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[DnD SoH IC] The Sermon of the Shattered Temple
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"Tell me, are the harbors under Abbadon's control? The ships would be the best means to evacuate the city. If the gates can also be taken, it would be wise to use them too, however our list of allies is too thin to spread them that much, and enough people were leaving the city already earlier that I suspect no problems there."
"Obviously, the priests are going to need weapons if they're going to have to take the harbor. We should visit the blacksmith next. We'll need his silvered weapons, and I also have plans for his supply of coal. A large fire along the northeast wall should keep the authorities distracted while we attack the mansion."
He looked around at the entire party. "That is, if the rest of you are dead set on the mansion as our next primary target. I think a direct assault right now is a fool's errand."
Israfel returned to honing his axe, preparing himself for the coming assault.
He tilted his head in a gesture of acknowledgment. "Just because you're immortal doesn't mean the rest of us are."
"There should be a sense of urgency you don't have..."
I had to get him to understand. Tactical movements and planned out distractions are good for large battlefields of trained soldiers. We were more-or-less just a ragtag band of vigilantes in a city surrounded by the enemy.
"You're focusing on the harbor too much anyways. On our way through Cormyr me and my previous companions ran afoul of some sahuagin that came out of the harbor. A rather large fleet was sunk at the same time, I would expect the harbor a more dangerous place than the city itself."
First we see the blacksmith about arming Caleb. This is our most time intensive mission, since Abaddon is going to be going after any more silver.
Then we go see the necromancer. This is the least dangerous job, its entirely in the sewer. And it will give Deneira time to interrogate a prisoner. It will also give us a bit of a cool down time away from Abaddon when we go after the silver.
That is what we do second to last, If we don't we're going to be walking into a trap in that mansion, not knowing what we're facing with no backup. If they took Cain as bait, they will keep him alive until we get there anyway, and the extra few days wont matter. But if we go charging in we're giving up every advantage we could have.
He calmed down a bit. "Saphelon, I think you might want to take stock of our assets and liabilities. Right now we've got plenty of liabilities and not nearly enough assets... Deneira excepted." Okay, the pun was a bad idea. It was things like that that kept people from listening to him.
"At the very least, we need information. Surely someone as intelligent as yourself sees that need. We're fighting blind here! We need recon! And don't get me wrong, I have no problem fighting through an entire army, but I really don't think we should try if it isn't necessary."
Verax began pacing. "If Cain is not dead already, they won't be killing him anytime soon. So it makes little difference how long we spend in preparation, so long as we do not take more than ten days. A bit of strategy and some forethought goes a long way... I shouldn't have to tell you this, Wizard."
"Should we assault this place, and fail, we will have lost valuable time that could be spent helping the citizenry escape and preparing alternate plans. And I need not remind you that I must have a body to revive if one of us should be slain. If we have to flee, I won't be able to do any resurrecting, which means we'll be down a man on our next attempt."
"I still do not believe we are even discussing the silver. You wish to send these souls to the Abyss so Abbadon can have his fill? That is a victory for him regardless! I...I feel like it's within my grasp but it keeps slipping away. There is a lynch-pin in this plan that I can't seem to find...something will give us the edge without losing time."
"I do not propose that Abbadon took Cain to bait us from hiding, even Deneira believes he had a purpose for taking him. A man with the power to...do some rather difficult tasks could have use for Abbadon that would make our situation different."
*Saphelon runs his hands over his hair roughly, clearly trying to calm himself*
"I'll give you this...we keep to the sewers and seek the Necromancer. Ignot seeks out Caleb and relays a message to him from us to create a diversion- non-violent in nature. Direct opposition to Abbadon and the puppets would result in innocent blood or in the loss of souls to the Abyss. From your plan, he can perhaps tie up some of the guards if Deneira also causes some mayhem above. This could provide us the time to get inside from the sewers, find Cain, and use some sort of portal ritual to return to here...what say you?"
