#118 - The Aberrations of Glyphstone

From the Annals of the Gateekeper Izzeth, Druid of Dagger Wood

Our last encounter ended when the gnoll who resisted my holding spell ran off to sound whatever alarm it could. We did not stick around to see who, if anyone, would answer his call amidst the turmoil of the gnoll camp. We hastened to the staircase and ascended without looking back. At the top of the stairs, there wasn't much to see. A crumbling passageway that occasionally afforded glimpses of the chaos below.

We could see that the magic bones that we had given Sarrel to plant were causing quite a distraction. In one corner, there seemed to be a geyser of what smelled vaguely like a rich stout. Further away arose a great pyramid and a battle was taking place at the entrance. On the south end, we gather a treant had been summoned. I wish that I could have had a moment to converse with it—they are qu
ite noble beings, and I wondered whether it would be returned to its real home when the magic was through—but we were focused on the task at hand, ascending one more level to the throne room.

We followed the corridor until a collapsed section of ceiling blocked our way. To our left was a short passage that took a hard turn after a mere twenty feet. Magnus lingered behind as the rest of us continued our hustle. When he returned, he reported a flapping of wings: he may have been spotted by a harpy.

Bale sent his bat familiar to spy and the tiny gossamer-winged dragon went forward invisibly at Aleae's bidding. A few moments later, the bat returned and Bale informed us that there was something up ahead—somethings. I knew immediately from his description that they were aberrations. Dolgaunts and dolgrims, to be exact.

Given our severely weakened state, we decided that our best course of action was to run for the stairs up. As we prepared to move, we heard a sound growing in intensity. At first it was a background din of voices, but as time advanced, the din grew louder and louder. As we rounded the corner, the source of the din became apparent—a gibbering mouther slithering upon the very wall toward us.

I have heard much about them, but this was the first that I have seen in person. They have the appearance of an ooze made of living flesh that has had eyes, mouths, and teeth scattered throughout. They are known to drive their victims mad and to slowly devour every trace, leaving nothing behind. Each mouth has a different voice and each voice lets loose a sound more maddening than the last. There are few who can resist this terrible song. The cacophony is so intense that it warps reality around it, causing the floor and the walls to bend and twist as though they were made of rubber. The one advantage that we have is that they tend to be very slow.

Behind the mouther were several dolgrims. Dolgrims were created during the Age of Monsters when my order fought back the vile hordes of Xoriat. The daelkry lord, Dyrrn the Corruptor, was particularly fond of creating monstrosities using the flesh of his enemies as his clay. Imagine that two goblins were pressed together until they merged into a single body and you will have an idea as to what they look like. They have four arms, but only two legs. They have two mouths, but only two eyes. They have two brains, but they are not particularly intelligent. They are the foot soldiers of our enemies, which means there will be more vile aberrations nearby.

Just before the mouther, there was a section of the wall that had crumbled away and this led to a parallel passage. Clarion raced before the aberration and through this gap. I could not see how far he went at first, but he was followed by Cypher and Rungo. By the time I got through the hole, the mouther had still not come close enough to grasp at us, although the dolgrim behind it had sent a few crossbow bolts our way. Squeezing through the hole, I saw that the entire area beyond was open to the floor below. Much of this level had collapsed, and at the edge of our battlefield the stone floor gave way to the great gnoll encampment below. It was as though we were traversing a balcony, but one hardly intended by Glyphkeep's original occupants.

To my right Clarion and Cypher were wrestling with the dolgrim, attempting to throw it off the edge. To my left, Wynn was engaged with a dolgaunt.

Dolgaunts were also created by Dyrnn, but they were molded from hobgoblins instead of goblins. They were the commanders of the rank and file. They are impossibly thin and have holes where their eyes used to be. Their bodies are covered in tendrils and hairs that allows them to "see" in ways I do not wish to imagine—at least the hypersensitivity of insects is natural. These were anything but. In addition to their razor sharp claws and their pointy teeth, dolgaunts have two long tentacles that begin at the shoulders. They use them to grasp their prey and drink the life out of them.

