QUEST FOR POWER, AN EVIL AD&D PBEM PROLOGUE - The face of the Enemy Swirls of matter unknown whirled and flew in an endless pattern of chaos. The being that was the Dark Lord eyed them with a tired gaze. Many were the times he had witnessed his minion's appearance and he was growing bored by it. A form appeared in the middle of what was now a whirlwind of gas and smoke of colors of ash-flesh tones. "A thousand thanks for your summoning master. The news a bear shall prove effort was not in vain." "Let me be the judge of that. What news do you bring me...lich?" Red eyes fell upon red eyes; The dark lord's most powerful undead minion rose his slowly-forming head and addressed his master. "My divinations have not been for naught. Although I still have not located the place my body is trapped, I have found a place of great importance to our goal. I had recently concentrated my search on temples, thinking that perhaps the forces of good have trapped me in a holy place, covered by their petty gods' holy shrouds. As with all my past plans, this was not different; I could not find the area that's binding my flesh and bone." The lich's eyes flared with a radiance as he spoke the rest of his words, "This failure opened a new direction for my scrying, though. we have admitted that our opponents luck neither wit nor power, so I based my search on their use of the former. I directed my powerful divinations on temples dedicated to other causes and I found it!" It was the Dark Lord's turn, and his eyes flared red as well. His mind raced through thousands of possibilities of further action, all based on one assumption: Could the lich have found that it was him who was holding it trapped in fear of its ever-growing power? " What have you found Voolhar? Do not play with words!" " The temple of the Unnamed God my lord! I know of its location!" The Dark Lord's eyes flared again. This time though he was relieved, and excited as well... " Thousands of years hidden away and now it resurfaces! The time has come Voolhar. The time has come for us to earn our place as rulers of this realm. We have the strength in number but we lacked the strength in magic. You are about to rectify this! Gather a force... A party of adventures or servants powerful enough to enter that temple and strip it from all its magic. We must not delay! Go..." The lich Voolhar started to fade back into a whirlwind of clouds... "My lord...?" " What?" " There is a mighty force of humanoids led by a giant of some sort...It might be use.." The words had not left the lich mouth and he was interupted by his master,"I am sure your choice of action shall not disappoint me, Voolhar." The Dark Lord's words where both a suggestion and a threat. He looked at the almost intaginble form of Voolhar and laughed loudly. "Fool...That is why you remain trapped and I rule. Why I give the orders and you make sure they are carried out! OUR time has come? Once I have no need of your petty magic , I shall make sure that your spirit lies bound with your body...Forever...." Cold laugher echoed back and forth on the keep's walls as the Dark Lord congratulated himself once more. He looked out of his arched window towards the horizon, where the sun was setting. He stayed there following the golden orb's descend as darkness took over the land. The day was coming when his darkness would take over the land.... THE MEETING Come gentle reader, fly with me above the land. See its rolling majesty unfurl below us. Observe the lakes and streams that nourish lush forests and curl around gentle hills... Ignore them all for that is not where our story begins. Turn instead to a dark and dreary place in the middle of a blasted plain. Dark clouds swirl into weird shapes up above and low mist curl around the littered remains of a once proud castle. A single narrow plume of smoke twists in the wandering wind. At its base, a small fire blazes in the cold of the day. <> A man sits nearby on the remains of a tower wall. His body is scarred beyond belief. Ridges of scar tissue snake about the skin of his withered form and crest in weird ridges on his bald skull. Above a nose ablated long ago by searing iron knives his blank eyes stare out at the world, full of dark glee. His four-fingered right hand curls around an iron shod staff with which he slowly crushes a small rodent into the earth below. On his sickly yellow belt, a gleaming sickle and corded whip hang in a grim reminder of his stock and trade. He calls himself Sanskris. <> A man steps into the clearing. "Greetings and felicitations my worthy, or should I say, most un-worthy comrade. I am Kilvius Shankar and I have been summoned here because of my knack of 'acquiring' things." The dark skinned man pauses slightly before saying the word, "acquiring", placing added emphasis upon that word. As he dismounts from his horse, he walks into the light so that all may view him more easily. Before you stands a man, not exceedingly large and not exceptionally heavy. His skin is dark, yet remarkably smooth-looking and not in the least bit leathery. His complexion is nice and he does not have any scars that you can see. He has deep set brown eyes and ebony black hair which is moderate in length and tied in a short ponytail with a simple leather thong. What is remarkable about this roguish fellow is that he is remarkably clean shaven. A drab suit of studded leather armor is worn over a pair of pants and shirt of dark brown. You also notice various short range missile weapons (throwing axe, blowgun, and crossbow) as well as a scabbard