[Sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

[Walter]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Let's see if I remember how to do this.

 

I’m afraid this update will be rather sketchy, it’s been awhile.

 

Darkchant (the fiend!) approached me about lending him my support for a side-deal, without Typhus’ knowledge. Since neither of us has any sort of contract with that creature, material or verbal, and since my support would seem to be limited to being present (presumably to lend some air of respectability for Darkchant’s machinations), I agreed. I’m not sure just what the deal involves, other than a)getting paid and some other mon-keigh being encouraged to kill one another. Both of which would be eminently acceptable.

 

In the meantime, Sigil seems to have lost its collective mind.

 

It would appear that Sigil is more-or-less controlled in its day-to-day functioning by the interactions of various “factions.” These factions apparently concern themselves with different aspects of the city, for example those calling themselves “the Harmonium” act as a sort of police force, while the Dustmen collect and dispose of the dead. Other factions concern themselves with other things, when they are concerned with anything at all.

 

One of the factions that doesn’t seem to do anything is the Sensates. No one I have encountered has been able to explain just what they do, other than indulge in hedonism. One day each “year” (don’t get me started on the arbitrary nature of THAT in this cosmology), the Sensates throw a city wide party in which they make fun of the Dustmen. Why the Dustmen put up with this, and just why the other factions allow the Sensates to get away with it is beyond me. As far as I can tell, for most it’s just an excuse to take the day off and get drunk; while others accept it as a wonderful diversion and take the opportunity to steal their neighbors blind.

 

The main feature of the celebration is a gigantic parade around the ring of the city. Those few not participating directly line the streets to jeer and/or admire the primitive spectacle; my erstwhile compatriots turned out for the drunken admiration portion of the festivities. Wishing to avoid the crush of unwashed bodies and beer-breath, I positioned myself on a nearby roof.

 

Leave it to Typhus to make an impression such that some enemy would decide to ambush him during a parade. As an elaborate wagon-mounted display rolled by, the lizard-faced mage from our Amberon adventure appeared atop it. He tossed several lumps of what looked like clay into the street, and blasted Typhus with a solid ray of sunlight.

 

I honestly believe that Typhus is only happy when he can cause others pain. He started shouting prayers to his disease-god, and waded into the crowd with what I imagine is as close as he ever comes to glee. Meanwhile, the clay blobs had grown into misshapen humanoid figures, and attacked the rest of the group. Like Typhus, one of my few pleasures is killing mon-keigh; and even though I wasn’t being paid, I readied my rifle and began servicing the targets attacking my companions. Typhus himself was on his own.

 

During the fight, another of the color coordinated wizards appeared in a cloud of blue fog across the street. Lizard face became more concerned with Mr. Blue, leaving Typhus to deal with his minions (and his apparently impenetrable force shield).

 

As the parade degenerated into a general melee, I became aware of someone at my elbow. Ziran, one of Shemska’s assassins, had joined my comparatively quiet section of the party. We exchanged a few words relating to possible future employment (I like to keep my options open), and I departed for a more advantageous section of rooftop.

 

Mr. Blue seemed to get the worse end of the exchange with lizard-face, and just as Typhus and Marv teamed up to pop his force bubble, once more teleported to safety. Slope-foreheaded killers 2, cowardly lizard-faced wizard 0.

[Bik Britelite]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

I honestly believe that Typhus is only happy when he can cause others pain. He started shouting prayers to his disease-god, and waded into the crowd with what I imagine is as close as he ever comes to glee.

 

 

That's not true. I am at my happiest when my god accepts the gift I give in his glorious name. Pain . . . seeing it . . . thats a perk!

 

I totally forgot about the clay golem thingys. The Marvs were dealing with them, I had other plans. Oh, and Marv never got the shield down. We both tried, but a successful push of my STR and the scythe dropped it. The wanker still ported out though.

[Walter]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

I thought it was the two of you double-teaming it which brought it down. It'd be interesting to see how Marv remembers the incident. I'll bet he thinks HE brought it down just before the guy ported...

 

Not surprising we're forgetting things. We're getting old, and it happened what 6, 8 months ago? We're lucky we remember as much as we did!

[MordeanGrey]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Nirenn was on the roof with you. Ziran is the wizard with the Solar Wand.

 

Looking forward to the descriptions of Typhus' "friends."

[Undertaker]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Did any of you notice that I was shot. Right here and look at the damage to my costume it's going to cost a fortune to fix. I need a bath I'll be right back. Undertaker

[MordeanGrey]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

LOL Poor bird costume. That's what you get for dressing up like a Vrock!

[Walter]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Nirenn was on the roof with you. Ziran is the wizard with the Solar Wand.

