at my home game (all characters, locations, events - other than the PCs themselves and an NPC or two of my creation - are the lock, stock, and barrel property of WoTC - with many created by the master of all things dark elf, R.A. Salvatore).

The event is the Fall of Blingdenstone in the winter of 1371 DR. Have you ever wondered what might have happened to cause the city to fall? How that tragedy may have played itself out? And what a dedicated group of PCs from Earth might have done to prevent it? Well, kick your feet up and enjoy the tale…

Our story picks up in the midst of the action, and requires the reader to sort through, in a fast and furious fashion, who the dramatis personae are and what events are underway. It is best enjoyed by those with a previous knowledge of the Realms, Realms history, Drow and Deep Gnome politics, and the basic mechanics of the game, but then again, it is fan fiction and written for a Candlekeep crowd, so I have every confidence dear readers that you'll be able to keep up just fine.

If you like it, I'll post all ten chapters and, in my second post, provide a helpful 'who is who' guide about the players in the game. Please feel free to share your feedback here on this tread or through a PM. We wrote it purely for fun (with no expectation of profit or anything else of the sort), merely wishing to capture the events of our home game and not intending it to be an epic work of art, so we are happy to hear your unvarnished opinions on its quality (or lack thereof). Enjoy.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association

Edited by - Kris the Grey on 05 Mar 2014 21:33:43

Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 01 Mar 2014 :  18:06:52  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
CHAPTER I

Two figures fled in a full-out sprint across the cavern floor. On all sides stone walls leapt from great distances to meet overhead in a mighty vault – great courses of rock that reduced the figures to mere ants. Tiny, insignificant, scuttling things, made small by time and fate. Blingdenstone's dark bulk swallowed them as if they didn't even exist.

Karyl was breathing hard by now, a ragged rasp of air, muscles burning as she force-fed them oxygen. In and out, out and in, head down, arms pumping as she struggled to keep up. Ahead of her the wizard's silken robes flared. No running for him, of course. She could trace the faint aura of the spell that kept him airborne and arrowed him forward far faster than she could keep pace.

“Kris!” she hissed. The softly glowing path from his tracer spell had faded at the entrance to the cavern. The gnome guards stationed there had assured them, somewhat confused, that no one had passed.

“Teleport,” Em had said. “Any time the yochlol can see ahead she's skipping forward. I can see the lingering aura. She knows we're following her.”

“Or it's just faster,” Kris had replied.

Faster. They slashed across the cavern, gaze strafing left and right, looking for something... anything. Her heart thundered in her chest and yet Karyl couldn't help but feel that somehow they were still all falling behind.

Funny how quickly this all had started. They had been expecting it for days – weeks even – ever since their departure from Mantol-Derith. No, before that. She had been in Silverymoon, at Selûne's Temple of Silver Stars, when Brona's magical message reached her. Safe in Blingdenstone, his cheerful voice announced in her mind. Then her reply – her stupid, foolhardy reply.

So it's still there? Good.

How was she to know that none of them knew of Blingdenstone's tragic fate? They had all read the books... hadn't they? They had all come from the same place. Warriors from across the void. So High Moonmistress Lurialar's mysterious prophecy had named them. In that moment, racing across the vast stone floors hundreds of meters below the surface, sword slapping at her hip, aglow with a dozen minor magical enhancements, Karyl had never felt so very far from home.

Kris the Grey slowed at last, and Karyl staggered to a jog, then bent over double, fighting to recapture her breath. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of the slender rapier at her side. For once, Darkfell remained silent. Watchful, she thought, sensing the sword's readiness. Dark elves had crafted the exquisite adamantine blade, yet it wanted nothing more than to taste their blood. It seemed it would get its wish, before the night was out. She hoped she was wrong to think that – she prayed she was wrong, as fervently as she had ever prayed for anything – to God Almighty Himself. The cavern echoed her answer back to her: nothing but the sound of her own breathing.

With a sudden rush of compressed air a black shadow landed next to them. Great batlike wings swept up and back, gleaming dully bronze in the ambient half-light. Emma's eyes glowed blue in the darkness, bright with magic. Her keen blade, curved in the elven style, was strapped to her back, nestled between her wings, but she had not drawn the magnificent weapon. Instead, a slash of pale silver-white flowed from her palm, deceptively soft – her moon blade, mirror to the one that glowed in Karyl's left hand. The weapon was a boon from Selûne, bestowed during the Mystery of the Night on the Feast of the Moon. All of the women among them had carried its small glowing symbol on their palms for weeks, knowing to call it forth once was to lose it forever. Tonight had seemed like the appropriate time.

“Southeast,” Emma bit off shortly, sweeping brown tresses tangled from the flight back over one shoulder. “Across the stream. You can see the light of it from here.” The sorceress pointed off into the gloom. “They're making no effort to hide their presence.”

They? A chill ran through Karyl. Two of Lolth's handmaidens slipped out of the House Center ahead of them, but the demons had long since split paths, according to Kris's tracer spell. What did Emma mean – they?

“The city is asleep,” Kris countered. “They have had all the time they need.”

Em shot him a look that Karyl could read even in the darkness. Not anymore, they don't, it said. Her wings went up and out and with a mighty downbeat that whipped her robes about her, the sorceress leapt airborne again. Emma stayed with them, this time, all three of them racing in concert. Mute stone buildings rose up about them to the left and right, dotting the cavern floor. They darted across an open space, one after the other, taking shelter in the lea of a small tower. Kris once again in the lead, the three edged around its circumference. South offered a clear line of sight over the roof of a low svirfneblin residence. The cavern yawned above: a wide clear space, and then the stream beyond. Past it, a stepped terrace loomed. Crowning that terrace like some hideous diadem…

“There are so many of them,” she whispered. Her eyes skipped from one figure to another. Their quarry had been alone but ten minutes past. The yochlol must have summoned the others to its aid once it reached this point, when they were all still at the House Center. When they were still trying to figure out where the demons had made their point of entry and how many of them had infiltrated the city to begin with... still floundering about in the darkness, letting precious moments slip by, missing all the signs.

It had not taken them long, but it had taken them long enough. Long enough for this.

Dark elves ringed the terrace, lithe female shapes, all facing inward, hands upraised, voices exulting in the power of Lolth. Light wreathed them, danced from them in twisting ropes of brilliance, blue and green and violet, binding them each severally and all together to the construct that took shape between them. Within the circle of drow, a portal stared back at her, man-high or taller and twice as wide, sparkling and rippling with wave after wave of arcane energy that poured into it from the priestesses. She knew she was too far away but she imagined she could hear every wretched chanted syllable as they called upon their loathsome goddess, their Spider Queen. Karyl's lips peeled back in a snarl. Her right hand, her sword hand, clenched into a fist. Drow. How she hated them.

This was it, then. One of the portals she had read about, one of the gateways the drow used to thrust their demon army right into the heart of Blingdenstone. The door through which they would rise up, in this black witching hour, and crush the heart of the svirfneblin kingdom like so much spun crystal. Here, staring her in the face, stood precisely that thing they had raced here to prevent. They three. They little, foolish three, they three who thought they and they alone had the power to change the tides of history. Simply because they weren't made of the stuff of this world, this Toril. They came from Earth.

They simply had not come in time.

Or perhaps, she thought, with a fierce tightening in the chest, perhaps they had.

The spell-entwined drow channeled an amazing amount of power, feeding the hungry portal ever more energy and life. Yet still nothing broke through that shimmering curtain of cavorting light. Nothing stepped across time and space and dimension into the heart of the city. Nothing came pouring into Blingdenstone – no slave army, no dark- skinned drow, no demonic allies – to flood the city and drown it in gnomish blood. Not yet.

The light display flared and twisted, and Karyl's eyes widened as the edges of the portal bent, flexed, and grew. Already large enough to permit several drow to traverse at once, slowly but surely the magical gateway grew wider and taller. But how tall…?

“We have to break their concentration.” Kris's voice snatched her out of stunned introspection, steely as a knife. With a flick of slender wrists he tossed back his silken sleeves, components already in hand. She could just make out his eyes beneath the shadow of his black hood, focused, a study in intent concentration. “Area of effect spells,” he commanded. “We'll hit them all at once.” He launched into the first of a string of arcane words without waiting for a reply.

I don't know any, she wanted to snap back at him. I'm not powerful enough – I haven't studied enough! But the last thing she wanted to do was admit the weakness of her magical training in front of another wizard – this wizard least of all! The memory of their first meeting still burned in her. She'd known him, but he hadn't known her. She and her companions from Earth – Em, Obie, Nadylene, Leo and the rest – had teleported to just outside Silverymoon on a beautifully, brutally cold Uktar morning.

Kris the Grey was en route to meet them. Rogue, wizard, the last person she had seen on Earth... she could still recall his icy eyes across the table, hear his voice saying, "You open your eyes and find darkness. Against your back, something cold and unforgiving. Your hands feel the scratch of stone. In the darkness, something moves. What would you like to do?" She had closed her eyes to imagine it... and then it was…

Kris had come riding up with a trio of magically conjured horses just about the same time she'd emptied her guts all over that pure white snow. I would have ignored me, too, she thought. But it didn't make up for it, didn't gentle the hurt. She was going to have to cut her own place out for herself in this world. How clever she'd felt, surprising them all with the news of Blingdenstone's coming destruction. Oh yes, how very clever she felt now…

There had been so many chances to walk away. So many opportunities to slip out of the city and be well on her way back to the surface. The destruction of Blingdenstone had been Written. Yes, she had known it was to come, but that didn't mean she was responsible for it when it did. Nothing kept her here to face – well who knew what? Drow and their demon allies, odds so overwhelming the deep gnomes had been all but wiped out. Nothing kept her here except... basic human decency. A sense of right and wrong. A moral imperative. If she could save even one life... one life otherwise stolen, one life lost had she never come, wouldn't that be worth it?

She and Emma were alike in that, she mused – so very alike. They were so very bad at turning back. Even when the gnomes had scorned their warnings – and rightly so! How ridiculous the pack of them must have seemed!... Even when Menzoberranzan's highest Houses mobilized and the odds they faced became terribly clear... even when they had been beset from within... nay, had been betrayed…

She drew a short deep breath, and reigned sharply in on her foolish, useless anger. There was nothing for that now! Live in the moment, Karyl, she snarled, or die in it! She forced herself to scan the greater shadows of the cavern. The priestesses would not be alone.

The gnomes were easiest to find, reanimated undead, standing as sentries askew in a little group near the portal. It took a great deal more searching to see the others – little more than shadows against a greater darkness. Drow fighters, she guessed. Women all. She could pick out three... but where there was one she could see, a dozen no doubt lurked that she couldn't. The instant they gave themselves away the dark elves would be on them like hornets. Her gaze flicked down to her moon blade, a slash of silver held low above the ground. Well, with that at least she could do something!

Behind her, Kris's quiet chanting ceased, his hands finishing the intricate motions of his spell. She identified it just before it went off, a tiny blue pea of light that sprang into being from his outstretched fingertip and arrowed across the cavern.

She barely had time to tear her eyes away before everything flashed, etched in brilliant light. The dull boom of the detonating fireball rolled back towards them across the cavern, followed by a faint wash of superheated air. Shrieks of surprise followed right after. More than one drow priestess on the platform staggered.

Karyl found she'd drawn Darkfell without even noticing. The sword was eager, nearly humming with life in her hand. Impatiently she shoved its exhortations back. She had no intention of giving in to the sword tonight! It wanted drow blood, did it? Oh, it would have ample opportunity before the hour was out. She crouched.

Not all the priestesses had been jerked out of their task. Glowing ropes of magic still bound some three of them to the portal – which swelled again as she watched, taller and wider with every passing moment. She ground her teeth, measuring the distance between here and there. Far, too far, across an open floor and a stream and up the steps…

The terrace roiled in chaos. The area around the portal was a hornet's nest whacked with a stick and boiling over, even before with a sharp word of command Kris sent a second fireball arrowing from one of his wands after the first. This time Karyl ducked her head to preserve her vision and planted her back against the low wall. The sound of the second explosion rolled over her, and in its undertow, she imagined the chime of drawn steel.

Arcane words skipped through her mind, skeins of half a dozen spells she'd committed to memory that morning. No – it would be yesterday morning now, wouldn't it? None of them were useful at this range. Kris's pyrotechnics were beyond her. She imagined that knifecut frown of disapproval that passed for his scowl. Why couldn't the drow just do him a favor, and lie down and die? The mere fighters had to know they were clearly overmatched.

The hair on her arms lifted suddenly, tingling with an electric charge. Emma took to the air, great bronze wings beating to hold her suspended. She stretched out her hands and sent one of her own spells winging into the night. Electricity crackled and spat, whorling away into the cavern dark. Karyl wrinkled her nose against the scent of ionized air and then, suddenly inspired, called up a little elemental energy of her own. Sparks skipped along gloved fingertips.

Another spell boomed off, behind her and out of sight. This wouldn't go long unanswered. Blow, and counterblow – in magic as in swordplay the initiative always skipped back and forth. There was a hissing crackle as the energy in her touch raced through the weapon, and then settled down into the black blade. A faint hum hung on the air, like the charge of an electrified fence.

Click, click. Tiny finger-sized bolts skipped across the stone near her. She jerked back against the wall, heart thundering.

Even looking for them, she nearly missed it. A faint ripple of motion, a shadow within a shadow, and then the telltale pinprick gleam of red eyes. Karyl burst into a sudden sprint, scarlet robes flaring behind, moon blade leading. Hell if she were going to let the dark elf flash those slender fingers and confirm that her, and Kris, and Em's intervention numbered three, and only three.

The drow saw her the instant she started running. Red eyes widened when they fell on the moon blade, and the warrioress jerked back – fluid, instinctual, a move that saved her life as Selûne's deadly gift slashed through the air where she had stood a moment before. But the dark elf's retreat put her right into the path of Karyl's second blade – a much darker, hungrier weapon, burning with need to drown in dark elven blood.

The truth was, Karyl got lucky. That was all there was to it – luck, and a graceful twirl of one wrist that slipped her adamantine blade about the circumference of her enemy's shield, right through the blind spot and then suddenly high, a slim black point diving right for one hateful red eye. The drow anticipated the attack and jerked her head to the side. The sword that ought to have pierced into her eye and out the back of her skull instead only nicked one delicately pointed ebon ear.

A touch – that's all her finesse earned. A touch was all she required.

Light.

Sound.

Pressure.

The spell dancing upon the blade slammed into the drow in a concussive explosion of electric force, sending the hapless elf pinwheeling backward as it overwhelmed her natural spell resistance. The corpse smoked slightly, fried from the inside out. Karyl grinned, a rictus feature with no joy.

More hand crossbows clicked in the darkness. Karyl saw them as tiny bursts of silvery light as they hit her shielding spell, deflected just far enough wide to whistle harmlessly by her ears. “Come on, then!” she shouted into the gray darkness. Black shapes raced towards her, shorter than she, more slender – more graceful, quicker, stronger. She squared up, twin blades to hand, light and dark both, and dared them to attack. Every sword swung at her was one less for Kris and Em. Every bolt that winged her way was one less for the two mages to contend with.

