“Oh, it wasn’t that long ago really……” the old gnome says as his voice trails off and his eyes think back in time; his listeners, several patrons of the Drunkin Ogre who have gotten to know Gorlen over the years ,ever since he came to the Manaverse during the last great sync. They all know when the Gnome is about to begin a story.

Across the sea, near the Lost Coast is a town called Esagend, what’s interesting about the town is it contains a fully operational Spelljamming port, and the “Library of Arcanum”.

“Can’t say how long I spent in the Library days, maybe weeks actually, I was hoping to find any references to the Manaverse, our enemy’s the Laputans, or a potentially new civilization to trade with.” Out of the corner of Gorlen’s eye, he catches the watchful glance of the bartender, in the past he may have gotten a bit too holy and forgotten to pay, yet he has always settled up, though it may be the next morning before he does. The Drunkin Ogre now has a new bartender, and she seems to be keeping a close eye on Gorlen.

Gorlen slyly winks toward the barkeep assured the barkeep he would settle up on his bill, before leaving, versus being drunk by the end of the night and forgetting, stumbling back to his shop like so many times in the past. And every time an Ogre bouncer named Ikug is there to meet him, over the years I have gotten to know Ikug, smart for an Ogre, has potential, he’s a decent fella.

Digan, a dwarf from Kheg Moldur who visits V’Ral periodically trading with Gorlen usually comes to the tavern with Gorlen, mainly because he usually buys. Digan, waves his hand in front of Gorlen’s face… “Old gnome your mind is trailing off again”, Gorlen’s focus snaps back … “Ohh right! Where was I?” Many of the patrons around Gorlen’s table begin to snicker, and from across the bar, on the stool near the door Ikug yells, “Library”. “Ahh yes the library”, tipping his mug in appreciation of Ikug youthful hearing.

Soo in the Library I recently learned something interesting about the Laputans, approximately 400 years ago there was a chronomancy league within their ranks, more of a cabal really, that is believed to have destroyed a long-lost realm called Gunula. I couldn’t get any details on what happened, save for the mage who escaped safely, leaving the entire land mass of Gunula to a laboratory beneath the Ocean of Irionen.

What little lore remains, is the chronomancer’s that survived was Aion, along with his apprentice who was able to grab some treasure, and books before the chronomancer shifted them into the mana-ethereal plane. Now here is where it caught my interest, the Cabal had been commissioned by the Laputan Capital to build a Fortress in the Manaetheral plane for research that will aid in conquering this world, or at lease bring about the next great age of Laputan. What I discovered is the Laputan Fortress was built in the ManaEtheral plane on the edge of the Deep Mana-Ethereal plane. Yeah you heard correctly … take a moment to take that in, it was the Deep Mana-Ethereal plane.

For years Aion continued his research slowly rebuilding and recruiting Laputans for expeditions into the deep mana-ethereal. Aion made it to the deep mana-ethereal plane, but later disappeared under circumstances not entirely clear as to why. His apprentice, Remus, after many years had grown in power and had become a force to be reckoned after years of Aion’s tutelage. Taking up the mantle of the Temporal Mage. Little was known from the from the books in the Library about the Fortress, and even less about the deep mana-ethereal. What I did learn is while it was called a Fortress, really the structure is a single cylinder (tower-like) built from matter brought from the Prime and proto-matter from the Deep Mana-Ethereal, measuring roughly five stories in height. The interior of the Fortress conforms to the weightlessness of the Mana Ethereal-Plane, and so instead of stair cases, a central open shaft connects to all the rooms from one end to the other. A decorative metal span runs through the very center of the shaft, glowing lighter or darker in response to the will of castle’s master and providing light throughout.

Before Aion’s disappearance into the Deep-Mana Ethereal he had been collecting the deep mana-ethereal proto-matter and mixed it into an alloy with what the Laputan’s called power mithril to create a new form of golems, it is said he built 10 in total, to act as defenders of the Fortress and the Laputan forces that resides there.

“Now as you can see, after learning this a few months ago, I had to go see this for myself, so I set off for an expedition into the Deep-Mana Ethereal”, signaling the barkeep for another round.

Now getting to the deep mana-ethereal plane isn’t as easy as it sounds, see the Laputan Fortress is built on a weak point in the curtain between the mana-ethereal and the deep mana-ethereal. Finding an entrance either thru Sigil is hard enough, near impossible via the use of magic. So, getting to the Mana-Ethereal plane is easy enough, but you have to hike it to a weak spot in the curtain between the planes to get to the deep mana-ethereal. I suspect the Laputans sought to control the entrance, as they apparently sent many expeditions thru.

It’s easy to get turned around, with pulsing fields of mana, no gravity, time moves erratically, and the native mana creatures are not always friendly. Spells and spell-like abilities function in very wild ways, always chances to go awry. It sort of reminds me of some of the first proto-power masters back in the day, the crazy spell mishaps that occurred…

Once I had gotten to the location of the weak point into the curtain is when I discovered the Laputan Fortress, built right on the event horizon of the weak point in the curtain. I tried to get as close to the Fortress as I could when I realized I haven’t seen any patrols, or guards. Moving in closer I discovered a pair of shattered proto golems at its entrance, which gave me pause, but I pushed forward into the tower. Once in the tower there wasn’t any sign of any Laputans, all the golems have been destroyed and left behind, but no bones, corpses, not even blood. Normally, in situations like this I think Alchemist, but an Alchemist strong enough to smash these proto-Golems, wouldn’t be interested in Laputan reagents… there had to be a different reason, so I continued to press into the tower.

After some time, I was able to largely search and loot the entire tower, whoever wiped out the Laputan’s took something very specific, or had no need for stuff. Aside from some of the interesting raw materials I found in the forge, they did have a small library the I spent the better part of 6 weeks pouring thru. I know, I know Gorlen looking at Digans expression on his face, Laputan’s are a bunch of wankers, but those wankers…do keep good records.

I found a couple of interesting things while I was there, apparently the Laputans were trading with what the Laputan’s called the Argith, they are a form of ghostly elves, they read a lot like a version of Deep Mana-Ethereal Drow. The Laputans also had an incredible research interest in what they referred to as wave spiders, they had a remarkable ability to manipulate mana waves, time, magnetic pulses, resulting in several lost Laputan patrols to them. There were also a few notes on coming across a few Phaerimm variants, an establish mind flayer outpost, and a hexagonal prismatic tower and in the footnotes, it said Spellweaver question mark.

Now for whatever the reason, there was a journal in Remus’s chambers, that detailed a stealth expedition were the Laputan’s were to research a couple of nests of Wave Spiders in the hopes of finding a way to neutralize them. One of their assassins called Pandora, apparently got greedy, while on her intel mission, and stole a Huge, egg-shaped artifact from one of the nests. He looks up at Digan, I suspect this is what happen to the tower. There was ~8 hours of time, as noted in the Journal, from when the artifact made it back to the tower, and the horde of wave spider descended upon the Laputans. Remus couldn’t learn much in such a short time, other than the artifact radiates an unidentifiable divinity that he believes resides within the deep mana-ethereal plane.

At this point, I was about 2.5 months into my exploration, and I was ready to step thru the curtain. About 3 days in, remember time and distance is all a bit wonky in the deep mana-ethereal, I came across a silvery light glow, that turned out to be one of the elven ghost cities. Yeah, I got to close and was quickly discovered by one of their primordial channelers of Vezule (no idea who that is), I was able to shake them after about a day of running, I think they just got tired or bored and left me alone. Unfortunately, my theory wasn’t true, I doubled back after some time to make sure they had given up on the gnome and found them ripped apart. Bad for me, the mana-ethereal marauders that ripped them apart had set a trap for me, long story short I died.

Digan looking up confused because Gorlen is sitting in front of him, Gorlen waves his hand dismissing Digan’s confusion, not the first time for it to happen, I deal in exotic materials, it goes with the job. I always have a ton of contingencies just for this reason. Eventually the mana-ethereal marauders celebrated their hunt and drank themselves of Gorlen’s top shelf brew, after they all passed out, I got up brushed myself off and headed back home. At this point I had been away from my shop a good chunk of time, and needed to resupply, realizing I need to rethink my approach to exploring the deep mana-ethereal. My next expedition will be in ~6 weeks.

In the meantime … Gorlen fumbling around in his bag, I was able to find some of this raw power mithril ore at the Laputan Fortress in one of their storage rooms … handing it over to Digan. I was hoping to see what your people could discover or possibly make with it. If the forgers in your mountain like’s it, I’m going back in 6 weeks, I’ll try and grab some more… if possible.

To be continued.

Ahh today was an interesting day, there was a young adventuring Magnesti that came into the shop today, looking for spell reagent supplies and a new spellbook or possibly a backup spell book he really didn’t say. The young lad was named Joules, as I directed him to the pre-carved ready for enchantment wands, the blank spellbooks, and finally the last of the spell reagents he had noticed I was intently doing some research on the Kingdom of Raneger. Naturally we got talking, and after a few glasses of mana wine I may have let slip that I had learned of a Necrolord that use to rule the Kingdom of Ranegar, as well as several others over a thousand years ago. He had conquered much of the known lands, by forging the world’s first hell-blade.

How I came of this knowledge is a while back I was searching thru a lost Necropolis and found the remains of a library. Within the library I had picked up some lost lore and history of the area that I thought would lead me to, ahh well that doesn’t really matter. The point is I became intrigued by this Necrolord, his name was Zolus the Fallen, it took him over three years to forge the hell blade and the completed blade was darker than any magical darkness and deadlier than a dragon’s wrath. To complete the hell-blade’s enchantment Zolus summoned a powerful Pit Fiend named Kalyath and bound it to the blade, granting the blade and its wielder the powers of Hell.

There is very little to be known about what happened to the blade, what is known that eventually Zolus and his armies were defeated by a Dragonmaster Arkanis and his legions. The weapon was lost after that to both man, and history.

Until recently, about 6 years ago in the Kingdom of Shetith in the town of Raundernam, an overly ambitious lord name Sothos funded several large-scale expeditions in search of the legendary hell-blade. You see, Sothos was born from a wealthy house, Sothos Landaval was never content with his lot in life. His ambitions lead to desire more and more power, that he believed only the hell-blade could bestow upon the weilder. Overtime this ambition turned to madness, and this desire consumed him.

The gnome grunts as he leans over to top off the young magnesti’s glass with mana wine. There certainly is a life lesson in there Magnesti, that is yours if you’re listening.

Anyway, for years, this lord spent his fortune, pouring resources into multiple quests, oblivious or blind to the draining of his coffers and resources.

Nearly, 8 months ago, I learned that Sothos persistence paid off. Now here is where the story gets a little sketchy, there is no longer a lot of people around to corroborate what happened, I unfortunately had learned of it too late. What I had from one of my sp…/cough, /cough… I mean whispers at the bar, that a lone rider named Thanyan returned to Raundernam carrying a bundle wrapped thickly in cloaks, Thanyan did not look well, pale in the face, body, mind, and soul all weakened from the trip. The rider and a dozen other men finally found the blade, in a place called the cauldron within the underdeep. Their commanding officer, Captain Kridkyn carried the blade on the beginning of their return trip from the underdeep.

One night a madness took hold of him, and he slit his own throat. The next in command Lieutenant Fajik, then took possession of the sword. A few days later, he too went mad and attacked the group, killing the entire company except Thanyan who managed to finish the former officer first. Convinced now the sword that killed his companions is cursed, Thanyan wrapped it in his companion’s cloaks and after burying his party, he headed home.

Once Thanyan arrive in Raundernam, he presented the hell-blade still wrapped tightly in the cloaks of his fallen party to his lord, who immediately looked upon the bundle with greedy eyes. Thanyan pleaded with Lord Sothos to detroy the blade, but Sothos heard nothing more as he unwrapped his prize.

A month later, all contact with Lord Sothos, and the town of Raundernam had ceased, and rumors whispered of dark shapes prowling the borders at night, and even of a rip in the prime material plane to hell began to spread. All trade with the keep has stopped and anyone who has been sent to investigate the town has not returned.

The necrolord Zolos was powerful and able to bind the pit fiend Kalyath and bend the sword to his will, Lord Sothos was no such man. Within a week, the hell-blade was able to devour Sothos’s mind and take control of his body. As each day passed, more of the hell-blades essence was poured into Sothos’s body slowly cursing the lands with his mere presence, and all manners of foul and evil creatures were drawn to the weapon.

Alas that’s where the trail goes cold, the town is a ghost town, plagued by all manner of hell beast, and to boot the blade is no were to be found.

Ahh well, Joules probably for the best, since the hell-blade re-emergence all manner of cult follower, paladin, or holier than though kook is on the march to get themselves killed. I’ll let them do the heavy lifting and find the thing for me. Maybe this time, I’ll learn about it in time.

Gorlen Blackhammer - Journal Entry #191

So, let me see [waving his hand for another round] I estimate it was about 6 months ago, I had gotten some information from a dwarven drifter over in Esagend, by the Lost Coast toward the Sea of Ice. We were getting holy one night in an ale house called The Dragon’s Breath. This Dwarf told me about a Dwarven Citadel, in the Ashrock peaks called Khul Dural and their mining operations, normal variety of gemstones, and common metals…but he also talked of something of greater rarity and that is Dwarven Blackrock, a very rare and highly prized planar metal. Now the dwarves sometimes refer to this as godsteel because it can be found in the realms of the dwarven gods. It can also be found in very rare veins across the prime material plane. This material is a mixture of metal and stone, allowing it to retain the best properties of both materials, with few of their associated penalties. Weapons forged out of Blackrock are highly adaptive to enchantments, bonuses to hit/damage, as well as penetrating the hardness of other materials. Because of the unusual nature, and rarity of this alloy, only the most advanced and highly skilled smiths can mold this alloy into a weapon, armor, or shield that is worthy of its namesake.

It took me a while, but I was able to locate Khul Dural, and what seemed equally long amount of time to gain an audience with the high court, but after a lot and I mean a lot of beer, I was able to negotiate a small quantity of dwarven blackrock to be delivered to me. The merchant houses of Khul Dural had previously been running caravans to various locations all over the world, and assured me they wanted to visit V’Ral, ‘the new arrival’ as they put it. The merchant houses decided that with my order, they would visit the city on the next caravan to introduce themselves and establish a trade route with V’ral. While there, I had learned of rumors about the region going to war, with the barbarian tribes raiding some humanoid lands and some of the merchant houses troubles behind the missing caravans, plus recently their scouts have learned of drow groups being spotted coming up from the underdeep.

Alas my shipment nor the caravan ever came, I reached out to Khul Dural, but the region has exploded in all-out war, and their mountain has been sealed. I did recruit me a batch of adventurers called the Iron Lion Company, to recon and sniff out those responsible sadly that was a month ago and I haven’t heard from the adventuring party since. What I do know, is the caravan was tracked to a sight where they were attacked, it was made to look like Barbarians attacked it, but the Barbarian tribes of the regions don’t take slaves. The adventuring party was able to track the cargo, and those who didn’t die in the attack were taken as slaves and dragged into the underdeep.

Once in the underdeep, the adventuring party continued their stealth/recon mission and tracked the drow to a renegade drow House Deduis. Apparently, in the last decade or so the House of Deduis was ejected from the drow city of Undraeth and has been plotting their revenge since. It wasn’t until recently they have gotten more aggressive, the House of Deduis, very recently, the drow stumbled across an ancient ziggurat in the underdeep radiating necromantic energy. After exploring the perimeter, the drow house was able to conclude the Ziggurat belonged to that of a lich with considerable power. The drow scouting party learned of this information and reported the information back to their matron Yazral Deduis. Together the House of Deduis devised a plan to assault the lich’s ziggurat and loot it of it treasures and magic, which they will give them the power to finally use against the drow city of Undraeth.

At this point, I had lost contact with the adventuring party. I assume they had gotten spotted by the Drow, something worse, or captured. So, I closed my shop, I knew their last location, and though I’m an old gnome, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. I was interested in what magics this ziggurat held anyway and needed to put eyes on it at some point. Unfortunately, I was going to have to leave the comfort of my well stocked wine cellar and get back to field work. This was roughly two weeks ago, were I finally spotted this ‘plan’ hatched by the House of Deduis. This plan wasn’t really thought threw, and the matron Yazral really didn’t send his brightest, but nonetheless a small force of drow stealthed in to the ziggurat and breached the upper floors. Then they reached the roof when they discovered a great pile of bones and skulls that looked very much like a small castle. Within this small castle they found arcane writings and runes written everywhere walls, floors, ceiling. When the drow began to examine the runes, the entire bone structure suddenly moved.