which most likely contains a short sword. Strapped to his horse you see a short length of rope and a whip. The only color the man seems to wear comes in the form of his forest green cloak. He then smiles at the group assembled and says, "Anyone care for a quick game of chance before we set out?" Suddenly, you see in his hand a deck of cards being fanned back and forth. <> Before the evil priest can answer, a sound is heard. They both turn to watch the new arrival make his way to them. Through the crumbled remains of a blasted tower, a heavily cloaked man moves easily, his steps measured but not hurried. Pulling his cloak about him, the man moves quickly to join you, the darkness within the hooded cowl turning to each of you in turn. Though the winds blow hard and tear roughly at his cloaked form, the man easily keeps his hood low and across his face. Through the rumpled folds you glimpse a face, neither beautiful nor horrid. Average to the point of forgetfulness. "Greetings...." the cloaked figure calls, his voice hollow-sounding in the barren wastes. Turning to the scarred man, he asks, "You seem more dead than alive....Are those scars portents of past failures..? Or do you just revel in disfiguring yourself on other people's blades..?" Not waiting for an answer, the cloaked figure glances at Kilvius. "You... acquire... things? Unless you mean that you come into them naturally or through naturally occurring circumstances, I suspect you steal them. At least that way we know just where you stand in the order of things. As for a game of chance, I suspect this...quest...we intend to take will be more than enough to satisfy your thirst." Never removing his hood completely, the figure stands quietly, waiting for word and the arrival of the other members of the band. <> A smile creases the face of the scarred man and a quiet chuckle can be heard. Turning to Kilvius he says "Insulting both of your future allies in one go! Now THERE's an example of risk taking if I ever saw one. You could take lessons from that one, Blackie." He turns to the cloaked man and his smile grows further to reveal a row of sharpened teeth. "As for my face, youngster, you don't know squat about fighting if you think these were done in a fight." He points to the long ridges of scar tissue on his head. "They require a... special technique." He stares at the man a moment <> and your heartbeat seems to go a hundred ligues a minute as the dark man grows immensely and the fires of hell dance in his eyes, filling your world with thoughts of agonizing tortures. But you blink and all is like before as Sanskris turns away from you.<> <> Keeping his cold countenance, the cloaked man replies. "Oh...I know quite well you didn't receive those wounds in battle. Unless of course you were apt to run away quite often. It seems to me, though, that if sacrificing your own hide and finger bones to appease a higher power is your idea of fun, then so be it. As for myself, I prefer to go my own way..........And another thing, keep your magic to yourself or you may wake one morning and find yourself face-to-face with your god." Chuckling softly, he adds, "I am known for many things......But mostly I keep my word." <> "I do value your approval of my passtime." The expression on his face makes it unclear if he's being sarcastic or not. "I am a bit worried about that _mostly_ though. are you in the habit of breaking your promises ?" This with a mild smile of inquiry. <> Ignoring the smirch on his honor, The hand glances at the threatening clouds above. The man pulls his cloak closer, warding off the chill of the approaching storms. "As for who I am....not even I can remember. There are those who would call me the Hand of Justice. While others would call me the Hand of Murder.......I care not at all what they think. Nor do I care what you think. I am here for my own reasons...and they most certainly don't coincide with the odd whims of a disfigured follower of a defunct deity." <> Sanskris cackles madly "First I use magic on you and then my Goddess is dead ! You do make up the most interesting stories. Tell me more of this magic that plagues you. Is it painful ?" His dark eyes are fixed on the cloaked man, full of interest. <> For the first time, actual laughter seems to come from the darkly cloaked man known only as the Hand. "Plagued by magic....! Me?" laughing still, the Hand seems to be truly touched by the humor of the situation. "Well....I've been plagued by a number of things. And yes, magic has definitely been one of them. Usually I enjoy being plagued by women who find me the fulfillment of their wildest dreams......." Finally stopping, the Hand stares at the scarred cleric, the blowing winds rustling the hood of his cloak as the weird light casts strange shadows deep within the cloak's concealing folds. "You know," he begins, "..I think I'm going to enjoy our little talks such as this one. Perhaps one day I'll even introduce you to some of my female companions... ...Maybe they can get you to take a different perspective on pleasure........." <> Sanskris smiles his toothy smile "Oh, pleasure I know ! You haven't lived till you've felt a hook rake the inside of one of your ribs or seen the face of the Goddess, just on the edge of passing out in a sea of red." He sights forlornly. "As for females, you can keep them ! They pass out at the most inconvenient moments, if you ask me... They do scream a lot though." He adds as if granting The hand a hard won point. Shaking the thought from his head, Sanskris turns back to Kilvius