DM Note: The tactical discussions went on for ages... this is a very brief summary!| DM Note: The tactical discussions went on for ages... this is a very brief summary! |
 Scouting Amberlan - click it for larger image! |
Secure in their dell below the copse, the group fell to discussing the tactics of their next move. A direct frontal assault, while likely to provoke an interesting reaction, wasn't very survivable. Going in invisible and shooting Fae Mhor hand crossbow darts into various targets to try and provoke a fight also seemed limited; that was probably already happening. Luring some out with fires and ambushing them was likely to have diminishing returns and only to whittle away the small fry. What was really needed was a means of sending the factions at each others' throats.
It was nearly dawn by the time a decision was made. Gorfang squinted at Méabh. "The whole point of an argument," he said, "is to look at options and find out which is the best choice. No need to look smug just because it's yours!"
Finally settled on a bold approach, the party headed down the hills, braced by a flurry of spells from Méabh and with 
Gorfang turned invisible. While the Fae Mhor knew who Gorfang was, it was probable that they wouldn't recognize the others, especially Méabh, who'd not been with the party when they had obtained the Veldrin in Hightower. Banking on this, they went for the bold approach. Riding up to the remains of the main gateway, Méabh, Lynien and Uruk approached the three bugbear guards. "Stop!" rumbled the nearest predictably, hefting his spear. The three (accompanied invisibly by Gorfang) continued. "Stop!" barked the guard again. He and his fellows readied their weapons. Without deigning to take much notice of them, Méabh cast a Rainbow Pattern, enveloping all three plus one more watching from the far side of the gateway in a swirling, shimmering web of rainbow colours. All four of the dim humanoids stopped still, mesmerized as they watched the spell effects, and the entrance was rendered unguarded. However, as they were moving forward, both Eloy and Lynien cried "Stop!" Lynien had spotted odd irregularities in the stonework under the arch, and Bereloth was warning Eloy that there was magic active up there.
Hastily the party changed direction and veered around the gatehouse to one of the gaps in the walls, then into the city through that. As they rounded the side of the gatehouse, one of the bugbear guards who'd not been in the target area of the Rainbow Pattern looked up and saw them. "Hey, who are you?" it demanded. Unable to be bothered answering, Méabh cast another Rainbow Pattern and left the guard drooling gently as the group rode into the centre of the ruins. As they rode, she called out over and again in the Fae Mhor tongue at the top of her considerable voice, "We bring news of the Black Sword and its' bearer!"
By the time they were half-way to the mound where the citadel had once stood, a strng force had emerged from each of the nearest four faction strongholds and doubled over to intercept them. They came to a halt, enclosed in a loose box of mutual suspicion and hatred.
Each group was largely comprised of bugbear soldiery, with a scatter of Fae Mhor (wincing like hangover victims in the dawnlight) and other creatures as officers. The ones from the citadel and from the tower nearest the gate looked the most normal, although those from the gate had burning torches with them, unusual for the night-sighted, light-hating Fae Mhor. The ones from the tower at the far west were a mixture of living and dead; around a half of the bugbears in that group and a couple of the Fae Mhor were zombies. The group from the north were the strangest of all. Their attire and hairstyles were weird and random, and several undefinable creatures were scattered among them - perhaps demons, perhaps not.
There was a series of shouted arguments between the Fae Mhor of the various groups, over which of them should take custody of the prisoners and get their information. Méabh cut across all this by shouting aloud. "The orc with the black sword is on his way here, from two days' ride due north; he leads a small but well-equipped army of skilled specialists. They are accompanied by a warlord called the Blood Snake!" she added, improvising wildly. "They killed your brethren in Lossal!"
"Why are you telling us this?" came a harsh call from the citadel force.
"Once you have taken the sword from the ugly one," replied Méabh, (I'll get her for that, thought Gorfang as he stood as still as possible), "all we request is that we be allowed to take whatever other trinkets are on his body."
"How can we believe that this is true?" asked the same sceptic. Méabh sneered. "Would we be foolish enough to come into your power if it wasn't?" she scoffed. Lynien set her teeth, hoping the sweat running down her back wasn't visible on her face.