Verax smiled. "Overall, your plan is a fair compromise. If the harbor is taken and people are unwilling to depart on foot, the best we can do is to have the gates ready so that if we do fail, they'll at least have a decent shot at escape. But we need information, and I would prefer that we be a little stronger before we go assaulting the mansion. I know that I personally have been working on a little trick that I think could help us out in a pinch. Let's just say my recent chat with Torm has awakened some hidden strength within me. When I figure out how to channel it, it ought to be pretty helpful."
Verax turned to look for Deneira. "Where the devil is that..." he sighed. "...devil?"
"It's easy to say 'no sacrifices', but the alternative is 'all sacrifices', and i don't accept that"
Antoch ponders for a while, a grin slowly growing across his face. "We've been going about this all wrong. We've got all the wrong assumptions in place. We're not taking advantage of the opportunities given to us."
"Abaddon looks like he's in control, but he's not. Firstly, he has to protect a number of very important locations, that could be struck at any time when he's not looking. For example, the silver in the sea, and the mansion. Secondly, his entire strategy is built around the fact that no one knows what he's doing. If people caught wind of what was going on, his plan would quickly go to hell. Secrecy is his best friend here, and our biggest advantage."
"We're probably the biggest wild card that Abaddon has to deal with. We've already proven ourself, taking on his corruption, and breaking it, with ease, and handling some of his most dangerous servants, like the angels, with flying colors. You know what I bet? I bet he's scared that we might fuck something up. He's in a position where we are the one thing that could ruin his entire plan." Antoch muses. "Hmm. I don't think I've ever scared a demon of Abaddon's caliber before."
"So, let's create a little hypothetical situation. Let's pretend Abaddon hears that, say, we're going to go for the silver in the harbor. That we know the weakness of his minions, and we're going to collect the materials to exploit it. We've even got a nice little ritual that will protect us from the beasties in the water while we collect it. Then, he learns what we're going to do is turn them into silvered weapons, and distribute them to the population."
"Ok, so Abaddon wants to cut us off here. So he sends his minions out to the water, tries to stop us from mucking up his works. But we're not there. In fact, while he's sent all of his minions away, we attack the mansion, now relatively undefended as he hopes to get us when we're not expecting it. He's stretched across the city, and probably dealing with those critters in the water that will be none too happy about a bunch of angels and demons charging into their territory."
"Now, you might think, 'We might put the general population at risk.' But that's the most brilliant part. There's no way in hell the population will believe this cuckoo story. They already know that silver is the problem, and they already fixed the problem. All this talk about demons and angels and corruption is just nonsense. And when nothing happens from it, when the heroes don't come to give people silvered weapons, that'll just justify it. In fact, it'd be in Abaddon's best interest not to react. Remember, he's relying on secrecy. Killing off people who happened to spread the information would give credence to it."
"All we have to do now is spread the rumor. Don't worry, I know people, and barkeeps love to share stories. I'm sure it'd reach his ears soon enough. All we'd have to do is stop at a tavern or two on the way to the necromancer. We feed them the information, they spread it around, the job is done practically for us."
Antoch smiles. "What do you think?"
It looked like he was never going to use his 'flaming wagon battering ram' plan. And there was no way his other idea could work. Even if the mansion's doorway were wide enough to accomodate a statue, there wasn't time to build a hollow likeness of Abbadon for them to hide inside. Plus they didn't even know what Abbadon really looked like. Verax felt despondent. Well, maybe some other time.
"Deneira, could you assist me in the creation of a permanent enchantment of a teleportation circle? My end will be a temporary portal that I can hold open for us to retreat through to slam shut on potential pursuers."
The plan was coming together, the pieces set on the board and plans set in motion. What piece do I play? The king..? No, that's arrogant to think. We are all indeed pawns here, but pawns are deadly as well. I think we shall show Abbadon the power that mortals have over their own destiny. And at the end of the battle, Faerun will stand behind it's pawns as the king, noble and immovable. We must succeed, by Correlon we will..."Father protect us and shed light upon our path, to bathe our enemies in holy cleansing light. By your grace, guide my sword and my magic."
