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  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  10 hours ago

    The IC posts over the Crater Lake events for Nature Night are finally finished!

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  10 hours ago


    It really was something..a bit like a can..that the Sandworms went into !

    Magic and Gnomish Technology to the rescue!

  • Vaedryan
    Vaedryan  11 hours ago

    *chuckles* Love the name of the most recent NN, Scratch!

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  17 hours ago

    Nature Night will start in about 2 hours!

    Please join us in the Wild Grove in Grauer Suden.

    I will be IG as Dauken. Feel free to shoot me a tell with any questions. smile

  • AmberOfDzu
    AmberOfDzu  1 day ago

    Hi Scratch!

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  2 days ago


  • AmberOfDzu
    AmberOfDzu  2 days ago

    *wave* @Vaerdryan grin

  • Vaedryan
    Vaedryan  3 days ago

    Omg! I spy an Avarith!!! grin

  • Jandari
    Jandari  3 days ago

    DORF night has kicked off with epic bouts of arm wrestling!

  • archgrendel
    archgrendel  3 days ago

    Payne is just jealous wink

The Island of Thain :: Forums :: In Character Discussion
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Trials of the Necromancers

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4:52:01 pm GMT 09/30/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
((OOC: This thread will be used for future Necro Night updates. The Original Necro Nights Thread will remain as well, but will just be for technical discussion/OOC info about meeting times/locations, etc. as we move forward. Summaries of Necro Nights will start to be placed here, with the idea that this can be an IC thread people other than myself and Alanonas can add to. Please feel free to post in this thread if you are involved or interested in becoming involved with any of the plots going on.))

Mors kicks the pile of junk in front of him. Magically, he discovers that this earns him a very sore toe, and a sidelong look from Morton.

"This is... problematic..."

Morton nods, takes a drink of some vile substance Mors can smell from across the tomb, a smell like pickled roses and sulfur, and continues: "We are out of our element here. Should probably find some folks that can be discreet but who can help us."

It's Mors' turn to nod now, as he returns to the large table in the center of the room. Outside, they can hear Jerrit moaning about his lost love, but this is little more than wind to them anymore. He sits down, and begins to write some letters:

To the Esteemed Khalador, purveyor of fine goods,

I write to inquire whether it would be possible for a group of select individuals to study your golem and, if you were so inclined, to ask you a few questions as to its procurement. We would, of course, be willing to compensate you for this privilege, and would ask that you name a price you think fair. Letters delivered to Jerrit's tomb in the Necropolis will reach us.

Mors Cuthran

To Jojo Baxtrapple,

I do not believe we have met, but you are known by reputation at the Trade and Tackel to be an individual of some resourcefulness who is skilled with the arts of your people, particularly with the working of metal and magic together. My associates and I have a proposition for you, which should prove to be a fine demonstration of your skills. If you are interested in hearing more, replies addressed to Jerrit's tomb in the Necropolis will find us. We hope to hear from you soon.

Mors Cuthran

To Paydon Darkmare,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, sir lich. We met once before, in the realm of shadows, where your appearance was quite a surprise, albeit a welcome one. We are currently undergoing a bit of an investigation, and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to question you about your transformation, as well as to get your input on certain experiments that we have been pondering for some time now. Compensation of various means can be arranged if you so desire. If this be amenable to you, responses addressed to Jerrit's tomb will find us.

Mors Cuthran

Mors sits back in his chair, gazing down at the letters as the ink finishes drying on the last. "We should also see if Jacen can be of help in this. His knowledge will certainly be valuable, assuming he can be found in this timeline these days..."

Morton nods, takes another swig.

Sighing, Mors seals the letters, handing them off to a skeleton that even now rises from the bones of the crypt to serve this purpose. Mors spends some time dressing the thing, pulling a large hooded cloak over its bony back, and drawing the hood up so far that the skull is all-but-invisible in the deep shadows. It is not a perfect messenger, but it will do. It will deliver the letters as far as it can, likely leaving them in the hands of guards near the cities where the recipients can be found.

And now they begin planning the next phase of their journey.

