Against the Giants, Session Nine

As the DM is setting up this session one of players brings out a number of painted figs and relates a story which I had apparently missed a few sessions ago, being late. Apparently while on point Hwonalon found some sort of room with a dwarf in it, and killed him. One of the other players came up just when the dwarf was killed and asked if he needed any help. Hwonalon answered no, mentioned that the door to the next room was locked, and that he (the other player) should go get the rest of the party. When the party arrives, the door is shut, and locked, and Hwonalon is nowhere to be found. He comes out several minutes later, and announces that there was nothing inside the room…. The DM laughs and describes in detail the loot Hwonalon is carrying, ranging from a large hammer to a suit of armor to several sacks of gold to a massive shield big enough for a giant. The party is not amused. In any case this story was related to me by a players new figs; one normal sized gnome and a Nodwick-style character, which is how he pictured the gnome in his head.

(Speaking of Nodwick if you havn't heard of it go to www.Nodwick.com. Has some great webcomics and the guy posts alot of interesting internet links.) As it turned out, the Hammer is some sort of Thunderbolting hammer, only usable by one with high enogh stength plus six feet tall. We have only one character big and strong enough (and with he correct items no less) for this: “Prince” Coleth, the half-orc. Alas, he was not here this session, so we shall have to wait to give it to him next session.

We begin play wrapping up new spells and one level up in the amber light. The Gnoll cleric is now level five, and with a painted fig no less. Once more I bemoan my lack of 4th level spells, and choose a variety which I think should be useful is nearly any situation. Apparently, the Titan has left, and the party is now at a fork. Ahead of the group a corridor curves to the left, while to the left the corridor to the prison blocks. Behind us is the room with many dead trolls and gnolls. Hwonalon takes point as more and more players start streaming in. He comes back about a minute later, describing two sets of double doors after the corridor turns ninety degrees. The party forms up:

Hwonalon; Male Gnome fighter and thief, taking point.
Larf; Male Human Fighter, front rank.
Mort; Male Human cleric, front rank.
Rhonda; Female Grey Elven Ranger, Cleric, and Magicuser, second rank.
Oaklock; Male High Elven Fighter and MagicUser, second rank.
Valxian; High Elven Druid, second rank
Edd; Male Gnoll Cleric, third rank.
Tovena’ar; Male Grey Elven Ilusionist, third rank.
Gareth; Female Human thief, third rank.

Kenneth, Leia, and Coleth did not appear this session, and Great Scott came late.

The party cautiously moves down the corridor, and takes up positions behind the doors. Hwonalon and Larf spend time trying to unlock and open the doors; They grunt and heave, and wind up spending more time then they should. In boredom Tovena’ar wanders down the other direction, taking up a new position some forty feet from the doors, near a corner where he can keep watch (from a very safe distance of course) on both the doors, and the other corridors. As a precaution he begins to blend into the wall. The DM rolls a few dice, and moves Gareth up behind me. Suspicious, I ask what she is doing, and the DM responds by saying that, in-game, I can’t see her. She is, in fact, sneaking up on my Illusionist. My lovelyingly crafted 7th level Illusionist whom I have saved from the brink too many times to count. Is this the DM’s response?

Tovena’ar looks down the corridor, noting that Larf and CO have finally gotten the door open… only for a series of boulders to come flying out. Keen elven eyes spy a stone giant and several frost giants, and a boulder nearly clips Tovena’ar. Fortunaetly he manages to duck in time (took a pair of AC 6 bracers from the pile of treasure Hwonalon found, after I heard the story. This coupled with my dex bonus makes me AC 4. Better than nothing. )

Tovena’ar looses a ball of darkness, breaking his camouflage, and separating the two groups of frost giants in the room. It is centered at 22 feet in the air, so while we little people can hack at their legs and waists, they will have much trouble even seeing us. As he stands with a satisfied smirk on his face, he is startled by Gareth appearing out of the shadows next to him! Desperate, he fumbles in his robes for one of his close-range wands, but is halted by a question:
“How do you DO that?”
Confused, he looks up, to see Gareth standing rather uncomfortably close to him.
“Uh… do what?”
She smiles sweetly, crooning:
“How do you disappear like that?” Averting his eyes, Tovena’ar mumbles something about “an Illusionist thing”. Gareth laughs, adding maybe he could teach her sometime, and jogs down the corridor. Tovena’ar follows…

Only for the other set of double doors, to the left of the first two, come flying open with a pair of Cloud Giants! Unfortunaetly Tovena’ar is hit by a boulder, unable to dodge in time, and is knocked to the floor at 9 HP. Valxian prepares a spell of Insect Plague, whilst Gareth brandishes her sword over Tovena’ar’s prone form, taking damage as the Cloud Giants smack her aside with their maces.