*Saphelon closes his eyes as he utters the prayer in elven gripping the hilt of his sword. Opening his eyes slowly, you can feel an intensity that didn't exist before.*
Verax sighed. It just wasn't powerful enough. If only there were some means to bolster the magical strength, but he was stumped as to how. Of course, there was a pretty obvious answer.
"Master Saphelon! A word, if you don't mind." Verax called to the wizard practicing in another corner. "I'm having some trouble with this spell. I've seen you cast something similar on yourself. I know divine magic isn't your suit, but I'd appreciate some advice on trying to get this thing to work."
"Of course, I would give you something in return. Your skill with a blade is lacking; I could give you a few pointers."
(ooc: Verax is learning Shielding Word, a level 10 encounter utility power.)
"I mean, I don't want to say that divine magic is better than arcane stuff, but I've never had to do anything like that to get mine to work. Are you sure your master taught you correctly?"
Well, that came out a lot more rude than intended, Verax thought to himself. "Err... uhh... maybe a different metaphor? Could you liken your magic to making tea, perhaps? Or maybe forging armor? I know my method of reviving people is mostly hitting them with my fists and shouting... any of that helpful?"
"It's simply the approach that my instructors taught me with. It seems to work. Perhaps the lesson is to in fact visualize working of spells in whatever way suits a person best. My mother was a tailor and I recall observing her as a child, perhaps this is what information they used to find the best method for me to learn."
"Consider that perhaps you are a teapot then, and your target is the cup. The water exists in the arcane or divine 'fabric' if you will between the two of you. You must simply add the leaves, and steep them with your spellwork. Envision them surrounded by a heavy suit of plate armor, as you suggested with forging. Your magic hammers the rivets to secure them around your ally. Not too tight, but loose enough to allow free movement. I will suggest we not explore the other option you have provided."
I wonder if I make a good teacher. It's logical to believe that a good student can also teach well, but in fact, not all students will learn the same. Some may feel visualization is a waste of time and do it simply through the 'feel' of magic, like Antoch. But I've noted that Verax came to me to learn, despite the fact he knows I don't think like many of the others here, he knows my structured training is superior to the wild ways of Chaos Antoch follows. I do not feel Antoch is inferior to me, but at the same time, he is not my equal either. We are apples and oranges he, as are most of the others in this group.
"Perhaps you can teach me something as well Verax? I've studied the Wizards of the Spiral Tower before and they use their sword training heritage to make them better as front line combatants. I feel I have nearly perfected the technique, but something is still lacking in the power of my swing. My magic is near flawless, but some sparring like the Swordmages from White Lotus did might be in order."
Verax smiled, and pointed his finger into the air. "My lesson to you... when you're faced with an opponent who is more skilled than you, you can't beat him with any training. Your best option is to ignore your training. I'm good at swordplay not just because I've been trained, but I know precisely when to do things no rational being would ever think to do. When the only sensible move is to try to circle around, leap straight at him with blade held high. He'll never suspect it... and that's your opening."
Ah yes, my purpose. How had I forgotten? Benjamin and the others are only a few days out of my mind. When did my short term memory become compromised? Perhaps the Shadowfell and constant running from, and headlong into, danger was taking it's toll. At some point I must put myself back on the path to what I was seeking to find: The Simbul of Aglarond and an end to Szazz Tam.
To Myrkul: "We have had some interesting developments of late, but my purpose has not been fulfilled. I wonder, how would you feel to aid me in my quest? The Legion doesn't seek you in particular anymore. And by you, I of course mean the essence embedded in you. But come, I still have no idea of your aims. You are cryptic to me and silent at times, I still wish to know what it is that you seek. This weapon we are moving towards, do you wish it to be used or kept secret?"