Two, three, no, four drow came out of the darkness. No time for fear. She backed up a step, let the first one reach her half a heartbeat in front of the others. Her enemy was armed with short sword and buckler, just like the first. It was all Karyl could do to keep that short blade from gutting her on the first pass. Darkfell slapped the sword wide left, blade screeching against blade. She flipped the rapier inside, quick as a snake's tongue – and the black sword skidded uselessly across her opponent's chain hauberk. The drow snarled an insult that Karyl didn't understand. Instead she laughed and spun away, locking swords with the second dark elf closing fast on the left. The drow was stronger than she, much stronger, but she had a better angle – just leverage enough to force their locked blades up and slip the moon blade into the opening. The dark elf slammed her shield to block the gap – and Selûne's gift passed through it as if it weren't even there. Karyl saw the drow's eyes widen, felt more than heard the gasp of pain. All at once those beautiful eyes went dark.

Beautiful. She hated that word even as it rolled through her thoughts. Why was evil allowed to be so beautiful?

Pain flashed into her calf. Her leg suddenly gave way and she slammed down on one knee, cursing the sentiment that had so distracted her. The other two drow came in at forty-fives, one left and one right. Darkfell sang in her hand, something low and deep like stone on stone. She hadn't learned enough dwarven to understand the words but she recognized a battle chant when she heard one. She menaced the two drow with the moon blade and Darkfell each in turn... knowing she was alive simply because each waited for the other to make the first move, draw her counterattack, take the fall, so the second could slit her throat when her back was turned.

She listed sideways, slumping slightly as if overcome with weariness. Darkfell wavered, tip dropping slightly. The drow on her right sprang instantly for the opening... and met the moon blade face to point. Bait and trap. It was Leo who'd taught her that trick, and every other trick she knew, the two of them fencing endlessly back and forth the length and breadth of the Promenade. “It will never work against another human,” Leo had warned her. “But drow are so bloody superior they might just believe you're that stupid.”

She felt a pang, a sudden closing in her throat. Where was Leo now? Some tiny dark hole buried in Blingdenstone's rock, all the weight of the city looming over his head. Alive, she guessed, because she hadn't heard otherwise. The deep gnomes simply had too much on their hands to deal with him. Too many lives to try to save to bother to snuff one out.

A part of her stood fiercely proud of his fate, was glad he mouldered in some hole. The gnomes' thinking had been simple; if the attack really did come, then he could sit there, weaponless and quite helpless till the demons saw fit to drag him out. Fitting justice, wouldn't it be? A part of her loved the idea. A greater part of her hated it. Leo was one of theirs, after all. He was from Earth. And none of them, not one last one of them, had the right to do anything to him. If he had to die, hell, she'd do it herself!

Panting for breath, burning with black and white fury, she dashed sweat from her eyes. A stitch in her side and a dull burn told her she hadn't escaped unscathed. If she were lucky she'd have a spectacular bruise. If not, she'd just broken a rib, or three. The dark elves around her hadn't fared so well. She kicked at the nearest body. “Street sweeping,” she growled. Foot soldiers! None of them mattered. She threw a glance towards the terrace and a beat of hope skipped in her chest. The portal still stood, but the ropes of light were gone. Had Emma succeeded in getting off a dispel…?

A black shape ghosted over her head. She ducked – but the drow wasn't interested in her. The dark elf headed directly for Kris and Emma, twin blades drawn and crackling with magic. Karyl took a short step in pursuit, then hissed against the pain that lanced up her calf. The drow flew well beyond her reach. She groped for her crossbow... and as she did another enemy closed on her out of the darkness, this time with deliberate caution, rapier angled low.

Karyl spared one last glance heavenward. The wizard and the sorceress had converged in space, a melee of robes and wings. She saw Kris snake out one slender hand and clamp it on Em's shoulder. Right when the dark elven fighter reached them, both winked out of existence. Karyl had seen Nadelyne pull the same trick too many times to be surprised by the dimension door. Her stomach twisted at the thought of being wrenched through space. She was not fond of dimensional travel, no matter how short a distance. The airborne fighter checked her rush, rising higher into the air to scan the cavern. She, too, knew exactly what had transpired. The two mages could not have gone far…

Then the rapier-wielding dark elf was upon Karyl, and she had no time for anything else. Their rapiers flicked and danced this way and that, the soft ring of metal on metal. Her moon blade danced, but the drow was too well-trained to leave that deadly weapon an opening, sacrificing opportunity after opportunity to land a blow just to make sure she kept the moon blade at bay. Catlike, predatory, the dark elf stalked her, and she responded in kind – a war shrunk to the size of a duel, back and forth upon the stone.

Across the cavern another low boom rolled out, punctuating the glow of distant fire. So that was where Kris and Em had gone. Red light splayed in searing, seeking fingers. Karyl couldn't see them – the angle was wrong – but at least they were still fighting. The drow priestesses had abandoned the portal, all of them gone to the manhunt for the three human interlopers. The undead gnomes around it stood listless sentry – and there were drow – but absent the high-ranking priestesses, maybe she had a chance…

The surface of the portal bulged, like a whale broaching water, and Karyl's wild ramble of hope and expectation died stillborn. The vibrant colors of the portal bent, bowed, and buckled, and the tip of a long, black, jointed limb broke through. Then a second, and a third, and all at once it heaved into view, flinging its hideous shadow across the cavern ceiling. It had to be nearly twenty feet tall, and easily as wide, a morass of hairy spikes and twitching limbs, that revolting arachnid grace.

With a single springing leap, the bebilith cleared more than eighty feet of ground, landing lightly on the near side of the stream and skittering off into the gloom.

This, Karyl thought beneath a sudden wave of unspeakable dread. This was how Blingdenstone fell.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association

Edited by - Kris the Grey on 01 Mar 2014 18:10:44
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Thauranil
Master of Realmslore

India
1591 Posts

Posted - 02 Mar 2014 :  13:56:25  Show Profile Send Thauranil a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Nice stuff.
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 02 Mar 2014 :  20:40:06  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Thauranil,

Thanks, Chapter II will be making an appearance sometime this week (most likely tomorrow). Enjoy.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 03 Mar 2014 :  23:59:28  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
CHAPTER II

A moment's fall through twisted space dumped Emma Drake, stunned and disoriented, out onto the stone. She stumbled to her knees, and shot a glare up at Kris, rubbing her bruised hip. Once again he had decided the best course of action and press-ganged her into it. No matter that she now lay awkwardly on the ground and Karyl faced the drow captain alone. Look at me, I’m Kris the Grey, I have a plan, whether you like it or not! Emma scowled.

Ahead and to her left, the portal still pulsed with magical light – but she was looking at it from a wholly new perspective, completely on the other side. She didn't have time to contemplate Kris's new angle of attack. Their enemy had already reacted to the move. Dark elves raced towards her, blades gleaming.

Emma's hands snapped up, fingers splayed. She snarled an incantation, lifting her staff, and fiery rays shot from the tip, blasting through the drow ranks. One went down in gouts of flame. The others seemed to shudder a little, but then the fire splashed off of them and they came on. Em got one leg under her and cast about the cavern. Kris had whisked the two of them out of the reach of the fierce fighter-captain arrowing toward them with death written all over her face... and dropped them straight down into the middle of a completely different group of dark elven invaders.

All women, she recognized before she sent a swarm of spellbolts streaking unerringly towards the closest, of House Baenre.

Kris swooped down behind her, staff clattering on the stone in his swift landing. There was a gentle tug at her belt, and a pause. “I need this,” he whispered, and tugged again.

Em gritted her teeth and reached down deep within, to the white-hot boil of her magic. Lightning crackled from her palms, danced in front of her and then flattened across the room with a dull boom, sending their attackers back and granting them a heartbeat of breathing space. She knew, though, that she needed to be careful how she spent her magic – it was going to be a long night. It was not her first running battle. Memories of the sahuagin attack on Waterdeep flickered through her mind.

“Fine.” She risked a glance at Kris. He looked... surprised. Like he'd actually expected her to refuse. As much as she loved him, she knew in moments like these that he would never really understand her. His nimble fingers had already slipped the pouch loose from her belt. A scrap of liquid black cloth pooled over his hands, winking with effervescence and starlight. A treasure taken from the glabrezu who had been their wake-up call.

It had already been a long night.

Kris offered her a daredevil grin – that one he saved for when he was about to do something incredibly clever and ridiculously dangerous. Before she could say anything the mage cast a hand into the air, and winked from sight. He left behind nothing but a little hollow spot in her field of view... and a slightly larger hollow place inside her chest.

Yes, that had been the classic fear not, I have a plan grin. A plan which apparently required abandoning her to battle off a tidal wave of angry drow... alone. It was slightly less infuriating back home, where he didn't have the ability to blast fire and lightning from his fingertips. Here.... her heart contracted, nostalgia laced with love and a dash of fury, their own heady cocktail, here things are different.

Unholy fire lanced down out of the darkness above; searing, brilliant pain. Emma swore and staggered free, wisps of smoke rising from her clothing. The ring on her little finger rubbed, uncomfortably warm – but thanks to its protective magic, the worst of the fire had rolled off of her.

The drow warriors had used her hurt to close, and she slashed this way and that with her moon blade, desperately trying to regain her equilibrium. The glowing spiritual weapon kept them shifting back and on guard – not for long, but just long enough. She beat her draconic wings and rocketed high into the air, twisting wildly just in time to avoid their hungry swords. More hand crossbows clicked and bolts skipped through the air around her, their trajectory lost in the wind of her passing. Tiny lines of fire along her wings betrayed that not all had missed. She could feel the poison like a slow burn, somewhere beyond the magic that kept it at bay. For now.

Ten, twenty, thirty feet up – the ceiling here arced much higher than most of Blingdenstone. The hawks' eye view gave her a panorama of everything below. She glided south of the stream, now, on the same bank as the portal. To the north, where the three of them had entered the cavern, battle still rang out. She could make out the bright blaze of Karyl's moon blade dancing this way and that. The fierce dark elf who had forced her and Kris into their dimensional flight floated in the air above that position, ignoring the insignificant fight below her. A lone human warrior was hardly worth her notice... she clearly waited for the spellcasters to reveal themselves. She hadn't seen Em yet.

Almost directly east lay the portal, a slender slice of burning magical energy. Undead gnomes stood guard, along with a healthy number of drow. Even more dark elves raced along the riverbank, swarming toward her position. No fewer than two – no, three - dread priestesses of Lolth also screamed her way, borne aloft by flight spells, blazing with magic. Of Kris, there was no sign. Thanks a lot, lover.

Emma considered her arsenal of spells. Yes, she thought, fingers tracing sinuous shapes. This will do ni...

Down below, the portal's magic rippled and out of its blazing maw…

Emma's eyes widened, and a flash of heat, followed by a cold rush of terror, clawed through her chest. The part of her mind that feared the dark, sought the light, and still shuddered at the sound of predators in the night screamed at her to flee. Screamed that she was weak. Screamed that she was small. Screamed that she was alone. She watched the massive arachnid crawl free of the portal and, with a single leap, clear the stream, land on the far shore, and then scuttle off into the empty darkness.

Emma battled the instinct; great sobbing gasps shuddering through her chest as her eyes darted around the cavern, seeking signs of Kris and Karyl. Please, oh please… there! Karyl's eyes met hers across the cavern, grounded her. Not alone. Fear receded, and a freight train of rage crashed into the place in her chest it had left hollow. This was a city, a living city, flooded day to day with the comings and goings of many thousands of deep gnomes who called Blingdenstone their home. How many times had she walked their cavern floors, talked with them, laughed with them, learned from them? She, a surface-dweller and a stranger, who had fought so long and so hard to stop just this from happening…

Below, the surface of the portal distended a second time. The second spider demon in what had to be a long, long chain hesitated before it moved, and she took a good long look at it – an ugly thing, all spindled spiky legs and hooked maw, like a cellar spider grown wildly out of control. Its chitinous exoskeleton gleamed a sleek, mottled deep blue. Elephant-sized, it had to weigh two tons at least.

A twitch of those legs, and a single powerful leap carried it north across the river. It landed lightly and began racing towards the tunnel entrance through which she, Karyl, and Kris had first entered... and towards the blaze of silver and moonlight that still danced this way and that below. Every passing moment, she thought. Every passing moment that portal is open another one of these monsters will be unleashed upon this city. She thought of their friends Blixx and Mynkalla – and with them came a rush of so many other names and faces.

No, oh, no. She was not about to give up without a fight.

She wheeled in the air, readying a storm of lighting... when suddenly the air around her grew utterly quiet. Her spell faltered in the heavy magical silence, her curses swallowed up by the stillness. Her rude gesture, however, was not.

Her shield flashed again and again as more tiny drow crossbow bolts arced towards her. She folded her wings and dove, right into the path of a mace-wielding faithful of Lolth, rolling tightly by in midair – earning a solid bone-crunching swing from that adamantine mace – until she exploded out of the sphere of silence and back into audible space.

The second priestess was chanting again, but Emma didn't give her the chance to complete her spell. With a burst of power and a flash of light she winked out of sight, only to reappear a moment later in a flicker, her back to the north end of the cavern wall, cutting the bebelith off from the entrance tunnel. Karyl stood practically right below her. Her earthbound friend glanced up. For an instant their eyes met, brown to green.

The moment passed and Karyl raced towards the demon spider at a ridiculous full tilt, her drow pursuer still hot on her heels. From her height Emma watched both of her friend's blades lash into one of the bebilith's extended legs. Watched, as the demon spider twitched under the sting – and then whipped about like lightning with both forward legs lashing. The blows slammed Karyl to the ground, ripping her chain armor asunder. The demon's maw stove down upon her helpless, prostrate form...

There was a blaze of silver light. The demon's bulk blocked Emma's view, but she knew the source of that light. The same Mark that sprang suddenly to Karyl's defense rode above her heart as well. They had argued about it, fought over it, debated it and tested it – all in her group who had come from Earth. They had had ample opportunity, for each of them bore it. Some, like Emma, wore it with greater acceptance than others, but none of them had tried to erase it... and though they might want to deny it, they knew it bound them all as one. Common purpose, common fate. It had some connection to Mystra, and to Selûne, and to Eilistraee... what, exactly, or how, or why, was yet another mystery enfolded in the Lady's cloak. It bore her symbol: two eyes, and then waving lines like a river, or flowing hair. Seven stars surrounded and surmounted it.

At least, there had been seven stars, in the beginning. But each desperate need for salvation or protection unlocked further powers of the symbol... and each time it triggered, one of the Stars blazed forth, and then dimmed forever. They of Earth were cats with seven lives, and so many of those lives had been lost already.

Five spellbolts short forth from Emma’s splayed fingertips, lancing into the ghastly face of the abyssal horror. “Eat that, demon spawn!” she cried. And then softer... “Get up Karyl... Get up.” Karyl lay flat on her back, still in the spider's power - but now the demon's claws and mandible scored into her friend down below yet did no harm. The Star's silver shield temporarily warded her from the deadly effects of such attacks. Don't let it keep you pinned till the others come...

As if summoned by the thought, a drow shape floated into view, hovering above the demon's shoulder, wreathed in magical protection. There were more ways than brute force to kill, and each Star protected from only one. Across the intervening space Emma locked eyes with the furious gaze of a Handmaiden of Lolth. Oh, she wore drow form, but the sorceress knew her nonetheless. Emma grinned at her, a smile full of invitation. Come closer, then... her blade flickered and danced in her hand, a four-foot shaft of moonlight. Come accept the gift I'd give you.

Suddenly, all around Emma in the air, a storm of knives sprang into being, swept up in a sudden whirlwind. They carved into skin and bone, eviscerating flesh and spraying blood in seconds. She cried out and dropped from the sky, through the slicing whirlwind of blades, to land heavily on the floor.