and his offered cards. "Games, such fun they can be." He pulls out a long steel needle from his belt pouch. "I suggest that the winner gets to plant this little beauty in the loser... Not in the eyes though, we've got a quest to perform." He adds somewhat sadly. "So, what about that game Kilrius... or was that Kiltus ?" <> The rogue, his expression unchanging all this time, continues to riff the cards in his hand, manipulating them easily with one hand, "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were mocking me. But it is unwise to make assumptions about someone I have just met. So, I see you prefer to play for stakes other than those that are monetary in nature. No matter, the challenge is in the game. Shall we?" He cuts the deck with his left hand, folds the cards into his right, and does similarly with that hand. <> "Tut, tut ! Don't be too quick to react to perceived offense. You'll live longer." After a pause. "What are playing anyway ? Bones ? Hot needle of inquiry ?... Old maid ?" A pause "And just what was your name again ?" <> Ignoring the rude question, Kilvius folds his deck over and over again. "I perceive that you would take your winnings in flesh and blood whereas my desire is to fatten my purse. If you desire, you could cut me with your knife when you win, and when I win I would receive a monetary sum. What say you to that proposal?", he pauses from manipulating the cards for an answer. <> "Tha " Sanskris hack up a fair sized glob of red-tinged spittle. "That wouldn't be no fun. How'sabout the one who wins gets say... 5 gold AND sticks a needle in the loser ?" He waves said implement around. "That's a needle sonny, not knife. Knifes are for cutting... and peeling back skin. Hehe... I remember this guy, big as a house he was. I'd stripped his legs bare of skin up to about here." The scarred man gestures around his knee. "And he breaks his shackles. Couldn't believe it, those were big hunking chuncks of metal I tell you. So he breaks free and lunges at me. But his feet have no skin remember ? and down he goes slipping in his own blood. Hehe... kept getting back up too, just to go splatting down two steps later." Sanskris slaps his knee in glee. "The big guy went around the room a good twenty minutes before he passed out. Hehehe... And what was your name again ?" <> The gambler pushes on bravely. "As for the game, since the stakes for me are so.... costly, and I do not wish to trouble you with worrying about my sleight of hand skills, how about if we simply 'cut' for high card?" A faint smile crosses his lips as he says the word "cut". <> "Nahh ! We're here until He-of-the-rotting-skin shows up so let's make it count. I say Dipping be the game." <> Just as the first hand is dealt, a dark rider appears. On a night black horse, wearing a robe equally as dark, he approaches. Even on horseback you can see he is not a large man, but his eyes say he is not a weak man. There is no fear, nor is there kindness in those eyes. Pale skin hints at years of absence from sunlight, and the skin of his bald head is pulled tightly against his skull. He surveys you and the others slowly, letting his eyes linger on each member just a moment. "I am Cathasis," he says, his voice soft, but with a commanding tone. "I am sure that you are competent enough to complete the task set forth for us, else you would not be here." You think this is a compliment. While he is speaking, you notice a small tattoo on each palm. With his message given, he seems to lose interest and surveys the surrounding, not bothering to dismount. <> Sanskris stares at the mounted man waiting for him to continue. When it is apparent that he will not, he turns to the rest of the band "No manners these new ones. No manners at all. They think that because they can kill, they're the Goddess's gift to the world. Not like the old days... Ikterium, now THERE was a guy with manners. He could lay on the snake oil like nobodies business. They tripped over their own feet trying to be nice to him... Stabbed them all he did... Quite a guy. Yeah, quite a guy." <> Cathasis gives Sanskris a cold smirk. "I am quite interested in your history lecture. Please continue. Are there any other dead men that had good manners? My curiosity on this topic is overwhelming." You get the impression that this last statement held more than a bit of sarcasm. <> "Well, well. My apologies O master of time and space. I had forgotten that all those who come before you are but dust beneath your feet." By the steadily growing gleam of his teeth, you surmise that the scarred priest is enjoying this exchange tremendously. "Far from you any thoughts of learning from the greats of this world. That would be far beneath your towering accomplishments... Which are what, by the way ?... I seem to have forgotten all of your _mighty_ deeds." <> Listening quietly as the scarred priest continues his rambling, the darkly cloaked man finds a broken parapet and sits upon the shattered stone. Leaning back the man quickly glances at those gathered around and turns back to the happily-scarred priest. Glancing at the threatening clouds above, the man pulls his cloak closer, warding off the chill of the approaching storms. "If you wish to recall the deeds of those long gone, then be my guest. I prefer to make my own deeds a part of the recollections of those yet to be." "And as for manners...." he adds as an afterthought, "...they are useful at times. Otherwise, they are as limp as...the whip hanging on your belt." The white gleam of a smile appears from beneath the