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4:19:26 am GMT 10/10/18
Alanonas Registered Member #24078 Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 800
Necro Night XVII: A Grisgol Looks at Eternity

[ image disabled ]

The floating blue orbs within the ornate helm flicker and flutter as the corruptive energies that had bound the spirit for so long escape. Those moments feel like another lifetime for the accursed mage as his spirit finally breaks free from the confines that were crafted to hold him for some nefarious purpose. Try as he may, his own name eludes him yet, even now as eternity finally beckons his tired soul on towards the sprawling unknown.

The fleeting images fly by, speeding on wards into oblivion alongside his freed spirit. He sees his old adventuring outfit, the cunning rogue and stalwart warrior, a trio fit for any challenge...save their last. The foul mage who proved their undoing flashes before his disembodied self as he is forced to see his companions fall yet again. He only hopes their fate was not as punishing and terrible as his own, for now he sees the villainous mage bind his fleeing soul into some manner of ramshackle body crafted from a vast array of arcane paraphernalia: yards upon yards of untranslated scrolls, broken wands, and clinking bottles of unspeakable fluids and tonics would form his new body. His new prison.

How long he lingered in such a tormented form he cannot know, nor shall it matter now as the last and final scenes play before him once again. He sees the other practitioners of the dark arts, those who unlike his accursed creator, offer him respite from his accursed and terrible form. He sees them unravel the complicated workings of the wards and incantations that have doomed him such, finally breaking the magical link that had held him so tightly for so long.

Alas, as the spirit breaks past the last fading ward, he notices for the first time, how beautiful eternity can be.

((Necro Nights are Tuesdays at 7pm EST/ 4 pm PST, come join us!))

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2:49:46 pm GMT 10/11/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
Necro Night XVIII: Of Metal and Men

"... and you say you can still get into this manor?"

"Oh yeah. They fired me, see, but I still got me key! And nobody lives there these days... just the metal men."

"These metal men... what are they?"

"Can't rightly say. All I know is that sometimes we'd see the mage fellow bringing folks into the estate. Folks from of the streets, like. Never did see them leaving."

"And can you show us these metal men?"

"For the right price..."


It is a warm afternoon when they meet again. In many ways it is the perfect day for a bit of casual breaking-and-entering. Mors checks his packs again to ensure everything is ready. The payment is tucked away in a small pouch in his boots. Most of his gold is hiding somewhere in the tomb, as a precaution against the Lowtown Populace.

The door groans open and Dorina and Crimson enter. He is not entirely sure of their motivations, but he welcomes whatever help he can get at this point. Morton gives them a nod and takes another drink from a flask as he, Mors, lays out the situation. They would rendezvous with their contact in the Ogre Belly inn, before proceeding to the manor. Once inside, they will investigate for any signs of... well, anything really.

The trip to the city is uneventful, and soon they are seated in the bar, keeping a sharp lookout for both the contact and pickpockets. Morton, of course, manages to keep a sharp eye out for ale alone, and is soon so drunk he will be unable to continue. Around this time, the contact appears, and they are able to move out. Betraying a strength of character that is rather touching for one of her kind, Dorina hefts Morton over her shoulder and carries him along, much to the chagrin of the aged necromancer.

Once at the manor, the man's tale proves true; his key opens the door quite easily. Inside, they find a dusty hallway, broken only by the tracks of someone- or something- that pace back and forth through the hall, never varying in their route. It seems that perhaps these metal men are indeed still here.

Moving quietly, they sneak to a nearby door, intending to open it without raising any alarms, but they needn't have bothered. AS soon as the lock clicks, a hulking metal monstrosity charges them, nearly impaling their contact before Dorina can get her shield in front of its sword arm.

The manor turns out to be infested with the things. They continue on, harried by these metal men at every turn, until they find... some sort of chamber. Parts and pieces litter the floor, and even now large pools of dried blood are visible on the marble tiles. Searching the area, they find a note. It speaks of dark rituals, to bind the souls of those who "volunteered" to "give themselves" to the creation of the metal knights.