 

Looking forward to the descriptions of Typhus' "friends."

 

That's what you get for having a brazillion NPC's with two-syllable names ending in 'rin/ren/ran.' Not my fault. That and it happened about 6 months ago.

[Walter]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

After the altercation, Typhus and associates retired back to the BlackBird Tavern’s common room. Typhus called for ale, and lapsed into a sullen silence; presumably reviewing his recent infliction of pain on other mon-keigh. If it were possible for his face to express a contented smile, I believe he would have done so.

 

The wench, knowing who held the purse strings at our table, served the goblin in green armor first, followed by Marv (knowing which of her patrons was most likely to twist her arm off if forced to wait. Not all of these monkeys are entirely stupid). As the rest were being served, Typhus raised his stein; upon flipping the lid open with his thumb, a greenish mist billowed out, entirely engulfing his scabrous head.

 

I pushed myself away from the table, not wishing to have to clean spatters of the wench’s blood off my cloak; but within the fog, Typhus seemed entirely self absorbed. I could almost swear that I heard him mumble, “Yes, lord,” at one point. After the fog cleared, he sat for a few moments, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself. Then his eyes focused, and he stood; casting a bag of coin on the table, he announced to no one in particular, “You may divide that however you like, but whoever takes some will be ready to leave tomorrow, two hours before peak.” Clapping his helmet onto his head, he then limped toward the door.

 

I snagged the first few coins which fell from the bag, with Marv and Christoph close behind. Darkchant and Steelweaver both bowed out, claiming other business; but a newcomer, a soft looking she-elf, took the opportunity to count herself in. Unintimidated by Marv’s growl or Christoph’s leer, she snatched a share of the gold coins, and sat down with us. Pale, dark hair, ornate staff—I took her to be some flavor of magic user. She introduced herself as Lilith. No “Lady,” no “Madame,” no title of any sort; her naivete and lack of self-possession would have been refreshing if they hadn’t been so pathetic.

 

That same naivete, showing through the questions she asked and her lack of knowledge of the Cant, proved her to be a Prime very new to Sigil. I suggested to Christoph that she would need a bodyguard before we left in the morning, and he took the suggestion as his own, offering to direct her to the Mercenary Guildhall. Marv elected to come along, and for my own reasons, I followed.

 

Along the way, I quietly attempted to draw Lilith out; it would be useful to know what we might expect from her. I thought my superficial resemblance to her own race might help her open up. But shortly after I asked her what sort of magic she specialized in (for the second time), she casually waved her had and told me to drop the subject. Normally, I would take such an order as an affront and a reason to push the line of inquiry further, but instead I inexplicably… dropped the subject. When she tried the same trick on a candidate for the mercenary position, it dawned on me that she had manipulated my mind to her benefit. That could be a very useful talent to have in a band of cutthroats for hire; as long as she didn’t try it on me in the future. Until I discovered a defense, I would have to keep my distance.

 

The next morning, we all arrived at the BlackBird to await Typhus’ arrival and a briefing on this new mission. Lilith’s bodyguard Falco was there as well; and at our table, sitting in Typhus customary seat, was someone who might have been Typhus’… not brother, but perhaps close cousin. A grotesquely fat human (or someone who had been human at some time in the distant past) with rotten teeth leered at us across the table. “You must be Typhus’s boys,” he lisped at us. He wore rust colored armor missing the helmet, gauntlets and boots, and instead was bound with ragged bandages in those areas. He seemed to be missing fingers and toes. Near him stood a long-hafted hammer or maul. “Sit down and let’s get acquainted,” he said as he coughed up a wad of phlegm, and spat onto the floor. We all gave the stuff a wide berth. “My name is Lord Pathos,” he began, and proceeded to lecture us on his place in the cosmos. Where Typhus was laconic at best, this individual was possessed of a powerful desire to share his thoughts with others. The staff of the BlackBird seemed to welcome the fact that the loathsome creature’s attention was now directed at someone other than them.

 

As we waited for Typhus, “Lord” Pathos briefed us on the mission. We were to go to the town of Curst, gate city to the plane of Carceri (the Red Prison). There we would meet other’s of he and Typhus’ ilk, fellow followers of the god Nehrull. Our quest was to retrieve some sort of banner, and give it to some other mon-keigh, in a place known as Raxus “the fallen city.”

 

Typhus stomped in soon after, and managed to wheeze, “Are we all ready to go?” Pathos rose, and we were off on another grand adventure. Ho hum.

