[CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

[Savinien]

Okay, I got a wild hair and decided to post ANOTHER campaign write-up. This game is play by post at Hero Central and uses a haxored version of PDQ discussed here:

 

http://www.herogames.com/forums/showthread.php?t=56614

 

More information concerning the Aerth/Age of Reason setting can be found here:

 

http://www.herogames.com/forums/showthread.php?t=44510

 

This is a solo campaign with a Solomon Kane clone in Aerth played by Mastermind. His real story is called Monkey Men of Malaroteph and was first mentioned here:

 

http://www.herogames.com/forums/showpost.php?p=1285614&postcount=85

 

But, in his recent battle with some Tsoth, he took damage and according to PDQ rules, depending on what Quality he places the damage to another story hook is created. He chose Sailor, realizing it wasn't likely to come up in Taheria (which is a large city in the midst of a massive desert.)

 

I chose to Scheherazade this choice and fill in some of the missing background. These are predominately copy/pastes of our posts word for word.

 

Enjoy and feel free to comment. (and rep!)

[Savinien]

Setting the Scene

 

Sailing the Tri-Lakes

 

Wind whistled about the Puritan, grabbing his blacks and flapping them about his lithe frame with wild abandon. The Tally Ho was whipping amid the Dire Straits, her Captain standing near bellowing orders as waves crashed over the sides of the small Pinnace.

 

"And what sort of business do you have on the Lonely Isle von Remmen? Is it enough to kill us all?!" Captain Gensai's voice bore a Westlake accent and his left eye tended to slowly drift away, out of focus as if the Man had lost interest.

 

Martin does not look at the captain and answers the first question what he thinks is a monotone.

 

"Looking for someone. Always looking. "

 

At the second question, he turns to face him, "Not unless you follow me ashore. "

 

And of course, the crew would. Their curiosity would get the best of them, or they'd see a wild pig for roasting, and their baser needs would undermine their better sense.

 

Martin sought a man. The man purportedly was a hermit who lived on the isle. The man tales said, could predict the future. Legends also said that there was a curse. No one ever returned from the island, and that the place was haunted.

 

But what else was new? Every single isolated island had some sort of horrible tale told in taverns and aboard ships in the various ports along the Lakes and the oceans.

 

Martin chuckles. Superstition instead of Faith still dominated the minds of men.

 

The Dire Straits were a forlorn place. They were mid South Lake, far enough from any shore and the locks that allows ships travel between the lakes to make them non-consequential. The fact that wind blew down along the lake and echoed along the strait with the heavy hand of a tempest made the locale even less appealing. But, none of that stopped the indomitable will of the Pure, Martin von Remmen. The Oracle of Lonely Isle was Martin's only chance.

 

And, no curse would keep him from his quarry. It hadn't stopped him before.

 

The Captain's voice cut over the wind and through the Lakesman's ponderings, "Three days, Puritan. I give you three days before the Tally Ho reels anchor and leaves this God forsaken place."

 

"If I am not back in two, then count me as one already dead," snarls the Puritan

 

He stares back at the waves and then spots the spit of land in the distance, released briefly by a fog courtesy of the tempet-inspired wind at their backs.

 

"Captain. The island. I'll need some extra powder, and maybe a musket."

 

Marting whips around, his cloak nearly slapping the captain in the face, and heads amidships towards the ladder that would take him into the bowels of the ship. He nods to the crewmen that he passes en route to collect the rest of his gear.

 

Any response from the Captian is quickly lost to the wind's howl as Martin von Remmen turns to head down into his cabin. It is a matter of moments before he is back on the deck. "Take this blunderbuss if you'll have it then," Gensai says in his dogerel accent not offering any powder.

 

Then, he is over the side and making his way down the shifting rope ladder. His wool cloak is a heavy, sodden burden, similar to that which his Faith brings him. As with his Faith, he shoulders the Black of the Cloak willfully as he adjusts himself in the small dinghy. A voice reaches him over the wailing wind, his only companion, "Puritan. Powder from the stores. May the One God walk with you!" The dropping horn twirled on the jetties swirling about the Tally Ho. Still Remmen caught it and deftly tucked it within his sodden woolens.

[Savinien]

The Lonely Isle

 

Nearly an hour later, von Remmen was winded, placing the last rock over a guide wire along a barren bit of stone. A ridge kept some of the wind from the Straits away and would hopefully protect the small craft. While he wasn't sure what awaited him upon the Lonely Isle, there was no sense in letting his means of escape drift away. The ridge line was enough that some vegetation had grown, sparse at first but quickly blooming into a veritable wood.