hooded folds of the Hand before it is quickly displaced by the darkness. <> "Here, here ! I applaud your good sense, rude one !" Says sanskris nodding his head in approval. "Use all that be in your reach to get to your goal. That's the way to do it !" He smiles like a proud father seeing his baby poop for the first time. <> A twitch creases the rider's face at the interruption but is quickly replace by his usual cold demeanor. "I have heard you recite no great deeds of this man you talk about, only about killing. I have killed, does this make me a great man? And as to my past, that is none of your concern. My immediate future is the only concern you should have about me." <> Pausing from conversation, Sanskris shows his cards with a flourish. "Ha ! Three Goblins by the pass ! I got you this time, youngster." He pinches Kilvius' cheek. "Stand still now, I wouldn't want to _hurt_ you." Chuckling gaily, the mad priest pierces the pouch of skin from side to side, leaving the needle in place. "There, that looks good on you. Hehe. Care for another game ?" He plunks himself back down with surprising grace for one with so many pieces missing. <> Kilvius looks at the needle protruding from his skin and then at his opponent, "Very nicely done. Hardly ", he winces ever so slightly, "hurts at all. So, just how long did you propose that these needles stay in place?" <> "Until the next win of course." Resuming conversation with Cathasis. "Am I to believe you've never even heard of good old Ikterium ? Those killings you speak of must've been performed in deep a cave indeed." Says Sanskris, not appearing overly concerned about anything at the moment, except perhaps his ongoing game. "Any fool can wrench the life out of these wretched things we call bodies." He makes a vague gesture "The trick is doing it with style 'n gumption. Not one of your strong suits I wager... Though you be having good fashion sense" The bald priest adds with a smile, batting of the eyes and a pointed look at the equally bald rider. He then bursts out in an orgy of mad cackling. <> In the midst of the dark priest's glee, there suddenly stands a man with ebony black skin, dark brown eyes, and no hair. He is burly and strong, his 5'10" frame weighing approximately 220 pounds. The whites of his eyes, and his teeth, are all perfectly, pearly white. He is dressed in exotic robes, colored green, brown and yellow to match the colors of the jungle. He carries two long swords belted at his waist, as well as several daggers and a long bow slung over his shoulder. He has not yet spoken, and apparently has been content to observe. He has a ready smile, although it somehow manages to come off as somewhat unnerving. <> Airily ignoring the priest's antics, Cathasis replies in a cold tone. "I don't concern myself with how they die, just as long as they die." He coldly smirks. "Their bodies are more useful to me dead than alive." He watches the card game with as much interest as he can muster. He briefly glances at the newcomer in the jungle robes and gives him a slight nod of acknowledgment before looking back to the game. <> "You enjoy dead bodies, do you ?" Sanskris drops a dragon and picks up another card from the deck. "I knew a guy who swung that way too. Caught some nasty disease and it fell off, right in his lap. No connection between the two, I'm sure...Ummm" The priest squints at his cards, not appearing overly pleased. "I prefer them live meself, they tend to feel pain more... acutelly. And dead guys can be so flighty, can't carry a conversation if their life depended on it. Hehe" General groans from everyone around. <> "This being an interesting diversion and all, but weren't there supposed to be more of us to enjoy it ?" He looks to the assembled group, unfazed by their disaproval. "I count only five of us in this blasted castle... Not counting the rodents of course." Sanskris takes time out from the card game to crush the back of the forgotten rodent on the ground and tosses the furry thing out into the rubble. <> Just as Sanskris' words die in the windy air, a sudden feeling of unease grips you. Turning you see a man wrapped in a full body black cloak with hood pulled low over his face approach through the rubble. He has a worn backpack slung over his left shoulder and clutches an oaken staff in his right hand. He approaches the group and raises his head...in the hood are only two faintly glowing green-gold eyes and blackness. You hear a rasping intake of breath and a voice as if unused in years speaks....."So.....this is what I am sent too." The hood moves slightly from side to side taking in the group, and he continues "I am Silvanor." He then exhales and falls silent as if waiting for a response. <> Ducking his head in his cards, Sanskris remarks "Gambler, my good man, we do seem to have cornered the market on mysterious cloaked strangers. Th'towns and villages must seem very empty with everybody clearly recognizable at first glance. How I pity them." He mimes a tear rolling down his bumpy cheek. Turning to the newcomer, he shouts. "Ahoy there ! Oh monster of greed, care to join us in a game of cards ?" Sanskris waves and smiles (not a pretty picture). "By the way, this guy here's the Gambler, the one pacing up and down is The Thumb" He turns to the still mounted rider. "That one goes by the name of... Catechism I think and He-of-the-flowing-words is Grodd." He says, pointing to the silent man. "I, of course, am Sanskris, leader of them all !" The dark priest peers at Cathasis out of the corner of his eyes, smiling