One of the drows must have touched, pushed, turned, or pulled the wrong rune, because the bone castle had come to life. While I was very well cloaked, I had to get closer to the action to get a better look at what they were doing. As I was approaching, I started to recognize some of the necromantic runes on the bone castle, and quickly realized this wasn’t a bone castle at all but a necroship, a flying vessel constructed from the bones of the innocent and powered by necromantic runes. That’s when I started to scan around the upper floor and realized these knuckle heads are going to try and fly this ziggurat out of the lich’s cavern probably back to their House to better study it. Unfortunately, I realized the ones trying to fly the ship were the ones standing closest to the life chamber, probably only understanding a fraction of the runes around them. It didn’t take a high arcana check to see that’s the room that pulls lifeforce from unwilling participants to power the ship.…well needless to say, I quickly moved my feet back down to the ground as I could only see this going badly. As predicted, it didn’t take long for things to go horribly wrong, the large necroship began to fly on its own accord not finding its lich master from which to take its commands, it began draining all the ‘alive’ drow on the ship as a power source and flying around the cavern erratically. The ship began blasting its way thru stalactites, and stalagmites, running into walls, and finally crashing into the cavern floor. All of the drow on the ship had died from being drained or weakened to the point they were killed upon the crash.

<Sigh> after watching this display of foolishness, Gorlen mumbles…. I’m still no closer to finding this missing adventuring party, or my missing caravan/shipment. I did learn these drow are from the House of Deduis, and learned of the existing drow city Undraeth. After a few days of spying around the House of Deduis, Gorlen begins take down a few notes in his journal, “well haven’t discovered what happen to the caravan or my adventuring party, but I did successfully infiltrate the renegade house first to see what I can learn. Discovering several drow priestess were planning on moving against Yazral so they could use what they learn from the necroship in the name of the Great Spider Mother, obviously not knowing the ship had been destroyed.” Gorlen continues… “ This drove Yazral mad unleashing a bloody coup against his house, and the Deduis drow priestesses.”

Gorlen looks up and thinks to himself, “I have seen all there is to see at what’s left of the House of Deduis”. Gorlen begins to make his way back to the wreckage, only to find a group of mineral-hunting svirfneblin from Adalun came across the necroship crash site. They must have been nearby and heard the noise generated from the crash. From the number of them, they had to have immediately called in reinforcements when they spotted the wreckage. The deep gnomes immediately requested help from Adalun to secure the site, and to help retrieve the large, wrecked structure. An entire large force from Adalun was quickly hard at work by the time Gorlen had gotten back to the site.

Gorlen, takes a sip of his beer, thinking about his next steps… “I would like to check out Adalun, but I doubt they would have my missing shipment. I’m guessing I need to scout out Undraeth, maybe check out the slave market see if I can spot any caravan guards that survived, or the missing adventuring party”

Gorlen mumbles… “This is going to take longer than I had hoped.”

Over the last few months, I have spent a lot of time on the lost coast, pouring over the tomes I discovered in the Library of Arcanum. But today, something got my magic senses tingling. So I decided to take a walk about and see if I can explore more of this region, taking a little break from my download of this library.

After flying around few days mapping a new area of this continent, I stumbled across an unusual mountain village called Kurdarim, high up along the spine of the Ashrock Peaks, nested in a Caringe Vale near a lake the locals refer to as Dragonfly Lake. I think this region falls within the Duiral Kingdom but from the looks of the village the recent politics down below have left this village untouched. What’s interesting about this town, is from the looks of it there is a large mix of goliaths, dwarves, and humans working throughout the village, and in the nearby mines, with the occasional emergence of an odd race here and there. While uncommon, I don’t think many in this city will raise an eyebrow of a gnome walking about town.

After a few hours of piddling about town, this town is governed by an alliance across 3 merchant houses all three seem to run caravans in and out of this town almost every day, along the main vein of the town is lined with alehouses, and brothels for the caravan workers, miners, crafters, and tradesman that work the various goods produced in this town. Overall, the village is a sooty, sullen place prone to unpleasant bursts of violence and passion, with bar fights being an almost nightly occurrence.

After some time, I arrived at the Charging Mammoth, one of the seedier taprooms, in an attempt to parch an old gnome’s thirst with some ale. Sadly, there was no Mana Wine on the menu, but then I did find a ForgeFire Hard Cider here which is very tasty, very strong. While drinking this Cider I discovered a sour apple start, with notes of ginger and nutmeg, but hidden beneath that, is the tiniest taste of manacite. That must be why when I drank it, I warmed up from the cold quickly, and received a second wind almost like coming off a nap. I suspect the merchant houses have the brewers spike the drinks to keep the workers at peak production. Sneaky merchants, but alas just a theory, ‘sigh’, the things I must do for knowledge. In order to prove my hypothesis, I will have to try every drink on the menu, across all the establishments in town.

As the night progresses, the gnome manages to gather a parade of locals traveling from one alehouse, to the next, buying round after round for his knew found friends only for the price of a good story about the town (somewhere across the Mulitverse, a Rolandite tosses and turns in her sleep). Throughout the night he hears all sorts of stories of area illegal slave operations, orcs and various goblinoid warbands, and of recent undead emerging from what was thought to be an empty mithril mine about 50 miles from town, across the lake.

Of course, by morning Gorlen finds himself sleeping in the bar beneath a table, and all his newfound friends gone. As he stumbles out of the bar, he makes his way to find breakfast starting to pick up flashes of different stories the town had told him, beginning to defrag his memory of total recall and reassemble last night’s activities.

After a hour or two, of organizing the puzzle pieces of what was last night, Gorlen remembered that once he got some of the town folk drunk they switched their story to the mine not being emptied or mined out, it was abandoned after the miners discovered a great monolith to an alien god. Eventually at some point, a sage from a local nearby school of magic heard these rumors and traveled to Dragonfly Lake, to see first-hand this monolith. Shortly after reaching the monolith chamber the sage discovered symbols found near the site the miners had discarded, not knowing what they said the miners just returned to the surface and abandoned the mine.

It was said the sage went mad with mysterious visions after reading the symbols. Visions of massive metal plates foretelling the collapse of civilization. A prophesy that spoke to violent upheaval and chaos, and the return of a long-dead race called the spell weavers.

Nobody has ventured near its entrance anymore, probably for over 500 years, as there are several dark stories tied to a necromancer, and undead that can be heard thru the tunnels. However, recently in the last month according to Leric a local Dwarf, a Laputan adventuring party loaded for bear, passed thru town headed there, but none of them said what they are looking for, and none have returned since.

Remembering something Gorlen digs around his pocket, there it is … I was talking to a rogue name Reza, Riza, something like that. And she gave me a picture of something she was able to pickpocket off of one of the Laputan’s. She did overhear them say the Sage’s name that went mad from before apparently drawing this image over and over again before dying of madness in his chamber. Let see, this is it –

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Well, that’s it for now, looks like I have to get the village drunk again tonight, their manacite tastes different the V’Ral’s manacite, going to have to find out where they get it so I can investigate. Maybe I’ll stroll over and check out the various forgers in town see if there is anything interesting being made.

Ohh yeah, i was suppose to test something last night, a theory i had, can’t remember what that was… hmm it will come to me.

-Gorlen

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry, # 210

[Recommend Reading – The History of the Spell Weaver, before diving into this Journal Entry]

Well, journal, today was an unusual day, I saw multiple Kargin’s walking around the city, some with tentacles, some with Mind Flayer helmets, a few with beholder stalks, it was all quite unsettling, and bad for business. I did send a letter to Sorvani, and Varalla asking if their cloning machine had gone awry but received a rather tort response back. I suspect they are confused as well as to what’s happening. It seemed like a day to close up shop, and I thought I would swing by the obelisk and ask him if he knew about this Kargin explosion. But then I had a line of Kargin’s forming outside of my shop looking for a very special form of gemstone capable of holding celestial gates to summon angels. As they came in and explained what they were looking for the answer to the multiplicity of the Kargin’s became obvious as I have seen this before, back in the forgotten mess you can usually tell thru the eyes, there is a special look a kind of crazy that lurks in the back part of their gaze that quickly tells you alchemy is involved. It must be that Dregnoth fellow that swings by on occasion to drink beer, chat me up with some stories, and try to pump me for information about something he needs. Gorlen sighs, that’s a shame, he’s a clever alchemist, and he is probably just building something interesting, probably didn’t have to go and freak the city out though – hope those clones stay far away from Damar… that won’t go well. He will probably get evicted from V’Ral, that’s a shame, I will miss those stories over a barrel of salted meat, some cured tobacco, and a frosty pint of Jamas.

After a few hours the Kargin’s Continuum purchased all of my gems, so I closed up shop, as I had a new stack of books and research to pour thru from the Lost Coast. Fresh from the Library of Arcanum, a whole series of books around the Ruins of Marran-Zural. Apparently, centuries ago, a mighty civilization of spell weavers delved deep below a volcano that now holds the city of Kauldron. When the cataclysm (also known as The Disruption) occurred that rocked the Spellweaver civilization it transformed the spell weaver city into a smoking crater known now as the Manaskar, the spell weavers themselves faded from the region after this. Traces of their might and experiments can still be found today, in one of their ruin’s an Ancient lore, even to the spell weavers, was discovered a scroll that never was completely unlocked. The language a forgotten form of magic from when the multi-verse was young, but the archmage that discovered it, didn’t understand what he had, after many years of working on the scroll was able to interpret a single sentence of words that spoke of a race called “Xelvean”. Because the magic of the scroll was so powerful, just reading that sentence was enough to warp the archmage, and drive him insane forever transforming him into something of a ManaLich

Driven by alien desires and a great understanding of death magic, the spell weavers built a tomb designed to gain knowledge into frozen death. In the spell weaver mind, the forces of cold and death held a mystical connection, the understanding of which promised ever greater arcane power. Deep in the heart of the doramant volcano, the spell weavers built their laboratory/tomb, where they blended the forces of death magic, the magical essence of cold, and the undead flesh of the spell weaver race.

Had the spell weavers restricted their experiments to the arcane forces they mastered, and willing spell weavers, their plans perhaps could have been realized or even understood. But none of that happened when spell weavers started using captives from other races, and dead slaves in their necromantic rites, the experiments started going off the rails.

The lore hidden in Marran-Zural by the spell weaver architects that built it, remains as vast as it is complex, and it was here, nearly two hundred years ago the ManaLich laid out its plans for the City of Kauldron (now built upont he ruins). In delving between the magical essences of ice and death, the spell weavers discovered a number of strange arcane formulae that dealt with the merging of worlds. From these secrets the ManaLich and his followers extracted the genesis of the ritual that can transform the City of Kauldron into a Gate Town. And it is upon these theories, and arcane formulae of the spell weavers that the soul cages were invented.

Too much time has passed and the ManaLich while still believed to be hatching plans across the Manaverse, has long shifted his research away from the Ruin’s of Marran-Zural, leaving behind a powerful follower the ManaLich calls the “The Chronicler” to continue the research behind the soul cages, and the spell weavers ritual. As to the were abouts of the scroll, that has been lost to time.

To be continued……

Meanwhile back in Dregnoth’s lab….

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HISTORY OF THE SPELL WEAVER

Only seen on rare occasions, and always because of their involvement in some scheme to obtain magic items by trade, persuasion* or force, spell weavers are a mysterious race of powerful sorcerers. These elusive beings evidence the last descendants of an ancient, magically advanced empire that, millennia ago, spanned numerous worlds and planes,
In this forgotten time, the spell weaver umpire consisted of a vast league of colonies, called nodes, which spanned the multiverse. Huge pyramids of stone and steel powered by gigantic magical furnaces, these nodes were widely separated, often with only one existing on any single world or plane of existence. All of I hem, however, connected to one another through a complex matrix of magical portals. Thus, each node served as a huge planar travel installation, capable even of instantly mov¬ ing with all of its inhabitants to other locations or planes.
The so-called spell weaver empire was largely a noninvasive one—an advanced community of intellectual watchers who only occasionally subjugated more primitive creatures to carry out menial chores and hard labor* What te w races they encountered that posed threats the spell weavers gifted with powerful magic items and artifacts, allowing these cultures to destroy themselves from within (an act some spell weavers still practice in modem rimes). Yet; above all, the spell weavers were interested in semantics, a subject they had researched for thousands of years, traveling through the multi verse to meet and observe nearly every culture imaginable. Through the tireless study and practice of innumerable symbol and language codes, the spell weavers learned to avail themselves of their physical attributes and natural talents like no other race, developing an uncanny telepathy and the ability to cast multiple spells at once.

Few know if the spell weaver plan to acquire total knowledge of all existing communication was their ultimate goal or if they had some other purpose. What is known is that, at the height of their prosperity, the spell weavers conducted a grandiose and dangerous experi¬ ment, possibly an attempt to alter reality across the entire multiverse* This experiment; however, met with tragic failure and caused a catastrophe of colossal proportions* For unexplained reasons, the furnaces within every spell weaver node exploded one after the other in a terrible chain reaction, obliterating the pyramidal colonies and all their inhabitants within seconds, effectively purging the multi verse of the spell weaver empire in a single moment* Only the few members of the race who were away from the nodes survived, becoming the ances¬ tors of all modern spell weavers.

PHYSIOLOGY OF THE SPELL WEAVER

Averaging 5 feet in height and too pounds, spell weavers are six-armed alien-looking creatures. Their gender¬ less bodies are smooth and hairless, varying between numerous shades of gray and occasionally splotched or speckled with light colors such as beige, pink, or yellow. Their necks are long and exceptionally nimble, allowing spell weavers to turn their heads completely around with no effort. Further adding to their alien nature, spell weaver blood is metallic blue In color, similar to quicksilver.

All spell weavers carry chromatic disks, thin, 6 inch in diameter circular objects made of a silvery substance that is stronger than steel. At a spell weaver’s will, the disk can change color and show a variety of patterns and designs on its dark surface. These objects are intimate creations of spell weavers, actual living extensions of their beings. In the rare case that a chromatic disk is lost or destroyed, a spell weaver can quickly replace it through meditation, exuding blood and fluids from the palm of its hands in the form of a metallic resin. The resin is manipulated to form the disk shape and solidifies quickly. This process takes only an hour but leaves the spell weaver exhausted.

Spell weavers are extremely long-lived creatures, with a lifespan near six centuries. Age does not seem to significantly affect their physical abilities, and only lighter skin tones distinguish older individuals from younger ones. Aging, however, is directly tied to reproduction for spell weavers in a complex and mysterious pair of rituals.

Upon reaching the end of its life—a time spell weavers seem to instinctually know—an elder spell weaver can rejuvenate its body through a special hibernation trance requiring the draining of a near-priceless amount of magic items. In preparation, the spell weaver sacrifices the energies within its accumulated magic treasures, destroying them to create a cylindrical “coffin.” It then finds a secure location, as the rite leaves it effectively helpless for the trance’s entire duration, Upon sealing itself within the coffin, the spell weaver enters a state of suspended animation f rom which it cannot be awakened. This process usually takes only a month, but sometimes lasts far longer, with evidence of spell weavers languishing within their coffins for centuries at a time. At the end of this ritual, the spell weaver is physically restored, its skin darkened and its life renewed for another six centuries. This restorative process only seems to function for spell weavers, yet even so they keep its specifics a mystery from all other races. This trance only functions six times, pro* riding no benefit beyond that Despite their lengthy lifespans and these renewing trances, however, spell weavers are far from immortal.

To reproduce—an act that is for spell weavers little more than a final act of self-regeneration—an elder specimen who has gone through all six rejuvenation processes may per¬ form a complex, ritual self-sacrifice that results in the "birth* of six new adult spell weavers. The rite requires a special array of breeding vessels found only in a few rare spell weaver sites. To perform the ceremony, the parent creates six new chromatic disks and places them into the vessels where the new individuals form and grow in a few’ hours. During that time, the parent dies and decays, eventually disappearing into nothingness. The newborn spell weavers rise from the vessels with the full memories and mental abilities of the parent.

