diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'src/dnd/SpellGauntlet.org')
-rw-r--r-- | src/dnd/SpellGauntlet.org | 683 |
1 files changed, 683 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/src/dnd/SpellGauntlet.org b/src/dnd/SpellGauntlet.org new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb97497 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/dnd/SpellGauntlet.org @@ -0,0 +1,683 @@ +#+TITLE: Spell Gauntlet: Practical Spellcasting +#+HTML_HEAD_EXTRA: <link rel="stylesheet" href="DND.css"> +#+TAGS: FF SS WP + +* Teleport + +** Wizard - ft. Ula Mindis +The young Wizard Ula Mindis awoke to the smell of steeping tea. + +She sighed, opened her sleep-encrusted eyes, and yawned. Another day. +Another attempt. She rolled out of bed and drifted over to the +window. It was cracked open, but she threw it wide to welcome the +morning air and golden sunrise into her bedroom, or study rather. +She'd recently moved her most used bookcases in here for easy access. +Her spellbook sat open at its usual spot, turned to the page she'd +most recently been studying. This particular spell she'd attempted +half a dozen times to no avail, but this morning felt somehow +auspicious for it. + +Ula looked over the first line. The elven letters were written in her +own hand. She had copied the carefully penned italic espruar letters +from an old scroll recovered from a captured pirate ship no more than +a tenday ago and had tried to cast the spell immediately. When she +failed, she had rechecked the writing a dozen times against every +source she could find, so she was sure that the letters weren't the +problem, she was. + +The tea arrived, cup wobbling in midair, held by a construct of pure +magical force, whom she thanked politely. The morning breeze caught +the bay spray and filled the room with the smell of salt and sorcery. + +Perhaps she could not cast the spell, Ula mused, because she was +perfectly happy exactly where she was. + +Emboldened by the tea, she shook away the thought and dove again into +the spell. Just imagine what was possible! No longer would she have +to send away for expensive spell components. She could just say the +words and pick them up herself. She could visit her family back in +Mulmaster or take a vacation on the shores of some exotic beach +island. + +She finished the first line, an anchoring, and began on the second. +While the first had been filled with words of permanence and +stability, the second was quite the opposite, using words of whimsy +and transcendence. She had gone over this before, even looking up +words and pronunciation from the deepest parts of her library. + +This time though, the spell began to make sense. Like a distant blur +on the horizon solidifying into a ship, but that didn't mean that she +could sail upon it. No, the spell would likely take another tenday to +work through at this rate. + +She moved to the next line, back to permanence, repetition, solidity, +before turning again to shifting sand and billowing wind. The salty +sea-spray began to blow against her spellbook, almost flipping the +page mid-sentence. She nearly cursed, but a mage learns to be careful +with errant words early in her education, and she remained silent. +She reached for her tea, but it had grown cold. She absent-mindedly +heated it with a cantrip and brought the near-boiling mug to her lips. + +Ow! + +She set it down again and sent her unseen servant for an ice-block for +the tea. + +She thought about ice, about water, then again about the spell. + +Permanence. Transience. Solidity. Liquidity. + +That was it! + +By the time the ice-cube arrived the tea was long forgotten. + +"Of course! The key isn't thinking about location at all, it's about +matter! I'm solid right now. I need to be liquid! A solid cannot +move, but a liquid flows, through time, through space, it doesn't +matter!" + +Ula poured herself into the spell and the teacup clattered to the +floor as she used her full concentration on the spell at hand. She +focused on the market down below her. Fish-mongers barked their +catches to the passersby and coin flowed freely. + +The words came one after another perfectly, Ula could almost predict +them. Permanence. Transience. Solidity. Liquidity. + +And suddenly she was in the marketplace. + +The surprised merchants around her started then blushed as she cheered +"I did it! I did it!" and jumped up and down. + +Only after nearly a minute of excited and likely bewildering +explanation to the surprised fellows did Ula realize she had not +changed from her slip and nightgown yet. + +Oh well. She needn't be that embarrassed. She could always move; now +the world was at her fingertips. + +** Sorcerer - ft. Saffron Dayl'asaar + +Saffron looked at the picture of the remote village. + +"You've got to be kidding me." she stated in deadpan. + +"No, I assure you that is the location of the disturbance!" said the +thin old actuary. He stooped over the table with a lens held to one +eye