Suddenly, the air in the corridor becomes still; all is a blank fog and the air is strangely thick, like cotton wadding over one’s ears. Sounds of combat come from far away, and ones vision melts and runs as vague figures move in the distant fog. Shuddering, Tovena’ar grabs ahold of the wall, his body shaking, mouth jerking, babbling nonsense as his body becomes wreathed in green flame. After what seems an eternity, sound, light and feeling return, his babbling voice coalesces into a single, long, horrid scream, rising in pitch until it is the horrible shriek of a banshee….

And his body bursts into a sickly green flame, flesh melting to the floor as his robes fall, revealing a burning skeleton wielding a blade. It laughs, a horrible grating sound, and moves forward as the rest of the party comes up behind it. Once more combat is joined, and once more the giants are slain, this time with the skeleton of a comrade in the fore.

Two spotted lions come bounding up, and a few things happen at once.

Firstly, Gareth, standing over “Tovena’ars robes”, realizes that, it is, in fact, all an illusion. (What a leap of faith, eh?) Tovena’ar is standing where he was before, robes and all. She taps him on the shoulder, startling him enough for his concentration to fail, ending the illusionary skeleton. Growing rather irritated, he launches into a tirade of verbal abuse upon the curious thief, ending with “and if you dare interrupt me again, I will make sure your stay here is both short, and uncomfortable!”

Larf mentions something to the DM, who sighs. Apparently one of the random magic items the DM rolled up for him was a ring of animal friendship. Larf proceeds to cuddle with the lions, and winds up taking them as his pets.

A luckless human is found in the cloud giant’s lair, tied up. Apparently he is a Christian Cleric and was captured by them . I’m confused too, and I asked the DM as why he would allow a Christian Cleric in Greyhawk. I didn’t get an answer out of him, as his attention was turned to other matters.

Oh, and the player of Great Scott also shows up. So, we now have some semblence of a fighting line.

We loot the corpses introduce the new cleric, and ponder what to do next. One character remembers the drow’s room, and that there was some sort of illusion or discrepancy, or some sort of issue with the mapping. He thinks there might be a secret door hidden somewhere that we missed before. Valxian wants to check out the caverns we had found earlier by the fire giant’s necropolis. It comes to a rather lengthy debate, and eventually the party makes its way over.

Tovena’ar gets to the area first, except now we can’t find a way in. We used a passwall to get inside this area before, and then we got out, but apparently its closed to us now. In curiosity Tovena’ar pokes at the wall, and tentacles come out and grab him.

Everyone freaks out as more tentacles come out of the wall and start attacking people, while Tovena’ar is being grappled. Apparently 4 strength desn’t do one much good, and it takes several rounds before Tovena’ar is freed…

Only for a darkness spell to fall on us, and everyone starts moving out of the way. Before I can react, Tovena’ar is one of a handful of people left by the wall. Great Scott is hit badly, and Mort is nearly killed, whlst Larf is contually smacked around with hits at -7, -8, and -9. The DM turns to me and starts rolling…

AC 8!

AC 7!

AC 5!

AC 7!

AC…. 10

Tovena’ar escapes unharmed as he casts Wraithform, picking a direction and hightailing out of there as everyone else tries to find a corner to hide in. Evidently I chose the right direction, as the DM takes me aside and describes a new cavern that I find myself in, one with multi-colored lighting and strange, purplish colored walls…

Here we are, updated in purple prose. Hope it gets the message of what happened across.

Chaos reigned as darkness descended upon the group. Tovena'ar, though free of the tentacles awesome grip, was still a prisoner of darkness, and still in danger. Next to him, he could feel more tentacles lash out and strike someone else. Recognizable as Larf by the cries of pain, Tovena'ar was amazed that this wall had such magicks woven into it that it could even penetrate Larf's full plate. Surely, with himself in mere robes, he was about to die?