 

The ridge must encircle the island, leaving a bowl of wilderness upon the harsh seeming Island. The One God worked in mysterious ways, to be certain and this discovery was no different. Martin had spotted the crennelations of a spire within the center of the Island. Though no trails seemed readily visible to him, his goal was not invisible.

 

Martin stares at the primeval forest, trying to to pierce its dark green recesses. He soon gives up, realizing that he cannot penetrate its gloom. Drawing his saber and readying a pistol, the blunderbuss strung over his shoulder, he moves from the beach into the forest, giving one last glance towards the spire at the center to get his bearings.

 

Once inside, Martin finds it hard going, having to holster his pistol on several occasions to use a free hand to pull himself over fallen, moss-covered logs. Oddly, and eerily the forest is quiet. He is certain that there are birds and monkeys, but the usual chatter is absent. Only the wind rushing through the old growth, and even that, near gale force outside the forest, is subdued. He tries to gauge the time, but even that seems vague and confusing here. Having no trail and having to go around undergrowth, he loses track of his paces several times and has to climb a tree now and again to regain his bearing.

 

Some time later....the hair on the back of his neck stands on edge and Martin instinctively turns around, but sees nothing. He moves forward again and then stops suddenly, and hears the creaking sound, the rustling of brush, the snap of a twig!

 

Martin picks up the pace. He was being followed....

 

The Ancient Wood

 

The feeling of age, heavy scent in the air, is oppressive to the Puritan. He knows little of such things, but still feels certain the thick moss and cycle of life and death within the wood has gone on for centuries. Well before the zealot swept Aerth with his Purge of sword and fire. Perhaps even before Man himself strode land and swam Lakes, but who could know but the One God himself? Who indeed.

 

Trying to gauge his path and even whereabouts within the wood was difficult. Old trees stretched skyward laden with branch and canopy of leaves. The ground underfoot was rife with the fallen foliage, beaten out by brethren hungry for a touch of sun, or drop of water.

 

The sound of a misplaced step, the scuff of boot or paw, along fallen timber, and the rustle of leaves betrayed the presence of something else. And, von Remmen responded, walking faster, ducking skewed trunk and low-hanging leaf alike. The predator, if that is what THEY were responded, moving faster as well. Martin knew they were Legion from simultaneous rustle, scuff, and snap. He caught glimpses of fleet figures, moving about the branches or shifting from trunk to trunk at flank and rear.

 

A bright clearing seemed visible ahead, a welcome sight of yellowish light as opposed to the omnipresent shadowy green. Yet, it was as if the Wood itself wanted the Puritan to stay, snagging his Blacks with thorny appendages and attempting to sweep his wide-brimmed hat from his head. As Martin closed the tenacious foliage seemed ever more willfull, even as he lashed out with his sabre...

 

Cutting furiously as the branches seemed to close in on him, the Puritan muttered a quick prayer to the One God. He took the risk to glance over his shoulder not expecting to see anything and hoping that whatever enemy pursued him was not hot on his heels.

 

But the light promised hope, or at least a chance to stand and fight. Making it there he whipped around pulling out his pistol and leveling it at the entrance to the green and gloom.

 

"Come out and face me now!"

 

The shout seemed to echo through the trees breaking the eerie silence. As the sudden sound faded though, the forest continued to mock him with its unnatural silence.

 

A jumble of rubble, jutting haphazardly from thatchy moss and stringing vines, created a maze of tumbled natural mounds. At one edge of this forlorn clearing stands von Remmen, bits of branch and thorn still falling from his clothing as he whirls back towards the mocking silence of the ancient wood. Death's eye staring from his hand in the form of his Eastlake Pistola. A breath of wind rustles across the tree-line and it shifts in irritation. A blinking moment stretches to a heady breath, then two and now ten. Perhaps, it was only his imagination after all.

 

Martin takes a deep breath scanning the edge of the trees and slowly rotating around to see what is behind him and then back to the front. He issues a throaty growl, trusting his earlier instincts and confounded by the sudden quiet.

 

"What trickery is this? Show yourselves!" he calls out again balancing on the balls of his feet and adjusting the grip on both his pistola and saber.