Spell weavers do not speak, for their law forbade speech millennia ago as part of the training to develop their telepathic faculties. They seldom emit noises, and only as a consequence. When they suffer pain, for example, they might squeal or grunt in a high-pitched tone, but nothing more. Spell weavers have their own incredibly complex language of clicks and whistles, which they know only from distant memories. In modern times, the spell weaver language is experienced only in its written form, as node hieroglyphs.

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIETY OF THE SPELL WEAVER

Although they still comply with the dogmatic prohibition not to speak, modem spell weavers are free from the rigid social structure of their ancient empire. Sometimes a few individuals band together to pursue the common goal of acquiring magic items, but most members of the race are essentially loners.

Spell weavers have two complementary ways to communicate exclusively among themselves—a sign language that makes use of their flexible neck and six hands and a visual language based on the colors of their chromatic disks. Both of these communication methods can convey very complex and articulate meanings, and are totally incomprehensible to other races. They are not redundant. thought for through the combination of sign language, chromatic disks, and telepathy, spell weavers can deliver hours of explanation and dialogue in a few minutes.

Spell weavers have no religion and actively shun the worship of deities, refuting these beings’ divinity and mysteriously hinting at some undermining secret of their powers. Despite this disbelief spell weavers do revere their ancestors and often meditate to better understand the will of past generations. As all spell weavers share the memories of their forebearers, this spirituality is less like actual devotion and more a kind of pious reminiscence.

During these recollections, spell weavers often recall the Time of Nodes, the golden age of their race when their pyramidal cities still existed. They refer to the catastrophe that wiped out their empire as the Disjunction, and the following age, up to the present day, as the Scrabbling, In the hopes of restoring the Time of Nodes, spell weavers seek out particular magic items or, more specifically, ancient gems imbued with “memories” that spell weavers can telepathically read. By inspecting these rare and specific gems, many spell weavers try to collect pieces of what they call the Code of Reversion, a magical formula devised before the final experiment that destroyed the spell weaver empire. The pieces of the formula were psychometrically inscribed on a series of precious stones for security reasons, and distributed in multiple copies to different keepers throughout the empire. Any spell weaver could activate the formula, but it had to read and memorize all the pieces first. The Code of Reversion essentially formed an incredibly powerful multipart spell, designed to revert time in the entire multi verse to the point when the formula was inscribed. Aware of the risks involved in their final experiment, the spell weavers devised the Code of Reversion as a chance to restore their empire if something went wrong. The catastrophe, however, exceeded their worst expectations, and the inscribed gems were scattered and lost. As such, no spell weaver has yet been able to locate and perform the Code of Reversion, Even the spell weavers are not sure if a complete copy of the formula has survived, and most gems suffer gaps in their memory that cannot be filled. Needless to say, the successful activation of the Code of Reversion would inevitably mean the erasure of thousands of years of history and the effective annihilation of all present things.

Not ail spell weavers obsess over the past, however. While some accept the ruin of their civilization and attempt to live peacefully, others strive to rebuild the spell weaver empire. To them, the greatest impediment to renewed spell weaver mastery is the world’s infestation by innumerable humanoid races, which dominate it through their verminous fecundity alone. Hearkening back to offensive strategies utilized during the Time of Nodes, these spell weavers are all too glad to supply such races with the instruments of their annihilation.

THE DISJUNCTION

No spell weaver or researcher from any other race knows what accident caused the ruin of the spell weaver empire and brought about the end of the Time of Nodes. While spell weavers acknowledge that their leaders were attempting some far-reaching magical feat, they remain universally secretive of its specifics. To commonly held possibilities follow:

Ascension: Through their study of language, spell weavers discovered the prime form of communication, words of reality capable of manipulating all existence. Revealing that deities were little more than bickering entities with knowledge of this language, the spell weavers attempted to take their place among the powers en masse. Their intentions discovered by the existing deities, these covetous beings warped the spell weavers’ attempt to elevate the population of an entire node* creating a magical backlash that rippled through and destroyed the spell weaver empire, along with all knowledge of the prime language.

Unification: Spell weavers came to believe that* at the beginning of creation, all of the planes and countless worlds were in fact one single, balanced reality. This equilibrium, however* was shattered by the mercurial whims of the deities. Traveling to all of these fragmented existences and creating their nodes as anchors, the spell weavers hoped to cast a multiverse spanning spell capable of drawing the shattered planes back together. The power of infinite infinities proved too great for even the bold spell weavers, though* and their first trial wiped their empire from the reality they hoped to save.

SPELL WEAVER RUINS

Ravaged by the Disjunction, the ruins of spell weaver nodes are thousands of years old—relics of an empire lost to time. Extraordinarily scarce* multiple nodes rarely exist on a single world and never on the same continent.

Every node has a similar structure, with a main pyramid that towers more than 500 feet talL At the top perches a great crystal lamp once capable of illuminating the surrounding landscape with a pulsing azure light. With all probability, these lamps acted as a magical homing beacon for other spell weaver planar travel facilities.

Inside, the most important room of any node was the breeding chamber, the home of the magic cylinders necessary for spell weavers to reproduce. Only a few of these rooms survived the Disjunction intact, and they are desperately sought out and jealously guarded by modern spell weavers. Secondary to the breeding chamber was the mortuary, a many-floored hall that protected spell weavers undergoing their rejuvenating stasis. Deeper than these rooms slept the heart of the node, a gigantic magical furnace. While those in every node ever discovered have been destroyed, an active spell weaver furnace is capable of producing effects on par with the powers of the deities. As such, spell weavers throughout the planes dream of finding a near-mythic live node furnace.

The Blood War

Imagine a war that has been raging for eons, long before the birth of the planes, and that will continue long after the death of the last mortal being. Picture battlefields littered with the bodies of the dead from a small skirmish of just over a million creatures and that these clashes stretch out across the entire lower planes. This is the Blood War, which has been fought with an intense fury for as long as the gods can recall, with no end in sight.

It wouldn’t be a ridiculous thought to think that war is between the forces of good and evil, but that would be wrong. Instead, this is a conflict between evil and evil and is more about philosophy than anything else. This conflict is between the lawful and chaotic fiends, Between Devil and Demon.

But how did this conflict start, and what all does it entail? Are the celestials actually just standing by and not helping mortals trapped in between these evil armies? Who are the other players in this war and which side are they hoping will win over the other? Or maybe, they are hoping this conflict lasts for eons more.

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Through the Editions

2e
The Blood War was originally released in the Planescape Campaign Setting (1994) for 2nd edition. It was further detailed in Hellbound: The Blood War (1996) which outlined the beginning of the conflict and how players can take part in it. This conflict was a large focal point of the Planescape setting and was a massive conflict for high-level characters to wade into.

This war is about a difference of philosophy, as the lawful Devils can not stand the chaotic Demons and vice versa. While the Celestials do try to wipe both out, they realize that it was a huge mistake to get involved as they suffer massive casualties that they are still recovering from. Most are more than happy to let the fiends war with each other and many get rich off of selling weapons, souls, and information between the two sides.
The Blood War began after the fiends were created by the Yugoloth, and the Devils and Demons eventually found each other. Upon their first meeting, they immediately started killing each other and it only grew in size from there. Many claim that the Yugoloths are orchestrating the Blood War as their prophecy of the end time involves the Blood War and its conclusion, though no one has been able to prove anything.

3e
Upon the 3rd edition being released, the Blood War was largely pushed to the side along with the rest of the Planescape setting. Detailed in the Manual of the Planes (2001) the conflict is described as a genocide of fiends. So long as Devils or Demons are still alive, they will still try to destroy each other. Depending on where you are in the planes, you may never realize there is a massive conflict… on the other hand, some planes are permanent battlefields home to towering siege engines that move across the land like mountains crawling across the landscape.

4e
The Blood War has come to a type of stalemate where a cold war has formed between the two sides. Detailed in the Manual of the Planes (2008) the Blood War goes through hot and cold stages of conflict where massive battles of trillions of souls are destroyed over centuries until both sides are so weakened that they retreat to their home planes, regrouping and rebuilding before the next huge push. 4th edition assumes that the Blood War is currently in a cold stage of the war, and both sides are readying their armies for when the war begins anew.

Another new idea brought into 4th edition was the idea of how the Blood War started. At the beginning of creation, a primordial was looking for something to allow him to have ultimate power over all gods and creation. Finding the Heart of Darkness, an evil seed of destruction, the primordial planted it in the Elemental Chaos and from it spawned the Abyss. Here pure evil manifested and primordials, like Orcus, Baphomet and others were twisted by the evil. Asmodeus stole a shard of this seed, creating his Ruby Rod from it, and weakened the might of the Demons. The Demons have sworn revenge for this betrayal and vow to destroy Asmodeus. They hope to take back the Ruby Rod and by returning it to the Abyss, it will restore the might of the Demons.

5e
The Blood War takes a backseat in 5th edition and is touched on only in Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes (2018). The conflict is largely confined to the Nine Hells and the Abyss, with occasional outbursts on the Material Plane between cultists and summoned fiends. The beginning of this conflict is unknown, though many attribute it to the fact that Devils wish to control everything and Demons wish to destroy everything. This puts each other at odds as the Demons have little to no interest in ruling over mortals and wish to destroy everything in the Multiverse… which makes it very hard for the Devils to rule over anything if there is nothing left.

The Events of the Blood War
The beginnings of the Blood War differ between the editions, though the most detailed version of the events is from 2nd edition’s Hellbound: The Blood War (1996) as summarized below.
The Beginning

At the beginning of time, the planes were first formed and the entities known as the Baernaloths staggered out of the mists of creation. Eventually, they spawned the Yugoloths as their children and used them to start implementing their plans. During this time, the River Styx is but a small stream that trickles its way through the Multiverse before the Baernaloths increased its flow and it became a raging torrent. The River will prove to be an important part of the Blood War and is incredibly dangerous to touch.

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As the Yugoloths grow stronger, they wish to have the same neutrality that their creators, the Baernaloths, have and their most powerful general, known as the General of Gehen na, created a magical stone, the Heart of Darkness, that drives the impurities of Law and Chaos out of anyone who touches it. Summoning all of the Yugoloths, they touch the Heart and the General channels the expunged forces onto separate planes of existence - the forces of law became larvae on Baator and the forces of chaos became larvae on the Abyss.

After eons, the larva began growing and evolving on their respective planes and they began exploring not only their plane but the planes near them which include Gehenna and Carceri. These larvae grew into the Devils and Demons, though there were originally known as the Baatezu and the Tanar’ri respectively.

Now is when the Yugoloths are discovering the power of their neutrality and the Baernaloths, their creators, suddenly withdraw into the Gray Waste, leaving behind little evidence of their existence.

The Start of the Blood War

Once the Devils and Demons gained control of their planes, they each decided at the same time to begin investigating what else was out there. Scouts were sent by both sides and each found the Yugoloths in the adjacent planes. The Devil entourage saw the creatures as weak-willed and without any sort of ethical guidance, they then left the Yugoloths and continued eventually finding the Abyss. In the Abyss, they first meet the chaotic Demons and realize that they have such a different philosophical ideology that it manifests as violent hatred and the Devils begin slaughtering as many Demons as they can find before returning to Baator to report what they found.

During this time, the Demons have sent their patrols out. They find the Yugoloths and begin torturing and killing them for fun before heading deeper into the planes and eventually finding Baator. Here they first meet the Devils and begin murdering and destroying all they can find. Many decide to continue through Baator, vowing to destroy all Devils while others head back to the Abyss to tell of what they have found.

Now, each side has learned of the other and they begin amassing raiding parties to attack the other side. These parties soon grow into battalions and then swell into the size of armies and beyond. They begin slaughtering each other and it looks like no side will win against the other. The Demons have what feels like an infinite number in their armies, though they are too chaotic to make an effective fighting force. The Devils are more limited in their numbers, but due to their lawful nature can create effective armies capable of stopping the chaotic horde.

After centuries of conflict, the Yugoloths sent emissaries to both sides and offered their services as mercenaries, those most contracts benefitted them the most. Many point to this as the time that the Yugoloths began their plan of controlling the Blood War and in the first battle, they betrayed both sides and broke their contracts. Though this did nothing to stop either side from hiring them again and again after that, for when the Yugoloths held up their contracts they were the key to winning decisive battles.

Soon after, the Lords of the Nine appear in Baator and Demon Princes appear in the Abyss. Each plane suffers its own massive power struggles until the Lords and Princes put in a hierarchy that stops ambitious friends from unseating them. These leaders begin pushing their armies harder and the war continues to rage across Baator, Gehenna, the Gray Wastes, Carceri, and the Abyss with no side gaining the upper hand for very long.

The War Spreads Out

At this point, both sides realize they are in a stalemate and they decide to send out scouts to see what else is out there and if there is anything that can be used in the Blood War. This decision brings with it the discovery of the Multiverse and each side realizes that if they simply destroy the other side and end this conflict, they could have all the territory of the Multiverse and the battles are fought with an intensity beyond what was previously seen.

While the fiends are exploring the Multiverse, they attract the attention of the Celestials who abhor their evil and a massive army of Angels, Devas, Solars, and others are sent to the lower planes and begin massacring any fiend that gets in their way. The Blood War is now the fiends against each other and the Celestials against both sides. After a full year, the fiends realize they must work together to stop the Celestial onslaught and they turn their attention to the Celestial host. In less than a week, the Celestials are driven out of the lower planes with their white robes stained in the blood of their fallen kin. All told, it is said that of the massive host of

Celestials that defies numbering, only 3000 are to survive this assault. The Celestials that wish to remain a part of the Blood War realize they must pick a side, but none can agree if they should join the Devils and Law or the Demons and Chaos as Celestials lay claim to both ideologies.

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After this horrifying event, the gods have taken an interest in the Blood War and they begin adding their power to their ideological side. The Chaos gods add their strength to the Demons, and the Lawful gods add their strength to the Devils. It is only after a god of chaos finds their power withered away that the other gods stop being directly involved and they begin using proxies, though a few gods of wars still offer their power and full attention to the Blood War.

Soon the fiends discover a use for the souls from the Material Plane as before the fiends had no idea what these souls were or where they came from, they had just made good food. Once they discovered the Multiverse, they also discovered the Material Plane and where the souls came from. They quickly realized that they could shape these souls into lesser Devils and Demons. It was then that they began developing plans to overtake the Material Plane and bolster their armies with even more of these tormented souls.

Present Day
The conflict is still raging on between the forces of Chaos and Law, though powerful magical artifacts, Ships of Chaos, valiant warriors and so much more has been dumped onto the battlefields of Devils and Demons. Celestials, Slaad, and even Modrons have all joined in on the fighting in different ways, and nothing has changed for the two warring factions. Some blame the Yugoloths, that their scheming has kept the Blood War raging on so that they can benefit from it, and others worry that there might be a day when the fighting stops. If that were to happen, then it means one side has won and the rest of the Multiverse is now in trouble.

The Factions
There are more sides to the war than just Devils and Demons, though no other side has lost as many as they have. Many whisper that there is a force behind all of the events of the Blood War to ensure that it lasts forever, for an end to the bloodshed may be the first step to the end of time.

The Fiends

Devils (Baatezu)
The Devils, also known as the Baatezu, hail from the Nine Hells and are lawful fiends. Their philosophical differences with the Demons helped facilitate this massive conflict, and their main desire in all of this is to have ultimate control over the Multiverse.

Because of their lawful nature, they are quick to make deals and sign contracts, though whatever deal they make typically benefits them the most. They form their entire life around laws and rules and have a hierarchical structure because of it. They rely on gaining power via promotions from their higher-ups and work hard to ensure they are noticed. The structure of society is one of the most important things for Devils as, without it, they would be no better than the anarchist Demons they so despise.

Dark Eight
The Dark Eight are the eight pit fiend generals in charge of running the Blood War for the Lords of the Nine. They are incredibly powerful creatures, but their power is not comparable to that of the Lords. Four times a year they meet with the Lords to give reports on the Blood War, and each general is in charge of specific parts of the Blood War like equipment supplies, the morale of the troops and research into weapons better equipped to kill demons.

Demons (Tanar’ri)

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The Demons, also known as the Tanar’ri, hail from the infinite layers of the Abyss. It is said that there are an infinite number of Demons and an infinite number of planes in the Abyss. This puts the Devils at a big disadvantage, though the Demons can rarely ever stick to a plan or follow orders. This gives their lawful opponents a fighting chance and can stop many of the Dem ons from getting a foothold on Baator.