Aberrations tend to be quite tough, sporting very thick skin and a resistance to normal weapons, but we learned during the Daelkry War that they have a weakness to the rare purple ore that is mined in the area of the Shadow Marches. It is though Eberron herself provided the means to repel our invaders. The Crescent of Therendor is made of that ore, byeshk. Where normal blades find calloused skin, byeshk cleaves as easily as hot knife through butter.

An army is only as good as its general. My target was the dolgaunt, but first I had to limit the influence of the mouther. Its mutterings could bring any semblance of strategy crashing down if we allowed ourselves to listen! I uttered the words and rubbed the moonseed plant seeds against the opalescent feldspar and called down the shimmering light of the moons directly over the mouther. The dolgaunt would have to wait.

Aleae did not understand what the mouther was, but she knew that the moonbeam would hurt it and that we must not let it get close enough to drive us mad. She cast her spell of ice and froze the mouther briefly in place. My moonbeam would make short work of it for sure.

After that, to be honest, much of the battle was a blur.

Wynn, Cypher and Clarion made quick work of the dolgaunt behind me and the dolgrim in front of me by pushing them off the ledge to fall to the level below us. At the same time, two more dolgaunts entered the fray, one with a great wet eye peering from an open chest cavity. One does not have to be a Gatekeeper to know that it was clearly the leader. And given its hideous eye, this one was probably a servant of the daelkyr Belashyrra.

I raced over to Clarion and engaged the dolgaunts, while the others finished off the mouther and the other dolgrim. The dolgaunts tried to fix us in their grasp, but we were able to avoid their tendrils for a time. Nonetheless, eventually my defenses waned and the leader was able to sink his tendrils into my back. I could feel various fluids being sucked out of me—one of the most painful wounds I've ever known, even if not the most serious.

As a half elf, I lacked the strength to break free, but I am not limited to that form. I swung my sickle, cutting deeply into its flesh and then thickened my hide, elongated my snout and plumped up my mass until I took the form of a giant cave bear. This beast had strength enough to break the grasp of the dolgaunt, leader or not.

As my size expanded I became aware of a gauth behind me. Gauths are a lesser variety of beholder, and its presence—alive!—confirmed that Belashyrra's minions weren't all slain when Glyphstone Keep fell.

This battle needed to end quickly.

The dolgaunt began to drain the life from me. I could feel my strength being sapped as I saw his own vitality returning. I needed to break free. Before I had a chance though, Bale unleashed his eldritch energies and blasted the dolgaunt twice in quick succession. The deranged beast was pushed back nearly 20 feet, but it was not enough to disengage his tendrils, which stretches ten feet easily.

Now my situation had become more precarious. It wasn't close enough for me to counterattack, but it could continue to drink my life away. I would have have to waste my efforts breaking free instead of ridding this world of my sworn enemies.

On the other end of the battle, the rest of our party made short work of the mouther, the dolgrim and the remaining dolgaunt. They then focused their attention (but not their eyes) on the gauth.

Beholders were also fashioned by the daelkyr, particularly favored by Belashyrra. Where they were the generals of his armies—foiling the magics of their enemies—their lesser kin were a variety of artillery. While no one understands the life cycle of beholders, they are either long-lived or immortal. This small cousin of the true beholder might have actually fought in the Daelkyr War, or it might be a descendant of one who did.

The gauth emitted several rays from its various stalks, but did not cause any lasting damage until Aleae foolishly stepped out from the corridor and looked directly at it. She is not very strategic for a sorceress, but she certainly is as willful as an elf. When she met the gaze of the gauth's central eye, she seemed to become befuddled, losing the ability to speak coherently and standing mouth agape. The gauth then focused one of its eyes at her and blasted her with a black ray that seemed to suck the very life from her bones, something I was very familiar with at this particularly moment.