 

Turning about, von Remmen begins to notice a few things. The jutting mounds take on a seeming shape, a familiar surrounds. It isn't a maze, but more like a small village. The weather beaten rock, are huts of piled stone, standing for centuries, possibly millenia, seeming undisturbed. Even the clearing takes on a semblance of civilization, it appears to be circular with a stretch of cleared area heading deeping into the island. The treeline on either side kept at bay by something unseen, something unnatural.

 

And then, just as the Puritan turns back they are upon him. Sweeping from the treeline like hornets from a disturbed nest. They are short, even more so than the dark-skinned Muruudians from the Grassea, or the lighter Taherians from the Pomarj. And greenish, with flat brows and rows of teeth, filed or naturally sharp. Their mouths opened and shut as they swarmed forward, with nary a sound grass pushed away from them with the swiftness of their charge.

[Savinien]

Meeting the Natives

 

Martin curses himself for not having his blunderbuss leveled. Instead he has to settle for firing his pistol. He aims and lets a blast rip at the closest of the little, sharp-toothed creatures, while at the same time backing into something defensible, maybe one of the ruins of a stone hut, where he has time and a chance to bring his blunderbuss to bear.

 

von Remmen, a bit taken aback by the sheer vehemence of the onrushing pygmies rushes his shot and stumbles backwards. The pistol doesn't fire right away, possibly due to the sodden powder. When it touches off though, the explosion shakes the stillness of the wood. Smoke and fire belch forth harmlessly, but enough to give the encroaching beasts pause.

 

The Puritan takes the moment to turn and hedges behind the strange stone hut, pulling the blunderbuss from his shoulder and beginning to prime it. A few of they green-skinned pygmies come about enough to slash at Martin with bits of flint and gnasing teeth. The cover and Martin's movements are enought to keep him from harm, though.

 

In the heat of battle, von Remmen hopes that he does not lose his composure. Already, the pistola had betrayed him, but he tries to breathe steady despite pounding in his heart and the onslaught of these strange island natives. He steadies his hands and loads the blunderbuss.

 

Martin von Remmen does his best to ignore the Emerald pygmies for now and works to load his blunderbuss with shot. It is a tricky business in average circumstances and fending the slicing attacks of flint-knife and sharp teeth doesn't help matters.

 

Martin casts aside his blunderbuss and makes himself linear, giving the sharp-toothed pygmies little room to flank and surround him in the space hollow ruin that he finds himself within. With resolve Martin defends and defends for his life, hacking and slashing and pounding any pygmie demon/cannibal that comes forward.

 

He hopes that his indomitable will can win the day.

 

The battle is a long affair and before it is over, martin von Remmen is soaked to the bone with sweat, greenish icor, and his own blood welling from numerous wounds. The pygmies died as they fought, silent and in droves. The Puritan had cut in wide swaths with his sabre, cleaving the devils like wheat.

 

And, now, suddenly surprising, their attack had ended and the only sound is the heavy breaths of the man in black.

 

VonRemmen for the first time in a while slumps his shoulders, fatigued and even a little sickened by the carnage. He proceeds to try and scrape some of the ichor from his blade. He removes his had and wipes his sweaty brow, and sits if he can, tearing strips of cloth to bind his wounds.

 

Eventually, he steps back out of his redoubt and looks around at the ruin. He looks for a way out and hopefully up.

 

The moss covered stones prove slippery, but nothing untenable for the iron-willed Puritan. His various injuries also prove overcomable and eventually, Martin von Remmen finds a spot atop the dolmen high and stable enough to give him a better view of his surroundings. He is in a circular clearing two ship-lengths across and bearing a half-dozen hill-like cairns arranged about in a near circle. Beyond his position a wide track of cleared land leads deeper into the island and a towering spire is visible in the center.

 

Behind him, he can hear the trees shift and rustle once more.

 

Taking a deep breath and studying the cyclopean ruin before him, Martin heads down towards the wide track. When he gets to the base, he takes the time to load his blunderbuss finally, and keep it handy. He reloads his pistol, and belts it along with his sword.

 

Finally, he heads down the path, keeping an eye out to both sides, wary and ready for slithering shadows to take on more substantial form...and be blown to bits.

 

The Puritan's steely eyes rove to either side of the grassy track as the treelines weave in an existential wind. Martin knows there are likely more creatures shadowing him within the leafy greens of the Wood. Still, von Remmen is struck by the particular placements of each ruin in the clearing behind and before him as he reaches the central hub. More of the moss-covered, lichen hiding ruins of tumbled stone. These are a bit larger, but still dwarfed by the Central Spire.