"I come with news, my lord." A younger Verax, a different man, entered the chambers of the ruler of Phent. Mere days after the Incident, and the start of his journey.
Lord Erius sat on his throne, surrounded by his court. He was not pleased to see this man. "I am not surprised, Harbinger. You bring news of destruction, do you not?"
Eyes filled with sadness, Verax replied. "So you have heard of Tammar?"
In contrast, Erius bore eyes filled with fury. "I heard what you did. Were there any survivors... besides you?"
"No."
Erius stood from his throne. "Why did you come here? Do you expect to find absolution from Torm's temples for slaying an entire village? Do you think he will forgive you?"
"It wasn't my fault!" Verax shouted angrily. "The necromancer attacked the town! I defended myself!"
Erius pointed an accusatory finger. "And now, it's gone. Every man, woman, child... dead. That trade route is vital to keeping countless others fed and clothed! Your actions have broken the Golden Way!"
Verax drew his blade. "This was not my fault!"
"For someone whose name is the Supernal for 'truthful,' you sure seem to have a loose grasp on the concept. Now put away your blade before I have you imprisoned," replied Erius with contempt.
Verax growled. "I bring truth, and you would condemn me for it? Your arrogance astounds me." A single, harsh laugh escaped his throat.
"Get out of my sight, Harbinger. You will find no refuge in Phent. We cannot afford the costs of putting you up. When your Great Catastrophe strikes, we don't want it to be here."
Verax, defeated, sheathed his sword. "If that is your wish, my lord. For your sake, I hope we don't meet again." He bowed awkwardly and left.
Erius had been a friend, once, and still had shown Verax no mercy when he called. That was the day Verax realized that he would not have a home, a true home, until this was all over. The realization had been vital to his journey, but that did not make it any less painful at the time. No... he would not inflict such injustice upon another potentially innocent man, regardless of circumstantial evidence.
"I... I guess we should wake the man," Verax said to Orin. Walking over, he pulled out healing salves and began administering to the unconscious man's wounds.
Antoch shrugs, "Oddly enough, you're not the only intelligence bound to an item with us. The Half-Orc, he has a sword named Hellsong-well, it was a sword before he got a hold of it. Maybe you've heard of it. I did say he has a personality, but on the other hand it doesn't make good conversation. It has very...direct motivations. To be honest, the half-orc and the weapon get along pretty well."
"Meanwhile, the wizard, he has a scroll of a dead god, named Myrkul. I get the feeling you're more familiar with that one. He hasn't been talkative lately, though." Antoch sighs. "What a mess..."
It's true he had been silent for some time, especially since we haven't run afoul of any undead for some time. So much deception afoot, perhaps I am the next dupe in their plot. They will fine, like many of their other efforts, I am not one to be trifled with.
"Corellon, light my path..."
As Saphelon berated Antoch for disclosing the scroll's secret, Verax felt angry. These people... flaunting their ridiculous talking items. Of the long list of things that have happened to Verax since joining the wizard and his talking scroll, they all involved sharp, pointy objects and his soft, cushy interior. And now they had what, three? They had better not be as highly in demand as that scroll, or he was out of here.
Wait a minute, he thought to himself. Do I sense... jealousy? Well, there was no point in denying it. Obviously he was the most well-connected of his friends concerning the Astral realm... but no cool talking object for him? Of course, this was a ridiculous thought. No other amongst them had the honor of sharing direct words with their god. Both the Eladrin and the Half-Orc heard mere utterances, saw simple signs from Corellon and... that other one. They were never addressed by name, as a friend.
Besides, there were far more important things to think about here. Deneira would soon wear out her usefulness completely, and the few arguments that held his sword in check last time would have no more substance. The righteous hand of Torm would strike down the malicious devil, with or without the aid of his friends. He even had the perfect striking point in that curious wound of hers. And if he should fail... well, any weapon that can kill a God can certainly make short work of a middle manager devil like Deneira.