The Demons, whilst chaotic, follow a very strict hierarchy where the powerful subjugate the weak. Because the Demons don’t believe in anything but destruction, they have no interest in upholding their contracts and while promotions do happen in the Abyss, more often than not

Demons are promoted not because of their deeds but because their superior needs them to be something else. All Demons, regardless of their rank, see themselves becoming the most powerful Demon and who will be the one to destroy all of the planes. Though none of them give thought as to what they will do once they destroy everything.

Yugoloths
Created by the Baernaloths, the Yugoloths are neutral and take no sides in the Blood War conflict. They offer their mercenary services to the highest bidder and will often betray whichever side they are on if they are offered more treasures or a better contract.
It is thought that the Yugoloths created the Devils and Demons when they stripped the forces of Law and Chaos from themselves using a powerful artifact known as the Heart of Darkness. This Heart of Darkness was created by their leader, the General of Gehenna who wished to become more like their creators, the Baernaloths.

Many distrust the involvement of the Yugoloths in the Blood War and swear that the Yugoloths are purposefully extending the war for their own benefit. If the war were to end, the Yugoloths wouldn’t be able to profiteer in the same way that they currently are. Thankfully for the Yugoloths, the Devils and Demons don’t seem to have noticed this duplicity as they are too busy killing each other.

Outsiders
Not all who take part in the Blood War are the evil fiends of the lower planes. Mortals are often drawn into the conflict, either through poor decision-making skills or being on the front lines of a Demonic invasion. Beyond the Material Plane though, others have taken an interest in the affairs of the Blood War and work to contain it or end it completely.

The Balance
The Balance is a small group who monitor the Blood War and do everything in their power to ensure that one side doesn’t grow stronger than the other. They wish to avoid a future where Devils are the overlords of all, or Demons have destroyed everything. They work tirelessly to stop either outcome from happening.

The Balance likes to remind everyone that they are true Neutral and are just looking to keep one side from gaining too much of a foothold. This means that they may thwart a paladin from destroying a Demon Prince or help a cleric find information on how to weaken the Nine Hells. Because their ways are largely mysterious to outsiders, no one trusts them and it doesn’t help that many of their members profit off of the war.

Modrons
Modrons abhor all chaos and have been ordered by Primus to put a stop to any seed of chaos they find. To that effect, they made a million-strong army known as The Army of the Blood War. They are very creative with their names.

The purpose of this million-modron strong army is to find Abyssal strongholds and destroy them from Gehenna, Baator and anywhere else they can be found. They will often lend their numbers to the Devils and are constantly looking for ways to destroy the Demonic scourge, for if the Demons were to ever win, chaos would reign and they can’t have that.

Another part of their mission is to clear out paths for the Great Modron March that marches through the lower planes, this helps ensure that Modrons can safely navigate the planes and make it back to Mechanus.

Celestials

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The Celestials have long sat by and watched the forces of evil clashing with each other, their philosophy is why should they get involved when evil seems more than willing to kill itself. Some Celestials though are unwilling to sit idly by while there is a war to b e had, and many that follow deities of war find themselves descending into the War striking down evil where they find it.

Zariel, the archdevil of Avernus - the first layer of Baator - is one of the most important and influential of the Celestials, though not anymore. Before she became an archdevil she was a powerful angel that grew impatient with the Celestials as she believed that if Mt. Celestia’s forces would descend on the lower planes, they could wipe out the threat of the fiends. Eventually, she grew exasperated with the rest of her kind and led an army of mortals across Avernus, destroying the fiendish scourge where ever they were to be found… that is until they were overwhelmed by the massive army of Devils. Asmodeus was so impressed by her skills that he made her the archdevil of Avernus, replacing Bel who once held that spot.

Locations

The River Styx
At the beginning of time, the River Styx was merely a small stream of water that ran through the lower planes. Eventually, it became a roaring torrent that cuts it’s way through the planes. It is constantly morphing and changing, which makes it incredibly hard to navigate or map it.

The waters of the Styx are especially dangerous to all but a few creatures that come in contact with it. When a creature is exposed to the River, they begin losing their memories and identities, which for the Devils is a horrible thing to happen. No Devil wants to explain to their superiors they lost because they forgot what the battle plan was.

The fact that the River Styx flows across the lower planes makes it of great strategic importance and allows the Devils and Demons to both use it to bring their armies to bear against each other, the only problem is that only a few creatures fully understand how to navigate the treacherous waters and they are typically mercenaries for hire. It isn’t unheard of for a

Yugoloth-captain of a boat to suddenly drown a squad of Devils when the Demons offer them a greater price.

Baator

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Baator, or as it is better known as the Nine Hells, is a lower plane home to the Devils. There are nine distinct layers in Baator with Avernus being the top layer and Nessus, where Asmodeus makes his home, the bottom layer. Each layer of the Nine Hells is governed by an Archdevil and they are largely left alone to their own devices so long as they continue to follow Asmodeus and keep up with their quota of souls.

Avernus, as it is the first layer of the Nine Hells, is now a large battlefield. It once was a beautiful location filled with forests and wildlife, though the war and demonic presence have destroyed any remains of that. The only thing that remains across Avernus are the fortresses set up along the Styx to stop Demonic invasions and as staging areas for the Devil army to make attacks into the Abyss.

Massive ruins of cities sucked into the Hells can be found throughout the plane and the promise of magical items draw many would-be adventurers into its depths. Many never make it out of Avernus, and the ones who do are forever changed by their experience.

Abyss

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The Abyss is a plane of entropy and chaos. While over 600 layers of the Abyss have been documented, it is theorized that there are an infinite number of layers and an infinite number of demons occupying the levels of the Abyss. This is a staggering amount of Demons for a ny army to fight against, but luckily they are ill-organized and are often fighting among themselves just as much as they are fighting the Devils.

The first layer of the Abyss is known as the Plain of Infinite Portals or Pazunia. It is a wasteland with a burning red sun high overhead and blistering winds that never end. Here the massive forces of the Abyss board ships to sail across the River Styx to put an end to the Devils, and eventually to the rest of the planes. The deeper you go down the Abyss, the more maddening it gets as powerful Demon Princes have made their lairs across many of the levels, with more Demon Princes rising from its infinite layers.

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry, #402

Ahh the sun is starting to go down, and things are starting to calm a bit, I shut down the shop early today to take in the peace and quiet, and to update my journal. A few days ago, I went to visit Kheg Moldur and met an interesting dwarven explorer, by the name of Urlan Venth, who had travelled from the other side of the world. He said he had just gotten back from an interesting Dwarven cluster of Mountains in the Ashrock peaks. He captured my interest as he was carrying more than a few things on him, that was constructed of exotic materials, so I began working Urlan for information, it didn’t come easy and required several rounds of Jamas lubrication. During those conversations he spoke of Magahm Hold, in the Ashrock peaks and how they have the largest concentration of Dwarven Blackrock metal he has ever seen. Immediately I had decided that I needed to go visit this new continent, to explore, alas acquiring the location of the Hold proved difficult, eventually Urlan provided it but can you trust the directions of a very drunk Dwarven Explorer, I guess I was going to find out the hard way.

The next morning, I do a bit of scrying of the area, and potential safe teleport landing zones, but something goes haywire, as I cast teleport and kicked up the power a bit to ensure a successful arrival, but then in that split second before rematerializing it felt like my teleport suddenly pulled me a different direction, almost as though I was pushed from my targeted destination, and I landed far Northeast of the Ashrock Peaks. The teleport and the area I will eventually come to discover had put me farther North than I had imagined. Eventually, I will come to find out I was near The Lost Coast, on the Sea of Ice. Urlan left out some rather specific details about this place, such as the various forms of divination, teleportation, and dimensional magics behave seemingly random at times. So I scouted the area, and for the moment it looked safe enough, so I proceeded to setup camp and tap into my Managanger DNA to get my timing and synchronization reset with the magic and weave of this continent, I can’t be just be tossed all over the place, every time I go and teleport. After about 2 hours, I once again could feel this weave, and its magic in harmony and balance with my connection.

Now, I needed to get a better lay of the land, so Gorlen shape changed into an eagle and took flight to explore the area, it took the better part of a 2 weeks, but I was able to map out a small section, the Lost Coast, on this continent. I did attract a few random encounters, as I flew to close to a Volcano, and a Red Dragon by the name of Grylrasdam took it upon himself to breath on me, after the eagle shrugged it off and looked back at him, the Grylrasdam had decided that is probably someone he should leave alone, and broke flight path back to his Volcano. The next random encounter was just some Gnolls trying to shoot me down with bows for dinner, largely ignored them. Lastly, I found a Goblin Warlock riding a Huge Dragonfly, along with 20 of his buddies that was interesting to me because you don’t see that every day. I was just going to ignore them as many of their attacks weren’t even really of any concern to me. But then the Warlock thru a 10e spell at me that I never saw before, it had a chaining affect but recursively looped back on the single target until it killed you or ran out of hops. Gorlen was now pleasantly surprised, he almost just ate the spell on the spot, but no it was a new spell, give the Warlock his due, let’s see this to the end, and Gorlen examined and admired the spell thru the entire duration. Then the eagle turned around and telepathically told the Warlock, my turn, Time Stopping for 2,000 feet in all directions, during that time Gorlen ripped any useful knowledge from the Goblin’s mind, read his spell book, examined his magic items, and even left him a few new scrolls behind for the Goblin’s reward. Eventually they will come out of the timestop, in a few hours with a splitting headache, a few new spells, but largely intact otherwise.

During my mapping of the area, I spotted a city named Esagend, what caught my attention was it had two things a Library, and a Spelljamming port. What made it even more interesting was Esagend was under siege. Over the two weeks of exploring and mapping the Lost Coast I had overheard several caravans, and various folk talk about the War going on between the Autaria Dynasty, and the Duiral Kingdom. The city of Esagend fell within the Autaria Dynasty as did much of the Lost Coast, as to the reasons for the siege or the war, apparently, it’s been going on for decades. Now I really never had much taste for the politics of conflict between two imperial nation states, but on my flight into the city of Esagend I did notice much of the Duiral Kingdom seemed comprised of Drow leadership, monstrous humanoids, a few odd ball abyssals, and some Giant tribe mercenaries. Esagend, in the Lost Coast, within the Autaris Dynasty seemed mostly comprised of your standard human, elf, dwarf, halfling, and goliath races.

As I made my flights descent to the steps of the library, dodging various siege ammunition, and meteor swarms. I come to see much of the city already under siege, with the local wizards returning volley to the foreign army, across the city there are pockets of fighting, and smoke billowing from different locations across Esagend. Gorlen largely unconcerned about having landed in a war zone, hops up the steps leading to the entrance of the library as though he has an extra spring in his step today. As Gorlen approach the entrance it reads the “Library of Arcanum” cracking open the huge double doors, he is met by a contingent of librarians who seem to be ready to defend the library, in case the war spills over into their halls. The librarians seem taken back, exchanging glances at one another as a portly big nosed gnome walks thru the door. Gorlen scoffs I could be a threat, I’m imposing! Put your guard up. The head librarian looks at the Gnome and frowns, my name is Ista and I am head librarian here, “Do you mean us or the library harm”. Gorlen almost looked insulted again, “I would never do harm to a library. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be a threat, as he attempts to suck in his already prominent belly”. A few of the librarians try not to giggle at the Gnome, and Gorlen pretends not to notice.

Ista lowers her staff, well then why are you hear Gnome, the city has a few pressing matters right now with the invading army that takes precedence over providing library services. And before Ista can finish voicing her sentences, Gorlens appears behind them as he pulls off his first book from one of the library shelves. Gorlen says, “Not to worry, I’m pretty self-sufficient I’ll figure it out”, grabbing a few more books off the shelves. The librarians are looking around at one another confused as if this wasn’t really happening and at this moment. Ista finally snaps out of her confusion and smacks her staff to the floor we can’t deal with that now, let’s leave him be we have to finish the protective enchantments upon the library. The librarians begin their collaborative casting, but no more than 4-6 seconds later the rhythm of the casting is broken as the Gnome comes pushing a book cart, stacked high with books, across the main hall floor, sqeek, sqeek, sqeek, from the carts bent wheel. Now you can start to see each of the librarians dumb founded by how he collected so many books so quickly, and Ista’s anger building as being interrupted yet again as they are trying to fortify their library. Gorlen continues to push the squeeky cart across the main library room, mumbling something about them needing to hide their rarer books more carefully, the runed secret door was really easy to find. Ista casts a glare at Gorlen, and says “Are you quite done, we really need to throw up the libraries protective magics”, Gorlen’s turns…”Well excuse a gnome, for getting a few books in a library, I can see I’m not wanted here, I’ll be on the roof reading these books, I hope you finish your spell, its simple enough you should manage”. Ista grows angrier but refocuses the librarians to the task at hand.

Gorlen short of breath, hauling the book cart to the roof, finally finds a nice spot to watch the siege and to do some reading. He pulls out his comfy chair from his portable mansion and taps a keg and begins reading. For the first 30 minutes are so, Gorlen flips thru a lengthy summary behind the history of the tribulations the Lost Coast has seen over the last five thousand years. The next 30 minutes, he covers mostly geographic locations, factions and societies, political and socioeconomic issues of the continent. After about an hour a field of magic goes up around the library, strengthen the stone, the windows, and reenforcing the entrances. Being tied to the weave, Gorlen sees the magic take effect, takes a slug of his beer, drops a bookmark in his book. Gorlen mumbles and stands up… “That isn’t going to hold back much”, reaching into the active magics itself, he seems to almost rewire the spell, patching it in spots, and reenforcing it in others. After a few rounds, he finishes his changes, and ties off the spell. Then notices a trebuchet munition is on a trajectory to the library, “Ohh I haven’t had nearly enough time in this library yet”, Gorlen gently spins up his megakinesis and tosses it back at the trebuchet that launched it, only fair to send it home.

Plopping back down into his chair, taking a healthy drink, he returns to his reading, over the next hour or so, all sorts of various siege munitions, and spells seem to get reflected back upon the invading army that come even within a 2 block radius of the library. And then a series of pops appear in the sky over the library, Gorlen not really paying them much mind, casually looks up and sees 3 drow archmages. Gorlen says….“Hey do any of you guys know Sorvani? Powermaster of V’Ral? He’s a Drow, thought you guys all knew one another”. The leader speaks down to Gorlen, “Gnome, my name is Sorndax, I am the head Archmage of this army, relinquish the library and the town or be destroyed.”. Gorlen says … “So you don’t know Sorvani, ohh well”. Gorlen gets up again, drops a bookmark in the book titled Spatiomancy, gets out of his comfy chair, completely ignoring the Drow, and walks over to the side of the library… zip…ahhhh, taking a whiz off the side of the library roof. Gorlen spins around … “Ok now I’m ready, what is it you want?”, Sorndax. “Gnome, I command you relinquish the library”. Gorlen says. “Well I can’t do that, I haven’t finished reading everything new I have found in this library, besides what is your plans with the library.” Sorndax…” That is none of your concern, Gnome”, and then he sees the three Drow begin casting, dropping a series of meteor swarms, disintegrates, and time stops upon Gorlen.

With seemingly blinding speed, the Gnomes manages to throw up a protective sphere around the books before the spells land, none of the spells affecting the Gnome, most being absorbed, consumed, or just simply ignored.

Gorlen … glances at the books on his book cart, breath’s a sigh of relief none of the books were harmed, then he notices his comfy chair had gotten burnt in the spell exchange. Gorlen looks up to the Drow, angrily brow furled… “First as Archmages you should know better than to burn books, Second never mess with a Gnomes reading chair.”, I will give you one last chance to leave me be, or I may have to do something about it. The Drow scoff in arrogance…releasing another barrage of magics upon the Gnome, smoke and ash everywhere the Gnome standing in the center of it, seeing his chair reduced to ash, and a floating protective energy field around the book cart still intact, he turns his attention to the Drow.

As the smoke begins to dissipate, and the Gnome comes into view, his anger is clearly shown upon his face, but another trait has emerged, piercing power blue eyes seem to be cutting thru the smoke as the leader Drow Archmage lock eyes with Gorlen, and the Gnome lets loose a thunderous snap imploding the Drow Archmage molecules all across the Manaverse. Turning his gaze to the remaining Archmages, they decide to activate their contingencies and flee.