It is not an answer in itself, but it is a piece of one. Satisfied, they quickly make their exit, before more of the things can appear. Once outside, payment is rendered, and a promise is made. Soon, the story of why they have been seeking these golems will be told.

((Necro Nights are Tuesdays at 7pm EST/ 4 pm PST, come join us!))
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7:17:24 am GMT 10/21/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
Necro Night XIX: Plots

A flurry of letters is sent out, to various craftsmen around the isle: To Seth von Hendricks, to Ylva Forgespark, to Quark, to the tinkerers of Sandburrow and to the smiths of Hammersong, to the forgemasters of the Grey Iron Mines, and to the crafters of the Elves. Each letter contains a variation of the following:

Mortality is a fleeting thing, not just in us mortals but in our creations as well. They rust, they fall apart. They die. What we are offering is quite simple: For those with the skill to do so, a way to have your name be remembered long after your bones are scattered to the four winds. We seek a particular type of craftsman- one who is willing to work with the divine and the arcane, one who wishes to push the very limits of what can be wrought from metal and magic.

We seek, in short, not someone who simply uses a hammer to strike metal, but instead a visionary. Someone who, given abundant resources, time, and support, can create something only a very few have attempted before.

If you would have your name live in song, seek us out.

The Letter is signed with two looping signatures: Mors Cuthran and Morton Falone

((OOC: This offer is open to anyone, not just those mentioned in the letters. Shoot either of us a PM if interested!))
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6:06:38 am GMT 10/30/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
Necro Night XX: The Macabreade (Part 1)

Sophia sighs again as the ghost introduces himself

"M-my name is Rory Bandencroft, and I was murdered. I was attending a party, and such a spectacle it was! The music, the dancing, the lights! Each costume finer than the one before it, the setting perf-"

"We get it!" Sophia cuts in abruptly, her pointed teeth flashing in the torchlight. "Big party, lots of people in costume..."

Mors just smiles behind his mask. Apparently the ghost had contacted Sophia first, and it had been pestering her for nearly a week before she was able to convince it to seek out the rest of... whatever this was. He glances around as Dorina and Flanna, the others who gathered here today, ask the ghost a series of questions...


Some time before:

The cold air bites at the skin as the ghost shows them to his death site. Along the way they have found Daniel O'Concobhair, who agrees to join them if only to harvest some materials from the giants they will pass along the way. As he leads them into the frozen valley, they see the ghost that Sophia was so eager to help move on, if only so that she could get a decent day's sleep.


"... and what is it that will help you to move on?"

"I feel... I need to know. Who killed me, and why..."

"And how can we help?"

"I think... if I could just re-live, if you'll pardon the expression, that day. If I could see it all again. Perhaps I could know. I don't suppose you're any good at... entertaining?"

Mors smiles again behind the mask. "I think we can put something together..."

((This was the leadup event to our masquerade/murder mystery this Saturday (11/3) starting at 12 PM PST. All are welcome to attend, and you should come in costume! See the Necro Night thread for full details!))

((Necro Nights are Tuesdays at 7pm EST/ 4 pm PST, come join us!))
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10:32:58 pm GMT 11/06/18
Kagali Registered Member #1318 Joined: 4:57:57 am GMT 06/17/08
Posts: 351
Necro Night XX: The Macabreade (Brazik's Perspective)

After the strange night's events, Brazik spent a good hour just pacing back and forth in his room, going over the sequence of events that just happened. He found it difficult to keep a good order to everything that happened, but this was something that he didn't want to lose or forget. So there he was, pacing, brows furrowed, thinking hard on everything that happened. It was occupying his mind much more than an encounter with a ghost or a party normally would, but somehow, combining the two into a forced dream-memory made it much more...important. He didn't want to lose any of it, even though with every passing moment, just like with most dreams, he felt like the details were slipping away.


Brazik arrived at Jerrit's Tomb, dressed in his new and shiny best - a robe coloured with a special, shimmering adamantine dye that he had made up just for this occasion. As he promised Sydney, he was going to show up in something ridiculously flashy and noticeable. He just couldn't help but grin at himself for also paying homage to his 'heritage' at the same time.