all the while. <> "Sanskris, your wit and sense of humor is as smooth as your skin. You only place you would lead us is into our own destruction. That, or some torture chamber where you could perform your pointless needlework. My my, I seem to have made a joke of my own... pointless... needles... I wonder if my comedic powers are now on Sanskris' level?" <> The scarred man faces Cathasis fully, still smiling. "Well... needling YOU certainly won't be a problem. Is that a vein I see bulging on your forehead, my boy ?" He shakes his head sadly. "I had such high hopes fer you lad. Resorting to personal insult so early in the game. Tut tut." He shakes a bony finger in the riders direction. <> Greeting the newcomer with a slight nod of his hooded face, the Hand slides cat-like from his perch, his feet making not a sound as he calls, "I begin to grow tired of this waiting.......We should be off. A gathering such as ours is certain to attract the attentions of those who would see us undone......." <> "What's yer hurry, young buck ? Unless you know more then the rest of us mortals, you don't even know where to go ! Sit tight. The big guy'll show up when he's good and ready." Sanskris turns back to the game as Kilvius drops his hand with a flourish. <> "3 trolls and a pair of great axes. Hah!! Now we're even!" He removes the needle from his flesh and proceeds to delicately insert it into a fold of skin on the dark priests right forearm after finding enough skin to do the deed. "You realize, of course, I would much rather play for money, but, the game is the thing. Care for a third go round?" <> Nodding his agreement to the Gambler, he says to Cathasis. "While I'm honored that you'd want me to lead _you_ to those wonderful places you mentionned earlier, I'm afraid I must decline." Sanskris collects his cards for the next hand. "If you be wanting a leader, I suggest good old Grodd over there. He's the quiet type... always an asset I say. Not like the rest of us... Cackling like hens... You meet too many of those in my line of work I tell you. Want to tell you their life story the minute they see a red hot knife... Quite a bother... Takes all the fun out of a good round of torture." He gives the needle in his tight a playfull knock and a happy smile forms on his face. <> He smirks, then says to Kilvius. "You had better play for money, because there is no way to win this game with him. If you win, you stick needles in him, which he enjoys. If you lose, he sticks needles in you, which he enjoys." He thinks for a moment. "Maybe a game where if you win, he has to be silent. That would be a game we would all appreciate." <> The mad man chuckles. "Exacly, Cataclism my lad. You begin to see the genius of the trully blessed." He taps a spirited tune on his cards. "For a man who's supposedly the dark, quiet type, you sure do seem to hate silence, the way your mouth's been flapping. He he. But if you'd care to risk my needles and your no doubt gigantic dignity, I'd be willing to play for those odds... Or did you glue yourself to your horse to avoid falling off ?" <> "Keep your cards, I have no desire to play your games." He surveys the territory, then says "And it is not that I overly enjoy silence, it is just preferable to your babbling. But I am curious, what was it that drove you to your current endeavors? Becoming a sadist and a masochist doesn't just happen without help." <> "Glue it is then." mumbles the emenciated man. "Fishing for info eh. Well I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Sanskris addresses the rest of the group "What say you people, howsabout a round of boasting and overall general lies about your past sounds to you ?" The priests look to each one in turn. <> He motions to Sanskris. "By all means, continue." <> <> "Now who'll go first ?" Silence. "No one ? what a surprise ! Personal courage appears to be at a premium these days." He smirks. "Well listen well youngsters, this is the tale of Sanskris, mighty among men and small rodents." "It all began in the quiet town of Aix... Drab little gathering of houses, I tell you. There was this big ungainly keep planted right in the middle of the scenery." Sanskris shakes his head sadly. "Pity I didn't serve The Lady back then. I'm sure She had a hand in the builders brains when he thought that one up. Hehe. Anyway, I was the son of the big guy, John Lorimoor, head of all creation and snappy dresser to boot. Little Sanskris... I had another name then but who can remember ?... So little Sanskris was promised a wonderful life of paperwork, meetings with fat and extra-fat merchants and the occasional romp with plain wife and overpriced whores... Mmmm Sounds painful enough now that I think about it... Maybe I should've stayed." After a few chuckles, the badly scarred priest shifts to a more painful looking position and continues. "I was traveling to a neighboring town on a visit to this cousin fellow. It must've been what ? Twenty-five, thirty years past. So I wasa young thirty..." He pauses, frowns and then starts counting on his fingers. "Let's see... That's, yes, and then.. Ummm... Let's call it twenty even shall we ?... So I was on this road when pain exploded. Darkness, the kind you see when your passed out, you know ? The torture seemed to go on for days, endless agony. Hehehe. Amateur. I was incredibly green. Hehe. They weren't half bad either, mind ye. Where was I ? Oh yeah. "Where is it ?" They asked... Shadows on a sea of red... I rather like that effect. When you're on the edge of passing out and everything is