In front of her, the demon continued to uselessly savage Karyl. The drow priestess's eyes had turned that way as well. Even as Emma watched, the Mark triggered again, and Karyl vanished completely from view, leaving nothing behind but scattered broken chainmail rings and a spreading pool of blood. “Mystra speed you,” she breathed, guessing that her friend had retreated to safety.

All at once, Emma was quite alone. The bebilith, which had recoiled from the light of the Mark, swiveled about, once again on the hunt. Above its shoulder the yochlol pointed. Naed. Time to go. Emma barely breathed, and tried to slow the hammering of her heart. Her hand slipped into a convenient pouch.

Across the room, a third bebilith emerged from the portal.

In the next instant three things happened at once. The closest spider demon sprang towards her position, claws raking. She withdrew her hand from her pouch, sidestepped, and with a toss of glittering dust high into the air, vanished from sight. And Kris's voice echoed alarmingly through her skull.

If I'm not back in a week, he called, deceptively cheerful, you might need to rescue me from the Astral Plane.

Only because his voice had warned her, only because she was looking in the direction of the portal anyway, only because she was ever so slightly to the side and therefore had a clear line of sight behind the magical gateway, did she have a chance to see it before it happened. Kris flickered into visibility for the barest of instants, dropping an empty bag at his feet. A bag that, to Emma's arcanely enhanced sight, glowed with magic. From his other hand he released a circle of black cloth that fluttered down to settle within the open bag.

Silent power. Force without presence.

Then light, piercing light, leaking through the violent whorl of blue and green and violet that danced and shimmered across the face of the portal. For a moment the two sources mixed and jostled and fought each other for dominance, and then with a soundless roar the piercing light blazed up, overpowering everything else. Emma caught a flash of Kris’s splayed silhouette as he scrambled to fly away from what he had just unleashed. Then all hell broke loose around him. Kris, the portal, the undead nearby... all collapsed into the same mighty magical maelstrom, a convection of power and zealous light, so brilliant even from this distance that she had to look away.

The inferno raged and grew – and then, in a matter of heartbeats, collapsed in on itself with a burst of compressed power that knocked every single undead and most of the nearby drow clean to the ground. Then it was gone... all of it gone, light and portal and Kris himself, as if none of them were there, as if none had ever existed.

Snip, went the thread-thin magical connection that linked Kris's mind to hers. He was utterly beyond her reach. He was mine, and I was his…

For several heartbeats, it was all Emma could do to breathe.

Then she moved. Covered by the sparkling dust, confident in her invisibility, she took a single step. The demon spider not twenty feet from her spasmed and impossibly turned her way. She froze. There was no way it could see her and yet… Tremorsense, she thought, cursing in her mind. It feels me.

So long as she was on the ground, yes. She spread her battered and bleeding wings one more time and took to flight, knowing that even the displaced air might betray her. It lashed wildly in her direction, a bare miss of slicing air, and then she was away, speeding back down the corridor from whence they had approached. Still she could not resist sending a spell winging down upon the thing, daring, hoping it would chase her. She would string its guts out all along Blingdenstone's halls. She would leave its crisped carapace fried and smoking in ruin. She would…

Let him not be dead, she prayed to Mystra. Let him not be captured, let him not be enslaved. She prayed... and then she moved on, already reaching deep into herself, into her center, where the magic waited for her touch. Mystra be with her tonight. Two Handmaidens of Lolth had escaped the House Center ahead of them, and they had only tracked down one. A sinking feeling filled the pit of her stomach... for behind her she left, mostly unchallenged, a truly elite force of drow, and no fewer than three of their terrible demon spiders.

Then determination coursed through her. We have closed this portal. We have closed it and it shall not again be opened. Her wings beat, strong and steady, and she arrowed away – blasting the pursuing bebilith as she went, staying always beyond its reach. Let's hope the others have done as well.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
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Posted - 04 Mar 2014 :  22:26:23  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Chapter III coming likely Wednesday or so. Hope you all are enjoying the read.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
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Posted - 05 Mar 2014 :  20:40:08  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Chapter III

Just north of the Hall of Miners, where the tunnel dips and rises again, stands a crag of leaning stone, an incomplete stalagmite reaching toward a canted ceiling. A whisper of a shadow, a fragment of the night, leaned into the lea of that stone and became one with it, utterly invisible. The long, graceful black fingers of her left hand played over the hilts of knives and wands alike, one after the other. Wrapped in soft black leathers, her breathing one with the endless sigh of air sifting through the caverns, a person could have passed a hand's breadth from Nadylene and never known she was there.

She was drow... yet she was human. She was of Toril... yet she was of Earth. By the grace of Eilistraee. Yet she was one thing to both worlds, and both races.

She was a shadow, bearing death – and she was waiting.

Nadylene need not wait long. Out of the corridor ahead a slinking shape came creeping, almost slithering, testing forward with its awful legs first, great arachnid body following after. As it crawled into view the spider demon shimmered faintly, here but not quite here. It had slipped onto the ethereal plane, out of reach of the ordinary weapons of the city's defenders.

With a sound less than a whisper, she slipped a knife free, and cradled it in the hollow of her left palm. In her right hand, hidden from view by curled fingers, her moon blade glowed with silvery light.

The revolting thing scuttled into the room as she gaped in horror, and then a second shape joined it, and behind that, a third. She could make out two more lumbering shadows, farther down the tunnel, part of a long train of terrifying creatures, marching inexorably forward; swiftly, with purpose, deadly silent. Nadylene bit back a curse, scanning the rest of the room. To her left, Obie hugged the cavern wall, arrow already nocked to his bow, little more than a shadow himself. With the right range and a clear line of sight, the towering ranger was perhaps the most formidable warrior of them all... but even his uncanny accuracy would do him little good against the ethereal creatures. You cannot hit what you cannot see. Only Nadylene's magically enhanced sight could make out the shimmering hulks in the gloom. Her brows knit in a sudden frown. And I cannot hit what does not exist... here. Naed!

To Nadylene's right, she could hear the faint sching, sching of elven chainmail as Briznia shifted position.

“These demon-things are ethereal,” Nadylene breathed, the skeins of her magic carrying the words to both companions' ears. “How do I…”

“Force and abjuration magic.” Briznia's voice, low and warm to her ears, lent strength to her flagging confidence. Nadylene's keen eyes found her, pressed into the penumbra of the wall. Her hair cascaded like snow about her shoulders. Born in Menzoberranzan, Briznia had escaped to join her sisters who danced beneath the stars of the open sky. Her shield and singing sword marked her as a warrior. You only had to look a little deeper to find the faith in Eilistraee that burned in her breast. She didn't bear the Mark, hadn't come from Earth. But she was as powerful as the rest of them – as dedicated, as certain.

And more trustworthy than some. Nadylene thought of Leo and Brona, and showed her teeth. She also slipped a wand out of its sheath. The file of bebiliths would pass right between her and the priestess, not twenty feet away. Their current path would lead up the northward tunnel, which emptied out into the chamber that held the House Center. Were they sent to finish the task at which the glabrezu and its yochlol allies had failed, perhaps? Or would they not bother to try to eliminate the king, but merely unleash hell upon the thousands of unsuspecting deep gnomes?

Why didn't they evacuate? Why didn't they leave? She knew why. Stupid stubborn svirfneblin pride. They thought they had the city well in hand, the gates manned, the army armed and on alert. They had no idea that Leo and Brona had conspired to slip that stupid little gem into the Council chambers. They had no idea that the city would be cracked open from within. They had trusted, just like she'd trusted – and they'd been betrayed. Her hazel eyes narrowed. Now hundreds would die. Thousands. Unless. That was the trick, too. That great big damned unless. She was getting a little tired of being someone else's unless.

Nadylene stepped right into the path of the advancing spiders, wand raised, and uttered a single word of command. Five bright silvery-blue bolts sprang from the tip, swerving and weaving unerringly through the air to strike their target. Magic burst white-hot on chitinous plates.

Smoking slightly, the spider loomed huge before her – and then stepped right over her, as if she weren't even there.

Mouth hanging open, stunned and confused, Nadylene turned to follow. She spoke the command word a second time. More missiles leapt into the air and smashed into the massive form. Even if they hadn't been magically attuned to strike without error she could hardly have missed. The magic clearly reached and struck the demon... hurt it even... the bebilith just didn't seem to care.

Arm jerking with rage, Nadylene fired again – with the same results. She could never take them all down, not with just her wand, one spell at a time. Even if she felled the first, they would be at the House Center before she managed it, and there would still be four left to rend and destroy. And they knew it. She shivered, seeing their multitudinous, unblinking eyes in a new light. That alien intelligence, those wells of darkness, didn't spare her a glance. They were there for the gnomes. The hundreds, the thousands of deep gnomes. Blingdenstone was a bowl, a great many-caverned bowl with ten thousand mouths and ten thousand eyes, and the demons would squeeze and squeeze until every eye wept blood. And there was nothing she could do.

The train of bebiliths flowed around and over her, stepping carelessly by, and all she could feel was hate – hate at their indifference, at her insignificance. She cried a third and fourth time the words that lanced spellbolts through the air, first at one demonic beast and then at another. She was hurting them, she knew she was hurting them. It just wasn't enough! Enough to turn them, enough to make them care about her, enough to make them drop into the real world and fight her. She slashed at an arachnid leg with her moon blade, again and again, but the bright spell slipped through their ethereal formas it they were little more than unliving smoke. Rage clawed at her throat. Tears welled in her eyes. FIGHT ME!

An arrow whistled through the air, pinging uselessly off the rock of the cavern walls. Obie slipped into view, a tall, cowled shadow. He had a second arrow nocked but didn't fire. Wood, the ranger had discovered, was excruciatingly difficult to come by in the Underdark.

As she hesitated, a feeling resonated through Nadylene's body, starting in her chest – from the Mark above the heart – and singing up into her mind. A tiny sparkle of ecstasy, which carried with it a particular signature that she recognized instantly. Emma. Nadylene knew it like she knew Emma's face, or voice, or the way she could light a room with nothing more than her brilliant smile.

The Marks connected them. With time and practice they had found they were able to convey emotions to each other through them – a brief moment and concentration was all it took to ping one another with a spark of emotion. There had been much talk of ways to use this to their benefit, communicating information over long distances. In truth, though, their “code” had thus far been limited to a single pair of feelings.

Lust – come to me. Ecstasy – I am coming to you. The tingling feeling that was just fading from her breast meant one thing: Em was on her way.

Nadylene shoved the useless spellbolt wand back into its sheath with a jerk. When her fingers pulled away they brushed over the two others she kept always by its side. One, enchanted with a spell that opened a doorway though space, a useful getaway tool she had used again and again to save their skins. The second, she barely used at all.

“Abjuration,” she breathed, and then with a sudden laugh she seized the second wand. “I'm going to lock one on that plane! Briznia, Obie – stand ready in case the others shift to this one!” She flipped the wand up between slender fingers and took careful aim at the last bebilith in line.

A shaft of green light burst from the end of the wand, striking the trailing bebilith squarely. Magic spiderwebbed over the creature, wrapping it in a green dimensional net that bound it into the ethereal plane. The spider stopped, suddenly, and swung about. She could sense those dark intelligent eyes locking onto her – feel the malevolence, the hate. And she laughed. “Can't touch me now,” she crowed. Sure, she couldn't really harm the creature – not unless she spent the next hour whittling it down, spellbolt upon spellbolt – but by the same token, it couldn't shift and start slaughtering deep gnomes, either.

She raced forward, already preparing to launch a second dimensional anchor at the next bebilith up the line... when with a liquid shimmer the ethereal spider became suddenly, terrifyingly real. With a snarl of arachnid flesh it sprang towards her. She jerked back.

The wand's command word was already on her lips. Green light sprang into being at its tip and blasted forth, skipping just over the demon's shoulder to anchor the third in line. Gotcha. An arrow whipped past her, grazing the physical bebilith's flank. A second joined the first, and then a third, but still the great spider came on, suddenly huge, impossibly fast.

Then Briznia stood beside her, white hair floating like a cloud in the dim ambient light. She had slipped the strap of her shield over one shoulder, and both of her hands gripped the hilt of her singing sword. “Anchor it to this plane, Nadylene,” the warrior and priestess of Eilistraee commanded. “Then we will kill it together.”

Precious few sights in the world compare a faithful of Eilistraee who has joined the dance of blades and given herself to battle. There is a beauty – a grace – fierce, primordial, untamed and untouched, like the sigh of a sword unsheathed in night-damp air. No mere human fought that way, found those perfect patterns of starlight and shadow, a flicker of bright silver, a bend of ebon limbs, feet that barely seemed to touch the ground. To watch the battle dance is to witness joy. And death. The death of the enemy, one hoped, and yet...

The demonic spider did not wait for Briznia, but closed the distance in one massive leap. Nadylene had seen tiny, mundane arachnids at work before. That stunning speed, that twitchy accuracy, fingernail-sized predators that terrified even in their diminutive form. This was like that, but worse, a thousand times worse. For an instant it was just the two of them. The demon of the Abyss, clawing and snapping, and a deft shadow spinning this way and that, a priestess of the hunt. Her sword sang and clipped here and there at its armor but try as it might the bebilith could not strike her in return. Until Nadylene watched with horror as that great head stove down, pincers dripping poison…

“Briznia!” she screamed, already in motion. The priestess spun, her hair a flowing wave of white. Her sword slashed across the bebilith's head. One great eye went dark.

Then Obie raced forward, the ranger's gray cloak streaming behind him like a windblown cloud. His bow arced as he sent arrow after arrow into the body of the beast. It shuddered and twisted, clawing the air. Briznia pressed relentlessly, sword raging in both hands, blow after mighty blow that brought the demon bubbling and screeching to the stone with a mighty crash. Still the Eilistraeein's sword rose and fell, singing as it slew, cracking carapace and hewing limbs.

By the time Nadylene reached her beloved's side, there was no demon left for her moon blade to kill. Briznia turned towards her, sword dripping blood and ichor a hymn of praise to Eilistraee on her lips. There was blood on her face, but when their eyes locked the warrior-priestess gave Nadylene a fierce and wild smile.

They ran on together, they worshipers of Eilistraee; priestess, rogue, and ranger three. Past the first demonic spider's collapsed and sizzling bulk they went, and after the next in that horrible bebilith train. Nadylene sheathed her dagger and once again freed her wand as they ran. The remaining two demons vanished into the tunnel entrance ahead. Both dark elves redoubled their efforts, putting on a sudden burst of speed.

A sound and a shadow caught her eye, just as a great bronze-winged humanoid shape soared overhead. Arcane energies weaving from her hands, Emma suddenly pulled up in the air, pinions beating to keep her stationary and aloft as she hurled a spell into the tunnel opening. There was a brief flash, and the silhouette of a great spider lying in wait, clinging to the tunnel ceiling, leapt into view. The thing dropped as soon as it was discovered, lunging to the attack.

Nadylene broke left. From the air, Emma harried the demon with bolt after unerring bolt. On the right, Briznia had strapped her shield to her forearm, and came in low from behind it on a charge. Clinging to Briznia's right side like a shadow, Karyl – who must have come with Emma – protected the flank, careful to keep the more formidable priestess between herself and the demon, using the drow's charge as cover for her own. The creature spun towards the two warriors... and Nadylene slipped through the blind spot it exposed, circling around behind its seeking rear legs, looking for precisely the right opening to plant dagger and moon blade alike.