Gorlen grumbles, regenerating his chair from ash, …” Dammit, son of a bitch, asshole disintegrated my chair”. After a few moments, the chair is rebuilt and Gorlen drops down into it, but unfortunately Gorlen mumbles something about the….”Ass groove being all wrong, and having to break the chair back in”

After a few hours, Gorlen is wrapping up a book titled “Cronourgy”, and the General of the invading army, interrupts him with a woosh, appearing on the roof top, with his guards. “The city is mine, surrender the library Gnome”. Gorlen looks up at this female Drow general and says “Ohh well when you put it that way! No, I don’t think so, your Head Drow Archmage, who is no longer with you by the way really pissed me off, I was going to stay neutral for the most part in this war, glean what knowledge from this library I could, and be on my way. But now I’m thinking I may stay”. Gorlen quickly followed-up…”Ohh and if you’re thinking about attacking me, you know what I did to the Head Archmage last time for destroying my chair, if my keg of Jamas gets destroyed, I will find a very deep void to drop you in.”

The Drow Female General, Mizzrym, speaks, “Gnome, how can you possibly win, look at my army”, Gorlen responds. “I’ve seen it, seen larger, now if you keep interrupting me I’m going to have to do something about that, don’t care about your army… truth be told I’m new to this town, not super attached, but you and your Archmages were dicks, and destroyed my chair, so now I think I may take a keen interest in this town.”

Mizzrym, says enough and attacks slicing into Gorlen with a pair of black longswords, causing the Gnome to take damage, Gorlen looking a tad surprised, but seemingly not worried. The bodyguards follow up attacking the Gnome only to find many layers of stone skins blocking their attacks. Gorlen looks to his wounds, as they begin closing, confusing Mizzrym as she looks at her longswords. The Gnome then smiles, as time begins slow almost to a stop across the city, and several huge portals begin dumping massive elementals upon the invading army across the city. As Mizzrym tries to fight the time dilation field, she can only help but move in slow motion watching her army get overwhelmed by the sheer number of elementals being dumped from the inner planes upon the Drow’s Army. With a wave of the Gnomes right hand, the bodyguards of the general shimmer from the roof top, only to find themselves materializing within Dregnoth’s Under Laboratory. And finally, the Gnome pulls from his pocket a trinket he traded an Alchemist in V’Ral for a box of spellbreakers. A figurine of intellect devouring springs to life from Gorlen’s hand making its way into Mizzryms body and claiming it as a new host.

Gorlen says…”Devourer collect the hosts mind and memories, and retrieve any critical knowledge of their home city, magical lore, and their empires capabilities. Ohh and devourer have fun taking your new Drow suit for a spin.” Gorlen glances around … “I still have some reading to do.”

Over the next few hours, the invading army is wiped clean from Esagend, the elemental swarms returned back to their planes, and the Mizzrym controlled Drow is on her way back to their home city of Yuethindrynn as a new found spy.

For the next few months, Gorlen would continue to read everything he could get his hands on in the library, occasionally the librarians would check in on him as he would return to the library to fill his book cart, occasionally even adding new books to the library shelves. Eventually, he would emerge from the library, to find a city being rebuilt, giving a big Gnome yawn, he says …. “Now if I remember, wasn’t there supposed to be a Spelljamming port this way”, and he heads west towards the docks.

@halfgiant I used the 3.5 Slaad … But perhaps a gid king that we know could perhaps …well… You know

@dwarf thats why I worry, hes like the little girl carrying the books on quantum mechanics in an alley full of Aliens

@dwarf sadly still wriggling on the stalk, fresher that way.

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry #367, in the Year of -647

At some point in the near future, or relative past depending on the perspective of the being relative to space and time, but shortly after the second great sync between the mana verse and the forgotten mess. A few new beings crossed the event horizon into V’Ral today, the first an Ogre named Erok, who was returning home at last and with him a Silver Power Beholder named Sazerak. As some folks depart the Manaverse, new beings continue to flow into V’Ral all of different races, and types. A familiar face appeared today, someone who I have not seen in a while, it was Flint a Paladin of Roland looking fit, but a bit seasoned in years, I will look forward to having a beer with him later, but before I do I need to make a note to follow up and find out why the Triple K caravan has been late on my delivery to the shop. As the hour dwindles on, within the last 10 minutes before the portal closes, a Draconic Sorcerer steps thru, he was an interesting being in all of Gorlen’s years he doesn’t recall ever seeing a Half Magnesti and a Half Blue Dragon. He will make for an interesting person to track, need to remind myself to put a beacon on him to see what he is getting up to. The Dragon Sorcerer introduces himself to the V’Ral welcome party as Valor Magnetismus.

For this entry we will be discussing the early events of Valor arriving in V’Ral, the other three we will get to in good time. Upon Valor’s arrival like most weary adventurers find accommodations at the nearby in inn, the closest was the Drunken Ogre, but it was sold out for the night, so Valor made his way, two streets over, to find an inn named the Sword & Stag. Valor negotiates his stay paying for two weeks in advance, during this time little is known as to what Valor did with him time in the city, for the most part he would stay in the inn, eating and sleeping within the inn, with daily trips to the library which is where Gorlen met him for the first time. During this time, he had initially researched the materials we had on the geography of this new world, but then quickly shifted his research to the current materials on manacite, and some old dwarven text’s mentioning veins of a rare element called Neodymium. He seemed as though he was clearly a Magnesti Dragon on a mission looking to put the pieces of a puzzle together that had now gotten Gorlen’s interest.

Toward the end of the second week, Valor had shifted the remainder of his research focusing on a region called Mayher Valley which lies in the far Northern part of the Erithar Kingdom, in a Magocracy Kingdom that is ruled by a rather powerful Arch Mage that goes by the name of Athelstan. Athelstan is likely not his real name, as the Arch Mage is actually a Spellweaver that has subjugated a kingdom making the magic wielders the upper class, the craftsman and landowners’ middle class, and everyone else slaves. How Athelstan came to this world, no one knows, but for the last 20 years he has been working toward a goal that only his inner circle knows, and they only know pieces of the grand plan.

Gorlen ponders…What possibly could Valor want with the Erithar Kingdom, and why Mayher Valley? There is not much written about that area, Gorlen does recall some references he dug up from a ruined library in Arkheim, a Giant Necropolis on the southernmost end of the second continent. Scanning thru his Ancient Helm of Total Recall, he quickly finds the reference to Mayher Valley. This valley was once the capital of a Dragonborn Empire, called the Tymanchebar empire, for hundreds of years the Dragonborn were slaves to their Dragon masters, until they rose up and fought back and destroyed their Draconic Overlords. For a time the Empire found its freedom, and peace and while it prospered for several hundred years they had begun to hear rumors from the Northern Tribes they had traded with that somewhere in the Icy expanse, Chaos had broken into this world if only for a short time, no one knows for sure what caused it, some sages believe it was the Dark Gods punishing the Dragonborn. In time a Corrupted Ancient Dragon named Vermithrax, had evolved into a Chaos Dragon. Vermithrax brimming with hatred, plotting to bring destruction upon the Tymanchebar Empire. Unfortunately, that is all the history Gorlen was able to find, one thing is for sure the Dragonborn Empire is gone, and there has been no sign of Vermithrax for a millennium.

By the fourteenth day, Valor finishes copying various maps, and element formulas behind known manaethereal weak points and known veins of Neodymium within the Mayher Valley. Scanning the library one last time for any material on manaethereal infused Neodymium. Before Valor retires for the evening, he reluctantly stops at the Library desk, and asks if there is any more material on manaethereal infused Neodymium, the librarian and Gorlen look at one another, and respond with “I think you have read everything, could it be under another name?”, Valor responds with “it might be referenced as Magnacite”. The Librarian scans his internal catalog, turning to Valor and says, “zero hits on Magnacite”. Valor mumbles. “Thanks, it was worth the try.”

On the morning of the fifteenth day, Valor sets out for the Northern Reaches of the Erithar Kingdom. Before his departure, Gorlen shakes Valor’s hand … “Good luck on your adventure lad, hope you find what your looking for”. You seem alright, I knew a few Magnesti’s back in Argopolis several years ago, here take this big ohm gem for luck. Valor, a little confused by the Gnome’s generosity takes the gem stashing it in his robe, nodding at Gorlen … thinking to himself what a strange little librarian Gnome. And with a familiar “POP” Valor disappears.

Once back at his shop, Gorlen begins tracking the big ohm gem Valor took. Everyone always takes a free big ohm, because yeah why wouldn’t you. Good thing he doesn’t know it’s a tracker, so I can see what he is up to.

Ohh crap…that’s right I forgot to check on my delivery.

Let’s see last known location was they had left the town of Creyham, traveling along Troll Road, near the Whispering Hills. I need to go check with the gate guards to see if the Triple K Caravan delivery arrived. I hope my shipment of celestial mithril, meteoric adamantium, and the star sapphire I ordered hasn’t been absconded, that is going to delay my timeline. Let’s see before I go check with the city Guard, it wouldn’t hurt to take a few barrels of Jamas beer with me, just in case some lubrication is in order.

[Journal Entry – End]

Of course we will need to kill the Clerics and Paladins of the false religions as they may be a problem and not wish to serve The King GOD Dregnoth , “His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Dregnoth Doctor Dregnoth, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular”

( thats a dudes real title )

Upon the first Obelisk sync between the Manaverse and the Forgotten Mess, there was a lot of excitement with new people coming thru and people leaving. Yes, both Kargin and Rorek in the corner arguing about getting the hell out, yelling something about Dregnoth. During the commotion, the Librarian from the Argopolis Library came thru, and in tow a Gnome. That Gnome passed all the scrutiny of the typical entry scans of anyone new into the city, and did not trip any alarms, and detections. Unbeknownst to the city, that Gnome, called Gorlen Blackhammer is a Clone of Daren the Powermaster. For those that don’t know Daren he is a founding member of the Argopolis city back in the Forgotten Mess, a Managanger Arch being that actually is no longer a Powermaster, but has since transformed into a Race known as The One ( an actually closely guarded secret very very few are aware of, most still refer to him as Powermaster ) and has come to a new multiverse to perform research of the mana-ethereal plane, and to find new magical formulas, lore and spells.

Since his arrival he toils around the library helping the librarian get the V’Ral/Manaverse repository of magical knowledge setup, and he keeps office hours at his Gorlen’s Books and Other Oddities Shop in town, a low level shop that sells various non-magical yet very rare spell components, item components, and high end spell books. Outside of the Library or the Shop, he doesn’t spend much time in V’Ral, or the continent in which the Laputan’s reside. In his words… “That business between V’Ral and the Laputans, that is their business, i don’t want any part of that nonsense. If i get involved it will just make everything worse and nobody wants that.”

When he is not in V’Ral he takes on various caster alter-identities as he explores the various schools of magic, and libraries on the other continents and island nations, and explores the mana-ethereal plane. When he is in V’Ral, you can find him, as the Gnome - Gorlen Blackhammer, organizing and shelving books in the library, or widdling a new figurine outside his shop for some young wizard to enchant. Gorlen likes to act like a hard nosed merchant, and is always talking about cutting deals with his young wizard customers, but in all actuality he is absolutely terrible at it. He is far too absent minded, and frequently when he is in his shop a lot of times he is half in the bag with an open keg. When the shop first opened Rolandites laughed at how easily they could rob the guy blind, almost to the point of having sympathy for him (almost), but none of them can figure out how he continues to stay open making a profit. Naturally many of them don’t look too hard at the shop dealings since he really isn’t selling anything magical, and quickly dismiss him as a bit kooky or eccentric.

For fun on occasion, he catches rumor or a piece of intel in the Manaverse that might lead to a particular item, piece of knowledge, or untapped Manacite that is very rare and he has a ‘client’ he could sell it to so occasionally he commissions adventures within the city to pursue such tasks.

Rumors that swirl around the city about the Gnome, that you may hear:

That Gnome that runs that shop, can never remember what specials or discounts he has going on, and he is always drunk, if you can make a decent bluff or merchant check you can almost always get reagents half off!

Gorlen Blackhammer, nobody really knows the guy, i drank with him all night woke up the next morning and i don’t think i still know anything more about him than i did before.

Many assume Gorlen lives above his shop, but nobody ever sees him come and go from the city.

He does hire adventurers on occasion to investigate rumor or intel, for rare items or untapped manacite.

Once the mages in the city said it felt like the weave dimmed or ‘burbed’ one day, just briefly it had looked like it came from Sorvani’s tower, but the Obelisk said it was made to look that way, and he was eventually able to trace it back to an area were Gorlen’s shop was, the obelisk gave the shop a deep scan but only found Gorlen passed out sleeping off a limited run of the beer dwarfs stash.

It’s rumored that an upcoming mage in V’Ral, swung by the shop to pick up a new spellbook, and ended up drinking with Gorlen all night. This lad finished at the top of his class at the school of magic, and had been long rumored to have the best chances of becoming a Powermaster. When Gorlen asked him what he was studying, the young lad told him he aspired to be a Powermaster. What followed was a drunken rant from Gorlen, or so the young powermaster in training thought:

So, you say you want to become a PowerMaster. My advice don’t! I trained in the Arcane arts back in Argopolis, a lifetime ago. And a few of my classmates were PowerMasters in training, rarely do they die of old age, though they can live a very long time (ponders if any of them are around anymore). I did once see one of the cities cofounder’s, just once, he came and taught one of our classes, he was a PowerMaster, a Managanger! It was like reality bent around him as he simply walked thru the city. The very language he spoke was magic itself, wielding such ancient formulas and lore - the very essence of magic itself. [Shakes his head, as if coming out of a daydream]
Bah, [drinks from his mug] all of that comes with a price, facing your racial enemy the Ancients, yeah, I bet nobody told you that when bestowing the virtues of PowerMastery! Yep, you will have a racial enemy. Fighting Netherese Archliches, Type 12 Demons, Mana Poison, and a whole assortment of nasties, if that doesn’t deter you then maybe you are crazy enough to spend a lifetime mastering all three towers of magic, arcane, divine, and psionic. Once you have mastered those then the questing begins to undergo the transformation into Powermastery, good luck with that, many never come back!
[wonders over to the Keg, grumbling, fills his mug, easing back into his chair, beginning to light up a pipe.] Listen kid, if you insist on attempting to master the three schools of magic, and become an apex spellcaster like a PowerMaster, there isn’t much I can say to stop you as you already have this bad notion in your head. All I can do is pass along the advice that Daren fella told us in class that day.
[Scratches his beard, and rubs his bald head as he collects his thoughts] He said to achieve mastery of the three schools of magic isn’t to have dominance or to conquer magic but to achieve enlightenment thru the knowledge of it, to move with it, to weave it into your life, making it your companion, friend, ally, accomplice, partner, etc… magic is no one’s slave, it is to be respected and if you put back into it what it has given you it will always be there for you, for when you need it the most.

Gorlen Blackhammer (Drunk Gnome sitting in front of his shop in V’Ral)

@halfgiant if putting them together like you are talking about still only let’s them be wands and shooting only one per round, no, that is not an artifact.

I was assuming that by jacking in a wand of fire and a wand of lightning you were thinking to Have a rod that casts some amalgamation fireball lightning bolt with a single charge from a rod cube that would be an artifact class combination.

Minor artifact, but artifact. Mostly because of the free form spell combine functionality.

Sorvani was, in a word, BORED. Morning court in the city of V’ral was ALWAYS the least interesting yet most attended service in the day-to-day business of keeping a kingdom running. Invariably, the early-rising farmers and other folks with the early bird gene came shuffling into the main hall, impatiently waiting their turn to speak to Rose about whatever idiotic thing had gotten their knickers in a knot TODAY. How he longed for the laputans to give up their foolish war, and go piss in someone elses oatmeal - elsewhere on the planet !

Still, it wouldn’t do to leave V’s adopted daughter without high-level supervision - the red-armored dwarves and stupid battleogres were a nearly-undefeatable physical force to be reckoned with, but there likely wasn’t a soul on the PLANET who could match magics with the speed and versatility of this world’s first Powermaster. That wasn’t a bragging statement either, as Sorvani had spied DIVINE scrying eyes peering down at his tower on several occasions - glowing starbright to his enhanced vision below.

“Farmer Dreylik and Herdsman Arrvor request your wisdom on their countersuits, Lady Rose…” the minister spoke, after ringing his staff against the newly installed and compacted dwarven bedrock. Sorvani sighed and wondered if anyone would notice him in the time it’d take to invoke a phantasmal replacement and sneak away.

