A Lost Soul Finds the Way

[Chernobyl_Glow]

Last night, it seemed as if the day might conclude with a peaceful evening. The day had been long with much rejoicing. I was passing the last hours of the evening discussing philosophy with an old friend. He grows old and I enjoy my time with him. His days are short yet he is always fine of spirit. He says, “We all find Life in Death.”

During one of the more exaggerated portions of his past adventures, I noticed a shadow move across the door way in the hall. It seemed to be nothing. I tried to tell myself to dismiss it as paranoia. Yet I brought to mind a quick spell and readied my blade.

Another shadow passed. I blessed myself and unsheathed my weapon. My good friend hardly noticed a thing. I heard a faint voice murmur, “I have Lost my Way.”

The attack was swift and without warning. It was a shade dressed in a guard’s armor. I thought I even recognized his face as a soldier I once met in the city. It was not true to form but a mere ghost. I was caught off guard and new it. I realized too late the trouble we were truly in.

The poltergeist turned and attacked my friend. He was gone with one strike. I lashed out with my sword in vengeance. The creature claimed again to be lost but also continued to attack. It is my nature to show pity in most cases but for this undead creature I could not. Lathander shows no mercy for the undead.

With a few more swings he was banished from this world and in walked his two brothers. I fought quickly to dispatch them and just as the last swing passed into it’s body I caught a faint murmur, “Nexus”.

I knew the place. I prepared to travel there. The city watch needed warning. I needed my trusted blade of fire and not much else. And so I set off.

I ran hastily to the Academy District. I saw my training partners Chode McBlob and Butcher. We barged through the doors of the Tower of Wizardry. The Leonsbanes were quite perturbed. Up the stairs and straight to the Nexus Portal.

We patrolled the Nexus, side-stepping grapplers and other shades that haunt the Nexus. We found another Lost Neversummer City Guard. He was more difficult to “persuade” than the previous. With his departure we continued exploration until we noticed the condition of the Fire Plane portal. It looked to be in shambles. Flames were pouring from it freely. Lost souls were spawning from the rift in the planes.

One after another. Lost souls from Last Alliance history poured through the gate. I heard one clearly state, “We’ve made it through. Now we can avenge ourselves against NeverSummer.” I wondered “What evils has Neversummer paid unto you sir Soul?” Must be some bit of history that I’m not familiar with.

We were quickly bombarded. Apparently the Fire Guardians of the Fire Plane were attempting a manipulative form of sabotage. I noticed that they were coming through the portal as well. Convincing the tortured souls that Neversummer and its defenders should be the source of their resentment. Bolstering them and attacking in earnest alongside them.

There was no denying that there were too many. First there were 10. Then 20. Then 30 or more souls attacking us 10 to 1. We pressed our backs to one another for protection but it was no use. The end was clear. Likely we would become Lost Souls also much to the disgust of the Morning Lord.

Then reinforcements came!! Raynefire Quinn and Morik representing the Fists of the North arrived in their new colors. The Blue and White represented terrifically. With their help the souls and guardians were pushed back into the Fire Plane but slowly. We shared some casualties, wounds and injuries but in the end we overcame.

I do not know why the souls attempted their escape. I do not know why the Fire Guardians aligned with them. I do not know why their ultimate goal was to destroy Neversummer. I do know that Lathander’s tolerance of the undead is nix however. And though at the conclusion of this event there may seem to be more questions than answers, I know I will seek to find the answers to them.

It was fitting that our skirmish drew to a close just as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. A new day and a fresh dawn for all.

As for my friend, he would say to you all, “Sleep well Neversummer. Sleep well. Dawn approaches yet again.”

- Glow -

...

DMs Thank you for the nice quick event.

[--Ashe--]

(An NC Perspective)

I was upon a patrol of the southern lands, as I am often want to do.