There. She launched herself towards the demon's bulging underbelly with a snarl, blades reaching, feeling the tug as her knife bit deep and the spasm as the moon blade followed suit. Arrows slammed into its side above her. An ungodly sound screeched through the chamber as Briznia and Karyl both moved to the attack – one last desperate lurch as the demon tried to close its snapping jaws around the priestess – and then with a final hew from her singing sword the demon exploded in a mess of ectoplasm and foul-smelling goop.

The disgusting ooze rained all over Nadylene's face and shoulders. The vile, revolting taste forced bile up her throat. Hacking and spitting, she doubled over, nauseated, groping for her waterskin. Again and again she rinsed her mouth and spat on the floor.

With a downward rush of air Em landed lightly beside her, a brush of magic clearing away the worst of the muck. Obie and Karyl moved to pursue the last bebilith. “Let it go,” Emma commanded, her voice hard.

They hesitated. “But the gnomes – ” Obie started.

“...are going to die. Yes.” Emma's voice cut sharp. “That's what soldiers do. And if we save them, we've lost the city. We have one task and we are not doing it standing here. We're wasting time.” They had to stay focused. It was the only way to survive – the pressure, the guilt, the need to fight everywhere at once. They were only mortal, with only so much strength in their arms, only so much of themselves to feed into the magic before they ran dry. But Emma also had an obligation to herself to press on, all the way until she hit that point. Jezayla had taught her that.

Emma rubbed a hand across her eyes, face haggard. Nadylene took the other, squeezing silently. Emma's voice gentled. “Aravaile is there. She will help where we cannot. Our task is the other portal.”

In moments they had gathered together, a rough circle. All of them looked the worse for wear. Emma stood, grim-faced and singed, her aubergine dress in tatters. Karyl's armor hung off her in shreds. Blood stained their clothing though no wounds were in evidence. Em's glowing eyes raked over Nadylene, Briznia, and Obie, checking for – and finding – signs of injury. “What happened?” Emma asked.

“We tracked her,” Obie said grimly. “After our yochlol split paths from yours. Slow going without Kris's magic. Have you ever tried following a woman's boot prints over solid stone? She must have been teleporting past every gnome outpost because none of them saw her.... It took some doing, and a few educated guesses, but I managed.” He pointed; his cloak fell back, and the black dragonscale armor carefully handcrafted to fit his form gleamed dully in the ambient light. “South, into the Hall of Miners. We tracked her clean into the cavern but we must have lost a lot of ground because we ran right into a drow force. Women, all of them.” He said that word carelessly, not seeming to notice or care that all four of his companions were of the 'fairer sex'. Or that the other two among them who weren't were both imprisoned in Blingdenstone's deepest dungeons.

“Baenre.” Em looked sharply at Briznia when the drow priestess spoke. Her face was still but her eyes bright with feeling. Menzoberranzan had been her home, once, till the Dark Maiden came to her and lit her path to the lands above. “They were House Baenre soldiers.”

“And the portal?” Em asked impatiently. Nadylene and Obie traded glances.

“We didn't even get close,” Obie said. “You?”

“Found,” Em said grimly, “and closed. It let in more drow than I'd like, and a few of the demons also slipped through. We hunted down two but there are at least two more roaming about – somewhere. The Crown Prince is on the move south with a force of his elite warriors. We also encountered Sir Joe and Nymara, moving north from the main gates.”

Sir Joseph Wyrmslayer. It was funny to hear him called that. To her he'd always be Joe, Kris's best friend from home who called her Sugar Bear and carried candied walnuts in his pocket, a treat for Jezayla's ferret familiar. She'd had precious little chance to see this new side of him. Little chance to get to know the commander come down into the Underdark, a tiny force of Knights in Silver at his back, bearing orders from Lady Alustriel to hold the city by any means necessary.

“Against their combined forces, I doubt the dark elves that slipped in through our portal will last long,” Karyl was saying. “If we strike hard with a coordinated push from both of them, we may be able to box in the second threat as well.”

“If they move quickly enough,” Briznia commented. It was apparent from her tone just how likely she thought it was that gnomes or humans could move fast enough.

“I'll contact Mistress Shadowsong,” Em said. “She's carrying a Dimensional Lock – we'll need her with us to close that portal. We'll just have to clear a path.” Em's wings fanned out again. “Let's go,” she suggested.

They all moved out together, a ranging pack, organic and disorganized. Em was near the front – as always – dress flowing in the wind of her flight like a flag. Nadylene and Briznia, twin shades of darkness, the one taller than the other, followed not far behind. Obie and Karyl brought up the rear. They crossed towards the tunnel that led south, the way they had tracked the yochlol earlier. Had that really only been minutes ago?

“Where's Kris? Wasn't he with you?” Obie asked. Nadylene suddenly looked around. The wizard was marked by his absence. A pained look crossed Emma's face.

“I don't know,” Karyl answered hastily before Emma had to respond. “Somewhere on the Astral Plane. He used that portable hole we took off the –”

“Hsst.” Nadylene put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Noisy people in armor. Click-clack, you're in the back, got it?” That brought smiles to all their faces. Brief and grim, but smiles nonetheless.

Briznia moved forward with her. She was in chain armor, too, but she was drow. The shadows almost seemed to reach for her as she passed them.

Em nodded at Nadylene as she went by, and touched her shoulder – a flood of loving warmth, and a whispered word that wrapped a little bit of magic around Nadylene. Any words she spoke would carry to the rest of the group, as long as none of them strayed too far from one other. Nadylene hoped they'd have the sense to keep their mouths shut, or they'd give away her position.

Nadylene ghosted forward, allowing more and more distance to span between her and the rest of the group. Not too much – just enough that she was out ahead on her own, just enough that she could spy out the trap before they sprang it. There would be a trap, of course. The dark elves had chased them down this way and would expect them to return.

The passage turned and twisted a little, and the others filed silently in after her, one by one. Stalagmites and stalactites battled in receding rows, half-grown broken teeth. Nadylene moved from the lee of one to the next, her soft leather boots making not even a whisper. Every few feet she paused to listen, and to watch. The hazel-eyed half-drow eased carefully around the base of one particularly large stalagmite, angling toward the narrow space where it nearly met the wall, and cautiously peered down the next segment of corridor.

It was so slight she almost missed it – a movement in shadow where stone did not move. Silent, still, she held her breath and waited until... yes. In the heat-shadow of the pillar just across the way, a pair of drow crouched. Now that she knew they were there, her eyes skipped to other pillars, found other duos of patiently waiting dark elves. She turned her mouth into her shoulder, muffled her whisper with her cloak. It came out as little more than a breath of air.

“Drow hiding behind the pillars,” she reported. “Ambush.” Her eyes narrowed. Not just drow. Male drow, in leather and chain, gear that was terribly familiar precisely because it was so nondescript and yet so well-made. A chilling idea blossomed in her mind, a dread understanding. She slipped one hand into the small of her back, not daring now to make a sound at all, and flashed back a quick drow sign to Briznia. Fall back! Now!

Her lover gave her the barest nod and slipped along the corridor wall, daring to cross it only once she was beyond the bend, her own fingers flashing to Obie. She moved like a breath of night-wind, a shadow within a shadow, and yet - click. A single crossbow bolt flicked by Briznia, missing by a hair's breadth, and Nadylene's heart dropped into her feet.

Then several things happened at once.

Down the corridor behind her there was a flash of light. Sudden sounds of battle rang out. She heard a drow voice raised in a spell chant abruptly cut short with a cry – and the ring of steel on steel from behind her. “Ignore them,” came a frantic whisper in her ear. “If we can teleport – ” but Emma's message cut short as she fell into arcane chanting.

In front of Nadylene, two dark elves slipped free from their hiding places and advanced forward at a quick jog, drawing swords as they went. She bit her lip and flattened herself against the wall as they raced by, mere inches from her position, without seeing her. If they ran past and caught Briznia and Em and the others like hammer and anvil –

Her knives were in her hands and buried deep in the back of the nearest drow before Nadylene even had time for a second guess. The enemy jerked spasmodically under the brutal strike, and she staggered, wrenching her daggers free. She whirled to menace the other dark elves, who suddenly realized they had a vengeful female on their flank. Four. There are four. Blast!

Left and right they circled, weapons falling into guard. Behind them, the air thrummed as Obie put one, two, three arrows in flight in the space of a breath. The missiles skipped off the stone around her. One sank deep into a dark elf's thigh, and he stumbled.

A step left, a step right, and suddenly Nadylene saw she was surrounded, the stone wall to her back and the stalagmite to her left, with nowhere to go. Her dagger desperately warded off swords that swiped in from both sides. More dark elves appeared behind the first four, slipping from shadowy spaces behind rock columns and nooks in the wall. Nadylene's free fingers scrabbled at her waist. Her gloved hand closed around a smooth steel container just as one blade slipped through her defenses and nicked her side.

Nadylene tore the cork off the vial with her teeth and poured the liquid down her throat. She twisted and turned, ducking and dodging as the potion's magic began to take effect. Her free hand darted this way and that, deflecting swords and knives in angles to the left and right as she rose up into the air, hovering maddeningly over her opponents' heads. A fighter in the second rank dropped back, taking aim with his hand crossbow. She swept her cloak about her, effortlessly deflecting the projectile, and bared her teeth in a white snarl his way, dagger spinning in her grasp – and laughed as he ducked behind her stalagmite, using the stone for cover should she throw the knife.

She didn't.

She knew “The Predator” was there before he showed himself, stepping out from the other side of the very column she'd been using for cover. Her breath nearly froze in her throat. Another foot and she would have seen him. He had that damnable bow to hand, shaft fitted to the string.

The Predator wasn't his real name, of course. Leo had coined the term, after Hune and a few select dark elves had ambushed Em, Briznia, and Nadylene while they were out on one of their patrols near the city. Only later had they learned that the true name of "The Predator" was Valas Hune... During that first ambush he had taken Emma down before she'd even realized he was there.

This time, though, Nadylene barely even marked his presence. No, her eyes slipped past him to the dark elf who had materialized beside him, almost whimsically, as if out of thin air. Her mind went red – her vision narrowed – her brain filled up with hate.

No, hate was too soft a word.

I want nothing, her thoughts snarled, to do with you!

As if he could read her thoughts, he smiled up at her, teeth even and white, and offered a precise and elegant bow with a flourish of that infernal feathered hat. Dear sweet Eilistraee she wanted nothing more than to bury her knife in that pretty drow face.

Her message to Emma wasn't so much a message as a single, unutterable, malice-filled word. And, like an echo, she 'heard' Em broadcast that word back to all the rest.

Jarlaxle.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association

Edited by - Kris the Grey on 07 Mar 2014 17:22:22
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Kris the Grey
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Posted - 06 Mar 2014 :  20:40:59  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Chapter IV coming Friday(ish).

It occurs to me that now might be a good moment for that review of who the major and minor characters are in our little drama. So, without further ado…

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: (in order of appearance)

Karyl Darkstar - Player Character (real name Carol) - Female human, age 25, Level 5 Fighter Mage (using the Magus Spellblade build from Pathfinder)

Kris the Grey - Non-player Character/DM's alter ego (real name…not hard to guess) - Male human, age 30 (in our tale), Level 2 Rogue (Swashbuckler)/Level 9 Wizard (generalist)

Emma Drake - Player Character (real name Emily) - Female 'human' (see class), age 28, Level 10 (Bronze) Dragon-blooded Sorceress (using the Pathfinder system)

Nadylene - Player Character (nickname 'Ne') - Female 'human' (although technically half-drow through the power of a Circlet of Transformation gifted to her by the church of Eilistraee under Waterdeep), age 25, Level 3 Rogue/4 Bard/3 Arcane Trickster (using the Pathfinder system)

Briznia - Non-player Character (based on a character created by Ed Greenwood in Silverfall, Tales of the Seven Sisters) - Female drow, age late 20's (in human terms), Level 4 Cleric/Level 5 Fighter - Priestess of Eilistraee from the Promenade in Waterdeep (on assignment with the PCs to aid them in completing the mission for Qilue Veladorn that brought them to the Underdark in the first place)

Obie - Player Character (real name Steve) - Male human - age 31, Level 9 Ranger (and worshipper of Eilistraee)

Characters mentioned (but not yet appearing in our tale):

Leo- PC human male from Earth

Brona- PC human male from Earth

Sir Joseph Wyrmslayer- NPC human male from Earth

Mistress Shadowsong- NPC deep gnome illusionist (from Drizzt DoUrden's Guide to the Underdark)

Nymara- NPC divine servant of Mystra summoned by the PCs to aid them in defending the city

Jezayla- NPC half-elven former Sorceress tutor of Emma Drake


The villains are pretty much self explanatory...

If anyone has questions, please feel free to ask away. Once again, enjoy the read.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association

Edited by - Kris the Grey on 26 Mar 2014 04:13:38
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Kris the Grey
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Posted - 08 Mar 2014 :  02:48:25  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
CHAPTER IV

You.

You are responsible.

All of Blingdenstone fit in the distance between Nadylene's mind and her heart. What did she really care for this city? So many rooms carved out of stone. So many living, breathing lives. It was hard to grapple with a number like that – hard to wrap her hands around it, hard to pull it into her heart and love it. Emma she could love, so bright and passionate. Briznia she could love, at once both aloof and so close, possessive and alluring. But how could she love a number?

It was not a number that burned her vision white, that filled her belly with a seething spitting pit of sheer animal rage. She was angry because she cared, too much maybe, but better to care too much than not at all. She cared about the ones she loved, about Emma and Briznia and the rest of them, that tight little group of haphazard companions that shared, she thought at times, nothing more than their common origin. That was enough, surely. That ought to have been enough. A bond in blood. A band of brotherhood. It should have been enough.

She cared about betrayal.

She looked down upon Jarlaxle, and oh, she hated him. This man, this sickly sweet and smiling charmer of a dark elf... his words had slipped inside them, like water into a crack. All at once, the freeze, and then they'd shattered. So much for the ties that bind, for the warriors across the void, for holding true to each other when all else was stripped away.

Here she was, with Em and Obie and Karyl and Briznia, fighting desperately to keep this drowning city alive. And at the very same moment, Leo and Brona sat imprisoned in blackness for their part in killing it. It was just as well that they were separated by miles of darkness and stone and door after iron door. She had her knives in her hands and she had never been particularly good at forgiveness.

This man – this man was to blame. This one damn dark elf and his silver tongue. Jarlaxle winked up at her, tipped his hat in a hatefully cheerful hello, and sauntered carelessly past. He knew who led them. “We meet again, Madame Drake,” he called out to Emma, his voice smooth and sweet, like honeyed night. “How fortuitous!” His gesture took in the city at large. “Appearances to the contrary, I am actually here because of you. While I assumed to find you at the king's side, I am pleased I happened to run into you here in the corridors...” his eyes shifted down the hallway and back again, “…alone.”

Nadylene slipped the third and final wand in her arsenal free from her belt. She couldn't even count the number of times she had called upon its translocation magics to whisk them all away from the keen edge of danger, to slip them from certain death into safety. When every other option was taken away it had become her fallback, her safety, her trick. She spoke the word of power softly.

Nothing, nothing at all happened. That stunned her, took her completely off guard. But then, she thought hatefully, it shouldn't have. This had not been their first encounter with Bregen D'aerthe, after all. The trick that slipped them free of the Predator's noose the first time could hardly be expected to work the second time round.

A feeling came over Nadylene then, a feeling she had seldom experienced and knew at once she did not like. The deer at bay – the dog in the corner – the child under the bed watching the murderer's feet pass by. I won't surrender! I'd rather die! Her teeth clenched. She was cut off, without options, frustrated and impotent.