"Very well!" came the voice. "You'll be taken into the custody of my mistress's forces..." Another voice interrupted him from the torch-bearers side. "No! Mine, my mistress is senior to yours!" A welter of argument broke out, and finally Méabh rasied her voice again. "I suggest we camp in the middle of the city, in neutral ground, and provide our information to everyone. Then whichever of your mistresses actually catches the miscreant will prove themselves the most powerful." None of the dark elves appeared to be able to find a problem with this, and so - with the infinite delicacy of people surrounded by deadly enemies, which of course they were - the four detachments disengaged and fell back to their respecive cantonments.
Over the following twelve hours, the three 'visible' members of the party ranged through the city, conversing with the Fae Mhor and their bugbear guards. Being daytime, the more significant dark elves were hidden away, and the less powerful ones were forced to take their turn at guard duty. Being Fae Mhor, generally this meant males; like spiders, the female of the dark elven race was invariably deadlier than the male. Gradually learning the names and natures of the seven remaining priestesses sent to hunt the Veldrin (two having died in the internal strife and one, Mirilaecia, having died in Lossal), the interlopers - under the guise of feeding more information about the 'army' approaching - spread scurrilous rumours designed to increase the tension between the factions. Lynien and Méabh proved especially effective at this, not only because they were devious, cunning, and inventive, but because they were female; the male Fae Mhor were conditioned to obey and believe females.
The surviving factions were as follows:
Skillfully, the three wove lies, half-truths and outright slander into a series of rumours and ancedotes which spread like poison through the aggressive, paranoid, untrusting and fear-ridden dark elves. Tensions rose steadily, until the whole encampment was like a tinder-box, ready to take flame on an instant.
Gorfang crept invisibly into Afendalind's tower while his comrades were spreading dissension, and by lucky chance managed to time it so that she was not in her chamber. Looking around, the orc spotted a scroll of parchment, carefully stored on a rack on a shelf in a way that made him think it was probably very important. He took it and tucked it into his belt, which brought it under the effect of the Invisibility that he was cloaked in, and made his escape. Now - where to put it to cause the most trouble?
His first thought was the tower of Eralevia, as the brainless undead there weren't going to notice him, but too many of the doors in that tower were closed - presumably to keep light from Fae Mhor and creatures even more susceptible to it. He abandoned this and eyed the vast earthwork in the centre of the city speculatively. Yes....
A short while later he was at the top of the hill, among the broken bits of grassy rubble that were all the remains of the once-mighty citadel of Amberlan. The single surviving tower had no door to speak of, and it was reasonably easy for an invisibile intruder to slip the scroll into place somewhere it would easily be found. That done, he headed out again; but as he reached the door he caught sight of the low, crumbling stone wall surrounding the well. Temptation nudged him, and Gorfang was a sucker for temptation. He remembered Méabh mentioning the well as the probable location of the mysterious ally Sevrith commanded, and he just couldn't resist.
Stepping carefully over to the well - which was enormous, thirty feet across - he leaned over and peered downwards. Orc darkvision is exceptional, but it has limits, and to the extent of those limits all he could see was crumbling stonework lining a vertical cylindrical shaft. He could, however, hear something all right. Slow, very heavy, breathing. he looked around. The stones of the low wall were quite loose; should be quite easy to seperate one. Let's see how deep this is, he thought, as the stone dropped into space. Perhaps I don't want to be right next to it when that hits .... whatever, he added mentally, and stepped rapidly away to the edge of the mound and started scrambling down the steep slope.
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A moment later, a loud but muffled and echoey roar reached his ears, followed by the sound of some very large body moving around, slithering, scraping, grinding against the rock of the shaft as it ... yes, climbed. The loud breathing was quicker now and harsh. Gorfang carried on climbing down. Of course, he was invincible. But there was a time and a place...
Then the sounds changed, the echo vanished and the noises became much louder. Gorfang was now down on the plain and could see the top of the mound again, so he had a grandstand view as a vast, scaled, horned, armoured head the size of a wagon rose slowly out of the well, the last fragments of a broken coping-stone sliding off its undamaged surface. It rose higher, bringing into view a vast, muscular body, armoured top and bottom, and two powerful forelegs with talons nearly the length of a man.