 

For whatever reasons, the Pygmies have yet to regroup and attack once more.

[Savinien]

The Central Spire

 

As able as he can von Remmen moves in a direct line towards the central spire. It was the thing that struck him from the shore, so it must be the destination of his quest..the oracle and answers to his plight and worry.

 

He bares his teeth trying to repress thoughts and desires that are so contrary to his teachings and his outward appearance, that of a Puritan.

 

But is it not the heart that drives us?

 

Martin grunts bringing him back to this reality to focus on the task at hand and the primeval surroundings.

 

The sheer size of the clearing is what strikes him, the massive spire of aged rock plunging into the heavens above. He strode uneasily past the ruined mounds of ancient stone, barely acknowledging they once must have served some purpose. The blunderbuss was held steadily in his hands and his eyes were peeled for further aggression. If the pygmies attacked again it wouldn't be from cover of the wood as this central clearing was three to four times the last one.

 

Now, he stood at the base of the spire, unable to ignore the oppression of the centuries that must weigh on the aggreived stone. Cracks riddled the surface, mostly hidden by slowly creeping vegatation. There was a symmetry to the place, the spire appeared to be a square, and the mounds surrounding the outer edge of clearing spaced evenly about. Further inspection of the clearing was precluded by height, though Martin had noticed similar swaths of open grass heading off in both diametrically opposed directions to his left and right.

 

This wall of the spire was at least ten men's armspans across and showed no means of egress. Moving about the entirety of the tower proved similar until the Puritan found a niche in the center of the opposite wall. It was ten feet high and at least that wide, with something like a door jamb depressed into the cracked stone two hands deep. A depression within the center of the stone door was a wide-legged cross. The legs ending in circles forming a balanced cross with a central circle spanning the perpendicular axis.

 

Martin examines the cross that is wedged into the niche. He reluctantly puts his blunderbuss down about waist high on a nearby tumble down. He makes sure, still looking around, that nothing is going to rush him. Then with two hands he tugs at the strangely-shaped object that bars his way in.

 

Seeing that he cannot pull, Martin pushes. Then he steps back and looks at the depression. He pushes at the circles, all at the same time with his hands, his head, and his foot or knee.

 

Martin von Remmen has found himself at the base of a tall Spire, towering towards Amaan with little means of egress other than a strange stone door lacking hinge or handle. The Lonely Isle spreads away from him on all sides and he surmises he is directly in the center of an odd, ancient ruin of symmetrical proportions. These facts are all secondary to the Puritan, as he must find the Oracle. All else means little and the age of this place is no concern.

 

It was many moon cycles past now that had forced this trip to the Lonely Isle. He'd happened upon a pack of heathens, lead by a Wudatan half-giant in the ramshackle warrens outside of Ravensdurn on the Eastern shore of Eastlake. The Wudatan had seer blood within him and had written a Prophecy of Ill concerning the Tri-Lakes and possibly all of Aerth. It fell upon Martin von Remmen to dig what truth he could of the heretical Prophecy of Doom.

 

He had to find the Oracle of Lonely Isle. He tried combinations of pressure upon the sigil on the door to little fruition. The great disk beat upon the clearing and the Puritan removed his wide-brim hat to wipe his brow and closer inspect this new barrier. The cross-like depression had no give to anything he'd tried thus far but Martin felt it must serve some purpose... Some sort of key to grant egress into the ancient tower.

 

Unless, it was merely a symbol, an altar to heathen gods and entrance was gained by other means?

 

Martin searches his knowledge of religion, well his anyway, for a clue on how to get past the door.

 

Does it require a blood sacrifice?

 

He wipes some of the blood from the wounds of his recent battle with the pygmies on the portal.

 

"By all that is Pure! This is maddening..."

 

His voice echoes on the ancient stones.

 

Pondering the strange shape, Martin notices some indentations he'd previously missed. At one point, the Puritan surmises precious stones may have been set in a pattern, one familiar to von Remmen. The patterns are those of the old Gods. He also realizes this clearing and those along each compass point bear a striking resemblance to this symbol.

 

The whole of this Island must be devoted to the Old Gods! Each clearing a shrine. It made some sort of sense that an Oracle, bearing suspicious powers would take his home among the ruins of a long gone age.

 

If only he could recall more information on the ancient religion, or find something in these ruins perhaps...