black and red, you ken ?... So these guys were saying "Your family as it, where ? Where ? WHERE ?" Endlessly. One track minds I tell you that right now... Not the kind of slick conversationalists we have here !" He grins in Grodd's and Silvanor's direction. "So I lasted two hours... Pitiful performance, all things considered. Little Sanskris was ripe to be plucked by The Lady. I think I saw Her there, just for a moment, in the red glow of the knife as they peeled back the skin of my nose..." Sanskris seems lost in blissful memory. "Uh... So I showed them... There, there it lay in the family plot, that which my family had protected for generations." The dark priest stops his re-enactment for a second. "Useless bauble no doubt. Never did find out what that thing was... After that I remember Darkness, with a big D, shapes in the night, running, running on bloody feet and crying out Truths of the Planes such as the infamous : "So easy, Twitch, talk. Twitch again, do anything. The pain, The pai... Hahahheeheeeeee !". Ack ! Ain't got the lungs for this no more... Still, good times...good times..." "Wrote something on the subject back when I first joined up with the head cheese." Sanskris searches through his pack. "Where is it ? By the blasted liver of Tuk. Ah ! Here it is.... Ahem. Torture for life. Torture to live. I live in the realm of pain. Long have I worked for kings and crooks. How long ? A decade ? Two ? Time stretch with awareness of the pain called life. Hehehe. I have seen truth and truth is ugly. Oh so ugly. Shadows in a sea of darkness. To look at the Dark Lord is painful, so I serve him (and HER, Hehe ). Soon... time stretches, so red... all will know Truth. Truth is Pain..." The priest puts the scrap of parchment back where it came from. "Bit melodramatic, but I kind of like it... So whose next ? How about you, Catoblepas ?" The bald man looks to Cathasis. <> As the dark rider stands silent, apparently preparing his speech, Kilvius calls the group to attention and begins his tale. The dark-skinned man with the long black hair (is he the only one with hair in the group?) looks out on the horizon, his eyes almost seeming to be lost in another time and then he quickly refocuses himself and he begins. "Well, I'll wager my tale is not nearly as exciting as others you will doubtless hear, but I make my living by..... living. Not an easy task when you consider the company I usually keep.", he eyes those around him and continues. "I hail from the lands north of the Pirate Isles. My claim to fame, if that's what you wish to call it is that I escaped from the Death Pits of Kara 'Tur. You haven't heard of them? No wonder. Their secret is closely guarded and the yuan-ti that run the camp will never admit that anyone has escaped. Yet I bear proof that I have been there.", he lifts his left sleeve to reveal a scar that could only have come from being chained to a shackle for a long period of time. "While I have had to kill a few people in my travels, I am much more proud of my acquisitions. Unfortunately, I have had to sell many of my treasures in order to finance the construction of my new gaming establishment. Perhaps you've heard of the 'Golden Goose'?" A wistful look comes across his face for a brief instant and then he says, "I seek to replace those treasures I have lost." He shrugs and adds, "If I can find some worthy souls to work at my establishment, all the better." <> "You're not much of a storyteller are you me boy ? Details lad, details. How did you make your daring and no doubt exagerated escape ? What about the horrible tortures they subjected you to ?" Sanskris stops staring at his cards and stares at the Gambler instead, his eyes full of anticipation. He adds "I must confess, I haven't been to Character meself, though I HAVE heard of it, so a description of that as well would be nice." <> The gambler puts his cards down and looks the dark priest in the eyes. "You are most likely the only person I've ever met that would enjoy going to the death pits. They are aptly named. You see, if you don't work, you die. Most of the people I saw die were ripped apart at the limbs by some half breed and then, just before their life force departed them, they got to 'enjoy' watching some abomination eat their limbs." <> "Hehe. Not bad for an elbow grease method, but too quick, much too quick." Sanskris nods his head sadly. "Much better to have the beast eat his meal directly off the rack, so to speak... Add a couple dozen Rot grubs and voila ! Slave tartar." He chuckles for a while, then bursts out laughing. "Tartar... Hahahahehe... Good one. Hehehe..." <> "I, indeed, was fortunate.", a faraway look passes across the dark man's face and then his passive stare returns. "Purebloods have a weakness, my demented friend. They desire to become more snakelike. That was how I gained my freedom. I suckered some poor pureblood into believing that I knew where a magical artifact was that could remove his human features and turn him into an abomination. The price for such a treasure? My freedom. After travelling in the wilderness for nearly 4 weeks, we came to the 'spot' where I said the artifact was hidden. The fool creature was so anxious to possess it that it scurried into the cavern ahead of me. It did not know, as I did, that the cavern was the home to a small group of gorgons." He laughs as he gets to the end of the story. "I know not whether it lived or died, nor do I care. I am here and that is all that matters to me." "Oh, and as for torture? Just seeing someone else being eaten