It was then that I saw them. A veritable platoon of armor plaited spirits swarming about a single fighter, each thrusting and slashing with rusted and broken weaponry to lay out this last unseen defender. The very nature of undeath is appalling, an abomination to my sensibilities, and I confess that I acted without first thinking. Gnashing my teeth in hatred, I quickly grabbed my holy symbol in white-knuckled grip and layed into the mass of walking undead with implosion after implosion, felling the foul mechanations one-by-one, their armor falling to the ground with loud clatters. The figure became visible in that instant and my breath caught in my throat... a beastly creature of small stature, bearing the markings and standard of the most hated Death Dealers. This figure, which I had first thought was so nobally and selflessly defending the city of Neversummer was not defending the City at all. Nay, travesty of all travesties, it was using its barbaric thrall to entrance the vile mechanations to the sway of some dark power's bidding. Eyes filled with crimson frenzy at the decimation of its new troops, the Death Dealer advanced upon me, face flushed with berserk rage. The aura of it was foul, much as could be described as rotting fish on a midden heap in the midday sun, which would surely have overwhelmed mine senses and rooted me helplessly to spot, had not mine sheer will power and years of faithful study fended off the attack to mine psyche. Suprise was evident upon the Death Dealer's visage, clearly few could withstand the daunting power of its aura. Calling out to Helm to aid me, I defended myself as the raging Death Dealer advanced, causing a veritable whirlpool of energy to swallow it up and seemingly destroy it on the spot. I had little time to investigate the few remains of my foe, as the remaining troops advanced upon me immediately, their unthinking minds clear of the minion of Lloth's dastardly plans.

I had little time to puzzle out the implications of what had just happened... what hand the vessels of Lloth had in this attack and more importantly, to what end they were seeking. I fought off the remaining troops for what seemed like hours, finally succeeding in laying the last of the waywards souls to final rest. It was in the midst of my examination of the remains of these heretobefore unknown undead that I was again set upon by a Death Dealer... the very same as that which I had fought before. Whatever arcana had protected this monstrosity from my holy wrath was unclear, however, it was alive and it was evident that we would again be forced to battle in the growing heat of the sun. Recognizing the hated magiks which did protect the beast, I quickly dispelled them from existence, only to watch in irritation as it merely cracked a malignant, humorless grin and quaffed a concoction which brought it back to form. Again I rebuked the protection and again was denied my strategy as another vial came out and replenished the disarmed spell. I resorted to attack after attack, trading spells for blows with the Death Dealer. My spells fell as rain upon a thatched roof, deflected away from my target, I was quickly running out of my arsenal of ready miracles. Many a time I was knocked from my feet, landing roughly upon the hard baked ground and litter of armor remains as the beast brutally laid into me with ready weapon. Knowing that the fate of the City and possibly of the surrounding realms could well be in hand, I acted of last resort... the Hammer of the Gods rained down upon it, dazing it to confusion. Seizing the opportunity, I disappeared from view and watched as the Death Dealer meandered about in confusion seeking me out. The sound of metal on metal drew my attention to the Road, I saluted my foe and made off to the source of this new puzzle.

I ran past hillock after hillock, until I came upon the Crossroads and swooned at the sight before me. Here stood a mass of Lost twice that which had attacked the City proper. The troops fell into formation, evidently massing to reinforce the first wave that had led the frontal attack of Neversummer City. I welcomed the motherly embrace of the forest and slipped into the leafy comfort of my first true home. Stopping to catch my breath, I quickly wrote out a message to my Brothers of the North, explaining the dire need for assistance and the imminent attack which would surely collapse the City of heretics. Whispering a swift prayer, I alit the message and watched it burn flamelessly into thin blue and silver tendrils of magical vesper that rapidly sped off to the North. Certain that help would soon arrive, I surveyed the advancing host.

Each resembled much the other, headless works of armor, an older standard of the Neversummer Guard emblazoned upon the front of each. Nary a marking could be discerned which indicated a leader of which to target and destroy first in the hopes of demoralizing and fracturing the group. Their movements and wandering were precise and controlled, as that of a highly organized and structured military unit. My sharp eyes could discern no source of the undead manifestation... no phylactery was apparent... no necromancer animating the creations from the rear. With a determined sigh, I tore into the group from their flank, quickly decimating them by half before the fore troops realized they were under attack. I led them further afield and lost them in the thickets and maze of trees surrounding the road. Wearily I struck at each from the boundaries of their platoon, picking off the weakest much as a predator culls a target from the herd. Time passed until finally I collapsed in a thicket, exhausted, the remnants of the undead lying strewn about the field before me. Reverie took hold of me in an iron grasp.