peering at her as if he expected her to pop out of existence at +any second. + +Which, admittedly, she was likely to do, assuming of course that she +could locate the stlarned place to disappear to. + +"No, I mean, this is the best information you have?" + +"Oh yes. Absolutely positively the best. The mine is just right by +the village you see. That is where Betrice, our informant that is, +recovered the clues. It's just luck that she thought the mine pretty +and drew it for us in such exquisite detail." + +/Exquisite detail my arse./ thought Saffron. + +The eldest child of the now-esteemed Dayl'asaar family of Aglarond, +Saffron had always been the adventurous one, even more so than her +trio of older brothers. So when the Institute came knocking three +years ago, Saffron was the one to take up the call, not her father, +not her brothers, but little Saffron spell-touched. Plus, she was the +only one of them capable of the kind of magics that the Institute +really lacked, even though the spells didn't always go off exactly as +she planned. + +"Okay. It will have to do." She snatched up the paper and her +traveling gear and concentrated on the picture and on her breathing. + +The mine was rather typical, but the old actuary, the elder one of the +Minster Brothers who ran the Institute for the Recovery of Rare and +Dangerous Artifacts, had supplied her with an atlas of remarkable +detail and enough stories to feel as if she knew the place intimately. +Or perhaps at least enough to try to translocate to it. + +Saffron felt her breath go out into the world and spread out +impossibly far. The world shift beneath her. She felt connected to +the strands of the Weave around her, following them like a cart along +a track, but moving impossibly fast. Her mind raced across the land, +across the sea, to where the atlas had shown her. She hesitated above +the island for a moment gauging the possibilities. Then suddenly she +was plummeting into the jungles. This was no divination, so she could +not actually see any details, only what she imagined the jungles to +look like based on the dark greens and browns of the atlas. Suddenly +a mine was in front of her. There was no saying if it was the right +one, or if it really was a mine or not, but Saffron was tired of +waiting. She drew up the power within her and stepped through the +world itself. + +She stepped through the Weave and out into a monsoon. She snagged a +strand of loose magic on the way out and an explosion of cold air +burst forth from where she was standing, instantly freezing raindrops +into mini-hailstones which pounded her mercilessly. + +"Ugh, Mystra you're working with Talos now to make my life violent and +unpredictable? Is it too much to ask for--I don't know--a normal +casting every once in a while?" + +Her curses as she trudged through the rain would have made her +ancestors, the Day'lasaar pirates of the Sea of Fallen Stars, proud. + +** Bard - ft. Orryn Raulnor + +"You mean you're the third Raulnor with that name?!" the sellsword +asked incredulously. + +"No, no. Where I'm from that means that I'm the third oldest son." a +gnome in gilded leathers replied. + +"I see. Still too long for my tastes, I'm not for knowing what yer +parents was for thinking, but nobody needs a name that damn long. And +what about that 'sonoviches' part?" + +"Well, that's a bit complicated: it roughly translates to something +somewhere between 'indefatigable one who spits on witches' and +'largely punctual' ... it's a family name." + +The table erupted in laughter. + +Soon thereafter, the group seated around the table parted company and +the gnome made his way into the street. + +He wasn't nearly as drunk as his companions had been, but he only +barely noticed the shapes in the alley before he'd walked into them. + +Orryn licked his lips and looked over at the subtle shapes of his +soon-to-be assailants. + +There were perhaps eight of them now, arrayed in a semicircle around +him in the darkness. He should have known better than to flaunt his +gold around the tavern as he'd done. But them again, it wasn't all +bad. It had been far too long since he had a chance to live a good +story instead of simply tell one. + +"Excuse me gentlesirs, how can I help you this fine night?" the +gnomish bard, twirling a strand of his green beard around his finger +in a gesture of mock-nervousness, asked the group of local toughs. + +One of the larger of the group stepped forward into the alleyway and +quickly botched whatever ready line he'd been prepared to say. They +evidently hadn't realized the gnome has seen them before he'd spoken. + +"Halt there, uh, sirrah. It looks like you've, uh, forgot to pay the +toll." + +"Hmm, I hadn't taken ye to be trolls, but now in the light I do see +the resemblance." + +The group was not particularly disciplined, most likely coming +together recently at the smell of gold and lacking for a real leader. +About half of them were silent and nearly shaking with anticipation. +The