Turning back to my immediate problem, I was spared from having to break myself free when Clarion smashed the dolgaunt to the ground and pounded it with his staff.

I squeezed through the passage to the far side and mauled the dolgaunt leader with my very sharp claws and teeth. While dolgaunts do not possess eyes, I thought that I could discern a look of fear on its face as my claws tore long strips of flesh away from its torso. Somehow, it was able to find its footing, and it fled from us along the edge of the crumbling passage.

I will not allow such a monstrosity to endure. Rather than chase it down, I quickly surmised the layout of the area and headed around the other direction, cutting of its escape. I barreled into it with my hulking frame and pushed it off the ledge, but it somehow managed to find a purchase with its withered fingers and lashing tentacles. I swiped at the fingers, breaking off bits of stone and tearing through flesh, and still, the dolgaunt held on.

Even though we were severely depleted, it looked as though we will come away victors from this fray, but I know that things are far more dire than I thought.

My new companions are strong and valiant. Even Bale has acquitted himself admirably in this battle, perhaps he will atone for his heritage after all. And yet, I truly hope that I am not asked to choose between aiding them and informing the Gatekeepers, because in this, I am not free to choose.

#117 - Bones of Contention and Chaos

As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren.

My head is spinning.

Simel is dead, I said a few words over his body and then took his items and then we mangled his corpse, hoping to keep him from being taken by Trazzen and turned into something awful. Death underground is the worst. I hope to die where I can be burned and my ashes will rise to the sky. Left in a pile in a dungeon is no way to end. I am sorry, Simel, we did our best by you and we are still running.

We find ourselves led by Bale the Dark Elf. He reminds me of Xoma, but somehow less cheerful. We haven’t had time to sort him out, but he knows the lower halls of Glyphstone better than we do and he insists we have only hours to save Breland from “the Cauldron.”  I don’t understand why we trust him, but he has slain some of our enemies and helped us hide. We are so depleted and tired, any help is welcome.

Bale covered us in an illusion, one that could affect our entire party. He now looks like the Blue Wraith, and seems to be able to speak like him. The rest of us appear as the silent suits of animated armor that we have seen a few times in the company of that now-dead wizard. We can’t tell who is who, but hopefully the illusion works on the locals as well as it does on us.

After killing the undead escort sent by Trazzen to gather the Blue Wraith, we turned and headed for where Bale says the Cauldron should be, guarded by Trazzen and many Gnolls—and Khyber knows what else. We have no real hope of surviving any real fight. Weak and depleted of all spells and abilities, we are like villagers hiding under a sheet during a raid. Our best plan is to use our illusion to see what is going on and maybe then develop a plan.

We needed rest most of all.  Bale is pushing us and I’m not sure we can live up to his expectations.
Then, in our midst, Aleae returns from her wand, summoned out of the air by her fey magic. It takes some whispered words from Clarion to let her know we are all with her under our disguises. She hears our familiar voices to convince her that we are as Clarion has described. She is not disguised and so she walks in our midst or behind us with Arafin and Rungo.

Just after that, a familiar voice from the darkness mocks our newfound stealth. It was Sarrel, the oni we met in the upper levels. He said that he has been among the enemy and all is much as Bale has described: Cauldron, gnolls, Trazzen, and dire times for Breland. He recounted that our work underground was making Trazzen nervous, for we disappeared for some time as we consorted with powerful wizards, an angel, an nagas. And slew his spawn, Halbazar, our old friend. Our moving about has created mystery, and I hope trouble, for the vampire's work.

Sarrel said that we must act quickly and that he can help us. I confirmed for him that we indeed now possessed the Scepter of Glyphstone and are ready to give it to Irakis in the throne room above. He said she still lived, but that she had been discovered and even besieged. Sarrel advises us that we should get to her and give her the Scepter, for with it she may be able to get "Glyphstone itself" to help us deal with Trazzen.

We need that help.