Three bugbear guards had been unlucky enough to be near the well at the wrong moment, and although they didn't appear surprised at the dragon's appearance, they were clearly frozen in utter terror. Gorfang's ancestors had passed down legends of the Dark Beast, Varkar Barduric, and part of them was the dragonfear. It didn't affect him - though he was honest enough to admit to himself that being at a possibly safe distance and invisible was a bit of a morale-booster - but the bugbears were totally paralysed.
The dragon glared at each of them, and fixed its' gaze on one who, by unhappy chance, was very close to the well. It growled deep in it's massive throat - and then lunged out, snapping up the seven-foot humanoid as if it was made of paper. The unfortunate guard didn't even get to make a sound before the dragon, crunching horribly, scrambled back down the well and out of sight.
The first day of the party's stay in Amberlan came to an end, and night fell. Méabh and Lynien's rumours of Sevrith's soldiers boasting of the ability to travel the planes were cranking the tension yet higher, and when they witnessed a party of Fae Mhor leave Afendalind's tower and vanish into the plains outside the city, they thought the moment had come. And so it had.... sort of.
| DM Note: As the vampire walked impressively out of the devastation and settling wreckage, the cry went up, "I'd leave it five minutes before going in there!" which brought the house down all over again.... :). |
As the pair were walking towards Afendalind's tower, a loud detonation rang across the city, and a bright flash erupted from the base of Eralavia's tower. Slowly and majestically, it toppled outwards, until it finally collapsed over the edge of the city mesa with a dull, drumming rumble of falling stone. Screams and curses rang through the night, but when the rubble settled, the only movements visible were zombies - or parts of broken zombies - dragging themselves out of the wreckage. A moment later, however, an upright figure emerged from the dust. He was Fae Mhor, and yet different. He must have been caught under tons of falling rubble, and yet appeared completely unhurt, brushing fragments from his shoulder as he walked away. His face was twisted with fury, and his eyes seemed to glow. Turning, he leaped from the city plain to the top of the wall - thirty feet or more - from a standing jump, paused, and then launched himself from the wall towards the plain outside the city. After a while, faint screams could be heard.... Eralevia's vampire consort was taking his revenge.
With the fall of the tower, strategic land became available, and both Rhorelian and Gimeth were quick to try and sieze it. Both sent a strong force to try and claim the area around the fallen tower, but unfortunately they met each other mid-way instead and a pitched battle developed. Gimeth's warriors used spells and weapons of a random with a wide variety of effects, but Rhorelian's men fought with weapons enveloped in a cold, violet fire. It was anyone's guess what the result would be.
Méabh and Lynien, perhaps a little aggrieved that their plans to pin the scroll theft on Sevrith had apparently misfired, pushed their bluff hard, demanding to speak to the soldiers' leader. At that moment, a group of lesser priestesses pushed their way roughly through the throng, with a tall, arrogant figure in their midst. Lynien sucked in her breath. What a woman.... Tall, stately, powerful, beautiful and utterly evil and treacherous, Afendalind stalked to the front and demanded to know what was going on.
Lynien started to explain, but even despite the fact that she was telling the truth, proved unconvincing. Contemptuously, Afendalind began to cast a spell on her. Méabh reacted instantly; hurling a Distract cantrip at the priestess at just the right moment, she broke the latter's concentration and the spell failed. Afendalind was furious. "How dare you interfere with me, inferior creatures!" she cried. "If you know... " it was clear she did not want to actually come out and admit that one of her 'subordinates' had managed to rob her - "tell me now!" Méabh took a deep breath, and explained again, that they'd heard the soldiers of Sevrith's retinue boasting about how, now they could shift planes, they would destroy the other priestesses. Afendalind breathed in deeply. "This means war!" she rapped.
At that very moment, Gorfang was standing once more at the edge of the well. Being Gorfang, he'd been unable to resist the chance to do the same thing again. Once again, he selected a loose stone, and slid it out of place and over the edge. As it grated across the stone below, a thunderous, rumbling voice sounded from deep below, powerful and malicious and packed with wicked amusement.
"I can hear you up there, you know....."
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