I awoke with a start, hearing the steady cacophany of boots striking the hard earth. Cursing my frailty for resting where I fell, I quickly looked about, only to find Brother Morik, stalwart blade and wall of the Fists, standing upon a hillock above me, picking at his fingernails with a sharpened dirk. "Sleeping on the job again, elf?" he mocked. "How many times do I have to tell you, Mudman? Elves do not sleep." I countered as I quickly rose and brushed off the dust from my gear steadfastly resolved to ignore his rapier wit. Humor alit his eyes, "I can well see that." He nudged empty bits of armor with a mithril clad toe "Couldn't even bother to leave me ten or fifty to knock around myself" The traces of a pout working on his face. I felt my brow arch halfway up my forehead, "If you were not as slow as tree sap on a winter day, you could have had your share plus half and a quarter of mine." I answered without a trace of amusement. "We have work to do Brother." His demeanor changed immediately as he recognized the seriousness of the situation. "The Coalition received your warning, Brother Rayne, however most of the faithful are about on missions for the Inquisition at the moment, and only I was at the ready to assist." I cracked a meager smile, "One Morik is an army of and upon itself. Tell me, have any further missives come whilst I have been afield?" His brow creased as he searched his memory, "Aye, there have been reports that great battles continue in the Nexus itself against the same foe which you have fought here." "We should rally to their aid then, Brother, heretics they may be, the Undead are a far greater menace to this world than misguided sheep." I proclaimed resolutely. "Agreed Brother Rayne," Morik stated flatly, his iron hard grip tightening on his mighty blade.

We travelled quickly, down the length of the Road to a lost tower. I used my powers to speed our journey and made for certes that no abomination which we should pass could discern our whereabouts easily. We descended the depths of the broken tower, passing score after score of dark horror... the instinct to destroy them was great, but we held our resolve and made our way to the Nexus portal and through without problem. The sounds of battle echoed across the magical ether, which we followed until we came upon our "allies", Chode, Glow, Trusek, and Butcher, entrenched in battle with legion of the Lost. Quickly we entered battle at their backs, felling the foul denizens of the negative plane. We scoured the length of the Nexus until we came upon a vast horde of the undead protecting the fire plane portal. A monstrous wizard stood at their back hastily screaming out incantations to the assembled fire guardians formed about the portal in what appeared to be a strange pattern. The look of sheer horror on the wizard's face made it clear to me that whatever rite was being practiced here by these creatures must surely be stopped.

The wizard barked orders to the surrounding Lost Guards and they fell upon us in waves. The battle was well fought until, each and every dark denizen was dismissed from our plane of existence with prejudice. We collapsed amongst the remains, wary of what had transpired, and of each other, certain attack may come again at any moment. We prepared for attack, and shortly came again that which I had fought many times before on this day. The Death Dealer made its vile appearance, streaking past the astounded LA and attacking Morik and myself with a hatred born of desperation. We steadfastly defended ourselves against the heretic's blows and pursued it about the Nexus as it sought refuge and respite. In desperation it used one of its greatest wiles, emitting a roar of such great terror that it did freeze Brother Morik in place but a short time. It's blows proved for naught upon Morik's stoney hide, however, and It fell shortly afterwards, the mutterings of a curse clearly audible upon its dieing lips.

"Methinks the Death Dealers are behind this in some fashion, Brother." I whispered to Morik as we investigated the corpse's remains. "Indeed Brother, they seem to have much interest vested in these dark workings." Morik said with a frown. We were left to our ponderings... a report of these dark activities shall needs be submitted to the Inquisition for further investigation.

(Rayne refers to all SL as "It"... the Death Dealer in reference was Oi, whom Rayne has never encountered before to know its name)

[Azeel3]

Well spoken Glow you great arm was well timed in this epic battle you turned the tide f evil back unto itself with your blessed weapon and mighty arm. Well done my brother well done- Butcher

[Apokriphos]

The circumstances of his death delayed him a moment. It came and went with all the troops. Some never got over the loss. Although he had refused to bind his soul to the shard in Neversummer - as if he would behave like a common vandal without a respect for death - he had served the country loyally for over 30 years. His time came, like every man's should. When he awoke, however, it was in this place. This.. cursed.. place. Originally, no one knew what would happen when the shards started to appear. But he knew, now he knew. Dying here is like a shard. Only.. the soul comes back a little less each time, until it fades into nothing.

The foreign devils were pouring through nexus gateway in waves. A glance back told him his men could not hold these vile creatures for long. Hundreds had given themselves to the cause already.

However, frustration did not share space in his mind. His soldiers had bought the time he needed, and now - it would be done!

With a loud crack, a gateway came into being right above the entrance to the fire plane. Above... and through. The General stepped between the open ends of the portal, a bastion of his troops tight on his heels. Headless like his brethren, the General's armor is noticeably gilded; glints of gold and silver worked delicately into the chest piece in some intricate design, barely marked after all these years of wear. The tattered remains of a cape rests on his shoulders, occasionally shaking violently in the heated breeze of the plane. The object crooked in his arm seems to smile.

"Ssso thisss.. thisss isss it. Magnificsssent."

[Apokriphos]

A warning to those who would trespass upon the gate - The dead made it, and only the dead can find their way.