He looked around at those gathered, seeing the ghost, Rory Bandencroft, Morton, and a number of others in interesting attire. One was dressed as a succubus, leaving very little to the imagination. Another was dressed as...an assassin? A thief? Complete with having a dagger in hand at all times. There was also what appeared to be...a drow, with pure white hair and skin as dark as the darkest night, and garbed in a dress that seemed to be inspired by (or perhaps made of) the webs of a spider.

All ladies, interesting!, Brazik thought to himself, doing his best not to show TOO much excitement or anticipation.

The host of the party, Morton, proceeded to explain the situation, and how everything would work. We wouldn't physically BE there, he said, so much as brought into Rory's memories...each of us occupying the 'memories' of a person who had attended the party. It all sounded quite complicated and perhaps even dubious, but Brazik didn't have any worries - after all, he was certain that HE, at least, would not have issues with being 'possessed' or 'taken' by whatever spectres came about.

He looked to each of the ladies in turn, looking for a sign that Sydney was about before, at Morton's instruction, plunging into the dream memory of this poor ghost. The succubus? No, there's no way Syd would dress THAT brazenly. The drow, maybe? Unlikely. The assassin, on the other hand...as he looked her over, she let a lock of strawberry-coloured hair peek out from her hood. Yep, that's definitely Sydney. She didn't chicken out after all!

Sticking by Sydney's side, he walked up to the dream-mist basin, oozing unnatural fog into the tomb, and quickly found his mind drifting off into someplace new...


Brazik awoke to find himself in a snowy clearing, of sorts. Perhaps this isn't actually snow, but just how Rory remembered it? Nothing seemed to be certain anymore. As he studied his surroundings, a sudden rush of thoughts, feelings, and memories flowed into his head.

Well, that's a head-rush, Brazik thought to himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the new information steadily flooding into his head. He had connected to the memories of a half-elven woman named Penelope Be'len...at least, Brazik thinks that's her name. It's the first one that comes to mind when he tries to 'name' the person who belongs to these memories. She was invited to this party quite unexpectedly, but it proved to be a golden opportunity for her. She felt that this Rory Bandencroft had risen to his position of status much too quickly to be natural, and suspected that deals with extra-planar forces might be to blame. As a cleric of the Empyrean order, and a Tormite, this was the perfect opportunity to perhaps...ask a few questions in surroundings that Rory would be comfortable in.

Brazik opened his eyes, slightly light-headed at the unfamiliar sensations and feelings in his mind. He then looked to his side, seeing Sydney. She was struggling with the feelings and memories far more than he was, it seems, which was only natural - in the time he's known Sydney, "stubborn" and "unyielding" are two of the words that spring to mind when trying to describe her. Indeed, it took much prodding and pressuring to even get her to COME to this 'party'. Regardless, her presence there filled Brazik with a sense of purpose - she was clearly uncomfortable with this whole situation, so he couldn't falter in front of her.

The quartet of odd guests moved further into the snowy clearing and stood in front of the ghost....no, not the ghost, but the living, breathing memory of Rory Bandencroft. They made their introductions - Brazik blurted out the only name that came to mind, Penelope Be'len, Sydney introduced herself as Gertrude, the drow-ish lady introduced herself as Xayah, and the succubus-garbed lass introduced herself as...something long-winded, but that we could call her "Jo". Syd....Gertrude?...made her way straight to the bar, and Brazik followed. At first he wanted to share a drink with Syd, but something in his mind STRONGLY objected. Perhaps this Penelope hated alcohol? So, instead, he contented himself with satisfying his sudden sweet tooth, enjoying a small slice of cake and an apple as they talked.