other half were blustering fools. + +"Did'ja he just call Cratch t'be a troll?" one asked. + +"He is a troll!" another joked. + +"Your mother's a troll." Cratch replied. "Now little one, hand over +your money or you'll wish I's a troll." + +"All right, all right. No need to be hasty. I'm sure you're all +upstanding gents and just want to use the money to pay off your debts +and buy your mothers veiled carriages. Here, take the money." + +Orryn pulled at a pouch on his waist, snapping the straps, and tossed +it on the ground in front of Cratch and the others. It fell open and +several dozen large gold coins rolled from the sack. + +The octet dived for the spilled coins and struggled with one another +to snatch them up. + +"Of course, this sum is just a trifle compared to what I keep at +home." + +The novitiate robbers looked up with various states of doubt, +incomprehension, and greed. This had been the plan, but somehow it +was far too easy. The smart thing to do would be to grab the gold and +flee. But these were not particularly smart men, less so when blinded +by the fortunes of gold held in their hands. + +"Take us there." + +"As you wish..." The rest of Orryn's sing-song sentence danced in the +wind to distant places and forgotten ages. The eight bullies found +their thoughts taken far away as the strange music lifted them up and +carried them upon a journey. The true names of places are powerful +things, most strange and unpronounceable, most lost to time immortal. +But the bard's magic remembered them. His words were not an +incantation as much as a call-and-response. His voice echoed through +the world, and the world responded. + +Orryn and the eight were suddenly elsewhere. A very far away +elsewhere. Snow billowed through the air and covered the icy ground +in heaps. + +Orryn's captives reeled and screamed in terror. + +"Where are we?? Curse you wizard!" + +"Fear not. Everything is under control. We are in the middle of a +northern glacier, where a small expedition settlement once existed. I +hadn't planned on the blizzard, but I suppose you're familiar with the +adage 'we take what we are given.'" + +Cratch lunged at the diminutive bard, but Orryn was already in the +midst of another spell. He spoke words that felt like rushing air and +drifted lazily into the sky, just out of reach of the huddled mob. He +extended his arms, recited the lightly tingly words that covered his +body with bright red faerie fire, and then spoke with a voice that +boomed through the icy plain. + +"Hear me well, I am Orryn Maye Sylvester Miles Felix Hectacre Notin +Jiles Bulron Sysil-Sisler Klif-Wistler Anasto'tofande Sonoviches +Overton Sennison Johnnyson Raulnor the Third, Bard of Faerun, Walker +of Worlds, Smiter of Evildoers and Annoying Backwater Pricks, and +I. AM. NOT. A. WIZARD." + +The group cowered and shivered before a spectacle of magical prowess +unlike any they had ever seen or were ever likely to see again. + +"And if you would give me back my coin, I would appreciate it." + +A few hours later, the eight would-be robbers staggered into a +tavern, each holding a single gold piece and a story. + +None of them would ever rob again. + + +* Prestidigitation + +** Magic Initiate Feat - Wizard - ft. Harvey Hoban Harpell +"Whadd'ya mean cutof?" + +"I mean, cut off. You, Mr. Harpell, are cut off. No more drinks +tonight. Sit, enjoy the fire, rest. Do nothing to rouse the ire of +my other patrons. Especially none of that odoriferous weed of yours!" + +"Whadd'ya mean rows the ira!" Here, turning to a hooded man nursing a +half-pint of dark liquor beside him. "Do I rows ya ira?!" The man +turned to face him, grim faced, and in a motion dumped the glass' +contents over the young man's dirty matted head of hair and set the +empty glass upon the counter before the frowning bartender. + +"That's a waste of good liquor, Malcom." + +"Just wanted to give'im one last drink is all. I'll pay." + +The bartender sighed and reluctantly poured the man another glass. + +"How come 'e gets some!?" + +"Go. Sit... Now." + +The dripping cleric, robes which had successfully avoided the downpour +now dripping with a darker rain, wobbled over to the fire and landed +upon a cushion with some measure of practiced grace, or luck. + +"Oh, Mal-com gets another drink. Sure." He looked to give the man an +evil-eye but noticed for the first time that he was not alone. "Oh, +ladies, my apprologries." He attempted to stand but finding +extracting himself from his seat more difficult than anticipated, +simply half-bowed to the pair of dripping maids. Straining for words, +he offered, "I see you're wet! I can help you with that!" + +As he struggled with gaining control of his faculties to remember the +blasted name of that cantrip, the sound of broken glass from across +the room cut through the lively atmosphere. + +The Selune's Smile was rather crowded with weary travelers looking for +rest or for revel. Twin fireplaces bookended the common area, giving +a warm glow to the ancient decor. Gristly trophies bequeathed to the +tavern adorned the walls: dragon scales, naga fangs, and owlbear heads +among them. A few quiet tapestries hang from the rafters, heralding +the ancient Lords of Waterdeep who frequented the tavern in times long +since past. + +It is said that every adventurer of the Sword Coast eventually finds +her way to the City of Splendors, but rarely do so many of them come +to a particular tavern all at once. + +Seated across from the most recent blackfish of the Harpell family, +sat a pair of ladies wearing drenched leathers and scowls. + +Harvey seemed not to notice the latter as he inventoried his magical +repertoire. + +/Prefeguritat?