Perhaps she can send the giant golem she commands from the throne room to help. Perhaps there are more powers with the scepter. She might even be able to send some of the goblin horde from the plains above to help re-take the keep. That was my hope, anyway..

We need help.

So this was Sarrel's counsel, and the whole group agreed that this was best. But we needed to get past the levels between us and Irakas. A large encampment of gnolls was the primary danger, but Bale and the oni have both mentioned other foes—the cohorts Trazzen brought to help him with the Cauldron. Above the gnoll army is a level that has been mostly collapsed, but above that is the level with the throne room and Irakas. We just needed to get there.

Aleae says she has one spell of invisibility left. She could also see well in the dark. She was swift and silent. I give her the Scepter. We all agree that whatever happened, she was to sneak away however she can and deliver it to Irakas. She was entrusted. The oni also offered to grant her a spell of movement so that nothing could slow or hinder her. He also cast a spell of healing for most of us, asking us if we would accept a "benediction from the Shadow." I am already marked by that dark god—what did it matter?

We could not fight our way to Irakas, so we accepted this help. Sarrel also agreed to move among the gnoll army, sowing seeds of confusion, if we can develop a plan. Cypher had an idea. He had acquired a bag of enchanted bones that, if they were planted in earth or sand, could sprout forth some unpredictable magical effect—perhaps not unlike the powers of Aleae's wand. It was a gamble. He did not know what effects would come forth, whether good or bad, but we believed that if we can get them buried in a few locations around the gnolls' camp, perhaps whatever happened would distract them and let us move past. Sarrel would do the planting. It was our best plan.

Bale used some magic to create dirt from the stone around us. I give my shirt as a bag for him to carry some dirt in, while cloaks and blankets were offered by the others. Sarrel took his packages and headed up, among the gnolls, instructing us to wait and listen and be ready to move. We did. heard nothing.

Cypher and Clarion start urging us up the stairs silently.  Soon, gnoll barks, grunts, and shouts indicated that something was happening. It was time.

Still covered by Bale's illusion—that he was the Blue Wraith and we his armored guards—we left the stairwell and emerged in an enormous cavern filled with gnolls of every size and description. Tents, fire pits, bone spits...even hyenas gathered like hunting dogs. But they were distracted by something to one side of the cavern, then another. Then another. Harpies flew past, calling out that there was a "walking tree" somewhere. The work of Cypher's bones?

With Bale-as-the-Blue-Wraith in the lead we hurried through one side of the great encampment, weaving past hurrying gnolls and tents. Most most of them ignored us, some gnolls did challenge us—we talked our way past the first ones, then Bale actually attacked the next pair. We slew them quickly without raising any great alarm.

When we drew close to the stairwell up—our destination—and we are stopped by a ranking, scimitar-wielding harpy and two more gnolls. Pointing at Bale, but seeing the Blue Wraith, she exclaimed, "You live?! Explain!"

By way of explanation, Bale attacked, so we all did. Izzeth held one of the gnolls with a spell, and we all tore into the harpy, hoping to keep her from flying off or singing. Cypher launched his crossbow bolts, while Wynn lashed out with her polearm. Somehow in the confusion, a tiny winged and draconic form appeared next to Aleae. A faerie dragon! They are a source of mystery and folklore even among the Seren tribes—like the little cousins of gods. I had never seen one, and this was a very strange and inconvenient time to do so. Questions for later!

The little dragon spoke in a flowery language with Aleae, then with expected courage darted forward expelled a cloud of colored dust upon the harpy. Soon the she-monster went crashing down, unable to raise any alarm. The second gnoll, however, ran away and started to howl. We were exposed. As a group we ran for the stair.

I am exhausted and bleeding, the rest of us are barely held together and staggering as we run.

My head is spinning.