As Brazik looked around at the others, he realized that they were trying their best to 'play' their roles, but were clearly in the same boat as he was - it was difficult to separate oneself from the memories of the people that they were connected with. The drow woman spoke of being an innkeeper, and that her daughters would one day fight a deadly battle for the rights to the inn. The succubus was all jokes and snark, and Brazik...he WANTED to speak much more, but the 'other person' in his head was used to speaking short, curt, to-the-point sentences, and seemed to dislike idle conversation. So he, too, kept his phrases short. Syd, on the other hand, seemed to be just...well, a notably annoyed Syd. She didn't seem to be acting any differently than normal, leading Brazik to believe that she wasn't letting the 'other person' change her too much.

After some time chatting, some conflict arose. The succubus called Jo was eager to greet their host with warmth and friendly kindness, while the drow very clearly had history with him...bad history. It wasn't long before she stormed away from him and straight to the bar to get a drink. Rory, not wanting this foul mood to spoil the party, led Brazik, Syd and Jo away to an area closer to the dance floor, where a barrel of water and apples was prepared and waiting. Wanting to keep everything happy and merry, Rory then challenged everyone to try some apple-bobbing. Brazik, Syd, and Morton all took part, while Jo and Rory got to conversing off to the side.

Apple bobbing. This was something that Brazik couldn't care less about, but the 'other person', however, had other feelings on the matter. This was a challenge. She MUST answer the challenge, and MUST be victorious. So Brazik played along, dunking his head into the barrel and coming up with an apple. After taking a bite, it flashed with a sudden and bright light, momentarily blinding Brazik. It was at this point that he learned from Morton and Rory that these were enchanted apples, imported from Neverwinter, each apple containing a slightly different magical surprise. Munching on his new apple, he turned to the rest gathered about - with the drow at the bar, it left himself, Rory, Jo, and Sydney/Gertrude standing around and chatting.

The ghost of Rory appeared to the side, musing, slowly recalling something about the taste of the apples...until being overtaken with a particularly unpleasant feeling. He clutched at his throat, yelling that his throat was burning at recalling the taste of something. After several moments spent in apparent agony the ghost-host recovered, appearing to be more miserable than ever. "What a terrible way to end a party, after a perfectly good round of dancing and a perfectly good toast!" He and Syd looked to each other, immediately reaching the same conclusion: Rory died by poisoning on this night.

Well, I suppose it's now or never. Wanting to move the night forward, Brazik interrupted an apparent conversation about making trade deals in order to put forth the question most burdening the memories of Penelope Be'len.

"You're throwing this party to show off your recent rise to status and nobility, yes? Did you make any sort of...deals...to make all this happen? Deals with...planar creatures?"

The real Rory's response was quick and evasive. "I wouldn't know anything about those sorts of things." As Rory's head turned away from Jo, who was getting quite comfortable with him, she glared at Brazik with the most vicious glare he had ever seen, and sauntered off.

Brazik was unconvinced, but in his mind, Penelope was unsure what else to say to get him to slip up. So, for now, that was the end of it. Quite notably, though, in asking this question, he had spurred Sydney to follow suit in slightly less subtle a fashion. Without any beating around the bush, she just blurted out her accusation, saying "So, I'm pretty sure you're responsible for ruining our city with illegal goods."

This statement had Rory significantly more flustered, saying that he had no idea what she was talking about, that it couldn't possibly be him, that it was an outrage...all the things that a person being caught in a lie might angrily say to deflect attention away from himself. Further to this, he also immediately excused himself, wandering off to 'take care of other matters'.

Wanting to fill the suddenly awkward moment with more revelry, Mors and Morton - who were both suddenly present - directed the attendees to the dance floor to have a dance-off. First up were Jo and the drow woman, Xayah. Jo showed off her acrobatic prowess in the form of a dance, while the drow showed that she actually COULD dance, spinning and weaving her dress about like a complicated web, one that soon ensnared Jo enough to make her lose her footing and take a rather nasty fall. Next, Brazik/Penelope went up to the dance floor, facing Sydney/Gertrude. This was the moment that he, Brazik, was hoping would happen...but since this was a dance "battle", things were not as he had hoped. Trying his best to show off with no real knowledge of HOW to dance, Brazik called upon his own training and experience with weapons, pretending each of his arms was a blade and slowly flowing between attacks at the air. Sydney, on the other hand, stood on the spot and flapped her arms like a bird. Brazik continued his weapon-dance a few more moments, hoping to spur Sydney to do more than just play around - she didn't take the bait, and instead stepped forward and punched Brazik in the gut. Clearly, she was not in the mood for dancing on this night.