 

Martin bangs his head against the portal a few times in frustration {but not so hard to hurt himself}.

 

There is no time to go searching through these ruins!

 

"Oracle! Where are you? I need to speak with you!" he bellows

 

Martin picks up a loose stone from the ground and hurls it into the tumbled structures, hoping that something will jar in his memory.

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

The Puritan wracks his brain, remembering a moment, a brief stint in his life when the Cult of the One Eyed God was making trouble about Ravensdurn...

 

The barechested man in the mask swayed back and forth, hovering over the nude woman chained spread-eagled to the altar. His sculpted body was a sheen, glistening in the flickering flames in the nearby braziers. The hooded folk beneath the diaz swayed with him, chanting incomprehensibly. Above them, unseen amidst the rock and scrub lay Martin von Remmen. A young man, not yet beyond his years of training in the Way of the Blade. Fanned out beside and behind were other hard-cases. Those hired by the Burgermeister to deal with this cult that had been kidnapping and pillaging the villages about Ravensdurn. It was too stop. Tonight.

 

Below, the chanting stopped suddenly as a tottering figure took the dias and began to speak, an old tale:

 

Oh, in the days when the Lands ran red with the blood of the weak

And the Elder Gods watched with eyes Immortal

Before there was the light of day and the dark of night

Lohkimar the Slayer strode the lands in the name of Torak

 

All praise Torak, the One-Eyed God!

All praise Torak, the One-Eyed God!

 

Lohkimar came upon a human beauty and he lusted

 

Lusted!

Lusted!

 

And he took her!

 

Took her!

Took her! (During this chorus the bare-chested man shifted about the altar and the throng began to remove their clothing beneath their robes.)

 

Martin signaled his men to prime their pistolas as the doddering fool caried on below in his wavering voice. Women were being brought in, tired and broken, their wrists and feet manacled and chained.

 

And so, doth Solarius forever chase his beloved Luna through the Night

All by the hand of the Mad God! Take your prize Lohkimar

forever beloved of the One Eyed God!

 

The rape was about to begin and Martin on his men had already taken aim. With an explosion of fire and smoke the people of the Cult began to fall...

 

The symbols along the top and bottom of the strange cross are those for the Sun and Moon.

 

Martin shakes his head at the memories, hearkening back to his more zealous and witchhunter days. Then again, those lusty men, stealing women and raping them, deserved it...

 

Slowly, and still wary about the jungle's diminutive denizens, Martin begins moving in an every expanding circle around the main structure looking for a shrine or some symbol denoting the Old Gods. Perhaps this ruin was some grand puzzle designed by the ancients, and activated (hopefully not by an obscene ritual) in a mundane way.

 

Thinking made vonRemmen's head hurt. He was a man of action, not some scholar to ponder the ways of the peoples of an elder age....

 

Martin doesn't have far to look. Even as he begins his search, he realizes the two symbols he seeks are on the very door he is attempting to open! Solarius symbol lies on the left side and Luna to the right.

 

Sun before moon or the other way around? he ponders

 

He first presses, the Solarius symbol to the left then the one on the door. Then the moon symbol to the right and the one one the door.

 

If that does not work, then he tries the reverse..moon first. If that does not work, he presses suns together and then moons. If that does not work...moons then suns, and any other combinations.

 

Martin pushes in a few combinations feeling only the age pitted stone below his fingers. Then, he finally realizes it is some sort of wheel, but isn't sure which direction to turn it. It doesn't move easily, but with enough will, anything is possible. With a grunt, the cross shifts, and then turns more easily, then suddenly, stops with finality. The door shifts towards von Remmen a few inches and then, it too stops.

 

Then, the Puritan can feel as much as hear a deep grinding, or rumbling within the tower, or underground. It is difficult to know exactly where it is coming from, but it feels dangerous.

 

Martin steps back from the sudden rumbling sound, moving to recover his loaded blunderbuss. He sticks his sword in the ground next to him and levels the weapon at the entrance.

 

It takes the briefest of moments before the Puritan realizes any remaining sounds or trembling have moved away from the spire before him and off to his left. Suddenly, rock and grit explode from one of the ruins showering the area with dozens of tiny projectiles!

 

Martin ducks and tries to look for cover as soon as he recognizes that something is about to explode. He still holds on to his blunderbuss wondering what is about to arise from the earth.