/ + +/Pregnanitato?/ + +/Presdogranado?/ + +/No. That'd jus worse./ + +The room grew instantly silent at the spilling glass and subsequent +trading of blows. + +/No, youse keep talkin, gotta thing./ he silently berated the floor. + +/Prestangerition?/ + +One of the combatants fell to the floor and then laboriously dragged +himself back up and slumped into a nearby chair. Harvey thought he +heard one of the two women, the shorter one, say something, "Need +some... mumble mumble Moose?" + +/Moose?/ + +/His mind joined his liver, slowly churning through the facts of the day./ + +/Animal. Forest. Green. She's kinda greenish. I wonder if she's +from a forest? Ew, she's probaly dirty if she came from a forest. Eh, +nothin a little Prestidigitation couldn't fix./ + +/.../ + +"Prestidigitation!" He shouted over the now-returned din. Magic leapt +from his fingers, but not exactly with the effect he had originally +intended. Reminded of the magical pranks from his childhood, his most +common retaliatory strike was that of the "foul wind." This came +unbidden to him now, and the magic unleashed the foul smelling breeze +from his fingertips. + + +* Cure Wounds + +** Bard +** Cleric - ft. Harvey Hoban Harpell + +The minor scuffle in the tavern had turned to outright chaos. Harvey +struggled to look unassuming beside the fireplace. The two furious +women had stomped off for some reason and then suddenly returned, +except... one of them had a thick moose pelt thrown up over her arm +like a shield and had grappled away a sword from an unfortunate fellow +behind her, and... + +Oh no, now there were three of them. The wet woman, the moose woman, +and a new woman... who could probably lift a moose. And despite his +best efforts, his "gusts" had spread to even the outer tables. People +were taking notice. Through it all, came the deep contralto of what +he could only assume was a giantess, standing now, teeth clenched and +nearly trembling with rage. + +"What is the meaning of this?" + +Even drunk, even stupid, there was no mistaking that tone. + +Stumbling with words, with mental images, and especially the literal +stumbling involved when attempting to slink backwards from fear of a +large angry Goliath woman, at first Harvey could do little more than +whimper. + +Stopping just short of the fire, it's tongues licking the edges of his +trailing sleeves, he composed himself as well as he could in the face +of possible crushing death, closed his eyes, and sputtered "Excuse my +casting m'lady. My name is Harvey Hoban Harpell, 'eric'a Eldath. I +only meant to help." Then peeking carefully from one eye he added, +"Please don' crush me." + +He was inadvertently saved by another man. The drunken merchant lost +his footing as he approached the bar for another bottle of stsass and +stumbled into the goliath maid's firm buttocks. He might as well have +walked into a wall for all the good it did him. Actually, he most +certainly would have preferred to walk into a wall, as walls don't +seize you by the collar, hoist you over their heads and fling you at +their true sources of rage. + +Layers of fat flapped in the wind, terrified by their unnatural +acceleration. Equally terrified, the eye Harvey had dared to open +flinched shut. He could hear the sounds of the fireplace mantle above +him abruptly stopping the man-boulder's flight. And a moment later he +could feel the crushing weight of the man-boulder's fall, the hard +coolness of the wooden floor against his face, and the uncomfortable +warmth and wetness of a terrified unconscious man letting go after a +long night of drinking. + +In that moment, he felt that the only proper thing to do was to join +him. + +Minutes passed and Harvey was more than satisfied with resting +stupidly beneath his boulderous brother, surrounded by the incontinent +smells and the tumultuous clatter of battle... wait. Battle? + +/Oh no. What have I done?