As Brazik wheezed and caught his breath, something came to light. Either by falling out of one of their outfits, or by being revealed through their dancing itself, a mysterious little bottle was now lying in the middle of the dance floor. A quick examination of the contents revealed it to be wine, but laced with something that smelled acrid and sour. This was clearly the murder weapon, the means by which their ghost-host's life came to an end.

It was at this moment that both the ghost of Rory Bandencroft and the dream-memory of him returned. The ghost fruitlessly yelled at his living self and tried batting his arms away to no avail - his ghostly hands merely passed through his living self's flesh. Amidst ghostly wails of desperation and frustration, the real Rory poured himself a glass of wine and lifted it in a toast, saying something that Brazik couldn't recall. All the attendees nodded and joined in on Rory's toast, watching in resigned sadness and horror as their host drank his wine, began clutching at his throat, and then fell over to the ground. Brazik...or rather, Penelope, did her duty as an Empyrean cleric and rushed over to the body, calling out to Rory, shaking him, checking his condition. But she knew full well, just as Brazik did - he was quite dead already. The drow woman, perhaps letting her 'passenger spirit' take hold, rushed to Rory's side, quite distraught and miserable. Sydney stood to the side, looking quite uncomfortable...and then there was Jo, who seemed not the least bit unhappy about it all.

The body being left on the ground, all the attendees stood about on the dance floor, joined by the ghost of Rory. He was as lost as ever, oblivious to how exactly this came to be. Sydney, too, was still puzzled, but the drow and Brazik knew otherwise. They both turned to the woman, possessed by the spirit named "Jo", and revealed her to be the killer. She nodded, facing the ghost directly and telling of her motivations. She revealed that his business ventures, his ambitions, would have destroyed her home, Greenwood, if left unchecked. His death was the simplest means of ensuring their home's safety.

And so, Rory Bandencroft's ghost learned the truth of his death. Brazik could see the resignation in his eyes - there was no use debating why he died, for he was dead. Whether his actions were a threat or not to Jo's homeland, he was killed by someone believing that his death was necessary to protect her home. There were no more questions as to how, or even why, he met his sudden end all those years ago.

Thanking us, the ghost of Rory Bandencroft faded away, finally at peace. And then we all awoke from that dream, the dance floor, the apples, the snow...everything fading away into darkness.


And so there Brazik was, a few hours he and the others reawakend in Jerrit's tomb and had returned to wherever they came from. Brazik continued pacing about his room, trying to commit as much of the dream as possible into his memory.
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1:33:02 am GMT 11/15/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
Necro Night XXI: Ghost Stories

The moon is bright and quiet tonight,
The trees hardly stir under her gaze,
All eyes are transfix'd on a wondrous sight,
Pale sister's reflections, a fiery blaze.

Three things they have brought,
three enemies riven,
three curses fought,
three lessons given

The Lament of Ennis
As sung by Mors Cuthran

Ennis was a swashbuckling rogue,
No port could say he claimed it home,
His trade was marked by plunder and brogue,
And when he fell, he fell alone.

His ship was fast, sleek as silk,
She danced upon the wide sea's wind,
His armor gleamed with inlaid gilt
his treasure was his greatest friend.

When he searched for life beyond his death
he found he could not outrun the reaper's scythe
And so he cursed with dying breath
And so his worldly goods did writhe

The things he cherished for so long
left him now in his hour of need
like the fading notes of a bolstering song
like rain washing away a fragile seed

When he reached forth to grasp his life's true work
he found nothing but air in his clutched claws
death's first lesson, a savage quirk,
he fell victim to its laws

He found his spirit fixed now
Desiring only what he could not obtain
in death he seeks what life would not allow
he finds it no easier to obtain

The second lesson, hear his cries,
the sun's rays no longer warm his skin,
the pale moon now, the night's soft sighs
these now embolden him, and his kin.