#116 - A Grim Escort

From the journal of Diva’un Mur'ss, last of House Zaughym, Bale of Nightfall, Drinker of the Blood of Erebus the Thrice Unforgiven, Bringer of Darkness

Hope is weakness. Hope betrayed me. Without hope I would have bided my time and betrayed Katashka at a moment of my choosing. But I let myself believe for a moment that great events could be altered. I allowed hope in a coalition of heroes who Katashka had taken notice of, who had defeated all who had stood against them.

Now as I surveyed them, I was left with a single question. How does such an unlikely assemblage of disparate rogues manage to murder their way into prophecy?

I had prevailed upon them the urgency of preventing Katashka’s servants from unleashing The Mire of True Hunger on the world. I had spoken of the war that would surely result, of the pestilence that would spread and the loosening of Katashka’s bonds. The best I could do was convince them to merely rest for an hour instead of sleeping for the night. Faced with their intransigence, I agreed to summon a sphere of protection that would at least allow them take their leisure uninterrupted.

Once the protection formed, I called Durag back from his banishment. He assumed his usual bat form and clung to my arm, squeaking. His presence was a comfort, but not his words. For while my new acquaintances merely heard animal vocalizations, in my mind Durag spoke. Avashad will kill you. Avashad will destroy me. These creatures have clouded your mind. Slay them all and you may be forgiven. Slay them while they sleep and we will be rewarded.

“It is done.” I answered through our telepathic bond. “There is no turning back. We must prevail against Lumeris, Avashad, and Katashka. Look on them. Consider them your friends. For if they fall then I fail, and if I fail, Avashad will consume all that you are."

Durag grew quiet. Then he loosed a plaintive squeak. The dragon lover smells.

It was a moment of humor and I was afraid there would be few enough of those in my future.

There was the sound of leather slapping metal.

“Grt mrrr unt!” Cypher, who had been examining a cloak we had found in Alain’s wardrobe and, in trying it on, he found himself suddenly wrapped in a living creature of batlike aspect. Of membranous and leathery folds.

Durag squeaked again, cheered by this development. Perhaps their stupidity will slay them for us.

Cypher's voice was muffled by his attacker's flesh and he flailed to pull free from its embrace. He was fortunate he was not a living and breathing creature, for the embrace of a cloaker means suffocation.

This was a foolish fate. A dome of perfect protection doesn’t help when you bring your foes in with you.

With little room to maneuver we all attempted to damage the creature without hurting Cypher, but it was not cooperating. The cloaker sported teeth and a sharp-tipped tail, which found its mark cutting my arm.

“Rowww!” said Cypher as I blasted him and his tormenter with eldritch energies.

Cypher finally managed to wrestle free and we finished off the flapping thing before it could try to suffocate a member of our party who actually needed to breath.

Perhaps a rest is appropriate.  They don’t look up to another battle.

Magnus, flopped back onto the corner of Alain’s bed, heedless of the danger of being smothered by it and we resumed our rest as best as we could on the stone floor. Clarion conjured an unseen servant, who he tasked once again with carrying a stack of shields. I do not understand why he needs four additional shields. Wynn wrapped her injuries. Izzeth stared at me. I recognize undiluted drow hatred, even if his blood is thin.

After our rest, we exited the sphere to find Arafin dozing with her eyes slitted open, periodically refreshed by a nictating membrane. She started awake and we all froze in place as a loud banging rang through the chamber from the outermost door of Alain's chamber. Something strong was obviously knocking. The knock repeated and it was decided we attempt deception.

“Go away," I yelled in my best imitation of the Blue Wraith's voice. "I must rest and recover my spent powers.”

“The master summons you,” came the muffled and very guttural reply. The speaker was either a brute, or undead. Perhaps both.

“I must rest, come back later," I replied. "The interlopers have headed back the way they came.”

“What of the drow?”

I looked at my new companions and speaking more truth than they could possibly understand, I answered, “He is dead.”

“You must report," the speaker said. This was getting us nowhere.

"I require five minutes to ready myself."