 

Martin ducks as jagged rock and stone whizz past, a few of them sharp enough to rip holes in the Black and in some places even the flesh beneath. For one with the will of the Puritan though, this is of little consequence.

 

As bits and chunks of earth stop falling from the sky and the air is clear enough to see, von Remmen views a sight to behold. One of the ruins has been uprooted and turns out to be a strange, archaic looking headpiece for a gargantuan humanoid figure of flesh and stone. The flesh is blackened and atrophied from ages of disuse, but the sheer size of the creature is enough to slacken the jaws of lessor men in fear.

 

It stands there for a few moments as if getting it's bearing, head turning this way and that, searching with glowing eyes of ancient eldritch energy. Bits of putrid flesh and worm tunneled earth still fall in gobs from the parapets of stone butressing the creature in key joints.

 

It lets out an unearthly bellow, enough to cause the whole of the Island to shake and the trees of the primordial wood to rustle with aggitation, or glee.

 

Martin von Remmen, steels himself to his task, unnerved by the Colossus before him. As it peers about seeming to try and find its balance, lumbering heavily due to its sheer size, the Puritan unleashes his blunderbuss upon the creature. Earth, grit, and ancient flesh explode adding dust to air heavy with stinging gunsmoke. von Remmen was already moving forward, the Colossus shifting above him turning to try and catch sight of the stinging creature. A massive stone hand slammed into the earth behind Martin, shaking the whole of the Isle and sending the Puritan forward before he scrambled to his feet.

 

As the Colossus began to straighten, Martin von Remmen saw salvation, perhaps. A massive stone, large as a wagon wheel was embedded in the neckline of the creature's skull. It pulsed with an eldritch heartbeat, some sort of alkemic magic bringing life to the creature of stone and aged flesh. Any shot by flintlock would be miraculous from the ground... But, if he could get a closer shot...?

 

Upon seeing the stone, Martin sees a glimmer of hope against the colossus. He moves behind the thing, hoping that it is slow and ponderous, then steeling his nerves he tries to climb up its leg, to its back, and close to the neck.

 

The Puritan leaps from what shelter he'd secreted himself with and attempts to climb one limb of the colossus. Unfortuantely, it picked that moment to move as it turned, glowing eyes hunting for the Lakesman.

 

Grabbing a handfull of some sort of trailing fur hanging from the Colosus, Martin hoists himself up looking for purchase with knee and leg. Using skills he'd learned while sailing the Tri-Lakes, he scampers up and up as if on the mast of a schooner topsy-turvy upon the roiling surface of East Lake. In his off hand is the simmering East Lake pistol, the pan primed and ready to fire.

 

The Colusus lets out a roar, its prey having evaded it somehow. It grasps about its lower back, trying in vain to dislodge the crawling gnat.

 

Martin gets his sights on the ring/collar about the neck of the Colossus. He takes aim and fires.

 

"One God, let my aim be true!"

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

As Martin extoles a prayer to his beloved Diety, the stoneheart in the neck of the Colossus beats balefully, almost seeming to know its imminent doom. It pusles once more before the deafening crack of the Puritan's Eastlake pistol bellows over the giant's own cries of ire and Martin's view is cut off by the belching smoke and acrid fumes of the discharge. Blinking away the gunpowder fashioned cloud, von Remmen just catches sight of a blood-red flare and hears a cacophonous crack that seems to go on infintely in the instaneous moments of firing into the stone.

 

The Puritan can feel his stomach lurch as the Collosus stumbles and begins to fall.

 

Normally, Martin would be able to bounce and roll with the collapsing heap, treating it as he would a foundering ship at sea, but the damage and fatigue to his body, allows him to only focus and look to his willpower to survive the fall.

 

He attempts to tumble away from the largest and most dangerous pieces. He still has to survive and face the oracle.

 

von Remmen falls amidst the crunching sound of grinding rock. His first roll lcauses him to tumble to one side as the Collosus continues forward, head falling ahead of the rest of the body. The alkemic explosion must have blown the skull free.

 

Martin eventually comes to rest, debris surrounding him and dust and gunpowder soot hidden by his Blacks. Once more the Lonely Isle stands silent, the Spire as indomitable as the Puritan's own will.

 

Methodically, Martin reloads his pistol all the while scanning the surrounding ruin for any more 'things' large or small. Then when done, he slowly picks himself up, gives a bit of a dust off, and heads back towards the portal.