She was not, however, alone.

She closed her eyes.

With all the hesitance of a child, she reached out in thought and brushed against the stars. Dark Maiden, she prayed, not so much a thought as a feeling, open, helpless, yearning. Hear me now.

On Earth some doors were forever shut – bound to a mundane life, a single sense of self, of human blood and bone. But here the rules were not so squarely laid, the doors unlocked. Beyond them great corridors lay down paths no Earth-bound woman could tread – and as if from a far distance, she had heard the singing of the Dark Maiden, and her own spirit had longed to dance beneath the moon. It was Eilistraee who had bestowed upon her the terrible gift – the circlet perched above her narrow brows, that blended the dark elven and the human into one. One day, she prayed, it would not be mere magical artifice. One day she hoped she would share the blood of the drow in truth. Until that day, she thought, she would only be half alive.

Child.

The word was a feather dipped in silver. A shiver of music, a chime over a distant hill, where the dales were crowded with fireflies.

Be strong. Help will come. Do not give your life here.

When she opened her eyes again and looked down upon the corridor, she felt curiously detached from the events that transpired. It was as if she stood on an adjacent mountain peak, or across some vast gasping chasm too far to cross. Events were no less real for being so distant, and no less dangerous. They were just... not immediate.

There was Em, some fifty feet or more away, dead center in the corridor, her bronze wings spread to their maximum span, as if she meant to fill the space from wall to wall. Beyond and behind her, Obie leaned heavily against the stone. He was bleeding freely from a cut on his brow; blood matted his shaggy hair, and he heavily favored his right leg. There was a dark elf behind him, sword pressed against the back of his neck. Closer to hand stood Briznia, sword and shield set in defensive stance, daring Jarlaxle to come any closer. Of Karyl there was no sign – but still steel rang on steel from farther down, where the corridor bent from sight.

They had let themselves get strung out, Nadylene thought with distant interest. She had not realized how far ahead of the others she had crept.

A conversation was underway. “Simply return my associate's remains and reveal the location of Kris the Grey,” Jarlaxle was saying, hands spread wide in a gesture of utmost reasonableness, “and you and I will go our separate ways. Though I am not certain where it is you are all so anxious to be. This city has already fallen. You are just not aware of it yet.”

“I don't have the body. Kris has it.” Emma looked like she might chew through rock. At a different time Nadylene might have laughed at the whole situation, might have shouted down to Jarlaxle that he was wasting his time, that there were no traitors here. But everything seemed to be happening at such a great distance, and wrapped up in her private serenity, Nadelyne could not bestir herself to speak.

Jarlaxle smiled, the soul of patience. “Then tell me where he is.”

Help will come.

“That's not going to happen,” Em said with a dread softness that Nadylene knew all too well.

Help will come.

Jarlaxle fluffed the diatryma feather adorning the band of his hat. “My dear Sorceress, you must realize that your efforts here are wasted. It is quite noble of you to so fiercely protect your wizard fellow, but in the end, I shall find him.”

“Good luck with that.”

Their words fluttered about Nadelyne's mind like moths, slipping by in a patter of dust and wings. She found she no longer cared – found that she had never cared, from that first fateful day in Mantol-Derith when she had so desperately warned Leo and the others to keep away from Jarlaxle and they had recklessly failed to listen. Now they'd come to this end.

She heard Jarlaxle's order that they drop their weapons, saw Obie's longsword clatter to the floor, its magical fires sputtering and going out. For her own part she had already sheathed her dagger and her wand. She refused to dismiss her moon blade. Nor did Briznia lower her own weapon. Down below, male dark elves flowed past, weapons at the ready. Were they all going to die in this narrow stretch of corridor? Maybe. Probably.

Help will come.

Who would it be? Images spun through her mind – Joe, cutting down a dark elven warrior; Crown Prince Maktarn, surrounded by an elite squadron of gnomish warriors, issuing commands; Nymara, a flicker of furred silver and a dancing blade.

Em's voice broke in on her thoughts, whispering in German. “Karyl,” she hissed, “go get help. Go to Nymara.”

“I understand,” her friend responded in the same language. The sounds of battle ringing down the corridor ceased. Nadylene felt the snip as suddenly Karyl was beyond the reach of her spell. One of them had gotten away.

Jarlaxle, of course, had not missed the quiet exchange. “Still playing sava, I see.” His eyes moved toward Briznia, who had been advancing steadily on his position. “Stop your advance, fair priestess of the hunt, or events may transpire that we will all later come to regret.”

Briznia did not slow. “Let her down,” the priestess insisted, her voice low. “Let her come to us.”

Jarlaxle cast a glance back at Nadylene. “I prefer you separated,” he said mildly. “I'm familiar with your tricks. No, your friend shall remain just where she is.”

Nadylene offered Briznia a brave and beatific smile. “Hold fast,” she murmured, by magic, for their ears alone. “Help is coming.” But no one seemed to see it the way she saw it – from an adjacent mountain peak, so clear and so calm. Help is coming does little to reassure when death is here.

Briznia suddenly staggered. Nothing had touched her, but one moment she was pacing careful steps forward, deliberately placing herself between Emma and Jarlaxle... and the next she stumbled, dropping heavily to one knee. She shook her head violently, her expression steeled over, and she got her feet under her again. Just for a moment. Then Jarlaxle's fingers twitched in a clear order in drow sign, and Briznia went down as if she'd been struck by a hammer.

The priestess slumped to the ground, not dead, but quite unconscious and utterly helpless. Jarlaxle placed one gentle boot-sole on Briznia's prostrate form. He waved his free hand, and a wand suddenly twirled between ebon fingers... and then came to rest, pointing down at the priestess beneath his foot.

“Tell me,” he said, enunciating each word very clearly, “the location. Of Kris. The Grey.”

“Somewhere on the Astral Plane.” Emma nearly spat out the words.

A moment of astonishment flickered over those refined features. “So that was him! Most amusing.” He paused to consider for a moment, as a smile split his face. “Just where exactly? The Astral Plane can be quite a large place.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don't know.”

The dark elf studied her a moment, smile fading, and then lifted his shoulders in a kind of regretful shrug. Wand still pointed firmly at Briznia, he half-turned to toss an order back at his Bregan D'aerthe operatives. A sudden dread feeling rose in Emma. Like she was standing in the back alley of a winding Italian city, backed into a corner by the mob, and she'd just made a terrible mistake. The guns were coming out, and in a moment it'd all be blood and guts. Except for her. She was too valuable. A convenient bargaining chip to lure in one particularly elusive wizard.

She would rather be dead. She eyed the wand still pointed firmly at Briznia's helpless form. A very real possibility. Except... her thoughts scrambled for purchase. There must be a way.

“Wait,” she blurted suddenly. The slim ebon wand-holding fingers stilled. “It's true, I don't know where he is. But I may be able to find out.” She took a breath and touched her fingers above her heart in a gesture she knew he would understand. “We are connected,” she explained, her words grasping among half-truths and elusive might-bes to weave a tale equal measures of both. “I have never tried this, but it is possible... working together, we may be able to visualize where, precisely, he is.”

Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed briefly.

“We need to hold hands.” Emma rode right over any possible protest. “The connection is stronger when we're touching.” She paused. “I don't think we can even try if we aren't.”

She could almost feel the wheels turning in his brain. It was a risk putting them together, and yet... if they could genuinely divine the location of Kris the Grey…

One dark finger lifted. “No deceptions, or,” he indicated the prostrate priestess with a dip of his wand, “she dies.”

Nadylene. Emma's voice reached out to her across the chasm. With a simple thought, Nadylene lowered herself to the cavern floor. The ranks of Bregan D'aerthe soldiers pulled back enough to let her pass – chin up, head tossed back. Emma was there waiting, her hand held out. Their fingers laced together, gripping tight. On Emma's other side, Obie joined them, his face lowered in its cowl, expression grim. The cut on his brow was still bleeding.

The instant the three of them were joined, Emma called on the power of the Mark to 'speak' directly into her mind. Silver light flared to life over all three of their hearts.

We are going to escape, she said.

This place is dimensionally locked, Nadylene replied. I know, I tried to use my wand to escape. We can't teleport away. And even if they could, she wouldn't. Not with Briznia at Jarlaxle's mercy.

No more so than the drow could open a portal into Blingdenstone, Emma 'said' back. The city is warded yet they found a way. Remember how Karyl teleported here from Silverymoon, by the power of the crystal statues? Every lock has a key. I think we are capable of more than we know. The power of one Star to bore a hole through their lock; the power of another Star to guide us through it.

If we fail… Obie said.

Nadylene's eyes did not move from Briznia's helpless form. If we succeed, she said, much more harshly.

Emma's thoughts were a comforting touch upon her own. Comforting, but also sickened, and helpless... and yes, there was the rage in there too, a white-hot fire kept carefully banked. Did it burn in all of them? Nadylene wondered. All of the betrayed?

We will not leave her to them alive, Em promised, and the terrible weight of those words sunk deep into Nadelyne's soul. I will stall for help, but if he carries through with his threat…

Obie broke in abruptly. Someone is trying to get into my head.

Emma turned on Jarlaxle. “Call off your attack dog!” she snapped. But beneath her anger, fear.

“I told you the games-playing was done,” he said, his words rimed in ice. With a commanding gesture he summoned a dark-bearded dwarf to his side. A look of concentration, and maybe... regret? on his face, Athrogate reached for his signature weapons – two enchanted morningstars, worn crosswise, so the spiked heads bounced behind his shoulders.

A pit opened in Nadylene's stomach, a bottomless hole down into which she could fall forever.

She chose, at that moment, to close her eyes. What they would do required focus... a focus she could not keep if she were made to watch. Even across the chasm, even on the adjacent mountain peak, she was close, too close not to care. Too close to shut herself away. This she would feel like red iron on her flesh. This one she would brand deep and indelible on her soul.

She did not – could not – look down upon Briznia, utterly unable to prevent what was about to happen.

I am sorry.

She did not know if those were Emma's words, or her own.

It didn't matter.

She heard Em take a single step forward and plant her foot upon Briznia's fallen sword.

It didn't matter.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, it would magically become true. But it couldn't, and she knew it couldn't, and –

“Briznia!” she screamed. What a different world it would be if sound could slow the building whir of those ugly morningstars. What a kinder world – more merciful. But it was not so on Earth, and not so on Toril. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and turned her head.

The sound of it reached her – exploding flesh, cracking bone. Wet gore splattered across the side of her face. She tasted blood and iron, and salt, the salt of her own tears dripping down her cheeks.

The bubble of serenity pricked, and all at once, she was alone in the dark with a white-hot rage, and the form of her enemy before her. Judgment was rendered. He was going to die. Nadylene nearly tore free. But Emma was stronger than she, dark elf or no, and through their interlinked fingers she felt Emma draw deeply upon the power within. Through her closed eyes Nadylene saw a burst of light, and then a great hunger rolled into her from Emma, a wide deep channel full of need. She linked power to power blindly, without a second thought, and felt on her own breast her Mark, also, ignite.

Then there was a rush, and a wall of fire and silver, and she was falling.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Thauranil
Master of Realmslore

India
1591 Posts

Posted - 08 Mar 2014 :  15:02:10  Show Profile Send Thauranil a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Wow you have come out with a lot of good stuff these past few days. Well time to get reading.
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 08 Mar 2014 :  16:52:03  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Thauranil,

I'm glad you are enjoying the read.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 09 Mar 2014 :  23:38:13  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
I've got six more chapters in the queue, but rather than bury you all in a WALL OF TEXT I'll pause and let you all digest the first four chapters (which add up to around 50 manuscript pages believe it or not).

When those of you that are reading this are ready for more, sound off here and I'll put up another chapter or two!

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 14 Mar 2014 :  18:35:14  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
(By the by, is there a way to put this stuff up elsewhere on the site so I might spare the text walls?)

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
324 Posts

Posted - 20 Mar 2014 :  02:21:19  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Wow. I just don't know what else I can say beyond that. The story, the characters*, the battles... it's absolutely amazing! I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm ready for another chapter!




*Of all the characters, I probably like Nadylene the best, because she sort of reminds me of Drustan. Both are half-human, both are dedicated followers of Eilistraee (well, technically Drustan jointly serves Eilistraee, Mystra, and Selune) both know better than to trust a certain drow mercenary (although Drustan & Co.'s encounter with him ended in a much more satisfactory manner for the party)... but the main thing they have in common is that they've lost people they loved; Briznia (who's death re-ignited a form of anger I haven't felt since... hell, what am I saying? I've felt that rage since learning of the events of LP trilogy) for Nadylene, Sylune (whom Drustan had a crush on as an adolescent) and Ysolde Veladorn (Drustan's first true love) for Drustan.
Er, sorry for nattering on.

Edited by - Drustan Dwnhaedan on 20 Mar 2014 02:24:07
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
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Posted - 21 Mar 2014 :  17:09:01  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Drustan,

Thank you very much for the kind words - I'm glad you are enjoying our tale. It is often hard to turn something that happens at the gaming table into a good story (what works around the table often doesn't work in novelized format), so I'm glad its making for fun reading. I'll post the next chapter sometime tomorrow (and chat with whomever I should to see about putting this up on another section of the site - where I've seen stories - to make reading it a bit less daunting).

The real "Nadylene" will no doubt be both amused and flattered that you enjoyed her antics the most. I'll be sure to pass that along to her. My fellow author and I are pleased to see Briznia's death had a decent impact on the reader. It is hard to convey the impact of the loss of a long term NPC when you've only just met them in your story. We thought showing the depth of her relationship to Nadylene, showcasing her courage and dedication, and making her come alive in battle might do the trick. We are glad it seems to have worked.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
324 Posts

Posted - 22 Mar 2014 :  07:16:12  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
You're most welcome, Sir Kris! Actually, I can understand how hard it is to write about the events of a game and make them interesting, as I tried to do the exact same thing with the campaign of Drustan & Co. I wound up stopping for three reasons;
1:After reworking the storyline to try to make it fit with canon (well, as close to canon as fan fiction can get), I realized I would need to write the equivalent of at least three novels to cover everything that happened, plus another two that would cover the events that occurred between the 'end' of the adventure (returning to Cormyr after the defeat of the Tuigan Horde) and the epilogue (which took place almost two years later). This would be a daunting task for even a good writer (whcih, as I've often lamented, I am not).
2: Most of the stuff the party did was too plain silly and ridiculous to possibly occur in the Realms. (To the point that, when asked by Lord Piergeiron for his overall opinion of the party, Khelben Arunsun described us as , 'a bunch of mindless individuals who run around doing senseless things.' The fact that we took this as a compliment didn't help.)
3: No PC characters, and very few named NPCs (whether important to the plot or not) died. Although, in rewriting the events as a story, I made it quite clear that several of the PCs who left (either because their players lost interest after one or two sessions, or had to stop playing because of a change in their work schedules) were killed. (Which was still pretty bad, as none of the deaths are actually 'seen' in-story.)

