Pay for One's Runes
| Pay for One's Runes | |
|---|---|
| Date | 9/1/23 |
| Storyteller | Doug |
| Tier | Trainee |
| Player Characters | Bees, V, Myrdivar, Terog Shalesmiter, Kasumi, Lunaris Nightbloom, Amani Hashmi |
| Rewards | 250 exp, 300 gp |
| Result | Success |
| Author | V |
| Downtime | 7 |
Log
The Round table was insatiably intrigued by the implications of our last endeavor into the curious portal that had opened in the mausoleum 'neath the tree of the hanged. An unknown peoples from an unknown time! A society, it would seem, both endowed with strange magics and victims of a grim fate (whether the two are related is yet to be seen). So as bidden we made the trek back to the mausoleum. I was the first to enter the portal, trusting rather naively in an experience similar to the last. Much to the dismay of Vitriol and I, we sunk in and quickly found our lungs aching for breath. Until in panic we began to thrash and dig; Only then did we find purchase, breaking out of our confines. We found ourselves in a barren dessert (the likes of which I have heard tale of but never seen with my own eyes). The only features dotting this desolate landscape a distant mountain range. Soon the rest of the associates broke through and begun to investigate our surroundings. Lunaris Nightbloom planted a staff in the sand to mark where we had entered. A steep slope in the sand was spotted off in the distance, and with little else to find we headed in that direction.
Along the way were scattered remnants of a long destroyed caravan. What a sight when we arrived! A sinkhole had formed here, and dotting the landscape desiccated corpse stood in silent mass. One took interest in Terog Shalesmiter and another seemed to regard me with... reverence (perhaps for the rune I carried after our last forray?) Broken down carts and wagons stood half buried in the sand like ancient grave markers. At the hole's center stood a ramshackle domicile constructed from the abandoned caravan and decorated with assorted trinkets and baubles. We were just barely able to make out the torn remains of a flag featuring a central symbol with some surrounding dots (seven in total it would seem). In the immediate vicinity around the shack the sand was stained black. No sooner had we begun to investigate the home than a ghastly incorporeal form emerged dripping with the sorrow of ages. The corpses moved to attack, and the ghost imposed some sort of weight upon on us slowing our movement (while also stealing some of what we carried on us in a wisp). A glow from inside the house seemed to mark the sudden change, but the inside was filled with a terrible clutter making it hard to mark the source. Struggling forward my fellow associates went for the shack. Only then did we find the blackened earth was littered with even more corpses! Inside they spotted a lone hand reaching out of the mess gripping an old scarf. Desperately we tried to wrench the scarf from its grip, but it wasn't until Terog Shalesmiter tried speaking to it, imploring the body to let go for the sake of those around it, that the hand finally relented. At that moment the trouble ceased, and once again we were overtaken with a vision.
In the vision, a caravan traversed the plains through a smoldering heat. The wagons carried a bevy of coffins and personal belongings, each of them a memorial to the lost. At its head, a large wagon bearing a purple flag. We could now see the flag featured an ornate crown at its center (decorated with what I'm told are 'aeon stones'). Surrounding it were seven sets of horns (possibly to represent 'his majesty' and seven 'rune lords'). Inside stood another horned man in the same regal purple we now know signifies royalty of some sort. At the back a stone polearm of immaculate craftsmanship rest against a chair where the man's crown lay. The man was in great distress, his two aides bid him to lighten their load. They warned him that they would not reach 'his majesty' at their current rate, and that without his majesty's seven runelords present 'Thassilon' (their civilization?) would surely fall. The lord refused to leave anyone or anything behind. It was clear he felt deep compassion and comradery with his subjects(?) even referring to them by name in a very un-lordly manner. Suddenly, something rocked the wagon violently. Outside a wheel had broken causing the wagon to lurch to one side. Two young men tried desperately to keep the wagon from falling over. The lord rushed to their side, the runes on his skin flaring as he strained to right the wagon. Tragically, the items atop the cart began to topple over, and a sinkhole formed beneath them. They... hundreds of them-- fell, decimating the young and old alike. Those who had escaped the sinkholes reach ran to save who they could from the rubble. Sticking out amongst the debris, the lords hand grasped at nothing: his body pierced, crushed, and torn. Ever unwilling to let go, he plead for his people to stay with him... to not let him die alone. And so they did. With an unwavering loyalty they stood beside him, until they too wilted and perished...
We discovered the lord's name was Karzoug. Though his love for his people was commendable, his folly was that of all unwilling to let go... the greed of the heart. Enlightened and unsettled, we made our way back to Onadbyr to report our findings. It seems the more we discover of this troubled age the more questions arise. Despite myself, I am determined to know the full story of Thassilon and its harrowing fate. (V has sketched Karzoug's profile in the margin here). <3 V