Curse of the Golden Empress - Character Write Ups

It was the morning of the fifth day in this accursed mine, if morning it could be called. She had just awoken for her turn on the watch, but Lyra had lost track of all time in this place.

Perhaps Borstal will know what time it is. He seems less affected by this place than the rest of us.

They were camped in the tower where they had fought the hobgoblin leader the night before. She glanced at the two Eladrin, sitting cross-legged in their meditative states. Soreth sat with the spear the leader carried across his knees, his lips moving silently as if speaking to someone in his mind. Even during their resting period, their eyes remained open.

So strange that their race does not need sleep, and can stay aware of their surroundings at all times. It is fortunate though and frees me to pray while the others still rest.

She knelt nearby, facing the door they had barricaded with her back to the wall and her sword unsheathed before her and began to pray silently.

My Queen, guide my hand this day that I might honor your wishes with my deeds. Help me to choose wisely and send to you those that you have chosen to come home to your embrace. Lend me your strength that I might seek out and destroy those that defile you by unnaturally preserving their lives.

This place is a den of those creatures and I have made it my purpose the last few days to rid this world of the undead that we have encountered. I know in my soul that there are more, further underground. I am at war with myself, my Lady. We have a mission to accomplish here and if I take time out of that mission to cleanse this place of their filth, I may alienate my companions. They seem eager to fight, but only if it accomplishes the goal we have set.

Lyra calmed her mind and her breathing and opened herself to the wisdom of her Goddess. For a long time, nothing happened, but then it seemed as though she heard a raven cry and there were words in that cry.

“You have done well, my child. You will return to this place and honor the vow you have made, but the time is not right. Fate will guide you.”

She bowed her head and opened her eyes. There was a long, black feather on the ground beside her sword. As she picked it up, it vanished, as if it had never been.

Dragons, you say? Aye, mayhaps I could tell ye somethin' of dragons. I still remember the first time I fought one, whilst I was still young and my beard was thick an' bushy. 'Twas down in the Great Mine, with an eclectic bunch of fellow adventurers raw and eager for spoils. We had heard tale of a black dragon keeping a hoard thereabouts, an' when we acquired a map detailing the location, the decision was made. I had no great personal desire to take the dragon's wealth, but let it never be said that a cleric of Moradin shied from battle! This map led us through a filthy kobold warren; passages rough-hewn with scarcely room to pass for one. The blighters even tried to ambush us, but sharper eyes than mine were able to spot their secret passages and hidden traps. No ambush could have taken me more fully by surprise, however, when upon reaching the dragon's lair I heard a shout, "We come to pay homage to the dragon!" Hellsteeth lass, have ye gone daft? A paladin offering homage to a dragon? Before I could voice such thoughts, a voice answered: "Come then, and present your homage." Apparently I wasn't the only one surprised by such brazen posturing, as some others then hastily tossed some climbing equipment an' other odds and ends into some sacks. I was quite prepared, though, when the kobold accepting this "homage" demanded that the only suitable offering was blood. Quickly dispatching the kobolds in the immediate room, we approached a magnificent door worthy of even a dwarven hall. Emboldened by the carvings of Moradin, assured his blessing would protect me, I strode forward an' threw open wide the double doors, paladin beside me. An' tha's when things started to go wrong. Sitting on a great heap of gold was a dragon all right, but I noticed right away it weren't no black dragon. My mind started to race, but not a single useful fact about purple dragons -- for that is what it was -- came to mind. Then, when it stepped forward and let out a mighty roar, I felt such paralyzing fear I was unable to act. To my ultimate shame, I admit that the dragon then bent me to its own will. Unable to resist the urge to lash out at my companion, the warlock beside me, by Moradin's blessing I was at least unable to strike him. Three times I swung at him and missed, when I suddenly felt the dragon's will leave me. Turning my attention that way once again, I was suddenly struck from behind with sharp lances of pain. Now 'twas the warlock under the dragon's control, an' he had not the courtesy to miss. Sensing that our morale was fading fast, I stepped to the center of the chamber an' called upon Moradin to renew our hope. I felt his power welling up inside me, let it gather, then released it in a flash. A similar plea from the paladin to her goddess interrupted the dragon's control of the warlock, an' the battle was joined in earnest. The dragon soon realized it could not match our combined might and took flight. Never one to miss the opportunity to strike a fleeing foe, I hacked at it one last time with my battleaxe, cleaving the dragon's hindquarters. Hoping to give my companions the chance to bring it down, I activated the magical properties of the axe to freeze the dragon, slowing its ascent. Moments later my efforts were rewarded when a javelin from the paladin brought the dragon crashing to the floor, to rise no more.

Soreth peers up at the opening in the ceiling of the chamber, regarding the marks of the dragon's abortive retreat. Traces of frost streak the rough stone, along with gouges from its claws--evidence of its final helpless scramble as it tumbled to its final landing, coated in ice from Borstal's axe and heart-pierced by Lyra's javelin.

Where are you? How far above are you? he wonders, thinking of the stars beyond stone and sky. Despite his best efforts to map their progress by chart alone, his timeless passage in the darkness under the skin of the world has made those calculations impossible. The weight of Caiphon's importance, and its harsh, penetrating violet radiance, stays with him, and his desire to mark its journey has only grown with each passing moment away from the open skies.