 

Pathos seemed to know where the gate we needed to use was located, so he led the way. In short order we arrived at a shop, and Pathos ushered us inside. Stomping right up to the counter, he lifted the gate and started to step into the rear area. The shop owner began to object, and got stiff armed for his trouble. As Pathos fished a necklace from beneath his armor, the air within a curtained alcove took on the distinctive shimmer of a forming Gate portal. Following Marv, I activated my cloak and dove through…

 

******************************

 

…and rolled to my left on sandy cobblestones. I was in a town common, having arrived in the middle of a square of stone pillars. There were two individuals in the area; one looking like another cousin of Typhus and Pathos: humanoid, short, muscular, greenish armor. The other one was—odd. I’ve seen more than a few strange creatures in my travels, but this one was unique. Bipedal and spindly, with more than the usual number of joints in it’s legs, it stood motionless and somewhat hunched over, but still managed to tower more than two meters tall. It’s left arm was terminated in a long blade of greenish metal, while the right hand held some sort of axe-headed halberd well forward of the proper balance point. What seemed to be metal chains broke and re-entered the surface of its skin at the insides of elbows and knees. Its lifeless eyes stared straight ahead like those of a child’s doll. It reeked of menace.

 

Farther off, I noted four humanoids in some sort of uniform, perhaps a city watch, warily approaching as the rest of my companions emerged from the gate. Pathos made introductions; the cousin was named Crux, while the freak was Rhage. Crux seemed to know Typhus (if only by reputation), while Rhage remained oblivious. I studied the thing, looking for possible weaknesses; there weren’t many.

 

Coming to a decision, the four city guards adopted a swagger as they approached the Typhus’ family reunion. One of them growled, “Shove off,” as they came nearer. Crux turned from his fellows, and drew his broadsword by a few inches. The blade was black, seeming to absorb the light around it, and the guards paled and drew back. I heard Pathos mumble to Typhus, “That’s Bane. Don’t let that sword touch you.” Typhus wheezed back, “Perhaps we should proceed with our mission,” and started to stomp off. As we all followed, Crux turned and called over his shoulder, “Rhage!” At this, the freak straightened and followed, its long legs eating up the distance. It seemed we had a bit of a walk ahead.

 

Carceri, the Red Prison, is a vast desert of reddish sand. Or at least, the portion I could see was. We had most of a day’s walk to the Bastion of Last Hope, a fortress town on the plane’s edge (assuming that an infinite space has an edge. Cosmology is not my strong suit). My hostile environments training came in handy, and I thought of how uncomfortable it must be in Typhus’ ill-fitting armor, what with the heat and the coarse sand infiltrating every joint. Thoughts like that keep me warm at night.

 

At length, we arrived at the Bastion to find the gates closed. A guard wanted to argue over our entry, but another of Typhus’ cousins made an appearance, already within the walls. After a brief negotiation (involving the guard dangling over the wall), we were granted entry. The new kid, who Pathos introduced as Arrum, looked to be in the final stages of some form of muscular cancer; large carbuncles of flesh made him into a misshapen lump. He had thoughtfully rented rooms for his brethren and their henchmen, and indicated a tavern where we could slake our thirst. Rhage moved into the center of the square (equidistant between the rooming house and tavern), and simply stopped.

 

The evening was uneventful, but I took note of some of the conversation at our erstwhile employer’s table. The words ‘Galeel Shire’, ‘whole city’, and ‘worthy sacrifice’ came up in relation to Typhus. While one city full of mon-keigh meant nothing to me, it would seem that our employer was not terribly respectful of the lives of his fellow humans. But then, I knew that. But I had to wonder, might he have similar plans for Sigil? Again, not that it mattered to me, but I would have to be careful in my dealings with him to avoid being caught in the carnage. Typhus has an affinity for poisons and disease, and seems smart enough (beneath the surly exterior) to be subtle if the situation requires. Note to self—don’t eat or drink anything that has passed through Typhus' hands.

 

During the night, someone did something to antagonize Rhage. At least, there was a scream, a severed arm, and Rhage had turned slightly the next morning. I might have warned them, but then again, I might not. Probably wouldn’t have. I might even have egged them on, but I would have liked to watch; I wanted to see the thing in action.

 

Over breakfast, Arrum announced that he had two employees of his own who were to come along, and one more of Typhus ‘family’ was expected to put in an appearance. One of Arrum’s hirelings turned out to be a mousy-looking human who had been hanging about the previous evening. He was almost totally nondescript, but seemed to be familiar with desert survival, and of a ‘professional’ demeanor. His name was Brill, and it was no surprise to me that we should find him in the Red Prison. The last two members of the party arrived nearly simultaneously; one in a wagon drawn by a large lizard. Pathos said that he was Toxas, and that he was the last of the ‘Chosen of Nehrull’ to be coming along on the venture. I was overjoyed to hear that there was an end to the foul creatures. Toxas appeared to be a spell-caster of some sort, and was at least partly insectoid; its head and one arm were those of a fly. The other of Arrum’s employees was a more humanoid wizard, dressed in rags and stinking nearly as bad as one of Typhus relatives. I spent a few moments reflecting on the nature of my expectations for meetings in hell as we moved out the city gate. Again, Crux had to call for Rhage, but the thing quickly caught up.