 

.oO(Where are you, you old Devil? Are you hiding down in this tunnel? Will you tell me the answers that I seek?)

 

The smell of fresh earth is heavy in the air as Martin von Remmen makes his way over upturned earth and fallen rock. The Collosus upheaval left a massive gouge in the greenery and the Puritan has to traverse it before reaching the Tower. Having already spotted the tunnel at one end, near where the head what have been, von Remmen does a bit of searching. He realizes some sort of sorcery was done while this behemoth was buried and a round corridor leads away from this resting place towards the spire. The tunnel is walled with rounded stones, the lower portion runnelled for some liquid, still fresh.

 

As Martin bends over it, he knows the metallic smell of it. Blood.

 

Martin snorts disdainfully as the blood at the door reminds him of blood sacrifice. He says a short prayer to the One True God before he crosses the threshold.

 

The circular corridor leading up out of the resting place of the Colossus was barely three feet across, the inset runnel needing to be strattled as the Puritan moved deeper within. He unshuttered the small orb at his neck, a gift from a Netherman he'd met years before and light spilled forth casting his long features in shadow, but illuminating the confining narrows enough to press onward. The smell of blood was nearly overwhelming, but the Iron Will of Martin von Remmen was enough to overcome it.

 

Eventually he reached a nexus and the tunnel opened into a subterranean chamber carved long ago from the innards of the Lonely Isle. This chamber to seemed a hollow cylinder, armored in stone. It occured briefly to the Puritan to wonder where all the cut stone had come from, but it had no bearing on his quest, so he ignored it. A strange apparatus hovered over a series of runnels starting in the center of the room and symetrically pushing outward to five tunnels, one of which he'd crawled up to reach this chamber.

 

The workings of the system were inscribed with alkemic symbols and runes of power. They were seemingly mostly dead as the blood had congealed too strongly in the other four tunnels. It had been a lucky thing for the Puritan, though. If he'd had to deal with five of the Colossi...

 

A stair ascends from the chamber up and along the cyclindrical wall.

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

Martin cannot help but pause and marvel at the strange techno-magic of the place. He says a silent prayer again to the One God for only having to face one giant stone man. With his eyes facing up, he ascends the stairs, gun pointed at the shadows ahead ready for anything if it jumps out.

 

Martin finds his trip through the Tower silent as death as he ascends past the next room. It appears to be the ground floor chamber as he can see the massive door he attempted to enter through. At one point, this entire edifice was ostentatiously decorated, but all that remains is dust, ruined engineering miracles, and the tattered remnants of glorious ages past.

 

Marting can feel his hackles raising and notices a slight vibration through the soles of his black, leather boots. The hair sticking out from under his wide-brimmed hat shifts restlessly from a light breeze coming down along the stair from above.

 

An open archway appears to lead into some sort of dining chamber and another door, open, looks like a sort of living chamber.

 

"Who's there?" Martin asks as the hackles rise....oO(More like what. What foul demon lurks in these halls? "

 

"Show yourself!" he commands more for his sanity and belief that there is something or someone tangible to deal with, and not this tomb-like silence and emptiness.

 

Cautiously, he moves past the door into what was once a living chamber.

 

The architechture is extremely old, but the Puritan is quite certain this was the Servant's Quarters. What linen existed is not rotted away and the only thing of note is the lack of vermin. But, then again, perhaps it has been so long since anything lived here, even the vermin could not continue living.

 

The Kitchen is much the same, as well as a small storage chamber. It has been innumerable years since something living walked the halls of this ancient Tower.

 

Back to the stair and continuing up. Martin repeats his challenge ascending the stairs, saber out and gun pointing forward.

 

The Lakesman's voice echoes about the narrow stairwell as he ascends between levels for a moment or two, and then, his alkemic lamp lights this darkened area better than the gloom sifting through the unshuttered windows. The chamber is dominated by some sort of archaic model, a massive bronze globe, shining in what sunlight there is, the centerpiece. Moving about this globe are other orbs of varying shapes and metallic origins, and further orbs circling them. The smaller the orb, the quicker it seems to orbit around whatever object it circles. The floor is a mass of gears and rods, likely affixing to circling orbs above.

 

The opposite side of the chamber holds a workroom of sorts, buried in phylaectum, alkemic scrolls, and notes. An overstuffed chair, the color of which has long faded is flanked by two tables also covered in ancient texts and tomes. Sitting in the chair is an ancient, emaciated man, his skin stretched taut over his skull, eye sockets vast and but a few wisps of hair finding air above an age-dappled pate.