'Caiphon...' the Dream Whisperer, the Guide-Star, the Watcher on the Horizon. Its burning luminance smites his enemies... and now it punishes his missteps, a harsh teacher.

'...Ihbar... ' the Veil, the Herald of Shadows, the Ashen Cloak... a nebulous heavenly body, not a star but a frigid mask for what hides in its depths.

'...and Hadar.' Devouring Star, Eater of Light, Ebon Hunger. Traces of its unlight have seeped into the world with but a thought, as if following Soreth. Its hunger so great that it must be appeased in any way possible, a hunger so unfathomable that it consumes all in its path, even the un-life that animated the undead.

The thought gives Soreth pause as he half-kneels on the stone floor, absently running his thumb over a palm-sized, deep purple dragon's scale in his hand, one of many torn from the body of the beast. Nearby, the rest of the party catch their breath, sort through the creature's wealth--spoils of its victims--and divvy it among themselves, or make thankful prayers to their respective deities. Borstal appears especially active in his thanks for once, perhaps in gratitude for meeting such a challenge.

'How great is its hunger? What must I do to satiate it?' the warlock ponders. 'Can it even be done?'

For now, the effort of channeling even a moment of such vast power--'What does it consume of me, then?'--taxes him greatly. Its destructive power is then limited by his own strength.

'But I want more.' Soreth tips his head, blue-on-night-blue eyes gazing at nothing as he recalls the scrawled handwriting in his journal, his blood. 'Caiphon will show this one the way. A price will be exacted.'

'How many other stars await? What else will I learn? How will I best be able to put it to use?' His fingers curl tightly over the dragon scale, tucking it into a pocket of his robes.

'And what will the price be, ultimately?'

For now, no answers come.

"We have other work to do," Soreth whispers to himself, and stands to move with the rest of the party.

The memory of the distant, thudding 'music', the ever-shifting sound of chiming, echoes at the back of his mind, and he waits, patiently, for the world to slip in its own time.

---

Hunger of Hadar: Soreth thrusts out a shaking hand, clenched into a tight fist. As he whispers a string of harsh, hollow phrases, he uncurls his fingers. The air itself darkens, and a swath of the world is enveloped in impenetrable, silencing blackness. Those caught within soon stagger out, pale and drawn as if something of them was left behind. Some are found dead as the blackness dissipates, without a single mark on them. Others are never found at all.

Dearest sister,

I know it has been a while since I’ve written. But I wasn’t sure up until recently what to write about.

Since I last wrote we’ve had numerous small adventures. Mainly we’ve been working for a local merchant in trying to deal with a bandit problem. Imagine that, after all the effort father spent trying to get me to follow in his footsteps, I end up working for a merchant. Oh well, it pays.

We’ve had numerous run-ins with lots of goblins, a few kobolds, some undead, and a dragon. Let me tell you, dragons are TOUGH! I can now call myself a dragon slayer, but truth be told it was a group effort. While my spells certainly did the lion’s share of the damage to it, I never could have defeated it alone.

My merry little band of misfits is becoming quite the adventuring group. Nothing to compare to grandfathers old companions, but still pretty competent in our own way. I find myself doing things I never would have imagined trying to keep them safe. Can you imagine me running into the midst of a group of hobgoblins just so that I could catch a few extra ones with a spell? I was cursing myself later that evening with the stupidity of what I’d done. I could have gotten killed.

Strangely enough the closest I’ve come to making father’s prediction come true was when I fell down a mineshaft, TWICE! I was climbing down a rope to get to a lower level in a mine we’d been exploring (that is where we found the undead) when I slipped and fell. Luckily I’d decided to use a rope holding a lift. I fell about 25’ and landed on my face. Wouldn’t you know it, about a day later I was climbing the same rope and got hit by a kobold. This time I fell almost 60’. Thankfully I had the foresight to rig up a safety harness. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. But I’m certain it saved my life. I landed on same damn spot on that lift. I’m sure glad I never wanted to take up being a rogue. I just don’t seem to have much of an aptitude of climbing ropes.

We’ll, I’m sure you want me to tell you have the dragon. It was in the same mine, we’d been there for weeks, off-and-on, exploring. Our real purpose for being there was to disrupt some bandit lord who had plans for the mine. We managed to kill off his hobgoblin minions and found a letter instructing them to kill this dragon and recover it’s horde. My companions decided to try for the treasure themselves. I wasn’t really in favor of this, as grandfather’s stories about dragons used to frighten me as a child. But we are a group, and they’d be lost without me. The dragon had set itself up a the “king” of a group of kobolds. The kobolds weren’t too much of a challenge, but the fight with the dragon was amazing. We got really lucky and the dwarf cleric managed to get a lucky shot it on it just as it was trying to flee. We managed to slay it. I kept a couple of scales for souvenirs, and will give you one when I come home for a visit.

Please tell father that I’ve learned how to cast the fireball spell, and plan to come and claim grandfather’s staff sometime soon.

Give mother my love,

Wilithrin.