 

Another day’s march through the sand of Carceri, another day of mild discomfort for me. At each stop, Typhus poured a veritable dune of sand from each boot. Behind my cloak, I smiled. Pathos was no less voluble for the heat, and the others seemed to take the discomfort in stride. I had positioned myself on the group’s left flank (partly to keep my distance from Lilith), while Brill led us straight into the desert. I wondered what he was using for landmarks, as I couldn’t make out any useful tracks in the sand.

 

At length we came upon a battlefield. Bodies were strewn about on the dunes, buried or revealed at the whim of the incessant wind. Some of the corpses were seemingly mummified, some were stripped to the bone, others were nearly intact. They became more and more numerous as we pressed on.

 

An hour and several kilometers later, I noted movement ahead. Near the corpse of a large lizard, several alien forms moved among the bodies. Toxas raised a bony hand to point, and Pathos said, “The banner is there.” Christoph and I angled left, while Brill moved to the right flank. The rest plodded forward. Fortunately, the creatures hadn’t taken note of our approach. With Marv rapidly bearing down on them, it wouldn’t be long before they did.

 

Behind the body of a fallen ogre (who incidentally looked a lot like Marv; but then, all ogres look alike to me. Come to think, most mon-keigh look alike to me) I took up a position to cover the advance. My ocular implant marked the range at 250 meters—perfect for my rifle. Christoph continued on to circle into the opponents’ rear. Brill was nowhere to be seen, as the rest of my companions formed a ragged line abreast. I could make out sixteen creatures, vaguely insectile, with scorpion-like tails. They looked up as Marv roared a challenge and broke into a lumbering run. I marked my first target, and waited for the impact.

 

Lilith, her bodyguard, and the ragged wizard lagged a few meters behind the others, as Typhus and the rest of the Chosen continued their steady advance. The opponents belatedly began moving to intercept, as Marv crashed into their line. Whatever they were, the little creatures were tough; it took three center-mass shots for me to drop the first. Rhage had engaged the opposite end of the line from Marv, and seemed to be methodically cutting them down. Brill was there as well, attacking the creatures from the rear. As the Chosen moved to engage, I saw Crux draw Bane, and the world near the targets grew dim. It wasn’t just my imagination; I widened my focus to note that a large area centered on Crux seemed to fall within heavy shadow in broad daylight. The insectoid demons broke and ran.

 

Just then, a fountain of sand erupted a few meters in front of Marv, and a larger insect surfaced, crushing one of the fleeing smaller demons in its mandibles. Rearing up, it looked like a gargantuan centipede. I thumbed my rifle’s selector switch to armor piercing rounds, and switched targets.

 

Typhus had picked up a long pole topped with a black banner from somewhere, and was heading away from the battle. The rest of the Chosen rushed blindly on, with Crux at the head of the line. The ragged wizard seemed to have vanished, and in his place a human dressed as a pirate (?) rushed in, only to come flying limply back out of the fray. I saw Crux stab with Bane, and then the centipede began to thrash wildly, like a snake in its death-throes. It careened madly about, seeming to carom off Marv, and I saw its head snap down onto the pirate as Toxas transfixed it with a beam of black energy.

 

I didn’t see the rest of the fight, as Typhus (followed by Lilith and her bodyguard) were approaching my position. The rest seemed to have matters well in hand anyway. Typhus seemed to be walking more easily, and filled his armor better than he had in the past. I’d noted that he generally appeared healthier whenever he fought, but I had never seen him to maintain that stature for long after a battle was over. In this case, he marched on for nearly an hour before I brought to his attention that the others were following and we might wish to make camp for the night.

[Bik Britelite]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Typhus has an affinity for poisons and disease' date=' and seems smart enough (beneath the surly exterior) to be subtle if the situation requires.[/quote']

 

Very smart. Especially after helping free the hazard mage from earlier. The "reward" that I took increased it even more, and gave me a fair bit of mental defense. Now that Lilith is around, I'm am rather pleased with the choice I made too.

 

Great story by the way!

[MordeanGrey]

Re: [sigil Campaign] The Ranger's Tale

 

Typhus is smart... and evil. I particularly like the addictive healing potions he makes.