alive is torture enough for me." Kilvius grabs his cards and says, "Another hand?" <> "Wasn't aware we'd finished this one." Says Sanskris puzzled. "No matter. I only had a couple'a Nagas anyway." He throws down his hand on the pack. "My deal I beleive ?" <> As the game resumes, everyone is surprised to hear Silvanor's voive. "So you want to know something about my past ... Well I started my 'career' as your average small time thief. At one point I was working with an adventuring group which was hired to steal an item from an enchantress. I had a bet with the groups muscle head that I could get the thing myself without their help. I got caught. I awoke the next morning in a gutter wearing this cloak, lets just say the cloak's not a pleasant thing....I eventually joined up with the thieves guild and worked for several years as an enforcer. I helped those poor innocent thieves part with the guilds share.. hehe oh now that was some good times! Why I had to hunt one little bastard for 3 months! Ohh and when I finally got him I spent 2 years 'teaching' him my rules...but I digress. After several years of this kind of fun, I realized that I had never gotten back at that bitch for this cloak, so.....here I am." <> "Two years ! some lucky bastard you are, Sillabub." Sanskris throws an envious look at the cloaked man. "I never get to keep my guests for extended periods. Poor little dears seem to croak after a week or two... If I even get to keep them that long. Damn sponsors can be so impatient once I've extracted whatever they want to know." In a singsongy voice "'Kill him now ! Stop playing around, he's no use to us now ! What if he were to escape ?'" he rages. The dark priest isn't long in reclaiming his usual pointed smile however. "A cursed cloak eh ? What does it do ?... Keep ye from sunburns ?" He caresses the tortured skin of his left arm. "Mayhap I should get me one of those. My alabaster skin's gotten so... lumpy lately. Hehe." Silvanor remains silent, but the darkness inside his cloak seem to darken to a pitch black hue. <> After hearing the others, Cathasis shrugs. "Alright, if you wish to know something about me, so be it. My childhood was normal, nothing out of the ordinary to speak of. I was apprenticed to a tanner, but found the work exceedingly boring. No matter how hard he struck me, it became no less dreary. I moved on to a scribe's assistant, which was by far more challenging. But the library in my small town was pitifully incomplete, so I moved to a larger town where I became a researcher for several scholars. It was while working late that I met my fate. His name is only of importance to me, but he was skilled in the black arts. He taught me well, and for him he had a faithful apprentice and assistant." He smirks. "I have one very fond memory of slaying one of the library scholars, then animating his body. We walked out of the libarary and to my home with hardly a second glance. It is amazing what people will believe with the simple statement 'He had a bit too much ale.' Shortly after that I moved into an estate several miles outside of the town where I could further my research in private." The smirk turns into a large grin. "I still have that scholar... although he is a bit... thin." With this he breaks off into a short, silent laugh. <> "Hehehe. Ah the joys of conversations, can't beat that with a stick... We do appear to have a Death Master in our midst. Greatings my lord." Sanskris bows down from the waist, a sardonic smile uncovering his pointy teeth. "That does explain your Ahem... *fondness* for corpses. Never did like the dead ones overlymuch meself. No pain you see... and their knife skills leaves much to be desired... Slashes all over the place... All in all, it's surprising you ride a live horse. More confortable on the rump ?" This with a tilting of the head and a mild smile. <> "Your concern for my back side is noted. In fact, I have never tried to ride an undead horse, but seeing their movement, it does not appear very comfortable. And I prefer to do the more delicate tasks myself, leaving the grunt work to my servants. It seems death does not have a positive effect on manual dexterity." <> Sanskris nods wisely. "Quite true. Quite quite true... I knew this guy... was around '59 so I mustavbeen, What ? 39 maybe..." The mad man caresses his bony chin trying to remember. "Anyway ! This guy was at the battle of Sojourn Keep. Nasty affair, the way I hear it, bodies all over the place, both armies running around like chickens without a head, necks spurting blood. Hehe... Wish I'd been there. So this knight of the Light, Sir HightFaluting of Goodness, Terrence was his name I believe... or maybe it was his title : The Rance..? Oh well..." He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "He was battling a score or so of minor members of the Dead, skeletons and whatnots you ken ? ...by the side of the crumbling keep when this wall comes down on top of his head ! Hehehe... Nicely wiped out most of his adversaries, mind you, but The Rance was not pleased. Hehe. Trapped under the rubble he was, both legs in quite a few fragments at this point. Ha. Luckily, there was a small breach about the size of an apple up above his head. He could breathe and see the sky, lucky bastard. Hehe. Then this skeleton walks up to the breach... Quite a sight he must've been, looming above him. Hehehe. Trusts his sword down to stab the mighty lord in the face... The Rance must've pissed his breaches right there and then. Hahaha." The bony priest slaps his equally bony tight