The young rolandite motioned towards the dirtier of the pair. “Milady, as a herdsman of six-score animals, ‘tis impossible for me to keep watch on e’rey animal - much less worry about policing the wee fence between our pastures - and when a pair or three sheep or goats go a wanderin’, the ruddy beasts ain’t smart enough to know wheres they can step an’ where they can’na !” The powermaster idly pondered growing a wall of thorns along the property lines, ALL property lines - just to stop the endless whining of neighbors in his court.

As Rose turned to the tidier farmer, he spoke up “And if they were a’sniping away a few ears o’ corn hither and yon, wouldn’t be givin’ a damn - boot TWICE now i came oot in ‘da dim o’ tha morn and found yer whole ruddy fluckin flock IN ME FIELD ! YOU owe me recompense - for me lost crops AND tha’ broken fence !”

Being uncommonly wise for her years, Rose considered the bigger picture. Banging her gavel stone on the throne arm, she caused the court to go silent - as she drew down a corner of her hood over one eye, checking current prices. “This is a threefold problem. Herdsman Arrvor, you will recompense Dreylik with a sheep or 2 goats OF HIS CHOICE to replace the crops they devoured. Farmer Dreylik, YOU will put up a stronger and more respectable fence around whatever fields you wish protected against local wildlife - for there will NOT be another claim allowed you until that is completed. Guardsman Gakk ?”

At the main doors, one of the battleogres suddenly straighted up and shot his brother a befuddled look - then stomped his way to the front of the courtroom. “Aye, lady ?”
The child-sized in comparison white robed figure grinned up at the towering giant. “Something tells me we have a predator hunting the southeast fields at night. Find out what flavor of barbecue sauce tastes best on it, won’t you ?”

A very large toothy grin made Rose’s dwarven protectors check their weapons, as the ogre got her meaning. “Happily, my liege !” Rubbing his big tummy, the guard returned to his post - grinning like the cat that got the canary.
“And you might want to keep your herd close to the northern fence tonight, Arrvor. Make sure there’s no collateral damage to your beasts. Next case !” she called, banging the gavel stone down again.

The powermaster smirked, inwardly proud that the draconic girl had assimilated so much wisdom from his instruction. His ruminations were cut short by a strangled half-chime from the Obelisk - which was immediately followed by a wave of shivers, shudders and goosebumps across the entire assembled populate in the great hall. Frowning down at his own arm, Sorvani glared at the bumps that marked his flesh - not really sure HOW he’d gotten goosebumps when technically he didn’t even have SKIN, just a semblance of it.

“Chancellor ? What was that ?” Rose inquired sweetly, rubbing at her arms. Only a heartbeat later, 40 red armored dwarves materialized inside the courtroom - forming up a more solid perimeter around their white-robed charges without a word being spoken.
Grumbling to himself, Sorvani folded a bit of flesh over a brooch and kicked on a 5x magnified 9th lvl spell. “I C U,” he hissed - scanning around the room for hidden or cloaked figures. A wealth of sensory data bombarded his multiplexed mind - infrared heat signatures, magical emanences, EM radiation, dormant spells and magic items, all that and more were visible to the Powermaster.

Of everything unseen, only 3 were unusual - an admantium rose floated above the young rolandite, a different rolandite lurked invisibly in an upper window, her hairless and powder white skin almost ghostly in the morning sunlight, and the collection of wizard eyes trying to peek in the windows outside which she seemed to be taking notes on. Studying the admantium rose, Sorvani backtraced its energy with a scrying orb of his own - unsurprised when it led to the bigass golem trudging around the spellmoat of magical energy which now ringed V’ral.

“Nothing untoward in here, Rose - let me ask the Obelisk.” A mental command sent Sorvani’s mini-me over to the open courtyard where the currently cloaked obelisk sat absorbing sunlight. A soft reddish glow suffused the air, which gave some creedence to the dwarves’ heightened alert status. “Something amiss, crystal ? I assume its not directly threatening us or you would have sent out an alert.”

There was a pause of several seconds, which in itself was a bit worrisome - the V’ral obelisk wasn’t known for its patience. “A… situation has arisen. Dregnoth’s… gone sane.”
The powermaster blinked, then removed his ears to check them physically - growing a new pair from the side of his head. “Pardon ?”
A flare of energy shot down and traced out a rectangular image, showing the mad alchemist in his lab - apparently cleaning and organizing, trying to make sense of the chaos. Extending two fingers, Sorvani drew the screen wider and fed it a tiny spark of magic. “Hey Dregnoth ! What’s… erm, happening ?”

The alchemical clone turned around and stared at the image window with startlingly clear eyes. “I must make preparatations !” he murmured with an excited smile.
“Hokay - for what ?” the former drow tried to draw out of him.
A beatific, dreamy look of joy crossed his face. “The day has finally come ! The Forsaken One is awake !”

Sorvani had goosebumps again. “Oh fuck…” 2 of his 4 brains blinked offline in a panic, the physical one grew a second face to watch behind him for creeping alchemists and the psionic mind relayed that message mentally to Rose - who echoed his sentiment moments later. Withdrawing his fingers from the image, the powermaster banished the display and looked at the cloaked crystal. “I know there’s no way to be sure, but d’ya got an ETA on her arrival ?” he queried as he rebooted the 2 magical processors.

Calculating probabilities and possibilities with the speed only he could manage, the obelisk replied “Operating under the assumption that Dregnoth knows that because his other self DIED, thus triggering her emergence, i’d hypothesize we’ve got a few days. 72 hours, a week if we’re lucky.”
Teleporting the mini-me back to his tower, Sorvani leaned close and traded whispers with Rose for several minutes. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, we need to take a short recess. Be back in an hour !”

Grasping arms, the rolandite and powermaster vanished in a twinkling - to the still-sealed door that led to the Godsroom, where the avatars of Roland, Mystra, Torm and Reorx/Damien worked tirelessly to bestow spells and answer prayers of their followers. “Yeah, i think a bit of divine guidance might be in order…” Sorvani admitted, unlocking the big sigil puzzle on the door and ushering Rose inside…

Whew Nice job. I am going to pass you my immortals story as soon as i wrap up a few things…and let you do your thing.

FOUND it… jeezus… diggin thru 20 years of gamefiles takes 4EVER 😞

<reeee-reeee>
Eh ?
<reeee-reeee>
Krail, guardsman for the east gate in the city of V’ral yawned mightily as he woke from his nightly nap. Keeping watch over a gate wasn’t very exciting at night, especially when the town Obelisk would give a warning chime if anything dangerous came within 5 miles of the city. Manning the gate was akin to the unwelcome job of door greeter in one of the many bathhouses which now festooned V’ral since the Great Resurrect.
<reeee-reeee>
Krail rubbed his eyes and peered blearily into the darkness, trying to locate the odd noise. “Frigging Moondark…can’t see my own nose out here” grumped the guardsman. Krail blanched as he remembered the last unwanted visitor, one Wolfgang Shadowjack - a prison bitch of “The Forsaken”. Wolfgang showed up on the perimeter of the Obelisk Control Zone infected with crystalline Kyuss worms, apparently to attack the Obelisk. Krail knew that the dayguard had personally wet himself when he saw the doppleganger approach, wriggling from within, and that many more in the city had done the same when the Obelisk screamed and vanished from the town square.
<reeee-reeee>
Krail reached across to a gemstone set into a niche of the wall and his eyes flared with a reddish glow. Glaring suspiciously into the night, his Truesight showed what could not be seen by normal vision. He quickly surveyed the landscape, looking at and through everything for intruders of an Alchemical nature. Setting his other hand on the alarm pull, he continued to watch the night.
<reeee-reeee>
Locating the direction of the sound, the guardsman catches a hint of movement over a hill. Warily, he stared at the spot until a slender figure crested the hill and came walking towards the gate, a bucket in one hand making the disagreeable noise. A few moments later, a lumbering halfgiant followed with something humanoid slung over one shoulder. Slowly, one by one, the remainder of the odd group came into sight of the gate. Krail relaxed as he recognized the motley figures of the Fallen Legion, the town’s heroes. Taking his hand from the alarm, the guardsman shouted back at his fellows on the inside of the city “Activate city approach lights and summon the city clerics, the Fallen Legion has returned - and they don’t look to be in very good shape!”

Slowly the Legion makes its way onto the dusty, dark road into V’ral. As they approach closer to the city, a contingent of city guards rush out to meet them and help drag their fallen comrades the rest of the way into the city. Several yawning holy men come out of a nearby barracks and anxiously await the approach of the Legionnaires. Tired, wounded and hungry, with a few
of their fallen comrades on their backs (or in buckets), the heroes make it past the city gate, passing V’ral wizard and Obelisk scans alike.

As the ‘Fallen Legion’ makes it past the eastern gate, Ethos spins around to address the party…“Legion, I need you to rest, heal, eat, drink, and take care of whatever personal matters each of you may have. I must take my leave of V’ral for the moment, and I will return.” With that Ethos, Son of Daren makes his way toward the center of the city with his bucket squeaking back and forth, heading straight toward the obelisk.

Slowly, Ethos approaches the obelisk. Getting within arms reach of the obelisk, he stops and closes his eyes, as if mentally preparing something in his mind. After about thirty seconds pass, Ethos opens his eyes, and reaches his arm out to the obelisk. “Great Obelisk of V’ral, transport me and my bucket here to Argopolis please.” With a pulse of the weave, Ethos is gone in a flash. The air around the enormous crystalline entity seems to crackle, and a bass voice echoes from within “Oops”.

In a flash, an explosion of sand shoots into the air. Ethos opens his eyes face first into the sand dune he was just blasted into. Hacking and spitting out sand, the Son of Daren’s eyeballs and indeed entire eyesockets fall out of his head along with his tongue, mouth and nose. The doppler metamorphs into a large serpentine form and slithers about, trying to get his bearings. As he locates the surface, his head begins to focus clearer and he erupts from the sand dune. Regaining his natural form, he peers about frowning and realizes he’s about 70 miles from Argopolis. As he turns to the mountain ring that surrounds the center of Anauroch, he notes with alarm that the occupied mountains seem to be bristling. Dozens of titanic Dwarven Mountain Ballistae are pointed towards Argopolis, as if expecting an attack. “What in the nine hells is going on ?”

A small, tinny voice echoes through his head.
“Daerma Obelisk here, sorry about the transport Ethos. Apparently some Argopolis shields went up about the same time you tried to transport, causing a hiccup which dumped you out here. I’ve been looking for you for days now. You seem to have been thrown forward in time by several months.”
Ethos reaches his mind out to the consciousness speaking to him “Well can you move me to the city now, or whats happening ?”
“Sorry, Son of Daren…I currently lack the power of cross-time transport. It looks like your stuck there. You’re going to have to get to Argopolis on your own.” The voice of the Daerma Obelisk starts to fade “Something nasty is attacking the city. I would approach with extreme caution…” The tinny voice slowly fades into silence.
Ethos frowns as he loses the communication link and walks over to where Erok’s head lies staring at him and
drops it back into his bucket. “No problem. Extreme caution is something I’m good at.”

Ethos casts a glance in the direction of Argopolis, and can already smell the familiar scent of 20th level magics being spent, and the smoke of burning gemstones. Scratching his head, he looks down at the bucket. “Well Erok, lets go join the party.”
Ethos looks around, having lived here all his life, and realizes he’s much too close to the circle of mountains, housing the Anauroch dwarven enclave. Chances are he could probably negotiate a griffon ride back to the city, except the dwarves didn’t look to be in a talkative mood. Remembering the old dwarven proverb “Shoot first, talk later”, he decided that it would be in his best interest to find a different route. Taking stock of himself, Ethos noted that all his magic was spent and he didn’t have a single spell or psionic power left up his sleeve. Ethos mumbled to himself, looking down into the bucket “Well Erok at least we made it to inside the circle of mountains.” As he spun about to take a good look at every bit of a 70 mile walk to Argopolis, Ethos sighed and slowly began to start his walk.

After a mile, he stops walking and remembers something. Once, a long time ago, a Mul had come to Ethos’s rescue after Ethos went off into the desert to kill his first monster. Being a little over ambitious and power hungry, he ended up biting off more than he could chew, and this pack of desert minotaurs was going to eat him for lunch. That was when a pack of athasians lead by a mul named Taric had come to his rescue. Taric had eventually made it to the top of his game, leading one of the most elite fighting squads in Argopolis. Right now, however, Ethos was more concerned today with the trick Taric had showed him.

Slowly ethos changed into his species “true” form, showing his frail frame in the hot sun. He reached down and began chanting in a language only a select few could speak while tracing the outline of a tattoo that covered the entirety of his small chest. Slowly the tattoo on Ethos’s chest started pulsating with the beat of his heart, and magic trails began following his finger as he traced the runes tattoo’d upon his chest. Ethos’ heart started racing in his chest and his legs felt weak, barely able to hold up his own weight. Suddenly a explosion of sand blasted him back 50 feet, sending Ethos and his bucket flying. Then darkness as Ethos slipped into unconsciousness.

Eventually, light slipped in underneath the curtain of darkness as Ethos cautiously opened his eyes. As he panics and starts to look for his bucket, he realizes that Taric’s trick did work. There stands a pack of battle hardened desert Athasian Thri-kreen, their triangular heads swiveling back and forth as they peer down at the doppleganger with curious insectile eyes. Ethos was grateful for the fact that he was actually able to speak their language, that most could not. He summoned the language to the forefront of his mind, and began making a series of inaudible bug noises to communicate with the party of kreen.

“Ethos greets you, war-clutch.”
“Tok’hjar greets you, not-man” replied the largest, most elaborately painted of the kreen. “Not-man call, Tok’hjar look why”
Ethos smiled as his innate ESP allowed him to pick up the broadcast of the kreen’s meaning. “I call for aid. Help please ?”
Several of the other kreen chittered and clacked. “He want us hunt ?” “We hunt, we eat.” “Him not tasty elf”
The Alpha-kreen rubbed his back legs together, and the clattering of the other kreen died. “Help why ? Kreen not fight spiked big-man. Kreen not fight tasty white elf. Help why ?”
“Need help, get to city. Sire call, he blue not-man.” Ethos replied fluently.
More clacking from the kreen erupted. Tok’hjar turned his abdomen towards Ethos, then spun back around to face him. “You smell like blue not-man. Blue not-man friend of Tok’hjar, give clutch help. Tok’hjar help you.”

Ethos nods to the Alpha-Kreen, then looks around and finds his bucket with Erok’s head in it. Looking down at the head, Ethos says “Well Erok I know the city is under attack I just don’t know how bad it is.” Ethos looks up, and realizes he’s talking to a head in a bucket, with the pack of kreen looking oddly at one another. Tok’hjar peered into the bucket. “Him dead. No talk now.” Ethos stifled a laugh as he climbed aboard the Alpha-kreen. “Yeah, Tok’hjar. I know him dead. Him clutch-brother.” The large kreen swiveled his triangular head around 180 degrees to look at Ethos astride him. “Clutch-brother. No eat.” And with nary another word, the pack of thri-kreen sped off towards the distant desert city of Argopolis.

After a couple of hours the pack makes its leap over the last sand dune, and the city of Argopolis comes into clear view. Smoke rolls from the city, looking much more worse for the wear than when Ethos left it. “Well it won’t be too long now Erok, we’re maybe a half-an-hour away.” Ethos glares at the pack of kreen “Yeah yeah I know the head is in a bucket and its dead. Just leave it be.”

About 40 minutes pass, and Ethos finds himself at the outskirts of Argopolis. Leaping off the kreen with his bucket, Ethos looks at Tok’hjar and hands him an amulet. The amulet is covered with a strange assortment of runes which spark varying colors of enchantment. Leaning in mentally, the son of Daren speaks to the thri-kreen’s mind…“This amulet is given only to a select few…If you are ever in need of help, kreen, or in trouble…The city lords of Argopolis will look fondly upon you, and respectfully note that you have done something for one of their own. I will do what I can to one day return the favor to you.
Farewell, war-clutch of Tok’hjar. And good hunting !” Ethos gives the alpha-kreen a mental nod, and the kreen bound their way back into the heart of the desert.