Verax didn't like being deceitful, but a cheerful attitude was probably the best chance to avoid suspicion until he could deliver the fatal strike. "Hey, Master Saphelon. I was thinking about enchanting up a few things. Would you mind helping me out?"
For such a wise and strong man, he certainly is dim. I wonder if this is all that can be expected of the Clerics of Torm: brutes with convictions that lead to bloodshed.
And yet... while he felt inclined to enjoy his new gift, a part of him was worried. Yes, certainly this was an excellent sword, and it had served him well against those gnolls and in finally ridding the party of that poison, Deneira. But there was definitely something different about it. There was no doubt in his mind that it wanted to destroy Deneira. Was it mere coincidence that it had been given to him mere minutes before he had planned to slay her? It was possible... but it wasn't likely. Perhaps this was more of his destiny? Thinking back to the scroll he had read so long ago, he did seem to recall something about a sword, but that could have been just about anything.
For a moment, Verax considered keeping Sir Sparksalot sheathed, as a precaution. However, that logic was foolish. Sparksalot was far more powerful than Glowy, and if they were to be assaulting an army of gnolls in addition to whatever of Myrkul's servants were still around, they would need every bit of help they could get. Besides, Saphelon had that talking scroll, Antoch had someone trapped in his dagger, and Lain had a talking axe of all things. Maybe all powerful magic items have some will of their own.
Which reminded him.... "Hey, Master Saphelon. Now that we've got plenty of that residuum stuff, howsabout you disenchant my shield and enchant me up a pair of gauntlets?" For now, he wouldn't worry so much about Sir Sparksalot. But he would definitely be keeping an eye on that sword. This time, it hadn't done anything he disapproved of, but seeing the changes in Saphelon's attitudes and behavior after carrying around that scroll for so long had definitely made him more wary. "And now that I'm thinking about it, Master Saphelon... is it common for powerful magic items to have their own wants and desires, like people?"
"Verax, in case you did not notice we are climbing towards some artifact or creature of great power with an army of gnolls poking around the hills for us. If you believe this is the most acceptable time for me to sit and poke around with your equipment, then I believe you are mistaken. It will need to wait."
There. It wasn't a lie, but it was hardly the truth entirely. I could be done with it in hald the time with Antoch's assistance, but I don't think aiding him now would be prudent. At least he is un-attuned to the ways of my rituals, hopefully he will believe me and not press the issue again for now.
Verax paused for a moment. True, maybe his actions weren't the moral thing to do, but there was no doubt it was the right thing to do. Israfil certainly agreed, and he was a Deva, as did Lain, who was... well, Lain was Lain.
But perhaps there was real wisdom hidden in Saphelon's false words. Getting to this town was of prime importance. Once he was there, he could assess the situation more easily. If things turned for the worst, he could head to whatever temple and claim it as a garrison. From there, he could organize any necessary counter-offensive before heading out to retrieve that weapon.
He sheathed Sir Sparksalot. "Okay..." he replied cautiously. "Perhaps you are correct. We should hasten onward." If Saphelon, too, no longer trusted him completely, it was time to be as concerned about his own back as his friends'. Were it possible, Verax would have given his life for any one of them. But without their trust, could they truly be friends? Without their trust, his magic would be less effective. But he was still Torm's representative to this party, and he needed to act it. Truth, loyalty, and righteousness.
"The priests of Torm taught me, trained me." Verax was not merely speaking to Saphelon, but to the whole party. "They were like Caleb. And they told me often that I was never to flinch in executing my duty, regardless of the consequence. I never have, and I never will." Today, his duty had been executioner.
With all the undead they had been facing, and the prospect of facing even more very soon, Verax knew those memories were likely to resurface again. They already had, once, when he and his companions were trying to escape the Shadowfell. So much had happened since then, it felt like an eternity ago. And so little had changed.