As for my reaction to Briznia's death, something you've got to keep in mind is, whenever I read anything pertaining to Eilistraee and her followers, I'm reacting to what happens with the emotions of two different people; myself, and Drustan. My reactions are based on I... well, I guess because I fell in love with Eilistraee the moment I stepped into the Forgotten Realms, and because I could empathize with her followers (because of my... less than attractive appearance, I can relate to being judged by people solely based on what I look like). As Drustan, I react based on whether he would know the character, which, more likely than not (at least, in the case of Eilistraeens), he does. And, if Drustan did know said character, I ask myself,"How well did he know this person? Were they a close personal friend, someone Drustan worked with occasionally, or perhaps just someone he ran into a couple of times?" Regardless of the answer, whenever Drustan learns of the death of an Eilistraeen, it always affects him; the pain of losing someone of the same faith, the belief that, if only he were there, he could have saved them, and, ultimately, a nearly blinding rage, and a desire for revenge that is nearly all-consuming (one of the few recurring serious moments with Drustan and Co.'s campaign was never make Drustan mad; especially since I seemed, for whatever reason, to score more critical hits when I was angry than not*).
There's also the fact that Drustan helped recruit and redeem a former Llothite drow named Brizriia, and the similarity to her name and Briznia might have struck a nerve with me, and Drustan. (It's probably a good thing I'm not in your group; the few times I've played myself in a campaign, I often wind up temporarily abandoning the mission, and sometimes operating counter to the party, to get revenge. The most memorable time was in a sci-fi campaign were I started a war that spanned six galaxies, just to get the man responsible for killing my NPC fiance.)

And, on a somewhat lighter (and ironic) note, a couple of guys in my group have suggested my rogue (a drow worshipper of... well, you can probably guess) in our current campaign should take a few bard levels to justify why I know so much about the Realms (I keep forgetting that my character, Wruzdor, shouldn't know some of the things I do, and the guys suggested that, as a bard, gathering information and lore makes perfect sense). When I pointed out that this would make me somewhat less affective at my job, one of them said," Hey, you can always become an Arcane Trickster." How's that for a coincidence. (And it really is; the discussion I'm referring to happened two weeks ago.)

*The reason why my group didn't want me to get mad (in spite of how regularly I was getting critical hits) was pointed out by one of the ladies in my group (who, oddly enough, wasn't around for Drustan's adventures); I am, in the opinion of most of my group, one of the nicest guys around. However, when I get angry (and, if something in-game makes my PC angry, than you can be sure I'm just as angry about it in the RW), I get very scary, very quickly. Of course, she and the others might think that way because they aren't used to seeing me angry (it doesn't happen often, after all).

Edited by - Drustan Dwnhaedan on 22 Mar 2014 07:20:11
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
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Posted - 22 Mar 2014 :  19:50:57  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Um, sorry Kris (and everybody else), for my overly-longwinded post. I'll try to stay on topic from now on (of course, 'trying' and 'succeeding' aren't always the same thing... -__-''')
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Karyl
Acolyte

USA
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Posted - 25 Mar 2014 :  01:54:55  Show Profile Send Karyl a Private Message  Reply with Quote
No apologies necessary! It's always a great moment to see something written & shared bring up memories and experiences from other peoples' campaigns and characters... that's the glory of it, really. :) The whole point of writing to begin with!


Contrary to what you write, though, I think you'd find yourself fitting right in in our (Kris's) campaign. We might all be in this together, but we're all undercutting each other at the same time - sometimes despite our best efforts to actually try to get along! Our group is, mmmm, not very uniform, haha! We're at hammerheads a lot, which is part of the beauty of Play Yourself. It's been my experience it's easier when only playing a character, to compromise on values for the sake of the group, or the fun of the game, or... so on and so forth.

I have to say, I really did enjoy that chapter from Nadylene's perspective. It's the moment in the story where I finally found like I found a "voice" to write with, more than just trying to tell the story and all the craziness of the plot elements and characters thrown into the Blingdenstone combine, so to speak. (However, trying to get into the head of *someone else* who is not just a character but a Real Person... terrifying!)

Hope you continue to enjoy going forward!

Our bones that lie here await yours.

Edited by - Karyl on 25 Mar 2014 01:56:08
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
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Posted - 25 Mar 2014 :  16:53:55  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Phew! Glad to hear I don't need to apologize for talking about my past roleplaying experiences (for once).

And it strikes me as amusing to see your group is as quirky as my own. I'm pretty sure I would get along fairly well with Nadylene and Obie, with them being Eilistraee fans and all (at least, that's the impression I've gotten from the story). Even then, I'd probably wind up at hammerheads with them over certain issues, the biggest of which would probably be how to prevent Eilistraee's death. (My own plan can basically be summed up as, "Kill Halisstra Melarn and destroy the Crescent Blade before it can be used against Eilistraee" The main reason the other two might have problems is, because of how strong my feelings for Eilistraee are, I'd be willing to do many things that would compromise some of my own values*, and possibly earn the wrath of the Dark Maiden herself. But I would be fine with that, so long as she was alive.)

Er, sorry for going all 'dark and disturbing'.

Anyhow, I was actually going to ask when to expect the next chapter.



*Actually, I might not be compromising all that much, since there's very few things I won't do to protect those who I... do I really need to say more? (Hey, I'm a guy, and I find I have a little trouble discussing some of this.)
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
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Posted - 25 Mar 2014 :  19:15:54  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Sorry about the chapter delay, I sent a PM to the Head Moderator (or at least who I assume is…Alaundo?) a couple days back about putting this up in the "Campaign Logs" sub section of the "Campaign Journals" section of the site in order to make reading it a bit easier. I was going to give that a couple more days to get a reply. I'll put up Chapter V (and an expanded Dramatis Personae) here sometime tonight to tide folks over in the meanwhile.

I'm glad to see Karyl say hi, do feel free to ask her questions about all this as well - its every bit as much her baby as it is mine (if not moreso).

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 26 Mar 2014 :  03:48:49  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
CHAPTER V

Do I go back?

Karyl hung magically suspended, twenty feet in the air, the great Hall of Miners stretching away before her, far beyond her sight into shadow. Down below her feet a battle raged. Gnomish soldiers and a scant number of Knights in Silver stood side by side in desperate battle lines, pinned into a corner near the cavern's entrance, slashing and hacking wildly. Near a dozen bebiliths hemmed them in, leaping forward and back with a scythe of claws and snapping bites. On the outskirts of the battle, their dark elf allies darted in and out, crossbows clicking with deadly accuracy.

Do I go back?

The words ricocheted through the tumult of her thoughts. In her hand, Darkfell muttered in dwarven. Noror! the sentient sword insisted, Enemies! and tugged at her mind, demanding that she join the fray. She did not. She floated, staring down in horror, perched on the precipice of doubt.

Her eyes picked out bastions of strength, points of light among the harried gnomish and human line. There was the Crown Prince Marktarn, the courageous keystone at the heart of the gnomes. There was Sir Joseph Wyrmslayer, his shining longsword Qualmanthor flashing left and right, wounded a dozen times, his bright armor dark with ichor and blood, beset from all sides but still standing strong, rallying his Knights with every shout. There was Nymara, the servant of Mystra Emma had called to assist them in this fight, fleet and nimble, a blur of silver fur and shining rapier, his voice raised in praise to Midnight as he slashed and cut in his goddess's name. His divine power laced the backbone of the line with iron and was all that kept it from crumbling.

This is not how it was supposed to be!

She was supposed to come sweeping in and call out for reinforcements, brave men and women who would race along with her to save her friends. They were depending on her now to find Wyrmslayer and the others, depending on her to come racing back with an army at her heels as they desperately stalled for time.

But from this...? She watched Wyrmslayer fall back, and back again, losing precious ground. His longsword lashed forward, caught a demon leg, and then Nymara was there, his melodic voice high and his rapier dancing, and it was the demon's turn to fall back. Yet, in that briefest of moments while Nymara's back was turned, another Knight in Silver went down under rending jaws, never to rise again. No, from this fight there would be no reinforcements.

Her gaze drifted south into the receding ever-twilight of the great cavern. Sir Wyrmslayer and the others had not succeeded in the real task they had come here to perform. They had not pushed deep enough into the cavern, had not stemmed the tide of demons that still poured unchecked into the city. Somewhere down there, in the deep gloom, the cursed priestesses of Lolth still held vigil.

Do I go back?

Back, to warn the deep gnome illusionist Henkala Shadowsong, who even now hastened south with a small force, that no fewer than ten of the spider demons closed in on her position? Back, to try to free Emma and the others snared in Bregan D'aerthe's deadly ambush, though she was alone and without help? Back, to the Center House, seat of svirfneblin power, and on to the escape tunnels that led away from the city and disaster, away into freedom?

Back, and leave them all to die, admit to failure, give up the city, give up the lives of thousands?

We are promised that there will always be choices, she thought with a kind of terrible fatality. We are not promised that any of them will be good choices.

She took in a deep breath and shut all her doubts away. The plight of Shadowsong, the battle raging down below her feet, even Emma and the others – Stars help them all, for she could not. Three battles lay before her that she could fight, three battles she might even win, three battles that would surely lose this war. No. No, the only way left was straight ahead. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” she breathed, and with a sudden rush of will, broke into flight.

Up and on she arrowed, leaving the safety of the tunnel entrance behind. The floor dropped away. The battle dropped away. The cavern opened around her, a cool dark rush of space. She sped south, arcing high into the air, soaring up one hundred feet above the stony cavern floor. The torn red robes covering the riven remains of her armor flared out behind her, caught in the wind of her passing. In her left hand her moon blade flowed from her palm in a slash of silver; in her right, Darkfell burned black, blazing with enchantment.

She made no attempt at stealth, wrapped in the magical veils of half a dozen spells that kept her up in the air, sheathed her in layers of protection, filled her with a fierce courage not entirely her own, and made her blaze bright to eyes attuned to magic. One of the massive spider demons broke away from the mad melee below and pursued, skittering rapidly along the wall. She rose higher in her arc, pressing south, and then all at once there it was, far below her, fat and wide and flashing with green and blue and violet light.

The second portal.

It sat on the roof of the begemmed Miner's Guild Hall. There were enemies all about it. Spiders swarmed and dangled from the walls, crawled over the stairs. Female soldiers from Menzoberranzan's First House stood sentry on the terrace and the steps that led to it, swords drawn. Behind them, a dozen undead gnomes, freshly conjured from the bodies of the fallen, ringed it. Above, on the roof itself, a cadre of priestesses of Lolth waited, as she knew they must. Spiderkissers, she sneered. One of them, she knew, must be the yochlol, hidden in drow disguise. Even from this distance she felt their combined malevolent power as it rolled toward her.

Most fearsome of all, five more bebeliths kept guard, legs tensed for the springing jumps that would send them hurtling across the room. She shuddered at the thought of their claws closing around her, the remembered feeling of them ripping through armor and flesh…

A whisper of a thought reached out to her from behind and to the left, the skein of a message that just barely reached her consciousness. Well met, Lady Darkstar, chirped a high voice she recognized. Nymara had seen her as well. Are you venturing to close the portal?

Her eyes narrowed on the massive shape, seething and burning with arcane energies. Through that maw poured the destroyers of Blingdenstone. Through that maw came the spawn of the Abyss. Her response was short, sharp, and final.

Yes.

That was all, and then she had blazed past, the message cut short, out of range, headed on – alone – towards the magical construct, and the drow and demons alike who warded it. Above her heart her Mark burned. She had only one Star remaining of the seven it had borne when first she woke in this realmstarted with. One Star to set off in the portal's maw and pray that it would close. If she could get there. Past the spiders and the demons and the drow. Past the Handmaiden of Lolth and all the red-burning eyes that marked her approach, all the hands that tightened on swords, all the minds that reached for spells. A dozen forms of death, and any one alone outmatched her. Her arc reached its apex; she started to descend.

With a swell of magical power two of the waiting priestesses rose into the air, unlimbered their adamantine maces, and began to close.

Karyl paused in the air, both weapons low and out wide, daring them to come. Just a little closer. Come, see how quickly I have learned to fly. Let them fight her here, high in the air, good against evil, light versus darkness, winner take all. Even if that winner wouldn't be her. She had grown so tired of compromising. One impossible step in front of the other, right? First, these two – then a couple of demons – then –

Then there was a flash of light, and she was no longer alone.

With great sweeps of her wings, Em held herself aloft on Karyl's left side. Her deep robes flowed artlessly about her body, caught this way and that in the backdraft of her flight. Karyl could see the starry outline of her Mark glowing through the effervescent fabric... could clearly see that Em's final star had gone dark. Like shorn leaves, Nadelyne and Obie dropped from their position, floating gently towards the cavern floor. All three were covered in gore – Karyl deeply hoped it was not their own.

“I'm sorry,” the war mage said. “You said find Nym, but I…”

“I know.” Em gave her a smile, eyes full of tears. It was a sad and terrible sight. They hung against the night cavern air, two tiny points of light. Maybe such points was all it took, against the darkness. “We're here now. Let's do this.”

And there, Karyl thought, they had what the drow would never possess – what they could never understand. An alliance of purpose, of depth, that their dark elven enemies could only poorly imitate.

The two priestesses both pulled up short. Karyl couldn't help but laugh at them, so obviously reconsidering their options at this sudden reversal of fortune. Her mirth was short-lived, however. Hovering in the air, the priestesses went into simultaneous mirrored gyrations, great sweeping gestures and high-pitched chants, before pointing at Em and Karyl. The two friends shot each other a desperate glance and then dove left and right; the low boom, boom of twin columns of unholy fire shoved them spinning and weaving through the air. Singed and smoking, both of them made rapidly for the ground to rendezvous with their companions below. The two dark elf priestesses kept a watchful distance.

Karyl landed, unsteady, beside Nadylene and Obie. The ranger looked positively haggard, bleeding from a dozen cuts. She winced. “Take Brona's bag,” Karyl said, slinging the strap off her shoulder. “He keeps a healthy stock of potions. Get some life back into you... we're all going to need it.” It wasn't like Brona was going to be needing them anytime soon. The tall ranger snagged the bag and began rooting hastily through it.

Karyl cast a look over her shoulder, casting back her long, tightly-braided hair. A small commotion stirred the drow ranks. One of them rose slightly into the air and made an imperious gesture. “We're going to have company,” Karyl warned.

She and Emma both moved slightly away and towards the mobilizing enemy... and only then did Karyl notice that one of their number was missing. Her eyes met Emma's over Nadylene's head, a question asked without words. The sorceress shook her head, a short, chopping motion. A tiny little hollow pinprick formed in Karyl's chest.

Two of the sentinel bebilith demons started into motion towards them. “I hate these things,” she muttered, and steeled herself for the attack.

So now they were four. Four was better than one, but... how much difference did it make against these odds? Those terrible spiders could close with horrifying speed. At least one drow warrior ran with them. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that Nadylene looked like murder warmed over – and that somehow Obie had lost both his weapons in the engagement with Jarlaxle. There would be no archery support. Their defiant little offensive just might be crushed by the first counterblow. Well, she thought, a sinking feeling in her stomach that felt too close to despair, she had not truly expected to succeed. Just hoped. What a frail thing that was, hope.

“You take left,” Karyl suggested, or rather was about to, when she was interrupted by an unmistakeable sound from behind her. The tschinnnnng of a drawn sword hung on the air, and then a firm, unyielding voice, like death and stone.

“Ladies. What's your plan?”

Karyl turned, and found herself face to face with Qualmanthor in the hands of Wyrmslayer himself.

He was battered and bloodied but very much alive. At his right stood Nymara, silver fur matted with blood; at his left, a grim Illusionist Shadowsong. The shimmer of her teleport spell was just fading from the three of them. They had abandoned the battle by the cavern entrance to the Knights, the gnomes, and Prince Maktarn's command.

Karyl could have laughed. She could have hugged him, battered bruised and bloody or not. Instead she bit back a wild grin and tried to tamp down on the sudden twist of emotion in her chest. That hothouse flower blooming anew – hope?