To seek out what Ennis once sought
requires determination of body and mind,
the way is dark, the passage fraught,
the trials testing all mortal-kind.

Those that lay the giants low,
that do battle with the fish-men 'neath the waves
they bring Ennis' curses together, below,
deep inside ancient Elven caves.

And what third lesson of death is earned
when a ghost's path lights the way?
You must ask those who have risked, and learned,
For I fear only they can say.

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5:00:52 am GMT 12/02/18
Alanonas Registered Member #24078 Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 800
Necro Night XXII & XXIII Bones to Pick

The stories and tales drifted across the isle, exaggerating a bit more with each fearful telling....

A hefty caravan driver hobbles over towards the roaring crossroad fire, telling his story to any who would listen, and a few who'd rather not...

"It was Pan-deh-mo-knee-um! Abs'lute horror made of bones I say! A skeleton! Tha' biggest one you'd ever sees! I seen it right before it eated up tha' whole grain caravan fer' the Empyrean boys down wasteside!"

Many of those gathered laugh at the wild story, others simply shake their heads and turn to their own business, but two hooded men listen to these campfire tales each passing night. The stories vary with each new speaker that arrives each night, but none neglect to mention the presence of a particularly daunting skeleton. A haunting of this proportion would not elude the inquisitive minds of those who gather on those dark nights, within darker tombs, to uncover even darker secrets...

The group gathers on a quiet night as the moon rises high, bathing the four figures in shimmering silver. The orchish devotee had found a plucky gnome to join them on this particular errand and soon the four found themselves trekking through the perilous passes of the rainy Drakamyre, beyond the dark chasms and gorges, and into the Pass of Ashes where this monstrosity was said to haunt. They are met by a formidable squadron of hellish soldiers and devils that hail from the nearby Iron City. The stern faces of the soldiers seem ever so weary as they turn their attention from the strange party to the oncoming hordes of clattering skeletons.

Bones, blades, arrows, and hellfire fill the craggy pass as the melee begins. The four investigators take this opportunity to slip by the distracted soldiers, darting deeper into the looming cliffs and crags. The din of battle still echoes within the pass as they turn a bend to discover the source of the waves of skeletal forces. It was big. The hulking abomination rises from the dais, leaking dozens of smaller skeletons from its ever shifting, clattering form, and before the four companions know it they are surrounded.

The four figures leap into action, Uttering spells, hefting blade, and raising their own skeletal forces to clash against the oncoming undead host. The crackling spells and waves of negative energy flash about the pass as the fight continues until the mighty skeletal behemoth finally topples in a burst of numbing darkness, pelting the group in a shower of bones, dust, and negative energy.

As the dust settles, the shouts of the Iron City forces can be heard drawing closer down the pass. The two hooded men quickly inspect the crackling remains as the countless remaining skeletons crumple into inanimate piles of splintered bone around them. What ever caused such an extraordinary happening?

They gather several bones and even more questions as they disappear into the ashen passes once again...

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5:06:07 am GMT 12/06/18
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1281
Necro Night XXIV: Fun(gus) Times

It is strange, the way undeath manifests itself... Mors reflects, looking once more at the Myconid gardeners passively tending to their various crops.


They had met this time for only a brief moment when a fey creature, one who had escaped some destructive act against her people, had found its way to them. It told of a strange plague that befell the fey in the south, and how it would continue to grow, unless stopped. At first reluctant to get involved, Mors' interest was piqued when the darting fey told of how the fallen had been taken away, how the plague seemed to collect them.

This was more in their area of expertise.

Travelling south through a temporary fey portal, they found themselves in the Moribund bog once again. Following the tiny creature they soon find themselves looking at a cave which runs under the road. Mors had seen this cave many times before, even been in it a few times, but now it was utterly transformed, with lurid fungi growing from the entrance and strange lights coming from within.