in glee. "So the skeletons sharp implement of death is coming down towards his Lordship's no doubt pristine face... it hits the side of the breach... He of the bones raises it again and stabs down ... And on it went. Poor poor Sir Rance, hehe, trapped on his back in rubble, small chunks of rock hitting him in the face each time his would be slayer missed the hole, bleeding slowly and crying himself hoarse. Hahahaha... The damnable thing only got him around midnight, I hear. Hahahe. Ask HIM about the detrimental effects of death on manual dexterity. Hahahehehe..." The scarred man is suddenly serious again. "Of course this wouldn't have happened if the animator of said skeleton had simply sharpened Old bones' fingers and capped them with metal claws before animation. Much more effective than a sword and more cost effective to boot. Amateurs. They'll be the death of us all." He shakes his head in mock sadness while his pointy smile resurfaces. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE PLAYERS Patelis S,DM ph860091@cr10m.staffs.ac.uk Kilvius,Thief Gavin Struthers Before you stands a man, not exceedingly large and not exceptionally heavy. His skin is dark, yet remarkably smooth-looking and not in the least bit leathery. His complexion is nice and he does not have any scars that you can see. He has deep set brown eyes and ebony black hair which is moderate in length and tied in a short ponytail with a simple leather thong. What is remarkable about this roguish fellow is that he is remarkbly clean shaven. A drab suit of studded leather armor is worn over a pair of pants and shirt of dark brown. You also notice various short range missile weapons (throwing axe, blowgun, and crossbow) as well as a scabbard which most likely contains a short sword. Strapped to his horse you see a short length of rope and a whip. The only color the man seems to wear comes in the form of his forest green cloak. He then smiles at the group assembled and says, "Anyone care for a quick game of chance before we set out?" Suddenly, you see in his hand a deck of cards being fanned back and forth. Sanskis, Priest Frederic Fleury (fred.fleury@mailcity.com) GENERAL STATS : Human Male 5'10(1m75) 150pounds age45. Sanskris' body is scarred beyond belief. Ridges of scar tissue snake about the skin of his withered form and crest in weird ridges on his bald skull. Above a nose ablated long ago by searing iron knives his blank eyes stare out at the world, full of dark glee. The evil priest displays the horrors of his form proudly, wearing only minimal clothing and a cloak for warmth. His four-fingered right hand curls around an iron shod staff taking weight off his tender feet. On his sickly yellow belt, a gleaming sickle and corded whip hang in a grim of his stock and trade. He walks on, in a dark and twisted landscape of his own design, spreading joy wherever he goes... The hand, ? Mark Ingram (spark@iserv.net) Through the crumbled remains of a blasted tower, a heavily cloaked man moves easily, his steps measured but not hurried. Pulling his cloak about him, the man moves quickly to join you, the darkness within the hooded cowl turning to each of you in turn. Though the winds blow hard and tear roughly at his cloaked form, the man easily keeps his hood low and across his face. Through the rumpled folds you glimpse a face, neither beautiful nor horrid. Average to the point of forgetfulness. Cathasis, mage Scott Stoecker (gastruck@hotmail.com) On a night black horse, wearing a robe equally as dark, he approaches. Even on horseback you can see he is not a large man, but his eyes say he is not a weak man. There is no fear, nor is there kindness in those eyes. Pale skin hints at years of absense from sunlight, and the skin of his bald head is pulled tighly against his skull. He surveys you and the others slowly, letting his eyes linger on each member just a moment. "I am Cathasis," he says, his voice soft, but with a commanding tone. "I am sure that you are competent enough to complete the task set forth for us, else you would not be here." You think this is a compliment. While he is speaking, you notice a small tatoo on each palm (1 skull each). Grodd, ? hohncho@kaiwan.com Before you stands a man with ebony black skin, dark brown eyes, and no hair. He is burly and strong, his 5'10" frame weighing approximately 220 pounds. The whites of his eyes, and his teeth, are all perfectly, pearly white. He is dressed in exotic robes, colored green, brown and yellow to match the colors of the jungle. He carries two longswords belted at his waist, as well as several daggers and a long bow slung over his shoulder. He has not yet spoken, and apparently has been content to observe. He has a ready smile, although it somehow manages to come off as somewhat unnerving. Silvanor, warrior/thief ? silvanor_rawn@email.msn.com A sudden feeling of unease grips you. Turning you see a man in wrapped in a full body black cloak with hood pulled low over his face approach through the rubble. He has a worn backpack slung over his left shoulder and clutches an oaken staff in his right hand. He approaches the group and raises his head...in the hood are only two faintly glowing green-gold eyes and blackness. You hear a rasping intake of breath and a voice as if unused in years speaks..... "So.... this is what I am sent too." The hood moves slightly from side to side taking in the group, and he continues "I am Silvanor." He then exhales and falls silent as if waiting for a response. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------