Moments ago, she had been one. Alone, against all the might Baenre had seen fit to bring to bear. Drow and demons and swarms of spiders, and her, burning like one lonely wayward candle. Moments ago she had had no chance, and yet here, now... now they were seven. Mystra's number, Karyl thought.

“The others are only going to buy us a little more time.” Wyrmslayer's hazel eyes locked forcefully onto hers. “We'd better make good use of it.”

“You said you sought to close the portal, lady,” Nymara said, his high voice half a song. He offered them all a little flourish with his gleaming blade. “Let us do so.” His eyes fell on Emma and he gave her a second, deeper, bow. “Madame Drake.”

Emma's eyes were turned south. Her back was straight, her chin lifted, her ivory skin spattered with blood.

“Clear a way,” Emma Drake said grimly. “Clear a way and close that bloody thing forever. Mistress Shadowsong?”

“Attempt to dispel it, I can,” the svifneblin Illusionist confirmed, “if close enough I approach.” Her high-pitched voice was a study in calm focus. “I will need the drow distracted. I must warn you that I have never seen likes of this construct. Powerful magic in play here there may be – much more powerful than I have at my disposal. It will not be easy to subdue.”

“But you will be able to close it?” Karyl studied her closely. “That portal – ”

“Is poison in my city's beating heart,” Shadowsong said. “If it remains open she will fall. Will I be able to close it? I know not.”

“We must try,” Emma said shortly. Battered, worn, bruised, running short on magic and with arms and minds already tired, they must try. Giving in now would mean as little as never fighting in the first place. It might mean the end of all of them and yet – we are all they have. She thought of Jezayla, leaping down into that Waterdeep sewer to confront the aboleth with nothing left but her sword. How she'd looked at them - exhausted, tapped out, ready to turn back - with one of her fine, black eyebrows arched in dismay. “I have this sword. These people have nothing but our courage to protect them,” she had said. Her clear green eyes had held no judgment, but Emma felt shame all the same. Because she had a sword, and would always have a sword, even when the last of the magic went dry and turned to dust between her fingers.

No, there would be no turning back now for her.

“Joe,” Karyl was saying, “if you're injured there are potions of healing in the... bag...” she trailed off for Wyrmslayer had already snatched the item out of Obie's hands. He carelessly upended it, sending magical trinkets and baubles bouncing and skittering across the floor in every direction. He paused only long enough to snag Brona's potion belt from the pile, buckling it on over his gear. Poor, hapless Obie scrambled after the remaining healing drafts, attempting to snatch up as many of the other fallen vials as he could... and to re-equip himself with Brona's bow. “Not even magical,” he muttered with disgust as he tested the string.

Then there was no time for words, for the enemy was upon them. Swords came up, knives angled, bowstrings hummed, fingers danced. Fire and lightning crackled through the cavern with hiss and roar. Steel sang on steel, pincer stove into flesh, light carved into darkness and all bled. And through it all – the ring of swords and pace of patterned footsteps, the shouts and grunts and arcane chants – a sound built. It was soft as a hum at first, but with every heartbeat louder, swelling in force and power till it reverberated clear as a battle cry. A hymn, strung of notes cut in silver by some great composer's hand. Nymara was singing, and the sound of it filled the space from floor to ceiling-vault.

One by one enemies flowed from the open portal to challenge them. One by one they defeated them. Nymara and Sir Wyrmslayer spearheaded their attack – twin pillars upon which the enemy splintered. Few could rival Nymara's demon-slaying power. For this they had Called him, after all, a spell and a prayer to Mystra to send someone who could aid against the coming demon hordes. As for Sir Wyrmslayer – Joe – true, Karyl had watched him from a distance, had marked him as a bastion of rallying strength. But it was one thing to gaze from afar and another to fight with him side by side. She was armed with Darkfell and with the moon blade – all she had to do was touch the demons to cause them pain. But he, he wielded Qualmanthor with the ferocity of the Grim Reaper in a world full of dying demon souls.

Mistress Shadowsong had vanished from sight – an art at which the illusionist was most adept. Biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Karyl wasn't sure what to expect when the powerful caster attempted to dispel the portal. A shower of light and color, not unlike Kris the Grey's pyrotechnic show? Would it wink out of existence with a sigh, or collapse like falling stone?

There! The great maw of the portal, seething with colorful arcane energies, shimmered for a moment, and then faded to gray – as if a heavy translucent veil had been cast across its opening.

The gate itself, though, still remained.

The three priestesses knew immediately what had befallen. Henkala had not dispelled the portal. Oh, she had tried, but the magic was too powerful for her attempts to unravel it. No, she had simply locked it, barring dimensional travel in the area in which the portal sat. And so the gate still stood... but stood closed.

A collective shriek rose from the throats of the warding priestesses. The High Priestess swooped down from the vantage point where she had been observing the battle of approaching surface forces, her attention focused entirely on the dimmed gate. Slim ebon fingers caressed the handle of her snake-headed whip. All three heads writhed and hissed. Then, with a shout in her dark language she called upon her goddess, all her might and attention and prayer focused upon that gate as she sought to undo what Henkala had wrought.

Another voice rose with her, booming and powerful, draconic power given speech. On the floor below, Em's eyes were raised up, locked on the High Priestess, her hands moving in exact mirror to the drow's, calling the same words in formulaic counterspell. Karyl watched, heart in her throat, as spell and counterspell finished in perfect simultaneity.

The High Priestess's dispel flared... fizzled... faded out entirely. Karyl could have shouted out to Em in joy. She almost did. But – the High Priestess had not been alone in her castings. On opposite corners of the portal, two of the lesser servants of Lolth finished their own dispels, voices echoing in shrieking ecstasy to their goddess, and Mistress Shadowsong's dimensional lock dropped out of being. Again, the gate shone with warring light. Again the portal opened.

Futility, hatred, despair – the emotions settled over Karyl like a cloak, thick and stifling. “Wyrmslayer,” she called as she sprang into flight, but the knight was already rising in the air ahead of her, both hands on the hilt of his sword, a bright arrow to meet that dark priestess. The dark elf spun away from him, unfurled her whip, and laughed as she turned effortlessly in the air. A single lazy flick served to send him veering off his course in evasion.

At that very moment, clear across the cavern, Crown Prince Marktarn, first son of King Schnicktick and Queen Fricknarti, heir to the throne of Blingdenstone and bright gem of his people, met Valas Hune. Or rather, met the point of his broadhead arrow, delivered neatly from the shadows into his throat. A collective cry rose from the embattled gnome ranks, a ragged wail whose echo swept across the cavern to the south. It carried to their ears, and with trembling certainty each knew who had entered the battle, who had to be making his way towards them with every passing moment. All at once, they were running out of time.

The northern battle line began to crumble.

Another bebilith eased through the portal.

Hidden in the shadows of the roof, her motions furtive, her voice a whisper, Henkala Shadowsong called a sheet of stone down in front of that hideous opening. If she could not dismiss the construct, she could very well block anything from coming through! The two guarding priestesses jumped towards it, adamantine maces to hand as they pounded on the stone. Chips and dust flew. Henkala set a second wall against the first – and then one of the priestesses slid her foot flush against the wall, preventing it from being thickened further. From the far side, a great blow struck the stone and set it shuddering... and the attacking priestesses leapt back form it.

Something was tearing at those walls of stone from beyond the portal, something so great and terrible that even the drow priestesses fell back before it.

Battle raged below. Above, three fighters met in the air, a blur of silver and black and red, darting and dodging, combat in three dimensions at which none are masters like the drow.
“I will see you in the Abyss!” the High Priestess hissed, her upraised hand burning with unholy light.

“My soul is already claimed, witch!” Karyl spat back, but though she twisted in the air, that loathesome energy in the priestess's touch wracked into her. Pain!

Her final Star went off in a flash of light, and the energy rolled off of her, like water over rock. The High Priestess's expression was painted with disbelief.

Then Joe descended on her like a falling star, that momentary distraction all he needed. Again she whirled and flicked her whip Wyrmslayer's way, warning him back. But this time he did not flinch and turn. This time Qualmanthor led, and cut a silver arc that sheared skull from slithering spine. The dark elf howled, her face a twisted mask. One, two, three severed snakes plummeted to the floor.

And an instant later, the High Priestess's head followed them.

On they fought…

The wall against the portal shuddered again, and fine cracks appeared in its stone surface. Dust sifted through the air. Down about it, they battled the Baenre soldiers into submission. There were Nadylene and Obie, working in tandem, knives and arrows. Nadylene was famed for her quick temper and yet... Karyl had never seen her so ruthless, so vicious, her beautiful dark face so twisted by rage. There was Em as well, held aloft by her wings, back to the wall and eyes scanning as she systematically searched out and destroyed the dark elven warriors who sought to flank her two friends. As for Nymara – he was everywhere and nowhere, a flash of silver fur and a song that still trilled and whispered and hummed and rang. But the cavern north of them was an ocean of darkness, and a predator moved through it. The minutes of time the Crown Prince had bought them were fast receding into mere moments. And even those moments were slipping away.

Above, together, Karyl and Wyrmslayer moved side by side to confront the as- yet unchallenged Handmaiden of Lolth. She shifted form before their eyes, one-eyed and gruesome, an eight-foot pillar of half-melted wax that reached for them with all eight tentacled arms. Into her embrace they went, swords leading, to put to the test their own mettle against the tanar'ri fiend. Karyl could have been forgiven for losing track of all else during those moments – for who could otherwise survive an encounter with such a servant of the Spider Queen, an agent from the Abyss?

Yet she did not lose track. For as if from a long ways away, Karyl heard a voice from below. And though the Handmaiden's tentacles twisted and tore and grappled, and she slashed and hacked back, both fighting and yet also helpless to escape, nothing blocked her eyes. Nothing stopped her ears.

Two dark elves appeared among the chaos storm of the ruined battlefield. Only two, because surely two was all it would take. The time dearly purchased with gnomish lives had at last been spent. The enemy they had long avoided was again upon them, and there was nowhere left to flee. Valas Hune had arrived, and at his side…

Nadylene saw them pass only feet away from her, her eyes going wide with shock and fright as she twisted out of their way, ducking behind a leaning pillar. Locked in battle with the yochlol far above, Karyl saw them, twin apparitions of darkness, and her mouth opened to cry out a warning. Hovering aloft above the battlefield, kept in the air by the mighty pace of her wings, Emma did not see. Karyl's cry rang out – too late. Jarlaxle's magical daggers were already in flight.

One, two, three, four, five. Emma's body jerked with each successive impact. Her mighty wings fumbled in their rhythm, stilled, and then faded away. Suddenly all too human, a marionette with its strings abruptly cut, she plummeted out of the sky. Jarlaxle spread suddenly empty hands.

“I tried to be reasonable,” he said.

Thrashing her way free of the yochlol, Karyl suddenly staggered mid-swing, the dance of her rapier slowed as her eyes went wide with shock.

Locked in a battle of turning blades with a Baenre captain behind her pillar, Nadylene dodged back from a reaching blade and then suddenly staggered sideways, wildly missing a parry as the captain's sabre sliced deep into one calf. She barely felt the pain.

Half a battlefield away, Obie fumbled and dropped an arrow between suddenly numb fingers, doubling over, fingers clutching at his heart like claws.

Deep in the cramped darkness of Blingdenstone's dungeon, playing idle pyrotechnic tricks between his bored fingers, Leo drew in a deep sharp breath and looked up, blackness into blackness.

Every Mark flared to silver life. Every mind rang with a single echoing note, a gong smote cavern upon cavern away, reverberating through the farthest dark cornices of the soul. The sound bore a name, a cry not so much a word as a feeling, not so much a feeling as a soul.

Emma, it cried.

Emma.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association

Edited by - Kris the Grey on 26 Mar 2014 04:15:23
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 26 Mar 2014 :  04:12:53  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
UPDATED DRAMATIS PERSONAE: (in order of appearance)

Karyl Darkstar - Player Character (real name Carol) - Female human, age 25, Level 5 Fighter Mage (using the Magus Spellblade build from Pathfinder)

Kris the Grey - Non-player Character/DM's alter ego (real name…not hard to guess) - Male human, age 30 (in our tale), Level 2 Rogue (Swashbuckler)/Level 9 Wizard (generalist)

Emma Drake - Player Character (real name Emily) - Female 'human' (see class), age 28, Level 10 (Bronze) Dragon-blooded Sorceress (using the Pathfinder system)

Nadylene - Player Character (nickname 'Ne') - Female 'human' (although technically half-drow through the power of a Circlet of Transformation gifted to her by the church of Eilistraee under Waterdeep), age 25, Level 3 Rogue/4 Bard/3 Arcane Trickster (using the Pathfinder system)

Briznia - Non-player Character (based on a character created by Ed Greenwood in Silverfall, Tales of the Seven Sisters) - Female drow, age late 20's (in human terms), Level 4 Cleric/Level 5 Fighter - Priestess of Eilistraee from the Promenade in Waterdeep (on assignment with the PCs to aid them in completing the mission for Qilue Veladorn that brought them to the Underdark in the first place)

Obie - Player Character (real name Steve) - Male human - age 31, Level 9 Ranger (and worshipper of Eilistraee)

Sir Joseph Wyrmslayer - present NPC/prior player (real name Joe) - Male human, age 31 (in our tale), Level 10 Fighter (Weapon Master) and recently appointed Knight in Silver

Mistress Henkala Shadowsong- NPC deep gnome illusionist (from Drizzt DoUrden's Guide to the Underdark)

Nymara- NPC divine servant of Mystra summoned by the PCs to aid them in defending the city - variant form of celestial guardinal - basically a sentient, silver furred, 4 foot tall, humanoid ferret with a shinning silver rapier and the manners of an English gentleman

Crown Prince Marktarn - NPC deep gnomish fighter and heir to the throne of Blingdenstone (from Drizzt DoUrden's Guide to the Underdark)

Characters mentioned (but not directly appearing in our tale):

Leo- PC human male from Earth

Brona- PC human male from Earth

Jezayla- NPC half-elven former Sorceress tutor of Emma Drake

The villains are pretty much self explanatory...

If anyone has questions, please feel free to ask away. Once again, enjoy the read.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Kris the Grey
Senior Scribe

USA
422 Posts

Posted - 28 Mar 2014 :  15:47:55  Show Profile Send Kris the Grey a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Update - Further chapters (past V) will be posted on the site under the 'Campaign Journals' section of the main page (along with a repost of I through V). I'll link to them here once I manage to get them to the admins and they go live. Please feel free to comment/ask questions here about that, what you've read so far, or any other aspects of the Play Yourself angle to the campaign.

Again, enjoy the read.

Kris the Grey - Member in Good Standing of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, the Arcane Guild of Silverymoon, and the Connecticut Bar Association
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
324 Posts

Posted - 28 Mar 2014 :  22:04:39  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Yay! I can hardly wait for the next chapters, and it will be fun to read everything from beginning to end. (Um, it is going to be the whole story in the 'Campaign Journals' section, right? No waiting days for the next chapter to be posted?*) Now, comments on the last chapter:

I'm really starting to hate Jarlaxle, to the point that I can't understand why I liked him in RAS's novels.