“No.” He answered himself. It was always so. Though his intelligence was great, at times, particularly during battle, or near death, it seemed that there was more than one mind in him. He answered himself, and sometimes thought, -or spoke- in the third person. It seemed at times that his mind was at odds with itself, arguing, presenting different opinions... Some might call it madness. He called it wisdom.

“I have faced death before, and I shall do so again”, he whispered. Mentally, he withdrew from the mortal plane, falling within himself, recalling the commands and gestures of his magick. Slowly, he began his spell, at first a slow chant, but quickly rising to a crescendo. All around him arrows flew and tentacles cracked, whipping across the folds of his robes. Several times he felt them come uncomfortably close, but he paid them no heed. He would finish this spell or die, it was as simple as that. Uttering the final words of the incantation, he swept his arms across his body, the magicks work already beginning, forming invisible curtains. Within a twinkling the material world vanished. Light became shadow, and shadow was light. Walls and floor were no longer solid, and the sounds of combat drifted from far away, as if on a slow wind. He smiled, the gesture known only to himself. For he was now in the realm of æther, nothing could see him, save those with sight into another dimension, and only certain magicks could touch him now. Slowly he brought back to memory where he was, even as the spell faded within his mind. Time to escape, to see where he was, now. How odd, though, that the darkness which had been conjured up by the magics of the dad Drow, had extended into the ætheral plane. He would have to simply pick a direction and go. His long strides soon brought him to an even blacker sight, and for a moment he panicked. Within moments, however, he had emerged from what he now saw was a wall, and beheld an awesome sight.

The walls, the ceiling, the colors... they had all changed! Whereas in previous locations with this spell the surroundings were more muted, grayish versions of the material plane, here they were something else entirely. Great swathes of red, purple, mauve, and lilac adorned murals upon the walls, depicting what he recognized as battles between light and dark elves. The light shifts, curves, flow, from ere to there; the colors of this place seemingly possess a light of their own. Before him now lay a staircase, which descended into yet more darkness. Whether this strange sight was a symptom of his spell in a magickal area or something else entirely, he was not sure. He spent some time examining the area, declining to head down the steps. “I may be æthreal now, but who knows what lurks down there?” he mused.

With a shrug, he turned around and headed back through the wall, emerging again within normal color. The darkness was gone, and his companions were cleaning up the remains of the tentacled wall.

As he stepped out amongst the group Mort the cleric exclaimed in surprise and lifted his holy symbol in a gesture. Tovena'ar recognized it as part of the turning magic which clerics employed. Chuckling, he stepped out of the æthereal plane, saying: “I laugh at your attempts, human. Look closer next time. The chuckle moved around the group, and Tovena'ar explained his findings.

Oaklock volunteered his “dig” spell; being there no other ideas, he set to work...
With no effect on the wall. After much examination it was found that it was, in fact, merely an illusion. The group ordered themselves once again and trooped into the darkness....

The flickering torches showed an enormous room, strangely colored with many pillars. To better facilitate exploration, Tovena'ar began casting once again.
“Let there be light”.
He chuckled, as a globe of brilliance filled the center of the vast room, now showing itself to be a temple. More murals decorated in purples and blacks covered the walls, and vast pillars strange designs upheld the complex. At the far end an alter rested upon a dais, with braziers, a drum and a giant musical triangle. To their own desires, the group split up to explore the complex. The elves noted the scenes of war between the elves, whilst the priests identified this as a temple to some evil god, though which one they were not quite sure.

Tovena'ar, Oaklock, Larf, and Mort, approached the alter. Taking great care not to touch it, Tovenaar bent down to examine the alter, Pale amber it was, with streaks of black shot all about it. Mort was less cautious, and starting whacking the alter with his symbol of Cuthbert. Tovena'ar backed away, whilst Oaklock went over to the triangle and rang it. As he did so, the alter turned clear with an inky blackness within, and a great eye arose from the alter. It stared malevolently at all within the room.

Instantly, Tovena'ar was struck paralysed, he his eyes locked upon the far wall; out of the corner of his eyes he saw Oaklock fall soundlessly to the floor, and Mort the human warrior aged before his very eyes...