“I can lead them away,” Cypher offered. “I can appear as The Blue Wraith.”  He opened one of the potions he carried releasing a stored magic which altered his appearance quite convincingly. One moment, he was his warforged self, the next he looked exactly like Alain ir'Valesh.

The party seemed split about Cypher taking the risk. While he countered that he was of little use for now and was otherwise spent, I thought the risk would be too great, especially because he didn’t sound like the mage he impersonated.

Finally I revealed my most powerful magic. One I had hoped to save until the last moment, but that moment seemed to be upon me. By using one of the few remaining spells contained in my torc, I could cause all of us to seem as other than what we were.

After another stalling exchange with whatever waited on us beyond the Blue’s Wraith’s antechamber, we decided that I would appear as the room's former occupant and the rest of the party would be concealed as his bodyguards, the walking suits of armor he had animated. I argued that Arafin could be disguised as one of the evil nagas that inhabited these caves, but she vociferously declined.


In agreement, I held the Torc of House Zaughym and used its most powerful spell to hide us all. In the moment I decided Arafin’s pride shouldn’t condemn us to discovery and clothed her in illusion as well.

Seeing that she wore the visage of one of the enemy nagas, she rose to her full height angrily and spit a caustic poison at my feet.

“If you do not take me to my mate," she said, "I will kill you myself."

We all stood ready as Magnus removed the spikes from the outer door and opened it. In the hallway beyond stood a ghoulishly decayed hobgoblin whose odor was highly offensive, the zombie of an ogre, and one of the few undead beholders Trazzen has placed on patrol. It was quite the escort.

The hobgoblin was the only one of the three capable of speech—and of thinking at all. It stepped aside to let us out and then led the way west. The ogre filed after it and the long-dead beholder floated behind us. None of the creatures seemed to question my armored escort, and my ruse as the Blue Wraith was effective.

Cypher’s Rungo and the illusory-masked Arafin stayed behind and only followed us at a distance.

We continued westward through the columned hallway until, having passed the corridor we had entered from, it was clear we were not headed toward the Rumdhal Cauldron. Where, then, were we supposed to report?

I cleared my throat, mentioning that “It was too bad that I had forgotten to buy a new cauldron.” I was never comfortable with unplanned dissembling. I bent low to tighten the strap on my boot, hoping the rest would be ready for what would happen next. I focused my energies, sprinted towards that rear where the beholder floated, and unleashed four blasts of dark energy, hexing it. Fortunately, our escort were not quick to react to our attack.

Although some of its necrotic flesh was blasted away, the undead beholder showed little sign that I inflicted upon it power that I had used many times with fatal results. Magnus charged the two creatures that had been leading us, bashing the debased hobgoblin, while the remainder of the group attacked the beholder.  Wynn was able to strike repeatedly with both ends of her partisan, a weapon with unusual reach. Cypher was reduced to merely firing crossbow bolts from the inventive arm attachment of his—understandable in his depleted state. Izzeth brought a powerful beam of moonlight down upon the suspended ball of malevolence which caused it to begin to smoke. Clarion ran forward and grappled the thing with his own hands, keeping it from retreating.

The struggle continued despite all of our attacks. Although blinded in death of its central eye, the beholder turned one of its bent eyestalks upon Clarion, damaging him gravely with a mere gaze. Clarion released the thing and swung his staff instead. All of us focused our attacks but the beholder held its ground until finally it looked up into the light that was burning it. It hovered for a moment, winced with its remaining eyestalks, then fell hard to the ground, smoldering from the radiant light.

Behind us, Magnus had held his two opponents at bay while we finished the rear guard.

I ran to join him, again sending my most lethal attack against the ghastly hobgoblins, staggering it but not felling it. All of our attacks weakened but didn’t stop the two undead monsters, until Izzeth once again brought the silver-white beam of light down upon them. Injured as they were, the conjured moonlight seemed to stab at them from all sides, and both creatures fell to the stone floor, truly dead.

Even as desperate as this “Winter Coalition” is, they have some fight in them.

Hope is weakness and I have hope.