Most of the outer rim of the city fortunately seems to be intact. Ethos makes his way across to a passive magical barrier with a light glowing line that seems to separate city from desert. As Ethos passes through the barrier, the sand on his body is whisked away, back into the desert of Anauroch. Mumbling to himself, Ethos keeps walking. “Lets see, now where am I” as he makes his way down a dark stone cobbled street. The doppleganger walks past one of the city warehouses, and glances up at the building. “Something doesn’t quite look right about that, the building doesn’t look so well.” Rounding the corner of the building Ethos sees that a big portion of the back half of this stone monolith of a warehouse is smashed flat. Some form of spiked giant lay dead in the street as dwarves of every manner stomped, hacked and cut at the dead corpse. Dozens of dead ogres lay over bodies of dead dwarves and muls. He knew, from the damage laid down to the warehouse, and the architecture of the facility, it must be one of Marchella’s personal warehouses. This looked like one that she used to service the dwarven enclave that surrounds the city. Ethos thought to himself "This one battle giant couldn’t of done this, " as he looked around at the dead and wondered at the number of dwarves that it must of taken to bring it down. “What kind of giant is that?” Ethos queried nobody in particular as he made his way past the stacked cadavers.

Ethos looks down at the bucket, “You know, Erok, maybe we should make our way to the western city barracks. It might be safer there.” Suddenly, the city started to shake, and a titanic nova wave of raw energy began crushing its way through the city. Ethos tries valiantly to keep standing as the city shakes, but eventually flattens himself into a puddle as another warehouse comes crashing down atop him. From underneath the wall Ethos hears a Bellow of Power echo throughout the city, followed by the unmistakable screech of a Bansheewyrm. The son of Daren shuddered uncontrollably as the draconic banshee’s cry rolled through the city, killing whatever it found. Moments passed before he reformed ears, then realized he’d dropped Erok’s bucket when he was hit in the face by a building. Cursing, he shifted to serpentine form and slithered out of the destroyed warehouse. Ethos, grumbling about dead ogre heads being too nosy, creeps down the street where Erok’s head rolled. Rounding the corner, he came into view of a completely ravaged barracks, with most of its outer walls breached. Three of those humongous battle giants lay dead in the streets, with hundreds of dead half-giants, muls, and dwarves littering the streets. The son of Daren’s eyes widened when he realized that the enchantments on the biggest barracks in the city were completely removed. The building structure of magically reinforced dwarven construction was now a mere pile of rubble, with just a small spire of it still standing.

As more explosions detonate in the center of the city, Ethos looks around and finds Erok’s head. “You know, for a dead ogre you don’t stay still very much.” He continues sneaking down the street, mumbling to the head. “Erok, I know a short cut through the temple district. Assuming its still there.” Walking past the training facility near the barracks, Ethos makes his way by the jewelers corner, where all the jewelry shops are completely flat. As he passes, Ethos whispers, “I can’t believe it,
Arg is really going to be pissed.” Completely taken aback by the devastation, Ethos falls again from the rumbling of the city.
This time Ethos bounces back up, but he seems to have lost Erok’s head again. "DAMMIT !!! How can one, VERY dead ogre head CONSISTENTLY keep rolling away ?? If you drop a kobold’s head, it goes plop and stays there. Ethos reaches up and pulls his own head from his shoulders, and drops it on the ground with a thud. The head opens its mouth and screams “And a dopplegangers head just sits quietly and DOSENT MOVE. WHY do OGRES have to be so DAMN DIFFICULT !!” After spending the better part of 20 minutes ducking flying shrapnel and running away from a spiky BattleBeholder, he finally finds Erok’s head.

Slowly maneuvering through the city, Ethos makes his way into the temple district. Here entire temples lay in ruin, and several battle giants lay dead nearby. Almost all the temples lay in ruin, many a mere foundation where a temple once stood. But what seems strikingly odd is the Temple to Istus lays untouched. Masked by the temples arcane glyphs and proud architecture,
its tall, dark starry double doors are closed against the carnage. The tall gem spires climbing high on each of the corners of the building, pulse with a magic Ethos wasn’t familiar with. The doppler shifts his eyes over to that of an eagle and peers at the temple, and lying dead upon front of the temple is Ranvor - Argopolis’ High Cleric of Istus. Continuing to scan around the temple, he notes that all of its guards appear to be dead, having attacked one of the battle giants. Ethos’ eyes widen when he sees a lone standing woman, quietly and patiently standing atop the roof of this great temple as if it were her own, viewing what is happening deeper in the city.

Ethos pondered the likelihood of that actually being the lady Istus, then realized he needed to keep moving and make his way through an ally in the temple district that will dump him out near the corner of the school of magic. Quickly, the doppleganger ran excitedly down the narrow alley to see how his old school, where he learned magic, was fairing the siege. As he peeked out of the alley, he felt his heart collapse as the once beautiful crystalline tower, with all its runes and sigils, the glow of its potent enchantments, and its strengthened presence of the magical weave, all seemed to have left here now…The once great College of Magic was nothing more than a shattered glass house. A dozen small battle titans lie dead nearby, mute witnesses to the fury of the archmages unleashed. No two corpses seemed to have met their end the same way. As he picks his way through the ruins of the college of magic, Ethos stops in horror at the sight of a familiar face. Striding shakily over to the pile of dead battle titans, he leans down and peers close at a severed head lying amidst the carnage. “I guess what they always said is true. Like father, like son.” Ethos muscles strained as he tried to picked up the boulder-sized head of Erok’s father, Arg. Giving up with an exhausted wheeze, Ethos frowned at the massive mug. “You know, you really need to cut back on the candy bars, Ogre.”
Pulling out his own portable mansion, Ethos rolls the massive head of the PowerOgre into it. “Right, it’s payback time.”

Eyes glittering angrily, the son of Daren surveys the scene around him. “I’ll fix your wagon, whomever you are.” Growling, Ethos stomps over to the smashed college and shifts to protoplasm. Encountering bits of several of his favorite teachers, the doppler grows ever more angry until he reaches the crushed remains of the spellcasting chambers. Spooging his way to a somewhat collapsed table, the form oozes back to the normal form of Ethos. Taking Erok’s head from his bucket, the doppler shifts his head into that of a Illithid and sinks the tentacles into the dome of his brothers skull. “Leasssst now i’m not giving you a headache, eh Erok ?” As the two minds synchronize, Ethos’ eyes roll up into his head and he becomes one with his twin. Arcane trickles of energy wriggle up the tentacles to the son of Daren. Opening up his portable mansion, four more tentacles sprout from a second head which grows from Ethos’ hand, and sink into the skull of Erok’s father. Swirling eddies of magic start to twirl and twist through the destroyed chamber as Ethos begins chanting a spell even he didn’t understand.

From the outside of the school of magic, a lone BattleGiant studies the ruin, a look of satisfaction on his face. He had been tracking the strange outsider with a bucket for the last hour, trying to see if the odd being knew where a cache of treasure was hidden. He watched the skinny being shift into protoplasm and wriggle his way into the smashed school of magic where a dozen of his brethren died. Eyes narrowing, he approached the ruin and prepared to stomp the shapeshifter when it came back out carrying treasure. As the giant readied his massive sword, an ill wind blew through the ruined site. Straining his ears, he could barely make out an arcane whisper, felt goosebumps as something within the dead school awoke.

A ghastly scene lit the interior of the smashed college. A two-headed mind flayer feasted on the dead brains of a small ogre and a massive ogre, chanting all the while. The mouths of the two heads he grasped echoed his words as he spoke the ancient phrases. “Gadurm, Daragoth, Tulus, Frizzenroth. Demodand, Saragen, Aeroden, Janaten. Calamos, Heracite, Shimytan, Pyracide. Rise forth, in this place of carnage, the twelve lost lords of Netheril, keepers of the Lore. Aggravangion, Tetrahandion, Supremagus, more. Awaken the dead, resurrect the rage, return the magic, come back to life. By Paramus, by Daravius, by Karsus, by Kreeth, let the Fallomancers, the Biomancers, the Terramancers return. The Shadowcasters, the Metalmancers, the Posicasters, Negamancers as well, come back, ancient ones…from the fiery pits of Hell. By Damius, by Jaleran, by Tangras, by Shadtar, I summon you. Let the FIRST phase beeeeegiiiin !!”

As the words of the oddest being to walk the land echoed throughout the smashed city of ogres, a pause in the fighting occurred, broken only by the soul-wrenching scream of a lone battlegiant standing by the ruined college of magic.
In the center of Argopolis, the Great Obelisk pulsed once, as a titanic amount of magic was pulled from its depths through the ley line that ran away from it, through the blasted college of magic. As the Obelisk bellowed in pain, the black-winged figure in the sky finished crushing a small, blue figure and popped it into his mouth. The dark being spun around and looked at the two remaining blue figures floating in the sky above the square. “You’ll have to do better than tha…” he gloated until the Obelisk interrupted him. Spinning in place, he glared at the crystalline entity. “And you, shut the hell up !!” Clapping his hands together, the sky erupted in a thunderclap as sickly green lightning struck the Obelisk. The lightning arc turned black, and the Obelisk screamed again, this time interrupted by the howl of something coming from the school of magic. All figures in the sky turned and shuddered at the sight of a Voidgolem, the first that had been seen since the dawn of time. The bansheewyrm turned at the last moment, and gave a final soulsplitting shriek as the Voidgolem pulled it into its dark embrace. The two remaining tiny blue figures looked nervously at the white, pointy eared figure, who looked nervously right back.

Ethos refocused his eyes and groaned. Damn, that Undead Summoning spell took a lot outta me. I wonder what kind of spectral juggernaut I called up ? Shaking his head, he got to his feet, collected the two ogre heads, and splooged his way out of the ruined college of magic.

Slowly making his way across the field of the dead, he quickly surveyed the area for a nice area to take cover. Taking
note of his surroundings, he found himself near the once great School of the Way. Created of a stone so compact
that a disintegrate caused no more damage than a hammer does to a mountain, the completely psion-crafted school now stood half destroyed. It’s psion masters still holding a badly wounded small battle titan at bay, were quickly losing ground. Ethos decided to change directions, and work his way north and out of harms way of that battle. Glaring down at the bucket, the doppler grumped “You shut up…I know you would have attacked it, and then I would have to drag your sorry ass back here again. I’m not you, which is why I don’t have a problem like having no body. Unlike TWO certain ogres I could mention.”

After a couple of minutes goes by, Ethos makes it to another rock strewn alley heading north. Cautiously, Ethos peeks out from the alley gazing distantly across the quad upon the Great Library. This amazing structure has not faltered, though there are signs of great cracks along its walls and a few holes blasted into the front. However, the great pillars that hold its ceiling up and the white marble stairs leading up to the gargantuan admantium doors are still holding steadfast. The son of Daren mumbles to himself “Dad’s gone to be glad the library held,” then jumps into the shadows and makes his way to the next alley. Silently padding on feline feet along the wall, he shifts back west, peering out to the end of the alley and finally making it to the center of the city.

Ethos’s blinks several times, as if doubting his eyes at the sight of the once Great Obelisk that stands at the core of Argopolis. A spire of gemstone that reached to the highest point in Argopolis, with a facet for each spell the Obelisk knew, when the light hit, it was like a thousand prismatic rainbows that would shoot through the city in a myriad of colors. Now, the massive crystalline entity was in a pulsing black goo of some kind and impaled on the crystalline Obelisk was a gigantic BattleTitan Master. The crystalline facets were darkening and turning an evil shade of purple. As the goo seemed to infect the entity, it screamed horribly again. "Dad once said the Obelisk is even somewhat divine, but what could make something that could dampen its powers ? The black layer of goo, resembled a kind of black jelly or pudding, but this was no ordinary pudding. Ethos has seen those before; this was something far nastier. What ever it was it soon seemed insignificant, because something overhead just blocked out the sun. As Ethos looks up, he finally sees his two copies of his father, Daren and one whitish Zap. Across the center of Argopolis, its massive wingspan blocking out the rays of the sun, flies something out of his father’s nightmares. “Oh holy Clockmaker on high, what numbnuts battlized an Anti-Solar ?”
The enormous form of the Dark BattleSolar wrestled with the insubstantial form of the Voidgolem, as the other 3 figures huddled in a conference. And, as he took in the magnitude of the battle before him, Ethos unconsciously shifted form into a (mostly) human barbarian and let out a womanly scream.

Daren and Zap looked down and noted the arrival of the Powermaster’s youngest son. Instantly his father’s voice filled his head. “Ethos, son get back. We’re about to try something unwise.” Nodding numbly to his dad, Ethos shifted form and flew up, high in the sky above the battle in eagle form. He watched as the two forms of his father clasped arms with the magnesti below, then before his very eyes he saw the two Powermasters change into pulsating blue-white spellform. Zap absorbed the two powermasters and he could hear and feel his father’s scream as the magic was passed into and through the magnesti’s braincell. Zap’s forehead pulsed alarmingly once, twice, then a third time as he used the very essence of his friend to craft magics never before imagined. A whitish flash filled the sky, blinding anyone looking in the vicinity of Anauroch as Zap unleashed infinity magic at the warring pair. Ethos regrew eyeballs again and again, until he could see an enormous figure 8 fly across the sky and slam into the two wrestlers. Both forms opened their mouths to bellow or scream, but not a thing was heard as the infinity class magic hurtled away, out of the atmosphere and out of sight.

Zap slowly sinks to the ground before the Obelisk, looking tired. Making a few hand gestures, he causes another Daren to appear. The Powermaster looks at Zap with wide eyes. “Lordy, lord Zap old boy…that was some rush I got before the SDDS burned away.” The wan face of the magnesti smiles at Daren “Well, that was my trump card that I’d been saving for this Obelisk whenever he started giving me attitude. Now I’ve got to find me another one. But first, we need to fix the Ogre’s gemtoy so he won’t be all cranky when he gets revived.” The pair talk back and forth, and all the while the obelisk is beginning to pulse a deeper shade of purple, and the dark goo is getting darker and more evil looking, slowly making the obelisk look worse and worse. Ethos lands beside the two old friends and clears his throat. “Ahem, I’d just like to mention that your obelisk is starting to get a nasty look in its eye as it’s watching the two of you talk. I’d probably do something fast.” And with that, the son of Daren ran away. FAST.

Sharing a snicker, and a “like father, like son” look, the two finally agree on what to do. Daren nods, and vanishes for what seems almost a second, and then pops back in. In one hand Daren wields a staff, which he hands over to Zap. Zap’s brow furrows and he begins talking to the staff. Not making sense of what the magnesti is saying, Ethos with eaglesight just continues to watch. Finally with a thunderclap, the staff awakens. With a nimbus of silverfire around the staff, Zap begins chanting and a solid stream of intensely bright silverfire shoots at the heart of the evil black Obelisk. After bathing the surface of the crystal with the silverfire, he starts to burns clear the mana-eating evil black goo. Slowly the obelisk begins to break free of its imprisonment, as Zap continues to burn away this foul semidivine ooze.

After a bit, Ethos blinks and notices Zap and Daren split up. Ethos mumbles to himself “I guess they must be splitting up to check on the rest of the city.” Shrugging his shoulders, he gives a hand and burns a couple of hours using a city geode and healing the wounded. Eventually getting back to his mission, he approaching the Obelisk. “Hey Obelisk! Is everything ok ? Are you still alive?”
With a dark, tired voice, it speaks “I am fine…though I’ve been better. Things are much clearer now”
The son of Daren quirks an eyebrow at the crystal. “Uh ok, could you bring Erok and Arg back please? Oh and I need a ride back to V’ral too…” Ethos, not watching where he’s putting the bucket, sets it down over a patch of scorched black goo. An arc of power surges from the face of the obelisk and strikes the bucket, which explodes as Erok reforms. A different arc shoots into the massive head of Erok’s father, which Ethos wheeled out of his mansion a moment before. The arc rebuilding Erok sparks and changes color, from a healthy blue to a dark purple. Ethos, watching the whole thing, sends out a warning ping to his father who instantly arrives on the scene with a soft pop. Daren frowns at the arc of energy and casts a spell of his own, which strikes the arc and changes its color back to the normal blue. Erok awakens, looking and feeling different. Arg also clambers to his massive feet and peers around at his city. “Sum’bitch…we’re gonna need a whole lotta brooms. Yup yup yup.” The powermaster and his son both burst into laughter at the simple comment of the Ogre, who turns and looks at them with innocent, curious eyes. "What ??? We will …Look at 'dis mess !! " which only causes the pair to collapse with laughter.