Entering the cave, they find a strange scene before them. Towering mushrooms grow on the floors, the walls, even the ceiling, casting weird lights from some sort of phosphorescent mechanism. Inside they also discover the myconids, the silent, fastidious workers who simply stare at them with too-big eyes as they pass through. They are not hostile to the investigators, but neither are they friendly.

Entering the main chamber, they find a number of fungal organisms that attack them on sight- far different from the passive gardeners in the antechamber. They also see mushrooms growing in strange, humanoid shapes, and upon closer inspection realize that these are the bodies of the fallen, harvested and used to create the undead organisms that attack them now. These organisms seem to spawn quickly, and soon they discover the source of them- a strange altar, upon which rests a moldy grimoire telling of one known as Jubilex. This seems to be the cause of the strange spawns, for as they take the tome and cleanse the altar the savage mushroom-creatures fall dormant and do not return.

The fungi soon begin to wither without their gruesome fuel, and as they leave the cave they are met once again by the myconid gardeners. This time though their silent stares are more accusatory. Perhaps it will not be the last the island sees of them. After all, the spores of a fungus can live on for years and years...

((Necro Nights are Wednesdays at 7pm EST/ 4 pm PST; come join us!))
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3:56:07 pm GMT 12/16/18
Alanonas Registered Member #24078 Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 800
Necro Night XV: Ranger Stranger Danger

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A biting winter breeze crawls across the frozen lands, creeping into the lonely Necropolis like a plague. It wilts last yellowed leaf from the old tree, snuffing out the last semblance of life that dared to adorn the realm of the dead. The crumpled thing drifts down, passing through the ethereal form of a rugged shade that stands below the aged tree. A film of frost coats the leaf as it makes contact, causing it to fall and shatter upon the equally frozen ground beneath the spirit. The chilling gusts swell as the shade drifts towards the only other source of life within this desolate locale: a tomb of all things....

The unlikely bunch of paranormal investigators, enthusiasts of the unknown, and seekers of esoteric knowledge had convened once again within the tombs to discuss the plethora of details surrounding their former adventures. A new face soon wanders into the tomb, this one not a ghost or lost spirit, but an elf! Their meeting is cut short by the arrival of a chilling presence that soon manifests as an apparition of a long-dead ranger. The shade still dons the tattered woodsman garb of the Brotherhood Rangers who have long since safeguarded the roads and woods.

It tells its tale to the investigators. It is a bitter thing, consumed by vengeance and hatred for one of his own brethren who betrayed the angered shade and his brothers in years long passed. The spiteful ranger tells of how his deceitful companion's betrayal left himself, and his brethren, for death. He tells of the full and honored life the treacherous scum was able to enjoy and the torment of having to watch from afar as himself and his fallen brothers were made to linger on in hate.

The angry shade asks those gathered to delve into the honored tombs of his order and defile the resting place of that lecherous lout so he and his own men may finally have peace in knowing he shall suffer as they have. The proposition is considered, and soon the group finds themselves within the old crypts that overlook the quiet port. The inhabitants of the tomb arise, attacking the intruders in a maddened, hatred filled frenzy. In time the group prevails, sending the tortured dead back to rest before finally discovering the sealed sarcophagus that they seek.

An unnatural chill permeates from the thing as those gathered begin to lift the stone lid. Within, they discover the remains of the accused ranger and draw them out, marring and breaking them at the bequest of their ghostly guide so that the treacherous ranger of old's own peaceful rest may be interrupted. Some among them notice the strange runes and wards placed upon the remains. The wards are undone and the bones snap and break, flooding the tomb in a malignant light...

Their ghostly guide gives and equally malignant laugh as he draws the previously warded darkness into himself before thanking the investigators for freeing him. With the dark ruse of the ranger exposed, those gathered move to put him back to rest before he can escape in earnest. The conflict shakes the old tomb as the empowered shade drains the very life and chills the bones of those who would seek to rebind him. But alas! The combined prowess and quick thinking of the group prevails and the shade is forced back into the chilly tomb.

The weary group returns to their own tomb for their own respite, each being a little more wary of strangers....

((Necro Nights are Wednesdays at 7pm EST/ 4 pm PST; come join us!))
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