Verax had enjoyed traveling alone, or so he thought back then. It was much more comforting to know that he needed only to count on himself. But, without his friends, he could not have escaped the Shadowfell, much less have saved all of Suzail, or even just Caleb. Perhaps with them, all the horrible things he was supposed to face... perhaps they wouldn't kill him.
Briefly, he wondered about all the undead gnolls they'd slain so far. Were they here from before, or were they freshly slain and freshly risen? Considering their numbers, the latter was more reasonable, but it did raise the question of how they got in the "secret way" that Myrkul had shown us.
Myrkul. Verax could almost visibly see the corruption that scroll had brought to Saphelon. The Wizard's goals might be noble, yet Verax wondered the lengths Saphelon might go to see them filled.
Which is probably the same thing Saphelon was thinking of him, he mused. Saphelon, Orin, they refused to understand the corrupting influence Deneira was having on the group. The very idea that they had been taking her at her word... utterly foolish. And (how extensive his thoughts must be to progress to so many topics so naturally!) there was his new sword. Certainly Verax had no complaints with the blade... per say. However, he certainly wondered about what it did to the devil. Was this some new expression of his own power, like the brilliant light that had purged Tammar of undeath? Some tiny sliver of divine might from the blood of his legendary ancestor? It seemed far more likely to have come from the sword, which potentially gave it a drastically greater amount of power than what was currently manifesting. It would be wise to have someone more schooled in the arts of arcane magics examine Sir Sparksalot. Verax, of course, was terribly unskilled at those kinds of matters. The Barbarian might claim to have some divine link, but that certainly didn't make him any more qualified to examine the blade in more detail. Antoch was pretty smart, but if Verax needed answers, the best man for the job was definitely Saphelon.
But again, this raised so many more questions. Did Saphelon trust him enough to reply honestly? If Sir Sparksalot should turn out to hold some great, unknown power, how willing would Saphelon be to return it? And even if he did give the sword back to Verax, Myrkul would be likely to find out too, causing further undesirable consequences.
No, he had to chance it. As his priests had told him, 'The old man regrets not his mistakes, but the chances not taken.' Those words had served him well so far, with that group of refugees he had aided near Turmish, his adventures with Elissa in the Yuirwood, and even with this group.
"Master Saphelon, I know we're preoccupied a bit, what with the whole searching of caverns and everything. But while Orin tries to find the right way, could you perhaps take a look at Sir Sparksalot? Obviously it's magical in nature, but can you read anything... odd... about it?" He didn't want to mention Deneira directly, lest he open old wounds. Saphelon was smart; he'd definitely remember those details without Verax needing to mention anything.
"Wha- oh? Hmm, what was that Verax?"
Damn, I've lost my concentration, and worse still, my mind is wandering. I've no more clever words to guard myself from him. This darkness is oppressive, but not dangerous I feel. Myrkul is chatting away, to me or himself, I can't rightly say. His help has been immense in here, from the varghulfs to even the most minuscule of zombies. Inklings of weaknesses in their defenses allowing my blows to strike more true, he has been most useful.
I can't see the harm in helping Verax at the moment, if there is a problem, at least there are no zombies or ridiculous planar lobsters trying to kill us at this exact moment.
"Your sword? I am quite preoccupied at the moment, but not to the extent I cannot have a look at it. Let's stop for just a moment to exchange and carry on."
"Where are we?" He finally recognized the angel Etrris. "This place feels... unnatural."
Little else of the near past did the barbarian remember save for glimpses of the carnage... Lain's scarred face twists into a mask of anger as he remembers his goal of seeing the scroll destroyed. He searches his mind and sees Saph.. his eyes all broken glass and nails.. he's fighting against us.. the part of about his possessed axe reeking havoc on the fallen and helpless wizard making some vague sort of sense..
"Nevermind where we are.. where is the nearest tavern?"