Arg sticks out his bottom lip and shakes his head. “Dopplegangers…weird folk, never understand 'em.” As father and son laugh themselves into hysterics, Arg looks over at his boy. “You changed your hair ?? Why ??”
Erok pulled out a mirror and studied himself in it. His hair color had changed to black and now hung straight from his head. His eyes were still sparkly green like his dad’s, but he felt weird. “Dunno pops, I didn’t do it. Tell ya one thing tho. I feel like doin somethin naughty. Don’t know why.” As the dopplers regained their feet, the 13 foot ogre plodded over to his boy and took a mighty sniff, and Erok’s helmet (the only part of his armor which survived) flew up the Ogre’s nose. The two dopplegangers resumed laughing as Arg pulled the helmet out of his massive schnoz. “You smell funny too, Erok. Not BAAADDDD, just different.” Shrugging his massive shoulders, Arg led his boy and the two dopplers off to clean up the city.

Later, Ethos and Erok return to V’ral on the wings of a teleport spell. “No oopses 'dis time, hey ?” says Ethos as they disappear. With a brief surge of energy Ethos, and Erok are standing back in V’ral blinking at one another, feeling different…

Damar Forge story, a recollection of events behind meeting Ardan Axefather and learning of the Forge of Eternities.

[DaermaDM]: we break fromt he timelime now to go back to a week ago when ivan disappeared…
[Ethan]: ((o k))
[DaermaDM]: The crow flies over the plains of the Shaar, a silent witness borne aloft on the currents of hot air which seem to pulse from the very ground below. As it flies overhead, it peers down with hungry curiosity, seeking a morsel of food as it continues on it’s errand. Strewn about below are broken and battered husks of great dwarven war machines, some of which still sputter aflame. All around, the sickly sweet stench of death permeates the air, but the hungry crow sees not a single body, severed limb, or bit of flesh. Cawing angrily, the crow swoops lower, noting vast bloodstains where armies must have died, yet it still fails to spy any carrion. Finely crafted dwarven hammers, axes, swords and armor lie scattered across the field, seeming as if their owners melted away or stripped naked on the field of battle, then vanished. Boots, belts, teeth and eyepatches are evident in bunches, but no trace of edible stock lies rotting in the dusty plains. Far ahead, miles away, a slender black tower juts toward the sky
[DaermaDM]: like an massive spike, trying to pierce the heavens themselves. If only the crow knew how apt the analogy was.
[DaermaDM]: The blasted dwarven machines below got larger and more impressive looking as it neared the dark spire. Within a mile of the imposing edifice, odd looking pillars of stacked skulls peered at all who approached. Dodging a mosquito the size of a parrot, the crow circled one column of skulls, peering hungrily inside eyesockets. As it darted close to a giant’s skull that faced the black tower, the mandibles of the bony face snapped hungrily at the bird, who flapped away startled, crying mournfully.
[DaermaDM]: As it approached the black spire, the bird could see the tower itself had no obvious windows, nor any noticable ledges to perch upon. A great, twenty foot thick wall, easily sixty foot high surrounded the ominous structure. The crow fluttered down to perch on the wall, and studied the tower, which seemed to undulate as if breathing. Anguished screams and unearthly bellows could be heard from within the evil edifice, and the avian doubted the wisdom of its master in sending it here. Abruptly, the crow felt something strange ooze across its feet. It vainly attempted to hop away, and started flapping its wings to escape. The hand of a small child held firmly to the bird, and the voice of a little boy spoke “Familiar, Crow. Backtracing mental link now” as the crow was pulled into the surface of the wall itself. Moments later, not a feather of evidence remained.
[DaermaDM]: Meanwhile, up in the tower itself, a hellish experiment was taking place. A gore-covered figure busily extracted three eyeballs (a blue, a green, and an orange) from the bleeding body of a beholder, which has its outer carapace cut open and stretched out on hooks anchored to the painrack from which it hung. A slender intestine, filled with the marrow of a BattleTroll slowly dripped blood into the catatonic spherical creature. The gore-covered female carefully takes the eyeballs over to a table where she is preparing Varalla’s gift, mumbling something to herself about “slow regenerative rates of eye-tyrants”. She looks up and affixes her gaze on a seemingly normal human male, looking quite out of place in this godforsaken laboratory.
[DaermaDM]: The human tenses visibly and fearfully meets the gaze of the female. “Yes, milady ?” the man’s voice quavers and he attempts to swallow his fear. Curiosity gleams in the maddened eyes of the female as she says “Tell me again, Wolfgang, why I’m making this gift for Varalla.” Wolfgang sighs with relief at not losing any of his vital parts, even though she’s asked him this same question over a dozen times today alone. “Well, milady, many many years ago, long before you delved into the dark arts of Alchemy, you actually adventured with her. Varalla and Sorvani were companions of yours for a brief time. And I just thought, since Varalla is about to ascend to full daughter after all these years, and there’s gonna be a big party, that it would be delightful to pay her a visit for old times sake.”
[DaermaDM]: Ayla glares at the human angrily, who begins to droop as he loses his shape and reverts to his doppleganger form. “I’m making this gift for THAT ??? WHAT is in it for ME, Wolfgang ?” A small trickle of greenish urine trickles out of the leg of the doppleganger as his soul, or what is left of it, realizes it’s in danger. Thinking quickly, he stutters “Um, er, yes…well Ayla, you see it’s like this. Erm, you’ll be attending a party where the world’s first drow powermaster is in attendance, as well as, er, ah, several deities probably as well. Not to mention, em, that you’ve never even seen what sort of creatures live over on that continent, ah, em, and think of the reagents you could acquire !!!”
[DaermaDM]: Ayla’s brow furrows as she begins to ponder the dopplegangers fearful excuses and slowly the anger fades from her eyes. Wolfgang wipes his brow and sneaks quietly away as she rebegins work on Varalla’s gift. “The last piece of the puzzle is how do I get past that blasted Obelisk” she mutters to herself.
[DaermaDM]: ((pause for everyone to catch up))
[Hosenfeffer]: ((ok, I’m good))
[Ivan]: ((done here))
[DaermaDM]: Hours later, elsewhere in the blasted world of the Forgotten Mess…
[DaermaDM]: [Ivan]: “Hey Erok, you told me you had one of Ayla’s journals?” [Erok]: “yeah, i do Ivan…though i am loathe to loan it out to one not of the Legion…” [Ivan]: “I am loyal to you, as a friend, if not a leader.” Erok grins stupidly at Ivan…“Got you…sure, here’s 'da book…i was just messin with ya…a little payback, that’s all…” Ivan chuckles “I see.”
[DaermaDM]: Ayla looks up from disemboweling a blood red gorgatar, a strange beast hybrid of minotaurs and gorgons. “Is that a ringing in my ears or is someone speaking my name ?” Standing up, the bloodsoaked Forsaken walks out the door of her laboratory and into a gruesome hallway, where bead curtains made of teeth and fingerbones sway in the warm breeze which wafts through the living tower. Ropes of intestine are arranged artfully upon the walls, depicting fairly accurate, if wholly disgusting scenes of alchemical triumphs. Pausing before a door fashioned from hundreds of multicolored fingers, all interlocked, Ayla pushes open the twitching portal and strides through. Inside, a vast wall is covered from ceiling to floor with ears of every shape, hue, and size. Furry, scaly, even metallic ears are arranged in some bizarre pattern that she alone understands, around a large draconic pair of lips. “Replay for me, my pretty, what was spoken about me” she tells her Aural Juggernaut.
[DaermaDM]: “Hey Erok, you told me you had one of Ayla’s journals?” speaks the behemoth in perfect imitation of Ivan the Mad. “Hmmm,” says the mistress of the tower as she walks over to a gargantuan head which fills the corner of the room, from floor to ceiling. “Let’s just see who’s reading my diary…” as she speaks, Ayla reaches into the mouth of the oddly shaped head in the corner and pulls the tongue. The single giant eye opens on the undead creature’s forehead and she intones “Reagentball of Monster Seeing, Magical and Look…Someone’s got my diary, show who has the book.”
[DaermaDM]: Mist forms in the undead eye, then suddenly clears away, drawing both itself and the milkiness of death from the orb. Inside the glassy surface, Ivan the Mad eagerly dancing in place as Erok lets him into the Portable Mansion. “Erok, one of Arg’s brats, milady” echoes a sephulcural voice from the doorway. Ayla glances over to see a floating demi-lich skull hover into view with a low whickering buzz noise. “The other idiot is named Ivan, called the Mad by his fellow travelers. He fancies himself an Alchemist, great one.” Ayla looks back into the orb, and mutters “They will both make fine reagents, yes indeed.”
[DaermaDM]: Ivan retreats to the room in Erok’s mansion where he has his lab set up, gleefully clutching the book [Ivan]: “Hmmm… I wonder…” Ivan leaves the mansion, and wanders over to the Obelisk. Arriving at the square, he waves at Vince and lays hands on the Obelisk [Obelisk]: “Yes crazy One what can i do for you?” [Ivan]: “Crazy one?.. Anyways, I’m told you really like magic, and know much of it.” [Obelisk]: “I sense you desire for Alchemy. So yes, Crazy. That is a truth Ivan, I do.” [Ivan]: “Excellent. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” [Obelisk]: “Ask.” [Ivan]: “Teach me everything you know about magical alchemy, and Greater Alchemy.” [Obelisk]: “The most i know about magical alchemy is simple. and can be summoned up in the school of transmutations. As for Greater Alchemy, I do not understand it very well at all. I know what happened to a few people who followed that path. and they are no longer welcome under my protection except in very extenuating circumstances.” [Ivan]: “So, theres
[DaermaDM]: nothing you can teach me about it? Know you where I might find a teacher?” [Obelisk]: “Seek the one called Ayla. She currently resides on Faerun in the Shaar, near the Great Rift. She is the only master of Alchemy upon this planet that i know of, although the GR most assuredly brought some others back.” [Ivan]: “I’ll do such. Thank you for your aid.” Ivan bows deeply, and sets about making preperations for the trip Ivan then heads back to the Obelisk [Ivan]: “I don’t suppose you could send me there?”
[DaermaDM]: ((pause again))
[Ethos]:
[Vince]: ((afk for a few, smoke detector’s goin off…))
[Ivan]: ((What an odd coincidence, We get into this and All along thecrooked way comes on. “Young man, hang your head and cry. It’s time to suffer, it’s time to die. She will crush you, she’ll excite you, she’ll destroy you, she’ll ignite you, she’ll take you to a world of darkness and death” Maybe the gods are trying to tell me something…))
[Erok]: (( i’d believe 'em…))
[DaermaDM]: shal i continue?
[Ivan]: ((Yes, please))
[Hosenfeffer]: ((I think vince is gone?))
[DaermaDM]: Ayla looks back across the room at the floating skull. Her eyes clear with a moment of lucidity. “Xan, tell Wolfgang that we will both be in attendance at the party, I’ve found a way past the Obelisk. Oh, and tell Mephistopholes and the Wall that a guest will be coming and I require his soul and his body, though not necessarily together.” The floating skull dips once in the air, as if bowing to her. “Yes my Forsaken queen, at once.” As the skeletal head streaks off, Ayla bellows at it “XAN !!! Tell Wolfgang that I will require sex tonight, and I wish him to don the Spiked Manticore outfit.” The bony head stops mid-hover in the hallway. Grimicing, the skulls color shifts from bone white to sickly green, and it turns and vomits a glob of gooey ectoplasm on the floor. Dizzily, the head whirrs off to find his quarry.
[DaermaDM]: [Obelisk]: “If that is your wish to be irrevocably altered should you survive to enter her Tower. Yes i will send you.” [Ivan]: “Allrighty then.” [Obelisk]: “Very well.” There is a faint pop and Ivan is gone.
[DaermaDM]: Moments later, with the woosh of a redirected teleport, a very disoriented Ivan find himself standing in front of a three-horned BattleTroll BloodWarrior Chieftain. Just as Ivan’s vision focuses on the enormous figure, his blood crystallizes and perforates his brain, heart, and circulatory system. The last words he hears before the world goes dark is “Sucks to be you” in a baritone from the troll.
[DaermaDM]: A while later, how long he’s unsure, Ivan regains consciousness but seems unable to move or form more than rudimentary thoughts. He can feel a suffocating amount of pain in his lower abdomenal area, like something is moving about inside him, but cannot lean his head down to see. Gathering his strength, more of his mental faculties wake up and his eyes start to move again. Ivan sees that he’s missing some of his limbs, and what appears to be his spine is hanging on an ogre magi horn across the room. His chest cavity is open and he’s being suspended in mid-air by his own intestines, which are hooked to the ceiling. Wondering how he is still alive, or even conscious, Ivan sees various tubes running into him, colored green, blue, black and brown. The gore-covered form of Ayla the Forsaken walks across his field of vision, hold what appears to be an odd-looking set of blue lungs. Atop her head is perched an intact mind-flayer head, with it’s tentacled driven deep into her skull. Its hungry eyes
[DaermaDM]: look into Ivan’s, and he hears a voice, both physically and mentally at the same time. “Thank you Ivan, for now I can attend the reagent gathering. However, I will have to take that pesky soul away from you, as it might cause problems while I’m inhabiting your body.” She reaches forward into his chest cavity and affixes the lungs within. Ivan looks worriedly across the room and spies a doppleganger directly across from himself, also strung up by his own intestines, also with chest cavity opened. However, the doppleganger seems to have adapted better to such treatment, as his smiles and waves at Ivan. “Don’t worry old boy. It only hurts until you die. It’s much less painful once you’re dead. Usually.”
[DaermaDM]: Ayla smiles grimly at Ivan, and the voice once more intones in his head and ears “Time to scream…” A torrent of pain rips through his body, causing every cell to feel afire and as Wolfgang’s voice echoes “For life is quite absurd, and death’s the final word…You must always face the curtain with a bow” Ivan’s vision goes dim once more.
[DaermaDM]: Later that evening, Ayla the Forsaken looks down on the finished Ivan, lying on a golden dragon scale slab, minus one soul. “He should be ready” mutters the alchemist as she spins to face Wolfgang, who stands there idly rubbing his ass. “You are ready as well, Wolfgang. You know what to do once past the Obelisk outer defenses, correct ?” The doppleganger bows, then shapeshifts into the form of a beautiful half-elven maiden. “Of course, my Forsaken lover.” Ayla speaks a long stream of alchemical phrases over Ivan’s corpse, then reaches over and pours a black potion over the body. Shortly, the corpse trembles and begins to animate. With a wicked grin and a twinkle in her eyes, she mischeviously slaps the elven maiden on the ass. “Your date to the celebration is ready, Wolfgang. And don’t forget the present for Varalla.”
[DaermaDM]: ((done))
[Ivan]: ((Maiden?))
(DaermaDM whispered to Ivan): that is wolfgang…
(DaermaDM whispered to Ivan): read it again
(Ivan whispered to DaermaDM): Oh okies. That rocked man.
(Ivan whispered to DaermaDM): I was wondering what she did to me for a moment there.
(DaermaDM whispered to Ivan): Ethos type up the orig, and erok fleshed it… i had nothing to do with it.
[Hosenfeffer]: ((vary good story telling cloud, makes me almost won’t to be there))
[Ethan]: ((yes the dopple ganger turned into a female half-elf))
[DaermaDM]: Halg-Giant and psyberdwarf take some bows… that is their story…, hell their characters…
Ivan applauds
DaermaDM moons Psyberdwarf.
Erok bows…“Thank ye, thank ye…”
[Ethan]: ((chuckle))
[Ivan]: ((That was damn good))
[Hosenfeffer]: ((ok then, HG and dwarf, vary well writin and play out))
[Ethos]: Ethos bows…“This is why we don’t utter her name aloud!!!”
[DaermaDM]: hehehe
[DaermaDM]: ((back in characters…at the beer tent…shall we??))
[Hosenfeffer]: ((I now know how sick she is, I have some thing to go by))
[Erok]: yup
[Hosenfeffer]: yes
[DaermaDM]: (((and we are off)))
[DaermaDM]: you all gather around a table with Ethan sitting on a overlarge chair…
[Hosenfeffer]: ((what time is it about?))
Ethan orders a round for the table
Erok waits for Ethan to hand him a beer…“My, MY this is good beer…MUCH better than my own brew…” Erok looks over his shoulder…
[DaermaDM]: late afternoon/early evening.