 

His mouth doesn't move and his eyes do not open, but Martin can hear a powerful voice in his mind.

 

"Welcome to your Doom, Man in Black."

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

Martin looks around at the strange sights around him and shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. Heresy is all the same...baubles and trinkets and tricks. He guesses that the orrey has its uses. Following stars is not necessarily heretical as the One True God did make the stars. It is the sin of man to use them for his own divinations rather than those of the True Divinity.

 

"Doom from you or from Prophecy? Are you alone? Are you the Oracle?"

 

The Puritan keeps his gun at the ready and makes sure that this old man is the only one present, looking past the machine and all the workroom equipment.

 

Looking about, Martin feels rooted in place, as if his blacks have become too burdensome to move. Even peering about the Orrery and worktable beyond proves difficult. No one else is visible.

 

--{There is no use in fighting. The calculations have been done, Doom rides the night sky and Death comes with it!}--

 

"What witchcraft is this!" yells Martin.

 

"What do you mean by Doom! Where is this Death?"

 

He fights against the strange magic and wills himself to move towards the chair with the intent of cutting it or the man to ribbons.

 

Suddenly, the room is gone and the Puritan finds himself on his back, his heavy black cloak spread beneath him on a flat metal table. Heavy chains are around his wrists and ankles and one more across his chest. Above him, a glaring lidless, pupiless eye shines down on him with an inner light.

 

The Death comes from above, as your anger rages within. Do not fight it, you cannot stop it.

 

Martin first seeks to break his chains.

 

Then he will will his gun to appear in his hand since, by the One God he knows that in reality it is still there.

 

And of course he will fire away at the eye.

 

As Martin strains against the mental bonds holding him, he sees the eye shift. He gets a sense of moving quickly through cold darkness, though he can still feel himself bound with the chains. As he is hurtling through the darkness, he can feel others with him, and pinpoints of light flying by. Suddenly a great yellow eye is visible with small orbs circling about and he is reminded of the room below (the orrery). One of the orbs grows larger as he approaches and he notices small mountains orbiting the planet, their peaks attached to the planet with long ropes, or chains.

 

He feels as if he's picking up speed and headed directly towards the flat surface of one of the 'mountains'. He begins to recognize details, including a series of three interconnected bodies of water, above that a vast desert surrounded by mountains. His journey continues, though he can feel the chain bonds weakening, stretching with the force of his indomitable will. Near the center of the lakes, is an island, a pinnace at anchor nearby. The island is awash with a jungle, a tall spire of stone at its center.

 

I have drawn the end game to this existence. The horrors of our own imagination are at an end and the cruel game of our ancestors over.

 

Martin's mind's eye smashes into the tower, massive waves wash aside the pinnace like the Hand of the One God, smashing within moments into the coasts of the Tri-Lakes. And, then the insects swarm over the rest, dominating the people's of Aerth.

 

Give up, Puritan. It cannot be...

 

That is when the chains give way and a deafening explosion of smoke and lead shatter the eye.

 

The orrery and lab return, the Oracle lies slumped in his chair, blood oozing from eyes and nose. The Eastlake pistol and sabre are in each hand, though the pistola has not fire.

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

Martin may be a slayer of heretics and of evil, but he is no cold-blooded killer. He moves forward towards the Oracle, weapons still out.

 

"Old Man? Are you still alive?"

 

If there is no response, Martin moves to check the man's vitals to see if he is breathing.

 

Somehow, the battle of Minds has overwhelmed the ancient man and his body begins to fade away before the Puritan's eyes. The wrinkles deepen and his skin gets tauter and tauter, quickly rupturing as blood ozzes forth, then even that dries up and very quickly, there is nothing left but a bit of dust that is whisked away by an encroaching planet from the orrery.

 

And now, the world is once more without the heathen prophecy of the Oracle of the Lonely Isles.

 

Martin just shakes his head, and begins the long trek down the spiral stairs, out to the ancient city, and along the jungle path back to his waiting longboat.

 

All he remembers really of the prophecy is the vision of insects over-running the earth. It did not really make sense to him. Perhaps it is just something to ruminate about for a while.

 

Von Remmen maintains a vigilance through the dark forest.

[Savinien]

Re: [CAMPAIGN] Adventures in Aerth

 

And so ends this particular chapter in the life of Martin von Remmen.

 

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