/ + +Harvey tried to stand, to lift his face from the hard pearwood +floorboards, to see what was going on. Red blood splattered down +beside his cheek. It was warm and fresh. He managed to lift his +shoulders and turn. A bloody maw lolled above him, the jaw obviously +broken, tongue bit, nearly severed. Bruising was already beginning to +settle in between the voluminous folds of fat around the face and neck +-- black and blue and red. + +Suddenly what was the proper thing moments ago seemed foolish. This +whole night seemed foolish. Eldath, what have I done? This man is +hurt because of me. I started a brawl. I'm not worthy of serving +you. + +In Harvey's frantic heart, beside the furious pounding and self-pity, +came a shiver. It raced along his chest, along his limbs, his spine a +roadway, his bumbling extremities the destination. A familiar sense +of peace, contentment, and quiet perfection, washed over him like a +gentle flowing stream. The sensation reached his head, starting from +the base of the skull and rushing forward to envelop him, to hold him, +to wrap him tightly in a warm stillness. All was silent. + +And yet from in that perfect silence, Harvey could almost hear a quiet +voice, a whisper of a whisper upon the wind breathe to him. + +/I know.../ + +The silence abated and the bustling lights and sounds of the taverns +returned. + +Thank you, m'Lady. Harvey mouthed deferentially. Then squeezing a +hand beneath his torso and the floor and taking up his holy symbol +from around his neck, he gently turned his body into a sitting +position against the wall, the large man laying across his lap, and +allowed the Peace of Eldath to flow through him and into the man. + +He spoke words, though he knew them not, and the symbol of the rushing +waterfall and the still pool gleamed with a quiet silver and blue +light. The unconscious man's wounds were bathed in the light, and his +clotting blood staunched, his bruises soothed, his avulsed tongue knit +together, and jaw gently returned to place. He opened his eyes, +wonderstruck, then promptly grimaced at the smell in the air and in +his trousers. + +"Oh, right!" Harvey waved away the effect of the cantrip and helped +the man to his feet. + +** Druid +** Paladin - ft. +** Ranger + + +* Power Word Kill + +** Wizard +** Warlock + + +* The Fugue + +The orcs pulled you down. + +They beat you. You could feel the blood in your mouth, and leaking +beneath your skin. You could feel their clubs break you. You felt +your spine snap, one, two, three places. Frantic, try to focus on the +spells your patron left you. But you know there is nothing there. So +you flex the fingers on your right hand, where your brand is--the +deep, red burn which you know will never heal. You feel the bitter +the connection to Nine Hells, in some ways it feels like a fishing +line pulling you back there, and in other it just feels like a part of +your body, like a gland. Pulling on the connection feels like crying, +but tears of sulfur and of smoke. Soon hot, sticky, bruised-looking +energy responds to your call and leaks from the brand like pus. An +orc stands over you, a battleaxe held high above his head, and you +fling it at him with a roar of defiance. He takes it full in the face +and his brain explodes out the back of his head. + +But he wasn't the only orc, and the hits keep coming, You know that +you are going to die. + +Soon the blows stop hurting. The world stops spinning and everything +is very very quiet. + +... + +You don't open your eyes. There's no moment of focusing, blurred +vision, bright light. You just see. You just are. + +You're standing on a desolate plain. The sky is a dull shade of dark +gray, the same color as the thick dirt which covers the ground like +dusty snow. You can see ahead for hundreds of miles, but it doesn't +seem to strike you as odd. + +You aren't alone. + +Others, mostly humans, but a half-orc here, a half-elf there, move +through the dirt, knocking up clouds of dust in their wakes. They +move so slowly. + +You are standing. + +You look down at your hand, there is no brand. You flex the fingers, +but there is no burning sensation. In fact, there's barely any +sensation at all. It doesn't seem to strike you as odd. + +As you turn the hand over to put it back at your side, you notice that +where the brand was, on the back is a small red patch of dried ink. +Perhaps some rune or letter? It doesn't seem important. + +You drop the arm to your side, slowly, quietly, and begin to walk. + +Nearby is a small hill. Several men and women are gathered on it. +They seem to be singing. + +A light opens above them and a creature with wings of fire and a +shield emblazoned with the symbol of an upright gauntlet appears. +With a circular motion of his arm and a smile, the light becomes a +whirlwind and the faithful are lifted up into the shining gateway and +disappear in an anti-climactic non-flash of light. For as suddenly as +the herald appeared, he is gone and the plain is returned to stoic +grayness. You notice that even the hill is gone. But it doesn't seem +important. + +You spot a woman along your path, old, wrinkled, dirty, as grey as the +dust and sky. She is sobbing softly, clutching at her knees. She +wears the low-cut rags of a Luskan whore. Her eyes grow wide with +fear as you approach. But you hear a voice call out "do not be +afraid." Your eyes follow the voice, to a woman standing nearby. She +radiates beauty. Calling her beautiful is like calling the sky +overcast. It is like calling the air stale or the dirt dirty. She +reaches out a hand to the woman, her long red hair flowing in a wind +that isn't there. The old woman bounds to her feet. She falls, but +stands and tries again, every step growing stronger until she grasps +the hand of her goddess and is clothed in the beauty and vitality of +her youth. She cries with joy, collapsing into the breast of the +goddess, and the pair step through the planes together leaving behind +the scent of strawberries and freshly cut grass. + +The scent dissipates quickly and you continue walking. + +You see others wandering aimlessly like yourself. + +You all seem to be walking in the same direction. + +In the distance is a circle of lights around an impossibly thin silver +line disappearing into the sky. + +Your approach takes many hours, perhaps days or months or years, but +eventually the lights become a city. A huge city. The walls rise +over a mile high, and moan softly, though you can't tell how or why. + +From a large gate, hooded figures approach the aimless walkers, +including yourself. One stops before you and removes her hood with a +look of vague, forced, curiosity. She isn't exactly human, she has +scales across her face and bright yellow eyes which are difficult to +follow. + +She speaks, but the words are distant, muffled, "Guarded Faithless or +Bargained Soul?" + +A deep, resonating, but scratchy voice answers from somewhere behind +and above you. + +"The first. Perhaps next time... the second." + +After a moment of consideration she nods deferentially, raises her +hood, and turns towards the city, ushering you forward. + +The walls continue to grow as you get closer. They must be ten miles +high. This city must house millions. Around you is a crowd, closely +packed among each other, though most give you a wide berth. Now +devils mingle among the humans, whispering, promising. They lead away +many. + +As you approach the wall, the whimpering grows louder. The wall has +faces. Bodies are stuck together with rotting mortar, which dissolves +them like a giant stomach. + +Suddenly jagged rifts open beside and before you, along the wall. +Creatures with the faces and tusks of pigs, but the bodies of great +apes rush through, crushing or tossing aside both wandering Faithless +and cloaked guides. + +Horns blare clearly through the otherwise muted scene of violence. + +The guides throw aside their cloaks and brandish sickles and shields. +Devils howl war cries and abandon their bargaining to do battle with +their hated foes. + +The demons flow through the rifts in a great horde and begin to tear +at the wall, dragging huge chunks back through with them into the +Abyss. Some moaning souls cry out as many are ripped asunder, torn +from a slow non-existence of centuries to one of instants. The rest +disappear into the Abyss, their forms already being twisted into those +of the demons that abducted them. + +A giant six-armed demon with fangs like a viper rushes at you. You +raise your hand to call down fire upon it, but you have no power on +which to call. + +A bony whip-like barbed tail shoots out from behind you, striking the +creature and sending it writhing to the ground. A massive bone devil +steps over you, it's skeletal spider-like limbs moving to propel it +impossibly fast through the slow-motion battlefield. It hefts a +greatclub that was probably once the femurs of one of those huge +pig-ape-devils and smashes the six-armed serpent into a blackish +pulp. The blood splashes up into your face, leaving a line of acidic +muck running down your nose, between your eyes. + +Then the fighting stops as suddenly as it started. An angel, clad in +flames the color of the sky shuts the portals with a pointed word and +outstretched finger and surveys the damage to the wall before flying +off towards the great spire of Kelemvor, the god of the dead. + +The bone devil turns and looks you over. "It is time. The vessel has +arrived." He then leaves you and cuts a thin line in the air with his +tail. He steps through it and disappears, leaving behind the familiar +scent of sulfur and brimstone. You hear the distant sound of a faint +chime. It's probably not important. + +-- + +You open your eyes. There's a moment of focusing, blurred vision, and +bright light. You take a breath and feel the cold morning air fill +your lungs. A horned tiefling with a pitch black bell and a scroll is +standing over you. Your whole body burns, but especially your hand +and a strip running from your forehead down between your eyes. + +Everything is blurry, especially your memory. Standing around you are +your adventuring companions. It feels like you just saw them moments +ago? Was there a battle? What's going on? You can't remember +anything... it's all just indistinct and gray. + +Faust and the Fugue Plane +-Andrew Murrell |