I'm also starting to empathize with Nadylene more and more, especially the part where Karyl noticed Nadylene seemed to be fighting much more viciously, her face twisted with rage. This is also one of the ways in which she and I are different (well, nowadays anyways); how we handle anger. Nadylene goes into what my dad referred to as a 'hot rage', which is pretty much what everyone expects rage to be (and something I used to go into all the time as a teenager, and sometimes still do). My dad (and, after being taught how, myself) went into what he called a 'cold rage'; the only way I can think to explain it (as my dad explained it to me) is that your rage reaches a point where it goes beyond rage, even beyond human emotion, and (if you're in a combat situation, which you probably are) you basically become a perfect killing machine; efficient, emotionless, merciless (and often fighting in a very pragmatic, vicious, and extremely underhanded manner). And before anyone asks, my dad served in Vietnam; he actually attributed surviving several skirmishes to the fact he was able to go into a 'cold rage'. (And here's an interesting coincidence; my dad developed his 'cold rage' as a way to deal with what Nadylene, and the rest of party, are going through; the loss of a friend. As my dad put it, "We didn't mourn until we had gotten the son of ***** responsible.")

Okay that really went off-topic. Well, keeping with the theme of this post, I also have a question for Karyl; what happens to you guys if you, well, die? (The end of chapter V has got me worrying for Emma.) Do you get resurrected, either by a Realmsian deity or... y'know, Him (I'm sorry if using His name in this context is inappropriate), or do you just stay dead (which I imagine would make future adventures extremely difficult). And, if you are resurrected, is it on Abeir-Toril or Earth? If you're resurrected on Earth, do you come back remembering everything about you're adventure, or nothing at all? Or perhaps remembering, but thinking it was all a dream?



*Sorry to pester you about this, but I really want to be able to read this all at once. Which is a sign that I think this is a great story; I want to be able to read the entire adventure from beginning to end, without stopping until the very last sentence (or a big "THE END").

Edited by - Drustan Dwnhaedan on 28 Mar 2014 22:07:35
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Karyl
Acolyte

USA
15 Posts

Posted - 30 Mar 2014 :  22:22:13  Show Profile Send Karyl a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Jarlaxle is a fascinating character (and many a wee hour of the morning was spent trying to get his words just so). I tend to find that it's easy to forget just what sort of person he is - as long as the folks he's conveniently wiping off the map are people we don't really care about anyways. He has a soft spot for Artemis, certainly, and another for Drizzt. But by and large, he's not really the type to look out for others. And for better or for worse - our party sort of, well, "got in his way."

As for rage: I'm a cold person myself. I recently had a good friend tell me she doesn't believe she has ever seen me get angry. I do indeed get angry; I just despise the loss of control when I let that, or any other emotion, for that matter, get the better of my good judgment. It happens from time to time, but as a rational animal, I enjoy being able to have the power to control that - more or less. I think that plays into the ability to 'make' anger, vengeance, rage, etc 'cold'. And it is a terrible and terrifying flaw of human nature in itself, as well. Sometimes it is simply better - healthier - to feel. But that is a subject for an entirely different discussion!

As to what happens to us when we die in the Realms: an enduring question! I think there was the hope/expectation that we could get each other resurrected through conventional Realms means - ie, the expenditure of quite a bit of cash on hand - but through all our adventures previous, thanks mostly to the intervention of the Stars, none of us had kicked the bucket yet... so it was all conjecture. Part of what made this particular adventure so thrilling was the very real possibility that we would die. Did that mean we were dead forever (recall, we are playing this "as real", part of the suspension of disbelief), or kicked back to Earth, or... what? Who knew?

Now, you don't see it in this story because of the way our party fell out during this time, but we did actually have a cleric PC in our group at the time: Byron, who was a cleric of Mystra. As it stood, I, Karyl, was the only one among our PCs who had a solid Earth faith (pretty die-hard Catholic, in my case) and brought it over with me to Realms. Several of the PCs had established connections/relationships/what have you with other Realms deities (such as was the case with Nadylene). Really, that entire angle was a confusing tangle.

I think we were all mostly hoping that no one would get killed and we wouldn't have to find out...

I'm not sure what the story is (ha!) with the posting of the story, but I imagine it would all be available.

Our bones that lie here await yours.

Edited by - Karyl on 30 Mar 2014 23:46:26
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
324 Posts

Posted - 05 Apr 2014 :  00:09:56  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Okay, now that I'm back after being sick* for the last couple of days, I can get back to asking questions. Yay ^o^!

Another question for Karyl; how did you guys choose your character classes? Do you just play whatever you want, or the types of classes you could realistically be.Er, let me provide an example; I like playing more 'physical' classes (barbarians, fighters, rangers, etc.), but I'm personally not in that great of shape (although I can technically correct this problem myself), which would make me lousy at the classes I prefer. However, as my group has pointed out, I am quite intelligent (reading as a hobby tends to lead to that), and that I would make a good wizard or bard**, even though I don't particularly like either class (the former because it just seems like more work than fun to me, the latter because it requires a level of talent I don't possess, aside from an absurd ability to remember almost anything I've read). In fact, the only (primary) spellcasting class I like is the sorcerer, and even that's divided by what I like (dragon bloodline!) and what would be more accurate (fey, if I'm to believe certain family lore, or there's one obscure bloodline that, IIRC, is one where the sorcerer is descended from a long line of daydreamers, which isn't very powerful, but in my case, would very appropriate.)

I was going to ask something else, but it can wait. Now I must go and see if I can find the Campaign Journals and see if the rest of the story's been posted.



*It was actually a relapse of something I had been trying to get over. And, since said relapse was triggered by getting upset by a post I had seen, I guess I'm not really that good at being 'cold' after all.
**Earlier I had said my new character might take a few levels of bard, but that didn't really work out. Mostly because my fellow players.
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Karyl
Acolyte

USA
15 Posts

Posted - 05 Apr 2014 :  06:08:41  Show Profile Send Karyl a Private Message  Reply with Quote
One of the most fun parts of 'falling into' the Realms in Kris's game is converting your physical self into the character template of you, complete with stats. We were playing under the Pathfinder rules, so all our character classes and stats and such reflected that. By and large, you enter the Realms as a Lvl 1 expert - expert because living in our modern society gives you advantages of skill and education that outstrip what you'd expect of a commoner (for example). As you gain experience in the world, you can choose to retrain that first level as a character class - under a suitably skilled (and *paid*!) teacher. After that, you would gain experience by slaying monsters and the like, as per usual, and once you crossed the threshold for your next level, you could then seek out a trainer - or revisit an old one - and attempt to persuade him/her to instruct you in the arts of that class. The same thing applied for feats; you had to find someone who could reasonably instruct you in the feat you were interested in learning.

Some (rare few) players came in with a natural advantage thanks to their skill set. Member of the SCA with some medieval combat training, for example? Fighter 1 is possible. We had a Ranger 1 come in to the game (and well deserved!) - and a friend of mine earned her first monk levels thanks to multiple black belts. I had a little bit of a leg up myself for participating in mock medieval combat (though not SCA) here in life, so it didn't take me as long to train my basic weapons skills and be able to *function* in combat.

As for your character stats... rather like Narnia, it is you yourself who enter the Realms. Not a strong guy? You won't have a great strength score. Get sick a lot, wear glasses, easily wear out (etc)? Affects your con. How did you do academically/how smart are you? Int score likewise affected. We had a little interview-like process where we talked about our lifestyles and Kris asked us a series of questions, trying to get a sense for how we rated. Physical stats are easier than mental ones; in the beginning, we got blanket "+1" for Wisdom until as the game progressed a better sense for that was had.

Generally you find yourself with okay-to-decent scores, but certainly no optimized statistics - unless you're a champion rower or an olympic weightlifter or near Einstein. And suddenly you have to think about... what kind of classes you could train for, what those stats will help you be good at, and surviving to get to that point! For my part, I enjoy playing knights in plate armor; they drew me to the world of fantasy to begin with. But I had a perfectly mediocre 10 str, not exactly someone you want to put on the front lines with a sword. On the flip side, as valedictorian with kind of ridiculous SAT scores, I had an excellent int that screamed 'wizard'. Guess who is mostly disinterested in magic...? In the end, I ended up training as a magus, which is a pathfinder specific gish-in-a-box war wizard class. This allowed me to stand in the front wielding my rapier - where I love to be, and AM, in combat! - without ignoring the strengths that come from my stats.

Being from Earth, none of us had any naturally sorcerous powers. However Kris used some neat plot elements to explain our connection to and ability to use the Weave - the Marks that come up in the story. Through that connection, we're able to study the Art (and in the case of Emma, go the sorcerer path - though her tale to get there is a little more complicated!) Because we are all college graduates with good int scores, almost everyone in the party ended up with a little bit of wizard or wizard-like class somewhere in the mix.

Skills worked much the same way, attempting to find Realms equivalents to a certain number of skills we now possess and spending points in them - even if they are "useless" skills like Knowledge: Computers. You are who you are. ;)

The entire system engendered some pretty fascinating characters, each flawed "on paper, as characters" in their own way, and each imbued with a depth of philosophy in action that can only be mimicked by characters who only do exist on paper. You learn to work with your own strengths and weaknesses... and there is nothing quite like asking the question, "what would I REALLY do, if I were there?" to turn a campaign on its head in spectacular fashion!

Our bones that lie here await yours.

Edited by - Karyl on 05 Apr 2014 06:09:59
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Drustan Dwnhaedan
Learned Scribe

USA
324 Posts

Posted - 07 Apr 2014 :  21:27:04  Show Profile Send Drustan Dwnhaedan a Private Message  Reply with Quote
Nwaaa... I guess it's a good thing I'm not in Kris's campaign, as I would likely be stuck as a commoner with a 10 in every stat; I'm not particularly strong or weak (average STR), clumsy and accident-prone (low DEX), and my other stats... well those get a bit more complicated. I'll provide what I can, see what Kris thinks:

CON: Because I'm diabetic, and the complications caused by diabetes, my immune system is all but nonexistent. (Actually, unless I was somehow able to receive a steady supply of insulin, and syringes to inject said insulin, I wouldn't be able to survive more than three days, and only then if I didn't eat anything. And, since diabetes is more along the lines of a genetic defect* than a disease, nobody in the Realms would be able to cure it.) On the other hand, because I inherited quite a bit from my dad, particularly his ridiculously strong resistance to illness, I'm able to recover from getting sick much more quickly than other diabetics (and even some normal folks), even though my immune system is basically in tatters.
INT: As I've mentioned earlier, I can remember just about anything I have ever read. Unfortunately, I have received no formal form of education (I was home-schooled my entire life, and Colorado doesn't recognize homeschooling as a form of education), which is why I suggested I would start as a commoner rather than as an expert. (And because I haven't been to college, but that's primarily because I don't have any money. And that none of the local colleges will accept someone who was home-schooled.) I'm also terrible with languages (something else I inherited from my dad was a natural talent for mangling whatever language I try to speak, even English).
WIS: This would probably be the only stat that would be high for me, as I can be quite willful and, according to my DM, I'm the only one in my party who actually demonstrates common sense with any degree of regularity. (As opposed to the rest of my gaming group, who think my 'overly cautious' approach to everything indicates that I'm lacking in common sense.)
CHA: Most people seem to think I'm a generally nice guy, but point out that I tend to have a rather cynical, pessimistic view of the world.(I can't help it; my worldview is based on what I observe happening in the world.) And if CHA is used in Kris's game to determine looks, then my Charisma score would probably be the first in history to be a negative number.

And that's about all for now. There's still something I have to ask, but it can wait. I still want to finish reading about your adventure, especially, since Karyl accidentally revealed that none of the party has died, Emma must somehow survive (although I'll be darned if I can see how).


*At least, diabetes was explained to me as a genetic defect, although that may just be my interpretation of what I was told.

Edited by - Drustan Dwnhaedan on 07 Apr 2014 23:09:15
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Karyl
Acolyte

USA
15 Posts

Posted - 10 Apr 2014 :  04:00:13  Show Profile Send Karyl a Private Message  Reply with Quote
By saying "no one has died", I naturally meant up to this point in the story. That is, after all, the moment you're perched at and wondering about. I know better than to give away spoilers. You understand of course that this doesn't mean a thing one way or the other about moving forward! Just that the doubt still exists.

As for looks and CHA: though the story you read was played in the Pathfinder system, the interminably unending battles (it took us MONTHS to complete this!) were one of several aspects that had our whole campaign converting back over to 2e. Which I had never played previous to this - actually, I was quite the newbie to D&D as a game when I started this one; I must confess the campaign has rather spoiled me! - though, nowadays, I've gone so far as to be running a campaign of my own on the side. (College campuses are great places to recruit. I think there are about 8 players in that game, and I've even got an assistant DM to help build encounters.)

But I digress! What I had intended to say to begin with, was: in 2E there are separate scores for comeliness and charisma. My experience was, as someone who was new to Kris and most of the players, you start off with a flat +1 charisma modifier... and over the course of the first few sessions, Kris gets a good sense for your presence in the room. Adjustments are made accordingly. :)

I wouldn't worry about having great stats in a play-yourself game, though. That is part of the point: you walk into that world with an incredible amount of knowledge, and I don't just mean modern-world-skills. Your metagaming knowledge comes into play. You just happen to know that illithids have great spell resistance - for example - and that informs your battle tactics. Or where a cache of treasure lies, that won't get disturbed till much later in the timeline. Or that a certain powerful intelligent sword, such as Cutter, will be changing hands pretty frequently up in the north, and if you time it right, you can snag that weapon for yourself... or the identities of several Masked Lords of Waterdeep... etc. You may not have the strength or the dex or the con that you're used to a character having, but you can still employ what you do have to powerful effect. And I like that a lot. It suddenly becomes much more about yourself, your character/personality, the friends you win and choices you make, and much less about the mechanics of the game itself.

At least, that is what I have found, in the varied other campaigns I've participated in since.

I think you'd surprise yourself.

And the party interactions - moral quandaries - decisions you make - are a heck of a lot more pressing and powerful in a play-yourself than in any other kind of game. I've said it again and again but it still blows my mind, week to week. :) It matters on a whole different level. Because there IS no rerolling (or at least, that's the conditions you operate under yourself - anymore than you can "reroll" in real life!) and it IS you.

Our bones that lie here await yours.

Edited by - Karyl on 10 Apr 2014 04:01:57
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JohnnyGrognard
Acolyte

USA
19 Posts

Posted - 28 Apr 2014 :  19:05:06  Show Profile Send JohnnyGrognard a Private Message  Reply with Quote
"Some (rare few) players came in with a natural advantage thanks to their skill set. Member of the SCA with some medieval combat training, for example? Fighter 1 is possible. We had a Ranger 1 come in to the game (and well deserved!) - and a friend of mine earned her first monk levels thanks to multiple black belts. I had a little bit of a leg up myself for participating in mock medieval combat (though not SCA) here in life, so it didn't take me as long to train my basic weapons skills and be able to *function* in combat."

As I stated in an earlier post this is precisely why I don't like play yourself games. A member of the SCA is not going to be the equivalent of a 1st level fighter. It's not real, no matter how much research, book work, and practice combat you do, it is just not the same. As for you first level ranger friend, I also call foul as well. I know who you are speaking of and it just isn't so. Tracking in itself is a hard art. If you don't do it on a regular basis you lose your ability. A 1st level ranger is believed to live by tacking. I took courses in tracking, used it in my job, and practiced on my own and my skills are most likely no where near the equivalent of a 1st level ranger. As for the monk, just having black belts doesn't qualify a person to be on the same spiritual and physical level as a monk. In the US especially getting a black belt can mean next to nothing. Again, a monk in the game lives for training. Their body is their temple.

These are just the kind of examples of why play yourself games turn me off.

Door, Room, Monster, Treasure!
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